#just had to grab that pen and get ta doodling

[max-arioni]

A kind of Sheep of some sort :3 @sunshineram

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 11: Intruloceit (pt 2)

@tsshipmonth2020

The sequel y’all were waiting for! (@hoppe-ideas)

Day 11: ‘Choose your own adventure’ day! I chose to continue from Day 9, since I couldn’t very well leave it there.

Content warning: allusions to abuse, Remus being Remus (need I elaborate?), implied past panic attack, mention of bipolar disorder, and of course, Janus’ crippling insecurities. Angst with a happy ending. 

Word count: 4k

*READ DAY 9 FIRST*

Blue: What time are you available?

Green: What is this, a doctor’s office? I’m free after lunch 

Blue: I was merely tr

Green: I know, I know. I’m just teasing you. It’s endearing, my little mocking-nerd. Bring your textbook, I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. It’s octopus learning time!

Blue: I will never understand you.

Green: Good 

He drew a crude rendering of the devil emoji, then a heart, and the conversation ended as quickly as it began.

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

Green: What would happen if you injected coca cola into your bloodstream

Blue: No.

Green: It’s just a question!

Blue: I’m assuming you would die.

Green: Damn. Can we try anyways?

Blue: No!

Green: C’mon, for science?

Blue: NO! Why did this question even arise?!

Janus hid a small chuckle, before immediately slapping a hand over his mouth. Even if the writing was as much on his arm as it was theirs, it still felt wrong to read it. Felt wrong to admit that he was starting to enjoy their shenanigans.

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

Green: Hey

Blue: Hello, my dear. What is so important that you couldn’t text me?

Green: my mom broke my phone and I’m having an attack

Janus sat straight up, his calligraphy pen clattering to the floor, effectively ruining the large swooping letters he was working on with a splattered gold streak. This was the first message the two had shared that wasn’t either Blue’s notes about homework or Green’s odd creative ideas, or cheesy conversations between the two that Janus tended not to read. It felt like intruding on someone’s life. He hadn’t learned their names yet, and while they always stuck to the same color scheme, he knew at this point he’d be able to distinguish their handwriting with no hesitation. It was his version of hearing their voices, and he’d started growing attached to them. He turned his full attention to the conversation on the back of his arm, feeling a surge of worry.

Blue: I’m on my way, be at the curb in ten minutes?

Green: thanks

Blue: Remember those breathing exercises. Try to stay calm. 

Green: please hurry

Blue: I’m driving as fast as I can, love.

The messages ended there, and Janus didn’t sleep that night.

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

Blue: Happy birthday, Remus. I hope you have an amazing day.

Remus: Are we still good to go for tonight? 

Blue: Of course. I had Roman and Patton help plan most of the date, so I hope you enjoy it.

Remus: Logan, if it’s with you, I will~ 

Logan: You’re a sap.

Remus: And you love it

Logan: Guilty.

Never had Janus felt so alone. It was one thing to have anonymous messages scribbled on your arm, little doodles and good luck wishes, but to know their names? That brought on a whole new round of tears that he hated himself for. Remus and Logan. The names of his so-called soulmates, the labels he could finally put to the personalities. As much as he hated to admit it, waking up had become a whole lot easier since they’d started appearing on his skin. It was something little to look forward to.

It also hurt, just a little bit more. Before he was eighteen, he’d been able to imagine his situation like his parent’s, with a soulmate who would end up hating and hurting him, and it was easy to decide to never communicate when the time arrived. And even if they seemed like genuinely good people, every time he lifted a pen to respond, to announce his presence, he stopped himself, as his father’s words rang through his head.

Why would anyone want you, Janus?

You’re a mistake, and they’ll see that instantly.

Honestly, what good do you even have to offer a soulmate?

He didn’t want them to be true, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever told him differently. His mother avoided his eyes and was silent, his peers treated him like a disease, so those words were the ones he started to believe. So he capped the pen, pulled his sleeve down, and ignored the small feather light tickles as they spread across his arms. 

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

Of course, it wasn’t avoidable forever. 

It was writing on skin, did he think that was something he would never do accidentally? Was he really that stupid? They were going to be so pissed when they found out how long he’d been snooping on their conversations. They’d hate him. They’d never be open to the idea that he was somehow meant to be in their lives. He was done. He was such an idiot.

These were the thoughts raging through his mind as he looked down over himself in shock, spilled amber ink shimmering on his skin. It was an accident; an opening of an ink pod combined with over enthusiastic dancing to the Chicago soundtrack, leading to a faltering concentration and skin covered in staining gold. He’d been sitting cross legged on his chair when the cartridge exploded, and he’d bounded to his bathroom to try and wash it off, but it had only been partially successful. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see it. It had covered a good majority of today’s messages on his arms, smeared across his shins from hurriedly trying to wipe it away, and speckled across his face like the world’s most unfortunate freckles. 

He dropped back into his chair, his music now turned off, and laid his head on the cool wood of his desk. The ticking on his clock was the only sound in the room and he counted each one, mentally marking the minutes as they passed by. Waiting. Five minutes of silent fear had passed before a new anxiety began to rise in him. What if they were his soulmates, but he wasn’t theirs? He’d heard of it happening, ever so rarely, that soulmarks weren’t reciprocated. If that was true for him, and he was starting to become sure it was, they wouldn’t see the ink. They never would. He would be forced to live the rest of his life on the outside, reading their life on his skin but never able to take part. Somehow that seemed a lot worse now that it wasn’t his choice.

Just as he was starting to spiral, a familiar tickle on his arm snapped him back to the present. His head jerked up, hair falling into his heterochromatic eyes as he followed the dark blue script, starting just under the largest golden spill.

Hello? 

And how should he respond to that? He couldn’t think of a fun one liner, a sassy quip, to introduce himself. For the first time in his life, lying wasn’t an option, and he hated that. He grabbed the first pen he could grab, a black ballpoint, with shaking fingers.

Hi. Well, that was lame. 

You’re our soulmate. It was less of a question, more of a statement. Janus took a deep breath, bringing the pen down again.

Yes. 

I’m sorry. What he was apologizing for, he couldn’t quite put a finger on. But it felt right. Apologizing was simply second nature to him.

Whatever for?

He didn’t know how to answer that time, so he did what he always did best, and watched. Waited again, hoping that Blue (Logan, he remembered vaguely), would just drop the subject. This was the most conversation he’d had with someone in a while. 

My name’s Remus. The other dork is Logan. 

The green ink appeared under the blue, and Janus’ heart dropped painfully in his chest. As if he didn’t already know their names. It’s not as if he could say that, though. 

You seem kinda shy. It’s cute 

Let them speak, Remus. 

Both of them went silent, offering time to allow Janus to write. But he didn’t know what to say, how to explain… 

So he didn’t. He yanked down the sleeves of his pajama top, pulling the edges over his hands to hide the now dried golden  ink, and collapsed onto his bed, dooming himself to another night of restless sleep. 

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

If Janus had the choice, he wouldn’t have gone to school the next day. He would have laid curled up under his blanket, struggling to tune out the sound of his parents arguing, letting the world pass him by like an old camera reel. Janus didn’t have the choice though, not when he remembered it was nearing the end of the year and exam season was drawing closer, and then the bickering downstairs became motivation. Good grades would equal an out-of-state college, which would mean getting away from thrown dishes and slamming doors. 

Even so, that didn’t mean that Janus didn’t regret the entire day of school. It seemed like a breath of fresh air when the lunch bell rang and the students shuffled out of the class in a lump, leaving just him and Mr. Sanders behind, as per usual. Just as he reached down to pull his lunch out of his bag (just a handful of cold scrambled eggs he had set aside from his already meager breakfast), the teacher spoke.

“I actually have a meeting today, Jay. You’re gonna have to find a different place to have lunch.”

“What?” Janus recoiled as he spoke, his own voice sounding foreign to him. He hadn’t meant to talk back, half expecting a lecture, and was surprised when the teacher’s expression morphed into one of sympathy.

“Sorry, bud. It’s a staff meeting, and I couldn’t find a TA to watch the room over the break. It’s only for today. Cafeteria is open though, I’m sure you can find an empty table there. Or better yet,” He smiled softly, lifting his laptop bag onto his shoulder, “Sit with someone. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Janus picked up his bag as well, rushing from the room without a second glance. He didn’t feel like explaining that the reason he sat alone wasn’t his choice, and he couldn’t help it. He was just tired of being pushed away, so why not make the first move himself. 

The path to the cafeteria was hardly trodden by him, and he tried to take in the pictures of past grad classes on the wall for as long as possible before his time was up. The security guard marching the halls gave him a pointed look, reminding him that he couldn’t stay in the hallways during lunch, so he hunched his shoulders and walked into the lunch room. He cursed the weather under his breath for being so damn hot today; he would melt in his hoodie and gloves to cover the ink. Luckily the splatters on his face blended in enough with the skin tone to be unnoticeable. 

The first thing he noticed is that it was loud. People shouted, trays clattered, and Janus wanted nothing more than to curl up in his hoodie. Social interaction. Gross. The second was that Mr. Sanders had been right, there was a line of empty tables at the back that people seemed to avoid in favor of grouping together in the center. The third and final thing was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that flooded Janus as soon as he walked in. Sitting alone in an empty room was one thing, choosing to sit alone in a crowded room was another. 

For a split second, the teacher’s words ran through his mind, and he wondered briefly if he should join a group, only for his anxiety to immediately shut the idea down with a shriek of are you crazy?!

He chose the closest table to the door that was untouched and sat hesitantly, appetite lost. All he had to do was get through an hour of this, he thought painfully. If he paid close enough attention, he could tune into other people’s conversations, and if he closed his eyes and drifted far enough, he might actually imagine that he was a part of them. 

“Hi!”

Janus’ eyes shot open and he shrunk back as if he’d been slapped. Standing in front of him was a guy he recognized from his math class, bouncing on his heels enough to make his blonde curls fall into his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear, gleaming teeth matching the white collar that stood out from under his blue sweater. 

“Do you want to sit with us?”

His critical glare didn’t deter the overly joyful guy as he gestured over Janus’ shoulder, encouraging him to look. He did, albeit reluctantly. Four people were sitting at the table behind him, three caught up in a spirited conversation. The last one was staring back at him owlishly through thick square glasses, and surprisingly, Janus wasn’t unsettled by the look. 

“Come sit with us!” The happy guy said again, looking like he was refraining himself from just grabbing Janus and pulling him over. His round glasses had started edging down his nose as he hopped from foot to foot.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep! Please?” He drew out the word for several seconds. Janus couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, nodding mutely and gathering his backpack. His anxiety started again, pelting him with ‘they’re going to hate you’s and ‘this changes nothing’s, but he pushed them down resolutely. It was just the one meal. Tomorrow would be back to normal, eating lunch by himself in Mr. Sanders’ room. And he really couldn’t say no to that hopeful face. 

“Yay! Okay,” He led Janus to the table, dropping into one of the two empty seats and pointing to the one next to him. He took a deep breath before gushing on, “Sit! Okay, okay, okay, so I’m Patton, purple-hair is Virgil but they hate the name so you can just call them V. We all call them V. That’s Logan, and the twins are Roman and Remus. Remus has the white streak, but it’s actually really easy to tell them apart once you get to know them.”

Janus’ blood froze in the middle of Patton’s gleeful rant. Those names… those were all the names that kept popping up over the five months of secret soulmate snooping. That wasn’t a coincidence, right? Most of those names weren’t exactly common.

His eyes shifted to the two Patton had introduced as Remus and Logan, sitting shoulder to shoulder across from him. Remus had halted whatever he was talking so animatedly about in favor of greeting the newcomer, but Janus couldn’t get himself to wave back. Instead he dropped his gaze to their loosely intertwined hands on the table, feeling somewhat lightheaded at the identical golden stains covering both of them. 

So... he ran. He wasn’t proud of it, and he was somewhat certain that he’d made a scene, but he couldn’t do it. His own self doubt was crippling, all his fears rushing him full forced and reminding him just how little he mattered, how messed up his life had made him, how he would only ruin any possible relationship. This was all too real now. They fit so well to the picture he had unintentionally made of them in his mind; navy blue button up tops and slicked back hair, green bomber jackets and mussed up shoulder length curls. Eyes that glinted with barely concealed mirth, a dimpled grin revealing almost razor sharp canines. Two polar opposites, so perfectly built for each other, soulmates. He would just come along and ruin it. 

Screw the sun, he thought, as he sat on the scalding hot bleachers by the football field. To his extreme annoyance, tears had started drifting down his cheeks, and he hurriedly wiped them away from sheer habit. His dad didn’t like tears almost as much as he didn’t like Janus. It wasn’t like they would know it was him, right? All they knew was a stranger had been invited to their table and had booked it before they even got his name. So he could stay a mystery, a fly on the wall, for the rest of his days.

The all too familiar feeling on his arm was more of a curse now than it ever had been. Resigned to his fate, he rolled the sleeve up to read whatever the two were no doubt talking about. 

Hi. 

He looked around frantically despite his better judgment, his eyes landing on a figure standing at the end of the bench, uncapped pen in one hand and one blue sleeve rolled up. Logan regarded him with a careful look, locked in a staring contest that neither wanted to look away from. The other broke first, turning his focus to his steps across the rickety surface as he approached Janus. He took a seat, mumbling something about how hot it was, before scribbling something else onto his arm and capping the pen. Janus tried to fight the urge to look down at his own still-bare arm, but he couldn’t resist a quick peak.

I found him. Bleachers in the north field.

“Why don’t you take off the gloves, at least. It’s almost ninety degrees out.”

Welp. Apparently this was happening. “How did you know?” He whispered, not touching his gloves.

“Remus and I both felt naturally drawn to you as soon as you walked into the cafeteria. We could not and still can not explain it. When Patton followed our gaze, he was more than eager to invite you over. Not that he needed the prompting, I am certain he would have invited you over regardless of Remus’ and my feelings the moment you sat alone,” Logan stopped briefly, taking note of the new green smiley face under his last message, “Your reaction to our names and hands in rapid succession was enough to solidify our previous suspicions. That-” He pointed to the shared messages on their skin, “-was the final proof I needed.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Janus at a complete loss for words, until a loud clang to their right grabbed both of their attentions. Remus was clinging to the railing like a vine, having climbed all the way from the bottom, he realized with a start. The older man crawled over the top and landed solidly, rattling the seats, before bouncing over to them.

“Hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi hi!” He plopped onto the bench in front of Janus, sitting backwards to face them. Consequently, he was slightly lower than the other two, and could see Janus’ usually ducked face for the first time. “Oooh, I like your birthmark! Is it a birthmark? Or a burn? Either way, I don’t care. I like it.”

“Gee, thanks,” Janus snarked before he could stop himself, his self protective tendency rising to the surface. Remus only giggled in response, manspreading a tad more and leaning forward on his elbows. 

“I like him, Logan. He’s feisty.”

“I’m so glad I have your approval.” He was on guard now, he couldn’t help it.

“Remus, stop pestering him. He just met us.”

Remus grumbled under his breath but held his tongue. Logan could silence him, he’d have to remember that for the future. If they had a future. He couldn’t help the sliver of hope since they had actually come to find him… but maybe it was to let him down easy. No clue.

“When did you turn eighteen?” The question shouldn’t have shocked him the way it did; it was a valid thought.

“Five months ago.”

And he waited, expecting the worst at the sharp intakes of breath from both of them. Expected them to stand up and leave. Expected them to call him a creep. Expected them to… anything, really. 

Well, anything except take his hands. Which they both did.

It was like they could speak telepathically, the way they seemed to be so in sync. Maybe that was a soulmate thing. Remus reached forward and weaved their fingers together at the same time that Logan placed his hand over Janus’ left one, squeezing it gently. They were both calming gestures in their own ways, and admittedly the most contact Janus had felt in maybe years. If that wasn’t enough to bring back his tears, Logan’s next words certainly were. 

“Why didn’t you write right away?”

“That’s so much missed time we could have spent together,” Remus chipped in, eyes surprisingly soft. 

“I…” Oh, for fuck’s sake. Better let them see how messed up he is now so they can walk away before he gets attached. More attached. “My parents are soulmates and they ended up hating each other. He’s a jerk, he hurts her and me and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my soulmate. Soulmates, I guess. Then the first thing I saw was you guys talking, and I realized, there’s two of you,” He laughed humorlessly, shrugging nonchalantly, “You wouldn’t be missing out if I never made myself known, and what kind of asshole would I be if I intruded on your relationship anyways? It’s not like I can add anything worthwhile. I’m not… that great of a person. I never have been. I have too much baggage and I’m pretty boring and I only scare people away so if I were you I’d get out while I had the chance.” His cracking voice gave away how he actually felt, and he despised himself for it. In all honesty, there was nothing he wanted more than to be held and loved and wanted. He’d never had that before in his life, was it a crime to not want to be pushed aside forever?

To his utter confusion, neither of them pulled away. He’d just vented to two strangers, and they were still as attentive as before. 

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” Remus hummed in a decent impression of John Mulaney, letting his thumb glide over Janus’. 

“So if I’m correct,” Logan stated in a tone that implied he usually was correct, “You didn’t contact us because you didn’t want to burden us, or get yourself hurt.”

“I mean… yeah.”

“I’m going to kill your dad,” Remus chirped all too brightly, “For hurting you. And for ever making you think that we would hurt you.” 

“Remus!”

“It’s true!”

Logan sighed heavily, “Remus is a little extreme, sometimes, but he is harmless. Look, I can assure you that your presumptions are entirely false. We would never harm you, and anything you’ve gone through in your past, what you call baggage, is not a deterrent to us in the slightest.”

“I have bipolar disorder, and a whole wacky past that we’ll get into another time,” Remus added, waving away Logan’s ‘shut up’ face, “And in the fifteen years I’ve known this nerd, he’s always stood by me.”

Janus knew it was supposed to feel better, but learning that the two have known each other since long before they knew they were soulmates suddenly made Janus feel that much more like he was intruding. Remus must have noticed his expression, because he quickly kept going.   

“All I mean is that we have our fair share of baggage, my multicolored friend-”

“Remus!”

“Both of us do. So you won’t be hurting us in any way, shape, or form. And we won’t hurt you either.”

Janus’ own doubts were still raging inside him, but each word they said was adding splashes of water, slowly dousing the flames, much to his dismay. Even Remus’ attempts at humor were delighting him in ways he wasn’t used to. 

“For some reason, the universe wants us together somehow. We’re meant to be in each other’s lives. Aw gross, that sounds like something Roman would-”

“Trusting us will be a slow process, and we understand that,” Logan interrupted smoothly, “You don’t need to believe our words, because we’ll prove it to you. Alright?” 

It took a second until Janus nodded, but he did. He could hardly understand it himself.

“Can you start by telling us your name?”

“Janus.” It was a near whisper, a confession of the name he’d disliked since he was old enough to get bullied by his peers.

“The two faced Roman god of decisions, doorways, and new beginnings,” Logan spouted as if on instinct.

“Janus,” Remus repeated slowly, before a huge grin stretched across his face, “I love it.”

[hooniee]

   — ꒰‧⁺weekend dates with sunghoon | short scenario version*ೃ༄

headcannon version!

saturday sights 

scenario: ice skating

“ i promise i won’t let you fall, you just have to trust me babe,” sunghoon extends his hand for you to hold onto

you were still trying to stabalize yourself on the ice.

“easy for you to say, it’s not- SUNGHOON STOP,” he grabs a hold of your hand and pulls you along with him

“WHY ARE WE GOING SO FAST?” you shout as he laughs, holding your hand tighter.

“AH-” your feet wobble and the toe pick gets caught in ice, causing you to stumble.

with you eyes shut, you brace yourself for impactbut surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as bad,

you open your eyes to see sunghoon smiling down at you, cupping the back of your head with his hand

“i told you, i wouldn’t let you fall,” he smirks

“well i didn’t expect you to fall with me-”

scenario:clothes shopping

“try this! this one too! you would look adorable in this,”  the pile in your hand started to build up until only the top of you head peeped out.

“and th- penguin where did you go?”sunghoon looks around confused

“right... here..” you struggle as your arms are ready to give out

“sorry i shouldn’t have went overboard, here let me help you,” he grabs the majority of the clothes in his hands

“okay let’s go try these on!” he perks up

“ALL OF THESE?” you felt like your soul was about to leave your body

not that you didn’t appreciate his effort

but trying on things were such a pain in the ass

taking off your original clothes, squeezing into the clothes, sweating, makeup and hair getting messed up.

“hi! can we please get a dressing room for her?” sunghoon calls out to an employee.

“sir, you can only have a maximum of 10,” the cold tone emits from the worker.

“but there’s nobody else in the store. can she just take all of these in with her?” sunghoon tries again

“you know what, knock yourself out,” the employee says, unlocking the dressing room.

“come on babe, we have to get a start or we’ll be here forever,” he smiles

oh boy.

scenario: cafe

“our usual right?” sunghoon questions when you both enter the cafe.

“yes babe, light ice in both,” you smile.

“okay, go grab us a seat,” he presses a kiss to your temple and enters the line.

you grab an empty table near the window and rest your jacket on the chair next to you.

glancing over, sunghoon still had six people in front of him.

you were stuck into a daze until you felt a tap on your shoulder. you turn around to see a guy that looked around his mid-twenties.

“can i help you?” you question

“i see that you’re sitting alone and i would love to join you,” he smirks

“i have a boyfriend” declining his offer, you turn around until he taps your shoulder again

“what?” you glare

“i don’t see any boy-“

“excuse me,” a voice cuts him off and wonderful sunghoon comes to the rescue

“please stop flirting with my girlfriend. i’m very sorry that your ugly rat of a face can not attract people of your age but you are hitting on a minor sir. she is very uncomfortable.” he lets out his sassy speech.

the guy scoffs and grabs his coat, storming out of the cafe.

“are you okay? did he do anything? “ sunghoon brows furrow in worry as he sits right in front of you

“he touched your hoodie-“

“that little-“

sunday snuggles

scenario: movie marathon

“penguin i love you so much but can we please watch another movie? we’ve watched this seven times already,” he groans

“but- okay then,” you pout and put the movie back in its slot

“you can choose then,” you give sunghoon to box of movies

he rummages around before finding an action film

“this one!” he pulls it out of the packaging and places it in the DVD player.

the noise of the intro comes on and he’s immediately sucked in

you, pouting to make him feel guilty, started groaning because your plan didn’t work

sunghoon glances over and sighs

“put your movie in”

“I LOVE YOU”

scenario: bullet journaling

soft music resonates in the background while you and sunghoon are sprawled on the floor.

“can you pass me the purple pen?” you ask and sunghoon hands it to you

“i need a totoro sticker please,” he hold his hand out

you pass the box over to him filled to the brim with stickers.

“which one do you like better?”

giving you two options to choose, you choose the right opinion. “it’s matches the vibe of your spread sheet this time!” you exclaim before re-focusing on your own journal

“ta-da, look at my cute doodle that i drew,” you point to it

“yikes”

“what did you just say?”

scenario: talking

“do you want to get up?” you lay on your back

“no, do you?”

“nope”

“let’s just stay in bed,” you groan, snuggling deeper into his chest

“sounds good to me,” he replies, finding his arm around your middle

“talk to me,” you muffle

“about what?” he asks, softly twirling your hair

“about anything. the members, school, dance, lessons,” you add on

“hm the members are always just a mess, the exams were okay, i’m still kinda awkward in hip hop and i like our lessons teachers,” he rambles

“mmm” you hum

“what about you?”

“well school is okay but i’ve been missing you a lot,” you sigh

“i’ve missed you too baby penguin,” he presses a soft kiss on your forehead

“let’s catch up? tell me about the members” you smile

“we’re just a mess-“

[joeyglowy]

Bad Study Habits ft. Miya Twins

In which the Miya Twins learn not to waste your time when they are the ones that asked for help. That, and that their necks are surprisingly quite sensitive. 

(Call it a commemoration for Miya Osamu finally having his character designs introduced, even if it’s the fucking laziest but most beautiful thing I’ve seen all week)

Miya Atsumu x Reader, 1500+ words Miya Osamu x Reader, 1700+ words

(I promise, I love them, almost equally)

Miya Atsumu

“Why do I need ta know Avocado’s number? Unless he’s down to help a brother getting blue balled by his own girlfriend, tell him I’m not interested.”

“It’s Avogadro’s number and for once in your life can you not think with your dick? We’re not here to have sex; I’m here to make you pass your chemistry test so you don’t get another detention for slacking off in class!”

For the past eighteen minutes, you had been using your middle and index finger to rub circles into your temple, a vain attempt to soothe the hammering headache that jabbed your eyelids each time Atsumu opened his mouth.

When your boyfriend had come to your door, ‘begging’ you to help him with chemistry, you found it pleasantly endearing. For all the faults to which Miya Atsumu had—for which there were many—he had unfortunately perfected the art of looking just sheepish enough that it became adorable while still bristling his feathers like a proud peacock that just made you want to pull his chubby cheeks. He was the naughty puppy that still had his ravenous canines punctured in your favourite lita boots with his tail tucked between his legs. He was that one bad kid in every class who fooled around but all the female teachers doted on him anyways because he was charismatic in that childishly infuriating way that made them lower their standards when he finally put in the effort.

Miya Atsumu, put bluntly, is a godforsaken brat.

“[Name]-chan! My chem teacher’s threatenin’ me! He said if I fail one more quiz I’ll have to sit through at least three detentions just, doin’ I don’t know, symbiosis! You gotta help me; you’re my girlfriend, aren’tcha?”

Yet, you somehow fell for this idiot anyway.

Enamoured with his honey-lemon eyes, you decided not to tell him that what you were doing was in fact stoichiometry and symbiosis is actually a biology term. But with the way he had grabbed your shoulders, for an inexperienced lover like yourself, it was more than enough to trigger a visceral reaction that caused some internal organ to clog your throat. His subtle guilt-trip did not go unnoticed but with your brain short-circuiting, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Instead, you had dumbly nodded, cursing your inability to deal with intimacy and members of the opposite sex as you allowed him to barge into your home.

Since he was always practicing, you thought it would be a chance to do something that couples do. Using your infinite knowledge collated from various fanfictions and shoujo manga online, you had constructed a seemingly infallible plan to make the most of your time with Atsumu. It involved having every excuse to stare at him without being teased for it and if anything, you would be in the rare position of the teaser, playfully pointing out his mistakes to which he’d probably pout and whine about before undoubtedly, once you were done, he’d demand a reward. Enter obligatory make out sesh. Which of course, was more than welcome in your book. You were a simple girl and he had cultivated excellently curved muscles from his years of volleyball, sue your transparency.

There was just one chink in your perfectly polished armoured plan.

Atsumu was a brat above all else. A horny one.

Tutoring him was like trying to make caramel for the first time.

At first, you think it’s going well. You’re simmering the white sugar, careful and attentive, determined to make it a success. Yet, as the browning starts to come in from the edges, a funny aroma that was not the scent of sweetness but one of something being grossly burned beyond recovery did you realise just how taxing the job was. Before you knew it, it was like having your kitchen on fire, the ignition source being the abomination that is Miya Atsumu.

As Osamu would say, “His mental age regresses by five years when he’s playing. . . but it plummets by ten when he’s, god forbid it, studyin’.”

If he wasn’t whining, he was trying to stroke your legs with his spider fingers under the kotatsu, creeping up your thigh only to be smacked away by your own hand to which he’d just go back to loudly whining. He had the attention span of a five year old and the attitude of a twelvie that equalled a near migraine for you. Least to say, you were far too annoyed to be turned on now so you had abruptly gotten up in a fit of annoyance, told him you were going to drink some water and left him in the living room.

You sighed, the water only granted a moment’s worth of reprieve as you headed back to the living room to see his honey coloured mop of hair from behind. Your eye twitched when you looked from behind to see him doodling an avant-garde penis on the page. Lovely.

He still hadn’t noticed you peering over his shoulder so you took the chance to admire the back of his head, watching how his hairline faded out from beneath his undercut, the roots of his old hair still left their stain. You wondered if his neck down ever got cold, with the constant exposure and all. The longer you stared, the more you felt your stomach lurch, toying with a lingering thought that just might get you what you wanted after all.

In a swift movement, with your lips gently planted on the supple flesh, beneath his hairline, you caressed the skin tenderly. Your lips quirked upward to hear a squeak from your boyfriend who had shuddered violently, his shoulders shaking as his penis drawing gained an unexpected gradient slope, his pen streaking in a straight line across the page. You chuckled into his neck; nipping at it playfully as your hot breath caused the hairs on his neck to stand up. Pleased with the pinkish hue that spread across the skin like paint, you pulled away as Atsumu snapped his head towards you, moon eyed.

Although you may have burnt the caramel, it looks like you’ve found some hidden strawberries to snack on instead.

You watched the way his pretty blush flourished to his cheeks while he looked visibly affronted by your sneak attack. “Wh-what do ya think yer doin’!?” he spluttered on the spot, his hand flying to his neck as if you had just bitten into it. You wanted to lick your lips at the thought before you narrowed your eyes sternly, trying not to let a wolfish grin slip through the cracks.

“I don’t know about you but personally, I despise wasting time, don’t you ‘Tsumu?”

You drummed your fingers on the kotatsu’s surface, slow and pronounced. His golden eyes zeroed onto them in anticipation. You licked your lips. All these food metaphors made you realise just how starved you are. Atsumu being someone who had always been observant, seemed to pick up on your hunger as well, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, as he glanced up at you from under his lashes, anxious. You turned back to the paper, almost nonchalant, as if you weren’t aware of his clenched fists and tensed thighs.

“Yet, you seem to be taking advantage of my generosity, good boyfriends shouldn’t do that ‘Tsumu. You’re a good boyfriend, aren’tcha?” you drawled lowly, as you started glancing at your nails using your other hand, viciously using his guilt-tripping tactic from before.

Atsumu looked positively famished. His brows twisted up guiltily, that sheepish, puppy look on his face once more. Still, you could see his eyes shining too bright, still thinking that it’d go his way if he played nice. He was a mischievous imp that was a little too used to getting what he wants. You decided you weren’t going to fall for it this time.

“[Name], I didn’t--”

“Oh, but you did,” you sharply interrupted him and he winced. Your heart throbbed and as much as you loved teasing him, you did want this to end with him pinning you to the couch so you smiled softly. “Why don’t we finish studying, yeah? Then you can make it up to me.”

If Atsumu wasn’t getting blue balled before, then he certainly is now. He had no idea how the situation began to drip with sexual undertone but with the unbearable heat coursing through him, he could only nod helplessly, at your mercy. For the remainder of the studying session, while it had become increasingly harder for him to stay focused with his raging hormones going haywire, he clung onto every single word that fell from your mouth like it was a lifeline as the incomprehensible scribbles on the page finally morphed into numbers and words that he could understand.

You grinned victoriously to see the eager look Atsumu would get in his eyes, awaiting your praise and what he thinks is his reward once you had both finally gotten through the content. He really is just like an overzealous, whiny puppy that wants his treat. Well now, this will most certainly result into an exciting night for you, just as you had planned.

You smirked triumphantly.

‘All according to keikaku.’

Miya Osamu

“So, do you know how to use Avogadro’s number?”

“Mm? Avocado?”

You sighed. “No, can’t you stop thinking about food for a second, it’s Avo—Osamu!” you yelped, seeing your boyfriend barely stirring from the nest he’s made with his arms as he blinks blearily at you. The sleep in his eyes quite nearly breaks open every dam with the unparalleled force that is your love and affection and ability to just gush about how adorable this man is for hours and yet, you are forced to restrain yourself. As much as you adore Miya Osamu, he is unfortunately, just as much of an idiot as his brother—yet strangely manages to get within a range of 1 to 5 per cent higher than him on every test.

Osamu lets a little smile slip. “Avosamu? I thought it was Avogadro.”

You offered him a hard glare before deflating into the kotatsu, just like he did. He perked his head up to hear your muffled groans, his lips quirking up at how cute you sound. “Osamuuuu, you need to study for the test tomorrow! It’s worth a third of your grade!” you exclaimed, erupting from the cocoon of your arms to pout at him. Osamu grimaced just a little because every move he made was with restraint as he guiltily looked away.

“I know but m’tired,” he mumbled into his arms, burying his nose into them. “From practice,” he clarified with a grumble that faded out into something roughly incoherent. You had to stop yourself from smiling at his petulant tone of voice as you sighed, shaking your head. He was a kid, just like Atsumu too apparently.

“I know but . . .” you trailed off to see him in a sleeping position. You shook your head, unable to stop your smile this time as you gently raked your fingers through his hair. A sound rumbled from his chest and you snorted, of course only Osamu would be able to do the human equivalent of purring. His face resurfaced from the blanket of his arms as he leaned into your touch, sighing contently. You found your hand devoured by the dishevelled mess that was his hair as you fondly played with his matted grey tresses. Your love for this man warmed your heart beyond words as you could feel yourself relaxing—you blinked.

Wait a minute.

The way you ripped your hand out of his hair was like a splash of cold water to the face as he startled, bewildered by your forceful action as you glowered at him. “You fox!” you hissed. He blinked innocently in return as you shook your head adamantly. “I will not be an accomplice to your illicit sleeping endeavours! Nor the reason why you fail tomorrow’s test and have to stay back to do catch up work! Atsumu and the team would never let you live it down you know!”

You clutched your beating heart with a flush on your cheeks. ‘Ahh, that was close! He’s much more convincing than I thought but I won’t be fooled!’

You offered him another glare before sighing. You’d done that too many times this session you now realised. “Look, I’ll get you some tea, okay? But after that, you have to stay awake! You’ll be in big trouble if I come back and you’re asleep,” you softly reprimanded him although he looked completely unabashed as he nodded.

“Mm’kay.”

You were only gone for five minutes but when you had returned . . . he was definitely in trouble.

You gripped the steaming cup of hot tea by the handle; careful not to brush your knuckles on the actual cup so you don’t burn yourself and spill it like a waterfall. Carefully, you placed the cup of tea out of reach so he doesn’t knock it over before you plopped onto the cushion next to him, pouting. Really, coming over, begging you to help him study, only to fall asleep in front of you, what a tease. . .

“Jeez, I was hoping for some, fun times after we finished up too~” you whined to yourself, letting your chin fall to your fist before a movement other than your own caught you from the corner of your periphery.

You narrowed your eyes. His lashes flickered like a butterfly’s wings, elegant yet silent. Then nothing. You drummed your fingers slowly on the kotatsu’s surface before aptly concluding that your, apparently, asshole boyfriend, was faking his slumber. Your Sleeping Beauty was actually a Beast in disguise so it would appear. You pursed your lips, blowing air from your nose like a puffing, huffing steam train. He wants to play like that, does he?

You swiftly rose out of your seat before standing behind him, your shadow devouring him. You just might too if Osamu doesn’t tread carefully. You eyed his fraying hairline, beneath his undercut. You wondered how sensitive it would have now become, what, with it being constantly exposed to the frigid air all the time. A smile coyly played to your lips, as you hummed kittenishly before leaning down.

Tenderly, you placed your lips to the back of his neck, giving it a quick peck.

You looked up, gauging for a reaction but received none. You smiled daringly. Perhaps your dear boyfriend needs a bit more persuasion. You pressed another kiss into his neck. And another one. Accompanied by another. Before you began peppering his neck in searing kisses, from the roots of his hair to the brim of his collared uniform. You watched in delight as the skin gradually increased in heat while you continued to reap the benefits of your ravenous exploits.

You could feel the skin beneath your lips beginning to tremble but since he still wouldn’t reveal he was awake. . . it might be time to go exploring. You hovered over his ‘sleeping’ frame as both your hands slithered under the arms pillowing his face. They coiled around his waist and you found yourself licking your lips, suddenly feeling rather hungry. You could see him beginning to squirm yet he was adamant not to budge. A wolfish laugh escaped you as you plunged your fingers under his shirt to dance on his stomach before your teeth finally met his skin.

The last thing you heard was a sharp gasp that sounded like absolute heaven before your world turned on its axis. Your back met the ground with a thud and you suddenly realised you couldn’t move. Casually taking a quick glance, you craned your neck to see two calloused fists handcuffing your wrists and pinning them above your head. You looked up to finally see a panting Osamu, glaring at you.

“Oi.”

You blinked.

Osamu was every shade of grey. Every expression, every movement, although a little rough, it was done with minimal effort and restrained. He was always in control and always composed. He was a little slow and sluggish like that, but he could become a dynamic black, cool and confident whenever you pluck just the right strings.

Which is why it was all the more endearing to see a lovely peach pink speckling on his cheeks.

“What,” he breathed out, as if he had just sprinted in a marathon, you could see his torso trembling, “do ya think yer doin’?”

You watched him placidly and couldn’t stop admiring the pretty colour on his cheeks. You wanted to capture it, burn it in your memory until your final breath. You wanted to paint it, to smear the red all over his grey. You licked your lips.

“I told you, didn’t I? That you would be in trouble if I came back to find you sleeping. So pray tell, what were you doing, ‘Samu?” you purred beneath him, a playful smirk crawling to your lips as you felt a pooling sensation bubble in the pit of your stomach.

Osamu’s eyes widened and even though he had overcast a shadow on the both of you, you could tell that his cheeks had darkened. He suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights and he could no longer meet your gaze. With an agonisingly slow movement, he tentatively released one of your wrists to feel the back of his neck.

“D-did you . . .?” he stammered, not able to bring himself to finish the question.

Picking on what he was insinuating, using your left hand, now free, you roughly grabbed him by the collar before pulling him down. He yelped like a puppy that had lost its footing, as he lurched forward like a tidal wave, almost tumbling over, quickly stamping his free hand to the ground, stopping him from knocking his head into your as you curled your finger under his chin.

“No, I didn’t. I warned you though, right? If you try to fall asleep again when I’m teaching you. . .” you slur, tracing your finger, teasingly let it tap on his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his eyes now wide awake and focused only on you as you grinned hungrily.

“I’ll decorate your neck with hickies until you’ve got a goddamn necklace of bruises.”

Osamu shuddered as he fell to his elbows, barely holding himself up. Feeling his voice shake, he meekly nodded, trying to hide his arousal as he shakily—but briskly—flew back to the kotatsu, promptly hiding his face from you, just like a mouse.

You bit your lip, grinning wildly at the ceiling which although, was completely uninteresting, was the only excuse you had to not let him see your dorky smile.

‘HOLY SHIT THAT WORKED. Reading all those fanfics and manga finally paid off!’

You can’t let yourself come off as too desperate though. You realised that you had been waving the stick in front of him for too long now, it was time to finally bring out the carrot.

You propped yourself, being deliberately slow as to keep him waiting before you tenderly held onto his shoulder. You could feel him tense you brushed your nose against the lobe of his ear, your wispy breaths dyeing it pink as you whispered:

“When we’re done, I promise, you can eat whatever you want.”

While he didn’t fall asleep and actually got some proper studying in afterwards, perhaps it was him being petty or a vain attempt to gain back some control, he did not offer you his dick but went straight for the fridge to get some pudding. Still, it didn’t change the fact that you were hungry and Osamu found out that night that not only were you quite convincing yourself but you also really liked turning his neck red.

Hmm. And you called him a fox.

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Bullet Wound

Follow-up to this discussion with Angel. They ended up doing the surgery in Angel’s room instead of the bar because SOMEBODY forgot that was where we agreed to meet. (It’s me I’m somebody.)

Alastor

Knock knock knock, guess who. It's Doctor Alastor and Nurse Hentai, here with their trademark "surgery with a smile" service.

Angel

He opened the door with one of his tertiary hands. The couple others were busy pressing a pink-stained... _something_ to his shoulder.

" Oh nonono, I ain't drunk enough fa THIS, YET. " Angel knocked back the remainder of whiskey left in the bottle he had before trudging to his minifridge for another. " Is Hentai, uh, gonna hurt? He slimy or some shit? How drunk I gotta be? " His eyes were beginning to lose focus.

Alastor

Alastor's gaze landed on the pink stain. Aha. There was the wound, no doubt. "It'll hurt about as much as you'd expect for something the width of a coffee stirrer to squeeze into a wound and yank a bullet out. I can dull your ability to feel around the injury."

Alastor tilted his head to peer into the minifridge, checking to see how good Angel's stash was. "I think you're quite drunk enough already! Unless you want to sleep the next two weeks." He held up the one bit of surgical equipment he'd visibly brought with him: a bottle of Everclear. "But I'd planned to use this to clean the wound."

Angel

" Oh, ya can?? " he responded with uncharacteristically dulled excitement, " Thank _fuck!_ I would'a gone fa a hit but, uh, _Bolivian Ma'chin' Powder's_ all OUT. An' I gotta... uh, show. Even if just ta say I can't work so I can get my standa'd issue ass kickin' an' come back. "

Angel then stumbled to his chair, flipping it around so he could lean forward off the back. " Just... go nuts. Fuck th' rug. I could get a Daddy ta get me a new one if it gets fucked up. Uh... youse can use th' bench if ya need to. "

Alastor

"What, sending a self-E of the bullet wound isn't a good enough doctor's note?" Alastor tutted.

He unscrewed the bottle; for the moment, he was still standing so he could remain taller than Angel. "Now, this IS going to sting—but I've got to clean you off before I can numb the area. I'd warn you to bite the bullet but—hah—we'll have to fish it out before you can do that, won't we!" And here comes the sting.

Angel

" Nah... he's gonna think I photoshopped it... " he groaned with a reach for a throw pillow to scream into.  He would've laughed a little more whole-heartedly if not for the anticipated _agony_ that tensed him so hard he could've bit off his own tongue.

" _UGH THIS IS WHAT I FUCKIN' GET!_ " he muffled into the plush pink, now growing darker from the entrance wound, " Why's good shit gotta HURT so bad? It's so fuckin' _DUMB._ " Angel smothered a few more whines and hisses before getting a handle on his breathing again. " ... Can ya do the numbin' thin', yet...? "

Alastor

Ignore the studio audience laughing at your pain, it's nothing personal.

Alastor lightly brushed off what few drops of fresh blood the alcohol hadn't washed from Angel's fur. "Now I can!" He decided owing a small favor to a prince was worth it so he didn't have to drag a miniature apothecary out of his trunk, looked around for a pen or marker—ah, of course, makeup everywhere—and grabbed a tube of black lipstick. "You don't happen to have any bad blood with Prince Gaap, do you?"

Angel

Angel groaned, metaphorically biting his tongue to hold back any amount of quips or name-calling he would've fired at the hip for the sake of not pissing off the demon that was about to start poking around in him.

" Prince a who? " he asked with an instantly regrettable twist to see what Alastor was doing, " I ain't ever known any _legitimate_ royalty... I don' think... "

Alastor

"Then I'll take that as a no." He scrawled Gaap's sigil on Angel's shoulder around the wound—not his most artistic work, given how fuzzy his canvas was, but Alastor was on good enough terms with enough nobles that they wouldn't nitpick tiny errors in his work. "Now, this will make the area around your wound feel temporarily hale and hearty—but it's only a feeling. You're still just as damaged. Don't jump up and do cartwheels." He finished the double circle around the sigil and the lines started to glow green. Good. "Working yet?"

Angel

Angel took a deep breath as the nerves began to cease fire until finally, he no longer felt the need to scream or cry. Well enough to turn his head, he gave himself a peek in the mirror.

" Yeah... like I wanna do cartwheels, " Angel giggled, " Tell Prince Gaap I said thanks ~ " _An' ask him if he's single,_ he chuckled to himself as he stretched his limbs more comfortably about his chair. " Ya gonna stir me like a cup a coffee, now? " he joked.

Alastor

"I'll pass on your gratitude! Just don't tell him you owe him one if you happen to cross paths with him, he'll take it literally and then we'll both be paying him for the anesthesia."

Alastor huffed. "Once I clean the wound a little more. I don't know if you've noticed, but you've got quite a lot of fur around it." He looked around for some sort of towel that wasn't completely soaked in blood, poured a little more alcohol in it, and finally sat on the bench as he started carefully cleaning the wound itself while trying to avoid disrupting the sigil.

"You don't strike me as the type to get shot in the back," he mused. "What happened here—somebody take you by surprise?"

Angel

" Oh, he's _that_ type, " he commented, deciding on whether or not he should offer a razor. He was already going to be getting a temporary bald spot. May as well...

" If ya needa clear it some, there's clippers off th' side a the mirro- " Angel's arms and legs tightened around the chair as he sank his chin _deep_ into the pillow. _When_ was the last time...? Without the sting to distract him, all there was to focus on was the touch and it made his head swim. He didn't know how to process it, so he reverted to his go-to distraction. " _Funny how I still ended up on th' twink ma'ket cove'ed in all this peach fuzz, ah?_ "

He chuckled bitterly as his eyes swept to the ceiling. " Yeah... somethin' like that... Was a _surprise,_ alright... "

Alastor

"Most nobles are. Out of the ones that bargain with humans, anyway." He grabbed the clippers and very carefully started clearing a patch around the entry wound. "You know, between you being called one and *me* being called one, I'm beginning to think that 'twink' doesn't actually mean anything."

Alastor leaned around Angel's side to give him a vicious grin. "So, tell me about this surprise! You didn't think I was doing this without hoping to get a little entertainment in return!"

Angel

" _It means ya never get ta eat **shit,** that's what it means-!_ " he grumbled.

Then a sudden **gasp.** How the hell he manged to scare him despite being the forefront of his attention was beyond him. " _Fuckin'-_ " he groaned with a turn of his head in the opposite direction, " Was an ex... an angry one... That dramatic enough fa you? "

His claws clenched his skin as he tried to replicate the buzz of the razor into his brain. Sure would be nice if he could uncap his skull and do some doodling in _there._

Alastor

"... *Does it.*" There was a little bit of info Alastor was going to file away and never let go of.

"An ex! Oh, yes, *quite* dramatic enough! What did you do to *him?* That is to say—" One freshly alcohol-soaked claw brushed dangerously close to prying into the wound, "—was this earned, or an overreaction?"

Angel

" Earned. Def'nitely earned. Uh... " Angel pondered. He'd already vague-blogged about the incident. Any opportunity to avoid any scandal was already blown.

" She. I let her 'and it to me. It was th' _least_ I could do. "

Alastor

"*She!* That brings up some questions, doesn't it?" He dropped his impromptu wash cloth on his lap and said, "Now, as much as I'd relish prying this story out of you one detail at a time, unfortunately I won't be free to talk for a bit." He summoned up his cane. "Ready to have an alien abomination pry a bullet out of your back?"

Angel

Angel braced himself. Salt in the wound felt well deserved to him. Even if subconsciously, he'd allow every opportunity to pay for what he did to her. Being pried through by an alien abomination, sitting through a mortifying interview, and being shot point blank was a good enough start.

" Wouldn't be the _first_ time I 'ad tentacles in me ~ " he replied cheekily with a thumbs up, " Just don' let 'im get _too_ carried away, yeah ~ ? "

Alastor

"Oh, I plan to guarantee he won't!" A dark blot, small as an ink stain, opened in the air between them, and a single thin tendril wiggled out. "But while I'm giving him instructions, I won't be listening to closely to you. So!" He swung his cane around in front of Angel. "Take Mic here and let him know if you need me to stop, would you?"

Angel

" _Plan_ ta guarantee...? " He snorted, then crimson eyes flickered. He'd voluntarily _hand_ him that thing? " Yeah, ok ~ " Angel wiped off his bloody fingers and gently took the rod. " Can't feel a thin'- " _Liar._ " -so prolly won't need to. "

" Heyyy, Mic-y, how ya doin' ~ ? " he asked sweetly, turning the instrument about and inspecting him curiously. " Al give ya routine polishin'? Ya just, chill in th' other dimension 'til he calls ya? " Like a set of keys given to a toddler, he was sufficiently distracted.

Alastor

"Oh, I can't complain! It's not allowed in my contract!" The cane rolled its eye. "Naaah, who needs polishing? When I poof off, the dirt doesn't come with me!" It gave Angel a wry look. "Or d'you got another reason for asking how often Al *polishes his cane?* Eh?" Mic's humor was somewhat lowbrow compared to Alastor's usual standards. Usually Alastor would scold it for getting saucy. But right then, Alastor's brain wasn't entirely present.

He couldn't actually give his tentacled "friend" orders, per se. They were too different, too alien for normal person-to-person communication. What Alastor COULD do was broadcast a signal that let him slip into a fragment of a tentacle's mind and pilot it directly; but when he was doing so, when he was making sense of the world as the alien beast saw it, he wasn't exactly able to, say, process language.

If Angel happened to turn around, he'd see that Alastor's eyes had gone blank and filled with static. But he probably shouldn't turn around, since that was when Alastor managed to seize control of the noodle-thin tentacle that had wriggled through and fed the tip of it into the wound.

Angel

" Hehehe! I getcha, I  getcha. Talk back get smacked, ah? " Angel couldn't can more giggles, but he did feel the need to do some scolding in Alastor's place. At least, as much as he _assumed_ he should.

" Buh-BUH! Shouldn't ya know better than ta be talkin' deer dick? At least, _more than me_? Ta at least keep it in th' context a dick seasoned up real nice on a silver platter? " He snickered deviously, remembering certain debaucheries he'd engaged in both before and after death. " I _like_ ya, though! Wonder how much fun ya'd be _outta_ contract ~ "

Gently tapping the deep red surface of the back with a pristinely manicured claw, Angel had a sudden urge to seize an opportunity he might not get later. " Hey... can ya do that radio thin' ta _my_ voice? "

Alastor

"You can't have slapstick without the stick! And what'm I if not a stick? You ain't gettin' me outta contract, though. That's not how it works."

(Alastor, meanwhile, has slithered the tentacle in deep enough to reach the bullet. Pardon the weird feeling as it wraps around the intrusion, and then prods briefly past the bullet to make sure it didn't penetrated Angel's lung. Whole new can of worms if it did.)

"No can do! You wanna get your voice broadcast outta the radio, sure, I'm the Mic for the job, long as Alastor's authorizing the broadcast. But if you wanna GET the radio voice? Uh-uh. Only way to sound like the Radio Demon is to BE the Radio Demon."

Angel

An eye twitched as he took a breath and felt that internal pinch. Sans the pain of one, the sensation reminded him of an air bubble he'd have to spend several minutes patting out until he could finally take a deeper breath again. He shallowed his lungs and stayed still as he could with a held breath until the tendril retreated. A deep, testing sigh of relief, then he shook his head with a glance to the mirror. Alastor sure was getting _busy._ He trusted he was in good hands.

" Nah, I don't wanna do _that._ Just wanna give ya singin' a lil' try. Not _everyday_ ya passed off t' another demon, am I right? Specially not a _talented_ one like yours truly ~ " Angel pouted and pursed his brows. " C'mon ~ Just this once! I promise I'll _do ya right ~_ "

Alastor

"Ya wanna sing, then sing! But I can't give you the voice any more than I can give you deer antlers. It ain't transferrable. It's *his.*"

And there was the bullet being slowly dragged backwards out of the wound it had caused. Carefully. But they probably weren't going to completely avoid doing a little extra damage.

Angel

" 'Tis almost th' season, Sweetie, I can give _m'self_ antle's if I wanted to ~ " He then rolled his eyes and relented, followed by some sensational weirdness in his shoulder cavity. Checking in wasn't his first instinct. It was, of course, to _play._ He'd never nail Alastor's southern belle, so he let his register drop as he casually snapped and tapped his own beat with Mic dramatically in hand. ( At least, theatrically as he could while being an obedient patient. )

https://youtu.be/eAiMOTlUVv4

Alastor

Bullet retrieved. Alastor's eyes snapped back to normal as the tentacle withdrew into its portal, dropping the bullet as it did. He caught it, but waited until the end of the song to speak up. "Not bad." He held the bullet over Angel's shoulder. "Do you want this little troublemaker?"

Angel

" Hehe! _Thanks ~ !_ " Angel took the bullet in a free hand to inspect it for shatter. Thankfully, it was all in one piece. Hentai wouldn't have to do any further digging. " What I owe ya? This thin' gonna last 'til it heals, or should I get ready ta go Vicodin huntin' _now?_ " he asked with an experimental roll of his shoulder and another check in the mirror.

Alastor

"Go Vicodin hunting. And also bandage it up, change the bandage twice daily, check for infection, et cetera et cetera." He stood, stretched, and his cane poofed out of Angel's hand and into his own. "As for what you owe me... Give me the rest of the story about this ex of yours and if I think it's interesting enough, we'll call it square."

Angel

" ... Ya ain't gonna be reco'din' it, are ya? " he asked solemnly, " Ah fuck whatever... " Angel threw himself into mercy and rummaged around his drawers for bandages.

" I 'ad a squeeze t' get the Outfit off m'back, " he began, " Drew it out as long as I could but uh, _women's_ a pretty hot topic wit' th' boys. Older I got... y'know. _Family._ They's wantin' _kids._ Big ol' fuckin'... Italian _famiglia_ ta' keep th' bootleg business goin'. "

Was it the pain of the memory or the pressure of the wrapping? Angel was thankful for it. He even dabbed at himself a bit forcefully to override any involuntary bodily response to the whole ordeal.

Alastor

"You have my solemn vow that I won't start recording." That wasn't a promise that he wasn't already recording.

Alastor could guess where this story was going; his grin widened in anticipatory schadenfreude. "Go on."

Angel

As Alastor's grin widened, Angel's eyes narrowed. He tucked his bandage and leaned back against his vanity.

" She's was _-IS-_ like you. I was about as inta her as she was inta anyone else. At least, when I wasn't mistakin' 'er fa a guy. We's was dumb kids, grew up t'gether in the same mafia network. We knew th' game an' we knew we 'ad ta play it. So we _made a deal._ "

" I broke it in, uh... 1944. "

Alastor

Now there was a twist Alastor hadn't been expecting. He'd anticipated a young bride doe-eyed with love and a young groom miserably trying to pretend it was reciprocated. But a mutual ruse was far more interesting.

And far more relatable. It wasn't very far off from his own parents' arrangement—except that theirs hadn't involved the Mafia.

"Let me guess. Get handcuffed together, play the happy couple in front of the family, ignore each other at home? Something like that?" And the one point that actually concerned him—"Were children involved?"

Angel

" No. We were very close, very convincin'. She was m' best frien'. Like Cherri, I didn' deserve 'er. E'ryone thought we was wildin' in the sack, but it never happened. No sex, no kids, just... two murderin' peas in a pod playin' th' most convincin' game a pretend... 'til I couldn't anymo'e. "

" _Could_ say we 'ad kids involved, though _THEM_ fuckin' wild childs could 'ardly bc counted. They was lil' monste's from the Forty-Two. Loved 'em like m'own. Some's prolly down 'ere. "

Alastor

Good—if they'd gotten offspring involved, that would have just been distasteful. Outside children that Angel actually liked were a different matter entirely.

"So, what did the grand breakdown look like? A big blowout fight and a demand for a divorce? No—Catholic, I presume—attempted murder?" He cocked an eyebrow. "*Successful* murder?"

Angel

Angel actually bursted a laugh. " Nope! Wasn't really... a _single thin-_ ok, it was, but uh, said _breakdown_ was less of a _single act_ an' more of a... "

His eyes searched the air for dates, encounters. It didn't help he didn't remember most of it, but he shrugged thinking that was enough indication in itself.

" _Buncha dragged out climaxes_ fa th' next... three years a so. Then I died an' left 'er ta face th' music all 'er own. Hence... " He then tapped at his shoulder and shrugged as if violence was the logical answer to beginning to level a half century-long grudge.

" She's workin' fa Rosie now. Keepin' th' fucks off 'er turf. I was one a them, " he snickered.

Alastor

Well that was the least subtle euphemism Alastor had ever heard. "You mean the prenuptial agreement for your marriage of convenience didn't include provisions for you to sleep around?" Alastor shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. "I can forgive her for the lapse—it takes multiple lessons to learn that you sexual people aren't exaggerating when you say the allure of sex is irresistible—but *you* ought to have known better!"

But never mind that, there was a personal connection now. "Well, it's a small underworld after all! If she's working for Rosie, then *I* might know her! What's her name—down here, I mean?"

Angel

" That was fa show! " he burst defensively, " We was bound by nothin' but laws an' laws is fake! " Angel pouted with a quadruple arm cross. He hadn't even _intended_ that innuendo as much as he meant to convey the feeling of being constantly at the edge of your seat for years. That'd drive _any_ sane person wild.

" She didn't _care_ who I fucked with! If ya ask _me,_ it's her _own fuckin' fault_ I went off th' 'andle because she had ta fuckin' PLAY WINGMAN AT THE MENAGERIE! "

He ignored Alastor's question of her identity at the moment. He was much too offended and much too defensive to let any shaming go unchecked, untouched by the oblivion of his violent self-assurance.

Alastor

Alastor laughed at the outburst. "Well, if she didn't care who you were crawling under the covers with, then what in the world is it you did in '44 that constituted such a great break from your 'agreement'? You didn't try to kill her, by mutual agreement you weren't cheating—what's left? Beatings? Framing her for infidelity? Eloping with a rival don's son?"

Angel

He clamped his jaw shut, gritting gold grinding into a horrid sound that soundtracked his anger. Angel didn't want to tell him any more than Alastor was surely not going to be letting it go. Should he just lie? Was that better than letting this asshole in on what was arguably _the_ most defining moment of his life?

" I already told you. I died. I left her alone when we were supposed to get through the fucking SHITSHOW together. '44 was just the year I _started..._ dying. "

Alastor

Alastor was silent for a moment as he processed that—and Angel's atypically somber tone at the announcement—and then, at last, said, "Some betrayal. Most people can't help dying—even the people who do it to themselves." Well, it didn't make for an exciting conclusion to the story—he could vaguely imagine the drama and trauma of the story in action, but the retelling left most of it out.

Still—a sham marriage in the middle of mobster family politics; it was a good enough story. "But, very well! Consider your surgery paid for. And I suppose if the two of you think that was reason enough for her to shoot you—HA!"

Alastor suddenly slapped Angel's shoulder. (By sheer luck, at least it was the uninjured shoulder.) "Have you ever heard that joke? 'My ex-wife still misses me—but her aim's getting better!'" Studio audience laughter. "I guess she doesn't miss you!"

Sometimes Alastor kills himself.

Angel

He _almost_ wished he had slapped his injured shoulder, just so he'd have a more solid reason to hit him back. Nonetheless, he managed to dodge _that_ bullet so Angel figured he could call it a day. A day to start dealing opioids.

" Yeah. She didn't miss, alright. " The corner of his mouth could only twitch. He wasn't consciously _stifling_ a smile, but his every deep-seated instinct to self-destruct at the slightest brush with self-awareness took more effort than he had to deal.

" Bel. La Donna. Like th' poison. She's like yay high an' redder than ya fuckin' mop before ya treatment. A spider. Like me. "

Alastor

"Oh, come now, that was funny and you know it."

Alastor's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh! *Bel!* Yes, we're acquainted! Not *well*, but well enough we'd be obligated to say hello if we passed on the street. My, my, it really *is* a small underworld."

Angel

" Aw _fuck,_ " he groaned, " Best _keep_ it that way. This place is already starting to feel like Double Hell. Last thin' I need's YOU TWO tag-teamin' me... "

Angel then lazily fished for his phone and hit up a dealer. " I'm gonna head out fa meds. Youse- " He hesitated. " ... gonna need anythin'? I'll replace ya everclear. "

Alastor

"Don't you worry! We don't talk much. Anyway, if she's gone this long without spreading the news around Rosie's inner circle that her ex-husband is Hell's biggest porn star, I doubt she has any interest in discussing it now."

He shook his head; he got the story behind the bullet, he had his payment. "It wasn't my bottle, I got it for this."

Angel

" Heh heh... that's the funny thin', " he confessed, " _She ain't known I was goin' by Angel Dust until t'day._ " He picked up a jacket and shrugged through the sleeves. " She always knew how ta cover my tracks. I _don't know_ how generous she's gonna be _now,_ but... here's hopin' she's satisfied with gettin' me penetrated by an alien named Hentai. "

He snickered, returning some to his usual self. " Thanks anyways. Ya didn't have t' be helpin' me out. "

Alastor

"And what's she going to do if she doesn't feel generous? Tell people that the famed porn star Angel Dust married a beard when he was alive? I hardly think that would cause a scandal down here!"

He waved off the thanks. "I'm perpetually bored and bullet wounds are almost always interesting."

Angel

" Oh you'd be surprised ~ Though. I don't think she's the type. Prolly just shoot me again fa hidin' from 'er all these years. "

He snickered and shot Alastor some fingerguns. " If she does, I'll let her hit somethin' interestin' fa ya ~ "

Alastor

Alastor tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes, that... does sound like her.” He didn’t know a lot about Bel, but he knew THAT. How had Angel described himself and her, murderous peas in a pod or something of the sort? “See if you can’t persuade her to avoid the lungs and the bowels. Those are a pain to deal with. For me. But I imagine they’d also be a pain on the receiving end!”

Angel

" _The heart it is then ~_ " he sang with a wink, landing a heavy hand upon Alastor's shoulder on his way towards the door, " If ya see 'er aroun', be good ta her, ah? I should be back in time fa late dinner. "

Alastor

"A classic! How symbolic."

He gave Angel a farewell nod as he headed out himself. "I'll set aside some leftovers for you." *Never get to eat shit,* his ass. Not on his watch.

[numbur129]

Hey there boys, girls, mutants, martians, monsters, monkeys who've advanced to shaving their body's, and occasionally smoking a cigar. And lastly, but not leastly (And it's funny, cuz they are short nd stupid!!) "The self proclaimed most magical of the freaked-up-fuck-faces Tour" MIDGETS MAC DADDY & DA GooooBLER!!! "LETS FUCKING HEAR IT FOR EM!!!" KABOOM!! "Hahaha.... Yeahhh!"

(A random selection of what most would call, "lame-ass" fire works began hissing, zooming away, popping off. Squealing guitar licks echoed off into the distances, whilst confetti fell freely from out the top the menacing skyscrapers above, and then quickly down to the bottom of an "overly-polished, brilliantly made elf-lookin boots of the pointed toe end persuasion", as if the fuck-add purposely looked like some strange mix between a gay leprechaun, and a violently-intoxicated pimp.

And like,honestly, twas abit obvious thuh'olde "Sun Bleached Tur'blumken" whood seent far from eh'z "D'eh-BuhstahhDazes." Though the tiny, little person was dressed impeccably, and had quite thee odd shape T'emm!?. He'd constantly be fucking smirkn to those around him, as if too stupid to realize he was way too flippin deep in, and had ta show off for just a wee bit longer. Then'd be recorded into the record books, for reasons I dont know of. One the weird-fuckers front golden teeths gleamed as the sudden change of lighting bent around his bulbous head. In one, overwhelmingly "gay", awkward, and un-planned, mess'ughz "jig" dance. He land atop his ol single knee, whilst simultaneously tipping his "stupid-fucking" hat, and puffing his dirty, drug crusted, wooden "J00B" brand, "Dooble-Tube!" He let out a uncomfortable giggle of sorts (as if in pain, perhaps out of breathe, or even just a series of grumbles, and tis burr'bn), then horked up a nice, fur-fuckled looger carelessly onto the nights then carpet covered dance floor. Then leaned back into a "hero like stance", then stood motionless, twisting the end of the other side dove-izz long white stache!

For reasons unknown to the me; "The Author" of said spoken story, has somehow unintentionally, spent the last 45 minutes of this on some weird-oh, nd his unbreakable-focus-like trance on this creepy, little old dude. And decide that, shit was now to change up, move round, and really start "fuckn about". Ta really get a sense of what it's like to initiate sex with an neighbors dog; as well as what it is to get right back inta that, Good ol Gangsta Bap. Sha- "Sell that, Flip this! Kill Cops, work tricks" shits f'all-the bitchasses, and the wheelchair trapped tard-asses egh-duhhh Werld! Suh grab glasses, and do a doo'ler, and t'all-duh too, every one-uh "Little Dee, 'N Uh-Stinky-Dink's" multiple MILLION-DALLOR-DEAL!!! MUH-FUKN, READY-KNO, THATS-FLIPPN-RIGHT, RAVING Fans. And once again, done a doodle dang-diddle-dooper. And has fucked the faces ugh many men, women, and other freak of nature wheww dont do it; "Fuck'd my baby's face!" LP, and the all too well known remix, "Uncle Daddy's Creepy Play Pen & The Funkie-Unkie Petting Zoo Bananzah!" Thaz right! Yall heard theh shit hear firsd, y'unn-grateful, dustiedup, dunger-dooz & dunger-duntz!!

So any-fucking-ways, "The fuck it is?!" Lol, word. Shit man... this past, ummm.. started after morning appointment, so 8am to.. what's its about to be? 3:38am?! Holy Mother of a Holy Father?! Darr't, darr't!! Haha, yeah! Honestly, that wasnt all that bad. Gotta say...

But I've recently come to the conclusion that I've really got to work on being a more truthful, helpful, and as knowledgeable a person inside-ugh-muh friend groups, as to the outside stranger. And all the caring family's, and other random gathering meat, bone, and the occasional positive "kitty-poster", frum time-duh, time!!

Word. To be honest, I've really got to just not fuckn lie to myself. Put myself down, really wanta start them out with those few first lil changes, choices, and ultimately improvements towards bettering the life around me, that I want. And tah make meaningful advancements in my current personal recovery program. Z'well as workn on, and becoming a completely content, productive member of the community we lives in. To work daily, towards a fulfilling place of residence; stabal positioning within the buisness feild of choice, and the hard-earn'd respect of others I'd goften to know, and eventually wholeheartedly, "really cared for" people, nd one day; maybe sooner then way, way muh'Fukhn away. And some day will actually be able to like the person I had fought to became.

A promise; To better my overall health; both physically, mentally, at someday in the future, "OMEGA-SPIRIT ENERGY VF."

Ughnd juz-wanna hangle out, and really getta Blubber-Vuk; not to those whom Weiner iz-ugh wigglin. But to the proud, and brave. The few, the reasonable.. "They"MAKE, AND STAY ugh-WIGGLIN THE WEENURD, AND NOTHING BUT THAT THERE WEEN!!!

...Hey, yeah it's really me. Lol, sorry bout that. If it was far from your norm; and this kinda just, HAPPENED TO YOU. Lol, seriously though. I've been working, writing currently. In my newest addition to my many ways of approach: I've started experimenting with "stream of conciousness" writing. Where you record your minds thoughts, and without any choice, second thought, er really anything other then the ability to open flood gates. I allow my mind to organically grow ideas, thoughts, things, and then let them out on there own and watch the streams mix, flood, destroy. Play with one another, create a new, and in the end; am left with.. ugh? Sheesh, who's really knows, ya know? Kinda attribute this overall vibe, strange choice of dream like situations, and the incorporation of weird-oh, "Alien-like" Pseudo-Town Drunkard. And really, if you havent noticed the influence yet, lol, maybe it's nothing alike. But would just like to shout out one of my all time favorite books, "Naked Lunch", and honestly, just kinda wanna leave this ever so strange complement here with it, "I love you. So dream-like. Surreal, yet disturbingly diffrent. Mr. William S. Burroughs: You really, truly are... a stranger lost within a strange land."

❤The Bizarre... & "BEYOND!"❤

☮❤😄☮❤😄☮❤😄

[a-l-ias]

Learning To Fly: HTTYD

I’ve always wondered how Astrid knew how to fly Toothless in HTTYD 2. Rated T for language. Enjoy!

    As with all things Hiccup Horrendous Haddock did, tinkering involved a distinctly scrupulous process. Of all people to know that being precise could mean the difference between life and death, it was him. No longer could he remember how many times broken bones, fractured joints, singed hair, seared eyebrows, or any other obscure and frankly very painful injury had been the result of negligent fiddling. With barely eighteen years of experience under his belt, Hiccup almost had it down to a science.

    Rough sketches came first; aimless doodling in his trusty weather-worn notebook that weeded out the ridiculous ideas from the ones that sparked a small flame of excitement within him. When he could not ignore the nagging fizzle of fervor, he’d then draw up a blueprint on a larger piece of parchment, paying extra attention to the minute calculations of the length and width of adjuncts. He’d hang the yellowed paper on the wooden wall decorated with all of his other lunatic inventions eagerly awaiting trial, sequestering old prints behind newer ones, and desperately trying to find just enough space to pin it while simultaneously struggling with not falling off Toothless’s head. Then came his favorite part: the actual building. So often while he locked himself in the forge did he discover small errors in his blueprint or new and better ways to make a part fit, that he’d have to mentally scold himself until he felt responsible enough to edit the print. It was this stipulation where he found things tended to go awry.

    Almost anyone who has experienced intense bouts of inspiration is privy to the knowledge of just how hard it is to pry oneself away from the source and complete trivial tasks - like, oh, changing that four to a five because godsdamnit, if you don’t you’ll come back to make modifications and mold a piece to fit a four inch rod not a five inch rod and you’ll end up with no eyebrows again!

    Again, Hiccup almost had it down to a science.

    No matter how many times he chased away his facial hair, no matter how many times he practically killed himself, he just couldn’t seem to remember to make those corrections.

    And that’s how he ended up swinging lazily upside-down, suspended by the strings detached from his riding harness on the figurehead at the top of the dome.

    “You have got to be kidding me!” Snotlout’s muffled cry came from underneath a rather large, rather scaly, dark blue lump. “Ger-off!”

    Toothless, just as disgruntled as the viking beneath him, slowly heaved himself to his feet with a dragon-sized grunt, staggering wildly as he attempted to regain his footing. His luminescent eyes rolled haphazardly in their sockets.

    Snotlout moaned from his position supine on the ground. His helmet lay askew on his forehead, covering one eye and shoving his black hair into a porcupine style.

    Ruff and Tuff came sprinting into the arena, presumably from the clubhouse having lunch, for the latter had a piece of bread and melted cheese in his hand. The twins took in the whirlwind state of the ring.

    “Woah,” Ruff remarked in her usual discordant tone. “What happened here?”

    Hiccup’s cousin roughly picked himself up from the dirt, brushing off his leggings. “What happened? What happened?” He ranted. “I’ll tell you what happened! I just got mowed over by a maniac and his five-ton salamander! And just after I’d gotten the arrow crates restacked!” He gestured angrily at the splintered pile of wood and fletching that littered the arena.

    Toothless wandered curiously over to the heap, his ears perked, and sniffed it speculatively. His brows lifted in alarm and he snorted, a motion that shook its way down to the tip of his tail. He backed up quickly, nearly running over Snotlout again, and eyed the jumble.

    Hiccup, who was still dangling from the ceiling, cleared his throat with some difficulty. “Um, guys…” He pointed to himself sloppily, feeling as if his head was about to explode.

    “Oh, right,” Ruff snickered. “Barf, Belch! Get over here and help us cut the fishbone down!”

    Hiccup was only able to ignore the comment due to his heaving stomach.

    “You know,” Tuff pointed out, “We could just leave him there. I’ve never seen anyone’s face turn purple like that.”

    It was too late, though, for Ruff to reconsider her options; Barf and Belch had already bit down on the string. Before Hiccup could comprehend what was happening, his face was planted firmly into the ground like it was attempting a head-first journey to the center of the earth.

    “Owwww…” he whined pitifully as he clutched his nose.

    “You know, that almost makes up for it,” Tuff conceded.

    “Yeah, just look at the way his face is flashing colors! It’s like a Snoggletog lantern!”

    Snotlout crowed loudly. “It’s karma Haddock.”

    Hiccup shot his cousin his best withering glare, which only proved to exacerbate the gaudy boy’s laughing.

    “Shu’ up ‘n’ ge’ me some ice.” Blood poured out of Hiccup’s nostrils, and from the numb throbbing issuing from the bridge of his nose, the male was able to surmise he had broken it. Again.

    “Yes, your majesty,” Snotlout cackled. “Oh, and for the record, you’re cleaning this mess up.”

    The three boisterous teens sauntered out of the arena, clutching their stomachs in mirth.

    Hiccup sighed and removed his left hand from his face. Overlooking the still steady flow of sticky liquid, he held his hands out to the dragon. “Come ‘ere, Toothle’. I  wanna che’ your shaddle.”

    The entire reason Hiccup was in this predicament in first place drooped shamefully in shambles off of the reptile’s back.

    “Shid,” he cursed under his breath. He held up a tough leather strap that, until recently, had been a holster for the stirrup. Not having the heart to stand up and assess the damage, Hiccup scooched along the ground on his butt until he reached the tail, only to be meet with a less than disappointing sight.

    “Shid, shid, shid, shid.” No amount of curse words could reel in his slowly sinking hopes. The tailfin he had so fondly and artfully crafted for the amputated lizard sat in an even worse condition than the saddle. Limply held on by a fraying piece of wire, it was twisted and mangled beyond repair. “Frigga, I’m goingah ta have ta start ofer.”

    He miserably wiped away a trail of blood that had snaked its way down to his chin. “Dis is not goot.”

    Mentally, he ran through a list of what could have gone wrong. While they were still in the air, Hiccup had felt a wire snap out of place - slip, or possibly one of the pulleys broke. Spontaneously, a thought occurred to him. He remembered having an epiphany over dinner one night about the extension he’d added to the shift system. He’d - big surprise - forgotten to write it down, and when he fitted a slide shifter for his prosthetic over top of the train, he didn’t have the correct measurements. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

    “I’ll say.”

    He whipped around at the voice. Of all the people on the island…

    Astrid stood at the entrance to the dome with her arms crossed and her hip jutted out, staring determinedly at him.

    Knowing he couldn’t escape reprimand, he offered her an awkward nervous smile. “Heh, yeah…”

    Stormfly bounded out from behind her, wings spread and head bent, and lumbered over to sniff him concernedly.

    She rolled her eyes at him. “When are you ever going to stop...this!?” She held her hands out, indicating both him and Toothless.

    “Oh, oh, dank you,” he stammered sarcastically, “I really thoud we were ofer dat.”

    “You’re going to kill yourself one day!”

    Hiccup opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the re-entrance of the twins and Snotlout, followed closely by an anxious Fishlegs. Snotlout held out a cloth bag soaked with condensation and filled with ice.

    “Here you go.”

    Hiccup took it gratefully, placing it tenderly on his aching nose.

   “If I could, I’d lock you up,” Astrid continued as if the others had not entered. “But I fear you’ll just find a way to set the pen on fire.”

    “I’m nod dat prone.”

    She stared at him disbelievingly.

    “Fide.”

    Fishlegs was still gazing around in wonderment, his mouth forming a comic ‘o’. “How -”

    “Don’t ask,” Snotlout interjected. “Now come on, Fish-face. The sooner we get cleaning, the sooner we can not be here.”

    In a rare display of kindness, Snotlout marched towards the wreckage and started hauling away the scraps.

    Astrid, who had never let her gaze deviate from the bloody boy in front of her, dropped to one knee beside him. She gently slugged him in the shoulder - an action that communicated enough to Hiccup - before tentatively removing the ice bag from his hand. Hiccup snorted in protest, but she shushed him.

    Taking one damp corner, she softly rubbed clear the dried blood from his lips and chin. The russet-haired boy seized that moment to study her face. Her cheeks were slightly reddened from frustration, but still so radiant. She bit her lip slightly in concentration, just like she always did, a gesture Hiccup found absolutely adorable.

    When she finished washing his face, she harshly shoved the bag back into his palm.

    “Don’t think I’m not mad at you.”

    Hiccup frantically shook his head.

    “Good. Now get up. The first aid supplies are in the clubhouse and I’m not letting you walk around with a broken nose.”

    She grabbed his wrist, hauling him to his foot. As he tried to take a step forward, his metal leg skidded out from under him and he pitched to the side, landing in Astrid’s shocked but ready arms.

    He growled in annoyance: the flattened tip had bent downward during the crash. He kicked his foot against the ground a few times, as if that would soothe his anger.

    Astrid smiled wanly, reaching for his arm and swinging it over her shoulder.

    “Come on, Dragon-Boy. We need to get you fixed up.”

                                                              ***

    Several hours later found Hiccup hobbling around the forge on his crutches, desperately trying to locate some morsel of the metal he needed.

    After knocking himself into one of the workbenches for the third time in as many minutes, he grumpily confessed that he was completely out, and there was no possible way he would be able to fashion another prosthetic until he ordered some from Trader Johann. What was more, he had idiotically decided that his two back-up legs needed upgrades, and had scrapped them both weeks ago.

    Hiccup amazed himself sometimes.

    Toothless crooned sympathetically from his position at the entrance, leaning back on his hindquarters with his front feet resting on the rock partition. The Night Fury looked oddly naked devoid of his usual saddle and harness.

    Hiccup sniffed, his nose still a bit tender from his unceremonious landing that morning.

    “How are we going to do this?” He asked his best friend rhetorically.

    Toothless cocked his head to one side, raising an eyebrow as if to say you got us into this mess, you get us out.

    Hiccup scoffed. “You’re so helpful.”

    Toothless grinned sardonically.

    Sticking his lip out and resting his chin on the padded end of the crutch, Hiccup studied his workshop.

    “Well, we don’t have to worry about you not being able to fly; the first prototype of your saddle is in the stables. I can lengthen the pull-wire - since you’re longer - but I do have to teach someone how to fly with it, considering I have no leg…”

    Toothless perked up at the mention of flying, but realizing Hiccup was only talking to himself, he disinterestedly turned and flopped himself into a ball, pulling his one tailfin up to cover his eyes.

    “I’ll have to redraw that cheat-sheet (I should remember everything),” Hiccup continued, oblivious to the dragon’s lack of attention, “and maybe we could start at a place with less sea stacks,” he grinned at his own joke. “Now the real question is, who will fly? Fishlegs is too big for you in that harness. Tuff won’t listen to anything I have to say - he’ll be worse than dad - and neither will Ruff. Snot probably won’t give you back…”

    A merry whistle caught his attention and for the second time that day, Hiccup marveled at the impeccable timing.

    Astrid strode down the boardwalk leading to her hut, carrying a box full of balliste ammunition.

    A slow smile danced on Hiccup’s lips, with an undertone that was decidedly devious.

    “What’d ya say bud,” Hiccup directed at the slumbering dragon, “She looks about the right size.”

                                                                   ***

    Astrid could not be described as distinctly intrepid. She liked things safe, and secure. Why else did she have the most fortified and armed house in the whole archipelago? Growing up in a world constantly ravaged by dangerous fire breathing beasts cultivated that mindset. Add on the pain of losing a loved one to the cause of not being well-prepared, Astrid’s biggest fear seemed to be that of unreadiness. It’s not to say that she wasn’t adventurous or brave - no, quite the contrary: she loved seeing new sights and meeting new people, and during a fight she was the last person you’d expect to find on the sidelines. She was loud and bold and proud and a teenager - it only fit. But that didn’t mean that she was reckless.

    She did not pride herself on discerning the most dramatic and asinine way to get herself killed like some people.

    She did not enjoy the hearty thrill of the chase and electrifying buzz of insurrection like someone she could mention.

    And she most definitely did not savor the floundering feeling of not being in control six kilometers in the air like Hiccup.

    “Please, Astrid!” His tone was getting higher and whinier, an indication that he was becoming frustrated.

    “For the eighth time, NO.”

    In the past two days since Hiccup and Toothless had crashed out of the sky, the population of the Edge had gotten used to the foreign sounds of Hiccup’s slightly nasally-er drawl that came from his now somewhat crooked nose and the hard clack, shuffle of his crutches and boot.

    Astrid more than most.

    Hiccup had apparently made it his mission to get her in the air on Toothless. He’d tried everything to make her say yes, from promising a favor in return to kidnapping her from her chores and sticking her in a tree (he’d probably asked for the new bruises that adorned his arms) to kissing her senseless in the alley between Fishlegs’ and the twin’s huts.

    None of them had made her even think about budging - except maybe the kiss: she’d been so delirious that she’d had to stop herself in the middle of saying “yes.”

    “Look at him!” He pointed at the dragon, who sat on the open wrap-around porch, his front paws drawn in close to his body and his glowing eyes wide and pitiful. “Someone needs to take him out for a romp before he explodes!”

    Toothless looked down at the floor for a second before fixing her with his most pathetic expression.

    “I will never understand how you two conspire so well together.” She picked up her plate from the table and dodged around him to walk over to the washing bin filled with the rest of the gang’s dishes. He didn’t miss a beat, spinning on his good foot and following her.

    She picked up an awaiting bucket of water from the floor and heaved it over to Stormfly. The Nadder was curled up in the sun, her silvery-blue wings folded against her body, watching her human carefully. As soon as the bucket hit the planking, Stormfly let loose a stream of white-orange fire into the liquid, making it bubble and steam welcomely. Astrid hauled the bucket back to the washing bin and dumped its contents over the ceramics. Hiccup limped over and handed her the soap bar from the adjoining table. She took it without question, dipping it into the scalding water and trying to ignore the melting of her hands. Bubbles floated cheerfully to the top, creating a thin layer of foam over the surface.

    He leaned against the wall as she started scrubbing the plates. “You’d make him so happy.”

    “I’m not going to engage in some half-assed invention of yours that nearly failed the first time!” She dropped the dripping plate onto the counter harder than she meant to, but she went along with it since the noise made Hiccup flinch.

    “It really didn’t,” he said, propping his crutches under one arm to keep him steady and gathering the drying towel and finished plate. “It worked fine until we got hit with a club for a tail.”

    Astrid couldn’t help the snort that escaped her. The way he so casually talked about his near-death experiences either had her so annoyed she wanted to punch him, or so amused she wanted to cackle.

    She probably wasn’t helping her cause too much.

    “I don’t even know how to work the dumb thing.”

    “Ah, see, that’s the beauty of teaching.”

    “I’m not getting on him knowing that if we fall, it will be my fault.”

    “Control freak.” He set another dish in the cabinet above their heads.

    “I am not!”

    “Are too! You won’t get on him because you don’t like feeling as if you can’t control him.”

    “I can control him more than I can Stormfly.”

    “Yes, but all you do on Stormfly is sit. On Toothless, you know you need to have some control, and not knowing how to have that control is disorienting to you.”

    “Who’s side are you even on?”

    He froze in the middle of stacking cups, contemplating the accusation. “You’re right. Anyway, it honestly won’t be that bad. I’ll be right there to walk you through it.”

    “Do you even remember how to use the thing?”

    “Yes, of course.”

    “It was three years ago, Hiccup.”

    “So?”

    “How did it even survive your fall?”

    “I made two, just in case.”

    “That is about as much forethought that I think I’ve ever seen you have.”

    “Why, thank you.”

    “It wasn’t a compliment.”

    “So will you do it?” He looked at her so hopefully Astrid figured she might as well get sucked in a whirlpool with no chance of getting out.

    She heaved an overdramatic sigh and finally relented, pretending not to find his wild fist pump and violent toppling cute.

                                                           ***

    The next day at dawn, Astrid met Hiccup on a  bluff overlooking the Northern Ocean. The other riders had slowly trickled in to witness the “disastrous” flying attempt. Looking around, Astrid had a sudden flashback to Hiccup’s psychotic flight-suit test runs - multiple of which failed miserably and almost ended with Hiccup-juice splattered on the rocks. Astrid frowned deeply and mentally made a note to ground Hiccup from death-defying acts for the next...forever.

    “Ok, ‘Strid.” The lanky teen pushed himself out from under Toothless’s belly, where he had been adjusting and attaching several important-looking gears. “We’re ready.” He sat up and grinned at her. Using Toothless as support, he stood, wobbling for a minute before steadying out.

    “This,” he said, pulling a rumpled piece of parchment from a pouch on his right hip, “will be your most useful tool. Don’t lose it: you will crash.”

    Astrid gulped. She recognized the tell-tale signs of second-thoughts and quickly steeled her nerves, looking defiantly at Toothless as if he were daring to question her resolve.

    “Come here,” he gestured towards himself, and clipped the parchment onto the saddle head with a double-binder system. On the paper was a grid of six squares, each containing a cartoony sketch of a tail position and marked with a number.

    “These are all the possible points the tail can be shifted to.” He held up a flattened hand. “Here’s the stirrup. Your foot will start like this,” he tilted his hand a bit forward. “That is position three. It is your takeoff and landing position.” With his free hand, he pointed at the fourth box in the grid and tilted his hand backwards. “This is position four.” He pointed at box five and tilted his hand back farther. “Position five…” he pointed at the next box and tilted his hand so that was vertical, “...and position six. Forget five and six, you won’t need those yet.”

    “What do they do?” She inquired.

    “Five basically lets him spin uncontrollably, and six is for steep dives, but we won’t be doing any of those today.” He moved his hand back to simulate position three. “This is your most useful position. For easy flights where he just wants to glide, three is basically all you need. However,” he shifted his hand forward. “Position two is also very important, and so is position one.” Position one looked just as uncomfortable as position six, lying completely vertical in the opposite direction, and Astrid learned to respect the flexibility of Hiccup’s ankles.

    “Listen carefully, now, because this part makes all the difference.” Astrid fixed her eyes on his still- hovering hand. “Both takeoff and landing require some unique dexterity. You have to synchronously switch positions while changing your weight on his back,  Toothless takes off a bit differently than Stormfly, of course, so instead a vertical climb straight from the ground, he does this sort of run/hop/skip thing and climbs at an angle. Your foot - like I said earlier - will begin in position three, and he’ll begin by running, but as soon as you feel him bunch himself in preparation to jump, you need to switch the position to two. There will be this little pause between him leaving the ground and him flapping his wings, and that’s where you switch it back to three. Once he flaps his wings, the stirrup immediately goes to position one. He’ll face himself at an angle to the ground and the second time he flaps his wings, boom, back to three. Did you get that?”

    Astrid most certainly did not get that.

    Hiccup chuckled - a deep sound that reverberated in his chest. “I’ll walk you through it again when we’re in the air. Next item!”

    Astrid desperately wanted him to slow down. He was talking so fast, just like he did whenever he got passionate about a project, and it was hard for her to completely wrap her mind around everything.

    “Toothless hates it when you sit on him like a rock, so you need to adjust your weight accordingly, especially during takeoff. It’s mostly a natural reaction, but whenever he wants to go forward, you have to lean forward, when he encounters turbulence, you need to sit him like a feather. Basic stuff.

    “For landing - it’s basically the reverse of takeoff. He’ll come in at a reasonable angle, then, just before he touches down, he’ll hover over the ground momentarily. When he starts descending, you’ll switch the stirrup to three (but you’ll probably have it already on three because you’ll be gliding), when you feel the little hiccup before he starts hovering, switch it to two, then when he drops, switch it back to three.”  He glanced warily at Astrid, trying to judge just how unhappy she was with this arrangement. “You’ll do fine,” he encouraged.

    Astrid mumbled something about him being such an ass.

    Hiccup chose to conceal his smile with a cough.

    “Well then, shall we?” He made a sweeping motion with his hand, gesturing for her to mount Toothless.

    Astrid took a deep breath before grabbing the saddle-horn and hauling herself up. She wiggled a bit, getting familiar with the unfamiliar saddle.

    “This isn’t so bad,” she said.

    “You’ve just got to put your foot in the stirrup now.” With a little struggling, she was able to fit her boot within the straps. “Good. You ready?”

    “As I’ll ever be.”

    Stormfly hummed from her seat next to Toothless on the edge of the cliff, sniffing her rider with interest. The Nadder squawked at the Night Fury, and he warbled back tiredly, as if promising for the umpteenth time that nothing was going to happen. Stormfly, however, didn’t seem too convinced. Still, she stepped back to give Toothless suitable space.

    “Looks like your dragon has about as much faith in this working as the rest of us do,” called Snotlout from where he sat leaning against a rock.

    Hiccup rolled his eyes. “It’ll work, and she’ll be fine,” he proclaimed confidently.

    “Sure.”

    Hiccup reached across her lap to grip the saddle-horn and lift himself up behind her. His thighs mirrored her own, running parallel with the tops touching the backs of her legs. He hooked both his arms loosely around her waist, and suddenly she was aware of the fire that burned across her skin everywhere he made contact.

    Great, all she needed was another damn distraction.

    She focused on the small spiny bumps between Toothless’s ears, which were decidedly less attractive than the lean male she had her back pressed against.   

    Focus.

    “Whenever you’re ready, Mi’lady,” he chippered in her ear.

    “Ok, Toothless. Let’s do this.”

    The dragon flashed her a gummy smile before taking off towards the lip. Just before reaching the edge, Astrid felt the powerful muscles underneath her contract, tensing in a wired way.

    “Position two,” Hiccup reminded her softly. The calm and confidence that emanated from him helped to clear her mind and let her focus. She pushed her foot forward slightly, hearing a small click that reverberated up her leg.

    Toothless jumped, pushing all three of them in the air. They hung there for a couple seconds - seconds where time seemed to have no hold - before Hiccup reminded her again that she needed to switch the tail.

    She counted one flap of the ginormous wings that propelled them forward jerkily. Toothless grunted as she almost missed the cue to switch to position one, but cooed encouragingly when she remembered the last shift.

     And they were flying.

    “Ha, ha!” Hiccup cheered. “You did it!”

    Astrid, although she didn’t outwardly show it, was jumping hysterically for joy inside.

    “Now all you have to do is land him!”

    “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Haddock.”

    “I’ve said it enough already, but you’ll do fine.”

    “In the meantime, though, I’ve hardly ever ridden a Night Fury, and never flown one, so let’s make this count.”

                                                              ***

    That afternoon, Astrid was beginning to regret her decision to help the chief’s son.

    It definitely wasn’t worth it, she mused as she hung suspended from the figurehead at the top of the dome, to ride the fastest known dragon, but still end up hanging from the ceiling.

[marvelous-heroimagines]

What Was It This Time?

Requested by: Anonymous (Here are the specifics)

Pairing: Reader x Peter Parker Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Swearing, fluff

A/N: Prompts #10: “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m always this awkward.” and #22: “I can’t explain it right now, but I need you to trust me on this.” from this prompt list.

As usual, your eyes slide to the person sitting to the right, one row ahead of you. His head was ducked and you can see him doodling in his notebook, you wonder what kind of things run through such a brilliant mind.

“Mr. Parker, are you paying attention?” your English teacher, Mr. Campbell, calls from the front of the room. Peter’s head snaps up and he drops his pen,

“Y-Yes,” he stutters, clearly lying. You can’t see his face, but you’d bet that his cheeks were flushing red, knowing that he was lying.

Mr. Campbell crosses his arms over his chest, and cocks an eyebrow at Peter, “Well, either you’re lying, or you’re purposefully defying my request,”

“Uh, can you repeat what you said?” Peter asks. You watch with amusement as he seems to sink further in his chair with every passing second, seemingly uncomfortable being the centre of attention.

Mr. Campbell sighs, “I asked you to move next to Miss Y/L/N... You’re partners on the next project,”

Your head snaps forward, staring at your teacher, unsure you’d heard him correctly. Clearly Peter wasn’t the only one that hadn’t been listening. Your eyes dart back to Peter to find him staring at you, his mouth agape. As you feel blush starting to flood your cheeks, you quickly bow your head, hoping that Peter hadn’t noticed. Your heart beat picks up as Peter’s footsteps approach you.

“Hey,” Peter coos, dumping his notebook, pens and bag on the desk next to you,

“Hi,” you force out, feeling embarrassed when your voice is soft and timid. That wasn’t how you wanted to make your first impression on the guy you’d had a crush on since Freshmen year,

“Okay, so,” Peter whispers, leaning closer to you; making your heart beat pick up more, “I’m not gonna lie to you... I wasn’t listening,” he chuckles, “What exactly is the project?”

“Uhh,” you curse your brain for freaking out and not being suave and charming, “I wasn’t listening either,” you admit.

Peter bursts out in quiet laughter. At the sound of his laugh, you relax a little, taking it as a good sign.

“I guess one of us should find out,” he flashes you a wide smile, “Preferably before we meet up after school,”

“What?” you blurt out, your eyebrows shooting up,

“To start on the project?” he asks tentatively,

“Oh, yeah” you nervously laugh, “I’ll ask Mary Jane before school finishes,”

“Great,” he flashes you one last smile before leaning away from you and slumps back in his chair. Your eyes linger as you watch him pick up his pen and continue doodling. Trying to be subtle, you tilt your head, just enough to get a good look at what Peter was drawing.

You’re surprised when you see he’s been doodling the Avengers. Not that it was odd, every single student at school had been obsessed with the superheroes since the Battle of New York. You brush it off, and decide that it was a smart idea to start paying attention to the lesson.

While you nervously fiddle your fingers, your head darts back and forth from the tables in the library and the door. Peter was already 20 minutes late, and you were really starting to worry that he had stood you up. Letting out a disappointed sigh, you shuffle over to the closest table.

None of the students look up to acknowledge you, so you quickly take a seat and pull out your books.

“Holy shit!” the student across from you whispers to his friends. His friends excitedly nod towards the student you thinks name is Miles, before their eyes return to the laptop screen that was positioned in front of Miles.

“Woah!” Miles’ friend shouts. You shoot him a glare. You considering moving to another table, but worry that if you move too far into the library, Peter won’t see you when he finally arrive... if he finally arrives.

“Sorry,” Miles whispers to you, looking around his laptop, “We’re just watching footage of Spiderman... He’s chasing bank robbers through the city,”

“Yeah, it’s live and he’s so badass,” Miles’ friend adds.

You give them an acknowledging nod before returning your attention to your books. But it only takes 5 minutes for Miles and his friends to exclaim in excitement again.

“He got ‘em!” Miles excitedly tells you, “Now he’s slinging off into the sunset,”

“Thanks for the play by play,” you sarcastically reply and give him a forced smile. Miles and his friends finally quiet down and you’re given an opportunity to concentrate. But you don’t even finish reading the first page of Mary Jane’s notes before someone suddenly grabs your shoulder.

You let out a squeal, and snap your head around to see Peter standing behind you.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, sorry,” he grins at you,

“You’re late,” you roll your eyes at him before turning back to your work,

“I know, sorry,” he mumbles and you notice that his chest is heaving with every breath, and his cheeks are flushed,

“You run here or something?” you cock an eyebrow at him,

“What? No,” he blurts out, looking frightened, “Oh... Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously, “Coach, um, made me run laps to make up for my bad grade in P.E.,”

You slowly nod, not really believing what Peter was saying. You knew for a fact that Coach was at swim trials on a Monday afternoon. But you don’t call Peter out on it. He was hiding something, but it was none of your business. Peter makes a move to sit in the empty seat next to you.

“Oh, I was thinking we could move to a table upstairs?” you query, “Miles and his friends are a little loud,” you whisper. Peter steals a look at Miles, who had now moved on to loudly chatting about how cool Spiderman was, before giving you a smile and a nod. You gather up your things and follow Peter towards the stairs that led to the quieter level of the library.

You don’t even make it 3 stairs before your foot collides with one and you stumble. Peter lunges forward and stops you from smashing into the rest of the staircase. Your creeks flood with blush as you try to recover. Peter is biting back a laugh when you shoot him a glare.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m always this awkward,” you say with a smirk.

Once the two of you find a free spot, you pull out your books again.

“Alright, so I was able to coax Mary Jane into lending me her notes on the project we have to do,” you point at her neatly handwritten notes, “And I think we should start with the research, I’ve found some good stuff in the textbook,”

“Cool, cool,” Peter nods, his eyes scanning the borrowed notes. You wait for him to pull out his books, and when he doesn’t, a silence becomes obvious to the both of you,

“So... Your books?” you drawl out,

“Oh, yeah,” Peter nervously says. You watch as he grabs his bag and rips it open. As he pulls out his books, you notice a flash of red and blue material that had been stuffed into his bag, “What’s with the frown?” Peter asks in a concerned tone.

You pull your attention away from his bag and make sure to wipe the crease between your brows away, “Nothing. Let’s get started,”

You and Peter had been given 6 weeks to prepare your project, which was worth more than half of the years mark. To begin with, you’d been excited to be project partners with your crush, but now it was only a regret. Peter had ditched you, or rocked up late to your study sessions. It was really starting to piss you off that you had to carry his cute ass through this project.

But it wasn’t the kind of slacking that everyone else did, where he knew you’d complete the project if he didn’t show up. It was different. Every time he ditched you, he seemed distressed and in a hurry. Or every time he arrived late, he was out of breath and frazzled. And coincidentally, whenever he had to leave early, it was less than 5 minutes before Spiderman was seen slinging through the city, fighting crime.

Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.

“Hey, Y/N, wait up!” you hear Peter call from behind you as you stomp through the snow. You stop and spin around, watching Peter jog over to you, “I know I’m late, I’m sorry,”

You let out an annoyed sigh and cross your arms over your chest, “What was it this time?”

Peter stares at you, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he tries to think, “I can’t explain it right now, but I need you to trust me on this,” you cock an eyebrow and look at him quizzically, “It was important,” he adds,

“You’re still wearing the mask,” you say, testing out your theory. Peter gasps and immediately reaches for his face, “I knew it!” you exclaim,

“What? How? Wait what’re you thinking?” he stammers, looking frightened,

“You’re Spiderman,” you confidently say, not able to keep the smirk off your face,

“No...” Peter drawls out,

“Every time you bail on our study dates, Spiderman appears to fight crime,” you shrug, making it seem like it wasn’t hard to put together,

“That doesn’t... I’m not Spiderman,” Peter nervously laughs,

“I literally overheard you tell Ned that you stole Captain America’s shield,” you cock an eyebrow at him.

Peter lets out a sigh, “Fine, you’re right,”

You grin at him, proud of yourself for being correct, “Could’ve just told me, I would’ve been more cool with you leaving me to do the entire project by myself if I knew you were saving the city,”

Peter smirks at you, “Did you call our study, a date?”

“What? Uh...” now you were the one feeling uncomfortable with the confrontation,

“You know,” Peter takes a few steps towards you, “I would’ve made sure to make it to our studying I knew they were dates,”

Your breathing hitches in your throat, unable to breathe without taking in Peter’s scent, “Shut up,” you mumble, embarrassed, “You still owe me for doing our project by myself,”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Peter steps closer still, “Coffee?”

“Uh, sounds good,” you all but whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. Peter snaps his head around, looking like he was hearing something. He takes a glance at you, his face telling you that Spiderman was needed, “Go,” you shake your head,

“We’ll have dinner,” he says. You’re taken by surprise when he plants a small kiss on your cheek, you don’t even register it until he’s run off to go fight crime.

Final Part

Tags: @goldenlifevsgutter1996, @redstarstan, @invisible2niall, @leahhavoc, @heismyhunter, @coffeeismylife28, @rosyfluffyprincess, @klutzly, @addictwithafandomblog, @hantu369mc, @aboveaverage-fangirl, @impala-moose, @plumsforbuck2016, @buckyandsebsinbin, @meep-meep22, @caitsymichelle13, @pleasefixthepain, @spn-worm, @buckyobsessed, @specs15, @sebstanwassup, @wunnywho, @girlwith100names

[reedusdixonfictionaddiction]

The Summer in Georgia

Chapter 33. Please, God! I’ll Do Anything!

Sunday night and Monday came and went. By the time, Tuesday rolled around, Isabella was back to her old self. Daryl and Rick had gone to Atlanta, just for the day. Rick had to see Lori to talk about the divorce, everything was just hitting him and he didn’t want to go alone, so he asked Daryl to go with him. Isabella stayed behind to clean the house, because she and Daryl were going camping in a few days.

Isabella spent the day happily scrubbing and dusting. That horrible weekend was just a distant memory now. She stuffed it down in to that dark, hidden place in her mind, just like she did to every damaging thing that happened in her life. It was easier that way, easier than dealing with her feelings and all the unpleasantness of life. When she finished cleaning she got a pen and tablet to write on. Daryl had told her to make a list of food and stuff they’d needed for the camping trip. She had no idea what one needs to camp, so she sat there daydreaming and doodling ‘Daryl Dixon’ with a heart around it over and over. She thought about their trip and how much fun it was going to be. She thought about skinning dipping with Daryl and she decided that first night in the tent would be the first time they made love.

Daryl called her around 2:00 to check on her, he told her that they’d be back before dark, probably around 6:00 or 6:30. After she hung up, she got on the computer for a while until the Wi-Fi went out. Isabella could hear the wind howling outside, the hair on her neck stood up. ‘It’s nothing to panic about, it’s just wind.’ She told herself. She needed to find something to take her mind of the weather, so she decided to watch TV, but the wind messed up the satellite. She tried to read, but sound of the trees hitting the windows was very distracting. It was about 4:30 when she looked at the clock, two more hours and Daryl would be home and everything would be ok. Isabella went out on the back patio to look at the sky. It was getting darker and the air felt damp, she started to panic a little bit, her heart was racing and she was sweating. She thought about calling Daryl, but she didn’t want him to think she was overreacting. Finally, she decided to lay down and take a nap. She put her earbuds in and turned up her music, she didn’t notice that the battery was at 36%. Isabella soon drifted off.

Daryl and Rick were running late, things hadn’t gone as planned and they had to stay an extra two hours. Daryl had been frantically trying to call Isabella for almost three hours, but she didn’t pick up. He was worried, it was starting to get dark and she was afraid to be home alone when it was dark outside. He hadn’t even thought about the weather. They were about an hour away from home, he tried to call her again, but still no answer. He didn’t want to do it, but he called Charlie to ask him to go and check on her, but Charlie was in Macon visiting his grandmother. Even if he’d left at that moment, Rick and Daryl would have still beat him there. He decided to leave anyway, his grandmother was getting tired and he was worried about Isabella too.

There was a three-car pileup on I85, Daryl and Rick were stuck in gridlock traffic when it started thundering and lightning. Rick was stressed from the meeting with Lori, so he had fallen asleep right after they got on the road. The wind was howling and the rain was blowing sideways. Daryl tried calling again and there was still no answer, he called Charlie to see how far he was from home, he was stuck in traffic just like they were. Finally, traffic started moving again. Rick woke up and grabbed a donut that was left over from the morning. He was dropping crumbs all over the place, so he asked Daryl if he had any napkins. Daryl told him there were some in the glove box. Rick opened the box and pulled out a napkin.

“Hey, Daryl. How come you have Isabella’s prescription in your glove box?” Rick asked.

Daryl’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Holy Fuck! We gotta’ get home now.” He hollered.

“Is she really that afraid of the dark?” Rick asked.

“No! I mean, yes, but that ain’t what I’m worried about. Thunderstorms scare the shit out of her, she has to take that medication, just to keep it together.”

“Then why do you have it?”

“Because, I didn’t like the fact that she was takin’ somethin’ like that, so I took it the other night. And now she’s alone and she’s got nothin’ to calm her down. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He said, stepping down on the gas.

“Did you get ahold of her? Maybe you should call Charlie to go over and check on her.” Rick said.

“She still ain’t pickin’ up and I called him, he’s on his way there, but he’s comin’ from Macon. Fuck, she’s probably freakin’ out right now.” Daryl said in a worried tone.

“You should’ve told me about this. What if I had been home with her and she started to panic. I wouldn’t have known what was happening. So, they’re pretty bad, her panic attacks?” Rick asked.

“Yeah! Did you see the prescription? It’s Xanax, that’s some heavy shit.”

Rick looked at the bottle. “I really should have known about this, Daryl. This is serious. What happens when she panics?” Rick asked.

“All I know is what she told me. I guess, she has a really bad panic attack. Last time she didn’t have her pills, she had to go to the ER by ambulance by herself and she’s afraid of the hospital, because she was left there when she a little kid and no one came to see her for three days. Why the fuck did I take ‘em? Hey, can you call the station and see who’s on and tell ‘em ta’ swing by. See if Chris can.” Daryl said.

Daryl was panicking himself. She’d just gotten over that weekend and now this. The truth was, he didn’t know how severe her panic attacks were, he was just guessing because of the medication. He was trying to drive fast, but everyone else on the road was driving slow because of the storm. Daryl needed to calm down a little or he was going to cause an accident. Rick called the station and everyone was out on calls, but the dispatcher said, she’d get someone over there as soon as possible. She told Rick that the power was out, so the switch board was lit up like a Christmas tree. Rick hung up and told Daryl that the power was out.

“Fuck! Try ta’ call her again. Nobody can go over there right now?” He asked with urgency.

Rick was trying to call Isabella. “No, I told you the power was out and they have calls coming in like crazy.” He hung up the phone. “No answer, but it’s going straight to voicemail. That means the phones turned off… or the battery’s dead.” Rick stated.

If traffic kept moving well, they’d be home in 30 minutes or so. Daryl’s phone rang and it was Charlie. He told him he was about 45 minutes away and asked if they’d heard from her yet. Daryl told him ‘no’ and hung up. The rain was coming down hard, Daryl could hardly see the road and the thunder and lightning was booming.

There was a loud crash and Isabella sat straight up in her bed. It was pitch black so, she cried out for Daryl and Rick, but there was no answer. She felt around on her bed for her phone, she found it, but it was dead. She couldn’t charge it because the power was out. She started to cry, she needed light, she was terrified of the dark. So, she tried to calm herself as she made her way down the hall, feeling the wall the whole way. There was a flashlight and a couple of lanterns in the laundry room. The thunder boomed like it was just outside the door. Isabella started to shake, she was crying so hard, she couldn’t catch her breath. She got to the laundry room and felt her way to the cupboards and found the flashlight. She turned in on and the thunder boomed again. She slid down the wall to the floor, sobbing and trembling. Her heart was racing, it felt like she was going to have a heart attack. She cried out in the darkness for Daryl, but he didn’t come. She needed to get back to her room, so she could take a pill.

It took every bit of strength and courage she had to get up off the floor and make her way back down the hall. Lightning was striking all around and every time it hit the ground it lit up her room, but it wasn’t a comforting light, it was eerie and it scared her even more. She had to get to the bathroom, but her sobbing was blurring her eyes. She was hyperventilating, plus her nose was stopped up from crying, so she could barely breath. Isabella made it to the bathroom and over to her vanity table, but she couldn’t find the pill bottle. Things were being thrown around and broken, while she hunted for the Xanax. She emptied her drawers, she opened all the cupboards and pulled out the towels and sheets. They were nowhere, she couldn’t find them.

There was another loud crash and it made her jump, she dropped the flashlight onto the bathroom floor and it went out. She screamed in fear and frustration. She picked it up and banged it around, it finally came on, it was dim, but it was on. She checked all her drawers, there were clothes everywhere. She emptied her purse and backpack, nothing. She made it the bed and grabbed George, her stuffed monkey and then Isabella fell to the floor and when she did the flashlight went out. Lightning struck the transformer outside and there was a deafening crashing sound, that was followed up by earsplitting thunder. She covered her ears, shut her eyes tight and laid there on the floor in front of the closet, screaming for Daryl. She was shaking violently and her mouth was dry, she sat up suddenly and threw up on the carpet. She cried out for Daryl again, when he didn’t answer she curled up into a little ball and started rocking back and forth.

Images started flashing through her mind, a lifetime of bad memories that she’d stuffed down in that dark, hidden place of her mind, were starting to surface. She was soaking wet and the thunder and lightning was all around her, she cried for her mother, but she didn’t come. Then she was in the ER all alone, nurses and doctors were poking and prodding her, there was no one there for her and no one would talk to her and tell her what had happened. Isabella didn’t want to remember these things, she screamed and hit her fists on her head. She felt like she was going to black out…

Daryl screeched into the driveway and parked, he jumped out of the truck and ran for the house. He yelled to Rick to bring the pill bottle. Rick was right behind him. He flew through the door and called out for Isabella, there was no answer, he called out again.

“I can’t see nothin’.” Daryl yelled at Rick as he felt his way down the hallway.

Rick was right behind him, he ducked into the laundry room and grabbed the other flashlight and gave it to Daryl. Daryl called for her all the way down the hallway, when he got to her room he could see everything scattered on the floor. He called out to her again, but nothing, he quickly scanned the room with the light and she wasn’t anywhere. He ran to the bathroom and saw the mess, he panicked, where was she? He came out and told Rick she wasn’t there, he said that she must have been looking for the bottle because everything was thrown about in the bathroom too. They were about to search the rest of the house, when Daryl heard a little whimper. He scanned the room again, another whimper, it was coming from the closet. He ran to the closet and slid the door so hard, it came off the track. There she was in the corner of the closet. She was rolled up into a little ball, clutching her stuffed monkey. He fell to his knees and climbed in the closet with her. He touched her and she screamed.

“It’s me, rabbit. It’s ok, I’m here. C’mere baby.” He said softly, trying to pull her toward him.

“Should I call an ambulance, Daryl?” Rick asked, squatting down in front of the closet next to Daryl.

“No! She afraid of it.” He told Rick sternly. “Rabbit, c’mere baby. He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her out. She screamed again and then started crying.

Daryl just grabbed her and pulled her out and scooped her into his arms. “It’s ok. I’m here, baby. I’m here and everything’s gonna’ be ok. I promise. Ain’t nothin’ gonna’ hurt ya’, I won’t let it.” He whispered to her. She was crying heavily again, she clutched his arm and held on for dear life.

“I’m gonna’ get some lanterns. I’ll be right back.” Rick said, as he felt his way back down the hall to the laundry room.

Just then Charlie came bursting through the door with a spot light. He almost blinded Rick.

“Is she ok? What happened? Where’s Daryl?” He asked out of breath.

“They’re in the bedroom. She pretty bad off. Did you know she had a crippling fear of thunderstorms?” Rick asked Charlie, who was lighting up the laundry room for Rick, while he lit the lanterns.

“No, I didn’t. Is she ok?

“Yeah, well she does. She takes a heavy benzo and Daryl had them with him. She didn’t have them.” Rick said, handing a lantern to Charlie.

“Damn. Is she gonna’ be ok?”

They could hear her crying from down the hall. Rick looked at Charlie and shook his head.

“I hope so, she was in the closet when we got here. I think she should go to the ER, but Daryl says, ‘no’. I guess something happened when she was little. I don’t know, Charlie. She looks pretty bad. I’m worried.” Rick told Charlie. “Stay in the hallway until I see if it’s ok for you to come in, ok?”

“Yeah, ok.” Charlie answered.

Daryl had Isabella in his arms, she had her face buried in his chest and she was wailing and shaking uncontrollably. She was wet from sweat, her shirt was soaking.

“Please be ok!” Daryl whispered into her hair. “Please be ok!” She just kept crying.

“Is she ok?” Rick asked.

“Give me them pills and get a drink a water.” Daryl said sternly.

“Ok.” Rick said and headed into the bathroom.

“Can I come in?” Charlie said from the hallway as Rick came out of the bathroom with the water.

He shook his head ‘no’ and told to wait a little bit. He handed the water to Daryl and then held the lantern up to the bottle, so he could read it.

“It says, take one or two every 8 hours. Do you think she needs two?” Rick asked Daryl.

“Let’s start with one and see how she is after that.” Daryl said taking the pill from Rick.

He got Isabella to lift her head up and told her to open her mouth. She couldn’t stop crying, but she took the pill and swallowed it with the water. Daryl stood up and then bent down and picked her up. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. He took of her Converse off and threw them on the floor. Rick came up behind him to check on her and Daryl told him to watch his step, because she’d thrown up on the floor. Rick went to get something to clean it up. Isabella was crying even harder; her body was still trembling. Daryl covered her up with the blanket and said, he’d be right back, he had to go to the bathroom. Thunder crashed outside just as he let go of her and she screamed.

“Please don’t leave me, please. Please don’t leave me.”

“Hey, I ain’t gonna’ leave ya’. I swear.” Daryl told her softly.

Rick came into the room with some cleaning supplies and asked what happened. Daryl told him he was going to go to the bathroom, when the thunder hit and it frightened her. Rick cleaned up the floor.

“It’s starting to calm down outside.” Charlie hollered from the hallway. “Can I come in?”

“No, just stay out there. I don’t think she’d want ya’ ta’ see her like this. She just needs to calm down and rest. That pill should be kickin’ in soon.” Daryl hollered back.

“Is she gonna’ be ok?” Charlie yelled.

“I hope so.” Daryl yelled back.

“You want me to stay with her, so you can go to the bathroom?” Rick asked Daryl.

“Nah, I should stay with her until she falls asleep.” Daryl answered.

“Don’t… don’t …. Don’t leave me, please.” Isabella cried.

“I ain’t leavin’ ya’ rabbit. I’m right here.” He said, scooting her over and climbing onto the bed next to her. He spooned up against her and wrapped his arm around her, his face was in her hair. “I’m here rabbit, I’m here. Everything’s gonna’ be ok.”

Daryl was flooded with guilt. Why had he taken the pills? It was true, he didn’t want her taking them, but just taking them away from her without her knowing it and without him being there to help her through her panic, was not the smartest thing he’d done. He couldn’t believe he’d put her through another tormented night. She had just snapped back from the scene Saturday night and now this. ‘Please let her be ok, God! Please, I’ll do anything!’ He prayed, for the first time in 20 years. If ever there was a time for hope and forgiveness, it was now. Daryl’s eyes weld up with tears. ‘Please God, I’ll do anything.’ He cried quietly. Isabella’s breathing started to level off, she had almost completely stopped crying, just a little whimper every few seconds. A few minutes later she drifted off. He stayed their beside her all night, holding her close and telling her he was sorry.