#the potato chunks were rock hard :(

[katya-goncharov]

i just tried to invent a stir fry with chicken and pineapple and sweet potato chunks even though i've never made stiry fry before, and it did NOT go well

[xenomorphee3]

Zu teaches Miles, Lyle, and Mansk how to cook

Another snippet from Chapter 12 of my story, A New Mission on Ao3 (My art of what Zu looks like is pinned on my page!)

The Marines even learned how to cook local Ash Na'vi food. Six nights ago, they were heating up their MRE’s for dinner and Zu stopped by their huts. She asked, “I want to try Sky People food.” So they let Zu try their “roast beef and mash potatoes” MRE. It was of course none of those things. It was a fake flavored concoction of protein and carbohydrate paste. Chunks for texture. She grabbed some of the heated MRE in her hands and took a small bite. She chewed slowly, trying to find a positive in it, but the Marines grinned at her expression and knew full well it was nothing compared to the cuisine that these people ate regularly. If that welcome dinner was any indication. Zu struggled to swallow the food and the three Marines laughed. Zu asked with mild disgust, “Is that what Sky People eat??”

Miles replied, “No, these are just MRE’s.” Zu had a questioning look on her face. Miles clarified, “Meals ready to eat. They’re easy to transport, fast and simple to make, and they don’t spoil.”

Lyle said, “They’re fuel. Flavor optional.”

Mansk chimed in, “I always liked the brownie one.”

Lyle and Miles chuckled at him. Zu replied with, “Well we have foods like that and they don't taste bad.”

The Marines shrugged. Zu said, “I will be back.” The Marines waited about fifteen minutes chatting amongst themselves around the fire, wondering what Zu would be back with. She returned with a large basket on her back. She plopped it down in front of the Marines who stood up. She crouched down to pull out a flat wooden board, and a concave, dense, smooth flat rock with a handle. It was a Na’vi frying pan. She reached over to place the pan on some rocks right next to their hearth’s fire.

She then removed a mortar and pestle and placed it on the ground, then took out and also placed on the ground five large, hard vegetable or fruit-like objects, then she took a two-handed pile of those black legume-like things that were at the base of the orchard trees which Lyle and Mansk saw the other day, and she placed these in the mortar and pestle. She then pulled out a jar of dried ground herbs and a container with a liquid in it. Lastly, she pulled out a large bowl, a wooden spoon, and three wooden plates.

She looked up at the Marines who were standing over her inquisitively. Miles had his hand on his hip, Lyle had his arms crossed, and Mansk had his hands in his pockets. All three were flicking their tails with curiosity. She silently gestured at them to join her down at her level and they obliged. She handed the mortar and pestle to Mansk. He looked at Miles and Lyle with surprise and confusion.

Miles said, “Well get to work, Marine.” Mansk ticked his eyebrows up then down, and began pulverizing the legumes into a black paste. Zu then handed the container with the liquid in it to Lyle and gestured to the pan.

“Put this in the pan?” Lyle asked after swooshing the liquid in the bottle. Zu nodded silently. “Okey dokey.” Lyle said. He got up and poured some of the liquid in the pan. It was an oil.

Lastly, she handed the wooden board, clearly a cutting board, to Miles and gave him one of the vegetables. She then went from crouching to sitting back, legs crossed, and her orange eyes stared into his and she smiled.

“Oh I get the hard task, huh?” Miles said, playfully.

She grinned, her huge pearly fangs reflecting the fire.

“Hard? I know you know how to use a knife, My-ulls.” she replied, matter of factly.

He smirked and rolled his eyes, and grabbed the knife from the back of his utility belt and began to chop the strange-looking vegetable. It had a firm, gnarly brown skin with yellow spots and a purple flesh. It was easy enough to cut with his blade.

He asked her, “Is this good?” after having diced the fruit into medium-sized pieces. She smiled and nodded, then handed him another one. He put the diced veggies into the bowl. Mansk got all of the legumes made into a fine paste.

After the Marines were done with their tasks, she took the bowl of diced vegetables that Miles chopped up and dumped them into the hot pan. It started to immediately sizzle.

Lyle said, “Ohh yeah.” And Mansk was grinning. She took the mortar and pestle from Mansk and used the pestle to dump the paste in the pan. Finally, she took the herbs and took a few pinches of it in her three fingers and sprinkled it throughout the sizzling food. Every move she made was methodical and deliberate and she made sure the Marines were watching how it was done. She took the wooden spoon and stirred the food. The smell was amazing. The Marines were salivating. Forget their MRE’s. After about six minutes of sauteeing the food she pulled the pan from the fire. Miles anticipated the next move and quickly went to grab the plates. She smiled at him for this. He handed plates to Mansk and Lyle whose eyes were fixed on the pan of food. They squatted down to her and she served each of the Marines, Miles last. They each grabbed the hot food with their fingers, ignoring the discomfort of the temperature, and shoveled it into their mouths, savoring every bite.

“A simple, fast meal. These don’t spoil. Now you can cook.” Zu said, gesturing to the ingredients. Out of the seemingly endless basket she then pulled out a small sack of the purple-fleshed vegetables and a jar of the black legumes for them to keep. She let them keep the pan, the spoon, the oil, and the dried herbs and spices.

Since that lesson they’ve been cooking dinners each night. Some nights they were even able to incorporate meat into it, acquiring the cuts from the equivalent of the village butcher. Mansk in particular liked to experiment in cooking. Throwing in new flavors made from other fruits, veggies, and spices they got from the village.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Laisse tomber les filles 6

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon (not explicitly tagged for a surprise but nothing extreme).

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: We’re in the lion’s den now, thots.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You lost yourself in your notes for your History of Print class. The subject was dull, not true history, more so the anatomy of the press and the amount of prints issued from year to year. It was much unlike the description for the course but it was too late to change now.

You bent over the coffee table as you scribbled in a notebook. You were distracted enough by your effort to understand the significance of all the numbers that you didn’t think much on the noise of dishes in the kitchen. You sat up and yawned as you rubbed your forehead.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Lee intoned and you winced as you noticed his figure in the doorway.

“Hm, what time is it?” you went to check your watch but realised you’d forgotten it.

“Just after five, honey,” he said, “you been working hard.”

“Oh,” you closed your notebook around your ballpoint pen and stood, “is dinner ready then?”

“It is,” he smiled and raised his arm over his head to lean on the wood, “I even made us a special dessert.”

“Really, um, thank you,” you neared and he shifted sideways to let you through, his elbow still planted on the frame. 

You brushed against him as you entered the dining room, the table set for two and the light overhead turned low as a candle burned below. You went to a chair and Lee pulled it out before you could. You sat and looked over the red cloth and shining utensils anxiously. The roasted chicken steamed next to the French cut beans and seasoned potatoes.

“It smells good,” you offered as he sat across from you.

“I hope it is,” he said, “found an old recipe book in the attic and… not as easy as it looks.”

You picked up your fork and knife and cut into the chicken breast. It was juicy despite his doubts and you popped in a chunk of potato as you kept your mouth busy. You didn’t have much to say and you really just wanted to go. It was peaceful enough not studying in your loud dormitory but not much easier given your company.

“You like it?” he asked as he swallowed a mouthful.

“Mmm, very good,” you said behind your napkin, “thank you.”

📚

You finished up the sugary cake topped with strawberries. You stood carefully as you gathered up the dish and fork but Lee was quick. Despite his size, he was around the side of the table in an instant.

“I got it,” he insisted.

You let him take the saucer and he retrieved his own on his way to the kitchen. You stood tenuously by the table and pulled your lip down with your teeth as you thought. Would it be too soon to ask to go home?

You stood in a trance as his shadow blurred in your vision again and you were only shaken as he approached you. He touched your shoulder, his thumb rubbing the blouse as he gazed down at you. You looked up at him for a second then swiftly away.

“Y’alright, honey?” he asked.

“Just thinking,” you said, “sorry.”

“Don’t needa be,” his hand slipped down your arm and covered yours. 

You winced as he led you around the table and sat blindly in his chair. You gawked at him dumbly as he brought the back of your hand to his mouth and kissed it. He kept you in a vice even as you tried to pull away.

“That was sweet cake but not as sweet as you,” he purred.

“It’s late,” you said weakly, “I should pack up my stuff--”

“It’s Saturday,” he tugged on you, “why you in such a hurry?”

“I’m not, I just… don’t want to impose,” you murmured.

“Nah, you ain’t,” he grinned as he grabbed your other hand, “come here.”

“I dont’... what are you--” you gasped as his hands went to your hips and he pulled you closer as he pushed the chair back, “sir, I--”

“Lee, but sir if you must,” he hummed as he guided you closer, his knee pressing between yours, “just sit with me, honey.”

He urged you down and you caught yourself on his shoulders. You straddled his leg awkwardly as you collapsed onto him and found your skirt riding up around his thick thigh. You gasped softly as he framed your chin with his hand but kept his other firmly on your hip.

“S--Lee,” you sputtered, “please…”

“What, I just wanna be close to ya, talk a little,” he said, “this really is nice on ya.”

He played with the little belt loop on the skirt. Your weight rested heavily on your crotch and a peculiar pressure built as you kept your toes on the floor. You tried to ease off of him as much as you could.

“So you readin’ a new book for this club?” he asked as he dragged his fingertips down your cheek and stared at your lips.

“Well, um… can I please get up?” you asked.

“I asked you a question, honey,” his voice hardened, “you might be a quiet one but I do expect some courtesy.”

“I… just a book called The Bell… Jar,” you began, “it’s different, sad, grim.”

You felt awkward, sat on his thigh like you would a horse, and his eyes following the movement of your lips. His tongue poked out as he nodded and his fingertips poked against the skirt. His other hand crept along the top of your blouse and fluttered behind your neck.

“You like sad stories?” he asked.

“They feel real,” you said as he urged you forward and your neck ached as you tried to resist his strength, “but I like other… ones. L--”

He forced you against him, your hands crushed to his chest as he growled along your lips. He nibbled and moved your pelvis back then guided it back forward. The friction along your panties made you squirm and he flicked his tongue along your lips.

You tried to shake your head but he kept your head still and prodded more urgently. He rocked your hips again and you mumbled into his mouth as you opened yours. His tongue dove inside without hesitation and you dug your nails into his button-up. As your crotch rubbed against his thigh, you felt a flurry in your core unlike anything you’d ever felt.

You pushed your hands up to his shoulders and he hugged you closer. His palm slid across your ass and he stretched his fingers along the plaid fabric. He kneaded you hungrily as he tilted your hips more fervently. Tendrils trickled down your thighs and crawled up your spine. 

You moaned around his tongue as you quivered in his grasp. His strength was inescapable and something about the tickle inside you made it even more difficult. He grabbed your chin again and forced your mouth away from his. He gripped you tightly and made you look at him, his blue eyes fiery but dark.

You closed your eyes and groaned. You bit your lip as you tried to resist the building heat and squeezed his thighs between yours. You slapped his shoulder as your stomach pressed to his and he turned his hand to poke a finger in your mouth.

“Look at me, honey,” he rasped.

You shook your head, or tried to, and he pressed down on your tongue.

“Look at me,” he snarled and your lashes snapped open, “that’s it. This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Your lips closed around his finger as you teared up in a panic. Why did you feel like this? Your mind said you didn’t want it and yet your body felt electric. You were confused and horrified by your own flesh.

“Is it, huh?” he cooed, “look at you, riding me like that… I thought you was sweet, girl.”

You panted and sucked on his finger without thinking as your eyes rolled back. He hummed and moved you fast, pushing down so even more pressure settled between your legs. You latched onto his collar and bit down on his finger. He grunted but kept it there.

“Come on, honey,” he said, “you’re almost there.”

You whined and your legs quaked as you were overcome by waves of heat and then a flood of icy waves. You grabbed his wrist and tore his hand from your mouth as you cried out and threw your head back. You rode him on your own will, chasing the high until it faded.

You stilled at last and covered your face. You shook your head and muttered in shame. He lightly took your wrists and drew your hands down. You couldn’t look at him as you felt the wetness in your underwear.

“Why you hidin’?” he asked in a smoky voice.

“What did you--”

“Did it hurt, honey?” he interjected, “did I hurt you?”

“N… no,” you admitted, “but I don’t know… that’s never… happened to me before.”

“You mean, you never… came before?”

“Came?” you squinted.

“Orgasmed,” his lips twitched, “you never even tried to touch yourself?”

“Please, I don’t wanna say,” you gulped.

“You don’t gotta be ashamed, not with me,” he ran his hand up and down your back, “it was nice, right?”

You dropped your chin and nodded. Your lip trembled but you held back the tears. You were humiliated and helpless.

“Can I get up, please?” you asked.

He inhaled and rubbed your arms, “sure, honey, you go on get up… and get cleaned up.”

You stood unsteadily and reached back to hold yourself up against the table. He chuckled and looked down at his slacks. There was a wet smear along his grey pants but more overtly, his crotch was tented as his arousal pressed against the fabric.

“Look at the mess you made,” he touched the spot with his fingers.

“You made me--”

“You let me, honey,” he said as he stood and adjusted his belt, “you want it. We both heard you.”

“I…” you breathed, “but…”

“You hardly tried to get up,” he rebuked, “I’ma show you so much, honey pie, you just gotta relax.”

You stared at him but when his eyes held yours for too long, you had to look away. You squirmed and fixed your skirt.

“May I use your bathroom?” you said.

“Best you do,” he pointed through the front room, “just under the stairs.”

[baka-monarch]

Walking Corpse

Trigger warnings: death, murder, body horror, possession, threatening, unsettling

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

It had been quiet for more than a day now. Something that Dream wasn't used to anymore after Tommy had been locked in with him for more then two weeks. At the moment, all Dream could do was sit in a corner of his cell and stare at Tommy's corpse that had been left in another corner. It was hard to believe that he'd actually beaten the kid to death, in fact the area of the cell by their body was still stained red with blood, just like the hands he'd used to kill them… it didn't matter though since he could just revive them, and he would, he wasn't so cruel as to let the kid waste away in the afterlife.

Dream picked up a raw potato and bit off a hard bite, chewing it as if it were an apple. He'd been in prison for a couple of months now, and it wasn't so bad, boring and lonely, but not so bad. He had Sam to talk to, and he used to have Tommy, so he wasn't completely alone. He took another bite of the potato, remembering how yesterday the stench of death had been so strong that he'd gag every time he tried to eat, the smell was bearable now though as he stared at the lifeless corpse. Dream couldn't help but to wonder what it would be like to revive someone, how would their body come back? Would their wounds heal? Would their body continue to rot as they walked around? Would he just be making a zombie?

A sickening thought came to him then of Tommy's corpse standing on it's own, flesh slipping off of bones, blood leaking out of it's mouth, and talking- biting off it's own tongue as the muscle didn't fit in it's mouth, and the Jaws being too loose wouldn't be able to stop as it- He shook his head. That wouldn't happen, even when he revived Tommy, he knew something like that wouldn't happen. Nothing as nightmarish as that could ever happen in the real world, just in his fucked up imagination. He swallowed a chunk of potato thickly, almost gagging as the horrid image came back in mind, this time of the corpse swallowing Dream's own eye.

"Stupid imagination…" The prisoner mumbled and threw his potato away from himself, deciding to try eating again later when he wasn't being haunted by images of Tommy's corpse- "Shut up brain…" he mumbled, cutting off his own thought process. Dream layed down on the ground, still facing across his cell, still staring at the lifeless body that sat there. He stared into it's lifeless and hollow eyes, he remembered Tommy had died with his eyes opened wide, full of fear, and after they lost consciousness Dream didn't have it in himself to close their eyes for them, instead he'd just dropped the body on the ground and retreated to the other side of the cell. He now regretted it as it felt like Tommy was somehow watching him as he tried to fall asleep.

Then, it blinked.

Dream gasped and sat up, scrambling back into the wall. It- it- Tommy was dead! He- it- he couldn't have blinked! Dream hadn't even revived him yet! Dream took long, deep breaths, trying to calm down reassuring himself- "it's not real- you probably fell asleep- it's not real- it your imagination-"- internally, keeping his thoughts on those words. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real…

It twitched- the body twitched and Dream's mouth opened in a scream that wouldn't come as he watched the corpse move. It's arms dragging across the obsidian, each bone cracking as it moved, slowly sitting up. The weak skin tore against the black rocks as it moved, black blood that had died from lack of oxygen pouring out of each wound. His eyes widened as he couldn't stop- he couldn't look away- as it went from sitting up- it's back arched backwards at an uncomfortable angle- to standing, it's legs dragging off of the floor instead of pushing up, like a doll being picked up, but there was no giant hand around Tommy's waste as he- it, stood, going from leaning to far back to slumping forward, like it had no support at all.

"To- Tommy? Bu- but I haven't- I haven't reviv-" Dream started to sputter out, but was immediately cut off as the corpse's head snapped up to look at him with those dead eyes, it's neck emitting a loud crack as it moved.

It smiled, and blood poured out of the mouth as it spoke: "You shouldn't have done this." Dream felt his eyes widen as his breath started coming in raspy bits, himself beginning to hyperventilate.

"Sa- Sam?" But how? How did Sam's voice come from Tommy's-

"You murdered, Dream" It hissed out, limping forward and falling a little just to rush towards him. "You murdered in my prison." A second later there was a hand being squeezed around Dream's throat, and Tommy's bleeding face inches from his own. He felt like he was going to puke, if not from the sight of Tommy bleeding black out of his eyes nose and mouth, then from the smell of rot that came out of it's mouth.

"Sam how-" Dream tried to ask but quickly started wheezing for air as the hand around his throat lifted him up, the corpse leaning forward on the hand holding him against the wall for support.

"This is a place of justice." Dream watched, horrified as it somehow pulled out the warden's axe from behind it's back. "I'm here to do my job." The prisoner began frantically struggling, clawing at the thing's hand and trying to pry it from his neck, but only accomplishing scratching the skin on it's hand and making it bleed more black blood.

"Ple- please-" Dream choked out, pleading for his life as he felt tears spring to his eyes. It was useless though as it lifted the axe in a limp hand and swung-

"Let that be a lesson." It had hit the obsidian right next to Dream's head. "Don't break the rules you wrote Dream." With that said the axe disappeared and the corpse fell to the floor again, as if it had never been standing in the first place.

Dream fell on he was free from it's grip and put a hand to his neck as he gasped for air. What the fuck was Sam?

[saxxxology]

a king’s duty

Sam likes a big family, and he’ll make sure it only keeps growing.

PAIRING: King!Alpha!Sam x Queen!Omega!Reader

WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, smut

NOTE: Do not save or repost my work without my consent. 

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Sam takes his kingly duties seriously. He’s ruled over his kingdom for well over a decade, ever since his father and predecessor gifted he and his brother their own sections of land. Nothing in life could be better; his citizens are happy and prospering, his servants are preparing a festival and banquet for the Easter holiday, and Sam himself is planning to ensure that the holiday bears an announcement to celebrate the day’s purpose.

You and Sam have made a decent family already, six pups over the last nine years of your marriage, but he wants more. A large family means more heirs to carry both his lineage and the throne, and you’re more than happy to give him all the children he wants.

He’s been gone on a hunt with the kingsguard for several days, tracking a herd of deer through the dense forests. When you hear the bellowing of the horns and the commotion coming from the town below, you race to your bedroom window and peer down into the streets. Sam’s on his towering steed, shaggy-haired and dirty from his travels. It’s late in the afternoon, and you know that he’ll be starving for a properly cooked meal. 

Sam loves it when you prepare his suppers. Within weeks of becoming his bride you’d arranged for your own private kitchens to keep regularly stocked with the finest meats and vegetables. Even though Sam is a well-liked king, there are still those from faraway kingdoms who despise his rule and the risk of accidentally eating a poisoned meal, albeit slim, is too much for you to gamble with. Your children also only eat from your kitchens, after an incident with rancid chicken and a weekend spent cleaning sick bowls and tending fevers and chills placed the wellbeing of your offspring in your hands alone. 

“Mother, mother!” Elizabeth, your firstborn, clutches your skirts, tugging frantically. She’s got her father’s coppery hair and hazel eyes, as do all your children—the only one to have your hair color is Anne, your one-year-old daughter. “Father’s home!”

“I know.” You set a cutting board on the counter and crouch to pull her into your arms. “Go fetch your siblings and greet your father. I’ll have supper ready soon.”

Giggling, Elizabeth races from the room, shouting for her brothers and sisters in the hallway. She’s a rowdy seven-year-old, much louder and more boisterous than the others, and you’ve noticed that her behavior is starting to rub off on your other growing children. Jonathan, at five and a half, is nearing her height and the two often have to be pulled apart during tussels in the hallways over dolls and other toys they’ve found. Katherine and Alexander, your only pair of twins, are more subdued, preferring to draw with bits of charcoal on the stone floors. Mariah is the youngest of the group, and she’s still discovering where she fits in, much less how to talk properly without getting frustrated. Anne is nearing one, and still sleeps heavily in her bassinet between feeds and cuddles from her parents. 

A decent pack with almost too many mouths to feed. 

Sam enters the kitchens just when you’ve dropped meat in an iron skillet. He’s got Mariah in his arms, Jonathan on his shoulders, and the other four trailing close behind, bouncing on their feet. His beard has grown thick, and you welcome his kiss with a slight grimace as the stubble grazes your skin. He looks tired, and you sigh happily at his warm, musky (if slightly smelly) scent.

“I missed you,” he hums, setting the children down and kneeling to welcome them all into his arms. “And how are my beautiful pups?”

“Your children have been quite the handful since you’ve been gone,” you reply, giving Elizabeth and Jonathan stern looks. “These two got into quite the tussle in the gardens yesterday.”

“Over what?” Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Snail shells,” Jonathan pipes up, “we were collecting them and Elizabeth stole mine!”

“I did not!” Elizabeth interjects. “I’m just better at collecting them so I got more.”

“Enough,” you tap your wooden spatula on the side of your skillet, “no more fighting while your father’s home, run along and wash up for supper.” You watch your children scamper off, shaking your head. “Those two… always a competition.”

Sam chuckles and presses another firm kiss to your cheek. “They get it from me.”

“Oh, I know they do,” you chuckle, wrinkling your nose. “Sam, you know I love you, but you do smell… please go and have a quick bath. There’s even some lavender soap for you.”

He sighs happily. “Of course, my love. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Your children come running back after you’ve finished preparing their dinner. As usual, you examine their little pink fingers for dirt (you have to send Alexander to the washbasin in the corner for a second cleaning) and allow them to take their places at the table. They squabble briefly for chunks of bread before quieting down, and you wonder with a shake of your head why you want so badly to add yet another child to your ever-growing pack.

When Sam returns, the food is lined on the table, and he serves himself before allowing the children to dig into their own plates. Anna’s woken from her nap, and you seek a brief respite from the chatter to feed her in the quiet of her nursery. She feeds heavily, suckling at your breast with enthusiasm as your sweet milk fills her little belly. Your milk production is slowing, a sign that you’re almost ready to receive another pup in your womb. 

The children are just finishing their supper when you return, and you allow each child a small square of chocolate from the market for their dessert before sending them off to their rooms to prepare for bed. Sam waits at the table as you spoon a helping of potatoes, meat, and drop a slice of bread onto a plate and meet him at the table. 

“How are you, my love?” he asks, gazing fondly at you. 

“I’m well,” you reply, “tired, but well.”

He squeezes your hand, giving a supportive smile. It’s often that you need reassurance that you’re a good mother, and Sam never fails to give you the encouragement you need. “You’ve done wonderfully in my absence, as always. Our pups are growing strong.”

You accept his praise with a flush of heat. “I can only do my best. Elizabeth is growing more outspoken by the day.”

“And your best is more than perfect.” Sam lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingers. “Elizabeth is the eldest, and first in line. She’ll need to be outspoken when she takes the throne.”

You finish eating quickly and pile your dishes at the end of the table for the servants to clean. Sam helps you prepare warm milk and honey in small wooden cups and escorts you upstairs, to where your children are already tucked into their separate beds. After a drink, tuck in, and generous kisses from both you and Sam, they’re left to fall asleep. A quick check on Anna in her nursery proves that your babe is slumbering peacefully, and Sam pulls you into a deep, warm kiss over her bassinet.

Another day, another victory. 

In the safety of your private chambers, Sam helps you undress, pulling the ribbon from your bodice and lifting your dress up over your head and leaving you naked. His rumbling growl of arousal echoes in your ears as his hands skim over your sides, trailing around to cover the flat expanse of your belly. 

“I miss you being round,” he murmurs, “all big and swollen with our child…”

“I know you do.” You turn around stretching up on your toes to press your lips to his. His growing erection presses against your hip through his trousers, and he allows you to undress him slowly, teasing with soft skims of your fingers and warm kisses on his lips.

He lifts you onto the bed, kneeling forward until you can lie down with your head on one of the soft pillows. He kisses you hard, wedging his hips between your thighs. His weight is welcome on top of you, all warm and firm against your soft, pliant body. You’re already wet, and he uses that to his advantage.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispers, “for days now… filling you up, giving you another pup….”

He groans when you reach between your legs and grip him firmly, guiding him to your entrance. He takes the lead when he feels himself slip into the soft crevice of your folds, and you stifle a gasp against his shoulder when he surges in in a quick, gratifying thrust. You’re tight, clenching wet and hot around his shaft like the night he’d taken you as his bride. 

“Let me relax,” you urge him, a palm against his shoulder as you fight the discomfort. It’s easier to take him during your heats; for an Alpha, he’s incredibly well-endowed, and you’re a smaller than average Omega. 

You’d made a joke after you’d mated for the first time that if his lordship came down to purely the size of his manhood he could rule the world. 

Sam peppers your cheeks with gentle kisses and gently rocks his pelvis, urging your body to grow accustomed to his penetration. When you settle underneath him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, he seals his lips over yours and gives a steady thrust. You clutch his arms, sighing through your nose at the hot, thick slide. He presses deeper, rocking his hips from side to side, and increases the intensity of his movements, making love firmly and passionately. Just the way you like. 

“Oh, God…” you tip your head back, baring your throat for him, and Sam latches on, grinding his hips heavily against yours as his teeth scrape over your sensitive skin and the faint traces of your claim mark at the base of your throat. He growls when you dig your nails into his ass, and he braces his palms on the mattress as he ruts heavily into you.

Sam watches your face contort in the candlelight, brows arching as your mouth stretches into a wide smile. He’s found your sweet spot, and he focuses his thrusts there, grunting and panting like an animal. 

“That’s my Omega,” he praises, kissing you deep and wet. “Oh, that’s it… I can feel you, honey love…”

He curls one hand into your hair, thrusting a little harder and faster as you begin to peak. Your body flushes hot, sweat making your skin slippery. You wrap your arms around his back, nails digging into his skin, and Sam swallows your cry of pleasure as you shudder and writhe underneath him with the force of your climax. Your thighs squeeze his waist, and he groans loudly, his knot beginning to swell. 

He shoves the girth of it into your cunt with a vicious thrust that has you squealing. Bursts of his seed fill your womb, warming your lower belly as his teeth scrape over your shoulder. He goes lax with a heavy sigh, shifting so that your knees ride higher on his ribcage.

“My beautiful Omega,” he whispers softly, trailing a thumb over your lips. “I love you so much.”

Your reply is stifled by a kiss that has you squirming underneath his weight. He rests his forehead on yours, steadying his breath with a long, slow sigh. “We’re going to have another pup,” you whisper.

“I know we are.” Sam growls possessively and carefully rolls you onto your side, keeping your hips level with his. “I’ll fill you with pups as long as you’ll have them.”

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Comments are appreciated!!!

@atc74​ @btsismyjamjam​ @crashdevlin​ @daisymoder72​ @defenderrosetyler​ @daughterofthenight117​ @emoryhemsworth​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​ @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @foxyjwls007​ @heartsaved​ @kittenofdoomage​ @karouwinchester​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @kyjey​ @lovelyrocker​ @lunarsaturn88​ @mariekoukie6661​ @meganwinchester1999​ @misalovesherdog​ @marvelfansworld​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @neii3n​ @polyamorous-winchester​ @percussiongirl2017​ @plaidalecking​ @squirrel-moose-winchester​ @sea040561​ @sister-winchesters99​ @sammys-dimpless​ @sammysnaughtygirl​ @spnwoman​ @swinchester27​ @serpentbaby​ @thecleverdame​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @thelittleredwhocould​ @viinchester​ @winecatsandpizza​ @zombiewerewolfqueen​ @85natalie​ @4won​

[mediocre--writing]

Love Is A Slap In The Face

Ashton Irwin X fem!Reader

Summary: Through the ups, downs, and all inbetween, those you love will be there to keep you on your feet and make sure you smile through the tears.

Word Count: 2175

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, death, and panic attacks

Inspired by this fic (which is absolutely amazing):  Walking After You by my-wldflwr 

Love isn’t intimate moments.

Love is when you smile at someone you love across a crowded room and they smile back.

Love is when you do the most mundane tasks, like dishes or dusting, and have fun doing them because you’re doing them with someone you love.

Love is how you look at the person you love when they’re completely in their element, doing what they’ve always wanted.

Love is the way someone takes care of you in your lowest moments.

For Y/n, love is Ashton Irwin.

The way his face scrunches up when he gets really into playing the drums and the way he doesn’t have confidence in his voice yet it sounds like angels singing.

They way he always finds a way to touch her, whether it be his hand on her hand or waist, the way he throws an arm around Y/n’s shoulders or picks her up and throws her over his shoulder.

The way he works out with her and pretends he can keep up but secretly stops doing push-ups when they're not looking, but he still just stares and admires their strength.

The way he jokingly yells at her for forgetting to wash your fruits and vegetables before eating them, even though she knows he really is annoyed about it.

The way she dances around the kitchen to his own songs and plays the air drums with insane aggression.

It’s the moments that they think about right before they fall asleep in that person’s arms at the end of the night.

After their dinner where Ashton made a salad and some delicious potato side dish that Y/n ate most of and Y/n made a roast chicken, they watched a movie or two, but they were both dozing off during the second one so they decided to just go to bed.

They had a fast love. They met one another almost a year ago and started dating only two or three months after, but were attached at the hip almost instantly, though they were both working frequently, so they didn’t get many sleepovers together, and most of the time they were at Y/n’s house, just because she was usually the one who had to be up early for work.

As they got situated in the bed, Y/n had burrowed herself in the light sheets and comforter, only her head poking out as she smiled brightly at Ashton, who was staring at her as he took his shirt off and crawled into bed with the beautiful woman in his bed.

Y/n nestled closely, putting her head on his chest and fell asleep quickly to the beating of his heart.

Ashton didn’t fall asleep as quick, but he just admired the way her chest rose and fell peacefully and her nose would twitch every once and a while.

He put his hand underneath her (his) shirt and rubbed her back, just memorizing the feel of it. The way her spine poked out in a few places, the little indents around her shoulders that held the defined muscle she had built up over the years of being in the military and years after.

He felt the little nicks and creases that were healed scars that she’d accumulated through the years. He felt the little hairs that were everywhere and he felt the goosebumps that poked up as she shuttered.

He moved his hand away and situated himself better for sleep and Y/n rolled away from him to her other side, only taking the sheet with her as she moved.

Ashton chuckled and pulled the comforter over her again and fell asleep to the dark room, cicadas chirping, and her light breathing.

The night was unusually restless for Y/n, she didn’t feel comfortable despite the room being just cold enough that you could cuddle with the blankets and the night felt more quiet than it should have been.

It wasn’t until about half past three that Ashton woke up to the bed jostling around randomly, the sheets and comforter pulled off of him, exposing him to the cool night air.

Slowly, he woke up, rubbing his eyes and turning to look at Y/n, who was rolling back and forth sporadically, her left arm pulling at the thin sheets around her.

The closer that Ashton looked, the more concerned he became, her forehead was sweaty and her cheeks had small, reflective watermarks that were the result of tears rolling down her cheeks.

He put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed back and forth as he whispered her name over and over, trying to pry her out of her dreaming, but it just riled her up more, her left shoulder harshly nudging him off, but with some restraint.

It was then he realized that her arm was wrapped up in the sheet and she couldn’t get it out, so he sat up more and pulled the blankets from around her arm, which was increasingly hard due to her moving violently.

He eventually got most of the sheet away and she could get out, but he didn’t know that and was still trying to move the sheet off her, but her violent arm jerk wasn’t restrained by the blanket anymore, which meant that her arm launched her hand right into Ashton’s face.

He let out a loud yelp and grabbed the side of his face as he sat up.

Y/n, however, stopped moving as much as she woke up due to the loud yelp and a slight stinging in her hand and shoulder.

When she finally opened her eyes and adjusted to the lack of light in the room, along with the blurriness that came with tears in her eyes, she was confused by the view of Ashton clutching one side of his face and staring at her with pity in his eyes.

She was still breathing heavily and Ashton moved his hand from his face, opening his arms for her to fall into, which she did, willingly.

As she crashed into his chest and arms, she let out a pitiful sob and Ashton began rubbing his hand up and down her back while making a soothing shushing sound while letting her cry it out.

Their relationship with one another was very much open, but they still had their own little things that the other hadn’t dealt with yet.

For Ashton, he hadn’t told her about his family or childhood much, but for Y/n she had outright refused to talk about her time in the military and absolutely would not let him see her cry like this.

Though it wasn’t an ideal situation, he almost felt privileged to see her in such a vulnerable state such as this, the side of her that she liked to hide from anyone and everyone, no matter how close they were.

As her sobs quieted down and her breathing became more even, Ashton pulled her away from the safety of his chest and put a hand under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes, asking a question with his eyes.

“It’s ok,” she mumbled as she moved her eyes away from his.

He gave her a look that said she was absolutely insane, “No,”

“My arm got caught in the sheet and I couldn’t get it out,” She shook her head as if trying to erase whatever thought her head had come up with, “That’s all, it’s ok.”

“There’s more,” Ashton told her sternly, “And I know that you don’t like talking about your unpleasant feelings but I want you to actually open up to me and know that nothing is going to change if you tell me anything about yourself, of anything, I’ll just love you more, you know that,”

“I do, I know that,” Y/n swallowed and blinked a few times before looking into Ash’s eyes, her own widening, “Did I hit you?”

Ashton’s face screwed up in confusion before registering the light pain he felt around his eye and cheek, bringing up a finger to trace along where it hurt.

Y/n’s eyes were locked on the pinkish-purple bruise forming on his face as tears welled up more and more as she stared.

“Honey, please don’t worry about it, ok?” Ashton reassured but it did nothing to ease the tension lines on her face, “You were asleep and you didn’t mean to, it really wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know I put my face close to you.”

“But I still did it, Ash! I hit you! And apparently I hit you pretty damn hard!” Y/n was yelling, and Ash felt scared, not for himself but how awful she must feel, because this was Y/n, his little baby who could bench press an almost obscene weight but also pouts when he doesn’t cuddle her at any given moment.

“Honey, can you calm down for a moment, it doesn’t really hurt and I can live with a little bruise, but I’m worried about you right now.”

She still looked guilty but she nodded in agreement, “I was having a nightmare, but like-- not a nightmare? Like it was almost real and kinda reminded me of a moment but was still exaggerated and fake? I can’t explain how it felt, but I was scared.

“So, uh, a while ago, you know, I was in the military,” Ashton nodded, “We were walking through these mountains, and were told that we had to watch our steps because there were landmines we had to be really cautious of, and we were almost out of the landmine zone when the guy at the front of the group tripped backwards and triggered one of them.

“Two guys died and a few people lost a limb or two, but I was at the back of the group, and we didn’t get too much other than being thrown back and concussions here and there, but it was terrifying because the sound came before impact.”

Y/n took a deep breath and rubbed at her face, “I wasn’t really hurt bad or anything, but a huge chunk of rock fell on my arm and it took three guys to get it off and, to be completely honest with you, I don’t really remember most of what happened to me, because I passed out and people told me what happened afterwards. They said they got my arm free and it was somehow temporarily paralyzed but I went through physical therapy to get it mostly functional again.

“I got a lot of scars from that and it was really annoying for a while but I like them now, mostly because I know had the rock shifted over any more it could have been my head, or I could have lost my arm, and I was really lucky, in complete honesty.”

Ashton was watching and listening with tears in his eyes as he gently grabbed onto her hands with his own.

“I was really stupid after that, I was released from service because I was injured and whatnot, and I was sent home and did physical therapy, but I refused to talk to my family or friends, then I moved out here because I was sick of everyone. I made new friends but it took me way too long to realize that I needed to go see someone and talk to someone to finally feel okay about what happened. I used the excuse of training my arm’s dexterity by working out but I was just hurting myself by pushing my body and not sleeping or eating and stuff, but it all got better over time.”

She looked deep into Ashton’s eyes, “I met you about a month after starting therapy and my therapist loved hearing me talk about you, she’s the person who pushed me to ask you out for the first time, actually.”

Even in the dim light from the window, Ashton’s sweet smile brightened the room as he leaned in and gave her a delicate kiss on her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, making her smile as well.

“What about your face?” Y/n giggled, “You can’t tell people I hit you, I feel like that would get out really quick.”

Ashton chuckled as he pulled her closer to his chest, them both sighing in content at their comfortable position, “I’ll tell people that I fought someone for you, how’s that?”

“Did you lose the fight?” Y/n teased.

“That’s fuckin’ rude,” Ashton sassed as they cuddled closer.

And there, in the 4am moonlight, their relationship changed forever.

They found more reasons to love one another, they found a new safety in one another, and they found the one person who could never disappoint them no matter what.

They found the person who had comfort embedded into their very being and had a home that neither could find anywhere else.

For them, love is special.

Love is when you can slap your boyfriend in the face and he’ll still love you. 

[thatsadorbsyo]

Lucas - Memorabilia (Extra Credit, 13)

(Featuring @calendulafield​​, @cheche-dotharl​​, and @way-to-the-future​​, respectively. Memorabilia materia were a game mechanic used in the #FFXIVHeartless campaign and created by @borderbipoline​​.)

What follows are three memorabilia materia, spontaneously generated by an Allagan lamia named Scylla aboard the Salemtaza’s Voyage, and rendered to dust after sitting unfound for several days.

*

Dawn Materia -- This pink and yellow materia resembles a rising sun. When you hold it, you feel like starting something new.

The air here is trying to kill you. This is more melodramatic than the truth, but still your eyes burn and your throat is a raw corridor. The mask you wear barely shields you from the worst of it. At least you're no longer oozing from the nose, but this is little comfort, not with how all of your new colleagues are giving you such a wide berth, staring at you with concern and confusion.

They mean well, but the attention churns your stomach. The jokes are easier to take. (Distantly, you hear the Captain, We are learning about Lucas' steadfast fight against defecating himself to death through cheese.)

She is the only one who steps into the invisible bubble that everyone leaves around you, the only one to extend a hand and try to feel your face and touch the misery that coats you like a thin candy shell, a brittle armor against unwanted attention.

"May I?" Sui asks with her hand extended to you, an offering. A connection, if you can abide it.

"Only if you promise not to look sorry for me while you do it. Please, say something mean." You mask the urgent plea in your voice with a touch of humor.

"Uh--" She stammers. The doubt on her face is overwritten by determination, even as she stalls to think. "I... I hope..." Red roses bloom on her cheeks in a familiar expression of dawning embarrassment at herself, and in this you find a sacred kinship, for your cheeks burn exactly the same. Still, she pushes through: "I hope you defecate everywhere!"

Immediately, she claps her hand over her own mouth in horror, and something blossoms inside of you. It's gratitude, unfurling to tickle the walls of your stomach with a trailing thrill. You don't love her yet. But you will.

*

Midnight Materia -- Flecks of white swirl in this indigo materia like a snowglobe. When you hold it, you feel confident in your abilities.

It's past the eleventh evening bell in Ishgard and you are stuck trying to track down the last retainer in the city who possesses a very specific hat for sale. Obtaining this hat is mission critical, though you couldn't explain why, if pressed.

There's a hand in yours as you stalk across the Pillars with ice crunching on the cobblestone under your boots. It's a small hand, and the woman attached to it is looking up at you with dim but curious eyes, absolutely willing to follow your lead in every regard. Her encouraging squeeze sparks a brilliant idea to take shape in your mind. A bargaining chip; one of the oldest grifts in the books.

"Hey, Cheche... Could you pretend to be my petulant girlfriend? For about five minutes? Can you pretend to be angry?" You coach her through it, bidding her to embody a spoiled child who really wants candy, except in this case the candy is a singularly gaudy hat.

She takes her time considering this. Snow falls all around you, illuminated by the soft orange glow of the street lamps, even at this time of night. It collects in her blue-black hair, speckling her horns with white spots that slowly -- too slowly -- melt away.

"All right. I think I can try," she affirms, clearing her throat before stomping her foot hard against the street. It echoes down the open alley, but not so loud as the shrill shout that follows: "Lucas! I am wanting my sparkly purple hat and it is not in my hands. Where is it?!" Her brows are furrowed, very cross, and her arms fold over her chest in a haughty display.

You rock back a few ilms on your heels, as though the force of her tantrum had landed you with a physical blow. Oh, this is perfect. She's perfect. The swelling in your thieving heart in this moment is pride, trickling into your veins with a warm glow. You don't love her yet. But you will.

*

Lunar Materia -- This white materia is cloudy as a chunk of moonstone. When you hold it, it first feels very cold in your hands, but it warms quickly to the touch.

You're drunk. Your nerve endings buzz in a blunted fervor, somehow painfully alight but woefully numb all at once. You were angry, before, but you can't remember why. There's a man next to you, with hair as white as the snow that falls in the Brume, and he's handing you a pistol.

You snatch it from him, checking the frizzen with a practiced gesture but unsteady hands. "You know, my father wouldn't tell me how to shoot. I asked him, but he said it wasn't for me. I had to learn from my brother." You cock the gun and lift it partway, looking off into the distance at a now-familiar little shooting range. Rotten produce, rotten wood, empty bottles. What a mess. What a fucking mess.

"What was for you?" he asks in a calm voice, watching you closely.

"Nothing that I wanted." You spot your target and shift your boots apart, steadying the gun with your other hand by cradling your own fingers.

"What did you want to be?"

"A cog in a machine." You take your shot. In the distance, a potato explodes in a brilliant display of white splatter and gore. Deadeye, even in your present state.

"Good shot. You aimed a little low." A beat, and then: "I wanted to be a prince."

You glance sidelong at your companion, a bit of humor creeping into your expression like pernicious ivy. Honeysuckle taking over a blast zone. "Really? ...Hey, Castor? What's your other name?"

"What?"

"Your other name." You pass the spent flintlock back to him, gesturing for him to pass you another. You aren't done.

Displeasure overtakes him, stretching his mouth into a thin line. "My name is Castor. It's my uncle's name. And my grandfather's."

"Arendt isn't the name of a prince though, is it."

"Why does it matter?"

"I want to know who keeps me up at night." A flush passes through you at the honesty, darkening your cheeks, so you misdirect by flapping your fingers impatiently. The pistol. Gimme.

"I'm not a prince, Nevin. I'm a career criminal. I am not who my father wanted me to be." Another flintlock is passed to you without comment. "Suppose you can understand that."

You repeat the process, checking the powder. The mythrite is such cool blue in this moonlight but warm under your touch when you cock the mechanism. "We still bear their names though, don't we?"

The sack of potatoes still sits on the other side of the street, blown partway open by your earlier shot. His hand is on your shoulder, pressing you to mind your stance. It has a heavy weight, warmer than the gun that you cradle. The connection sits like molasses, slow and dense, soothing your shaking hands.

You shift your feet, square your shoulders.

"Lucas."

You squint at your target, lifting your fingers from the guard.

"kir."

Pull the trigger.

"Naevos."

Three potatoes are neatly dusted from the middle of the sack by your neatly aimed bullet. The sack itself slumps over, spilling rotten tubers all over the stone. You take a breath, quick and shallow, audible in the stillness of creeping dusk.

"You're a good shot, Lucas." Lucas. Lucas. Not Nevin, Lucas. His hand moves to your shoulderblades. "When I used to think about fucking the imperial corps of engineers, I didn't think it would be literal."

You laugh, a brutish exhale of breath that comes out in a billowing plume of white that evaporates quickly, rising all around your face like smoke from a gun's barrel. Under the bile of shame, something takes to seed in your belly, a hearty little thing still wrapped in its shell, waiting for the right time to sprout and grow. Acceptance, as you are, as you were. You don't love him yet. But you will.

[ranposlittle]

darling,I don’t want to be kinda annoying,but I just love him👉🏻👈🏻could you please do a nsfw scenario with mori where he punishes his gf for misbehaving (please include spanking omg)love you!!

!! NSFW !!

Warnings: Spanking, Orgasm denial

A/N: No no~ you’re never annoying! (⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝) keep sending in any requests you have, it keeps me busy in this quarantine. Also, I hope you don’t mind that this is a Fem!Reader. It’s just for convenience. This one is based on this song and I hope you enjoy this! Thank youuu! ♥️ ((Sorry again for the delayyy))

***

You’ve figured it out. No matter how funny it may sound, Mori likes brats. He has expressed many times how much he loves you as his partner, however, you cannot swallow down your bitter jealousy anymore when he’s clearly spending every day paying more attention to his personified ability, Elise, than to you. He would coax her and please her, making her try all the dresses he just bought for her, and only calling you when he needs a warm bed. You cannot tolerate it anymore.

You wanted to be as good as possible to him but apparently, that’s not his type. So you thought, you’ll play the game he wants and he’ll bend over backwards for you too in no time. It’ll be fine, you thought, you’ll just misbehave a little, tell bits of lies here and there, you’ll just be bad enough that Mori will chase after you, like he does with Elise.

However, it’s been a week of your antics now and you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself. You’ve spent your days jumping up and down the bed with the radio on full blast while you sing along at the top of your lungs even if you’re well aware that Mori has company, leaving your bed messy and your clothes all over the floor, getting out of the bathroom while soaking wet despite the new luxurious carpet he just ordered; you behaved with no inhibitions, even telling Mori to get lost when he tells you off. Frankly, you didn’t thought that you’d actually like this, thinking to yourself that maybe you’ll just be like this every day from now on.

Tonight, Mori and his executives are meeting some important people for lunch in a high-end restaurant and he wanted you to come along. He insisted to dress you up, for the first time in a long time, because he bought a new dress for you. You let him, smirking to yourself as you enjoy the fruits of your labor.

“Princess,” Mori called and you rolled your eyes with that weird nickname he gave you, “I want you to behave properly today, okay?”

You puffed your cheeks, mumbling to yourself how he didn’t have to tell you what to do. You feigned obedience, telling him that you won’t do anything ridiculous before sticking your tongue out at him once he turned his back. And here you are now, in the middle of lunch, bored out of your mind as you play with the indistinguishable mush on your plate.

“Please don’t play with your food, princess,” Mori asked humbly.

“But it looks so disgusting! Do you really expect me to eat this trash?” Your fork clanged as you threw it on your plate and the people around the table started to whisper. Mori looked around and gave them an apologetic smile.

“C'mon, princess. This is not the time for your games,” Mori leaned closer and held one of your shoulders.

“This is boring! I want to go home, now!” You gave Mori a deadly glare and your stare didn’t falter even if his eyes narrowed and his jaws clenched.

“You’re making a fool out of me. Behave,” he lowered his voice into almost a whisper, “or I’ll punish you.”

Your venomous stares lingered on for a few seconds as Mori waits for an answer from you, his sharp eyes silently demanding immediate obedience.

“No,” you retorted in his face, “I won’t.”

Mori studied you for a few seconds before standing up. He addressed the people on the table, saying that he’ll have to delegate down the authority for all of today’s businesses to one of his executives as his partner is ill and must be taken home promptly. He bid them a formal goodbye and practically dragged you out of the restaurant by your arm before you can even fight back. He pushed you inside the car waiting outside before getting in himself, ordering the chauffeur to drive back home as fast as he can.

Once back home, he hauled you inside the bedroom, ignoring your protests, and threw you on the bed. He slumped on the chair across the room and drew a heavy sigh. You can clearly see how worked up he is as he pushed back a chunk of hair that fell on his face from the commotion.

“You’ve been acting like a total brat lately, haven’t you?” Mori exhaled, his dark eyes being illuminated by the noon sun. You reciprocated with a proud look on your face to show that you’re not intimidated, not in the slightest.

“Come here,” he commanded. You didn’t move an inch from where you are and continue to have a staring contest with Mori. His eyes grew even darker as he deliver a threat, “I won’t ask you again.”

You flinched for some reason, but you deny that it’s because of fear. You slowly stood up from the bed and made your way to him. You stopped a foot away from him and he pulled you by the wrists, spun you around and swiftly sliding off his crimson scarf from his neck to tie your hands together behind you.

“W-what are you doing? Have you gone crazy?” You struggle from the fabric but it’s already been tightly secured.

“No, but you clearly have,” Mori then grabbed you by your restraints and bend you over his lap, your belly pressing hard against his thighs.

“You were crazy enough to disrespect me and think I’ll just keep letting it slide just because I was busy these past few days,” he flicked your dress upwards, exposing your bum and nearly ripped your panties off. “No, you deserve to be punished.”

He held you firmly in place by the knot on your wrists and just watched you as you flail on your position, screaming curses at him. Anger swell up inside of you until it bursted out of your mouth without a thought.

“I hate you! I HATE YOU!”

Mori raised his hand and—SMACK!—your screamed echoed throughout the whole room accompanied by the ringing of the slap that landed harshly on your rear. The sting danced around your skin as tears prickled at the corner of your eyes. You shot an aggressive look back at Mori who’s gazing at you as well with a devilish smile on his face.

“Aw, did that hurt, brat?” Mori teased as he smoothed his palm on your reddened ass, tickling the sensitive skin.

Before you can even talk back, he landed another powerful spank and your body rocked forward with the impact. You pressed your lips together to muffle another cry but when Mori delivered another smack that landed a little lower, the vibrations reaching your pussy, you mewled loudly and whined at the unwanted twitching of your pussy. You can’t possibly be aroused with this.

“You’re secretly enjoying this, aren’t you?” Mori stated, rubbing his palm on your ass once again, groping them at times. “You want me to remind you who you belong to and who’s in charge here. You challenged me until I had no choice but to punish you, is that right?”

Your mind raced. This isn’t exactly what you expected to happen but you did want to have his attention and now you got it, does that make him right?

“You know I’m right,” he said as if reading your mind. “But don’t worry. It’ll be my absolute pleasure to remind you. I think I already gave you three spanks now but we both know that’s not enough. Why don’t you be a doll and count the next spanks I’ll give you, hmm?”

Before you can think of any snark comeback, you shrieked as a sharp slap hit you once more and you’re not quite sure if it was a sweat or a tear that ran down your face just now.

“I didn’t hear a count, let’s try that again,” Mori gave you another in a flash and your whole body quaked from the shock. You didn’t thought that Mori’s spanks can be anymore powerful but it just did.

“AH! F-our…” You cried out. Your mind seemingly came up with the quick decision that the best course of action right now is just to cooperate.

“There you go,” Mori praised in a singsong voice. “Now count louder this time.”

“Five!” You shouted as soon as you felt the whack on your butt, the growing neediness in your core making itself more present and your legs rubbed together unconsciously.

“Looks like a brat is getting excited,” Mori remarked before getting into position for the next blow.

“Six!” You strained out after a whimper. The hit landed once again near your pussy, sending shivers up your spine.

“Seven– ha– ah– eight! Ahn! N-ni-ne!” You stuttered as Mori spanked you in a quick succession, the burning sting in your ass topping over the other.

“G-God! Ten!” You groaned. Mori’s palm slammed into your ass one last time, your whole body vibrated from his bruising force. His hits almost sounded like a whip and you can still hear its ringing in your ears.

You hanged your head limply as you feel the throbbing ache in your muscles. Whimpering every now and then whenever the prickling sensation crawling on your skin get stronger.

“You took them all like a champion. That’s impressive,” Mori said with a pleased smile. “But that’s just half of your punishment. We both know that a good little brat like you deserves so much more.”

Mori manhandled you like a sack of potatoes to have you sit on his lap. Your sore ass pressed on his leg and you yelped from the pain. Mori grabbed the sides of your face, making you look directly at his eyes. His gaze locked in yours, and you can’t look away as his other hand slithered in between your legs and a finger ran down your slit.

“No,” you moaned, not wanting Mori to see how your overly sensitive and wet pussy quiver with the slightest touch. “Not there.”

“Not here? But I own this, remember? I can use it however I want,” Mori growled in your ear.

The fabric around your wrists tightened as you ball your fists, trying not to crumble completely as Mori started to slowly draw circles on your clit. Your legs immediately shaking from the pleasure.

“Tell me, brat, who do you belong to?” Mori purred in your ear. “Look me in the eyes and tell me.”

You gasped as the motion of his fingers raced, your nerves seemingly being shook awake. You threw your head back and fixed your begging eyes on his hungry ones. He closely observed your flustered face, your lidded eyes, your sweaty cheeks, down to your parted lips as they move to whisper the answer he craved to hear.

“You, Mori-san,” you breathed out. “I belong to you.”

Mori’s lips pulled into a menacingly satisfied smile, plunging a slender finger inside your hole. You gasped and tensed on his lap, his finger quickly wriggling around your walls.

“That’s it,” Mori said in a quiet voice, his breath tickling your ears. “Say it again. Say it louder. Who owns this pretty little brat, hmm?”

“Mori-san!” You cried as another finger joined to wriggle inside you, stretching your opening. “I belong to Mori-san. This brat belongs to Mori-san.”

With tears in the rim of your eyes, you kept your focus on him, afraid that he’ll stop if you look somewhere else. Your whole body, seemingly being shot with pulses of electricity when Mori curl his fingers upwards, stiffened and you were made aware again of the ache in your ass every time you squirm. You cried out Mori’s name louder as pain and pleasure mixed in harmony, futher upping your bliss. You feel it coming. Your eyes rolling back as you render speechless, being able to only moan and cry Mori’s name as he finger-fucks you into ecstasy. He’s whispering soft assurances in your ear, letting you know how pleased he is with your submission to him, your stubbornness dissipating the moment he spanked you and how amazed he is that no matter how bratty you act, you’ll immediately surrender once he touch your pussy because all you really want is for him to fuck you. After all, you’re his dirty girl. Mori’s vulgar coaxing pushed you further into the edge and you plead for him to let you come.

“Aww, my brat wants to come, huh? Well,” his fingers halted, to your horror. “That’s just too bad.”

You panicked, just a little bit more and you’ll reach heaven, so you bucked your hips into his hand for more friction but without much success and to make things even worse, Mori just started to pull his fingers out and you can hear the squelch from your juices.

“Sorry, princess. That’s part of your punishment,” Mori said innocently. You whimper as your neediness for release became painful to bear. You wanted to cry right then and there, beg Mori to let you come even just once and you’ll be the bestest girl for him. Mori kissed your forehead and started to undo his scarf on your wrists.

“Mori-san, please,” you pleaded as your core continues to throb. Mori can see the pain in your eyes and he knows you’ll be willing to do almost anything right now for him to finish the job.

“Alright then, tell me,” he smiled at you warmly, a noticeable difference from his demeanor earlier. “Did you really mean it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I belong to you, Mori-san. I’m your brat, okay? I surrender,” You said playfully putting your hands up in the air.

“No,” Mori chuckled and hugged your back, your eyes widened with his sudden affection. “I mean when you said that you hate me, do you mean it?”

Your eyes lowered, immediately feeling the guilt from the way you were treating him all this time. Maybe you’ve gone way out of line with that one. You love him, after all, and that still hasn’t changed.

“No,” you muttered. “I was just angry. I don’t really hate you.”

“And what did I do to anger my princess now, hmm?” Mori mused, feeling slightly better. You’re the last person he would ever want to hate him and he doesn’t want that day to ever come.

You debated with yourself whether to tell him but feeling Mori’s sincerity, you’ve decided it’ll be just fair, “I was jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

You pouted, now feeling slightly embarrass with your reasons, “Elise.”

“Elise?” Mori adjusted you to face him, genuinely curious about your sentiment. “Why are you jealous of her? We’ve already talked about this, right? You’re different from her.”

“I know. I know. It’s just,” you retorted and averted your eyes. “You spend all your time with her every day and I thought that maybe, if I’ll just be like her then you’ll spend more time with me, too.”

Mori took a few seconds to fully grasp what you just said before laughing heartily. Your frown deepened. You just pour your heart out and here he is, laughing his ass off. You were about to tell him off when he suddenly cupped your face and kiss you. Your lips melted on each other as you wrap your arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” Mori expressed when he pulled back from your lips, “I should’ve known that you felt that way and I shouldn’t have allowed it. I should’ve made you feel special, because you are. And I shouldn’t make you forget it. I’m sorry, my princess.”

Your heart skipped. All of your anger and frustration evaporated from your chest with Mori’s sweet honesty. You cannot keep acting like you’re heartless when he’s this vulnerable. You buried your face on his chest, hiding the drop of tears running down your face. Mori stroked your hair and held you closely by his chest for a few minutes.

“Although, I kinda liked punishing you. You look so cute being bratty,” Mori cooed, squeezing you tighter.

He really knows how to ruin a mood. You pouted and pushed him back, “Well, you’re in luck because I’m not done messing with you just yet.”

Mori’s eyes glimmered in excitement, a smirk formed on his lips once again. “Then, I guess I have no choice but to fuck you into submission, huh?”

You both know this is just the beginning of your newfound game. As a matter of fact, you already have something planned. You’ve always wondered how Mori would feel if you scatter Legos all over the office for him to step on and you’re just thrilled to find out.

“I’d like to see you try,” You smirked back as Mori carried you to bed.

[dragonnan]

This is faaaar from a complete list and will be spotty at best but I’ve been pondering MCU characters a lot as I’ve been getting slowly back to work on my mega-fic.  I LOVE minor head canons.  Simple stuff like favorite foods or what music they listen to or were they ever a smoker or whatever whatever.  So I’m gonna give myself the challenge of crafting some head canon and anyone else is very welcome to dive in! (some things are already established via canon)

~ Ethnicity ~ Faith ~ Smoker ~ Alcohol ~ Favorite food ~ Favorite cookie ~ Favorite animal(s) ~ Favorite music ~

Tony Stark:  Ethnicity: Mixed European-American-Jewish (he refers to himself as a “mutt”) Faith: “No thanks” being the initial answer but if he feels like opening up he’ll admit to believing there’s likely “something” out there but at the same time figures that “something” stopped caring about humanity a long long time ago.  Smoker?  Never liked cigarettes but smoked a few cigars when he was younger due to Obie’s influence.  He never was a big fan but wanted to fit in with his mentor.  Alcohol: Influenced both by his father and Obie, Tony started drinking hard liquor semi-regularly as young as 14 (his Dad let him try his first sip at the age of 6).  He pretty much sticks with Scotch or Bourbon but is not opposed to cheap beer at a ball game.  In fact the cheaper the better - a requirement for any self-respecting American.  Favorite food: hot dogs.  Neither one of his parents cooked.  Breakfast and lunch were whatever whenever for all three of them but dinner? You better be sure you were at that table before the plates were set down or you could go without (and Tony got a slap from his father when he’d observed that rule only seemed to apply to him).  But on the nights he was sent to his room, Jarvis would slip upstairs, later, with a sandwich or, on really rough nights, a couple of hotdogs.  Favorite cookie: Those Christmas wreath ones made with cereal and marshmallow with the cinnamon candies.  Favorite animal(s): he likes all animals but if he had to pick one for a pet he’d get an iguana.  Favorite music: well duh lolol.   

Stephen Strange: Ethnicity: Mixed European-American (borrowed from Benedict Cumberbatch’s ethnicity and adding the American) Faith: Originally atheist but now closer to Buddhist.  Smoker:  Never.  Even prior to becoming a sorcerer he has always been conscious of what he takes into his body; especially given the history of cancer on his mother’s side of the family.  Alcohol:  Wine, occasionally, though he isn’t really a social drinker per-say.  Favorite food:  The spicy shrimp and pork dumplings from a Thai place in Midtown.  Favorite cookie: Hmmm.... not a big sweets guy but he won’t turn away a few ginger-pecan cookies with coffee.  Favorite animal(s): dogs - unequivocally.  He had a border collie growing up on his family farm in Nebraska.  Favorite music: please don’t make this poor man actually have to choose.  

Steve Rogers: Ethnicity: Irish (as per comics) Faith? Irish-Catholic (as per the comics).  Smoker? Prior to the serum there was no way he could safely do so with his health issues.  After he started traveling with the performers all of the girls in the group smoked and he tried it out a few times but never developed a taste for it.  Alcohol: he drank A LOT - easy enough to do as it never had any real effect on him.  He enjoys scotch and bourbon (a taste he picked up from hanging around Howard Stark).  Steve seems to low-key always have the munchies (like most enhanced) and once Tony picked up on that there are always a variety of snacks scattered here and there throughout the compound (also of benefit for Bruce, Peter, Thor, and, later, Bucky).  Steve’s favorite foods typically remind him of his mother’s cooking.  While they’d never had much (especially after his father died) his mom could do a lot with limited supplies.  She used to make a fantastic meat pie with ground beef or tongue.  He hates SPAM.  They ate it in the Army, constantly, and just the smell will occasionally send him back to those days and not in a good way.  Favorite cookie?  Oreos.  He can clean up a family sized pack in like 10 minutes.  Steve loves animals but is especially fond of horses and dogs.  There was a dog in his unit in WW2 and Steve, like most of the other men, would share bites of his rations with it.  Steve is nostalgic about music from the 40s but finds that 70s rock really resonates with him.      

Bucky Barnes: Ethnicity: Romanian-American (borrowing a little from Sebastian Stan’s ethnicity) Faith? Possibly agnostic.  Smoker? Heck yes - both cigarettes and cigars.  Like Steve, the serum he received (via Hydra’s experimentation) means he gets to dodge the detrimental side effects of smoking.  Alcohol: He likes to drink but is almost exclusively a beer drinker.  He has a big appetite but refuses to eat around others if he can at all help it.  His favorite food is corned beef with cabbage.  Steve’s grandmother was an Irish immigrant and would make it every Sunday before the war impacted rations.  Since both Bucky’s parents were dead he’d often have dinner with his best friend.  Also, unlike Steve, he actually likes SPAM.  But then, arguably, he isn’t terribly picky about food in general.  Favorite cookie: molasses.  Favorite animal(s): birds - eagles in particular - though he doesn’t look too deeply at the psychology of their ability to just fly away.  Needless to say a crafty observer might spot a former Winter Soldier tossing seeds towards the pigeons.  Favorite music: He’s pretty eclectic though he shies away from anything too loud like death metal.  He finds classical very soothing.       

Peter Parker: Ethnicity: Mixed American-Scandinavian-German-ish Faith: Protestant upbringing but unsure where he currently stands. If pressed he’d say he’s “leaving his options open” Smoker?  “Oh gross!” Alcohol: “Um, too young to drink, thanks! But if I WERE to... you know, try it just to taste it there was this mudslide at one of Flash’s parties that was super good...” Favorite food: spaghetti and meatballs.  Lots of meatballs.  Favorite cookie: chocolate chocolate chip with chunks.  Favorite animal(s): NOT spiders.  And NOT birds given how many rooftops he’s traversed layered in pigeon ick.  He’d probably say cats.  Favorite music: The B side of techno rock - especially Depeche Mode.

Peter Quill: Ethnicity:  Half mixed American and half celestial.  Faith: His Dad was a god and he killed him so he figures he probably isn’t on the best terms with the Big G God should He... or She... or Them... be out there.  Look he just wants to do his thing and cause a little trouble without mixing it up with any other celestial types but if they DO wanna throw down he’d like to point out that he’s 1 for 1 and willing to rumble.  Smoker: He would not say no to a really good cigar and may have possibly lifted a case from Yondu’s stash when he struck out on his own.  Alcohol:  Anywhere any time and in large quantities.  Favorite food:  A thick steakhouse bacon burger with potato chips right on the patty.  Extra cheese please!  Favorite cookie: He’s a simple guy with simple tastes.  classic chocolate chip no frills no fuss and fresh from the oven.  Favorite animal(s):  He likes dogs - who doesn’t like dogs?  But he really likes cows.  Just maybe don’t mention the burger thing.  Favorite music:    

Thor: He’s a Norse god of legend so I figure we can forego the ethnicity/faith questions lol.  Smoker: He has never understood this human custom nor has he felt any inclination to try it himself  Alcohol: Beer, mead, and anything capable of knocking him on his ass.  Favorite food:  chili with ghost peppers.  Though nowhere near as hot as the fire chilies of Muspelheim (which would be instantly fatal for humans so its just as well).  Favorite cookie: strawberry cheesecake with macadamia nuts.  Favorite animal(s):  It’s a tossup between bilgesnipe and whales.  Favorite music:  The mighty horns of battle!  He also enjoys old school country, much to Tony’s disgust.  The story aspect of that music is what appeals to him.

Bruce Banner: Ethnicity: Italian-American  Faith: Catholic in his childhood; currently Atheist or maybe agnostic.  Smoker: He tends to avoid any substances for, you know, obvious reasons.  Alcohol: See previous.  Favorite food:  Waffles with sliced mango.  Favorite cookie: Oatmeal.  Favorite animal(s):  Mantis shrimp - “did you know they can generate so much power in their attacks that they can briefly super-heat the water up to 7,700 °C??”  Favorite music:  Indian- especially Krishna Bhajan.    

Clint Barton: Ethnicity:  Mixed European-American and Panamanian.  Faith:  His parents were both Protestant but he’s never latched on to any specific faith and hasn’t really devoted a lot of thought on the matter.  He has a sorta loose idea of “maybe something out there” but that’s all the further he’s gotten on the subject.  What he tells anyone who asks it’s that his religion is coffee.  Smoker: Briefly when he was a teen.  Alcohol:  Beer - he’s a fan of dark lager.  Favorite food:  Coney Island dogs, Pizza, and pickle flavored potato chips.  Favorite cookie:   Monster cookies with the mini M&Ms.  Favorite animal(s): Dogs  Favorite music:  80s rock and some country.

Natasha Romanoff: Ethnicity:  Russian.  Faith:  She was not given much choice when younger and was raised as “state atheist” (per comics).  In the years since escaping that life, however, she has tried to discover more about herself.  Her parents were both Russian Jewish and there has been a pull to discover more about that faith - especially since meeting Wanda - who is Jewish.  Smoker:  No.  Alcohol: Some vodka - that’s a given.  But she actually prefers wine; and honestly her favorites are wine spritzers.  Favorite food:   Favorite cookie: Krumkake filled with creme and berries.  Favorite animal(s): Favorite music:  Overall she listens to a pile of little-known bands and whomever is playing at whatever bar in whatever city she happens to be in.  She also is a huge fan of old school Spice Girls.

[chaoskirin]

The Seven Seas--Chapter One

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-Fi/Gen Rating: PG Chapter 1 Word Count: 2379

I haven’t written any Queen fanfic in a while, but I’ve had this one in mind for about a year. Figured now was a good time to give it a go!

---

The morning started like any other: At quarter past noon, and with beer and potato chips for breakfast.

"Fred, I want to go home," Brian said, hand on his forehead, leaning back in his chair. Roger stretched his leg out and attempted to tip the chair over; the back collided with the wall and Brian shot him a grumbly look.

"No. We're staying right here 'til we're done," Freddie replied. "And I would say we've been productive thus far--except for all the complaining."

They wouldn't be done until Freddie said they were, which could be today, or tomorrow, or three weeks into the future. With his Mercurial temperament, he'd named himself well. That's something none of the four would ever argue over.

John, typically, said nothing.

Roger flipped over in his chair, reclining upside-down with his bleached hair splashed across the dusty floor. Out of all of them, Rog felt the crushing boredom the worst as they sat and sat and sat and thought about lyrics for a good chunk of the day. He just had a different way of dealing with it; while Brian complained and John entertained himself within the recesses of his own mind, Roger caused Trouble.

"Oh, Roger," Freddie said. "Do sit up."

"I'm gettin' the blood to my brain," he replied. "So I can think of your stupid songs."

"If they're stupid, we're not using them," Freddie said.

"You let the car song through," John muttered under his breath, after which Roger grabbed a handful of wood chips and attempted to launch them--while still upside-down--across the room. He performed an unintentional backflip out of the chair and crashed to the floor.

Where he remained for some reason.

"Entertaining," Brian observed. "I still want to go home. I've got things to do. My thesis--"

"Oh, your bloody thesis. You're a rock star now, Brian!" Freddie exclaimed. He stood, paced across the barn, stepped over Roger, flailed his hands for effect, then paced back. "You don't need a doctorate if you're a rock star!"

"I thought we were to be rock gods," Roger provided, insinuating that a god was somehow superior to a star.

Freddie supposed he had a point. "Yes, yes, we're getting there. Patience!"

Asking this lot to have patience was like asking an elephant to fly. Like asking a fire to burn cold. Like asking a monkey to type the full works of Shakespeare with both hands tied behind its back. All possible, when one considered how very exciting and unpredictable the universe was... But still vastly implausible.

Something very small and very loud crashed through the barn's roof, landing mere centimetres from Roger's outstretched arm. Roger jumped to his feet with the alacrity of a twelve-year-old non-smoker and stumbled away, knocking over stools, a bandstand, a whole table, and a random chicken as he went.

The chicken, perturbed, scuttled from the barn.

John sat up, his face perfectly passive as Freddie asked, "What the fuck was that?"

Brian stood, creeping toward the shimmering object. It appeared frictionless with all its sparkling silver splendor, and as aerodynamic as the most advanced American war devices. Oblong and saucer-shaped, it sat off-kilter within the barn's floor, its leading edge plunged clear through the rotting wood and stuck soundly within the dirt. It wiggled a bit as if to free itself, then seemed to deflate in defeat as if sighing.

It was no larger than a standard record.

"Aliens, probably," John said.

"Oh, aliens!" Freddie poo-pooed, swatting him with the back of his hand. "It's clearly a toy. A frisbee or somesuch. Roger, go outside and see if--"

The frisbee whirred and hissed, a door opening and consummately vanishing as it did so. A bright green light shone from within as steam and fog poured out of it like water.

"Is Spielberg here?" Roger said. "Is he having us on? He's making a movie, you know. Offered me a part--"

"Oh, he did not," Freddie said. "Hello in there? Hello? Is it aliens?"

"Well, they wouldn't be aliens to themselves," Brian griped. "We'd be the aliens to them."

"Bother your semantics," Freddie said, kneeling next to the oblong contraption. When he poked it (as he could think of nothing better to do with it), his finger slid off the surface as if it were made of particularly slippery ice.

"Well don't piss 'em off," Roger said, kneeling next to Freddie and poking the thing as well. "Whoa. I can't touch it."

Indeed, it was covered in some sort of shield, which reflected all attempts at poking, no matter how vehement. Whenever one of them thought to touch it, it shimmered with a glowing rainbow of energy before repelling the contact entirely. It was neither cold, nor warm, nor anything at all. However, Roger could make the shield wiggle with a sort of frustration if he touched it in two places, and when Freddie added his fingers to the mix, the whole saucer seemed to burble in scandalized protest.

"I can't help thinking that's a terrible idea," John said.

"We should kick it," Roger suggested.

"That's exactly what I meant," John replied.

As Roger stood and drew back his leg to give the thing a good kick, Brian said, "It's not a football."

Defeated, Roger stomped the ground with the very foot that had been just about to launch the thing back into the sky. "Then what's it doing in our barn?"

Brian opened his mouth to answer, then his eyes dulled with the abject inability to answer Roger's inane inquiry. "What kind of question is that? Do footballs inherently belong in barns where you're from? If something enters a barn, does it become a football?"

"Well... Kinda? If it can be kicked?"

Meanwhile, the little door on the saucer-object remained open. Freddie wondered how much more mist could pour out of the thing before it was empty. Or perhaps it contained its own mist generator and it would continue to spew forth a cloud of noxious green gas until evicted from the barn. "I actually think Roger may have the right of it," Freddie said, detecting the faintest hint of ozone. "Exciting as all this is, I don't want to be poisoned."

Roger reeled his foot back again.

Fortunately, the occupants of the saucer picked that moment to show themselves. A single moment later, and they might have been stepping out into earth's atmosphere, tumbling end over end in the worst result of first contact ever written about in any science fiction in history.

Thwarted again, Roger collapsed into his chair and crossed his arms.

The aliens--for that's the way Freddie had begun to think of them--appeared as silhouettes against the burning green light from inside the saucer. Unsurprisingly, they were tiny, each barely the size of a paperclip or perhaps even smaller. A walkway extended in front of them as they squirmed out into the barn's dim light; the creatures meandered down it, leaving a trail of slime behind them. Vaguely slug-like, they were nevertheless adorned with at least half a dozen tentacles each, which were in turn adorned by an incredibly ridiculous amount of jewelry. Enough to rile Freddie's jealousy at any rate. If only he had more places to put shiny things, he could be a much happier man!

There were three of them. The tallest one spoke:

"ARE YOU THE QUEEN?"

Freddie blinked. The alien repeated: "ARE YOU! THE QUEEN?"

"We're... Queen?" Freddie tried. "The band. Queen."

"HAIL QUEEN BAND. THROUGH THE RADIO CHATTER OF YOUR ILLUSTRIOUS PLANET, WE HAVE DETERMINED YOUR LOCATION AND SEEK AN AUDIENCE."

John muttered, "I'm sure this is going to go well."

"I'm not sure you understand," Brian said. "We're not the queen. Or any queen, really. We're just--"

The aliens seemed undeterred. The tallest one interrupted: "NONSENSE. YOU HAVE PRODUCED MORE RADIO CHATTER THAN ANY OTHER ENTITY CALLING THEMSELF A QUEEN ON THIS PLANET. WE DEEM YOU THE SUPERIOR OF ALL OF THEM. YOU WILL NEGOTIATE ON BEHALF OF YOUR PLANET."

One of the smaller ones, who seemed to be wearing glasses on his protuberating eyes, asked, "WHAT IS YOUR PLANET CALLED?"

"They've been listening to our radio chatter," John began, "and they don't know what the planet is called?"

"Er... This is earth," Brian supplied.

"OF COURSE IT IS EARTH," the smaller alien said. "ALL TERRESTRIAL OCCUPIED PLANETS ARE MADE OF EARTH. WHAT DO YOU CALL YOUR PLANET? WHAT NAME?" He pulled out a very tiny, very adorable starmap from one of the flaps in his skin. Freddie didn't know whether to be awed or disgusted.

"That's--" Brian tried. Puzzled again, he scratched his head, as if the aliens had made a perfectly reasonable point.

In the silence, Roger clarified. "The planet is called earth."

The three beings conferred with each other for some time, their slimy tails wriggling behind them like rain-saturated worms. Occasionally, their stalk-eyes would flick around to fix the quartet with a glare--at least, Freddie thought it was a glare. It was hard to tell when one didn't understand the intricacies of alien expression.

Finally, the visitors turned. The one holding the starmap said, "EARTH IS A TERRIBLE NAME FOR A PLANET. WE DEMAND TO KNOW WHICH IDIOT NAMED IT."

Never mind that none of this made any sense whatsoever... Brian still engaged in a heated argument with the aliens about the virtues of a planet named earth, and how no one had ever actually named it. That's just what it was called. Roger found that hard to believe, since the idea had to have come from somewhere--and after all, the people of earth hadn't always known there were other planets, which meant they had to discover earth was a planet at some point, which meant they would have had to name it. When asked why, Roger shrugged and said that if humans were presented with something to name, they would inject their opinion onto it without questioning whether or not they should.

Brian supposed that was logical, then he further supposed that the person who named earth would certainly be dead by now, which the aliens thought was probably better for everyone.

"And just what is your planet called?" Roger asked, once the argument exhausted itself. Freddie thought the whole point of the alien visit probably wasn't to discuss the names of their respective planets, but here they were.

The other shorter being stood up just a bit taller. He was wearing different colors than the other two, although those colors were so random and chaotic that no one in their right mind could describe them. He seemed for all intents and purposes to be a diplomat of sorts. After a wiggle of importance, he said, "DENMARK, OF COURSE."

No one said anything for quite a while, then everyone started speaking at once. Except for John, who was quite content to smile at the absurdity of it.

"You're just from Denmark?" Roger asked. "How are you so short? And slimy?"

"I'm sure it's lost in translation," Brian observed.

"They've come billions of kilometers all to tell us them come from a place called Denmark!" Freddie exclaimed.

"NO, NO, NO," the alien said. "IT'S WHAT ALL CIVILIZED ENTITIES CALL THEIR HOME PLANET ON A MAP! SHOW THEM, WOULD YOU?"

The other short alien--the one with the glasses--lay its starmap out on the floor and opened it to a rather obscene size. It shouldn't have been possible for so much paper to fit inside one pamphlet-sized document, but the creature continued to unfold it and unfold it and unfold it until it covered an enormous portion of the dirty floor. Moreover, the stars elevated themselves just above the paper in a spectacularly impossible three-dimensional layout. Freddie couldn't help an awed "Oooh," of admiration.

John, sarcastically, added "Ahhh!"

"YOU SEE?" the tallest alien said, pointing to an X on the map. As it poked the location with a tentacle, it lit up with a vast trove of information--exact location, atmosphere type, composition of the rocky surface, current radio traffic, and climate. Probably. Freddie didn't actually know, as he couldn't read their language.

"Okay, what's it really called?" Roger asked.

"OH, YOU COULDN'T POSSIBLY PRONOUNCE IT," the diplomat said.

"Don't tell me what I can't pronounce," Roger insisted.

The aliens conferred again, this time for quite a while. When they turned, the diplomat cleared his throat and announced something that no human would ever be able to pronounce: a cacophony of squeals and thisksks and clicks and sub-sonic whistles and grunts and whoops and probably a boat horn or two.

Roger narrowed his eyes, considered for a moment, then opened his mouth and screamed.

"IMPRESSIVELY CLOSE," the diplomat said, as one would comfort a toddler who also happened to be a horse.

"IN ANY CASE," the leader said, his eyes spiraling around in what might have been an eyeroll, "WE CANNOT EXCHANGE PLEASANTRIES WITH A PLANET NAMED EARTH. IT IS SIMPLY PREPOSTEROUS. WE DEMAND YOU RENAME IT."

"But as we've said before--" Brian tried, but the leader held up a remarkable number of tentacles to halt him.

"YOU ARE QUEEN BAND," the leader said. "CLEARLY IT IS YOUR RIGHT TO NAME THIS PLANET."

Freddie, rather half-asleep from the long day they'd already suffered (at his whim), imagined it would be easier to give the visitors a name now, then sort things out later. After all, nothing political could come about as a result of this visit. The aliens were far too tiny to be any sort of threat. And if he just gave them a name, he could get back to writing lyrics with the others and no harm would be done.

Without any sense of impending doom despite his foreshadowy thoughts, Freddie searched around the barn until his eyes fell upon an open, half-stale loaf of bread. "The planet is now called Rhye," he said, adding the H in his mind since it sounded more dignified. "Yes, Rhye. Has a nice ring to it, I think."

"The moon's called Chicken Shit," John said.

Brian elbowed him.

"THEN ON BEHALF OF DENMARK," the leader said, "WE DEMAND THE UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER OF RHYE AND ALL ITS INHABITANTS! IMMEDIATELY!"

[billie-ford]

1

Days Gone By

6

Houston. The biggest city in the state of Texas and the second largest in the country. But more intimately, it was the home of Billie Ford. She was known well throughout the countryside of Houston and even into the inner city as the kid that went the extra mile. A star runner on the high school track team, destined to make state. The friendly mechanic that willingly made house trips and sometimes took a hot meal as payment. The devoted wife and mother, the lively younger sister known for her exuberant energy. The street she lived on for more than half a decade was once known for it’s exuberant energy too; music bumping from almost every open window and a potluck every other week. It was now a decrepit wasteland. One of the first cities to fall when the virus broke and when it fell, it fell hard.

Every inch of public road was cluttered with debris, abandoned cars, streaks of blood and dead bodies - roaming or not. Music would not be heard on these streets ever again - unless you chose to count the mindless humming from Billie every now and again. Despite how sparse supplies had grown, Billie couldn’t bring herself to leave. Having already abandoned her once warm, loving home, she was now holed up in a strangers house on the other side of the city. Boarded up, furniture pushed against windows and a makeshift bed of sheets and couch cushions positioned messily in the center of the living room. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to call it quits, no matter how ghostly it had gotten in the last few months. Something was keeping her here, and she just couldn’t describe what it was.

(six months since the fall)

“How long will you be?” 

Despite his name, Hunter Hammond was no scavenger. He was a meek man, all five-foot-nine of him. Abraham used to tease him when their families got together for a dinner, joking that Billie had managed to fuse her bisexuality and marry both a man and woman all in one. Hunter never liked Abraham too much.

“I’ll be as quick as I can but who knows what those streets look like now.” Billie tightened the laces of her boots before standing and slinging a backpack over her shoulder. Just behind Hunter, their son Devin played with plastic cars in their couch cushion bed. His smile and bubbly laugh was a constant reminder of what the world had been once, and for both Billie and Hunter it gave them hope.

Billie cupped her husband’s cheek, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “Back before sundown. I promise. C’mere sweet boy,” she kneeled down and kissed her toddler on the head, breathing in the scent of his cloud-like curls. “You take care of your ol’ man for me, m’kay?” The boy smiled and nodded.

“Board this right back up.” She gave Hunter a stern look as she moved the furniture from the back door, their backyard a quiet enough escape to the road behind them. “I mean it. The second I’m out.”

“Don’t worry, I got you. Come back to me safe, Bill. I mean that.”

Hunter had shut the door before she could give him a second look, the sound of the couch scraping on the other side signaling she was now trapped on the back porch. She took off down the patio stairs, through the neighboring backyards and through the small line of trees that shielded the house from from the main road.

Billie liked to call them walkers. They reminded her of how her dad used to walk when he had knee surgery and ended up with a walking frame for a few weeks; hunched over, slow, lazy. Her father was an intimidating man - strong and stern, a frequent yeller who, just by cracking the buckle of his belt, had Billie stood straight and ready to accomplish any command. But even Abraham Sr. didn’t scare her as much as those things did. Her father could be reasoned with if you showed him enough respect; they could not. The howls of sorrow trapped inside distant memory disturbed her more than when they ran her way, jaws chomping and drooling for a taste of human flesh. Something she had only seen in her brother’s horror movies, and even those couldn’t prepare her for the sights she had seen. It was the humanity lost somewhere within them - that’s what terrified her. She remembered the first time she caught wind of the pandemic beginning to break across the globe; her ear just barely picking up the sound of the radio over power drills and welders.

She hadn’t been able to find Abraham since things really went to shit.

The military did what they could when things started to get out of control, but even they had families to protect and sticking around to maintain order just seemed foolish. Multiple trips were made to the Ford residence with no luck; Cupboards were barren, clothes strewn about and that picture he had on the mantle of the two of them one Christmas was busted out of its frame. Despite her excuses - he didn’t have time to come for me. they were in trouble. he did come by but I was already gone. he’s still around, we just keep missing each other. - she couldn’t kill the eating thought that he just left her. His baby sister, abandoned. He broke his promise. Subconsciously, that was the biggest reason she kept one foot in Houston - he was still coming back for her. But with every day that passed with no sign of life, the hope that he was still close - and breathing - faded further and further away...

7

The camp was far beyond the rest of civilization. And good for it. The tops of buildings looked like shoe boxes interwoven with visibly abandoned streets in the far distance, gray in comparison to what it once used to be. This flat plot of land had barely been touched by human hands when it was found; turned up dirt and rock accompanied by machinery and port-a-potties. A construction sight soon to be turned into a number of vacation homes, that much they gathered from the weathered sign stuck in the ground at the base of the hill.

Breakfast ended an hour ago; watery eggs with sparse salt and bitter potatoes. Everyone was busy now, in the full swing of their day; taking buckets of dishes to the river to be washed while another group returned with wet laundry to hang dry.

“You should let these grow so I can push them to the side. You don’t really want all this hair in your eyes do ya, hun?”

Jane Ford, forty-two, a high school swim coach in what now seemed to be another life now sat in her husband’s tattered flannel and blue jeans tucked into yellow hospital socks. With her eldest between her knees, she snipped away at the atrocious bob the child had given herself a year prior. Her bangs stuck out every which way and no amount of water, time, or prayer would set the needle straight hairs into place. Jane huffed in defeat and dropped the comb and fabric scissors into a cup at her foot.

“I like it like this, momma.” The ten year old stated while playing with the torn ear of her stuffed bunny, given to Jane as a baby shower gift from her aunt. The dirty old thing brought her comfort more now than ever, a reminder of her favorite - well, her only - aunt.

‘You hug this little guy every single night. And wherever I am I’ll be sure to feel it.’

“Leave her hair alone, darlin’. If she likes it than she likes it.” Abraham watched his girls while sipping a black coffee, occasionally looking out into the horizon to scan for survivors or otherwise. “We Fords have the tendency to look good in whatever hairstyle we’re rockin’.” He winked at his daughter who grinned.

“Tell that to your tenth grade mullet.” “You still had a crush on me didn’t ya sweetheart?” “Oh, stick it!” “Last time I did we ended up with the twins..” “Ew, dad!”

He howled with laughter and beckoned his child to come towards him. She jumped up into his lap and he tussled her wet hair, the act earning him a curse from his wife. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and took that moment to thank God. His family, all five of them, were together and secure. But every thankful thought was followed by the sudden sorrow he felt for his first family; his baby sister. Big Bad Bill. 

He was a military sergeant and when he was called to duty the only thing on his mind was getting this issue under control. He only evacuated the quarantine camps when he had absolutely no choice and by the time he reached his home in the suburbs it was too late to go the inner city. She was just too far away from him. He couldn’t count on all fingers and toes how many times he’d been down in that area since then, practically swatting her home the second he could. Empty. She had taken the photo of them from his high school graduation on her fireplace.

Despite the “no man left behind” attitude instilled in him during boot camp, he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that his sister was still alive. She was tough, but she wasn’t survive-life-or-death-situations-tough. She was just a mechanic.

A familiar shrill voice followed by marching steps in the gravel snapped him out of his pity party. With a groan, he shooed his daughter away to play with the other kids before standing to meet the five-foot-two hurricane that was Marizol Espinosa. “Dios mio Abraham! My Rosita should have been home days ago!” The group he had sent out nearly three days ago had yet to return and despite the majorities silence, everyone was a little worried about their return. Marizol was not one of the silent ones.

“Te quiero fuera. Out there. Searching for them.” A manicured hand rested on a jutted hip, the other pointing a bullet like index into the ginger brutes face. Jane’s eyes flickered between the two cautiously as she busied herself with cleaning chunks of dark hair from her lap.

“Mary, I wouldn’t have sent the group that I sent if I didn’t think they could handle their hides. Give em the day darlin’, I’ll radio in from time to time and if nothin’ still I’ll send a crew after em.”

“Oh dios- get more people lost! Or killed! You listen to me jengibre...” As she opened her mouth to grill him with undoubtedly ruthless insults, the radio on his belt crackled with life. A female voice just barely came through. Abraham gave Marizol a smug grin.

8

“I’ve always loved you, and made you happy...and nothing else could come between...but now you’ve left me, to love another...you have shattered..all..of my dreams..” Breathless, Billie trudged along the side of the road as the afternoon heat caused beads of sweat to rolled down her jaw. With daylight running low she was worried this would be another unsuccessful supply run, having already searching multiple stores and homes throughout town. “You are my sunshine. My only sunshine..you make me happy when skies are gray..you’ll never know dear- fuckin’ hell it’s hot.”

She came to a stop outside of a gas station. A run down shack of a business that she had been to multiple times for a cigarette and a beer during her commute back home after work. But with its busted out windows and disregarded hoses it looked to be a completely foreign shop.

In and out quickly was the plan, and smooth enough it went. She packed what she could; in her months of scavenging she learned quickly that if you looked for things where those things weren’t meant to be, you could find what you needed. With a bowie knife in one hand and a half melted snickers from the cash register in the other she wandered the aisles freely, skimming underneath shelves for stray cans and water bottles. As she was preparing to leave, check today off as a successful enough day, one too many walkers began crowding the door from which she came, falling through busted windows and disemboweling themselves on shards of glass. She took down what she could with her bowie, hoping to clear a way to the road but for every one she killed two more crowded in its place. “Fuck.”

Searching hastily with a newfound feeling of vertigo, she spotted the employee exit behind the counter. A pipe had been lodged into the handle and bent outwards, trapping it shut. She cleared the counter, shivering at the feeling of rotting hands skimming the back of her arms before forcing the pipe out of place and slamming the door shut behind her. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she searched her bag for a flashlight, her knife wielding hand still raised defensively.

“Grab them!”

Billie felt the sharp pain of a shoulder in her spine as she was tackled to the ground, her cheek crashing into the cold pavement and the wind escaping her lungs as her knife slid feet away from her grasp. She was frisked for her weapons, her bag tore violently from her shoulder as a knee remained snug between her shoulder blades.

“You one of the bitches that jumped us?” “Huh!? No!”

The cool metal of a gun barrel met her temple and she stuttered, “I ain’t here to hurt no one! I’m just stuck! On the bible, man!”

“What do you mean stuck?”

“There’s an ocean of them dead fools out that door behind me- gotta be packed to capacity by now. Man can you get off my back you’re hurting me!”

She was hoisted to her feet as a lamp clicked on. The room lit up in a small yellow glow, revealing a number of people surrounding her. To her left, brunette hair was pulled back under a military cap and tan hands secured in fingerless gloves held a glock steady to her head. Latina. Her glare was strong, eyebrows knitted as she trained her sights on Billie.

“There was a group in here yesterday. They locked us in.” In front of her, a young asian boy sat on a railing. They were in a garage. “Think you can help us out of here?” The man previously kneeling on her spine asked. He was the stockiest of the group; dark skinned, a gap tooth, and a flat cap concealing a bald head. 

She didn’t have much of a choice. Either they all got out or none of them got out. “I can try once your friend gets that barrel off my cheek.” She huffed. A delivery truck sat begging to be used in the middle of the garage. A full tank but no keys, they say. Luckily for them, Billie didn’t need keys. She looked towards the latina, and only after the asian boys pleas did she lower her weapon.

After she jimmied the lock for a while, Billie got the door open and jumped into the driver seat, the latina following her every move as she popped off the connector to the ignition. She looked down to the only other woman and quirked a smile, “you wouldn’t happen to have a bobby pin would ya, hun?” Deadpanned, she dug into her hair and retrieved two bobby pins, slapping them into Billie’s hand who muttered a thank you. In seconds she had the pins poked into each hole of the connector and the truck growled with life. First the lights, brightening the room even more but she refrained from turning the engine, alas, suffocating them all with toxic fumes. Billie turned to the woman below, already used to the bitter gaze she sent her way. “You get the door open and you’re home free.”

“You should come with us.” Once stepping out of the truck she was greeted by the man that had tackled her to the ground, now smiling at her apologetically while extending a hand to shake, “call me T-Dog.” The latina huffed in protest. “She’s useful, Rosita.” Rosita.

“I would love to but uh..I got people waiting on me.” “They can come too.” “There’s no way you’re getting this truck up that road.” “We’ll wait.” “We can’t wait for some stranger, we’ve got people worried about us.”

“I could go with you!” It was the asian boy again, short black hair now covered with a baseball cap. He approached Billie with a smile that rivaled T-Dog’s. These weren’t people that Billie would coin as survivors - all but Rosita maybe - but here they were anyways. “I know my way around the city. We can pick up whoever you’re with and head back to camp.”

“So there’s more of y’all..?” “Loads.”

Rosita shook her head again. “No, no. That’s too many more mouths to feed and we’re already low on supplies.”

“Actually, Rosita, I don’t think supplies will be an issue...”

A voice echoed from within the newly unlocked truck, the sliding door disconnecting the storage space from the front seat now wide open. They followed the sounds of his footsteps to the back door where it was then unlocked from inside, flew open with a loud clang, and revealed stacks upon stacks of unopened cans, bags of chips, and soda. The man - the eldest of the group - smiled down at them, particularly Billie. “That solves that problem young lady.”

“Look at that,” the asian quipped, “we’ve got food for a few more mouths, someone who knows their way around a sticky situation, and you got us to watch your back. Sounds like wins all around to me!”

Everyone seemed to be in agreement of letting this squirrely stranger and her mystery companions join the group, all but Rosita, who had Billie wondering if she had cut her off in traffic one time.

“She helped us when we needed it, Ro,” he reasoned, “she didn’t have to.” He seemed keen on having Billie join them but she just shrugged; made no difference to her. Even the older man, who looked to have been on a fishing trip before they got locked in here, threw in his two cents. “Always room for a survivor.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Rosita squared up to Billie with folded arms. “You get that door open and you get to come back with us. Bring your boyfriend or whatever. Bien?”

“Gracias, a-mee-go.”

If you looked for things where those things weren’t meant to be, you could find what you needed. - Billie’s Law. 

Billie knew garages like the back of her hand, and she knew of the spare clicker that came with every garage system. It was a shot in the dark, hoping the door would even work if she found it, but she searched high and low despite it. Even despite Rosita’s smug bark of ‘we looked for it already’. Like a dog on a scent she overturned garbage cans and tools boxes all while she watched impassively. No clicker. But underneath a uniform coat, beneath a stack of scrap metal, was a car jack, and Billie knew more than a few ways to use one of those.

With a loud bang and a rustic whine, Billie managed to jam the jack underneath the door enough to bend it and gave the handle a few pumps to lift it all while T-Dog and Rosita readied themselves to bash the skulls of any unwanted stragglers. She managed enough space to roll under and the asian boy quickly followed, keeping an eye out for her while she finished the job. Eyes stinging with sweat, Billie picked away at the lock while disembodied moans approached her, silenced by the lead pipe her new comrade armed himself with. The door was finally freed in minutes; they were free and she had a new home for her baby boy.

“Looks like you’re ours now.” The boy smiled again. “Glenn.”

She shook his hand, her grip firmer than his. “Billie.”

[bran-writes]

AK Character Flashback- Holly

Aaaahh, I’m a day late, but here’s Holly’s flashback!

The mist rolled from the mountain top and dispersed over the camp site in a rolling wave. Holly could already smell the morning dew, wet bark and leaves that usually accompanied a morning camping. She could also tell the fire had just been put out and food was already cooked.

So where the heck is it? She followed her father, Frank, out of the camp site and through a short stretch of woods, glancing around at the maze of trees the whole wile. Holly wondered what it’d be like to live out here in the stillness. She imagined it would be peaceful and great, save for the loneliness. She had a feeling the friendship of the forest animals wouldn’t cut it like it did in the kids movies.

The father-daughter duo walked quietly through the woods for minutes, Holly wondering where the brawny man was leading her before they came out the other side, sunlight beckoning them through. When she strode out of the woods after Frank, she let her eyes adjust, then looked in the direction her dad pointed with a big toothy grin.

Holly burst into laughter.

The expansive mountain range stretched out before them, bathed in early, golden sunlight. Directly in front of them was a surprisingly flat rock embedded into the ground, drag marks hinting that her father had wrestled it from it’s original spot a few feet away. On that rock was arranged a big breakfast. A sign stood in between the plates that read in heavy script:

Father-Daughter Luncheon

“You’re not serious,” Holly cackled.

“Hey, I said I would make it up to you for missing the last one- here it is,” Frank chuckled.

“I forgot all about it!”

“I know, I did too, until I was setting this up!”

They both laughed as Frank pulled his daughter in for a hug. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

“Mm, thanks. You did awesome.”

The two sat down for a meal cooked by campfire, presumably while Holly was still snoring away in the tent. They chatted and sipped water from canteens and forked up sausages and scooped Frank’s signature campfire nachos.

“Your mother would kill me if she knew you were having nachos for breakfast,” Frank mumbled between bites. A few chunks of meat and diced potatoes dripped off his chip and he had to catch it with his hands.

Holly shrugged, shoveling some into her mouth and shrugging. She pointed to the cast iron skillet next to her and said around her food, cheeks puffing out, “You balanced it out with the veggies.”

After they were done, Frank reached into the cooler and brought out two root beers. Holly smiled wide when she realized they were her favorite brand and only sold back in Three Pines. He must have had some shipped out.

Frank handed his daughter a bottle and they both scooted around to the front of the rock, facing the vast wilderness as the sunlight splashed across them, washing them in warmth.

They both cracked their root beers open and clinked the bottles. “So, how does it feel to be twelve?” Frank asked.

“Uhh… Closer to getting a car is good enough for me.”

“Tuh, closer to getting a job, you mean.”

“I have a plan for that, actually,” Holly smirked, holding a skinny finger up.

“Oh yeah?” Frank leaned away from her, taking his daughter in with mock surprise, “Do tell!”

“I’ll come work for you!”

“But I already work for somebody else… Don’t know how that’ll work.”

“You do now, but that dick won’t be your boss forever, dude.”

“Language…”

“Sorry, anyways, I remember you said you wanna start your own guide company. Of course, I’m the perfect person to work for you. And! And! Guess what…”

“Uuuhh, either way that means I’d technically be buying your car?”

Holly winked. They went back to watching the forested mountains around them for a moment before Frank spoke again. “How do you really like it out here?”

“I love camping, you know that,” Holly took a conspiratorial swig from her root beer.

“Very funny.”

“I kinda miss Three Pines, but I think I feel a lot better now. I miss Bridger, but we talk all the time. I wish I could be there sometimes, though… To give him a good smack on the head,” Holly swatted the mouth of her bottle.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m still lucky.”

“How so?”

“Cause you and mom are still friends. You don’t hate each other and you didn’t take it out on us. I know a lot of kids from back in Three Pines who had it wwaaayyy worse.”

“It wasn’t goodbye forever… Y’know, it all just…”

“What?” Holly drew her bomber jacket around her shoulders and sat up straight.

“It’s hard to explain- not that you wouldn’t understand. It’s just I can’t really explain it well. We’ll revisit the subject when you have your first boyfriend.”

“I already did.”

“Kwin doesn’t count, you guys held hands at the skating rink. You made him go fetch you concessions at the swimming pool. I’m talking, like, high school. The real volatile stuff. Emotions, hormones, social standards, all whipped up into this big batch of crazy. Anyways… Just know your mother and I still love each other, even though we can’t be together.”

Holly smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. “Yeah, yeah, who cares. As long as you both love me and Bridge, we’re cool.”

Tag List:

@remi-writes-sometimes​

@writerinafury​

@the-violet-writer​

@anomaly00​

@writinglyra​

@linariouswrites​

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@carmina-solis​

[deliciousdetectivestranger]

Some Rudy snippets

Aru Shah and the Tree of Wishes 2020

Rudy’s obnoxious jacket stood in stark contrast to Aiden’s usual somber getup of a dark long-sleeved shirt and darker pants. The cousins were engaged in an argument. “The whole point is to be subtle,” said Aiden. “It’s an undercover mission.” “I was born to stand out,” said Rudy. “Well, you’re going to die that way too, apparently.” Rudy shrugged. “Haters gonna hate.”

Rudy swallowed hard, clutching the outer edge of the chariot. “Can we take the stairs?” Beside him, Mini beamed, which made Rudy recoil a bit. “What is it?” he asked. “I like that you get scared.” “That makes you happy?” asked Rudy, inching farther away.

“So what’s this Mr. V like?” Rudy asked Brynne in a whisper. “Gotta adjust my attitude, you know? Am I going for charming? Rich? Rich and charming? Kinda weird? But, like, intellectually weird? Or—” “Silent?” suggested Aiden. Rudy paused, then tapped his own chin. “Yeahhh. Silent and brooding, like you! Okay, so give me some tips. Do you hate everyone, or is it more like an inward, self-loathing thing?” Aiden glowered. “I don’t hate anyone, but you’re proving to be the exception.” “Okay, so not an inward, self-loathing thing….”

“Are you saying the Sleeper left behind Horcruxes?” Aru demanded. “Yeah, I didn’t sign up for a Horcrux hunt,” said Rudy, looking around for the exit. Mini held out Dee Dee, blocking his way.

“We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” asked Rudy, collapsing against Aiden. “I can’t die like this! There’s things I haven’t seen! Music I haven’t listened to! I still don’t know what a microwave does!”

“That’s not fair!” Mini said. She stepped forward, holding up Dee Dee like a scepter. Behind her, Rudy’s eyebrows shot up. “You can’t just execute us because Rudy is a naga—” “Prince,” whispered Rudy. Then he looked at them innocently. “What? It’s the truth.” “He’s never done anything to you,” Mini said to Garuda. “It’s true.” Rudy nodded. “He can barely defend himself,” continued Mini. “Very true,” said Brynne. Rudy opened his mouth to protest. Aiden reached over and closed it.

The Pandavas regrouped, quickly catching their breath. Aru glanced over at Rudy to see that he was kneeling on the ground, rummaging around in his messenger bag. “Rudy, what are you doing?” demanded Aiden. “Go hide!” “No,” he said. The wooden eagle lay before him on the grass. He pulled out glowing stones with a glimmering mesh overlay—something that looked like the heart of the moon, and a chunk of quartz that wriggled as if it were alive. “Garuda thinks it’s broken, but I can fix it.” “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” asked Aiden. “Of course not!” said Rudy cheerfully. “Then why—?” “Because I’m the only chance you’ve got.”

Rudy had sat next to him, on the far side, despite Aiden pointing to the many empty chairs. “Nah, I’m good,” Rudy had declared, scooting closer. Now Rudy was snoring, his enchanted sleeping jewel in his lap and his cheek on Aiden’s shoulder. Aiden was careful not to disturb him as he adjusted Shadowfax.

“Where is everyone?” asked Aru. “The celestials are super into their time away from ordinary people,” said Rudy, grumbling. “It’s like they think they’re so much better than us just because they have a planet. Like, so what? I could make a planet out of all the jewels we have, but you don’t see me running off into space.” Aiden patted his back. “There, there, rich prince. I’m sorry there’s other rich people in the world.” Rudy sniffed. “It’s really hard.”

“I can’t die now! I haven’t seen enough of the world! I don’t know what Florida is!”

The five of them walked toward the entrance, dragging Rudy behind them as he swiveled his neck around and frowned. “What’s that?” he asked, looking at one of the soda machines outside the store. “A vending machine,” said Aiden. “What does it…‘vend’?” asked Rudy. “Soda,” said Aiden tightly. “What’s soda?” “A drink.” “Can I try one?” asked Rudy. Aru had a brief but vivid image of Rudy after he’d downed a can full of sugar syrup, running in circles around the parking lot. Maybe everybody else had the exact same vision, because as one they responded with a resounding “NO.” Brynne looked at Aiden. “Can I knock him unconscious?”

Rudy clapped and started chanting, “Heist! Heist! Heist!”

“Nice,” said Rudy appreciatively. “Could you make me a blue blazer? I want something with tassels—” “Nope,” said Nikita. “Why not?” Aru asked. “’Cause she’s a life-ruiner,” said Rudy darkly. “She ruins people’s lives.” “Because I think red is more your color,” said Nikita flatly. Rudy perked up, then started preening again. “Oh. Well, obviously.” Aiden snorted back a laugh.

“WAHHHHH!” A huge piercing wail rose from Aiden and Rudy’s section. Nikita held her plant closer and glared at the boys. “I said quiet! You’re scaring this one!” A squat green potato-plant baby with one orange spike on the top of its head sat between Rudy and Aiden, howling. Rudy picked it up and bounced it in his hands. “It’s your fault!” he said to Aiden. “It liked chewing on the jewel, and you took it away!” “Because it could choke!” said Aiden, tossing one of Rudy’s shiny gems over his shoulder. “They’re plants!” “And that jewel could cut its roots!” said Aiden, snatching back the baby and awkwardly patting its spiky head. “Shh…” “You’re so controlling!” said Rudy, reaching for the plant baby. Aiden gripped it harder, giving Rudy his shoulder. “You’re reckless!” “Uh, boys?” tried Aru as the ground began to tremble. “Well you’re boring!” said Rudy. “At least I’m fun—” “Fun? Fatal? What’s the difference to you?” demanded Aiden.

Rudy stood frozen, still stunned. He flailed a hand at Aiden. “You can sing?” asked Rudy, awed. “Sometimes,” said Aiden cagily. “Wait, with my music and your voice—” Aiden winced. “Please don’t—” “We—” “No.” “Should start—” “Rudy. No.” “A BAND.”

“Weird,” Rudy said, poking the asphalt on the street. “You don’t use crushed stars in your pavement?” “Rudy, please get back on the sidewalk,” said Mini. “I’m exploring!” “You’ll be roadkill,” said Brynne. “It has a sort of decrepit charm to it,” said Rudy. “I’ll buy two streets. Who do I pay? Hello?”

“You’re my lead singer,” said Rudy proudly. “Nothing is happening to you.” “I’m also your cousin!” “Second priority, honestly,” said Rudy, but he smiled like he’d just won a prize.

Aru Shah and the City of Gold 2021

They found themselves standing outside a decrepit, musty tunnel. “Ugh, what is this place?” Aru asked, staring around her. “It looks abandoned.” “I think this used to be part of a train station in the Naga realm,” said Mini. “I remember Rudy mentioning something like this. “Oh yeah…” Aiden grimaced. “He once wanted to bring me here so we could take ‘edgy’ pictures for his album cover, Rudy Rocks: The Genesis of Rock.” “He’s in a band?” asked Kara. “I mean, he thinks so,” said Aiden.

Brynne aimed a cloud of steam at the being just as Mini threw off the invisibility sheet. Aru cast her lightning-bolt net. There was a sizzling crack and a howl of pain before a familiar voice shouted, “Again with the demented rope? Really, Shah?” The Potatoes raced forward, and when the fog from Brynne’s attack cleared, Aru spied a garish tie-dyed denim jacket, blinding-white sneakers, and a familiar smirk. Pinned beneath Aru’s net, Prince Rudra of Naga-Loka managed a weak wave. “Sup, fellow Potatoes?” said Rudy.

Rudy, what are you doing here?” asked Aiden. He bent down to hoist the naga off the ground, but Rudy batted away his hand and leaped up, dusting the shoulders of his jacket and pretending like nothing had happened. “That’s a nice way to greet your closest living relative,” said Rudy. “You’re not my only cousin, Rudy,” pointed out Aiden. “I’m the only one who matters.” Aiden groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, which he did a lot whenever he was with Rudy.

“I meant the unconscious chick,” said Rudy. “That’s your first question about her?” demanded Aiden. “She’s not a chick,” said Aru. “A chick is a flightless baby bird, and Kara’s got a sunlight trident….” “And she’s smart and has a ridiculous vocabulary,” said Mini. “And exceptional fighting skills,” added Brynne grudgingly. Rudy frowned. “I wasn’t calling her a bird. I was calling her a chick, like, ‘Cute or Handsome being of Indeterminate origin who might Consider Killing you.’ You know. A chick.” The Potatoes stared at him. “So, what’s this chick’s name?” asked Rudy. “You keep using that word…” said Aru. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“See that?” Rudy talked, puffing out his chest a bit. “I’m officially on guard duty, which proves that my family thinks I deserved an upgrade in responsibility. I mean, even I lost count of how many times I saved your lives on the last quest. My parents are calling me by my full title now: Prince Rudra of Naga-Loka, Heir of the Jewel-Strewn Seas. And I even have facial hair.” Rudy angled his face up and Aru saw a single sad hair beneath his nose. “Last time I saw you, your mom called you ‘Baby Snekky-Snake’ and carried you into a fountain,” said Mini with a little edge to her voice. Aru snickered. “Also, that is a hair,” said Aiden. “That’s because I had to shave the rest! It was getting unruly!” Rudy scowled. “And my mom was using my DJ name then….” “DJ Baby Snekky-Snake?” asked Aiden. “The music industry is crowded—I need to distinguish myself,” grumbled Rudy.

“C’mon. I’ll take you back to the palace, and you guys can shower.” Rudy paused, sniffing the air and frowning. “On second thought, you have to shower. You smell like rancid potatoes. And you look—” One glare from Aiden and Rudy coughed loudly. “Tired,” he continued.

Rudy went to the elevator and blocked Mini and Aru from entering. “I…I was hoping I could come and help out?” said Rudy, looking straight at Mini. “Seriously. Tell me what to do!” “You can start by getting out of my way,” said Mini, bored. “I mean, yeah, sure, but what else?” said Rudy, staying put. “I’m a prince….” Mini raised an eyebrow, as if saying So? “And my parents are good friends with Lord Kubera! If something goes wrong, I can totally help smooth it out! And I know you’re down one person because of the unconscious girl, so I can fight in her place. Or I could just watch over her and make sure she’s safe while you guys fight?” “Fine. You can come with us,” said Mini, flipping her hair and pushing past Rudy. “But while you may be a prince, I’m a demigod. So let’s just remember who’s the boss.”

“Looks like we’re in the right place,” said Brynne. “Wrong,” murmured Rudy, whipping on a pair of shades. He flipped up the collar of his jacket. “There’s nothing right about this climate for my skin. I could shrivel up here. Look! My scales are dulling already!” “You’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure Dee Dee offers both UVA and UVB protection,” said Mini with a fond glance at her Death Danda. “Now what do we do?” asked Brynne. “I bet the second we remove the shield, the eye will go straight for the House of the Sun, and we don’t know what will happen.” “My mustache…” groaned Rudy. He patted the single lonely hair on his upper lip. “It’s wilting.” “Here, lemme see?” asked Aiden. Rudy turned to him. “Oh good, you can help me, though I don’t know how, considering there’s nothing on your face except—” Quick as a flash, Aiden grabbed Rudy’s mustache hair and yanked it out. “OW!” said Rudy, clapping his hand over his mouth. “What did you do?” “I put it out of its misery,” said Aiden. “And maybe now I can say the same thing for us.” Rudy glared at him. “You’re a monster!”

Rudy fell backward onto one of the clouds and flapped his arms as if trying to make a snow angel. “Very nice quality,” he said. “At least twelve-hundred-cloud count. I wonder where they got this. I heard only Airavata can make clouds this soft, but he’s very particular about who gets his product.” “Maybe it’s a knockoff,” said Rudy haughtily. “It’s not,” said an unfamiliar voice. Rudy scrambled so fast to get out of the cloud that he fell on the floor.

“I understand that,” said Rudy solemnly. “At least, I did, before someone ripped off my mustache out of jealousy.” “It was a hair,” Aiden said with a sigh. “There would’ve been more!” said Rudy. “Eventually.” Brynne swatted both of them.

“My father will hear about this!” shouted Rudy.

“We need the gods’ favor!” said Aru loudly. “DEAR GODS, I PROMISE I’LL DONATE ALL OF—I MEAN, MOST…WELL, DEFINITELY SOME OF MY TREASURE!” hollered Rudy. “What a sacrifice!” snarked Brynne.

“I don’t want to fall to my death!” moaned Rudy. “Probably impossible, since this is the fall that won’t end,” said Mini serenely. “You’re much more likely to die of dehydration or starvation. Or you might get hypothermia and freeze to death.” “WHAT?!” screamed Rudy.

A loud trumpeting caught their attention, and Aru turned to see Rudy standing in front of Airavata. The naga was draped in clouds, and it kind of looked like Airavata had knitted him into a giant meringue. Airavata made a happy rumbling sound, then patted the top of Rudy’s head with his trunk. “Look upon me and despair, mortals!” he said. “I’m ready to fight in my new cloud armor.” Mini giggled. Brynne glared at him. “You look like a deranged cake topper.” Rudy ignored her, and swept a bow in Kara’s direction. “Hi, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a prince—” Kara frowned, looking confused. “Kara, Rudy, Rudy, Kara,” said Brynne tersely. “Kara, ignore Rudy.” Rudy scowled.

Urvashi opened her arms to Aiden, her nephew, and he embraced her. Rudy, who looked starstruck by the sight of Urvashi, followed him. “Uh, I’m related to Aiden…. Can I have a hug, too?”

Rudy raised his hand. “Um, can I leave now?” “NO!” said everyone at the same time. “I still don’t know what a microwave does,” said Rudy mournfully. “And now I’m going to die not knowing….” “Well, there’s always reincarnation,” said Mini brightly. Rudy whimpered.

“Uh, what’s going on with you guys?” asked Aiden. “Is it puberty?” whispered Rudy nervously. Aiden swatted him.

“Okay, what about my glow-up?” demanded Rudy, holding out a pocketknife. “HELLO?”

“I need some kind of sound blast,” Aru shouted to Rudy over the din. “Something that will knock the enemy back!” “I got’chu, Aru,” said Rudy. He rummaged through his backpack, then hauled out five bright-orange crystals and hurled them into the sea. Noise like the buzzing of a thousand insects filled the air. The Sleeper’s soldiers ducked, flailed, covered their heads, and ran from the sound, leaving one section of the ocean empty and calm. “Good work, Rudy!” said Aru. He grinned. “I’ll stay on noise control!” Rudy shouted. In a blink, he morphed into his naga form and slithered into the water.

“I’ve known this chick for exactly twelve hours,” announced Rudy, gesturing at Kara, “but I will happily destroy something on her behalf.” Kara scowled. “Chick?” “Don’t worry, it doesn’t mean what you think it does,” muttered Aru.

“Ooh,” said Rudy, holding up his phone to show the Potatoes his screen. “Hashtag-IStandWithThePandavas is trending number one on Chatter!” “What’s Chatter?” asked Aru. “It’s like Twitter for the Otherworld,” said Aiden. “What’s Twitter?” asked Rudy. “A cesspit,” said Brynne darkly.

Except maybe Rudy. He seemed delighted with all the new attention. He walked backward, blowing kisses to the crowd through the glass walls of the hallway. People threw flowers on top of the tunnel. “THANK YOU! THANK YOU! FOLLOW ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA! MY INSTAGRAM HANDLE IS—” Mini sighed, grabbing Rudy’s arm and hauling him forward.

“It’s super fun to have an army. Very imposing. Plus, a great driver of tourism if you’re thinking about opening up an island resort or some such.” “Ooh!” said Rudy, perking up. “Yeah…That’s not exactly a priority at the moment?” said Aru. Rudy deflated.

“Like a Horcrux…” Rudy whispered under his breath. “Why do we always end up with Horcruxes?” “No one’s asking you to wear it,” said Aiden. “Oh, thank gods,” said Rudy, letting out a breath. “That chain would clash with all my outfits.”

Rudy decided to return to his parents’ palace. First he gave the Potatoes multiple, though somewhat unwanted, assurances that he’d find a way to see them every week. “I’m literally a hero,” said Rudy. “And I’m a prince. Who’s going to say no to me now?” He winked. Aru noticed that this time he wasn’t looking at her…but at Mini. Who didn’t seem to notice. Or, if she did, she acted like it didn’t matter.

Last week was Aru’s turn, so she’d made them watch Snakes on a Plane. By the end of it, Rudy was furious. “This is the most disrespectful and inaccurate thing I’ve ever seen,” he’d hissed. “We would never go on a commercial flight!” “Yeah, that’s definitely the biggest inaccuracy of the whole film,” said Aiden.

Rudy’s “posse” of naga friends—who kept getting distracted by products of human ingenuity, like staplers—

They all watched as larger pieces of the Boo egg fell away. “Awww,” said Rudy. “This looks just like my baby photos in the family album.” Everyone went silent. Rudy looked confused. “You guys weren’t hatched in two hundred days?” “No?” said Mini. “Humans are weird.”

It was somehow the best and worst game of Hot Potato between the Potatoes. It ended with Aiden and Rudy fighting over who got to hold the chick longer. “You already had your turn!” said Rudy, trying to wrench Baby Boo out of Aiden’s hands. “Gimme!” “You tried to feed him a diamond!” said Aiden. “I was just showing it to him! Everyone loves shiny things!” “It’s irresponsible,” said Aiden, bouncing Baby Boo in his hands. “Why are you the worst?” grumbled Rudy. “He’s going to like me more anyway when he grows up.”

Mini whispered to Rudy: “Say ‘And you have my bow.’” “But I don’t have a bow?” whispered Rudy. “Just say it. You know how Aru feels about Lord of the Rings.” “Can I have a bow after this?” asked Rudy. “No one else has one. I want my own weapon—” “YES, Rudy, we will get you a bow,” said Aiden. “Now just say the line.” “And you have my bow,” said Rudy smugly.

[kimtanathegeek]

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 8

Thank you for reading this far! Hope you’re enjoying my story! :D

Can’t say anything else because spoilers! So...thank you for reading!

—

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.  

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.

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Sans slowly came awake, opening his eyes reluctantly. In the dim of firelight cast from the other room, he looked down at Papyrus, still fast asleep in his arms. Sans slipped out his arm, causing Papyrus to shift in his sleep. Sans froze, waiting for the little skeleton to settle, which he did.

Sans sat on the edge of the bed and stretched, popping his bones loudly. He sighed contently—he hadn’t felt this refreshed in a long time. Covering up his little brother with the bits of fabric, Sans put on his shoes and walked into the little room.

The flame had dwindled, but was still burning. Sans inspected the ceiling and walls, and noted only minor melting. Nothing too hard to repair with a few handfuls of snow. Figuring he’d do that later, he went over to their tiny pantry.

He went to make the usual cheese and mushroom sandwiches for him and his brother, but paused. They had a fire now, so he might as well put it to proper use. He grinned at the thought of warm food, but he had only watched his parents cook. He had been too young to learn at the time. He frowned, then remembered how he and his family used to roast vegetables on campfires when they would go for night-time excursions. His parents let him hold the thin, skewer-like bones, and they had taught him when to tell that roasted food was done, so he decided to try roasting the food for breakfast for a change.

He frowned again. He still didn’t know how to make sharpened bones like adult skeletons did. He could make white bones and blue bones, bones of different sizes, loose bones and bones rooted firmly in a solid surface. But all he could form were rounded epiphyses, the basic shape any infant could form, which wouldn’t skewer a baked potato. He sighed sadly, thinking of how his parents promised they would help him practice creating them when he was old enough for sharpened bones like points and blades. He made a mental note to start practicing on his own soon.

Until then, he needed to find something to skewer the food. He couldn’t look in the haversack, since Papyrus was still sleeping soundly with his head on it. He looked through the pile of sharp and fragile objects on the floor, and selected the longest of the spearheads. The sharp, metal spearhead was still firmly attached to its wooden shaft, which had been broken off about a foot from the spearhead.

He cleaned the spearhead by covering it in snow and putting it over the fire to melt. Once the snow had liquified to water, he pulled it from the flame and wiped it with a clean bit of fabric, taking extra care not to cut himself. He then stuck the broken end into the fire, turning it slowly to burn off the splinters and sharp slivers. After pulling it back out and sticking it in the snowy ground to cool off, he went to find something to put the food on once it was cooked.

He looked through the items he had collected—those that weren’t still stored in the haversack—and didn’t see anything clean or sanitary enough to put food on. His eyes fell on Papyrus’ tiny white bones by the wall and thought up a solution. Grabbing a handful of them, he brought them into the fire room. He laid the bones on the snowy ground, side by side, making a small cooling rack.

Satisfied, he went and grabbed a couple button mushrooms and tore off hunks of bread and cheese. He returned to the fire and put the food on the cooling rack. He broke the bit of bread in half, tore each piece down the middle, then stuck all four pieces on the spearhead and held them over the fire until they were toasted.

He removed the hot bread from the spear onto the cooling rack with a tiny bone and used the hot spearhead to slice the cheese. It was so much nicer having a tool to cut food—the cutting rock was deemed too dirty to touch food—instead of tearing it apart in pieces with his hands. He laid the thick cheese slices on two of the pieces of bread, then pierced the two mushrooms on the spear and roasted them over the fire.

Since the mushrooms would take longer to cook through, Sans took the opportunity to check his HP while he held the broken spear with one hand.

40 HP/1 HP.

Sans’ breath was lost in shock. He had gained 20 extra HP overnight. Sans considered this new information with what he had already learned, while trying to restrain his immense joy. Passing out and falling unconscious meant no extra HP was gained. Falling asleep to rest in short spurts like naps and partial sleep gained 10 extra HP. And now, it appeared that a full night’s sleep gained 20 extra HP.

However, he had slept a full night with Papyrus both days before, so why hadn’t he gained 20 extra HP after those nights? Then he remembered that the first night was when he had suffered the HP max reduction and was at 1 HP, and on the next night, he had the full night’s sleep after being injured. Running his free hand over his skull, he tried to sum up his findings. Uninjured, with extra HP, a short nap gained 10 and a full night gained 20. Loss of HP meant the number of extra gained was reduced.

At least, that was the theory. It was all still new to him, completely overwhelming, and he was constantly learning more about his new condition. He sighed, deciding to somehow record his findings to help him keep track. He did have parchment now....

As he concluded his thoughts, he noticed that the mushrooms were now sufficiently roasted. Sans pushed the cooked mushrooms onto the rack with the tiny bone. He then held down the mushrooms with the bone as he sliced them into thick pieces with the spear. He put them over the cheese covered bread pieces—the cheese having melted slightly with the heat of the bread underneath—and placed the top bits of bread onto the sandwiches.

The smell of roasted food had roused Papyrus, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning when Sans entered the main room with the two sandwiches. He snapped fully awake at the sight of breakfast, and jumped off the bed. Sans put the sandwiches on the pantry shelf momentarily as he made some blue bones to brighten up the shelter, stuck them in the snow around the room, then grabbed the sandwiches and sat down on the ground. Papyrus sat in front of him, and Sans handed his little brother one of the sandwiches, satisfied that it had cooled down enough not to burn him.

“Here you go, Pap,” he grinned. “And look! I’m learning how to cook with the fire now!”

Papyrus cheered his brother’s accomplishment happily. “Nyeh!” Then he munched on the roasted goodness.

Sans bit down on his sandwich, closed his eyes, and moaned in delight. It seemed like forever since they had a home cooked meal, even though it had only been a few days. The cooked mushrooms, melted cheese, and toasted bread was far better than the raw mushrooms, chunks of cheese, and stale bread they had been eating. Papyrus appeared to feel the same way, as he had been humming with every bite.

Sans finished the heavenly breakfast, feeling quite proud at how he managed to cook, even if it was just roasting food over a fire. When they were done, Sans decided to put away the foraged items from the night before, while Papyrus went over to the wall and played with his tiny white bones.

The first things Sans stored were the sharp objects so that Papyrus didn’t get hurt by playing with them. He took the broken arrows and spears with wood still attached and went over to the pantry boulder. He stood next to the shelf with the dried vines and rocks, raised his left hand and created four bones, in sets of two, side by side and higher than the shelf. He reached up and hung the broken arrows on the first set, pointed side up, sliding the arrow shafts in between the two bones. Then he did the same for the broken spears on the second rack, the gap between the bones wider for the spear shafts. He stepped back, making sure their wooden shafts hung down out of reach of Papyrus.

Then Sans rummaged in the haversack, looking for the piece of torn burlap he had found the night before. Finding it, he took it and a piece of vine to the pile of sharp and fragile items. He laid out the burlap on the snow and put the loose arrow and spear heads in the middle. Then he gathered up the burlap, bundling up the sharp metal, and tied the top with the vine. He took the pouch, as well as the random fragile items—several pieces of broken pottery, a tomato, and three bananas—and put the pouch and pottery on the shelf with the rocks and dried vines, and the food on the pantry shelf.

Now that the items he had dumped out of the haversack the night before were put away, he took the haversack off the bed and opened it. He took out the contents, laying them on the snowy floor, until the haversack was empty. He tossed the bag back on the bed and sat on the floor in front of the pile to sort and organize it.

Sans looked at the bits of parchment. Some had words on them, others were completely blank. He gathered them up and put the pile on the bed, wishing he had a writing implement for them. He coiled the ropes and twines, tossing the longer pieces up on the haversack to take with him foraging. He sifted through the pieces of wood, noting that some could be useful and others were only good for fire kindling. Then he inspected the food they had found. He was pleased to see that most of it would last for days, if not more than a week, while hoping that he wouldn’t need food for that long.

He paused, his grin fading. He didn’t want to plan ahead for their survival, living alone in the valley. He didn’t need to, not when his father was somewhere in the mountain. The sudden urge to return to the cavern to look for their father gripped his soul tight. He looked down at the things he had yet to sort through and no longer wanted to waste time on the task. He stood up, put the items that would be damaged if kept on the snow on the bed and grabbed his jacket and the red cloth.

Papyrus looked up from his playing when he saw Sans getting ready to go out and went over to him. Sans tied the cloth around his brother’s neck, helped him put on his little shoes, and then shouldered the emptied haversack, all without saying a word.

Sans dug through the opening and they crawled out. After Sans covered up the entrance, he led his brother towards the cavern. Papyrus looked up at him, noticing that his big brother seemed to be bothered by something. Papyrus whimpered softly to himself and looked down at the ground sadly.

They traversed the valley at a quickened pace, Sans desperate to find their father. When they reached the slope under the tunnel, Sans unshouldered the haversack.

“Gotta go back in, Pap,” he said quietly.

Papyrus went in without a struggle, very concerned as to why Sans was being so serious all of a sudden.

Sans shouldered the bag, raised his left hand and created a bone staircase leading right to the tunnel’s entrance. He ascended quickly, entered the tunnel, then made the bones disappear. He clasped his hands and created a blue bone to light the way, then practically ran down the tunnel.

He didn’t stop until he reached one of the window-like holes that oversaw the giant cavern. When he peered through, he gasped. The cavern looked much different from how it did the last time they saw it.

The walls and floor on the opposite side were no longer natural stone, but purple and violet bricks. There were far less monsters than there had been before in this half-finished section of the cavern. Some were working on removing stalagmites and stones from the natural ground with their magic, others were laying large purple bricks on the floor and sealing them with their magic. Several monsters brought wheelbarrows full of bricks in, while others took wheelbarrows full of stones, rocks, and broken stalagmites out. After scanning through the handful of them and not seeing their father, Sans continued on further down the tunnel.

He reached another set of holes and looked through again. He could see more monsters, some creating purple bricks, some filling empty wheelbarrows with finished bricks, while others smoothed away the cavern walls with their magic to make room for the wall on the opposite side. There was still no sign of their father.

Sans kept going until he reached the tunnel’s end, high up in the enormous cavern wall. The rest of the monsters had settled in here. Most of the stalagmites and stone formations had been removed, flattening the cavern floor, and the monsters now had much more room to spread out. Sans saw tents scattered along the walls, but much further apart than they had been in the narrower part of the cavern. He looked over at the ceiling and saw that the hole opening was still there, and wondered if anyone noticed it was there.

Sans groaned. There were tens of thousands of monsters in this cavern, many too far for him to see from this end of the cavern. The tunnel ended here, so this was as close as he could get. He sat down on the tunnel floor far away enough from the opening to be seen, but close enough for him to look down at the sea of monsters.

He unshouldered the haversack and propped it up against the tunnel wall so that Papyrus could look out, but Sans had no intentions on letting him out.

“Sorry, Pap,” he apologized, his tone quite terse, not taking his eyes off the crowd. “I don’t want you to accidentally fall down there. Stay quiet, though. We don’t want to get caught.”

Papyrus, unsettled by Sans’ mood change, pulled his head into the haversack to hide. He curled up inside the bag as tears fell down his eyes. The little skeleton wept softly, not knowing what was wrong with his brother, wondering if he had somehow upset him earlier. Sans was so focused on the cavern that he didn’t even notice his brother crying in the bag right next to him.

 -

 Sans rubbed his tired eyes. He had spent most of the day darting his eyes from monster to monster, any speck of white catching his eye. But he didn’t want to stop, even if his heavy eyelids protested.

He cricked his neck for the umpteenth time, shifting his sore back that was tired from sitting on the same stone ground.

Just a little while longer, he told his body, not wanting to leave without spotting their father.

Unless he’s already dead.

The thought entered his mind, his breath catching in his throat. Then he got angry at the thought. He banged the tunnel wall with his fist suddenly, the loud noise unnoticed by the monsters below.

But Papyrus heard it. He jumped at the sound, peering out of the bag slowly, terrified. His brother looked furious. The little skeleton started trembling.

No! Sans argued with the thought. He’s not dead! I just haven’t found him yet!

He kept scanning, but his tired eyes were having a hard time focusing. At last, he punched the wall again, angry with himself for not being able to find their father.

Papyrus jumped again, the trembling worsening.

Sans admitted defeat. His father could be right below them, but his tired eyes wouldn’t be able to see him. He shouldered the haversack roughly and stood up, not even noticing that Papyrus was cowering.

Reluctantly, Sans made his way back through the tunnel. He would have to try again tomorrow.

 -

 When they hit the snowy ground of the valley, Sans wordlessly let Papyrus out of the haversack. Then he shouldered the empty bag and started trudging towards the shelter.

He didn’t even notice that Papyrus had held back, standing for a moment, watching his brother, tears spilling down his face. Slowly, the little skeleton followed his brother, who was already very much ahead of him.

Sans reached the shelter and had already dug out the opening when Papyrus caught up. Sans entered the shelter while Papyrus hesitated. His brother hadn’t even looked him in the eye since breakfast.

Papyrus crawled in the shelter and saw Sans sitting on the edge of the bed, his face buried in his hands, the haversack tossed on the floor. Papyrus stood up and approached his brother timidly.

Sans was mumbling to himself, but Papyrus couldn’t hear what he was saying. The little skeleton reached the bed and caught Sans’ words.

“Daddy, I won’t give up.... If I have to search the whole mountain.... I will find you....”

Papyrus’ eyes grew wide. Sans was upset because they hadn’t found their father.

“Sas...?” Papyrus whispered.

Hearing his brother’s voice, Sans stood up suddenly and went back to the opening.

“Stay here,” he said, his tone low and firm, still not looking at his brother. “I’m going outside for a bit.”

Then he left, leaving the sad, scared little skeleton behind.

Papyrus crept out the opening, looked around, and saw Sans. He had walked far away from the shelter, and was now creating tall white bones. Papyrus watched as Sans created a loose, white bone and began hitting the other bones with it like a sword.

Papyrus stood at the shelter’s entrance, thinking. He missed his father, too. But Sans appeared to be missing him so much more that it was making him angry and hurt. If Sans was right and his father was somewhere in the mountain, and finding their father would make Sans happy again—like he was this morning at breakfast—then all he had to do was find their father and bring him back to Sans.

Papyrus balled his fists up in determination and narrowed his eyes. Yes, he would find their father and everything would be better. He looked up at his brother one more time, then turned around and started walking through the snow, off to find their father.

 -

 Sans gripped the bone tightly in his hands, gritting his teeth, as he swung this way and that, the bone whipping though the air loudly until the deafening crunch of bone on bone filled the air.

I’m not going to give up!

He twisted, swiping at another bone, splinters of white flying off the bone and disappearing in the snowfall.

I will find you!

He swung around, bringing the bone down against another.

You aren’t dead!

He spun, slashing at another.

I know you aren’t dead!!!

The bone in his hands shattered against the tall bone, having reached its literal breaking point. Sans let the broken bone fall from his aching hand as he dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands.

Because...I can still feel you...in my soul....

He collapsed onto his hands and wept bitterly, gripping the snow in anguish. He fell to his side in the snow and curled up, weeping for his lost father, his beloved mother’s death, the loss of their home, and the fear of getting caught and having Papyrus ripped from him.

When he had at last calmed down, he lay there quietly. He was so tired, so very tired. He sat up slowly, figuring that he should feed Papyrus and go to bed early. Tomorrow he would return to the cavern to look for their father, and if he didn’t find him tomorrow, then the next day, and the day after that. But for now, he needed to return to Papyrus, who was probably getting worried about him by now.

Sans picked himself up, made the bones disappear, and trudged back to the shelter, wiping his tears on his sleeves. He desperately hoped he’d gone far enough away from the shelter that Papyrus didn’t hear him.

He crawled into the shelter, weary from emotional drain. He stood up and called to Papyrus.

“Hey, Pap, let’s have dinner and head to bed, ok?”

Sans’ eyes grew wide. He didn’t see Papyrus anywhere. He ran to the fire room, but he wasn’t there.

“No....”

He ran to the opening, scrambled outside quickly, and stood up, panning the area for his brother. He saw nothing but the white valley, the snowfall limiting his visibility. He looked down, panic starting to grip him.

In the snow, he could make out tiny footprints leading away from the shelter, heading away from the cavern side of the valley and towards the unknown. The prints had filled in partially with the snow. His brother had been gone for a while.

“No...!”

Sans broke into a sprint, following the footprints. He started gasping for air as the exertion and panic robbed his lungs. He searched frantically, but could barely see through the snow and the eyestrain from searching the cavern for countless hours. The trail of footprints slowly started to disappear, hidden by the ever-falling snow. Soon, it had been wiped away completely by wind and snow.

Sans stopped, his heart pounding, searching the enormous valley that appeared to have no end. Tears spilled down his face as fear gripped his soul.

He cupped his hands against his mouth and cried out as loud as he could. “Papyrus!”

He strained his ears for an answer. Nothing but the howling wind.

“Papyrus!!!”

Nothing.

Papyrus was nowhere to be seen.

[magicb0x300]

Circus; trapped like an animal. MCSM; CHP. 2

((Warning! Torture, and blood!))

((Romeo x Lukas!))

~

Lukas lay limp and unmoving on the ground. Chains constricted his poor, mangled body, half of them digging into his flesh.

His costume was beginning to reek an awful, awful smell. The crude smell invaded his nostrils, and the blonde couldn’t help but hurl.

His body pulsated as he hurled. He felt the acidic burn of bile travel up his throat.

He writhed as he tossed in the costume, some of the vomit spurting from the sewn open smile of the costume and onto the floor.

He trembled, the vomit only adding up to the terrible smell. 

Lukas groaned, his eyes growing glassy with tears.

He silently wailed, said tears trailing down his pale cheeks.  Everything hurt.

His head, to his toes. Covered in dry blood, vomit and possibly urine.

How could this happen to him? Why did this happen to him?

Why didn’t Jesse or the others come back for him?

Why did they leave him?  With Romeo?

“Why -,” he choked, before hacking loudly, throat dry and swelling.

He wanted to go home.

~

A harsh kick to the ribs jolted the blonde awake with a cry. 

“Get up,” a monotonic voice commanded.

Lukas groaned, struggling to lift himself off the floor. 

As if his efforts were nothing, a hand grabbed the costume’s ear and yanked it harshly.

Lukas was flown upwards, a soundless grunt leaving his chapped lips.

The same hand tweaked at the chains, another impatiently undoing them.

He felt the pierce of metal pull out of his flesh. “Ah -!” he began to scream but was cut short as a hand slapped against his mouth.

“No more crying,” the voice said, slightly irritated.  

The chains no longer constricted his body; he was free.

But not for long.

He was forced to stand, his legs like jelly; wobbling and locking below him.

His arms wrapped around his abdomen, his gut squirming in hunger and nausea. “H - hungry -,” he croaked, but was shoved forward.

He was pushed around, like some worn out rag doll. 

Tortured like a prisoner.

Trapped like an animal.

~

“... if you question my instructions one more time, you will be fired. Literally!” Romeo’s voice boomed, his finger jabbed on a cast member’s chest.

The member cowered, before running off.

Romeo heaved a breath of exhaustion, before turning his attention to Lukas and the stoic faced cast member. A crazed smile split his face.

“Ah, Lukas. Good morning, my performer,” he greeted, striding over to the quivering blonde.

He set a finger under Lukas’s chin, “oh, I have a brilliant feeling about today. We have a brand new set of obstacles that you are going to be performing with! Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

Lukas whimpered, his vision blurring by another wave of tears. “H - hungry,” he managed, gut twisting in complaint. 

Romeo arched a brow, “hm? Hungry? Well, you’re in luck, dear!” Romeo sung, grabbing Lukas’s arm.

He dragged Lukas back stage, “you will be earning your rations by practicing your stunts!” 

A set of practice obstacles were set on stage. Lukas swallowed, his gut writhing further.

He whined, cradling his abdomen, “c - can’t,” he struggled, grimacing.

Romeo scowled, “you... want to skip?” he asked, voice stone cold. 

Lukas gave a small nod, his gut throbbing and churning about. 

The pain was unbearable. The blonde fell to his knees, gasping for air.

Romeo rolled his eyes, snapping his attention to his current cast member. “Get some rations. I have no time for this whining,” he said.

The member nodded and walked off.

Romeo kneeled by the squirming blonde, setting his hand on Lukas’s neck.  “Lucky for you, I want to keep you alive.”

His hand massaged the blonde’s neck.

Lukas bit his lip. 

He didn’t like how the host touched him. After everything he’s put Lukas through, Romeo should keep his hands to himself.

“By the gods, you are cold. And you smell terrible,” Romeo drew back his hand.

If Lukas had the energy, he would have given Romeo a sour look. But, with everything going on, he couldn’t muster.

He writhed further on the floor, desperate for something to fill his stomach.

“...hurts,” he managed, his head beginning to swim. 

Romeo, however, ignored his complaints, “it’s a shame we cannot freshen you up. The show would be on hold! We most certainly cannot have that.”

Lukas was going to die.

Severe hunger pains, horrible hygiene, and a masochist for a host. Could things get any worse?

The cast member strode back with a dry looking potato.

They threw it carelessly onto the floor, the vegetable rolling over to Lukas.

Yes, yes they can.

“Well?” Romeo questioned.

Lukas let a shaky sigh pass through his nostrils. Better this than nothing, right?

The blonde picked up the potato, flinching at its poor looking state.

With hesitance, he stuck it through the costume’s wide-smiled mouth and took a bite.

The vegetable was hard as a rock, he could hardly sink his teeth into it!

He finally managed to rip away a small chunk, bitterness soon filling his taste buds.

After a few slow chews, he felt a hand slap his back. “Swallow, you whelp!” Romeo shouted, “the longer you take, the longer you will hold up the show! So, eat!”

Wincing at the chilling command, Lukas forced a couple large bites into the potato, tears prickling his pale blue eyes as his teeth ached from its rock hard shell.

Swallowing the barely chewed potato bits was indeed a chore as well. Without any water, the bits found their way back up.

~

The poor blonde had finished the cruel vegetable, his stomach now churning more violently than it has before. Probably because he hadn’t had anything to eat for a long period of time.

“Very good, Stitches,” Romeo praised, sounding far too pleased for comfort. “It turns out the show is saved!” he clapped his hands. “Now,” he snapped his fingers.

Lukas was hoisted by a couple pairs of hands. The harsh contact would have made him writhe, but he could care less.

After all, nobody was going to save him, no matter how many times he’d cry, plea or scream. It was all pointless.

Romeo cleared his throat, “without further ado, since you’ve skipped practice, you now are granted the permission to wing it!”

Lukas felt the remains of color drain from his face, “... w - wing it?” he rasped dryly, voice muffled by the costume.

“Yes, my dear. We don’t have anymore time to fill for practice! So, this is the only solution,” Romeo replied, adjusting his silk black gloves. 

Another cast member emerged from the dark, holding something in their hands.

A whip was given to the host by another cast member. Romeo grasped the weapon firmly, a knowing grin blooming across his lips. 

Lukas felt like a boat load of dried ice was dumped onto him. 

“...I - I, no - no, p - please! I d - don’t want... !” he pleaded, his knees giving out under him. The cast members quickly grasped his frame and pulled him back up. “ I d - don’t want... th - this!” Lukas screamed, feebly thrashing against the member’s merciless hold.

“We have had many hiccups in our last show, Stitches. I want to make sure that it will not happen again,” Romeo cooed, caressing the young man’s face in a loving manner.

His touch was poisonous, deadly, Lukas wanted no more of it.

He tried pulling away, tried ripping himself from his constriction, but to no prevail.

“See, this is a perfect example of what I do not desire,” Romeo stated firmly, nodding at the members.

Said members stepped far away, Lukas keeping on his feet. 

Lukas needed to get away, run, do anything!

The blonde made a move to hastily limp away, Romeo clicking his tongue.

“Not so fast,” he chirped, cracking the whip.

The whip made contact with Lukas’s leg, making him stumble and fall with a gasp. 

Romeo giggled, cracking the whip again, laughing merrily as it struck Lukas’s battered body.

He continued his assault, bubbly laughter shaking his shoulders as each strike of the whip made Lukas choke.

The cast crew only watched, small amused smiles painted on their lips.

Lukas jolted, “ghk-!” he wheezed, screaming as the whip came back down. Gaping wounds ripped open, hot blood swimming through them.

The blood soaked the costume, a deep, crimson red. Lukas wailed as the fresh wounds burned, the blood continuing its flow.

Romeo snickered, Lukas’s pain like a drug. Addicting.

With a sigh, Romeo put a stop to his brutal attack, “that was riveting, but it appears I am getting ahead of myself,” the host cleared his throat once again, “the show must go on!”

Lukas twitched on the ground, eyes wide and bloodshot. Tears were cascading nonstop down his cheeks, the gaping wounds pulsated on his back, legs and arms. 

He couldn’t breathe. It hurt to breathe.

The poor blonde shakily arose his head, his brain feeling as if it were splitting in half. 

The last thing he heard was Romeo’s footsteps before electricity shot through his body once again, blacking him out.

~

Lukas felt a pinch of pain occur in his arm and he awoke with a breathless gasp. His vision was unfocused, and blurred completely. He blinked, not knowing were he was.

His brain felt fuzzy, past events clouded by fog. “ Wh  - where...” he whispered.

He tried to move, but was caught off guard as his arms, legs and wrists were firmly held in place by leather straps. He attempted to move again, but nothing came out of it.

“What is this...?” he whimpered, shock enveloping him as his neck, as well, was caught in a leather strap. 

“Oh, wonderful! You’re awake,” Romeo’s voice twittered, whip tucked away in his pocket. A microphone was held firmly in his hand, the device currently turned off.

“Now we can begin!” he announced, nodding off to yet again, another cast member.

A metallic click was heard, and Lukas was moved upwards.

He frantically flicked his eyes to and fro, “what’s - what’s going on?”

“Our first act!” Romeo replied, switching on the microphone. “People are quite fond of it.”

Lukas bit his dry lip, eyes finally flitting over to a cart, assorted knives set neatly on it.

“No … no - no!” he struggled, flailing against the restraints, “s - stop!”

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Romeo began, toning out Lukas’s desperate cries. No surprise.

“Welcome all, welcome! We are ever so sorry to keep you all waiting!” he apologized, mocking a frown, “our darling Stitches was making a fuss! It seems he’s just not himself these days.”

The audience cheered. They all sounded so eager, so happy.

The two things Lukas could not feel.

He didn’t even know if he was capable of feeling happy again. If anything, Romeo has snatched it away. All his happiness, poof, all gone.

“No fret! He’s all better now and real excited to give you all the performance you deserve!” Romeo notified, cheers filling the air once again.

He whipped around, facing Lukas with a wild grin.

Lukas writhed against the straps, crying out.

Another click was heard, and the blonde found himself slowly beginning to rotate.

Romeo held in a mirthful cackle, choosing a knife from the cart. He ran a finger over the weapon, an evil glint in his eyes.

“Now, darling. Try not to get wounded again,” Romeo crooned, reeling back his arm.

Lukas’s lip quivered, and his eyes snapped shut, “... ‘wanna go home,” he sobbed.

“Our first act!” Romeo cheered, releasing the knife. 

~

End of CHP; 2!

((CHP; 3 will be posted soon!))

[metamorphicrocky]

For a writing prompt, can we get a what if Gary watches a classic horror/action movie with Little Cato? I adore the way you write their interactions;w;

this prompt? absolutely wonderful. dadspeed was made canon so I immediately had to do this one because ohhh my god this is perfect. and thank you!!!

After a long day of running errands and doing maintenance on the ship, Gary tosses his jacket at the chair in his room haphazardly. He quickly rips his shirt off, hissing at the slight pull on his fresh scars and the tightness in his muscles from pretty intense labor. He kicks off his boots as he undoes his belt, then he slips out of his jeans.

He really needs a shower, but screw it. It can wait until after he wakes up. Gary snatches his pair of pajama pants from the floor because this ship just cannot get warm and puts them on. Oh, the softness of the new pants makes him even sleepier than he was before. His bed sounds so nice right now.

Without hesitation, Gary sluggishly climbs up the ladder to his bed and promptly collapses, his head hitting the pillow with a content sigh. He’s going to be surprised if he wakes up at any time before ten.

The blond slides underneath the sheets and closes his eyes, ready for a much needed—

Quiet footsteps can be heard outside of Gary’s room. It sounds like someone shuffling nervously in front of his door, and Gary really does not want to deal with people right now. Can’t it wait until he’s not dead tired?

So, he ignores it. Tries to forget that it’s even there. His eyes close, the sound being ignored. Gary begins to drift off to sleep, nuzzling his head into his pillow and—

A knock. At the door. Gary’s eyes shoot open as he groans into his pillow. It was quiet though, so maybe whoever it is will go away? Maybe it was an accidental knock? A second knock, louder and more certain than the previous one. Well, crap. Now he can’t ignore it.

Gary sits up, ready to tell the person to go away so that he can sleep when the person at the door whispers, “Gary?”

Oh shit. The man flings himself off of his bed, his tiredness nearly forgotten if it isn’t for the way he sways as he tries to rush to the door. Gary shuffles over to it, slapping the button on the wall, opening the door.

“Hey, buddy. What’s up?” Gary asks with a rough yet inviting voice, looking down at Little Cato.

The kid’s fur is matted down in certain spots, his mohawk an absolute mess in the worst case of bedhead Gary has ever seen. The poor boy is swimming in a pink shirt that he had to borrow from Ash—and he really means swimming, Little Cato’s shorts cannot be seen underneath it—after his clothes got ruined earlier in the day, and Gary doesn’t know why it’s so big on him when Ash isn’t that much taller than the Ventrexian. But Gary has to admit that it’s absolutely adorable, making the kid look much younger than his fourteen years from both that and his tired, messy appearance.

Little Cato rings his hands together, refusing to lift his head from where he’s currently staring at Gary’s stomach. “I’m sorry, you were sleeping so I can just—”

“—go away and be sad by myself?” Gary finishes sarcastically. His kid winces at the callout.

Gary sighs as he kneels down in front of Little Cato. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now tell Gary what’s going on, or I’m carrying you like a sack of potatoes to your bed.”

Gary uses his flesh hand to tilt the boy’s head upwards, finally allowing them to make eye contact. He looks upset, almost on the verge of tears as he nervously bites his bottom lip. Little Cato’s soft hands grab onto Gary’s fingers as he pulls them away from the boy’s chin, and he fiddles with them to avoid answering the question for a moment longer.

“Can’t sleep,” he admits quietly, like it’s some sort of curse that shouldn’t be heard.

Well, Gary might pass out from exhaustion at any moment, so this will be a very quick comfort session. Distraction and making the kid fall asleep it is.

Gary stands back up with a grunt. Geez, he isn’t even that old, shouldn’t this wait another decade? Well, now that he’s thinking about it, being a parent probably is not helping the stress on his still healing body.

“Go get every blanket and pillow you can, we’re making a fort in front of the TV. While you gather the supplies for what is going to be the best pillow fort in all of existence, I am making us hot chocolate. Sound good, Spidercat?” Gary says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

The kid nods and runs off, so Gary heads to the kitchen. This is the moment where Gary is very thankful that he knows the random information of how to make hot chocolate from scratch because otherwise, this would be an absolute disaster. Since hot chocolate is an earth thing, and definitely is not on this ship. As the new father quickly puts together the mix into a kettle, he fondly listens to Little Cato’s bare feet running around the ship back and forth in his quest. And he can’t help but just be glad that the kid is finally approaching him without worry. Well, there’s still some hesitation, but it’ll be better soon.

He hopes.

Gary turns the stove off and fills their ridiculous matching mugs—with the ugliest drawing of a fish Gary has ever seen that just says “habpy to sea u” because yes, the misspelling and terrible fish made them lose it so much in the store that they almost got kicked out—they bought while stopping for supplies the other day. He tops it off with some whipped cream and sprinkles because damn it if he’s going to make comfort hot chocolate, he has to do it right!

He carefully brings the two mugs into the TV room and sets them down on the side table. Gary stands next to his son who is just staring down the blankets with intense focus, his fingers to his chin in thought.

“You didn’t want to at least start setting it up?” Gary asks.

Little Cato rubs the back of his neck, his ears shrinking down onto his head as he laughs nervously. “I, um–I’ve never…done this before?” he trails off uncertainly.

Gary gasps, grabbing at his chest in pain. “What?! Okay, no, I am so glad that I am a genius because I cannot allow my son to continue on without ever making a CASTLE out of pillows and blankets. Buddy, prepare to have your whole world rocked.”

Gary grabs as many chairs as he can carry and gives orders to the kid on where the chairs should go, how to lay out the blankets right, and the optimal pillow positions. After about fifteen minutes of intense pillow forting, their masterpiece is complete.

“There. How’s it look, bud?” Gary asks, surveying the absolutely massive fort before him.

“It looks sick! Can I jump in it?” Little Cato is bouncing up and down in anticipation to get inside.

Gary ruffles his hair and nods. He uses his newly discovered dad reflexes, as Little Cato likes to call them, to whip out his phone and hit record to catch a video of the kid running and jumping straight into the nest of pillows. Little Cato lands with a soft thud and rolls around in it, laughing the whole time. Gary smiles, and he laughs as Little Cato turns himself into a burrito using a blanket.

Gary turns off his phone and slips underneath the small entrance to the fort to join his kid, grabbing their hot chocolates on the way. Little Cato unravels himself to share the blanket, taking his now lukewarm hot chocolate to take a big chunk out of the whipped cream.

“It’s nice in here,” Little Cato says, shifting closer to his dad. “How have I never done this before?”

“I have no idea, but it’s a crime that has now been remedied.” Gary wraps his arm around his kid, bringing him even closer and wrapping the blanket around them both tightly. “Now, what movie do you wanna watch?”

He shrugs, licking at the whipped cream and trying to get every single sprinkle. “You can pick, but it’s gotta have action. A lot. Like explosions and guns and everything!”

Little Cato makes an explosion noise, throwing his arms out and accidentally hitting Gary in the face in the process. They both laugh, but Gary can’t possibly let the kid get away without revenge. So he puts the kid in a headlock and ruffles his hair intensely.

His boy shouts in protest, even though he’s snickering, and he starts wriggling to get out of the hold. “Dad, come on,” Little Cato laughs. “Stop it!”

“Am I ruining your mane, little man? Because it was already a mess, hate to tell you,” Gary teases, but he lets goes of him with one final noogie.

The little rascal doesn’t even try to fix his hair once Gary lets go of him, he just smiles up at Gary as he starts scrolling through the movies available.

“Gimme a joke. The dad ones that Nightfall hates,” Little Cato says.

“Okay, wanna hear a joke about construction?” Little Cato nods excitedly. “Well, I’m still working on it!” Gary delivers enthusiastically.

The kid immediately dissolves into a pile of giggles, hiding his face against Gary’s side which only means that the blond can feel how hard the kid is laughing. Gary smiles fondly as he continues to scroll, his kid failing to calm down next to him. Despite Little Cato saying his first dad joke was lame, the kid has asked him for one at least three times a day.

“Oh hell yeah, you ever seen Iron Man?” Gary asks as he stumbles across the title.

Little Cato is still laughing, but he tries to respond anyways, “Never heard of it.”

Oh, Gary is really gonna have to teach this kid about all the classics soon. He can’t stand to think of his son having lived fourteen years and not knowing about Marvel.

“Oh, you’re gonna love it. It’s a superhero movie with a ton of action, sound good to you?”

The boy nods, so Gary hits play.

The two of them get comfortable as the movie starts, and the moment that Tony’s car gets blown up, Little Cato gets hooked. He’s annoyed that they had to go and show backstory, but he waits patiently.

Until the scene where Tony hooks up with the reporter, and Gary definitely covers the kid’s eyes as Little Cato says, “Ewww.” It makes Gary laugh.

They keep watching, and Gary can see Little Cato begin to doze off during the boring beginning, but the moment it goes back to when Tony got hit with shrapnel, his kid is wide awake and ready to watch.

The poor boy loves Yinsen, and Gary can’t do anything except watch his heart get broken. But it’s okay in the end since he gets really excited when he sees the suit in action. So excited that he leans forward and away from Gary, sitting with his legs crossed, his chin resting on his hands.

The blond stretches out his back and lays down with a content sigh. At this point, he stops watching the movie that he’s seen a bunch of times and instead watches his boy, who he’s also seen a lot, but watching Little Cato is so much better than the movie. The movie never changes no matter how many times he watches it, but Little Cato? The kid is constantly changing and growing as he experiences more things, and Gary loves seeing how he grows every day. The star-struck look in his eyes as he sees Tony build the kickass first suit makes Gary’s heart clench.

So, warm and content, focused on his son’s entertaining commentary about the movie, Gary drifts off to sleep in a pillow fort.

—-

“Gary! He just saved all of these people, and he did the cool walk away from an explosion thing?! This movie is so awe—”

Little Cato turns around, only to cut himself off when he sees the man behind him, laying on his side and absolutely passed out asleep. He smiles, then grabs the remote to pause the movie. They can finish it tomorrow when Gary is awake.

Little Cato drinks the rest of Gary’s hot chocolate, which is not hot anymore, and puts their mugs to the side. He carefully lays down next to him to avoid waking him up, and the kid gently adjusts the blanket so it covers them both. Little Cato cuddles up to Gary ever so quietly, a smile on his face as he closes his eyes.

“Night, Dad,” he whispers. “Love you.”

With that, Little Cato joins his dad in much needed rest.