#ignore the noise on his hat i tried so hard to remove it but i think i made it worse lmao

[jooheongif]

🐝

[sp00kworm]

Black Oak (Part 2)

Pairing: Alcott Glyn (Headless Horseman) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Body Horror, Murder

PART 1 

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The police arrived about an hour after you had woke-up the whole village screaming. Peswick was far away from the nearest city’s response, and you sat shivering, wrapped in a blanket from the house, clutching it close as Mrs Shaw rushed to bring you a hot drink. She and her husband were dressed, but neither went into your house. They rushed back home, bringing you a cup of tea from their own kitchen along with a foil blanket for the shock. You weren’t allowed to touch the body, and you tried to ignore the swinging noise of the corpse as you sat perched on the front doorstep to your home, sniffling into the cup of tea. The police took off their hats as they stepped past your gate, and you watched as the crime scene investigation and forensic van pulled up behind them. The two officers nodded at Mr and Mrs Shaw before smiling as best they could.

“Would you like to come with us, please?” The male officer asked gently, “Lets go inside and we’ll get your statement of events, okay?” The female officer with him looked back at the tree and swallowed hard as Forensics suited up to remove the body and take evidence.

“Come on, Sully.” He ushered his companion as he helped you to your feet and nodded to your neighbours. He whistled and smiled as he opened the door for you, “Nice old place you’ve got here.” He complimented kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with crows’ feet, “Mrs Finch used to live here. Are you a relative?”

 You shook as the officer led you gently into the front room, “It…She was my aunty, distantly.” You whispered as you eased yourself back onto the sofa, clutching the lukewarm tea tightly, as though it was a lifeline in your grasp.

“She was a kind woman. Made a lot of oils out of her garden, but she had nothing but trouble and vandalism with this place. Kids used to make a mess of the sides of the house regularly.” He tipped his head to the wall where the fireplace was, “It was always on the chimney. She never did anything, but the kids called her a witch and all that trollop.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t introduced yourself.” Sue gave him a lopsided smile as she pulled out the clipboards full of paperwork to be completed.

“Ah, so I haven’t!” The officer dipped his head, “I’m Officer Perks.” He pointed to the blond woman with him, “And this is my partner Officer Sullivan.”

You nodded shakily licked your lips, “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I know...Its far.” A breathy sigh left you as Sullivan took out her pens from her vest and smiled.

“We just need an account of what you did this morning and if you knew the victim.” Percy offered as he sat on your couch, “Spare no details. Even something small to you might be important to us.”

 Conflict burned in your throat and gut as you thought about what had happened, “I don’t remember anything of relevance from last night. I spent the night in bed. I’ve only just moved in, so I was exhausted.” You took a shuddering breath and continued, “I went out this morning to the tree and…and I looked up… and he was hanging there, without his head.” You looked into the tea in your hands, noting that it was now ice cold.

“How long have you been here?” Sullivan asked as she shorthand filled in the details on the paperwork, “You said you moved in recently?” Perks looked from the paper to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I moved in yesterday afternoon.” You whispered and Sullivan gave you a pitying look.

Perks shifted against the cushions, “Did you have anyone with a grudge against you or motive from where you used to live?” He asked.

“No one that I know of.” You answered as you put down the cup of tea, fighting the tears and upset.

“Okay so what time did you find the body?” Perks asked. You took a deep sigh and continued to answer the police officer’s questions well into the afternoon.

 Perks and Sullivan could drink their weight in tea, it turned out, and you offered them many drinks over the course of the few hours. They had a couple each, pens scratching papers as they took notes and an official account of the events for the records. You looked out of the window as Sue and Percy signed the bottom of the page. Crime Scene Investigations were hoisting the body down from the thick black branch of the oak, working to preserve the noose he was swinging by. Three people held the corpse up as they cut the rope carefully, keeping the knot intact and bagging the rope before they got the body down into the bag on the stretcher.

“He’ll need to go to pathology to determine cause of death…though I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sullivan whispered, trying not to be heard as she eyed you sat across from them. Perks rolled his eyes and elbowed his colleague.

“Here. Let me draw the curtains.” Perks stood and reached for the curtains before drawing them over the forensics team dragging the body into the bag, impassive to the blood that stained their tunics and gloves.

“I think we have everything.” Sullivan announced as she stood up and took hold of both their mugs, “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.” She offered with a small, pathetic smile.

 Perks nodded his head as Sullivan as she left towards the kitchen. You heard her bang the cup on the countertop before you tugged the blanket closer and shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you for your cooperation today.” Perks took his hat and tucked it under his arm, “I know these kinds of cases are very difficult to talk about. I have this card for you.” He held you out a green printed business card, “That’s the helpline for a couple of organisations and the other side has someone you can seek out if you would like some help talking through all this.”

You looked at the numbers vaguely before nodding and placing the card on the coffee table, “Thank you.” You replied quietly before Perks replaced his hat on his head.

“We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you once again and good afternoon.” He looked at his watch before he opened the lounge door and quietly exited.

Sue scoffed at him in the hall, “Come on. We’ve got these reports to write up.”

“Coming, coming.” Perks grumbled, “Nothing wrong with being nice. They just witnessed a damn corpse…” The voices trailed off as the front door closed behind the two of them with a bang.

 Silence.

 You looked to the curtains and stood up, letting the blankets finally fall from your shoulders as you fisted each side of the heavy curtains. They were old and embroidered with curling leaves. You tugged them open with a heave and watched the police vans trundle away back down the old stone roads, back towards the hills where they had come from this morning. With a deep breath, you tied the curtains back before taking one last long look at the gnarled, black oak in the garden, and heading towards the stairs for a shower and to get dressed. You hoped that a shower would wash away the sticky feeling of malaise on your skin and mind. Hot water usually purged bad thoughts, or so you hoped as you tried to erase the memory of the swinging corpse from the shrivelled branches of the old oak tree.

 You shivered through the house after your shower, wrapped in a jumper and heavy jeans as you tried to navigate the halls without looking out into the garden. The memory of the body lingered with the burning feeling of the heavy box in the other room, filled with an old skull. It was a skull inside. A perfectly preserved ivory skull. The teeth were yellow with age on the enamel, and you looked to the table where the muddy box sat with the key in the lock. The headless creature had moaned and groaned as its head screamed from the other room. You turned and looked at the ornate metal decorations before daring to turn the key again. The lid popped open and flew back to reveal the skull again.

 It sat perfectly still on the cushion, staring at you with empty eyes. With a deep breath, you dared to reach out and touch the skulls surface. It didn’t move. No magical energies tore out of the eye holes. It was perfectly still. It was just a skull. But the memory of it screaming and cursing inside the box was burned into your memory and you carefully picked the skull up, cushioning the bottom of its jaw before your strokes over the place where the eyebrows had once been when it was a man. It had to belong to the headless horseman, but why your aunt had it locked away in her home was another question entirely. You held the skull up to your eyes and peered into the bone of the eye sockets as you pondered your decision. There was a glimmer of gold inside the mouth which caught your eyes, and you dared to open the jaw wide enough to snatch at the shiny object. It was a single heavy golden coin which had been wedge between the back teeth. You looked at the old print and then quickly replaced it, wedging the jaw back shut as you placed the skull away on its pillow.

 It sat and stared at you, and you stared at it, wondering what happened last night as you clutched at your head and sighed. You slammed the lid closed and snapped the lock closed before you placed the box in the centre of the table.

“What the fuck were you up to aunty?” You asked the air as you rushed to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. As you set the water to boil you continued to curse, thinking about the headless man who what invaded your home chasing the poor man who had ended up hanging from the tree in your front yard. The head had screamed ‘witch’ from its confines, but you had no knowledge about what it could mean. You took the hot water and made a drink before looking at the last few boxes of unpacking and scoffing, deciding that the day would be better spent researching what had slaughtered the man and hung him from your tree.

 The village library was barely a few bookshelves put together and you sighed looking at the poor collection of books before you dated to approach the old librarian sat next to the desk. She had her own book open, some trashy romance novel set in the Victorian era, and she looked engrossed as she flipped the page and took another bite of her current tea cake.

“Hello?” You asked quietly in front of her.

The librarian jumped in her seat before she clutched at her chest and adjusted her glasses, “Dearie me! You scared the soul right out of me, love.” she took a moment to take a breath and close her book before she stood with a small wince and smiled, “What can I do for you?”

You could see the questions burning in her eyes. She no doubt knew you were the new person in town, and about what had happened at your home.

“I’m looking for some history books about the town. I wanted to try and get to know the place, but I don’t think there’s anything on the shelves.”

Her face pursed a little before she smiled again and pointed to the last one of the small walls of shelves, “There isn’t a lot but there’s a couple of books on the bottom shelf of the end one. For the records and such I’m afraid you will have to ask at the village hall. Rose keeps them in good nick there, lovely woman she is.”

“Ah, thank you.” You returned her smile and left her to her book as you went to the last set of shelves in the wall and started to rummage through the folklore and history books.

 There wasn’t a lot, she was right, and you sighed after about twenty minutes of pulling out books. You tugged the last, thick history book from the shelf and dusted the cover to reveal a history of the local mines and hills. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You peered at the shelf again and huffed before there was a glimmer of silver lining at the back of the bookcase. You squirmed your hand to the back and plucked the small book from behind the tattered paperbacks. It was a pocketbook, stencilled with an old name in cursive, faded and marred with cage.

‘Maria Theresa Glyn’

You dusted the front and followed the name before looking around and tucking the book into your bag. You felt bad just taking it, but obviously the Librarian had no idea it was there, and the name was familiar to you. You remembered the coat of arms on the old teapot. If this was the diary of someone with the same name it might have clues, or so you reasoned as you plucked a few books from the shelf and took them to the counter after replacing the rest.

 “Did you find what you were looking for, pet?” The librarian asked as you placed the books on the counter. She smiled and pulled out an old paper ticket to write your name onto. She poised the pen over the paper, and you told her your name before she copied it onto another for you and jotted the book codes down. She tutted at the date stamper and fiddled with it to get it to the correct date. Obviously not many people used the library.

“Yes, I found a few interesting things to have a flick through.” You told her as she stamped the tickets inside the books and stacked them in front of you.

“Well, you have fun...and be careful, huh? There’s a lot of weird and wonderful things that go on around here. It would be a shame if you forgot that, and something happened.” She smiled sweetly, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. I’ll try.” You smiled awkwardly back at her before you took your arm full of books and made a quick exit back into the chilly air.

 The village seemed to watch you as you wove between the avenue of trees, crunching autumn orange and brown leaves underfoot. The chill in the air mimicked their icy feelings. You were the outsider among them, and soon enough they’d come to hound you out of their home. You only hoped to solve what you had seen. There was no way a headless man was riding around taking heads...right? You tried to console yourself as you made it to your home, and past the gnarled black tree in the front garden. It was twisted and old, and the branches seemed to creak as a greeting on your return. A glare silenced it, or so it seemed, perhaps it was just the wind dying, but the tree went silent as you walked up to the door with your keys in hand. The door swung open when you unlocked it and you clutched at your books as the wind howled into the mouth of the house, screaming down the hall like a ghost before you kicked the front door shut, shivering. The old back boiler chugged in the background as you kicked off your boots and placed the books in the lounge on the small table by the chest.

 When the chest remained still and silent you left to place away your bags and get a drink. You returned, rubbing your eyes as you opened the little journal you had found. It was penned with ink and quill, that much was obvious, and you ran your fingers over the woman’s name again before you touched the crest and went to find the teapot. You grabbed the porcelain handle and placed the two together over your lap. They were the same. The Glyn coat of arms. You placed the teapot down and opened the diary to look at the first passage. It was dated back three centuries ago, back when the alliance was beginning to form between the different races, monsters and humans alike, though you could tell this village hadn’t had such luxury. The entire populace was human, apart from the dairy farmers four miles outside the walls of the village. They were large goblins of some kind, cave dwelling and gangly limbed from years in the dark, but you had only seen them.

 The first passage was written in neat, printed cursive, echoing the care the woman had taken to write her feelings and events down.

‘Today is the day of my birth. My birthday rather. I was given this journal by the kind Mister Glynn, as a gift, and so I find myself beginning to write down the events of my daily life, so perhaps I can look back on it and reminisce when I am old and grey.

 Mister Glyn is a kind soul. He is part of the King’s Royal Entourage and the Commander of a large cavalry unit. Why he is in this small village is unknown to us all, but my father suspects it is because of the Wood Witch. Perhaps he has been tasked with taking her head? It is rumoured the armour he has is enchanted against such magic, but I feel as though those are rumours made about a dangerous and powerful man to excite fear.

 He is nothing but polite to me. I suppose my father will want to marry me off to this one as well.’

 The passages were perhaps a couple of pages maximum, and you flicked through the dates quickly, watching her words change from cold and indifferent to soft and loving of the man see always called Mister Glyn. It wasn’t until a year later in the diary that you saw his true name.

 ‘Alcott escorted me to the capital atop Mallor, his beast of a horse, though the creature seems to like me now that I bring him sugar lumps. Alcott wished to show me the city and its fruits though there is rather less fruit and more muck and grime. I am used to mud on my shoes, but I despised the odour of the place, much to his amusement. As I write, I can hear him snickering at me across the table.’

 There was a few blotches of ink and another set of handwriting.

 ‘She stood in a man’s excrement.’

 Their trip seemed peaceful, and Maria even attended a gathering at court. It seemed well until you found the final page in the diary, written across a page in shaky ink.

 ‘They took his head.’

 There was no fond farewell at the bottom of the page or a cursive signature. It was stark and naked on the yellowed paper, like a bad omen forever preserved. You ran your fingers over the words before you flicked through the last pages seeing nothing but blood splodges and blackened dark blood at the corners. It smelt faintly of rot, and you recoiled from the smell as you looked at the empty bare pages. The back of the book was burned across the inside of the cover. It was mysterious but it seemed like Alcott Glyn had been killed. But by who? You had no idea but as you looked at the chest again and thought of the head inside you shuddered.

 Alcott Glyn. There had to be a grave. You tugged your bag open and stuffed the book inside before you rushed out of the door, locking it quickly as you rushed towards the little church. It was at the top of the hill, sat in a mound of earth, subsiding on one side with props and scaffolding to try and hold it up. It wasn’t used anymore, the town hall was used to any religious needs, but it was haunting. The stained glass was dirty, and the front doors bolted and chained to prevent anyone entering. You rushed around the side of the church and looked at the dates on the graves and the dates in the diary. It had to be the 1700s. You thought back to your history lessons and tried to recall the date of the alliance war. 1774. You rushed around the small paths and glanced at the years, 1770, 1772, 1773... you looked at the gap where the 1774 stone should have stood. There was nothing, just unchurned earth and a set of roses growing from the floor. A troubling feeling settled in your gut as you meandered down the path to the back of the overgrown graveyard. There were old stones, crumbling and forgotten under blackberry vines and leaves. It was chance that you leaned down next to a short stone and looked at the faded name.

 Alcott Glyn.  

 The name was chipped and faded, like the memory of the man. Vines grew in wild abandon over the grave, and the blackberry vines had taken over the base, winding around the whole stone with wide dying leaves. It was perfectly hidden and forgotten about. The village’s little secret in the secluded corner of the graveyard, forgotten and buried. Or apparently, not buried completely. The earth was turned over, like something had ruptured from the ground and burst free. It was a long patch of upturned soil, as long as you were tall, or even longer, and the earth and stones were wet, fresh with the rain from the evening and being upturned, as though someone had run a plower through it.  Carefully, you ran your fingers through the earth, feeling the soil between your fingers before you took a steadying breath.

“Someone came out of this…” You breathed into the chilly air, your breath making mist with the cold as you stood and looked over the grave. You said it again before turning and bolting from the graveyard before the night could fall over the village.

 When you reached home, you threw your bag onto the couch and grabbed the chest, prising the lock open to peer at the skull inside. It was sat, still as a statue, on the cushion, with the glimmer of gold between its jaws. You lifted it from the cushion, carefully, pulling it up to your face level as the sun set over the horizon, bathing you in a golden glow with the skull clasped between your hands. There was nothing but the distant hum of the hot water pipes in the old house to answer your stare. The skull did nothing. It sat in your hands as the sunlight died over the horizon and the night began to settle in. In your gut, disappointment settled with the cold reminder that you were holding a dead man’s skull. A real human skull. Carefully, you placed it back down on the cushion and sighed as you went to draw the curtains, ignoring the creaking of the gnarled oak tree outside your door.

 The wind blew as you looked back at the head in the chest, positioned slightly skewed on the cushion. You chewed your lip and sighed before you stood over it again.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered to the skull. Nothing. The old electrics flickered for a moment, dimming before they brightened again. Silence, except for the hum of the back boiler. The breath you had been holding escaped and you turned away with a grumble before the lights surged bright and yellow, like the sun, before the bulbs exploded in a sudden thunder of noise. Glass shattered and flew across the carpet in a shower, and you gasped, covering your ears before you looked back at the cushion.

 The head was sat, jaw agape, with two lights in the blackened sockets, rolling side to side. The little lights rolled like stoned before they settled on you and the open jaw began to jitter, chattering the yellowed teeth together loudly. The skull didn’t move, just snapped it’s teeth like a scared dog before it stopped, and the eyes dimmed. It was only a moment of silence before there were three heavy pounds on your door. With a gasp you rushed to draw the curtains, and gazed upon the creature stood on your doorstep, his steed kicking and throwing it’s head by the twisted roots of the black tree. The body stood there, breathing, its undead chest moving as though it needed the air.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered again with a dry mouth. All the moisture dried up from you and you tried not to shake as the skull slammed against the side of the box, it’s eyes glowing.

It shook and chattered its teeth before a voice screamed from between the open jaw, “Let me in, witch!”

Fear twisted your guts as you rushed to slam the chest shut on the screaming skull. It chanted inside the decorative metal, hollering about burning you at the stake before you took it to the front door. The horseman slammed his fist on the door again, repeatedly, as though he was going to tear it open, and you shivered as your fingers shook by the latch and keys.

 The horseman began to bang repeatedly and the head in the chest slammed around, shaking your arms as you struggled to keep hold of it. You took a stuttering breath and unlatched the door, turning the keys before you wrenched it open. The headless horseman heaved puffs of misty breath up from the stump of his neck, his trachea flexing with the movement as the nerves of his spinal cord twitched and thrummed behind it, imitating life in his corpse body.

“Witch!” the skull screamed again, his head you realised as you stepped back, and the creature followed. His boots left muddy smeared marks on the wooden floors, and you looked down to see the crushed blackberries over the soles. Your heart pounded as you realised, he had crawled from the grave you had sat by earlier.

“I saw you by my grave. I will not do business with you again.” His voice came from his body this time, contorted and dark as it leaked from his lungs like a wisp.

“Business? What business have you?” You asked, voice shaking with fear.

The skull laughed in its box, a malicious and evil noise, dark and tempting, as though you were truly stupid for asking, “What business did we not have? Have you forgotten in your age, crone? Death and blood, that’s what you wanted, and I delivered it.”

“Who did you have the deal with?” You steeled yourself.

“You, you pathetic soothsayer.” He droned before his dead fist slammed the door closed, “Now give me my head. Our bargain is met.”

“I am not my aunty.” You tried, “I have no deal with you.”

 The horseman stopped, his body stiffening as his horse brayed and screamed outside, kicking its hooves at the black oak with a great smash. The tree shook, shedding twigs, but didn’t fall. He stalked closer, the bulk of his frame blocking out the light from the moon and the electric fitting overhead.

“But you have my head.” The skull whispered from inside the box before he grabbed for the chest. He touched the metal of the latch and screamed, the noise escaping the corpse before you and the skull inside the box. It was an ear piercing, unholy noise which burned your ears and made your head swim in agony. The horseman clutched at his chest and the stump of his neck, his gloved fingers pressing into the gored wound of his neck as he wobbled towards the wall and grasped at it for balance.

 “Fuck.” You cursed before you whipped the chest open and grabbed his skull by its eye sockets, hanging it over him as he slid down the wall and screamed again in agony, twitching against the wood.

“If I give you your head, horseman, will you indebt yourself to me? Your previous contract will be null, and you will only serve me.” You announced.

The horseman writhed before going deathly still. He laid like a corpse for a moment or two before shakily he braced his arm against the floor and pushed himself up. With a shudder he got onto his knees and kneeled before you, his neck dipped to expose the sore, congealed wound of his decapitation.

“I... I will serve.” The horseman gurgled.

“Then I give you your head to end your torment, Alcott Glyn.” You promised before you held his skull between your palms and lowered it to the spinal column of his body.

 There was a great groan as the spine extended from Alcott’s body and snapped to the skull, holding it in place as the eyes burned bright with purple light, the colour of blackberries, rolling in his skull as he reached and clasped at the bone, howling as light burned from the base of his neck and enveloped his skull with a whoosh of purple fire. The fire abated quickly as the moonlight disappeared behind the curtains and the skull shimmered as muscle and tendons swarmed the bone, linking and covering the surface before the he howled, and skin crept from his neck to his face, covering the surface in a perfect alabaster coating. His eyes however, remained voids of black, the centres beautiful blackberry lights in the dimness of your home. Black waves of hair grew from his head, dripping over his shoulders like ink as he howled, leaned against the old wallpaper. They finished growing with a crackle of fire, purple flames licking at the ends before it disappeared, leaving a heaving, black eyed creature curled against the wooden floor.

 Your mouth hung open as you watched the horseman shake against the wood, heaving as he reached to clutch at the hair that draped from his previously naked skull. The inky waves slid through his gloved hands and was quickly marred with dirt and blood before he peered at you through the curtain, looking at you with the purple lights in his irises which were sunken back into his skull. His lips parted before he took a deep breath, wheezing out dust and muck, coughing like a goose before he kicked the chapped skin and crawled closer to your feet. He only looked at you, staring before one gloved hand whipped out and snatched your ankle, holding it tightly in an iron grip.

“Bound to your bloodline again...” he growled, “Humiliating.” Before he pushed himself back and stood, swaying on his legs like a new-born deer as his balance came back to him. Having a head was a heavy burden.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You breathed as Alcott slammed the side of his head and beat dirt out of his ears.

“Of course, you don’t. None of you ever do. Now I’m bound here to you until the day you drop dead and rot. Why can you never let me die?” He growled in a worked-up fury, flinging his hands to the windows before he stalked to the door, his boots slamming against the wood. He swung it open, and his mount brayed in greeting, throwing its giant head back before it caught sight of you and snorted, bowing it’s neck like a graceful Swan.

 “You are all the same!” The horseman shouted before the moon was revealed, a cloud moving away from its white surface. He shuddered and you watched the skin on his face disappear with the muscle, revealing the purple lights in a bare, burning skull. As the cloud recovered the moon, the base of his neck flared with purple smoke and fire, revealing the scar where he was decapitated, and his face reappeared.

“I gave you your head back, Alcott!” You shouted after him.

The horseman shivered and turned back to you, looking at you with his haunting eyes, both hands gripping the pommel and stand of the saddle, “How do you know my name?” He whispered in questioning.

With a small breath, you locked your lips nervously and ducked back to the table, grabbing the little diary from you bag before you stood on your porch and held it out to the wraith, “Maria wrote about you.”

He growled and snatched at the book, and you let him take it with a painful smile, “I know the townspeople killed you. They betrayed you. I don’t know what happened to Maria.” You confessed.

Alcott opened the diary and flicked through it before he looked at the night sky, “She lived in mourning the rest of her life. They institutionalised her after they found her carrying my head, wailing through the town. She died, high on cocktails of medicines, with her head buried in the soft soil of a flower bed.”

 The revelation was something of a shock and you looked at the undead man in front of you with a bitter, pitying look.

“You watched her die, didn’t you?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

The horseman scoffed, “That was the curse after all. To terrorise the town for their betrayal. But not her. I used to try call to her from the window, but she never could bare to look at me. Eventually they gave her more cocktails and she stopped coming to the window all together.”

“Jesus Christ.” You cursed.

“Such foul language.” Alcott sneered as he snapped the diary shut in his gloved hand, “She died from the madness and grief. That is the fault of the town and its yet another reason to run into each of these homes and tear their heads from their bodies.” Alcott spat furiously. As fury overtook him you could see the white scarred seem of where his head had been replaced burning with smoke the purple fumes puffing from it like a new wound before his neck popped and cracked, sending his head to the left, hanging on by a thread of flesh to the other side. You let out a screech and clasped your mouth as the horseman gurgled and reached for his head, grasping it by the hair before he groaned and dragged it back into place, snapping the vertebrae back into place with a twist and a squelch of bloodied tissue. It cracked again quickly, and Alcott held the top of his hair tightly with a groan as the smoke poured from his mouth and his head twisted backwards like a ghoul, spinning on his neck before it snapped again and came free, rolling over the floor to your feet as a skull. The flesh and hair melted in waves of muck from its surface, and you shakily took hold of the skull again.

 The horseman stumbled left and right as he reached towards you for his head.

“MY HEAD, WITCH!” He howled at you, but you dashed back up the porch steps and held it protectively.

“You are under my command. Anything against my wishes is against our contract...so you lose your head. Do you hear me horseman?” You blagged, hoping you were right, “So there will be no killing.”

“Evil, corrupt creature. I'll hang you by your feet and bleed you from the neck!” Alcott threatened as fire and smoke poured from his throbbing trachea. The smoke puffed before he went sent to the floor in agony, the black oak behind him creaking and swaying left and right as though the roots were snaking towards him. Sure enough, the ground rumbled, and the black oak’s roots exploded from the ground, snagging the horseman by his wrists and ankles hoisting him into the air as the branches hissed and his mount, Mallor, brayed and screamed, blood spraying over the fence from the horses broken throat.

 It was a curse. You should have expected as much, but you shook as the tree cinched the man’s limbs, holding them tight before it pulled, making him scream in agony as his joints were pulled tight.

“Stop!” You screamed, and the tree stopped pulling, holding the horseman aloft still as it swayed and bent towards you, its branches touching your head as though trying to figure out who you were.

“He is mine.” You told the tree, “He will obey and submit to the laws of his contract.”

The tree groaned, it’s roots wiggling in the cold, hard earth for a moment before it dropped Alcott like a sack of grain and settled down quietly, smacking at the horse inching closer to its trunk.

Alcott touched at his neck as he rose, swaying as he cracked and snapped his joints back into place like a disjointed puppet.

“Are you going to play nice now?” You asked as the man wheezed in front of you. When he nodded you offered him his skull back and watched the skin and flesh cover its surface again before he snarled behind his curtain of overgrown hair, blackberry-coloured lights burning the void of his eyes.

“You truly are her kin if that disgusting thing listens to you.” He snapped as he headed for his horse and mounted the saddle with a quick bounce on one powerful leg, his thighs locking tight around the beast’s sides as it bucked and brayed. Alcott turned his horse and tipped his head with a wave of purple smoke and fire, “Call on me then, witch, and see what havoc I can wreak for you.” Alcott laughed bitterly as he turned Mallor onto the cobbled drive and rode onto the road, his face becoming bone and flesh intermittently as the clouds passed overhead.

“I’m not a witch!” You screamed after the horseman, but he was gone into the mist and the trees, unlikely to have heard you cursing against the stairs of the porch as you collapsed.

[writing-gifts]

crushed (bruno x gn!reader)

A/N: the best way to sum this is up is reader highly struggles with their feelings and romantic intimacy

-----

When you first met Bruno there weren't any instant clicks but he was polite enough, so you felt neutral towards him like you did most people. However, with more and more interactions you quickly began to enjoy his presence and found yourself spending time with him outside of work.

It was rare for you to become this comfortable around anyone, but within a short amount of time you felt you could be your complete and honest self when you were alone with the man. And by now, the two of you would seek out each other's company when either of you had free time.

You could barely remember the last time you had gotten this close with someone since you joined Passione so this relationship had become quite precious to you. But sometimes, in the middle of the night as you tried to fall asleep, you would wonder what it would be like to pursue something more romantic. You always imagined ridiculous and improbable things during that time though so you mostly ignored these thoughts. Honestly, you were lucky to have even just this as a mafioso.

One day, during a rare occurrence where you got to see Giorno, he says something to you that makes that strange idea stick in your mind.

“So you and Bruno get along well,” the blonde teen suddenly brings up.

You stop eating your ice cream. You’re a little apprehensive since Giorno is never one to talk unless he actually has something substantial to say. But you nod and smile.

“Other than being a dependable person to work with, he's a really great friend. I'm glad I met him.”

“Are you sure it's just friendly?”

There it was.

You stop smiling and tilt your head. "What do you mean? We are just friendly."

The boy gives you a knowing look.

“Giorno…”

“I don't get to see you two together often but I sense something there.”

If 'sense' means Mista was telling him nonsense then sure.

Glaring, you silently look down at your ice cream. You didn’t really want to finish it anymore.

“Just saying.”

After that encounter, your relationship with Bruno becomes less comfortable. You feel tense and awkward whenever he’s around, and you could barely make eye contact or talk clearly with him. It honestly made you want to cry, so you start to avoid him in hopes of escaping this newfound stress.

However, it’s harder than you expect. Each day you would accidentally find yourself in the same area as him, but before he could approach you, you were escaping through the nearest exit. At one point, you even considered using a window before you realized how unnecessary that was.

You curse Giorno under your breath.

-----

This was day 7 of avoiding Bruno and you really missed him even though it hasn’t been that long.

You lean forward to rest your head in your hands. At least the weather was nice today.

You decided instead of risking running into Bruno you could just go somewhere where it would be unlikely to run into him. So you end up at the beach. By yourself.

You sigh. It would be more fun if the others were here. Whenever you wanted to do any type of non-mafia related activity you’d try to plan it around their schedules. It was genuinely more fun for you this way ever since you started to get to know them, with Bruno’s encouragement of course.

"Hey ____!"

You flinch from the sudden noise and turn towards the familiar voice that called out to you and see not only Mista approaching, but the rest of the gang decked out in their swimwear--Narancia, Fugo, Abbacchio, Bruno, and even Giorno.

Bruno was here.

Said man’s sunglasses blocked his eyes but you knew he was looking directly at you.

You think to run but freeze up. It's like your legs were ignoring the alarms in your head.

Shit.

Mista plops down next to you on your towel.

"...Hey Mista," you say under your breath.

"You went to the beach and didn't invite us?"

"Er, you guys were going to be busy? Why are you even here?"

“Giorno decided to give us a day off today,” Mista says.

Of course he did.

Giorno walks nearby, towel in hand. "You're welcome."

Was he talking to you or Mista? You scowl at him either way.

Narancia shouts a quick greeting as he runs directly towards the water while Fugo yells at him to come back for sunscreen.

You pull your knees up to your chest and look quietly at your feet to avoid any accidental eye contact with a certain someone.

“Well it's good you guys get to take a break, especially you Giorno.”

Mista stretches and throws an arm around your shoulder. “Giorno’s been working us to death!”

“We forgot the cooler, I'll go get it,” you hear Bruno say.

You shut your eyes.

“You okay?” Mista asks.

Forcing your eyes back open, you nod. “Why would there be something wrong?”

Abbacchio drops a bunch of stuff next to you. "Please hurry up and make up with Bucciarati.”

Your eyes widen and you whip your head towards the goth.

"Abbacchio we aren't supposed to get involved," Mista sighs.

"If we don't get involved then they'll avoid each other the whole day."

Your hands drag down your face and you look at Mista. “So...you all already know that I've been avoiding him?”

“Well we've barely seen you in a week and Bucciarati’s been...quieter, I guess.”

“You literally ran away the other day,” Abbacchio says.

You purse your lips at the realization that you attempt to be discrete was a complete failure.

Mista frowns and rubs at his short hair, one of the few times you've seen him without his hat. "Jeez you don't hold back..."

Abbacchio settles himself under the giant parasol he put up. "...Bucciarati’s not mad, so just talk to him."

It’s not like you want to avoid Bruno forever, you just needed time to get your emotions in order, but it was easier said than done. Whenever you thought of him you could feel butterflies and your heart would beat a bit--no a lot faster.

It scared the shit out of you.

When you got like this you became an awkward bumbling mess and you couldn't stand it--the feeling of losing control.

But you didn't want to damage your relationship with Bruno because of something so trivial. So you nod and get up, dislodging Mista’s arm, and without a word walk towards the direction your friend went.

“You don't know where the car’s parked.” Giorno says as you pass him.

You could hear the slight amused lithe in his tone but ignore it.

“Right...”

After Giorno tells you where to go, you take an unnecessary long time walking to the car. You could only walk so slow though and eventually see it in the distance parked at the side of the road.

There Bruno was, standing next to the open trunk of the car. Why was he just standing there?

You steel yourself and continue walking forward.

Don't ask questions or you'll chicken out.

When Bruno notices you approaching him you ignore the urge that you’ve had all week to escape. Stopping in front of him you surprisingly manage to get out a clear, simple statement.

“Can we talk?”

He nods and closes the trunk.

You don't want to talk where anyone could hear so you open the car's back door and slide into the backseat and Bruno follows right after, closing the door behind him. Now that you don’t feel as vulnerable, you should be able to speak but you stare nervously at the back of the front seat's headrest instead. You had no idea where to start.

Bruno removes his sunglasses while the both of you sit there in awkward silence.

“...____?”

You take a breath. “S-Sorry...I’m sure you know that I’ve been a-avoiding you…”

“Have you?”

Maybe he was saying that in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you feel like there’s also a hint of resentment. And you couldn't blame him. From his point of view, his friend just suddenly started ignoring him with no good reason.

“I’m sorry.”

“...Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you didn't do anything wrong! It’s all me.”

When he gives you a questioning look, obviously waiting for a further explanation, you can only see a way to redeem this properly by confessing.

"Me...I-I like..."

You can't even speak properly!

You cover your face in an attempt to avoid Bruno's piercing gaze. "Stop looking at me…"

He tilts his head a bit but turns his gaze away from you. "Where else am I supposed to look?"

You inhale and exhale deeply and focus on your next words. "I like...you. In a non-platonic w-way--a ro-romantic way....shit."

You didn’t think you could stare any harder at the back of the car seat.

“____ can you look at me for a second?”

Even though looking in his eyes made you feel tense you force yourself to.

“I know being open like this can be hard for you. Thank you for telling me.”

You nod. "Also you don't have to accept my feelings--"

“I like you too.”

You take a moment to process what you just heard. Doubt and hope somehow feel your chest simultaneously.

“R-Really?”

"Yes, for a while now. I didn't know how to bring it up without stressing you out or if it would be a good idea at all."

"Oh, me too--A part of me didn’t think it would be a good idea pursuing anything romantic because of our work."

And you somehow managed to delude yourself in the process.

It's quiet for a moment before you close the space between you two and press a kiss against his cheek.

Oh god.

Even though you were the one who did it, your face heats up just from that simple action. You open an eye and see him smiling softly at you. Your hands are immediately covering your face in embarrassment.

Bruno chuckles before wrapping an arm behind you. "Overwhelmed?"

"If--If I do it more I'll get used to it."

Inhaling, you force yourself to stop hiding--you’d done enough of that. You do still struggle to look at him though.

"Can we do more of the...kissing stuff?"

Bruno fingers gently brush your cheek and he directs your gaze towards him. "I can’t kiss you properly if you aren't looking at me," he whispers.

Your eyes close on their own as the space between you two is closed once again. Bruno's lips felt soft against yours and you find yourself leaning into him. But unfortunately it’s not enough to keep your overthinking at bay.

Am I doing this right? Wait...are my lips chapped?

Bruno’s hand gently grabs yours and he pulls back. "You don't need to force yourself ____.”

“Oh no, I want to do this! I'm just nervous.” You laugh awkwardly, “I’m not exactly the most experienced…”

Bruno hums. “Me neither.”

You raise a brow. “What?”

“I haven’t had much time for serious relationships.” Bruno's nose softly brushed against yours.

“Oh...right.”

He must still have a little more experience with….intimacy than you though? Or maybe you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t notice?

Bruno hand caresses your check and he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. You’re overthinking again. “Just know we don't have to rush anything, okay?”

For the first time today, you’re able to look at the man without discomfort as you try to see if he really means it. But you can’t imagine those words being anything but genuine coming from him.

“Okay.”

[falseroar]

Treasure Hunt

((Dark goes digging for old memories, with some “help.” Nothing serious and not related to anything, just something short I wrote on my phone while my computer was out of service to keep up with my daily word count goal. I was going to post this yesterday, but, eh...*gestures vaguely at all that nonsense*))

“Are you going to bury a body?”

Dark stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder at Wilford, the movement putting the shovel’s blade on his other shoulder perilously close to his cheek. “No, I am not. Unlike you, I don’t have a ready supply of those to hand.”

“What, you mean Jerry? Eh, he’s fine, he’ll walk it off,” Wilford said with a flippant wave of his hand. While it was true that his latest victim had survived, Dark silently thought he would not be walking off a bullet to the knee anytime soon. “So, what are you doing? Ooh, is it a treasure hunt? I can grab that new guy with the hat, turn it into a real bonding moment between the three of us, and we can let him walk in front in case there are any traps! Fantastic, I’ll go grab him right now!”

“No, Wilford, it’s not a treasure hunt.” Not in the strictest sense of the word, but his tone was at least enough to stop Wilford before he could go running off. “I’m just...It’s past time I checked on something. Don’t worry about it.”

“Why would I worry?” Wilford asked, falling into step behind Dark. He tapped his fingers against his mustache and remarked, “Not really sure I can remember the last time I worried about anything. Everything always just sort of works itself out in the end, you know?”

“I know,” Dark said, while he thought, “I know you think that’s how it works.”

But he just said, “I’ll be back later tonight.”

With that, Dark stepped out of the front door of the house and disappeared into the shadow that surrounded him, an ear-piercing ring growing and then immediately stopping the moment the shadow faded from sight. Wilford blinked and then shrugged, muttering to himself about making his own treasure hunt.

When Dark stepped out of the shadows, it was to find himself standing in the bright light of an early summer day, the sun adding some of the color back to his faded skin as he studied the remains of the manor in front of him for a moment.

He had no intention of going inside, of course, not today. No, his path took him around the perimeter of the overgrown yard, past hedges that had extended out to do battle with the lemon grass and the flowers that had escaped their beds in a bid to spread far and wide, the unmanaged plants all doing battle to gain supremacy over the neglected lawns. He had to pause multiple times and study the distance from the house, comparing the windows to the tree lines and the cracked and faded giant chessboard until he finally found the statue, its surface stained and worn until the face was practically a blank slate, one of its spread wings broken at the tip.

It looked smaller than he remembered too, but then a lot of things did.

Dark circled the statue once, taking in what time and weather had done to it, before he turned his back on it and began counting under his breath in time with each step.

“9...10.”

Dark stopped at a patch of grass and weeds no different than any other in the immediate area and raised the shovel he had borrowed from the shed the Author once used so regularly.

“You’re standing in the wrong spot.”

Dark stumbled, his attempt to stop the shovel mid-swing causing him to lose his balance. He swore under his breath and glared at Mark, wondering when he got here. “What would you know about it?”

“Only that a kid’s step doesn’t go as far as an adult’s.” Mark, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt that better matched the weather than Dark’s ever present suit, strolled over to the statue and stopped at the same place Dark started his counting to look up at its face. “Hello, baby.”

“I thought you hated statues.”

“Oh, I do. If that thing goes weeping angel on us, I will absolutely leave you here to die.” Mark grinned. “I didn’t think you’d remember, but considering where you’re standing, I guess you didn’t. Watch this, each step was more like...”

Mark looked down, carefully counting out each step that he shortened to the point that when he reached 10, he was barely halfway to where Dark stood. “See what I mean?”

“What I see is someone who doesn’t remember insisting on taking giant steps,” Dark said, resting the blade of the shovel against the ground as he leaned on the handle. “You practically skipped from there to here.”

“I have never skipped! And I can prove it, because unlike someone, I actually came prepared. Tactical shovel, which is clearly superior to a regular shovel—“

“Putting a knife on it doesn’t make everything better.”

“Says you. And a metal detector,” Mark continued, showing off both instruments that he’d been carrying. “Watch and learn.”

Mark flipped the switch on the detector and paused, before flipping it again when there was no response.

“Did you actually put batteries in it?”

“Of course I put batteries in it!” Mark glared at Dark’s smirk and opened the battery compartment. There was just a brief pause before he continued, “Give me a minute.”

By the time Mark came back with a working metal detector, Dark had already removed his jacket and hung it on one of the angel’s outstretched arms, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows as he dug.

“It’s the wrong place, I’m telling you,” Mark warned as he began to run the metal detector over the ground, but Dark ignored him and continued to dig.

Mark started at the statue and began to walk out, the crackle of the detector leading him past where he stopped and all the way to where Dark stood, a smug smirk on his face as the beeping grew louder and louder until it reached the hole he had already started.

“Well, are you going to start digging or not?” Dark asked.

Only because the hole wasn’t deep enough to push him into it yet, or at least that was Mark’s irritated thought as he tossed the metal detector aside and picked up his tactical shovel.

They tried to pass the time in silence, but before long it turned to bickering about who was doing more work and if “you spilled dirt on my side of the hole” and if there even was a “my side” when they were digging in the same place, but eventually Mark’s shovel hit metal. Both men looked at each other and then back down again as Mark hit it again with a loud clang that...didn’t actually sound right, now that they thought about it.

Dark knelt, careful not to let his knees actually touch the ground, and brushed the loose dirt away as Mark bent down next to him, both having just enough time to realize the rusted metal was that of a pipe before it broke open, unleashing a brief but sour spray of stagnant water into both of their faces.

After that, they found a different yet suspiciously similar statue on the other side of the yard, and a pink-mustached man waiting for them, standing on the plinth with his arm wrapped around the statue’s shoulder like they were an old friend, beaming when he noticed them.

“Well, there you two are! I was starting to wonder, you know.”

“Wait, you knew where I was going?” Dark asked. “Then why did you pretend not to know?”

“Know what?” Wilford gave the statue a peck on the cheek and leapt down onto the grass beside them. “Well, are you two just going to stand around here, or are we going to open this thing?”

He held out a dirty, banged-up tin case, the rust on its hinges doing more to keep it shut than the cheap lock used all those years ago.

Mark looked down and around, noting the lack of holes or any sign of a shovel or other digging instrument as he asked, “How did you get that?”

Wilford stared at him, mildly puzzled as he asked, “What, like it was hard?”

Mark’s tactical shovel dealt with the lock easily, and also left a gash in the side of the box that earned him a glare from Dark that he tried to ignore as he forced open the box to reveal its contents: a set of envelopes, childish handwriting addressing each to Mark, Damien, and William, a tiny metal soldier that Wilford picked up with a smile along with a few other old-fashioned toys, and a faded photograph that Mark lifted out gently, as though afraid it might fall apart in his hands.

Dark looked over his shoulder at the three boys posed for the camera, laughing with their arms thrown around each other. He felt a stir in his chest, a brief flicker of something that faded into a sad nostalgia.

He wondered if Mark thought the same thing, about how none of those three boys were still here, not really. Not after everything they had gone through, after what they had done and attempted to atone for, whatever that might be worth now. Dark had no illusions about what little Damien might think of him, the dark figure of noise and ringing and strange shadows that followed his every movement. Did Mark feel the same way? And what of Wilford, did he even recognize the three young faces smiling back at them?

Dark glanced at him and found Wilford smiling as he pulled an old compass that, surprisingly, still turned in his hand alongside a crinkly map drawn in what looked suspiciously like crayon. There was a twinkle in Wilford’s eye as he asked, “Do you two know where this leads?”

Mark looked at the map and frowned, while Dark shook his head and admitted, “I don’t recall making a map.”

“Well then, I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

Wilford jumped to his feet, nearly knocking the time capsule out of Mark’s hands as he pulled the two of them up with him. “Who’s ready for round two of this treasure hunt?”

Mark closed the box and tucked it under his arm, then hefted his shovel with a look at Dark that he actually could understand.

“We did come all the way for this, might as well see what else is here, right?”

Dark sighed, feigning indifference as he said, “Well, I didn’t have anything else planned today...”

“Fantastic!” Wilford grinned and spread out the map so they could look. With any luck, neither of them would notice the crayons stashed in his back pocket, or how the map they were studying didn’t look quite as old as it should have.

[purplehairedwonder]

Definitely Not Affection

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG Pairings: Gen Words: 3,100 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Roronoa Zoro Note: This was written for the “Hurts to Breathe” square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo @badthingshappenbingo​ card. Anon prompted platonic Zoro and Law.

Feel free to send prompts for additional fills!

Summary: On the way to Wano, Law treats his wounds from Dressrosa in the middle of the night. Zoro finds him. Snark (and definitely not affection) ensues.

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

It was a relentless ache deep in his chest that wrapped around to his back and jabbed at his lungs with each breath had Law putting down the book he’d been trying and failing to read for the last several hours and hobbling toward the infirmary in the ass hours of the morning. Not that he could actually tell the time of day by looking out a window when the Polar Tang was submerged, but after years of intimate acquaintance with insomnia, Law knew in his bones what it felt like to be awake when he should be asleep.

The ship—which was typically buzzing with activity from his rowdy bunch of idiots (it was only now that he wasn’t dead on Dressrosa that he’d allowed himself to acknowledge how much he’d missed them) and had only gotten more chaotic with the additional passengers on board—was quiet as Law moved down the hallways he knew like the back of his hand, the creaks of the metal and the hum of the engines combining into a familiar white noise that Law took great comfort in.

He let out a relieved breath as he reached the infirmary, only to wince at the sharp jolt that shot through his chest and side, straight through to his back. He grabbed onto the doorframe with his uninjured arm, fingers tightening painfully against the metal as the pain stole his breath. After several shallow breaths, the pain receded, and Law loosened his vise-like grip. He straightened as much as the lingering pain would allow before stepping inside the infirmary and flipping on the lights.

Law headed for the cabinets, where he pulled out fresh rolls of gauze, disinfectant, and painkillers. He laid them on the operating table then unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, discarding it alongside the pile of medical supplies. He carefully unwrapped the bandages around his chest, noting the watercolor of yellows, greens, and purples brushed across his ribs and the scabbed bullet hole wounds dotting his abdomen, giving the impression of a twisted paint-by-numbers scene. Satisfied that there was no visible sign of infection, he moved to his arm, removing the bandage around his bicep.

He grimaced as the unraveling gauze revealed an ugly knot of bruised and stitched-together skin. He could feel the fatigue and weakness in his arm as he flexed his fingers and tried to roll his shoulder. He shook his head; though the feeling and the strength of his grip were slowly returning, he couldn’t be sure that even with the aid of his fruit that his arm would ever return to full strength.

Once he finished his visual inspection of his wounds, Law opened a Room. He’d overextended himself so badly on Dressrosa that, days out from Zou, he was still struggling to hold a Room for more than a few minutes at a time. In the first couple of days after the fight, when he and the Straw Hats had been cooped up in Kyros’s cabin, Law had been the only doctor present, but he’d had to stick to traditional methods of treating his allies (and himself) since his Rooms would flicker out almost as soon as he tried to summon them.

Over the following days, he’d been able to open his Rooms for slightly longer periods, so he’d used the limited stamina he had to treat the most serious of his injuries while fending off infection (his arm was particularly primed for infection considering the poor conditions in which it had been repaired), preserving as much of his strength as he could afford. Of course, he wasn’t a freak of nature like Luffy or his crew who healed at, in Law’s professional opinion, completely ridiculous rates, so he had numerous lingering issues to address. And because he’d had to prioritize his internal damage from being shot with fucking lead bullets over more superficial concerns, he knew he’d be left with some ugly scars.

When they’d reunited with his crew on Zou, Law knew it hadn’t escaped their notice that he was the only one among the newly arrived group from Dressrosa to still be sporting bandages, but he hadn’t wanted them to worry any more than they already had, so he’d made sure to complete his treatments when they were sleeping. He’d thought he’d addressed the worst of his issues, but the persistent pain in his chest that kept awake—despite his body’s constant demand for sleep to heal—had him returning to the infirmary once more.

With the familiar blue glow of his Room around him, Law turned his attention inward. After a moment, he frowned then tapped his chest to remove his lung. He’d already repaired the damage done to it from getting shot in the back, and he could see the signs of scar tissue forming from the repair. That shouldn’t be causing the pain he was feeling now, though. He turned the organ around, studying it through narrowed eyes, ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead.

Then he noticed it: the beginnings of lead poisoning. Law had been so focused on preventing infection in his arm that he’d gotten complacent with the lung he thought he’d already treated. Law cursed himself silently; he should have expected the lead bullets to cause more than psychological damage. Thankfully, this was something he could handle.

As he concentrated on carefully removing the poison from his lung, he pushed aside the fatigue in his arms and ignored the tremors in his legs. His vision started greying at the edges, but Law shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear his sight. He needed to take care of this now.

He could do it before his Room failed.

He could…

His Room collapsed and his vision went dark.

-----

Consciousness slowly returned, and though the comforting embrace of sleep tried to call him back under, Law had the unshakeable feeling that he had something to do, so he cracked open his eyes. He was staring up at the ceiling of the infirmary. His head throbbed and he groaned, throwing a hand over his face to block out the light.

“Torao?”

Law frowned at the familiar voice and lowered his hand. He turned his head to see Zoro sitting in a chair next to the operating table, where Law was laid out. When had that happened?

“Zoro-ya?”

Zoro quirked an eyebrow at him. Law sighed, resigned, and turned his head to look back up at the ceiling.

“What happened?”

“I was talking a walk—”

“You mean you got lost,” Law corrected without thinking.

Zoro grunted but didn’t disagree. “I saw the lights on in here so came over. When I looked in, you were doing something with your Room.” He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to mess you up, so I was about to leave. But then your Room dropped, and you passed out.”

Law grimaced at the ceiling. He’d pushed his limited stamina too hard. Bepo would kill him if he found out.

“I grabbed you and put you on the table, but I didn’t really know what else to do.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Law asked, looking back over at Zoro.

Zoro shook his head. “Didn’t want to leave.”

Law’s lips twitched. “You don’t know where their rooms are, do you?”

“Shut it,” Zoro retorted sourly.

“How long was I out?”

“Half an hour.”

Law nodded. That wasn’t too bad. He’d been known to sleep for an entire day when he’d taxed his powers too much, so half an hour meant he probably hadn’t done any lasting damage. He frowned then turned back to Zoro.

“Why were you up, anyway?”

Zoro shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I’m usually on watch on the Sunny.”

That made sense. Law’s crew had their own watch schedule well settled, so, though they’d offered, there was no need for the Straw Hats or Wano guests to take their turns. Zoro was probably also feeling cooped up after being submerged for several days since they’d left Zou. The Hearts were used to being below the surface for days at a time, but the experience was completely foreign to their passengers.

Deciding he felt stable enough, Law slowly pushed himself upright. Zoro made to help, but Law waved him off. Law shifted so his legs dangled off the edge of the table, but he didn’t try to stand.

“What were you doing?” Zoro countered once Law had settled himself.

Law had a deflection ready at the tip of his tongue, but he pursed his lips and tamped down on it. What was the point? Zoro had seen him in Dressrosa; hell, Zoro had been the one to practically carry Law to Kyros’s cabin after Doflamingo’s fall when Law had been barely conscious from exhaustion and blood loss. He also wasn’t crew—an ally, yes. But he wasn’t one of Law’s, someone Law needed to protect.

Law rubbed a tired hand over his face then gestured down at himself and the ugly remnants of Dressrosa. “Treating my injuries. Unlike you all, I still heal like a normal human.” He frowned as Zoro snorted a laugh, remembering what he’d been working on when he’d passed out. He glanced down at his chest, noting the empty space in his chest. “Where’s my lung?”

Zoro jerked his head toward the counter. Next to the sink, Law’s lung sat, no worse for wear though he must have dropped it when he’d blacked out, next to the medical supplies and his shirt. Law let out a relieved breath.

“In the middle of the night?”

Law blinked, taking a moment to recover the thread of conversation. “My nakama don’t need to see this.”

Zoro tilted his head, mild surprise playing across his face. “You think they would care?”

Law shook his head. “It’s not that. I…” He took a breath. “I left them months ago when I went to Punk Hazard. They didn’t like it, but I ordered them to go to Zou. I told them I’d meet them there, but I didn’t really expect to ever see them again after that.” The ferocity of Bepo’s hug when they’d reunited on Zou, the way Shachi and Penguin wouldn’t leave his side until Law had to Shamble them away with the little bit of strength he had to spare, the relief in Ikkaku’s and Jean Bart’s eyes… It all ran through Law’s mind, guilt gnawing at his insides. “I think they knew.”

“So, you don’t want them to worry any more than they already have,” Zoro supplied.

“Something like that.”

“No offense, Torao—” Law snorted. Zoro never gave a shit about giving offense. “But that’s bullshit.”

Law raised an eyebrow.

“Who else can you trust at your worst if not your nakama?”

Irritation rushed through Law at that. “I didn’t ask for advice on being a captain on my own ship, Zoro-ya,” he snapped.

Zoro raised his hands, visibly backing off, and the irritation left Law’s veins as quickly as it had come on. Law sighed.

“Apologies.” Dressrosa and the reunion with his crew were still fresh, leaving Law feeling rawer than he had in years.

Zoro grunted, which Law took as an acceptance of the apology, before looking between the organ on the counter and Law. “What do you need?”

“Huh?” Law asked intelligently.

“With your lung.” Zoro shook his head. “That will never not be freaky, by the way.”

Law huffed a laugh. “So I’ve been told.” He let out a breath. “I found some signs of lead poisoning in my lung,” he said. “I was trying to fix it before…” Before his stamina ran out and Zoro had to fucking catch him.

That could never leave this room.

“Lead poisoning?”

“From Doflamingo’s bullets.”

“Bastard,” Zoro muttered, shaking his head.

“I need to fix it before returning my lung to my body.”

Zoro eyed him. “You up for that?”

“I was almost done,” Law deflected.

Zoro snorted, recognizing the diversion but not calling him on it. He pushed himself to his feet and stretched before heading over to the counter.

“What are you doing?” Law asked, frowning after him.

Zoro glanced over his shoulder. “Getting your damn lung, weirdo.”

Law opened his mouth but shut it again when nothing came out. Zoro nodded at his silence and carefully picked up the encased lung. He handled it with gentleness that Law thought should have surprised him but somehow didn’t. The swordsman returned with the organ and held it out.

Law nodded his thanks and took it in his left hand. He used his right hand to brace himself as he stood, but the arm buckled under him as he put pressure on it. He kept forgetting about the injury to his dominant arm. He cursed as Zoro reached out with a hand to steady him. Law took a steadying breath then pushed Zoro’s hand off him. Zoro’s lips twitched in response, but he didn’t say anything. However, Law noticed distantly as he summoned a Room, Zoro’s eyes never left Law’s face as Law finished removing the remnants of lead poisoning from his lung, as if looking for any sign of weakness.

Law wasn’t sure what to do with that realization as he slid his repaired lung back into his chest. He dropped his Room and took a test breath.

No pain.

Law nodded, and Zoro’s shoulders dropped the tension they’d been holding.

“You don’t need to stay, Zoro-ya,” Law said tiredly, leaning back against the operating table. “I still need to clean and redress my wounds.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow before silently retreating to the counter to grab the supplies Law had gathered earlier and returning with them. He set them on the table next to Law then crossed his arms, as if daring Law to kick him out.

Law huffed a breath at the other man’s stubbornness but didn’t push further. Practiced hands made quick work of disinfecting the bullet wounds and the stitching on his arm. However, Law could feel the effects of overusing his fruit creeping in, and his hands were starting to shake as he wrapped the bandages around his chest.

Finally, Zoro uncrossed his arms and stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Law frowned but didn’t fight as the swordsman plucked the roll of gauze from his weary fingers. “Zoro-ya?”

“Do you know how many times I’ve done this for Luffy after a fight?” he muttered as he quickly and efficiently finished wrapping Law’s torso before looking for scissors to cut it off. Law opened a quick Room and Shambled scissors from a drawer into his hands.

Zoro frowned as Law offered them to him then shook his head. “Idiot.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Law muttered as Zoro tied off the bandages then moved to Law’s arm.

“Then don’t act like one,” Zoro countered. “You and he are more alike than you know.”

Law snorted but allowed the other man to finish his task, mind drifting with the steadiness of Zoro’s presence at his side. Maybe there was something to what Zoro had said about allowing his nakama in; Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin were allowed to see more than anyone else since they had been with Law the longest, but he kept a distance even with them when it came to his revenge plot. If he was being honest with himself, he knew he hadn’t opened up to them about his plans for Dressrosa because they might have succeeded in talking him out of it, and Law hadn’t known how to do anything but live for avenging Cora-san for more than a decade.

Now that Cora-san had been avenged and Law was still alive, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. He could throw himself into the task directly in front of him—taking on Kaido—but (assuming they survived) then what?

Once Zoro tied off the bandage on his arm, Law lifted his arm to test it. Firmly tied but not too tight.

“Not bad,” he allowed.

Zoro smirked as he stepped back. “Better than that and you know it.”

“Don’t push it.”

“You done here?”

Law nodded then definitely did not yelp in surprise as he was pulled up and onto Zoro’s back. Zoro’s lips quirked upward as he adjusted Law’s mostly dead weight, arms wrapping around Law’s thighs.

Law leaned over Zoro’s shoulder with narrowed his eyes. “Shut it, Zoro-ya.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“And if you do, you’ll regret it.”

“Oh?” Challenge sparkled in Zoro’s eye. Law rolled his eyes. They both knew he was in no shape to fight Zoro right now.

But fighting wasn’t Law’s only leverage. “If you say a word about this, I will have my crew get rid of all the alcohol on board,” he threatened. “Dry ship until we get to Wano.”

Zoro went rigid. “You wouldn’t.”

Law’s lip pulled back into a vicious smirk of his own. “Try me.”

Zoro grumbled but stepped out into the hallway and followed Law’s directions to his cabin, only having to backtrack twice. Law would never admit it aloud, but he was grateful for the support. His strength had flagged, and his eyes were drooping as if his body had only just realized that it was the middle of the night and he should be sleeping. By the time they reached Law’s door, Law was giving directions around yawns and thumping Zoro in the thigh with his heel each time the younger man grinned in response.

“Let me down, Zoro-ya,” Law demanded without much energy behind it.

But Zoro ignored him and opened the door. He stepped inside and glanced around in mild interest before heading for Law’s bed. He turned around and dumped Law onto the mattress, letting him bounce a couple of times. With a hmph, Law leaned over to pull off his boots and kicked them over the side of the bed. His shoes off, he looked up to see Zoro dropping into his desk chair.

Law raised an eyebrow. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sitting.”

“At my desk.”

Zoro hummed in response, crossing his arms against his chest and shutting his eye. Law rolled his eyes in response as a light snore echoed through the room. The Straw Hats were truly just as stubborn and ridiculous as their captain.

And that was definitely not affection he felt toward them because of it.

Defeated and exhausted, Law turned off the light and smirked at the yelp of surprise when he hurled a pillow at Zoro’s face.

[weighty-ghosts]

‘Lion-Hearted’

Lion-Hearted, by weightyghosts

“Minerva McGonagall was as shocked as the rest of Hogwarts when a member of the House of Black was sorted into Gryffindor, not Slytherin, for the first time in their family’s long history. When young Sirius came to her with doubts and a fear of his parents’ wrath, Minerva had to assure him of where he truly belonged.”

Rating: General

Word count: 1501

Pairing: None

Published: March 6, 2021

Warnings: Allusions to abusive family

 https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872218

   It was September 1st, 1971, and Minerva McGonagall was standing in the Great Hall, a scroll of parchment in hand, and the newest students of Hogwarts gathered in front of her, waiting to be sorted into their Houses.

She looked at the next name on her list, and called out, “Black, Sirius.”

An onyx-haired boy with steel-grey eyes, expensive robes, and perfect posture made his way through the throng of first years that quickly parted for him. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he carried himself with the air of someone born into opulence, who had been told from birth that the world was his to take.

Curiously, the closer Sirius Black got to the stool where the Sorting Hat rested, the more his arrogance seemed to slip into apprehension. He climbed the three short steps, then hesitated, his hand hovering an inch away from the Hat, before he plucked it up and placed it on his head, perching gracefully on the edge of the stool.

Minerva checked her list again, getting the next name ready on her lips, assuming the Hat was about to cry, “Slytherin!”

It did not.

Chatter had picked up in the Hall when she’d called Black’s name (it wasn’t all that exciting when you already knew where a student would go), but it started to die down as the seconds dragged on.

Minerva glanced at the Slytherin table, where they had no doubt been preparing to welcome their newest member, but heads were now turning in confusion. Bellatrix Black was leaning in to whisper something to her younger sister, Narcissa, who pursed her lips together like she’d tasted something sour. The middle sister, Andromeda, peered nervously between the two of them and their little cousin.

A minute had gone by and the entire Hall seemed to be holding their collective breath.

Minerva looked down at the boy on the stool, wondering what sort of conversation could have been going on in there, when the Hat suddenly opened the slit near it’s brim and roared-

“Gryffindor!”

Silence swept over the room. Minerva tried not to show her surprise, but she was as frozen in shock as everyone else.

Sirius slowly removed the Hat from his head, as he slid off the stool, and turned around to carefully set it down. He seemed uncertain of what to do next, and Minerva instinctively reached out to place a hand on his shoulder.

Sirius met her gaze, and for the briefest of seconds she thought she saw fear in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. He spun around to face the rest of the school, and Minerva was filled with immense pride for his courage. She began to clap enthusiastically, the professors behind her following suit, and then all of Gryffindor stood and erupted in raucous cheers. Minerva had to suppress an eye roll as they jeered and threw smug looks towards the Slytherins on the opposite side of the room.

Sirius finally broke out into a wide grin as he sauntered over to his new House table, finding a seat in the midst of scarlet and gold.

As she continued with the ceremony, Minerva peeked back at Sirius and watched as his eyes tentatively raised to the far table, locking with the other faces that looked so much like his own. His smile faltered, then dropped altogether as the colour drained from his previously rosy cheeks.

She followed his line of sight, and a chill went down her spine. The rest of the Slytherins looked murderous enough, but something about Bellatrix and Narcissa’s expressions unnerved her; it wasn’t shock or anger that she was seeing, it was disgust. Andromeda’s face was as pale as Sirius’, though her eyes were full of pity and worry.

When Minerva glanced back at Sirius, he looked ill, with his head bowed and mouth in a thin line, gazing desolately at the empty gold plate in front of him.  

* * *

The following morning, the Great Hall was full of nervous first and second year students, anxious about being late on their first day, and keen to start the year off well. The older students would be along soon, the novelty of waking up early having worn off long ago.

Minerva had just finished breakfast when her eyes landed on the Black boy, and she was content to see that he seemed happier than yesterday, talking animatedly to his dorm-mates: Potter, Pettigrew, and Lupin. She was particularly pleased to see Sirius engaging with Remus; when she had met the young werewolf in her office last night, before bringing him to the hospital wing to meet Poppy, she’d had the impression that he planned on keeping to himself as much as possible and not making friends because of his condition. Minerva had been worried about him, but perhaps she didn’t need to be.

She smiled to herself before standing to make her way to her office to gather what she needed for the day, exiting the Great Hall as the owls flew overhead to deliver the morning post.

She’d barely had a chance to review her first lesson plan when there was a knock at her door.

“Professor McGonagall?”

“Mr. Black,” she greeted from her desk, waving Sirius inside. Her movement faltered as she took in the hollow expression on his face and the heaviness weighing down his shoulders, a stark contrast from how he’d appeared a few minutes before. “Please have a seat. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied automatically, and sat down in one of the chairs in front of her, sitting up rigidly.

“What can I help you with, then?” Minerva asked, clasping her hands on the desk.

Sirius hesitated, clenching and unclenching one of his fists, hard enough to leave imprints in his palm from his fingernails. “Professor,” he started slowly, “I was wondering… Has anyone ever switched Houses after the Sorting?”

Minerva blinked at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“Is it possible…for a student to switch Houses from the one they were sorted into?”

“No, Mr. Black,” she replied in a measured tone, “It is not possible and no one has ever done it before. Why do you ask?”

Sirius nodded slightly, sticking his hand in his pocket to fiddle with something that made a rustling noise.

“Are you unhappy with the Sorting Hat’s choice?” Minerva inquired, unable to hide the slight bite to her question. She hoped Sirius hadn’t come to tell her that Slytherin was somehow a better House and that’s where he wanted to be.

Sirius’ head whipped up, his eyes wide. “No, Professor!” He hastened to say, “I love being in Gryffindor!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he looked panic-stricken and guilty, like he’d said something terribly wrong.

“Mr. Black, the Hat knows a person’s innermost thoughts and wishes; it is rarely wrong.”

“But it has been wrong before?” He questioned, desperation laced into his voice.

Minerva sat back in her chair and gazed thoughtfully at the boy in front of her, wondering what had happened at breakfast to cause his distress. “Sirius,” she broached, ignoring his surprise at hearing his first name, “Did you receive a letter from your parents this morning?”

She knew straight away from his reaction that she was correct.

“They aren’t happy with me,” Sirius whispered after a moment, his eyes on his knees.

“Sirius,” she repeated, waiting until he looked up at her, “It is perfectly normal for one to diverge from their family’s House history. It was bound to happen at some point in the Black family, and I’m very glad that it was you.” Sirius bit his lip to keep it from wobbling, his eyes as big as saucers, and Minerva thought he looked years younger than the boy who had swaggered into Hogwarts only yesterday.

“I am quite proud of my House,” she continued, “and I am very proud of you for knowing where your place truly lies in this school. Gryffindor is undoubtedly lucky to have you.”

Minerva’s heart almost broke as she watched Sirius’ eyes fill with tears. He wiped furiously at them, blushing faintly.

“Now, I don’t want to hear any more talk about switching Houses. Your cousins will have me to answer to, should they cause trouble. The same goes for your parents. You and I are Gryffindors for a reason, Mr. Black; lion-hearted, courageous, daring. Don’t you ever forget that.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Sirius sniffed.

“Off you go now,” Minerva instructed with a smile, receiving a watery one in return as Sirius stood up. She watched him swiftly exit the room, and her smile faded as his steps grew fainter.

She felt a fierce wave of emotion and knew she would do everything she could to protect this child from the storm that would surely be coming for him. No Slytherin, current or former, would intimidate or bully one of her students.

Minerva braced herself for a memorable new year at Hogwarts.

*

[tendertenebrosity]

Part 5 of Illiam and Helis’ story. Masterpost is here, previous post is here. 

Taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @doglover82; @top-hat-aye; @burtlederp; @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi    @sleepysnapdragonart

When Helis came around, swimming up slowly from the depths of sleep, it was to discomfort. They were sitting up, their back resting against something hard, wings flopped out to either side and arms held up awkwardly over their head. Their limbs throbbed and ached, and they were both thirsty and very cold.

Still blearily trying to force their eyes open, they went to pull their arms down.

Metal clinked. Their arms pulled up short, against something cold and hard around their wrists.

The surprise of this was enough to get their eyes fully open. They were sitting on the floor, cold, smooth stone underneath them, legs out in front. They blinked at their own clawed feet and their dirty uniform trousers in confusion before lifting their gaze.

They were in a room, low-ceilinged but long, lit by the clear white light of magic rather than torches or lanterns. A fire somewhere was crackling. There were no windows.

Helis could see a door to the left, a set of heavy bookshelves and a scroll rack to their right. They craned their neck and tried, unsuccessfully, to pull their wrists free of whatever was holding them up above their head. They seemed to be sitting with their back against the leg of a solid wooden table that took up a large portion of the centre of the room, their wrists affixed to the edge of the table somehow. Moving made the ache of their wing and shoulder joints worse. Metal clinked again.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Helis jerked, looking around them wildly. Their wings tensed, long white feathers sweeping against the floor.

Illiam de Graer rounded the table, put a tool down on it with a clatter, and looked down at Helis disdainfully. He had removed a layer but otherwise seemed to be in the same clothes as before; black clothing that made him look washed-out and tired in the glow of the magelights. The collar of the shirt was loosened and his sleeves pushed up past his elbows.

He clicked his tongue in exasperation. “Inconvenient,” he said. “You couldn’t have stayed out for another five minutes?”

“Illiam!” Helis gasped.

He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “We have established that you recall my name. Wonderful. At this rate, we might get to talk about something of substance in a mere couple of hours.”

“What did you - what are you doing?” Helis asked, looking around. They pulled at their wrists again. “Where are we? Where’s Reed?”

“Improvisation,” Illiam said. He picked up a sheet of paper from the table and perused it, scratching the side of his face absent-mindedly. He made a face at the faint rasp of stubble. Was it only the light that was making him look tired? “Quiet, now. I’m working, and I don’t need you distracting me. I didn’t even really have time for the trip to Rosdan, let alone this.”

Helis noticed a bandage on his left forearm, awkwardly tied, with a patch of bright red seeping through the material. Had he been injured? While Helis was out? Or had they done that to him? They remembered kicking and scrabbling at him but they hadn’t thought…

Helis fought back the ridiculous, mortified urge to ask after it and apologise. No. No, if I hurt him he deserved it, he grabbed me. And he forced a sleep spell on me!

And he hadn’t answered their question. Any of their questions.

Helis took a deep breath, leaned their head back against the table leg amongst their curls, and tried to think.

They noticed with discomfort that their jacket had been removed, and the arms that stretched above their head were bare. No wonder they were cold. Their wings hurt - the sharp throb of a muscle pulled in Helis’ shoulder, and every joint ached. The feathers were uncomfortably frayed and ruffled, and one primary still dangled sadly from its shred of shaft. That was… bad. A broken feather would stay broken until Helis molted and got a whole new set, which was probably months. It had been a long time since Helis had damaged any major feathers that badly.  

Illiam sighed, and Helis jumped, but he wasn’t even looking at them. He turned and strode back to the table, this time the same side that Helis seemed to be cuffed to. He began to move things around up there, paper rustling and metal clinking.

The room wasn’t quite the same as other mages’ workshops Helis had been in, but that was obviously what it was. The walls and floor were grey stone, and something about the lack of windows and the feel of the roof above them made it feel like they were either underground or deep inside a structure. There were no big stone buildings in the Rosdan forest; the closest villages had been wood, and not large enough.

So obviously while Helis slept - they carefully ignored the panic that began to twist inside their chest - they had been taken quite a long way. How far? Why?

If Helis craned back and rolled their eyes up as far as they could, they thought they could see a faint glint of metal up around their wrists. Silver? Illiam wasn’t paying them any attention. Cautiously, they reached for magic, just to confirm it for themselves. There was nothing there; nothing but fear filled their chest.

Alone, no magic, somewhere very far from where they were supposed to be. Helis took a deep breath.

Calm down. You won’t help things by panicking. There must still be a way to fix this, improve this. Illiam was frightening, familiar but changed, impatient and angry and threatening. But Helis was good at talking to people, good at making people see reason, being nice until they were nice, too. They could do that here, couldn’t they? And he had stepped in between Helis and the Duke. Surely they could work with that.

“Illiam,” Helis said, trying to speak calmly. Their wings trembled. Be quiet, be reasonable, be calm, all people really want is to be listened to and reasoned with. “You, um. You saved me. Thank you.”

The noises of work from the table stopped. Tip their head though they might, Helis couldn’t see Illiam’s face; but his hands seemed to have fallen still. He was silent for a long moment before he spoke. “I suppose you’re welcome,” he said eventually, his voice flat and dull. “You really shouldn’t have come. You can’t say I didn’t warn you what you’d find if you came North.”

Helis fidgeted their claws nervously. “Well, Rosdan is neutral, so it…”

“It’s still the North,” Illiam said. “And I believe the correct phrasing is was. It was neutral - but I expect our forces will have it secured in a week.” There was an abrupt click as he picked up a tool again. “All of which is a moot point to you, as you are currently in Toralda.”

“Wh-!”

“I recall telling you to be quiet.”

Helis took a deep breath of horror, shackles curbing the urge to clap a hand over their mouth. He had taken them across the border?

Helis had lived all their life with stories about how bad things were in Toralda for people like them. That even the commonborn humans were practically prisoners to their lords, and wildborn were little more than property. That nobility did whatever they wanted and neither the church nor the government cared enough to stop them. Stories about terrible things, cruel punishments and harsh abuses that happened over there, over the mountains, a reminder of how lucky their family was, not ever a thing that Helis themself would ever see…

They took a panicked breath, then another, chest heaving underneath their shirt, feeling tight. Tears prickled and burned in their eyes. Why had he done this? This couldn’t be happening! Helis needed to find Reed and get home.

Through the haze of stinging tears, Helis saw movement. They looked up to find Illiam dropping down to his knees beside them, holding something in his hands they couldn’t make out that glinted in the light. His eyes met Helis’ for one instant before shifting away.

Helis sniffled, tried to wipe their face on the fabric of their shoulder. He was very close. They drew their knees up and leaned away as far as the silver cuffs would allow. “W-what…”

“Don’t do that,” he said, sounding distracted. “Hold still.” He reached up, over Helis’ head, with both hands. One took hold of their wrist as if to steady them.

His hand against their skin set panic rising in their chest. The last time he’d told Helis to hold still, it was because he was trying to cast a spell on them.

“No!” Helis jerked their hands, twisted against the table and tried fruitlessly to get their feet under them. “No, wait, what are you - ”

There was sudden, bright pain at their forearm and they shrieked, wings flaring against the table. Their elbow hit the wood with a crack that hurt almost as much as whatever Illiam had just done.

Illiam hissed, gripped their wrist tightly. “Don’t be such a baby, that barely hurt. I should know.”

“Ow! What are you doing?” Helis gasped, craning their head to try and see past him.  Their wing battered weakly at Illiam’s shoulder, and he ignored it. They threw their head back in frustration. “Let go! What are you doing?”

Finally, he released his bruising grip on their arm and sat back. They got a better look at the things he was holding; his belt-knife, and a little glass bulb filled with blood.

Helis choked in horror, going momentarily limp. “Illiam!”

He’d - cut Helis, and collected their blood?

They watched in shocked revulsion as he calmly, methodically set the gruesome things down. He stoppered the bottle, wiped the knife, and picked up a roll of white bandaging material. As if this was a completely normal thing to be doing, and not like a, a scene out of a trashy horror play. Blood magic? Blood magic was a thing that people actually did - that Illiam actually did?

“What the hell is that?” Helis wailed. They dragged in a breath past a throat and nose clogged with tears. “Illiam, what the hell is any of this? What are you doing? Why am I here? Why did you take me to Toralda, I can’t be here! You know why I can’t be here!”

He set the bandage back down, face blank.

Now that the words had started, Helis couldn’t stop them. “You can’t just - you can’t just cut people! What are you doing with my blood?” They shook their hand, making the cuffs clatter above their head. “What’s going on with this, you know I’m not dangerous! You just have silver shackles lying around? You used a sleep spell on me!” Tears ran down their cheeks, unchecked. “I don’t understand what’s going on. You can’t just - ”

“I think you’ll find I can do whatever I like,” Illiam said. His hands curled up into fists on his thighs.

“When I first saw you I thought -” They shook their head, trying to get tears and clinging strands of hair out of their eyes. “I thought you might help me. We used to be friends! I never did anything bad to you! You c-called me… you... ” They gulped in a breath. “And what about Reed? You didn’t let me see where they took him! Where is he? You know perfectly well he’s not a spy, we only came North to get the stone! I told you why we were there! Why didn’t you - ”

Illiam rose to his feet abruptly.

“What, you mean this?” he said.

He strode across the room, his stride short and filled with pent-up energy. He was out of view for a couple of seconds; when he returned he was holding the large chunk of clear stone that Reed had dug out of the riverbank.

He hefted it in one hand. “This is what you came all this way for?” he demanded. “This bauble, this shiny rock? How fucking stupid are you?”

Helis sniffled. “I -”

“No, you shut your mouth!” Illiam shouted, suddenly at the top of his lungs, voice bouncing off the stone walls. He spread his arms wide in a furious, violent gesture. “This war has been building up for the last four years, and you thought you could just flutter on over into contested territory like it was a crossroads marketplace! For this? And now you’re sitting there wailing at me that you ‘can’t’ be here? The fucking gall of you!”

I was doing my job, Helis thought, blinking desperately up at him. Blood trickled and itched as it ran down their arm. You weren’t supposed to be there.

“Well, you can shut up and pay attention, because even as simple-minded as you apparently are, I’m only going to have this conversation once!” He was standing over them, his hair pulling free of its neat tail, eyes bright and blazing with fury. “This? This is Toralda. I can do whatever I want. You are a hundred miles from the border and you are never going to be able to make your way back over it, so you had better start getting used to that fact. You and I are not friends. We are at war and you are my enemy, loath as I am to elevate you with that title!”

“But you -”

He lifted a finger, viciously. “Interrupt me again and you’ll regret it!” he hissed. “From now on, you’ll keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told. You live under my sufferance, and you have no idea how lucky you are. You thought I was going to help you? You naive little idiot, I have.”

Helis wrenched their hands against the cuffs. “This is not helping! This is - ”

He moved suddenly, violently; Helis flinched back against the table, but he wasn’t coming for them, he was turning, and lifting up the chunk of raw stone up towards the ceiling. He made a noise, something quiet and inarticulate and enraged.

The stone flew from his hand, hit the opposite wall, and shattered into countless splinters and shards.

The sound of it echoed through the workroom; Illiam turned around.

“Compared to the alternative,” he snarled. He looked down at them, hair falling in his face, breathing a little hard. “It is. You want to know where your friend Reed is? He’s dead. Because that’s what you get in the North when you poke your nose somewhere you shouldn’t, and don’t have anybody sentimental enough to step in and pull your ignorant Southern ass out of the fire.”

A few splinters had landed as far as Helis’ feet. Helis stared up at Illiam.  “No,” they whispered.

Illiam said nothing. His eyes were narrowed as he watched them.

Mindlessly, they pulled their feet up towards them, away from the pieces of conduit stone, glittering sharp and milky-white. They found themselves pleading. “But… but he can’t…”

“He can be, and is,” Illiam said, abruptly. He pushed a falling strand of hair out of his face, irritably.

Reed. Reed is dead. Helis tried to wrap their mind around the thought of it. He was dead. Their friend, who’d kept their spirits up with jokes the whole long journey North, who’d stepped between them and trouble a dozen times, who Helis had set camp, and broken camp, and cooked and slept beside for weeks.

Helis had been sitting here in this workroom trying to talk Illiam around and feeling sorry for themself, and all along Reed had been dead.

Helis stared at the ruin of the stone, spread across the floor in thousands upon thousands of pieces. Conduit stone shattered much more easily with physical force than an overload of magical energy. It was an expensive thing to break in a fit of temper. But we came all this way. Crestmead needed that stone, they wouldn’t have sent us into danger if we didn’t need it. Reed found that stone for us. They opened their mouth, and something like a sob came out.

This wasn’t fair. It was Helis who was supposed to be in danger, Helis whose life wasn’t valuable here. Reed had always thought so - he hadn’t been concerned for his own safety. But here Helis was, being told he was dead like it was an afterthought? Like it didn’t matter enough for them to witness it, or even be told straight away? Like he didn’t matter?

Illiam approached, and Helis cringed away from him as he bent down and reached out.  

“Don’t touch me!” they cried - but then their wrists came away from the table with a clatter. Illiam shoved their hands into their lap, still linked together with silver but no longer tethered up above their head.

Helis immediately threw themselves backwards, away from him, scrabbling and fluttering. They landed on their back with a thump and a surge of pain from their abused wings, under the table.

Illiam hissed in frustration.

“Oh, for - ”

“Don’t touch me-e!” Helis sobbed. They swiped at their face with their bound wrists, shoulders spasming. “Don’t - get away from me! You - you monster, how could you, don’t touch me!”

“Do you want your arm bandaged or not?”

Helis made no attempt to answer, and to their ragged relief, Illiam didn’t attempt to drag them out from under the table. Past their own hitching, sob-choked breaths, Helis heard him mutter something obscene, then stride over to the doorway on the other side of the room. He shouted something, out the door - orders to somebody else.

Helis didn’t care what he said or what was going to happen next. Everything was ruined already, as bad as possible. What did it even matter? They pulled their knees against their chest, pulled a wing over themselves like a patchy white-and-red tent, and cried for Reed.

[a-crash-in-time-collection]

Chapter 6: What Was Left Behind

Snatcher felt his form began to shake as he turned the corner from the stairs, glancing into the dark hallway. He still remember back when he used to walk through these halls, talking with the servants or the former love of his life. Newspapers now littered these halls, black writing all across them. "Happily Ever After" "Princess" "Queen" and "Prince" were a few words he was able to point out.

The small footprints seemed to be heading straight to where the attic should be. That was good, he didn't want to be here trying to chase down who made them. Still, who in their right mind would willingly walk into this place. He did his best to ignore the faint, ice chilling laughter he could hear from under him, going through into the room on his left. Just find out who it is, and get out.

More newspapers and black writing filled the walls as he slowly floated through the rooms, the only different thing he saw being a large bit of blue and green near some switches. He just ignored it, focusing on getting to the attic and getting out. He floated over to the attic door... only to see it was locked. There wasn't a key nearby... how the person got past was beyond him. Looks like he was going to need a key...

He sighed as he floated to the room behind him. Knowing Vanessa, she likely kept the key high up, outside the reach of a normal person- he let out a shout as he saw the red eye staring at him. He braced himself for the icy chill, but nothing happened. He slowly took a second look, finding it to be a painting of sorts. Underneath were some words, a few were hard to read, but he did his best to make it out.

"I" Bad hand writing "it was" More poor handwriting. "I just didn't want you to get" He couldn't tell if the next word was 'unbound' or 'sunburned'. He didn't know which he would consider more worrying. "All I asked was for you to never leave this house."

How did he not see the signs sooner? Expecting him to never leave the house? Didn't she know that would have killed him sooner?

He sighed slightly, floating into the room he first came in from, glancing to his right. He found himself glancing up after catching the words 'Prince AJ' on a random newspaper, and paused slightly. Another sentence was written above him, although he was half tempted to believe they were carved into the wall itself. Ice witch had the claws to do so now, after all. He floated up to get a better look.

"My prince, I'm sorry what happened to your house. If'' Vannessa decided that was the perfect place to write another 'Happily Ever After' message, make those words impossible to read. "it then neither will I."

"My house?" He asked himself, tilting his head to the side slightly. He lived in the manor since he was a child... right? His memory of life was fuzzy. He shook his head, he wasn't here to dwell on the past. He floated back into the main hallway, heading into the door across from a TV on a dresser. This would be a great place to surprise some poor soul...

He shook his head slightly. Many died in this place, including himself. The last thing he should be thinking of trying to get the jump on someone. He floated into the room, then headed straight to the room across from there. He glanced to his left, seeing two bookcases full of books on the wall. The key was up there, out of any normal humans' reach. Luckily, being dead meant he could just grab it even if he was short.

He grabbed the key, and floated into the door closest to where he currently was. The third floor was supposed to have more in it... right. He was pretty sure his bedroom was up here, at least. With how empty it was, you assumed this would be where she kept most of her frozen victims, but he had yet to see one. He floated to the door that was the exit to that room, glancing up. Another message, this one perfectly clear.

"The prince loves the moon so much. MAYBE HE SHOULD MARRY IT! THEN MAYBE HE CAN GIVE ME MORE ATTENTION!"

He stared silently for a brief moment. The entitlement of this woman... he crossed his arms with a huff. "Well maybe I should have." He stated, shaking his head as he headed back to the attic door. Bacon, the freaking moon!? At this point she likely would have ordered the death of his own family just because he also happens to love them!

He sighed slightly, looking down at the ground as he put the key in the lock, which allowed him to remove said lock. He floated up the stairs silently. He still remembers when they first met when they were young. She was so much sweeter back then... more true to her word. She seemed more fit to rule a kingdom back then.

As soon as he entered the attic, a calming aura greeted him. Like this was the safest place in the whole building. Like it wasn't possible for that demon to get to him... He soon spotted the footsteps that lead him here, coming from a hole in the nearby wall. They kept marking the floor, until they stopped. Stopped in front of the chest in the middle of the room. He glanced too it, slowly floating over.

"Clever hiding place..." He commented to himself. The chest didn't move. He couldn't even here breathing. Maybe whoever it was died while hiding? It would be a shame, do so well avoiding a chilling fate only to die from something as simple as a panic attack. Made him chuckle at the idea.

He heard something. It was barely above a whisper, but he heard it. It sounded like a whimper, or something similar. It had to be the person, or thing in the chest. Oddly enough, that small whimper sounded familiar. He couldn’t place where... "Hey, miss ice witch is downstairs. It's just the two of us. No reason to be hiding away from me." He tried sounding friendly. Maybe he could lure this soul into giving said soul to him later.

"Y-You won't hurt me?" The voice made him on guard. It sounded so... innocent. So familiar. Again, he couldn't place where. It was small... weak. Like it was scared to make any sound.

"Of course not!" Snatcher waved a dismissing hand. He jolted slightly when he heard a creek in the background, afraid he may have just alerted his ex to where he was. But a glance behind showed no one was there... Although it did remind him of the creepy choice in a paint job. Yes, the tale of Moonjumper was a big thing in Subcon, but... he shook his head, giving a reassuring smile to the chest. "Why would I hurt you?"

"I-I saw you, taking some of the icey people away a bit ago. I-I thought you were working with evil lady.." The voice was still shaky, but it seemed to calm down. He could see movement in the chest lid, a little huff as the figure inside opened it slowly. Snatcher watched in curiosity.

Two bright yellow eyes were the first thing he noticed, staring at him in a bit of worry. They were partly hidden behind purple- no, black, no both hair? It was pure black, or close to it, but it glowed purple near the edge. The same could be said for the edges of her face, hands, sleeves, cape, and hat. Her hair also features small little swirls. Her mouth could be clearly seen as one yellow glowing line.

Snatcher didn't know what to make of the sight. This shadow, she looked exactly like Hattie back when she first stepped foot in the forest! Only she looked exactly like him at the same time. The tears dripping down her face where even the same yellow his own eyes would be. Not that he ever cried to find out about that fact.

"What... but how." The child tilted her head in confusion at his words. Snatcher was trying to rack his brain about the whole thing. The only things that ever looked close to this was when he turned into copies of the kiddo to throw her off when they fought. "What's your name? How did you get here? Why are you..."

"I don't know..." The shadow copy looked down slightly, messing with her hands slightly. Similar to what he did whenever he was reminded of those death wishes. Or when he was hiding something in general. "I just... woke up here one day. I've been hiding from misses bad queen ever since..." She seemed to cuddle herself at the thought of the lady.

Snatcher tried to think of how something like this could be possible. She just woke up here one day and just been stuck here? It didn't make any sense. Unless the Hat Girl downstairs was a clone and the real one died by Vanessa's hands, a ghostly version of her should be impossible. A ghostly version that had to run and hide all it's life... like a puppet in Vanessa's show. "Is there... any place or thing you know outside of here?"

The child shocked her head slightly. "No... The only thing I've ever known from the outside is... you." She glanced at his confused expression. "I've seen you about.. this many times before." She held out her hand, showing two up on one and all five up on the other. "Well.. actually this counts... so.." She lifted another finger.

"My yearly trips to the manor..." He didn't notice he picked up the child until she made a small noise of confusion or fright. His body just sort of.. did it on his own. "Seven times... The exact amount of times since she was last here..." He looked down at the child, who was confused by his words. He tried to think of what could have happened to create such a small, adorable...

He recalled watching Hat Kid fight that annoying toilet. Many would assumed he lied about her soul being inside to make her more willing to do the dirty work. But the soul actually did get stuck inside. Still, he wasn't going to deal with it himself. He recalled seeing a faint bit of purple and yellow, like her soul, dash away at one part. He assumed it was a trick of his eyes because the toilet was still bouncing around....

"Are you ok, Mister Noodle?" The young voice, just like the girl's but with a faint echo called up to him. He glanced down at her, and somehow he knew there was sorrow in his eyes. This soul, or a piece of one, has never known anything outside of this prison. That was a fate he wished on no one.

"Oh, I'm fine! It's you I was worried about." He covered his mouth slightly. Did this piece of a soul have some sort of ability? He was just... drawn to her so fast. He slowly removed his hand, giving her a soft smile. "Seven years... I left you here so long..."

"Please don't feel bad!" She was waving her hands in the air, as if to enfenzise her point. "It's my fault, really. I always hid when I saw you... you were a bit scary to me... I didn't want to risk you being bad like her..." She held her head down in shame, garbing her cape and wrapping it around her slightly. It was more pinkest near the bottom, and was torn with holes... was it originally like this or did something happen...

Snatcher and the shadowy child both jolted slightly. There was the sound of some sort of crash downstairs... Snatcher nearly forgot about Hat Girl and Platinum. He needed to go down there and get those two out... maybe the parents as well if they weren't ice statues by now. "Well, I'm not making the same mistake again..." He glanced down at her. "I can take you away from here, would you like that?"

The child let out a gasp in surprise, and a bit of joy. "R-Really, you mean it?" her mouth formed a smile, showing off two little fangs. Just like his own... his own... "I-I would love that! I-I wanna be away from the evil queen.." She then frowned. "But.. The door is locked..."

Snatcher let out a chuckle at that. "She used all the locks she has for doors inside of this place, the fool. It's just some snow blocking the front door. All I have to do is give it a shove and we're home free!" He looked back down at her, seeing she had grabbed a small bit of his mane-thing, as if exsaming it, then reaching for her own neck. "A little funny how we both look so similar, huh kiddo?"

"Kiddo?" The child repeated, pointing to herself slightly. She seemed to be confused by a lot, to which he couldn't blame her. All Vanessa likely did was have whiney fits or shout at her prey. Likely didn't teach the kid a lot. "My name is kiddo?"

Snatcher glanced at her silently for a moment, taking in her statement.

"Did I... say something wrong?" The small shadow asked, tilting her head to the side. She didn't show anymore sights of fear, which was good in his eyes. She was just... naturally confused. He couldn't blame her. If their roles were reversed, he probably would be asking the same questions the little shadow kid was asking. Little... Shadow Kid. "Hey, are you alright? You were... staring blankly for a few moments there."

Snatcher looked down at her with a smile. "I'm fine, Shadow Kid... do you like that name? I think it fits you." He couldn't help but poke at her nose slightly, the ghost child letting out a giggle when he did so.

"Shadow Kid... it's perfect!" The child- Shadow Kid bounces in his arms slightly. She looked up at him with a toothy smile. He could see hope in her eyes, likely the first time they ever had it. She held onto him as he began to float to the exit for the room. "What's your name, mister noodle man?"

"Well, I have many names from the locals around these parts." Snatcher said, a bit of a smug tone in his voice. He had to be quiet though, as he floated back into the third floor, knowing Vanessa could very well be nearby. And the last thing he wanted was to get them both caught when he just promised the young girl freedom. "But the name I personally go by is, The Snatcher. I'm basically the true ruler of subcon." He chuckled at the child's awe.

-------

Platinum held his breath, although he didn't need to breath in the first place, as he pushed himself into the corner. The red and black Elsa being slowly walked down the stairs passed him, a growl in her voice. Lighting stuck outside as he held back a shout, running up the stairs as soon as it was safe. "Hattie!" He whispered-shouted, hoping his sister was alright.

And fell to his knees at the sight. Near a dresser in the hallway stood an ice sculpture. One who bore a familiar ponytail. Her face seemed to be gone, ice covering all it's details. "No...NONO!" Oil tears fell down his face as he raced to the being that was once his sister. She was.. she was dead. Dead and it was his fault because he screamed at the lighting-

There was a tiny crack sound, and then ice flew off the girl's body. She let out a slight gasp as she caught some air, the tip of the nightcap swaying side to side faintly. "It's been too long since I last used an ice hat." She shrugged and looked at her brother, who still had some tears going down his face. "What do you think? Pretty neat."

"I thought you died!" Platinum hissed, trying to stay as quiet as he could as to not alert that creature back up here. He couldn't feel angry from much longer, because another crash of light from outside had him pulling Hat Girl into a hug, shaking slightly. "P-Please don't scare me like that again." He begged, feeling a few gentle pat on his back before she stepped away. "We need to get our Dads, find Snatcher, and get out now."

"You're right. But we need to be careful when we go to leave." With a snap of her fingers, her backpack appeared. She slung it over her shoulder, placing the cap inside once it was open. She then pulled out her mask and headband, placing them on her head gently.

He tilted his head slightly, letting out a brfit giggle. "You look a little funny in that." He stated, Hat Girl rolling her eyes at the statement. The two quietly stepped into the bedroom. She noticed the Mafia Goon was still frozen on the floor, but the closet was back up. Platinum seemed to take note of the closet too, walking over.

She walked behind him, trying to stay quiet. She knew it was likely safe, but she didn't want to risk Vanessa having set up some sort of trap inside it. "Stay behind me." She whispered, pushing her brother back behind her. She could faintly hear something within now that she was closer. With a histiate breath, she swung open the closet door.

Two quick shouts met their ears, and a laser blaster was pointed at them. She looked at the two men, who allowed themselves quick breaths of relief, the cybrog's blaster turning back into a normal hand. "Hattie! Platinum! Oh that was you we heard! What are you doing here?" Reginald asked, hopping out of the closet and hugging the two. Right Hand Man hopped out beside him, although he simply glanced at them.

"Looking for you, clearly!" Platinum stated.

"Ya s'ouldn't 'ave come. We would 'ave gotten ourselves out sooner or later." Right Hand Man stated, shaking his head slightly. Although he and Reginald glanced at each other faintly. The two had faintly heard the kids voices, and knew they had to act sooner or later. They kept fighting about what would be the best way. Mostly because all of the ideas involved sacrificing themselves. Great minds think alike, the saying goes.

"You're right... but you're not hurt, right?" Hat Girl asked, beginning to take a closer look in worry. That's when she saw the crystal-like blue over the cybernetic side of RHM's face. "Papa, your eye! What happened?!" She asked.

Right Hand Man sighed, holding his lover's hand as the group began to leave the room. "Well, we just came out of t'at beer pool place, talkin' about t'e work it will take to drain it out, w'en t'at red mist demon appeared. I tried firin' my laser eye at it, but it just touc' t'e blast 'nd turned t'e laser to ice!" He threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Luckily it only got to my eye before I broke free, t'en we 'id in t'e closet."

"Out of all the places, why the closet?" Platinum asked, a faint smug look on his face. The cyborg rolled his only visible eye.

"There you two... four are" Snatcher called, floating over to the group as they got to the stairs. Hat Girl noticed he seemed to have something close to him, but couldn't make out exactly what it was right now. "Ohh, so your parents aren't human popsicles. Well, isn't that great news!" He let out a chuckle, before noting the glare from the cyborg. "What?"

"Well, at least you brought someone with you..." Reginald sighed, offering the ghost a faint smile, and said ghost simply shrugged. As soon as they stepped onto the first floor, the group paused, they didn't see her, but they knew Vanessa was nearby. They quickly raced under a nearby table as Vanessa entered the hall.

"What are we going to do?" Platinum asked, glancing at where the front door was. "We need to get there, but she'll get us." He glanced back at Hat Girl, who seemed to glance at her hand. She made a small tap at the tips of her fingers, and with a faint green glow, a small stack of cash magically appeared in her hand. "Wait, how did you-" He would have let out a yelp as the thunder came, but Right Hand Man was quick to cover his mouth.

"Get ready to run... or float in Snatcher's case." She said, she glanced at the floor brefitly, trying to find a place to throw the cash. That's when she noticed something... odd. Two shadows were coming from the queen's being. One was of the monster she had become, the second being a reflection of her human self... She shook her head, she couldn't let that distract her. She threw the cash into the kitchen, it blowing up upon impact with the floor.

"AH HA! I FOUND YOU~" Vanessa called, walking past the table they were under, into the kitchen.

"Quick." Right Hand Man whispered, racing to where the front door was. The group falling, Snatcher placing something... someone? He placed whatever on his back as he slammed his arms into the doors, bursting them open. They could hear a growl from behind them. "Run!" He held Reginald's hand, as they began to run down the path they came. They could all hear footsteps behind, the queen's rage was in the air.

"Stay back!" Hat Girl called, garbing her umbrella as they passed the dweller bell, slamming it once she passed by.

Vanessa reached out to freeze them all where they were standing, as a warning to any more cockroaches that dared to go into her home. But it simply slammed agesist that cursed purple wall. She let out a shrike of rage. "I'll get you! No one comes across my path, tries to take it away, and leaves alive!" With a huff, she began to return to her home.

The group was silent, all staring at the purple wall in worry the Queen would somehow break through. It was only after a full minute of silence did they allow themselves to truly relax. They all headed to the bridge, Snatcher picking up the teens as he floated across while Right Hand Man held his Husband close as he did the same. Hat Girl sat on the ground, allowing herself to catch her breath, looking at the snow filled land.

"I'm never going back there again." She stated, and hoped this time it was true. She then glanced over at her parents, the ones who took her in, the ones she just put in danger. "I'm sorry. I should have told you about the manor. I should have... It's..."

"No, before you say it's yer fault, it's not." Right Hand Man said, kneeling next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder, brown eye staring into her sky blue ones. "S'ould've asked ya about t'e place first, I was just in a rush to get some sort of s'elter I didn't t'ink too." he looked at her, giving her a soft smile. "T'e cold wasn't helpin' my thought process either, at the time."

"But it isn't your job to look into the details." Reginald sighed, walking up to them. "I should have known something was off."

"And I guess I shouldn't have screamed when the lightning flashed. But I had every right to be afraid!" Platinum stated, stopping a foot ageist the ground as he pointed to the others, who just gave him a confused look. He was silent for a moment, before sighing. "I.. Thought we were all blaming each other so I decided to join." He looked back at them, smiling as he heard Hat Girl chuckle.

"Well... I'm just glad we're out..."

"Out... Out!" Shadow Kid called happily, hoping off the phantom's back as she fell on the floor. The group glanced over at the sound of the young voice, and found themselves staring in shock at the young girl. She spun around in a slight circle, smiling brightly. "I'm out! It's so pretty being out! Ooo~, what's that loopy thing!"

"W'ot in t'e-" Right Hand Man stated, causing the shadow to glance over, then hide behind the phantom. Must be one of those excitable yet shy types. He glanced up at Hat Girl, hoping she could offer some sort of answer. But she was looking at the creature with the same confusion he had. He turned back to Snatcher, giving him a questioning glare. "Excuse me, g'ost. But can you explain w'y t'ere's a copy of Hattie?"

"Oh, it's quite simple. And please tone it down, you're scaring her." Snatcher said, giving the cyborg his own glare. "I believe she's a part of the kiddo's soul, broken off and taken its own form in the manor. Hat Girl must not have noticed she left it behind..." He picked the shadow child up.

"Well, ain't she the cutest little thing!" Hat Girl gasped, racing over to the purple figure. The child flinched at first, but then looked at the teen in curiosity. The two looked so similar, as to be expected considering they were two of the same soul. She even had the same type of clothing she would wear when traveling all over this planet. "Heya little one! I'm Hat Girl. You.. sorta came from me!"

"H-Hello... I'm Shadow Kid." Shadow Kid introduced herself, and Hat Girl couldn't help but let out an 'Awwww'.

"You're one of the most innocent things I've ever seen in my life." Reginald said, smiling as he walked over to the small group. He patted her on the top of her head, being careful not to knock off the hat, smiling at the giggles he got in return. "It's nice to finally get to meet you, Shadow Kid. Say.. how would you li-"

"No, Reg. The answer is no." Right Hand Man quickly stated, crossing his arms to show his point. Reginald let out a huff, while Hat Girl and Platinum both glanced at each other, shaking their heads. Shadow Kid tilted her head in confusion, as Snatcher held her close. "Platinum 'nd Hat Girl are enoug'. We talked about t'is, no more kids."

"But she's a part of Hattie's soul, so technically we would still only have two kids!" Reginald claimed defensively. Snatcher found himself warping his tail around where Shadow kid was, looking down at her slightly. He watched her garb his tail slightly, holding it close like it was some sort of blanket. She just seemed so lost about what they were talking about. "Besides, look at her! We can't just leave her all alone!"

"T'e answer is still no, Reg. We already had to deal wit' 'er chaos as a child, I'm not relivin' all t'at." Right Hand Man stated firmly.

"But Rightttyyy..." Reginald was just a kid asking for a puppy at this point. Platinum let out a slight chuckle as he watched. While it would be great to have a new sister, even he was able to see now wasn't the best time to be adopting someone. He found himself glancing over to where Snatcher was, seeing a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Where else would she have to go? We can't make her go back!"

"I could take her."

Reginald glanced over, a bit confused. "What?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. Right Hand Man gave the ghost a confused look, although there was a form of relief that could be seen in his visible eye. Hat Girl looked at them both, then smiled as she looked back at the two purple beings. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, she appears to be more ghost then living, breathing human." Snatcher said, waving his hand as if taking someone in wasn't a big deal. "She has stayed the same age for Seven years, after all. It would be best for her to be near creatures more like herself. Besides, look at her! She looks like a mini me in the shape of the kiddo!" He grinned slightly. "It only makes sense if I let her stay at my place."

"So... basically yer adopin' 'er?" Right Hand Man asked. He watched the ghost gain a bit of a blank face, processing his exact words. "Ye were basically sayin' ya were goin' to be 'er parental figure, after all."

"You're adopting me?" Shadow Kid asked, looking up at the Prince's ghost slightly. He looked down, processing could still be seen happening in his eyes. Then he gave her a soft smile, and nodded. She gave her own smile in response, nearly hoping out of his hands in joy. "Yay!" She clapped her hands slightly, before pausing and looking back up at him. "Wait, what does "adopin" mean." She was confused when the others giggled at her accent imitation.

"Well..." Snatcher let out a bit of a nerves laugh, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand as he tried to think of what to say. He never thought he would say these words to anyone. "Well, you see how Hattie has her two Dads?" He watched as Shadow Kid glanced over at the two man, Reginald waving slightly, before looking back at him. "Basically, me adopting you means I'll be your Dad. Or Papa or Pops, whatever you wanna call me."

Shadow Kid gasped in joy, hugging him. "My heart-'' Platinum called from the side, grabbing his chest.

Reginald gave a small smile to the two. "Well, I'm glad you two have each other now." He let out a sigh, then glanced at his daughter, who smiled brightly at him. "Well, I suppose we should be returning to the orbital station. The clan must be worried about us. And we need to get to work removing the ice from Righty's eye."

Snatcher glanced back at the cyborg, and had to hold back a laugh once he finally noticed the ice covered eye. "Well, I have to find a place for Shadow Kid to sleep anyway. Along with letting the village know of her arrival." He gave the small shadow a boop, watching her giggle, before he turned away from the group. "I'll see you later, Kiddo and Platinum! Preferably when I find a spell to turn the manor's walls into bacon!" with a laugh, he raced into the woods, gone from sight.

"See you!" Hat Girl called, waving her hand quickly. She heard a sigh, and Reginald passed her as the group began their trip back to the orbital station. She walked up to her Dads, a bit heistaite. "So… you guys aren't grounding us right? You guys aren't mad, right?"

"I'm too tired to really be mad." Reginald stated honselty, wrapping an arm around his lover's shoulder. He glanced at the two. "I won't ground you, since we may not have gotten out of it wasn't for you, if we're being honest."

The two teens looked at each other, giving each other a high five with a chuckle. "But," Right Hand Man's stern tone cut them off, bringing their attention to him. "Know t’at unless we find ourselves in a deat’ trap again, you doin’ anythin’ that could put you in ‘arm’s way again will result in groundin’. Is t’at clear?" He watched the two nod at his words, and only then he allowed himself to relax.

"I still wish we could have kept Shadow Kid..." Reginald sighed, as Hat Girl let out a small giggle at his words. She found herself staring into the woods of Subcon, a smile on her face.

Vanessa was the worst, so that meant the worst had to be behind them. Right?

[thetomorrowshow]

unless you take your army back, ch. 6

First  -  Previous  -  Read on AO3!

college life go brrrrrrrr

cw: description of injuries, ptsd flashbacks, paranoia

~

Three more days, Katherine had told him. Three more days of resting with intermittent periods of stretching, then walking the length of the room. The first few times, the room expanded out endlessly before him. Even with Jack to steady him, it was a challenge that sent him straight to sleep afterwards, vision hazy from the exercise and lack of food. By the second day, though, it became easier and easier, until he could slowly make it from the bed to the door barely out of breath. Jack wasn’t exactly pleased with his progress, but Crutchie refused to stay at home a day longer. So, when the bell rang on the fourth morning, Crutchie roused himself with everyone else and slipped his vest on, excited to finally be back among his brothers.

The plan was fairly simple to follow. Jack and Tommy Boy would walk him to get a cup of coffee from the nuns, then they would loiter there and rest for a good fifteen minutes, until Davey and Les turned up with some papers for them to sell. Tommy Boy would go his own way, and the four of them would make the walk to Crutchie’s normal selling spot (“It’s a bit of a walk, Crutch.” “No. This is non-negotiable, Jack. I’m sellin’. At my spot.”), where Jack and Les would break off down the street and Davey would stick with Crutchie.

It seemed simple, at least. In practice?

It was still simple. Easy, even. There was no screwing this up. Which was why, after an exhausting hike, Crutchie found himself at his normal corner, ten papers in his bag and Davey shouting a headline.

The wind was strong today, strong enough that Crutchie’s hat nearly blew off and some dirt got kicked up into his face almost as soon as he stopped on the corner he usually sold at. Crutchie himself would’ve been blown over if he hadn’t been leaning against a wall, still trying to catch his breath from the walk. It was nicer than the scorching heat of earlier in the week, though. At least with the wind he wasn’t sweating through his bandages.

Crutchie limped forward to join Davey closer to the street, digging through his bag to pull out a pape. There wasn’t much of a way to wave it around, not with one arm holding onto his crutch and the other in a sling, but he could at least hold on to it to make for an easier transaction.

“Paper!” he called. “Paper! Man gets--uh, murder! Just last night, murder of . . . a child! You heard it here!”

Davey threw him a disbelieving look. “That isn’t what it says at all.”

Crutchie shrugged. “I didn’t read it.”

Davey sighed, showed him the headline. Something about the governor giving a speech. Boring. “Is there anythin’ better in there?” Crutchie asked hopefully. Davey nodded, flipping open the paper to an article about a fire at the carnival the night before. That was useful.

“Three children, stranded on the ferris wheel for hours!” Crutchie shouted, not bothering to read the rest of the article. Davey burst out laughing, but made a call of his own.

“Fairgrounds on fire, parents abandoning their own children to escape! Read the story here!”

Soon enough, Davey had a customer, then Crutchie did as well. An older gentleman, one who looked at him as if he was diseased. Crutchie tried to smile, but couldn’t make his mouth muscles work. Right, his face was still quite the sight. Not to mention the way he leaned heavily on his crutch, or his immobilized right arm. Still, the man dropped a penny in his left hand (briefly removed from the handle of his crutch) and yanked the paper away from him before hurrying off. Crutchie tucked the coin into his pocket. Only nine more to sell.

Why did nine papers weigh his bag down so much?

Next was the woman he’d seen Buttons selling to the previous week, and she greeted Crutchie with enthusiasm, going so far as to hug him (Crutchie gripped his crutch as tightly as his bruised fingers would allow to keep from making a noise). When she pulled back, her smile froze, truly taking him in.

“Why, Crutchie! Was this all from that children’s strike?” she asked, clearly shocked.

Crutchie didn’t know quite what to say. The hug had startled him, jostled his healing ribs, and he couldn’t quite get words to form. “Uh, no, Miss,” he stuttered, offering a paper. “Got unjustly arrested an’ the like.”

She gasped, leaning closer instead of taking it from him. “Did the police--?”

“Not exactly, ma’am,” Crutchie said. He stepped back to put a little distance between them. “But I’s all right now, it’s good ta see ya again--”

“It was that Snyder, with his children’s jail, wasn’t it?” she asked, and Crutchie’s heart skipped a beat. Mentioning Snyder was not good, not at all, never. In fact, the hairs on the back of Crutchie’s neck rose as he realized--Snyder could be on this very street, he could be anywhere--Crutchie looked around, searching for that bowler hat, those hands always ready to grab--

“Whatever happened, it is so good to see you again, Crutchie,” the lady was saying. She handed him a coin and gently pried the paper from his grip. Crutchie managed to nod at her, still checking everyone on the street. He was here, somewhere, he could feel it. Snyder was one of these people, hurrying by on their way to work or wherever they were headed, and he would spot him if he moved and drag him back there--

“Crutchie? You doing all right?”

Crutchie ignored David, doing his best to examine everyone while also not moving at all. His legs ached, but his back was screaming to not lean against the wall again. Knowing that Snyder was near seemed to be aggravating it, the memories of being whipped so near to his mind.

“Crutchie, if you pass out, Jack is going to kill me.”

“I’m fine,” Crutchie forced himself to say. It came out as a hoarse whisper, almost silent. He cleared his throat and turned to Davey, who was watching him with a considerable amount of concern. “I’m good,” he said louder, every nerve of his body jangling in alarm. He ignored it. “Jus’ . . . got distracted. Is all.”

Davey nodded slowly, brows furrowed. “If you say so,” he said. “But if somethin’ happens, I’m telling Jack it was your fault.”

Crutchie forced himself to laugh, knowing he wasn’t even smiling. Luckily, Davey seemed satisfied and went back to his business. Crutchie looked down to slip the coin into his pocket--a quarter?

A whole quarter?

He stared at it, mouth falling open slightly. The most he’d ever gotten for one pape, on the best day, was a dime.

“Dave--” but Davey was busy, interacting with a customer. Crutchie swallowed, then dropped the quarter in his pocket. It added a strange weight, clearly separate from the penny already there. Even at his most pitiful, he’d never gotten a quarter for a single pape!

He must look pretty bad, then.

Crutchie sold four more papers, three of them to regulars who sought him out. Each of those three gave him more than the penny price, leaving Crutchie almost wishing that he had bargained with Jack for more than ten papes. He was making bank today.

After the eighth paper was sold for a nickel, though, Crutchie realized he wasn’t going to be standing for much longer. His body pulsed painfully with each pump of his heart, he was emotionally exhausted from his constant scans for Snyder--he knew he was here, somewhere, just out of sight, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce--and although it hurt his pride something awful, he knew it was time to tell Davey he needed to go. If he could stay, he would, but Jack would tie him down to his bed to keep him from going out tomorrow if he worked himself too hard today. He couldn’t risk it.

Crutchie waited patiently as Davey finished up a sale, then nudged his shoulder. All it took was one glance at Crutchie’s face for Davey to nod.

“You need to get back in bed,” he said, before Crutchie could even say anything. “Let me go tell Jack we’re heading back. Sit down, okay?”

Davey helped Crutchie lower himself to the curb, then looked around for a few seconds before heading off in a random direction. Crutchie tried not to freak out too much--not having Davey here didn’t make him much of an easier target, right?

It did, actually. So did sitting down. Not selling did as well, made him less noticeable to everyone around. He couldn’t--he was going to vanish, just like so many others, just like Albert that one time, but unlike Albert he couldn’t run away. If Snyder dragged him away right now, he wasn’t even sure that he’d be able to scream for help.

“You sellin’ today’s paper, boy?” A rough voice from above asked.

Crutchie looked up (how long had he been staring at his shoes?) to see a construction worker, holding out a penny. Crutchie nodded wordlessly, struggled with his bag for a few long moments, finally extracted a newspaper to hand to the man. The man coughed into the paper, dropped the penny into Crutchie’s open hand, then hauled off.

Crutchie vaguely hoped he didn’t get sick. He always seemed so much more likely to pick up any illness on the street than the other boys--something to do with his bad leg, probably. In his current weakened state, a bad cold might be enough to push him over the edge.

He still had one paper left--right? He could sell it while Davey was gone. No, wait, he had to save one for Mr. Myers, at the bakery. And one for Dr. Ellis, over at his office a few blocks away. He only had one, though--how was he supposed to get one for both of them? He couldn’t choose between them, they were both his loyal customers and now that he was out here he had to sell to them or else they might think he was ignoring them. What should he do? What could he do?

Crutchie glimpsed a bowler hat before it passed into an alley, bobbing out of view. He froze, even stopped breathing. If he didn’t move, maybe Snyder wouldn’t notice him. He wanted that, right? But maybe if he made a sound, maybe if he was noticeable enough, Snyder would open the door to the closet and let him see some light again, maybe even give him some water if he was feeling kind, maybe even let him out.

But was the risk of being stomped into the floor worth it? That was more likely to happen, what happened any time he got too loud. Sure, it broke up the monotony, gave him a point to focus on, but every attack brought him closer to the end. Was that what he wanted?

Was it?

It didn’t matter right now. Instinct kicked in and Crutchie huddled in closer around himself, protecting the most vulnerable parts of his body. He could stay safe if he was quiet and small, that had always worked. Back when he’d been a beggar on the streets, he’d avoided the bulls by making himself as unnoticeable as possible, tucked into the corner of an alley, mixed in the middle of a crowd of tall folk. It was a tactic that had always worked, it had to be of some use here.

Crutchie didn’t know how long he sat on the curb, head tucked into his knees and arms wrapped around himself. All he knew is that the world grew muted, the sound becoming as empty as the darkness of his closed eyes. His heart seemed to pound in his throat, blocking it and effectively silencing him. There was nothing but himself, his heartbeat, and Snyder--lurking nearby, waiting for him to make the first move and condemn himself.

He was crying, Crutchie realized distantly--only because his nose had begun to block up. He couldn’t open his mouth, couldn’t risk the sound--but he couldn’t breathe, not with his nose blocked, but he couldn’t open his mouth--

A hand--no, no, no--landed on his shoulder, fingers burning into him with a vicious pain, and Crutchie rolled away as well as he could--head knocking into something hard, bad arm and leg twinging as they got caught under his weight--knowing he was in trouble. He was in trouble for not breathing, for trying to escape, for existing--

Blood thrummed in his ears, growing louder and louder and louder as Crutchie coughed, choking on dust, and hands grabbed him again--so rough, just to drag him back to face more abuse--and yanked him by the back of his shirt, his legs kicking out desperately.

They let him go almost immediately, though, and Crutchie cringed, waiting--waiting . . . waiting for nothing? He drew in a shallow breath, ribs aching slightly, and forced his eyes open.

For a moment, the dim figure of one of Snyder’s thugs stood above him, rubbing his hands together, but Crutchie flinched and there was Jack, his face starkly pale, eyes rimmed with red.

“What was you thinkin’?” Jack yelled, breaking the muffled silence. Crutchie’s hand came up involuntarily to cover his ears--Jack speaking was like a dam bursting, and the cacophony of noise from his environment caught up all at once. “Rollin’ out into the road like that, ya nearly got yourself killed!”

Crutchie stared up at Jack, confused. He didn’t really . . . know where he was. Somewhere loud, unbearably loud, but unknown. As he came to that fact, Crutchie’s breath caught in his throat. Why didn’t he know where he was? He sniffled, trying to not cry even more. He didn’t know where he was and he was sure Snyder was nearby and Jack was mad at him, all of which was wrong in every sort of way. What was happening?

Crutchie noticed Davey behind Jack, holding Les’s hand and looking more scared than Crutchie had ever seen him. Why was he scared? Was Snyder behind him?

He glanced over his shoulder, heart racing, eyes scanning compulsively for a sign of the man. Nothing. Maybe--no, nothing. Well, not nothing, but no him. There were plenty of people, which explained why it was so loud.

“It’s okay, Crutch,” Jack said, and Crutchie looked back up at him. He seemed sad, now, less angry. “Sorry I yelled. But you gotta stay outta the road, okay? You was almost ran over.”

A tear slipped out of the corner of Crutchie’s eye, despite his best efforts to hold it back. He didn’t know what Jack was talking about. None of this made sense and he just wanted to go home. When could he go home?

“Can I touch ya, ta help you up?” Jack asked, crouching down. Crutchie nodded, wiping his eyes on his sling. Even with the warning, Crutchie shuddered when Jack reached under his arms to help him stand. Les handed him his crutch--why did Les have it?--and then he was stumbling off, Jack at his side.

Crutchie was shaking so much that he could barely stay upright, not helped by the fact that Jack had a hand on his back. All it did was put him on edge, anticipating a push to the ground. He knew Jack would never, but he couldn’t help but believe it would happen.

He wasn’t quite sure where they were going, but he hoped it was home. Everything was so loud and unfamiliar and overwhelming right now, and he just wanted to go to sleep.

“Ain’t all here, are ya?” Jack huffed. Crutchie nodded, then shook his head, confused as to what Jack was asking. Yes, he wasn’t exactly present; or no, he wasn’t exactly present? He didn’t know which answer made more sense.

They were moving slowly--Crutchie’s bad leg was seizing, his right wobbly. His back and ribs burned with every movement, leaving him gasping for breath in a matter of minutes. Something that was digging uncomfortably into his right shoulder slipped and fell, his belated efforts to catch it inhibited by the sling pressing his arm to his chest.

They halted for a moment, Jack picking up the thing--his bag, Crutchie registered--and swinging it over his own shoulder before wrapping his arm around Crutchie’s lower back, supporting him under his arms. Crutchie gasped as adrenaline pumped through his body, but tried to shake it off. This was Jack. Jack wouldn’t hurt him. Knowing that didn’t help clear his head, though, nor did it keep him from trembling.

“It’s okay, you’s okay,” Jack muttered, helping him along the moderately busy sidewalk. “Just keep movin’. We’s goin’ home, okay?”

Crutchie said nothing, just focused on walking. His head really hurt, but he tried to process what had happened. Something about . . . Davey? And selling papes, and . . . he had a decent bit of money, didn’t he? “Jack. . . .”

“Yeah?”

Crutchie bit his lip. “I . . . can afford a bed tonight,” he offered. Jack chuckled tightly.

“Don’t talk about it here, all right?”

What else had happened? Crutchie knew he was missing so much, everything was so cloudy and exhausting and difficult. Something . . . something like. . . .

He caught a whiff of a new scent in the air, one that grew stronger with every step. Bread, freshly baked. It smelled incredible, yet Crutchie felt his stomach turn. It reminded him--

“Jack, Mr. Myers,” he said, looking around until he spotted the bakery, across the street and a few buildings down. “I gotta--I bring him a pape--”

“I’ll get it to ‘im later, all right?” Jack said soothingly. “Don’ worry about it. Right as soon as we got you in bed, I’ll head over.”

Crutchie wanted to do it himself, but he was too tired to argue. Instead, he nodded, and gave more of his weight to Jack.

When they finally reached the lodging house, Crutchie drenched in sweat and panting, Jack not doing much better (in the last leg of the journey, Jack had had to practically carry the boy), Jack let them in and helped Crutchie up the stairs, slowly, laboriously. With care, he laid him in the single bed by the window, where he had spent so many days already.

“I need ya ta sleep now, yeah?” Jack murmured, pulling the curtains closed. Crutchie nodded blearily. It was so warm in here that he couldn’t help but start to nod off already. Maybe everything would make more sense when he woke.

-

Jack fell into the chair that he usually did as soon as Crutchie’s breathing evened out. It hadn’t been too rough of a day selling, at least for the half hour that he managed before Davey had come to find him. He’d gotten about twenty papes sold, which was surprisingly good for any day. It must have been the cool wind, breaking the heat wave that had been dragging on for days. Now that it wasn’t absolutely sweltering, more people were going places, more people wanted to know what was going on, more people were buying what he was selling.

He needed to get back out there, hawk those headlines, take whatever papes Crutchie didn’t sell and sneak the coins from it into the kid’s pocket later, but he couldn’t make himself leave his side. Jack looked down at Crutchie, the yellowing bruises still marring his young face, and swallowed down a lump in his throat. It was okay, he reminded himself. Crutchie was getting better. Soon the ring of bruises around his neck would fade completely and his ribs would knit themselves back together.

Jack didn’t know much of the extent of Crutchie’s injuries. He knew that both of his legs hurt something awful--his bad leg was expected, but both was . . . unnerving. Distressing. Not being able to walk at all sounded like a nightmare. He knew also that Crutchie had some cracked ribs and fingers along with his broken arm, all of which made Jack grind his teeth angrily. There was something up with his back (whippings, Jack assumed, or maybe Snyder had gotten out that cane) and Jack had seen blood staining the bandage on his chest when his shirt fell open enough, so some sort of cut there as well. But what sent Jack over the edge every time was the sheer amount of bruising on his face and throat.

Sure, the broken nose was tradition, but that had been set well and had almost completely healed by now. Usually Snyder had the guards go a bit easy on the face, though, in case of government inspections. A bloody nose, a bad cut, a couple of bruises--all of those were routine. This painful mural splashed across Crutchie’s face? Entirely out of the ordinary.

There were several identifiable reasons, if one thought about it (which Jack had spent a lot of time doing). The strike, for one--it must've rankled Snyder, to nab only one of the boys responsible, and particularly to miss Jack, even though he had not only been present but leading. And it was also clear that Crutchie was close to Jack, if who he had cried out for had been any sort of evidence. Jack bit his lip as he remembered how near he was, how he could have helped, how he could have been taken in his brother's place. A part of him felt the guilt, the shame that threatened to choke him at the idea of leaving Crutchie there alone. Another part of him, though, felt a sick sense of relief. The combined hate Snyder and Pulitzer held for the union leader would have ended in Jack's death, dragged out and painful, with the strike left in ruins behind him. It couldn't have been him to be taken.

Thinking those thoughts put a bad taste in Jack's mouth. He wasn't any better than any of these boys, deserved the Refuge just as much--and even more--than all of them. Davey would've continued the strike, just as he had when Jack had given up, both times. Katherine had come up with the plan to advertise a childrens' strike. She and Davey, as well as Spot Conlon, would have found a press. Crutchie would've been a decent leader as well, would have kept the boys in line and organized the protesting, while Davey worked things out with Medda to get Roosevelt. The four kids would've made it to Pulitzer's office the same way Jack, Davey, and Conlon had; Crutchie would've made proper deals with the man, Davey and Katherine would've shut down the Refuge, Spot and Crutchie would've called off the strike. And what would happen to Jack, stuck in the Refuge?

Maybe he would've died. Maybe he'd exit as weak as Crutchie had, not even conscious, taking weeks to get back on his feet while life continued around him. Maybe he would walk out, not hurt too badly but skittish and haunted, not fit to lead any longer.

Not that Jack, a two-time traitor, considered himself worthy to lead now.

He needed to tell Crutchie, tell him that he'd scabbed twice. It didn't matter that both times it had been for him, an attempt to protect his brother. Crutchie didn't want that. Jack knew Crutchie like the back of his hand, and the kid would go through all the torture and loneliness and despair again if it guaranteed success for the strike. It was that self-sacrificing quality that made Crutchie so much of a better person. When faced with a threat of possible death, Crutchie would go proudly. Jack would turn tail and run.

"Stupid," Jack muttered, dragging a hand across his face. He didn't know if he was talking about himself or the sleeping boy before him.

-

Specs knew where Jack was going to be without even looking for him--which worked out, because he didn't have the time to search the streets of Manhattan. A bad fight had been on the verge of breaking out when he’d left Romeo and Albert, and Jack was needed as soon as possible.

As expected, Jack was slumped in his usual chair beside a sleeping Crutchie (Specs made a mental note to ask Davey how selling had gone later). He looked up when Specs entered.

“Hey,” Jack said sleepily. He rubbed his eyes, then sat up straighter. “Whaddya need?”

Instead of answering, Specs nodded toward Crutchie. “He all right?”

Jack shrugged. “He didn’ really know where he was,” he said, affecting a tone of unconcern. “Thought he oughtta get back ta bed.”

Specs had never spent time in the Refuge, but he’d helped plenty of newsies recover from their time there. If Jack was having a bad day, he usually shut himself up on the rooftop until he felt in control enough that he wouldn’t seem weak around the others. Others, like Race, would push themselves to work until they ended up so tired they had waking-dreams that they were back there. Based on how Jack was acting, something like that had likely happened to Crutchie. Poor kid.

“Specs, was you gonna ask me somethin’?”

Right. Urgent need and all that. “Uh, yeah,” Specs said. He adjusted his spectacles as casually as possible. “Queens ain’t all that happy with somethin’, they wanna see you.”

Jack glanced at Crutchie, then back at Specs, biting his lip. Jack was nervous, Specs realized with a bit of a jolt, something that Jack wasn’t very often. Never before the strike had Jack ever shown that sort of weakness. Not to him, at least. Certainly not to most of the other boys. Not until Crutchie had been taken, Romeo smashed into the ground, Specs himself slammed so hard into a fire escape that his poor head was spinning. They’d never taken that bad of a beating, and it had shaken Jack badly--Specs had noticed it right away, when he found him at the theater.

“Can it wait?” asked Jack, once again looking at Crutchie. The boy was sleeping peacefully, but Specs didn’t let his eyes linger on his face for long. The still-fading bruises made him feel sick in his bones.

“Uh, not really?” Specs said cautiously. “They looked about ready to soak Al and Romeo, so it’s a bit needing-you.”

Jack groaned, running a hand along his cheek. There was stubble there, Specs noticed. Not for the first time, he wondered who would take over when Jack aged out. It might even be sooner than expected, given his scabbing tendencies. “Can I send you in my place?”

“They sent me ta get you, so. . . .”

Jack dropped his face into his hands, letting out a long breath. Specs shifted nervously. He really didn’t want to see Jack cry, not again. Not to mention, they really didn’t have time. The fight was definitely picked by a couple of boys from Queens, but they had a pretty fair claim that Romeo had instigated it, and Albert had made it worse by coming to his defense. The Queens boys had agreed to make a truce with Jack, and Jack alone--and even then, they had terms to declare. Because of course they did. Because of course one of the boys who had taken offense to Romeo stepping onto their turf had been the leader of Queens.

Jack mumbled something. Specs leaned closer, waited, then had just made up his mind to ask what he’d said when Jack sat up, staring out the window and into the sky.

“No, he’s so new ta this still, he ain’t gonna know how ta settle this,” Jack said, his voice sounding almost raw.

“They did sp’fically ask for ya,” Specs added helpfully. “They ain’t gonna sort this out with anyone else.”

Jack didn’t answer for a long time, so long that Specs started to wonder if he hadn’t heard. When he did, though, his voice was quiet, trembling. “I--I can’t leave him.”

As if sensing he was being spoken about, Crutchie inhaled sharply in his sleep, then shifted a little. Jack froze, watching him carefully. Crutchie, however, did not wake, just sighed quietly and lay still once again.

Specs hopped from foot to foot, curling his toes in his new (to him) pair of shoes. Every minute spent was another that could be a fight breaking out, a punch being thrown, a newsie being shoved to the ground. He hated fights these days, hated to hear of  his friends being in danger. They didn't have the time for Jack's comfort.

"I saw Buttons on my way in, maybe I can ask him ta sell right on the door?" he suggested. Jack continued to stare at Crutchie. Whatever he was thinking about, it didn't show on his face.

"And ya know what, I can prolly find Tommy Boy and ask him ta sell with Buttons, that way you gets some muscle by the door. Sounds good? Ready ta go?"

"I don' want 'im ta wake up alone," Jack whispered pitifully. Specs resisted the urge to groan. Jack had always been protective of all of them, but right now he was acting all soft in the head. Refuge or no, Crutchie could take care of himself, and always had. It was common knowledge that Jack and Crutchie were closer than most of the others, the closeness of Mike and Ike without the rivalry. Other than Race a few times (when he was fresh from the Refuge), Crutchie was the only one to sleep on the rooftop with Jack. 

Some of the boys had thought that maybe something was going on between them, Specs included. Race had assured him it was untrue, but there hadn't been much in the way of proof to the contrary. Even now, now that Jack was maybe Katherine's beau, Specs wasn't sure that he and Crutchie hadn't been misbehaving together. Maybe he should ask one of them, something that for whatever reason had never been an option before. Probably not Jack, seeing how he seemed to be falling apart lately. Crutchie might welcome conversation not focusing on his injuries.

"Okay. Show me where they are, get Buttons and Tommy, then get back ta work, yeah?"

Specs snapped out of his thoughts to see Jack standing, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He’d have to find time when Jack wasn’t with Crutchie to talk to him, but right now he needed to help Jack break up a fight.

[durmstrange]

Out of the Loop - Draco Malfoy

Welcome back!  This blurb is cute and I appreciate it and snow so greatly.  

Enjoy!

word count: 2,020

There was a knot in your throat as you wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck as you stepped out in the snow, walking towards the hopefully warm greenhouse for class.  Your hands were under your robes, trying to keep yourself warm while you were attempting to balance the strap of your bag on your shoulder.  You walked in solitude, due to being rather early to class, and hurried along the snow covered path.  

The large, fluffy flakes were coming down rapidly, quickly building on the ground and causing you to slip every so often.  There was already a thick blanket of snow on the ground, and you were sure that by dinner it would be feet of snow.  You were excited for this because you loved snow and the cold with all your heart, and you would never not enjoy it falling so peacefully.  Even if you had to go to classes and you felt like you could pass out at any moment.

It felt like ages until you were finally opening the door to the greenhouse and you were immediately enveloped in the warmth provided by a large, steel fireplace in the corner.  You hummed as you removed your heavy Ravenclaw cloak from your shoulders and scarf, hanging them on a long row of coat hooks, and made your way towards the stool you sat on all year.  Once you sat down, a yawn escaped your lips and you rested your head in your hands with your elbows on the table.  You could fall asleep right there, given the fact that you were up late the previous night studying for the Potions test you were to have later today, which made you feel like a stereotypical Ravenclaw.

You waited patiently for your friends to arrive, but given you were so early, you were unsure of how long you were going to be alone.  Evidently, it wasn’t too long, as a Slytherin student by the name of Draco Malfoy entered. You knew who he was simply though the grapevine, and this made you weary to be in the same room as him, alone.  You swallowed hard as his eyes found yours,causing you to duck your head and look away from his gaze.  

The only noise in the room was the crackling fireplace and the leaves of various plants rustling by themselves.  It was a homelike feeling and noise, and you enjoyed it thoroughly, even when in the company of someone rather stiff.  

Draco walked through the greenhouse, towards you, as you refused to look at him.  He sat down not far from you, on the other side of the table, and watched you carefully.  Still, you didn’t look at him as you began to remove your supplies from your bag.  

“You look like death.”

The comment made you glance up, surprised and alarmed.  You stared at Draco, who simply stared back with a blank look of his face, and your mouth fell open.  “P-Pardon?”  You stammered out, trying to comprehend his words.  

Slowly, he nodded.  “Death.  You look like death.  Did you even sleep last night?”  He questioned you with a bored look on his face.  

You shook your head.  “No, actually.  I was studying for the Potions test today.  Why do I look like death?”  You asked in rebuttal with wide eyes.  

Draco shrugged.  “The dark circles around your eyes are alarmingly noticeable,” he replied in a mutter and you touched your face unconsciously.  A frown tore through your face as you hung your head, sighing gently.  Draco watched you do this an an odd look crossed his face.  “I’m not trying to tell you that you look bad or anything.  Just tired,” he added with an annoyed look forming on his face.  

“I am,” you confirmed his suspicions weakly without glancing up at him.  

It was silent for a few moments as Draco assessed the situation.  He watched as you glanced at him every so often, as if you were waiting for him to make another mean comment.  Little did you know, that was not coming.  Draco looked at the saddened look on your face and he sighed lightly.  “I didn’t offend you, did I?”  He asked you suddenly and you looked up, surprised.  

With a small laugh that came out shaky and nervous, you shook your head. “No.  Not when it is the truth.  Besides, I feel like death as well,” you told him and a small smirk formed on his lips.  

“You don’t look like death.  You just appear to be extremely tired.  You’re still very beautiful,” Draco said, alarming even himself.

Your mouth fell open in surprise and you smiled softly.  “That is very kind of you to say,” you murmured gently and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.  You struggled to come up with something or anything to change the subject, and with a quick glance at your watch, you said the first thing that came to your mind.  “It’s quite odd that there isn’t anyone else here, isn’t it?”  You asked Draco quickly without meeting his gaze.  You fiddled with the watch on your wrist nervously.

Draco glanced at his watch as well, and nodded. “It is quite odd.  Perhaps class is being hosted in another greenhouse today?”  He suggested and you glanced out of the door.  

“Perhaps,” you answered airily as you stood and moved to the door and gazing out of it.  

Draco was silent as he watched you crane your neck to look outside into the blizzard.  A smirk formed on is face as you stood on your toes to look.  “What are you doing?”  He asked you with a chuckle in his voice.  

You glanced back at him, blushing, but with a smile on your face. “It seems as if class has been cancelled.  It should have started some time ago, and the snow is piling up rather quick,” you explained and moved back to your spot, packing your belongings up.  

He watched you do this, with interested eyes and an amused smirk on his face.  You packed your belongings back into your bag and looked up at Draco.  “Are you leaving?”  Draco asked you as he rested his head in his hands and his elbows on the table.  

“I was planning on it,” you answered him with a laugh and twinkling eyes.  “I really do love the snow.  Would you like to walk with me?”  You asked him hopefully and shyly, and the amused look on his face refuse to stop.  

Draco checked his watch and sighed.  “I suppose I could.”  His voice was prideful as you pulled your cloak on and wrapped your scarf around your neck.  Draco followed in suit, bundling up and waiting as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder.  “Quite cold outside; do you not have a hat or gloves?”  Draco asked you with his eyebrows knitted together.

With a blush, you shook your head.  “I don’t,” you answered simply as Draco held the door open for you.  

Without much hesitation, as soon as the door closed, Draco removed the lined black gloves he wore and held them out to you.  You opened your mouth to protest, but a stern look shut you up immediately.  “It seems you need it more than I do,” he insisted and a blush rose to your cheeks immediately.  

“Thank you, so much.”  Your voice was quiet and sweet as you did your best to avoid eye contact with him.  You pulled the gloves onto your hands as you and Draco began walking down the path towards the castle.  Immediately, when the warmth resonated in your bones, you hummed.  

The two of you walked in silence as you marveled up at the snow falling, taking in the beautiful scenery happily.  Both sets of feet left deep footprints in the shin-high snow, and you began to struggle to walk a little bit.  It did not help that it had rained first, so there was a slick layer of ice on the bottom of the fluffy snow.  

Draco glanced at you, all wrapped up and smiling gently, and he couldn’t help the words that fell out of his mouth.  “Why have I not noticed you before?”  He questioned with a perplexed look on his face.  

You blushed, and shrugged your shoulders as you walked slowly.  “I’m not sure.  Ignorance, perhaps?”  You joked with a growing smile on your face.

Draco chuckled and shook his head.  “Perhaps,” he agreed and you couldn’t help but to giggle as you walked.  

You opened your mouth to speak again, but before you could, your feet slipped beneath you.  Draco grabbed your arm in an attempt to steady you, but you only brought him down with you.  You both landed in the fluffy snow with a poof of white, and your face went deathly pale. You had landed half on top of him, much to your dismay.  “I am so sorry!”  You said quickly and moved off of him and tried to get to your feet, but his hand gripped your wrist and yanked you back down into the snow next to him.  

A throaty laugh came from his throat, and your eyes widened, but a smile formed on your face as you flung snow on him.  “You don’t need to apologize.  You give me a sense of relaxation that I have not felt in so long,” Draco told you with a smile on his face.  You blushed, but adored what he had to say, but was at a loss of words.  He continued, sitting up in the snow.  “It is something I have needed for a while now, and I am in debt to you because of it.”  He stood, holding his hand out to you.  

With a nervous laugh, you took his hand and he helped you up.  “That is not necessary.  It feels nice to be able to make someone’s day even just a little better,” you assured him as the two of you began walking again.

Draco hummed in response as you approached the castle doors. He hesitated for a moment, coming to a stop, and causing you to do the same. You watched him curiously, waiting for him to say something. He put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the snow falling. “I assume you already know that I am not the most adored person in Hogwarts.” Draco scowled as you nodded slowly, unsure of what he was getting at.

“I’ve heard a few things, yes,” you answered honestly and knitted your eyebrows together in confusion.

He cleared his throat and finally looked you in the eyes. “I’ve been having a hard time lately, and I quite enjoy your company. I’d really be disappointed if you didn’t want to see me again, but I do understand.” Draco’s voice was disappointed and soft, and your heart fluttered at his words. He was so kind, and so misunderstood, and perhaps a little mislead, but he was a human nonetheless and he was a human that you already appreciated greatly.

You smiled, and removed his glove from your hand. You reached forward, extending your hand for Draco to take. He hesitated a moment before placing his cold, much larger hand in yours. “I’m not going to let some silly reputation keep me from someone who is so kind to me and makes me happy. I would love to see you again, no matter what other people say.” Your own voice was delicate and reassuring, something you were sure Draco needed at the moment.  You squeezed his hand lightly, pulling him towards you quickly.

He was stiff as you wrapped your arms around his waist, squeezing him gently and resting your head in his chest. For a moment, Draco was as stiff as a statue until he adjusted to the contact he was rather not used to. Then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, burying his face into your hair and smiling. “You’re a wonder,” Draco mumbled into your hair, and a smiled spread on your face.

“I thought you said I looked like death?”

[themurphyzone]

Pinky the Snowmouse Ch 2

AN: I’m glad people like this idea so much. Sorry for calling you ugly in the last chapter, Brain. You’re adorable and I love you.

Ch 2: A Jolly, Happy Soul 

AO3 Link

Brain laid on his back in the cold snow, staring up at the snowmouse that was now moving and talking so fast that not even his logical mind could comprehend anything he was saying. 

“Happy birthday! Or happy early or belated birthday! Sorry, I don’t know when yours is!” the snowmouse exclaimed as he danced around with his stick arms in the chilly December air. He pirouetted and sashayed with ease, like he hardly weighed anything at all. 

“Surely, I ate a bad food pellet. Or a piece of moldy cheese. Perhaps indigestion or a nutrition deficiency,” Brain murmured. He didn’t bother getting up. His mind was overstimulated and he just needed the snow to numb his neurons. 

“I’m alive! I’m actually, really, truly alive!” the snowmouse trilled in a strange Cockney accent. “Egad, I can dance the Macarena and sing Joy to the World! Joy to the world, narf narf narf narf! Oh...well, I could sing if I knew the rest of the lyrics. But I do know the continents! There’s Antelope, Liverpool, Gobbledegook, Aloe Vera, Recess, Narnia, and Char-ooh, are you making a snow angel? That’s brilliant! I’ll make a snow angel too!” 

The snowmouse flopped down next to Brain, spraying snow everywhere as his limbs and tail flailed in every direction. 

Brain inclined his head towards the strange entity, shielding his eyes from the onslaught of snow. He expected the snowmouse to sink into the ground, leaving no trace of his existence behind. 

But the snowmouse didn’t disappear. 

“Well, there’s my angel!” the snowmouse said, blithely hopping to his feet. “Lovely, isn’t he? Anyway, let’s see yours!”  

The snowmouse had left an imprint behind. Brain could only stare at the newly formed snow angel. He didn’t move. He hadn’t yet determined if the imprint was real or if it was just an illusion. 

“Er...do you need instructions?” the snowmouse asked. “It’s really easy. All you have to do is swish your arms and-” 

“I don’t require instructions for such a frivolous concept!” Brain snapped as he leapt to his feet and pushed past the snowmouse. “And certainly not from a geographically challenged lump of frozen water.” 

He grabbed the string that was attached to the windowsill and hauled himself up, intending to go back into the lab and continue his plans for world domination. But a stick arm grabbed hold of the string just above his head, stopping him in his tracks when he was just a few inches off the ground. He clung to the string, glaring at the snowmouse who refused to leave him alone. 

“But I can play and move and talk just like you,” the snowmouse said quietly. His earlier playfulness vanished, an odd tinge of hurt in his tone. 

“Because you’re nothing more than a hallucination,” Brain replied. “Either from sensory deprivation or dehydration. Both conditions could potentially cause vision disturbances.” 

The snowmouse wiped his eye, several ice crystals collecting on the tip of his finger. But it was the high-pitched, broken whimper that made Brain pause when he was halfway up the string.

Could hallucinations make those noises? It sounded agonizingly real. 

And the snowmouse was still holding the string, which made it strangely easy for Brain to climb up without exerting himself too much. 

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to slide to the ground instead of going inside, but perhaps the snowmouse deserved a chance to prove his existence. 

“Listen, I’ll give you an opportunity to prove that you’re corporeal if you’ll stop crying,” Brain sighed. He hoped that would do the trick. He’d never been great at stopping tears.  

The snowmouse dabbed his eyes with his scarf, looking rather confused. “But I’m not in the military.” 

Perhaps the migraine he was currently developing was proof enough. 

“That’s a corporal, and this test has nothing to do with the military,” Brain explained. He pointed to the string in the snowmouse’s hand. “Tug that as hard as you can. If you’re real, the string will follow the laws of physics. If you’re not, the string won’t react at all.”

“Tug o’ war with the window latch! This’ll be fun!” the snowmouse exclaimed, his twig tail perking up, even though it lacked the proper musculature to behave like a real mouse tail. 

It seemed his emotions changed as easily as water. Flowing from joy to sorrow, then back to joy. 

The snowmouse took hold of the string. “One, ninety-six, three hundred and nine!” he called, yanking the string so hard that there was a distinctive snap, and the end that was attached to the latch fell to the ground.

Though part of Brain wanted to blame it on the wind, logically he knew the wind couldn’t have caused that snapping noise. And the frayed tip could only result from a sufficient, deliberate force applied from the opposite direction. 

There were no other possibilities to explain what he’d just seen and heard.

Which meant…

“You’re actually real,” Brain said breathlessly, unable to take his eyes off the frayed string. He touched several of the individual fibers that stuck out in every direction, and they weren’t an optical illusion. 

“Told you so!” The snowmouse twirled around on one foot as he tried to catch snowflakes in his mouth. 

"How are you alive though?" Brain asked. Nobody else's snow structures came to life. So why his? 

"How?" The snowmouse stopped twirling and grinned at Brain. "That's easy! You made a wish on Christmas snow!" 

What a ludicrous concept. 

"I don't believe in wishes," Brain scoffed. "And Christmas snow isn't any different from any other kind of snow either. The only difference is that you've proven you can affect the real world and I intend to find a logical explanation for it." 

"But it's true that Christmas snow makes all your hopes and dreams come to life!" the snowmouse said, leaning in so close that Brain had to step back to avoid the frosty breath against his face. “Don’t you have something you want more than anything else?” 

“I desire the world, but wishing on stars isn’t going to help me acquire it,” Brain admitted. 

The snowmouse tilted his head. “Have you ever tried wishing on a star?” 

Several times, when he was younger and more naive. When he believed that moronic Disney tagline of wishing on stars to make his dreams come true. 

Though he wanted to dismiss the foolish notion entirely, part of him wondered if he still had that childhood naivety somewhere. But there comes a time when everyone realized how cruel and harsh the world could truly be, and that innocence was forever lost. He was no exception. 

“I want that explanation, snowmouse,” Brain sighed. A change in subject was in order. It occurred to him that the snowmouse had no name either. And if he was going to be alive, then he needed one. But that could be remedied later. 

To figure out how the snowmouse was alive, he figured his best option was to retrace the creation process. 

“I rolled the main body first,” Brain said as he gathered a handful of snow into a pile. “Then I added a tail and legs.” 

The snowmouse tossed his own snow onto the mound, and Brain shooed him off. He didn’t want anyone disturbing his replica. 

Next came the head and ears. The snowmouse clapped his hands together. “It’s a very nice snow leopard! I’m calling her Stripes!” 

It didn’t resemble a snow leopard at all. Just a rough facsimile of the living snowmouse in front of him. 

“This is where your silk hat blew over with all your non-snow components,” Brain said. 

But the snowmouse wasn’t paying attention. “Lalala! Stripes the snow leopard was a happy, jolly leopard!” he singsonged as he wrapped his scarf around the lifeless mound of snow. 

“Cease your nonsense! I’m pondering,” Brain snapped. 

The snowmouse’s song trailed off into a soft hum, which wasn’t as disruptive, so Brain let it slide. 

“Zort! She needs a hat!” the snowmouse declared, and he removed the black silk hat from his head. 

And then he froze, the hat hooked on his fingers, just inches away from the so-called snow leopard’s head. His gravity-defying tail fell limp, his blue eyes nothing more than a pair of pebbles.

Cautiously, Brain prodded the snowmouse’s belly. No response. 

“Snowmouse?” Brain asked. “If you can hear me, say any of your nonsensical phrases.” 

But there was only the howling wind and engine noises from the slow-moving cars on the road. 

The once-lively, dancing, jolly to a fault snowmouse was silent and still. 

It was...uncanny. Disturbing. Quiet. 

An odd pang of loneliness crept into his chest and remained there. Though annoying, the snowmouse wasn’t bad company. 

The snowmouse didn’t become inanimate until he took off the hat. 

With trembling fingers, Brain lifted the hat off the snowmouse and examined it thoroughly. Could there be a degree of truth in that incompetent magician’s claim? 

He stared at the old silk hat with the pink flower. Then he looked at the unmoving snowmouse. Though the hat would be a valuable asset in world domination, he didn’t know how its magic worked. If it was unreliable for Hinkle, he wasn’t sure if it would work for him. 

And it just seemed to belong to the snowmouse. 

Brain placed the hat back on the snowmouse’s head, and a flurry of snowflakes swirled around his form. The tail lifted, the pebbles became a pair of blue eyes, and his arms cheerfully waved. 

“Happy birthday!” the snowmouse exclaimed as he did several pirouettes in a row. To Brain’s relief, he was skipping around without a care in the world. “Happy Valentine’s! Happy Opposite Day!” 

Brain took the scarf from the replica and threw it around the snowmouse’s shoulders. “I figured it out,” he announced. “The hat’s animating you.” 

The snowmouse’s eyes brightened. “Really? Narf! I thought I was animated by a bunch of overseas studios!” 

For the sake of his sanity, he was definitely better off ignoring some of the things that came out of the snowmouse’s mouth. Apparently, magic hats didn’t grant intelligence along with sentience. 

But he could finally move onto naming his creation. 

“You’ll need a name,” Brain said. “I can’t keep calling you snowmouse.” 

“How ‘bout Sam? Or Olaf?” the snowmouse suggested.

Brain shook his head. “You don’t resemble a Sam. And I refuse to call you Olaf.” 

“Hmmm, okay...call me Oatmeal then!” The snowmouse placed his hands on his hips, like he was actually proud of being named after a breakfast food. 

“Absolutely not,” Brain said. Since the snowmouse couldn’t come up with anything suitable, the responsibility of a name fell to Brain. 

The snowmouse’s simple nature would make him unfit for being named after any part of the brain. And Brain didn’t really care for winter-associated names either. 

A physical attribute would have to do. 

As the snowmouse waited for his name, he rocked back and forth on his heels, the pink scarf and flower swaying with the motion. Pink was for innocence and playfulness. 

“I’m naming you Pinky,” Brain declared. 

“Pinky,” the snowmouse tested his newly-bestowed name. “Pinky. Pinky! Egad, you’re very good at this naming business...er, I never got your name?” 

“The Brain.” 

Pinky grabbed Brain’s arm and shook it vigorously. “Well, thank you very much for naming me, the Brain!” 

Brain pulled away and clamped down on his still-vibrating arm with his other hand. “You don’t have to tack ‘the’ on every time. That’s reserved for more important functions. Just Brain will do.” 

“Okay, Just Brain!” Pinky giggled. 

Brain rolled his eyes. “Now that we’ve taken care of important matters—umph!” 

He was hushed with a twig finger over his mouth. 

Pinky tilted his head from side to side, taking in their surroundings curiously. “Where are those pretty bell sounds coming from, Brain?” 

Brain shoved Pinky’s finger off his mouth. His ears twitched at the sound of bells and carols in the distance. Despite the below freezing temperature, the sound was joyful, welcoming, and somewhat cacophonic. 

“It’s from the town square. It’s just your typical Christmas fanfare for when they light the tree once darkness falls,” Brain said. With the overcast sky, it wouldn’t be long before dark. Most cities had a giant Christmas tree as decor for the holiday season. It wasn’t anything special or unique. The reminders for the event were posted all over the place. 

“Narf! A Christmas tree lighting!” Pinky gasped, clasping his hands in excitement. “Have you ever seen such a beautiful sight before?” 

Brain had passed by the tree many times in the past few weeks during his nightly quests for world domination. It was just a large tree with added baubles and lights. No different from any other Christmas tree. 

“They light the tree every night throughout December. I doubt it’s worth the excitement. But the light from the tree is so great that the lampposts in that area don’t need to be turned on for visibility,” Brain said. 

Though he had far more pertinent matters to attend to, Pinky was far too enamored by thoughts of the Christmas tree lighting. Brain had the feeling he’d be dragged into this while kicking and screaming. 

“Then what are we standing around here for, Brain?” Pinky cheered as he pulled away from Brain and recklessly darted towards the street. “Follow me! O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree, lalalalala!”

“Pinky, stop!” Brain shouted, running after him at a speed he never knew he was capable of. His fingers closed around the back of Pinky’s scarf and hauled him back, just before a plow could smash into him at full force. 

Breathing heavily, Brain watched as the plow barreled down the street, steadily pushing snow as it disappeared around a corner. 

He crossed his arms and glared at Pinky for his lack of awareness. The only sound was the distant sleigh bells. 

“Um....on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t follow me.” Pinky ducked his head sheepishly. “Thanks.” 

“First sensible thing you’ve said in your entire existence,” Brain sighed, clutching his chest as his heart rate went back to normal. “If you want to survive long enough to see the lighting, I suppose I have no choice but to come with you.” 

“Pretty lights, here we come!” Pinky perked up and took off running, thankfully staying on the sidewalk this time. 

Unfortunately, Pinky was too caught up in Christmas festivities to notice something so vitally important. 

“You’re going the wrong way!”  

End AN: Decided to split this chapter so that Pinky’s introduction and the events at the city square are separate.

I just think it’s cute how Frosty’s first words are ‘happy birthday’, so I kept that intact. Similarly, he can’t count either. Sam the Snowman is the name of the narrator of Rankin Bass’ Rudolph. And I had to include the gag where the weird kid tries to name Frosty ‘Oatmeal’. I just find it funny. And I have no idea where Olaf is from.

Some elements of Christmas Carol and Polar Express kinda snuck their way in (sue me, but not really cause I’m not doing this for profit.) The 1984 Christmas Carol movie and Polar Express are my favorite Christmas movies, mostly with Brain thinking he ate something bad that caused him to hallucinate a snowmouse coming to life.

Also borrowed a gag from the Phineas and Ferb Christmas Vacation special (also a favorite!) with Pinky nearly getting run over by a snow plow. I can’t help but laugh at that Frosty gag every time I see it.

[thesetrashimagines]

The Man

A Peaky Blinders imagine (reader insert)

Warnings: fighting, blood, bullet wounds, swearing, murder.

GIF is not mine!

Summary: Accidentally busting into a bar while trying to finish a job may not have been the smartest idea.

Pt.2

  You knew they were on your trail, it was part of the plan. And it was going perfectly. What you didn't expect was for one them to be in a car, driving straight for you. Thinking fast you looked for some kind of cover. Seeing a pair double doors, you made a run for them and honestly in the moment you weren't thinking about who or what was on the other side.

  Throwing the doors open and slamming them behind you, you rushed to the side and waited for the shadowy figures belonging to your targets to enter. It didn't take long which you were greatful for, means that you would get to go home sooner, the group of 3 men walked into the bar. Being behind them gave you an advantage, pulling out some piano wire you threw yourself onto the back of one them. He wasn't able to get his fingers underneath the wire making his death come quickly. The other two men turned around to the sounds of their partner yelling and as soon as the body hit the floor they pounced.

Ducking down from most their collective swings, you scrambled towards one of the tables, there was a bottle on it. Picking it up you turned and saw the bigger man of the two come towards you. Spinnig the bottle in your hand, you rose your brows and gestured your arms out in a 'come on and get me' kind of way. The man barrelled forward and threw a hard punch, hitting you in jaw, you staggered to the side and swung the bottle right onto the back of his bald head, he stumbled before you pulled the back of his collar exposing his chest where you plunged the broken end of the bottle into his right breast. You turned the two of you around and faced the other man, his eyes widened at the scene in front of him. Taking his moment of stun, you pushed the bald man forward into the arms of the smaller man, knocking him over with a loud thud as he hit the floor, this action obvisously drove the broken bottle further into the bald man which caused him to cry out in pain.

Neither man can move now, the smaller man started babbling while the bald one was crying. Pulling out the knife from your shoe you waltzed over to the stacked bodies. "We all know why this is your fate," Spitting out blood you continued, "stop making so much fucking noise."

Leaning over them you stabbed the knife into the smaller man's neck before grabbing the bald man's hand and telling him to hold it there, he was trying to fight agaisnt you but you could tell that he was getting weaker with every shift he made. "The more you move the more you bleed." He stopped moving, "You wont die from that bottle unless I want you to." The man started crying again. Grabbing one of the chairs closest to you, you sat down. "You throw a good punch by the way." His hand slipped off the knife's slick handle. "What did I say to do?" He finally tried to speak.

"Please let me go......how was I suppose to know?" Standing with a sigh you walked back over to the man and gently placed your hands on his neck. "Don't lie, you always knew." Snapping his neck quickly and straightening back up, you finally glanced around the room to assess the damage. 1 broken bottle, and some blood. 'Not too bad', you think to yourself. Turning back around to your chair you started to push it back in when the back door opened and footsteps caught your attention.

"The fuck happened here!?" A man with a mustache started yelling. "Buisness." Glancing up as you answered you noticed there was 4 of them. The man with the mustache, another with a cap on, the third had a ciggarette hanging out of mouth, and the last one had a baby face. With the adrenaline running out you started to feel the pain, looking down you saw your shirt soaked in blood. "Fuck...," looking back to the gaggle of men, who were still glaring at you, 3 of them even pulled out guns. "Look I'll pay for the bottle and the labour for the blood, I apologise for the mess too. Are you lot gonna tell the police?" Now their expressions changed looking st you as if you had multiple heads. "Police!? We're the fucking peaky blinders!" The man with the mustache yelled at you, cocking his gun, "and who the fuck are you!?"

"Nobody." Turning yourself toward the door, "The money will be here by first light." Hearing the other men cocking their guns you stopped and stared at the door in front of you, a different voice spoke out. "It is already first light, its actually 5 in the morning. We were told by some of our men that a group broke in here and were stupid enough to leave their car outside." Closing your eyes you sighed, 'well there goes my ride', you thought to yourself again. The men began talking to you again but you were thinking about how you were going to be leaving, 'Maybe I can still take the car, worst they could've done is fuck with the engine.' Smiling to yourself you turned back to the men.

"Look gentlemen, I dont know who the peaky blinders are. Never heard of you lot sadly, as for me don't worry about it. I'm just another man walking the streets, well not these ones but..." You looked back down and noticed another blood spot was slowly getting bigger, " I've got to get going now, I already got a few bullets in me so if you'll excuse me, you'll find me in the hospitial."

With that you turned and dashed through the door as bullets went flying around you for the 2nd time today It's something you've gotten used to over the years. With every step you took, the pain spiked. Gritting your teeth you hopped into the car and started it. The machine shook alive and you let out a little laugh.The men were now rushing out the door and aiming at the car, stepping on the gas you bolted down the road. Nothing was more exciting then driving a fast car.

"The fucker's getting away!" Arthur shouted, "What do you want us to do Arthur? Chase after the car?" Michael questioned his cousin. John lowered his gun and tried catching his breath, "Did you see the bodies in there? Something don't add up, one of them had a knife in his fucking throat." Tommy walked out of the Garrison doors, "Yeah and the one on top of him has a bottle in his chest. Then there's the one by the door, he's got a mark on his neck, wire looks like." Everyone was silent, mulling over the situation. "He said he'd be at the hospital, we should send someone over there." Michael looked to Tom, taking out another cigarette. "You know Michael that isn't a bad idea, we'll send Finn and Isaiah."

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Getting back to the apartment was easy. No one was up yet, it was 5 AM at the latest, the sun was just starting to peak through the horizon. Taking off your shirt you started unwrapping the binding on your chest, taking a deep breathe would've been nice but the bullet hole in your side reminded you it was still there. Grabbing your supplies and sitting on the bed, you got to work on removing the bullet, luckly it wasn't near any important parts. Biting down on some cloth you pulled the bullet out. "Fuck ,fuck, fuck, fuck!" Tossing the stupid thing on the floor you splashed some alcohol into the wound. Feeling a little woozy you grabbed the needle and thread, 'Come on YN youère almost done.' Stitching yourself up wasn't new but your hands still shake with every pass. The slash on your arm only needed a few stitches but the awkward angle was enough to give you trouble.

Spinning around you realized there wasn't any bandages left, throwing your head back with an audible "ugh" you stood and started to throw on a new shirt, careful not to bump anything and open it back up you threw a oversized coat on and a hat.

The air was cool which was nice on your flushed cheeks, cool air was always nice after a job, espiecally one that you walked away from with new wounds. You kept your head slightly down and collar popped, hiding your face. You knew this life wasn't easy but you knew nothing else, you grew up doing this, your whole life dedicated to this and everything associated with it. Your thoughts cleared when you came up to the hospitial. In and out. Grab bandages, and leave, simple.

Walking into the hospitial you saw nurses bustling about and doctors checking boards and holding conversation with each other. Good, people were busy. Watching one of the nurses walk down the hall and enter a door that said nurses only, you set your attentions there. Everybody glanced at you but with a simple tip of the hat and a "here to see the wife and babe" nobody questioned you, babies were always being born. You could hear some of them coming into the world, the cries of life. Not like the ones you were used to too.

Entering the room some murses looked up at you and some were about to start yelling but you were quicker. "Oh I'm so sorry everyone for being late, you know how it is." Laughing gently you took off the hat and shook out your chin length hair. "Excuse me but I dont think I've ever seen around before." One nurse spoke. Looking over to her while sliping off your coat, "Oh well pardon me, I'm Leanna. I've been sent over for a few days with a patient before we go back home, I'm his personal nurse." Most of the nurses ignored you and left to get on with work you presumed. "Which patient?" You went behind a curtain and changed into a nurses uniform, "Mr.Smith." You replied, Smith was a rather common name anywhere you went in Britain so it was a safe name to throw around. "Smith? I don't think I've heard of him sorry." Stepping out fully dressed you gave her a gently smile "It's quite alright we won't be here long. it was nice meeting you but I have to get going Mr.Smith gets upset when he doesn't recognize where he is." With that you left and walked the halls.

While looking for the supply closet you saw 2 boys dressed very similarly to the men from the pub walk in, you could hear them ask doctors and nurses of they've had a man in with bullet wounds. Of course they said no. But now there was a problem, while walking towards another section of the hospitial these two boys bumped into you, knocking you to the ground, and you felt a pop. Quickly standing back up, you ignored the hands trying to help you up. "Miss! Sorry! We weren't looking where we were going, you know we're trying to look for someone. Maybe you've seen them? A man who was shot-" "shot in the side." Tying your cardigan around your waist you looked up at the boys. One was lean, had freckles and curly hair, the other was a little more built (he did knock you down), smooth skin, and had dark hair. "It's alright, no I havent seen a man, now please excuse me." Keeping things short, you left and found the supplies closet.

You dressed your own wounds and stuck the rest of the bandages into the bust of the dress. Shifting the bust of the dress around you gave yourself the okay and left the closet. The boys were still in the same spot but now babyface and the cap wearing man had joined them. 'Shit.' Holding your head down you passed them again. " *whisle* thats one pretty girlie, oi nurse!" The capped man was catcalling you.....honestly could've be worse. Walking faster you made it back to the lockers, changing was nice until you noticed the smallest blood stain on the dress, "Oh for fucks sake." You held the dress in the crook of your elbow, now standing in the nurses locker room, dressed in mens clothing with coat pockets full of bandages and other supplies, holding a nures's dress, to make it even better a nurse walked in and was staring at you with wide eyes. 'fuck'

"Look miss my girl works here and she asked me to throw her uniform in the laundry here, you see there's some blood on it and she's in the bathroom right now, the blood it makes her dizzy, I-I I'll leave, oh Lord this is embarrassing." Lying came easy, sometimes you enjoyed it, every word created a story and here you were acting in it, you found it funny. 'No! No! It's quite alright you're just trying to be a good husband here lemme take it for you, you go see how she is alright." The nurse came over placing a hand on your arm and grabbed the uniform. "Thank you miss" You gave her a smile and left the room swiftly.

Leaving the hospitial was suppose to be as easy as getting into it but the tiny detail you forgot about was now you were in the same building as those men from the pub. Wanting to face plant into the ground and wanting to let put the biggest groan, you kept silent and your head on a swivel. Looking around every corner and down every hallway. Alas your efforts were futile when you rounded a corner and bumped into the same chest as earlier. You landed on the ground again and quickly pulled your hat down to cover the majority of your face. "Oi watch where your going." You nodded and stood up making sure not to make eye contact, side stepping around them you carried on your way when you heard, "Isaiah thats him!" Upon those words you ran, 'so much goddamn running.'

You weren't far from the entrance when some men stepped in front of the hospitals doors, wearing those stupid hats, 'you've got to be fucking kidding me'. Looking around you noticed a open window, you slowed down to a halt and stared at the men at the door, they slowky walked forward and you could hear the shoes hitting the floor in chase behind you. Throwing a smirk at the two at the door you dashed to the window and used your arms to send yourself out of it legs first. Sticking the landing you stood up and glanced into an alleyway and decided to take it, you could still hear the men running after you. Looking up at the walls around you, specifically at the windows again and these were barred. Perfect. Stopping in front of one you noticed how high it was, your arms weren't gonna be long enough. The slapping of shoes filled the alleyway, making up your mind in that moment, you decided on a run and jump. The first attempt didnt work, at all.

By now when you started the second attempt the men could see you easly scale the windows, then the fire escape, then they watched you jump onto the roof and disappear. "Now who in the fuck does that?" Isaiah looked back at the group of men. All of them were out of breath. "Yeah who the fuck is he? Why's he so important?" Finn looked at his older brother, "He broke into The Garrison and killed 3 blokes" John answered. Finn looked to the roof and laughed. "Fucking hell."

The group started their journey back to the betting shop but what they didn't know was that they were being followed by the 'man' on the roof. Granted jumping from roof to roof only worked so far before you had to get down, you watched them enter a building and recognized the area around you, it wasn't too far from the apartment, letting out a sigh you walked back 'home'. How were you going to leave this place now? Taking everything off you started yourself a bath. Seeing your reflection was weird, you were so used to being seen as a man by the outside world that when you did see the feminine parts of you it was like a surprise, a nice surprise cause you knew you were one badass lady. Taking off the bandage made you huff in annoyance, getting knocked over causing your stitches to pop open and then all that running and climbing, all that hard work just to be back at square one. Walking to your room you redid the stitches, not as shaky this time, then climbed into the bath.

It's at moments like these where you wished you had your beloved record player with you. Music is always able to help you calm down. You could say music was your only weakness.

You lounged there wondering when you should drop off that money, would they even want it? They didn't seem to enthustiastic about your offer. Whatever you promised, maybe you could deliver the new bottle...nope, knock and run away? Yeah that sounds alright.

The water was getting cold so you stood up and wrapped yourself in a towel and made your way to your room to grab the bandages from your coat after dressing yourself you noticed there was a whole in your coat, 'the windows', letting out another sigh you grabbed some wide cloth and binded your chest, then grabbed a shirt, trousers, your hat, and some cash, then headed to the nearest store to buy a bottle of whatever you could find. Seeing as your coat had a hole in it you couldn't help but stick your hand in and out of it as you walked, you even pulled at the frayed edges before you mentally yelled at yourself saying that you're only gonna make it worse. Shoving your hands into the pockets you walked into the first store, it looked like a general store, had a little bit of everything. Looking around the shelves you noticed they had a very small liqour selection and guessing by the dust on some of the bottles, they weren't very popular. You saw an older man with a white beard and mustache behind the counter, "Excuse me sir, what kind of drink is this?" Throwing a gesture towards the shelf with your head the man looked to the side at the bottles.

"You want to buy them?" He looked surprised. "Yes but only if you tell me what it is." You let out a small laugh. The older man chuckled, "Yes well, the ones in the front row are whiskey but everything behind them is rum." Rum? You haven't had rum in awhile. "I'll take two bottles of rum, the ones in the furthest back please." He turned and set them down in front of you. "Is that everything?" He asked with a raised brow, "No, do you sell coats by any chance? Or know of somewhere that does?" The older man was about to answer when a woman behind you spoke, "You can buy coats down the road now can you please hurry im in a rush." Turning towards the woman you noticed the short haircut, to the chin like yours, her eyes were a bright blue and she wore red lipstick, she was also wearing a fur coat. Once your gaze went back up to her face, she had a mischievous look on her face. "Are you finished? Thats a rather large hole in your coat, what happened?" Laughing to yourself, you turned back towards the man and placed 2 bills down. "keep the change." With that you left and hearing the older man yelling thank you as you left, put a smile on your face. You enjoyed making people happy.

The store selling coats was crowded, people were everywhere in there, some were customers, and others were employess with tape measures around their necks. A woman walked up to you when you steped through the door. "Hello! How may I help you?" You locked eyes with her and gave her your most charming smile, "I'm looking for a coat, mines got a hole in it." Showing her the whole she gasped. "My thats a rather large rip, well if you could follow me I can show you some im sure you'll like." She gently wrapped her arm around yours and took off down the racks of coats before stopping in front of a section with many black and navy coats. "So here we have some coats that match the colour and wear as the one you have on now." Going through a few you noticed one a little further down the racks. "What about this one?" Pulling out the dark forest green jacket, you turned to her and smiled, "Can I try this one on?" She stared at you for a moment.

"Yes of course you can sir though I do have to warn you it is one of our more expensive pieces." Taking off the jacket you had on and giving it to the lady, you swung the green fabric over your shoulders, your arm protested but you masked the pain. You looked over yourself and you were quite happy with how it looked on you. "I quite like it, miss I think I'll take this one." The woman started speaking fast, "but sir that jacket is very expensive, yes you look very handsome in it but-!" You walked over to her and grabbed her hands, "It's alright, but now I have to get it if I look so handsome in it." Winking at her, you let go of her hands and grabbed your old coat, pulling out some money. "Is this enough?" She glanced at the money in your hands and grabbed the bills, she refiled through them then handed back 2 bills. "There its yours." She smiled at you with flushed cheeks. Smiling back, you placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, "thank you miss, have nice day." Her face got brighter as you walked away, you wished she kept the old coat but you needed to get the bottle of rum to the building before sundown.

You saw the woman from earlier walk out of another shop in front of you. Her arms carrying a box and a bag on top of it. You could hear the clicking of her heelings against the pavement, she was walking with purpose you decided, guess she was telling the truth about being in a hurry. Then you noticed the men, the men in caps,'they're everywhere'. The woman noticed them too. "If you're just gonna watch me all day atleast be helpful and bring this back to the house." She placed the box and bag into the arms of one of the men and kept on walking before entering a car.

You watched the car leave and felt jealous but kept on with your travel on foot. You walked towards your street and on the way you saw a small girl running in nothing but a dress. Watching with careful eyes you examined the path the girl was running in and saw a pump in the road, almost as you were about to call out she tripped and fell. Rushing over, you picked her up and sat her on your knee and brushed off her legs and arms of the gravel stuck to them. She had her face tucked into your neck as she cried, getting you wet with her tears. "Hey you're alright now, I've gotcha." You gently brushed the dirty and gravel off her injured knee. "Nothing more than a little scrape aye?" She looked down at her knee and sniffled, "It hurts." Rubbing her back you replied, "I know darling but you're a strong girl. You look tough now and once this little scrape heals you'll be good as new." She studied the side of your face as you were checking the rest of her legs for scrapes.

"You've got long hair mr." She was gently pulling on the strands poking out from under your hat, "It looks pretty." She giggled as the hair sprung back into place. "Why thank you, I must admit I only ever want my hair to look pretty." You wrapped your large coat over her small frame and tied the long ends in a knot. "There you can have my coat, now I know there's a hole in it but you can throw it when you get home, it's just something to keep you warm yeah?" She looked at you with big eyes "Yea!" "Now watch where you run." She nodded, hugged you and ran away. The sleeves of the coat covering her hands.

Laughing you turned back and continued the walk. When you finally reached your street you saw the car the woman left in, 'curiouser and curiouser', the car was parked in front of your rums destination. Standing next to the car you gently leaned against it and began to come up with your 'escape' plan. "So after almost a day of my men trying to find you, you end up on my door step." Spinning your head towards the alley and the voice, you made eye contact with the man from the pub, and just like when you first saw him, he was smoking. Looking back to the door you answered, "I was just going to leave the bottle and money and be on my mary way." You heard in let out a airy laugh. "Mary way? I didn't peg you as the type of man to go about things maryly especially after what I saw you do to those 3 in the bar." Looking up at the sky you sighed.

Still sitting on the car you tilted your upper half and placed one of the bottles of rum on the top of the car, then you held up some cash and placed the bottle on top of the pile. Holding up your own bottle of rum and stepped off the car, "I'll be on my mary way." Throwing him a small smile you walked past him. "This rum?" You spun back around to him and opened your bottle. "Yep." You gave the bottle a swig and let out a hum. "It's pretty good too." You tipped the bottle towards him, "Cheers." You spun back around and walked towards your aprtment.

Watching you walk to the apartments at the end of lane Tommy smirked and grabbed the rum. He opened the bottle and gave it a sniff and quickly scowled at it. He put the top back on the bottle and counted the money, eyes shooting up to your apartment again. Where the hell did you get this type of money?

"You alright Tom?" Turning towards his sister he placed the bottle of rum in her hand, "I'm fine Ada." Recognizing the bottle, Ada made eye contact with her brother. "Where'd you get this from?" Tom looked at the bottle then back at his sister, "why?" Ada shook her head. "It nothing I just saw a man earlier today buying a few bottles," she let out a laugh, "he was asking where to buy a new coat cause his had this giant tear in his." Thomas glanced down the lane again to the apartment building he watched you enter earlier.

"A man eh?"

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Aaaahhh it's been forever since I last wrote anything, truly am sorry, but! I have been craving to write for peaky blinders again (I honestly love that show and its universe) I had loads of fun writing this and I actually know where I want this story to go so please let me know if you want a part 2 or maybe I'll write a part 2 anyways cause I have many plans for it. Anyways enough of my rambling, I really hope you enjoyed this and thank you so much for reading! <3

[anubislover]

Lemon Flash Fic #4 “Trap: Law x Nami”

(Requested by @scribblrhob. Takes place on Sabaody pre-timeskip. Sorry for how long this took to write, but I hope you enjoy!)

Perhaps it wasn’t a great idea, sneaking around the back hallways of a human auction house, but after seeing that pirate’s attempted suicide, Nami was desperate to rescue Camie. Peering around the corner, the thief silently tried to figure out which hallway to would lead her to where the slaves were kept.

“Didn’t you know curiosity killed the cat?”

Nami jumped but bit back a screech of surprise at the unexpected voice in her ear. How had someone managed to sneak up on her? Whirling around, she found herself face-to-face with one of the pirates she’d spied in the audience. The guy with the spotted hat and the bear and the too-long sword.

He was missing the bear, but his smug smirk widened as he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a nearby storage closest just as footsteps echoed from down the hall. Guards on patrol, no doubt.

For a few moments the pair held their breaths, waiting until the sounds outside the door died down. Once silence had returned outside, Nami sighed, but once more had to hold back a shriek when she realized the closet was full of restraints of various shapes and sizes for the slaves. Before she could get the hell out of there, she found herself trapped against the wall by the tall pirate, a large, warm palm pressed hard over her mouth, muffling her protests. Her eyes widened and she immediately attempted to shove him off her, but there was a blue flash and a pair of shackles appeared around her wrists. Her arms were lifted above her head, the chain connecting her restraints pinned in place by his sword speared through the plaster.

“Shhhh,” he whispered, gold eyes glittering deviously while his free hand gently cupped a breast, a knee sliding between her thighs. “If you make too much noise they’ll find us, and you’ll end up on that stage next.”

The possibility of being caught and enslaved was certainly enough to silence her, even as this dangerously handsome man ground his hips against her, a prominent bulge straining against his tight jeans.

This bastard’s getting off on this! Nami thought, mortified and furious.

“The name’s Law, by the way,” he chuckled in her ear, ignoring her scowl. He pinched her left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it teasingly. “In case you feel like moaning it in your head.”

Like hell I— she began to think, only for his thigh to roll upwards, pressing the seam of her shorts into her clit, sending a jolt of arousal through her. Noticing the flush that rose to her cheeks in response, he set a steady rhythm, stimulating her sensitive core as he played with her chest.

“Noticed you in the crowd,” he purred, licking a hot stripe up her neck, tasting her smooth skin. “The wanted poster doesn’t do you justice ‘Cat Thief Nami.’ Were you looking to rob the place? Or were you as bored as me watching third-rate pirates choke on their own blood and hoped to find a little fun?”

Despite the situation and his morbid words, the low timbre of his voice, combined with the things he was doing to her body, made her whimper and arch into his touches. The hand across her mouth shifted, index and middle finger prodding at the seam of her lips.

“Open up and suck. Try to bite me and I’ll cut your damn head off.”

She squeaked a bit in fear and immediately parted her lips, allowing the long, calloused digits to slip past and slide in and out of her mouth while she sucked hard, egged on by the hot waves of pleasure his other ministrations were causing. Part of her was horrified—how could she be getting turned on by this jerk? Was it his voice? His touches?

Maybe it’s not him, she rationalized. Adrenaline’s supposed to be a powerful aphrodisiac, and I’ve been too stressed to get myself off lately. Yeah, it’s got nothing to do with his deep voice or gold eyes or—

Her body silenced her rationalization when, after a particularly delicious grind, a surge of heat pooled between her thighs and her hips bucked against his thigh, seeking more friction. Pleased with this development, Law purred, “Good girl. Fuck, you’ve got a hot little mouth. If we had more time, I’d put it to use elsewhere.”

Another jolt of arousal hit her at the mental image of sucking this dangerous man off. Of course, in her head, he was the one in chains and he was practically begging for mercy as she teased his dripping, throbbing cock with her lips and mouth.

Encouraged by the way her eyes had gone half-mast from her little fantasy and her tongue stroked his fingers, Law grew more daring. Slowly, the hand pawing her breast crept down her stomach to play with the button of her shorts, popping it open easily. His mouth latched onto her earlobe and gave a sharp suck as he slowly tugged the zipper down and slipped his long fingers past the band of her panties. She could feel him smirk as he flicked her clit and ran a digit along her dripping slit.

Releasing her ear, he murmured, “So wet for me already. Is the thrill of getting caught turning you on? Never took you for a danger slut.”

A whimper escaped her throat, which sent little vibrations along Law’s fingers, and she watched him bite his lip, smirk widening as a lustful gleam sparked in his golden eyes.

“I’m going to drop my hand, but if you try to scream, I’ll leave you like this for the guards to find.”

Considering she was a wanted pirate chained up in an auction house, it was a damn effective threat, and honestly, she was at that point where pleasure was clouding her judgement. So she nodded and released his fingers, gasping when he spun her around to face the wall, one hand sliding under her shirt to massage her breasts while the other cupped her cunt. She bit back a moan when two long, calloused fingers, slick with her juices, worked their way into her tight heat, curling against her G-spot. Her eyes fluttered closed in pleasure but snapped back open when she felt the meat of his cock grind against the smooth skin of her ass cheeks—somehow, he’d managed to remove both their pants, though she was grateful he’d at least left her thong in place.

“If it were up to me, I’d take my time and make you beg to be fucked, but we’ll have to settle for this,” he growled in her ear as he rolled his hips in time to his fingering, relentlessly pushing them both closer to climax. “But if you ever decide you want more than a taste, look me up—I’m more than happy to fuck you all night long. Hell, maybe I’ll even be nice and let you fuck me for a round or two. Only if you’re a good girl, though.”

Sparks flew through her, and finally Nami thought Fuck it and rolled her hips in sync with his hand, helping him push her over the edge as she imagined riding him hard, putting that smart mouth to work eating her out, making him moan her name like a damn prayer…

Those thoughts, combined with the hot pulse of his cock cradled between the meat of her ass and the insistent curl of his fingers, finally had her seeing stars. Unable to help herself she cried out in pleasure, though thankfully Law covered her mouth again just in time. His fingers kept moving as she rode out her orgasm, but when she was done his hand slipped almost regretfully from her drenched thong. A few seconds later she heard a wet slapping noise, and then something hot and sticky splattered across her thighs as he let out a satisfied moan.

“That’s a good look on you,” he purred as he leaned in to press a teasing kiss to her cheek and yanked his sword out of the wall, the hand covering her mouth silencing her returned outrage. “Too bad it can’t last. Clean yourself up, then head back to your crew. Though, if you get caught and enslaved, maybe I’ll bid on you.”

The room was filled with panting and blue light, and Nami fell to her knees as the shackles disappeared from around her wrists, replaced with her shorts. Glancing over her shoulder, she was shocked to find herself alone, a piece of paper where the lanky man should have been.

“Bastard,” she grumbled breathlessly, grimacing at her sticky thighs and ass. “You’re gonna pay for that. Literally and figuratively.”

@awesomi @supergeekynerdfighter @shambledsurgeon @krystull

[writesowhatnext]

you have to give a dog a name // frank castle

Summary: Frank takes a liking to a waitress at a diner – in Hell’s Kitchen it would never be long before the same waitress gets introduced to the Punisher

Request: just something i’d been thinking of for a while tbh

A/N: love Frankie 

Reader: female

Warnings: age difference, violence, assault, swearing, dogs, injuries, guns

part 1 // part 2

Working the night shift at the diner down the street just to earn enough money to survive whilst also trying to get through school was not easy nor ideal. But it wasn’t the worst option. Not by a long shot. Especially not in Hell’s Kitchen, where vigilantes and evil villains ran around like they owned the place. Although, that’s exactly what they did.

You didn’t get what was considered enough sleep; what with half your time spent on night shifts and the other half working hard enough to escape them. So, whilst you stood there, behind the counter, at 4am, you barely noticed the guy in the baseball cap sitting in the booth across the diner. When you did, you fumbled for the coffee jug, dragging it across the counter towards him. He’d been in the diner almost religiously for the last two months – only ever in the night shift between the hours of 2 and 5am. You didn’t know his name and given the city you lived in, chose to ignore how bruised his face always seemed to be.

“Just coffee today?” You asked, pouring him a cup. He lifted his head slightly, only grumbling in response. On the other side of the restaurant, there was a clicking sound from a businessman with a grey suit and an uglier briefcase. He looked at you expectantly, clearly irritated. You bit your lip. Asshole.

“Are you sure I can’t interest you in some breakfast? I make some mean eggs.” He smiled slightly as you sighed. The clicking noise from the man’s fingers just got louder and more impatient.

“No thanks, Doll, just coffee.”

You nodded, offering him your own smile before your face dropped and you were forced across the room to an impatient middle-aged man’s beck and call. You fetched him the cheque, chancing a glance at the clock on the wall. 6am couldn’t arrive fast enough.

To say you were surprised to see no tip when you picked up the cheque from the businessman’s now empty table would be an overstatement of great proportions. You cleared his table, noticing that the man in the baseball cap had also left. However, when you went to retrieve the empty coffee cup from his table, you were surprised to see the face of Andrew Jackson. You frowned, smiling slightly before seeing to the other few-and-far-between customers in the diner at this time.

For the next few nights, you didn’t see the mysterious tipper in the diner. You didn’t think much of it, though. And at 5.30am, you weren’t going to lose the very little sleep you had thinking of it any more. Only thirty more minutes and you could escape and get some rest; well-deserved, you thought. The diner was actually completely empty, surprising for this time. The last customer you’d had (a lady, typing away into a computer for about three hours, that went through around seventeen cups of coffee) had just left. She’d paid in coins, and given a generous tip, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you placed each individual coin into cash register unbearably slowly. You muttered under your breath as you dropped a couple onto the floor.

As you bent down to pick them up, the bell at the door rang. Heavy, dragged footsteps made you frown but as you stood back, you were pleasantly surprised to see a familiar baseball cap, less so to see fresh bruises and- was that blood?

“Are you okay?” you asked, throwing the rest of the coins into the register and slamming it shut, leaning over the counter. The corner of his lips drew upwards as he sat at the counter, folding his arms in front of him.

“Fine, Doll.”

You frowned and grabbed the coffee jug from the machine, pouring him a cup and sliding it over.

“My name is Y/N.”

“Okay.” He smiled again and you couldn’t help but frown at the purplish hues of his face, the blood peeking out from under his hat. “Are eggs still on the menu?”

You couldn’t hide your surprise at his request but before long, a smile grew.

“Of course.”

He watched you mill around behind the counter, from the fridge to the pans to the shelves underneath the surface.

“Can I get you anything with that? Bacon? Hash browns? Mushrooms? Toast?”

“You’re okay, Doll. Eggs are fine.”

You nodded.

“How do you want them?”

“Surprise me.”

The silence was comfortable and nobody else decided they wanted diner food before six in the morning, fortunately. You were so involved in cooking that you completely forgot about counting down the minutes until your shift was over.

“Voila,” you placed down a place in front of him, not unaware of the way his eyes never strayed from your face. “Two eggs, over-easy. Because it’s my favourite.”

You grabbed some cutlery and a little sauce and seasoning rack and placed it in front of him.

“Thanks.”

You leant on your elbows, trying not to watch him eat but finding nothing better to do. He ate quietly and quickly, not bothering to add any extras. Just eggs and black coffee.

“What’s your name?” you asked. The way he paused didn’t escape you.

“Frank.”

Frank, you thought, definitely suited him.

The phone in the back rang; knowing it would be your boss, you offered Frank a smile and disappeared into the back. After a conversation that was not only unnecessary but about quite literally nothing, you returned to the front. Frank wasn’t there, he’d been replaced by Ulysses S. Grant. The bell above the door rang again as the girl on the day shift arrived. She shot you a sympathetically annoyed glance. You gave her a smile, thankful to be able to finally remove your apron and go sleep.

It wasn’t until thanksgiving that you saw Frank again. It was the night before and ever the gracious leader, your boss had let you leave early. Midnight. Lovely. So, you walked through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen warily, with your key shoved between your knuckles. You were about half a block from your house when you felt eyes on you. Your skin crawled. Walking down the alley, you heard footsteps behind you and the bleakest part of your mind hoped that you were only going to get mugged.

“Where you going, sweetheart?” a voice called out from in front of you. You swerved to the left, quickening your pace. Fuck fuck fuck.

“No need to run. We just wanna say hello.”

You stopped suddenly as a short white guy cut you off. He was smiling. You heard the footsteps behind you get louder.

“I don’t want any trouble-“

“Neither do we, Darling.” The man behind you was closer than you thought.

“Please-“

The man behind you grabbed your upper arm. Your heartbeat was the only thing you could hear, your ears throbbing.

With a strange jolt of adrenaline, you clenched your hand around the keys, jamming them into the man in front’s shoulder. He shouted as you pulled them out, reaching for you. Before he could reach you, the other man twisted you round to face him and he’s toothy smile. Mindlessly, you punched your hand into his face, feeling the keys sink into his cheek. He groaned and pushed you back. The keys dropped from your hand into a puddle on the ground. Fuck. You fell into the other man, hating the way his fingernails dug into your arm.

“You’re a bitch.” The one you had punched in the face spat, his cheek bleeding. The one behind you held you still – not from your lack of struggling – as the other approached. Your bag slid down your arm as you tried to rip your arms away; feeling his harsh grip eat into your arms.

A fist collided with your face and suddenly you were on the floor. A bottle smashed underneath you and you cried out, feeling the glass settle into the skin on your arm. You turned over, tasting blood in your mouth as your head swam. You could hear them talking behind you, chuckling to each other. You pushed yourself onto your hands and knees, your whole chest heaving. You reached for the rest of the half-shattered bottle, fingers skimming the glass surface. Before you could catch your breath, a hand gripped your hair roughly, pulling you to your feet as a cry left your lips. You’d managed to grasp the bottle and as your eyes watered from the pain in your head, you twisted round and thrust your hand into the figure holding you. He fell to the floor and you felt sick at the sight of the green glass buried in his shoulder, blood leaking around it and his eyes bulging.

“What the fuck?” the other man said, looking between you and his friend with angry eyes. You panicked, reaching to the ground to fish your keys from the puddle, hoping to get away. You didn’t get far before a hand gripped your wrist and pulled you back. He twisted your arm until you dropped your keys again. Your cry was cut short when his thick fingers wrapped around your throat and shoved you into the wall. Your free hand reached up to your neck, desperately trying to peel his fingers away.

“You fucking slut.” You moved your hand from your neck to his face, pulled and pushing to try and get him to let go. You clawed at his skin before shoving your fingers into his eyes, pushing until he let go and you dropped to the floor. You couldn’t breathe. Your heart was hammering.

You started to crawl away; your knees were sore against the concrete. Again, you didn’t get far. The same horrible hand caged your ankle and suddenly you were pulled towards him. Your knees sang in pain as you collided with the ground again. You would no doubt have rashes when you got out of this. If you got out of this. He stood between your legs and a different kind of fear overtook you. With nothing keeping you there, you backed away, elbows wet from puddles on the ground. The other guy still hadn’t got up, hand at his shoulder. He was breathing though, which you supposed was good for you.

You saw out of the corner of your eye, behind you, a piece of piping. As he got closer, his eyes predatory and angry, you quickened your pace, trying to ignore the pain you felt in your face, your knees and your neck. You grabbed at the piping as best you could, it spinning away from you as you panicked, still facing him. He bent down again to grip your ankle, dragging you once again, making you wince. He settled on his knees, hands groping up your leg. Your stomach dropped even further. You tried to back away but his fingers dug into your hips. You could feel his breath on your face and you tried to push him away but he shoved your wrist into the dirt behind you. You tried to kick but he knelt on your shins, pinning them down.

With your free hand, you pawed at the pipe, praying you could reach it as his hands strayed to your waist. With renewed panic, your hand finally found the pipe and before you knew it, you were swinging. It struck him in the side of the head; he jolted to the left. He was angry. So, you hit him again, burying into his skull. He sagged on top of you and all you could feel was your breath unable to escape your chest, his heavy body touching your skin. You rolled over. His hand twitched towards you. So, you hit him again. And again. And again. You were crying and sweating and you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t stop either. Not when his blood hit your face, not even when you were sure he was dead. You only stopped when you heard your name behind you.

You spun around, wielding the pipe roughly, pointing it towards whoever was there. Your heart stopped a little when you saw Frank. His eyes softened at the feral panic in your own eyes. His hands were raised in surrender, showing he meant you no harm. You wanted to believe him but in his right hand was a gun.

“Who the hell-“ the man with the glass in his shoulder began before a shot rang out. Frank’s eyes didn’t leave yours as he pointed his gun. You looked down at the man, briefly noting the way he dropped to the ground. Frank’s hand disappeared behind his back. You watched him tuck his gun into his waistband, approaching you slowly. He noticed your bag on the floor, fishing it out of a puddle, and the streetlight glint off of your keys a good few feet away. He picked them up too.

“You’re okay, Y/N.” he said softly. You dropped the pipe, barely hearing the clang as it hit the floor. You could feel yourself shaking as he got closer but you didn’t move. You didn’t want to see the man behind you. The man you were sure you’d killed. Frank knelt down in front of you, his hands still raised. You absent-mindedly wondered why he didn’t care about his jeans getting wet. You were sure they’d seen worse stains.

“Can you stand?” he asked softly. Looking at him, into his dark eyes, you couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t going to hurt you. So, you nodded. But then you tried. You felt like Bambi as you tried to make it onto two feet. You scrunched your eyes shut as you stood, wobbling.

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

You nodded again but still winced as his hand rested on your arm gently. His tough, calloused palms were soft above your bruised skin.

“I killed him.” You muttered, over and over again as Frank pulled you slowly and gently into his chest. His arms surrounding you stilled your shaking slightly; you were grateful. You were confused when his right arm disappeared and his other hand pushed the side of your head further into his chest. It hurt briefly but when his hand covered your ear and another gunshot broke the silence, you silently thanked him.

“I killed him.” Frank said softly, his right arm returning to pull you into him. His logic was shaky but you appreciated the sentiment. “Where do you live, Doll?”

You couldn’t reply.

He stopped trying.

Without jostling you too much, he bent down and lifted your legs off of the floor. You were in a trance as he walked down the city streets, away from those men. You only sort of registered being inside, only taking notice when he lowered you to the ground. Still shaking, he didn’t dare move his hand away from your back. A jingling sound rang from another room, getting louder. You flinched. Then a dog appeared. It was a pit-bull with a too-large collar and a wiggle when it walked. A small smile lifted your cheek.

“Go away.” Frank said to the dog. The dog only barked back, coming closer to you with its wagging tail. Frank was about to shoo him out the room when you bent down, patting its head gently. Once again, Frank’s expression softened.

“What’s its name?”

Your voice was hoarse and broken and Frank barely recognised it.

“He doesn’t have one.”

You looked up at Frank then, with an almost teasing smile. You didn’t say anything though; just turned your attention back to the very grateful dog in front of you.

“Come on,” Frank said, lightly touching your arm, unable to tear his eyes away from the already forming bruises. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You left the dog rather reluctantly, following Frank into a cramped bathroom. He coughed slightly. “If you take your clothes off and sit on the tub, I’ll get some first aid shit.”

You were slow to take your clothes off – a mix of embarrassment, pain and unsureness marked every movement. Frank knocked before he returned.

“Come in.”

You were sat on the side of his bathtub only in your underwear. You’d avoided the mirror, already horrified at your injuries you could see. Frank examined you from the doorway. You couldn’t help but feel conscious of his stare.

“I’ll clean up the worst ones.” He said, sitting on the toilet lid so he was level with your shoulders. “I brought you some clothes.”

You looked at the pile of large clothes on the floor and nodded. Silence fell again as he started with your legs, using a wet cloth to wipe away the dirt from the scrapes and rashes on your skin. You just watched his face, too sick to watch him work. Every time he moved to a different injury, he looked at you, his eyes soft, checking if you were okay. You appreciated how such a tough guy could be so gentle. You flinched when he moved your hair to look at the bruises on your neck, more than you had done when he’d painstakingly picked glass from your arm. That was the only time you looked away from him.

Then his hand rested on your chin, holding it in place as he brushed your skin with a wet cloth. You couldn’t tell what you looked like but from the way the cloth became more and more soaked with blood each time he pulled away; you didn’t want to know. When he was finished, he held your face for a moment longer, tucking your hair behind your ear and offering you a smile.

“Clothes are there. I’ll be outside.”

And with that, he left. You could hear the jingling of the dog’s collar again through the door and you imagined Frank bent down, petting him whilst he waited. Frank’s clothes were too big for you but you appreciated how soft they were. Before you could open the door, you caught your reflection in the mirror above the sink and winced.

You were bruised all over and your nose was still raw despite Frank’s attempts to get rid of the blood. You could also see the welt forming on your neck. You could’ve stood there for hours; thankfully, Frank’s gentle knocking pulled you from your reverie and you opened the door to see him leaning against the wall opposite, pit-bull sitting happily at his feet.

“You should stay here tonight.”

You only nodded again before he led you into the lounge. It wasn’t much, with only a TV and a sofa linked to a tiny looking kitchen. You sat down, smiling slightly when the dog sat next to you, eager for more attention.

“Do you want some food?” Frank didn’t strike you as a man with a stocked kitchen. “Coffee? Water?”

“Water, please.”

Frank searched a good five minutes for a clean glass before he decided you’d have to cope with a coffee-stained mug. When he got back to the couch, he found you asleep, his dog sitting on your lap. He smiled. When the dog noticed him, he wagged his tail ferociously but, you didn’t wake up. So, he decided you probably wouldn’t wake up if he moved you. The dog was hot on his heels as he carried you to his bed, placing you under the covers and sending his dog a dry look when he joined you.

“You’re lucky she likes you.” He said to the dog, casting one last look at your face before closing the door and disappearing to spend the night on the couch.

[delldarling]

lingering | merrick

chasing truth | chapter four male faerie x gender/body neutral reader 4900 words  lemon | oral, hand job, ear attention, confessing feelings, friends to lovers note: this is both fastidious and puzzle pieces combined, edited and slotted smoothly into the overarching plot of chasing truth! While I won’t be taking down the original posts just yet, they will no longer be linked on masterlists!  chapter index? or chapter three?

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

As soon as the door shuts behind you, you freeze

There’s a man sprawled out on the small balcony outside your sliding glass door. His arms are limp across his chest and his face is covered by his hat, and- You’re six floors up. No one should have been able to climb this high without the police being called. Maybe he climbed down from the apartment above you? You creep closer, ignoring the steady thudding of your pulse in your ears and then you see him. You rather want to slump to the floor in relief. You know him. You know that hat and those messy curls, you know that beauty mark and half parted lips. You’ve been staring at them for the better part of a year, so.. Honestly, it’s Merrick, so you shouldn’t be particularly surprised - it’s just that the surprises with Merrick? They never seem to stop.

He’s always been fastidious about only speaking the truth, and yet he’s the poster child for the word secretive. You’re barely sure you know more about him now than you did when you met him a year ago - but he’s been a steadfast, if slightly rude, friend ever since. He’s never climbed up onto your balcony before though.

He looks like he’s asleep, with his red knitted cap pulled down over his eyes and the pale shock of his hair curling around the edges. His mouth is open too, lips parted to show the white glint of his teeth, a single dark beauty mark on the right side of his chin. His clothes are wrinkled, shirt and sweatshirt rucked up around his middle. You sort of want to stare, because of the expanse of bared skin, because you think you might see the curling edge of a.. a tattoo on his ribs, peeking out from under the hem of his shirt- You shake yourself, because you’d rather find out exactly what he’s doing up here. Why the hell couldn’t he wait at your front door? You’re tempted to throw the sliding glass door open, even with his shoes pressed up against it, because he deserves a rude awakening. He’d scared the hell out of you, laying prone there like that. As soon as you touch the door handle though, he’s pushing up his cap, revealing heavy lidded dark eyes, zeroed in on your face. He doesn’t smile, but you swear he’s thinking about it, lips just barely twitching.

“Merrick,” you greet, impatiently waiting for him to remove his feet so you can open the door. His feet drop to the ground, blinking blearily as he stands, almost a head taller than you. He takes a step back to slouch against the balcony railing, politely hiding his yawn in the crook of his arm. You unlock and slide open the door, trying, and failing, not to frown. “Should I even ask how you got up here?”

“You don’t always like my answers,” Merrick says, voice low and steady, while his eyes dart from your feet to your face, and then back. Tension eases from his frame. “But it was a combination of things. It involved some jumping.”

Your eyes grow wide, watering before you blink rapidly. Is he telling you he parkoured up the building? No, this shouldn’t surprise you either. He probably could. Can. You’ve seen firsthand that Merrick’s wiry muscles pack a hell of a lot of strength, but he’s just so- he yawns again, looking past you to your living room, eyes already sliding to his favorite spot on the couch. He’s so goddamn lazy. Or he wants to look that way. When push comes to shove he’ll never refuse someone asking for help, but he always makes a valiant showing of disinterest first.

“Can I crash on your couch?” He asks, making to move past you. You try and step back, attempting to let him in, but he’s too quick. Every inch of him seems to catch against you, trapping the both of you in the doorway. Your heart rate skyrockets as you try and detangle yourself from him, but Merrick doesn’t move away, doesn’t flinch. “Having trouble?” He asks, voice dry as the desert. If you didn’t know better, if a haze of heat wasn’t making you feel unsteady, you might think he’d done it on purpose.

“Yes! In fact, I’m having trouble with this tall, lazy-”

“I scaled a building today. That hardly screams ‘laziness’,” he argues, a wry smile twisting his lips. You want to smack that smug expression off his face - but you’d also like to haul him into your arms and kiss him.

Merrick is impossible.

“Why do you need to crash on my couch?” You ask, instead of doing either of those things. Merrick has always had very strict boundaries - you’d watched him push a woman, by her face, into the hedges when she’d tried to sneak a drunken kiss outside the bar once. He’d been startled, or so he said, but you’d been watching. You’d seen the disdain in his eyes that night, and you’ve seen it in the days since. Merrick isn’t really interested in anyone. “Aren’t you staying with.. You know, friends?”

Merrick breathes in, slow enough that his nostrils flare, jaw clenching, before he looks away and finally untangles himself from you. “What friends?” He asks, in lieu of answering, his hands dropping from your arms. He heads straight for your kitchen, and the fruit bowl tucked away on the counter.

“What friends,” you mock, following after him. You hope he hasn’t noticed how flustered you still are by any hint of proximity, how nervous he leaves you every time you touch. “I thought you were staying with Gar?”

“Garrick and I are.. Aren’t exactly friends,” he mutters, grumbling when none of the fruit seems to be ripe enough for him. He gives up with a sigh, leaning on his elbows and glowering at the wall.

“Garrick?” You ask, trying not to scoff or laugh with glee. “Merrick and Garrick, are you related?” You lean against the counter, and lift yourself up to sit on it, a grin pulling at yours cheeks when Merrick’s frown deepens. He looks like he regrets opening his mouth. “I thought the first time you’d met was-” You make a hum of a noise, considering. They had been familiar with each other after that time at the club. “I know you’re not brothers. Cousins?”  

“I can’t go back to Gar’s for a bit,” he says, completely ignoring your question. This feels more like normal. Asking things, and getting rushed subject changes.

You pause, mulling over your options. “Did you two fight?” You try, watching his hands clench on the counter top, tapping the back of your heels against the cupboards.

“I’ve never fought against Gar,” he bites out and then sighs, pushing off of the counter. “So, can I crash on your couch? Or would you rather…” His inhale is a little sharp, a flash of his tongue wetting his lips. “We could share the bed?” Merrick brushes some of his unruly pale curls off of his forehead, careful to keep his hat in place, and glances at you out of the corner of one dark eye. He’s trying to distract you, with suggestive words and smirking lips.

It’s working. He’s always been so careful about how he words things, so he must have left some clue- but he’s bringing up the chest wrenching crush you’ve always had on him and you’re not sure if he’s doing it to.. To be cruel, or because he knows you won’t press, or maybe, just maybe because… You don’t know if you even want to consider it. Regardless, you’re nervous, and elated, and hurt, all at once. He takes a step closer and you snatch the cap off of his head, trying to blink back the slight sting of tears. You toss it across the room, hoping it will distract him from the panic written plainly over your face.

“Don’t be an ass, Merrick,” you say, taking as deep a breath as you can manage, trying to calm down before you even chance looking at him again. When your breathing is steady, when you finally lift your eyes, Merrick is frozen.

His hands are outstretched: one towards you, and the other reaching for his hat, and his eyes are wide with shock. You open your mouth, immediately ready to apologize- when you spy the pointed, flesh colored ear-tips poking out from his hair. For a moment, it feels like time has stopped.

“Are you- are you wearing elf ears? Are you trying out a cosplay?” You blurt, reaching out to touch his suddenly red ears. Merrick catches your hand before you make contact, cheeks flushed, gaze darting wildly over your face. A choked noise spills from his lips when they part.

“I wasn’t trying to be an ass,” he forces out, stepping into your space, pressing between your knees until your thighs are on either side of his hips. Your heart is thundering against your rib-cage. Merrick has never been this close to anyone, not that you’ve ever seen. “And no, I’m not cosplaying,” he whispers, and his breath comes fast when you finally touch his ears. They’re real. Flesh and blood, warm.

“Did you- is it a body mod? I’ve seen people with split tongues-” But you stop asking questions when he whispers your name quietly, desperately, and then he kisses you. His long fingered hands cradle your face, warm lips catching against yours, and for just a moment, you forget to think about anything but sensation. You gasp against his mouth, curling your fingers into his hair, and try not to melt on the spot. Body mods or not, his tongue isn’t split when it slips past your parted lips. He tastes like floral tea, the aftertaste of it on the air you breathe, and the longer his hands are on you, the more you feel like you’re forgetting something important.

You pull back to breathe, gasping in air as he trails kisses down your throat, and then you groan, another painful thought clamoring for attention. You pull his hair, a little too hard, but he’s distracting and you need him to pause. “Merrick,” you whisper harshly, twice. He lifts his head, ink-dark eyes hazy as they focus on your mouth. His lips are red and swollen from your attention. “You’re not- you’re not trying to use my feelings as some kind of-”

He blinks back to awareness. “I’m no-” Merrick tries to insist but his words seem to twist in his mouth. He makes another choking noise before pulling you close again, nose against your pulse, breathing in the scent of you. “I’m not using you,” he says carefully, as you brush his hair away from his ears. “I swear I’m not.” Without the hat, his hair doesn’t look just pale, it looks white, truly white. Void of color, of anything but the shine of the fluorescent kitchen light against it. “You… you haven’t realized, then?”

The question throws you off. “Realized what? About the mods? No! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your hat-”

Merrick scoffs, pulling back so he can meet your gaze, eyebrows drawn together in exasperation.  “Realized how I feel,“ he explains, enunciating the words very slowly. You sway forward, half wondering if you’re dreaming. Merrick is talking about his feelings? About himself?

“What do you feel?” You ask, voice soft, knowing you must look ridiculous and lovestruck and hopeful.. But you can’t find it within you to care.

“I feel a thousand things,” he says, rolling his eyes with a gentle huff, sarcastic to the last. “If you’re asking what I feel for you… What I feel when I think about you..” Merrick’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “I’ve lingered far longer in this place than I should have, purely to stay by your side.”

The words feel momentous. Charged. 

“Lingered? What is that supposed to mean?” You finally ask, your heart clenching painfully in your chest. He was.. going to leave?

“I was only supposed to be… here, for a month, at most. I met you though,” Merrick whispers, low voice gone rough with emotion. He leans forward again, ghosting kisses along the line of your jaw. “And I couldn’t leave. I disobeyed, but I can’t-” This time, when his lips find yours, you don’t fight the heady way he makes you feel. You fall into the kiss willingly, biting at his lower lip. A thrill shoots through you when a wrecked noise escapes him, the pressure of the sound heavy on your tongue. You still have so many questions, you still don’t understand- but Merrick wants you. He wants you, and you can’t quite believe this is all happening. A year of casual hints and mild flirtation that you hoped meant something more. A year of you both dancing around the subject and he wants you.

His hands slide down your shoulders, and then skim your waist, pulling you to the very edge of the counter. “Please,” he whispers, breath warm against your skin as he speaks. “Let me show you how I feel. I can’t sa- but I can show you. Let me?”

"Yes,” you urge him, shuddering when his fingers dig into your hips. “Merrick,” you gasp, and then he rolls his hips, his erection pressing, hard and thick, between your thighs. You wrap your legs around him, eyes fluttering closed as his lips seal around your pulse. The longer he touches you, working at your skin with tongue and teeth, fingers slipping under your clothes, the heavier the air feels. You breathe in a lungful of the same floral taste as his mouth, and then Merrick seems to glow. He flickers, just barely, before he’s pulling back so he can gasp for breath himself. The glow vanishes, leaving you blinking, and unsure as to whether you actually saw that.. maybe you’re just hopped up on endorphins?

“Shirt off?” You ask, and smack his grasping fingers away when he reaches for your shirt with a self satisfied smirk. “I meant you,” you clarify, taking care of your own clothes. Merrick watches you first, eyes tracking your bared skin with a fierce hunger. You think for a moment that he’s going to ignore your request, but he finally tugs off his shirt when he glances up at your face. As soon as the shirt hits the floor, he immediately makes to put his hands on you again, but you grab hold of his arm, catching sight of dark lines on his fair skin.

“You do have tattoos!” You exclaim, feeling your jaw drop when he lets you see them with a weary sigh. He has insect wings, thick veined and larger than any wing tattoos you’ve ever seen. The top pair wraps around his shoulders and biceps, while the second pair disappears beneath his pants. A thought starts to form in your mind, but Merrick is turning back toward you, and rushing to tug you close. He captures your mouth with a bruising kiss.

“Look at them later,” he pleads, breath soft against your lips, while his strong hands stroke up your thighs. “I’d rather have my mouth on you.“ Merrick kneels, looking up at you from beneath pale lashes, pulling your ass towards the edge of the counter. "Will you let me?” He asks, nimble fingers making quick work of your trousers.

You let him.

You feel light-headed though, like your blood has rushed to softer parts as he helps you out of your clothes. This is Merrick, sarcastic, awkward Merrick, looking up at you like he’s never wanted anything more in his life, mouth warm and wet against your knee, fingers steady as they curl around your thigh. He slows when you start to tremble, teeth just barely grazing your inner thigh before he’s lifting his head and licking his lips. 

“You’re sure?” He asks softly, drawing his hands back to your knees, thumbs stroking over your kneecaps. “I’m plenty happy to keep kissing your mouth if-”

“I’m sure,” you rush to say, just barely keeping yourself from reaching out to tug on one of his pointy ears. “It’s just-” You break off on speech, smiling widely. “Just trying to live in the moment.”

Merrick huffs out a laugh against your skin, eyes falling closed as he leans in, pale lashes bright against his pink cheeks. He doesn’t stop when you shiver this time, just settles one of your legs over his shoulder and gets back to work, tongue and lips teasing the soft skin of your thighs and moving upwards. You have to hold tight to the counter to keep from moving. The first slow stroke of his tongue over you has you tensing, the fifth has your hands clenching on the counter and you forcing yourself to keep your eyes open. It’s beyond intimate when his eyes meet yours, lips closing so he can suck on you properly. Your vocabulary, your ability to speak in sentences seems to leave you entirely. You murmur his name as he tilts his head, slowly sucking harder, one of his hands moving in to help stroke, squeezing, fingers hot and- Biting your lip, moving slow, you slide your hand into the curls on the crown of his head, tensing when he moans. Between the vibration and the heat of his tongue, you’re breathless, the whole of your body locking in place as you try and hold yourself back. Merrick must realize though, must know enough in the bedroom to recognize the signs because he sucks harder and his hand moves just a little faster, humming softly against your skin. Heat blazes through you as you gasp, head tilting back, fingers curling a little too tight in his hair, pulling as you shake on the counter, coming on his tongue. Merrick doesn’t let up until you whimper and doesn’t move from his spot between your legs. He lays his warm cheek against your knee, grinning up at you when you can finally look down, light headed and dazed from his attention.

“Can I keep showing you?” He asks, licking his lips when you glance at his mouth. 

“Well you did suggest sharing a bed, and I’m not going to lie, I.. rather liked the thought of thaAT, Merrick!” Breath whooshes out of you as Merrick moves, throwing you smoothly over his shoulder as he gets to his feet.

“I can walk,” you insist, thumping feebly at Merrick’s tattooed back as he turns on his heel. Truth be told, you don’t mind the angle. You’re rather enamored with touching him at the moment, and the view- You’ve dreamed of stroking your hands over the broadness of his shoulders, of biting at his plush lower lip and shaking apart under his touch. It’s a heady feeling, having had it. Knowing that he’s wanted you in the same way. “I’ve never been laid low by a single org- ouch!” You jerk away from where he’s pinched your thigh, but all Merrick does is adjust so he can hold you tighter. He’s still ignoring your complaining though, continuing on his way to the bedroom. “Hey! Are you even listening?” 

He walks faster, and you catch sight of his heels and calves below the bare curve of his ass, tattoos stark against the pale skin. “I’m trying not to,” he says, and his fingers tremble in their grip on your legs. The cadence of his speech, the way he words things- why must he make everything sound like a secret? 

“Merrick,” you start, voice soft as you trace the wing lines of his tattoos. He doesn’t let you get any farther though, tossing you onto your bed, a sly smile curling his mouth as you bounce and gasp in mock outrage. He follows after you, spreading your legs so he can kneel between them, and places a soft, almost reverent kiss over your heart. You start to clench your jaw, emotion welling up in your chest, but Merrick- 

“Do you think I could lay you low with another orgasm?” He asks, leaning back and raising a brow when you don’t immediately answer. You kind of want to laugh, and sigh, and scoff, all at the same time.

It’s a relief, finding out that he’s still himself with you, even after what happened in the kitchen. It’s a relief that he’s still around, that this isn’t a dream, that everything you’d agonized over is-

You settle for scowling at his pretty smirking face. Actually, it’s kind of irritating, realizing how much time you’ve wasted mooning over each other in silence. It’s not something to dwell on, at any rate, because you still have questions for Merrick. About Gar, about his tattoos, about his ears and his stupid way of phrasing things.

“Am I still allowed to touch?” He asks suddenly, brushing his pale curls out of his eyes. The question startles away your scowl, but this is still very new. For both of you, and you’ve been quiet for a little too long.

“Yeah, definitely,” you hasten to say, heat coursing through your body.  

Merrick makes it so damned hard to concentrate on asking him anything, even at the best of times. Now that you both have this, you kind of despair of getting any answers at all. Even now, you’re distracted by the careful way he lays beside you on the bed. The way the dim daylight coming from your window plays over his shoulders. It almost makes his wings look like they’re moving. Before you can think any more about it though, he’s leaning in close, hand stroking over bare skin, and his teeth are gentle against your shoulder, followed swiftly by a swipe of his tongue. You press even closer, breath soft, and Merrick lays a trail of kisses along the column of your neck, long fingers ghosting over your back and hip.

The kissing, the touching… It’s new and exploratory and you’re both reveling in it, finally knowing you can be this close to each other- but your brain just doesn’t want to shut off. His tattoos, and his ears. You keep tracing them while he’s kissing you, palms cradling his jaw, fingertips soft against the delicate points, wondering about them. He has odd interests, but you never would have pegged him for any kind of body modification, not with the way he shudders over needles. His ears seem to be sensitive, with the way he leans into your touch, with the soft little noises that escape his mouth. ..Or maybe Merrick just hasn’t made out with someone for this long while they fondle his ears. You drag yours hands down his chest, and replace your fingers with your mouth, nipping at the fine cartilage- and Merrick spasms, groaning against the hollow of your neck, and the room grows a little brighter.

“Like that, do you?” You pull back to ask, voice low, heart thundering unsteadily in your chest. The room seems to dim again when you meet his gaze. He looks a mess, lips swollen from kissing, pupils blown and his ears flushed pink. His curls are mussed awkwardly around his ears, caught on the points, and a soft whisper of a laugh escapes you.

“Yes,” he says, serious, almost desperate sounding when he follows the word with your name. The laughter dies in your mouth, leaving your throat tight and aching with wanting. You’re not sure anyone has ever said your name like that. 

“..More?” You ask, coaxing, as all he seems able to do is breathe, and stare, and clutch at your hip. He nods his head, and your thigh slips between his when you get back to work, teeth careful against his earlobe. Merrick shudders under you and turns absolutely breathless when you tug at his curls to get a better angle. 

“You’ve ruined me,” he gasps, lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. “The way you look at me, how you feel, the way you say- say Merrick.” Again, it sounds like he chokes on the words, barely able to say his own name, but then his hips are rolling, and you realize how hard he is against your thigh.

You let the questions go, ignoring the puzzle pieces still quietly rearranging themselves in the back of your head, and focus on pleasure. You catalogue the way he sounds when your tongue touches the shell of his ear, the way he thrums with tension when your fingers curl around his cock. All you can taste now is that strange floral tea - on his tongue, on his skin, just breathing in the air near him. You can’t seem to get enough of it.

The both of you are starting to lose your nerves now, too eager for each other to be slow. 

“What do you want?” Merrick asks, panting when you pull away for air. You let go of his cock so you can think beyond the words you, or more, beyond the urge to simply keep going. “Tell me.”

You gasp out a laugh, just once, before you adjust, sitting back on his thighs. “Trying to make this all about me?” You tease, pleased, but slightly embarrassed by such acute attention.

“It’s always been all about you,” Merrick confesses, thumbs soft against your knees. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks when he momentarily lowers his eyes, almost embarrassed by the amount of emotion is his words. He’s quick to raise his eyes back up though, intent on seeing your face as he speaks. “Your happiness is important to me, and-”

“Yours is important to me too, Merrick,” you interrupt, a little exasperated. “Let me,” you insist, repeating his words, enjoying the sight of him spread out beneath you. 

He rolls his eyes, but a dimple shows in his cheek, and now all you can think about is kissing it. “Hands then,” he suggests, and this time your laugh is brighter, enough to have your cheeks aching with the strain. 

“What are we, teenagers?” You ask, but you still lean forward, taking him back in hand and pressing another kiss to his shoulder as you squeeze. Merrick makes a small strangled noise, thrusting up into your grip.

“Hardly,” he murmurs when you start to stroke, fingers tensing on your hips. “Would have been too-” His eyes flutter closed for a moment. “Too impatient to draw things out this way. Would have rushed, wouldn’t have-” He breathes your name again, voice shaking, when you nip at his other ear. “Wouldn’t have realized what- what I have.”

You’re still stroking him languidly, not wanting the friction to be unpleasant, but he seems to enjoy the pace. He does lose his breath when you press yourself against his cock though, eager to help him lose his composure, and he almost keens when you bite his ear again. Your eyes are closed, enjoying the taste of his skin, the feeling of him, hard and pulsing in your hand, when he bucks.

“What do you have, Merrick?” You ask, because you’re curious. Because you want to know what he means exactly, without all the circles of questions and sidestepped answers.

“Ev-” He curses, hand curling around the back of your neck, and tilts his head until he’s nearly kissing you. It’s hard, keeping yourself from interrupting, from kissing him. You want to hear what he says though and that desire is stronger, if only by a fraction. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted for myself,” he gets out, and then looks shocked by the admission, pink mouth open in a perfect O, eyes wide. You want to ask what he means, but he pulls you into a rough, wet kiss, and wraps his hand around your own, speeding your pace. He’s actively chasing his own orgasm now, hips lifting, cock head rubbing against your skin, and you have to squeeze your thighs to keep from being displaced.

“Merrick,” you gasp between kisses, lips catching against his. The breath caught between the both of you is warm and sweet, and you could stay here, happily, doing nothing but stroking him and breathing in his kisses like you’re desperate for the air- and then he’s coming. He comes over your hand and his, dripping onto his belly and somehow he’s still wonderfully hard, still eager for more. You cease to notice the time, taking a minor break to clean up before you both fall back into bed, grinning and finding every excuse there is to keep touching, to keep tasting. Whether he’s using his hands, or his mouth, or just rutting against you, you feel like you’re nothing but nerve endings, over eager for every brush of skin, for every murmured word and breathless laugh.    

You lose yourself in him completely, until the both of you are smiling, half-awake idiots and it’s nearly dark outside. It isn’t until Merrick is drifting off to sleep on his stomach, eyelashes pale against his cheekbones, limbs still, that you notice his tattoo again. It reminds you of bee wings, or beetles, gorgeous, and almost frail looking with the changing breadth of veins. You run your fingers over the scalloped edges, amazed by the level of intricate detail, and then the realization hits you:

Merrick is a fucking faerie.

⊱ ────── .⋅ 🜁 ⋅. ────── ⊰

... turn the page?

[faithfulcat111]

Alright guy, we've reached the Hatchetfield era of shows. Note: I tried to do Movies, Musicals, and Me, but I just don't care for that show. Clark was the only good part. I loved him. So we are just moving forward. Starting with TGWDLM act 1. Favourite bits under the cut:

Jaimie's voice

The choreography in this opening song

Mariah's voice

This song is so fun the first time you hear it, but so creepy the more and more you hear it

'Where the fuck is he?' 'I have no fucking clue.' Jeff's face *shrugs* 'The guy just doesn't like musicals!'

The costume for Mr. Davidson

Jon just walking on stage with his chair at the end of the song.

Robert and Lauren then calling him a piece of shit with zero reaction

I have so much headcannons about Melissa for someone that only has two lines, I love her. But what is with the softball league girl

Charlotte putting the cigeratte away just to pull out a flask.

'The touring production of Mama Mia!' 'Wow, she'll like that just as much as Hamilton.'

'She thinks you're cool! Maybe you can talk me up a bit? Let her know her old dad is pretty cool too.' 'Bill, no.' 'You got other plans?' 'No.'

'You going to Beanies?' 'Yeah.' 'You didn't invite me.'

Okay, Ted is someone I would hate in real life, but I love his character.

LATTEE HOTTEE

'Oh my gosh so mean!' *flips him off*

*slowly backing off-stage* 'I have very low blood sugar.'

'I've been brewing up your coffee!'

'You meant this just for me. I don't have to split this with anyone?' 'Oh no, that's for you. I don't give a shit about them.'

Paul is trying so hard to flirt with Emma

'Excuse me!' Paul and Emma's faces as Hot Chocolate Boy comes back onstage. (I also have so many hc's about him)

'Oh shoot, I forgot about Bill's carmel frappe. Ah, fuck Bill.'

Greenpeace girl and Homeless guy saying hi to each other

'You know that money you're raising? You know how much of it actually goes to the turtles?' 'Well, none of it. I just made that up.' 'That's right none!'

'Zoey, you need a ride?' 'In your shitty car? I'd rather not crash and die, thanks.'

Okay, I love how they quickly flash between the different characters in this scene.

Wait, did Joey switch pants between Ted and Smoke Club guy? I backed up to check and he did! Damn, I knew Mariah and Lauren and Jaimie all changed here, but they put clothes on over top of what they were wearing and entered where they exited. Joey had to put a shirt and hat on, change pants, and get to the other side of the stage. 62 seconds, actually plenty of time. Still impressive.

Peanuts!!!

'That was interesting...' *Smoke Club girl and Hcb doing a leap spin* 'That seems like a lot.'

Paul having some sort of weird rivalry with Greenpeace girl

Greenpeace girl giving herself a high-five when Paul wouldn't.

Homeless guy's whole verse for La Dee Dah Dah Day (also this is way more tragic after Nightmare Time, but ignoring that right now)

Paul trying to crawl out the spinning circle of singing people

'Lights down, quick change, quick change.' *all the others running off stage already removing costume pieces, leaving Paul*

'Charlotte, you got enough coffee in the sugar?'

'Like a flash mob?' 'Yeah, what else could it have been?' 'Did you get a video of it?' 'No.' 'Fucking useless, Paul.'

Ted accidentally outing that he knew Charlotte's husband didn't come home last night and trying to cover.

These guys came so close to figuring stuff out before Melissa called Paul into Mr. Davidson's office

The whole of What Do You Want, Paul?

Jeff is is so unhinged during this (and Jon is trying so hard not to laugh at some points)

'Get my wife on the phone for me.' 'Mr. Davidson, I think I should leave.' 'No Paul, I want you to hear this. If you leave, you're fired.'

'I want to go home!'

'HELLO! PLEASE I JUST WANT A BLACK COFFEE!' 'Black coffee, I'm your coffee gal-' 'NO!!!'

Emma's expression not changing from utterly done for the entire tip song

Cup of Poisoned Coffee is so good

'Well, how the hell am I supposed to pop out of a trashcan and not scare the shit out of you?'

'We were just at Beanies!' 'YOU DIDN'T INVITE ME!'

'Paul, get in a trashcan. You, beat it.' 'Uh, fuck you.'

Robert making siren noises

Ted knocking Sam out with a trashcan lid (actually the choreography here at the end chasing everyone around is good. I wish i could see the whole thing at once to track everyone and there is a gap from different filming days, which annoys me)

'His brain fell out!' 'Well, put it back then!' 'I don't know how, I'm not a doctor!' 'Charlotte, look at that. That's not his brain! It's blue!' 'Well, how do you know, you're not a doctor either!'

'I am a presbyterian, I'm not going to die in your dirty-ass methodist church.'

'These are my friends! This is Paul and them.'

'What on earth does that look like to you?' 'I don't know, some kind of blue shit?' 'Exactly, Emma! What the fuck is this shit?'

'You bet your ass we got booze.'

The whole kick your head scene

'Could be worse. Could be dying in Clivesdale.'

'Fucking Timberwolves! We hated you guys.' 'We hated ourselves!'

Jaimie holding that note at the beginning of Join Us and Die

Actually her voice through this whole song

Ted's expressions during this song

Also him picking up a chair to fight the aliens

Hidgins just coming out with a shotgun

'Sing the beginning of Moana!' *cocks gun and points it at the others*

Bill singing The Circle of Life instead and Paul's expression when they realize.

'Alright, that was terrible.'