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luveurmilk · 1 year

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Synopsis: Eleanor starts her new life with no memories and is trapped behind four gray walls with a group of twenty boys. When she explores the place with her new friends Alby, Minho, and Newt a mysterious note with a weird mantra is found and it triggers something in her brain she can’t explain. With nothing but time, Eleanor and her friends choose to survive, fight, and live until they can find a way out of their new home with hopes of gaining their memories along the way.

Chapter One: A Family Formed.

My name is Eleanor and I am alone.

If she had a diary, that would be her first entry. That sentence was the only thing running through her mind, aside from fear, as she took in her new life around her. Not too long ago, in the middle of a vast courtyard, she was brought here with a group of twenty boys who all shared one common memory. Their name. Some were crying, some were running, and some were mulling around the cracked stone and vine covered walls.

When she spotted a few boys near a tree, silent and resigned, a pang of an emotion she couldn’t quite grasp filled her chest. A memory, almost, that was dancing around her brain and so close she could taste it. But as soon as the emotion came, it went. Leaving her empty and full of sadness and fear all over again. She stood up from the trees she was leaned against and brushed off the dirt from her pants and made her way over. They seemed to be the only level headed ones here, for now, and they may have some answers.

“I know just as much as you, so stop asking questions.” The one sitting down snapped with a little tremble in his voice. They were scared and clueless; but the more Eleanor looked around, the more she realized that whoever had sent them here had given them the means to survive. There was a barn and pens already filled with animals; there was a running water system and crops were beginning to sprout. There was a concrete building with a large iron door and, on the other side of the box they had arrived in, what looked to be like a house. Not near enough to house twenty or so people, but still shelter. There was a kitchen and by the kitchen she could see someone rummaging through and unloading boxes of what looked to be cooking ware and ingredients that their crops hadn’t produced yet.

She cleared her throat and shoved her hands into her pockets before rocking back on her heels. “I think.. I think we should at least introduce ourselves. Maybe that will make things less scary?” She suggested, voice soft and wavering. Relief washed over her when they agreed and they each took turns telling their names.

“I’m Alby. The snappy one had said after finally raising his head from where it was tucked in his knees.

“Name’s Newt.” The blonde one spoke, this time with an accent she couldn't place. He looked equally as frightened with distant eyes and white skin.

“Minho.” The more muscular one said. Tears were brimming his eyes and she wondered if he was feeling the same familiar and warm fuzzy feeling she was getting the more they spoke.

“I’m Eleanor.” She said quietly, offering a light, warm smile to the three of them. “And apparently, the only girl in this stinkin’ place.” She added on as a lighthearted joke, but it was the truth. There wasn’t another girl in sight. Maybe it was some fluke in their kidnapper’s plan. Maybe there was an entire girl group and somehow they messed up and sent her with the boys and vice versa. Either way, she felt safe with these three boys, and if they allowed it, she would stick with them until they could find a way out of this place.

“Do you think we should try and figure this place out?” The blonde boy, Newt, piped up as he took one more glance around their new home. Home. Did she have a home before this? Did she have a mom or dad, well, she had to have a mom and dad to be here, but did she live with them? Did they know she was missing and being held captive in a strange place with a bunch of boys? A flash in her mind, a memory, was there one second and gone the next. A faceless blonde woman and muffled words standing in front of her. She tried to take in what was in the background but it seemed like it was just a white room. Was that her mother?

“We can tomorrow.. We just.. Maybe we can just take a walk around for a bit?” Alby suggested as he was standing on his feet and dusting the dirt off of his jeans. That was another thing that she was noticing; that their clothing was almost all the same. A mix of blues, browns, and beiges with a pair of jeans. There were no patterns to their shirts except some had buttons and some didn’t.

They all gave a voice of agreement and started walking along the walls, looking at the already structured buildings, listening to the sounds of the animals that someone was already tending to, and watching as the boys slowly started to come around and explore. There seemed to be a breeze coming from somewhere and the more she thought about it, there wasn't a sun in the sky despite it being daylight. Minho had found a rock and was kicking it along with their journey until they stopped in front of the building that looked like a janky house.

“Should we go in?” Alby asked the group; hand twitching as if he wanted to reach up and twist the knob to see what was inside. “Absolutely. Maybe there’s a clue as to why we’re here in there.” Minho had shoved the rock he was kicking to the side in favor of their newest fascination, annoyance peeking through in his voice and through the look on his face as if to say, Why else would we be exploring? Alby shoots him a look and places his hand on the cool metal before opening it with a shaky turn.

Inside was empty, but large. You could practically smell the new wallpaper and fresh wood; like somebody had finished building it a few days prior to their arrival. There was a long hallway that led to a big, open room that was lit up by the light on the ceiling. From what she could see, there were a few other rooms located inside the little home. Newt let out a low, sarcastic laugh as they moved inward. “How lovely, we have a home. I suppose our furniture will come later?” She chose to ignore it and pressed forward and so did the rest of them. The foyer was big enough that they could spread out and have a bit of breathing room, but she wandered down the hall behind Alby.

“Uh.. You said your name was Eleanor, right?” Alby said, drawing the attention of Newt, Minho, and herself. His tone was full of suspicion as his gaze remained locked on the door he was currently standing at before dragging his eye away to look at her; face drawn into an unreadable expression. She felt her stomach knot and she gave a nod as she, and the other two boys in the room, moved towards where Alby was. On the door was a rectangle piece of wood that had been sanded and polished, and in the middle, her name was carved.

“I don’t… I don’t understand..” Eleanor spoke up when all eyes were on her; hands starting to tremble as the knots in her stomach grew into angry cramps of anxiety. Alby steps aside as she moves forward and twists the knob to the door, opening it with a creak as they all hold their breaths in anticipation of what could be on the other side.

It was empty.

The room was empty.

The walls had the same patterned wallpaper as the other rooms and a measly light hung from the ceiling, glowing and barely illuminating anything due to it being day time. “What’s this?” Newt asked as he bent over and picked up a folded piece of paper; fingers opening it with a slight tremble before he started reading aloud to the group who was all now gathered together around him.

Everything that’s happening, is happening for a reason.

Remember: WICKED is good.

Eleanor doesn’t know what happened. One minute she was listening to Newt read the words on the paper and the next a sharp, breath taking pain was piercing her skull. She could faintly hear Newt, Minho, and Alby calling her name as she fell to her knees; the strength of the pain so grand it caused her knees to collapse and give way on her.

The blonde, faceless woman was clouding her fading vision, muttering the same words that were inked onto the note left for them.

WICKED is good. WICKED is good. WICKED is good. WICKED is good. WICKED is good.

The voice finally fades out and leaves her standing in a dark room. Eleanor figures at this point that sharp pain in her head must’ve killed her and she's in some kind of purgatory state, or that whoever took her memories took her ability to dream too. “Hello?” She shouts out with her arms flailing up in the air and then dropping back down dramatically at her sides. Her body turns and looks for any sign of life and then..

A bubble. Bright and shining. A memory.

She rushes towards it like a moth to a flame; hand reaching out to touch it and gain some sort of normality to her new life. Anything to remember why she was here, how she got here, or even, who put her here.

Almost, almost.. Her hand brushes the ball of light and it burns; searing her hand and causing her to let out a gasp before her eyes fly open. She registers muttering and scrambling, voices around her and a softness under her that she didn't remember sinking into before she blacked out.

“She’s awake! Get Minho and Alby!” Newt says to no one in particular and turns his focus back to her as one of the boys’ footsteps scramble out of the room. He’s giving her a light smile that brings more comfort than anything. “Gave us a right scare, you know that? Passed out on us and everything.” Confusion must’ve come across her face because Newt kept speaking. “After we read the note you kinda.. grabbed your head and fell to the ground. We found this room with a bed and brought you here and hoped you’d wake up.” Alby and Minho are at Eleanor’s side the next second with Minho shoving a metal tin full of cool water towards her as Alby helps her sit up from the bed. “How long was I out?” She croaks out, voice raw and dry from lack of hydration since God knows when and entirely grateful for the cool liquid coating her throat.

“About two hours. We thought you might have died.” That statement earns Minho a smack to the back of his head from Alby and the noise he makes had the room erupting in a light fit of giggles. “The main thing is that you’re awake and you seem to be fine.” She shares a smile with Alby as he says it, nodding in agreement before downing the rest of the water.

“While I was out.. I did have this.. Weird dream thing..” Eleanor says and it grabs the attention of the boys piled in the room. Each one leaning forward in hopes of a glimpse of their lives before. “Everything was dark and there was this floating ball of light so I went to it. When I touched it, it burned my hand. That’s why I woke up. I think it was a memory and whoever put us here doesn't want us to remember a thing.” The room was silent after she finished, maybe because nobody knew what to say. They were trapped here with no way out; held hostage by tall gray walls and green vinery.

“Maybe we’re the last people on Earth and this is all that's left!” A boy from the back says, voice shaky and still full of fear. Everyone erupted in their own small conversations; filling the room with anxiety filled words that they were all going to die in here and rot away to their captor's delight. “I don’t think we’re the last people on Earth. I think this is some kidnapper’s sadistic torture. I guarantee we’re being watched somehow!” Minho pipes up and that seems to be everyone’s general agreement.

“Either way,” Alby begins, calming the voices in the room that have gotten louder in their own conversations, “whoever or whatever put us here has given us the means to survive. We have water, electricity, animals, and crops. Plus the note we found. You’ve all seen it. I don’t know who WICKED is and if they really are good.. All I know is now we need to adapt and make the most of it. We can either cry and be a big baby and die or live long enough to get out of here.”

Alby’s words seemed to hit each one of them in the heart, filling them with warmth and better hope for tomorrow. Newt pats Alby on the back with a wide grin, “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” After that, they all went around the room and introduced themselves as they stayed crammed into that one room. This was their home now and this was their new family.

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Everyone felt a lot calmer when late afternoon came and they all settled at the tables that had been set up near the kitchen. A boy named Siggy had piped up and said he'd like to try his hand at cooking for them and a few other boys volunteered to help. An hour later the smell of cooked beef and spices were filling the air and the area filled with crying and sobs for help that morning were now occupied by talking and bonding. Eleanor sat with Minho, Newt, and Alby as well as two other boys: Nick and George. Like them, they seemed to click the moment they found one another.

Nick was talking with his hands about things he could remember: airplanes, television, busy city streets. The more he listed the more they agreed that the only thing they couldn’t remember was their lives before coming up in the box. They knew what the animals in the pens were and they knew each vegetable that was planted in the ground. They could remember basic math and science, pieces of literature. Yet, no matter how much they talked about the things they knew, nothing sparked a memory in their mind. They just knew one solid thing: their name.

George was in the middle of describing a book he remembers reading when Siggy announced that dinner was done and plates were passed out; full of piping hot beef stew and a hearty serving of mashed potatoes served with cold water. They all dug when the aroma of the food reminded them of just how hungry they were; groans of satisfaction sounding across the tables and forks clattering against glass plates. “Siggy, my man, you have a calling.” Newt, with a mouth full of mashed potatoes, said when the cook sat with them with his own plate of food. The table laughed, agreeing, but too busy to talk due to eating.

Later, when their stomachs were full, Minho had a brilliant idea of trying to climb the vines. “I’m just saying.. Look how thick these puppies are! Maybe we can reach the top and see what’s out there!” He was tugging the greenery and hanging off of a few vines to see if they could hold his weight and they did. “Minho, I think whoever put us here is smarter than that.” Eleanor had a smile on her face as she gently tried to prevent her friend from being the first one to break a bone, but it fell on deaf ears when Nick encouraged him. “We’ll never know if we don’t try!” Was expressed matter of factly by Minho and the boys then joined Nick in joyful chants of, “Climb! Climb! Climb!”

So Minho did. His hands grasped onto one of the thicker vines and he began to scale the wall five feet, then ten. The cheers never stopped coming, and even though Eleanor didn’t think it was possible, she and Newt gave each other a shrug before chiming in and encouraging their friend with wide smiles on their faces.

It was a moment of freedom and elation. A distraction and sense of hope that they were all longing for. Minho wasn’t successful but he didn’t stop trying a new vine until his strength and stamina ran out. They gave him pats on the back for his efforts and pushed a cup of water into his hand. “Maybe I was a bodybuilder before I was put here.” He flexed his muscles and everyone laughed; now sitting on the ground beside the wall. Dusk was now upon them, the sky dimming and still no actual sign of sun to set. The sky was growing dark and what appeared to be stars were starting to twinkle in the west where the sun wasn't shining.

“Hey guys! Look what we found!” A boy named Gally was running up to them with something rolled up in his hands. “Adam found a bunch of them in the boxes of supplies. They’re sleeping bags!” His voice was full of excitement and the entire group rushed to where the boxes were, each one picking out a bag to call their own. “Wouldn’t you rather sleep in the building there? You have a room all to yourself.” Alby asked with a red sleeping bag clutched in his hands. Eleanor shook her head and gave her new friends a smile. “No, not tonight. I think we should all stick together.” That seemed to make the three of them happy as they set off to find a spot to sleep for the night; tucked away near the building and beneath the tree lining.

Sleep found them easy. Their minds exhausted from the start of their new life and bodies exhausted from exploring. Eleanor drifted off between Minho and Newt as her dreamland was filled with a faceless blonde woman and the words WICKED is good flooding in her ears.

A/N: We're starting from The Fever Code, my friends! Most of the beginning will follow the books and some of it will follow the movies. The chapters will get longer and I have no set time on when I will update just yet. Feedback is welcomed, but please be kind. Happy reading!

* Can be found on Wattpad, AO3, and Quotev.*

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the-blind-one-speaks · 1 year

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Strike

The boy flailed in their grip, struggling bodily with bared teeth. He spat at the men dragging him into the room, eyes flashing. Spittle clung to his lips as he fought furiously. “Leggo of me, ya stinkin’ murderers! Let go! Just lemme get my hands on ya, ye —“

One stern guard thrust his hand, safely clad in a thick leather glove, over the boy’s mouth. The youngster swiftly clamped it between his teeth, jaws grinding as he bit viciously. The soldier’s cheek flinched, but he did not withdraw his hand. Between the three of them, he was wrestled to the floor in the middle of the chamber, face ground into the dust. The stern guard looked up, voice calm.

“A prisoner, ma’am.”

The boy thrashed fiercely before falling still. He coughed wretchedly, laboring to breathe through dust and past the weight of several men’s knees thrust into his rib cage. He tossed his head, his mop of brown curls damp with sweat. He spat dust from between his teeth, glaring. He bared his teeth and growled savagely, eyes glittering.

The soldier cuffed him sternly, ignoring the thin speckles of blood dotting his now-torn glove. “Show some respect when addressing the queen.”

The boy turned his head slowly, staring him down. He gritted his teeth. “She ain’t my queen.”

A voice rang out. “Release him, Lieutenant. I’d like him to stand before me.”

The soldier looked up. “I don’t think that’s wise, my queen.” Nevertheless, he stood and gestured to his men.

The boy wasted no time in scrambling to his feet. He jerked a fist towards the nearest soldiers. “Just lemme get my hands on ya, ya dirty —“

“What is your name?” The imperious tone seemed to quiet him slightly. He turned with an insolent lack of speed, eyebrow cocked jauntily.

“And suppose I don’t feel like tellin’ you et, what then, eh? Have your whipped dogs fall on me and beat me again, will ye, ‘ey?” He spun a hate-filled look about the room, glowering. “Dirty cowards.”

“I asked for your name, not a confession. Please, it wouldn’t cost you anything to oblige me.”

“Oh, so it’s ‘please,’ now, is et? Well, missy, don’t waste your breath or your ‘pleases’ talkin’ tae me. I won’t say a word to ye, I won’t.”

The woman lifted an aristocratic eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. You’ve hardly stopped speaking since entering this place.” He sniffed to himself.

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ one way or t’other, so there!” He clicked his mouth shut. The lieutenant was fast running out of patience. He reached forward. The boy dodged smartly aside as his hand landed on the back of his neck, but the gruff soldier was having none of it. He shook the insolent youngster roughly, ignoring his efforts to twist out of his grip.

“Have some respect when you’re talking to Her Majesty, you young rip.”

“Leggo of me, you!” Indignation filled his tone. The boy swung his fist. At that moment, the monarch stepped down from her dias.

His blow, meant for the offending soldier, smashed her solidly on the jaw. His knuckles caught her a glancing blow across the mouth, ripping one of her fair lips. The sound of his fist connecting was the only sound for several moments.

For a single instant, nobody in the room moved. Bent double, the queen lifted a trembling, pale hand to her face. She dabbed at her mouth with a gentle touch. When her fingers came away wet with blood, there was an outraged stirring throughout the room.

The blood in the boy’s face drained. He started shaking, eyes wide and full of terror as he realized what he had done. The man, gripping him by one arm and the back of his neck, drew a sharp breath. He grabbed his prisoner roughly, shoving him against the stone column. Trapping his young prisoner with one arm roughly across the chest, he fumbled to draw his sword with a single hand, face grim, eyes cold.

The sound of the sword slithering from its sheath seemed to loose the boy’s tongue. He began babbling shrilly. His voice was hopeless but beseeching. “I — I didn’t mean to strike ‘er — sir — on me oath I dinn’t! I never meant to —please spare me, sir! I — I dinn’t mean to!” The soldier raised his blade. The boy’s voice rose to a screech. “PLEASE!”

He shut his eyes tightly, clamping his mouth shut on a whimper. The queen straightened and gazed levelly at them. “Stay your blade, Lieutenant,” she called out. The boy cracked his eyelid, peering at her in disbelief. A thin trickle of red blood traced the curve of her mouth, dripping off her chin. Spots of scarlet blood, said by most in the kingdom to be bluer than the bluest sky, stained the elaborate brocaded skirt of her elegant gown.

The soldier waited further orders, sword lifted, barely restraining himself. His face was coldly furious, his eyes deadly. He stared at the boy with bleak anger, their blackness fearsome in the sturdy, solid set of his heavy face.

“I believe him,” the queen said softly. She folded her hands in a genteel manner, watching as her most loyal follower slowly returned his sword to his sheath. The man kept his arm threateningly across the boy’s chest for a moment longer, staring down at him. There was no mercy in his face.

“If you say so much as an insolent word,” he said quietly, “I will deliver the full punishment for your offense.” The boy stared up at him with round eyes, shaking. The man lifted a finger. “Is that understood?”

There was a shaky nod in response. He grunted and stepped back, spine stiff with ill-concealed anger. “Good. Now, thank her majesty for her generous mercy. And step smartly to answer her questions.”

The boy shrank back against the pillar. He glanced in the direction of the queen, shaking from how close he had come to dying. Mumbling something under his breath, he kept his eyes on the floor, sagging back against the column, gripping it as though for support. All the fight seemed to have gone out of him.

“Louder,” the stern man said gruffly. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, the torn leather of his glove creaking as his knuckles tightened. The boy glanced at him and sang out lustily.

“Ah — th-thankee, Majesty. Thankee very much.” He fell silent, face burning with embarrassment. The man was not satisfied.

“Enunciate,” he said firmly.

The sound of the boy grinding his teeth was audible. He gritted the words through his clenched jaw, glaring at the dust on the floor at his feet. “Thank ye, very much, Your Majesty.” His words were clear, however choked his voice sounded. The man nodded shortly.

“Better.” He turned and saluted his waiting queen, fist clipping his breastplate smartly. “He’s ready for you now, Your Majesty.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Have you a name, young man? It’s alright, you can approach me. You needn’t cringe against that pillar.”

He thrust himself away from the column, jaw jutting out belligerently. “I wann’t cringing, ma’am. Name’s Pippin, Pippin Fairwaithe, et is, an’ you won’t catch no Fairwaithe cringin’!” He declared this proudly, then glanced hurriedly at the glaring lieutenant. Casting his gaze at the floor, he mumbled more softly, “Er, that is — Pippin’s my name, ma’am. Your Majesty.”

She smiled slightly.

“I’ll remember that,” she said seriously. He glanced up and shuffled a step nearer, his curiosity getting the better of him.

She beckoned him closer with an amused smile. He stared at her, then glanced away, ears reddening.

“I ain’t never seen no queen before,” he said softly. His eyes followed the sweep of her skirt as she turned to remount the dias. “Ya look powerful elegant, ye do.” The lieutenant drifted a threatening step towards him. He nipped smartly closer to the base of the dias, calling up while keeping his eyes on the menacing soldier. “That es, ye look mighty… mighty nice? Mighty royal? Mighty elegant — yore Majesty!”

The soldier relaxed as his monarch laughed. She rested on the arm of her throne, heavy skirt rustling as she crossed her legs at the ankle. “Oh, stop teasing him, Lieutenant, please! Let him speak as he is accustomed to. He needn’t sound like a palace resident to answer without disrespect, do you, Pippin?”

He mumbled something under his breath, shuffling his feet. She tilted her head curiously, watching him for a minute. “What do you want, Pippin?”

He glanced up at her. His confusion was clear on his face. “Wh-what do I want, miss? Er — Majesty?”

She nodded gently. “Yes. What do you want more than anything else in the world, Pippin? A boy your age must have hopes and dreams, ambitions? Please, won’t you tell me?” She winked conspiratorially at him, eyes twinkling. She was still quite young, for such a powerful monarch. Her sense of humor was not dimmed at all by the dignity of her station. She rested her chin on her fist and waited. When he did not seem inclined to answer, she asked again, iterating it slightly differently. “What would satisfy a Fairwaithe?”

He glanced up. His eyes studied her seriously. In an uncharacteristically low tone, he replied somberly. “The freedom of my family.”

She slid a glance at her court. “Have we any prisoners by the name of Fairwaithe?”

The boy answered her before any if her advisors did. His face was somber. In the same low tone, he looked her straight in the eye to explain. “Ye do, yer Majesty, but not hereabouts. We’re from the north, we Fairwaithes are, an’ ye’ve still got the camps up there.” He set his jaw, eyes blazing. “My pap died workin’ those mines fer coal, an’ if’n I weren’t down in this city already I’d surely be be’ind a pick by now. Mah mother’s got the little un’s, Majesty, an’ that’s why I’m here. Hard to make a buck, an’ when they weren’t gettin’ none of my coin, I took it upon meself to see what the hold-up was at the postal office, Majesty.” He jerked his head at the soldiers. “They can tell ye they found me there.”

The Lieutenant scoffed. “A fine sob story for a thief.”

The boy whirled, shoulders stiffening. “I’m many things but I ain’t no liar an’ I ain’t no thief! There wasn’t supposed to be no camps after the war ended, was there? But nobody told us up in the North, an’ yore soldiers never stopped! I only found out cuz I came down ‘ere to visit me uncle, an’ he’s so bleedin’ patriotic he tol’ me there was no way Mum wasn’t gettin’ me pay!” Pippin narrowed his eyes at the soldier, stepping closer to the scowling man. “Ye can kill me if ye want, but ‘ere’s the bloody truth. Somebody’s stealin’ my ‘ard-earned coin, and me mother and two little un’s are going ‘ungry cuz of it. Bloody war’s na over for everyone yet.” He whipped back around and squared his shoulders, gazing rigidly at the stone steps of the Queen’s dias. “So ye asked me what I wanted, yer Majesty, an’ now I’ve said it. I want me family to go free. I want them camps up North closed like they was supposed to be once ye won the war. An’ I want ta know which of yer postmen ‘as been buying drinks using me mother’s coin.”

Silence fell across the courtroom. He said it with the bursting defiance of one who has every expectation of being denied. His shoulders were back, his heels together, a perfect mimicry of the soldiers flanking him. Standing tall in the center of the Court, the boy with blazing eyes and mussed hair radiated fierceness born of a life lived against all odds.

In a single motion, the Queen rose from her throne and turned away. The room burst into muttered whispers. She glided towards the exit, dismissing the gathering without a word. Pippin’s eyes remained locked on the stone steps. He swallowed past the rigid muscles of his neck, his jaw still locked in a defiant scowl. When the Lieutenant laid a firm hand on his shoulder, he stiffened. Lifting his chin, he straightened his spine and allowed himself to be led away. Walking with his head held high, he almost managed to look unafraid.

taglist: @itsleighlove @whumpzone @thegreatwhodini @unicornscotty

#pippin fairwaithe #fantasy #my writing

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ttuesday · 3 years

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Hi there! Can I pls request how the VDL boys would react to Micah flirting with their SOs?? <3

*gives you a slice of bread* thank u for the request anon, here is bread

Arthur

Arthur doesn’t want Micah anywhere near his SO. He knows how Micah can be sometimes so Arthur always keeps an eye out to make sure he’s not bothering you.

Arthur felt frustrated when he saw Micah annoying you. Without hesitation, Arthur shoved Micah away from you, making him stumble.

Arthur doesn’t care about what Micah says, all of his attention is on you. Eventually Micah realizes he’s being ignored and storms off.

Charles

We all know how strong Charles is and I’m pretty sure we’ve all seen that camp interaction when Charles pushes Micah to the ground without breaking a sweat.

Charles doesn’t even say anything to Micah as he walks up to the two of ye. He knows actions speak louder than words so Charles effortlessly yeets Micah away from you.

“Don’t talk to her” is all Charles says as Micah lands on the ground with a thud. Charles is more protective over you for the rest of the day, wanting you close to him in case Micah tries to flirt with you again.

Dutch

Micah knows better than to blatantly flirt with Dutch’s sweetheart, so Micah’s actually subtle for once. At first Dutch thinks there’s no way Micah would actually flirt with you but after watching the man’s body language, he realises it.

Dutch knows he can’t just burst into an angry rage. He has to stay mannerly and presentable. Dutch casually walks over and throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

Dutch tells you he needs to talk to you about something to get you away from Micah and later in the evening he acts like it was a joke. “Ah Micah, I thought I saw the funniest thing today. I thought you were actually trying to flirt with my sweetheart”. He might throw in a very sly threats too about what he’d do if Micah tries to flirt with you again.

John

John’s shocked and angry. As John marches over to ye, he’s baffled that Micah would actually think he has a chance with you. John knows you’re way of out his league so it’s a miracle you’re with him but for Micah to think he actually has a chance?!?

John wastes no time, standing in front of you and telling Micah to get lost. If Micah makes a snarky comment then John can’t help but punch him.

Thankfully Arthur and Bill were nearby and helped separate the two of them before anyone got hurt badly. As John walked away with his arm around your waist, Micah walked away with a bloody nose.

Javier

Javier takes his knife out the second he sees Micah talking to you. He sees the uncomfortable look in your eye and how Micah thinks he’s actually doing a god job at seducing you.

Javier takes a deep breath and slowly walks around camp until he’s facing Micah’s back. Javier knows a surprise attack is the best option. As Micah tells you another cheesy pick-up line, Javier suddenly appears behind the man with his knife held closely to Micah’s throat.

Javier whispers some venomous threats into Micah’s ear before letting him go. Once Micah walks away, Javier gives you a passionate kiss and apologises for not coming to your rescue sooner.

Bill

Bills sees Micah talking to you and he hears a few words of the conversation but he doesn’t think Micah’s actually flirting with you. Surely not... right? Bill picks up a bottle of beer and casually joins your conversation.

Yeah Bill’s kinda oblivious at first but slowly his brain starts to realise what’s happening. You’d think Bill would react in an angry fit of rage but instead he laughs.

And Bill laughs A LOT. Between giggles and snorts, he explains that he thinks it’s hilarious that Micah thinks you would ever find him attractive. Micah scoffs, says a quick insult and storms away.

Sean

Sean instantly goes into attack mode. He pushes Micah away from you and gets ready to fight. But of course, neither one of them can really fight so it’s a lot of insults and missed punches.

When Micah finally decides to leave ye alone, Sean covers you in kisses and promises to stay by your side and not leave “that no good, stinkin’ turd” near you again.

Whenever Sean sees Micah around camp for the next week, he’ll start shouting at him again, ready for another fight.

Hosea

Hosea doesn’t have the time to put up with Micah’s shenanigans so he doesn’t waste any time and shoots Micah in the leg.

Hosea tells him that if he sees him flirting with you again then he’ll shoot his other leg.

#since I did some Micah HCs today I thought I might as well post this too lol #Micah should stop flirting with the feller’s SO’s #and flirt with me instead #srry I couldn’t help myself lol #headcanons #writings #rdr2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #john marston #charles smith #javier escuella #bill williamson #hosea matthews #sean macguire #f!reader #f!pronouns

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twenty five: a good boy

“that’s not how you move a closet! that’s the worst closet moving i’ve ever seen!” -jim gaffigan

Aurora had begun frequenting the San Francisco Bay Area more and more often from that point onward; given Sam was often riding back down to Los Angeles and onto Catalina Island, she only got to see her old friend for half of a day before one of them had to leave. Every single time, however, she noticed her growing bigger and bigger. To think that she had shown Sam another side to her all the while, and yet all she could think about was her mother's words in how when children were involved, things became harder to deal with. And even though he wasn't a kid anymore, she wondered how Alex was handling the whole feud between her and Aurora.

It only made sense to acknowlede it with him: he participated in her and Emile's wedding after all.

And in the meantime, Testament had fulfilled their time there at that studio and Eric had the final say with it all to Ruben, who made the mad dash back to the label itself in order to submit the new album. A month's time and they would take their stride alongside Metallica and everyone else: this little quintet out of the Bay Area about to nip at their heels and let the world know that they were in fact a force to be reckoned with.

But at one point, within mere hours of Eric handing the final tape over to Ruben, Sam found herself in a strange spot.

All the traveling to and fro between the Bay Area and Catalina Island. All the unsettled feelings and being divided up between both of her parents. The new beds each and every week. Every single time, a little harder on her. Every single time, she just wanted to stop for a second, if only to observe the oleanders as they bloomed against the San Francisco fog and the persistent cold despite winter's transformation into springtime. Some of them wilted and withered from the cold, but many of them returned once the sun poked out from behind the clouds, those five petals big and strong and either a deep shade of pink or pure white.

With Cliff, it was tulips. With Joey, deadly nightshade. With Alex, oleanders.

The end of April brought on the realization that Greg's birthday was coming up, as was Eric's. As if she needed more things to do as she met up with Alex at the cafe across the street from Ruben's house. Chuck and Tiffany had gone off somewhere else from that point out, and thus the two of them were once again left alone together.

He sat across from her and his long jet black hair fell down around his shoulders like a thick lush mane: that singular plume of gray stood almost upright over the right side of his brow like a little radio antenna. She eyed the collar of his shirt: the same shirt he wore when they made out in the pool room, and once more, he had undone the top two buttons and showed off a bit of his chest and his collar bones.

The soft scent of his cologne filled her nose even from across the table. He leaned back in his chair and kept his right hand close to the base of the cup. Sam leaned forward a bit as if she was making up for him.

“I still have yet to see your old high school,” she told him.

“I know you do,” he said with a thoughtful look on his face. “There's a lot you've just got to see around here, Samantha.”

He lifted his cup and brought it up to those sensual little lips, and then he lifted his gaze to her again.

“You sure you don't want anything?” he asked her.

“My dad's got stuff across the street,” she replied, and she sighed. He knitted his eyebrows together.

“Is everything okay? You don't seem like yourself.”

She lowered her gaze to the glass cover on the table top. How she wanted to be back in New York with Joey and also Marla and Belinda: it also felt like a million years since she had heard a word from the Cherry Suicides as well, even as she put on that shirt for another day that day. The fatigue settled over her like a wave of sorts.

Ruben had promised her a cup of coffee at any point during the day if she so wished but even after a nice warm one earlier that morning, she still had a bit of trouble waking up all the way for Alex right across the table from her. She sighed through her nose again and she propped up the side of her head within the palm of her hand.

“I can't keep doing this,” Sam finally said to Alex. “This incessant going back and forth between my parents' houses and taking the stinkin' bus every time. It literally feels as though I haven't made any art in a million years even though it's only been a couple of months since I started doing this.”

“Why's that?”

“Traveling is hard on me,” she confessed. “And by hard I mean, it's not like touring. It's getting on the bus right as I get settled into my dad's house or my mom's house. It's having to see you guys for a week only to vanish again for another whole week. I can't keep doing this.”

She folded her hands upon the table's surface and she gazed down at the glass covering there before them. She looked on at her own reflection as it looked back up at her: her own dark eyes gazed back at her. Her skin was still tight and smooth with her teenage days: still young Samantha, little Sammie, but she had reached the age of twenty four by some black magic.

“Well—remember what Eric and I both told you,” he said, “do what ever feels right to you.”

She raised her gaze back up to Alex, still with a thoughtful expression plastered across his face.

The cafe was quiet, except for the grinding noise of the coffee maker on the other side of the counter.

“I should ask you,” she began.

“Go ahead,” he encouraged her as he flexed his fingers on his right hand a bit: he returned his hand to the top of the table afterwards.

“How're you handling the whole thing with me and Aurora?” she asked him, to which he hesitated for a moment.

“It—actually hasn't crossed my mind all too much,” he confessed. “I've actually forgotten why you ladies were fighting each other in the first place.”

“She made your nineteenth birthday all about her,” she recalled. “And then when I tried to address that with her, she was a complete ditz and made everything about herself again.”

“Oh, yeah, that's right! Again, it actually hasn't crossed my mind very often. I've just had my mind on other things.”

“Like making an album?” Sam showed him a smile.

“Like making an album, right! Two albums to be exact. The New Order and now Practice What You Preach.”

“Germany, too,” she added.

“Germany, too! And ginger snaps.” She leaned forward again, and once more had her hands folded over each other. The fire opal bracelet Chuck gave her clinked against the glass underneath her.

“I made out with you,” she said in a soft voice.

“You made out with me or did I make out with you?” he asked her.

“Both.”

Alex squinted his eyes at her. He shuffled his feet under the table, and he flexed his fingers again.

“You alright?” she asked him as she eyed his hand.

“I'm feeling it again,” he admitted to her.

“Feeling what?”

“It.”

Sam lowered her gaze to the cup of coffee before him and she nibbled on her bottom lip.

“French up that coffee and we'll talk,” she told him.

“French? You mean Irish.”

“Nah, I mean French.”

Alex held still with his hands on either side of the cup. He looked up at her with those deep eyes focused and steady upon her. For a split second, she swore that he lowered his gaze towards her chest. He flinched those long fingers a bit.

She thought about the things that Joey had told her over the phone that one time and she thought about doing them to Alex instead. Her lips around him. His fingers down below the equator and his tongue up inside of her.

He picked up the cup and took a sip, and not for a single second did he remove his gaze from her. He never seemed more hypnotic before: a little loose back there in the pool room and he suddenly became Mr. Seducer. She thought about Joey's venom, the way in which he seemed to slide and slither about like the deadly nightshade he so sprouted from: Alex came from somewhere else, as if from a fever dream. Where Joey resided within the earth, Alex seemed to burn into her with those deep eyes.

She sighed through her nose and bowed her head a bit to bring attention to her chest. Once more, for a split second, he dropped his gaze by a mere hair.

It was there between them. It was real, as real as the grays on his head. As real as those deep eyes that gazed back at her as if he lured her in, much like those oleander bushes in the south land.

He flexed his fingers again and all Sam could think about was the day before wherein they were about to add the final touches before submission. She sat there in between Alex and Louie as Chuck was talking about going on tour that summer, and wherever they went from that point onwards was anyone's guess. The vibe that surrounded them was so tense and yet she sat there so comfortably in between those two men.

Louie mentioned something else about the poison garden to her and Aurora just happened to be there right next to him, now six months along and her gaze fixated on the clipboard rested upon her lap.

“I'm really feeling it, Sam,” he told her with a smile on his face once Eric picked up the phone to call up Ruben. “Our producer told us this new record could really put us forth.”

“Will it have a gift shop?” Aurora absently asked.

“Yeah, wolfsbane keychains,” Alex muttered under his breath, which in turn brought a giggle out of Sam.

He said it again right there in the cafe, and that time with a smile on his face.

“Yeah, wolfsbane keychains!” he exclaimed. “You and Louie have 'poison garden'—we should have wolfsbane keychains.”

“Wolfsbane, and not desert roses?” she asked him.

“You guys can have desert roses, too,” he pointed out.

“I say desert rose because I'm based out of the desert you know.”

“Of course! Desert roses for the desert rose right across from me.”

The door behind them swung open and Ruben stepped into the cafe with a blue and white tin tucked underneath his arm.

“Hi, Daddy!” she greeted him and she stood up and threw her arms around him.

“Hello, sweetie!” he returned the favor for her with his free arm. He then turned to Alex, who straightened himself up so he wasn't sitting so down low in the chair; but he handed Alex the tin. “Hey, son. Seeing as—you're such a hard working kid, these are for you.”

“What's this?” he asked him.

“What is it?” Sam echoed him as he took off the lid.

“Ginger snaps, baby,” he declared as he took a bite of that first little cookie.

“Ginger snap me up side the head,” she joked.

“Anyways, I've got the next hour off,” Ruben told them, “I'm in need of help for the two of you. Eric and Chuck both told me to bring in a couple of blank video tapes tomorrow because apparently the label wants you guys to film a music video in promotion of the new album.”

“Do you even have one?” Sam asked him.

“Yeah, it's somewhere packed away in that house—hence why I'm asking. Can't do it by myself. You know. You know how much that house still needs unpacking.”

“Absolutely!”

He then raised a finger to the both of them. “I'll be right back.”

He ducked away from them and headed back to the other side of the cafe, and right behind the counter there. Alex took another bite of ginger snap: the cookies in that tin were small medallions about the size of silver dollars so he could pop one into his mouth. Even though she liked him when he had a little bit of liquor in him, the sight of him eating those cookies brought a wave of comfort to her: she'd rather watch him get heavy from eating too many cookies than have his body go south from drinking.

If only Joey could get hooked on those as well.

“How are they?” she asked him.

“Excellent. The perfect amount of ginger, too. Sometimes they can be too much with it.”

She took one herself and he took a third one, and popped it into his mouth as if it was a potato chip. Indeed, he was right: it felt like a little kiss of ginger coupled with butter and some nutmeg.

“Speaking of ginger snaps, I guess Guns N' Roses are gonna be in town,” he told her once he swallowed down that bite. “Tomorrow night, I think.”

“Ah, cool! I wonder if Zelda got to see them again. She introduced me to them after all.”

“She probably did see them! They were back East just a few days ago. Prince actually got to open for them, believe it or not.”

“Wow! I wonder if she got to see him, too.”

“If she did, I envy her,” he admitted. “Prince is one hell of a guitar player. Hard to believe that album Purple Rain's actually five years old now.”

“I think it's funny that there's actually a guitar player called Prince—and you sort of came into my life like a dark heavy metal prince.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I wouldn't say it's funny,” he said, “it's definitely interesting to think about, though.” “A coincidence, would you think?” she asked him.

“There are no coincidences, Samantha—but everything has a purpose, though.”

“I just think of Belinda's first impression of you,” she recalled with a shake of her head.

“What was that?” He took another bite of ginger snap.

“She called you precocious.”

“I'll admit it,” he said upon swallowing. “I'd rather be seen as precocious than full of myself, even though I can be.”

“I can be, too,” she told him.

“I think it's better to be full of yourself with just the right amount of doubt thrown in all the while than be doubtful of everything and wear a mask of arrogance.”

Sam hesitated with her mouth slightly agape.

“I like you,” she told him.

“I like you, too,” he replied back to her with a raise of his cookie. “And I like the fact that you and now your father wanna give me cookies.”

“'Cause cookies are love,” she said.

“It's all spent doing fuck all,” he said with a straight face.

“Doing fuck all to fill your belly with love,” she pointed out.

“And my ass with ginger,” he retorted. It made no sense but she laughed at that anyway. Ruben returned to them and he rubbed his hands together.

“Come on, kids,” he beckoned them.

Alex put the lid back onto the tin and then with his free hand, he took the knit yarmulke out from his back pocket.

“Wow, I haven't seen that in forever and a day it seems,” she remarked as he stood to his feet.

“I haven't worn it in forever and a day,” he said, “mainly because we're going with your dad back to his place and not elsewhere.”

“Oh, I see!”

He tucked the tin underneath his arm and once Ruben held the door for the both of them, they crossed the street and back to the house. Ruben himself took to the linen closet and he encouraged them to take to the kitchen.

Sam knelt down before the small wooden table on the side of the room closest to the hallway. Nothing underneath there, but she did flash a glimpse over at Alex on the couch in the living room with the yarmulke on the arm right next to him. She missed her couch still, still there in the apartment in Hell's Kitchen. She pictured Genie curled up at the top, all by herself all the while.

Cliff sat there and drank Mexican hot chocolate with her.

She also pictured herself and Joey sleeping together on that couch: as soon as she thought that, she pictured herself and Alex together on that couch.

He stood up and turned around and she caught a view of the seat of his pants. He hitched them up and she couldn't help but let her eyes wander.

All those ginger snaps and incessant touring and working allowed his body to develop a lovely toned shape: slim and lanky, even slight, and yet he was nice and round in the rear end.

She had drawn Joey. She had drawn Frank. She had drawn Cliff. She had drawn herself.

She still needed to draw Alex: if only she could convince him of such, especially since there was no alcohol anywhere in the house. Even if there was alcohol anywhere in that house, there was no way it would fly by Ruben as he strode back into the front of the house. But she had to loosen him up somewhat, and there was only so much a ginger snap the size of a silver dollar could do for her.

Sam hurried over to Alex right as he turned around and he raised his dark eyebrows at her.

“What happened?” he asked her in a hushed voice given Ruben was right there next to them, and he delved through a small box he had tucked under the coffee table.

“Something has—come over me,” she confessed to him in a low voice.

“How so?”

She gestured for him to follow her. They got about five steps in when Ruben stopped them both.

“Where do you kids think you're going?”

“We're—going to look in my closet,” Sam told him.

“Of course, yes!”

She led him back into her bedroom and he left the door ajar behind them. She slid the doors open and she ducked inside first and pressed her back to the dividing wall behind her. Alex joined her with his back against a protective covering on a piece of dry cleaning.

She put her arms around his waist and she lingered closer to his face.

“Oh, I see what you're doing,” he said to her in a low voice.

“I want you loose again,” she confessed in a near whisper. She eyed those lips, smooth as ripe cherries and ready for her taking.

“I'm gonna fuck ya silly and then it's gonna be every man for himself from there on out,” he joked.

“Not if I'm the one who fucks you silly first,” she chided, “and it'll be every man and woman for themselves from there on out.”

“What's going on in there?” Ruben called from the next room.

“Nothing!” Alex and Sam called out in unison; she returned to him.

“Kiss me,” she begged him in a near whisper.

“Kiss you? Your dad's literally right there in the next room, Samantha!”

“Kiss me—the fact he's there will only make it sexier.”

“We are in your closet after all,” he pointed out.

“Just touch me already!” she insisted.

“What?” Ruben called out.

“It's okay, Dad!” Sam called out the closet door and then she returned to him.

“Okay, we really gotta do something or he's going to find out about us,” he told her in a hushed voice.

“And what if he does, Alex?” she demanded as she raised her chest up to him.

“Samantha, have you seen how he looks at me?” He dropped his gaze to her chest and he nibbled on his bottom lip. “He wants to skin me alive!”

“I don't think he does,” she assured him with a shake of her head. “I mean, he gave you ginger snaps for crying out loud, Alex. Now, when he and my mom were together and I brought Joey home with me, he definitely wanted to do things to him.”

“Why is that?” He frowned at that.

“Joey,” she started; even though she promised her mother to keep it under wraps, the cat was already out of the bag. “—I'm guessing reminds him of some guy my mom knew once.”

Alex snickered at that, but Sam smacked him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” he hissed, and then he rubbed his shoulder.

“What do you mean, 'ow'? I barely hit you!”

“A slap is a slap, though,” he pointed out.

“A slap is a slap like on your ass?” she asked him.

“Shhh!”

“What's going on in here?” Ruben's voice floated into the room right then.

“Nothing,” they both said once more in unison. He stepped into her bedroom and they peeked out of the closet together.

“Nothing in here, Dad,” Sam told him. “Really, there's like nothing in here.”

“I really haven't found anything in here, either,” he confessed as he pressed his hands to his hips. “I'll have to break down and buy some new ones, I guess.”

“There's a shop not too far from here that sells all kinds of stuff like that,” Alex told him.

“Oh?”

“It's right up the street here, actually. You just ask the lady in there about it and she'll show you and it's real cheap-o, too. One time, when I was little, my dad needed to tape a lecture and all I remember is him talking about how it was like a treasure trove in there.”

“Well, thank you, son, I'll—I'll be right back.”

Ruben bowed out of there and Sam turned to Alex once again.

“You are such a good boy,” she declared.

“Just doing what I can,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. The front door closed and Sam ran her tongue along her bottom lip.

“Why do you want me loose again, by the way?” he asked her as he pressed his hands to his hips.

“I want to draw you,” she told him.

“You wanna draw me?”

“Yes. I wanna draw you—the best way I can make love to you without getting you drunk. Or maybe I can if you so wish.”

“Nah, I get drunk, I wouldn't be able to stay in the seat.”

Sam turned to her courier bag there on the desk chair and she took out that brand new journal she had bought in Santa Monica for a brand new chapter in life.

“There's a stool in his room right down the hall,” she advised him. “Grab that and I'll turn the light on for you, Mr. Skolnick.”

He showed her a little smirk before he left the room. While he was in the next room, she peeled off her shirt and changed into one of those Death Angel shirts that she had brought along with her. She knew that if she ever had to eventually decide on a place to live, and she chose San Francisco, she would have to see them again, and that time in their home city no less. She moved the floor lamp in that room closer to the closet door, right in front of her.

Alex returned with the little black stool in question.

“Hey, cool shirt,” he remarked.

“One of many!” she declared and she gestured to the floor lamp right in front of her. “Have a seat.”

He closed the closet door and took a seat there on the stool.

“Tell you what—you draw me, you've gotta do it with Greg,” he said.

“Why?” she laughed at that.

“'Cause Greg could use it, that's why. You do it with Greg, I'll give you whatever the hell you so damn well please.” He hesitated for a second. “Gosh, that was a mouthful.”

She giggled at him.

“You're so sexy, Alex,” she said, “I should really draw you just for the fact you're so sexy—a bet or not.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“You—wanna draw me? Should I strip naked or something like that?”

“Nah—you can leave your clothes on.” She stood up and walked on over to him. “Although—”

She reached forward to that third button and unfastened it for him with only two fingers. With her other hand, she did the same for the next one. Then the next one down. The next one down. Soon he stood there before her with his shirt open and a sliver of his bare body shown off to her.

“You only wanted to do that 'cause you wanted to undo my shirt for me,” he teased her, and he nudged his shirt back a little bit to show off a little more of his chest to her. She reached up and switched on the light for him.

“Oh, my,” she breathed out. “Oh, my, Mr. Skolnick.”

“Hey, now, Mr. Skolnick is my dad—I'm little Alex,” he insisted as he took his seat there on the stool. He leaned back a bit and showed off more of his body to her. The way the light shone down onto his pale smooth skin and onto the tops of his thighs.

“I thought you weren't little, though,” she recalled.

“To you, I'm not,” he teased her as he opened his legs a bit to get himself comfortable in front of her. He set his hands on either side of the stool's head and his eyes hooded a bit. His lips seemed extra plump and soft; his waist had slimmed down but also seemed a little bit thick at the same time.

Alex leaned back against the wall so more light cascaded over his body. The way the light bathed his body and made his already full face appear fuller, and his deep eyes even deeper. He tilted his head back and the light in turn made the skin on his neck, his chest, and his stomach appear so soft, smooth, and silken. Sam sat there across from him with her drawing pad rested upon her lap: every glimpse up to his body made her want to feel him some more. The scratch of the graphite made him seem much softer and sweeter.

To genuinely feel and touch him. Such a beautiful boy.

He cleared his throat.

“Remember on the road trip up to Carson and Tahoe we were talking about Georgia O'Keeffe?” he asked her.

“Of course,” she replied as she momentarily lifted her gaze back up to him.

“I think I spoke too soon.”

“Why is that?”

“You're absolutely filthy.”

“Filthy—ha! I don't think so.”

Alex raised his eyebrows at that.

“Seriously? You're absolutely loose. Loose like a loose—pussy.”

“Alex!” she said in a hushed voice.

“It's true, though. Although I will admit that that was rather tasteless.”

“Tasteless like my pussy?” she retorted back to him.

“Nah, I reckon your pussy's about as tasteful as that drawing you're making, hence the O'Keeffe reference.”

He clapped his hands together and stood to his feet with his arms in the air as if he had declared a victory. Sam leaned back in her chair and she eyed the slight curve on his waist. It was the most gentle curve she had ever seen, but the light on his skin made it appear right before her eyes.

“You might wanna take it easy on the ginger snaps, big boy,” she teased him. “You're getting kind of a tummy.”

He lowered his arms and looked down at his waist. He touched the skin there with the mere tips of his fingers.

“Not again,” he grumbled.

“Ever so slight, though,” she told him. “Like I can see it a tiny little bit around your belly button but you can't really see it with your shirt closed, though. It's gonna grow, though.”

He sat back down, and then he reached to his right for another ginger snap, which he shoved right into his mouth. She stopped drawing so she could watch him eat it up and then he reached for a second one and did the same.

“Could use some milk,” he said with his mouth full.

“Milk has fat in it, you know,” she pointed out, and he swallowed.

“Hence the point!” he proclaimed and he rubbed his belly with both hands.

“You are such a tease,” she scolded him, and he gave his black hair a little toss back with a flick of his head.

“Let me ask you something—what happened to you in that pool room?”

“I dunno. You kind of—woke me up, Alex.”

He showed her a smirk and straightened himself upright. She had a light soft sketch right there before her upon her lap but she figured it was something good to work from that point onward. A little extra dark shading with his hair except for the small gray tuft over his brow.

“Are you getting okay?” he asked her.

“Getting it good, my dear Alexander,” she said as she used the side of her pencil to shade in the side of his neck and the lapels of his shirt. “My dear Mr. Skolnick.”

She lifted up the drawing pad and showed it to him.

“Soft, silky, and utterly gorgeous,” she declared; he pressed a hand to his chest as if he had just seen the best thing ever.

“Think you can take it from here?” he asked her.

“Absolutely!”

The front door closed right then.

“That was fast,” she stated.

“I said it was literally right up the street,” he recalled as he closed his shirt; she kept that drawing on the seat of her chair and she hoped that Ruben wouldn't have to see it for himself as they headed back to the front of the house. He had gotten four fresh blank video tapes, much to Alex's surprise and slight disappointment.

“We're gonna need more than that, Mr. Shelley,” he said with a shrug. “When we did the video for 'Over the Wall', we used like six tapes. Well, and they were messing around with the effects of it, too.”

“Well, son, this is what I've got,” Ruben told him. “It's what they had, too.”

“So what do you think we're doing this for?” asked Alex as he fixed his shirt a bit more: Sam noticed the buttons were one off all the way up.

“Let's give it a try for 'The Ballad',” Ruben replied with a smirk on his face.

Sam and Alex glanced at one another, and all she could think about was when he picked her up from the side of the road, which she hadn't even told him about yet.

The whole thing with Aurora felt a little redundant at that point.

7 notes · View notes

contrabandhothead · 4 years

Note

Hi! I saw your post about requests! :) could I get some BOB head cannons of what it’s like to date them while also being is easy company? :)

I’m so so SO sorry this took so long, and I hope you like it ��🏻also, I couldn’t do all of them because school has been keeping me very busy. If you want to send another request, and i’ll do more for you when I have time 💕 Enjoy!

Dick Winters

generally very private about his relationship

mom and dad™ of easy co.

i want to say that he puts you on his team during missions, but i feel like he thinks it’s unprofessional

so he probably puts you on a team with someone he trusts and that he knows won’t take unnecessary risks *cough cough* Speirs *cough cough*

doesn’t mean he doesn’t get worried though

give this man a massage please, he’s stressed af

you’d never want to jeopardize his position though, so you’re generally okay with it

however, sometimes you get a little lonely

Dick notices this and tries to clear out a slot in his schedule in order to spend some quality time with you

treats you like any of the other men, except when you’re alone

king of stolen kisses behind crumbling walls before a battle

very healthy relationship overall 12/10 would be an amazing father

secretly wants to get married when the war is over

i’m not saying he definitely proposed on V-E Day but he definitely did it

cries at the wedding, especially since it’s been so long since he’s seen you all dolled up because of the war

also cries because he’s finally getting to marry the love of his life

drunkenly told Nix at his bachelor party about how amazing you would look at your wedding and then went on and on about the specific shade of your eyes

S I M P

Nix never lets him forget it

Lewis Nixon

this man

let’s be for real here

he has NO idea how to display affection at all, especially because of his past

so he does what any rich boy would do

showers you in gifts that you don’t need

it’s not that you’re ungrateful for them, you just wish he would understand that you don’t love him for his money

i feel like everyone forgets that he’s lowkey rich

can’t relate Nix

he will buy you anything he sees you look at for more than a second

always has them delivered by some random Private

the men tease you RELENTLESSLY for it

“hey Y/N, what did that overflowing wallet buy you this week?”

“Shut up Tab”

is always worried about you

especially since he usually isn’t on the battlefield since he moved to staff

you’re fine

you can definitely handle yourself after Sobel’s training what a fucking dick

takes you out on small simple dates when you guys actually have weekend passes

the guys always help you get ready for your dates (they see you as a little sister it’s really cute)

Ron Speirs

this man

oh wow

the flavor

never really got to see you until Dog Co. was basically absorbed by Easy Co.

definitely thinks he’s not good enough for you

when you first introduced the Easy Co. men to him, they thought the exact same thing (they changed their minds after a while though)

REASSURE THIS MAN. EVERY. STINKIN. DAY. THAT HE IS GOOD ENOUGH.

P L E A S E

secretly is a cuddle monster

will 100% sneak into your foxhole to cuddle and will slit anyone’s throat that mentions it

this man has arms and legs like an octopus when it comes to cuddling

will pull you back into his arms even if you need to use the bathroom and will not be letting go

steals you pretty things for absolutely no reason (Ron, no)

the man is like a freakin magpie

the men of Easy Co. grow to like him more when they realize how happy he makes you and how he doesn’t hurt you

he actually values their opinion on your relationship a lot

he knows Easy is like family and you’re like the younger sister

doesn’t show it though

pushes you away when he feels insecure

jealous™

surprisingly domestic

Carwood Lipton

wholesome but to the max™

you’re both so in love i feel like i’m going to throw up rainbows

signed up for the paratroopers together

i feel like Carwood is the type of person to marry his high school sweetheart

so yeah, you guys are that™ couple

best aunt and uncle of easy co.

Lip worries about you just a littleee more than the other men

he’s just a worry wart in general

almost threw hands with Sobel once when Sobel insulted you

he will not stand for anyone insulting his gal

isn’t as private as Dick is with his relationship, but is known to hide it from superior officers other than Nix and Winters

aka Sobel

was 100% willing to get kicked out of the infantry to defend you from Sobel

thinks a lot about how good of a mom you’d be, especially when he sees you caring for the men

is also a cuddler, though not nearly as clingy as Ron

just a loose arm to tuck you into his side, especially during Bastogne

prefers having you on his team, not only because he cares about you, but also because he admires your skill and accuracy

you’re a damn good shot, and he’d scream it from a mountain for all to hear

so proud of his gal

George Luz

you’re either the jokester and the stoic couple, the shy kid and the jokester couple, or the jokester and the jokester couple

there’s no in between

cracks terrible jokes just to see you smile

still tries pick up lines even AFTER you two are dating (even the guys shake their heads)

you two are the entertainment for easy co. let me tell you

you’re also the only person that can get George to shut up

you must thank him in kisses he takes no other currency

clingy baby™

it’s like dating a 12 year old boy sometimes

he can be so immature but it’s kind of endearing at times

everyone is immediately accepting of your relationship because it just makes sense and you’re both good for each other

wants a hug and a kiss even if you’re just leaving the dining hall to go to the bathroom

just give the man what he wants or he’ll pout all day until you kiss his cheek

you guys once had a match of how long you could ignore each other once

he was surprisingly dedicated

but he broke

he snapped like a twig after everyone went to sleep

he dived into your foxhole and begged you to talk to him

he kept snuggling closer to you until you talked to him again

Joe Toye

rough on the outside, soft on the inside

brings you flowers when he asks you out (surprisingly very traditional and respectful when he asks you out)

everyone has a good time when Toye is with you, he loosens up a lot more

loves when you pet his hair and he can just stare up at the stars while laying in your lap

he’s just as bad as Speirs when it comes to cuddling

a cuddle bug but won’t admit it

actually might be worse than Speirs when it comes to cuddling because he can actually sneak into your bunk while you’re sleeping

also wants to fight Sobel when Sobel insults you and actually almost threw hands

he almost got court martialed and was 2 steps away from getting up in Sobel’s face before Guarnere and Luz stopped him

hands down the dumbest thing he has ever done

you were so mad at him for it

you didn’t talk to him for a week

you felt bad because he was always giving you those puppy dog eyes from across the dining hall

Joe gets teased by the guys for being sweet on you

“at least I got a broad! the rest of ya’ can’t really say that much.”

will not hesitate to let you win during arm wrestling

he’s not allowed to arm wrestle with you anymore because the guys know he’s just letting you win

you’re his #1 fan during arm wrestling

look at those arms tho

Joe Liebgott

y’all thought Toye was soft

OH BOY

the way Joe acts around you is definitely bullying material for the other guys

Lieb drinks respect women juice

thinks you’re so cool

would probably walk up to random people and be like “that’s her. she’s my girlfriend. can you believe how lucky i am?”

thinks it’s so cute when you show off your brand new jump wings to him

you just looked so excited

he wasn’t even staring at the wings when you started rambling about how happy you were, he was just making this stupid in love face

definitely grabbed your face and kissed you hard after that

he wants SO many kids????

ya know those lists that lots of girls have on their phones and it’s just a bunch of future baby names??? that’s Joe

this man has 8 names

4 girls names and 4 boy names

he plans to use every name

just wants to live the domestic life with you after the war

will freeze his ass off and take your watch just so you can get some extra sleep

another cuddle monster (they’re multiplying)

whispers really cute things in german to you until you fall asleep

has also almost fought Sobel for shit he said to you

David Webster

you help him fit in more with the other guys

please teach him the art of socializing

yes, the men have stolen his journal to read all his terrible poetry about you

still gets shit for it to this day

shares his chocolate bar with you

longing stares but from across the room

doesn’t actually take you out until the war is over because he wants to do it right dammit

has little to absolutely no relationship experience

please teach him

or better yet, struggle with him and get made fun of by all the guys

they actually accept Web more now that he’s with you

cuz Easy Co. loves you

sends letters all the time when he’s sent to the hospital

everyone teases him that he acts like he’s more likely married to Liebgott than to you

you’re the only reason the men will stop teasing him

definitely more badass then him

you radiate boss energy and that’s what easy co. likes about you

especially Web

everyone’s like “that’s my girl!”

and he just smiles in the corner with the rest of them

Bill Guarnere

DID I SAY SOFT???

S O F T

weak for his girl

arm wrestles just to get your attention (flexes all the time for pete’s sake)

also wants like a gazillion children and talks about it constantly with Liebgott

this man wants an army of little Italian kids

no one makes fun of you or Guarnere for his actions to get your attention because they don’t want his fist in their face

people who have almost punched Sobel for making fun of their girl: let’s add Guarnere to the list

you didn’t ignore him, you just told him off for being an idiot

if i could describe it, he sulked like a puppy that got told no more treats

so proud of you when you get your jump wings

probably makes a toast about it at the celebration

he was so drunk but it was so cute

literally will do anything for your attention

chugging three bottles of whiskey so Y/N will pay attention to me??? pass the bottle bitch

not a massive cuddle monster but enjoys PDA and the occassional ass slap

probably has slapped your ass in front of company before

this boy has no morals smh

don’t worry, you get him back though

Frank Perconte

worry wart but multiply it by 1000x

is always bothering you to brush your teeth

not because he’s scared your breath stinks, but because he cares about you and your oral hygiene

now gets bullied about oral hygiene and his relationship with you

ft Skip. “oh Y/N, take me away my princess. did you brush your little pearly teeth??? i would never want your perfect smile to be ruined.”

Skip has been chased multiple times around Toccoa for this behavior

will fight anyone that thinks you’re not a good shot

is amazed how good you are at darts (knows you’re better than Buck)

does share a foxhole with you

is NOT part of the monster cuddler club because he knows when to stop

has not arm wrestled for your attention but will if so needed

always needs attention

whiny 12 year old boy P.2

sometimes it’s like you’re dating Luz as well

Luz has purposefully third wheeled before

yes, you heard me

ON PURPOSE

likes spontaneous dates

would fight Sobel for you but isn’t stupid enough to almost do it

Buck Compton

realized he had heart eyes for you before his old girl broke it off with him

WAS RELIEVED WHEN SHE SAID SHE WAS DONE WITH HIM IN BASTOGNE

the other Easy men were like “dude, what the hell are you waiting for. GO GET YOUR GIRL!”

let’s you win at darts

is also stupid and needy enough to arm wrestle for your attention

actually wins though

wants you to kiss his guns (absolutely not sir)

jealous and protective

jealous af around Winters

gets teased a lot about it by the other men

but they can see why he’s insecure about it, Winter’s could sweep any girl he wanted to off her feet

indeed a cuddle monster

will only share a foxhole with you in Bastogne

no one else

radiator of heat and thus a good cuddler though

will only let you make fun of him without repercussions

wants you to move in as soon as the war is over

always demands to be in your unit during an attack

will keep you safe at all costs (and one of the reasons why he got shot in the ass again)

Floyd Talbert

THE ABSOLUTE SWEETEST BABY

people use to bully Tab for his condom shipments

now they bully him for the way he acts around you

tough guy??? no. absolute stick of melted butter when around you

thinks you’re a saint

so does the rest of Easy though, so I guess it doesn’t matter

they had everyone from Easy give him a pep talk just to ask you out (Trigger even barked at him)

he was actually worried you would reject him

no one will ever reject that man lol it doesn’t make sense

not necessarily a cuddle monster

DEFINITELY A PDA MONSTER THOUGH

likes when you sit on his lap

can’t explain it, it just makes sense

will also arm wrestle for your attention

will honestly do anything for you

you need me to bring you Jupiter in a jar???

sure babe I’ll be right back

has specific pet names for you

his favorites are buttercup, angel, and beautiful

Babe Heffron

P U R E

does not get bullied for being in a relationship with you because everyone loves him

not a single person in this company, including you, would hesitate to sacrifice their life for that replacement

whines a lot to you when you don’t give him attention

will arm wrestle for your attention and loses

has not had the chance to fight Sobel before but I feel like he could if he wanted to

will tear Dike to shreads if he even mutter one hateful word against you

cuddle monster #2323293

enjoys being the little spoon and the big spoon while in the foxhole

shares his food with you during meals

will not hesitate to get shot in the ass for you

also will not hesitate to get shot for you in general

is like an angry 6 year old baby when you don’t pay attention to him

is known to give the silent treatment when you’re too busy to talk to him for days

MAKE TIME FOR HIM DO IT NOW

wants you to meet his Ma in Philly after the war

has many hopeful dreams that include you after the war

will only share chocolate with you and Gene

give him a hug, even when he says he doesn’t need it

Eugene Roe

HOLY SWEET JESUS

FIRST OFF

NO ONE IN THEIR GODDAMN RIGHT MIND WOULD EVER MAKE FUN OF YOU, ESPECIALLY AROUND DOC

this man has so many pet names

he is not afraid to use them on the battlefield, especially if you’re bleeding out because he’ll know you’ll answer to them

“darlin’, mon amour, ma mie, ma belle, ma chérie”

please stop Gene, it’s embarassing but also like don’t stop

get us a defibrillator his heart stopped while he was looking at you and we need to do CPR NOW-

thinks you’re the most beautiful girl ever

is not dumb enough to arm wrestle for your attention

he just makes this grumpy or upset face and you catch on quickly

he’s also not dumb enough to fight Sobel

BUT HE WILL FIGHT ANY SOLDIER WITH THE AUDACITY TO INSULT YOU

is always worrying about you

especially in Bastogne

always jumping into your foxhole to check for any wounds

probably lost his sizzuhs that way

always has extra bandages just for you

treats you with tender care

Donald Malarkey

THE CUTEST COUPLE EVER

NOT EVEN SKIP HAS THE HEART TO MAKE FUN OF YOU

is not dumb enough to fight Sobel for you

doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to punch him though

is dumb enough to arm wrestle for your attention

it lowkey depends on the day though

i mean

he doesn’t need to arm wrestle for you to admire his arms

like, have you seen that gif of him taking of his shirt???

loves cuddles in your foxhole but is not a cuddle monster

he’s a big baby when he gets tired

loves it when you take care of him

has definitely fallen asleep once on your shoulder during watch

would run up Currahee with full gear 3 times just to see you smile

he needs a hug. give him one now.

likes to rest his chin on your head

also wants you to move in (and maybe get married) after the war

treats you kindly, but he’s still a sarcastic little shit

kiss his muscles

that was literally so long i can’t believe i finished

#dick winters #lewis nixon #ronald speirs #ron speirs #carwood lipton #george luz #frank perconte #joe toye #joe liebgott #david webster #bill guarnere #buck compton #floyd talbert #babe heffron #eugene roe #donald malarkey #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers headcanon

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caffeinated-yearning · 3 years

Text

Confessions and (Bad) Dancing

In which pieces of the puzzle slot into place, feelings are lain bare after a year of working together on cases, and some people are better at dancing than they have any right to be (but unfortunately I am not one of them).

Word Count: 2103 Warnings: uhhh aside from crippling embarrassment as a center-stage piece, none I can think of.

“Slow dance? No, sorry, I don’t know how.” It was ironic, the tone Mark used- but he was sincere; not for lack of trying, but a waltz was simply outside his dancing expertise. So was pretty much every dance step ever; he had never been very skilled with dance. I’ll step on your foot and scuff your shoes, or I’ll fall into you, or “it will be unsightly,” and that’s a promise. A low hum as the half-smile fell from something almost sincere into a flatter expression that looked more unyielding than it was.

Mark’s eyes remained on the offered hand, still outstretched as Mr. Edgeworth spoke; “I promise it’s easier than you think.” For one half-second, Mark actually considered it. Considered it carefully, from every angle- and from all perspectives foresaw himself getting embarrassed. Either through his own inexperience, or some comment thereupon. If nothing else, being that close to Miles- to Mr. Edgeworth would destroy the easy-going facade that he so carefully kept. A quick one-two and done, Mann overboard.

Miles added, after a half-second of silence; “consider it a request; it has been a while since I’ve had the opportunity, and I can think of no one I’d rather share it with.”

…

What?

Operation ‘try not to think gay thoughts’ has been blasted wide the fuck open, and all smashed to smithereens; what does that mean? What does that mean?! Dumbstruck, feeling his hands and feet go ice-cold and at the same moment his chest and face start to burn, Mark was… Passingly aware that he’d accepted Edgeworth’s (Miles’?) hand.

What???

What a terribly foolish thing to admit. Miles chewed his lip, hoping that that specific admission would pass cleanly over Mark’s head. The opportunity, hah! No one he’d rather share it with— a request?! How utterly embarrassing to have said so much. He considered himself lucky, and unlucky, that this Mann was so incapable of noting any act of affection leveled toward him.

Not… not that Miles was well known for being terribly affectionate. Still.

And, likewise now, Mark seemed wholly preoccupied with other things. Perhaps his utter obliviousness would continue to spare Miles the indignity of having to discuss any matters of the heart.

… That there were matters of the heart which needed discussing was… well. It certainly wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge.

Mark didn’t have the emotional wherewithal to hold his head up on the path to the dance floor- normally he wouldn’t dream of hanging his head, but the ground became very interesting when one needed to focus on one’s step, and even if he didn’t need to focus, meeting the eyes of (not allowed to think ‘crush’ but) Miles Edgeworth was dangerous enough.

Ah- oh no. They really had crossed that distance rather too quickly for Mark’s liking. Hand-on-back that rested warmly against this, his body, and it suddenly felt cumbersome to be- just to be. Mark’s own hand held feather-light over Miles’ shoulder; unwilling even to touch- to touch Miles. His hands were so cold and his face so warm- God, if there be any mercy in the world, may lightning strike me down here and now.

Alas, no such luck.

As the music started, step-one-two, don’t mess this up and stumble as Miles pulled him closer-; hand landing like lead to stabilize himself, and Mark felt his brain go absolutely empty- empty and full of static at the same time. “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, pulling back just to see where he was stepping- to see he was trodding on Miles’ feet and step-step stumble off. “I’m sorry—.” Sorry sorry sorry fuck.

“You really are unfamiliar with this,” Miles almost found it amusing, how little coordination there was. It- the dance- was all an excuse to be close to Mark in an otherwise over-crowded venue; he almost certainly should not have done this, should not even have admitted that he wanted to do this, but he had. While it was clumsy, it was still enchanting- just to be there together.

If only Mark were slightly more aware of the situation.

Miles sighed lightly, watching Mark glance one way, then the next- evidently searching for something, though what exactly he was looking for was beyond Miles’ kenning. Looking up, then down, then up again; it was a wonder he didn’t get dizzy.

A tense voice, anxious; “I said I’m bad at dancing.” Not exactly… ideal, for a (not a date but) dance.

“You’re not the worst,” Miles offered.

“But I’m not the best.” Quickly dismissed.

“Do you need to be the best at everything?”

“You can’t tell me you disagree- that you don’t want to be the best at everything you touch.”

That was… A fair enough point, he supposed. “But it’s an unreasonable standard to hold yourself to.”

Mark laughed at that- rude enough, tonight; “from you? From you?? We’re the same in that regard, at least. Neither willing to be less than the best, and neither expecting the world to live by the same standards.” At least he wasn’t still so stressed. And he’s back to watching our feet.

Mark felt himself pulled along at an unfamiliar speed; again he had been pulled a little too close, the dizzying steps tossing him face-first into Edgeworth’s cravat with a muffled ‘oomph.’ Despite all his struggling, he managed to scowl up into the grey above when he recovered his legs. So much struggling, with this dance thing. Struggles to meet a gaze, struggles to match the step. Infinite struggles, it seemed. Terrible!

Miles looked away too quickly when the glare was cast- had he been looking at me? “It gets easier with practice, you know.”

Mark grumbled and huffed and felt very inelegant as he tried not to step on any shoes without looking. “Which is useful if you are inclined to practice- so, not useful to me.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you would be so inclined if you had someone to practice with?”

Mark glared back at his feet with that; to look at Miles when his face was this bright (step over, Rudolph,) would convey only that he found the notion embarrassing- and master of logic that Miles was, surely if he didn’t put it all together by now, he’d have the final piece of evidence in the long and storied history of Mark has a big ol’ stinkin’ crush on pretty boy Miles Edgeworth like some kind of gay dweeb or something. Mark was sure he hadn’t been found out, but just as sure that it was only a matter of time. Damned if he would speed that along by actually showing off his embarrassment like some neon sign over his head. Over his face. Whatever.

“What-? Practice with you?” He tried not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Is that so bad an idea?” Oh Miles was on fire with suggestions that would be impossible to explain away in the future, when they had work tomorrow and had to act like nothing happened.

“It’s a terrible idea!” Despite the words, Miles could hear the smile in Mark’s voice; like it was all a joke.

“Oh?” He tried not to take offense to that- the offer was genuine, even if it would have been hard to explain away in the future. “And what’s so terrible about it?”

Mumbling, as though trying to speak under his breath and not accounting for the fact that they were less than arm’s distance from each other; “I’m gay; you figure it out.”

This time when Mark walked into Miles’ chest, it was less because of his own inexperience, and more to do with Miles coming to his own screeching halt.

“… What?”

“What?” Mark looked up, and reflexively Miles looked away again.

While blushing might have been a bit too strong a word for it, Miles felt his throat, face, and ears burn with… hmmm, embarrassment? Something more akin to sudden, unwanted understanding, as all the pieces fell in place. “Wh-?! What does- what does that have to do with it?!”

“I said I’m bad at dancing! You’ve noticed!! You can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed. Perhaps I am completely without rhythm, perhaps I am wholly incapable of such things as stepping around a room elegantly!”

“That’s definitely not what you said,” he started moving again- but this time, it was less of a dance and more of an attempt to hurriedly get out of the center of the room, get off the dance floor and into a place slightly quieter, slightly less in the view of everyone around. The appreciation in Mark’s expression was subtle, once he realized they were leaving- only for it to get suddenly screwed up into apprehension.

Miles supposed it was probably because Mark had put together that they were leaving for the sake of a slightly more serious discussion.

The evening breeze was lovely, Mark supposed; it was cool enough that he could almost radiate away all the embarrassment without having to go shove his entire head under a cold tap.

Almost.

“Now,” Mark refused to look at Edgeworth- not that looking would have been so difficult in the dark of the night, but the idea that Edgeworth would be able to see Mark’s own face was enough to keep him looking to the side. “Mr. Mann, please.”

He glanced over in spite of himself- and though it was dark, something in Miles’ stance, or gestures, conveyed the same unease. “This is he who’s speaking.”

“This is not the time for jokes, sir.”

Miles groaned, and despite the fear sense in the air, Mark cracked a smile. “But I am such a jester! It’s only natural that I crack a joke to lighten the mood.”

“I— even so,” Miles sat on the steps, gesturing for Mark to join him. “Please explain why your being gay is relevant.”

“You’re clever; can’t you figure it out?” Mark had almost sat down, and then the question (request?), and he elected instead to lean against a pillar and not, in fact, sit at all. “Surely something like that is obvious.” The smile had faded, that much was obvious in his tone.

“You’re not afraid to fall in love with me,” Miles posed it as though it was a question, rather than a statement of fact; attached to the end was an ‘are you?��

“Far worse,” Mark breathed; a whisper directed away that didn’t land upon any ears at all.

“Since that’s not an issue, I’m afraid I don’t see the logic.”

“I already…” have.

“Hmm?”

“Your logic is faulty. It’s well past your statement.”

“My… Do you mean ‘afraid to fall in love’?”

“That one, yeah.”

“Well past, then…” The silence sounded almost like disbelief; not that Mark was going to look over and see for himself. “You—?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t—!”

“For a long time!!” Mark wanted to laugh and scream all at the same time. God, what a terror this was! To admit to a crush one’s feelings, to acknowledge—.

“You didn’t notice either—?”

Wait what??? Mark turned around so fast he got dizzy and fell over. Miles was standing, having stood up at the revelation, and now he was leaning over Mark to help him get back up on his feet, and oh what a humiliating thing— “what do you mean ‘notice either’??? What’s that supposed to mean???”

“I knew you were oblivious but I was certain at least by tonight you’d have figured it out-.”

“Figured WHAT out?! What are you talking about?! Is this a dream? Am I dying and dreaming or something??”

“When I asked you to dance I was certain that would have clued you in-.”

“Oh my GOD whAT no I’m surely dying this is it, goodbye sweet world!”

“I can’t believe you would just throw away all evidence that pointed to my liking you at all!” By now they were both standing, and the panicked stream of words that had seemed never-ending had slowed to a point where they once again took turns speaking. “You really had no idea, then?”

“No. I’m a clown, remember?”

“Hmm. Well.”

“Regretting saying anything?”

“No, I think not.”

Hand in hand, a moment’s pause before clearing of throats and suggestions that perhaps they ought to return inside.

“I still think I’ll simply die if you try to teach me how to dance.”

“Well we certainly wouldn’t want that. Very well, you are free of such an obligation.”

“Good. I’d rather not have any more heart-attacks for a while.”

#for reference when there's a single dash it's meant to indicate perspective shift #[[ Reason and Rationale | Miles Edgeworth ]]#I've had this in my WIPs for TOO LONG #IT'S FINALLY DONE #caffeinated writing #no memory of my tagging system. sadge #no I do not know how to title things. thank u

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Text

Brains Over Beauty

Supernatural/Criminal Minds crossover! Sam x Spencer with a side of Jemily. 900 words. Silly fluffy ficlet inspired by a prompt from @fangirlxwritesx67: “Penelope Garcia from CM meets Sam Winchester and realizes he's the guy Spencer Reid hasn't been able to shut up about.”

***

“When do we get to meet the famous Sam, huh?” Emily asks.

“Soon?” Spencer shrugs noncommittally, but he’s wearing the adorably goofy smile that’s kinda become his default expression in the last few weeks. It gives Penelope major cheek-pinching urges. She grins and takes a long, noisy sip of blue raspberry margarita through her straw.

Between him, and Emily and JJ finally making it official, it seems like there’s something in the air lately.

“I still haven’t even seen a picture of him,” Emily adds. “You know your phone can take pictures, right? Miracle of modern technology.”

“I can’t wait, Spence,” JJ says sincerely, sliding a little closer to Emily and kissing her on the cheek.

“Oh my god, can you stop being so stinkin’ cute for like a minute?” Penelope says happily. “I just love love, you guys. And tequila.”

“Cheers to that,” Emily says, raising her own massive frosty glass in a toast.

“Not that I don’t love being single, because I am a strong independent woman and also there are too many stuffed animals in my bed to fit another human in there with me, but you guys are totally making me wish I had someone to cuddle,” Penelope rambles. “Like… to smush me, y’know? Not even in a sexy way! I just want big muscular arms around me.”

“Well, why don’t we help you find somebody?” Emily offers.

“What’re you looking for in a guy, Pen?” JJ asks, gesturing around the crowded bar. “See anybody who’s your type?”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “She needs somebody intelligent, and you can’t gauge a person’s intellect by their physical appearance, so it doesn’t really make any sense to -”

“I know you think looks don’t matter, Boy Wonder, but they sure as hell don’t hurt,” Penelope interrupts him. Spencer just smiles to himself and looks down at his phone, distracted by a text.

“What about him, over there on the end of the bar?” Emily asks.

Penelope sneaks a glance and wrinkles her nose expressively. “Meh.”

“Yeah, maybe I’m not helpful here,” Emily says, shrugging. “What with the… gay.”

JJ slurps down some margarita and giggles. “All I see is suits. Nobody’s colorful enough for her.”

“That is true,” Penelope muses, looking around.

“Even your tongue’s colorful,” Spencer remarks, and Penelope sticks out her tongue and crosses her eyes trying to get a good look at it.

“Ooh, over there,” JJ says. She’s not even a little bit subtle as she gestures with her drink.

“Yeah, you don’t need any more of that,” Emily mutters, smiling fondly as she relieves JJ of her glass and hands her a water.

“Bar, right behind you. Lumberjack Ken. With the muscles,” JJ hisses, and Penelope turns to look.

“Wow, okay,” she blurts out. The guy is tall, head and shoulders above most of the crowd, and she can see some serious muscles under his plaid shirt.

“Oh my god, dimples,” JJ points out. Penelope realizes she’s staring, and turns back to the table.

“Huh,” Emily says, with an appraising look over Penelope’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay, even I can admit, that is a good-looking man.”

“Don’t laugh at me,” Penelope scolds Spencer, who’s grinning in a distinctly shit-eating kind of way. “That sort of bone structure just begs to be appreciated. Also, talk about arms, am I right?”

“Well, you’re in luck, because he’s coming this way,” Emily remarks.

Penelope flushes. “Oh, god, do you think he saw me staring like a creepy creeptastic creep? I just wanted to admire from a distance, I wasn’t going to talk to him.”

Emily and JJ are both staring, but Penelope can’t bring herself to turn around again.

“Hey,” Spencer says casually. Lumberjack Ken hands him a fresh soda and wraps one big muscled arm around his shoulders, and then Spencer tilts his chin up for a quick kiss.

“This - you’re…” Penelope squeaks.

“Sam. I’m so glad to finally meet you guys, I’ve heard so much about you.” He aims his blinding dimpled smile around the table at each of the girls in turn; JJ and Emily look just as stunned as Penelope feels. “Sorry I’m so late, traffic was bad.”

The earnest blue-green eyes are almost too much, on top of the sweet, warm smile. He’s like the world’s most jacked puppy.

“This is Penelope, JJ, and Emily,” Spencer says, pointing around the table.

“It is so nice to meet you,” Penelope manages, finding her voice again even though her cheeks are burning.

“Spence,” JJ sputters. “Why didn’t you tell us he was coming?”

“I thought it’d be fun to surprise you,” Spencer says. His voice is innocent, but he’s smiling the smuggest smile Penelope’s ever seen on his face.

“Consider us surprised,” she says weakly.

“Don’t let me interrupt, though,” Sam says. “What were you guys talking about?”

Penelope’s mouth drops open in horror.

“How intelligence is much more important than physical beauty,” Spencer replies cheerfully.

“Says the guy with the cheekbones that could cut glass,” Sam teases. He looks down at Spencer with an expression that can only be described as besotted.

“He’s got a point, Spence,” Emily says wryly, and gives Sam a pointed once-over. “Easy for you to say.”

“If I didn’t love you so much I’d totally hate you,” Penelope agrees. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you have a brother, Sam?”

Sam and Spencer exchange a look before saying, in unison, “Well, actually…”

#sam winchester #spencer reid #criminal minds x supernatural #cm #spn #fic

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bosspigeon · 3 years

Note

74. Kisses Where One Person Is Sitting In The Other’s Lap for Mason/your Detective (I have a goldfish memory, I can’t remember his name sorry).

Pairing: Mason/M!Detective Word Count: 1559 Summary: Literally just self-indulgent nonsense. A chubby detective with anxiety being loved on by our favorite grumpy vampire. Yeehaw.

I know this was originally intended for Chase, but I got inspired to write Juni instead, because I thought it would be cute, and I’m in the mood for cute lately. Mild CW for allusions to body image issues.

Mason perks up the second the Warehouse's hidden door slides open with its distinctive rumble. They all do, really, attuned to the sound at this point. Adam, of course, for "security reasons." Nate and Felix because they both love visitors, especially since they only ever have two.

Mason smells Juniper coming. He smells like outside, crisp cold air and fallen leaves, and the weird air freshener in his car that makes it smell like a goddamned bakery. His soft lavender laundry detergent, the spiced tea lattes he drinks to stay alert because he claims coffee makes his chest hurt-- he did drink it once that Mason recalls, because the new barista mixed up his order and he was too polite (read: anxious) to correct her. It made his heart beat hummingbird fast, and it took Mason snatching the cup and dumping it for him to stop drinking something that was hurting him out of some misplaced sense of propriety.

He shakes off the thought and sprawls himself more languidly across the chair, slinging one leg over the arm and looking towards the door from underneath a curtain of loose, dark hair.

Felix, sitting on the sofa across from him playing with some old handheld gaming console Juni's let him borrow, looks up and snickers. "You're so obvious."

Mason stretches out to kick his knee before hurriedly retaking his position.

"Juni!" Nate says cheerily when the human comes puttering in the door, windswept and chilly. "Welcome!"

Juni always seems startled by that enthusiasm, but pleased nonetheless, and he beams. "Hey! No missions today?"

Adam, tucked as close to Nate's side as he can be without being on top of him, grunts his annoyance, but otherwise keeps his focus on his book.

"I'm afraid not," Nate tasks, nudging Adam in the side reproachfully. "Which is why this one is so grumpy."

Felix chokes a little laugh at the choice of word, and Adam glares at Nate, who smiles glibly back. God, they've been sickening lately. Another thing to blame Juni for.

"I just got my sixth gym badge!" Felix crows while Juni is taking off his coat and scarf and tossing them over a chair. He hasn't even looked at Mason yet, and he’s trying not to be annoyed by that.

He smiles, freckled nose scrunching. "Oh, awesome! That means you can use Fly now!" Underneath his jacket, he's wearing a shapeless, dark sweatshirt that shrouds his body completely. Mason clicks his tongue, and that finally gets the detective’s attention.

His soft eyes drift to the chair, and his mouth quirks in that way that means he's about to get sassy, even if his ears are going pink and Mason can hear his pulse quicken. He smirks.

"Oh, and what's the problem now?" Juni asks loftily.

"No problem," Mason drawls, stretching his arms over his head so the bottom of his shirt rides up. Predictably, Juni's eyes flick down, breath hitching. Got him.

"His problem is you're not paying enough attention to him," Felix scoffs with a hearty eye-roll. "He posed himself all pinup for you, and you care more about Pokeymans than about poking him."

Mason growls, and Juni squawks out a sharp, involuntary laugh that shouldn't be nearly as charming as it is. He claps both hands over his mouth to stifle it, and, as if to apologize, he inches his way over to the chair and nudges at Mason's knee with his hip. He does try to keep his expression neutral when he pulls his hands away, biting his plush bottom lip, the corners of his eyes crinkled with the effort of not smiling. In retaliation, Mason snakes a few fingers into his waistband and tugs sharply, which is enough to overbalance him and send him sprawling. He flails a bit, and Mason wraps an arm around his waist to hold him still, but his body stays tense and he braces one hand on the arm of the chair, keeping his weight from falling onto the vampire completely.

"Wait, don't!" he blurts, pushing himself up a bit. His cheeks are bright red, eyes wide. Mason raises his eyebrows. "I don't want to squish you!"

"You won't," Mason says with a shrug, tugging again now that he knows it's not an issue of Juni not wanting to be close.

"Mason," he protests, "I'm like twice as wide as you are! You're all… lanky!"

Felix snickers. Mason ignores it.

Juni's getting fidgety, looking away and shifting like he’s trying hard not to squirm. Mason pushes his glasses back up his nose for him, and he mutters a quick thanks, but still won't look at him, and he's still bracing his weight so he won't fall across Mason's body.

Mason scoffs and stands up. The sudden motion dislodges Juni entirely, and would send him toppling to the floor if Mason didn't scoop him up and lift him like a sack of potatoes. Juni yelps anyway, which makes the vampire roll his eyes.

Adam and Nate are looking at them both, Adam entirely unamused, and Nate smiling with that usual fond indulgence he gets when any of them are acting up. Felix is cackling now, his game forgotten. Juni is covering his face with both hands, until he finally peeks between his fingers and notices that Mason is holding him effortlessly, no sign of strain, no shortness of breath, no trembling.

"Christ," he breathes, and the heat radiating off him makes Mason smirk.

"Do you believe me now?" he sighs, making an effort to sound as annoyed as possible.

"Um, yeah," the detective squeaks.

"Great." Mason flops back down, and Juni makes another sharp, startled sound, but doesn't try to escape. It takes him a bit, but he does relax slowly, settling against Mason's chest and draping his legs over the arm of the chair. He still seems shocked, a little antsy, as if Mason's going to start wheezing out of nowhere, but he doesn't protest.

Mason pinches his hip, making him jump. “Hey,” he murmurs, nosing his way into the soft, autumn-scented curls hanging over Juni’s face. “Relax. I may be lanky, but I’m stronger than I look. You weigh practically nothing to me.” He wraps an arm around the human’s waist and squeezes, using the coverage provided by his hair to nip playfully at his ear. That gets the blood rushing, and he squirms some more, but this time it’s less about his worries and more about the heat between the two of them. “And you’re so soft,” he purrs, slipping one hand underneath his sweatshirt to find bare skin. Juni wriggles some more, and it just makes Mason chuckle. “Keep doing that and we’re gonna have a bigger problem than you being all shy.”

He freezes, practically vibrating, and the heat radiating off him is delicious. Unfortunately, he can’t enjoy it long, because Felix has been distracted from his game long enough to decide they’re his entertainment now. He leans over the arm of the sofa, elbows braced and chin in his hands, making kissy faces at the two of them.

“You’re both so cute, it almost makes me not feel bad about being such a fifth wheel.” He glances back over his shoulder when Adam makes a disgruntled noise at the comment, but Nate just laughs and mumbles something about whatever they’re reading to distract him.

“You could always leave,” Mason growls back, while Juni hides in his neck and tries to pretend he’s not laughing.

“Nah,” Felix laughs, kicking his feet gleefully in the air. “It’s funny watching you get all annoyed. You want to be all cute and schmoopy, but you can’t when everyone’s around. Newsflash, Grumpypants, you’re being so stinkin’ cute right now. Cuddling and whatnot.”

Mason shifts with the urge to stand up and put the brat in a headlock, but freezes the second he realizes that would dislodge Juni. Juni, who is warm, and soft, and--

“Fuck,” he mutters. He glares at Felix, who looks entirely too smug, thinking he’s won. Mason’s going to have to get him back later, but for now, he’s got a human in his lap that is quietly radiating happiness, and when Mason returns his attention where it ought to be, he’s pleasantly surprised by a soft peck catching his lips, quick and sweet. It leaves him blinking, blindsided, and Felix starts snickering again, but he can’t even be bothered to be upset.

Juni doesn’t initiate kisses often, and warmth blooms deep in his gut at the unexpected, easy intimacy of such a small gesture. It doesn’t help that Juni is smirking. It's weak, still edged with his usual shy “is-this-okay” worry, but when he chuckles, “Good boy,” teasingly, Mason’s done for.

You’ve fucking ruined me, he almost says aloud, but stifles it at the last second by returning the favor and snagging the detective by the chin, kissing him with a little more force, more intensity. Juni melts instantly, going boneless and pliant, and Mason can’t even be annoyed by the slightly chilly fingers curling around the back of his neck with the pride pulsing through him.

And, while the detective is nicely distracted, Mason snags a throw pillow and chucks it blindly at Felix, and, judging by the sharp yelp that follows, it strikes true.

The victory is almost as sweet as the mouth against his.

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orangeoctopi7 · 3 years

Text

Champions: Part 2

I said when I wrote part 1 for Stanuary last year that I planned on continuing this... it just took way longer than I expected.

Well, now I get to use part two for @stanuary 2021!

Chapter 2

“Gather ‘round everyone!” Linkara called in his team one morning. “I just got the dossier on my first opponent in the Contest of Champions.”

Jaeris, his coach, Dr. Linksano, his science expert, Pollo, his producer, and Harvey Finevoice, the general voice of reason, were all gathered in Linkara’s office.

“Who’s the guy?” Harvey asked.

“A man named Stanley Pines.”. Linkara answered, passing out photocopies of the documents.

“Huh, so they set you up with another first-timer.” Jaeris observed, scanning over the information. “He even comes from an alternate Earth a lot like yours.”

“So, they have you fighting a sextagenarian old man who runs a tourist trap?” Linksano asked incredulously.

“He’s a sextagenarian old man who destroyed an interdimensional chaos demon.” Linkara corrected. “He wouldn’t be in the Contest of Champions if he wasn’t a serious contender. Besides, I’m a middle-aged guy who reviews comic books on the internet, I’m hardly one to judge what this guy’s day-job is.”

“So who gets to choose the battle this time?” Pollo asked.

“We don’t know yet.” Linkara answered. “I think they’re supposed to let us know later today. But with the interdimensional temporal differences, we might not find out until next week.”

One of the Temlin’s hooded envoys appeared in the middle of the room, interrupting the discussion.

“Or, y’know, we could find out right now.”

* * *

Meanwhile, in Gravity Falls....

It had been a few months since Stan’s preliminary round in the Contest of Champions, and the elder Pines twins were back at the Mystery Shack for the summer. The Temlins had left them with a sort of “open channel” for communication, which Ford had connected to his monitoring equipment.

It’d been so long since they’d heard anything, that Stan was beginning to wonder if the whole thing wasn’t some sort of elaborate joke. Then one day, while Mabel was making breakfast, the alarm went off, and that creepy hooded hologram from before showed up in the middle of the kitchen.

Poor Mabel was so startled she almost dropped her pitcher of Mabel Juice, and Stan nearly made a move for his nearest gun before he realized what it was.

“Ford, that thing’s back!” He yelled.

The old researcher had already been rushing to the kitchen after he heard the alarm go off, and he appeared in the doorway just a second after Stan yelled. A still-sleepy Dipper was not far behind him.

“What’s going on?” the boy asked, rubbing crusties out of his eyes.

“It’s that stinkin’ contest thing I told you about!” Stan explained. “They finally remembered I exist, huh?”

“It’s all due to temporal differences.” Ford assured him. “I’m honestly surprised we didn’t have to wait longer.”

“Champion Stanley Pines, the time has come to set your first contest.” The hologram informed him. “For this round, you have been randomly selected to choose the nature of your competition.”

“Oh, really?” Stan grinned and slipped into conman mode. “Well, I’m really happy to hear that! Why don’t you have a seat and join us for breakfast while we talk?”

“Stanley, it’s a hologram.” Ford pointed out, but the Temlin emissary sat down at their little table.

“Why don’t you pour the nice alien hologram some Mabel Juice, Pumpkin.” Stan suggested. Mabel beamed and poured a tall glass for their guest.

“Oh boy, you’re in for a treat! I added extra Fizz Flints this time!”

Just as Ford was about to point out that, as a hologram, their guest couldn’t even pick up the glass, much less drink it, the Temlin emissary stared intently at the drink, and it began to empty, almost like an invisible straw was sipping it away.

“Incredible. We have explored the vast reaches of time and space. We understand the most intricate machinations of the universe. And yet we have never encountered a beverage like this.”

“Aww, thanks!” Mabel accepted their compliment graciously. “There’s more where that came from!” She filled the glass again.

“Heheh, yeah, sure there is sweetie.” Stan scooted her away and took a seat opposite of their guest. “Don’t give ‘em too much at once, kiddo, we want ‘em to savor it!”

Mabel nodded sagely. “That is so true. Let me know when you’re ready for more, Mr. Temlin.”

“Alright, alright, you kids run along. Me and Bigwig here are gonna talk business.”

The kids left with only minor protests. Ford was still standing in the doorway, trying to wrap his head around what he’d just witnessed.

“Ford, didn’t you have some sort of big project you were workin’ on?” Stan asked his brother pointedly.

“Hmm? Oh, no, nothing particularly urgent, at least….”

Stan shot his brother a significant glare.

“Oh! Oh, yes, I do have er, temporal disturbances to, ah, compare. Just… let me know when you’re done.”

“Now.” Stan said slyly as he sat across from the Temlin Emissary and steepled his fingers. “About this competition…”

* * *

“Champion Linkara, the time has come to set your first contest.” The hooded hologram declared. “While for this round, the decision ultimately rests with your opponent, you will be granted time to meet together and discuss the conditions of the competition. Speak aloud your readiness to begin the meeting, and it shall be done.”

“What, right now?” Harvey wondered incredulously.

“Eh, no time like the present.” Linkara reasoned. “So, is he coming here, or am I going there?”

“Champion Stanley Pines has agreed to meet in this location. He has also requested permission to bring a guest. Do you find this acceptable?”

“Sure, why not.” Linkara shrugged.

With a shimmer, the hologram disappeared, and two nearly identical old men took its place. They were both tall, broad-shouldered, and square jawed, with large ears, bulbous noses, and fluffy grey hair. One word a navy blue hoodie, the other a dark brown fisherman’s coat and a red beanie.

“Huh, not what I was expecting.” The one in the beanie grunted. “Just looks like someone’s basement. I thought the file said this guy had a spaceship.”

“I do, it’s undergoing some repairs right now.” Linkara stepped forward and extended a hand in greeting. “So, which one of you is Stanley Pines?”

The one in the hoodie gave him a piercing look, but the one in the beanie grinned and accepted the handshake. “That’s me. You can just call me Stan. This here’s my brother, Ford.”

Ford was looking around at Linkara’s gathered team. His gaze lingered on Linksano and Harvey. “Triplets, I presume? Incredible, what are the odds that two Champions from sets of multiples would end up competing against each other?”

“Whaddaya mean, triplets?” Harvey asked in confusion.

“Oh, come on, you three look even more alike than me an’ Ford, and we’re twins!” Stan scoffed.

“No we don’t!” Linksano protested. “I wear goggles, and he wears a hat!”

“What hat?” Linkara asked innocently.

“Yeah, you two wish you were as good lookin’ as me.” Harvey quipped.

“Er, weren’t we supposed to be setting the terms of your first match?” Pollo reminded them.

“Remarkable! Are you a sentient robot?” Ford leaned down for a closer look.

“Yes, and like most sentient beings, I don’t enjoy being stared at.”

“O-oh, of course!” Ford quickly folded his arms behind his back. “I apologize.”

“Uh, anyway, about that contest thing…” Stan steered the conversation back to the point. “I already talked with those Temlin guys, and it’s gonna be dirty boxing! They promised us a ring an’ everything!”

“What!?” Linkara protested. “How the h___ is dirty boxing a fair and reasonable battle? It has dirty in the name!”

“No hard feelin’s, kid, but you’re half my age, I need all the advantages I can get!” Stan defended. “‘Sides, I’ve read your file, I know you’ve got some experience fightin’ hand-to-hand.”

“I’ve read your file too, you used to be a professional prize fighter!”

“Tch, yeah, when I was in my 20’s. An’ it didn’t last long, believe me.”

“I thought the whole point of this meeting was to discuss the terms of the fight and come to an agreement!”

“Eh, that’s more of a formality than anything.” Jaeris clarified. “Since the final decision rests with whoever the Temlins chose, this time’s more for sizin’ each other up than convincin’ the other guy to even the playing field.”

“So what, whoever gets to pick the contest is basically guaranteed victory!?”

“Eh, not necessarily.” Jaeris corrected. “I didn’t get to pick my first round neither, an’ I still managed to come out on top by outsmartin’ my opponent.”

“Yeah, good luck with that, bucko.” Stan smirked.

“Stanley, don’t antagonize the man.” Ford chided him. “You’ve already literally given him an excuse to punch you in the face.”

“That’s the idea, genius.” Stan rolled his eyes. “But seriously, good luck with your preparations and stuff. I’m lookin’ forward to the fight, should be fun.” He grinned warmly at his opponent. “So, uh, are we done here? How do we get back to the boat?”

The air around them shimmered, and they disappeared just as quickly as they’d arrived in the first place.

“...He seemed nice.” Jaeris commented after they’d left. “H___ of a lot nicer than my first opponent, that’s for sure.”

“Oh yeah, perfectly nice!” Linkara agreed with false cheer. “If you ignore the fact that he’s basically been given permission to cheat. What a load of bullcrap!”

“You’re not going to give up just because your opponent has an unfair advantage, are you?” Pollo asked.

“Oh no, I told you guys, I’m in it to win it.” the comic reviewer assured them. “I just need someone to complain to.”

“I mean, I guess you could try and file a complaint with the Temlins, but I wouldn’t count on it makin’ any difference.” Jaeris said.

“Alright. Dr. Linksano, could you start drafting a complaint letter?”

“I’m a mad scientist, not your secretary!”

“I’ll pay you by the word.”

“Deal.”

“In the meantime, if I’m gonna beat this guy, I am going to need a really great training montage!”

* * *

The day of the first round came. Both parties were teleported to a boxing ring that had been set up within the Temlins’ stadium. Linkara and his crew were set up in the green corner, while Stan and his brother were in the red.

“Why are both of you fully dressed?” Linksano asked. “Don’t boxers usually just wear a pair of shorts?”

“You really think folks wanna see two outta shape guys fight topless?” Stan reasoned.

“Well, yes. Many people throughout the multiverse are very into that!”

“If you both feel more comfortable keepin’ your shirts on, then that’s the fight the Temlins are gonna put on.” Jaeris said.

“Contestants, enter the ring to begin your first round in the Contest of Champions!” The Temlins’ holographic envoy commanded.

Stan and Linkara both climbed into the ring, meeting in the center to shake hands and exchange pleasantries.

“So, uh, how long’s it been for you?” Stan asked.

“Eh, a couple of months. You?”

“Almost a year and a half. I almost forgot about this whole thing!”

“The contestants are in place. Fight with honor, fight with pride, most of all, fight well. Begin!”

“Kick his a__ kid!” Harvey cheered.

“You can do it, Stanley! Show him what the Pines family is made of!” Ford encouraged.

Stan made the first blow with a quick pop to the stomach and followed up by stepping on his opponent’s leading foot.

“...oww…” Linkara groaned and reeled back a step or two, but otherwise looked as ready as ever.

Stan raised an eyebrow in surprise. He’d expected the out-of-shape comic reviewer to be a push-over, but the guy could take more punishment than he thought.

Linkara landed a haymaker square in Stan’s chest. It was clear the kid had no form and no training, but he certainly packed a wallop.

They exchanged more sloppy blows. Most of the time, Stan didn’t have any trouble blocking the kid’s punches, but some of them were so wild and out there that he either didn’t see them coming or didn’t know how to block them.

“I AM A MAN!!” Linkara shouted, and despite the fact that it was as clearly telegraphed as possible, the punch was somehow impossible to block. The blow knocked Stan onto his back, and he was pretty sure there’d been a flash of light and some sound effects.

“What the heck was that!?” Stan quickly pulled himself up off the mat before the ref could ring the bell on him.

“I dunno, it does something different every time.” Linkara shrugged.

Stan squared his shoulders. It was time to end this. “Left Hook!” He wound up and socked the guy right in the jaw. The blow was actually enough to spin the comic reviewer on his heel, and he fell to the floor.

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1… It’s a knockout!” The ref declared.

Stan stood over his defeated opponent. “You ok, kid?” He asked, offering a hand up.

“...and tha’s why Pow-Rangers Megforssss.... Iz zah bes’ seezin of all…” The comic review offered only a slurred non-sequitur as a reply.

“Champion Linkara is unable to continue the fight! This match goes to--” The ref was about to hold Stan’s hand aloft in victory, when another Temlin Emissary, this one clearly different from the first, appeared.

“Stop these proceedings at once!” The hologram commanded with a booming voice. “There is reason to believe that Champion Stanley Pines bribed one of the Temlin Judges in order to receive an unfair advantage in this contest!”

“Ha! What? I dunno what this guy’s talkin’ about!” Stan insisted nervously. “I don’t even know what a bribe is!”

“How could anyone possibly bribe the Temlins? They’re all-powerful!” Ford asked. “I know Stan is quite the charmer, but what could my brother possibly offer them as a bribe?”

“A good question. We never would have guessed it was possible either, but Champion Linkara filed an official complaint. As we looked into his concerns, we found that our representative sent to determine the first competition with Champion Stanley Pines made themself unobservable for approximately 10 Earth Minutes. As for what Champion Stanley could have offered as a bribe, the answer is as simple as it is shocking: A new experience.”

“What the h___ is that supposed to mean?” Harvey asked.

“The Temlins started this competition because they were bored with all their limitless power.” Jaeris recalled. “So if this guy was really able to show them somethin’ new, that might actually be enough to work as a bribe!”

“When we further investigated the representative in question, we found them in possession of a large quantity of a heretofore unknown beverage called Mabel Juice. Upon interrogation, the representative confessed to accepting the beverage in exchange for approving ‘Dirty Boxing’ as the round’s competition.”

“Dang it, should’ve known that alien jerk would rat me out.” Stan muttered under his breath.

“As a consequence, the representative has been suspended from duty, and Champion Stanley has been disqualified from the Contest of Champions.”

“And you guys couldn’t have disqualified him before he beat me up?” Linkara asked incredulously as he picked himself up off the mat.

“The match was already set to be broadcast, and there was no alternative to fill the time slot.”

“So, what, this guy wins after all?” Stan pointed to his opponent.

“Champion Linkara will be assigned a new opponent for his first round. We shall choose another Champion who had previously been in consideration for this tournament.”

“Oh come on! So I have to fight two first rounds!?” Linkara complained.

“We shall inform you when your new opponent has been chosen.” The Temlin emissary continued as if they hadn’t heard him, before disappearing.

“So, uh, no hard feelings?” Stan grinned sheepishly, extending a handshake to Linkara.

“Yes! Yes, some hard feelings!” Linkara shouted at him.

“Welp, that’s my cue to get outta here. C’mon Ford!”

The elder Pines twins ducked into a portal back to the Stan’O’War II before the comic reviewer completely lost his temper. They sat down at the table and shared a hearty laugh.

Ford shook his head. “Stan, you’re the only person I know who could possibly bribe a race of all-powerful beings, and get away with it."

"Didn't quite get away with it, did I?" Stan shook his head.

“Well, you may have been disqualified, but you weren’t zapped or banished to a featureless void, which is more than most people who have crossed the Temlins can say.”

Stan grinned. “Heh, well, that might’ve been because they all want a shot at trying Mabel Juice. I’d better call her. Somethin’ tells me she’s gonna get some extra-dimensional visitors in the near future.”

#Gravity Falls #Stanuary 2021 #Stanley Pines #atop the fourth wall #Stanford Pines #Linkara #Fanfiction #My Writing #The silliness continues #Charm

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that-one-fandom-vore-blog · 4 years

Text

it’s because he’s afraid (exactly)

Wow. This is a monster of a fic and I have absolutely no apologies for writing it (nearly 30 pages of absolute angst!). First fic installation of the shifter ‘verse! Just to clarify, this happens later in the story, after all the boys know about Davey’s identity as a shifter, though they aren’t exactly... excited about it. Warnings up here for: panic, mentions of fatal (doesn’t happen), vore, a little bit of blood/injury, and fearplay. Hope y’all enjoy!

The cellar was cold.

More than cold. The darkness of the room was nearly suffocating. The air was damp and tasted of mould, and the harder Davey tried to focus on the sliver of light filtering in from beneath the heavy wooden door, the more his vision seemed to swim in and out of focus in a way that made his head spin. Everything around him was hazy. He could feel concrete under his palms and pressing against his back, and with every breath he forced himself to take in the darkness, the more painful the throbbing in his head grew. Inhaling, choking on the stagnant air, Davey balled his hands into fists. His shoulders shook.

How long has it been?

He didn’t know the answer.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Long enough for the gash on his cheek to scab over and for the small pangs of hunger to turn to a constant ache. Every noise echoed. His heartbeat sounded far too loud, muffling the noises of footsteps and voices coming from upstairs to a point where they sounded like they were coming from another world, and they may as well have been. Not a single person had come down to see him since he’d been tossed into the dark, dank prison, not to ridicule him, not to bind him, not to—

His stomach growled.

A choked little moan wound up from his throat. Shifting his weight, trying in vain to curl up on his side rather than continue kneeling with his back pressed up against the ceiling, Davey managed to curl up tighter.

The fact that they’d gotten him into the cellar in the first place was his own fault, he knew, but he’d clung to that stubborn hope that maybe, just maybe, if he obeyed their commands they’d let him off easy, keep him with the other boys. Crutchie had said something about it, something about bunks crammed so tightly together you couldn’t see the floor, and Davey could’ve sworn he’d seen some of them as he’d been dragged through the refuge’s doors, but he couldn’t quite recall it. It had been a mess. A mess of colours and shapes that didn’t make sense, and it had been near dark when he’d been hauled in, anyway.

All he remembered was his heart beating out of his chest and the sound his shoes had made as they dragged across the floor. He remembered talking in a hushed voice, remembered giving up on struggling, remembered trying to talk down the pair of thugs that had him by the arms.

And that had gone so well.

One of his eyes was still swollen shut from being thrown down the stairs, and as he’d been thrown into the suffocating darkness, his cap had been snatched by one of the Delanceys.

One of his hands came to tug at his hair. It brushed against the ceiling, trembling slightly as it grabbed a fistful of mussed brown curls, pulling on them until they slid past his fingers and he was left with yet another dull ache on his head.

I’m such an idiot.

Crutchie had told him, he’d told him not to do it with such desperation painting his face, told him not to step in, but by then, they’d both known it was too late. It had been too late once he’d felt that familiar prickling over his skin and anger had pooled in his stomach in a thick, molten sludge, the kind of anger that words wouldn’t fix, and from there it had been a blur. A blur of bruises. A blur of that shifting and changing, of his hands gripping the fabric of someone’s shirt, pinning them down against his better judgement and hissing at Crutchie to run.

His breaths were growing shaky again. He could hear it with every ragged inhale, and try as he might to fight back the choked, desperate sobs trying to escape his throat, little whimpers pulled from his lips.

How long has it been?

Came the question again. Louder.

How long until they come beat you black and blue?

How long until Les realizes his brother might not be coming home?

How long until Jack—

He sank his teeth into his lip, scarcely realizing that he’d drawn blood until the taste of it made him gag.

Don’t think about Jack.

It was easier said than done. He knew he’d wasted that first day crying out pathetically, begging for a second chance every time he saw shadows block the line of light, asking why they’d done this, asking what gave them the right to lock him in a filthy basement just because he was a freak, and do you know who I am? Do you know who’s on my side? They’ll bust me out of here, you’ll see.

He clung to those words, still. He’d clung to them until his throat was hoarse. He’d clung to them afterward. He’d clung to them as his eyelids had grown heavy and he’d succumbed to sleep’s siren song, halfway convinced he’d wake up to see a certain newsie standing there with fire in his eyes and telling him to get his sorry ass in gear.

And then he’d woken up.

Breathed— more like choked on— the stale air and shivered in the damp cold that had settled in the night under his checkered shirt and dirty vest.

Heard the noise of voices upstairs.

Realized that Jack hadn’t come.

Curled up tight against the sudden urge to sob.

He’d stayed like that until that itching, tingling feeling had made his skin burn and his back brush against the ceiling. He’d stayed like that until the support beams started to creak in indignance at Davey’s increasing size. He’d stayed like that until his legs had gone numb and his fingers were pressed tightly against the heavy door as if he could force it open.

Not that he could. He could barely force his eyes to stay open, and any movement he made only made the ache in his limbs worse.

Stop thinking like that.

Piped a voice that sounded eerily like his own.

Don’t lose hope.

How many times had he told Jack to do that same thing? How many times had he grit his teeth and been the one telling all the other sunken-faced boys to lighten up? He was the only one who hadn’t paid a visit to the refuge’s stone keep, and the other boys had all come out okay. He’d be fine.

Trying to regulate his breathing with the rational thoughts, Davey closed his eyes and furrowed his brow.

It’s been two days, right?

He’d fallen asleep twice.

So this…

This is day three.

A stone settled in his empty stomach.

Three days of waiting for a rescue that isn’t coming.

He was stupid for thinking it. Crutchie must’ve gotten nabbed, that would explain it, though both of the Delanceys had pounced on him once he’d gotten himself back to normal and tried to talk them down, and they’d been occupied with dragging him back to the refuge, which would’ve given Crutchie plenty of time to get him some help—

Help that didn’t come.

A voice in his head hissed.

Help that didn’t come even though you were looking for it and shouting for it at the top of your lungs.

Help that isn’t coming because Crutchie couldn’t be bothered to tell Jack—

Or maybe he did tell Jack, but Jack couldn’t be bothered to—

He didn’t realize he was crying until a hiccup caused him to bump his head against the ceiling and tears made his eyes sting. He didn’t try wiping them away. His hands were both by the door, and they quivered and twitched weakly with every wavering breath he managed to take.

Would you just focus?

If they were here, they wouldn’t know you’re in the cellar, and if they were smart about it, you wouldn’t know they were here until that door opened and—

A creak sounded from the staircase.

Davey’s breath caught in his throat. His whole body stiffened, freezing up without so much as a warning, the constant ringing that had filled his ears for the past three days suddenly disappearing, giving way to another creak from the stairs, followed by some grunting and the scuffing of boots.

Don’t get your hopes up.

It’s probably the Delanceys.

Here to throttle you and toss you out on the streets once you shift back.

His heart was starting to race. The voices were growing less and less muffled by the second, sounding less like nonsensical mumbles and more like—

“Wouldya get your stinkin’ ‘ands offa me? I’s goin’!”

No.

The beating of his heart— that noise that had filled his head— stopped as his heart lurched in his chest. Although his throat hurt and the air was grimy, he couldn’t stop a terrified, strangled noise from escaping his lips.

A name.

“Jack.”

It didn’t sound like him. It sounded raspy. Broken. Desperate. The second after he croaked it out, Davey clamped a hand over his mouth and tried to back away from the door, his heart thrumming louder by the second in his veins.

“Ya happy now?” Came another voice— Oscar— or maybe Morris— “like we said, we’s takin’ you t’yer pet, alright? So stop—“

Jack ignored them. Davey could hear his footsteps increasing in volume, thundering down the rickety stairs with a sudden burst of force. “DAVEY! DAVE, WHAT HAPPENED—“

A thump that sounded more like a shove made Davey suck in a sharp breath through his teeth, his body beginning to quiver as the footsteps grew louder. He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the noise of another shove.

“Nothin’s ‘append! We haven’t touched ‘im!” promised the other brother— that one was Oscar.

“‘Cept for when we threw ‘im down there,” piped Morris.

“An’ roughed ‘im up on th’ way...” Oscar added, earning a chuckle from his brother.

“OH, and we definitely punched ‘im at least three times.”

More than that.

He had bruises to prove it. His swollen eye had been bad before the tumble down the stairs, and the nasty gash on his cheek hadn’t been from the first, second, or third blow. Pressing one hand to the slit in his skin, Davey tried to ignore the pained noises that were growing more and more audible. Jack’s pained noises.

What did they do to you?

As much as he wanted to cry out, he knew there wasn’t a point. Jack knew he was here, and his voice was so broken and shredded from that first night that he knew it would do far more harm than good. It would just encourage the Delanceys, though Oscar and Morris didn’t seem to need any further encouragement. Davey had practically tuned their mocking voices out. The cacophony of his panicked thoughts and rasping, laboured breaths coupled with his thundering heartbeat made everything sound like it was underwater. Everything except for Jack.

“Get OFFA me!”

“We said we’s takin’ ya to ‘im! Said it twice,” a dull crack of a fist against a jaw punctuated the statement, “so it’s in your best interest ta can it!” Oscar’s voice was dripping with malice. Davey could see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that it hurt, see the two brothers with Jack hanging between them as he was forced down the rickety staircase.

“Bastards,” Jack spat through his teeth, “when I get outta here—”

Shadows crossed in front of the door, and before Jack could finish his sentence, he crashed against the door with a thud. It had to be him.

Swallowing, Davey tried to summon his words despite the fact that his hands were trembling profusely. “J-Jack—” He began, though he was quickly silenced by the sound of a hand connecting with the door, the noise of the locks jingling following shortly after.

“Dave?”

His voice was so close that it hurt.

Davey’s heart lurched. With his body moving without his permission, he found himself with one hand— one massive, monstrous hand that pinned down Oscar like he was nothing, did you think of that, Davey?— inches from the door.

“Jack,” he choked, voice turning desperate, the sudden reality hitting him upside the head with enough force to send him reeling.

The Delanceys are with him, which means this isn’t a rescue.

Choking a little on his own breath, Davey’s tone turned urgent. “You— you shouldn’t be here, you—“

“Aw, gee, Dave, I’m touched,” came a snappy reply, though it was quick to break into a yelp followed by a sharp crack of a body connecting with the door.

“Sheesh, if ya wanted t’see your boyfriend so bad, why’d you fight us the whole way down?” Morris sneered over the rasping, heavy noises of Jack trying desperately to inhale.

Another crack. From the light under the door, Davey couldn’t tell who’d been hit, though the pained moan that followed no less than a second after caused him to draw away from the noise. Had things been different, he knew he would’ve cried out. He could’ve pried the door off its rotting hinges and flung himself into the fray as though it was Les in danger, could’ve tried to reason, could’ve gotten Jack out of the way, could’ve done anything other than cower back further.

Cowering made his ribs feel like they were going to snap, but it didn’t stop him from drawing into himself, numb to everything but his heartbeat pounding through his veins and the shadows slipping under the doorframe, numb until—

With a bang, the door flew open, and before Davey could truly process what had happened, his hands shot forward to catch something that tumbled into the cellar with him. Something warm. Something breathing.

“Jack…” He whimpered, cupping his hands around the battered boy. He couldn’t see much— his vision was covered in spots of purple from the light that was still flooding in, but Jack wasn’t moving. He wasn’t fighting the handling. He wasn’t moving at all, was he even breathing? What if was dead, what if he’s—

“Shit, he’s a big one,” Morris hissed, causing Davey’s gaze to snap upright to the silhouettes of the two thugs standing in the doorframe, “maybe that story ‘bout that Conlon kid ain’t as bullshit as we thought…”

His stomach dropped.

They’ve heard.

Of course they’ve heard.

His discomfort must’ve shown on his face, because Oscar grinned. A wide, toothy, mocking sort of thing, and he spoke with enough malice to make Davey’s blood turn to ice in his veins and draw the limp form of Jack closer to himself. “Hope it’s not. It’ll make this more interestin’ for Kelly…”

Blue eyes widening in a mixture of shock and terror, stomach churning at the implications, Davey opened his mouth to say something— anything, but—

The door snapped shut, dousing the cellar in darkness once more.

The silence left in its wake lasted about three seconds, but three seconds was long enough for Davey’s addled mind to finally snap into the present.

“You—“ he started, looking down at the dark shape of Jack in his palms, the gravity of the situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave, “—you’re joking.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was all he could get out.

You’re trapped, too.

Even in the dark and squinting through one eye, he could see the gleam of Jack’s eyes, the reflection of the light filtering in under the door make it look like they were glowing. “This is the part where you say ‘thank you’, Dave.” The other boy huffed, flatly, “but thanks for the sentiment. ‘Preciate it.” Catching his breath, Jack pressed one of his hands heavily against the surface of Davey’s palm and hissed: “now would’ja quit shakin’? You’s rattlin’ my brain around in my head, and if “I’s gonna get us outta here—”

It was then that Davey stopped paying attention. “Where were you?” He hissed, unable to keep his voice from cracking pathetically. His eyes were growing damp, and try as he might to keep from letting his anger boil over, his words were turning to a hiss as he bore down on the other boy in his palms. He was uncomfortably close and he knew it, and normally, he would’ve been able to calm himself down, but he found himself drawing Jack closer to his face to better see him in the low light. “I— I’ve been down here for three days, Jack!”

Jack winced, but before he could even try to respond, Davey plowed forward. He’d been alone in the dark for three days, and try as he might to regulate himself, to keep his calm— those words had had longer to build up in his head.

“I thought you’d just left me here!” He snapped. “I— what, am I just not important to you? Do you even care?”

“Hey, Dave, e-easy—” Jack tried.

Davey barely heard him. His fingers were starting to curl around Jack’s sides, and when Jack tried to shift, their trembling grip tightened, silencing his sputtering. “I didn’t think anyone was coming! I waited, Jack! A-And if I’d tried, I could’ve escaped, b-but I didn’t— I didn’t want to cause a scene, and I thought— I thought you’d come!”

It sounded even more pathetic when he said it out loud. The wobbling of his voice didn’t help anything, either.

Through his teeth, he continued, struggling to keep himself from shouting. “I spent that whole first night thinking that I’d get w-woken up because you were there, but you weren’t, and I thought you’d f-forgotten I was even—”

“We did NOT forget you!” Jack snarled, his ferocity catching Davey off guard enough to make the taller break into a sharp gasp. “So get that outta your head right now, Jacobs!”

His eyes were stinging, his bad vision blurring even further in the dark, leaving him with just vague shapes. He could see Jack— still feel his weight and warmth on his palms— and as he tried to inhale past the knot in his throat—

“Dave, breathe.” Jack ordered.

Davey choked out a bitter laugh, the noise coming out in a garbled, breathy sob. “What’s it—”

Jack’s hand hit the surface of his thumb. “You ain’t breathin if you’s talkin’!” He snapped, and when Davey went to respond—

He was out of breath. When he inhaled, it was raspy and made his throat feel raw. It sounded like a wheeze. “I— I thought you weren’t g-gonna—” He began, stopping to choke down another ragged gasp and use a free hand to swat at his watering eyes. “—I thought you didn’t c-care enough to— t-to—”

Jack gave a small noise of frustration. “I did!” He hissed, “two days ago, we came in through the window!”

Davey’s mouth shut abruptly. Watching as well as he could, fighting back a small sniffle, he could make out the shape of Jack tugging at the hair that had snuck out from beneath his cap. “Two days ago,” he repeated, the anger just beneath the surface of his words alone enough to keep Davey quiet. “It would’a been sooner, I swear it, but Crutch needed help an’ I wasn’t about to leave ‘im alone, and the other boys, once they heard what happened…”

A stone settled in Davey’s stomach when those glimmering eyes flicked away from his own.

“They didn’t want to go alone… did they?” He finished.

Jack didn’t look up. When he nodded, it was slow, as if he didn’t want to be doing it. “They just didn’t wanna find ya like this,” Jack explained, patting the surface of Davey’s palm beneath him for emphasis, “an’ after the whole thing with Spot… just bad timin’.” He explained. He still wouldn’t meet Davey’s eyes. Shifting, coughing slightly to clear his throat, Jack gave a dismissive shrug. “So we waited. Waited for morning, an’ the second the sun was up, you knows what we did?”

This time, it was Davey who looked away. Jack’s eyes looked dark. His teeth were grit, too, and although he was small in Davey’s hand, he certainly wasn’t powerless.

“Jack—”

“We came to get you outta this mess, only you weren’t there! We came in through the window— four o’ us. Specs, Albert, Racer and me, and you wasn’t there! Combed through everythin’ we could find, we did—” He stopped, suddenly enough to make Davey’s brow furrow.

“What?” He prompted, concern lacing his words.

“Found something ya might miss, is all. Just gotta…” Sticking a hand into one of the inner pockets of his vest, Jack pulled a dark item into the light, and before Davey could even ask what it was—

It connected with the side of his head with a soft thump before flopping lifelessly to the floor next to his hand, falling into the light filtering under the door.

My cap.

Turning his eyes to Jack, shifting so his hands were steadier, Davey moved to thank the other boy, but Jack spoke first.

“That’s all we found upstairs,” Jack mumbled, “an’ we took it as a sign that’cha busted out, but then Les said ya hadn’t been home and that you’s folks was worryin’.”

Jack took his own cap in his hands and leaned so his back pressed further against Davey’s fingers, fiddling with the clumsily stitched hem. “We didn’t know what to do. Crutchie felt the worst, I think. Kept on ramblin’ about how it was all his fault, which is some bullshit if I’ve ever heard it. He kept on tryin’ to think of any rooms we could’a missed when he got real quiet and mumbled somethin’ about a cellar.”

Davey swallowed hard. His hands were starting to tremble again, jostling the other boy in his grip. Jack swatted his thumb.

“Hey, I said t’cut that out,” he tried to joke, though it fell flat, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. It was almost quiet enough to hear the rustling of the other boys upstairs— the ones Davey had been dragged past in the darkness— beginning to softly chat. Bedsheets rustled, and if Davey really, really strained to hear it, he could almost hear laughter.

Delanceys must’ve left the room.

Awkwardly shifting, trying to breathe steadily, Davey carefully lowered his hands to the ground. “Sorry.” He murmured, hollowly, uncurling his fingers from around Jack.

Jack took the hint. With as much swagger as he could muster in the enclosed space, he slid his way out of Davey’s grasp and stood. “S’fine. Ain’t like I’s usin’ these here brains for nothin’, anyway.”

The best Davey could manage was a weak snort. It made his chest ache, Inhaling, opening his mouth to agree, Davey managed to get out the beginnings of a quip before his head started to spin. The world around him blurred together in a mess of dark shapes and colours that didn’t connect, and as he screwed his eyes shut against it, he was made aware of a low, whining sort of groan filling the air.

It was only when Jack’s hand tapped on his cheek that he realized it was pulling from his own throat.

“Shit, Dave, what’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Davey bitterly replied, still stubbornly refusing to open his eyes, “and that’s the problem.”

The noise of Jack inhaling was sharp. Already, he knew the other boy was going to ask for clarification, but before he could even deliver the question—

A muffled growl sounded from his middle, sudden enough to make him flinch and open his eyes, coupled with a hunger pang that made him shudder violently.

Jack stiffened. “Oh.” He mumbled, suddenly making Davey painfully aware of the space between the pair of them. Something in his chest pulled taut.

“Yeah.” He managed to get out. His throat felt tight. His eyes tracked Jack’s movements as the other boy began pacing, an almost predatory precision falling over his face. Subconsciously, he licked his lips. It had been easy to ignore the small twinges from his stomach when he was alone. He could focus on something else. Daydream. Retreat into his head like he always did when things got bad, but Jack’s presence was keeping him locked in the present, bringing to mind thoughts of how easy it would be to—

He swallowed, suddenly aware of the fact that his mouth wasn’t painfully dry anymore.

Jack took his cap in his hands. If he noticed Davey’s sharp gaze, he didn’t show it. “You means that this whole time… they was starvin’… you was starvin’...” He trailed off, blowing out a heavy breath through his teeth. “Shit, Davey, I’s sorry I took so long to come, but I didn’t wanna get caught—” He broke into a harsh laugh, the noise sudden enough to make Davey flinch. “—though I guess that didn’t matter none either, huh? Fuck.”

Jamming his cap on sideways, pacing growing quicker, Jack turned his attention to the door and slammed a fist against it, repeating himself, louder. “Fuck!”

“Language, Kelly,” Davey weakly intoned, earning a halfhearted glare from Jack.

“Whatever.” He hissed, attention flicking back to the door. We’s gettin’ outta here, now.” His hands began to pry at the door, scratching, searching for something to grip onto with a noise that made Davey close his eyes again.

“Can’t.” He rasped, quietly.

The scratching didn’t stop. If anything, it grew more dogged. “Shit, there’s gotta be a loose board or somethin’—”

“Jack.” A little louder this time.

Jack’s hands continued to scrape across the wooden door. “All I need’s a loose board. I’s gotten outta the refuge before, once we’s upstairs, we’s just gonna creep out th’ window an’ then—”

Inhaling sharply, opening his eyes as well as he could manage, Davey set his jaw. “Jack, I can’t.”

The scrabbling stopped as Jack whirled on him. “Why not?” He snapped. “You’s big enough ta be doin’ this part, jus’ get that there door open an’ get yourself back to normal, then we can bust outta this joint!”

An irritated little moan worked its way out of Davey’s throat. Gesturing as well as he could, fingers bumping up against the floor, he lowered his head slightly. “I can’t,” he hissed through his teeth, trying to ignore a small twinge from his gut.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “The hell ya mean, ya can’t?” He asked, incredulous. “You’s big enough ta scare the shit outta the Delanceys an’ you’s tellin’ me ya can’t—“

“I’ve been down here for three days!” Davey shrilled. Trying to shift his body so he was closer to Jack, he twisted his torso as well as he could despite the fact that he was wedged firmly in place.

“Yeah, you’s said,” Jack snarked back, his volume rising, “so fine. I’ll take th’ door, then you shift back an—“

“Do you have any idea how much energy it takes to shift?” Squaring his shoulders as well as he could while on his hands and knees, Davey lowered himself so his chin practically touched the floor. “I— Jack, I’m running on empty! I’d probably… I dunno, pass out or something, and then I’d never get out. I’m stuck like this!” Bringing one hand up to his head, he jammed it between the ceiling and his hair, curling his fingers in with his scruffy brown locks. Desperation was flickering to life in his eyes. “Even if I could change back, it’d be useless. I can barely even move without everything spinning— I can barely move at all!” He gave a bitter laugh. “Shit.”

Jack gave a weak laugh. “Language, Jacobs.”

Davey rolled his eyes and huffed. Taking a moment to gather his words, he couldn’t help but track Jack’s movements when the other boy began pacing. “I… I read about shifting when I first found out, and it… it takes a lot of power to change. Usually I’d have it all pent up, but now…” He broke into a huff. Raising a hand to shakily run through his hair, Davey exhaled through his teeth. “I’ve got none. A-And some shifters can get stuck, it— it just happens, Jack, we can’t— we panic, and then it kicks in like a defense, and then—”

A hand connected with his own. Had he been more in his right mind, he might’ve yelped in protest, but instead, all he did was stop talking and warily meet Jack’s eyes.

“Geez, you’s really out of it, huh?”

“I’s... it’s fine.”

Jack’s brow furrowed, though Davey barely saw it through a blink that took a little longer than normal. His eyes, however, were focused almost too sharply on Jack’s face.

“No, you’s not fine,” Jack was saying, though Davey barely registered it, “you’s talkin’ like me, that’s— that ain’t a good sign!”

When Jack started pacing again, pacing the small strip of the ground that wasn’t covered by Davey’s quivering shape, Davey felt another small twinge from his belly and a surge of saliva puddling on his tongue.

Don’t.

He swallowed. Shifted his weight.

“Does it matter?” He tried to banter back, squinting through his swollen eye. “Les isn’t here to hear it, so he can’t make… he can’t make fun of me.”

When Jack turned back to face the door, Davey swallowed again, trying to move so the ache in his legs was lessened. Anything to distract him from the newsboy standing in front of him.

“Okay, well, we ain’t stayin’ in here,” Jack grumbled.

Davey inhaled. Already, his mouth was open to speak, but—

“Don’t argue with me, Jacobs.” Jack’s hands were back on the door, nails scratching away at the wooden surface, looking for a lock or loose board that Davey knew wasn’t going to get found. “We’s just gotta think of a plan, s’all. You’s all about that shit, ain’t’cha?”

“Jack. It hurts to think.”

His vision was blurring again. The scene before him looked all smudgy, like when he’s once tried on his father’s glasses.

“How the hell is you alive, then? What, with all that thinkin’ ya do. Ain’t it what fuels ya?” Jack fired back as Davey slumped forward. His chin brushed the ground. If Jack noticed, he didn’t react. “I mean, what, you got all them big ole words in there, like what— ass-piss—“

Davey tried to laugh despite the fact that it made his ribcage feel too tight. “Auspicious?”

It came out almost slurred. He could feel something hot on his lower lip, and as he tried to lift his head and swatted at it—

You’re drooling.

—a gasp caught in his throat. He managed to clap a hand over his mouth before Jack turned his head, his smile a little more guarded. A little more wary. A little more like it had been after a certain incident with a certain Spot Conlon.

“Hey, what’s’a matter with you?”

Davey swallowed numbly. “I— it’s just—“ he tried, lowering his hand just a little, “—I dunno, pick something. I’ve been down here three—“

His stomach growled. Loudly. Loud enough to silence him mid-sentence and make his eyes fix on the floor in silent shame.

The silence was heavy. Too heavy. Heavy enough to make him feel almost queasy as he shakily inhaled. “Sorry.”

Are you?

Are you really sorry?

Another question he didn’t want an answer to.

“It’s fine,” came Jack’s response, and although there was a teasing edge to it, it was less gentle than normal. Harsher. “Just don’t go gettin’ any ideas.”

“Again, head hurts too much for that.” Davey huffed.

“Right, so long as it ain’t makin’ it so ya can’t think clearly, ‘cos I don’t want to end up in a certain spot that a certain Spot has visited, underst—”

“YES,” Davey hissed through his teeth with a voice sharp enough to echo a little in the enclosed space, “Jack, I got it! I— I promise you, that is the last thing on my mind!”

“Then why’s you droolin’?” Jack was getting closer to him, now. Even in the dark, Davey could see the way his shoulders were starting to tense.

“I’m not—” Something wet on Davey’s lower lip made his sureness falter, if only momentarily. He swallowed. Hard. He couldn’t stop himself from salivating, though, and to his horror, it only seemed to be getting worse. His fingers twitched as he raised his hand, clamping it firmly over his mouth. “—shit.” He finished, weakly, his voice coming out in a sharp wheeze. “J-Jack, you know— you know I wouldn’t— n-not to you…” He trailed off almost desperately, the noise of Jack sighing one of the few rising above his own heartbeat throbbing away in his ears.

“Sure.”

It didn’t sound like he believed it. The silence that hung in the room was heavy as could be, though it was quickly broken by another mournful groan from the direction of Davey’s middle and a pang of hunger sharp enough to make Davey screw his eyes shut and give a choked off little whine. He didn’t look at Jack. He didn’t need to— shouldn’t, not with his instincts going absolutely ballistic. Already, he wanted to apologize, though for what was beyond him. It wasn’t his fault, not really, that they were in this absolute mess of a situation. Maybe if he’d fought back, things would be better, but—

Jack interrupted his thoughts. “The boys’ve gone quiet.”

Davey blinked. Wiping his mouth with his hand, disgustedly, he felt his lips tugging into a sharp frown. “What’s that got to do with anything?” He questioned, watching as Jack began to back away from the door.

“Means they’s not alone. Crutch says they never shuts up unless—”

A thump sounded from the stairs.

Davey’s heart sank. What was left of his hope was starting to disappear, and as much as he wanted it to be a familiar face— god, did he ever want to see Race or Romeo, Buttons, Specs, any of the other boys— he knew in his heart that that wasn’t the case. These weren’t footsteps that were trying to be quiet. They were loud, thumping down on the squeaky steps as though they hadn’t a care in the world.

“Five to one, ‘e’s dead.”

“You’re on.”

The Delanceys…

Something in his shoulders tensed at the realization. Their words were making his stomach twist. He could almost guess the reason why the bet was in place, though before he could come to any sort of conclusion, the door swung open, and there the brothers stood.

It was, thankfully, dark, save for the lantern the two carried, but it still stung Davey’s eyes to keep them open enough to see the rest of his dingy surroundings. He found himself squinting against it, already tensing, ready for another fight that he knew he didn’t have the energy for. How could he?

“Damn,” Morris grumbled, “why the hell’s they both still ‘ere?”

Jack bristled. “The hell you mean, why’s we both here? We’s here on account’a you throwin’ us down the—”

“We wasn’t expectin’ shifty over there to be gone, jackass.” Oscar’s words were dripping with a false sort of charm as he leaned down over the step, his eyes sparkling with an awful sort of glee in the lantern’s flickering light. “But durin’ feedin’ time at the zoo? The tigers sure as shit eat up the goats.”

“When’s you ever seen a tiger?”

Davey blanched.

They couldn’t mean…

They can’t mean—

Again, his frantic mind began to draw a conclusion that made him feel sick to his stomach, and again, he was interrupted.

“What’s that mean?” Jack’s voice wasn’t as sure as it normally was. The bravado was starting to waver. Break. Fall away. It left without warning, and as Davey listened, Jack’s tone changed to that of someone more than a little unsure of what the future may hold. “The fuck are you on about?” His shoulders were square. He looked about ready to throw himself at the Delanceys without a moment’s pause, but as he inhaled to speak again, Morris cut in.

“We was told t’get rid’a ya and to be creative,” he announced, somewhat proudly, “so we figured we didn’t need nobody knowin’ about no body gettin’ found an’...” He grinned, pausing for dramatic effect in a way that made Davey’s heart sink. “We figured out exactly how t’do it. Just needed your dumbass boyfriend to get himself caught, then we got ‘im nice an’ starvin’.” He shrugged, clearly disappointed. “Thought you’d be somewhere warmer than a cellar by now.”

Davey's heart was starting to thunder out of control, and when his gaze turned to Jack, he could see the other boy looking at him with a mixture of apprehension and abject terror. “You… ya want Dave to…”

“Get rid of you, once an’ for all.” Oscar finished, somewhat proudly. “Comes with th’ added bonus that he won’t be goin’ back t’see your boys, after what he’s done, so the union fails, too. Win win.”

Nausea washed over Davey. “No! That’s— that’s disgusting!” He sputtered, frankly unable to believe his ears. “I’m not— I’m not an animal, I won’t—“

His stomach growled again. Louder, this time, and Davey came to a stammering halt. Shit, this was bad. Worse than bad, and as Davey tried to force himself back into as small of a ball as he could curl up into, it didn’t sound like it was getting better.

“That’s right, he won’t.”

Jack’s voice caused Davey to look up, only to see him get shoved. Hard. He’d gotten too close to Oscar, and the brother had reacted quickly. “Well, that ain’t an option. If he don’t, we throws you off the Brooklyn bridge in a carpet, an’ we leaves this bastard ‘ere to die.”

“How come I die in both?” Jack sputtered, “what— whaddid I do t’you?”

Davey barely heard him. His thoughts were starting to race, panic churning through his mind at a million miles per hour. He was supposed to be the rational one, for christ’s sake! But his mind was far from a rational place, and the exhaustion clinging to him in a thick shroud didn’t help him in the slightest. It made it so much harder to focus. He kept his eyes trained on Jack as the rate of his breathing quickened to harsh little wheezes that stung his throat. The other boy’s tense stance didn’t help, either.

“I’d say it’s warranted, wouldn’t you, Morris?” Oscar asked, jabbing his brother in the ribs afterward and earning a swat on the shoulder.

“Absolutely. You’s been nothin’ but trouble, Kelly, with all this union bullshit. S’not gonna work, alright?”

“Was workin’ fine,” Jack snapped back, “‘fore you took one of my fuckin’ friends an’ locked ‘im up down here!”

Davey’s heart stuttered.

The union?

“S-Something’s wrong with the—”

“Not the time—” Jack began, though, before he could finish—

Morris jumped off the last stair and shoved him hard in the chest. “Make a choice, smartass,” he hissed, bringing his fist back to strike, “an’ you’s dead either way. Both is just as fun for us.”

Oscar was quick to join his sibling, and despite the fact that Davey was absolutely monstrous compared to them, he found himself shrinking back reflexively. “C-Can’t we just talk this out?” He tried, somewhat desperately. “This is murder! You wouldn’t— you wouldn’t kill us, and when you get found out— th-the other boys, they’ll come for us!

Morris grinned. It was a twisted thing, sharp enough to make something in Davey’s chest tighten. “Think we care? Either we lie about this one snappin’ ya up, or we say it was an accident that’cha fell off the bridge. Nobody’ll find your body, and d’ya really think this one’ll say a fuckin’ word?” He hissed, gesturing to Davey with enough force to make the larger boy flinch.

“Guys, this ain’t funny—”

“You see us laughin’?”

As the pair stalked forward, Jack began to back up, causing Davey to pull even further into the corner despite the pressure it put on his ribcage.

I have to do something.

Anything would’ve been better than watching as Jack stumbled away from the brothers with their hands curled into fists.

“You’s grinnin’ like a hyena!” He sputtered, stepping more and more into Davey’s personal space. He was standing just in front of Davey’s face, and when he looked over his shoulder, his face paled. “And you’s makin’ it worse!”

Davey sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth before he realized that he was drooling again. Shit. His heart was thumping wildly. His hands were starting to tremble, his fingers twitching uncontrollably, and the worst part of it was that his senses were starting to kick into overdrive. He was painfully aware of how close Jack was to him, and it only worsened when Jack’s back brushed against his chin, touching up against the saliva he couldn’t bring himself to wipe away.

“Looks like we’s gonna do this th’ fun way, then,” Oscar crooned, stepping forward with a fist raised. Despite Jack’s fighting stance and glare that Davey knew was fearsome, the thug didn’t stop advancing, Morris cracking his knuckles a step behind him. Jack couldn’t take them both. It was only when Oscar moved to swing that Davey suddenly sprung to life.

Without thinking, he closed his hand around Jack and yanked the other boy close to himself, guarding him fiercely. “You’re not going to touch him!” He snarled, his voice losing its wobble as though he was back on one of the discarded boxes out in Newsie Square, rallying the other boys. Inhaling, ignoring the surge of the world spinning around him, he tried to speak, but—

His stomach gurgled.

He bit his lip, not finishing the rest of his statement.

The silence that followed left him painfully aware of the fact that his heart was beating out of his chest. He could feel Jack in his hand beginning to try moving, and although it made him feel physically sick, he tightened his grip on Jack. All eyes were on him. His lungs felt too small as he hastily choked down another breath. “I-I’ll…” He swallowed, pretending not to notice the way Jack tensed at the noise.

I don’t want to.

“I’ll do it.”

He was vaguely aware of Jack making a strangled, choked little noise as he adjusted his fingers and shifted his weight, his eyes growing damp. It looked almost like they were glittering in the low light. There was something of a haze falling across his vision, and although he could blame it on the wetness of his eyes, he knew there was something more to it. It was familiar. Something he knew. Something that had fallen over him once in Brooklyn, and now here in the cellar as dust clogged his nostrils.

Jack’s voice was shaking almost as badly as he was. “D-Davey— you— you ain’t gonna— you’s— you’s not—”

Davey tightened his grip further. Before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted the other boy off the ground with a jerk of his wrist, earning a sharp gasp.

“Dave, hey, this ain’t— this ain’t funny—” Jack started to protest, though he was cut off by Davey tightening his grip. “—ey— ey— sn-snap outta it, you can’t— you’s not gonna—” There was poorly disguised panic flashing across Jack’s face as he squirmed a little in Davey’s careful hold, looking up at his captor somewhat confusedly. Although he gave a little laugh, it was riddled with anxiety. “—you’s not gonna…”

Davey’s lips curled back in a grimace. Although he wanted nothing more than to explain, his words were sticking in his throat along with his breaths that weren’t coming quite right. Looking at Jack was only making it worse, and as Davey forced himself to look down to the Delanceys, he found his grip on the newsie tightening.

Look scary.

It wasn’t as though he needed to try; he was huge. Still, he inhaled and tried his best to hide his shaking by clinging to Jack tighter. It was met with a wheeze.

“D-Davey, David— we—”

Davey’s stomach growled.

Jack blanched.

“Shit, Davey, ya can’t just— ain’t we friends? You said— ya— ya PROMISED!”

It was killing him to keep his face expressionless. Davey clamped his teeth down hard on the inside of his cheek as he lifted Jack closer to himself, completely tuning out Jack’s struggles. He had to work to keep his hands from trembling any more than they were as he swallowed back the apologies threatening to spill from him.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

Forcing himself to tighten his grip, to shift Jack closer still to his mouth, Davey puffed himself up. “I’ll eat him,” he hissed through his teeth that were only grit to keep his lip from quivering any more than it already was. It came out in a near growl.

The two brothers looked ready to bolt.

C’mon…

Davey silently willed them as he shifted his grip on Jack yet again, trying to keep the other boy from hyperventilating or panicking too badly. It wasn’t working. Jack’s breathing had turned to rasping barks, and although he was silent, Davey knew that wasn’t any better. When Jack was quiet, it meant he was out of words. Out of smart-mouthed remarks. Out of curses. Out of words spat through his teeth. The only thing Jack had left now was panic.

Davey’s thoughts were spiralling.

If they go, I don’t have to…

I don’t have to…

He bared his teeth, trying his best to look like the monster they thought he was and bristled, and although Oscar stumbled…

Morris squared his shoulders. As much as there was fear in his eyes, there was also defiance as he raised his chin in Davey’s direction and snarled out two words in a wobble of a voice. “Prove it,” he hissed, stepping forward on wobbling legs.

A halfhearted smack to Davey’s fingers caused his attention to shift down the the young man in his grasp. “Davey— c’mon—“ Jack pleaded, though he was cut off by Davey bringing him a good foot off the floor in his quivering hand. He was running out of space between his hand and the ceiling. Jack was inches from him, now, every one of Davey’s panicked breaths causing his hair to ruffle on his head and his cap to tip back.

I’m sorry.

His heart was beating so fast it sounded like a constant, thundering drone, and as he looked to jack with a helpless, terrified expression finally piercing through his mask—

“I knew it,” came Oscar’s wobbling voice, “he ain’t gonna do it, ya owe me five, an’ we’s gotta find a way t’get rid of them—“

“I said I was gonna do it!” The force of his own words surprised him, and moments after Davey said it, he felt his stomach lurch dangerously.

“Yeah?” Morris tried, “well, you’s all talk—“

He was cut off by Davey opening his mouth. Wide. As wide as it would go, actually, which normally wouldn’t be much to think about, but now, Davey was all too aware of the implications.

Moving quickly, not thinking too hard about what he was doing, trying to block out the strangled cry that escaped Jack’s throat when he shifted his grip, Davey pinned the other boy’s arms to his sides with his fingers as well as he could manage and lifted him closer to his gaping maw.

Jack was trembling. “Davey,” he hissed through his teeth, giving his legs an experimental kick despite the fact that Davey was keeping him from moving too much, “Dave, I get that you’s bluffin’, but now’s a good time t’stop— sh-shut yer trap an’ put me down before—”

Davey moved him closer. Close enough that he could practically taste him already.

“—N-No, Davey— Davey, don’t, I know you ain’t gonna— you’s not—” His words were coming faster, now, and his struggling was getting harder, hard enough that it was making him almost hard to grasp. “—no, n-no! You’s not— you CAN’T!”

Davey forced himself to meet Jack’s eyes.

That was a mistake. The betrayal shining in them was impossible to miss— there in the fact that they seemed watery and in his knit brow— but beneath it was fear. Genuine terror— terror he’d never seen on the fact of Jack Kelly, and terror he never wanted to see again. Jack was as stiff as a board in his grip, and as he looked down on Jack, Davey couldn’t stop himself from closing his mouth.

The relief that washed over Jack was painfully visible. He looked like he’d deflated in Davey’s grip, and with a breathy laugh, he leaned his head against Davey’s skin. “Geez, Dave, ya really had me goin’—“ he managed to say despite the fact that his voice was wobbling. “—really— really thought you was gonna—“

Davey moved before Jack could finish. In one smooth motion, he opened his mouth, screwed his eyes shut, and stuffed Jack in headfirst. His teeth clipped up against Jack’s waist, and as he jerked his head back and swallowed heavily, a noise that sounded almost inhuman sounded from the confines of his maw.

“NO! DAVEY— DAVE—”

Jack’s legs— hanging past his lips— flailed wildly, smacking up against his chin with a surprising amount of force. Davey swore he could taste blood. Blood and something else. Something human. Something dirty, sure, but also something that tasted panicked.

The struggles grew more frantic, and as Davey struggled to inhale, he was made aware of one thing.

It hurt.

Jerking his head back, trying to pull the rest of Jack’s thrashing body into his mouth, trying to remain deaf to the muffled pleading and cursing, trying to do anything other than spit Jack out like he wanted so badly to do, Davey gave a short, sharp swallow and snapped his mouth shut. It didn’t do much, but it earned him a terrified shout and the feeling of something connecting with the back of his throat, prompting him to swallow again.

“DAVEY— DAVEY— SPIT ME OUT, C’MON!”

The voice was so desperate, so awful sounding that Davey could barely place it as Jack’s.

Jack scrambled to get a grip on the surface of Davey’s tongue, and when Davey tried to pin the scrambling newsie to the roof of his mouth, he felt the sharp pain of Jack’s fingernails digging deeper into the flesh around him. He was fighting hard. With every painful second that passed, Davey was made painfully aware of Jack’s terrified state through kicks and slams to the inside of his mouth that made him lock his jaw tighter.

“YA PROMISED!”

Came a muffled cry.

“YA PROMISED YA WOULDN’T—”

Another harsh gulp sounded, and this time, the pain was enough to make Davey gasp and bring a hand up to his throat. He regretted the action as soon as he made it.

He could feel every little struggle and kick from Jack under his fingers, and when he swallowed again, harder, he could feel that, too, the contraction of muscle that forced Jack past his collarbone and out of sight. His chest felt tight. His heart was beating so fast he felt that it might pop, and as he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes burning from tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks, he could feel Jack’s struggles falling lower and lower, slipping into his chest.

Jack’s cries were muffled completely, now. The squirming had grown minimal as he was forced further and further into Davey’s inner workings, though he was certain that it wasn’t because he’d wanted to slow down. Swallowing again, resisting the urge to gag, Davey screwed his eyes shut and pressed a hand flat against his stomach, trying his best to ignore the sensation of Jack squirming down the length of his esophagus. His breaths were coming sharply despite his attempts to act like he didn’t care— like it didn’t matter.

You’ve done this before.

You’ve done this TWICE.

But it hadn’t been Jack.

His whole body jolted when Jack made the final drop into his empty stomach, jolted to a point where he slammed his head against the ceiling and made the support beam give a sharp crack. Dust rained down on his head. And in the midst of it all— in his raging panic— Davey kept his face as blank as he could manage.

I just—

Did I really just—

A kick from his stomach confirmed it, coupled with the weight of something shifting under his skin, moving to fight and claw and kick and—

“Holy shit, he— you’s— you really—”

The Delanceys—

Davey’s eyes shot back open, falling to the brothers before him—

Where did they—

—who were standing on the stairs, gawking.

The second his eyes fell onto them, they both stumbled back a step. Oscar had his fists at the ready, and although Morris also looked ready to spring into action, his eyes kept darting between Davey and his middle. He looked pale, like he’d seen a ghost, and he only grew paler when Davey bared his teeth. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously soft— as if he was telling off a child. “Get out,” he stated, calmly, calmly despite the fact that his heart was beating in his throat, “or you’re next.”

His hands were shaking. Twitching. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and as he glowered down at the Delanceys with his jaw set, he squared his shoulders. One of his hands twitched.

The door slammed shut faster than he could react to, plunging him into complete and absolute darkness once more with a sharp bang.

For a moment, he was still. Completely and utterly still. The noise of footsteps thundering back up the stairs was the only sound that he could hear, and when he finally dared exhale—

A sharp jab from under his skin made him gasp.

“J-Jack—” He started, though he was cut short by another hit to his insides that made him clap a hand over where the internal pressure had come from, pressing down hard enough to feel the shape of Jack starting to throw his weight around.

“SPIT ME THE HELL UP, WHY DON’TCHA!?”

The fighting only got harder when he shouted. He put his whole body into it, pitching to a point where Davey had to bite back a gag. His stomach turned dangerously, and as he tried to catch his breath, tried not to focus on the lingering taste in his mouth, the thrashing only grew more violent.

“Jack, I—” His explanations turned to a whimper at a sharp jab to where his hand was pressed.

“STUFF IT!” Jack roared. Although his voice was heavily muffled, Davey could still more than make out the anger it held. “You— I can’t believe you just— you ATE ME! You picked me up and ya just— ya just—

“I’m aware of that,” he managed to huff out, “and I’m sorry, alright? B-But would you just—”

Jack wasn’t listening. The kicking and scratching got worse. Davey choked on a breath as Jack slammed his weight against his hand.

“—ya fuckin’— what, is that all this was to you, then? Was I just— is this all I am? Just— Just a light snack t’ya, ya hungry bastard? How long have you been wanting this? How— How long have you—”

“I didn’t want to—” He started to protest, though Jack kicked him hard enough to pull a gasp from his throat.

“DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK?” Jack snarled. “‘COS I SURE AS HELL DON’T THINK I DID! YA GOT SOME NERVE, JACOBS!” He stopped to breathe, and although Davey could barely hear it, he could see it so perfectly in his mind’s eye as Jack heaved and struggled to form words. He kept interrupting his sentences with gulps of air and other jabs to the flesh around him. “Can’t— can’t believe ya just went an’—”

He broke into a yelp as Davey shifted his weight.

I was SO STUPID for trustin’ you— after that stunt with Spot, I thought— Crutch said ya ain’t a monster—”

“Jack, listen—”

“—He said t’give ya a chance! Said ya didn’t mean it, but I guess that was stupid’a me ta believe—”

“Please— J-Jack, c’mon, you— you’re fine—”

When Jack’s voice met his ears, it was past the point of shrill, coming out in a muffled scream. “YOU FUCKING ATE ME, DAVEY!” It was followed by a barrage of kicks and jabs to his stomach lining that left him clutching tighter to his middle.

“I— I’m aware of that,” Davey whimpered, struggling to keep his tone even, “now can we move past it and focus on—”

“The hell do you mean, ‘move past it’?”

With every muffled curse and thrashing, jerky movement, he felt hot bile rising in the back of his throat and forced himself to gulp it back. At least he was feeling less groggy. He was wide awake, now. His hand trembled as he pressed it harder against where Jack was kicking him, trying to bring the other boy’s struggles to a stop.

“You just WAIT, Dave! Wait ‘til the other boys hear about this, they’s gonna—”

Something in him snapped.

Slamming one hand down on the cellar floor, Davey jabbed at Jack’s shape angrily. “The other boys AREN’T going to hear about this,” he hissed, “because YOU’RE not going to TELL THEM!”

The silence that fell upon the room afterward was enough to make Davey aware of the fact that he was panting heavily. His heart was thrumming away in his ears, and as he swallowed back a little gasp, he slumped defeatedly against the nearest wall of the cellar. His vision was swimming. The exertion had cost him. Woozy, keeping his hand over Jack, he let his eyes slip shut just for a moment.

And then the implications of his words hit him.

Oh… that’s… that’s why he’s gone quiet...

Eyes opening despite the fact that it didn’t change much, Davey sank his teeth into his lip and winced. “...Jackie?” He tried, his voice coming out wobbly.

Jack was trembling, now. He could feel it against his stomach lining, and with every little twitch from the other newsie, he felt his heart sink. “J-Jack, I didn’t mean—” He started, though he was interrupted by a bitter sounding snarl.

“Save it for someone who cares.” Jack snapped, his voice, though muffled, more than conveying his betrayed feelings. “I thought— damn it, Dave, I thought we was friends—”

“We are!” Davey protested. “I— I’m not gonna— why would I hurt you?”

“I’ll tell ya when I figure it out!” Jack snarled, though there was a quiver in it that Davey couldn’t ignore. The next hit to his innards was weaker, though still pointed and hard enough to make him wince. “I can’t believe you’s… so this is it, huh?” The bitter laugh that followed it made Davey’s heart twist. He kept quiet, though. “This is just… this is all any of it meant, huh? I— we’s— just like that, huh? I knew— I knew that thing wit’ Spot was just the beginnin’ of all this! I knew ya was just gonna snap an’—”

“You— Jack— hold on a second!” Davey’s tone was turning sharper. He couldn’t help it— the nausea was making his head spin. “You’re not going to die in there, okay? N-Nobody has, a-and nobody will, s-so would you stop kicking me and LISTEN?”

He hadn’t meant to shout. Gasping for air, the adrenaline fading into more of a shocked feeling that left his eyelids heavy, Davey worked to keep his breathing even.

Another impact to his stomach lining made him grit his teeth and inhale sharply, though… another hit didn’t come.

“I’s listenin’,” came a small voice.

Davey winced. A soft gurgle from his middle sounded as he tried to adjust his weight, keeping his hand over Jack despite the jab it earned him. “Right,” he breathed, “okay, look, I know it seems bad, but I promise, it’s completely safe!”

Jack gave a harsh laugh. “It seems bad?” He sputtered, weakly, his accent seemingly a little thicker than before. “Dave, ya— you jus—”

“Can we not dwell on it?” The pressure of his hand over Jack intensified. “Jack, I— I’m sorry, and you can be mad at me later, b-but I need you to stay there, okay?” He prodded Jack’s shape on the word “there” for emphasis, earning himself a sharp noise of protest.

“Like hell I’s stayin’ in here! You’se made a BIG mistake, once I— once I gets outta here, I’s gonna—”

Davey’s heart sank.

He’s not getting it.

Struggling to keep his tone even, Davey gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “You aren’t getting out of there until I let you out,” he stated, matter-of-factly. Already, he was feeling less tired than before— though he knew that Jack was having the exact opposite experience. It was a part of his anatomy— shifters could draw energy from pretty much anything, and Jack Kelly was no exception, if the pleased little gurgles resonating from the direction of his stomach were anything to go by.

“That…” Jack trailed off, and Davey could feel him struggling again, though the movements were sluggish. “That sounds like a th-threat,” he pointed out. “Why— Why’s I so damned… t-tired, why’s I—”

It was happening faster than it should’ve. Maybe it was the starvation kicking in, but as Davey began to sap Jack’s energy at a ridiculous rate, he could feel the other boy growing groggier. It was all too obvious that Jack was tiring himself out. The kicks and punches were growing clumsy.

“—Dave, what— what the hell?”

“I promise, you’re going to be fine,” Davey tried to reassure, though it came out a little strained. His stomach hurt. Jack had done a number to the lining there, that was certain. “Just… don’t panic all that bad, alright? I’ll get you out, just… give me a minute.”

Jack’s nails dug into the muscle surrounding him, the pressure enough to make Davey flinch and bite down hard on his lip. “Why don’t you sound sure of that?”

“What?”

The pressure on his stomach lining ceased, though another sharp kick to his innards made him give a small whimper. This wasn’t going well. This wasn’t going the way he’d wanted it to at all. Why couldn’t there have been a proper rescue?

Guilt painted across his face, Davey kept his hand over Jack as the other boy struggled to find his voice.

“Like you’se just—” Jack started, though he slumped further against the nearest wall with a groan. “—shit, why’s— m-my head—”

“I’m just taking energy—” Davey tried to explain, though he was cut short by a muffled, panicked wail of:

“You’se digestin’ me? S’that it?”

A groan of discomfort and frustration escaped his throat at the sensations of Jack trying to right himself— the scrabbling of hands against his stomach walls enough to make him gag. Jack wasn’t exactly a lanky guy, but Davey was hyper aware of the space he took up under his skin. “I— No! Jack, that’s— that’s disgusting, I— I wasn’t lying when I said you were safe, just trust me, okay?”

Jack’s accent was thicker than ever. The struggling had stopped— and although it was a momentary relief, Davey felt a stab of guilt pierce his chest at the next set of words.

“Why would I trust… someone like you?”

And with that, Jack went completely limp, leaving Davey in silence, save for the gurgling of his stomach and the sharp, laboured noise of his breathing.

Shit.

#David jacobs #davey jacobs #jack kelly #newsies #javid #g/t vore #sizeshifter!davey #angst fic #soft vore #safe vore #fearplay vore #fearplay #sizeshifter #i'd apologize but i'm not sorry #part 2 coming soon #promise!#gotta get some good ol' jack kelly pov

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