#but you can’t act like it’s a crime to see a duck and say it’s a duck like he went out of his way not to deny being gay or a twink

[tinogiehd]

girl shut the fuck up nobody is outing the guy who’s been extraordinarily open about liking men 😭😭 like george is dropping hints sorru for picking them up

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 10 - Discombobulated

The rogue rolls an insight check.

On AO3.

A human woman sleeps in his tent, presumably wrapped up in his blanket. She’s been that way for that would, for him, an entire reverie. She’s just…here. In his tent. Naked, actually, but that’s because she might freeze to death otherwise and he’s gone ahead and hung up both their sodden clothes from the center beam of his tent to dry (he at least has a few dry items of clothing to don in the meantime). He did notice her only contribution was a tunic and a pair of stays. She’s been running around without so much as a stitch on her lower half.

And here he sits. Fully clothed. Awake and quiet and completely untouched. He’s spent what would be a night with a clever virgin beside him.

No one has come to take her away. She just lies there, snoring softly as the roar of the flooded cavern dwindles back down to a gentler rushing.

No one else comes. Nothing else happens. There’s no reason for the tension drawing up his shoulders and creaking down along his spine.

He casts another cantrip; between hours of the same, and her own, mortal body heat, the inside of his tent is warmer than it’s ever been. And he rather doesn’t want that to end.

Yet it does, because their leader is mortal and needs to do thinks like walk around and eat and go relieve herself (and because he noticed how nice this was, and he’s not allowed to do that).

She mumbles something in her own tongue. It’s nowhere near as elegant and flowing as his own Elvish, nor as stilted and to-the-point as Common; it has its own smooth roll, though, and it’s nearly pleasant to his ears.

That might just be because it’s better than nothing but his own voice echoing hollow and alone in the dark.

“Astarion,” she says after something he can’t begin to decipher. She’s got the cadence of his name correct, though. Not even his own Baldurian marks got that right every time.

“Good morning, darling,” he says in Chondathan.

A pause, and then she repeats it back, clever thing. Putting in the effort already. Sher even includes the “darling” and he decides he’s not going to correct that part. He wants to see the wizard’s face when she inevitably repeats it to him.

“Well done. Now, it sounds like the river’s down. Best we go scavenging and see what we can find of your belongings, hmm?”

To which she has no response because the sum of her vocabulary is a polite greeting and the word for fire.

He uncrosses his legs and stands, mindful of the low roof—which he absolutely did not forget about earlier and in any event, his guest was asleep and there were no witnesses. No witness, no crime.

She makes an odd sound when he hands her the damp (but not dripping) tunic. She hasn’t said a thing about losing her trousers, poor thing. Likely she didn’t want him to know.

Then she says, in Common, “Thank you.”

And he only slightly stumbles over that. She does that. She hands those out to everyone over every, little thing. And not even in the obsequious way he’s accustomed to—acting as a lure or when dealing with Cazador. But genuinely. She just…thanks people. Like that’s a normal thing to do.

But Astarion is a professional, and he slides right into repeating the phrase in Chondathan. He only has to correct her pronunciation twice. If she’s as quick a learner as she presents herself to be, this shouldn’t be too irritating.

The cave feels much cooler when he ducks out after her. Cold and damp. How cheerful.

They leave the tent up and he follows along the sound of her footsteps. She’s slower than usual—likely because she has no shoes and they’re in an unfamiliar cave.

Soon enough, the rush of water fills the air to his right. She mumbles and shuffles. Water splashes a few times. He’s not sure if it’s still deep enough to sweep her off again, so he keeps close.

Then she makes a noise. She’s a quiet thing, unless she’s trying to make a point. That sound is the loudest he’s heard from her since she bashed a gith halfway to pieces.

“Find something?” he says.

She babbles. Water sloshes again, and then her bare feet slap on stone. He follows the sound up, until she stops some distance from that river. Then comes pouring water, splashing on the ground, and jars tink and cloth flops and…

“Shit,” she says. He gathers that as some kind of vulgarity.

More tiny sounds rustle around. Her quiet noises get more disgruntled, until a cork unstoppers and then she makes that hilarious gagging she invariably lets out every time she downs a Potion of Tongues.

“Goddamn, it never gets better,” she says, the words twisting in shape and sound as they hit his ears.

“Find your bag, then?” he says.

“What’s left of it.”

That sounds bad. He waits. She seems to be unpacking what she can out of the bag’s sodden depths. She tends to loot everything she can fit. Normally, this would take some time. But it’s only a few moments later that she stops.

“Not much there, darling,” he says. Helpfully.

She sighs, and it’s a throaty sound. “Got six dirt potions, a shirt, my stick, and a soggy mush of bread. Fuck me.”

She’s not literally demanding that, he’s learned. What a delightful people she’s hailed from.

But she’s right to sound so grim. No food for her, no blankets or tent or health potions. And no change of clothing.

She’s still silent on that topic, though she must know that he knows. The image of her walking around in naught but a tunic tickles far too much, and he can’t help himself. “How unfortunate that the denizens of the deep will be able to behold your naked glory before me, darling. I’m nearly offended.”

There’s a pause. And then he instinctively ducks to the side just in time to fend off a sodden tunic she’s thrown at his head. She must still be wrapped in his blanket.

“Squirrely asshat,” she says.

He might giggle. Just a bit.

She keeps muttering and clinking around. Something splats on the stone—the soggy bread, he presumes. Then, “I got a water skin at least. Do you…fuck. Goddamnit.”

Not a pain sounds, and he doesn’t smell blood. So she hasn’t reached in and found a shattered bottle with her soft, bare fingers.

“You got any more of them linens like you gave me?” she says. “The scraps?”

He has a plethora of rags. He’s used to hoarding such scraps, of all materials he can get his hands on. It makes patching holes and tears easer and less noticeable if he can match the color and texture of the original—many of his marks aren’t patient enough for things like buttons or lacing, aren’t courteous enough to let him pull his shirt up before rough hands scrabble at his trousers.

He’d not felt a tear in her tunic as he hung it up to dry. Maybe she needs to patch the spare—

“Oh, darling,” he coos as her intent comes to focus in his mind.

He gave her a couple of lengths of linen he’d found in some dusty chest. The poor thing has been running around without any panties at all. That sort of things chafes (and leaves one feeling too exposed).

“I just need enough to make a goddamn breechcloth,” she says. “Don’t make this weirder’n it is.”

“Breechcloth?”

So she explains. And it’s rather practical and straightforward, until she mentions the part where she’s been donning that undergarment with her trousers.

“Ah, that explains the padding,” he says.

The silence that drags informs him he’s said the wrong thing.

“I should’a stayed in the river,” his illustrious leader says.

“It’s not as bad as all that. I only noticed in passing, darling.”

“Are you gonna give me the goddamn rags or not? Unless you want me camped out on your bedding with no drawers?”

He’s sure they both realize what she says at the same time. And he’s honestly not intending to push her now—the sheer novelty—but an opening is an opening, and he’s a greedy, opportunistic man with an image to maintain.

He leans in towards the sound of her voice and, in his most honeyed, depraved tone, says, “The scent of you on my bedding? Sounds divine.”

A swipe at his nose as she tries to shove his face back. But he’s wise to her antics by now and he’s too quick for her to catch.

“Gimme that shirt back so I can throw it at you.”

He can’t help the laugh. It’s changed, lately. Though usually only around her. He’s used to laughing at the misfortune of others, at terrible jokes slurred into his neck, trilling at clumsy flirtations, and the lighter one he uses to try and slow the ruffians down (it rarely works, but he tries it anyway).

This is…something else. It starts lower in his chest. Feels bigger, somehow. Leaves something a half step away from…does he call it warmth? She’s too easy to play off of. Too easy to have fun with. And not the bitter or cruel forms he’s accustomed to. Her fun is lighter. It rather tickles.

“No need for such theatrics,” he says, rising from the crouch he’s been squatting in. “I’d only dodge you again. I’ll give you some linens to make your undergarments. Though I don’t have enough for trousers, I’m afraid. You’ll have to keep an eye out for that one on your own.”

For bodies, he means.

She hums. She understands.

He hardly has to put on a performance at all with someone who glides alongside him so well.

***

Astarion is ready to start chewing his own arm off out of sheer boredom. They’ve been walking for hours. His illustrious leader insists on following the water—mortal weaknesses and all. Though he’s inclined to follow her and her delicious blood himself—immortal weaknesses.

There’s also the small matter of the wizard being near some vast body of water.

He decides to start her language lessons. Soon, she knows (or can repeat) basic greetings, directions, stone, and panties. He has to keep up some traditions, after all.

Eventually, that turns dull as well. He walks along behind her, tethered at the waist by a new length of rope. She’s once again given him her staff, and she calls out directions—in Chondathan—but he has to break the monotony before he becomes truly irritable.

“What was that library you mentioned?” he says.

They’ve paused to let her rest (he, being a vampire spawn with far superior stamina has no need of a break, of course) and drink water. She said something about “cave parasites” before she drinks.

He knows what a library is, of course. Even that bastard boasted of one, not that any of the spawn were allowed to use it. It’s the “public” part he’s not certain of. Which he adds, in case she thinks she’s dealing with a beautiful rube.

“Libraries for the public,” she says. Her water skin squeaks as she jams the cork back in. “Anybody can go in and read books or use any resources they got. If you live in the county, you can take books home for a bit and then return them. All for free.”

“Anyone?” he says. He feels his own face wrinkling. The thought of unwashed merchants and dock workers just strolling in to take whatever they want? “That sounds mad, darling. Surely the city coffers can’t afford to keep up with all the pilfering.”

To which she explains that 1. Most people don’t and 2. Those that do get fined, but not through any guard or city watch but by the library and the consequences of not paying are simply…not being able to officially take another book.

Her world, he decides, is mad. From the bits he’s heard, he already suspected it, but that right there cinches his opinion.

It’s bad form to insult her people to her face, though, so he’s careful to keep his expression polite.

Then she tells him that one library can contain hundreds, perhaps thousands of books (in large cities), and his thoughts go a little hazy. She continues on about libraries requesting books from across entire provinces—she wasn’t exaggerating when she called her home an empire; the sheer logistics it would take to run something like a meager library across distances like that? Reliably?

“And you read often?” he says before he completely loses his own thoughts.

Cloth rustles—must be a shrug. Then she corrects herself, “Yeah. I probably owned at least a hundred or two when I left.”

He’s gawping, isn’t he. She’s not wealthy—has by her own admission never owned jewelry save for the ring the wizard ate. Yet she can afford two hundred books?

“But I read way, way more. I mean, I been out—um, away from my mother—over a decade. I probably got some thousand under my belt, I guess. Not counting shows and stuff.”

The crystal square, he’d heard her mention. Some kind of magical net, she’d called it.

His fingertips tingle. The idea of being let loose in such a place turns his knees to water. He clears his throat and wishes he could see to find something to lean nonchalantly against. “So, what was your favorite?”

She hums low and slow. “That’s way too hard. I don’t think I got one.”

“Come now, darling. Was it a sweet and tender romance? Some heroic adventure? A collection of academic arguments?”

“Well…”

“Just don’t tell me it was erotic poetry.”

She snorts. “I like some poems, but I ain’t got the patience to read a lotta them. I really like disaster books, though.”

…that makes no sense.

“What?” he says.

A soft rustle. He can easily picture her hand, pointer finger tracing that back and forth pattern over her thumbnail.

“Uh, books about disasters. Airplanes, boats, earthquakes. Also plagues. Not like, fiction—the made up stuff. But the non-fiction, what actually happened.”

“You like,” he says slowly, “true stories about horrible things happening to people.”

Another long, very awkward pause.

Then, “Ye-ah?” in that rolling, two-syllables way she does sometimes.

He can help but laugh again. It bursts out of him, bright as the sun. It rushes out so hard he has to lower himself to touch the floor lest he accidentally topple over.

“It’s ain’t funny!” she says.

“It’s hysterical!”

“Not that fucking hysterical!”

“You’re such…such a horrible, morbid little beastie, aren’t you?”

“You’re one to fuckin talk!”

“Yes, but I know I’m a horrible, morbid little beastie, darling. You walk around saving tieflings and petting bunnies. And your favorite subject is plagues?”

“I like to know how things can go wrong,” she says. “How things work when everything goes bad. Like, if I learn about the worst things that ever happened, it might give me, I dunno, some kinda upper hand if it happens again.”

Isn’t that the most fitting thing he’s heard from her. Their little tactician.

“And how often did you encounter such disasters?” he says.

“Hardly none. Things is pretty calm. Well. Not really. But all that’s real big scale and it’s complicated.”

“Hardly?” Every city has crime and murder and assassinations. Baldurians and visiting deckhands complain of taxes and weather, food or lack thereof, and of course the coastal piracy. What might her mass-murdering yet strangely naive empire have to deal with?

“We just got outta a plague,” she says. “Though, not ‘came out’ so much as like, gave the fuck up. But it was real similar to a different one a hundred years ago, which I read at least three different books about. And that just made me madder about the whole thing.”

He decides to seat himself properly. There’s no one to command he maintain a dignified posture, so he lets his legs splay wide as he leans back on his hands. Her feet rasp as she shuffles down to sit nearby.

“It’s just so fucking stupid,” she says. “People are fucking stupid. Complaining over literally the same, goddamn things. Bunch’a dumbfucks.”

So her world isn’t all charity and puppies and flowers (and raining fire down on enemies).

“And did all your preparation help when you were plucked up by the mindflayers?” he says.

She laughs. Not just a snort, but a quiet “ha.” It…might be one of the first times he’s heard that? Possibly? He’s seen her smile. Roll her eyes. Flap her hand around and, now and then, snort.

But a laugh? Even a huff of one?

He’s not so sure.

“No,” she says. “No, it did not. Ain’t none of them stories covered getting snatched up outta bed, buck naked, by a bunch’a fucking aliens.”

This makes him feel a little better. Though he’s not sure why.

“I was wondering why you were running around that ship in the nude,” he says. And before she can squawk or pull that still-damp shirt out of her bag to fling at him, “I saw you, you know. Before we crashed. I thought the mindflayers had taken your clothes.”

“I…why? Why’n the hell would they do that?”

Because that is what she fixates on. Not her own nudity, not even on him seeing her nudity (even after asking him to turn around as she changed) (even after he’s tasted her breasts, no less). Oh no, she’s presented with a logical conundrum, and so she wonders about the motivations of soulless squid monsters.

“They’re illithids, darling. Who knows why they do anything?”

“No, no. They didn’t take nothing. I, um…”

She mumbles something so softly even he can’t pick it apart.

He cocks his head and taps the point of his ear. “Come again?”

She sits in sullen silence. Then, very quietly, “I usually sleep naked.”

He covers a grin with his hand. Not so much that she can’t see it, though. She’s meant to see it. “Whyever for? You’re clearly not expecting someone.”

“It’s comfortable! I just got real nice sheets, and I don’t get all overheated, and it just fucking feels nice, okay?”

He can hardly judge her for indulging in whatever decadence she can find. He prefers silk, himself. Though sleeping bare…that’s never been for him. Never for his enjoyment. Only ever to grant easier access for whoever was brought to him—

“Well,” he says. “Look at us, learning fun things about each other.”

That same, quiet “ha.” There’s something almost addicting about it. Having drawn that out of her twice, he wonders if he can make it thrice before she beds down for the night.

They eventually do have to stand and gather their things and resume their banal trudgery. Astarion lets his thoughts drift here and there—imagining a pile of books, what he would even read if he had access to something like that. When something she said drifts back to him.

“Darling, what’s an ‘air plane?’”

Which is how he learns that her people have learned how to fucking fly.

[themurphyzone]

Son of Darkwing AU: Just Like You Ch 1

Summary: AU where DT17!Drake Mallard is the son of famous actor Jim Starling aka the original Darkwing Duck.

Eight-year old Drake Starling looks up to his father, who happens to be his favorite superhero, Darkwing Duck. To a smaller than average, timid duckling often bullied by his peers, Darkwing is everything he wants to be when he grows up. He's handsome, brave, and confident, but most importantly, he always stands up for what's right no matter what.

If only the rest of the world could see that side of Darkwing too.

AN: I just found the Jim Starling is Drake’s father AU concept too interesting to pass up writing a story on. Plus I just wanted to take a break from my usual fandom and write something different. There will be a short epilogue after this that will be posted in the next day or two.

AO3 Link

“My dad is a superhero! He always says the coolest things and saves the day and beats up the bad guys and gets to kiss Morgana!”  

Drake grinned to his second grade class, proudly displaying his drawing of Darkwing Duck perched dutifully on the St. Canard Clocktower, his keen eyes surveying the fair city below for evildoers, purse-snatchers, and shoppers who had eleven items in the ten items or less lane at the grocery store. 

How many other kids could claim their father regularly braved the rough waves of St. Canard Pier to fight a waterlogged mutt, engaged in intense physical and mental training to build his immunity to the poisons and powders of a professor turned mutant plant, broached terrifying tornadoes and thunderstorms to reach the megalomaniacal Megavolt, and locked away thieving jesters for copyright infringement? 

Well, Drake didn’t know what copyright infringement was, but it was definitely a most dastardly, devious, and despicable act if it caught Darkwing Duck’s attention!

In the front row, a bulldog pup barked out a harsh laugh. 

“Darkwing’s not real, you dork!” Brandon Barker snorted, his elbow thumping the table with a loud thud. “You can’t actually believe these things!” 

His friends snickered behind their hands, and Drake’s wide grin slipped away. He shuffled his feet, cheek feathers growing warm with embarrassment. His hands shook and crinkled his drawing at the edges. 

“O-of course he’s real!” Drake protested. All eyes were on him, and his heart pounded with the fear of losing their support. He spread his purple coat out on each side, imitating Darkwing’s billowing cape against the night wind. “He’s the terror who flaps in the night, the wrench of justice in the inner workings of villainy, t-the engine that, um, I meant he’s the elephant in the living room of slime…no, crime!”  

Brandon Barker’s laughter rang in his ears, loud and mocking and shameless. 

Drake clutched the drawing to his chest, trying not to ruin Darkwing Duck in the center of the paper. 

Only a handful of his classmates applauded his presentation, more out of politeness than anything else. Three girls were whispering and passing notes to each other, Phillip Trotski in the back row was asleep, and everyone who wasn’t friends with Brandon stared blankly at the ticking of the clock as the end of the school day drew closer by the second. 

My Dad is the most amazing duck in the world. Why can’t any of you see that? 

Drake stared at the trash can by Mrs. Crane’s desk, tilting his head so his classmates couldn’t see the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to give them another reason to laugh at him. 

There were already too many. 

He flinched at the sharp, loud slap of a ruler hitting the desk. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, Mrs. Crane always did that when she wanted them to pay attention, but it never failed to be a frightening noise. 

“Don’t laugh at your classmates’ presentations, Brandon. Quincy. Issac.” Mrs. Crane scolded, giving each boy a stern look of disapproval. Quincy and Issac sank in their seats, embarrassed to be caught. Brandon only pouted, not looking sorry at all. “Next Monday, you will each spend five minutes in the corner at recess and think about your behavior.” 

“But Mrs. Crane-”  Brandon protested, though Mrs. Crane quickly cut him off. 

“Ten minutes.” 

Brandon’s elbow thumped onto his desk. “Stupid Drakey,” he mumbled. 

Drake covered his face with one hand, shielding himself from Brandon’s scornful glare. 

Mrs. Crane stood up so quickly that her chair flew behind her and slammed against the whiteboard. Her long, thin shadow fell across Brandon, who shot a pleading look at Quincy and Issac, but the other boys inched their desks away from Mrs. Crane’s wrath. 

“Young man,” she said icily, in the tone Darkwing himself would use on a villain if they’d committed an especially heinous crime. “I will be speaking to your parents later. And you will spend the next week indoors, copying the dictionary instead of playing basketball with your friends.” 

Nobody, not even Brandon, dared to speak. The class gathered their books, backpacks, and belongings with less enthusiasm than usual when the final bell rang at three. 

Drake stayed by the teacher’s desk, unwilling to pack up just yet. He knew he’d wind up tripping over a pencil or backpack strap or somebody’s outstretched leg if he tried to return to his desk in the middle row. 

“Drake,” Mrs. Crane said quietly, so that his classmates wouldn’t hear as they were ushered out of the room by a teacher’s aide. “Stay behind for a moment. I won’t keep you long if you’re taking the bus home.” 

Drake gulped. Did she know he’d fallen asleep during reading time?  

“I-I’m not, Mrs. Crane,” Drake stammered. “Dad’s picking me up today.”

He’d never been alone in the classroom with Mrs. Crane before, and seeing that he barely came up to her waist made him nervous. He was the shortest in the class, which only gave his bullies even more reasons to pick on him. 

To his relief, Mrs. Crane pulled her chair around and sat down. She still towered over him, but Drake felt like he could breathe a little easier now. 

“You were supposed to talk about a hero in your life,” she said, peering down her long bill at him. Drake wilted at the disappointment in her voice. “Not one on a silly TV show.” 

But Darkwing wasn’t silly. And it wasn’t for little kids either. 

“...but my dad is Darkwing Duck,” Drake said meekly, picking at a loose thread on his coat. Nobody seemed to understand that. “He’s a hero.” 

His dad always threw the bad guys in jail and saved St. Canard. He was cool, confident, and never gave up even when all hope was lost. What part of that wasn’t heroic? 

“Your…father…plays a hero,” Mrs. Crane corrected, shaking her head like the word ‘father’ disgusted her.  “Being a hero in real life is completely different.” 

Drake tilted his head. Wasn’t Dad a hero all the time? There really wasn’t much of a difference. 

“How?” he asked, more confused than ever. 

Mrs. Crane only took their spelling quizzes from the basket on her desk and laid them out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to find that answer for yourself,” she replied. She uncapped her red pen and began to mark the paper. “Run along now.” 

The conversation was over. Drake shuffled to the back of the classroom and retrieved his Darkwing Duck backpack. It was large on him, covering his back like a turtle’s shell. Sure, he had to stoop a bit while he wore it, but he didn’t mind. 

He slid his Darkwing drawing, homework folder, the Mystifying Mystery of the Missing Mare library book he’d checked out earlier that day, and his pencil case into the backpack. 

Packing up in peace was nice. 

For once, nobody tried to steal his pencils or knock the library books off his desk. 

“Drake?” Mrs. Crane called as he opened the classroom door, ready to leave now that he had everything.

Startled, Drake turned around so quickly that he almost fell beakfirst onto the floor. 

“You’re getting much better at speaking in front of your classmates,” Mrs. Crane said. A rare smile tugged at the corner of her beak. “Good job.” 

While Darkwing Duck would’ve made a triumphant speech, Drake could only stammer out a thank you and hurry out the door. 

Mrs. Crane’s words followed him down the hallway, only confusing him more with every step he took. 

Playing a hero? Being a hero? Dad is a hero! Why doesn’t anyone believe me when I tell them? 

He got weird looks whenever he told people that his dad was the one and only Darkwing Duck. 

Kids laughed at him. The grown-ups would just give him odd, pitying looks. Even the adults at Golden Goose Studios changed the subject when he tried to describe Dad’s awesome rapidfire karate chops that took down Megajack, a villainous fusion of Megavolt and Quackerjack. 

But nobody ever believed him. 

He sucked in a breath as he joined the other kids outside. It was always crowded out here after school. Several teachers kept a watchful eye on everyone as they played on the stone steps and grassy hills surrounding the building. Two long lines of cars waited in the parking lot, parents shouting for their kids from open windows so they could get out as fast as possible.  

Drake perched on his tiptoes, staying at the very top of the staircase so Dad could see him. It was lonely up here, but he needed to stay separate from the crowd so he wouldn’t be lost. 

Okay, don’t lose focus! Drake Starling must be ever-vi…what was that word Darkwing always used again? Vigilicious? I think that was it! Drake Starling must be ever-vigilicious when searching the streets below for his transport! 

He didn’t see Dad’s car anywhere. 

Drake fiddled with the straps of his backpack as one classmate after another left with their parents. Dad’s filming sessions tended to run long, so Drake tended to be one of the last kids to be picked up if it was his turn. 

He understood why Dad couldn’t make it on time, even though he sometimes worried that he’d have to sleep on the school stairs overnight, like the people who camped out in tents and sleeping bags downtown. 

Suddenly, there was a loud, screeching honk from a silver van, and the kids along the sidewalk leapt back in shock. The van window rolled down, revealing a large, furious boar with a pair of sharp tusks that poked out from his bottom lip. 

“Watch where you’re going, you weirdo!” the boar roared, shaking his fist at a purple-clad duck with a large fedora and long, flowing cape who’d crossed in front of his van. 

“Dad!” Drake exclaimed, heart leaping with excitement. He’d finished early for once! And he’d even come as Darkwing Duck!

None of his other classmates could say Darkwing Duck picked them up from school!

“The crosswalk light was green! How ‘bout you watch where you’re going, porky?” Dad snapped, storming up to the window of the angry boar. He jabbed a finger at the boar’s snout, a fist clenched at his side. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“I’m up here, Dad!” Drake shouted, waving his arms and jumping as high as possible so Dad could see him above everyone else. “Over here! Look this wa-aaaaayyyyy!” 

He leaned too far over the step, screaming as his beak painfully collided with stone. He tasted gravel in his mouth, knees stinging as they smacked against each bumpy step all the way to the bottom of the staircase. 

With his unexpected freefall at an end, Drake laid beneath his heavy backpack, unable to stand on his own. Grit clung to his knees and elbows, and his peers’ legs and feet crowded around him. 

Dozens of eyes bored into him. Shocked whispers and gasps rippled through his onlookers. 

Then came Brandon Barker’s howl of laughter, loud and mocking and cruel. 

Drake wanted to pull his head and limbs inside his backpack like a turtle and never come out again. 

This wasn’t the sort of attention he wanted. 

He’d have to figure out how to eat and drink and watch his favorite shows under here-

“EVERYONE BACK OFF MY KID IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU!” 

Drake gasped at that heroic, commanding voice that always forced a crowd to stop and listen no matter what they were doing. And it wasn’t just any other heroic, commanding voice either! 

“Dad!” Drake exclaimed. He sprung up, the scrapes on his knees not bothering him in the slightest as he pounced upon his dad’s waist. “You’re early!” 

“Agh-hey!” Dad made a choking noise, his body stiff as a board in Drake’s hug before he managed to pry him off. “Watch the suit, kid. It’s freshly ironed. Can’t have you or anyone else wrinkling it.” 

Drake inhaled a light, fresh scent from the awe-inspiring Darkwing outfit. “Your suit smells funny! Um, I mean funny in a nice way! It’s not bad or anything! I like it!” he exclaimed, quickly backpedaling when Dad raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, that makes one of us,” Dad sighed, his long beak crinkling in distaste. “My clueless costume designers refuse to understand that Darkwing Duck does not require carnation scented freshener while fighting the cantankerous criminals of St. Canard. Besides, it clogs his beak.”

He sneezed loudly, a shower of droplets hitting an unfortunate young cardinal in the face. 

“Ewww, gross!” the cardinal stuck his tongue out in disgust. He wiped the droplets onto his shirt and stumbled away. 

Everyone else backed up and gave them a wide berth. 

Dad rolled his eyes. “Kids these days,” he grumbled. “Can’t even handle the slightest inconvenience.” 

Drake grinned, unable to stop bouncing on his toes. “Or see how cool your costume is?” 

“Heh. That too,” Dad let out a short, hacking laugh, ruffling the feathery tuft on Drake’s head. A strong arm wrapped around Drake’s shoulders and led him away from the school. “Let’s get outta this dump, sport. I parked the Ratcatcher by the soccer field. Less crowded over there. Don’t want any of these uncultured yokels ruining the paint job.” 

If this was a dream, then he never wanted to wake up again. He was finally getting to ride in the ultimate criminal-catching contraption of all time! Auntie never allowed Dad to take him for a ride no matter how much Drake begged, even within studio grounds. She always said it was too dangerous, as if she didn’t remember who she was talking to. But Dad always listened to her, even though he complained about it all the time. 

“You finally convinced Auntie to let me ride in the Ratcatcher with you?” Drake asked eagerly. “She told me I wasn’t big enough last time I asked her! I don’t think she knows I grew a whole two inches last summer!” 

He puffed out his chest proudly and lifted his beak in the triumphant pose Darkwing Duck would strike at the end of an episode. 

“Oh, I convinced her alright!” Dad proclaimed. “I’ve honed my persuasion techniques to a highly advanced art form. No actress or criminal alive stands a chance against good old-fashioned Darkwing charm!” 

He pumped his fist into the air, and Drake copied his action with a cheer, only to leap out of his feathers when a car honked loudly. 

“GET OFF THE ROAD, FREAK!” a bulldog woman roared, leaning out the open window of her minivan and fixing them with a furious glare. 

With a firm shove, Drake was swept behind his father protectively. Drake stumbled, clinging to Dad’s cape to avoid her ire. He saw Dad’s deep frown, his defensive stance, his powerful fists balled, and Drake knew that if he was going to be anything like Darkwing Duck someday, he couldn’t just hide behind Dad’s cape whenever he was scared. 

He had to try and be the bravest duckling ever. 

Tightly gripping the cape between his fingers, Drake carefully peered out from behind his dad. 

You can do this, Drake. All you have to do is get dange- 

Then Drake locked eyes with Brandon Barker, who gave him a toothy smirk and pounded his fist into the palm of his hand. Drake yelped and hid himself from view, already dreading the day Brandon would follow through on his threat. 

“Yeah! Get off the road, freaks!” Brandon taunted, his upper body hanging out the window, jowls flapping in the breeze. 

“Sit, Brandon!” the female bulldog snapped, and a strange, panicked expression crossed the bully’s face before he obeyed. “I’m already dealing with one costumed clown. I don’t have the patience for another.”

“Clown?” Dad shouted, feathers puffing out in outrage. “Broken any mirrors lately with your horrendous makeup job, you bi-” 

A passing duck covered her daughter’s ears and hurried her to the sidewalk, glaring at Dad the entire time. 

“-iiiiiiiig jerk. That’s what I was gonna say!” Dad called to the other parent, who quickly bundled her child into a nearby car. 

“Buncha braindead morons. Don’t have the decency to recognize a Starling when they see one,” Dad muttered. He grabbed Drake’s shoulder, roughly guiding him towards the soccer field. 

The car sped off, a cloud of smoke and dust left in its wake. 

Freak. 

Why couldn’t anyone else see Dad as a hero? He was brave and tough and smart, a master of twenty-five kinds of martial arts, and always knew exactly what to say and do when a villain threatened St. Canard. 

Drake couldn’t defend himself or Dad without being ignored, teased, or getting odd looks from teachers. Even his uncles stumbled over their words when they spoke about Dad. 

An engine roared to life. 

“Hey, sport,” Dad called. He was perched atop the Ratcatcher, hands already on the handlebars, looking even cooler in real life than his promotional photos.

Drake blinked, not realizing they’d made it to the Ratcatcher at all. He’d only seen the motorcycle from the sidelines or on a television screen before, and it was much bigger than he expected. He took a step back, not wanting to be engulfed in its shadow. 

Dad gave him a confident grin, gesturing to the sidecar where he’d normally give tied up criminals a ride to prison. 

“You’re speechless. I understand completely,” he said, patting the sleek hood of the Ratcatcher fondly. “But you’re not going anywhere if you insist on standing by with your beak open.”

His words washed over Drake, and despite his worries, Drake knew his dad was right. If he wanted to achieve his dream of riding in the Ratcatcher, then he’d have to climb in first. 

With a burst of confidence, Drake jumped into the sidecar. For a moment, he struggled to clear the metal wall completely, but he took a deep breath and pushed against it. He yelped, falling onto the seat with his feet above his head. 

Maybe I should’ve taken my backpack off first, Drake thought, unable to move from his awkward position. 

“A little help, Dad?” he asked meekly. 

Sighing, Dad let the engine idle before he grabbed the handle of Drake’s backpack and pulled him upright. Though it was rough, Drake bit back a yelp, not wanting to disappoint his hero.

But the uneasy feeling only became worse when he didn’t see anything he could use to protect his head. 

“Shouldn’t I have a helmet? What if something happens?” Drake asked, hiking his backpack over his head just in case. He thought of a commercial he’d seen the day before, where a kid hadn’t worn his helmet while riding his bike and had to be taken to the hospital with a nasty cut to his forehead. The image made his stomach churn. 

“You worry too much, kid. Nothing’s gonna happen,” Dad assured him. 

o-o-o-o

Drake played with the Quackerjack toy he’d gotten from his Hungry Hungry Hippo Meal, trying to avoid the stern glare of the police officer, a tall, broad-chested bald eagle who could probably rip through steel with the talons on his feet alone. Dark shades covered his eyes. His navy uniform displayed the letters SCPD on his sleeve, surrounded by stars. 

“James Starling,” the eagle drawled. “It’s been a while.” 

“Hello, Sammy,” Dad mimicked the eagle’s accent, one leg crossed over the other as he ate his bacon cheeseburger. “Still can’t get my name right, I see. It’s just Jim. Always has been, and that’s the name I plan to use for my star on the Walk of Fame.” 

The eagle took his dark shades off and flicked them shut with a sharp snap, clipping them to the front of his uniform. 

“That’s Officer Skye to you,” he said coldly. The temperature inside Hamburger Hippo seemed to drop several degrees. 

Drake shivered, and he fed a waffle fry to Quackerjack to avoid the annoyed looks Dad and Officer Skye gave each other. 

Even villains need to eat so they have enough energy to carry out their evil plan….

“Ran out of donuts to chase, Sammy?” Dad scoffed. “Or is there another reason you wanted to interrupt our father-son bonding time? I don’t appreciate being tailed to the parking lot of this joint.” 

Officer Skye reached into his pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. “Hope your idea of bonding time doesn’t include jail, Starling.” 

“...jail?” Drake whispered, staring in horror at Officer Skye, who continued writing in his notepad. The eagle wouldn’t look him in the eye. 

Why? Only villains go to jail, and Dad’s not a villain! 

Then Drake spotted a pair of handcuffs peeking out from Officer Skye’s belt, and he quickly latched onto Dad’s arm so he couldn’t be arrested. 

Dad made an odd, strangled gasp as he struggled to free his arm. 

“What the-hey, let go of my arm, kiddo! You’re getting ketchup all over my blazer!” 

But Drake only clung to his arm tighter than before. “Y-you can’t take my dad to jail, officer! It was…um, probably a frame job!” 

Both grown-ups stared at him, and Drake shrank away at the attention. 

“A frame job,” Officer Skye repeated in disbelief. 

Dad only shrugged. 

“You know, like the first episode of Darkwing Duck!” Drake explained. Why didn’t the grown-ups understand? “A bunch of thieves framed Darkwing for robbing a train and he had to break himself out of jail! Then he proved the thieves were behind the whole plot and the police commissioner apologized to Darkwing for jailing him!” 

A hand closed Drake’s bill and held it shut. 

“Kids,” Dad chuckled to Officer Skye, whose beak was twisted into a frown. “Always saying the most interesting things when they should probably be quiet.” 

His voice dipped low, his tone a warning, like a snake waiting to strike. Drake let go of his father’s blazer, spooked by the strange sound.

“I see you’ve done nothing to correct your son’s impression of the justice system, Starling,” Officer Skye drawled. “Is he at all aware that law enforcement does not require the help of reckless, gloryhounding vigilantes to arrest criminals, unlike your ridiculous show?” 

“RIDICULOUS?” Dad shrieked, feathers ruffling in outrage. He leapt upwards, standing on his chair and glaring at Officer Skye. His posture was rigid, hands clenched into fists. “DARKWING DUCK IS THE PEAK OF TELEVISION, YOU NUT!” 

The entire restaurant fell silent, their attention on Dad and Officer Skye. Drake shrank away from their scrutiny, curling up in his chair and trying to appear even smaller than he already was. A mother stood up and dragged her two children away by their arms. By the soda machine, a goose hadn’t noticed his drink was overflowing. 

The stillness was only broken by a surprised duckling, whose brown hair was tied back with a large pink bow. 

Molly Clearwater, Drake realized, and he prayed Molly wouldn’t recognize him. She never stops talking! Everyone at school’s gonna find out….

“Dad! Dad! That’s Drake from school!” she shouted, dashing Drake’s hopes immediately. “Why’s he with that purple weirdo? Why’s the policeman so mad at them? How come-oomph!” 

Molly’s dad quickly clamped his hand around her bill. 

Drake wanted to sink into the ground and never come out again. Their whispers and stares cut through him, and he couldn’t ignore them no matter how much he tried. 

Even Officer Skye was watching him. 

Am I going to jail too? 

Would he have to learn how to sleep on an uncomfortable piece of wood? Or be forced to wear nothing but black and white stripes forever? 

Slowly, Drake peered up at the officer, whose expression seemed…different. 

Softer. Less harsh. 

Then Officer Skye turned to his notepad and wrote something down. He ripped the top sheet and slapped it onto Dad’s bill. 

Dad sputtered in surprise, the chair wobbling when he nearly lost his footing. He ripped the paper off the edge of his bill, crumpling it under his fist. 

“And just what is this supposed to be?” Dad spat. He waved the paper in Officer Skye’s face. 

“A speeding ticket and a list of citations,” Officer Skye replied, and Dad’s bill dropped to the ground in shock. “You were twenty miles above the speed limit, in addition to you and your child not wearing a helmet, lack of a front license plate, and disturbing the peace.” 

Dad’s eyes widened as he hurriedly read the paper. He mumbled under his breath in disbelief before scowling at Officer Skye. 

“What, you boys in blue don’t have any muggings to stop or medal ceremonies to attend?” he scoffed. “This is extortion! I won’t be swindled out of my hard-earned cash! Expect a call from my lawyer in the near future!” 

Officer Skye stepped forward, his hooked beak pushing against Dad’s long bill. “There is one reason and one reason alone why I’m not placing you in cuffs right now. So I suggest you start acting like the role model you portray yourself to be. See you in court, Starling.” 

Before Dad could respond, Officer Skye walked out of the restaurant. Within a minute, his police car peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared around the corner. 

Slowly, everyone returned to their meals and conversations, chatter filling in the silence once again. The grownups gave annoyed glances at Dad, while others gave Drake a strange, pitying look. 

Drake wished they’d pay attention to their food instead. 

Behind the counter, several workers watched the scene unfold until an older dog broke up the group. They quickly returned to taking orders and making food, though they snuck glances at Dad when they weren’t busy. The dog marched up to Dad, pointing to a nametag that had ‘manager’ printed in bold letters. 

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. 

Dad huffed in frustration, stuffing the paper into his pocket. “Fine,” he growled, hopping down from the chair and shoving past the dog. “Come on, sport. Let’s get outta this dump.” 

Drake hurried to his father, clutching his Quackerjack toy close to his heart. Dad’s strides were long and powerful, forcing Drake to move faster so he wouldn’t be left behind. 

“Hey, Dad…you’re not really going to jail, are you?” Drake whispered once they were safely out in the parking lot. His skin pricked, and he was scared that if he turned around, he’d see everyone in the restaurant judging them. 

The policeman hadn’t handcuffed Dad…yet. Was he just waiting for the right time? Maybe the police were right around the corner, waiting for a reason to take him. 

“Oh, quit worrying already. Heroes don’t go to jail, Drake,” Dad snapped, jamming the key into the Ratcatcher’s ignition. “Good guys like me don’t belong behind bars. Now get in before some other power-tripping cop shows up.” 

Drake climbed into the sidecar, managing to do it without help this time. He turned to Dad, ready to share his exciting news, but he didn’t look his way. Dad’s entire mood had been soured. 

Neither of them spoke on the ride home.  

o-o-o-o-o

Auntie and Uncle Tino were waiting for them in the garage of Lot 9, where the Ratcatcher was parked when it wasn’t in use. They were still dressed in their villain costumes from filming earlier that day, a floor-length scarlet gown for Auntie while Uncle Tino was in earthy green and brown tones to match the not-technically-a-villain plant-duck mutant he played. 

Drake waved to them as Dad pulled into the garage, only stopping when Auntie crossed her arms and frowned. He couldn’t see her feet, but he could hear one tapping impatiently against the ground. He avoided her stern gaze. 

In his excitement to ride the Ratcatcher, he’d forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to be riding in the prop at all, even if Dad allowed it. 

“Morgana! What a pleasure to see you again!” Dad exclaimed rather loudly, turning off the Ratcatcher with a click of his keys. “Have I ever told you how that shade of scarlet brings out your eyes?” 

Auntie scowled at him. “Save it, Jim!” she snapped, and Dad winced at her tone. “That sort of flattery may work on my character, but it gets you nowhere with me! Especially when you take your son for a joyride in a dangerous contraption when he still needs a booster seat to ride in a normal car!” 

“Dangerous? Morgana, he’s the son of Darkwing Duck! He has to get dangerous sometime! Can’t live his life hiding in the comfort of his own room, you know!” Dad protested. 

Hiding in my bedroom for the rest of my life doesn’t sound so bad…at least I’ll have my toys. 

Drake wasn’t keen on going back to school where he’d have to see Brandon Barker, Molly Clearwater, and his classmates who’d just make fun of him. 

“For the last time, my name is Katherine! Why is it so hard to remember your coworkers’ names when we aren’t filming?” Auntie shouted. 

“For your information, I have an excellent memory. I’ve never forgotten a line, action, or name in my career!” Dad scowled, tossing his keys at Uncle Tino, who jumped when it hit him in the chest and fell to the ground. “Hey Bushroot, hang those up for me, will ya?” 

Uncle Tino sighed and picked up the keys, his purple Bushroot wig falling off his head as he stood up. Unlike Auntie, he never argued with Dad unless the cameras were on. He hung the keys on a hook by the door, clearly not happy about being ordered around but not protesting about it either. 

Drake climbed out of the sidecar, his feet dangling in the air as he hung onto the frame by his fingertips. Taking a deep breath, he let go of the sidecar, yelping when he made a less-than-graceful landing and fell onto his bottom. 

“Drake!” Auntie was at his side instantly. She couldn’t bend all the way down, the material of her dress too stiff for that, but she offered him a hand. “Are you alright, sweetie?” 

Drake took her hand, smiling as she pulled him to his feet. Her touch was always soft, though nobody who only saw her on their TV screens would know that. 

“Bruised, but triumphant!” Drake proclaimed so he wouldn’t worry her, quickly rubbing his sore bottom when she wasn’t looking. It still ached, but she didn’t need to know. 

Darkwing Duck always got back up, no matter what misfortune he encountered. So Drake would too. 

“That’s the spirit, kid,” Dad grinned, ruffling the feathers on Drake’s head. 

Drake held himself high at his praise, his heart soaring far beyond the clouds. Auntie gave him a disapproving look, though Drake couldn’t stop his preening. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Auntie said with a click of her tongue. “He doesn’t need to learn your habit of taking unnecessary risks.” 

Dad rolled his eyes. “He’s tougher than he looks. You don’t need to coddle him every time he gets a paper cut.” 

“I’m showing concern, something that you apparently lack-” 

“He’s seven. He can handle himself just-” 

“This is exactly why some parents don’t let kids watch your show! You perform all these dangerous stunts for impressionable kids, including your own son!” 

“Not my fault some people have poor taste…” 

“Only thing in poor taste is your ego and unrepentant attitude!” 

Drake pressed his hands against his head as Auntie and Dad raised their voices. He didn’t like it when they argued, which happened a lot. He wished they’d just get along. 

A hand rested on his shoulder. Drake turned and smiled at Uncle Tino, whose feathers were still caked with green, plant-like makeup from his Bushroot scenes. 

“How was school, Drake?” Uncle Tino asked. His voice was often quiet, a lot quieter than anyone else Drake had ever met, but Drake found it soothing to talk to him whenever everyone else became too loud. “Your presentation go well?” 

Drake’s smile faded as he scuffed the ground with his foot. “Um…I tried to use those public speaking tips you and Uncle Bud gave me, but Brandon still laughed.” 

Uncle Tino gave him a sympathetic look. He understood how mean some kids in school could be, and Drake appreciated that. 

“I kept talking though!” Drake said quickly, not wanting Uncle Tino to think he’d given up. “And I didn’t cry in front of everyone this time! Mrs. Crane said I got a little off-topic, but I also did better!” 

Uncle Tino smiled. “If you got a compliment from your teacher, your presentation must’ve been really something. Makes me wish I could’ve been there instead of filming this greenhouse scene. All that pollen floating around isn’t good for anyone’s beak. Achoo!” 

Even his sneeze was quieter than most. 

“I really need to take my allergy pills…” he muttered, picking up the wig he’d dropped earlier. “Think I’m gonna head to the break room now.” 

“Break room? Is Uncle Mike there? Can I go with you?” Drake asked, pulling out his Quackerjack toy. “Dad took me to Hamburger Hippo and I got Quackerjack with my meal! I think he’ll find it funny!” 

Dad didn’t notice the disapproving look that Uncle Tino gave him. 

“Uncle Tino?” Drake asked, confused by his lack of response. “Uncle Mike’s gonna find it funny, right?” 

“Huh?” Uncle Tino said, shaken out of his daze. “Oh, he’ll get a kick out of this for sure. And the rest of us will just have to put up with his bragging.” 

That didn’t make any sense. Uncle Mike had the most toys modeled after him out of the Fearsome Four, but nobody else besides Dad minded all that much. Drake wondered if Uncle Tino was just a little jealous. 

“So why are you looking at Dad all weird then?” he asked. 

Uncle Tino sighed. “Because both of you eat at Hamburger Hippo too much. All that grease isn’t healthy for you.” 

“We don’t eat at Hamburger Hippo too much!” Drake protested. “We only ate there today, yesterday, Monday, and last week when Uncle Dan blew up the fridge…do you think we’re still allowed back after Dad argued with the policeman? One of the workers told us to leave and everyone was staring.” 

Silence fell in the garage. Dad groaned and ran a hand down his face. Too late, Drake realized that maybe he should’ve kept his long beak shut. 

“You. Did. What?” Auntie demanded as she towered over Dad, glaring at him while she waited for an explanation. 

Dad tugged at his collar with a nervous laugh. “Uh…well, you see, it’s a funny story actually-”

Uncle Tino grabbed Drake’s hand, ushering him out of the garage as Auntie’s furious voice shook the walls.  

o-o-o-o-o

“Ha! Minijack’s got my colors and bells in all the right places! And you thought this little promotional gig with Hamburger Hippo would fail!” Uncle Mike proclaimed as he paraded around the break room, the little Quackerjack toy held proudly in his hands. 

He’d been beside himself with joy ever since Drake showed him the little model of Quackerjack. Together, they’d lovingly nicknamed him Minijack. 

The bells on his jester hat jangled loudly, and Drake saw a nerve pop in Uncle Dan’s forehead when a long blue and red tendril on the enormous hat smacked him in the face, causing him to drop his screwdriver. 

“Nuts and bolts, Michael! Would you cut that out?” Uncle Dan snapped, huddled protectively over the coffee machine he was trying to fix. “I’m trying to create Instacoffee here!” 

“Ooooh, neato! What’s Instacoffee?” Uncle Mike asked in an exaggerated falsetto voice. Though he only wore a colorful polka-dotted shirt and comically oversized jester hat instead of his full Quackerjack costume, he produced Mr. Banana Brain from somewhere within his shirt and passed Minijack back to Drake. 

Uncle Dan lifted his hands in the air in a grandiose display. “Behold, the latest technological revolution in coffeemaking-” 

“Does it make banana smoothies too?” 

“-no longer shall our minds wait for precious caffeine like sleep-deprived zombies…” 

“Eek! Zombies? They’re going to eat my brain! Ahhhhhh!” Mr. Banana Brain flailed his floppy arms, slapping Uncle Dan in the shoulder several times. 

Uncle Dan growled, shoving his long nose into Mr. Banana Brain’s toothy grin. 

“I’d like to make it through my spiel without interruption, if you don’t mind! Why don’t you try being a proper banana for once and split?” he snapped. 

Mr. Banana Brain gasped, one hand held over his chest in dramatic fashion. 

“Dem’s fightin’ words, you overloaded weasel!” Uncle Mike shouted, giving Mr. Banana Brain a G.I Jay figurine to hold in his fist, its laser weapon extended. 

“Weasel? I’m a rat, clownface!” 

With a bellow, Uncle Dan grabbed Mr. Banana Brain and tried to yank him away from Uncle Mike. They fell to the floor, rolling underneath the table and causing the plates to clatter as they collided with the leg. 

Uncle Dan splayed his fingers like he was zapping Uncle Mike with several supercharged lightning bolts, while Uncle Mike hit him in the face with Mr. Banana Brain. 

It was nice of them to improv a silly scene, but Drake didn’t feel any better. Nor did he feel like joining in with Minijack all that much. He didn’t have the energy to make up a character and voice for Minijack as he did with his other toys either. 

Was Auntie still mad? He wished he hadn’t gotten Dad in trouble with her, or that they could learn to get along somehow. It worried him when they argued. Couldn’t they see he loved both of them?  

The clock on the wall chimed softly, the little hand pointing to seven. The studio would be emptying out soon. Most of the actors would be heading back to their trailers, or going home. 

If Dad’s going to jail, is someone gonna stay with me? They won’t leave me alone, right?

He didn’t want to be left behind. 

There was a soft knock on the door, startling Drake out of his thoughts. He heard voices on the other side, speaking in hushed, worried whispers. 

“-have to break the news gently, Bud…” 

“Tino, I don’t see the point in sugarcoating this. All of you avoid explaining hard topics to him. It’s not healthy.” 

Uncle Bud’s tone dripped with disapproval. Drake’s heart sank. 

“Darkwing Duck is his hero. It’s not our place to-”  

“Darkwing Duck is only a character played by the very real Jim Starling, whose son thinks the world of him, even if he is a poor excuse of a role model.” 

The door opened. 

Drake fidgeted in his chair as Uncle Tino and Uncle Bud walked in. Uncle Tino gave Drake a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but only made him more nervous. By contrast, Uncle Bud was calmer, simply sitting down in the chair next to Drake. 

Uncle Dan and Uncle Mike continued to wrestle on the floor, screaming electricity and toy based puns at each other when they tripped Uncle Tino, who fell on top of them with a yelp and brought their roughhousing to an abrupt end. 

“Alright, that’s enough, both of you,” Uncle Bud said, fixing both of them with a look that said calm down or else. “Let me talk to Drake without you acting like clowns.” 

Uncle Mike pointed to his jester hat. “That’s kinda my whole gimmick, buddy.” 

“Just trying to make the kid laugh a bit. Looked like he could use one,” Uncle Dan said, crawling out from underneath Uncle Tino’s arm. 

Uncle Tino said something that nobody could make out since he was lying facedown, beak smushed to the floor. 

With a resigned sigh, Uncle Bud turned to Drake. He was the oldest of the Fearsome Four, and unlike the others, he didn’t really act like his villainous persona, the Liquidator,  off-camera. 

But it was probably hard to talk like he was narrating a commercial all the time, so Drake couldn’t blame him there. 

Uncle Bud gave him that ‘I’m going to talk about your dad and it’s probably gonna hurt your feelings' look. Drake had seen plenty of grownups give him that same pitying glance. 

It always hurt worse when it was the cast of Darkwing Duck, the ones who worked with, ate with, and practically lived with him and Dad. 

They were family, weren’t they? But they didn’t like Dad much. 

Nobody did. 

Maybe they thought he was too young to really notice. Maybe they thought he needed to be protected from the truth. But Drake knew. He could see it in their eyes, hear it in their strange ‘not in front of the kid’ voices. 

“Dad’s going to jail, isn’t he?” Drake whispered. 

Nobody spoke, and nobody except Uncle Bud would look him in the eye. Even Uncle Mike didn’t try to lighten the mood with a joke. 

Uncle Bud leaned over, resting his hand on Drake’s shoulder. It didn’t make him feel better. 

“We don’t know for sure yet,” he admitted. “From my understanding, the officer let your dad off easy. Instead of going to jail, he just has to pay some money to the city. Unfortunately, your dad has made his intention of not paying the fine, driving to the police station, and stuffing his speeding ticket down someone’s beak very clear.” 

Uncle Mike crossed his arms. “I say let him try it. If he gets arrested, that’s his own fault.” 

Drake stared at him, wide-eyed from his harsh words. Nobody else seemed to find his remark funny either.  

Uncle Dan elbowed Uncle Mike in the ribs, who squawked in surprise. 

“...so why won’t he give them money if that’ll keep him out of jail?” Drake asked quietly. 

Nobody answered his question. His uncles only looked at each other in uncertainty. Uncle Bud shook his head, resigned that he didn’t have an answer for Drake. 

“Afraid none of us know what thoughts go through his head,” he sighed. 

“Except for smooching the vanity mirror in his mind,” Uncle Dan snickered, before Uncle Mike drove his elbow into his stomach. He immediately doubled over in pain. 

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Uncle Mike smirked in satisfaction.

“Neither of you are helping,” Uncle Tino sighed. 

Drake closed his eyes, avoiding his uncles’ pitying glances. He was tired of every grownup looking at him like that. 

I wish somebody would just…understand for once. Dad is a hero, even if nobody else gets it. 

The phone began to ring, and Drake opened his eyes, alarmed by the sudden noise. 

“I’ll get it,” Uncle Tino said. He walked over to the counter and picked up the phone. “Hel-ahhh!” 

He shrieked and dropped the phone like he’d been burned.

“-no, you stay put, and don’t you dare walk out that door, Jim!” 

Auntie’s voice crackled over the speaker, static blurring her words together. Dad responded, loud and aggressive, though he sounded like he was too far from the phone for anyone to make out what he was saying. 

Uncle Bud quickly stood up, grabbing the dropped phone while Uncle Tino rubbed the side of his head with a pained expression. 

“What’s going on over there, Katherine?” he asked gruffly. 

Drake couldn’t fully hear Auntie’s reply, but her tone was a mix of annoyance and anger. Uncle Bud listened to her rant without speaking, pinching the fur between his eyes. 

“I’m getting too old to play peacemaker between you and Jim,” he said, before pausing to listen to whatever was going on at the other end of the line. “I can’t influence his behavior any better than you can…fine, fine, I’ll try to talk him down, but I can’t promise that he’ll listen to me. Alright. I’ll try to intercept him in the parking lot.” 

He hung up, leaning against the counter for a moment before turning around. Drake didn’t know what to make of the expression on his face. Like he already knew that Dad wouldn’t listen to him no matter what he said.

“He’s leaving for the police station now,” he said quietly. “Katherine couldn’t stop him, so she asked me for help. I’ll do my best, but I can’t guarantee anything.” 

Drake looked away. He felt Uncle Tino’s hand on his shoulder, but it didn’t provide much comfort.

Nobody was confident in their ability to stop his dad. They were all convinced he’d be thrown in jail the moment he set foot in the police station, and there was nothing they could do about it. 

Drake wasn’t angry at them. They did their best. 

At least they tried. 

If the grown-ups aren’t able to do anything, then what can I do? I can’t even face my classmates without being scared. 

He glanced at the heroic pose Darkwing Duck struck on the front of his backpack. Darkwing was always brave, always certain, always fighting for what was right even when he got beaten down time and time again. 

He could be electrocuted, smashed by anvils, tied to an anchor and dropped into the sea, or poisoned with only twenty-four hours to live, but Darkwing Duck would never, ever give up even if everyone already had. Even if the world told him he can’t save the day. 

Even if he was just a small duckling who was still scared of thunder. 

What if…I can do something? I’m just a kid, but….

He reached into his backpack and pulled out his homework folder. 

“Uncle Bud?” Drake called, holding his folder tightly to his chest as he hurried to the older dog’s side. Uncle Bud paused as he opened the door, turning to Drake with his eyebrows raised in surprise. 

Deep breath, Drake, he inhaled quickly, his heart beating so fast that it made him dizzy. Now say it. I’m going with you, and you can’t stop me. 

But the words that came out of his beak were a jumbled, incoherent mess. Everyone stared, and Drake tried not to cower at their attention. 

“One more time, Drake. Just slow down and breathe,” Uncle Bud advised him. If he was annoyed that Drake was delaying him, he hid it well. 

So Drake took a deep breath once more. 

Just say it. You can tell them. 

“I…I have something important to tell Dad. Please, can I go with you?” he asked. His voice wasn’t as strong or as convincing as he would’ve liked. 

Uncle Bud didn���t respond right away. He didn’t seem like he was going to say no, but he probably didn’t want to say yes either. Drake’s fingers nervously dug into his folder. 

“...I think you should take him with you, Bud,” Uncle Tino was the first to speak up. 

Drake hadn’t expected anyone to speak in his favor, and he gave him a grateful smile. But Uncle Tino’s response was met with an angry shout from Uncle Mike. 

“Are you insane?” he snapped. “Bringing the kid’s not gonna soften Jim! He’s already made up his mind. I say let him reap the consequences.” 

Uncle Dan crossed his arms. “Agreed. You don’t know what he’ll say. He’ll just hurt Drake’s feelings and drive off.” 

They weren’t wrong. Dad might not listen to him either. 

But Darkwing Duck was not the sort of avian who played it safe. He was always ready to take risks on headfirst, even if the situation wasn’t in his favor. 

I’m going to be like Darkwing. I have to take a chance. 

“I still want to talk to him,” Drake declared. 

“This is something he wants to do for himself,” Uncle Tino explained to Uncle Mike and Uncle Dan, who still shook their heads in disapproval. “We shouldn’t get in the way.” 

Drake glanced up at Uncle Bud, who gestured to the open door. 

“Then let’s go,” he said, allowing Drake to take the lead. 

It’s okay, Dad. I won’t let you go to jail. 

o-o-o-o

“Damn it, where did I put those stupid keys?” Dad grumbled, fumbling around in the pockets of his blazer. He tossed an old gum wrapper and several pennies to the ground, kicking them under his car in annoyance. 

He’d taken off his hat, mask, and cape, leaving him only in his turtleneck and unbuttoned blazer. The feathers on top of his head were messy from being under his hat, his cheek feathers sticking out in every direction. 

As Uncle Bud and Drake approached the handicapped space where Dad’s car was parked, Drake’s rush of bravery wore off. 

Dad’s scowl was set deep in his beak, and it only grew deeper when he spotted them. 

Drake hung back several steps behind Uncle Bud. He didn’t want to appear smaller than he already was, but Dad’s anger could be scary at times. 

“Mind your language, Jim,” Uncle Bud said gruffly. “The only things Drake should be repeating from you are Darkwing’s catchphrases.” 

Dad scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh, did Morgana tell you to bring my kid along to guilt trip me into staying? That’s low, even for the likes of you, Liquidator.” 

“Drake came of his own accord,” Uncle Bud replied. He didn’t raise his voice like the others tended to do. His tone was calm and even, and Drake understood why Auntie had asked him to speak to Dad before anyone else. “He said he has something very important to tell you.” 

He gently nudged Drake forward. Dad’s eyes flicked towards him, and Drake gulped, fighting the urge to run away. 

Be like Darkwing. 

Dad tapped his foot impatiently. Drake knew he needed to hurry and say his piece before Dad drove away. 

“I-I…um, a-are you handicapped, Dad?” 

Unable to make eye contact anymore, Drake’s gaze fell upon the blue handicapped sign, and the question slipped out before he could stop it. 

“How could I be Darkwing Duck if I were crippled?” Dad snapped, and Drake regretted opening his mouth. He reached into his pocket, finally pulling out his keys. “Is that your ‘very important thing’, Drake? Because I have places to be.” 

Drake hugged the folder to his chest, Dad’s words echoing inside his mind. There was a chance he’d be ignored, or that his beak would open and he wouldn’t say what he wanted the other person to hear.

It was okay. Darkwing didn’t always succeed in his first attempt to catch a villain.  

But it stung. Not even Dad wanted to hear him out. 

Dad threw open the car door, and it slammed against the car’s exterior with a resounding bang. He climbed inside, but before he could shut it, Uncle Bud grabbed the handle and held the door out of reach so that Dad would have to lean out to close it. 

“I’m giving that officer a piece of my mind for publicly humiliating me,” Dad growled. “So get out of my way, Liquidator.” 

Uncle Bud narrowed his eyes, not even flinching when Dad honked the horn to try and scare him off. 

“I’m not stopping you,” he said. “I’m only keeping you here long enough so your son can accomplish what he came here for.”  

He turned and gave Drake an encouraging nod. 

With shaking fingers, Drake reached into his folder and pulled out the drawing of Darkwing Duck. 

It wasn’t a perfect likeness. The beak was colored a shade lighter than it should’ve been, a golden button on the blazer was missing, and one leg was longer than the other. 

But if Dad was going to jail, then Drake hoped he’d be able to brighten his cell wall with the drawing. Jail cells always looked so cold and colorless on TV. 

“You can have this. I drew it in class,” Drake said timidly, thrusting his art into Dad’s hands. He stared down at the drawing with a raised eyebrow. Though Drake wasn’t sure if Dad liked or disliked it, he knew he had to keep going. “Even if you’re going to jail like everyone says…you’ll still be my hero, Dad.” 

Dad looked up with a startled expression. His beak fell open in shock, and though he tried to speak, he could only manage a shocked, wordless mumble.

It was strange to see him so speechless. 

Drake and Uncle Bud stepped back from the car. Though Uncle Bud no longer held onto the handle, Dad didn’t rush to close the door. He carefully brushed away a few stray crayon rubbings and tugged at the collar of his turtleneck nervously. 

One foot slid out of the car. 

Dad’s getting out! He’s not going to the police station after all! 

Drake bounced on his toes with excitement, only stopping when Uncle Bud gripped his shoulder. 

Then Dad shut the door, backing up the car so fast that he hit the curb on the opposite end of the lot. 

And he was gone, leaving only tire markings burned into the road. 

Tears formed in the corners of Drake’s eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. Darkwing Duck never cried. So Drake wouldn’t either. He clung to Uncle Bud’s leg, trying to dry his tears on the fabric of his pants. 

“I’m sorry,” Uncle Bud said quietly. His face was solemn as he rested a hand on Drake’s head. “I was convinced he’d listen for once too.” 

“It’s okay…” Drake whispered. He did his best not to sniffle.

“Katherine offered to take you for the night. If anything happens, she’ll be the first one they’ll call.” 

Then Uncle Bud took Drake’s hand, leading him away from the parking lot. 

But Drake could only stare at the empty space where Dad’s car used to be. 

o-o-o-o

It was ten, an hour past his bedtime when he stayed at Auntie’s house. An instrumental of the Darkwing Duck theme played on the television, marking the episode’s end. Auntie let him watch four episodes back to back, and he felt her worried glances burn into him when he didn’t try to imitate the superhero’s moves or quote his witty puns and intro speeches. 

He only sat motionless on the couch, eyes glued to the screen as the intro to a strange cartoon he’d never seen before played. 

The screen went black, the sound of static briefly filling the air. Startled, Drake’s attention snapped to Auntie. He hadn’t heard her enter the room.  

“You’re too young for this show, Drake,” she said, glancing at the TV with distaste. “And your extra hour is up. It’s time for bed.” 

“But I’m not sleepy!” Drake protested. His beak parted in a wide yawn, and he clapped a hand over it. Auntie gave him a knowing look, and Drake sank against the couch cushions, caught in his own lie. “And Dad’s not back either…are you sure you haven’t heard anything?” 

The phone only rang once tonight. Drake had been so excited to hear the ring that he’d ignored Darkwing’s climactic battle with Megavolt in the thunderstorm, but he was only met with disappointment when the caller was just trying to sell insurance, whatever that was. 

Auntie lifted the skirt of her nightgown and sat on the couch, a resigned sigh escaping her. She pushed her loose hair away from her face, a far cry from the elegant beehive she wore as Morgana. 

“I promise I’ll tell you if anything comes up,” she said. She placed a heart shaped cushion against her leg and patted it with a sad smile. Slowly, Drake crawled over to her and fell against the cushion. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Unfortunately, your father could be doing any number of things right now even if he isn’t sitting in the middle of a cell.” 

Her beak pursed together, like she was disgusted by what Dad could possibly be doing at ten at night. 

“Like protecting St. Canard from bad guys in real life?” Drake asked. 

He could understand why Dad would be out so late then. It was a full moon tonight, and criminals always crawled out of the shadows by the hundreds to commit all sorts of heinous acts in the silver moonlight. 

Dad hadn’t tried to call them. It was probably for the best, if he was surrounded by villains and didn’t want to run the risk of an unsavory character learning about his secret identity and using his loved ones against him. 

But Auntie only sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. 

“I don’t think Jim would act that…reckless,” Auntie said. Upon hearing the pause in her words, Drake tilted his head up at her. She let out a resigned sigh. “Maybe he would be that reckless.”

Sometimes Auntie and Dad would get along. They’d eat and drink together in between takes. But most of the time, they argued with raised voices and wild, frantic gestures, and everyone would be caught in their anger.

Drake could never decide if they were friends or enemies. He wasn’t sure if anyone else knew either. And depending on the episode, Darkwing could be dodging magic bolts from Morgana or kissing her on the rooftop. 

He always covered his eyes during the kissing scenes. They were kinda gross. 

“Auntie, do you like Dad?” Drake asked. Auntie stiffened, her nails digging into the fabric of the cushion. Drake hastily backtracked at the offended look she gave him. “I mean, as a hero?” 

“A hero,” Auntie repeated in disbelief. She must’ve thought Drake was asking something entirely different. 

Or maybe she didn’t think Dad was a hero either. Nobody did. 

“Darkwing Duck’s not real, you dork!” 

“You were supposed to talk about a hero in your life. Not one on a silly TV show.”

“Is he at all aware that law enforcement does not require the help of reckless, gloryhounding vigilantes to arrest criminals, unlike your ridiculous show?” 

“Darkwing Duck is only a character played by the very real Jim Starling, whose son thinks the world of him, even if he is a poor excuse of a role model.” 

Drake pushed himself onto his knees as he waited for Auntie’s answer. 

“He’s certainly passionate about his job,” she admitted. “I can’t deny that.” 

Darkwing Duck was committed to his mission against evil. Nothing could sway him off the path of justice and righteousness! 

Except for maybe Morgana, but she sometimes used love spells so that didn’t count.

But there was more to Darkwing than just punching bad guys. It seemed that was the only thing people saw when they thought of the Masked Mallard. 

“That’s not the answer you were hoping for, was it?” Auntie asked. 

“Well, you’re right about Darkwing being passionate, but….” Drake trailed off as he thought about why he admired Darkwing. 

It wasn’t just his cool fashion sense, or his awesome Quack Fu moves. Nor was it about the witty one-liners or boasts about his skills. 

As cool as Darkwing was, he didn’t always capture the villain on the first try. He’d often meet someone with powers he didn’t know how to combat, and he’d have to develop a fighting style to overcome them. Or someone would deliberately plant a false lead, and Darkwing would have to separate the lies from the truth. 

He could be tied to a cinderblock in the ocean, crushed, or have his memories erased. The villains could gang up on him and stomp on his back until his spine broke, but Darkwing would never give in. No matter how much physical pain he had, he would fight until the battle was won. 

“He always gets back up too, even if it looks hopeless,” Drake said. “Even if nobody else is on his side. Even if…I’m the only one in the whole world who sees that.” 

He drew his knees up to his chest. Sometimes, it felt like he and Dad were the only ones who truly understood Darkwing Duck. 

It was lonely. 

“The world is a big place, Drake,” Auntie said after a few minutes of silence. “You might not know them at the moment, but I believe that somewhere out there, you’ll find someone who shares those feelings too.” 

Despite his turmoil, Drake managed to smile back. 

And someday, I just might find them. So I’ve got to hang on a bit longer.

Then Drake noticed the stack of tarot cards she’d laid out on the coffee table. The top one displayed the image of a jester and his juggling balls.  

“Did your cards tell you that?” he asked. 

“No, but my crystal ball did,” Auntie replied. “Oh, what��s this? I see something else reflected in it…” 

She pulled a decorative crystal ball from her coffee table into her lap, waving her hands around the glass. Drake peered at himself on the reflective surface. He couldn’t help but laugh when his lower bill appeared much longer than the top half. The crystal ball lit up, casting a bright light into the shadows of the living room.

“What do you see?” Drake asked eagerly. 

“I see…a set of pillows, blankets, a teddy bear with a purple mask, all lying on top of a twin-sized mattress, underneath a ceiling full of glow-in-the-dark stars….” Auntie narrated dramatically. “Yes, yes, it’s all very clear now…” 

“What?” Drake tried to see all the things she was describing, but he couldn’t make out any images in the light. 

He thought he could at least make out the teddy bear, but the light suddenly shut off before he knew for sure. 

“The crystal ball predicts that you’ll be in bed in the near future!” Auntie declared with a final flourish of her arms.

Drake pouted, and although he was willing to give up a week’s worth of dessert to stay up a little longer, he decided it wasn’t worth arguing about. Auntie had promised to wake him up if something happened, so he decided to trust her word. 

The light from the crystal ball vanished. Drake knew about the off switch on the bottom, but he had fun pretending it was really magic. 

“G’night,” Drake murmured, his beak opening in a wide yawn. 

He climbed off the couch, his feet scrabbling at the air briefly before he touched solid ground. His landing wasn’t graceful either, and he yelped when the sharp edge of the coffee table jabbed the back of his knee.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have Darkwing Duck’s perfect night vision. 

“Are you okay?” Auntie asked in concern. 

Drake quickly shook off the pain. “Of course! A coffee table can’t stop me!” he proclaimed. But he forgot to look where he was going, and as he stepped out into the hallway, he tripped over an umbrella stand and landed flat on his face. “Ow… your umbrella stand may have won this fight, but-” 

The doorbell rang before he could finish his sentence. Startled by the sudden noise, Drake shot to his feet and crashed into the umbrella stand again, falling onto his back. His elbow hit the floor, throbbing with pain.   

Auntie knelt in concern. “Drake, are you-” 

A series of loud, earsplitting knocks interrupted her before she could finish. 

Drake flinched and stared at the door, wide-eyed with sudden fear. 

“Auntie? A-are we being robbed?” he whispered. 

Because of St. Canard’s never-ending swarm of criminals, safety was drilled into every kid’s mind the moment they could walk. 

Don’t talk to strangers, use the buddy system, say no to drugs, lock all doors and windows at night….

“I-I’ll knock them out for you, Auntie…” But Drake couldn’t keep the stammer out of his voice. 

He wanted to sound cool, confident, brave. Darkwing Duck wouldn’t cower in fear from a common robber. He’d open the door and swiftly knock them out with a karate chop to the head before they could blink. 

But Auntie shook her head firmly. 

“This is real life, Drake,” Auntie said, keeping her voice low. She picked up her fallen umbrella. “Not the time to play Darkwing Duck. If you put yourself in unnecessary danger, I will ground you until you’re old enough to pay your own bills. Understand?” 

Drake nodded quickly. He knew better than to argue with Auntie. 

There was a brief moment of silence before the knocking began anew, like whoever was on the other side had to take a break from banging on the door.

“I’ll handle our unwanted guest,” Auntie said, brandishing her umbrella. “In the meantime, I want you to hide, and if you can, run to the neighbor’s house and call the police.” 

She helped Drake to his feet, gently pushing him behind the wall to hide him from view.  

What if they overpower her? 

Stricken with fear, Drake leaned against the wall and waited with bated breath as Auntie slowly unlocked the door, umbrella held at the ready. He felt bad for disobeying, but what if she needed him to jump in? 

What if Auntie got hurt and could no longer defend herself? He couldn’t just leave her alone! 

Auntie’s hand was on the doorknob. She paused, took a deep breath, and threw the door open. 

“About time you opened up, Morgana! I’ve been waiting forev-” 

Auntie shrieked, her war cry echoing off the walls, and smashed her umbrella against the intruder’s head. With a startled yelp, the would-be robber collapsed onto his knees. 

“Owww….” he groaned. He swayed back and forth, barely catching himself in time before his head hit the brick porch. 

Auntie flicked the light switch beside the door. The lantern mounted to the outside wall flared to life, illuminating several fluttering moths. 

Drake gasped, his hands flying to his beak to stifle the noise so Auntie wouldn’t turn around and find out he’d disobeyed her. 

This was no robber! 

Dad came back! He didn’t get thrown in jail after all!

“Is that how you greet everyone who knocks on your door?” Dad snapped, a purple bruise blossoming underneath the ivory feathers of his head. 

Auntie threw down her umbrella, and it landed on the floor with a sharp clatter. “Knocking? You were trying to break my door like a madman!” she yelled. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Let me see…how about ‘oh my goodness, I’m so sorry for hitting you over the head with an umbrella, Jim! Why don’t you come inside so I can make that up to you?’” Dad did his best impression of Auntie’s voice. 

“I don’t sound anything like that!” Auntie shouted, her hand braced on the doorknob. She was barely holding herself back from slamming the door in his face. “And what makes you think I’ll trust you in my house after the mess you made last time?” 

There was a pause as Dad and Auntie stared each other down, the only sound coming from the crickets chirping outside. 

Then Dad stood up, but his posture seemed…different. Less confident and dramatic. 

More…confused than anything. 

It took Auntie by surprise too. 

“Wait, Morg-I mean, Katherine,” he stammered, and if Drake wasn’t watching their conversation right now, he might’ve believed Dad was a completely different duck, or replaced with an imposter. “Is Drake here? I’ve been to Liquidator’s and Bushroot’s place, and I didn’t even bother with Quackerjack, doubt that clown can keep a kid alive for more than five seconds…but Liquidator said he was with you. Anyway, I…I need to see him.” 

He trailed off for a moment, then mumbled a very forced please. 

Auntie just stared at him. 

“Why?” she asked. 

The happiness that Drake felt upon seeing Dad vanished. He didn’t have handcuffs or a ball and chain on his ankle, but Drake wondered if the police were impatiently waiting on the street as they allowed Dad to say goodbye before they locked him up for a long time. 

“He’s my son, Katherine! I don’t have to explain my reasons to you!” Dad scowled, covering his long bill when Auntie put a hand on her hip in displeasure. He sighed, shoving his clenched fist into his pocket and looking away in embarrassment. “Look, I didn’t go to the police station. Changed my mind last minute. Figured zebra stripes weren’t really my style. Besides… something more important came up.” 

He reached into the folds of his blazer and brought out a picture frame. 

A drawing of Darkwing Duck laid within the glass. 

Drake’s eyes widened. 

My drawing…he framed it? 

“So is he still awake?” Dad asked. “Figured I owe him an explana-” 

Unable to keep himself hidden anymore, Drake rushed past Auntie and launched himself into Dad’s chest. Dad yelped as he lost his balance and fell onto his bottom a second time, taking Drake with him. 

“Ow…watch the ribs, kid! Still got some bruises from my last stunt,” Dad coughed, his voice strained. Drake quickly removed his hands and sat up. The picture frame laid face down on the bricks. Dad quickly flipped it over and let out a sigh of relief when the glass remained intact. 

Auntie sighed, but Drake could see a tiny, fond smile on her beak. He turned back to Dad, who was rubbing his chest to relieve the lingering pain. 

“Hey, Dad?” Drake said, his voice tiny. “I knew you wouldn’t go to jail.” 

Dad let out a raspy laugh, using Drake’s shoulder as leverage to haul himself back to his feet. 

“Ha! The great Darkwing Duck, a common jailbird?” Dad chuckled. “They were all wrong about that. Buying a frame for your interpretation of my heroic self was a much better use of my time. Glad you never doubted me once, sport. At least I raised you with sense.” 

He shot a smug look at Auntie, who smacked the umbrella against the palm of her hand like she was struggling not to bean him over the head again. 

“Does this mean you’re actually planning to pay for your speeding ticket like a good, law-abiding citizen?” she asked.   

Dad rolled his eyes and flicked his hand dismissively. “Eh, I’ll take it up with my lawyer. We’ll just contest it in court later.” 

Auntie glared at him. 

“What?” Dad protested with a frown. “That’s a perfectly legal course of action! I don’t have to be a vigilante against the system all the time.” 

Drake had no idea what any of that meant, but if that wasn’t breaking the law, then it was good enough for him. He smiled and threw his arms around Dad’s waist, making sure to avoid his bruises. 

“When I’m bigger, I’m gonna be a hero just like you!” he declared. 

Dad blinked down at him, his beak falling open in shock. Then he ruffled the feathery tuft on Drake’s head. “Heh…that’s probably gonna take a while, but I’ll root for ya, kiddo.” 

“That’ll be the day….” Auntie murmured. 

Dad stuck his tongue out at her. Drake only tightened his hug, never wanting to let go. 

I don’t care what everyone else says. Dad is always gonna be my hero. That’s never gonna change. 

End AN: In this AU, Drake was conceived as a one-night stand between Starling and some random girl who let Starling keep the egg. The bio mom isn’t a factor here basically in the same way Huey, Dewey, and Louie’s bio father isn’t important in the show. Starling really only kept the egg to avoid bad publicity, but he does come to care about Drake, even though he’s a menace to everyone else. 

Starling can’t remember his coworkers’ actual names and calls them by the characters they play. 

Drake gets shuffled around between the cast members of Darkwing Duck, depending on who's available to take him. Jim Starling is a busy guy, and I really don’t trust him to keep a child alive to adulthood on his own. While Drake does consider them all family, sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to keep track of who's picking him from school, or whose house he left his belongings at.  

My HC is that Darkwing Duck (the in-universe show) was criticized for Starling’s stunts being too imitable and dangerous for kids, and that some parents won’t allow their kids to watch the show at all because of Starling’s egocentric behavior.  

I like to think Starling’s car is either an Aston Martin (Martin being a type of bird, and the model famously associated with the James Bond series) or the Duckverse equivalent of a BMW because he has the personality of a BMW driver. 

Morgana (at least, the actress OC of her) originally wasn’t planned for this story, but her arguments and weird relationship with Starling made me extend her presence cause she was funny to write for. While she and Starling would portray a Batman-Catwoman-esque relationship on the show, but in reality they can’t stand each other and only grudgingly, surface-level try to be civil in front of Drake. 

Anyway, I probably spent a lot more time on this fic than I needed to but I hope you all enjoyed reading it! Also, stay tuned for the epilogue after this! 

[milky-fixx]

pragma

obito uchiha x reader // naruto

—because even your local hardened war criminal/resident traumatized uchiha/certified masked idiot deserves love. 

a collection of valentine’s day obito fics—some canon, some canon-divergent, some au. 

word count: 4.7k

—note: happy (late) bday obito! i started this last vday but couldn't post in time.

POST WAR OBITO LIVES REDEMPTION ARC AU

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Obito blinks. He's about to head out for his shift when you present the the small box before him, wrapped with a delicate red bow. Now that he's past house arrest, the Rokudaime, after lengthy debates with his council, has allowed Obito to do community service in an attempt to make amends for his past crimes. It's grueling labor, of course, and he's strapped with all kinds of chakra inhibitors and accompanied by ANBU any time he's out and about. But this form of punishment, he tells you, is far more merciful than he deserves.

“I–” He drops his bag, cocking his head to the side. You press the box into his hands. It takes him awhile to realize it's a gift. For him. Oh. “Thank you?”

Obito's expression can be only be described as adorably confused, and you can’t help but giggle.

“It’s a holiday,” you press. “Where you give your loved ones chocolate and other gifts?”

“Ah, that's right...” He ducks his head to hide the flush rising to his cheeks, scratching the side of his face. He had forgotten about that. “Thanks.”

He’s not embarrassed, per se. (No matter what Kakashi tells you about how Obito as a kid always had this habit of looking away when he’s flustered).

It’s just…. this is the very first time he’s ever gotten any kind of gift on this day, and he's cycling through a tumult of confusing emotions. Because he’s seen firsthand the horrors of the world, he’s wrecked havoc, inspired terror and strife onto others. He’s an awful, terrible person who undoubtedly does not deserve to be alive while so many others caught up in his machinations are not.

And yet… that juvenile, hopelessly romantic side of him--which he's never been able to rid himself of, no matter how hard he's tried--is moved by your actions. In his youth, he often dreamt of things like requited confessions, kisses under the rain, the soft embrace of first love--all these pathetic, soft impulses and desires that had not yet been tarnished by war or the cruel reality of being a shinobi.

Your gift, as simple as it is, reminds him of all these things. It rushes through him, leaving an uncomfortable lump that he can’t swallow past in his throat.

And the shadowy underside of his thoughts creep forward, as they often do when he is faced with your unassuming acts of kindness: He hasn’t done anything to deserve this, to deserve you. The sins of his past will never be washed away, no matter how much he toils away. One day you will wake up and realize he’s not worth the dirty looks from villagers. That the effort to understand a man who does not even understand himself anymore, who has spent his whole life chasing after an impossible dream that has fallen to shambles, is a wasted one—

The hopeful glance from you has those thoughts abating, even for a second. With a flush of embarrassment, Obito realizes you've been waiting for him to open the gift. He undoes the bow, curious to see what you've given him.

It's a small box of chocolates. Each chocolate is decorated delicately, in various shades of pink and red. Cute, Obito thinks.

He glances up at you before popping a chocolate into his mouth. His eyes widen slightly at the decadent taste that spreads across his tongue.

“It’s--it's good. It’s really good.”

You beam up at him. “I put raspberry jam in some of them! I know you liked it last time I bought some.”

“You–” His eyes widen even more. “You made these? From scratch?”

“Yeah! It took me awhile to get the recipe right, but it was worth it.”

“Thank you,” he says again, his gaze softening. He holds his arm out, gathering you to him in a one-armed embrace, the other arm cradling the box of chocolates to his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. You press a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw, returning the favor. Time never seems to be in your favor though, as Obito begrudgingly lets go of you.

“I have to go.” 

“Have a great day!”

As Obito heads out, he makes amends with the fluttery feeling in his chest. He’s certainly too old to be touched by these kinds of things, but something about you has him feeling like he's back in his goofy, younger days, a side of him he thought was long gone to years of planning and trauma and–

Wait.

Fuck. Was he supposed to get you something back?

He stills. 

You’re surprised when the door slams opens. “'bito? Did you forget something--” The fervent crash of his lips against yours cuts you off.

It seems that he’s had enough time to process your gift. His large hands cup your cheeks. His lips move with the desperation of a man clinging to his lifeline, pressing firmly against yours, as if the answer to all his doubts can be found in the meeting of your two bodies.

“Thank you,” he says again, breathless, once he breaks the kiss. His eyes lidded and dark with the depth of his feelings. “I owe you."

He licks his lips. "L-Later today. Is that okay? I promise I'll make it worth your time."

JONIN!OBITO

Obito can think of three scenarios which come close to being as bad as this.

One. When Minato had him and Kakashi babysit an old man’s cat on a genin-level mission. Cats, despite being the Uchiha clan’s natural ally, have never liked him. It completely clawed his face up, and Rin had to tend to his scratches.

Two. When, as teenagers, he asked Rin out on a date, and during said date, she tearfully confessed her love for Kakashi. Unpleasant, certainly. Unexpected? Not really. What was unexpected was that Obito ended up being terribly allergic to something in the restaurant's udon, and his lips swelled up to twice their size.

Three, of course, is a few months back, when Kakashi left on a mission and asked him to train Team 7 for a day. No one told Obito that kids were this obnoxious to deal with. Not with his former sensei's kid screaming that he would best his cousin (Did Naruto realize the whole village could hear him? Was Obito ever this loud? Did Minato secretly invest in earplugs), his cousin acting like he was too damn smart to listen to anything Obito had to teach him (Itachi really should address his brother's superiority complex one day), and the one, normal person in their group, Sakura, clearing pining as desperately for his cousin as he did for Rin.

This scenario though? This may just make all the others pale in comparison.

The fact that Obito is supposed to propose to you today, but his months of careful planning is going up into flames, as if he'd burned them himself with his katon.

The fancy kaiseki ryori he got reservations for months back? Turns out they closed for renovations and he never got notice. Something about an intoxicated genin destroying the whole place while practicing his Drunken Fist technique.

Obito also intended to dress nicer for the occasion, to grab a shower and change maybe, but his mission ran late into the day, up until the very moment your dinner was planned. He had barely enough time to report to the Hokage before he was sprinting towards the restaurant, still wearing his jonin vest and ninja clothing.

He’s just hoping you won’t be mad at him.

He thumbs the ring in his pocket anxiously as he approaches the restaurant.

The two of you end up at the only place available on such short notice--the yakitori-ya, which is where your very first date was at. He curses his luck. It's not exactly the fancy setting he was hoping for--more like a date spot after a late night drinking or for casual dates--but he's out of options. Even flashing around the Uchiha name, which he hated doing, couldn't yield better results.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as soon as he slides into the booth across from you. “The report took forever, and I swear the Hokage's advisors were trying to sabotage me. Why does it matter how many flower beds I saw on my way back here?" He ruffles his spiky hair in frustration.

You laugh. “It's okay, I’m used to it. You're always losing track of time, 'Bito."

He flushes slightly. "N-Not really... I've gotten better at it, haven't I?"

You hum thoughtfully. "Let's see... you do still get side-tracked by grandmas needing help carrying their groceries, by stray cats begging for food... Isn't that right?"

He flushes again, ducking his head down. Punctuality has never been his forte, but for him to be late on an important occasion like this. When he was going to--

"It's not intentional," he mutters.

"I'm just teasing," you tell him, reaching across the table for his hand, which he offers. "I already ordered us food. So tell me... how was the mission?"

Obito animatedly tells you about his past week, before lowering his voice at the top secret information that he as a jonin should not be sharing, but is anyways. The food arrives, plates of grilled meat on skewers generously filling your table.

He really should have more decorum, but he's starving. His anxiety also isn't helping. He ends up scarfing down the chicken skewers, talking in between taking giant bites of food. Thankfully, you seem to find it amusing, laughing at the way he chokes on a bite that was way too big for him to swallow. He gulps down his water, attempting vainly to act unperturbed.

You lean forward to grab another skewer, and Obito catches a glimpse of something red and lacy underneath your dress. He promptly ends up choking on his water again. Coughing, he thumps the front of his chest several times.

"Are you okay?"

He glances back at you, his face aflame. "I-I'm fine!" he says a little too loud. "I'm fine. Just... fine—“ It's then that he notices just what you're wearing that covers the red lace tease. A tight black dress that seems to accentuate every dip and crease of your figure.

His mouth suddenly seems dry, even though he just drank water. "You look nice. Uh, really nice. Really, really nice. Is that—is that new?"

"Dear, I think you're drooling a little."

He promptly snaps his mouth shut.

"And it is new! I thought I would wear it for the occasion. And you know... for later tonight," you murmur, voice laced with intentions.

"T-T-Tonight?" While he's nearly chugged down his entire drink, the admission has him jolting, his elbow knocking over his cup and spilling the small amount of liquid left. He’s aghast, rapidly dabbing the table with napkins.

You giggle, handing him your napkin as well. “You’re usually not this clumsy. You okay? Tired?”

“A little,” he admits. "I don't think I've gotten much sleep the past few days." You nod thoughtfully, looking slightly put out. "B-But that doesn't mean I can't! I'm—we can still—tonight? Yeah?"

He's flustered. How has he become so tongue-tied and nervous? It's like he's a fucking awkward teen again, for crying out loud. He fiddles with the ring in his pocket, suddenly remembering it's there.

"I-I was actually... well, I had a surprise for you, too."

“You mean other than taking us back to this place?”

He flushes.

"It was the only place that had last minute--I mean, the only place I could find a last minute spot at after my other reservations got cancelled!”

"We haven't been here since we first started dating, right?" you muse.

"Y-Yeah?"

You sigh wistfully. “It brings back memories.”

Come to think of it, he does remember what a disaster your first date was, at this same restaurant. Burning his tongue on the skewers from eating too fast, spilling his drink all over you on in his excitement when you complimented his skills. You must have found him so annoying. You still agreed to a second date.

He cringes. History really did repeat itself.

"Hopefully I'll make new ones," he mutters under his breath.

"What was that?"

It's now or never. Before he loses his courage.

"Marry me?" he blurts out, holding out what he thinks is the ring to you. Instead, it is his half-eaten skewer.

You blink.

"I... are you proposing to me with grilled meat?"

"Shit, I—" His other hand darts into his pocket, brandishing the ring. While his hands are slightly oily from the grease of the food, thankfully his grip doesn't slip.

"You make me the happiest man alive. I can't imagine... I don't even want to think about a future without you," he says heatedly.

It's then that Obito realizes he is supposed to be down on a knee. Shit. He curses a bit, before he kneels down before you, putting the ring back in its pocket and presenting it to you once more. It's a simple ring, engraved with the Uchiha crest.

He glances up at you hopefully.

Or tries to. Obito once again gravely miscalculates in his nervousness. His head smacks the bottom of the table as he looks up—hard.

"Fuck!"

He clutches the side of his head, rubbing at it. His vision goes cross for a second.

Then it's your hands, softer and kinder that cradle his head.

"Babe, are you alright?" you say in disbelief. "You're so clumsy today."

This is supposed to be his moment to be smooth. To make things smooth.

"Sorry," he murmurs against your shirt. "You've got my head on backwards, I swear... I'm so wound up today, and everything keeps going—goddamnit. Can one thing go right?" he starts ranting. "I was hoping you'd say yes—"

"Yes."

"Ah--wait. Do you... do you mean it?"

"Yes. I do. I'd love to marry you, Obito Uchiha."

You reach for the ring, but then pause. "Um, maybe after you wipe that off,” you say, referring to the grease. "And we ice your head?"

You said yes. You said yes. What happens after that point, Obito does not even care about. Once he's back up, he gathers you in a tight hug.

"Thank you. Thank you so much--I--I'll be the best husband, I promise. Someone to make you proud...!"

And as the two of you walk home from the disastrous date, Obito cannot help but keep his arms around you. Unable to bite back down the giddy feeling.

Until something occurs to him.

"You didn't seem that surprised," he says.

"Oh! Yeah. The Uchiha blacksmith who made the ring kept asking if I liked it. Says you ordered it awhile ago, and he's surprised you haven't manned up and given it to me yet."

"Ah…. You—you knew this whole time I would…?”

He's such a loser.

But he's your loser.

And you like him, despite it all.

MODERN!AU, arranged marriage, Obito as CEO of Uchiha Corps.

The smell of chocolate fills the air.

Obito pauses at the doorway. It's been... strange, having someone else in his space. In his home. Living with a stranger who you know you are soon to be wed to, despite knowing each other for such little time.

The thought still makes him a bit restless. He was initially averse to the idea. When he was younger, he dreamt of things like true love and romantic gestures. Not being forced to marry a complete stranger.

But then the incident that left half his body scarred happened, and that severely jeopardized those dreams. Then his uncle's whims. Madara, once he wanted something, rarely wavered.

"The Uchiha Corp. needs an heir, and you do not have any options at this point. Our clan's legacy will not be left to rot should you not find a suitable spouse. If that's the case—if your skills are lacking in that area—I will find one for you."

Ouch.

Obito hated following Madara's orders, but it seems that not much has changed from his childhood. Being forced into roles he has little interest in, being forced to uphold a certain image.

Doesn't mean he has to like it. Or accept it easily.

It's not that he dislikes you. In fact, Obito would say you're quite lovely in many ways. You actually seem to have several of the qualities he's liked in his crushes before (all unrequited). You're kind and patient, and you even have a bit of a temper, if anything is proven by how easily you slip into crass language.

It's just. It's not his choice. He didn't get to choose to meet you. It's not like the two of you met in a coffee shop or at the market, by chance, as love should be.

And that makes him resentful.

He supposes it all came to a head three nights ago, where he threw words and accusations at you like barbed wires. And you had responded in kind.

"What's in this for you again? Money, status? Want to bang the next head of Uchiha Corp. so you can live a life of lavishness?"

You blink. Quickly getting over your surprise, your mouth sets in a firm line as you respond with, "Are you always this fucking rude to people? Or am I just lucky?"

His eyes narrow. "Answer the question. What are you trying to get out of this?"

You're upset. The harsh furrow to your brow says it all.

"Uchiha... I'm not just someone you can boss around. I'm not one of your damn lackeys. And I'm not just going to sit around pretty and subservient if you're gonna be this damn rude to me."

The two of you continue to sleep in separate rooms and beds, as you have been for the past month, but this time, the distance leaves Obito with the queasy feeling of a fight unresolved. The two of you haven't spoken since, thankfully your schedules so different that you don't spend much time together.

After reflecting on it, he supposes you are just as much implicated in this as he is. You don't seem too eager to get married either. That gives Obito a small measure of relief.

Along with the realization that he's being an ass and making things more difficult for you.

Reconciliation though—he's not the best at. Which is why he's lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, working up the courage to approach you. Are you mad, he wonders? Anyone would be mad at being spoken to that way.

You seem to be cooking... sweets? Baking? And just as Obito works up the courage to say something, you lock gazes.

Before you promptly glance away, as if you haven't even seen him.

Ouch.

"Morning," he says deciding to break the ice.

You blink at him. "Oh. Good morning."

"You're up... early."

"Yeah. I was making chocolates." At his look of confusion, you clarify. "For you know.... Valentine's..."

"Oh. Yes."

So awkward. The tension thick enough to cut a knife through.

Are any of those for me? Obito dares to think foolishly, before you reply with,

"I was planning on eating all of these in front of you out of spite. But I suppose you could have one," you say offhandedly.

Obito flinches. "I... guess I deserve that."

"Maybe just a crumb of a chocolate. Ant-size."

He inhales deeply. Patience. "Also deserved."

You look at him curiously, as if you are not expecting his contriteness.

"...I'm just kidding. I did make some of these for you."

Obito's head snaps up. He stares at you cautiously.

"Do you... not like chocolates?"

"No, I—I do! I just... I was an ass to you."

"You were," you acknowledge.

"I wanted to... I wanted to apologize for—for being so..." While usually an eloquent speaker when the time came for him to compose himself, he's at a loss for words. How does he explain it? He's sorry for being such an ass. He's sorry for taking out his frustrations about love towards you. He's sorry he's being an absolute awful excuse for a fiance—

You approach him, and he looks up, only for you press one of the chocolates against his lips. He looks stunned.

"Try it? I... hope I used the sugar and not salt this time."

He hesitates.

"I'm kidding!"

He takes it into his mouth hesitantly, his gaze fixated on you. He chews slowly, savoring the taste.

"It's good. Even if you did use salt."

Your eyes widen. "Oh no. Did I really..." And then you catch sight of his face, alight with mirth. "You absolute liar, you had me worried for a sec."

"You started it!"

The two of you share a laugh. This is... nice. Unexpected. Obito was hardly expecting to be able to joke around like this with you.

That reminds him. He leaves the kitchen to grab something from the doorstep, returning with something hidden behind his back.

"These um, these are for you."

He holds his hands out bashfully. A colorful bouquet of flowers sits in his hand, freshly delivered to his door.

"Oh." You seem surprised, taking the gift from him with a curious look. "Thanks! I'm allergic."

His eyes widen. "You're not actually..." Shit. How awkward.

"I'm just kidding. It takes two to lie."

You crack a grin, and despite himself, Obito can't help but roll his eyes. His chest feeling oddly light, being able to joke around with you like this.

He doesn't know you yet. He doesn't know you enough to like you yet. But interactions like this give him hope that maybe... maybe things won't be that bad.

"Do you like udon?" Obito asks suddenly, remembering a local place that had good ratings. It was by reservation only, but he could pull some strings.

"Um, no."

"Oh..." He deflates slightly. There goes his plans for the udon date.

"I do like ramen though?” you offer. “And I know a good place…”

As the two of you embark on your first official date together, Obito realizes that maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be awful to get married to someone like you.

Maybe it would be fun, even.

CANON!OBITO, obsessed with the Tsuki No Me plan

When one does not have a heart, they cannot love.

When one’s heart is empty, love is also futile.

These are two things Obito knows with certainty.

The third is this: He could never love you in this cruel, harsh reality.

You want his affection, his desire. Stability, consistency. Someone to call home at the end of the day.

But his love?

His love is a bundle of thorns, amidst which a single, wilted rose lies.

He cannot love you in the way most men should. He will not choose you over the Tsuki No Me plan. When the choice comes down to it, he will discard you if you interfere with his will.

And you’ll yell at him, call him names. Tell him he’s delusional.

But do not think that it’s because he doesn’t care. If you know anything about him, it’s that his love runs deep enough to wage wars, to raze down villages, to have the seas run red with the blood of his enemies.

Even if you do not see his perspective, he is merciful. You will be still be able to live a peaceful life in the Infinite Tsukiyomi.

You and him were not meant to be together in this world. Not in a world where children are sent to war, where villages pile bodies upon bodies to achieve a means to an end. Where his love can be nothing but a poison that seeps into you with a single prick.

But in the world of the Infinite Tsukiyomi, anything is possible.

You and him could be the most loving couple. You, his dearest spouse, waiting for him in the kitchen after a long day, the perfect scene of domesticity. He, your loving husband, would kiss you, wrap his arms around your waist. His hands rubbing over your stomach as he buries his face into your neck, murmuring words of affection.

Things would be perfect. Far unlike the cruel, twisted world the two of you lived in now.

A life of eternal bliss.

And you would be none the wiser that it’s all a dream.

TOBI

“Whaaa, what’s with all the decorations, senpai?”

The three of you were sent on a mission near Kusagakure, and once it ended, decided to check out the village. The main square in is alight with decor, red and pink streamers hanging off food stands, flowers and everywhere the eye could see. 

Deidara snorts. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Tobi.” When the masked man cocks his head to the side, he rolls his eyes. “That shitty holiday where you get chocolates from girls.”

“Ah. Did senpai get any chocolates?”

“Tch, ‘course!” The blond crosses his arms, giving his partner a smug look. “I was so popular back in Iwa, girls would line up to give me their goodies.”

Tobi tilts his head. “I doubt that.”

“Why you—“

As Deidara and Tobi bicker, you walk closer to one of the stands, admiring the intricate bouquets. The life of a shinobi, especially in the Akatsuki, is often treacherous. It’s nice at times to sit back and enjoy the world around you. Not to mention how rare to have this much down time between missions, so you take full advantage of it, admiring the sights and sounds around you. 

“Do you see something you like?”

Tobi approaches you from behind, rubbing his head pitifully. You can only assume that given Deidara’s short temper and Tobi’s wily mouth, that he must have clocked him. 

“The flowers here are pretty,” you note, staring at the designs wistfully.

“Would you like some?” 

He poses the question in the same childlike manner he does everything.

You turn to your companion, observing the mysterious orange mask hiding his face. Tobi has always been an intriguing person, if not rather juvenile. At times you have to wonder if his obliviousness an act. Or if perhaps the shinobi world has broken him in this specific way.

Either way, the leader must find some value in his presence in the Akatsuki.

You smile. “No, I’m okay. You should really only give gifts to people you like on this day.”

“I like you!” Tobi says brightly. 

“Romantically,” you add, assuming once more Tobi’s innocence. Whether forced or not. “You should ideally gift someone you like in a romantic sense.”

You observe the other flowers, not noticing the way his mask dips slightly, as he also seems to survey the offerings.

“But I—oh, Deidara-senpai, there you are!” he says. once the blonde has caught up with you two. “Can I borrow some?”

“You broke idiot, don’t tell me you haven’t gotten paid yet!” He scoffs. “What’s it for anyways?”

“To buy them a flower!” He points at you.

“Tobi, it’s fine. Having to carry a flower around with me would be impractical anyways…” You’ve greatly debated it, but it’s true. The journey back to base is a long one, and no doubt you would end up ruining the flowers before then.

Deidara scrutinizes you, and then glances back at Tobi. He glances between you two a few more times with nothing short of suspicion. “…What? You got a crush or something, yeah?“

“A crush? Is that who you should give flowers to?”

“Ha, Tobi, I think you’re out of your league here. Anyone with two eyes would realize that.”

“Funny you say that… I don’t even think you can see out of two eyes, senpai! Not with your hair covering half your face.”

“You damned brat—“

You let the matter go, deciding that with this duo, the less said is the more peaceful. Sighing softly, you walk away to look at another stall, leaving them to argue again. While you couldn’t take one, you could only dream.

When you return to the base, it’s your surprise to find a flower laid out on your bed later that night. It’s a light red carnation, looking like it was picked straight out of a field.

Next to the flower is a note. The handwriting is messy, with an undeniably childish scrawl.

“I hope you like the flower I picked! The lady agreed to give me one when I told her it’s for a special friend!”

[thespectralkitsune]

Do you guys think Pikmin 3/4 did Louie dirty?

i mean, for me, it works with my AU, but going off a canon, not really…. Since it’s not ACTUALLY confirmed whether or not he was piloting the Titan Dveevil (A detail I think is pretty neat, it leaves it up for interpretation) It means that Louie might not actually be a jerk. (Shocking) and that he could just be a misunderstood, quiet autistic guy.

But in Pikmin 3, he actively steals the Koppaites food and Charlie’s duck (serious crime). Now, there the excuse he thought he was being kidnapped, and that fruit is treasure on Hocotate, but there wasn’t much reason to steal the duck. His portrayal here isn’t the worst, but it’s still not my favourite, what with Olinar being slightly mean towards him in the side mode, and him being played more as a fool.

Now, Pikmin 4 is the worst one I think. And uh- spoilers.

Great, we don’t need to worry about spoilers. Moving on, Louie actively controlling the Ancient Sirehound made for a cool boss fight, sure, (theme was a banger) but it ruined what the second game was trying to do. He turned from a character with moral ambuiguity to one who was just… acting like a jerk for no apparent reasoning? Seriously, the explanation in 4 makes no sense. See, Olimar says that Louie might be trying to copy him, because that’s what Olimar told him to do. But Louie can’t remember Olimars face (the logs say this) so how would he know who to copy? Or, in other words, Nintendo has no answer to why they suddenly made a slightly ambiguous character evil.

Also I apologize for not- actually uploading any art in some time. I’ll uh… do that soon.

[certkidwhocantdomath]

The artist's user is literally on the top and bottom of the art.

You May Just Live To Regret It

Additional tags: Blind Character, Blindfolds, Referenced Character Injury, Character Death, Angst, Hurt/no Comfort, Kenshi Takahashi needs a hug, Kenshi Takahashi-centric, Survivor's Guilt, Backgroud Relationship

☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠◉☠

"I guess the ayes have it, outvoting Kenshi here. Motion carries!"

It should have been him.

"Lead the way, Ashrah."

It should have been him.

That’s what keeps echoing in Kenshi’s head, as he guides the hand on his shoulder through the Living Forest.

"Lagging behind, Takahashi? We gotta keep going."

He was scared to look back, like Orpheus, afraid that if he did, the person following him would be lost forever. Kenshi stepped up his pace following their new friend from the Netherrealm, Ashrah, in the hopes of finding Shang Tsung’s partner in crime.

"There you go. Don’t worry about me, Kendoll. I know it’s hard to stop thinking about me but we gotta find this Quan-Chi first."

It happened so fast, yet Kenshi knew he could have been faster, smarter, he could have fought off Mileena’s hold on his shoulders in her feral state, he could have shouted at Johnny earlier to duck but all he did was watch as Cage ripped the princess from him and she-

"God, this reminds me of Wicked Planet," Johnny mused, listening to the sounds of the forest around him.

Johnny will never be able to see a movie again.

The spine-chilling scream of agony echoes in his ears, drowning out his cry for Johnny, as Mileena’s sais stabbed into the star’s skull-

"We had this forest in the second act-"

Kenshi turned his head by instinct to ask, "The manticore battle?"

It was a mistake.

"Yes!"

The sight choked him with guilt painfully in his chest, Johnny’s smile marred by the red blindfold covering his gouged out eye sockets. The same salve treated cloth he wrapped as gently as possible around the man’s head, the barest he could do to relieve the immeasurable pain he had caused.

You saved me, and it cost you everything.

How can I ever forget that?

"It was a pain to shoot, but man did it come out epic."

Because of him, Johnny’s career, his entire livelihood, is over.

He can see how Johnny’s mood had improved since they escaped Shang Tsung’s laboratory, how Kenshi had angrily talked the martial arts actor out from leaving him there, dragging him out, because he had to live, he had to-

Takahashi smiled despite how horrible it felt to do so.

"I can picture it exactly."

And yet the smile was worth it to see Johnny brighten at his words, to feel then the assuring squeeze on his shoulder, silently communicating to him.

I’m not dead Takahashi. I’ll work my way round this, even if it takes years to do it.

If there was anyone who would change Hollywood to adjust to him, it was Johnny. He doesn’t know how, but…

Kenshi swears to help him every step away, to try and start repaying the star for saving his life.

╬╬═════════════╬╬

"Woah there, Samurai Jack. I gotta stop you right there."

Kenshi felt Johnny’s hand on his chest, stopping him from following Ashrah and the others from stopping Quan-Chi’s soul stealer machinations.

"Johnny, you heard her! Millions could die. And I can’t-"

I can’t stand by again and do nothing to stop it from happening.

"I know, Takahashi, I can’t fight with you guys. I’m blind now, not stupid."

That made Kenshi flinch, and the reaction distracted him enough for Johnny to unclip the sword from behind his back. The swordsman turned to face him and-

“Which is why we don’t want you tripping us up out there for the both of us.”

In Johnny’s hand was Sento, waiting to be taken.

Kenshi’s heart stopped.

Johnny pushed his ancestral sword, what he swore to reclaim, into his tattooed hands, grip tainted with the remains of the actor’s blood.

"What?!"

The man gave him his signature smile as he clipped the old sword to his back.

He didn’t deserve Sento anymore, if he ever did, why was he giving it to him, after he lost his sight because of him, leaving him vulnerable and unable to-

"I can’t. Not when you’re-"

It’s his fault, it’s all his fault-

It should have been him, not Johnny-

Johnny grabbed his wrist firmly, the star’s gaze piercing into him, even when blindfolded now.

"I saved your life. And when you save those people, your dept to me is repayed."

"Johnny, it-it's not that simple! I-"

"It is that simple."

Kenshi’s hands trembled slightly, Johnny’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"It’s yours."

The Taira clan’s legacy, returned after centuries apart…

Kenshi raised the sheathed katana, feeling as though an invisible bond was reignited within him.

Then before he could utter another a word, say anything back to Johnny, thank him or protest he didn’t deserve it in his dishonor, Quan-Chi’s spell disrupted them, as the necromancer created a monstrous soul amalgamation they needed to stop now.

Kenshi Takahashi…

In your time of need, the Taira will not fail you.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

"Well... Clearly, I underpaid for that. Did you know it could do that?"

"The legends never mentioned mystical powers. The souls of my ancestors live within it... They intend to guide me."

"Just don’t forget who gave it to you, Takahashi."

"I swear on my life, Cage. I won’t."

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

They were close to the portal, every battle they’d fought was won and all they had to do now was run as fast as they can from Sun Do’s forces. Quan-Chi may have escaped but what mattered more was their own withdrawal, back to Earthrealm, back to Liu Kang.

Johnny had given him Sento, with all that they went through together, and Kenshi could see it exactly, what he would do with the Taira’s ancestral sword guiding his clan out of the yakuza, freeing them, and being by Johnny’s side as they rebuilt their lives together-

"Run, Kenshi!"

Syzoth, Kung Lao and Ashrah made it past the glowing mist of the portal gate, disappearing to the other side and no doubt Kenshi knows when Liu Kang learns from them all that this mission, that yielded neither Shang Tsung nor Quan-Chi, cost the eyesight of one of his champions-

"Get them!"

"Johnny, we’re almost there!"

He refused to look back, he was sure they would make it, he was a hand outstretched away, the other holding Johnny’s-

Krakk!

Kenshi abruptly stopped dead in his tracks.

His hearing was deafened by the sharp sound of breaking bone.

He had to look back-

Slowly, agonizingly, his stomach dropped in what must have been a second to take in the sight-

Johnny raised his hand to grasp Reiko’s spear pierced through his chest, blood spilling out in a gasp. The blindfolded star took a step back from the strike, staggering.

No, no-

Outworld’s forces were closing the distance and Kenshi couldn’t move, he can’t, he has to-

Johnny, through the excruciating pain, smiled at him.

"See ya, Kenshi. Don’t forget to live, okay?"

Then before he could stop him, Johnny kicked him in the chest, sending Kenshi through the portal to Earthrealm and on the floor-

"Johnny, NO!"

And the last thing he saw before Liu Kang’s fire brought him back, was Johnny turning to face General Shao and his soldiers charging at him, the superstar smirking as he took his last stand.

─────────ೋღ 🥀 ღೋ─────────

After he had yelled his entire heart out, he began sobbing and weeping at the pain of losing a friend.

The weather must have known what he was feeling right now in this very moment. Because when he screamed his lungs and vocal cords out, thunder had struck next to him.

Another one of his loved ones..

Dead.

Just like Suchin.

Just like his mother.

Just like his father.

The gods must be punishing him for his sins as an assassin and working as a member of the yakuza.

"Kuso… Zenbu watashi no seida… Warui no wa watashida… Watashi ga subekidatta nda!" He whispered then yelled at himself.

Kenshi continued his mantra of survivor's guilt and self-loathing, uncaring about the violent rain hitting his back, until he noticed something shiny on the now muddy ground.

A dogtag.

His eye brows furrowed and he grabbed it and wiped the mud off.

The text on the dogtag brought more tears to his eyes.

JOHNNY CAGE

Blood: YOURS

Religion: CAGE

Johnny must have thrown it into the portal before it closed and before he was brutally killed. Johnny had told him about how his mother had this dogtag custom made for him as a birthday gift.

He brought the dogtag to his chest, right where his heart is, and clutched onto it like it was the most precious thing in the world. Because it is, his blood is on your hands and this dogtag is the only thing left of him.

Kenshi put the dogtag on and stood up. He wiped the tears from his eyes and started making his way towards the academy.

═════════•°•⚠•°•═════════

Kenshi entered the academy, not caring about the fact he was soaking wet, and was instantly greeted by several familiar face.

Kung Lao was the first to notice him. But he also noticed another thing.

"Kenshi, where's Johnny?"

Tears welled up in Kenshi's eyes again and he looked down at the ground and shook his head.

Silence.

Everyone knew what had happened.

Johnny is dead.

"H-how?-" Raiden attempted to ask but was interrupted by Kenshi.

"Stabbed through the chest by Reiko's spear." Kenshi's voice was hard and stern, clearly it intimidated everyone.

Or rather, nearly everyone.

Bi-Han walked towards him with his brothers attempting to stop him.

"Brother, please-" Kuai Liang tried.

Bi-Han walked up close to him and growled in his ear. "What did you just say?..." Bi-Han's voice was deeper and more intimidating than usual.

"I said, Johnny was stabbed through the heart by Reiko."

Bi-Han got even closer and more quietly whispered.

"You swore you would protect him. That you would bring him back me and his daughter."

Kenshi did swear that and he failed to fulfill that promise.

Having had enough, Kenshi walked past Bi-Han while aggressively and purposefully bumped his shoulder against Bi-Han's own.

When he passed Liu Kang, he brushes his cold wet sleeve against Liu Kang's.

Now, there was only one other person to face.

Cassandra Carlton "Cassie" Cage.

----AUTHOR'S NOTE----

Now I will admit, I've never written angst before but this was actually pretty good! And remember those coldstar headcanons centered around smut? That was my first time writing smut too!

Next will write about coldstar's first kiss and then Johnny's revival!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Big Business can't stop its illegal, fantastically lucrative gossiping

Seven years ago, I called Leonard Cohen’s Everybody Knows “the perfect anthem for our times.”

Everybody knows the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed The poor stay poor, the rich get rich That’s how it goes Everybody knows

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/11/11/leonard-cohen-wrote-the-perfect-anthem-for-our-times/

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/16/compulsive-cheaters/#rigged

That was just after Cohen died, and while the world seems to want to settle on Hallelujah as his totemic song, Everybody Knows keeps inserting itself into the discourse, in the most toxic, hope-draining way possible. Whenever some awful scandal involving the great and the good breaches, we’re told that “everybody knew” already, so let’s move on.

This current has been running through our society for decades now. Remember when the Snowden leaks hit and a yawning chorus of nihilists told us that they knew already and so should anyone else with the smallest iota of sophistication? Back then Jay Rosen coined a rejoinder to this counsel of despair: “Don’t savvy me”:

https://twitter.com/jayrosen_nyu/status/344825874362810369

Everybody knows. It’s what we heard after the Panama Papers. Swissleaks. Luxleaks. The Paradise Papers. Everybody knows! It’s what the nothing-to-see-here crowd said about Propublica’s explosive IRSLeaks, back in 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/15/guillotines-and-taxes/#carried-interest

The leaks revealed the tax-dodges of the richest and most powerful people in America, which were jaw-dropping in their audacity and shamelessness. Sure, maybe you suspected that the 400 richest people in America paid less tax than you — but did you really guess that the means by which they did this was through taking massive deductions on their elite hobbies?

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/13/taxes-are-for-the-little-people/#leona-helmsley-2022

Maybe “everybody knows” that the game is rigged, but did you know how? Like, did you know that REITs — a tax shelter for mom-and-pop investors who buy an income property for their retirement — have become a primary vehicle for gutting unions at hotels, slashing wages and imposing brutal, dangerous working conditions?

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/01/reit-modernization-act/#reit-makes-might

The leaks are cumulative. By combining data from one leak with another, we can build out a far more detailed picture of the conspiracy — and it is a conspiracy — among the utlrawealthy and their Renfields in the law, real-estate and accounting trades to duck their responsibilities and mound ever-more treasure on their hoards.

Take the Jersey Offshore leaks (2020), comprising the internal memos of La Hougue, a fantastically crooked firm of fixers on the Isle of Jersey, one of the lawless tax-crime jurisdictions that the UK pretends it has no control over. La Hougue has a playbook, 11 tactics for lying about your taxes. The remarkable thing about these 11 tactics is how flimsy they are, how easy it is to penetrate their lies. When Parliament says it can’t possibly do anything about the criminal havens in the Channel, remember the Jersey Offshore leaks and remind yourself that not even Parliament is that credulous. They know. Everybody knows:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/20/la-hougue/#complexity

Why do working people think the Democrats are just another party for the ultra-rich? Maybe it’s Pelosi’s relentless opposition to meaningful curbs on insider trading. Or maybe it’s the kinds of politicians that the Democratic Machine likes to rally behind — like Tali Farhadian Weinstein, who raised millions in 2021, in large-money donations from Democratic finance-sector donors in her bid to become the DA of Manhattan. Farhadian Weinstein and her husband have more than $100m in annual income, and yet, paid no federal tax in 2013, 2015 and 2017. In 2014, they paid $6,584:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/17/quis-custodiet-irs/#trumps-taxes

Propublica isn’t done with the IRS Files. Today, they published a long investigation into ultra-rich corporate executives who buy and sell their competitors’ stock for massive profits with suspiciously precise timing. The data comes from 1099-B filings, which brokerages file with the IRS with each trade, but which the IRS doesn’t share with the SEC:

https://www.propublica.org/article/secret-irs-files-trading-competitors-stock

Here are some examples:

Ohio billionaire August Troendle, CEO of Medpace, repeatedly bought and sold shares of $Syneos — his company’s archrival, timing the transactions with a management shakeup that dropped the stock by 16% in one day, and an SEC investigation that crushed Syneos’s stock by 25%. His precision timing made him at least $2.3m in profit.

Isaac Larian, CEO of Bratz-maker MGA, made $28m trading shares in Mattel, MGA’s nemesis and frequent litigant — during a period when Mattel stock crashed by 57% (!). Larian boasts that “I made a LOT more money shorting Mattel stock than they did running a $4.5 billion toy company.”

Larian’s trades also involved some very precise timing. Sometimes, he took positions just before his own company announced its upcoming products, and others positions immediately preceded major disclosures from Mattel. Larian’s subordinates told Propublica that he is “is a boss with an endless appetite for information about his company and its competitors, constantly grilling subordinates on minutiae about the industry.”

Larian couldn’t explain the timing of these trades. His lawyer told Propublica that it was “false and defamatory” to suggest that he “possessed material, nonpublic information that Larian knew was obtained in breach of a duty.”

Next up is Gerald Boelte, founder and chair of the massive oil company LLOG. LLOG partners with other companies for its oil drilling. Companies like Stone Energy. Boelte bought a huge position in Stone the day before the company’s 2015 earnings report, in which they revealed an increase their reserves’ value, pulling in a 65% one day profit. He’d never bought shares in Stone before.

Boetle told Propublica, “I do not and have never traded on any material, non-public information of competitors, business partners or others… Any implication that I was investing based upon advance knowledge is therefore clearly false.”

Jim Sankey is CEO of Invue. He bought $3.2m worth of shares in his rival Checkpoint, while checkpoint was in secret negotiations to be acquired by CCL Industries. Sankey was already thoroughly connected to Checkpoint, having sold a $150m product line to them in 2007. There’s no record that he’d ever traded Checkpoint before. He made $2.3m. Sankey says “he did not know Checkpoint was going to be acquired.” He says that his company was not approached by Checkpoint as a potential acquirer.

Barry Wish was a board member of Ocwen, a company he co-founded. After the Great Financial Crisis, Ocwen bid unsuccessfully to buy $215b worth of Bank of America mortgages. The winning bidder was Nationstar. Three weeks before Nationstar’s winning bid was announced, Wish bought $600k worth of Nationstar shares. After the bid was announced, he sold them for for a $157k profit.

Wish told Propublica that he never traded competitors’ stock: “No, not at all.” Propublica read him the details of the trade from his leaked 1099-B. He said “You might see it, but I don’t have any recollection” and hung up.

Steven Grossman is a cardboard heir — a nepobaby who inherited Southern Container Corp from his grandpa. After he sold the company to Rock-Tenn for $1b in 2013, he stayed on as a senior exec. Over the next 5 years, he traded large blocks of shares in Rock-Tenn’s competitors, companies like Temple-Inland, a company that he made a 37% profit on after its acquisition was announced in 2011, one week after Grossman started buying its shares.

Grossman falsely told Propublica, “I haven’t traded stock since then.” IRS records show that Grossman continued to trade. Grossman also told Propublica that he had no role with Rock-Tenn, despite being on their payroll for five years. When asked about his extremely lucky timing buying and selling Temple-Inland, he said “That was 10 years ago” and hung up.

As Propublica’s Robert Faturechi and Ellis Simani write, Securities regulations have their origins in the crash of 1929, and the subsequent collapse in confidence in markets and capitalism, the sense that the system was rigged for the wealthy and political insiders. That is a pretty good summation of sentiment today:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/15/mon-dieu-les-guillotines/#ceci-nes-pas-une-bailout

It’s not just that corporate executives are corrupt, it’s that they’re lavishly, shamelessly, endlessly, incorrigibly corrupt. Take Canadian Pacific and Kansas City Southern, the sixth- and seventh-largest Class I railroads in the USA, whose merger was just approved by the Surface Transportation Board.

There are plenty of good reasons for the STB to have blocked this merger. The rail industry is already excessively concentrated, and its top execs are so convinced that they’re both too big to fail and too big to jail that they’re rendering entire towns permanently uninhabitable in order to eke out a few more points in profit:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

But there are specific reasons to have blocked this merger, starting with the whistleblower report about CP and KCS executives illegally coming together for a three-day “retreat” at The Breakers hotel in Palm Beach, a notorious site for Republican operatives to collude with the business lobby:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2023-03-16-canadian-pacific-kansas-city-southern-rail-merger/

As Luke Goldstein writes for The American Prospect, both companies spent millions in 2020 and 2022 on campaign contributions to “grease the skids” for the merger — in particular, ensuring that the combined company could transport Alberta tar sands oil (the filthiest, most energy intensive oil in the world) to US ports.

Though the STB was informed of the illegal meeting — in which the two companies behaved as though the merger had already been finalized — STB chair Martin Oberman told Goldstein that the Board did not write to the companies for an explanation before waving through their merger.

Instead, Oberman dismissed the complaint on the grounds that “Railroads have to be able to talk to one another to function.” Typically this takes place over a free phone call, though — not on a three-day executive junket at a hotel where the rooms run $1,500/night.

Oberman knows what happened at that meeting.

Everybody knows.

It comes as no surprise to learn that before FTX imploded and destroyed the savings of its depositors, it paid out $3b to its top executives, including the criminal Sam Bankman-Fried:

https://gizmodo.com/sbf-ftx-crypto-sam-bankman-fried-1850232043

It comes as no surprise that Silicon Valley Bank paid out bonuses to its execs and employees hours before it collapsed:

https://www.cnbc.com/2023/03/11/silicon-valley-bank-employees-received-bonuses-hours-before-takeover.html

Everybody knows.

It’s comforting to think that the tax code loopholes that the ultrawealthy exploit are an epiphenomenon of complexity, an unavoidable consequence of the technical requirements of a big regulation that spans 300m+ people. But the truth is, the loopholes in the US tax code were inserted by politicians who got massive campaign contributions from donors who directly benefited from those loopholes. Senator Ron Johnson got $20m from the owners of Uline (Dick and Liz Uihlein) and roofing magnate Diane Hendricks, then he blocked the Trump tax bill until his fellow lawmakers inserted a loophole that produced $215m for the Uihleins and Hendricks, in just the first year:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/11/the-canada-variant/#shitty-man-of-history-theory It’s not even surprising that a sitting US Senator amended a bill to give hundreds of millions of dollars to billionaires who gave him tens of millions of dollars.

Everybody knows. It’s weirdly comforting to think that everyday people vote for demagogue wreckers because Facebook hired a legion of evil sorcerers to fashion a mind-control ray out of Big Data and AI, but Facebook lies about everything, and everyone who ever claimed to have a mind-control ray was a liar.

Maybe people vote for demagogue wreckers because they believe the system is rotten, and maybe they believe the system is rotten because the system is rotten. Maybe the self-described evil sorcerers of Big Tech aren’t “hacking our dopamine loops” — maybe they’re just helping opportunists target people who are justifiably angry:

https://onezero.medium.com/how-to-destroy-surveillance-capitalism-8135e6744d59

The problem with this explanation is that it requires “progressive” parties to actually do stuff to demonstrate that they are on the side of people, not the side of paperclip-maximizing immortal colony organisms and the corporate executives who pretend to run them:

https://twitter.com/thehill/status/1184004730722217984

I try to have hope — that is, I try to believe that if we can only make changes to our material circumstances, however small they may seem, that we might attain a new vantagepoint that reveals more possible changes within our grasp:

https://gen.medium.com/hope-not-optimism-943e88291b

Some days, it’s hard to have hope. Some days, it’s so obvious that everybody knows, all that I can muster is fury. Fury is not a full substitute for hope, but it’ll do. It’s a far superior alternative to the fatalism that “everybody knows” and thus nothing can be done.

Some fights you win, and other fights, you just fight, because surrender isn’t an option. Everybody knows, right? If everybody knows, then everybody might just decide to do something about it.

Next Monday (Mar 20), I’m doing a remote talk for the Ostrom Workshop’s Beyond the Web Speaker Series.

[Image ID: A smoke-filled room lit by candles. Around a large formal table sit various 19th century gentlemen-type people. One of them stands and reads from a memo. The shadow he casts is in the shape of a dollar-sign.]

[averywiseanimatedcat]

Rewatching Good Omens season 2 liveblog

Season 2, episode 2 ‘The clue’ Post 1

Link to episode 1 post 1

What in the actual duck did Crowley summon here? It’s like a mini sun that shoots sun lazers?? Again-showing how powerful Crowley is he can summon a dam sun looking thing just to smite a few goats. Also unnecessarily dramatic, which I appreciate. Very on brand.

Be gay, so crimes, smite some goats with a giant sun you summoned out of nowhere.

This was so funny it was like they were in a play, and it was cute how Azirphale recognised him and was like ‘oh it’s yooouu’ and immediately dropped the Angel act

Fuck off Gabirel. If I could curse this Angel to a thousand years of stubbing his little toe repeatedly over and over again on a table leg in hell I WOULD. That’s all I have to say about Gabriel. Moving on.

This whole Job flashback is so important to setting up the the conflict of the season which ultimately builds up to Azirphale and Crowleys fight.

The main conflict of this season is Aziraphales fight with his own mortality and beliefs. It’s so sad to watch him get his hopes up just to have them dashed again and again when he’s trying to find reason or meaning in the events that are unfolding in front of him. He has a very strong sense of justice, and the events of the Job flashback are obviously disturbing to him. So much so that he actually goes AGAINST gods will to try and stop Crowley when he thinks he’s going to hurt the children. He spends the whole thing bouncing around between rebellion and conformity. And it’s really telling that he is still in the same struggle in the present day. He hasn’t resolved anything, he’s just gotten more comfortable with breaking the rules (probably bc of his scary dog privileges, aka, Crowley)

Moving on….

This is the face of a man in the process of experiencing the ick. His ick is anyone but Crowley or him touching his books but I think his ick is also Gabriel in general.

This is an ick we share. Fuck Gabriel. Even when he’s Jim.

I have multiple questions- first of all, does Crowley ever clean his windscreen?

Second of all-why does he park in this random ass street all the time? Does he want Azirphale to think he’s out doing something cool and important when really he has nothing to do and no house to go to? Then he can pull up all suave like whenever Azirphale calls? I bet this street is like 2 minutes from the bookshop so he can pretend he was far away then drive up at the perfect time.

You need a hobby Crowley, like a real one, and saving your Angel over and over again is not a hobby. You also need a therapist but that’s another discussion…

Also-I love how DISGUSTINGLY sarcastic he is this season. He’s really turned it up like five notches. Probably compensating for the fact everyone knows he’s attached to the hip with Azi so he gotta turn up the cool/unbothered sarcastic demon of the underworld act while he sleeps in his car with his houseplants. What a gay disaster I love him.

Aziraphale is a mood here not knowing what to do when someone’s crying infront of them

Me whenever I see Gabriel even when he’s Jim. That’s my middle finger if it wasn’t clear enough.

Fuck Gabriel and therefore also fuck Jim. I hope he drops his toast in the morning, spread side down.

BUT I have to admit-Jim is hyperactive ADHD personified and I appreciate the comedy.

But still fuck you Gabriel.

Azirphales face in the background when he thinks their about to discover Gabriel: a toddler who thinks if they can’t see you, you can’t see them.

Link to next post

[something-tofightfor]

It’s Dangerous To Fall In love VI: Ache For Love, Ache For Us

Pairing: Nick Caldwel (Fire Meet Gasoline) x Female Reader

Word Count: 11,463

Rating: M

Chapter warnings: Language, talk of Nick’s past. angst. 

Blanket warnings for this whole story: Crime, death, blood, injury, violence, abandonment, anger, sadness, mentions of jail/prison time, terminal illness, adultery, mentions of domestic violence and emotional abuse

Summary: Checking out of the hotel means a 10 hour drive back to Arizona. Despite what happened the previous night - and what it meant, you and Nick still have a lot more to work through. 

Author’s note:

Sorry about the delayed update with this one ... that’s completely my fault. I know that the end of this one isn’t going to sit well with some people ... but it’s necessary. 

I think there are two more parts to this - one full length chapter, and an epilogue. We’ll see. 

I appreciate all of the comments and interaction on this story so far; it’s been a challenge to write, but I’ve enjoyed it.

Comments and feedback and questions are always appreciated. If you need to catch up before reading chapter 6, you can do that by clicking below.

It’s Dangerous to Fall In Love Masterlist

He was up before you the following morning, and when you stretched, your arms extending from your body and over the surface of the mattress, you were disappointed that he wasn’t next to you. But when you heard the shower running, you figured that it was for the best - Nick’s absence would give you time to change and pack your stuff, preparing for when the two of you left the room a few hours later. 

You didn’t regret what had happened the night before, including the part where you’d told him that you still loved him. You’d slept better that night than you had in two years, your body sated from the attention he’d paid it and the way - even after so long apart - he’d seemed remember exactly what you wanted and needed from him. I hope it was the same on my end. Rubbing your face, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in the pillow, yawning. It was only a little after 9, which meant that there was no hurry, and so you stayed in bed, giving yourself a chance to wake up fully before you stood. 

It was an accident but you drifted back to sleep a few minutes later, cheek pressed against the cool material of the pillow, and only woke up when you felt someone touch your shoulder, Nick’s quiet voice saying your name. “Hmm?” Pushing up and turning your head toward the sound, you sucked in a breath. “Nick?”

“It’s almost 10. I wanted to let you sleep so I turned your alarm off, but I didn’t know …” Despite your half-asleep status, you took a few moments to appreciate the sight of Nick in front of you; another t-shirt clinging to his body, a pair of comfortable jeans covering his legs - the damp strands of his hair flat against his head for the most part. “I showered already, so…” 

“Good morning, Nick.” Rolling your shoulders back, you gave him a smile. “Are you … how do you feel about last night?” There was a momentary flash of discomfort on his face but then the man settled onto the mattress next to you, one of his hands reaching for yours. 

“I feel like it probably shouldn’t have happened, but I’m glad it did.” You were thankful for the honesty he was giving you, but his words still hurt. “I needed that. Needed to know that … even though you said that you didn’t hate me, you meant it.” 

“I do mean it.” Squeezing his hand, you said his name. “I don’t hate you.” I couldn’t hate you. “Thank you for letting me sleep. We’ve got a long drive, and even an extra hour is going to help.” He ducked his head, telling you it was no problem, and in that moment, you knew that there was something else he wanted to say - but wouldn’t. “What’s going on, Nick? I know what you acting like this means. Something’s up.”

“I thought about kissing you this morning, before I got out of bed? Like I used to. I was going to lean over and kiss you before I went to take a shower, and then I … I remembered that I can’t, and -” 

“You could have.” Sitting up, you gathered the sheet at your chest, holding it in place. “Nick, after last night, we… until we leave this room, I think … I think the rules are different.” 

“And then what? As soon as we step outside, it goes back to -”

“It doesn’t need to.” You rubbed your eyes again, sighing. “We can take things as they come, but … Nick, you said you wanted to be friends, and that means we’re going to have to figure out how to do this. And that’s going to mean being honest with each other, so you telling me that you wanted to kiss me? That’s big.” Leaning in, you reached for him with your free hand. “I want to kiss you right now, so that makes two of us that feel that way this morning.” He smiled - the expression barely there, but it was Nick that closed the distance between you, his mouth meeting yours briefly before he surged forward, pushing you back against the pillows. 

When he climbed into bed with you, hooking one knee over your hip and pulling his hand free before slipping his arms beneath your body, you were ready for it, nodding in agreement as you kissed him back. The two of you had always been like that - one leading the other, the attraction and spark between you only able to be contained for short periods of time before one of you broke. But this time, we’re both breaking. 

The kiss didn’t go past that - bodies connected, lips parted and Nick seeming not to care that you hadn’t brushed your teeth that morning as he delved into your mouth with his tongue, but it was enough. You felt just how much he still cared, how much he ached to try and make up for what he’d done - and you hoped that he could tell you wanted it just as much. You wanted to give him the chance to make up for leaving, no matter what that meant or how long it took. 

You swallowed hard when he pulled away, running his nose alongside yours briefly, and when Nick cleared his throat, you knew that he was about to deliver bad news. “You need to get dressed. We’ve gotta get out of here, and as much as I’d like to stay in this room forever, I’m not gonna lie and say that I don’t want to get the fuck out of Texas and never come back.”

That made you laugh, and as you nodded in reply, Nick climbed off of you, standing up and holding his hand out. “I’m not a big fan of this state either, so yeah. We should get the fuck out of here.” 

— 

Just under two hours later, you were driving across the Texas / New Mexico border, the radio playing in the background. As the “Welcome to New Mexico” sign came into view, you glanced over at Nick, watching as his posture changed - the man sitting up straighter in the seat, his eyes trained on the windshield. “You’re out of Texas, Nick. It’s over.” 

“That part of my life is.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “What comes next?” 

“I’m not sure.” For either of us. You reached for his hand, linking your fingers with his. “But you’ll figure it out.” 

— 

You stopped for the first time in Albuquerque, pulling off the highway and into a gas station. Nick insisted on filling the tank while you went inside and used the bathroom and bought snacks. You’d talked it over in the hotel parking lot and decided not to stop for an actual meal until later, right before you crossed the border into Arizona. “That will leave about four hours in the trip,” you pointed out as you zoomed in on your phone screen. “Means we’ll get back no later than 10, unless dinner takes forever, or we need to stop for something else.” 

You were still doing fine - the drive had been easy with very little traffic, and Nick’s company had been more than pleasant, the two of you talking about multiple topics as you traveled through the desert - just like you had on the numerous other road trips that you’d taken together in the past. 

In some ways, that time together was much easier than being in the hotel room with him had been. The space was smaller, sure, but it seemed less confined to you, Nick comfortable in the passenger seat as he told you stories about his time in prison as well as his time on the road - even though he didn’t talk about his time in Texas after meeting Elena. 

He had some good stories, and as you pushed aside your anger even further, you realized that you wanted to hear them - wanted him to tell you all about what he’d done while he was gone and how it had impacted his life. It wouldn’t change the hurt you’d experienced, and it wouldn’t eliminate how mad at him you’d been - and part of you still was - but as the man spoke, gesturing with both hands, you understood that even though he regretted leaving for a lot of reasons, he’d needed the time away for very different ones. 

He was different than he had been - and when he wasn’t worrying about your reaction to being in such close proximity, it was easy to see. Because he’s not the same man that he was when he walked out. You didn’t know if he’d ever mourned the loss of his father properly, and didn’t know how to ask, but you assumed that when he was home and with his mother again, the topic would come up between them. And then I’ll know. Maybe not everything, but … more. 

As you headed back out to the car, you saw that Nick was already sitting again, your phone held up to his ear. Climbing in, you listened carefully, figuring that there were only a few people that he could have been talking to - and after a few seconds, your suspicions were confirmed, the man repeating the ETA you’d given him to the person on the other end of the line. “She says we’ll be back in Mesa kinda late, so if you want me to stay somewhere else tonight, I can. I don’t want to -” He paused, teeth digging into his lower lip. “Before midnight, yeah. Unless something really delays us, it shouldn’t… no. No, she’s just going to drop me off. She hasn’t said anything about coming in.” He went quiet, nodding. “I’ll call you when we’re about an hour out, if that’s alright.” 

He hung up seconds later, sticking your phone back into the space in the center console and then scrubbing one hand over the lower half of his face. “Is she excited to see you, Nick?” You handed him the plastic bag of food and drinks, waiting until he took it to keep talking. “I bet she is. She always talked about how excited she was that you were eventually going to be home. I’m sure she’s got like fifteen meals planned out.” 

“Oh, of course.” He laughed, rummaging through the bag and pulling out a Red Bull. “I bet the first thing she makes is her enchiladas.” Oh, those. You groaned, closing your eyes briefly. “What?”

“My favorite. I’ve had them a couple times in the last few years. She does something different with the sauce sometimes, and it’s so fucking good. She’ll probably make them how she used to for you, but if she’s got the extra -”

“You could come over for dinner.” He cleared his throat, popping open the can and lifting it to his lips for a long swallow. “I’m sure she -”

“Not for the first one, Nick.” Pulling back onto the highway, you shook your head at him. “I’ve gotten a couple days with you already. Your mom deserves her time, too.” He wouldn’t argue with you - you knew that for a fact, and so when he agreed it was no surprise. “We’re making good time.” Drumming your fingers on the wheel, you nodded, keeping your eyes on the road in front of you.”And the weather’s -”

“What’s wrong?” He put the can down into one of the cupholders, reaching over to touch your knee. “You were fine before you went into that gas station.” Just tell him. Tell him what you were thinking about. 

“You’re different. And I didn’t see it as much when we were in that hotel, but now … you’re… you needed to leave. And you didn’t do it the right way, but …” Grip on the wheel growing tighter, you took a deep breath. “But it helped. And I’m glad.” He said nothing right away, but when he did speak, the man’s words weren’t what you expected. 

“I’m glad, too. Because it means that there’s less work for me to do to get back to …” His fingers tightened on your leg. “To the man I was before my dad died.” Is that what you want? “I was happy then. With my life and my job and with you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be the exact same person again, but… I want to try.” You both stayed quiet after he said that, the man’s eyes leaving you and looking forward, too, but it was a comfortable silence. He means it.  For the next few minutes, you both watched the open road - and when Nick cleared his throat and started talking again, you couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on your face. “So when I was in Atlantic City…” 

— 

As excited as he was to see his mother - and sleep in his bed again - Nick wasn’t looking forward to the end of your time together. 

Even though you’d said that walking out of the hotel room together could be looked at as a turning point of sorts, Nick hadn’t felt that way in all the time you’d been on the road. He was shocked at how easy it was to be near you in every sense of the word for so many hours at a time after being apart for so long. He was even more surprised at the level of interest you showed in the things he was saying. When he’d started talking as the two of you drove west on I-40, it had been to fill the silence - the man hoping that he could engage you in conversation long enough to get you to open up in return … and you had. 

The first half of the ride back was the happiest he’d been in as long as he could remember, and as you started to pass signs for Gallup, Nick felt his stomach twist. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get out of the car and stretch his legs. It wasn’t even that he wasn’t hungry, because breakfast had been hours earlier and the snacks you’d consumed in place of an actual lunch hadn’t fully filled his belly. It’s because when we’re out in public, people are looking. 

Neither of you knew anyone in New Mexico, and he wasn’t worried about being recognized, but Nick understood all too well how nosy people were. People likely wouldn’t say anything, but he had to wonder if the way he looked or the way he carried himself gave away the fact that he’d just been released from prison - and if people would judge the two of you for it. He knew that it would only get worse when you were back in Mesa because you did know people there, and many of them wouldn’t hold back when it came to giving you a piece of their mind about your connection with him. And she’ll say she doesn’t care, but … she does. “Nick.” You touched his shoulder, bringing the man out of his thoughts. “Did you hear me? I asked what you wanted to eat. There are a ton of places on these signs, and I can see -”

“Can we sit somewhere? It doesn’t need to be nice, but I don’t want to eat in the car.” He poked his tongue into his cheek, thinking. “We’ve already had burgers and pizza, but -”

“Applebee’s?” You pointed as you passed a sign. “Plenty of stuff to choose from on that menu, and it’s usually pretty quick to get in and out.” 

“That works.” Settling into the seat and trying to push his unease to the side, Nick stayed quiet until you parked, the man waiting until you’d exited the car to follow you. He watched as you stretched, raising both arms over your head and groaning as you arched your back. “I wish I could help drive. You’ve been sitting like that for so long, and we’ve still got -”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Lowering your arms, you waited for him to move next to you before you headed across the parking lot. “As soon as I drop the car off tomorrow, I won’t have to drive for a couple days, so it’s not a big deal.” You elbowed him, tilting your hed so that you could meet his eyes. “Besides, you’re a pretty good copilot, so it’s making things go fast.” You’d said similar things to him in the past - telling him that you preferred to drive when it was just the two of you since he could always keep you entertained on longer road trips. 

For Nick, it was another reminder of the way things had been, of all of the opportunities that he’d likely lost with you. We would have already been so many places together. So many memories. So much … so much wasted time. He said your name, cautiously reaching out with one hand, and you placed yours within it, a smile lighting up your features. “Do they still have that spinach and artichoke dip I liked?” 

“They do. And since it’s before 6, Nick, it’s happy hour, which means it’s half off.” You pulled on his hand, leading him forward. “Come on. I’m hungry.” 

— 

You were right when you’d said that the restaurant was usually fast when it came to getting food out, and barely an hour later, the two of you were finishing the remnants of your meal, mostly empty plates scattered on the table between you. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to a lot of shit again,” he started, lips closing around the end of his straw briefly. “But fuck am I glad that I can eat whatever I want whenever I want.” You laughed at that, the sound quiet, but you didn’t look away. “I know we haven’t really been anywhere good the past couple days, but this food is … incredible compared to what I’ve been eating.”

“Maybe you’ll put on some weight, Nick.’ Sipping your own drink, you eyed him. “I mean you look good, but your face is thin, and you definitely lost weight while you were gone.” Only after I got locked up. He glanced down, thinking. “And you know how your mom is. When she cooks, you can’t leave the table unless you’ve had at least two plates, so…” Trailing off, you arched a brow. “You may want to think about finding a good place to run again so that you can put all those calories to work.”

“Probably.” He finished his drink, tipping the cup up so that the ice slid into his mouth. “That’s a good idea.” Wonder if the trails in that park are still usable. You were about to speak when the waitress walked up to the table, asking if either of you needed anything and Nick jumped in before you had a chance. “I’m good. Just the check, please.” Your gaze flicked him and then back up at the young girl. “One bill.” She nodded and then set down the folio, thanking both of you before she turned away from the table. 

Nick knew that he only had seconds to react and so he did, his hand shooting out and grabbing for what she’d left. “Nick, you don’t have to … you already paid for gas, and -” 

“Want to.” He scanned the slip of paper and then shrugged. “You came all this way for me. You’ve paid for everything else, and I hate it.” He hoped you understood, and after considering his words for a few seconds you blinked, relaxing back into your side of the booth. “I know I can be an asshole, but I’ve never been an asshole that doesn’t pay his way.” 

“No, you haven’t.” Looking down at your hands, you paused. “Speaking of that, though, um … your name’s still on the house, so now that you’re going to be back in Mesa, we should probably figure out what you want to do about that.” It hit him like a punch to the gut, but Nick forced himself to keep looking at you. “We don’t have to decide soon, but … we’d both need to be present if one of the names was coming off of the paperwork, and …”

“Shit. I didn’t … fuck, how did I not even think about …” Nick swore again, setting the check down on the edge of the table, a few bills sticking out from the end. “I left you with the …’

“You did.” Your smile was tight, but you didn’t look away. “And I figured it out. I don’t want to sell the house, Nick. I never have. I love it there.” How did you afford everything with me gone? How didn’t I… “I got a couple raises. And it’s been hard sometimes, but my parents were there to help, too and so I’ve never missed a payment.” You wet your lips, shrugging. “I made it work.” Of course you did. And you never complained and … “But yeah. That’s something else to think about. You name’s already on it, so if you needed a place to -”

“I’m not going to take over the house.” He reached for you, hesitating before he covered your hand with one of his. “You’ve been making payments on it by yourself for longer than I even lived there. That would be real shitty of me.” You didn’t disagree, and Nick groaned, looking down. “Would you be able to afford it if I got taken off the loan? Or -”

“I don’t know.” You met his eyes again, shrugging. “I don’t know if they’d approve me for a loan in my name only.” 

“Then I’ll stay on it.” He squeezed your hand once more and then pulled his away. “It’s not hurting anything, and I won’t be trying to get my own place for a while, so … it makes sense. Unless you don’t want me to. I -”

“Nick, I didn’t bring this up to upset you.” You sipped your drink, frowning. “I didn’t even want to say anything, but then I was thinking about you trying to find a place to live, and the loan coming up when they do a credit check, and … I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped.” Trapped? In a mortgage with you? Never. “But like I said, there’s no rush. I just … I figured you hadn’t really thought about it.” I didn’t. I should have. 

“Alright.” He didn’t know what else to say, so Nick just agreed, his eyes still on you. “And I mean it. I don’t want us … you to lose that house, so if you’re OK with things staying how they are for a little while longer, we’ll do that. Until … I get my shit together, at least.” You nodded, and even though you met his eyes, Nick couldn’t tell exactly what you were thinking, only that you were for some reason grateful to him for simply agreeing not to do anything that would jeopardize your ownership of the house. Did she really think that I’d try and take it from her? Did she really think that I’d expect to just … come back? 

“We should get going.” You pointed at the folio with the bill, clearing your throat. “I’ll top off the gas tank before we get back on the highway and then we should be able to drive straight through. Tapping your fingers on the tabletop, you took a long breath and then released it, pushing yourself backwards from the edge. “Do you want to ask for a refill before we go? They’ll give you a to-go cup.” Shaking his head, Nick stood up and reached a hand out for you, waiting to help you out of the booth. You hesitated but then took his hand and didn’t let go, stepping closer. “I really wasn’t trying to start a fight. I just … It’s been on my mind for the last couple days, and …” 

“I know.” He leaned in, kissing you briefly on the cheek. “It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize.” 

The two of you headed back outside and into the parking lot, the sun just beginning to set and the dinner crowd filing in. It still didn’t feel real to him - that only 7 and a half hours earlier, he’d been in Texas with you, finishing out the final few hours of the longest years of his life. And now, we’ll be back in Arizona in less than an hour. And I’ll be back … back home with my mom tonight. He had no idea how he was going to react to being in his childhood home again, but Nick knew that running from his emotions was no longer an option - and that dealing with things as soon as he possibly could was necessary. 

It only took you a few minutes to fill the gas tank and then you were back on the road, driving toward the sunset - and toward what he hoped was an actual future for himself. Even though you weren’t outright ignoring him, you’d turned up the radio as soon as you got back onto the highway, resting your elbow on the door and using that hand to prop up your head as you drove. You looked comfortable, but he could tell that you were deep in thought, even though he heard you humming along to the songs on the radio occasionally, one side of your mouth curving up into a small smile when a favorite came on. 

You surprised him, though, when you pulled the car off of the highway and toward a rest stop barely a half hour later. “What are -”

Putting the car into park, you shifted in your seat enough to face him head-on, eyes bright. “This is your first time back in Arizona in two years, Nick. I thought we could commemorate the occasion.” Your smile was cautious, but when you reached for him, he noticed that you didn’t hesitate before taking his hand and squeezing. “Come on.” 

You got out of the car and he followed, eyes scanning the parking lot that you were in and the grouping of covered picnic tables that were - for the most part - empty. “Where are we going? You passed the main building, so -” But his words stopped as you took his hand again and dragged him back in the direction you’d come from, the two of you stepping around a large sign on the side of the road. Oh. Oh, she… 

He’d seen it before - the large blue sign on the side of the highway proclaiming Arizona to be the Grand Canyon State, the snow-capped mountains - but seeing it that night and by your side was different. She stopped me here because she wanted … “Welcome back to Arizona, Nick. Welcome home.” 

— 

You hadn’t planned on stopping at the state line, but the rapid shift in conversation right before leaving the restaurant had necessitated something on your end. You hadn’t wanted to bring up the loan status so soon, but Nick’s comment had pushed you a little too far, and you hadn’t been able to stop yourself. I didn’t do it to make him feel bad. I didn’t want to… You didn’t think that he would have ever thought to take the house from you - but his name was still legally on all the documents meaning that on paper, he had every right to be there if he wanted to. 

You wouldn’t have gotten approved for a second loan in only your name, and so part of you hoped that he wouldn’t want to immediately try to remove himself from the one you currently held. But I can’t stop him. That had been something that you’d looked into - what your options were if you needed to sell the house, but he didn’t seem like that was going to be the course of action he took, and for that, you were thankful. 

As you neared the state line, you made your decision; wanting Nick to have a good memory of getting back into Arizona, of spending time with you, of knowing that you were still trying to make things special for him even though the entire trip had been a back and forth of emotions for both of you. And it was a small thing - stopping at the state sign for a few minutes, but it was all you could do. You are home, Nick. This is always going to be your home, no matter how long you’re gone for. 

He stared up at the sign, pulling his hand from yours and crossing his arms over his chest and taking a long, deep breath. “I’m really back, aren’t I?” Nick looked over at you, nodding. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m…”

“Here, stand in front of it. Let me take your picture.” Pulling your phone out, you held it up. “You can send it to your mom.” He laughed but moved to stand in front of the sign, carefully climbing up and onto the large rock that was on the ground at the center. He stumbled briefly and then caught his balance, holding his arms out and laughing - and it was that moment that you captured, the man’s mouth open in a wide grin, his eyes halfway shut and his hands reaching out to steady himself. Perfect. 

“Take a different one.” He called out to you, hands on his hips. “A good one.” You did, even though you thought that the first one was the best one, and when you motioned for him to climb down, he did quickly, walking back over to you. 

“I’m glad we got here before it got too dark. Do you want to look through -”

“Let me take one of you, too.” He reached for your phone, fingers closing around yours. “Get over there.” Agreeing, you stepped in front of the sign and carefully got on top of the rock, turning around to face the man where he stood. He took few of you, the flash going off on the last one, and as you began to head back to where he waited, you saw that there was a young man and another woman standing a few feet away. I should ask if they want me to take one of them. 

“Would you mind taking a picture of us? We’re on our way to California, and we’ve gotten one at every sign.” The woman held out her phone and you took it wordlessly, nodding. “Thank you so much!” Nick stood back as you got into position and instructed the couple - taking pictures of them separately and then waiting until they were on the rock together, his arms around her from behind as he rested his chin on her shoulder. They were cute together, and as you finished taking the photos, you couldn’t help smiling at them when they walked back to you, hand in hand. “I can take one of the two of you if you want?” 

The woman’s voice was tinged with happiness, and after a quick glance at Nick, whose fearful stare told you that it was your call - you nodded, reaching for your phone again and handing it over. “Thank you.” Heart pounding in your chest as the two of you walked back to the rock, Nick climbed up first and then pulled you toward him, fingers of one hand linked with yours, the other hand resting against your hip. It took a second for you to find your footing, but when you did, turning so that your back was pressed to his chest, Nick pulled you even closer, his arms winding around your upper body and his cheek resting against yours. “Nick, I -” 

“Just smile. We can delete it as soon as they leave if you want.” You didn’t want that - it hadn’t been planned, but this would be the first picture that the two of you had together in years, and even though you knew that looking at it - at the familiar pose, the comfortable touches - would likely hurt more than you anticipated, you wanted the photo to exist. “Thank you for bringing me home, Calabaza.” 

He turned his head and kissed your cheek, and even through your shock you were aware of the flash going off, Nick’s arms tightening before he left go. “Got it! That’s a good one!” The other woman lowered your phone and waited for the two of you to make it back to where they stood. “Thank you so much! We’re planning on driving to Winslow and stopping, so this is the last thing we needed to do for the day.” She grinned and you nodded back, wishing the two of them luck as you and Nick headed back for your car. 

“Can I see my pictures?” He waited until you were sitting to ask, buckling his seatbelt as he spoke. “I’ll send them now so my mom knows exactly where we are.” He took your phone from your hands and focused on the screen, but instead of scrolling, Nick stayed still, eyes wide. What? What’s that look for? “We… we look…” He swallowed hard and then sighed, brightening the screen and turning it so that you could see it. “Here.”

You felt your eyes prickle with tears at the sight of the two of you on the screen, and a broken sob left your lips moments later,  both hands rising to cover your face. We look like us. We look like we used to. It hurt more to see yourself next to him in that picture than it had to look back through all of the ones from your relationship and engagement, and you weren’t sure why. He let you cry for a few seconds and then you heard him say your name, the man reaching out and settling a hand on your shoulder and saying your name again, that time quietly. 

“I’ll delete them. I know you don’t want to -” 

“No. No, that…” Sniffling, you raised your head, locking eyes with him. “Nick, look at us. It looks like …” Like no time has passed. Like we’re together and happy. Like … “Like we’re where we should be.” It wasn’t fair - for you to make a comment like that when the future of your friendship was so uncertain - but you didn’t care. “I just didn’t expect to see a picture of us from now. It… it caught me by surprise.” 

“Me too.” He sniffed, blowing out a shaky breath. “I meant it, though. Thank you for bringing me home. And thank you for making me feel like I still have a home to come back to.” With your mom? Or with me? 

It wouldn’t have been a good idea to voice that question, and so you just grinned at him, taking a deep breath of your own and then swiping the dampness from your cheeks. “You’re welcome. I’ll send you a bill for my Uber fee in the -”

“I’m going to kiss you again.” He interrupted you, his head shaking back and forth quickly. “I know it’s not a good idea, and that we can’t just keep -”

“Alright.” Your reply was a whisper, but you leaned in as you spoke, closing your eyes. “Nick, please…” You tried to stay focused when his lips touched yours but it was next to impossible. That kiss wasn’t like the ones in the hotel room - tentative and full of apology, the man hesitant to move his mouth against yours. The kiss in the car was Nick, doing what he’d done so many times in the past - anchoring you, tethering you to the present and letting you know that he was right there with you in every way.  

You knew that he loved you, but in that kiss, you felt it, Nick’s hands rising to cradle your cheeks gently as his tongue probed between your lips and met yours. It wasn’t a long kiss, and when you separated it happened naturally, without a gasp for breath or any quick movement, but Nick didn’t look away from you, even as he straightened up and squared his shoulders. 

“If you let me do that again, it’s going to be really hard for me to not try and convince you to stop somewhere along the way home for the night.” You heard the trembling of his voice, Nick licking his lips as he finally looked away. “I know we can’t. I know we shouldn’t. But every fucking second I spend with you is making it so much clearer that -”

“I know.” Angling your head back, you stared at the ceiling of the car, nodding. “If we get through this, we deserve an award or something.” That made him laugh - a little - and when you twisted the keys in the ignition again, he waited until you’d backed out of the spot and were heading for the highway to say anything in reply, the man sending out the pictures and message to his mom before he returned his attention to you.

“Even if I wouldn’t have left like I did, I still wouldn’t deserve you, d’you know that?” He took your hand, pulling it onto his lap. “You are way too good for me, and I knew it from the second I walked up to you in that parking lot. You tried to tell me no, that we shouldn’t go out, and I kept bugging you… maybe it would have been better if -”

“No.” Eyes on the rearview mirror briefly, you whipped your head from side to side. “It wouldn’t have been better, Nick. The time we spent together was right. Us knowing each other is right. It’s hard and it’s been even harder for the last couple years, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. Love doesn’t make sense. It’s not supposed to be easy. It -”

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t be this hard, either. Why haven’t you asked me what we’re both thinking?” What? “If I loved you, why did I leave in the first place? Shouldn’t you have been enough to keep me in Arizona? If I loved you, why did I sleep with -”

“Nick.” You tightened your grip on the steering wheel, forcing yourself not to look at him. If I do, it’s over. I’ll have to stop. “I haven’t asked you that because it doesn’t matter. We can’t change what’s already happened, and that includes you sleeping with Elena and letting yourself get so caught up in that that you …” Glancing down, you continued. “That you were involved in someone’s death, even on accident.” It was almost fully dark at that point, and though you knew that you were driving through the desert and there wasn’t much to look at, you wished it was daytime. A distraction. Anything to keep me from… “You left Arizona because you were trying to deal with losing your dad all by yourself. You left because you thought going would be easier than admitting that you didn’t know how to handle it.” 

“Calabaza, I -”

“No, you asked me a question, and I’m going to give you an answer.” He went quiet, shifting uncomfortably next to you. “Whether or not you loved me or were in love with me or wanted to be with me didn’t matter to you because that wasn’t what it was about. You left because you didn’t want to lose me and have to go through what you and your mom were going through, and I understand that. It doesn’t really make sense because either way, you were without me, but …” Chewing on your lower lip, you glanced down, setting the Cruise Control button on the steering wheel and then relaxing the pressure of your foot on the gas pedal. “And then you know what, Nick? I think that after you were gone, even though it was hard? It was easier for you to imagine that coming back would have been the shittier outcome. And it might have been. I was really mad. Our friends were really mad. I’m pretty sure my dad would have throttled you if he’d seen you again.”

“Will he still? If he sees me now?” You laughed at that - there was no other option as an answer to his question. “What?”

“No. He’s still not happy about all of that money we wasted, or that you just … left me, but I’ve been honest with him about supporting you, Nick, and he… understands.”

“How?” It was a good question, and sometimes you still asked yourself the same thing, but that wasn’t the answer you wanted to give Nick. 

“Because when you love someone, you don’t always get hung up on the shitty things they do, no matter how much they hurt.” Taking a moment, you pressed your lips together. “And he understands that I chose to forgive you enough so that I didn’t just leave you in the cold when you needed me.” 

“Does he know you’re with me now?”

“Yes. I told both of them when I made the decision to go to Texas. I don’t think either of them were surprised.” They definitely weren’t. “Am I mad that you slept with Elena? It doesn’t make me happy. But it wasn’t immediately, Nick. We were apart for a while before you met her, and I feel like at that point, you figured you weren’t ever coming back so why not find someone else? Even if you still loved me then, it wasn’t like it mattered, because we weren’t together.” 

“It mattered. But you’re right. I had no reason to think that you’d ever even speak to me again. And I was lonely. I feel like a fucking asshole admitting that, but -”

“I was lonely, too. And that’s why I dated. I figured I had to get back out there at some point. And it felt disloyal to you, at first?” You laughed, eyeing a sign for the Petrified Forest National Park as you passed it. “You left me and I felt guilty about going to dinner with someone else. Make that make sense.” Nick scoffed from beside you and you watched from the corner of your eye as he reached up and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how you were able to walk away, Nick. I don’t know how you were able to get in your car and just … leave, because I don’t think I could do that to you, no matter how fucked up I was over anything.” You inhaled, holding your breath. “But I’ve never been in your situation. So I don’t know how I’d react to it. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe -”

“I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have abandoned you and my mom. I should have agreed to postpone the wedding, found someone to talk to. I should have worked through it, because -”

“Talk to someone now, Nick. When we get back? Get help. You don’t have to do this on your own, and I think that’s the biggest mistake you made before - thinking that no one would understand.” You knew that you weren’t equipped to be Nick’s therapist - not alone, at least. But I could have been there as someone extra. I could have … helped. “It’s been a couple years but I’m sure it’ll still be good for you. It… it was good for me.”

“What?” That got his full attention, and with a sideways glance at the man, you decided to tell him something that only a few people knew. Whatever helps. 

“After you left? I… I started seeing a therapist. I was depressed. I was upset. I felt … alone. And it was easier for me to talk to a stranger than it was to tell my parents or friends.” You gripped the steering wheel tighter, the material creaking beneath your bent fingers. “It took me a couple months to decide to go, but after I started? I wish I’d gone sooner.” He said your name, using both hands to cover his face, and when he spoke next, you could almost feel the anguish in his words. 

“I’m sorry. I drove you to …” Nick swore, dropping his hands and smacking one of his thighs, his head turned away from you so that he could look out the passenger window. “Great. So we go from just about ready to get married to you needing therapy because of me. What a fucking piece of shit I am.” He lowered his chin. “It doesn’t matter how many times I apologize to you, it’s never going to be enough. I’m never going to -” 

“I went to two years of therapy and I still came to get you.” Interrupting him, you gave the words a few seconds to sink in, taking the exit for route 77 toward 377. “It helped. It helped me work through all the things I was feeling and what I didn’t understand… well, most of what I didn’t understand. You filled in a lot the blanks there.” Reaching over with your right hand, you touched his knee, saying his name. “When I told her I went to see you when you called? I think she expected me to spiral. And I did for a few weeks, but we worked through it pretty quick. And that’s … that’s when I decided that if you needed me again, I was going to help.” 

He laid his hand over yours again but didn’t apply pressure - just rested his palm against the back of it. “And this trip? What does -”

“I stopped seeing her about 6 months ago, so she doesn’t know. She helped me through the toughest parts of losing you, but after we worked through that there wasn’t … the rest of my life was pretty decent, Nick. It still is. And we’d been writing to each other while she and I were still talking, and it … I handled it. I talked about it. She said it was good for me to be able to have that level of communication with you on a regular basis, and that it showed how much progress I made.” He was moving his thumb, the pad of it swiping slowly over the bones of your wrist. “I can’t force you to go, but … I think it’ll help. And even if it just helps you understand? That’s a step in the right direction.” 

He didn’t reply, though he kept his hand in place, the movement of his thumb never faltering. You didn’t know if you’d said too much, but you didn’t think so - at least based on his outward reaction. 

Fifteen minutes later, Nick finally spoke, clearing his throat as he pulled his hand away from yours. “Three hours left.” He pointed at the map on the dashboard’s screen. “And it looks like we’re on this until -”

“Pretty much all the way back.” You sighed. “And most of it’s desert. There’s not really much in the way of cities until we get to Star Valley. I checked directions before I left, and -”

“You really looked into this, didn’t you?” He sounded defeated, and when you looked over again, you saw that Nick was looking at you, brow furrowed into a deep frown. “Shit.”

“Well, there was a 50% chance I was going to be on my own on the way back, so yeah. I had to plan out when I was going to be able to stop and take breaks or fill up the tank.” You shrugged. “And I figured having an idea of where I was going to pull off would give me things to look forward to. Ten hours in a car by myself would have been a long trip.” You returned your attention back to the road. “But I’m not by myself, so none of  that really matters.” Both of you were quiet again, and after a few seconds, you said the man’s name. “If you want to nap, you can. Don’t feel like you need to entertain me.” 

“Nope. Part of sitting in the front seat is staying awake.” He shifted, though, and you knew that he was getting comfortable. “I’m good.” 

But ten minutes later, you heard a long, slow sigh … and when you looked over at him, saw that Nick had fallen asleep. 

— 

He woke up and had no idea where he was, but when he heard your quiet voice telling him that everything was fine, he calmed - slightly. Shit, I didn’t mean to sleep. “There’s a casino coming up in a few minutes… and a gas station?” He nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m going to stop and use the bathroom and take a few minutes to stretch my legs. But we’re only about an hour from home, so you can let your mom know that, too.” 

“I’m sorry I fell asleep.” He kept his eyes on the windshield, scanning the lights of the city that you were passing through. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“I don’t blame you. I’d doze off right now if I could, too.” You laughed, pulling off of the highway and into the casino’s parking lot, turning right and pulling in front of the gas pumps. “I know it’s early, but I’m ready for bed.” It’s been a long day. “Do you want anything?” He eyed the dashboard, seeing that you were still at just under a half tank of gas and then Nick groaned, rubbing at his eyes. 

“I’ll come in with you.” A few seconds later, the two of you were walking into the brightly lit gas station, the young woman behind the counter greeting you with a nod and one raised hand. “Go, use the bathroom. I’ll wait.” You agreed and then headed off toward  the back, Nick turning and beginning to browse the aisles. It was more than a gas station - it was a full on store, and in the few minutes it took you to come back, he was able to wake up fully, taking in the racks of souvenirs, clothing and food. 

He realized just how much he’d missed being able to visit places like it - travel plazas and rest areas had been his best friends on his journey across country, and Nick was happy to learn that nothing had changed in the time that he’d been locked up. At least when it comes to how these places feel. “Alright. I’m back. It’s really cold back there, just to warn you. Tell me what you want and -”

“No, I’ll get my own when I get out. Be right back.” He left you in the potato chip aisle, the man striding down the short hallway and into the bathroom. Once inside, he did what he needed to and then stared into the mirror over the sinks, blinking rapidly. He looked tired - not only like he’d been traveling all day, but like the trip hadn’t been easy, and Nick understood that it was the result of a lot of things. But mostly because so much has been… we’ve talked about … He gripped the edge of the sink, swearing under his breath. 

In an hour, you’d drop him off at his parents’ house. In an hour, you’d back out of the driveway and head for your house. In another hour, his guaranteed time with you ended - and he didn’t know where that left the two of you. And I wasted an hour and a half. He wasn’t surprised; the conversation about your therapy sessions had taken a lot out of him, and even though Nick knew that your suggestion that he seek treatment, too, came from a place of love, it didn’t make it any easier to think about. 

Talking to someone while in jail had been one thing - it gave him a way to get frustration off of his chest and attempt to understand why he’d done some of the things that he had. But doing the same in his hometown? Talking to someone and then walking out of the office and heading back to his home - and his room and his family? That was different. That was almost unthinkable, even though he knew it was necessary. “For me. Gotta do it for me.” He looked into the mirror again and then turned the water back on, dampening his hands and then running them through his hair. 

It helped - slightly - and when Nick stepped back into the main shopping area, he saw that you’d picked up a few things and were standing near the counter, talking to the employee. He smiled, giving himself a few seconds to watch you from a distance and then he stepped toward the coolers, grabbing a bottle of water and another Red Bull. He picked up a large bag of Chex Mix on his way to where you stood, and before you could tell him no, he set what he carried  down next to your stuff, putting one hand on your lower back. “I’ve got all of it.” You turned your head sharply, mouth falling open to tell him no, but Nick stopped you with a smile. “No, you’ve been driving for hours. I’ll pay.” 

“Thank you.” You shifted closer to him, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Nikki here was just telling me that the rooms at the hotel are really nice, but I told her that we’re only an hour from home, and -”

“Maybe we can come back.” He pulled his card out of the reader, tucking it back into his wallet. “Mesa’s not too far, and I haven’t played at a blackjack table in years.” It wasn’t the closest casino by any means, but there was no point in being rude about it, and when the two of you stepped back out and into the dry, night air, he finally pulled his hand away, transferring the bag he carried from one hand to the other. 

“A second Red Bull? You’re going to be up all night.” Leaning against the trunk of your car, you looked over at Nick, arms crossed. “Just want to stand for another minute or two, sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” He opened the passenger door, setting the bag down and  then moved to stand next to you, both of you staring across the parking lot at the casino building. “Feels good to be out of the car.” You agreed, glancing up at the night sky and then looking back at him. “I really appreciate you doing this for me. Giving me a place to stay. Giving me a way back. Being so damn honest about everything.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Means a hell of a lot.” 

“I told you.” You pushed off of the trunk and turned to face him, wrinkling your nose. “Always in your corner, Caldwel.” He shivered, closing his eyes and curling his hands into loose fists to keep from reaching for you. “C’mon. We’re close. The sooner we get back in the car, the sooner you can crack open that energy drink and -”

“And then have to pee again as soon as we pull into my driveway?” He laughed - the sound only slightly forced - and followed you, climbing in on his side while you settled back into the driver’s seat. “Might not have thought this through.” 

“Well, I mean…” You pulled out of the parking lot, checking for traffic. “That’s nothing new, so…” 

“I deserved that.” He tried to hold back a laugh but failed, and you joined him moments after, Nick trying to file away the sound so that he could think about it later - when you weren’t around. 

Even though he felt himself getting more anxious the closer you got to Mesa, Nick tried to hold it together. The two of you talked - not about anything of importance, but you filled the time, Nick sipping from the can slowly, occasionally offering you a drink - which you finally accepted, pausing in the story you were telling long enough to take a swallow. 

But when he started to see signs for familiar places - and one that read “MESA - 15”, Nick couldn’t hold it together anymore, crushing the empty can in one hand and turning in his seat to stare at you. “Hey. I need you to stop. Please pull over. I -” He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, but you did as he asked, Nick thankful when you pulled off onto the side of the road and turned the car off. Shit. Shit, this is… “I’m sorry. I just …”

“It’s going to be ok, Nick.” You reached for him, your hand finding his shoulder. “Your mom’s going to be so excited to see you. You can get settled in and -”

“But what happens with us?” He unbuckled the seatbelt and reached for the door handle, eyes wide. “What happens between us when this trip is over and we have no reason to be together anymore? What happens then? How do we go from this back to …” He trailed off and pushed the door open, stepping back into the darkness. It took you a few seconds but then you followed him, carefully rounding the car to meet him on the side away from traffic. 

There was a slight breeze and Nick watched as you hugged yourself, rubbing at your bicep with one hand. “We’ll make it work, Nick.” Moving closer, you drew your lower lip back and between your teeth. “I don’t know what that means exactly, but we’ll figure it out.” You went quiet and he watched the look in your eyes change - from confusion to resolve to uncertainty, and he couldn’t stand to see it. He reached for you before he could stop himself and you let him gather you into his arms, both of them wound tight around you so that he could crush you to his chest. This feels like the end. 

“Whatever happens between us?” He spoke loudly, wanting to be sure that you heard him over the passing traffic and the wind. “Whatever we decide? It’s going to be between us and no one else, alright? My mom’s gonna know something happened over the last couple days, but I won’t confirm, so -”

“So you’re going to have to kiss me goodbye right here.” You pulled away from him, tilting your head. “Right now, because we can’t do it in your driveway, and -”

“You’re telling me it’s alright?” You nodded, tongue dragging over your lower lip. “I can do that.” 

He wasted no time in kissing you - mouths connected on the side of the road, ten feet from passing traffic. You clung to him, your hands pressed to his back, Nick’s fingers gripping your shoulder blades. It was you that moved to deepen the kiss first, the tip of your tongue gliding over the seam of his lips, and Nick parted them for you without hesitation, welcoming the way it felt when you licked gently into his mouth - the same way you had so many times before. But this isn’t before. This is now. 

He lifted a hand, turning it over so that he could brush your cheek with his knuckles as the kiss continued, and when you sighed into his mouth, Nick groaned, urging you even closer with his other hand as you bunched the material of his shirt between your fingers. 

“I love you.” He whispered the words against your skin when you separated, both of you desperate for air. “I love you and I’m sorry and we’ll -”

“We’ll make something work.” Head tilted so that you could stare into his eyes, you nodded, your voice sounding more certain than your expression made you look. “I love you, too. So much, Nick.” You bit your lip and reached up, running your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “But we can’t stay on the side of this road forever. We need to get you home.” Yeah. I guess we do. 

Before he stepped away, Nick lowered his head one more time, pressing a much softer kiss to your lips and then resting his forehead against yours. We’ll make it work somehow. Even if it’s never like this again, at least … He wouldn’t say it out loud, but even if things changed after you dropped him off and it turned out that friendship was all that was in the cards between you, the days you’d spent together felt like coming full circle. It’s what should have happened before. It’s what she deserved - a real explanation. In person. Straight from me. 

You held each other for a few more seconds and then Nick straightened up, dropping both hands to your waist briefly. “Alright. I’m ready.” He wasn’t sure if that was the whole truth, but prolonging the final minutes of the trip wouldn’t do either of you any good. Briefly, you closed your eyes, but then you nodded in agreement, moving away from him and walking back to the driver’s side of the car. 

He waited until you’d pulled back onto the road to reach over and take your hand, linking his fingers with yours and letting both rest atop the meat of his thigh. But neither of you spoke again, and when Nick glanced over, he saw that your cheeks were damp, tears tracking silently down them as you focused your attention ahead of you. 

By the time you reached Mesa city limits, Nick was crying, too, though his grip on your hand never loosened. 

— 

It was a familiar feeling - pulling into the Caldwel driveway with Nick in the passenger seat, but that didn’t make it any easer, especially that night. He was still holding your hand tightly, his grip just shy of being painful, but you didn’t want him to let go. Because when he lets go, that means this is over and he’s… getting out. Neither of you had commented on the fact that the other was crying - and it didn’t seem important to. Because we’re both dealing with this in the only way we can right now. Drawing attention to your uncertainty and sadness wouldn’t do any good - so you chose to ignore it for the moment. 

If he hadn’t asked you to pull over, you probably would have done it on your own, but Nick taking the lead and insisting that you stop had made your action unnecessary. And when he’d kissed you, you let yourself feel everything that you’d been trying to hold back for years. You were still angry with him - of course. You were still sad about a lot of things. You were still unsure of what the future held for either of you - together or separate. And it’s scary. 

But what wasn’t scary was the way it felt to be held by him - the man you loved, and that loved you fiercely, despite what had happened. It wasn’t scary to feel the way he seemed to breathe life back into you with each movement of his lips against yours, or the way that you could feel the emotion pouring out of him - and hoped that he could feel the exact same thing coming from you. Scary wasn’t the right way to define what you felt when you thought about his questions - what happens between us? What happens next? 

No. Those things were terrifying to you. And I don’t know how to handle any of it. 

When you put the car in park, you finally had to pull your hand from Nick’s, but neither of you made any move to get out until he sighed, rubbing his hand over the lower half of his face. “Do you think she’s peeking out the window like she used to?”

“Definitely.” He laughed. “And if I don’t get out of this car now, I’m sure she’s going to come out to see what’s taking so long.” Yeah. You gripped the steering wheel with both hands and then took a steadying breath. 

“I’ll pop the trunk for you. You can leave whatever trash you have in that bag, I’ll throw everything away before I take the car back tomorrow.” Nick was quiet for a few seconds and then said your name, waiting until you were looking at him to say anything else. 

“When I get my phone activated, can I … can I call you?” 

“Yeah.” Swallowing back the lump in your throat, you nodded. “Of course you can.” But. “But you should focus on getting settled, Nick. Unpack. Get yourself together. Spend some time with your mom. Take the time you need to get used to being home again before you … focus on anything else.” 

“Are you telling me you don’t want me to reach out right away?” He leaned closer, frowning. “That isn’t -” 

“No. I just want you to take care of yourself before you try and do anything else.” You sighed, hands still on the wheel. “I’ll be here whenever you want to talk, but if you need to take some time before you do, that’s fine. I’ll be honest and say that after these past few days, I’m… going to need some time to process it all, you know?” That got a quiet laugh from him, but you were relieved when only a few seconds later, he nodded. 

“Yeah. Things … didn’t go exactly like I thought they would.” Snorting back a laugh, you dropped your chin, shoulders shaking. “They went better.” Without warning, he leaned over and put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in for a quick hug. “Thank you again for everything. It meant more to me than I can even say that you were there for me when I got out, and what happened after? Fuck. It…”

“I know.” You hugged him back, closing your eyes. “Nowhere else I would have rather been, Nick.” 

When he pulled away, you could tell that there was more that he wanted to say but didn’t, Nick reaching for the door handle and then exiting the car. You popped the trunk for him and waited until you heard it slam shut to roll his window down, the man bending at the waist to look back in, one hand resting on the door. “Get home safe, OK? I know it’s only a couple minutes but -”

“I will.” Speaking quietly, you locked eyes with Nick one final time. “Tell your mom hi for me?” He assured you that he would, and that he’d talk to you soon, and then with one final squeeze of his fingers he let go of the door and stood, the man only needing a few steps to reach his front porch. You put the car into reverse, keeping your foot on the brake, and when you saw the front door crack open only seconds later, you started to back out of the driveway, not wanting to intrude on Nick’s reunion with his mother. 

The silent car was louder than you could handle on your short drive home, and even turning the radio all the way up did little to help. When you parked in your driveway and carried your stuff from the trunk and into the house, the dark, quiet space was even more of a shock to you. It had felt empty before, the loss of Nick’s presence devastating… but after spending so much time with him in the previous days and being so close to having him back under the same roof, it was even more upsetting.  But he’ll have to come over and get his stuff at some point, so… 

Flipping lights on, you started to unpack your bag, deciding to throw a load of laundry in before bed. It kept you busy - until you found one of Nick’s shirts bunched up in the bottom of your bag, tangled with one of yours. I must have picked it up off the bathroom floor. I didn’t … shit. Hesitating before tossing it into the washing machine, you decided not to at the last second, slamming the lid down and starting the cycle, turning away from the washing machine with the shirt still in one hand. 

You knew better - knew that you needed to let whatever happened happen, and not keep clinging to the man when it was unclear what the outcome of your situation would be. But in that moment, you needed the comfort of his scent more - especially after all of the truths that had been revealed and the things that had happened between you the previous night. One more night won’t hurt. 

But one night turned into two, and then two into three, and then three into a whole week spent sleeping with Nick’s t shirt stretched out over a spare pillow … and despite the fact that he’d said he would reach out -  he never did. 

— 

Tag list coming separately!

[snowywanderer]

Your Story as Only I Remember It

Pairing: Wanderer/Kazuha, very vaguely (pre-relationship)

Words: 1731

Warnings: vague mentions of the crimes Wanderer committed

Description: The Wanderer is sent to Port Ormos at the same time the Crux fleet are docked there. One Kaedehara Kazuha happens to be a member of the crew, and the Wanderer gets an opportunity to tell the truth about the Raiden Gokaden.

—

When he had accepted his past actions, the Wanderer hadn’t expected it would lead to running errands for Lesser Lord Kusanali. While he is less than thrilled to be subservient to another god, he can at least say she seems more tolerable than the others. Not that that’s exactly a high bar.

He still wonders why exactly he needs to be the one to go to Port Ormos. Lesser Lord Kusanali simply said she didn’t want to spread alarm, but he knows in the past she’s just told her people to treat her like one of them.

A man bumps into the Wanderer as he walks. He bumps back harder, which earns him a glare. The man acts like he isn’t afraid at all, which makes his blood boil.

Ah. That’s right. Back in Snezhnaya, all knew his name and all feared him. Here in Port Ormos, he is simply another man. He has yet to decide if it’s a good thing or not.

The end of his trip brings him to the docks. It’s been centuries since he had to people-watch out of necessity, but he finds himself delaying his return trip to observe the crowd. He ducks as far out of the way as he can. Still, no one looks at him twice.

Many passersby rush with panicked looks on their faces, though some stroll slowly without a care in the world. Children duck between the legs of sailors and merchants, A sharp voice draws his attention to a particular ship where a tall lady in red barks orders to her crew. Something compels him to pay special attention to them.

For the most part, they are dressed in clothing indicative of their home nation of Liyue. As they move, though, he sees one is dressed in Inazuman clothing. Said person turns towards him for just a moment, their eyes meeting for barely a second. Something about him is…

“Niwa?” The name leaves his mouth, albeit quietly, before he can think. How can that be possible?

The Wanderer closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head. Now that he looks again, he sees the man has lighter hair and dresses somewhat differently. Still, the red streak in his hair and his facial features tell the Wanderer all he needs to know.

He turns away and leaves Kaedehara Kazuha behind as fast as he can.

—

“Who would’ve guessed the God of Wisdom had such a wonderful sense of humor?”

“You’re back.”

“Were you expecting me not to return? I don’t think I had much of a choice.” The Wanderer sighs and meets Lesser Lord Kusanali’s gaze. “Tell me, why did you really send me to Port Ormos?”

“I can sense lying to you here would be a bad move. I am aware the Crux Fleet is currently docked there, but they won’t be for long.”

The Wanderer’s eyes widen. “You… want me to seek him out?”

Lesser Lord Kusanali nods. “Yes. You told the Traveler you wished to let the descendants of the Raiden Gokaden know the truth. Here’s your chance.”

The Wanderer isn’t sure he can bring himself to even look at Niwa’s descendant, but he can’t argue. She’s right.

“Fine. I’ll head back out tomorrow.”

“Good.”

—

The Wanderer finds himself once more in a sea of people who don’t know who he is, and who don’t care to find out. As far as they’re concerned, he is a human. He still isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.

The ship comes into view once more, but Kaedehara Kazuha is nowhere to be seen. His patience begins to run thin after only a few minutes. With a sigh, he turns around and walks off.

The Wanderer doesn’t see the slightest hint of red clothing as he walks through the crowds. Before long, he’s walked far enough to have left the city entirely. He rolls his eyes and lifts himself onto a nearby cliff using Anemo energy. Maybe from a higher vantage point he’ll see… something.

Huh? He hears a faint tune. Is someone else nearby? His feet carry him towards the sound before he can think.

The source of the music turns out to be a man in Inazuman clothing with a red streak in his hair and an Anemo vision resting against his back. It’s the very man he’s been looking for. The Wanderer just stands and watches him for a moment.

The song ends, and the Wanderer realizes he was somehow playing music on a leaf. Before he can question anything, Kazuha turns back to him.

“Do you need something?”

“You’re Kaedehara Kazuha.”

“Do the tales of my feat even reach across the sea? I must say, the rumors have long since removed themselves from reality.”

“Rumors?”

“The people of Inazuma bore witness to an act they deemed impossible, and many a tall tale has sprung up as a result. I simply saw blocking the Musou no Hitotachi as necessary, and don’t care for the fame it brought about.”

As much as he’d like to ask more about facing Beelzebul head on, the Wanderer senses he shouldn’t. He can’t do that to a descendant of his old friend. The more he thinks about it, the more Kazuha’s speaking style reminds him of Niwa. They are different, sure, but there is much overlap.

“You didn’t come to speak of that, though, did you?” Kazuha breaks the silence. “I apologize for being presumptuous. First, what is your name?”

“I’m afraid I don’t really have one. I am simply a wanderer, and most call me such. Really, I’m fine with just about anything.”

Kazuha gestures for the Wanderer to sit next to him. He does, with a sort of awkwardness he hasn’t felt since he was the Kabukimono.

How is he meant to bring up what he actually wishes to discuss? Does he build up to it, or just come out with it? Which would hurt less, and why does he care about whether he hurts Kazuha?

“What were you wishing to talk to me about, Wanderer?”

The Wanderer averts his gaze. “I guess I’ve been curious about you since the Traveler mentioned you.”

It’s true, but it’s not what he wanted to say. He knows he should probably just get it out already, but some strange part of him wants to get to know Kazuha better.

“Curious?”

“We are both wanderers from Inazuma, and we bear the same vision.”

“Yours is the the style of Sumeru. Did you obtain it here?”

One could say that, the Wanderer thinks.

“Yes; as a matter of fact I received it only very recently.”

Kazuha does not pry further, and the Wanderer is grateful. It’s been a long time since he’s had a conversation with someone without feeling like they want something from him. He wants to bask in the moment a little longer.

It all happens in an instant. Kazuha shifts his legs and for a moment they brush against the Wanderer’s, and the latter panics. He pulls away quickly, as if burned, and words pour out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“I’m responsible for the downfall of your bloodline.”

He didn’t mean to say it. Well, he did, but not like that.

Kazuha looks shocked, reasonably so. “Huh?”

“I’m—“

“I know what you said, but… those responsible for my clan’s decline were caught long ago.”

“This… is going to take some explaining.”

Explain the Wanderer does. He talks about his days living with Niwa and the others at Tatarasuna, the Doctor’s interference, the way he sabotaged the Raiden Gokaden, the dark path he took as a Harbinger, and his attempt to erase himself from the world which resulted in history being altered. Kazuha listens attentively.

“You tell a version of events I am unfamiliar with. And yet, I can sense you are not lying.”

How can Kazuha sound so calm? Doesn’t he hate the Wanderer? Why isn’t he furious? Why doesn’t he pull out his blade and finish him off right here and now?

“I have come to terms with what happened to my family. I enjoy wandering, and find it difficult to imagine settling down anywhere. Your actions resulted in many positive experiences for me.”

The Wanderer’s eyes widen. How could anyone see anything he’s done as good? How can Kazuha hear of the atrocities he’s committed and still feel calm?

“I cannot ignore the amount of suffering you have caused for others. Yet, you tried to erase the wrongs you have done. You didn’t have to tell me the truth, but you did.”

“What does that mean? Where does that leave me?” The Wanderer’s voice shakes as he speaks.

“I do not know, nor do I think it is up to me to say. Thank you for letting me know.”

Kazuha lifts himself up with Anemo energy, and drops down the cliff. The Wanderer looks helplessly after him, but does not follow. He watches as the red clothes fade into the distance, and stays rooted on the spot until he can no longer see them.

The Wanderer shakes his head, turns around, and heads back towards the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

—

“I suppose you must have found him?”

The Wanderer barely nods in response.

“You don’t seem happy about it.”

“Kazuha is not Niwa, yet it’s clear they are related. Perhaps in another time, under different circumstances, I could befriend him as well.”

If Lesser Lord Kusanali notices the change in his temperament, and he’s sure she does, she says nothing about it.

“What’s stopping you now?”

“I have done far too much harm to him for him to forgive me.” He deserves to surround himself with people better than me, the Wanderer can’t bring himself to say.

“Does he have to fully forgive you in order to befriend you?”

He stares at the archon for a moment. “I doubt there are many who could find themselves chatting idly with someone who ruined their life.”

“If that is your answer, I will not ask you to chase him down again.”

—

The Alcor departs from Port Ormos not long after. The Wanderer is sure of this, but he is not around to watch it leave. He wonders, briefly, how long it will take for it to return. When it does, will he bump into Kazuha again? The Wanderer, once again, isn’t sure which option he’d prefer.

[munchmemes]

arrested development, season one ( part one )

❛  it just makes me want to set myself on fire. ❛  a trick is something a whore does for money ... or candy. ❛  yes, this is my family. so, why am i so happy? because i’ve decided to never speak to these people again. ❛  i wonder how i can talk you out of ever making that face again. ❛  we just got in ... a month ago. ❛  what an adventure, gang. ❛  you’re putting [NAME] in charge? the one who thought that the blue on the map was land? ❛  let me ask you. are you all concerned about an uprising? ❛  you guys are so smart. ❛  so, no hard feelings. adios. sayonara. i’ll see you when the first parent dies. ❛  they cannot arrest a husband and wife for the same crime. ❛  i got the worst fucking attorneys. ❛  what are you doing? are you trying to cry? seriously, you’re gonna pull a muscle. ❛  we’re an incredibly disappointing family. but we are a family. ❛  i am having a love affair with this ice cream sandwich. ❛  no touching! ❛  you just made a fool out of yourself in front of t-bone. ❛  i don’t know what i expected. ❛  you know how much rejection i face every day? ❛  i can’t tell you how many health codes you’re violating right now. ❛  would you like to try that a little simpler, maybe? ❛  it’s fine. they’re an arsonist, not an embezzler. ❛  they’re grown-ups. they’re allowed to have fun whenever they want. we’re kids. we’re supposed to be working. ❛  no. i don’t wanna be in charge. but i’d like to be asked. ❛  you think it’s irresponsible? i’ll be right there. ❛  why are you calling me? what do you need? ❛  it’s a bird! ❛  is this a business decision? or is it personal? ‘cause if it’s business, i’ll go away happily. but if it’s personal ... i’ll go away, but i won’t be happy. ❛  wow, we’re just blowing through nap time, aren’t we? ❛  they’re the last person i ever want to need something from. ❛  it’s gonna be a huge disaster. i’ll get you tickets. ❛  i just haven’t met anybody who’s not self-absorbed and impossible to have a conversation with. ❛  if that’s a veiled criticism about me, i won’t hear it and i won’t respond to it. ❛  i, too, have an announcement to make. ❛  you are so deliciously witty. ❛  that’s why you never get out of the tree. ❛  has your hair always been that pointy? ❛  you know, you gotta put family first. that’s the stupid thing that i believe. ❛  i’ve made a huge mistake. ❛  they think you’re full of shit. ❛  i mean it’s one banana. what could it cost? ten dollars? ❛  you’re gonna break into the permit office? sweet, can i come? ❛  take it back. if i wanted something your thumb touched, i’d eat the inside of your ear. ❛  i don’t care. and i’m not saying ‘i don’t care’ like those people who say they don’t care when they really do care ‘cause i really don’t care. ❛  i don’t wanna go to prison. i don’t think i could take it. i mean, i know i act tough but ... ❛  they do allow some nervous crying but you can tell they don’t like it. ❛  where is all this coming from? i thought we were getting along. ❛  i shall duck behind the couch. ❛  there is no god! ❛  no one is going to portugal, you idiot! ❛  you know what? i think, you and i ought to spend more time together. it’ll drive them crazy. ❛  you’re my third least favourite person. ❛  i’m foolish and i’m funny and i’m needy. am i needy? are you sure i’m not needy? ‘cause i feel needy sometimes. ❛  you’re a good person. you always do things for others. you’re the only one holding this group together. ❛  i feel confident. i’m feeling proud even. for the first time in my life. ❛  rest up, sweetie. you gave me quite a scare. ❛  i didn’t feel a thing. you know, i’m crazy about this aspirin. can’t believe we give it to children. ❛  i just jumped through a plate glass window on a date. ❛  you and i were getting along so well. i was thinking so highly of you. how could you make me think this was all my fault? ❛  stop lying. stop manipulating. just be nicer.

[baubeautyandthegeek]

Professor’s Pet – JJ Jareau/Alex Blake

A/N: Flick Bingo 2.0... here comes the cute smut.

“Wait…” JJ snatches the pen from Spencer’s hand before he can stop her, linking several crime-scenes in a row and tapping the board. “Look at the names, the unsub is telling us who he is.” Alex’s gaze flickers over JJ, then the board and she pauses, reading the names quietly then smirking. JJ is often quiet, but when she’s sure of herself she’s lethally quick. She knows, too well, that Spencer is sulking but she can’t help adding to it. “Good spot JJ. Clever girl.” Spencer huffs loudly then and JJ flinches, inching closer to Alex even as she tries desperately to quieten her thoughts. She didn’t need a new crush, she definitely didn’t need a praise kink… but she knew both things had begun to form. Spencer’s quiet frustration with her echoes in every moment they spend together until eventually Alex speaks up, breaking the silence. “For god sake Spencer, get over it. She bested you.” The sharpness of her voice puts JJ more at ease and she can’t help following when Alex leaves the room, dropping into step beside her. “You didn’t have to do that…” “Sure I did, we’re all adults, I don’t have time to deal with him acting like you stole his milk at snack time.” A pause, Alex’s stride shortens and then… “He needs to learn to let you show how smart you are JJ…” “He does.” “Don’t… don’t do that. He doesn’t let you shine. Desperate to be the star pupil.” “Well, I can’t blame him wanting to be Professor’s Pet…” Alex smirks at her then and JJ blushes, ducking her head before striding out a little, Alex keeping pace. They work most of the case together, letting the rest of the team find their own work to do, Alex’s smirk clear when JJ finally nails the last part of their case. “See? Smart.” Alex teases, heading out when the case is finally over, JJ’s blush and smile rewarded with a light squeeze of Alex’s hand closing over hers where they’ve settled in her lap. They sit in silence on the Jet, Alex working quietly on her crossword, noting JJ’s intent glances. “See you tomorrow?” JJ asks as they leave the Jet and Alex smirks. “Didn’t you say you had a broken washing machine?” “Yeah, why?” “Why not come put your laundry in with mine, hardly like it’ll cost more…” “I… If you’re sure you don’t mind?” JJ’s blush is rewarded with a smile and Alex leads her to the car. “Wouldn’t offer if I minded.” Later, much later, JJ would wonder what had made her go along with the invite, she’d known it was more of an excuse than anything else, but she can’t bring herself to care in the moment. They work side by side, sorting colors from whites, Alex’s casual compliments getting JJ’s smile and blush time and again before JJ finally speaks. “You know… if you keep praising me…” JJ’s words run out and Alex smirks a little. “You like the praise, don’t you?” “Maybe.” JJ’s blush is all the answer Alex needs. “JJ… you know I…” Alex’s words break off in a sigh then she moves to kiss JJ. “Did you really think I just invited you home to wash your clothes?” “I… hoped you had other plans.” JJ admits, barely stifling a whimper when Alex’s hand slips into her hair, pulling her into a kiss. It’s quick from there, words run dry and kisses turn hungry, eager. JJ couldn’t say later who started the next step, the run towards the bedroom, but she knows she doesn’t care, not when it feels so good. Alex’s grip is gentle but sure against her when she sinks into her lap, body clenching slightly around the feeling of Alex, of Alex’s strap and pace, her breath leaving her as a whine. “Oh… fuck.” It's been months, almost a year, since JJ let herself want something like this and she can’t help the whines that escape her the faster, firmer, Alex’s pace gets. She’s wanted this for a long time, she thinks, deep down she’s wanted this, but release is enough. It has to be. “Alex… I…” “It’s okay Sweet Girl… you can let go.” JJ’s moan is stifled in Alex’s firm kiss, her release harder than expected, almost rough. Her whimpers are soothed, of course, under Alex’s touch and soothing words. “Seems like you needed that Babygirl…” “You could say that.” JJ’s voice is a little rough, husky, almost embarrassed. “Mmm, shame… someone as sweet as you should be spoilt rotten.” Alex’s smirk is softer as she murmurs. “I suppose I could always tend to your… needs.”

[astro444angel]

"1717" Smoking way too much like a god damn chimney Faking like we homies, but you're not even a friend to me Smile to your face but I know that you are my enemy Clown fish ass it's an apartment not a damn anemone 🤡 666 just like my phone number, If you can't find your favorite drug you'll just start taking any other. Did you ever learn even a single lesson from your mother? Tell me you're a fucking shooter why you ducking under cover? You're itching for it, fiending GONNA LEARN THAT I'M A DEMON WHILE YOU IN YOUR ROOM TWEAKING ME AND SQUAD ALWAYS STAYED SCHEMING TO THIS DAY WE STILL BELIEVE IN EVERYTHING THAT WE WERE DREAMING STEADY HEADED TO THE TOP SOON ENOUGH YOU'LL ALL BE SEEING Hear the things you say like I learned how to read minds. But when I bring it up you suddenly start acting like a mime. You've been stealing from the kings you'll soon be punished for your crimes. You joke that you're suicidal, but do you really wanna die? Smoking way too much like a god damn chimney Faking like we homies, but you're not even a friend to me Smile to your face but I know that you are my enemy Clown fish ass it's an apartment not a damn anemone 🤡 https://www.instagram.com/p/CnJSZcKMclg/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[emmyrosee]

can I get some more of that

soft bakugou

bc DAMNNN that’s some good shit

i cannot believe how much love he’s getting on my page PFFFFF-

——-

“I’LL KILL YOU, BRAT!”

Katsuki’s voice shatters your eardrums as he pads close behind you, only making you scream and run more. His fingers barely graze the back of your- his - hoodie, making you scream louder and try to duck away from his paws.

Granted, if he really wanted to catch you, he could’ve with ridiculous ease to do, and that’s your own saving grace in proving he’s not too mad at your antics.

But god, was he still pissed.

Or it seemed as such; it seemed like Bakugo was always a little pissed, even at his most relaxed and loving. It’s an act, a show to keep you on your toes in his presence- despite having been dating for several years- he loves you with all his heart… but…

“YOU CAN’T JUST DO THIS SHIT AND THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH IT, ASSHOLE!”

“B-But Katsukiiii!” You whine, finding a small gap of safety in one side of your kitchen island, which he stands, panting, at the other side of. “You look so pretty! And you love me sooooo much!”

He did, too. It was almost a crime.

In the end, would’ve been easier to not put on a nice, ruby red lipstick on his lips, a small amount of sapphire shimmer on his eyes, and one cheek of blush- he’d started to wake up from the brush strokes- but he’d never let you do it if he was awake. When his big, currant eyes opened up to blink at you, the rare, sleepy smile he’d flashed you quickly fell when he saw how close you were with one of your makeup brushes.

“You didn’t,” he snarled, and you chuckled nervously.

“Uh…” you chew your lip nervously, “I love you?”

“Run.”

“We’re engaged, you can’t kill me-“

“I said,” he sits up and stares at you, eyes glimmering in predatory mischief. “Run.”

Thus, here you were.

“Being cute can’t get you out of every goddamned thing, dumbass!” He barks, chest heaving for breath and calmness from the anger. Thick hands plant on the island, the engagement ring on his left finder making a resounding ‘tink!’ to cut the tension in the air with a knife.

“That’s not true and you know it!” You argue, but the grin on your face doesn’t falter.

Sick of this game, Katsuki leans towards the left, making you lean for the right. Then, he pops to the right, and you dash for the left. To the left is vacant with chairs and has the hallway that carries you to your room, and seeing that as your best option, you squeak and make a dash to the left.

And that only makes Katsuki scoop you up from the floor and place you on your back, on top of the kitchen island.

“Come on!” You whine, writhing and trying to kick him away with a giggly protest, the signals in your brain crossing when thick fingers dig under the fabric of your shirt, tickling your ribs and drilling under your arms and squeezing your hips, the tingles being everywhere at once and your brain has not one clue how to process it.

“KATSUKI!” You shriek, your hands shoving uselessly at his shoulders, trying to curl in on yourself despite his body being planted between your legs. Your eyes screw shut as you laugh as hard as your body lets you, but it’s clearly not all in vain as between your howls, you hear the low, raspy chuckles of Bakugo. “N-NOT FAIR!”

“It wasn’t fair that you put makeup on me without my consent,” he says, voice filled with annoyance, and if you didn’t know him better, you’d miss the obvious smile in his tone. “Now die.”

And you do. For a few minutes, you’re whining and giggling desperately underneath him, swatting at his shoulders and kneeing his back to make him stop, but deep down it’s a side of Katsuki you seldom see, and he just looks so damn good doing it. It always surprises you how much you adore this more playful side of him, and you’ll let him torment you if it means he’ll show that side of him more.

“Have you learned your stupid lesson, dumbass?” He snarls, watching with a grin as you rapidly nod your head. “Are you gonna stop being an absolute menace when I just want to fuckin’ sleep?” Once again, you nod quickly, desperate to appease the furious blonde, and finally with a satisfied smirk, he lowers his hands from your sides and smoothes them soothingly down the legs that are currently digging into his back.

“You and I both know you’re not going to hold true to that,” he scoffs, gently easing your legs to release him from their tight grip around his waist. You shake your head, and he merely surrenders to the idea you’ll never let him nap normally.

“Alright, now get this shit off of my face,” he growls, padding over to the sink in search for something to scrub his face clean with. Still giggling, you curl on yourself to rid the phantom tickles from your muscles.

You finally calm down and force yourself to sit up, a small bit of sadness in your gaze. “I thought you’d at least look at it first,” you hum, fiddling with your fingers. You hear him click his tongue and stalk over to you, big hands cupping your cheek to bring you into a kiss, his nose nudging yours affectionately.

“I’ll look before I wash it off,” he mutters, parting from you with a grumble and a hand carding through his unruly hair. “You just don’t have to do it in my sleep, you coulda just asked me like a normal person. For fucks sake, have I ever been able to say no to you? ‘M not gonna start now, unfortunately.” Then, he plants a small kiss to your cheek, offering you a hum and a nod as he inspects the mark.

“‘M more of a pink lipstick kinda guy, anyways.”

[dreamteamspace]

Some positivity about this Tales Of The SMP because I feel like it. MAJOR SPOILERS

Technoblade being in character and hilarious at the same time

Karl says he’s a minecraft streamer fully in character and it’s treated as being the equivalent of a billionaire for the rest of the tales

Everyone having awful rich people accents

Fundy is an old person

Technoblade is just hilarious I don’t make the rules

NIKI NIHACHUUUUU FUCK YEAH!!!!!

Ranboo is the butler and can only communicate in enthusiastic or panicked nods for 90% of it

They try to throw Quackity out of the party the moment he walks in the door. His name is Drew P. Pe- [gets shot]

Karl and Quackity keep falling off the railings and it’s sometimes plot relevant and sometimes not

Techno: “Poor people don’t get healthcare”

Karl trying really hard not to laugh throughout the entire thing, mostly cause of Technoblade and I can’t blame him

Techno, whispering about Quackity: “Butler, feed the poor man poison!” Quackity: “You can say that to my face you son of a bitch.”

Techno: “Sir can you spell ‘economy’?” Quackity: “Of course. A-” Karl: *laughing into his elbow*

Technoblade and Quackity are the funniest people on the planet I don’t make the rules

Technoblade keeps flexing on poor people and I can’t even be mad at him

Quackity: “I’m gonna cough on you!” Everyone: *FERAL PANIC, SCATTER IN ALL DIRECTIONS, HIDE UNDER THE TABLE, SCREAM*

Techno: “Butler, did you feed this man poison yet?” Ranboo: *Tosses Quackity a poison potion.* Techno: “Ah, there it is. Now drink that.” Quackity: “Now why would I do that?” Techno: “It’s high in vitamin B.” Quackity: “What does the ‘B’ in vitamin B stand for?” Techno: “Broke.”

They play duck-duck-goose fully serious and in character sitting in the middle of the ballroom in a circle, complete with screaming and yelling

They stop playing duck-duck-goose for the lights to go down by 3%, everyone to run around as if it’s pitch black, and Niki start to murder people. It’s great. Absolute highlight

I’ve gotten used to Karl being 70% out of character at all times and it’s actually really funny contrasted with everyone else being extremely in character and rolling with whatever he says

“Oh Niki went to the bathroom so we can’t question her.”

Karl: “Oh! ~Canonically~ I see some of his blood! On this wall!!” Everyone: :O!

*Quackity is the one who died* Karl: “I don’t think he died from being dumb and poor... I think he died... from one of YOU!” Everyone: *shocked gasp* Techno: “Who did it? I will pay them for their troubles!”

Ranboo, whispering: “Can I talk?” Techno: “Keep it short, five words.” Karl: “I think we should let him talk to investigate this murder.” Techno: “Alright, six words. That was one of them.”

Fundy: “Everyone knows poor people are very sneaky.” Techno: “Yes, us rich people only commit ~financial crimes~.” Karl: “And it doesn’t count because we don’t MAKE it count!” *Everyone agrees*

They play terrible rich people and simultaniously flex on rich people. We love to see it

Whenever they have to look around Techno just goes and gets a bath and he’s not even sneaky about it

Karl: “I can’t believe they did that to that poor person, whoever this murderer is... I know they’re poor but sometimes they can still live for something else. Like helping rich people get richer!”

Fundy almost drowns in the aquarium?? Was that even scripted??? Nobody even threw him in there he was just there??

NIKI DIES NOOOOOOOOOO WHAT!

*Everyone thinks it’s Karl* Techno: “He did medbay scan!”

Karl: “So it couldn’t have been me. Unless I’m lying. Which killers don’t do!” *Everyone agrees*

Techno: “Everyone empty out your pockets!” Techno: *tossing stacks and stacks of gold bars* Karl: *picks up Sapnap’s gold and mouses over ‘disconnect’* Ranboo and Bad: *buckets and buckets of milk??* Sapnap: *keeps picking up all the gold everyone keeps throwing*

Karl, walking forward and picking up 3847 buckets of milk: “Oh I’ve got so much milk now.” Techno: “Here, wash it down with some poison.” Karl: *actually drinks it and starts screaming “If only we had milk!” while running away*

Karl, to Bad: “Are you still drinking?” Bad: “dn,, btnt... no.”

Karl and Bad chilling in the closet

*Karl and Techno stumble onto Fundy on top of a dead body* Techno: “Caught! In! Four! K!”

Fundy “But if I was the killer... and I was from London... WHY didn’t you hear a GUNSHOT?” Techno: “He’s got a point there.”

Karl: “Why couldn’t it have been the butler?!” Ranboo, whispering: “How many words?” Techno: “Three.” Ranboo: “Nope. Not... me.” Techno: “...he does raise a good point.”

Ranboo: “Is there a murderer-” Techno: “SILENCE! ...He really singed up thinkin he’d get to voice act. Not on my watch.”

Karl, to Techno: “We really need the butler to talk. If we allow him 30 minutes-” Techno, quietly with horror: “30 minutes?”

Techno: “Butler, you have 30 minutes of free speech.” Ranboo: “Oh, oh! 30 minutes! I have a question, then. I read something in a book once. What is a... ‘union’?” Karl: “Nevermind, cut him off.” Techno: “No rights for poor people.”

Fundy: “If it was me, how come I can play such a JOLLY tune?” *starts playing crime theme on a piano* *Ranboo vibing to the music in the background*

Karl: “Okay so Fundy will stay with the butler. He was only like a 100 millionaire, right? Fits that he stays with the poor people.” Techno: “Oh yeah, he’s broke. I heard he streams fortnite.”

Techno laughs himself lightheaded at that

Techno: “I’m gonna file so many complaints to the lights company after this.”

Techno: “Oh no, it’s the butler, we’re out of here! Throw gold, he’s poor so he has to stop for it!”

EGG?!?!?!

THE EGG?!?!?!?!?!

?!?!?!?!

I mean I knew they were all gonna die at the end but STILL

Ranboo is rly scary when he wants to be

LMAO the book dissapeared and Karl had to do a take two

Karl just makes the stream read the book themselves lmfao

on that note HOLY FUCK THE BUILD

HOLY FUCK THE BUILD

they probably downloaded that from somewhere but still

I would fucking die for that castle

TLDR: Ranboo has never done anything wrong in his life, ever

[honestlyfragile]

JUMPSTREET - Mark Lee x Johnny Suh

Pairing: Mark Lee x Fem!Reader, Johnny is Mark’s bestfriend, Mentions of Jaehyun and Yuta

Genre: university!au, police!au, a dash of fluff, smut,crack, fraternity!au

warnings: mild violence, mentions of guns, drugs, sexual themes, language

Summary: Mark and Johnny were partners in crime, but when feelings get in the way, will Mark stick to the law or go against it?

Wc: 15.4k

also posted in Ao3

a/n: I hope you enjoy this story heavily inspired by the 21 & 22 Jumpstreet movie franchise, and hopefully I was able to deliver it with my own ideas. Enjoy!

Mark and Johnny start their first official day as policemen after being together in most of their high school years and studying criminology in college. They could not be more excited to see people make trouble until today.

"Let's see who's going to be able to make his first arrest." Johnny bets, scanning around the area with a cup of coffee in his hand, the other on his waist.

"Dude it's a park, what the fuck could possibly happen here?" Mark retorts, unamused.

"Oh you know, it's a crazy world we live in these days." Johnny defends, his gaze fixed on his surroundings.

"Sure it is." Mark continues to read his newspaper as he stands side by side with Johnny.

The two try to at least roam around and patrol over the area, looking for at least an ounce of any violation, it didn't matter if it was serious or not.

Mark spots a kid of about 9 years old near the pond, about to drop a piece of bread into the water.

"Excuse me kid," Mark bluffs, as if it were his first catch of the day. Technically this is his first catch of his career, hopefully.

"What?" the child frowns and looks at him obnoxiously.

"Read the sign," Mark points to it and the kid's eyes follow, but disobeys him anyway. 

"It says don't feed the ducks!" Mark argues, but the kid is unbothered.

"Let it go Mark, it's not like bread will kill them. Plus, you can't arrest a child." Johnny scoffs and tries to drag Mark to another area.

Mark lets out a sigh as the kid sticks his tongue out and he does the same before turning his back.

The two had nothing better to do, they were rookies who just got newly assigned to an area that didn't even have any trouble. Almost like they were just there for the sake of. Of course the department treated them as rookies.

Johnny takes out his pistol out of boredom and tosses it for fun. "Woah you know those are loaded right?" Mark warns him while involuntarily taking a step back.

"Yeah and?" Johnny continues to toss and play with it.

"Unload it first!" Mark panics like the goody two shoes that he was.

"Then that would be no fun." Johnny shrugs.

Mark spots a group of middle aged men from afar, but not quite. He squints and tries to take a closer look with his binoculars.

"Yo check it out, aren't those the Outlaws?" He nudges Johnny's shoulder as he takes a look himself.

The Outlaws are a known motorcycle gang in the county, they aren't always bothersome but the both of them are determined to find a loophole.

The two approach the group of men and tell them off because they have parked their motorcycles illegally. But that's not the only thing they notice, these men were stoned. One lights up a joint of Marijuana shamelessly, and Johnny loses his temper. "Excuse me Sir, you do know that the use of Marijuana is illegal right?"

"Oh look," the hideous man spits on the ground. "They must be new. He has the guts to talk to us like that. Nice to see some fresh kids here. You sure you aren't dressing up for... halloween?" The man specifically has his eyes on Mark when he said the last sentence.

Feeling offended, Mark straightens up his stance and acts more like a grown man. "That's a nice joke sir, now hand it over." He says in a stern voice.

"What a scary fella, keep up the good work! Sorry I don't have candy with me." They tease and the two have had enough.

"I'm going to have to search your motorcycle now sir." Johnny insists and doesn't wait for a response, and opens the seat and finds packets of a fine white substance. "These are.." he halts.

"DRUGS!" Mark shouts and immediately gets pushed by one of the gang members.

Johnny immediately gets a sample and keeps it in his pocket and takes his gun out. Mark gets up and does the same. The men try to run away and escape, Johnny runs after them and Mark takes his bike. The two finally get to corner them and Johnny pits one of them on the ground.

"You have the right to," Johnny tries to utter the Miranda Rights as he puts handcuffs on the man that is trying to eagerly resist him. "To shut the fuck up!" Johnny was being too focused on trying to handcuff the suspect and forgets to recite the rest,

Reciting those did not even cross Mark's mind as he just also focused on trying to handcuff the man.

"You are coming with us!" He yells and drags them to the police station, which was only a few meters away from them now.

--------

As the case was investigated, their chief commends them but then discovers that they forgot to recite the Miranda Rights, which can possibly make the charges be dropped, but thankfully the violation to the law was enough for the men to remain in jail.

"Technically you still did this wrong," the chief puts a hand on his chin and taps the polished wooden table. "But since you're just starting out, i'll give you another offer."

The two young men eye each other, anticipating the chief's suggestion. "An offer?" Johnny asks, straightening up in his seat.

"Jump street." The chief says.

"Wha- what's that?" Mark furrows his eyebrows in curiosity.

"Since the both of you look younger than the rest of the people here, our undercover police unit is in need of officers." The chief informs.

"Please, continue." Johnny lets him explain further.

"You pretend to be college students. It's practically the same, but it would be more suitable for the both of you because it's your crowd. You see crime and injustice, you report. But, you will be disguised as college students to ease the procedures of trying to find what those students have been up to. We have your back." The chief explains.

"Cool." Mark simply says because he is astonished by the idea.

"So where do we report? Do we have a new head quarters?" Johnny asks. 

"You will be transferred. Down in 21 Jump St." The deputy Chief declares.

____

They head to the headquarters that was disguised as an old chapel. "You sure this is the one?" Mark questions as he gets out of the car.

"It does say 21 Jump St. so, let's have a look." Johnny turns off the engine and both of them enter.

The setting was a typical chapel, but it was dark and full of stock equipment. Mark takes a look at the altar that was dimly lit, and bows before the image of Christ to show respect . Johnny on the other hand was not a person of religion but follows Mark's simple gesture anyways.

"The both of you!" A man shouts from afar, and it echoes, "come over here." 

The two are startled but proceed to the hidden room. When they enter they see two women who are already disguised as cheerleaders. Meanwhile the two are still in their police uniforms. The ladies take a look and have a good laugh at them. "You do know that you're supposed to go undercover right?" She says, eyeing them from head to toe. 

"W-we didn't get the memo that it was gonna be today.." Mark trails off and fidgets with his hands.

"Go and dress like teenagers! Now!" The chief commands and the two quickly change right away. 

When they get back they are briefed by the set of rules they have to follow and about the goals of this undercover project.

"Rule number 1. DO NOT get expelled. No one in the system knows that you are undercover. So be disciplined and don't cause major trouble. Getting expelled would mean that you'll get your asses kicked out of jump street." The chief sternly explains, making the assigned officers hold their breath from fear.

"Rule number 2," the officer walks past the rest and stands in front of Johnny. "DO NOT have any sexual or intimate relationships with the students and professors. You hear that pretty boy?" And specifically locks his eyes on Johnny, making the boy gulp and purse his lips. After the general meeting, the two were called for a detailed one, personally with the chief.

It was said to them that they had to find a synthetic drug that has been spreading around the campus called NCT. A sample of its packaging was shown, it was definitely something you wouldn't think of as a drug. It was about a size of a large coin, and looks like a small biscuit. It was sealed using assorted hand drawn stickers of different objects. They were also advised to never give out their real names, because new identities have been assigned to them. Johnny's being Rolan Kim and Mark's being Kalen Park.

"When the youngsters take this drug, it apparently makes them laser-focused on studying for about an hour. And for the succeeding hours, they party like it's fucking 1999 until they pass out. Infiltrate the dealer, find the supplier." The chief gives his final orders and sends off the both of them for their mission.

-----

"Dang, we're really going back to college?" Mark says as he finished up packing his things for the dorm that the agency assigned to them. They had to be as realistic as possible.

The two head to the university, reminiscing their own college days. The two might perhaps over-do this whole "blending in" thing, which might give out the disguise.

"Woah their campus is HUGE." Mark says, mesmerized and wears both straps of his backpack.

"Bro, that's not very college of you." Johnny fumbles with the strap of Mark's backpack.

"What?"

"You're two strapping dude. You have to just sling one of them on your shoulder, so it's cool and grown up. You're in college, not middle school." Johnny fixes Mark's bag for him.

"Right. College." He utters to himself. He seems to be enjoying it too much, and starts saying hi to everyone he sees.

"Knock it off, Mark. You're giving us away." Johnny nudges his arm and tries to cooly stride along the campus, keeping his composure.

Mark acknowledges him and goes with the flow. The two arrive in their dorm that they gladly share only among themselves. Mark is new to this, because when he went to college he stayed with his parents. Thankfully he could trust Johnny to always have his back.

The two set their things down and pick their beds, it didn't really matter much since the room had two singles and separate desks for the both of them. It also had a small book shelf that could come in handy, if they ever plan to take lectures seriously.

"Let's just fix these later. We have to go to the Dean's office to confirm our enrollment. Act natural okay?" Johnny lazily brushes his hair back and straightens up his shirt in front of the small mirror that the vanity had.

"Oh- uh okay." Mark leaves the pile of his clothes undone on top of his bed and grabs his phone and keys.

It was the afternoon of fall, the campus has been covered with different hues of orange leaves and subtle sunlight. The breeze was cool but not strong as it blew against their hair. The university seemed peaceful, but they had no idea what went on once the sun sets and the lights are off.

After a couple minutes of walking, the two arrive at the Dean's office for their interview. 

"Good afternoon gentlemen, please take a seat." The middle aged man smiles at the both of them. 

The two are slightly nervous, but eventually get over it. "Nice to meet you, Mr..." Johnny reads the name plate on the desk "Mr. Bennet." and gives the man his signature smile. Mark does the same and they start their interview. 

"Okay, so which one is Rolan and which one is Kalen?" Mr. Bennet asks and there was a short period of silence. Two had seemed to forget which identities were theirs. 

Johnny raises his hand, "I'm Rolan sir. Rolan Kim." and he nudges Mark's shoulder. 

"Ah yes and I'm Kalen... Park" he barely manages to blurt it out. 

The dean furrows his eyebrows but lets it go and proceeds. "So the two of you are?" He asks. They were not prepared for that question. 

"Brothers."

"Family friends." the two say at the same time. They give each other a funny look, and Mark gladly saves them from the mishap. "Well we do really treat each other as brothers sir, we grew up together pretty much." and clears his throat. A close call. 

"That's good to hear. So Rolan is going to be trying out for the football team and Kalen will try out for the Music club. Those two are very different from each other, but don't worry the opportunities in this school are endless. You can always transfer if you feel that you aren't happy with what you chose." The dean explains and the two acknowledge. 

Mr. Bennet goes a little further with the interview and gives them their schedules for the semester then eventually dismisses the two, wishing them well.

"Dude how can you forget the identity that was assigned to you!" Johnny quietly scolds Mark for his slip away. 

"I'm sorry okay it's a little confusing!" Mark scratches the back of his head and looks at the floor. 

"Ayt, I'll see you later. I have Chemistry in 15 minutes. I can still catch up. What about you?" Johnny asks, putting his hand on his pockets and the other on Mark's shoulder.

"Well, I don't really have any classes for the day anymore. I guess i'll head back to the dorm so I can start unpacking already. I'll see you then. Let me know if you find any leads." Mark gives him a small salute and heads back to the dorms.

-----

Johnny arrives in the lecture hall and receives strange looks. He tenses up a little but nonetheless shrugs it off and takes a seat next to a boy who looks like a whole generation younger than him. 

"Yo, you look really old. Were you held back?" The boy asks in a nosy manner, unintentionally pushing Johnny's buttons.

Johnny clenches his jaw and keeps his composure. "No I don't... You look young. Super young. Were you held forward?" he tries to redeem himself. 

"No? Whatever. I'm Haechan by the way." The boy introduces himself. 

"Im Joh- Rolan." Johnny almost slips but the latter doesn't notice. 

The professor immediately hands a quiz, which Johnny has no idea of because he arrived at an odd time of the semester. He guessed all the questions with all his might. But to be quite honest he also wasn't the best in chemistry when he still went to school. 

He turns his paper in and walks towards the exit but gets stopped by Haechan. "Uh do you need help with the topic? You seem to be clueless about it." Which came off as a little rude, but that wasn't his intention at all. 

"No." Johnny insists because it hurts his pride. "I know everything." He stiffens up.

"Yeah? Do you know what a covalent bond is then?" The boy cheekily asks. 

Johnny bluffs, because he doesn't. Or to put it in a better light, he forgot. "Fuck man, I don't have to tell you what it is."

"Woah, I wasn't trying to be rude. But anyway if you need help you can just ask me. See ya." Then Haechan was off and got lost in the sea of people. 

Apparently, it was Johnny's last class for the day because it was already almost evening. He texts Mark to inform him that he's heading back to the dorm as well. He doesn't let his guard down and continues to observe the students if they're up to anything suspicious.

As he walked to the dorm, he saw a bunch of boys that were about as tall as he was but more athletic gather around the corner of the football field. He acts nonchalant but keeps an eye on what they are up to. He tries to move closer to the scene without getting caught and acts like he's only passing by. 

"Yo hook me up with some more of those, I can't fail my classes or else i'll get kicked out of the team." One says to the other. 

Johnny immediately pulls his phone out to text Mark about what he just heard and hurries back. 

-------

"Dude, as expected the football team has it. I'm trying out tomorrow and I'll surely get with them." Johnny discusses with Mark.

"Yeah? Can I come watch your tryouts? So I can see what they look like." Mark requests. 

"Sure. 2pm at the field." Johnny informs him.

The two were mostly busy arranging their stuff in the room until they heard a knock on the door. Mark offers to get it. 

"Hey new neighbors!" two men appear with big smiles. 

"Oh hey, uh... thanks?" Mark blankly answers as he was usually awkward meeting with new people.

Johnny comes and checks to see who it was, and to his surprise, it was Haechan and his roommate. 

"Oh hey Haechan, and hey..." Johnny looks at the unfamiliar guy. 

"Renjun." He smiles.

"Right Renjun." Johnny nods. "Oh by the way Kalen, I go to the same biology class as Haechan." Johnny calls Mark by his fake name.

"Oh cool, what about you Renjun, what's your major?" Mark asks. 

"Classical music!" Renjun enthusiastically says. 

"Oh I'm in Music Prod! I'll probably see you around during org meetings." Mark smiles.

Their neighbors introduce tips for them that could be useful during their stay and seem to be genuinely nice people. But Mark and Johnny cannot trust anyone, so they keep their guards up and try their best to not give anything away. 

Although it may have seemed like an easy task for them, it wasn't. The drug was all over the school, it was going to be difficult to find the root of it if they ignored even the smallest details that could lead them to find out the supplier. 

---

The following day, the two wake up early ready to officially start the day. Mark and Johnny head to their own classes, hoping that they find out something about the case today. 

Mark enters the lecture hall for his Philosophy class. It was almost 80 percent full as it was a basic class for almost everyone. He awkwardly looks around, hoping to find a seat that wasn't as far because of his bad eyesight. 

"Psst." You try to catch his attention. When he looks over, you tap the vacant seat next to you, "you can sit here." You offer. 

"T-thanks." He says and gives you a smile. 

"You seem like a new face. I'm Y/N" You say to him because you have observed the people in this class every day. 

"I'm Kalen. Kalen Park." he scratches the back of his head. "I uh, just got enrolled yesterday. You know, when your family moves into another town... yeah" he trails off with his made-up excuse. 

"Yeah, it's fine. Don't worry about it." You genuinely assure him, "It's college. You can take your time." You chuckle because he was so awkward, but seemed very kind. 

"Definitely." He bites his lip, unsure if he should keep talking or not. But the professor arrives just on time. 

He observes his surroundings and keeps an eye on suspicious students that might have a link to what they were looking for. He whispers to the guy in front of him who was just playing games on his laptop and wasn't listening in class. "Hey, do you know where I can get myself some NCT?" 

The guy raises his brows in doubt, "are you a narc?" and might have said it way too loudly. 

Mark tries to brush it off with a stiff laugh "What are you talking about man? I'm not I swear." and refuses to make eye contact. 

The airhead lets it go and slips mark a cellphone number that could possibly be a step closer to what they were looking for. "Just text them "looking for a hookup" and they'll know what you're talking about." 

"Thanks, man." He gives him a small pat on the back just to show that he wasn't up to anything, which actually just makes him more suspicious. Thankfully, the guy didn't really care. 

Mark was delighted to have found a lead easily, and immediately texts Johnny about it. After that, he actually paid attention to the class, just because it genuinely fascinated him. 

When it ended he immediately gathered his stuff and put on his backpack, ready to meet Johnny. 

"Psst, two strapper!" You call out and try to barely tap his shoulder. 

He looks back and immediately drops one strap of his backpack off his shoulders, he definitely forgot about what Johnny has advised him. He scratches the back of his head with his hands on his pocket, "yeah?" 

"You free this evening?" You casually ask. 

He nervously gulps because he really has to be somewhere right now, but he didn't want to be rude. "Uhm, I guess? I don't know yet. Why?" 

"We're having a poetry slam at the art hall, you might be interested. I saw some good stuff you wrote in your notebook" you smile, hoping that it doesn't freak him out that you saw one of his works. 

His eyes widened, "oh, okay cool I guess I can try. But I have somewhere to be right now, I'll see you..around." And he awkwardly walks off. 

You furrow your brows because of his strange mannerisms, but he seemed like no trouble at all. In fact, it was kind of cute, how awkward he was. 

------ 

It was time for Johnny's football tryouts. Given that he was already good at it during the time that he was actually in college.

Johnny was naturally a sociable person, he blended well with crowds and easily made friends. That's why this was the perfect place for him to be in. He sits himself at the bench while he wears the spare uniforms from the team and is greeted by a dude that was a little shorter than he was, "Goodluck" the boy with ash purple hair says. 

"Thanks!" he enthusiastically replies. 

"Captain! We need you for a sec." the coach calls, then the boy who has wished him luck gets up and reports to the coach. Well, he did give off an impression of one. He was highly presentable, his smile was hospitable, his form was great and his attitude was pleasant. Everything else—was just the ideal makings of a captain. 

The tryouts start and Johnny looks around for Mark, who had just arrived and casually sat himself on the bleachers, waving at Johnny from afar. As the tryouts went on and finished, the coach praised everyone who attended for a job well done and announced the new members who had qualified. All of which included Johnny of course. 

"Hey man, great job out there." The captain is back on Johnny's side to praise him. 

"Yeah, thanks. I'm Rolan by the way." He introduces himself.

"Of course I know, I was the one who picked you from the list." He laughs, "Jaehyun. Jeong Jaehyun." 

-----

"Hey!" Mark hears a familiar voice faintly calling his name. He searches for it but takes him awhile because of how wide the campus is. "Over here two stapper," you chuckle and he finally sees. 

"Oh hey," he muttered quite embarrassed at how awkward he was. 

He takes a seat next to you at the bench near the hall of the poetry slam event, he wanted to go together. "Chilly night huh? I should've brought my sweater.." You trail off, rubbing your arms for warmth. 

You didn't mean for it to come off that way, but Mark willingly takes off his jacket and offers it to you. "Oh it's alright really-" you insist.

"No it's fine, I'm from Canada, this is nothing." He laughs. 

You nod your head with his remark, and proceed to wear his jacket. It was quite big on you, but it was definitely cozy. "Shall we go?" You ask, standing up.

He nods and lets you lead him to the hall. The campus was only lit by lamp posts at this hour, but there were many sculptures in the school of arts that he had wished to see better. Well, there was always next time. 

The both of you enter the hall which was quite filled with students already. It had been set up like a cafe, with a small platform in front that was lit with a spotlight. 

"Give it up for Naya Kim everybody!" the emcee announces, encouraging everyone to give the person a round of applause after presenting a spoken word. "Do we have another volunteer?' 

The crowd falls silent as everyone looks around, mindlessly making eye contact with each other, waiting on who was going next. 

"Anyone?" The emcee taps the mic. 

"I have one!" You yell, and Mark looks at you with wide eyes. 

"Dude no-" he resists, trying to shrink himself into his chair. 

"C'mon it'll be fun!" You nudge his shoulder, "We have Kalen over here!" You grab his wrist and raise his arm for him, even if he was resisting it, he had no choice. 

The emcee squints and eyes the both of you and acknowledges you volunteering your new friend. "Alright we have Kalen next! Stage is yours." The emcee steps off. 

He had all eyes on him now, eyes hungry of anticipation and to witness raw talent amongst themselves. 

"G-good evening everyone." he greets, holding onto the mic tightly and takes a deep breath. His expression changes into a serious one. 

Will it ever come? 

The nights know me well. 

I was a frequent by-passer but now I am no stranger. 

A boy who grew up with sharks does not need to be taught how to swim.

Good night,

These words feel like the vast sky

Darkness, but not hollow.

Black but not bitter. 

After he recites his poem he becomes flustered again from the faint applause he had received from the audience that was present, he puts the mic back to its stand and does a small bow. 

"Not bad, tiger" You pat him on the back. There was more to him than what meets the eye, you just knew. 

"You think so?" He says with hopeful eyes. 

"Yeah!" You assure him. 

The rest of the evening passes by with the both of you having a splendid time watching others unleash their passion and talent for reciting spoken word and poetry. Some were tear jerking and some were downright hilarious. So this is college. Mark thinks to himself.

In the past he had always been a loner who didn't go to many parties because of his strict and conservative parents. 

 He was way beyond his borders now. But he couldn't get carried away. No, this isn't a time for him to redeem himself from his early years, this was time for him to perform his duties. So he snaps out of his little daydream. 

As the both of you were seated at the bench in front of the hall where he found you, he had asked you about your major. 

"Fine arts." you laugh bitterly.

"What's wrong? You don't seem like you're happy with it…" He trails off, swinging his feet that was hanging off the bench. 

You shake your head no, "I am. It's just that my parents don't really know I took this course. I told them I got a scholarship and they were just relieved that they didn't have to pay anymore. Otherwise they'd force me into some business course or something "more practical"" you emphasize with air quotes. 

"I see. Okay so fine arts huh?" He tries to lighten the mood. "What can you say about that one over there?" Mark points to the sculpture to your left, about 20 metres away. 

"They're like two beings, leaning on each other" you pause, dramatically for impact, "They support each other so one doesn't fall." you interpret. 

He seems impressed, then asks "Support huh? How about you? Do you have anyone—who supports you?" 

"Hm, not really, no. I like to be alone and just spend time with myself." Your eyes wander but all you could think about is how he's looking at you with such attentiveness and interest.

He chuckles, "I feel you. You know I'm an expert at being alone. Don't you just love it when you're in a room full of people but no one gives a shit about your presence?" He claps his hands together just once then purses his lips into a bitter lopsided smile. "Yep. Had a lot of those." He masks his personal statement with humor.

"Well," You say, kicking the shortly-trimmed grass on the building's lawn. "If you don't wanna be alone, you walk me to my dorm" you offer.

He looks around and takes no time to think about it, feeling that it was unsafe for you to go alone. "Sure." He smiles.

The walk to your dorm was silent but comfortable. You weren't sure if he was quite a talker or just shy. But one thing you couldn't get out of your head was how unconventionally attractive he was. You've never gotten a vibe like his before and you've been in this university for 2 years already. You wanted to get something out of him even if it takes you to be the bold one here. 

"We're here," You whisper, looking at him seductively. Like you were a puppy begging to not be left alone. "Do you wanna come in? My roommate left for the weekend" you smirk. 

Mark gulps. He had been resisting this kind of tension he had with you ever since he met you. But you made it so hard. "Come on," you say, putting your hand at the back of his neck while tracing mindless patterns on it with your finger. 

"My brother he might be-" 

"Oh you have a brother? Is he hot?" You joke. 

His eyes are wide with stitched eyebrows. But eventually catches on. "Nah." and he pulls you closer to him by the waist. His eyes now staring at you deeply, so hungrily like he was that tiger you called him as earlier. Come and get it.

Without any words said, he had finally crashed his lips onto yours. And you kissed him hard. Like you wanted to have him to all yourself at that very moment. Your tongue grazes his lower lip, begging for entrance which he had granted. Your tongues meshed together at a quick pace, with the heat of your core starting to throb. 

You push yourself closer to him and you start to feel his prominence and unconsciously grind on his jeans, making him grunt. You break the kiss for a quick moment, his eyes are glazed and his mouth agape, out of breath. You turn around and enter the code to your dorm and pull him inside. 

For a brief moment that your bodies were detached, Mark couldn't stop wanting more. Not even thinking the slightest of the consequences of this act that will dawn upon him if it ever gets out. 

You were back to slamming your body with his as you took off his jacket, making it fall to the floor. His hands snake underneath your shirt and started roaming around your body while he peppered kisses on your neck. With a swift flick of his fingers he had unclasped your bra and his hands groped your breasts, you threw your head back as he buried his face in your clothed cleavage. Like he was begging for this bothersome piece of clothing to be gone. 

You grant his invisible wish and quickly lift your shirt off, while your bra falls off your arms naturally, his mouth watering at the sight. You trace his abs underneath his shirt, your core getting wetter with how toned they were based on your touch.

And you didn’t doubt the results one bit. When you lift his shirt, his torso was delicately lean, toned in all the right places that your mouth could water at the sight of it. You bite your lip and roll your eyes at the sensation of him sucking your tits, his grip on you intense but gentle. 

“I don’t have condoms right now, so this is going to be all about you.” He whispers seductively, feeling your wetness through your soaked panties. You softly moan at the sensation and hungrily kiss him again, not having any moment to waste. 

When he slides two fingers to massage your folds, you whimper. "Fuck," you breathe. 

"God, that's hot." He says with a hitched breath. You couldn't possibly get any more turned on right now. 

When he slips his digits in your cunt—you go fucking insane. You haven't felt this good in quite a while, it made you ecstatic to remember how fucking good this feeling was, you hoped that this wouldn't be the last. Mark was different.

He picks up his pace, and you try to keep your composure, but the forced arch of your back says otherwise. You grab a pillow to cover your face, scared that you would be too loud and get caught, or else this would be the last time for the both of you. 

“My fucking God.” You whimper, pulling Mark’s head on your chest, holding onto him for dear life because you just entirely lost control of it all. He finishes you off like his life depended on it, licking your wetness from his fingers, savouring it, then wipes his fingers on his jeans.

“You were so good to me, yeah?” He chuckles when you are left speechless.

“What about you?” You ask, looking at his crotch that was painfully hard. 

“It’s- It’s alright. You don’t have to” He says, and it makes your heart thaw like ice. You didn’t deserve him. 

“But I want to.” You plead, you couldn’t possibly resist him. “Come here,” You say, rubbing your palm against his jeans.

You didn’t waste anymore time and unzipped his pants, lowering it with his boxers just enough t make his cock lightly hit his stomach. His size is definitely more than what you expected.  You take his wet, glistening cock in your hands and pump it gently, smirking in satisfaction when you hear him hiss and moan softly. 

“Can you keep it down for me, tiger? We might not be able to do this again,” You coo, and he obediently nods, grazing your lower lip with his tongue, asking for entrance which you gladly grant but not for long. 

You smile as you lowered your head down to his throbbing member, licking the precum that had escaped the tip. Mark bites his lip, trying to keep as quiet as possible. You slowly put his dick in your mouth, testing a few times how far you could go. He bucks his hips by accident, making you gag very slightly. “I’m so sorry,” He strokes your hair away from your face. You keep going until you reach the brim, a throaty moan escapes his lips when he couldn’t take it anymore. 

You bob your head up and down in a consistent pace while he holds your hair, “You’re such a good girl” He says, throwing his head back. You keep going until you feel tears slowly coming out of your eyes and tried to hollow your cheeks as much as possible, he was so close. 

“You don’t have to swallow,” he says, pulling back from you. Nonsense. You were more than willing to. 

“I want to.” You say, putting his cock back in your mouth. 

With a few last pumps, his member twitches in your mouth and you feel his warm release and take it all in. You wipe the sides of your mouth as you finish, giving him a sweet smile. 

After the both of you pass out on your bed, Mark has lost track of time and receives a text from Johnny. 

"Dude where the fuck are you? Do you know what time it is?" 

Mark jolts up and checks the time, 2:45am. Shit, he was screwed. He quickly gathers his clothes that had been thrown around your room and dresses himself in panic. 

"I'm sorry, uh Joh- Rolan, my brother has been waiting for me at our dorm, I lost track of time and i think he'll beat my dick off," He nervously chuckles, almost forgetting to use his fake identity again. He has got to get used to it.

"Not if i did it first" You both burst out laughing. "Alright, I'll see you in class." You say, snuggling yourself in your blanket and shutting your eyes. 

He leaves your dorm quietly and runs a hand through his hair before giving Johnny a call. 

"Dude listen-"

"Are you fucking around Mark?" Johnny answers, clearly enraged. 

Mark was scared as shit but never misses the chance to fuck around Johnny. "I might've." 

"Get your ass back here, Lee" 

"Ayt." 

He slips his phone back to his pocket and starts walking briskly to their dorm. Damn this campus was mad creepy that it actually brought chills to his body. He wondered why he felt so cold then realized he left his jacket at your place. It was too late for him to get it back so he settled by running to warm his body up. 

Finally, he was back at the dorm. He hesitates to turn the doorknob because he knows he will be dead meat or nagged to death by Johnny. Or not. 

"Where you been huh?" Johnny examines him, standing up from his bed. He sniffs Mark and the latter flinches. "You smell like sex!" He slaps his shoulder. 

"You crazy? Some expert or something" Mark brushes him off. Wincing at the sting Johnny's palm gave to the skin of his shoulder.

"I should know, Mark." His mood was lighter now. "But who did you fu- i mean have sex with? we just got here wildcat"

"A girl I met in class like uh… awhile ago" The younger bites his lip trying to keep a smile from escaping his lips. He shouldn't be feeling this giddy over a rule that he broke for you. 

Johnny could not believe what he was hearing right now, "Dang. Cheeky boy." He laughs, actually feeling happy for Mark. He can have a little fun, Johnny had his back when it came to these things.

The elder changes the topic and lets this slide. Johnny talks about the leads he gathered from hanging out with the football team. Which were still very much confusing since this substance is all over the campus. Meanwhile, Mark didn't have much besides that number he gave Johnny. Considering he was with the "decent" crowd of people today.

---

The two head to their quarters to report to their chief the next day, trying to ask for help on how they could improve this investigation. 

The chief dumps a folder on the table and says, "This is what the deputy gave us recently. Take a look." He opens the folder into a specific case file to discuss with the two. 

"Who's this?" Mark points at the picture of a girl, who seemed like they were around the same age as the people at University. 

"Lee Minjung." the chief rubs his hands together. "Took some NCT and got locked out of her dorm, so she ended up falling off the roof and dying." The two are shocked by this revelation, it was more serious than they thought. 

The chief flips a page, "Here's a picture of her buying the drug." The photograph had two people in it, one that had a visible face which was Minjung, and one guy who's back was facing the camera. He wore a hat so they couldn't really tell who it was. But one thing they could point out is the reflection on the window of the car beside them.

"Dude, look at this," Mark points out his observation to Johnny. "He has a tattoo, we could start with this." 

"Bingo. There's your lead." The chief closes the folder and puts it back in his file. "The next time you get back here your asses better be presenting me some actual progress. Understand?" 

"Yes sir." 

----

Johnny and Mark head to the resident tattoo artist that was near the university, apparently they do most of the tattoos of the students there. 

"Excuse me," They knocked on the table of the artist who was currently at the back of the shop.

The tattoo artist arrives out front and asks how they could help the two. 

"We're looking for this tattoo, is it familiar to you?" Johnny asks while showing the artists the photograph.

The artist tries to think hard, but gives a hasty answer. "I'm not sure, there's too many of them who got that." 

Mark pushes the subject, "Them? Do you think it's some kind of group tattoo?" 

"I guess so. They were boys, all of them. Very masculine, had the body of an athlete if I were to put it at that." The artist states. 

Mark and Johnny look at each other as if there were light bulbs above their heads. "Thank you!" Mark says and they run off the shop. 

The possibility of this being in the football team was huge. They were athletes, and under a lot of pressure. They had reasons to use this drug but it wasn't an excuse for them not to eliminate this. They had to get to the bottom of this before it ends up like Minjung's case again. 

---

Johnny was at football practice while Mark stood by the bleachers, watching the team and trying to look out as usual until Johnny calls him over to come down for a bit. 

"Jaehyun, this is Kalen, my brother." He introduces him. With his assigned name. 

Jaehyun chortles in disbelief when he sees Mark. "You have a brother?" He asks and Johnny nods. 

"Sup," Mark tries to give him a bro hug, but Jaehyun shakes his hand instead. 

Jaehyun pays no mind to Mark's presence and diverts his attention back to Johnny and proceeds to talk about their game plan.

When practice ends he tells Johnny that the football team plans to host a party tonight. It would be the perfect opportunity for them to keep an eye on everyone. 

"Can I come?" Mark asks.

Jaehyun eyes him from the side, "Yeah uh sure" and only bids goodbye to Johnny. "See ya bro." 

Mark could already feel that he didn't belong in this crowd, but he and Johnny had to stick together and investigate. 

The night of the party came and the two brothers were stoked. "Our first frat party." Mark thought. 

"Your first frat party." Johnny spat playfully, trying to meticulously style and wax his hair. 

Mark scoffs, still trying to figure out what shirt to wear but at the end, he settles with a navy blue Ralph Lauren shirt. He was too lazy to fix his hair and wears a cap instead. 

Johnny tosses Mark something that he thinks the younger might need later on. 

"Are you for real? A condom?" A baffled Mark says in disbelief, but sliding it in his pocket anyway.

"You'll never know wildcat. You'll never know." He gives him a mischievous wink.

This wasn't just any party to them, this was an operation. Though they chose to leave for the party unarmed, they were thankfully trained well for hand to hand combat, just in case things went extremely wrong. But that was besides the point, they couldn't destroy their chances of blending in.

When the tandem arrives at the party, the elder was the only one to be greeted enthusiastically, Mark shakes it off simply because being friends with these jocks were the last thing on his list. It was Johnny's call if it didn't work for him, they had their roles. 

"Go around for a bit, I'll take care of him." Johnny whispers to Mark with a drink already in his hand.  

Mark shrugs his shoulders and explores the frat house, lit with red and blue, music blaring through speakers and the muffled conversations from the people that filled it. 

Nothing seemed too off the bat here, it was everything you would expect a frat party to be. There hasn't been a trace of NCT anywhere, or maybe it was because they were being taken too discreetly. 

"Want some?" a random guy nudges him, discreetly handing a packet of the substance. He takes it and plays it cool. 

"Yo, sick. Thanks man." He pats him on the back. 

“Yo it’s not free.” The guy laughs then it disappears. “20 bucks.”

Mark's smile fades, embarrassed. Thank god he brought his wallet. “Here. Thanks.”

"Don't sweat it." and he gives him a small salute.

Mark quickly slides it in his pocket, to keep as evidence later. 

"Bad boy." You snake your hands around his shoulders. "Want some?" You offer your red punch with vodka. 

His eyes widen, but eases under your touch. Finally, someone who's familiar. Overly familiar. "Hey, y/n" he shakes his head no. "I don't feel like drinking tonight" he makes up an excuse. 

"So are you…" 

"Am i?" 

"Are you going to take that?" You say, pointing at the pocket where he hid it.

Uncertain, he shakes his head no. "But should I? Have you ever had one of these?" 

"Oh god no." You say in disgust. "I have seen people's reactions to it though. It's borderline batshit crazy, those things." You explain. Hoping that he wouldn't ever try taking those. You knew about the whole Minjung incident. "One of the girls who lived next door died because of it." 

Your remark sparks an interest in him. "Minjung?" He questions. This could be a big help to their operation. But it wasn't a good time to interrogate you.

You raise your brows, "How'd you know her name?" 

He fakes a cough and tries to quickly think of a reason. "Mr- Mr. Benett told us. He said that recently a student passed away but never said it was because of the drug…" 

You crease up, "That old man is fucking clueless." You cross your arms. "But I'm just looking out for you okay? There's safer ways to have fun." 

"Right " He pursues a smile.

Too much fun wasn't part of the plan tonight but you made it difficult for him to do his job. Effortlessly. 

You fake a pout. "C'mon tiger, live a little! It's not going to be that bad." You try to convince him, wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to keep your drink from spilling, his arms naturally overlapping and resting just right above your ass.

To hell with this. He's been dreaming of this his entire life. After being in such a conservative family and all, he deserved to try new things out. He was old enough. He thinks to himself, while catching a glimpse of Johnny chugging down a keg. "You're right." he smirks, and you offer your drink for him to taste. 

Mark's face scrunches a little from the alcohol, but it felt nice. Good enough for him to grab you by the arm and head to get one himself. 

He scans the counter full of different drinks with a variety of colored juices. He chooses the blue lemonade with vodka which you gladly made, handing him the red plastic cup after. "Cheers" you say, delighted with the smile he gave you. 

It wasn't long enough until the both of you were back to dancing again, not giving a care like everyone else. He could kiss you right now. And he did, he couldn't miss the opportunity to make your tongues turn purple. 

----

Johnny has done everything with all his might to get along with these jocks, kids these days do party harder huh? He doesn't remember having this kind of intolerance to alcohol before, he had to get it out of his system before he forgets what he's really here for.  

"Nah this dude's a goner!" Yuta enthusiastically points at Johnny, who now had both of his hands on his knees. 

"Hold on, I gotta have some air outside" he raises his arms in defeat, words slurring out of his mouth and vision so blurred he could barely tell where he's going. Finally after much stumbling and ending up in filthy corners, he managed to find a bathroom. Not a usable one though.

"Oh god- sorry" He says as he sees two people fucking each other's guts out on on the sink. "Nevermind" he immediately shuts the door and leaves them alone. It didn't take long for him to just head outside and vomit on the lawn of the frat house. Oh yes, great fertilizer. 

Johnny regains a very small amount of composure and he felt someone tap and rub his back. "You okay?" Jaehyun chuckles, with a drunk Yuta tagging along.

Johnny takes a deep breath and tries to stand straight with all his might, trying to act like everything was under control. "Shits wild here" He chaffs, but his brows furrow when he sees a familiar pattern on Yuta's skin. "What's that you got there?" Johnny tries to reach for the latter's arm carefully. 

Yuta excitedly raises his sleeve, revealing a tattoo. "Oh this? It's a tattoo man. Gotta get inked at some point!" Yuta says, proudly. "Do you want one? I know a place!"

Jaehyun sighs. He was hyperactive again. "Yuta-"

"What? C'mon look I got this as soon as I got out of my parent's house. Those folks made me feel like I was in jail!" The drunk boy overshares. Johnny pays attention because there was a possibility that these thoughts were sober. 

Johnny was quickly disappointed, but not surprised. "Yeah? That's cool. I'll pass. Kinda scared of needles..." He trails off. 

"Pfft. Pussy." Yuta spat, Johnny was ready to give him a piece of his knuckles. 

Jaehyun blocks Johnny with his arm, "Cut him some slack man, I've known this guy since high school. Let him have his fun. He won't even remember this." 

The three head back inside to enjoy the rest of the party when the duo completely forget what they were initially here for. Johnny had spent the rest of the night enjoying himself, so did Mark.

You and Mark decided to play along with the drinking games these people planned, with the faces that you will surely forget by tomorrow. 

You've already had a couple to drink, so it became harder for you to aim in beer pong. Luckily, Mark was right behind you, with a steady grip on your hips and one arm helping you aim for the ball. 

You close one eye trying to focus as he helped you aim for the cup. "She shoots, she scores!" he shouts playfully and there goes another drink for you. 

"You still alright? We can stop if you want," He whispers, lips tingling on your collarbone, sending chills to your spine. 

You turn to face him, a gentle hand on his lean chest. "I want you.".  You whisper, dragging a painfully slow finger to his lips. You were so knit together that you could feel the growing tent in his pants on your throbbing core. He was irresistible. 

He gulps. Here comes nothing. Johnny sure knows his shit huh?

Mark quickly leads you upstairs, looking for a vacant room to settle in. He turned the knobs one by one but they were all locked, your last resort was a surprisingly available restroom. 

"Will this do for you?" Mark hesitates, because he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable.

Your tipsy self playfully pinches his cheek, "You do it for me, tiger." And it was enough to drive him to the edge. 

As soon as the both of you enter the bathroom, your lips connect once again, sloppily kissing each other like you were out of your minds. Like you wanted to swallow and consume this man whole. 

"I want you to see for yourself how crazy you make me." You say through the slapdash kisses.

He puts a hand under your dress, feeling your drenched cunt. "You're so fucking wet. Is this all for me?" He says out of breath, mouth almost watering with the thought of your pussy in his mouth.

"All yours baby." You bite his lower lip and stick out your tongue for him to suck. 

He raises your dress just below your ribcage and slides down your black lace lingerie as it fell to your ankles, "Just so you know, I'm keeping this." Mark smirks as he quickly puts it in his pocket. 

"It's meant to be yours," You purr, setting your back flat on the cold tiled wall, throwing your head back at the sensation of Mark leaving wet kisses on your thighs. 

He kneels and places your legs over his shoulders, lifting your feet off the ground. He was sturdy as a rock as his two arms held your thighs for support while you removed his cap for you to wear over your head and your fingers to be locked in his hair. 

"Fuck." You hiss as his tongue lapped on your folds, slurping on your wetness like he worshiped you. He sucked repeatedly on your clit making your legs tremble, so good that you might fall over but his reflexes were out of his world and he knew where exactly to support you. 

Your eyes painfully roll to the back of your head from the sensation he was giving you, "God, Kalen don't fucking stop-" you moan and you swear this man had some spell casted on his mouth by how magical it worked. 

You grind your hips involuntarily as his mouth followed it, like this could not get any better than it already was. But you could only take so much. "Kalen I'm gonna cum, fuck" 

"It's not over until it's over baby," he sets you down and removes his mouth from your pussy, you could barely stand with your legs feeling like absolute gelatin. 

Mark gets a condom out of his pocket and quickly unbuckles his belt, making his jeans fall to the ground and expose his throbbing cock, boxers wet with precum. 

"You think you can last longer for me baby girl?" 

You could only nod your head eagerly because you were growing extremely impatient. 

He wraps your legs around his waist in a swift move. "Good girl" He whispers, and you were more than ready to take him. Again and again. 

He inserts himself inside you, stretching your walls and you whimper, wrapping your arms around his head to keep his face close to the valley of your breasts. 

"That's right, open up for me, pretty girl." He pleads as he continues to thrust in a steady pace. Breath hitched as he brought his face up to you, slurping your tongue once more like it was a popsicle that he couldn't get enough of. "Taking me so well like always huh?" he chuckles and picks up his pace, throaty moans escaping his mouth. 

Thank fuck the music in this house was loud enough to blow off people's eardrums, making your moans almost inaudible outside, but loud enough for Marks pleasure. For his ears only. 

“Fuck I’m almost-” Mark huffs, “there.” he breathes. When his pace becomes sloppy and finally comes, you hold onto him, your legs numb that you could barely stand on your own. Conscious with the fact that Mark will get to see how fucked out you look, but he absolutely loved it. 

-----

"What'd I tell ya? That condom didn't go to waste." Johnny snickers while laying in bed, tossing his football. 

Head in the clouds with the thought of you, Mark could only smile to himself but quickly changes the subject before they both lose all purpose. 

"Find anything out yet?" Mark asks mindlessly, because all he could think about was you. 

"Nope." Johnny says, popping the p. He lied.

And something clicks with Mark. That packet of NCT he managed to keep in his pocket. He rushes over to his hamper and flips the pockets of his pants. 

"Someone handed it to me yesterday, I kept it for evidence to bring at the headquarters." He hands the packet to Johnny.

The elder observes it, trying to push the thought of Yuta possibly being a dealer to the very back of his head right now. Give it time. Mark was just starting to enjoy being with you, Johnny has been enjoying being one of the new aces in the football team, it wouldn't hurt to hold it out for a little while. 

"Also," Mark adds, "Y/n knows about Minjung. Said she lived across the hall."

"And?" Johnny anticipates. 

"That's all I know for now. It's still a big step though." Mark concludes.

----

Johnny spends his free time hanging with Jaehyun and the rest of the boys. If not in practice, they hit the gym to always be in tip-top shape. 

Yuta swings a heavy arm over Johnny's shoulders, "Well isn't it our quitter!" 

Johnny shoots Jaehyun a look, "You told me he wouldn't remember." 

Jaehyun could only chuckle, "Well he did." 

Yuta was loud as a goose, he seemed to have so much more energy than the other members of the team that Johnny became suspicious of where it came from. 

He recalls the time when the chief described the effects of the NCT substance, and one of them was being focused and hyperactive.

Yuta, besides being silly, was on top of his own game. After joking around he was a hundred percent focused on the gym, his reps were consistent, his routines were clean. Jaehyun tells Johnny that Yuta was also one of the greatest instruments of the football team. Though not gifted with the brightest mind, he worked hard to stay in this university to prove his parents wrong—and to avoid business school.

He was a potential heir to a known electronics company in Japan, but he insisted that he pursue being part of the varsity team to keep his scholarship in sports science. Which until now was an endless debate between him and his parents. 

Jaehyun had invited Johnny to stay over at the frat house to hang out, and he did. 

It was different to see it in daylight, with no people partying, no vomit and crushed chips on the floor, it looked well taken care of. 

"You guys clean this up yourselves after every party?" Johnny asks, impressed. 

"Yep," Jaehyun proudly says. 

"You gotta look out for the shit they leave behind here. It's amusing." Yuta retorts. 

Johnny raises a brow, "Oh yeah? Like what?" 

Without wit, Yuta replies, "Drugs"

Johnny, absolutely being taken back by his bold remark was immediately clutched by Jaehyun, "He doesn't mean it." 

His suspicion grew so much that he couldn't help but finally bring up the subject. "Like what? Like NCT?" he enunciates. 

Jaehyun, quite astounded by Johnny's knowledge with the substance replies, "Hm maybe. You know about that?" 

And he was in the trance. "Heard of it yeah, can you hook me up with some?

"Oh sure it’s right-" Yuta reaches for his pocket, "here." and sticks his middle finger out playfully. Johnny swats it away.

"Woah there-" Jaehyun almost bust a gut while laughing. "You're definitely new to this. We don't have any." He tells Johnny. "Don't be such a narc." 

Way too defensively, Johnny retorts, "I'm not!"

"That's what they all say." Yuta shrugs with a chuckle.

 He spends the rest of the afternoon with them and surprisingly hasn't dealt with unusual rituals and behavior. They acted their age, playing games on a PS5, drinking soda until their bladders exploded, filling themselves with junk food and spray cheese. He could be wrong about them after all.

----

Days passed and not a single thing has led them closer to their target person, it was harder than they thought even when everything felt like it was right in front of them. 

"Student-Parent day is coming soon, are you going?" You ask Mark as you take a sip of your coffee. 

You took him to your favorite coffee shop for the first time, it's a nice and quiet place for you to study and relax. 

"They have those?" Mark hesitates because then he'd have to tell his parents that he's undercover and they'd forget and blow it for him. "I guess so." 

"Good. Because I'd like you to meet my parents." You smile. Though you didn't know where you stood with Mark, the past few weeks with him had been a breath of fresh air. He was kind, funny and supportive. He was simple yet his ways of showing his thoughts were sophisticated, never had you once thought that you would get along so well with a person in such a short time. You weren't the one to ask for labels though. You simply liked to enjoy whatever you had at the moment. In your experience, putting labels on things just always gave a reason for it to vanish. 

"What why?" He says, a little too surprised.

"Look Kalen, don't break a sweat with this. I'm just going to introduce you. They won't mind." You assure him. 

He simply leaves the topic behind and ponders on how he could make this work. He was scared because you had no idea that this was all temporary, and he's terrified by the fact that he wishes it wasn't. He was finding all the possible reasons and excuses to retract himself from this relationship he has with you, but all you ever gave him was a reason to stay. It broke his heart knowing that one day, he'll have to disappoint you with the truth. 

"Something wrong?" 

He snaps out of it. "Nothing." and forces a smile. 

-----

"We aren't making any progress man," Mark runs a hand through his hair and sighs. His back falls heavily on his bed.

Johnny anxiously bites his lap, eyes fixated on the floor. "Yuta has a tattoo…" 

"What?" the younger jolts up. 

Johnny backs up defensively, "But it wasn't the one we saw! You know how the tattoo artist said he's done a couple of those."

"Are you shitting me right now? We've been trying to find it for weeks! Why didn't you tell me?" His voice raises, and a vein on his forehead couldn't help but emerge. 

"I don't think it's him man, I told you it’s not the same tattoo" Johnny defends. 

Mark lets out a pungent laugh, poking his tongue on the inside of his cheek, his jaw stiffens. "Right. I knew it. " He says in disbelief. "Everything's right in front of you already! Too scared to bust your new besties now?" 

"They aren't my new besties stop making up bullshit." The elder stubbornly defends. 

"No you stop because I'm actually trying here!" 

"Oh you are? Explain why you're getting so serious with that girl of yours. Wait until she finds out that she's just part of the plan." He jumps on Mark's throat and walks out of the room. 

The thing is, you weren't even part of the plan. Not at all. 

-----

"You better have good shit for me today." The chief clearly was not being in his best mood today. 

Mark scoffs, he and Johnny had not settled their differences since the fight from two days ago, they were doing their own investigations without communicating. Which was a big no.

"Ask the big guy here, I'm sure he has something." Tongue in his cheek, Mark glares. 

The chief slams a big hand on the table and shouts, "Stop acting like fucking children!" 

Johnny stiffened up on his seat, and gulped before he spoke. "I think we need to initiate a drug test on one of the students, chief. I have my eye on this one person. We could pretend to say that the thing is randomized and mandatory. If the intel can look up information about his parents, we could send a pretend automated message about their child being randomly selected for a drug test." 

The chief seems to be taking Johnny's point well, "And who is this you suspect?" 

"Nakamoto Yuta." 

Mark looks at Johnny with wide eyes, he thought Johnny wouldn't be turning him in. 

"I see. I'll get the department to execute this idea of yours and we'll let you know right away. Dismissed." 

Mark catches up to Johnny who had been walking ahead of him and tries to reach for the elder's shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Let go of me," Johnny knocks Mark's hand off his shoulder. "Are you happy now?" 

Dumbfounded, Mark couldn't seem to understand where Johnny's irritation was coming from. "Look man, I'm sorry you had to turn one of your friends in but you know it's our job." 

"I know okay? I don't need you telling me what to do because so far, I know pretty damn well that I'm not meddling in your fucking business." 

Mark pushes a hard hand on Johnny, making him stumble a little. "My relationship has nothing to do with this. Are you jealous? Because if you are, I know pretty damn well you can score a lot of chicks here. I don't see the problem." 

Johnny tries to speak but was unable to because Mark had already stormed off elsewhere. 

----

 "Shit. My parents are coming to fetch me today." Yuta runs a veiny hand through his ginger hair; another reason for his parents to pull him out of university. But here's the first: 

Jaehyun, disinterested even if he knew it was serious whenever Yuta's parents butt in and ask why.

"They wanna do a drug test on me." 

Jaehyun chortles, "What? You? What made them think that? Besides you acting like a crackhead?" 

"They got this stupid email from the dean that I was amongst the randomly chosen individuals to get tested." He pops a sour kid patch in his mouth, "They're never letting this go." He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. "I have never even tried NCT." he rolls his eyes. 

Yuta, though by the looks of him, gave an impression of a boy who would try everything in front of him, but he's a wuss with a good conscience. Too good.

"Well, you are innocent after all, right?" Jaehyun shrugs. "There's nothing to worry about. Um, besides your dyed hair, your tattoo, that lip piercing." He eyes him up and down. "No biggie, just probably uh—two weeks worth of grounding. And no allowance." 

"Fuck you man." the ginger-haired boy glared.

------

Johnny walks around the campus, alone. It sucked to not be on good terms with Mark, what ever happened to bros before hoes? It just wasn't the same doing things without him. Johnny had given Mark his personal space for the both of you, but at times like this—it was the hardest to stay out of it. 

As he passes by the back of the Fine Arts building, he sees two familiar faces on the exposed staircase. 

He squints his eyes and tries to focus on who those people might be, the mop of ash purple hair too familiar. But one thing that utterly shocked him was the sight of someone he expected the least.

It was you and Jaehyun, standing way too close to each other for anyone's liking.

Johnny takes a deep breath and sucks in his cheeks. He didn't know what this meant, and he wished he wouldn't have to be the one to give it any interpretation that would disappoint him and especially Mark. 

He walks away from the scene before you get a chance to see him.

"Jaehyun, you don't have to stand this close to me," You backed up, hips hitting the ledge lightly. 

He looks to the side, then back at you. "Sorry," he cockily says, backing up with both of his hands raised. "Can't help it. My best friend's too fine. And someone was looking." he mumbles.

"What?" 

"Nothing, he's gone"

"You know I'm with Kalen right now Jaehyun." You say with worry, it could've been anyone. "Quit. Don't ruin this for me." 

He manages to let a disgruntled chuckle, "And yet you still can't put a label on it." 

And with that, he was off. 

The entire time Johnny was battling with himself if she should tell Mark about what he saw or not. Them being in a misunderstanding right now doesn't change the fact that he was still his best friend. 

After the excruciatingly slow walk to the dorm, he had hoped that Mark wouldn't be around, so he wouldn't have to face him with the information he had right away. He couldn't even form the words for it. The. again, when did anything ever go his way, right? 

Johnny enters the room and there was Mark, munching on some chips while viewing something on his laptop. Something probably for one of his classes. Mark didn't have to take this so seriously (by this he meant his classes) but he did, because the Mark we all know just loved to learn. Good for him. 

He ignores Johnny's presence; though he was very much aware of it. The elder plops down his bed and grabs his football to toss around. It was so awkward; not greeting each other with their usual weirdness and excitement. It felt like there was this gaping hole between them that both of them were afraid to cross, and no one had the initiative to take a risk—for now. 

"Find anything?" Johnny asks Mark, eyes on the ceiling. 

"Nope." 

"Why not?" 

"Do you have anything?"

Well, he did. But not about their task. Instead, he says "Nope." but he couldn’t help but ask. “How are you and y/n?”

“Good.” Mark plainly answers.

“Good.”

And left it at that. 

-----

You were going to let your parents meet Mark today, and his would meet yours. You were new to this, there was not a single man you had introduced to your parents, aside from Jaehyun. But that was a different story, because Jaehyun was a childhood friend. 

So Mark was the first… whatever this was called. You couldn’t get yourself to call him that, you didn’t deserve to. For you labels were earned, not just given. But this will do for now. 

You see him from a distance with his parents, he resembled his father’s face structure and his mother’s eyes. His smile was uniquely his own. You wave a hand in the air and he catches the sight of it, smiling even wider. 

“You’re in college again honey?” Mark’s mom asks, clueless.

“Mom, I'm undercover please don’t bring that up anywhere. Please keep quiet for me.” He whispers sternly. 

His mom zips her mouth figuratively, his dad got the idea of the whole thing, so they acted according to the assignment. 

As he got closer to where you were, his legs grew weak. But he couldn’t falter, he had to put on a strong face. But at that moment, Mark wanted to be buried alive. He wanted to turn his back and run away.

“Mom, dad, this is Kalen.” You present him to them with a grin. 

“H-hello.” Mark lets out, his chest clenching. 

“Kalen. You sure I haven’t seen you before?” Your father says, gripping Mark’s hand firm, he could almost squeeze the guts out of it. Your father was his deputy chief. 

Mark, crushed under the man’s grip, “N-no sir.” he manages to blurt out. 

You sense the tension and tell your dad, “Dad, that’s enough.” 

Your dad let go, with a smug and bitter look on his face. Your mom, who- with absolutely no idea what Mark has to do with your father, greets him politely. 

You greet Mark's parents with glee, and proceed to walk with him, keeping a fair distance from both your parents. "Sorry about my dad, he's just stressed about his job. He's a deputy chief, rustling with knuckleheads all the time." You explain. 

Sure he's been through a lot. Mark thought. "Yea yea, I totally get it. It's fine." he nods. Knuckleheads. He laughs to himself. 

The rest of the parents’ day event was a total drag, every time Mark got into eye contact with their chief, it had seemed like the man wanted to rip his head away from his body, or maybe skin him alive. Mark had no idea, because if he did he wouldn’t have risked going this far with you. What is left to do now? How can he ever face his boss knowing that he broke the first rule given to them right in his face? And with his own daughter? He should start digging his own grave at this point. 

But the chief didn't lay a finger on him, not now when his daughter was at stake. 

----

Mark has been itching to tell Johnny about what had happened. He was willing to set aside their differences because he needed his best friend, now. 

"Johnny-" Mark breathes, not making eye contact with the elder who was on his phone, this room had been dead silent for days. 

Johnny's head perks up, it was nice hearing him call his name again. "Yeah?" 

"I kinda messed up… big time." Mark scratches the back of his head, shameful. 

Johnny sits up, and listens to the younger more attentively. "What do you mean?" 

"Y/n.." he trails off, "Y/n is the chief's daughter." And catches his face on his hands. 

"Fuck…" Johnny didn't know what to say. "How'd you know?" 

"The student-parent weekend thing. God, I swear dude he was going to skin me alive if he could. But shit, I didn't know!" Mark exclaims, hands all over the place. "If I did then I wouldn't have gone through with this. She has never told me about her parents until that day. I don't know what to do." 

He seemed so helpless, he didn't want to break to you like this, it was too messy. But damn if he didn't want to keep being with you. It couldn't end like this, not yet. 

"I- I don't know what to say man… God I'm sorry this sucks ass. You know I always let you do what makes you happy right? But what if," Johnny stops, debating if he should go on with what he planned to say. 

"What if?" Mark anticipates. 

"What if she isn't who you thought she was?" 

"Great. I'm so fucking stupid for thinking you would be with me on this one." Mark slams his hands on his lap and stands, slamming the door on the way out. 

"Mark-" Johnny reaches for the door but misses a beat, it was too late. He let his best friend slip away from him again. 

And as soon as Mark left their room, he was on his way to meet up with you, hoping you would be free. He hadn't had much time with you after the following days of the event because you had always excused yourself with how busy you are with your submissions and requirements, or that's what you would like to tell him. 

Your phone rings in your pocket as you excuse yourself from the people you were with at the moment, when you check to see who it was, you find the quietest place possible. 

"Kalen," You spoke, "What's up?" 

"Are you free? I was hoping I'd finally catch you." 

You sigh, you missed spending time with him. "I am," you say in advance before you bail out of this place you were in. "See you at the cafe in 10?" 

You hear him chuckle over the line, and you just knew he was smiling when he said "Great, I'll see you." 

"See you, Kal." You smile and tuck your phone back in your pocket. 

"Who was that?" Jaehyun asks when he bumps into you in the hallway of the frat house. "Oh you've got that sickening smile right now. It must've been Kalen" He rolls his eyes. 

"Whatever Jae," You brush past him. "I'm heading out." 

"But we're not done!" 

You didn't respond and left, shutting the door behind you. 

The cafe was a short walk from your university, but you just happened to bump into Mark on the way, now you don't have to walk alone. 

He smoothly slips his hand in yours, holding it gently and reading your expression. You look to the side with a wide grin on your face, unable to help the fact that you were blushing like crazy. 

"Nice hoodie," he comments. The garment looked a little too familiar to him, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it. “You never gave back my jacket..”

You mentally facepalm, forgetting the fact that you were wearing Jaehyun's hoodie. You pray that Mark wouldn't see this on him anytime soon, you wouldn't want him to get a bad idea. 

"Oh right that, I’ll get it dry cleaned and I’ll give it back" you utter. "Something bothering you?" You ask, trying to read his sulky expression. 

He shakes his head, "No no, I want you to keep it. And I just missed you." He forms a small smile, making your heart melt. You were so easily captivated by his presence that it scared you. He always left you feeling unhinged—in a good way. 

"I missed you too, tiger." You grip his hand a little tighter.  

When he licks his lips, only by then you realize how much you missed kissing him. Right then and there, you just wanted another taste. This was exactly why you were trying to keep yourself busy and away from him for a bit; you had to convince yourself that you couldn’t be attached to him because you could never take care of the things you keep. 

He opens the door for you like always and the chimes in the cafe ring in a sweet melody, a sound that always reminds you of your moments with him. The both of you always shared comfortable memories in this cafe, from small coffee dates to working on papers until it closed. You couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone else. 

When you settle down he automatically takes your usual orders right away. You could not take your eyes off him, he was such a dream.

He sets the tray down with your drinks, and a pastry that you shared a love-hate relationship with. Cheesecake.

You chuckle at the thought of recalling all the times that you convinced Mark that cheesecake slices weren’t supposed to be as huge as they are and that there are definitely better one’s in other places, but Mark’s favorite was Starbucks’. Maybe that’s why you have learned to love it somehow, because you get to enjoy it with him. 

"I thought you didn't like this? You almost finished the whole thing… I literally bought this for myself." He says sarcastically, very much amused at how you barely even noticed that you were close to finishing the entire thing. 

"Oh shit.. sorry" You show him a pout and feed the last piece to him. "Here." You smile cutely. 

He rolls his eyes and bites it off your fork, you both bid goodbye to the cheesecake. 

Mark’s phone rings in his pocket and when he checks to see, it was Johnny. He lets out a sigh and puts his phone back in his pocket. 

“Are you going to take that?” You ask. 

“Nah”

But Johnny was persistent, he did see this coming. He knew that Mark would ignore him at first so he decided to send him a message. This was about their job. 

“Mark, I know you hate me right now but we have to go to the office. Yuta’s tests came back.” Johnny sends. 

Mark takes a peek at his message, immediately standing up. 

“Where are you going?” You say, surprised. 

“I’m sorry I gotta go- meet my brother. He needs me for something.” He hesitantly leans forward, wanting to kiss you on the lips but kisses your forehead instead. “Text me when you get home okay?.” And with that, he was off. 

Mark rings Johnny and the elder quickly answers the call, Mark informs him that he would be heading to the office by himself since he was already closer to the location. 

But he suddenly remembers about his conflict with the chief. So he waited for Johnny to arrive outside. 

Lowering his pride he says, “I’m scared.” 

Johnny looks at him with empathy and says, “We can’t change what happened Mark. Just take it all in for now and we’ll figure out what to do about it later.” He pats the younger’s back and gives his shoulders an assuring squeeze before heading inside. 

Mark could not look at his boss, the feeling of wanting to be eaten alive was back again, why did he have to be your father? 

When Mark finally gets the courage to face him, the chief yells, “The fuck are you looking at?” making Mark flinch and shrink into his seat. 

Johnny felt the need to protect his friend and at the same time, to get what they were really here for. “Um, Sir can you save the ass beating for next time? We really need to look into Yuta’s results now.” He scratches the back of his neck. 

The chief grunts angrily, getting the file from his drawer. “Negative.” He says. 

Mark and Johnny give each other a look and take the folder that had the results, trying to analyze how it could possibly be negative. 

“Dammit.” Johnny whispers to himself, they had to move quickly before everything slips away from them. He takes note of Yuta’s contact number in the file to use for later. He closes the folder and places it back on the desk. “We’ll take care of this chief.” 

“You better. And you,” He presses a hard finger on Mark’s chest, “Stop fucking around with my daughter. I’ll cut your dick off.” 

Mark purses his lips before speaking, “She’s-” he gulps, “She’s really great sir. I’m not playing around with her. I’d never do anything to hurt her.” 

“You already are.” 

-----

The following day, Yuta receives a text from an unknown number, asking him to meet in an unusual location on campus. He was very skeptical at first but  believed that it was probably harmless. 

“Yah, Rolan! Sup.” He offers his fist to bump. “I was just waiting for someone here too. Some random number texted me and I was like "you know, fuck it"” he shrugs.

Johnny couldn’t help but chuckle. Was innocence even the word to describe this? "And you believed them?" Johnny shakes his head.

“Yeah! Look here’s the number” he flashes his phone screen to Johnny, “I wonder where they are. Let me give them a call.” he mindlessly puts the phone next to his ear. Yuta hears a muffled cellphone ringtone and looks around for it. “Yo, your phone’s ringing you should get that.” Yuta says to Johnny, still having absolutely no idea.

“It was us who texted you, dummy.” Mark retorts, appearing from the shadows, now both of them are cornering Yuta. 

“Yo,-” Yuta laughs, still not getting the point of this all. “What’s your name again?” 

Mark rolls his eyes, “Kalen.” 

“Right! Kalen wassup? You’re his brother right?” Yuta points to Johnny with his thumb up.

Johnny pops a tongue in his cheeks, and cocks his brow. “Alright, fun’s over.” It was a shame he had to do this too early, but it had to stop. He locks Yuta’s throat with his arm, pushing him onto the solid brick wall. 

Yuta tries to toughen up and tries to push Johnny’s arm off, but due to their size difference, Johnny definitely kept him still. 

“What do you know about him” Johnny asks sternly. 

“A-about who?” Yuta coughs.

“Jaehyun. What does he do?” Mark follows. 

“Besides being the most handsome man I know, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mark shakes his head, “Well,” and gets a gun out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Will this make you talk?”

Yuta looks at him with wide eyes, he was now scared shitless. “Why- how- who are you guys!” He exclaims. 

“The police mother fucker.” Johnny says. 

But despite everything, Yuta’s tactless mouth was definitely not his best asset. “I knew it. you looked too old to be a freshman.” He looks over at Johnny. “And you, I didn’t expect you to be a cop but you did give Narc vibes in that philosophy class.” 

Mark and Johnny give each other a look, they could not be sidetracked. 

“Are you done?” Johnny tells Yuta, and he simply nods. “So are you going to talk?”

“I’m telling you I don’t know! He never trusts me with his business, he says I have a big mouth.” 

Mark snickers, “I can tell.”

Yuta scoffs, and follows, “He’s been out often recently, but he never tells me where he’s going. So I don’t know what I can do for you.” 

“Listen here buddy,” Johnny warns. “If this gets to your parents that you’re involved with someone who supplies and distributes drugs, you’re going to get your entire family deported. Do you want that?” 

Yuta gulps, “No.” then helplessly says, “I don’t know how to earn his trust with these kinds of things. He’s known me since forever but-” 

“No buts.” Mark interrupts. “Use that head of yours or your ass is going back to Japan.” 

-------

Yuta had been on edge ever since that encounter with Mark and Johnny, now this entire thing would be up to him if he cooperated or not. Yuta’s heart had been lost a couple times, but it was definitely looking to be in the right place. So he’s trying his best to help out, even if it meant that he would have to turn in his best friend. 

When he gets the time to be alone with his thoughts he looks back at all the times that Jaehyun had made him feel like he wasn’t enough to be his friend. Not giving him a good position in football, walking out on him whenever he wanted to, keeping secrets from him. Maybe he was too busy trying so hard to be validated by Jaehyun that he never really got to realize that he lost himself in the process. Letting himself be trampled all over by everyone; this was his time to do something not just for himself, but for everyone else.

On the night when Jaehyun could not escape from Yuta’s presence any longer, he thought that it would be harmless to let his friend tag along for once. It’s not like he had other friends to be with, right? Right. Jaehyun could believe that if he wanted to. 

“I’m a bit sore today, you think you can drive me?” Jaehyun asks Yuta as they were walking in the parking lot after practice. 

To be fair, Yuta was sore too. But of course they wouldn’t care. “Alright, where to?” He still manages to say. 

“I’ll tell you along the way.” 

Yuta simply shrugs and Jaehyun tosses him his car keys, placing their gym bags at the trunk of his car. Jaehyun had given him directions while driving and it was somewhere he had never been and seen before. “Are you sure it’s here?” He says, trying to drive into a dark abandoned building with only the car’s headlights being the source of light. 

“Yeah yeah, wait for me here.” Jaehyun opens the door of the car and slips away from it. “Don’t worry, this place is safe.” He tells Yuta and shuts the door close. 

Yuta immediately whips out his phone, thinking that this might be his biggest clue and texts Johnny. 

I don’t know where I am, but I’m gonna send you my pinned location based on what my gps says alright? I think this was where Jaehyun had been going. 

Johnny immediately tells Mark about this and they immediately take their car to go to where Yuta had told them. 

 Rolan: Yuta, it’s not safe for you to stay there. Can you drive away and head back here? It would be better if we keep you alive. 

I guess I could, Jaehyun’s pretty far out now. I saw him go in somewhere, I’m sure you’ll find this entrance when you get here.

With that Yuta drives off and tries to find his way back to the campus, hoping that this would be successful for Mark and Johnny. He had such a strong feeling about this, everything could go right, or just extremely wrong. But he had to expect both to keep his feet on the ground. He did the right thing. He kept telling himself that. 

“Dude this place is sketchy as hell.” Mark says, looking around. “Do you think Yuta told us the truth? I mean he’s Jaehyun’s bestfriend right?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to try Mark, he seemed pretty genuine about it. Besides, all Jaehyun does is use him. I’m sure he’s tired of it.” Johnny says as they searched the place with their flashlights, their guns ready to fire if they ever go under attack. 

Finally, they find the entrance Yuta has been talking about, the chain attached to the door unlocked and loosened. When they get closer they arm themselves and keep their guard, Johnny kicks the door open and Mark could not believe what he had just seen. 

This couldn’t be. He kept repeating to himself, he didn’t want to believe that this was his reality. 

The reality that you were the one who was behind all of this.

“Hands up! We’re the police.” Johnny shouts, echoing throughout the entire warehouse. 

Mark gulps, he could not bring himself to move his feet and go closer. When you see him, you feel like you have been the biggest disappointment in someone’s life. “Kalen,” You plead with your hands up, terrified with the fact that Johnny had called off a warning shot, making you and Jaehyun back up. 

“Y/n.” Mark says, still struggling to get closer to you and lift his arm to aim his gun towards you. “Why- how could you?”

And you couldn’t answer him. The last thing you ever wanted to do was disappoint him, and yet you turned out to be every single disappointment that this world could think of. 

“Great.” Jaehyun says in anger, remorseful with the fact that both of you just got caught by the two people who had been the closest to you these past months. 

“Mark, come on. This is just as hard as it is for me than it is for you. We have to do this. It’s all we’ve been working for.” Johnny faces him, also extremely disheartened by this revelation.

Mark? His real name was Mark? “Who’s Mark?” You ask before he continues to approach you.

“Right. Now you know.” He takes a deep breath. He gets his handcuffs out of his pocket and races towards you before you could even get away. It was bizarre; how you even thought of escaping this. 

“You have the right to remain silent,” His hands shake while putting them against your back, “Anything that you say can and will be held against you in the court of law.” He swallows, and you sob. 

 “I’m so sorry I-” he cuts you off.

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.” He concludes the Miranda rights and adds, “It’s one thing to disappoint me, but another to disappoint your father.”

-----end------