#I WANT TO DRAW MORE BUT I’M STILL RECOVERING FROM FINALS

[numbuh24insane]

Bowser vs Eggman: The Aftermath, Sonic's Realization

Restoration HQ

The Restoration's base hummed with quiet industry, a symphony of activity unfolding in the sprawling headquarters. Engineers tinkered with machines, repairing damaged equipment salvaged from the frontlines of battles past. Analysts poured over maps and reports, ensuring the Restoration could respond to any crisis at a moment’s notice. Volunteers bustled through the corridors, distributing supplies to be shipped to remote villages still recovering from the scars left by Eggman’s takeover.

Near the central operations hub, Tails oversaw a group of technicians calibrating a new detection system, his twin tails flicking with excitement as he explained the upgrades. In another corner, Belle hummed a song as she worked on long overdue repairs, her focus undeterred by the chatter of Jewel's logistical assistants organizing supply runs. The day was typical, steady, and predictable. Something that was becoming more and more common in this fantastical world.

Sonic leaned against a safety rail on the upper balcony overlooking the main floor, his arms crossed casually as he took in the scene. Below, a pair of members chuckled at the antics of Rough and Tumble on a monitor. The bumbling skunk duo had tried robbing a supply caravan earlier that week, only to be thwarted by Whisper and Tangle.

"You know," Sonic idly started as Amy came up behind him, "This place runs like a well-oiled machine. Kinda weird seeing it so . . . calm."

Amy smiled. "It’s what we wanted, right? To rebuild without having to fend off badniks every day."

"Yeah, I guess." He tapped a foot idly against the ground. "Just feels like it’s been too quiet. The biggest threats these days are Rough and Tumble making a mess of some random store or Clutch trying to pull off another shady deal. Hardly the kind of thing that gets my blood pumping."

"Maybe that’s a good thing," Amy said, looking at him. "We’re not supposed to need you to be the hero all the time, Sonic. The Restoration can handle the small stuff."

“And I’m here to clean up the big stuff . . . but nothing big has happened in months. I can’t even remember the last time Eggman pulled one of his ‘I’m-gonna-conquer-the-world’ stunts. Man, I just can’t shake the feeling that something big is going to happen, that it’s just right around the corner. If that makes sense.”

"It does," Amy admitted, her tone thoughtful. "I mean, after everything with Starfall Islands, I thought we’d have a new crisis by now. But Eggman’s been completely off the radar."

"Maybe he’s finally throwing in the towel," Sonic said, tilting his head back and gazing at the ceiling. "You know, after losing Sage . . . I think that hit him harder than he’d ever admit. She was like a daughter to him."

Amy frowned, taking in this new information. "You really think that’s enough to stop him? Eggman’s a lot of things, but giving up isn’t one of them. If anything, he’s probably using this quiet time to build something even more dangerous."

"Maybe," Sonic said, tapping his chin in thought. "Or maybe he’s finally realized there’s more to life than building giant ego-machines. I like to think losing Sage might’ve made him . . . rethink things."

Amy glanced at him, her expression softening. "You always see the best in people, even someone like Eggman. But I don’t think he’ll ever stop being Eggman. He’s always scheming, Sonic. Always."

Sonic smirked, the corner of his mouth curling as he turned to face her. "Well, if he is planning something, we’ll handle it. Like always." He tapped the rail. "But for now? I’m gonna enjoy the peace. Even if it is a bit boring."

Before Sonic and Amy could exchange another word, the lights flickered ominously across the Restoration’s base. A sharp crackle of static blared through the speakers, drawing everyone’s attention. The monitors scattered throughout the facility turned black for a brief moment before the familiar crimson insignia of the Eggman Empire appeared with the text ‘Please Stand by’.

The room erupted in confusion and alarm. Restoration workers scrambled to consoles, engineers fumbled with emergency protocols, and Tails bolted to the main control panel, barking orders to the tech team. Above it all, Sonic remained leaning against the rail, his grin widening.

"Well, well," He said with an amused chuckle. "Speak of the devil. Let’s see what ol’ Egg for brains has been plotting!" He could feel that surge of excitement and adventure rise up within him.

"If you are seeing this," Eggman began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “Then I am dead."

A stunned silence fell over the room. Even Sonic’s grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a raised eyebrow of genuine surprise. Amy’s eyes widened before shaking her head with disbelief.

Eggman continued, his image flickering as though the message were pre-recorded. "Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking. 'Is this some sort of trick?' Let me assure you, if this message is playing, then I have shuffled off this mortal coil.”

He paused dramatically, letting the words sink in before throwing his arms out in mock despair. "Tragic, isn’t it? The world has lost its greatest genius! A monumental loss for science, for civilization, for Mobius itself! But don’t mourn me too much! I’m sure my end was spectacularly dramatic!" The scientist laughed, twirling his mustache.

Eggman continued, his tone shifting to a speculative drawl. "Speaking of which, I’m curious. What could possibly have done me in? Was it one of my magnificent plans going down in flames? Did one of my creations rebel and finally catch me off guard? Or . . . " He grinned, pointing straight at the camera. ". . . did you finally do it, Sonic?" He leaned back stroking his chin as he considered the possibility,”If so, I do wonder what prompted you to do it. I had to have had a truly devilish marvel of a scheme to get you to finally cross that line.”

Eggman suddenly retracted, waving his hand dismissively. “Ah, who am I kidding? You’d never do it. No, no, no you’re too soft. Always playing hero, always keeping me alive so we can do this little dance forever. Ohohoho!”

Amy crossed her arms, annoyed.. “He’s still insufferable as always.”

Eggman wiped a tear from his eye before continuing his spiel, “But fear not Sonic, even if I’m gone you’ll still have quite the foe on your hands! Should Metal Sonic still be operational, and really, why wouldn’t he be? I built him to perfection. Then my empire is in capable hands. Metal will carry my legacy, and he will succeed where I could not. He will destroy you, Sonic. Oh yes, your days are numbered. Even now, I’m sure he’s already formulating the best way to turn you into a smoldering pile of ash! How proud I am!”

The screen glitched momentarily, then Eggman continued, his expression softening into a smug grin. “Of course, I can’t leave without a personal touch. I’ve prepared special messages for each of you. Think of them as parting gifts from beyond the grave! They should be arriving . . . oh, about now.”

As the video cut off, the Eggman Empire logo pulsed on the screens, and then, one by one, the Restoration’s systems began rebooting. Almost immediately, individual monitors across the room displayed specific names: Sonic, Belle, Amy, Tails, and others.

“He can’t be dead, can he?” Belle questioned, her wooden body rigid and eyes wide with disbelief. She was shaking, almost to the point of breaking. The poor puppet jumped as Tails placed his hand upon her back and got her to calm down.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Sonic uttered out, for once he didn’t have his casual smile upon his face. The wind seemed to have been taken out of his sails. One by one each of them approached a different monitor, wondering what kind of message Eggman had left for them.

Sonic leaned forward, his finger hovering over the notification bearing his name. The air around him felt heavy now, the reality of Eggman’s proclamation beginning to set in. He steadied his shaking finger and tapped the screen.

The screen lit up again, revealing a new recording of Dr. Eggman. This time, the background was less ominous. It was his usual workshop, cluttered with half-finished machines and screens displaying blueprints of his countless schemes. Eggman lounged in his oversized hover chair, a smug grin plastered on his face. That grin while still as smug as ever, seemed less performative and much more natural, as though this part was meant for Sonic and Sonic alone.

"Sonic," he began, spreading his arms grandly, "If you’re watching this, then congratulations you’ve outlived me. Bask in the glory of knowing you survived the greatest mind in history! I’m sure you’re standing there, smirking like you always do, thinking you’ve won. But let’s not get too carried away. Because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’ll never really consider this a win. Not against me"

Sonic nodded, it was true. He never wanted to see Eggman die. He always dreamt that Eggman would have a change of heart, that he would re-adopt that Mr. Tinker persona and work on making the world a better place. That was what victory meant to the Blue Blur, not this.

Anything but this.

"You know, Hedgehog, you’ve been the proverbial thorn in my side for years, and yet . . . I can’t say I ever hated it. Not truly. Sure, you’re insufferable, cocky, and annoyingly fast, but you’ve also been . . . entertaining. From our first little dance back on South Island to our more ambitious confrontations, like, oh, I don’t know, the time I turned you into a werehog . . . Not one of my brightest moments, mind you. But the point still stands! You pushed me, Sonic. Forced me to innovate, to improve, to strive for perfection. The brutal truth is that I am glad that you foiled my plans, it made my future endeavors all the more worth it."

"But," Eggman snapped, his voice snapping back to its usual boisterousness, "Don’t let this go to your head! Even dead I’m still smarter than you in every conceivable way. GAH! If I’d had just a little more time, I would have won! Make no mistake about that!” He pounded his fist against the table before calming himself down,”I’ll admit . . . there were times I almost respected you. Almost."

Sonic let out a soft smirk, understanding that was a confession of respect from the egomaniac.

The workshop around Eggman seemed almost smaller now, the man himself quieter despite the bombast in his words. "But alas, here we are. I’m gone, and you’re still here. I know you’ll carry on, saving the day and being that insufferable do-gooder you’ve always been. And honestly?" He allowed himself a small, almost wistful smile. "The world’s better for it. If I can't take over the world, then you better ensure that no one else will!"

Sonic’s hands dropped to his sides, the faint ache of realization settling in his chest. This wasn’t just another one of Eggman’s melodramatic speeches. For the first time, the finality of it all began to sink in.

He hated this.

This was something that he couldn’t run from, that he couldn’t use his prowess to overcome. Eggman was gone . . . and that fact truly hurt the carefree blue blur.

Sage had asked him to look after Eggman. Those were her final words, for him to ensure that her father would continue to live, for them to make up their differences. And he had failed that little girl, and he had failed himself.

Eggman straightened, his expression shifting to something sterner. "But enough sentimentality! I saved the most important part of this message for last." He tapped the side of his chair, and a familiar figure appeared on the screen beside him. "Sage."

Sonic's eyes went wide as he pressed his head against the screen.

Sage was gone, why was Eggman bringing her back up?

Eggman let out a confident smirk,”I managed to save her, Sonic. I scoured the Starfall Islands and all of Cyberspace, finding the remnant parts of her code, stitching it all back together and nursing her back to health! I succeeded where you failed her!” He uttered out, pressing his finger against the camera.

“She’s alive!?” Sonic shouted out, prompting glances from other Restoration members. A soft grin emerged upon his face,”Of course she is . . . It’s Eggman after all.” He was a miracle worker, always able to do the impossible.

“I’ve already integrated her into the Eggnet. She’s protected now, there won’t be any incidents such as what happened last time, and she WILL outlast me.” Eggman guaranteed, having worked long and hard to ensure Sage’s longevity and survival.

The image on the screen pointed directly at Sonic, his gaze sharp and serious. "And here’s the kicker, since I’m gone, I need someone to look after her. Someone who understands her. Someone who . . . " He hesitated, as if the words tasted strange in his mouth. " . . . who can help her find her place in this world. That someone, Sonic, is you."

The weight of the words hit Sonic like a freight train. The usually confident, quick-witted hedgehog found himself at a loss.

"I know what you’re thinking," Eggman said, his smirk returning faintly. "Why would I trust you with something so precious to me? The truth is, I don’t. But you’re the best shot she’s got. You’re . . . a hero, after all. And for what it’s worth, I think Sage would have liked that."

Eggman leaned back in his chair, a glimmer of something almost human in his eyes. "So, there you have it, Sonic. My final request. My final challenge. Take care of my daughter. And try not to screw it up." He then let out a grin,”And if you do? Then I’ll find a way to rise up from the grave and get you! Oh-hohoho!”

Sonic stood there absorbing Eggman’s last request as he heard the wicked scientist laugh for one final time.

The message ended abruptly, the screen fading to black. For a moment, the bustling sounds of the Restoration felt distant, muffled. Sonic stared at the blank monitor, his chest heavy. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

Sonic jumped as he felt a hand land upon his shoulder. His head spun around as he saw Amy looking at him, concern clear in her eyes. She ushered him over to where Tails was comforting Belle. The four of them found a nearby table, a heavy silence was practically smothering them as they sat there.

Belle shuddered.

Amy gently placed a hand on Belle's arm, her usual energy tempered with concern. "Belle . . . do you want to talk about it?"

Belle hadn’t spoken yet, her head still bowed. Belle’s hands trembled as she finally looked up, her voice quivering. "H-he called me his daughter." The room fell silent, all eyes turning to her.

"He said . . ." She paused, wiping at her wooden cheek with her sleeve. "He said he never understood the value of family until Sage. But that . . . he regrets not seeing it sooner. Regrets not seeing me as his daughter while he still had the chance." Her voice cracked, and a tear slid down her face, glinting like dew. "He hoped I could accept Sage as my sister. That we could . . . be a family. Even without him."

Amy moved closer, placing a gentle hand on Belle’s shoulder. "Belle . . ."

"But he’s not my father," Belle said quickly, her voice defensive and firm, though the tears kept falling. "My father was Mr. Tinker. Not him. Not-" She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don’t know what to feel. He hurt so many people. Hurt me by becoming him again. And yet . . ." She shook her head, her voice breaking. "I still wanted to hear those words."

Sonic stood, his face unusually serious as he placed a hand on Belle’s shoulder. "For what it’s worth, Belle . . . Mr. Tinker was real. He was Eggman, just without all the bad stuff clouding his mind. And if that version of him could care about you, maybe that means the Eggman we knew had some of that deep down, too."

Belle’s wooden fingers tightened into fists as she looked at him. "Do you think he really meant it? That he wanted us to be . . . sisters?"

Sonic gave her a small, reassuring smile. "From what he said in my message? Yeah. I think he did. He talked about Sage too, about how much she meant to him. And I think you meant as much to him as Sage does."

Belle bowed her head, letting the tears flow.

Tails frowned as he pat her back, trying to help his friend in her grief.

"Well, I don’t know what I expected, but that message was . . . something else." He crossed his arms, his twin tails flicking behind him. "Typical Eggman, though. Started off talking about how he was the greatest genius of all time y'know, classic 'Doctor Ego', but then he said something about me being . . . what was it? 'The second-smartest mind to ever grace this world.'" He snorted, but there was a small, conflicted smile on his face.

Amy leaned forward, curious. "Wait, second-smartest? That’s a compliment coming from him!"

Sonic smirked, reaching over to ruffle Tails’ fur. "Well, you are the smartest guy I know, little bro. Took Eggman long enough to catch on."

"Yeah, but then he said, 'With me gone, I suppose you’ll finally have a chance to take the top spot. Don't mess it up, Prower. Not that you’ll ever match my heights!' Like he couldn’t resist one last dig." Tails shook his head, but the faint admiration in his tone was undeniable. "Still . . . hearing him admit that? It means a lot, I guess."

Sonic glanced over at Amy,”What about you Ames? What did Eggman say to you?”

Amy looked down at the table, her brow furrowed. “Mine wasn’t much better. He said I should stop chasing after you, Sonic.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed through. “‘It’s unbecoming,’ he said. And that I’m wasting my potential, that I’d be better off focusing on myself instead of clinging to someone who doesn’t share my feelings.” She huffed, trying to mask the hurt. “Then he called me ‘stubborn to a fault’ and said I’d probably ignore his advice anyway. But . . .” she hesitated, her voice softening. “He said I’m stronger than I think. That’s . . . the only nice thing he said.”

Amy sighed, “He wasn’t completely wrong, was he? Maybe I do need to focus on myself more. I’ve been thinking about that for a while now.”

“You’re all right to feel how you feel. Eggman’s always been full of himself, but this . . . this is something else.” Sonic rubbed the back of his head, his eyes darting away. “It’s weird, you know? He’s always been there, always scheming, always chasing me down with his machines. And now he’s just . . . gone?”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Eggman’s absence settling over them.

Sonic pushed off the table and stood upright, his tone shifting to something more determined. “I can’t just sit here and let this stew. I’ve got to find Sage, and I’ve got to get some answers.”

Amy stood up, worry etched on her face. “Sonic, wait. It could be a trap. Eggman’s always been two steps ahead, even when it looks like he’s lost.”

Sonic gave her a half-smile, the sadness still lingering in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’ve got to get some answers. I owe it to all of us to figure out what’s going on.” Without another word, he turned and bolted from the room in a blur of blue, the air crackling in his wake.

Amy sighed heavily, crossing her arms again. “That hedgehog . . . He’ll never change.”

Tails leaned forward, a soft smile on his face. “Don’t worry, he’ll be okay. He’s Sonic after all.”

Belle wiped her face, her voice soft but resolute. “He’ll find her. He always does.” She paused, “And when he does, I’ll have my own questions for Sage. About him. About all of this.”

Eggman Land

Sonic raced through the countryside, the wind roaring in his ears, his mind churning. As he neared Eggman Land, the imposing theme park/fortress loomed over the horizon, its garish lights and towering structures stark against the twilight sky. Yet, something was off . . . there were no patrols, no badniks racing out to intercept him.

The gates were wide open, the rides whirred and the neon lights shined bright, but not a single soul in sight. It felt as though the place had been abandoned in a hurry, left on autopilot. Sonic slowed his pace, the eerie silence pressing down on him. His instincts screamed that something wasn’t right, but he pressed forward, weaving through the empty attractions until he reached the central tower.

As he entered it, he noticed the broken pieces of glass that littered the floor. Moving his gaze upwards revealed the monitors that were all destroyed, laid in ruins. One cracked monitor had Eggman upon it announcing his death in repeat. He finally turned his gaze to the center of the room and saw a man there, leaning forward at a console. He wore a black suit that was currently unkempt, shards of glass hanging loose off of the sleeves.

It was Agent Stone.

One of, if not the most loyal of Eggman’s followers.

Sonic took a step forward, glass crunching under feet. The sound alerted Stone to his presence, the man twisted around gripping a wrench as he faced the blue blur,”You!” He growled out with a rage that Sonic had never seen before. “You’re not allowed to be here! This place is sacred! A monument to the Doctor’s genius!”

Sonic gave a sheepish smile as he raised up his arms in surrender,”Woah! Don’t worry, I’m not here to mess with Eggheads stuff, I’m just here to get some answers. Such as . . . “ Sonic disappeared in a burst of speed, reappearing directly in front of Stone, the wrench wrenched out of his hand. The man fell back onto his chair in surprise,”Such as what happened to Eggman.”

Stone felt his own powerlessness as he turned his head away from the Hedgehog. “He’s not dead.” His voice was full of pain,”He can’t be dead. The Doctor doesn’t die . . . he always has a plan! He is a genius! The greatest genius! D-death is something that can’t apply to him.” His voice broke,”He wasn’t supposed to be gone for this long.”

Sonic’s head tilted as he caught the last part of Stone’s grief-filled speech,”What do you mean, he wasn’t supposed to be gone for this long?” He asked.

Stone glared at the Hedgehog, but gave in as he saw the sheer concern in Sonic's eyes,” . . . Months ago, the Doctor was studying the limits of the warp topaz. It opened a portal to a whole new universe. At first, Eggman wasn’t interested in it. It was far too underdeveloped compared to our universe, that was before he caught sight of a kidnapping attempt and discovered the Koopa Kingdom.”

“Koopa Kingdom?” Sonic questioned,”Never heard of it.”

“Of course you haven’t.” Stone blinked,”I just told you it was from a different universe!” He leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh,”That Koopa Kingdom held a tremendous power and seemed as ambitious as the Doctor, so the Doctor decided to conquer it before it could become a threat to his own plans . . . “ Not to mention he wanted the power that Bowser held for himself. “There was a time table and plans he had to transport his whole army to this new universe, to execute Operation Catfish and then conquer it with one big battle . . . Only, I haven’t heard anything from the Doctor since he left.”

Sonic nodded, everything was beginning to fall into place here. It was like old times, Eggman finding some power that no one knew about and trying to get it for his own ends. It goes badly and now it's time for Sonic to bail him out.

He let out a smirk.

“Stone, you can transport me there, right?” Sonic asked, ready to go out and save Eggman and Sage.

Stone blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Why would I do that? You’re his enemy. If anything, I should kick you out of here!”

“Think about it,” Sonic grinned. “If Eggman’s stuck in some other universe, you’re not exactly going to get a postcard from him. I’m fast enough to get in, find out what’s going on, and get back before you can even finish another cup of coffee. What have you got to lose?”

Stone turned back to the console, his fingers flying over the keys. “There’s a portal generator in the lower levels. I’ll activate it and set the coordinates to the universe that the Doctor went to.”

Sonic gave a confident grin. “Thanks, Stone. I owe you one.”

“Don’t thank me,” Stone muttered. “Just . . . bring him back.”

Sonic nodded and turned to leave, his mind racing. “Hang tight, Egghead,” he said under his breath. “I’m coming for you.” With that he disappeared into a blue blur as he sprinted downstairs and into the portal below.

KOOPA KINGDOM

The transition was instantaneous yet disorienting. For a moment, Sonic felt weightless, as if he were floating in an endless void. Then, with a sudden burst of light, he was propelled out of the portal and into a vast, vibrant landscape.

He landed on his feet, skidding to a stop atop a hill covered in bright green grass. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. The air was warm and carried the faint scent of flowers, reminding him of home, of Green Hill Zone.

He shot out in a burst of speed, rolling around at the speed of sound. He crossed each and every hill as he searched and searched. His leg collided with something hard and caused him to trip. He groaned as he twisted himself around and gasped. What his foot had collided with was the remnants of metal sonic. His entire lower body had been eviscerated, his upper body remained in three separate parts.

“Metal.” Sonic uttered out, expecting and hoping for the robot's eyes to light up, but there was nothing. It remained dim and Sonic felt a lump form in his throat as he questioned what could possibly hold the power to destroy Metal Sonic.

“Can’t stay here.” He reminded himself and continued forth. Each and every step he became more and more worried, as questions ran through his head. After all, he knew that Eggman would never leave Metal there, not like that.

He bounded over a Hill and became privy to a scene of utter carnage. In the distance, the Egg Dragoon was hoisted in the air, its body having a massive spike of Earth through it. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Eggman’s body, but breathed out a sigh as he realized that was just one of his D3COYs. His head swiveled around, going over the sea of badnik parts and seeing the disembodied head of the Death Egg Robot.

“What happened here?” Sonic muttered out, a tinge of fear in his voice. He jogged down hill, going straight towards that head . . . but stopped as he caught sight of the Egg Mobile. It was cracked, left in a derelict state.

What’s more was the fact that it was completely made out of stone.

It was over.

Sonic knew that it was over. That Eggman came here to conquer and he lost everything. After all, the Egg Mobile was always his last line of defense. It was how he always escaped and survived, not even a blackhole would destroy it. It was a safety net for the Mad Scientist, that no matter how bad things became, he could always escape it via the Egg Mobile.

But here it was.

Broken.

Just like everything else around here. From Metal Sonic to the Death Egg Robot, there was no way that Eggman survived.

Sonic sat down, leaning his back against the cold stone. His gaze moved up to the clouds, wishing that things could be different. Wishing that he had followed through on what Sage had asked of him at Starfall Island and that he checked up on the mad scientist.

For a long moment, Sonic said nothing. Then, his voice broke the stillness, soft and almost hesitant. “So . . . this is it, huh?” Sonic said softly, as if Eggman could hear him. “Leaving without ever truly saying goodbye. You always had to make things dramatic, didn’t you?”

The silence stretched around him, the wind rustling faintly through the distant grass. Sonic rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a small, bitter chuckle. “You know, for all your evil schemes, you were never boring. I kinda liked the challenge, you always kept me on my toes.” He smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Even after all the times I trashed your plans, you never gave up. Always bouncing back, always coming up with something new . . . .”

Sonic chuckled, running a hand through his fur. “I know I give you a hard time, but I always thought . . . maybe one day, you’d change. You had it in you. I mean, look at Belle. Look at Sage. You’re capable of more than just destruction, y’know? You can create such fantastic things, I know if you put your genius into it, you could’ve made a better world. I mean, look at how much joy you created back when you were Mr. Tinker.”

He sighed, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “I just . . . I wish things could’ve been different. That maybe, just once, you’d decided to fight with us instead of against us. You always said you wanted to conquer the world, but I think what you really wanted was to prove something. To yourself. To everyone.”

Sonic leaned his head back, closing his eyes as the sun warmed his face. “You were the biggest pain in my butt, but . . . it was fun. The races, the battles, the smack talk, it was all a game to you, wasn’t it? And, yeah, I had fun too. More than I’d ever admit out loud.”

Sonic got up to his feet, staring over at the Egg Mobile. “I’m going to look for Sage, I know you wouldn’t have put her in harm's way. I’ll find her and bring her back home. I owe it to the both of you.”

He raised up his arms and fist bumped the machine.

“Thanks for the memories, Doc.”

With that he sped away.

[insomniphic]

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, so here’s what I’ve done during the week.

The drawing above made me think that they’re visual novel sprites, lol. So I drew my thought ⬇️

Mentions

@/braisedhoney: you’ve already seen it so I’m not gonna @ you. Just felt like I nuked him when I drew him on the gala shenanigans thing XD.

@bucketfullofstrawberries: I’ll give you that Peter Griffin death pose one day or another. 😤

[finelinevogue]

soulmates

summary - your boyfriend visits you at uni and you’re getting ready to go out for the night

pairing - university-boyfriend!harry x uni!reader

word count - ~2.5k

🌙☕️🍯🍁🌙☕️🍯🍁🌙☕️🍯🍁🌙☕️🍯🍁🌙

Harry was visiting you for the first time, after not seeing him for a month.

You hadn’t seem him for so long since he now lives across the country at his own university, down south.

Being childhood sweethearts had made going to university difficult on your relationship, but you were determined to make it work. You loved Harry and Harry loved you too much to just give up. Neither were you going to give up your dream uni courses just to be with each other in the same city.

It was decided it was best to not see each other until a month after settling into uni, otherwise you’d never settle.

You had started planning when you were going to finally see each other again, before Harry surprised you one day by messaging you his train tickets after deciding enough was enough.

And now here you are.

Together.

You’re currently in your bedroom, with Harry’s bags chucked on the floor.

He hadn’t cared about them and neither had you. Both of you just wanted to be with each other - near each other.

You hadn’t moved off the bed since he arrived two hours ago.

You were laid down side by side. Harry’s arm over your waist and up the back of his t-shirt, drawing patterns on the skin of your back. His other arm had his head propped up so he had a little height advantage on you.

An advantage that he used to sneak quick kisses onto your lips when he couldn’t resist any longer.

“I like Poppy, though.” He said.

“So you only like my female flatmates? Hmm, interesting.” You smirked.

“I don’t not like Aaron and Joel.”

“Mhm.”

“I just… like Poppy, Farrah and Maria more.”

“Did you know Joel is gay and Aaron has a girlfriend?” You bit your lip, awaiting his response.

“And suddenly I like them more.” He laughed, ducking his head into the crook of your neck to hide his embarrassment.

He knows you caught him out on being a little jealous of your two male flatmates, but you’d been exactly the same when you’d seen how pretty his female flatmates were too.

But now, you’d both gotten over that jealousy. You knew you were only for each other. There was this feeling that you got with each other that you’d both never felt with anyone else.

“Poppy suggested going out tonight?” You suggested, combing your fingers through his hair as his face was still buried in your neck.

“To where?”

You smiled at the feeling of his breath against your neck. It was a ticklish feeling you’d forgotten how much you adored.

“A bar. Or club, maybe?”

“Do you wanna go? They’re your flatmates.” He moved his head to prop it back up again.

“I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with. Poppy only suggested it, because they want to get to know you.”

“They wanna scout me out, hm?” Harry chuckled.

“They already trust you. You brought me flowers and an extra bag with your clothes just for me to keep.”

You leant up to kiss him and he let you, leaning his head down so you didn’t strain yourself.

His hand snuck out from your t-shirt and went to cup your cheek, holding it so he could kissed you how and where he wanted.

You ended up kissing for longer than just an innocent peck, before pulling back to the conversation.

“Maybe we should just stay in.” You sighed, trying to pull his full pink lips back to yours.

Harry smiled but didn’t allow you to kiss him again. “Think with your normal brain, not your sex brain.”

“Sex brain?” You chuckled, “Why would I be thinking about sex?” You asked rhetorically.

You let out a laugh you didn’t even realise you had in you when Harry tickled your side in retaliation. Harry started chuckling when he heard you laugh and laugh.

“Stop! Harry, stop!”

Harry’s hand immediately went over your mouth to shut you up.

“Oi, I don’t need your flatmates to think I’m murdering you - what with these thin walls.” He rolled his eyes as you recovered.

“Dickhead.” You swatted him.

“Love you.” He kissed you and you let him, because God knows you needed to make up for the time apart.

“I love you too.” You said softly, kissing him proper.

You pushed him off you then, reaching over for your phone to see if there were any messages in the group chat about tonights plans.

You sat up in bed against the headboard and Harry wormed his way over so his head could rest on your chest comfortably. He often said he loved how relaxed feeling your chest move up and down made him.

There were a couple of texts when you opened your phone.

Maria: plans??

Aaron: I’m game to go out if you guys are

Maria: i will🫡

Poppy: obvs i will

Poppy: y/n wbu? you can bring harry of course

Joel: Yeah would be nice to see you him since you’ve locked him away in your room

You laughed out loud at Joel’s message, showing Harry your screen which made him chuckle too.

“I’ll go out if you want to, Y/N/N. I’m happy to stay in if you also want to do that. Up to you.”

“I don’t want to get fomo by not going out with them, but I also just want to be with you.” You pouted.

Harry twisted so he could sit up and look at you. “How about we go out and if we get bored or would rather just be in bed, we can leave?”

“Can we get a chippy on our way back and eat them in bed whilst we watch Modern Family?”

“I’ll buy you the damn chips myself if that’s what’ll make you happy.” He kissed you and you couldn’t help but smile at how amazing your boyfriend was.

“Okay then, we’ll go out with them for a bit then.”

“M’kay.” Harry sunk back onto your chest whilst you responded to the group chat.

You: we will bless you with our presence 😌

Farrah: YAY!!! big win

Poppy: does harry have any fit siblings he can bring next time? can stay in my room 👀

You: he has a sister

Maria: win for me

Joel: Loss for me :(

Aaron: So… besides this group chat turning into Tinder. Plans?

Poppy: i say pres in the kitchen at 8 and we’ll leave for town at 10?

You all were happy with that.

“We’ve got 2 hours before we need to be in the kitchen for pres.” You yawned out.

“Great. So i’ll nap for an hour and a half and you’ll start getting ready now?”

You laughed.

“Yup.”

✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨•✨

“H? You ready?”

You walked into your bathroom that was private to your room - yes you paid extra just for the luxury - to find Harry gelling his hair in place.

He looked so good.

He’d gone for black trousers that were a straight fit, some Adidas gazelles and a white t-shirt that had a fun print on the front and back. The t-shirt also, apparently, glowed in the dark so you’d know it was him in a club.

You slipped behind him and slunk your arms around his waist, hugging him tight. You breathed in his scent and he smelt so fucking good. There was no way to describe him, other than yours - familiar.

“Yeah.” He responded. “Let me see you.”

He chuckled when you didn’t let him go easily, but was happy when you eventually did.

You were wearing a mini dark-denim skirt with black knee-high boots, and a black corset with a sheer black cardigan that tied over the top.

Of course you’d done your makeup as well, going all out for the night. You’d decided on eyeliner and glittery eyeshadow with a dark maroon lip shade.

Harry smiled whilst shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“What?” You smiled, furrowing your eyebrows.

“You.”

“What about me?”

Harry held onto both of your hands, pushing you out so he could better see your outfit before pulling you back in close to his chest.

“I’m so lucky you fell in love with me.” He kissed you once.

“Don’t make me cry. This makeup took too long to ruin.” Your eyes welled up buy you willed no tears to fall.

“You look beautiful.” He kissed you again. “Gorgeous.” And again. “Hot.” Again. “Mine.”

You chuckled against his lips when he kissed you one final time, leaving a subtle tinge to his lips from where your lipstick had stained.

You brought your thumb up to wipe the mark away, but he tilted his head away before you could as apparently he wanted it there.

“Missed you so much.” You wrap your arms around him to hug him. Harry rests his cheek on your head to hug you back.

“Missed you too, baby.”

“I’m glad you’re here though.”

“I’m here for you even when i’m not physically here. You know that.”

“I know. It’s nice having you here here though.”

Harry hums in response, giving you one final squeeze before deciding for the both of you that you’re late to join the kitchen.

You both leave your bathroom, Harry turning off the light.

You head to the full length mirror for one final check over your outfit, before picking up your phone and disposable camera. Harry pockets his own phone, spraying his cologne onto his neck and wrists - making him smell even more irresistible.

He stands in front of your mirror and your squeeze in front of him, holding up your phone to take a few photos.

Once you’re satisfied, you head out of your room - double checking you have your keycard - and heading to the communal kitchen at the end of corridor.

The lights are off in the kitchen, save the multi-coloured disco ball light that you’d purchased as a flat.

The room was lit in neon greens, pinks, yellows and blues. The music was on loud, playing the ‘pre’s’ playlist you’d created as a flat.

“Ayee!” Aaron shouted when you walked in with Harry.

“Damn! Look at you!” Poppy awed at your outfit, demanding you give a twirl.

“You look so good.” You exclaimed as you took in Poppy’s little black dress.

“We were worried she’s trapped you in there, bro.” Aaron and Harry exchanged a bro hug.

“Nearly. I escaped.” Harry returned the joke.

“Want a beer, man?”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry nodded and Aaron went off with Joel to grab Harry a drink. “Y/N/N, you want me to make you a drink?”

Harry had to lean down to your ear to ask you without yelling over the music.

“Yes, please.”

“Vodka cranberry?” He asked and you nodded. He kissed you on the side of the head before heading over to where Aaron and Joel were.

Farrah, Poppy and Maria instantly crowded your space.

“Y/N, I love him!”

“He is perfect, Y/N, the hell?!”

“Talk about boyfriend material.”

“Guys, stop!” You blushed, covering your face. You knew exactly what they meant though, because Harry really was perfect boyfriend material.

“No!”

“Never.”

“Y/N/N… I’m secure in labelling myself as lesbian but your boyfriend is currently making me question my sexuality.” Maria said, making you all laugh.

You watched Harry in the kitchen, politely asking Joel what he can and can’t use and where to find things. Aaron passed him a beer for himself and he stayed talking to Harry whilst he made your drink.

“If you ever break up, I’ll stop believing in love.” Poppy said, making you smile.

It was always a fear at the start of a strong relationship about breaking up, but you and Harry had overcome that fear and were confident that it would never happen to you.

Harry was confident you’d be together until you were in a nursing home.

The number of conversations you’d had about future life, including; children, house decor, living location and wedding ring ideals made you confident that you’d never need anyone but each other.

“His parents must be so attractive.” Maria sighed.

“His mum gets called a MILF quite often!” You joked.

“I bet… She single?” Maria asked, raising her eyebrow. You’d only known her for a tiny while but you’d already gathered she preferred older women.

You just laughed her off, not quite knowing whether she was being serious or not.

Harry came back with your drink just in time. You all sat down on the L shaped sofa in the small living space adjacent to the kitchen. Harry sat next to you on the edge of the sofa, allowing you to be in the group and not over inserting himself.

You watched as he took a sip of his beer as the others situated themselves around the sofa and the surrounding stools.

“You okay?” You asked him.

He smiled and nodded at you in return, making you kiss his cheek to silently let him know that that made you happy and you were really glad he was here.

“How about we play a game? Get the drinks going, yeah?” Poppy suggested, earning a round of yeses.

“Never Have I Ever?” Joel said and everybody was okay with that. It was something basic to start off the night.

As TikTok by Kesha came on you all ironed out the basic rules of you drink if you have done something, before you started.

“Never have I ever been kissed.” Farrah said, watching everyone around the table take a drink.

“We’ll find someone for you tonight, hun.” Poppy tipped her drink to Farrah.

“Or you could just kiss me?” Maria suggested, earning a blush out of Farrah. Maria smirked as she took another sip just because, but really it was to hide her own blush. It would be silly of Maria to ignore the fact that Farrah is beautiful.

“No flat-cest thank you very much.” Joel stopped that before anything could start. “Moving on… Never have I ever questioned my sexuality.”

You took a drink at that. Others did too but Joel looked surprised at you drinking and Maria was quick to question.

“Explain.”

“I went through a rough patch thinking that I was a lesbian, actually. I didn’t really feel anything for anyone I dated,” Harry’s arm snook around your waist as you were talking, rubbing small circles on the sliver of exposed skin at your waist, “Then H came along and I was definitely knew I wasn’t a lesbian. Kind of figured I might be Demi?”

“What does that mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It kind of means that you don’t find any sexual or romantic attraction for anyone other than ‘your person’. Harry just happened to be my person.” You blushed as you answered Aaron’s question, leaning back into Harry for comfort.

“That’s so cool.”

“Yeah, like soulmate shit.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, before whispering close to your ear just for you to hear, “Soulmates.”

[peachdues]

shoutout to both @humanitys-strongest-bamf and @amywritesthings for single-handedly bringing back my motivation to work on my secret pregnancy AU, Coalescence. Enjoy filth from a later chapter.

You pushed down on his head, trying to force him to return to where you needed him most, but it was fruitless; Levi only continued to lazily trail kisses along your inner thigh, his eyes locked with yours.

“Levi, please,” you whined, planting your feet firmly upon his rug and spreading your legs wider, bucking your hips slightly towards him in agitation.

The Captain only smirked as he pulled away yet again, this time trailing his lips along the sensitive seam of skin between your inner thigh and your folds.

You weren’t sure if you were already feeling the effects of pregnancy hormones, but if Levi didn’t put his mouth on you soon, you thought you might break down in tears.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” His voice was as sultry and dark as his eyes as he watched your teeth sink into your bottom lip. “Use your words.”

Another pleading whimper was followed by an impatient buck of your hips, but Levi’s hold on you only tightens, limiting your movements.

“You’ve gotta speak up, sweetheart,” Levi mocked between teasing kitten licks against your outer folds. his breath was hot as he exhaled against your damp core. “I’m waiting.”

Frustrated tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. With an impatient whine, you rolled your hips towards him desperately, eyes wide and pleading for him to do something to fill the empty ache you felt within.

“Not good enough,” Levi growled, tongue lazily circling your entrance, twitching away every time you jerked your hips towards his mouth.

“Levi, please, I—,” you choked off with a frustrated groan. “You’re not being nice — I’m pregnant —,”

The stoic Captain pulled his mouth away from you entirely, rocking back on his heels. From between your thighs, Levi studied you, a renewed heat flaring to life in his steely eyes.

“You are, aren’t you?” He conceded, his eyes locking in on your mouth as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip and mewled. “And all because of me.”

Levi’s eyes dropped back down to your core, slick and aching, ready to take him however he wanted.

“And what kind of father would I be if I made the mother of my child suffer unnecessarily?”

Any response or yearning plea you may have answered him with died in your throat as Levi surged forward, his tongue plunging deep within your entrance, his nose pressing right against that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs.

You just managed to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle the scream he pulled from you as the Captain began to fuck you with his tongue.

—-

Levi’s chest heaved as he caught his breath beside you. “Didn’t take you very long to pull the pregnancy card, did it?”

“You’re just annoyed someone else knows how to play your game.” Your head rolled to the side, a shit-eating grin stretched across your mouth. “Didn’t take much to make you give in, either.”

His laugh was little more than a sharp exhale through his nose, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Guess not. I’m sure you’ll keep that over my head, too.”

Levi imparted one final kiss just below your belly button before he rolled to his side, drawing up next to you on the rug, one arm stretched out behind him. You waited for him to do something more, to pull you into him and continue what he’d started, but he made no movement save for a light graze of his fingers over your cheek. Frowning, you moved to sit up with to him, his hand a steady, guiding weight on the small of your back as he helped you rise.

“Wait — are you not —?” You reached for the buckle of his belt, bandage-wrapped fingers already working to pry it open.

Levi’s hands came to rest over yours, stilling them. “You’re still recovering.”

You shook your head, tugging insistently at his belt, but Levi’s hold tightened. “I want you.”

“You’re healing.”

“Don’t care; I’m well enough.”

“You’re not in a position to make that call. You’re biased.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back coolly, still working to pry his buckle open as he made a halfhearted attempt to twist out of your grasp. “Captains who take on the habit of fucking and impregnating their subordinates definitely aren’t biased in any way.”

A slight flare of his nostrils was his only reply, yet it was enough for you to know you’d backed him right into a corner that he was struggling to figure out how to maneuver out of.

You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down to keep your triumphant grin to yourself.

Levi’s eyes tracked the movement, narrowing when you softly release your lip, swollen and plump. There, beneath the half-undone buckle of his belt, his cock strained hard against the seam of his pants.

Before you could offer some quick remark on the obviousness of his need, Levi’s arm shoved under your legs, the other, anchoring around your waist. Deftly, he lifted you up into him, cradling your body close to his.

At your raised eyebrow, he sighed. “I’m not fucking my pregnant girlfriend on the damn floor. I have more tact than that.”

anyways part I will probably be today? Tomorrow? I’ll test drop on AO3 first most likely.

[nerdy-novelist017]

Borrowed Bites (Eric Draven x Rebel!Reader pt 2)

Added another part since the last one was received so well! Thank you for the kind words and appreciation! I'd LOVE to hear your thoughts on this part! 💕

Eric Draven Masterlist

Word Count- 2.9k+

Summary- He just couldn't get away from you. You were corrupting his routine, his life, his thoughts.

Eric sought refuge in the library, a quiet sanctuary where the weight of the facility’s sterile air seemed to lift, just a little. The room was a cocoon of silence, the faint scent of old, yellowed books filtering through his senses. Here, amid the shelves of dusty volumes, he could be transported to somewhere else, somewhere where the walls were not closing in on him little by little every day. 

He was supposed to be assigned to cleaning the room for the next hour, but he was finished within the first 30 minutes, so now he sat in the aisle, leaning up against the shelf. He was lost in the pages of an old art book, the kind that made him ache for life outside of these walls. He was staring at a particular page of a charcoal drawing of a horse, the scene bringing back his own past in a swirl of paint strokes, charcoal lines, the delicate dance of light and dark. 

But that moment was shattered by the sound of the door opening and footsteps approaching him. His heart sank, a heavy stone sinking into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air around him seemed to buzz with a familiar energy, one he had been trying – and failing – to avoid. 

“You hiding out in here, artist boy?” your voice broke through the stillness of the room, a playful tone that underscored something sharper, something that pricked at his defenses. 

Eric’s eyes glanced up, catching just a brief look at your face above him before dropping back to the book in his lap. He knew by just the few times of your interactions since your arrival to the facility a week ago, that his disinterest would not be enough to make you go away. No, it seemed that you could not take a hint, no matter how obvious it was. 

“This place is a real snoozefest,” you said as you lowered yourself on the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged. You leaned forward on your hands, trying to peer at his book. “I didn’t peg you for the library type.”

“It’s quiet here,” he muttered, his voice almost devoid of emotion. “That’s why I like it here.”

“And here I thought you came for the thrilling company,” you teased, your voice taking on a hint of something more – a curiosity perhaps, or an understanding that he didn’t want you to have. 

“Shouldn’t you be off trying to seduce the guards?” he bit back, referencing your words from his first unwanted interaction with you. 

You grinned mischievously as you brushed a strand of your unruly hair out of your face. “I’m still working on that, don’t you worry.”

“I’m not interested,” his fingers tightened around the edges of his book as he spoke with a certain level of finality, attempting to completely sever the connection you were trying to forge. 

“Not interested in what?” you pressed, tilting your head in a way that Eric came to understand as you attempting to figure him out, like you were trying to put together the puzzle pieces of his mind. 

He hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He didn’t know how to answer, how to articulate the mind-jumbling swirl of emotions inside him. He finally grumbled, “In whatever game you’re playing.”

A brief flash of hurt flickered across your face, so quick that he almost missed it. But then you recovered with that infuriating grin. “Who says I’m playing a game?”

Uncomfortable with that reaction, his gaze fell back down to his book, as if the words would allow him an escape of whatever trap you were setting. “Just leave me alone.”

But of course, that wasn’t enough to deter you. You weren’t the type to back down so easily. Instead, you leaned back against the opposite shelf from him, folding your arms as if preparing for a long conversation he had no interest in having. 

“You know,” you started, your voice a touch softer now, “you’re not as invisible as you might think.”

Eric’s jaw tightened, the words hitting him hard. He had spent so long trying to be just that – invisible, a ghost passing through unnoticed. But you saw him, and you wouldn’t look away. 

“I’m not hiding,” he retorted quietly, but the words sounded hollow even to himself. 

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Your question hung heavy in the air between you, a challenge he wasn't sure how to meet. 

He forced himself to look up at you, your direct gaze sending his heart to his stomach. He refused to admit it, refused, but something about you drew him in like a moth to a flame, something about your eyes that refused to look away. 

“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice low. 

You didn’t answer immediately, your gaze evocative as you studied him silently, as if searching for something beneath the surface. “I want to know you,” you said finally, the simplicity of the words cutting through him. 

Eric stared at you, his mind racing to find a response to that strange statement, something that would push you away, make you see that there was nothing worth knowing in him. But all he could manage was, “Why?”

“Because,” you said as you leaned forward slightly, your voice barely above a whisper, “you’re different. I can tell.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to respond to the sincerity in your voice. The way you seemed to genuinely care unsettled him, the way you saw him and refused to let him fade into the background like he wanted. 

“You don’t know me,” he said after a moment, his words heavy with frustration and something else that he didn’t want to examine too closely. It was the same words he had told you a week ago when you first spoke to him and flipped his world upside down, but he couldn’t find anything else to say to you. You didn’t know him, that was true. But you definitely wanted to fit yourself into his life, to know him as he knew himself. 

“I think you’re worth figuring out.” A small smile tugged at your lips.

He wanted to scoff, to brush off your words as naive and misguided, but there was something in your tone, in the way you were looking not just at him but through him, made it impossible to miss. You were being sincere, and that shook him to his core.

“I’m not,” he retorted, his voice weaker than he intended. “I’m just another screw-up, just like everyone else in here.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. I think you’re more than that.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, didn’t know how to process the unfamiliar warmth swirling in his chest. All he knew was you were getting way too close, digging too deep into feelings he’d locked away a long time ago. He reached for the book, flipping it open to a random page in a futile attempt to avoid your intense gaze. But the words on the page blurred, the images that had once brought him comfort now seemed distant, unreachable. 

Before you could say anything else, the sound of the door opening again startled both of you, shattering the temporary bubble you were enclosed in, and Eric looked up just in time to see a guard round the corner of the aisle, his heavy footsteps thudding on the worn carpet. He instantly sat up straighter, his heart racing slightly when the guard’s eyes caught sight of the two of you. 

“What are you doing in here?” The guard’s voice was a harsh intrusion, his gaze narrowing between you like a hawk sizing up its prey. 

Eric shot you a nervous glance your way. To anyone else, your expression would have looked completely neutral as you regarded the man nearing you both, but Eric could see the tension in your jaw, the way it ticked ever so slightly, betraying the anger brewing just beneath the surface. 

“I’m not doing anything,” you replied casually, almost dismissive. But the guard’s wasn’t in the mood for games. He cut you off before you could say anything more.

“You know the rules,” he barked, his voice echoing in the stillness of the library. “No fraternizing.”

You put your hands up in mock surrender, a gesture that might have seemed playful if not for the sarcasm dripping in your voice as you replied, “Yeah, right. God forbid anyone make any friends in here.”

The guard’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing to slits. Without warning, he grabbed your arm and yanked you to your feet with a roughness that made Eric flinch  “You’re not here to make friends. You’re here to get sober and stop being a burden and a piece of shit to society.” 

The harsh words hung in the air like poison, their words seeping into the cracks the moment. Eric felt a surge of panic in his chest as he snapped the book shut, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence. He stood quickly, instinctively knowing it was best not to argue, not to escalate the situation further. Just follow the rules, he told himself, a mantra he clung to since he got here. But he knew you well enough now that you wouldn’t – couldn't – do that.

“Wow, tell me how you really feel about it,” you shot back, your voice clouded with defiance. 

“You think this is funny?” The guard hissed, his voice dropping to a menacing low. “Keep running that mouth and you’ll find out just how serious we are.”

For a brief moment, Eric saw a flicker of something in your eyes – a flicker of doubt, maybe even fear – but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same defiance that both worried and awed him. 

Eric felt the weight of the moment bearing down on the room, the oppressive atmosphere of the facility closing in. He knew he should say something, do something to alleviate the tension, but the fear of the repercussions, of going back to solitary confinement, held him back, rendering him silent and still. 

“Come on,” the guard snapped, pulling you towards the door. “We’re done here.”

As you were dragged away, you cast one last look over your shoulder to Eric, and he could see the mix of emotions in your eyes – anger, frustration and something that resembled regret. And Eric’s chest tightened at the sight because you weren’t just leaving as you always did. You were being taken away, and he was powerless to stop it. 

The door slammed shut behind you, and the silence that followed was deafening. Eric stood frozen, staring at the spot you occupied just moments before, his mind racing. He gripped the book in his hand with a white knuckle power as he realized he had let the guard take you without so much as lifting a finger, without saying a word. The realization twisted like a knife in his gut, a painful reminder of his own helplessness. 

*****

Eric didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He tried not to think about how he even noticed your lack of presence and especially how it made him feel. The day passed with the same level of dreadful monotony that he had been subjected to since the very first day he’d arrived in this hellhole. 

It wasn’t until lunchtime the next day until he saw you again. The cafeteria thrummed with the repeated sounds of everyday life here – the clatter of trays connecting, the gentle murmur of quiet conversation, the sporadic eruptions of laughter or from souls lost in their own struggles. Eric sat by himself at a table near the corner of the room, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of his tray as he picked at the array of bland, tasteless food before him. The harsh fluorescence above cast a stark, unforgiving light over everything, rendering the room devoid of any warmth. 

He was halfway through forcing another bite of the food when you suddenly materialized across the expanse of the bustling room. You slid into the seat across from him, a mirthful grin on your face. 

“Did you miss me, artist boy?” you asked with a tilt of your head, that signature smirk playing across your lips.

He wasn’t going to answer that, not even for himself. He averted his gaze to his tray instead, afraid that you would be able to read through his expressions as you so often did. That didn’t seem to bother you though because without hesitation (or permission) you reached over and swiped a roll from his tray, taking a bite as if it was casual. 

“Hey,” Eric protested softly, though his voice lacked any true anger, more like mild annoyance. In fact, he was actually relieved to see you, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. There was a brief moment last night as he lay awake in his bed going over the interaction of the library when he wondered if you had been locked in solitary for your actions. He didn’t think you had said or done anything to warrant such an offense, but you were unpredictable. He had no idea if you continued to fight, to mouth off after the guard dragged you away. Seeing you here in front of him was confirmation that, for once, you had refrained from doing anything to further your punishments here. 

“What?” you asked with a nonchalant shrug. “You weren’t eating it.”

Eric rolled his eyes, a silent gesture of exasperation. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You quipped as you leaned back in your seat, your gaze sweeping across the room as if you were just examining the scene before you, waiting patiently for something – anything – to disrupt the routine. 

He watched you for a moment, captivated by the restless energy that perpetually seemed to follow you. It was as though you were perched on the edge of some unseen cliff, ready to plunge off the side at any given moment. The near constant state of heightened alertness was both exhausting and irresistibly captivating for him, an anomaly that left him simultaneously drained and drawed in. 

“Why do you do that?” he asked suddenly, the question catching himself off guard, and he instantly wanted to take it back. 

“Do what?” you replied smoothly, not missing a beat. 

“Act like . . . I don’t know. Like nothing matters.”

You blinked at him, momentarily taken aback. Then you smiled and with a half shrug, responded, “Because it doesn’t. 

But Eric could see the flicker of something more profound, a bit sad even in your eyes, and it casted doubt in the authenticity of your words. 

“Right,” he muttered, his voice laced with skepticism. Your gaze left his and he took that as a sign of your wanting to drop the subject so he returned to his food, though his appetite was severely diminished. 

For a while, silence enveloped the two of you. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence, albeit still surrounded with the rest of the cafeteria buzz. When he glanced back up at you, he could see the sudden change in your eyes as you glanced about the room once again. He had witnessed that look before – one that usually preceded your reckless actions, the calm before the storm. 

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with caution.

You turned your attention back to him with a look of feigned innocence. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing,” Eric replied, his tone now carrying seriousness. 

A familiar spark of chaotic energy ignited in your eyes as you grinned. “What makes you think I’m planning something, Eric?”

“Because you always are.”

You giggled, clearly amused at his concern, and he tried to ignore the rush of butterflies that hit his chest at the sound of it. “Relax. I’m not about to blow up the place or anything.”

“That’s not comforting,” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile betrayed his true feelings. 

Before you could respond with yet another one of your signature quips, a guard ambled by, scanning the room with hawkish vigilance. You immediately straightened up, your playful grin fading as you donned a more neutral, guarded expression. 

As the guard continued his stroll, you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial low. “Meet me by the west wing storage closet after lunch.”

Your tone left no room for negotiation or refusal, but Eric hesitated, a storm of instincts battling within him, urging him to resist. But there was something in the way you looked at him – something that compelled him to nod reluctantly. 

You shot him a quick, satisfied smile before rising gracefully and sauntering away, leaving Eric alone once again with a whirlwind of emotions and a nagging feeling that he was about to be pulled into something he would regret. Yet, despite the better judgment that screamed caution, he knew he would go. Because as much as you exasperated him, left him bewildered, and sometimes even frightened him, there was a part of him that was irresistibly drawn to you. A part that yearned to unravel the mystery of why you were the way you were. 

"Fuck," he murmured under his breath.

-Tag List-

@redwitchbitch1 @marshm3770fluff @one-of-thewalkingdead @rubyfruitjungle @mrsvalbaker @m00npjm @maimai-0603 @at-midnight @fandom-fanatix @spoiled-bat13 @alinahdee @a-differentbrandof-jeans

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 11

Part 1 Part 10

Steve Harrington is stoned out of his mind in Eddie Munson’s bed. His eyes are red and periodically drooping closed, and he’s been smiling goofily up at the ceiling for the last ten minutes.

He’d started out sitting but has been steadily melting into Eddie’s pillows ever since. What a lightweight. Eddie refuses to be charmed.

“I’m hungry,” Steve whines, smacking Eddie’s hip repeatedly with his good arm.

“It’s the munchies, man. It’ll pass.”

Steve fucking Harrington fucking pouts in Eddie fucking Munson’s fucking bed in the fucking underworld. “I’ve never had them before,” he mutters.

Eddie eases down next to him until they’re hip to hip, so he doesn’t have to keep looking at him. “You don’t usually get hungry when you’re high?” he asks before remembering this is somehow his first time.

“Weed virgin,” he says, before dissolving into laughter, drawing out the E in weed so much that it sounds like he’s saying an extremely unenthusiastic “whee!”

Eddie can’t control himself. “Well, if you ever get too hungry, I’ve been told I taste delicious.” It comes out lascivious, just like he meant it.

When Harrington starts laughing, he wants to shove the words back down his throat and let them curdle like spoiled milk. “Like, like, the Donner party?” he asks, gasping through his laughter. It’s starting to sound a little hysterical.

“So caught up in the hilarity of cannibalism you didn’t get the innuendo,” he squeezes Steve’s cheek mockingly, caught up in the joke now, in the high of making a pretty boy laugh with a stupid quip and not getting punched about it.

“What’s an innuendo?” His eyes are wide and trusting, face flushed by the hilarity of the moment.

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, “you’re high out of your gourd.”

Steve smiles over at him, nuzzling into the pillow.

“Oh, no.” Steve Harrington is sweet when high. He may never recover.

“Hmm?” It’s barely a sound with the way Steve’s smushing his face into Eddie’s pillowcase.

“Go to sleep, pretty boy.” He does. It takes Eddie much longer.

Eddie wakes in the night to Steve muttering in his sleep. He sounds distressed. On instinct, Eddie movies his hand to pat the other boy’s head, running his fingers through his oily hair until he falls back asleep.

He’d think it was a dream, but when he wakes up again, first this time, his hand is still in Steve’s hair. He removes it hastily, pulling at the strands as he extricates himself. Steve murmurs, blinking his eyes open.

“Mom?” Steve blinks his eyes blearily a few more times.

“What day do you think it is?” Eddie asks, breezing past the moment. “It has to be at least Monday, right?”

Eddie can almost see Steve’s brain rebooting, changing tracks. “Ugh,” he says, levering himself upright. “I’m going to fail Chemistry.”

“I already did!” Eddie says, smiling brightly, like the thought of summer school doesn’t make him feel like dying.

“Dude,” Steve says, shaking his head. “It’s November. You’ve got plenty of time.”

Eddie thinks of the missed quizzes, failed labs, unfinished homework, and wishes it worked like that. Maybe it does for people like Steve with rich parents and jock tendencies. Someone who teachers like. But Eddie’s a Munson straight through – there’s no way this is coming up heads.

“You know, maybe this whole thing will be worth it if I never have to see Mrs. Click’s face ever again.”

Steve finally stands from the bed, putting a hand on his hip and wagging the other in Eddie’s face. “Young man, if you don’t apply yourself, how will you ever get anywhere in life?” He pitches his voice high. The intonation’s off, but the tone is eerily accurate. Eddie shudders.

“Never say that to me again.”

Steve laughs. They lapse into silence.

Eddie wants to offer the other boy breakfast, an extra toothbrush, some coffee, but he settles for grabbing one of the water bottles and handing it over, reveling in Steve’s quiet, “thanks.”

“What now?” Steve asks.

“Truth or dare?” Eddie asks, just to be an ass.

“Truth,” Steve says, no hesitation, like he’s used to answering fast at intimate parties Eddie’s never been invited to.

“When did you first have sex?” he asks, just to be an ass again.

“Jenni Bartley, seventh grade.”

“Dude gross,” Eddie says, nose wrinkling. “You were like a child!”

Steve shrugs, crosses his arms defensively, “I was thirteen!” Then his nose wrinkles, too. “Oh, gross.”

Eddie laughs.

“Well, what about you?” Steve asks wiggling his eyebrows dorkily. “When did you pop your cherry?”

Eddie feels his cheeks blooming pink. “Nu uh!” he says, crossing his arms like he’s seen umpires on TV do. “You can’t just repeat the same question back, man. That’s cheating.”

Steve throws his hands in the air. “Fine! What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get out?”

The first thing that crosses his mind is a shower, followed closely by a milkshake and a basket of fries from the diner. That’s not what sticks, though. “Give Uncle Wayne a hug.” Steve’s mouth drops open. “Why do you look surprised?”

He picks at his nails, not meeting Eddie’s eyes. “I don’t know.” He picks the skin around his thumb, sucks up the bead of blood that blooms up. “I just wouldn’t have even thought of that.”

Eddie thinks of what all the kids in the halls used to say, big house, no parents, and can’t say he blames him. “What would you do?”

“I thought we couldn’t just repeat the question,” he says, but continues before Eddie can mount his defense. “I want a full breakfast from the diner.” He sighs, like he’s imagining it now. Steam rising off a hot cup of coffee, butter melting into pancakes fresh out of the gridle, hash browns fried just right, bacon dripping with fat. “I’d kill for some bacon.”

Eddie clutches his hand to his chest with a theatrical gasp. The smack of his dislocated then relocated finger against his chest hurts, but the show must go on. “I thought you said you wouldn’t eat me!”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head ruefully. “Last resort, man.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks.

“Obviously black.”

“Black isn’t a color, man,” Steve says. “You really are flunking chemistry, huh?”

“That is not chemistry!” Eddie says with faux indignation.

He pushes the hunger pangs down and continues the game. They’ll have breakfast at the diner again someday, even if he has to kill for it.

Part 12

[allykabbet]

Sneezing dynamics I like 5

"Excuse me, I have to sneeze so much."

"Ugh... That hurts" / "Ugh... That looks painful," says someone to another after a particularly strong sneeze that seems to tear at their throat.

Comfort gesture: someone putting a hand on the back of the neck of a person having a sneezing fit, gently stroking, perhaps with their nails, to provide a bit of comfort or relief.

"I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m sneezing so much."

"X pressed the handkerchief harder against their nose, feeling the warmth of his breath against the fabric."

The perspective of a subordinate/secretary/employee witnessing their boss sneeze for the first time, seeing this authority figure lose control. Can they do something as mundane as sneeze? They’re human, after all.

Someone who rarely sneezes is sneezing all day. Their roommate, initially unconcerned, begins to worry. "What’s going on? You’ve been sneezing all day." "I don’t know, it started this morning" / "I don’t know, I’m sneezy today." "Are you okay?" "I think so."

Someone has been sniffling for a while but can't sneeze, as if the sneeze is stuck. They clear their throat, scrunch their nose, release shaky breaths, or gently pinch their nose in frustration. Eventually, their roommate complains. "Could you just blow your nose already?" "Could you dust already?" "Is dust really the issue here? Just blow your damn nose!" "ItsxCshHUu!" "I guess that’s a no."

"ATTschu! Oh my g-ho…Tschu!" (A gasp interrupted by a short, unexpected sneeze that leaves them breathless.)

Groaning after a sneeze. How many times must you have sneezed to groan afterward? Or maybe it hurt from being stifled too hard?

After a particularly strong sneezing fit: "Bless you, darling, are you cold?"

A rapid stifled fit. Small, muffled sneezes that, due to their frequency, the person decides to stifle so as not to "bother" anyone. Their chest tightens with each sneeze, and as the fit continues, the sneezes grow a bit louder, harder to stifled, and more painful, until one or two finally escape uncontrollably.

"Oh dear, are you okay?" The person witnessing the fit puts a hand on their shoulder, worried, forgetting to bless them due to the impact.

A holding a handkerchief to the nose of a vulnerable B, completely overwhelmed by a sneezing fit. This situation is somewhat unrealistic for everyday circumstances, but who knows… Perhaps someone with their hands full? Someone unable to move for some reason? How vulnerable must you feel, at someone else's mercy, to help you cover a sneeze? Perhaps, when B slightly recovers, they could place their hand over A's, without them pulling away. A would feel the moisture and force of B's sneeze through the handkerchief, the way their nose contracts, their head shaking from the effort, the warm breath…

Sneezing on the subway/train/elevator, or in a crowded space where they can’t leave until it reaches its destination. Maybe they’re forced to stifle the sneeze, even if they usually don’t, or they sneeze into their shoulder or hand or inside their coat to avoid spraying anyone and trying to be as discreet as possible. Still, sneezes inevitably draw stares.

Sneezing inside a coat is special. Simply.

Pre-sneeze face, so obvious and desperate.

"ATTSShiu!!" (A usually stifles) "Ow, that was strong. Are you okay?"

A person sneezes a fit of 5-6 times, and someone blesses them each time. "You don’t have to bless me each time; this might go on a while." "But I want to."

Sneezing into a mask, and the mask itself makes your nose itch even more, making you sneeze more.

Sneezing twice in a row and changing the way you cover up for each sneeze, perhaps realizing the first method wasn’t polite enough.

A habitual stifler lets a sneeze slip due to illness or fatigue (they’re too tired to contain it), and someone nearby who knows them well comments: "Oh, bless you! I’ve never heard you sneeze like that." "Thank you," they say, embarrassed.

Someone realizes unknown aspects of another person by analyzing how they sneeze, cover up, or apologize each time they sneeze.

"You’re more polite than I thought!"

Sneezing inside a high-neck sweater, pulling up the collar.

Someone with a generally extroverted personality, except in their sneezing. They usually stifle to avoid drawing attention, feeling weak or less funny/protective/caring than usual. The contrast of their generally loud personality with a soft sneeze stands out, despite their attempts to avoid it.

Sneezing when your throat hurts. The sneeze almost feels like it’s tearing at your throat, and you try to sneeze as softly as possible, making the sneeze almost unsatisfying. It may be accompanied by a groan and rubbing your neck with a grimace of pain.

Someone is about to sneeze into their hand, but midway through an inhale, they realize it’s impolite and pinch their nose with their fingers or cover their sneeze with their elbow.

Sneezes where the exhale is louder than the sneeze itself.

There’s something extremely charming about someone who apologizes after sneezing, even when their sneeze is entirely QUIET, discreet, and polite.

Sneezes that aren’t far apart but have two or three seconds between each sneeze. The people around bless each one, and the person doesn’t have time to thank them, being trapped in the next sneeze.

Sneezing on the phone. The person on the other side imagines the sneezing person’s expression and, lacking the visual cue, focuses on the strength of their inhale, the sound of the sigh, the pressure sound as they rub their nose, and the congestion in their voice. The person sneezing moves away from the phone, so the sneeze sounds more distant or softer than usual, and then they apologize for the interruption.

Sneezing differently when sick, due to allergies, or casually. For example, someone typically stifles their sneezes, but when they’re sick, the sneezes are much more unexpected, frequent, and barely stifled. Those who know them well recognize these as their “sick sneezes,” clearly seeing when they’re coming down with something. (Idea courtesy of @secret19stuff)

[forlorn-crows]

𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒏 & 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔

pairing(s): ivy/cowbell words: 795 rating: everyone

notes: cowbell is nonverbal, but has his own system of sounds for communication. for @wrathofrats who i know hasnt been feeling the best lately. here's some sickfic boys for you ♡

Ivy cracks open the door, careful to glide past the creak in the hinges in case his mate is sleeping. “Bellflower?” he calls into the dark room.

There’s a slight rustle in the blankets, but otherwise no response.

Ivy squints. “You sleepin’?”

Another rustle, the mass of blankets shifting until the bright flash of an eye peeks out between the folds of fabric. It’s a mistake on the other earth ghoul’s part, though, because he screeches and groans, turning away from Ivy. 

Ivy sighs. “Can’t hide from me forever, sweetheart. C’mon, up.” He walks over to the curtains, parting them just enough to let a sliver of cool afternoon light filter in. 

Under the blankets, Cowbell hisses. 

“I made you the canned soup with the sta-a-r-ss,” Ivy sing-songs. Cowbell, many weeks ago, had snuck a can into the den after seeing it in the Sibling’s pantry, no doubt stocked for some of the children still running around the abbey. Ivy turned his nose up at it (even though it did smell delicious), but Cowbell slurped it down in three to four gulps with the roundest eyes he’s ever seen. Like a dog’s eyes widening as it licks whipped cream from a cup.

Consequently, he’s been fixated on it ever since, to the point that Omega had to make sure it was on their grocery list. Ivy doesn’t understand it—he could make so many better, more hearty, more fulfilling soups than this. But he thinks it may be the only way to get the other ghoul to eat anything at the moment. 

Ivy watches Bell’s horns hesitantly pop out from the covers. A curious trill follows. The bribe is working. 

“Mm-hm. But’cha have to get up if you want it.” 

Cowbell sighs. Clicks through a series of sounds that translate to Fiiiiine, give me the soup.

“That’s the spirit, bellflower,” Ivy smiles. He sets the soup on the desk he scooted across the room to serve as a bedside table while Cowbell’s been equally voluntarily and involuntarily bed-bound. Ivy draws the covers slowly away from his eyes, chirping when his eyes and nose are revealed. “Hi darlin’, let’s get you set up.”

Though Cowbell grumbles again, he lets Ivy set him up against the headboard, cushioned by pillows and still tucked into the comforters. Warm fingers brush away the jagged wisps of hair away from his slightly damp forehead, which are swiftly replaced with a cool washcloth smoothing over his face. 

Bell hums a relieved mmm, leaning into his touch. 

Ivy cocks his head, considering his mate’s condition. “Seems like your fever’s finally breaking. Still feelin’ hot?”

He whistles through his teeth. A little.

“Better than ‘on fire’ like yesterday.” Ivy trades the cloth for the bowl of soup, precariously climbing onto the bed into the space beside him. “Alright, open up.”

Cowbell sticks his tongue out between his fangs, making a sound that’s a cross between a growl and a screech, reaching for the spoon.

Ivy rolls his eyes, holding tight to the utensil. “I know you can do it yourself. But don’t pretend like you wouldn’t immediately toss this spoon aside and drink straight from the bowl, you little devil.”

He hisses. But instead of looking threatening, Cowbell slips into a lung-clearing cough. 

“And that’s why I’m not lettin’ you do that,” Ivy says pointedly, trying very hard not to sound like a mother scolding her child. 

By Lucifer’s grace, Cowbell recovers from the coughs quickly, narrowing his eyes at his mate but ultimately allowing him to spoon warm, sodium-ridden soup into his mouth. It only takes four or five spoonfuls before he’s purring, closing his eyes in appreciation with every swallow. 

“Laaaast one,” Ivy says softly once the bowl is empty, making sure to scoop up all the star noodles that are left stuck, catching them all with the spoon. Cowbell’s eyes are droopy as he takes them off the spoon, comforting warmth no doubt radiating from his belly. “Good?”

He trills and licks his lips, reaching for Ivy as soon as he sets the bowl down. He whistles a low tone, pulling him close. Cuddle.

“Do ya always gotta pull me into your sickbed, Bells?”

An indignant chirp, limbs still grabbing. Yes.

Ivy smiles fondly and shakes his head. “Alright. A little cuddle.” Ivy guides him back down into bed, stealing a pillow for himself as he slips under just one of the blanket layers. Instead of tucking himself into the crook of Bell’s neck like he normally would, he opts to cuddle around his middle, pressing his lips to his (now warm) belly. He presses his nose to his hip and hums, closing his eyes.  

“Get some sleep, bellflower.” Above him, Cowbell trills and threads his spindly fingers through Ivy’s hair.

[cuubism]

Rock Paper Scissors

Dreamling | Pre-Slash | 5.7k | AO3

Dream suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead." "Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me." "I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds." "Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

Hob gets challenged to a duel. Too bad his opponent has it out for Dream, and has no intention of playing fair.

--

the first fic I ever started writing for Dreamling a year and a half ago, then forgot about! 😂 then randomly decided to finish.

--

“ROBERT GADLING,” yelled an individual Hob had never met before in his life, “I hereby challenge you to a duel!”

Hob squinted at him. Said individual was standing across the darkened street, dressed strangely in a white tunic flecked with gold. Then again, Hob’s barometer for strange was a bit different than what was normal, so who was he to say, really.

“What?” he said.

Suddenly this person was much closer to him. Hob flinched back, but couldn’t move much, close as he was to the pub door. “We have business,” hissed his pale-suited challenger. It was a masculine figure, blond hair swished to one side, eyes like fire. 

Hob wasn’t impressed. He’d seen worse. Better, too.

“Listen, mate,” he said, “I don’t really have time for this. I’ve already got something on the books tonight. Come back tomorrow.”

He started to walk through the doorway, but the… creature?—he didn’t think it was human—grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We have business,” it repeated.

Hob tried to shake off its hand, but its grip was like hot iron. It seared through his jacket and burned his skin. 

“What business?” he snapped. “I’m certain we’ve never met before, and my memory is actually pretty good, long as it is.”

The creature smiled, more like a baring of teeth. “You have courted those who have harmed me—and my ilk.”

“Not clearing it up at all.”

There was a sound like the swishing of a thousand ghosts, and then Dream was beside him.

Dream. How strange, still, to have a name, a history—well, sort of—to put to the face he’d circled back to over and over again for all these years. The name cut his friend into sharp relief—Hob’s shadow, finally united with the being who cast it. 

Where the pale stranger burned white-hot, Dream emanated cold. Hob had always found his friend’s cold aura strangely comforting. It didn’t feel dangerous and biting like the winter wind. Instead, it was the cold of lake water when one dove deep enough, a subtle and quiet draw to the otherworldly. 

Well. Usually it didn’t feel dangerous. Right now, it felt positively hypothermic.

Dream’s presence chilled the air until the stranger was forced to yank his hand away from Hob’s arm, shaking it out with a hiss. Hob’s breath fogged the air in front of his face, never mind that it was summer.

“Phaethon,” Dream hissed on one long, cold breath. “You are not wanted here.”

Phaethon pulled himself up haughtily. “I can go as I please. Night, or no night.”

“You may test that theory if you wish.”

Phaethon faltered, just a bit, before recovering himself. “I am here only to deliver a message. I challenge you, Robert Gadling, to a duel.” His blazing eyes flickered over to Hob, then back to Dream. “I did not believe you were one to violate the old rules of challenge, Lord of Dreams.” 

He bowed slightly. It felt mocking, which rankled Hob, who’d otherwise been keeping his cool. 

“Are you going to explain what this is about?” he said, for the third time. “I don’t appreciate being accused of things I haven’t done.”

Instead of answering, Phaethon said, “I’ve uncovered your history. There’s quite a lot of it, isn’t there? I wager it could make quite a bit of trouble for you, having all of that information turned over to certain parties. Human authorities. Occultists. Vampire hunters, they’ll love you–”

“I’m not a vampire,” Hob snapped.

“Doesn’t matter. Point is, we can do that, or, you can choose to face me directly.”

“What do you seek to gain from the challenge?” demanded Dream. He seemed to know more about what was going on here than Hob, which wasn’t comforting. Hob didn’t particularly want to get drawn into some kind of immortal creature game with obscure rules he’d end up tripping over.

Phaethon’s grin emerged one tooth at a time. “I want… your dreams.”

Hob probably should have been more troubled by this. Instead, he just frowned in confusion. “Not sure that’s in your power, mate. You’re aware who you’re talking to?”

He didn’t need to gesture to Dream looming over his shoulder.

“If you agree to the terms,” said Phaethon, a hiss like lava dripping over stone, “then the magic will bind us.” 

Dream didn’t contradict him, but his anger cooled the air until Hob felt like he was standing atop a glacier.

“I think I’ll pass,” Hob told Phaethon. “Feel free to try to reveal me. I’m good at disappearing.” 

He turned to go—

“Lord Morpheus.” Phaethon turned the beam of his gaze on him, sunlight ricocheting off ice. “Will you stand in his stead?”

Hob grit his teeth and, against his better judgment, turned back around. “Don’t bring him into this. Look, if I win your challenge, what do I get in return?”

“You may request whatever you like,” said Dream. “Such are the terms of the agreement.”

“Fine. If I win, then I want this: you never speak to or of me again. That means no threatening me, no using me to threaten anyone else, no telling anyone about me—nothing. Got it?” God, Hob just wanted to go inside and have a beer.

Phaethon gave him a little bow. “Fair enough. I accept the terms of this challenge.” 

Dream seemed aggravated; a trickle of energy, like black lightning, scurried up the back of his neck and disappeared into his hair. But he didn’t intervene.

Hob and Phaethon shook on it. Then Phaethon retreated into the shadows again, calling, “Tomorrow at midnight, Robert Gadling. I will see you then.” Then his eyes blinked out and he was gone.

Hob shuddered. Good riddance. He rather preferred his eldritch creature to that one, thanks very much.

“What was that?” he said.

Dream’s presence was warming again by small degrees. The atmosphere was now more like an industrial freezer than Antarctica. “A minor demigod.”

“Oh, minor. Alright then.” 

“They are occupied by petty troubles,” said Dream.

Hob looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but elected not to comment. 

“Come on,” he said instead, leading the way back toward the pub. “We’re supposed to be having an easy night of it, dammit!” He wasn’t about to let some minor demigod ruin his night. He never knew how many of them he would get with his friend.

Dream’s gaze lingered on the spot where Phaethon had disappeared, but eventually, like the sweeping of a long coat tail, he followed.

---

"So, a duel," Hob remarked as they sat down across from each other in the pub booth. "I admit, I haven't dueled anyone in a few centuries, but I can't imagine it'll be—”

"It is not what you are thinking of," Dream interrupted. He had folded himself into the booth seat like a stick insect trying to cram itself in a jar. It was an absurd image, the long black coat, the spindly arms on the tabletop. "It is not a fight of the physical form. It is a battle of the mind and will."

"You're going to have to elaborate."

"In such a challenge—” Dream began, but was interrupted by the arrival of a waitress, there to take their order.

"So, what can I get for you chaps?" she said brightly.

The idea of Dream being a chap was so hilarious Hob had to stifle a laugh. Yeah, maybe he wasn't taking the whole duel thing seriously enough. Oh well.

Hob ordered a beer and a plate of chips. When Dream showed no sign of speaking, he ordered for him, too.

“You can order whatever you like,” Hob told him, when the waitress had gone. “It is my pub and all.”

Dream picked up the laminated menu gingerly. It wobbled in his hands. He looked down at it with a flat expression.

Hob realized belatedly that he probably didn’t know what to order. How much had pub food changed since— God, 1910 or so? And it wasn’t like his friend would have had much time to peruse menus since, what with all he’d been up to.

“Just try the chips,” Hob said, taking the menu away from him. “We’ll see how far that gets you.” 

"I have no need of human food," Dream said, folding his hands back on the table.

“Sure, and I technically don’t need my left leg, either, but I do rather like having it.”

“You say strange things,” Dream murmured. “As I was telling you. In such a challenge—” 

The waitress returned with their drinks. Dream glowered at her. Hob thanked her brightly.

"So, you were saying?" he said, sipping his beer. "In such a challenge…?"

"In such a challenge—”

The waitress arrived again with their chips. Dream slammed his hands on the table, shaking the chips in their basket and making the waitress jump. 

"Sorry," Hob apologized, "we've had a bit of a day." Wasn't it always.

"In such a challenge," Dream continued when she had gone, in a tone that suggested he would not be stopped this time, "one must suggest a mind-form, which one's opponent will attempt to surmount and defeat. Then you attempt to defeat their new form, and so on until one challenger is victorious. It is… a predictive game, of sorts. If one can predict what one's opponent’s moves might be, one can choose forms to foil them. This can easily become complicated."

"So, it's like chess," Hob summarized.

Dream stiffened, lips pressing into an offended line. "It is not so simple as chess."

"Checkers?"

"It will not help you to think of it so." Dream took a chip and bit into it in irritation. "You just— oh." He stared at the chip. "These are quite pleasant."

"Can never go wrong with a good chip," said Hob, then furrowed his brows. "Haven't you had them in dreams before or something?"

"Presumably. It has been at least a century." 

Ah, yeah. That. "Well, they're frying them in veg oil instead of lard nowadays anyway. Kind of a different experience." 

Dream stared at him as if Hob made no sense whatsoever.

"Anyway," Hob continued, "am I even going to be able to create these mind-forms? I'm not exactly an otherworldly being." 

"The power is in you, though it may be more challenging to harness. And easier to let slip from your grasp. It is imagination, after all. Humans are good at imagination, though perhaps not so good at holding onto it."

"Hmm." Hob munched on a chip. "Okay. I'll work on my imagination." After seven hundred years or so of life, it was possibly a tool that needed some sharpening. 

"I admit it offends me greatly that Phaethon would presume to ask a human to fight in this way," said Dream. He suddenly gripped the lapels of Hob's jacket with a startling fervor, arms stretched across the tabletop. His gaze bore into Hob's. "I beg, allow me to represent you instead."

"Now what kind of man would I be if I let others fight my battles?" Hob said, prying his fingers off before his endless grip tore through the fabric. "Hard as it may be to believe, I'm actually not a bad hand at chess. Don't worry about me."

"I do not find that hard to believe. However, as I have said, this is not chess. It is an intimate and punishing battle of minds."

"Alright, so it's like Go Fish."

"Do not joke," Dream growled. Actually, he never truly growled. It was more like his voice dropped into a lower register than usual. Which was saying something. Hob interpreted it as a growl, though. "Do not joke when your existence is at stake. Your immortality cannot protect you from this." 

"Are you saying I'd be unmade if I lost?" Hob asked. It was a concerning thought, to say the least. It had been a long time since he'd had to concern himself with his own mortality.

Dream’s tongue ran over his lower lip. "Potentially. The terms of the fight do not state so, but I do not know how such a duel will affect a human. The strain of it may simply tear you to shreds. It nearly drained me, the last time I fought."

"Wait, you had a fight like this? Recently?"

Dream tilted his head, gaze paling in confusion. "I told you that I went to Hell to retrieve my helm." 

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me you had to mind-battle– who'd you mind-battle anyway?"

"The demon chose Lucifer Morningstar as his representative." Dream’s lip curled in distaste. "Hence, the near loss."

Hob looked at him in concern. "Are you alright, though?"

"Of course I am all right." He spoke it as two words, like the phrase had never before graced his tongue. Hob wanted to let out a long-suffering sigh, but managed to restrain himself. "I am Dream of the Endless."

"Mmhmm. Yep. Okay."

"You do not have to worry about me," Dream said stiffly, parroting Hob's words from before.

Hob thought that was evidently untrue, but decided not to mention the century of imprisonment or the multiple near-death experiences— could he die? Maybe it was more like multiple near-misses with eternal agony— since then. To preserve the relative peace of the moment. 

"So how'd you beat the devil, then?" he asked.

"I had everything to lose. Lucifer had nothing to lose, and only a paltry amusement to gain."

Was that an answer? Hob wasn't sure. 

"Okay," he said. "Well, I do have all of my dreams to lose, apparently. Plenty of incentive to win."

Ice crystallized along the rim of Dream’s glass, spreading from where his fingers pressed. “You speak as if you think I would ever allow this to happen.”

Hob raised an eyebrow. “I thought the magic was binding?”

“Only by honor.”

“And so… what would happen if you violated that honor?”

The words trickled out of Dream reluctantly. “One’s word would not be trusted again.”

“Right. Exactly. I can’t let you do that, love. There’s a whole eternity of words needing to be trusted after this.” It was tempting, honestly, to let his more powerful friend step in and handle this—especially as Hob still hadn’t gleaned what the hell he’d even done to piss off Phaethon—but ultimately, it wouldn’t be right. He’d never used Dream as a clean-up tool for any of his problems in the past, and he wasn’t about to start just because he now knew he was the Lord of Dreams.

Dream’s expression darkened further. He truly was capable of embodying shadow when he was annoyed; Hob didn’t know how he hadn’t figured out the extent of his supernaturalness sooner, honestly. “You would not let.”

“Hey. Come on. I’ve solved plenty of my own problems, haven’t I? Have a little faith.” Hob kind of wanted to pat his hand, but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. “You don’t think I can win a duel against this Phaethon guy?” 

Dream seemed uncertain about it, and Hob couldn’t help but feel a little offended. Sure, he wasn’t a supernatural entity, but Hob had gotten himself out of a fair number of scrapes, and without the help of any Endless, thanks very much! 

“His rancor disturbs me,” Dream said at last. “I do not know what you have done to offend him.”

“Nor I. Never met the guy.”

Dream seemed lost in contemplation. Hob let him, and kept eating the chips.

Eventually, Dream said, “Even if this loss did come to pass… you would always have a place in the Dreaming.”

Hob’s breathing stuttered. “With you?” he said, sounding much smaller than he’d expected. It was… an ill-considered response, to say the least. 

Dream shifted in his seat. “I am the Dreaming,” he said. “It is part of me, and I it.”

“I see,” said Hob. But the thought kept turning within him.

---

No more was said on the matter until their beers were drunk and their chips polished off and they were strolling out the door of the pub. 

As they crossed the threshold, Hob was struck by a realization. He slapped Dream on the breast of his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"I'm an idiot! Of course it's not like chess. It's metaphysical rock-paper-scissors!"

"Are you intoxicated?" Dream asked wearily.

"Nope. Just happy to have my old friend around again."

Dream’s form, unbreakable as the darkness between stars, stuttered. Behind him, his shadow wavered.

Then he swept away, leaving Hob to catch up. 

---

They met again on the field of battle, so to speak.

Phaethon was there before them, melodramatic in his white-and-gold cape. Not as melodramatic as Dream, though, whose eyeliner seemed darker than usual, somehow, and whose cloak swept all the way to the ground, pooling more like liquid than fabric. He was very displeased about these events, Hob could tell.

Hob shook Phaethon’s hand formally. Once again, the touch burned him, but he resisted the urge to shake his hand out in pain. Then they stood across from each other. Hob wished he had a sword, but that was not this game.

"As the challenged party, you commence the duel," Dream told him, standing not far from Hob’s side as Phaethon paced before them, grinning. "You may choose your form and begin."

Hob had thought long and hard about how he would start. He didn't want to go too big, else the fight escalate beyond his control. Obviously, he didn't want to pick something weak either.

What was out there that had tormented mankind, sowing destruction, breeding fear and illness and death, while barely reaching higher than an ankle? 

Hob had lived through it. The choice was obvious.

"I am a plague rat," he started, and saw Dream’s eyebrows twitch. Impressed. Ha! "Hiding in shadows. Letting sickness into our food, homes, blood."

He saw the rats in his mind. Scurrying through tunnels, climbing into grain stores, unaware of what they carried. A seething mass of tails and slick fur and beady eyes, churning, churning, churning. 

Phaethon curled in on himself, limbs creaking, boils popping on his skin and pus leaking from his eyes. Hob flinched at the reminder of those times. Horrible, horrible times.

Mentally, Hob prepared for the counterattack. Paper beats rock. What beats rat? Dog beats rat. Cat beats rat. Famine, extermination fumes, plague doctors, modern medicine—

"I," Phaethon ground out, through the contortions of his body, "am a flood."

Oof. Good one.

"A swelling, raging river, decimating any town in my path. Washing rats down to their deaths." 

A phantom wave smacked Hob in the face and hurled him to the ground. It crashed over him, gallons and gallons of water, surging up his nose, into his eyes, down his throat. He choked on it. He drowned in it. Debris in the floodwaters bruised him till he felt like a branch spinning out in the current, rather than a human.

Then. He managed to take in a breath.

He staggered to his feet.

Dream was standing a step closer, like he'd lurched forward, but he forced himself back into stillness.

"I," Hob said on a gasping breath, pushing wet hair out of his eyes, "am a drought." Phaethon had taken it to another level? Fine. Hob would go scorched earth. "Whisking away all your water. Turning everything into dust."

Phaethon choked, throat suddenly dry. His eyes went bloodshot. His skin flaked and peeled, his lips bled. He clutched at his stomach as it heaved for water.

He could go rain again, Hob thought. Or ice age. Asteroid. Biblical flood—does that count if he already did a regular flood?

"I am famine," said Phaethon, when he'd recovered himself, though he was still rasping. "I wither crops without water. I starve everything that walks."

Hob's stomach caved in on itself. He fell to his knees, retching nothing but bile. His mind flashed back to his decades on the streets, so long without food he'd thought his stomach would start eating itself—and then it had. 

His arms shook. His body felt thin and liable to crack. 

"I," he croaked, still on all fours, "am an oasis. Rising from the desert, real, not a mirage. Offering reprieve." 

Too late, he realized this might restore his opponent. 

But instead, Phaethon creased and cracked, like he was the famine, persecuted by salvation. He clasped his stomach as if it was overfull; water poured from his mouth.

Water filled Hob's mouth, too, but it restored him. He climbed back to his feet.

Dream was definitely closer now. He wasn't imagining it. Still, he didn't intervene.

Phaethon was visibly weakened, but still he said, "I am selfishness. Infighting over limited resources. Society destroying its oasis."

Hob's limbs were torn in opposite directions. He yelled, but the invisible hands on him didn't let up, yanking at him like he was the final piece of food before everlasting deprivation. He pulled at them, but it was no use.

One of his shoulders dislocated with a loud pop, and he bit down on his tongue so as not to scream. Blood exploded in his mouth.

"I am generosity!" he yelled, blood dripping over his lips. "I am brother sharing with brother. Stranger sharing with stranger."

Dream was looking at him now like he didn't know what to make of him. Phaethon, too, was staring at him, but with a look of disgust. 

"High-minded idealist, are you?" he sneered. "What the hell is generosity going to—”

His expression broke in half. His hands shook; he picked at his nail beds until they peeled and started bleeding. His lip wavered and his eyes beaded with tears.

Hob didn't know what was happening to him.

"Shame," Dream breathed from behind him. "So clever, Hob."

Hob hadn't actually known what generosity would do, but he appreciated the compliment nonetheless.

"I," croaked Phaethon, through tears, "am memory. History and anger curdled to a resentment which no generosity can overcome."

He felt Dream’s eyes on him, as he no doubt feared the anger, the resentment he so believed that Hob held over his absence would surge forth again. But it did not, for Hob had never been angry with Dream. Angry with himself, yes, and that he felt acutely, along with the fear and hurt of Dream walking away, the stewing guilt of it.

Memory held more than anger. Mostly, for Hob, it held grief. Grief for his friend who'd been imprisoned for so long, while Hob went about his life, imagining him lonely, isolated perhaps, but never knowing the truth. Grief for himself, too, for he knew that to always blame himself for Dream’s behavior had also been unfair. 

Tears slipped from his eyes. He looked over at Dream, who was still watching him warily.

Memory had far too many facets for Phaethon to use it as an effective weapon.

"I am forgiveness," Hob said, closing his eyes against a fresh welling of tears. He didn't know who he was forgiving. Himself, or Dream, who still seemed to need absolution from Hob, no matter how Hob told him he didn’t.

"I am hatred!" Phaethon snarled. His voice had gone animalistic in a last ditch effort to come out on top. But forgiveness clanged around him, pulling tears from his eyes, undermining his viciousness. "I am division even forgiveness cannot mend."

Just like that, he opened up the path for Hob to take his king. Checkmate. Game over. Rock paper scissors shoot.

"I am love," Hob said quietly, even as a sob caught in his throat as the memory of all the hate he'd witnessed in his life, the hate he'd participated in, and the fear, long-held, that even Dream might hate him, for his wrongs, or for overstepping, pulsed back to the forefront. He could never hate Dream, though. No matter what.

"Love can be easily destroyed," snapped Phaethon, but he was wavering. 

"But it always comes back," said Hob. Unwitting, he looked over his shoulder at Dream.

His friend was already looking directly at him. That tinge of red, so terrible and familiar now, was back along his eyes. He didn't speak, not to Hob. Hob followed his gaze as he looked over Hob's shoulder and spoke to Phaethon.

"Do you have a counter?"

"Love?" Phaethon laughed hysterically. "You brought love to a duel?"

"I believe Hob brings love everywhere he goes," said Dream, and Hob whipped back around to look at him, eyes wide. The tiniest smile was dancing on Dream’s lips.

Then a blade erupted from Hob's chest.

Blood sprayed. His heart stopped beating—actually stopped, he felt it. The sword had pierced right through it. He scrabbled for it with clumsy hands, but the blade shiiiinged back out before he could grab it. 

Blood spattered Dream’s face. Those pretty lips parted, eyes widened, the lordly bearing wiped from his expression leaving only a person, shocked and wounded. Hob would never forget that look of startled horror for as long as he lived. 

Which wasn't looking to be that long.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring from his chest. No use trying to stop it. It would mend itself, in time, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the instinctive rush of fear. He was dying. He was dying.

He fell on his side. Blood soaked his shirt. All told, it took maybe ten seconds after getting speared like a wild hog—

—for the world to completely blink out.

---

Hob's chest ached like a bitch when he woke. 

He was still on the ground, bloody mud around him, soaking his clothes. Oh. That was mud made from his blood. How horrifying. 

He opened his eyes in time to see Dream lifting Phaethon from the ground by his neck. His hand was a vice grip and Phaethon choked, scrabbling at his fingers for breath.

"TREACHERY," Dream snarled, louder than Hob had ever heard him. His voice boomed across the empty park. "I will unmake you."

"I'm not one of your creatures, you can do nothing to me," said Phaethon, but his assuredness flickered.

Dream’s being was a black hole eating light. "Watch it happen."

Hob coughed, dirt trapped in his throat, and shoved himself up on his forearms. Dream froze, and turned slowly to look at him, Phaethon still clasped in his hand like he weighed nothing. Dream’s attention was like being in the path of a comet.

"Hob," he said. "Are you alright?"

Hob knew, in that moment, that if he asked Dream to spare Phaethon from whatever fate he had in mind for him, he would comply. And what power that was. Hob didn't want to be the one doling out mercy or punishment, like a judge at the gates of Hell. But damn if it wasn't a thrill to have Dream look at him like that.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, with a bloody grin. "I'm Hob Gadling."

Dream smiled too, a ferocious smile, like that of a wolf.

Hob didn't tell him to spare Phaethon.

Apparently, they both had some savagery in them.

---

"So why did he kill me?" Hob asked later, when he'd showered all the blood off—God he loved modern showers—and they were both sitting at the kitchen table in his flat, drinking tea. Well, Hob was drinking tea. Dream was just kind of staring at it. "I mean, the cost of losing wasn't even that high. Not on his end, anyway."

"He was not interested in you at all," said Dream, still not looking at him. "I dragged the truth from him while you were… gone. This was all a ploy to get to me. To hurt me—indirectly, of course. Such a lower being could never hurt me directly."

"Wait." Hob tried to grapple with this. "You— are you saying I was like a kidnapped princess?" 

Dream frowned. "If you insist. The point is, he did not plan to let you walk away. By winning, or by killing you, whichever he could accomplish." 

"Damn. Maybe I should have let you fight for me."

"No. You represented yourself admirably. More than admirably. You won the challenge, fairly, and did not try to kill your opponent to do it." 

Praise from Dream always hit Hob somewhere deep. Possibly because Dream only said such things when he meant them. Possibly just because it was Dream saying them.

“Well, thanks for handling him in the end,” Hob said, instead of voicing that sentiment.

Dream nodded solemnly. “I would not allow such harm to befall you without interfering,” he said.

Hob took a sip of his tea to avoid showing how he felt about that quite so obviously on his face.

“Why did he want to hurt you, then?” he asked instead.

“He is the child of a sun deity,” said Dream.

“And… that… means…?”

“Sunlight chases away dreams. We are natural enemies.”

Hob frowned. “What about daydreams?” 

“Daydreams may take place during the daytime, but they exist in the darkness of the inner mind,” said Dream.

“Ahhhh.” Hob nodded sagely. Yeah, sure, that made sense. One hundred percent. Absolutely. “I don’t know, I feel like some dreams can survive in the daylight. Thrive, even.”

“Perhaps next time I have an altercation with a sun deity, I will call upon you,” Dream said, a bite of sarcasm in it. “To see if you can banish them with this mindset.”

“Don’t give me that cheek,” Hob admonished. Dream’s mouth popped open in offense, but Hob plowed on, “Just have an open mind about it, that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe you guys are in a symbiotic relationship or something, instead of enemies. You help people see what could be possible, and they balance it with reality.”

Dream was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But I do not think approaching them in this manner will serve me well, at the moment.”

“Maybe not if they’re going around attacking you,” Hob conceded, and Dream cracked a small smile.

Sun deities, Hob thought. Really, life was full of such strange and interesting things.

“So when you went to Hell,” Hob started. Dream tilted his head, but didn’t seem thrown by the change in subject. “What did you wager in exchange for your helm? The game makes you wager something, right?”

“It was the demon who chose the other side of the wager,” said Dream. “He demanded I remain in Hell and serve him for eternity, if I lost.”

Hob was glad he’d put down his tea, as he’d probably have dropped it. “What? Was the helm really worth that risk?”

Dream leaned back in his chair, lips pressed tight in offense. Or maybe hurt. “I am nothing without my tools of office,” he said.

“That is not true,” said Hob, surprised by his own vehemence. Nothing? He thought he was nothing?

“I could not have restored the Dreaming without them,” Dream insisted.

“Okay, fine. They’re important for your job. But that doesn’t mean you’re nothing without them.” Hob went to lay his hand over Dream’s on the table, hesitated, then decided, fuck it. Dream started when their skin touched, but didn’t move away. Hob repeated his words, with even more emphasis this time. “You’re not nothing.”

Dream met his gaze, challenging. Hob didn’t back down.

“As you wish,” Dream finally said. Which wasn’t actually an agreement. “I can concede that the ruby breaking was ultimately beneficial to my power. But the helm is my symbol of office. To leave it in the possession of a demon is a continual humiliation to my realm and station.”

“Okay, I’m hearing you,” Hob said. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dream should be able to get his helm back. But he didn’t want Dream to risk horrible punishment for the sake of his pride. Better to slink away alive to try again another day, or so Hob felt. That wasn’t Dream, though.

“Just be careful, okay?” he said. “Even if you lost your helm and everything, and everyone in Hell thought you were pathetic—which, by the way, not sure Hell’s opinion is worth much anyway? but that aside—I’d still rather have you here than the alternative.” He threw Dream a smile, hoping he didn’t take offense to the idea that he could possibly be pathetic. “It wasn’t ‘The King of Dreams and Nightmares, et cetera’ that I missed for all those years, you know?”

“You did not know who I was, then,” Dream pointed out, but he seemed contemplative.

“I liked who I did know,” Hob said. “My friend.”

“Your friend,” repeated Dream slowly. Finally, he did pick up his tea, and took a sip. “A powerful title indeed, if you would have me when it is the only one I carry.”

“If you say so,” Hob said, which brought a small smile to Dream’s lips. If Dream wanted to think of it as a title akin to his kingship and endlessness and whatnot, then Hob would bestow it on him with gladness, and with a warm sense of honor that nestled right in his heart.

“It is…” Dream added, at length, “a meaningful title. To me.”

Rare, those expressions of feeling from Dream. Hob couldn’t help but to bask in them like a cat in a sunbeam. He remembered how Dream had looked at him during the duel. Love always comes back. Worth it, all the strife, to see Dream look at him like that, he thought.

“You defended me,” Dream said. “To prevent me taking the duel in your place. To protect me when it was not warranted.”

Wasn’t warranted. Hob really wished Dream would just learn to let Hob care for him.

"Would have even if I'd known it was you he truly wanted," he said. “I missed my friend for long enough. Wasn’t going to let something happen again when I could get in the way of it.”

“Your friend,” Dream said again. As if savoring the words. His lips tipped up again in a small smile. One just for himself.

Hob squeezed his hand on the table. A grounding touch, a reminder. “And don’t forget it.”

Dream turned his hand over on the table, and squeezed back.

[lookingfts]

Thank you for your meet-cute ideas! I love them all and may write more of them, but for tonight I chose this idea from @rk19991999, so thank you!

He’d never felt more out of place.

The wedding was beautiful, of course. Dorset seemed happy, exchanging hushed words on the dance floor with his new bride. A lovely girl. Edwina – that was her name. To be fair, Anthony had only met her for about five seconds when they visited his table at dinner.

Daphne and Simon, the only other people he knew, had bowed out a bit early – Daphne’s pregnancy was making her regularly queasy. Anthony couldn’t quite recall, now, why he hadn’t made an excuse to leave with them.

Oh, right. The bridesmaid.

Edwina’s sister was very likely the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. He nearly dropped his phone when she walked down the aisle, draped in colorful fabric and heavy gold jewelry. Anthony rustled a floral decoration rather loudly, and the sister had looked at him sharply. He was torn between wanting the ground to swallow him whole and catching his breath, because really, she was fucking beautiful.

She’d recovered, and so had he, and then she had been surrounded by family all night. Anthony was certainly not above hitting on an attractive woman at a wedding, but to do it front of her relatives felt…uncouth.

After a while, he lost sight of her altogether, and swallowed down the rest of his champagne. He was happy for Dorset, genuinely, but it was long past time to make his exit.

Anthony stood, and a slim hand wrapped around his wrist. He turned to find the sister, her eyes urgent and her cheeks a little flushed. “Hi,” she said in a low voice. “Are you single?”

“Um. Yes?”

“Good. I’ll give you fifty pounds if you play along with what’s about to happen. An extra fifty if you kiss me right now.”

His first instinct was to tell this woman that he didn’t need the money, actually, and then realized that was an extremely stupid thing to lead with. Especially since he’d spent the whole night staring at her from across the room.

Tipping her chin up with his thumb, Anthony pressed his lips to hers gently. He didn’t want to push too far, but her skin was so soft under his palm and she tasted like mango and it was making him more than a little stupid.

Her nails raked through his hair, her mouth moving more insistently against his, and an embarrassing moan formed in his throat. Even more so when she nipped at his bottom lip, drawing back with dark, blown eyes and shallow breaths.

Christ, he wanted to take her home. Or – scratch that. Somewhere closer. A hotel room. A powder room. His car. This table right in front of them.

“Kathani!” He jumped at the voice behind him, forgetting for a moment that they were playing some kind of role. She tucked herself into Anthony’s side as three older woman descended on them, and he reciprocated, sliding his arm around her waist and holding her tight against him. His heart was still pounding, and he wondered if she could feel it as she placed her hand on his chest.

“This is David,” Kathani said, and he realized with some satisfaction that she sounded breathless as well. “My fiancé.”

--

“I’m sorry about that,” she sighed, linking her fingers together behind his neck. “The aunties are relentless.”

It had been quite the interrogation. Anthony wasn’t sure how to convincingly fake a relationship with a woman he’d literally never met, but Kathani had a quick answer to everything. They’d met on the tube; he was a surgeon; she wasn’t wearing her ring because they didn’t want to draw attention away from Edwina’s big day. Anthony had been happy to stare at her adoringly and hum his agreement at appropriate intervals. The aunties probably thought he was dim-witted, but they had called him handsome several times.

Finally, she’d tugged Anthony onto the dance floor, blending in with the sea of couples. “What happens when I’m not actually a surgeon named David and we don’t get married?”

Her eyes went wide. “Fuck! I never even asked your name.”

“It’s Anthony,” he said with a chuckle.

“I’m Kate,” she responded, wrinkling up her nose in a very endearing way. “Kathani, of course, but only my family calls me that. And to answer your question, I don’t care. Eddie’s wedding just brought out the vultures and I didn’t feel like being told everything I need to change about myself to attract a man’s attention.”

“Ouch. My mum kind of does the same thing, to be fair.” They shared a laugh, and Anthony felt his heart turn over in his chest. Her laugh was as stunning as the rest of her. “You don’t need to change anything, by the way. I almost disrupted your sister’s whole wedding because you took my breath away, walking down the aisle.”

She stiffened a little, blinking up at him through long lashes. Maybe it was too much, but Kate deserved to know that she was not lacking, at least not in his eyes. Whatever she did with that information was her choice.

A soft flush rose in her cheeks as she sank her teeth into her lip. “I, um…” Kate cleared her throat. “I might have chosen you as my fake fiancé because I liked the way you looked at me.”

Anthony did an internal cheer of victory. He was suddenly glad that he’d been too stubborn to leave the party early. Waiting for a chance that had turned out much better than he could have imagined. “Well, I am willing to keep up the pretense. Take you out for dinner, you know. Learn your life story so I can actually contribute to the lie next time. The aunties definitely thought there was nothing going on upstairs, if you know what I mean.”

Kate snorted, biting back a smile as her fingers played with the fine hairs at the back of his neck. “We should work on the kissing, too. A solid first effort, but I think we can get better.”

“Of course,” he agreed with mock seriousness. “We can’t half-arse it, can we?”

[tickly-trashcan]

Joke {Cyno and Tighnari}

“And then I said–”

Tighnari interrupted Cyno’s joke with a loud groan, pulling his ears down so he did not hear the punchline. Cyno failed to notice and went on with the punchline anyway, looking at Tighnari for a reaction. He furrowed his brows when he saw Tighnari had turned his back to him and pulled his ears down.

“And then I said, ‘I think the Padisarah could use a light snack.’” Cyno repeated, much louder this time. “Get it? Because Padisarah is a plant, and since it was hungry and plants use sunlight for energy–”

“Archons save me,” Tighnari released his ears and turned to Cyno with a weary look. “Cyno, explaining a joke makes it less funny.”

“Well, I didn’t even know if you heard the punchline the first time, how was I supposed to know if you understood it?”

“Context clues?”

Cyno crossed his arms. “You’re in a sour mood…”

Tighnari shrugged and waved a hand. “It’s been a long day, and I can only handle so many jokes. If you’re trying to make me laugh, it’s not going to work.”

Tighnari turned on his heel and continued on, Cyno following behind as he went through other jokes he could tell. He finally decided that Tighnari was no longer in the mood for jokes, but he still wanted to at least get him to crack a smile. Cyno thought up a plan and smirked.

“I heard that there’s a good amount of Kalpalata Lotuses around here, so hopefully we can get some and get going,” Tighnari said as he crouched by a small bundle of vines and looked around for the flower. “Cyno, do you know if– Ahh!”

Tighnari whipped his head around at Cyno when he felt hands go up his sides and clamped his arms down. “Cyno!”

Cyno gave Tighnari an innocent smile. “You had a bug on you.”

Tighnari’s eyes narrowed, not fully trusting what Cyno said, but he moved on regardless. As he spoke, Cyno crept his hands up to Tighnari’s sides again and wiggled his fingers lightly, making Tighnari squeak.

“Would you stop that?! This is serious!”

“It is serious. You’ve got a bad case of the No Funsies, and we need to fix that,” Cyno chuckled. He latched onto Tighnari’s hips and gave them a firm squeeze, making Tighnari topple back and laugh.

“Cynohoho! Why ahahahare you– Ack! Dohohon’t tickle mehehe!” Tighnari whined, turning back and forth as Cyno scribbled all over his tummy.

“You weren’t laughing at my jokes earlier, now you can’t stop laughing? You’re giving me mixed signals, Nari,” Cyno teased with a snicker.

“It’s behehecause you’re– you’re tickling mehehehe! Cynohohooo!!”

“Admit I’m funny and I’ll consider stopping.”

Tighnari threw his head back and cackled when Cyno found his ribs. “Nehehever!”

Cyno shrugged. “Suit yourself, then.”

With that, he buried his hands under Tighnari’s arms, making him positively shriek. He arched his back and squirmed, clamping his arms down as he hollered.

“Not thehehere!! Cyno– Cyno, plehehehease! Stahahahap!!!”

Cyno only whistled a tune, pretending to be lost in thought until Tighnari was red in the face. “You know how to make it stop, Nari.”

“Okahahay! Okahahay, you’re funny!!”

“How funny?”

“Ahahaharchons, Cyno, just stahaHAHAP!!”

Cyno rolled his eyes and pulled his hands away, folding his arms over his chest while he waited for Tighnari to recover from the tickles. He laid there with his arms out, chest heaving, and shot Cyno a nasty glare.

“You still need to work on your jokes, though…”

Tighnari let out a yelp when Cyno pounced on him once more, drawing out more of that frantic laughter until Tighnari admitted that, not only was Cyno funny, but he had the best jokes in all of Sumeru.

[springsylph]

bodyguard.

[bodyguard!john price x rookie actress!reader]

extension of this blurb. || minors, do not interact.

read on ao3

this was supposed to be a one-off thing but uh. my hand slipped? had to cut down the "price wouldn't do that" monster with my "i can do what i want" sword, and we got 3k of an unedited brain dump that i typed on my phone at six in the morning. also my first time writing something for price! woo!

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?"

Yelling secures you your first big project.

You can’t pay those bills until I land a job. A real job.

You’re almost certain your agent thinks you’re throwing a tantrum, and it leaves a coarse grit in your molars. You don’t like to pick fights. Hate it, really. But pushes are usually succeeded by shoves, and you can’t afford to get knocked out of the ring this time around.

The worst they can do is say no, right?

Thankfully, one yes is all you need to beg for. Your chariot arrives in the shape of a surprisingly low-budget rom-com, in simple terms. You and your C-list costar (flanked by a squeaky clean track record, thank god) are swept up in a soundless spiral of table reads and filming and wrapping before you can really, truly process.

But a warden stands guard at the eye of your perfect storm. John Price, assigned to you through your agency without so much as a proper word.

(“Squeaky clean,” apparently, didn’t take a history of overzealous stalkers into account.)

The peephole to your dilapidated apartment can barely contain him. blocks him—or attempts to do so—like a child might shield their sandcastle from the pulsing tide. Only, you think the tide might be more forgiving. He’s rooted in place, made harsher under the cracked fluorescent bulbs out in the hallway. They hum along with him. Faint, unless your breathing stills.

You’d feel a little more at ease if he were actually ex-military; the scraps of information you’ve been fed tell you that he’s been discharged, but you don’t believe it. Not for a second. You hadn’t been given much else apart from that and a face, but you could put together that he was disgustingly overqualified—not that you were complaining, though. Not yet.

You watch as John Price—Price?—gazes with a deceiving sort of apathy toward the end of the hall, then to the other, and back to the other end in three smooth seconds.

You think he’s seeing things till the apartment two doors down produces a tenant from its depths and price is turning, warding the disturbance off with an easy mornin’ and a wave of a large hand. He says nothing when they shuffle off awkwardly without a response, and the slow crawl of his opposite hand away from a flash of metal at his hip draws your pupil like a magnet.

It’s then that you note the suspiciously white shirt—rolled up to his elbows, tucked neatly into dark denim. hands tucked into pockets. Beard trimmed. Everything not protected by the skin on his body squared away just so, with just enough of his bulk on display to prompt that second spike of wariness.

A meticulous problem, then.

You peel yourself away from the door after an inhale and swing it open regardless.

The smell of tobacco and cologne hits your nose like a hammer the moment the door hits the bolt behind you, but you recover the feeling in your knees quickly. The fisheye lens doesn’t quite do him justice—you have to look up a bit to take another quick scan, cheeks cramping with the sudden momentum of your smile.

“I don’t see a bible or a pamphlet, so I’m assuming you’re not here to preach?” 

The joke doesn’t fall flat, but it does sail into one of the weaker bulbs before it shuts off with a buzz.

“…Captain Price, right?”

His eyes crinkle with a hint of what might be a grin. Under different circumstances, maybe. “Right on the mark. A pleasure to finally meet you, Ma’am.” But that thrum of irritation is there, as is the narrowing of his eyes when you extend your hand in greeting. “Just Price’ll do though.”

Hm.

He reaches up to fix his beanie just above his brow before giving your hand a firm shake. Definitely military. And hot as a furnace. You’re more than a little dizzy when he pulls back to check his watch, the inside of your wrist now raw from the grazing of a fingernail.

You can feel the skin he’s taken with him when he looks you in the eyes. Assessing. You don’t know why, but think you’ve won until he’s looking back down at his wrist.

He pulls out the crown on his watch, begins to twist and twist so that the dials can begin their inevitable rotation. “You know what time it is?”

Nine in the morning.

Or, at least it was thirty minutes ago.

“I—yeah. Lost track of time, sorry.” You scratch just under the collar of your shirt, straighten it out when the itch turns into a tingle you’re willing to overlook. You realize after an embarrassing beat that he’s probably asking for the actual time. “I sleep like a rock,” you add anyway. Your agency had actually given you three things, not two: a poorly put together profile, a face, and a meeting time.

It dawns on you now that a thirty minute “test of patience” with your back pressed to the door may not have been the way to go.

Price looks up, finally. Rolls his shoulders back as if to shed the pileup of gravity that’s compressed his spine in the half hour you’ve kept him waiting—and somehow, someway, seems to double the amount of space he takes up.

“That so,” he questions. Low in his throat, and a tad exasperated, because you’ve studied exasperation. Went into debt to have that understanding feel like a second skin. Which is why you observe, perplexed, as he gestures to the entryway. You think you feel your head nod, and he brushes past you to push through the door. “‘Nother habit we’ll have to kick.”

Any objections you might’ve had are killed in your throat the moment his prowl begins, and your socks catch on the scuffed linoleum as you flounder in after him.

The door slams back against the bolt while Price’s boots press the air out of your hardwood floors, squeals escaping with each heavy step. You squeak out a feeble excuse me alongside them once or twice, but to no avail. He can’t hear you, too intent on following some internal rhythm that takes him to the open window, the dusty cabinets, slipping fingers into the creases of a space you’re barely acquainted with yourself.

Something like nausea begins to bubble. You planned this. You’d planned out your introduction. Picked out your clothes, your shoes, where you’d grab coffee so you could build up your integrity and explain to him that you’re not looking to be coddled, he’d just get in the way. And now you’re wringing your hands, abject unease burning in a dense knot between your eyes while you figure out how to melt into the poorly hidden pile of dirty laundry.

There’s a delay in your processing, and you don’t start to catch up until Price finally slows down enough for you to realize he’s been talking.

He’s stooping over your dining room table, swiping a finger over his tongue before using it to card through old mail. “Real sorry ‘bout this, Ma’am. Not the most ideal introduction, I know, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch. Standard protocol—’m sure you know how it is, yeah?”

Price moves to turn over a stack of magazines on your dining table, and you wonder: were you supposed to know? You’re sure his question is rhetorical, and you’re certainly not inclined to answer. But something about the way it hits the water stains on your ceiling justifies the way he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

Concern. An uncut gem, plucked from some cavernous fissure that might be closer in proximity to hell than your own flesh and blood.

The crease between his brows deepens. “You have had security before, haven’t you?”

“Don’t get out much. I do my work, come right home.” You shrug, but your shoulders can’t seem to come back down. Perhaps this was why they’d put him on leave—he couldn’t do math.

You shuffle a bit in place, kick aside a ratty tennis ball left behind from one of your pet sitting stints. It hits your refrigerator and he’s still looking down at your feet, so you look with him.

—at the last two toes sticking out of your sock.

You rush to cover it with your other foot while Price sucks his teeth. He doesn’t move, hands still planted on the table, but each time he blinks his eyes are trained on something different.

Price lets out a sigh before he finally stands upright, perching his hands on his hips. “I'm surprised your people waited this long to call someone in. Right idiots they are, I’ll tell you that.”

Your people. You wrap your arms around your middle, pinch the fabric of your shirt between your fingers.

“I can't really blame them,” you say after a moment. Tip your chin up, a last ditch attempt at salvaging what little of your farce is left to cover yourself with.

Price tuts, strangely unconvinced for someone you’d only known for around ten minutes. “You’d be smart to blame them.”

“Don’t think I can do that when I'm working for them, Price.”

“Can’t you? S’clear they’ve done fuck all to look out for you.”

And you could. Should. Want to. So, so desperately need to. But you’re already saddled with enough things to hate. Hope of catharsis is an outbound ship, a blip on the horizon that you don’t have the funds to board. 

“…I don't follow.”

Price doesn’t flinch when the table rocks without the weight of the magazines to keep it steady, and neither do you.

“You don’t follow,” he repeats. Like a crucial detail has been lost in translation.

You shake your head.

“Well, that’s no good.”

Cigar smoke snakes its way into your headspace again when he strides past you to put his hand up against the door, muscles in his forearms flexing when he pulls at the doorknob. He beckons you closer, and you’re pulled out of orbit when you skirt close enough for him to reach, guiding your hand to the cool metal while he stands just behind you.

“Here,” he mutters. Your chest is a cushion, and the rumble in his chest is a bright red pin.

(Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if the crackle of a walkie-talkie might bury how frighteningly human he sounds.)

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

He takes his hand off once you’ve stopped throwing glances at him, and your knuckles sizzle in his absence. What was he looking for? Nothing…looks different. 

You can’t focus. His eyes are on your neck, and you can’t focus.

And suddenly, you don’t like how close he is. You’re reminded of how he’d shoved his way into your apartment. Barely spoken to you before driving a stake through the bubble put together with your blood sweat and tears. Made you feel ashamed in your own home.

Righteous indignation flares up, and you’re spewing words you’re certain you believe in until they tumble out.

“If you’re just here to poke fun, I’m not—”

Pop.

You look down. The keyhole pokes just out of the doorknob and you look to Price, his face remarkably passive.

“Lock’s been tampered with.” He runs a thumb over the offending protrusion, watches as it slots back into place. “You should see some scratches on the other side of it. Thought I noticed something when the door first slammed, but I didn't want to startle you in case my eyes were playing tricks. Can’t quite see like I used to.”

Why not get glasses?

“I would’ve put up less of a fuss if you’d told me up front.”

He looks at you, eyes a perfect congruence of something just beyond what your fingertips can touch. But he smiles, and you think you can understand. Maybe mash the pieces together. A distending warmth. Nepenthe sinking into every orifice until you’re expelling your woes through your nostrils.

Your axis tilts when Price puts a solid hand on your shoulder.

“It’s not good to lie, mm? Not to me.”

Not good to lie.

When you slide out from under his palm, his callouses snag on the exposed seam of your shirt. You toss him a grin, a bone. “Noted.”

Insecure seconds pass, but not without movement. 

It begins like this: Price walks away from the door, and you’re almost grateful for the squealing underneath his feet to fill the silence. He takes your stack of mail and magazines, sets them exactly as they had been before he’d entered. The table is righted, and he works in reverse from that point on.

Closing cabinet doors. Angling that picture frame you’ve been meaning to adjust for weeks. He’s putting things into their proper place, like setting bones before they’re enclosed in a stiff cast. 

You, though, are still standing awkwardly by the door.

“You really don’t need to—”

He holds out a hand. “Relax. ‘M just having a second go around.”

You bristle, but your decision to pad over to the couch is of your own volition. It caves in when you sit, and you wiggle to get the cushions to realign with your hips. Your hands feel around blindly for the remote to your TV before remembering you’d dropped it out of the window in a fit of anger some weeks ago, so you sit back, spine hitting the hard frame of the couch. Price’s noises pair well, somehow, with the wind sliding over the glass and the neighbors downstairs.

Until you feel his presence at the back of the couch, and a thought smacks you right across your forehead.

You shoot up, heart rate suddenly inflamed by panic. “Price?”

The movement stops, and you turn around, peer over to find Price prepped to duck his head under the couch. “Hm?”

“Uh.” You hesitate. Shit, think—

“H-how much are they paying you, anyways?” Good save. Maybe a little less than good.

You feel a little bad that you’d stopped Price mid-crouch; you can’t quite remember how old he is, but you know he’s old enough for knee pain to be a concern. He looks up as if crunching the numbers in his head. Hums. “Enough.”

“What’re you looking for?”

“Saw the picked lock, didn’t you?”

“Were you really discharged?”

“Depends. There something under this couch you don’t want me seeing?”

Looks like you can knock “interrogation skills” off of your list of special skills on your resume.

Your jaw snapping shut is enough to send his arm sliding under, and you can only watch in horror as his clutched hand emerges holding a scrap of thin blue fabric. He pushes himself up off of his knees. Takes his sweet time wringing out his back while your eyes track his hand like he’s got a thumb over the button of a detonator.

If he had any shred of decency—

“Another thing I caught on my way in,” he huffs. He holds out his hand and allows the blue fabric to uncurl. A flag, hung full mast right between your eyes. Another one of his tests. 

“Price.”

“C’mon, now. Take it from me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice; your arm shoots out and you win it back in one go. Stuff your lacy underwear into the pocket of your pants and wait for your ceiling to collapse in on you.

“Can’t leave pretty things like that layin’ around.” And Price stops, watches as you curl in on yourself. Voice like the push of velvet shifting underneath your palms. “Likely to rip if you’re not careful.”

You pull your head into your shirt and curl your knees into your chest. It’s a shock when you find yourself face to face with your heartbeat, the skin over your left breast jumping underneath your nose. “I think we’re done here.” 

Price makes that sucking noise again with his teeth—agitation, you think it’s agitation—and you trace the hazy shadow of him through your shirt as he steps around the couch to walk to the window. He snaps twice, and you’re beginning to entertain the thought of what might happen if you had enough strength to push him out.

“What now,” you croak.

“Eyes up.”

Slowly, you muster up enough spite to bring your head just above the collar of your shirt. Military men and their incessant need for…whatever the hell this was. 

“You’ve gotten better at this. Quick study,” Price remarks.

“Better at what.”

“Listening. That’s good, real good. That’ll make this a whole lot easier,” he says, a note of appreciation that you haven’t heard yet stirring that tiny pool of filth just underneath your navel. You hum.

Price crosses his arms. Flicks his stupid eyes toward the fluttering curtains. “How often d’you leave this open?”

Your face pinches. “I mean—pretty often? It’s hot, Price. And in case you haven’t noticed,” you wave your hand to the general state of disrepair, “I don’t exactly have good circulation in here.”

This gives him pause. Whatever plan he’s recalibrating, you want no part of it. You do notice that he hasn’t put his hands in his pockets since he showed up on your doorstep, instead favoring the use of his left hand to rub his chin. 

“Come over here and close the window.”

You nearly jump out of your skin. “...Close the window? Price, you can’t be serious.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Can’t…can’t you close it?”

“It’s not my window. Can’t do everythin’ for you.”

He stares at you expectantly. Your tailbone is beginning to throb, and for some damning reason, that note still ringing bright in the back of your skull. That’s good. Good, good, good.

Price catches that eager glint the moment it surfaces.

“Go on then, love.” He tips his head. “Close it.”

The rest of you surfaces slowly. You look back for a moment at the indent left on the couch, think about how long that imprint will be there until you feel inclined to fluff out those cushions again.

(Later. You’ll get to it later.)

Shutting the window doesn’t take much effort, but the swampy temperature is noticeable. You turn around a little too quickly, so you hold an arm out to the now sealed vault in an exaggerated show of bravado. I did it, see?

Price slides past you to look outside. He purses his lips when he finds what he’s looking for, and you can almost see the note being stashed into some faraway file.

He turns to you. “Keep this window closed till further notice,” and a hand reaches out to tug the curtains shut, and yellow from the lamp you’d left on last night washes over the room instantly.

“Price.”

“I take my work seriously. You take yours seriously, you’ll need me.”

It feels like a slap in the face. “I do, but that doesn’t mean—”

“My job,” and he points to himself, then to you, “is to keep you out of harm's way. Can’t do this if you don’t trust me.”

“You’re asking a lot for someone who hasn’t—”

You go silent as he reaches a hand into a back pocket, pulls out his hand and you count one, two, three square devices around the size of a nail.

“Busted lock, three faulty cameras, all outside. You’re lucky these people are idiots.” He shoves them back into his pocket before returning his focus to you. “You need me.”

You blink. 

Price smiles, raises his eyebrows as if the conversation is already over. “Hungry?”

You stumble back. “But what about—what about the apartment?”

“S’fine,” he says. He checks his watch. “I know a couple guys, you’re in good hands.”

[faruna]

Hello! I’m back with more furifaru!

Modern AU where they are teachers at the same school:

info under the cut:

So Furina used to be this big, French actress who sacrificed every ounce of herself for her career but was caught in some sort of scandal and fell from grace. She finds that teaching is a healthier way to pursue her passion for the stage and that she feels content now that she has more agency over her life. (The one thing I really like about Furina’s story quest is how skillfully she guides the theater troupe, it gives the impression that she’d be a very insightful and caring teacher.) Some people still have mixed feelings about her but the students who take her class are pleasantly surprised by how approachable she is in person. Every musical she directs is so ridiculously over the top for a school production, and yet they pull it off brilliantly every time so the tickets always sell out immediately.

I could see Faruzan teaching Geometry and maybe one Archeology class that she had to fight the school board to have. She used to do fieldwork as an archeologist but at one point she got lost in a system of caves and though she was eventually saved it took a while for her to physically recover. Her lectures are dense sometimes but she has some very exciting stories to tell. She has that same grandmotherly attitude but she’s a young teacher who accomplished a lot and she really just wants to be respected as such. The curriculum is a bit daunting but if you participate in class she’ll give you a candy.

Faruzan’s classroom is close to the auditorium and at first she’s irritated by all the noise down the hall and has definitely marched into Furina’s class to complain but over time she develops a fondness for the theater professor next door. (Furina is immediately smitten and all her students can tell. They joke about it relentlessly and applaud when she finally manages to ask Madam Faruzan out on a date)

Hopefully I’ll have time to draw more of them later.

Thank you for reading!

[ikn0wtheend]

thoroughfare - modern!ellie x reader

summary: you knew ellie once and a road trip back home together complicates things more than it should. 

pairing: modern!ellie williams x reader

word count: ~4.5k

c/w: angst, fluff, mutual pining, language, implied sex, hopeful ending? loser lesbians as always.

a/n: um I do not know where this came from seeing as this is quite the diversion from ‘the record’ but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I was just listening to ethel cain’s ‘thoroughfare’ (as a girlie does) and I blacked out and apparently wrote 4k words of whatever this is. spoiler alert: they don’t even make it back home, they drive for like 5 hours. as always let me know what you think and if you’d like me to make this a series (I'm currently on the fence about it). <3

main masterlist & thoroughfare [2]

It was hot. The kind of hot that doesn’t give you a reprieve no matter how many layers you take off or how hard you fan yourself with your hand. It was sticky and miserable. You want to claw at your skin. 

Sitting on the sidewalk you waited for Dina to arrive, you hadn’t really gotten the full details from her. All she had said was “meet outside your apartment” giving you a specific day at a specific time. But you couldn’t complain, you were the one that had called her in distress, forgetting about timezones when she answered the phone half-awake.

Someone eclipses the sun from their spot next to you. You turn with your hand above your brow to get a better look at them and when you do your face automatically scrunches up. 

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“Why the fuck are you sitting on the sidewalk?” 

You stand up, brushing your pants off. “Oh fuck you, Ellie.” 

“No fuck you.” She retorts.

You were going to punch her. Right here. Right on this very sidewalk. You were going to draw your fist back and punch the freckles on her left cheek off of her face. You clench your fists. “I’m not gonna stand here and argue with you.” 

“You started it.” 

“You’re really gonna play the blame game?”

“Who the fuck calls it a ‘blame game’?”

“Literally everybody you fuckwad.”

“So we’re calling each other names now?” She places both hands on her hips. “You’re such an asshole.”

“I see you’ve lost your touch.” You mirrored her stance. “Asshole isn’t very creative.”

“Neither is fuckwad, you fuckwad.”

You throw your hands up. “Jesus Christ, you’re impossible.”

“No you’re imposs-”

Your phone rang interrupting Ellie from finishing, what you were sure was a very clever rebuttal, Dina’s name flashing on the screen. You quickly turn your back to Ellie and answer.

“Hey-”

Dina cuts you off. “Has she shown up yet?”

“Who?” 

“Ellie.” 

You sucked in a breath and pinch between your eyes. “Dina, please don’t tell me my ride across the country is Ellie.” You chanced a look at the girl in question, painfully aware of the way she raised her eyebrows to remind you she could still hear you. 

“Um yeah? You said you need a ride and that it was urgent and Ellie was closest.” Dina stated simply. As though she didn’t know that this was bound to create a mess, one you might not recover from. 

“Okay maybe I exaggerated when I said ‘urgent’, I would’ve happily of waited for you or Jesse.” The words rush out of you, eager to get her to understand and to undo this mess. 

“You were literally in tears when you called and like I said Ellie was closest. You’ll be fine.” She said flippantly. As though she wasn’t a first-hand witness to the shit-storm that had happened two years ago. 

“I don’t think we share the same definition of ‘fine’, Dina.” Her name comes out with a bite. 

You hear a long sigh. “Look just trust me on this. And hey maybe this will be good for the both of you, you’ll finally be able to talk about it.” 

“Did it even occur to you that I left because I didn’t want to talk about it?” 

“Fair point.” She concedes. “But listen I can’t come get you until next week, and that's being generous, so just suck it up and come home. I miss you.”

Fuck, you thought. You couldn’t stay here, not for another week, and hearing Dina say she missed you made you press the heel of you palm into your chest to try and calm the ache. It wasn’t the first time she had told you she missed you since you left, you heard it everytime you called. Sometimes when the time stretched thin between the two of you she would send you a text reminding you she was thinking of you. That she hadn’t forgotten. 

“Okay.” 

“Yeah?” You can hear the concern in her voice now. 

“Yeah. Thank you.” You clear your throat. “I miss you too.” You really did.

She throws out a number of goodbyes and ‘I love you’s’, words you return, before she hangs up. You take a deep breath before turning to look at Ellie again who was standing there with your bags in her arms. She looked silly, you thought. Adorable. You scowl.

“I can carry my own things you know?” 

“Just get your arse across the road and into the car.”

“Sir yes sir.” 

You think you hear a huff of laughter escape her, you think the heat is making you imagine things.

You’re avoiding looking at Ellie, instead you’re focused on the stretch of road laid out in front of you. The two of you had been stuck at a stand-still for the last couple of hours, neither wanting to be the one to break the silence. Maybe it had less to do with not wanting to and more to do with not knowing what to say. 

You knew her once, could tell anyone that would listen how loud she liked her music, the way she took her tea. You knew which side of the bed she preferred despite her protests that it was childish to have a favourite - it was the left. 

You knew her. You knew her. You knew her. 

You’re not sure if you still do. Her hair is different and her shoes look new - you don’t recognise the brand of air freshener hanging from the mirror. This time when you feel an ache in your chest it feels like something akin to grief. But she still looks like your life two years ago and the thought that you might not look the same makes you slump in your chair. 

It’s another silent hour before you make your first stop at the gas station, even so Ellie still gets out of the car without saying a word. You watch her for a second, eyeing the way she leaned back against the car with her arms crossed over her chest, before unbuckling your seatbelt and heading inside to grab some snacks. 

You take your time browsing down the aisles, glad for the chance to stretch your legs for a bit. There was something about gas stations that made you nostalgic, something about you and Ellie at a gas station that made you nostalgic even though she was outside pumping the gas. There were too many times to count when the two of you would make your way to the closest one at all hours of the night to stockpile on chips and candy for movie nights. You would walk through every single aisle and she would follow, not once complaining over the fact that you got the same things everytime and they were two aisles over. She would hold out a hand to carry the food and you would pay, swatting at her whenever she tried to sneak her card to the cashier who looked far too tired to even act amused. Ellie would say ‘thank you’ and you would tell her that it was on her next time although you both knew that was a lie. 

So you allow your mind to wander and your feet to carry you aimlessly. You rely on muscle memory to take you where you need to go because all these gas stations are built the same. You pay and try to leave the memories at the automatic doors.

Ellie is still standing outside the car when you exit with a full bag, arms still crossed. You call her name and chuck a chocolate bar at her a bit more aggressively than you originally planned, because it hits her square in the chest and falls to the ground with a sad splat. Ellie looks at you irritated. 

“What the fuck?” 

You wince, shoulders up by your ears. “Sorry.” You say sheepishly. 

She rolls her eyes as she bends down to grab the bar off of the ground, you see the moment her harden gaze softens and as quick as it was there it was gone again. She rises slowly, flipping the bar around in her hands. 

“I hope they’re still your favourite.” You wring your hands together.

She nods. “Get in the car, we gotta go.” Before you can respond she turns her back to you and retreats to the car. 

You puff out your cheeks before blowing the air out and make your way back to the passenger side, dumping your bag of snacks onto the floor in front of you. You buckle your seatbelt and lift your head to see Ellie already looking at you, she raises an eyebrow in lieu of asking if you’re ready. You nod.

The two of you drive in silence for roughly another 30 minutes before the urge to speak hits you. The last time you were in this car, you and Ellie talked until you couldn’t breathe, saying whatever was on your mind and taking breaks to sing whatever song was playing. You fear that if you don’t say something now you might choke. 

“Do you remember the time Dina was learning to drive and she hit the curb so hard she started crying?” You don’t know why this is the thing your brain conjured up, maybe the combination of recycled air and the smell of Ellie’s cologne was getting to you. 

Ellie snorts in surprise and looks between you and road. “How could I forget. We had to drive home with a flat tire.”

You’re laughing now, “And you had to bribe her back into the car with the promise of burgers.” You throw your head back. 

Ellie’s laughing now too, a far away look on her face. “Yeah I did, didn’t I? Jesus Christ I thought she was gonna stand in the middle of the street all night and someone was gonna run her over, honestly I wouldn’t of blamed them.” One of her hands was off the wheel and gesturing wildly. “I don’t even know why she was standing on the road, the car was halfway up the sidewalk she should’ve stood there.”

Your laughter tapers off but a wistful smile remains on your face, you see Ellie look at you funny out of the corner of your eye. “What?” You ask softly, your eyes now on her profile. Pretty, you think.

“Nothing. Your laugh sounds the same.”

You struggle to maintain your composure. “Is that a bad thing?”

She shakes her head. “No. Just makes me remember.”

You don’t ask what exactly it was she remembers, because you think that it doesn’t really matter. She remembers your laugh and that's enough for you. It has to be, because you know you weren’t in the position to ask for more. 

 Ellie hesitantly calls out your name this time. 

“Yeah?”

“Why did you leave?”

The question was sobering, you were expecting it the moment you saw her yet it still made you flinch. “I couldn’t stay.” You say. 

You don’t elaborate.

She furrows her brow and you have the urge to smooth it out gently with your thumb and apologise for being the reason that its there. “Why didn’t you come back?” She tries again, voice strained like it hurt her to ask. Maybe it did.

You give her a smile. “I am now aren’t I?” 

“I don’t know, are you?”

Your smile falters. 

“Fuck you.” You snap, smile fully gone and replaced with something harsh. You quickly try and backtrack. “I’m sorry-”

“No it’s okay.” You both know it’s not okay. “I shouldn’t of asked.”

“Ellie-”

“Do you want to listen to something?” She interjects as she reaches over you to open the glovebox and pull out a stack of CD’s with one hand, you remember buying her some of them, she plops them down in your lap. “Take your pick. That Fleetwood Mac one is in there somewhere if that’s still your thing.” It was still your thing. 

You grab something different instead, something that you couldn’t immediately attach a memory to and put it in the slot and press play. 

You had swapped out the CD playing twice before you finally gathered the courage to speak to Ellie again, still embarrassed you had thrown your words at her face. 

“How have you been?” You wince at your own words.

She turns to look at you incredulously. “Is that really what you’re going with?” 

You huff even though you knew that it was a dumb question. “Fine. Why did you say yes to driving me home?” 

“Dina forced me.” She was quick with her response.

You let the words sink in before asking another question. “You still could’ve said no.” The Ellie you knew was much more stubborn than Dina, could often outlast any insisting from her.

You watch as she shuffles in her seat and sighs. “Yeah I could’ve but then she would’ve annoyed me about it for forever, so it was easier to just say yes right off the bat.”

Silence fills the air once more as you think about it. Something wasn’t right and perhaps the stifling air in the car was making you agitated or perhaps Ellie wasn’t telling you the truth. The sky was so blue out here, you think.

“Not everything has to mean something.” She blurts out in irritation.

You turn your head to find her already looking at you. “What?”

“I can tell you’re sitting there trying to pick apart what I just said.” She bites at you like you did her, eyes darting between you and the road rapidly as her knuckles grow white from where she clenches the steering wheel. “You do it so fucking much that you forget to fucking listen. Not everyone is trying to speak to you in fucking riddles you know? Maybe, just maybe, when someone tells you their favourite colour’s blue they just really fucking love the colour blue. It has nothing to do with the ocean or the sky, it’s just something that is.”

There was a version of you that she knew and probably was expecting, the same version of you that had snapped at her earlier. That was a small lapse, one apparently Ellie managed to bring out of you. But that part of you that resides somewhere in your chest wanted to yell at her, deny everything she had just said and say something back that would hurt her - hurt you too when you see the look on her face. But nowadays you’re mostly just tired. Besides, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

You click your tongue and hold her stare when she looks back at you. “You done?”

Her chest heaves. “Yes.”

“Good.” You look away. “Focus on the road.”

You hum along to the song playing over the sound of her deep breathing as she tries to calm herself down. When some time passes you open up a bag of what used to be her favourite chips, you were unsure if she still liked them, but you still offer them to her first. You hold the bag steady when she huffs and sticks a hand into the bag to grab some. You’re still mad at her and you’re sure that she’s still mad at you, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care when she continues to crunch on the chips like her life depended on them. It was all so familiar.

Your anger had settled into quiet exhaustion when Ellie pulls into a 24-hour diner. It was iffy-looking but there was something oddly charming about it. You follow her inside and take note of the outdated furniture and the weird smell permeating throughout the room, you like it, you think. 

Ellie slides into a booth and sitting across from her you see her under the fluorescent lights. She looked more gaunt here, eye bags prominent. You still thought she looked good. You pretend to look at the menu when its placed in front of you by a young teenage girl, knowing what you’ll get but wanting to look busy. The waitress, Betty her name tag says, comes by with a pot of coffee in her hand, she fills up your mug first and goes to fill up Ellie’s when you quickly cover the cup with your hand. Betty’s look of initial confusion is replaced with a big grin. 

“So, what can I get ya?” Her voice is chipper. 

You open your mouth the speak but Ellie beats you to the punch.

“She’ll get the pancakes, extra strawberries, and I’ll just get some bacon and eggs please.” Her eyes widen. “Sorry-”

“-No, it’s okay.”

“I must be tired from driving. I wasn’t really thinking-”

“-No really it’s okay.”

The sound of both your voices overlap as Ellie tries to apologise and as you try to tell her that it’s okay. It’s okay that she still knows you. You see Betty out of the corner of your eye watching in amusement, but to be fair the diner was empty so this was probably the most entertainment the place had been in awhile. 

“Is that all?” Betty asks, grin still taking over her face. 

“She’ll get a diet coke.” You say nodding your head in Ellie’s direction. She looks away with rosy cheeks.

“Y’all are cute. I’ll be right back.” You watch as Betty practically skips away. This diner was oddly charming indeed. 

You’re fiddling with the handle of your coffee cup when Ellie’s drink is deposited in front of her. There was an outrageous curly straw swirling from the tall glass and the sheer disbelief on Ellie’s face made you want to laugh. You lift your mug to hide your face behind it. It was decided then that you and Betty would make great friends.

“You think this is funny don’t you?” The defeat in Ellie’s face is endearing. 

You take a loud sip of your coffee, eyes meeting hers over your cup. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She sighs. 

“It’s a straw Ellie.” You say, unable to hide the teasing in your tone. “If you don’t want to drink from it just drink straight from the glass.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eyes when she takes her first sip and you try to look anywhere but her mouth around that damn straw. She sucks the drink up and you watch the liquid travel around in its various loop-de-loops, Ellie releases the straw between her lips with an exaggerated lip smack. “Refreshing.”

You snort. “You’re making me jealous.”

She takes the opportunity. “Of the straw?” A single eyebrow lifts in question. 

“No you bitch.” You feel yourself begin to fluster. “I obviously meant of you. Because you got a cool straw and I got this chipped mug. I mean look at it-” you gesture wildly towards it, “-its bright pink and has like a million swirly things.” Swirly things? Really? Maybe Betty is better off remaining your waitress and not your best friend. It wouldn’t be too big of a loss, you didn’t know her that well anyway.

Ellie was laughing, very clearly proud of herself. “I’m just fucking with you.” She says. “You know that right?”

Right.

You avoid her eyes that were looking for yours, cheeks still warm. “Of course, no harm done.”

“Good.”

There’s a stretch of silence before you hesitantly break it. “Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

You pointedly make eye contact with her hoping that she sees if for what it is, an apology or an admission, either way you hoped she saw it. “I meant it when I said I couldn’t of stayed. Back in the car.” You hold up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “I know you’re gonna ask me why, but I don’t know if I can you reason.” 

She reaches across the table to grab your hand that had abandoned your mug. She looked feral in a way, eyes wild. “Try.” She begs. “Please.”

You nod and try to clear the lump forming in your throat. “I think I always wanted to leave, think you knew that too, but I wasn’t gonna leave without you and you weren’t gonna stay without me.” Ellie nods and you continue. “And I would’ve been happy, more than happy to continuing the life that I was living with you. You were my best friend. But do you remember when we got into the argument? The one right before I left?”

You watch as Ellie looks down at your intertwined hands and gulps. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Yeah I remember it too.” You give her hand a squeeze. “I called you every name in the book and you told me that it was suffocating being my friend.” 

She grips you tighter as though she was scared you’ll pull away. “I didn’t mean it-”

“I know.” At the time you wished you had read between the lines to find the something in her words, in the same way she had berated you over in the car. Because she did mean it when she said it and you had felt the same way back but hadn’t put it into words. The two of you were suffocated by the love you had for each other that was disguised as being merely platonic. “But Ellie, I left because I was suffocating me too.” 

It seemed as though Betty had impeccable timing because there she was happy as a clam with your two plates of food. You look at Ellie looking at your hands still holding each other and you think Betty was either your saviour or your worst enemy. 

“Here you two go!” You and Ellie break apart. “And here’s your extra strawberries.” Betty gives you a wink and skips back to wherever she appeared from. 

Ellie looks between you and the food. You give her a smile. “Eat. I’ll still be here to talk about it later.” The words you said sounded awfully like a promise.

Betty comes back to grab your empty plates, coffee in hand as she pours you another. “Can I get you another diet coke?” She tempts.

“No I’m okay. Thank you.” Ellie says.

“No problem, holler if you need anything.” There she goes again.

Ellie calls your name this time, you leave your mug untouched. “What did you mean when you said that you were suffocating yourself too?”

“Everytime I looked at you I felt like I was dying.” It wasn’t a full answer, but you weren’t ready to give so much of yourself away. You feel the same way you did two years ago before you left. “Do you understand?” Please understand, you think.

She looks at you with something in her stare that feels holy, like a revelation. “Yeah I think I do.” 

The period of time between you meeting Ellie and now is often remembered in differing stages of hurt. The hurt in your hands when you clenched your fists too tightly that time in class when you saw her staring at a girl you couldn’t even name. The hurt on your hip when the two of you got matching tattoos. The hurt in your heart when you went away and stayed away. 

The waiting hurt and so did the leaving.

And the realisation that it didn’t need to hurt, especially for as long as you did, left you feeling unsettled. The hurt was familiar, almost as familiar as Ellie, and you didn’t know if you could leave it behind too. Didn’t know if you would survive it. But surviving wasn’t living and this hurt could feel different. Because maybe, finally, all this love will have a place to go. 

You stand up to go pay and Ellie doesn’t try to stop you like she used to. You leave Betty a big tip and she gives you a cheesy grin in return with her thanks. Ellie is waiting by the front door with her shoulders slumped and hands fiddling when you turn around. You walk towards her. 

“Let’s stop somewhere for the night, yeah?”

“Yeah-” her voice cracks and she clears her throat, “-yeah sounds good.”

When you arrive to the closest motel it wasn’t nearly half as charming as the diner you had just eaten in. There was also no Betty to greet you at the front desk, instead a ragged man who was staring a bit too hard at you told you there was only one room left available. He looked far too happy when he sensed your discomfort. 

Ellie places a foot right in front of where you’re standing and steps forward, obstructing your view. “We’ll take it.” She pays this time.

The man throws the keys on top of the counter and grumbles to himself. Ellie places a hand on the small of your back when you turn to walk away and you subconsciously lean into it before you feel her nudge you along. The two of you made the walk to your room in silence but you can still feel the heat from her hand radiating up your spine. You shiver.

Ellie taps your hip, a gesture you remember, to get you to move aside. She swings both bags she was carrying on her shoulder higher so she can open the door and you’re immediately met with the sight of a bed, there was other furniture in the room but the bed really stood out. 

There was one bed. 

It’s okay, you thought. You had shared a bed with Ellie multiple times, you practically lived at her house that one summer and all the summers following. 

“Are you coming?”

You don’t trust your words so you nod and step inside. You didn’t realise closing the door would make the room seem infinitely smaller otherwise you might’ve left it open and just dealt with whatever the consequences were. Because there was still only one bed inside of a really small room. You try and play it cool. 

“You’re taking the left.” Smooth.

Ellie agrees easily. “Fine by me.”

You watch as she throws the bags onto the bed and begin rooting through hers, pulling out an old t-shirt that you recognised and a pair of sweatpants. She makes her way to the bathroom without once looking at you. You huff and grab your pyjamas too, changing into them hurriedly and lying down on the right side.

Ellie turns off the light and joins you in bed, the two of you staring at the ceiling. You hear her breathing and it sounds like your childhood. It sounds like your future too, the one you dream but never talk about. 

You both lay there under the covers on your backs and you think about how close she is to you. You didn’t know how to tell her you missed her, there simply weren’t enough words in the English language to express it, so you remained quiet. You think a lifetime has past when she decides to speak. In a way it had because you feel a new you being created in this dirty motel room. 

“I hate you for leaving.” Without me. You hear the unspoken words this time.

“I know.” 

“I hate you.” She states, stance firm.

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.”

You don’t know who reaches for who first, all you know is that you turn over and there she was, consuming your senses in a way only she knows how. You think about her lips on yours and the way her tongue traces your bottom lip. You think about her hands gripping your waist tight and the way she sighs into your mouth, you think that you want her to do it again. You think that everything about this road trip was doomed from the start. You think that it’s a problem for tomorrow’s version of you to deal with. 

You stop thinking when she pulls you on top of her and tugs at your shirt. You sigh into her mouth this time. 

[true-blue-sonic]

Got an idea for an Espilver fic taking place during Forces from an ask, so enjoy ^-^

~~~~

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?!”

Sonic shoots right up. The walls of the infirmary shake, the sweet nurse tending to him and Silver loses all colour in her face, and the door to outside heaves a deafening creak as Espio hurls it open and slams it against the wall.

“Hey, Espio,” Silver purrs from one bed over.

“Um,” the nurse brings out in a squeak. “Uh, Mister Espio…!”

Espio does not listen from where he comes storming inside. And it has been six months, and as much as Sonic hates it, that long stretch of time has been enough to make most memories of his dearest friends just a bit dulled at the edges and muted as a whole.

But he’s never seen the chameleon looking this frantic before, of that he is certain.

“Are you okay?!” is the next thing that gets yelled out, luckily at a more manageable volume. Probably because a handful of manic paces has put Espio right next to Silver’s twitching ears… and Sonic stares, just a bit dumbfounded, as purple arms fling themselves over a grey chest and the duo becomes one.

“Help,” the nurse mouths to Sonic from where she stands frozen in a corner, her eyes wide and terrified. He doesn’t really know either, the speedster shrugs back. Heck, as far as he knew, both Silver and Espio aren’t exactly fond of being touched… yet that idea couldn’t fit more poorly with the hug they’re both in now, considering how Espio all but lays half on Silver’s chest and Silver presses their heads together as if to merge them both into a single being of fright and affection. When Sonic strains his ears he can hear Silver’s murmurs that it’s okay, and Espio’s that it’s very much not, and the speedster slowly sinks down into the pillows again. Not that he wants to listen in or anything, but this nurse is both sweet and very good at insisting he and Silver stay here to rest and recover. Getting up now will only draw his friends’ attention in all the wrong ways. Thus he waits, gaze flicking over the two bodies so tautly pressed against each other until finally, slowly, chameleon pulls away.

“I’m okay. Really,” Silver whispers, fingers curling around Espio’s hand. It gets tugged up to a pale peach muzzle, that gets cupped ever so tenderly for a moment while the two seem to drown in each other’s eyes.

Sonic cannot place the look on Espio’s face, not exactly. Anger, sure; relief, certainly. But also something else…?

“That… that’s good,” the other shakily nods back. Purple shoulders sink down, the noise from a chair scraping over the ground making Sonic grimace as psychokinesis pulls it closer and Espio collapses on top of it. Silence stretches out afterwards, in which Silver expectantly studies Espio and Sonic does too… until the chameleon’s face of relief shifts and tenses. “Because what were you thinking. Have you lost your mind?!” follows, much more heatedly. “You can’t just- You didn’t even-!”

“I told you I was going to fight him. The soldiers needed hope,” Silver shrugs, altogether callously.

“You can’t just say that to me and then just leave!”

Silver smiles; half guiltily, half cheekily. “I did give you a kiss. That very much did happen.”

“Yes,” Espio huffs back, yet the way his hand tenses around Silver’s does not match the irate lashing of his tail or the unwavering eye contact between two golden gazes. Which is lucky for Sonic, whose own eyes have widened to plates as he hears that confession.

Kissed?

...But he knows better than to speak up now, what with the way Espio is fretting. “And then you ran off,” the chameleon adds with just the smallest of wavering cracks in his voice, “and you nearly-!”

“Nearly dying isn’t actually dying," the absolutely incorrigible response comes, and that at least is a normal Silver thing to say amidst some others Sonic would never, ever have expected to hear from him.

“…No. No, it is not.” Face souring Espio holds Silver close still, Sonic grimacing at the look of deeply concerned anger twisting his features. He knows well enough that Espio feels strongly about the protection of Charmy especially and also Vector…

But apparently, in the past six months Silver had been added to that as well.

“And besides,” the hedgehog in question continues, “Amy called Sonic in for me immediately. Even if we lost, it was a sign for the people that it’s not hopeless and our foe not invincible.”

“That- Maybe, but- You…!” are the approximate sputters filling the air, Espio shifting and fussing. “I don’t… Don’t you dare do that ever again! Next time this happens, I’m going with you!”

“Ooh. A date,” Silver grins… and Sonic cannot muffle a surprised snort this time.

Two sets of golden eyes shoot over in an instant, equally narrowed and peeved. “Sonic. It is rude to listen in on others’ conversations,” Espio speaks up first, a veneer of threatening politeness in his voice.

“Yes! This isn’t your business,” Silver nods, though his lips twitch up more amusedly and a discreet wink follows as well. Shifting himself upwards with a quiet groan the hedgehog rolls his eyes as gloved hands grasp and tug at him to push him down, his head altogether leaning into Espio’s chest with how he’s sitting. “Perhaps you should leave Espio and me to discuss this in private, hmm?”

“Woops! Sorry,” Sonic retorts, weighing his options with especially Espio glaring a hole in him. Silver clearly wants him to leave… and, coincidentally, he himself would rather be out and about as well, and staying in stuffy infirmaries doesn’t exactly fit with that. Besides, relationships aren’t his thing; nor is he one for lovey-dovey discussions and flirting or relationship arguments, or whatever it is Silver and Espio are doing now. None of his business.

Stifling a sigh of relief despite the aching and complaining in his legs Sonic pushes himself onto the ground, giving the nurse shooting over with a protesting noise an assuring smile. Laying still isn’t his thing either; going on a walk sounds exactly like what he needs, after everything. “I’ll be going on a short trip around the Resistance,” the speedster decrees, gratefully wrapping an arm around the nurse’s shoulder to stabilise himself. She probably also shouldn’t stay here if Silver and Espio are going to have a heated argument or apparently make out; Sonic can’t exactly tell which one if more likely with how the two are acting. Shuffling to the door with her help the speedster shoots them a wink. “Have fun.”

“We will,” Silver begins to agree-

Except Espio leans over, tail lashing and the hedgehog’s face grabbed firmly.

“After I’m done scolding you.”

“Espio,” Silver grouses back, floundering in his grasp, and that is the last Sonic sees of what they’re doing as he limps through the cracked door into the hallway. It’s not the last he hears: that would be what he suspects is a kiss, if Espio’s surprised noise followed by a soft sigh and Silver’s happy hum within a suspicious stretch of silence is any indication.

…And after that, it’s Espio, in an endless ramble about responsibility and not being reckless and being careful on the battlefield.

“…Romantic?” the nurse whispers as if she’s scared Espio will overhear, Sonic laughing at that. He can only hope for Silver the other can sneak in some more kisses to quiet Espio down if that’s what they’re doing with each other these days. Well, things can change in six months, that much is obvious. And why would love be unfindable in times of war?

“That’s who Espio and Silver are,” he assures his current companion. “Headstrong, the both of them.”

Pulling a scolding face herself the nurse shakes her head. “As are you, Mister Sonic. Sit down. You must rest,” the speedster gets ordered, the nurse all but pushing him onto the first seat they come across in some quiet area with a few couches and chairs. Sonic lets her, gesturing for her to sit down as well and humming sympathetically at her sigh as she collapses into the cushions as well. “I… I hope those two will be alright,” follows slowly. “Mister Espio seems… upset. I think.”

A smile forms on Sonic’s face before he can help it. “I know them well enough. They will be, I promise.”

Alright and dating and in love with each other, apparently.

Well, Sonic tells himself as he makes himself comfortable for the coming few hours, any sign that love and faith and hope persevere even in the darkest of times is one the Resistance can use to keep their heads up, and one that proves wrong their adversary on top. And when Espio’s voice in the distance has finally quieted down again and Sonic has limped his way back to the infirmary to get some shuteye, the speedster can only smile at the both of them:

Espio laying on the blankets with Silver underneath, snuggled in his embrace, and both as closely held together as possible.

Seems like they’ll have a few things to celebrate once this war is over, Sonic smiles to himself; a comforting thought that lulls him into a gentle sleep himself.

[albatmobile]

Cardinal Sins Chapter 7

𓅪 Living with your vigilante boyfriends for the past year has been amazing, well, almost. Butting heads, old wounds resurfacing and a deadly threat still looming overhead could threaten the sanctity of everything you've ever fought for. Will you finally overcome your tainted past and survive the trials and tribulations, or will your relationships and your faith crumble under the pressure?

Rated: M | 8.6k | TW: violence | Contains: lian content, interrogation, misunderstandings and a situation that changes everything fem!Reader x Jason Todd x Roy Harper [masterlist] Previous in Series: Art of Rehabilitating Snowbirds

Chapter Seven: Landslide

Reuniting later that night with Lian is surreal.

The three of you are back at your place, something you can tell puts both men at ease, but you don’t have time to question it. 

She’s been forewarned that you’re still sick and recovering, but this doesn’t stop her from bounding up onto your bed to give you hugs and kisses. She spends the next half-hour showing you all the pictures she’s drawn in your absence and even fixes the messy braids her dad has bestowed upon you. 

“You know what?” she says suddenly. You watch as she carefully sets down the drawings on her dads shared nightstand, then anxiously tucks a stray piece of her inky black hair behind her tanned ear, “I thought you left me.” Your heart shatters. “I thought you weren’t coming back like my first mommy.”

Heart shattered??? No, your entire being is crushed to a pulp.

“Never, Lian,” you swear to her as you pull her in for as tight a hug as you can manage in your recovering state. “I promise I’d never leave you. Not willingly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to do everything in my power, you know, whatever it takes, to make sure our family stays together,” she nods lightly at your statement, though she begins to pick at the seams the duvet you’re under. “I like it when we’re all together,” you say with a genuine smile, poking at her lightly until she finally gives in and smiles back.

“Me, too.” The little girl squeezes you with all her might before Jason and Roy come in to dress your wounds. 

“Lian, go finish the picture you started for her the other day while we get her cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay, daddy.” 

Jason presses a kiss to her forehead as she slips down the tall bed.

They gently lay you down on the king-sized mattress and clean your healing wounds with delicate precision. You don’t know what to say and it seems like they’re clearly in the same boat.

“I should’ve been paying more attention,” you lament with a weary exhale. “I didn’t mean to put anyone through this shit.”

“Stop it. No one blames you,” Jason grumbles as he gently checks over your head wound. “It could’ve happened to any of us.”

“We all really missed you,” Roy cuts in before you can retort, hoping to cut off another pissing fest before it starts. His soft hands trail up and down your exposed legs comfortingly. “It was really hard coping without you.”

Your brows furrow together, suddenly remembering how much Roy had been struggling so much before your accident.

“I’m sor-“

“Don’t,” Roy warns lightly. His light green eyes flash with an unreadable emotion briefly before he slowly goes back to trailing up and down your legs. “You don’t owe anyone an apology, baby.”

You’re in your comfy clothes, one of their over-sized shirts and your short, cotton shirt as you watch the two of them watching you. It’s like they’re scared to take their eyes off of you for fear of missing out on any more time with you.

“Besides,” Jason starts as he finishes off cleaning the wound from your feeding tube, “it’s not like we didn’t try to deal with shit while you were…”

You watch as he trails off, swallowing deeply before forcing himself to put the kit away. 

“Even if you didn’t, it’s clear that we need better coping mechanisms to be more supportive of each other as a family, anyway,” you say. “I was wanting to bring it up before… you know,” your hands wring together anxiously until Jason and Roy each take one into their grip and squeeze gently. 

“Of course, babe.”

“We hear you,” Roy says. The redhead leans down to kiss your hand delicately, then your lips, then Jason’s.

You bask in their presence for a while, simply glad to be back in their arms again.

Though you feel as if it’s been mere days, the idea that it’s been almost a month has steadily been eating into you. You can’t even begin to imagine how either of them are feeling after not having you be there for them for that long. The whole situation is so fucked and you know this is only the beginning of, well, everything. 

“We did end up talking about it a bit with Bruce,” Jason’s deep voice cuts through the quiet room. “Technically, I was ambushed into talking to him, but we really tried to work through our shit so we could be strong for you while you recovered.”

“That’s good,” you say with a smile, knowing he’s pushing himself to be open right now. Whatever talk they had must’ve worked at least somewhat.

“That and Roy made sure to keep up with his therapy,” Jason boasts in Roy’s stead, who bashfully ducks his head in response. 

This makes you smile even more.

“Even got Jay to join me for a bit one during one, baby,” Roy says with a wink, though it slightly lacks his usual enthusiasm. If you’re this worn out you can’t imagine how they must be feeling. “Maybe when you’re feeling better we could all do a group session.” Logically, you know he’s talking about group therapy, however, your body suddenly feels the weight of going nearly a month without sex. You can’t help the heat that stirs across your cheeks at his words, something he notices with an easy smirk. “Calm down, princess. Jaybird’s outlawed sex for at least another week.”

You pout. “So this means I’m barred from the field, too?”

“How can you even think about shit like that when you were still a vegetable this time yesterday?” Jason says as he comes back into the room and joins the two of you on the bed.

“I resent that description,” you retort, glaring at him half-heartedly as he snuggles up beside you.

“Resenting the truth never did anyone any good,” Jason says. He looks pointedly your way before placing a chaste kiss against your still blushing cheeks. “And you need bed rest for at least a few days before you can even think of training again, let alone getting back out there.”

“Not to mention, you still need to process everything that just happened,” Roy begins as he lightly rub at your shoulders. “Believe me, Jason and I wish we’d done the same when we went through all of our shit.” 

Jason concurs, “You really don’t want to blow past this now and pay for it later, babe.”

You know they’re right, but you only have one thing on your mind…

“It’s hard when all I can focus on is this fucking case,” you say with a sigh.

It’s always been abundantly clear that time’s never guaranteed and can’t help but feel like you’re steadily running out of time to uncover the mystery. Not to mention, you want to act on the visions you’d seen while you’d been unconscious, though you can’t deny you’re somewhat hesitant to follow them after the shit-show that happened last time you did.

“Well, focus on healing first. Roy and I have continued looking into leads for the court,” Jason says. Meanwhile, his hands begin to trail over the areas of your body that Roy isn’t currently touching until you feel absolutely pampered.

“You have?” you ask and they nod in response. It’s what happens next that lets you in on the fact that they found something. They look at each other, not just a normal look. No, this look 100% reads like they’re wondering if they should tell you what they’ve found or not. You squint your eyes at Jason, then at Roy. You’re not going to give them the choice. “Tell me what you found,” you demand, leaving no room for argument- or, so you think.

“You should take it easy for at least today,” Roy argues gently. Now, they’re both look at you with evident concern.

“I will,” you say, smirking when they seem to relax, “after you tell me the lead.”

Jason huffs, rolling his eyes in what you know is thinly veiled amusement. As much as he claims to hate your stubborn nature, you know he also secretly loves it.

They stay quiet for another beat before Roy goes to grab his laptop from the living room.

Jason’s eyes have yet to leave the side of your face, so you shift to face him, still in his arms. “I missed you,” your name leaves his lips as a breath, “so fucking much.”

You curl further into him, reveling when he pulls you in for a soft kiss. It’s chaste and gentle, yet you can’t help but curl your toes at the intimate contact.

“Jason,” you whisper once you pull away. 

Your half-lidded eyes meet his own briefly before you’re pulled back in. Though he’s being remarkably gentle, he dares to deepen the kiss, leaving you to moan gently against his smooth lips. 

“You almost done over there, etai yazi?” You hear Roy ask as he makes his way back to the room. “Oh, damn,” Roy sputters at the sight that meets him. His verdant eyes glint mischievously as he comes upon the two of you tangled together in your sheets. “What happened to waiting a week, Jay?”

Jason regrettably pulls away, though his calloused fingers remain caressing your jawline. It’s as if he’s debating pulling you back already.

“Guess I couldn’t help myself,” Jason replies, his deep voice reverberating every molecule of your being.

In an instant, Roy drops the laptop at the edge of the bed before climbing over to join the two of you. The redhead kisses at your shoulders before maneuvering your head to the side to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss that you have no choice but to smile into. He pulls away with a smirk, wiping your wet lips with his thumb before carefully leaning over you to give Jason an even more obnoxious kiss.

You can’t help but laugh, feeling like everything’s finally how it’s supposed to be for once. “I love you both so much,” you sigh and nuzzle against their protective embrace.

The three of you know you only have so long before Lian comes back, leaving you to get back to business quickly. This time, they don’t take as much convincing before they spill everything.

“We have a lead on a guy who may know something about The Court,” Jason says. “We don’t know his name, but we know that he hangs around the some shitty bar by the harbor.”

Roy interjects, “And that the dude has an owl tattoo on his chest.”

“Say he likes to act like a hardass, but underneath, he’s just another Bristol cuck. Shouldn’t take too much to get information about the next Court meeting out of him.”

You mull the information over in your head but can’t help but go back to how they got the information.

“Who told you about him?”

They both look instantly guilty.

Bingo.

You sigh, feeling an argument coming on. Well, either that or a headache. “I thought you were both done with that drug lord shit. You promised me to drop all those contacts when we made things official, did you not?”

They both look guilty enough that you already have your answer.

Roy speaks first, “We did, baby. You’re right and we feel really bad about it but-“

“The circumstances were dire,” Jason finishes right where Roy left off. “You weren’t gone, but you weren’t here. We sat around for weeks not knowing if you’d,” he sighs as if unable to finish his sentence. 

“We didn’t know if you’d ever wake up, baby,” Roy laments as he moves to take one of your hands into his own. 

For a moment, you think about pulling away from him, but you don’t. Regardless, you’re still pouting and your displeasure over the whole situation is very much evident.

Soon, Jason’s taking your other hand into his own. No one says anything for a moment, something you’re grateful for. The past day has been a lot to deal with mentally, this added on to it is like the icing on top of the cake.

“Well, now I know neither of you are going to give me shit for tagging along.”

Checkmate.

They glance over at each other and you watch the brief conversation they share through their eyes alone. Finally, they look back at you.

“Fine, but you’re not coming in,” Roy answers for both of them.

“I have to stay in the car?!” you question incredulously. 

Un-checkmate.

“Babe.” Jason rubs gently at your hand in lieu of a further response.

A beat, then you answer. “Fine,” you agree, albeit pettily.

You hear her determined patter before you see her. Seconds later, Lian rounds the hallway and into your room with her picture triumphantly displayed in front of her.

“Look!” 

Without warning, she leaps onto the bed to shove the paper in front of your face. 

Your eyes cross as you stare at the image that’s now three inches in front of your face. You gently take it from her hands with a smile and place it on your lap to get a better look. The figures are crudely drawn, but it’s clearly a picture of you and her daddies at a tea party. Hearts and flowers, coupled with a random sun in the corner, grace the page, leaving a thrumming warmness to fill your chest.

“Thank you, chickie,” you say, causing her to giggle at your nickname for her. “I’m going to keep this with me forever.” At this, you motion her over and she gently settles in your lap so you can kiss her forehead. 

You never made art for your parents, let alone received anything like this from Lian before. It warms your heart in a moment where you feel entirely vulnerable, weak. Through this picture alone, your little girl manages to make you feel important and loved. The good outweighs the bad and you find yourself feeling stronger through her tenacious presence alone. 

“I’ll make you some more, mommy. I’m a really good drawer and I used all my new colored pencils to make it extra pretty for you,” she babbles on about her drawing process, along with how Grandpa Alfred got all the new art supplies for her, while she’s in your arms. 

Meanwhile, Jason and Roy look at the scene in front of them like it’s the cutest damned thing they’ve ever seen.

“I love it so much. Definitely makes me feel a lot better.” She beams at that. Your words are simple, but you hope they convey just how much it means to you. You place the drawing on the bedside table, mindful of your injuries and the little girl, before addressing her, “Wanna stay and hang out with mommy and daddies? We can do whatever you want.”

“Really?!” she exclaims, bouncing in your lap. You wince slightly at the movement and exhale shakily in response. Roy joins you on the bed to collect her into his own lap so she can’t hurt you on accident. She pouts a bit at the recent development, “I don’t want you. I want mommy.”

Roy gasps, pretending to be hurt when she tries to crawl back over to you, “Etai yazi, you’re hurting dad’s feelings.”

“I don’t giffa duck,” Lian attempts to curse as she squirms out of his hold. The kid is nearly home free when Jason scoops her up.

“Mommy is hurting, remember?”

“But, daddy,” she pouts in Jason’s arms.

“No cursing either,” he says.

“I didn’t!” she exclaims.

“Lian,” he warns her with what she refers to as his ’scary eyes.’

She huffs, crossing her arms in his hold, “Fine.”

Jason can’t help but smile a bit, though he quickly schools it so she doesn’t get the idea that cursing is funny. See, situations like this just prove that being an adult sucks. A five year old incorrectly cursing like a sailor? Shit’s fucking funny. Can you laugh at it? No, because then you’d be a bad parent, encouraging bad behavior. See? Sucks.

“Be gentle,” Jason reprimands her lightly as he places her back on bed. 

You open your arms and she slowly crawls over to cuddle between you and her dad. This time, she treats you like she treats her favorite blankie, petting you softly in apology with little kisses on your hand.

“I’m sorry,” she pouts again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She’s adorable.

You smile softly before assuaging her worries, “It’s alright, chickie. So, what would you want to do tonight?”

After it’s been decided that Lian wants to watch the new Superman show, Jason sets about creating a tea party very similar to the one in her cute drawing. He leaves and quickly returns with a tray filled with steaming tea cups and snack cakes that make your stomach grumble. Before you can try to reach for them, Jason shoots you a pointed look as he reveals the hidden bowl of soup behind them.

“You heathens be careful, alright?” Jason warns. “I’m not cleaning these sheets again.”

However, Roy just snorts and digs into the tea sandwiches with fervor with Lian soon following in his example.

You, on the other hand, are supposed to be on a liquid diet for the next few days while your body slowly gets used to you incorporating solid foods back into your diet. This means that soup and tea are all you get. It doesn’t make your cravings go away in the slightest, however. You watch enviously as Roy and Lian scarf down the snack cakes that are calling your name.

“Maybe if I just have a little bite,” you try, but Jason just hands you the soup he’d made from scratch with Lian for you. During which, Roy had been cuddled up against you while you dozed in and out of consciousness.

“Let’s just stick to soups and smoothies for at least another day, babe,” Jason insists and rubs your palm gently as if to apologize. “It hasn’t even been 24 hours since you woke up.” He holds a distant look in his dark green eyes, reminding you of the pain you’d caused in your absence.

You pout, crossing your arms petulantly as you allow him to feed you. The soup is flavorful yet gentle on your upset stomach. 

“Do you like the soup, mommy?”

Your heart fills with warmth as the liquid slides down your sore throat. 

“It’s amazing.” You uncross your arms to ruffle lightly at your hair. “You’re an incredible soup chef,” you praise her.

“I’m the best soup chef in the whole entire world,” Lian agrees. She goes to retaliate by ruffling your hair, too but Roy holds her back, nearly spilling his food on the duvet in the process.

Jason shoots him a glare that begs him to fuck up the clean sheets, but Roy’s too busy reminding Lian to be gentle to notice. You, on the other hand, drink in the adorable sight as Jason offers you another spoonful.

“Thank you guys,” you say genuinely. “For all of this. It feels good to be back.”

“Feels good to have you back,” Roy responds.

“And let’s keep it that way,” Lian adds sassily with an adorable pout you know she’s picking up from you. 

Cute.

“I promise.” And you mean it. 

You refuse to let anyone come between you and your family ever again. 

Not this time.

•••

You haven’t been sleeping well ever since the coma. 

It seems like every time you shut your eyes, the visions that you can’t make sense of are growing stronger and stronger. It’s getting to the point that you’re lucky to catch three hours of sleep, if that. Regardless of the lack of sleep, you’ve been doubling down on recovery and training. You’ve worked hard enough that you’ve not only made some insane progress in your overall healing but also in getting back in the field.

Yes, you’d been in a coma but you weren’t crippled. Far from it, in fact.

With Lian being off with Alfred for your bi-weekly date night, it was something neither had any logical reason to refuse. Especially not after you’d voiced feeling left out on missions. 

This is how you end up a week and a half later at the sleaziest dive in Gotham- The Stacked Deck.

The brick building itself is completely rundown, complete with a flickering neon sign gracing a dented pole that someone had obviously run into a few decades prior. Outside, C-list villains and gangs of motorcyclists loiter around the weed-covered, decrepit parking lot. 

Roy insists on taking the minivan so you can sit this one out, something you and Jason fight against, after all, it would only draw unnecessary attention to your crew. Eventually, Jason concedes, which is how the three of you end up cramped into the busted minivan sans a license plate. 

When you pull up, all eyes easily fall on the out-of-place vehicle, though everyone goes back to minding their business as soon as Hood and Arsenal emerge in full uniform from the beat-up mom car.

They’re on a mission to find out any information they can on the Court’s whereabouts from the contact they’d tracked down while you’d been in a coma. He was the only possible tie they could find to the elusive owl society, but, luckily, he’d been described as the type to squeal. 

You, on the other hand?

Yes, you’re donning Cardinals vinyl red garb. However, you’ve still been banished to the car. You sigh as you lean up against the peeling window tint. Part of you wonders why you begged to come along if all you were going to be doing was sitting in a locked car. Hell, even dogs have more rights than this shit, you think bitterly. 

It’s hot as fuck outside even though it’s well past midnight and you sincerely regret your decision to suit up. You wait a few more minutes in the heat before you give up. Luckily, the shitty car is old enough to have window cranks, so you’re able to crack the window a bit without the keys. This minuscule action, however, ends up drawing more attention than you’d expected. Okay, no worries, you tell yourself as you see movement coming closer out of the corner of your eye. Just play it cool.

You remain facing forward, refusing eye contact with a bulky-looking dude that sidles up and knocks on the window you’re attempting to crank shut as nonchalantly as possible.

What the fuck is wrong with men?

You keep staring at the dashboard in front of you and try to ignore them, but the man keeps knocking and is soon joined by his gaggle of friends.

“Guess I missed the Halloween memo, huh, sweetheart?” the burly man says, tugging at his leather vest. He then throws the cigarette in his mouth to the ground and stomps it out in, what you assume is supposed to be, a menacing action, but you merely roll your eyes under your mask.

The eye roll stops as soon as your eyes land on the huge owl tattoo that peeks out from behind his ratted white shirt.

Holy shit. There’s no way…

This is the dude Jason and Roy are after! 

He landed right in your fucking lap and you know you’d be stupid to let this opportunity pass. Just because you aren’t necessarily in the mood to pummel these chauvinistic pigs into the pavement, but it doesn’t mean you won’t.

His buddies exchange a few words, but everything said is ultimately muffled by the glass separating you.

You can’t imagine what’s holding your partners up, but you know that you can’t wait much longer. You refuse to risk your only lead when you know damn well that you can handle these punks on your own.

You’re soon startled from your thoughts when one of the assholes shoots a bullet and ends up shattering the side mirror.

“That’s it,” you mutter in frustration as you unlock the door. You slowly slink out of the car, closing the door effortlessly behind you as the men take in your shorter form.

“I’m sorry,” one spouts as you slowly twist one wrist, then the other to stretch them out, “is it supposed to be scary? Because all I can see is you shaking that ass on me in that tight number you got on there, girl.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the closest man to the left of your target snorts. “No parking zone sweetie, but you can park here,” the man gestures to his dick with a sinister smirk, “all night long.” 

The men all get a decent laugh, thinking their joke is so fucking original or something, but you feel like gagging and noton account of the putrid smell only dives like this can produce.

“Ever seen a gun this big before, doll?” the man with the owl tattoo finally chirps up again as he taunts you with the gun that ruined Roy’s car.

You round on him slowly, putting more distance between yourself and the car, tilting your head ever so slightly as you do. 

Nervous laughter erupts from the group like they can’t tell whether to take you seriously or not. Guess they’ll find out soon enough. 

“I don’t need guns,” is all you respond.

The men around you ‘ooo!’ as they punch each other jokingly and close in on you, but you don’t give them a chance to do much more before you attack.

You start with the men closest to you, crossing your arms to grab them before uncrossing them and sending the men’s heads into each other’s with a loud thump! They crumple to the ground in front of their awe-struck friends. When the remaining men finally look up from the men on the pavement to you, you shrug nonchalantly. You don’t allow them any time to recoup before you rush forward and knock two more to the ground through the sheer force of your body alone.

Without missing a beat, you spin around to roundhouse kick one of the bikers who’d been attempting to tackle you from behind. He stumbles to the ground where you deliver a swift kick to his head, knocking him out instantly. The other two men on the ground, you deliver the same fate as you duck and dodge nearly all the haymakers being sent your way.

Five down, five to go.

Your new focus is on dodging the barrage of bullets that are now being sent your way. You flip onto and over the roof of the car to gain some sort of barrier as you wait out their reload.

They start yelling, whether it’s directed at each other or you, you’re unsure. One sound you are sure of is the sound of an empty round.

When you hear the tell-tale signs of empty clicks, you storm out from behind the car, taking the men by surprise as you send the biker closest to you barreling into the distracted group of reloading men. Everyone, except for your target with the owl tattoo, scatters to the ground like bowling pins.

It’s then that your target takes aim at you. 

You’d been expecting as much and seamlessly do a backflip, then cartwheel into a front flip to avoid his bullets. Once you come upon him, he’s out of bullets once again. You use this as the perfect opportunity to kick the offending weapon out of his beefy hands.

“Who the hell are you?” 

Instead of responding, you sock him in the face with a jab, followed by an uppercut, before spinning around and crouching to duck the fist of one of the remaining men. The fist originally sent your way ends up landing against your target and sends the man with the owl tattoo sprawling backward.

You waste no time in using your crouched position to stick your leg out and trip the man. As soon as gravity takes hold, you pop back up, spinning around to land a sickening punch on his face before he can make contact with the dirty ground. 

You’re panting slightly as you stand.

The three remaining men you’d knocked to the ground mere moments prior were back up and on their feet. It seems they realized guns were futile and resorted to switch blades. 

Pathetic.

Your body moves with practiced ease as you manage to avoid their blade’s short reach. Before they can even realize you’ve retaliated, you grab the underside of two men’s wrists and push them backward with enough force to send them tumbling. If there was any doubt before about you not being physically ready to go out in the field again, you know it’s been sufficiently crushed with how you’re handling the situation at hand. Not that any of these men posed any sort of challenge outside of the sheer number they shared as a group. 

The only standing man growls anomalistically as he snarls down at you, “You dumb fucking bitch.”

“No one’s ever accused me of being dumb,” you respond airily as you bolt to the side to avoid his heavy fists. You block his cross, sending back one of your own and managing to land directly on his dirty cheeks. 

“I’m gonna kill you!” he screams as he interlocks his hands over his head and rushes toward you to bring them down atop your head.

You don’t even try to stop him. No, you just step slightly to the side, leaving him off balance as his hands make contact with nothing.

From the corner of your eyes, you notice the man with the owl tattoo slowly crawling for the door to the bar.

That’s a no-no.

You’re playing too much. You know you need to stop fucking around and put an end to this dumb shit before your only lead can get away.

The determined biker lets out a war cry as he and the remaining two men charge at you. They get a few good hits on you, but ultimately, you knock them each out before bolting over to your escaping target.

His grubby hand is clasped around the door and threatens to open it. He eyes your advancing form with fear and falters slightly as he tries to turn the knob, but you’re on him too fast. Your heel makes contact with the door and its frame, effectively preventing the man from opening the door. His eyes follow up the shiny expanse of your leg, which you use as the perfect opportunity to throw his already weak form off balance. 

“Fuck!” He lands on the ground with a pained curse but you’re not letting him off the hook just yet. You pin him with ease and he soon gives up on struggling and moves into the bartering phase of getting your ass handed to you. “LET ME GO! What do you want?” he asks breathlessly. His bloodied face is evidently panicked as he attempts to look beyond your mask. “You want money? I’ll give you money! Name your price!”

You chuckle lowly, “I don’t want your fucking money. I want answers.”

“Answers,” he nods enthusiastically. “I got those. I got answers, sweetheart. I-“ 

You cut him off with a stark slap across his beaten face. “Let’s get one thing straight,” you growl, “I’m not your sweetheart.” 

“You’re not!” he agrees enthusiastically. “You’re right.” He’s trying way too hard to be agreeable. It’d be funny if you weren’t thrumming with excitement for the information you were about to get. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Promise. Is that an option? Can we do that?” he babbles, practically squealing when you tighten your grip on him. “Please! Anything, just let me go,” he whines pathetically.

You lower yourself in one fell swoop so that your vinyl-covered is against his ear. “Ever heard of The Court of Owls?” 

He stops struggling in an instant, looking around with greater fear than before. Maybe everything Damian had said really was true…

“Are you trying to get us both killed?” The man looks up at you through his wince.

Your eyes narrow, disregarding the warning. 

“What do you know?”

•••

When Red Hood and Arsenal emerge a few minutes later, they find you leaning up against the car with one of your legs posted against it, surrounded by the knocked-out motorcycle gang. 

You notice them falter briefly in their step as they take in the scene

“The fuck happened out here?” Red Hood asks you incredulously. Meanwhile, Arsenal’s busy lamenting the shot-out side window and subsequent bullet holes in the car’s body.

“Someone pissed me off,” you reply simply.

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” Hood responds wryly.

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off as the three of you climb back in the car, “what took you guys so long, anyway?”

“We didn’t find The Court of Owl’s dude, but we did find an ex-Cadmus scientist, babe,” Arsenal says.

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” The redhead nods, turning around in the passenger seat. His verdant eyes rake up and down your form greedily as he bites lightly at his lower lip without seeming to realize it. “You look good, princess.”

“Code names, Arsenal,” Jason warns, but even you voice your discontent.

“It’s just us in the car,” you come to Roy’s defense. “Should be alright, right?”

“Fine,” Jason gives in with a sigh. With this, he turns off his voice modulator before zipping out of the parking lot and onto the desolate road.

“Cool,” you say, meeting his eyes cheekily in the rearview. 

He rolls his eyes mirthfully before completing your inside joke, “Cool.”

You allow yourself to roll up your mask past your nose, regretting it when you catch a whiff of your b.o. and wince. “Gross,” you wince.

“Yeah, but what caused the grossness was hot, so it all kinda cancels out,” Roy says, tapping at his head. “That’s logic.”

“It’s… definitely something,” you snort when he reaches around his seat to smack you on the thigh.

“You sound just like Jason sometimes. I swear I’m dating two of him.” 

You stick your tongue out in response, but it only causes the redhead to unbuckle and stumble into the backseat to chase after it. You merely bat at Roy, offering him a chaste kiss instead. 

“So, did you guys leave the interrogation to me, or did you actually get any info?”

“You got the info for the court meeting?!” Roy asks, sounding impressed.

You hate how surprised they both seem. Like you’ve somehow been incapable in past interrogations when… oh, yeah, you were the only one getting answers. You don’t know if it’s because you haven’t been sleeping well recently or if you’re just coming down from the adrenaline of the fight, but all you can think about is how their response is straight bullshit.

“The information we came here to get? Yeah,” you reply as you shake your head in frustration. You can’t believe either of them, let alone their lack of faith in your abilities. “You know, I love how I keep having to prove my worth to you guys in the field, and by love, I mean hate,” you finish with a glare. 

Now, you have the information. What you still don’t seem to have is respect from your partners.

“Hey, that’s not what we meant at all.” 

You ignore Jason. “Just because I got hurt doesn’t mean I don’t have what it takes. Like you said,” you turn to Roy beside you, “it could’ve happened to any of us.”

“Baby,” Roy starts to caress your vinyl-clad arm, but you shake him off.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “No, baby. Not right now.” You sit up straighter in your seat, looking between Jason’s blank stare in the rearview and Roy’s concerned face beside you. “You guys believed in me, even when I didn’t, so why doubt me now? Why continue to make me pay for something caused by random chance when I keep proving-“

“You don’t have shit to prove to us,” Jason cuts you off, cooly.

You huff, crossing your arms and slinking back into your seat.

“What’s this actually about, baby?” Roy questions gently.

You’d been working your ass off to get back in the field, but you can’t deny you’ve been scared. You’ve had brushes with death before, but nothing like that. It was too close and maybe you’re the one doubting yourself. 

They seem to understand, though, at the very least with how supportive they’re being. Well, either that or your words and Connor’s have finally gotten through to them.

You feel Jason’s familiar gaze on you in the mirror but you refuse to meet it. 

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this,” you finally admit.

Jason’s eyes flicker over to Roy in the rearview, finding his eyes already there to meet him. You follow their nonverbal conversation with your eyes, biting back the eye roll because you do honestly find the way they can communicate like that really cute.

“Like you said, you’re the one who ended up with the info,” Roy says as if it’s obvious. “You haven’t even been in the field for that long and you’ve definitely showed us up time and time again.”

Through the mirror, you watch as Roy’s eyes encourage Jason to say something.

After a beat, Jason clears his throat awkwardly. “You, uh, do really know how to hold your own,” Jason adds gracelessly. Regardless, Roy still nods encouragingly, leaving Jason to blush and turn his focus back toward the road. 

“Whatever you decide to do, baby, we’re here for you but don’t think for a second that you’re not cut out for this shit,” Roy looks at you pointedly, “because you are. You’re a badass, sexy,” his arms trail up the outside of yours, “intelligent, freaky as fuck programming mastermind-“ Roy trails off. “I forgot where I was going with that and now I’m just hard.”

You know he’s just trying to make you laugh, so you allow yourself to give in.

“I love you guys.” 

You’ve never felt so grateful to have the two of them by your side, especially right now, when you’re feeling so unsure of yourself and your abilities.

Pretty soon, you’re pulling up to the manor. As soon as you arrive, two of the tires pop. Alfred immediately gets to work right after he sends the three of you off to change into civies. Meanwhile, Bruce eyes the vehicle, well, what’s left of it, with distaste. He’s wearing his suit, though he removes the cowl when the three of you approach. 

“I have a loaner car for tonight, but feel free to keep it,” Bruce says as he looks over the lemon. “We’re having the luncheon this Sunday, so you can just bring it back then.”

Roy glares. “My girl runs just fine, thank you very much.” He runs his hands protectively over the ruined exterior as if to prove it.

Bruce moves on swiftly after this, obviously not understanding the bond between Roy and his shitty minivan. “So, I take it your interrogation tonight went well?”

“Technically, two interrogations,” Roy corrects.

“Oh, yeah,” you say. “You guys never told me what you figured out.”

“You led your own investigation?” Bruce turns to you, seemingly impressed by the recent revelations.

Jason crosses his arms. “She’s really good at it, as it turns out,” Jason says with a hint of malice. You can’t tell if he’s salty thinking about your intimidation over Deadshot, or if he’s protecting you from Bruce’s comment on account of how you reacted to his and Roy’s comment in the car earlier. “She’s more than capable of holding her own even after everything.”

Okay, definitely the latter. You can’t help but beam at his support, finally feeling like you’re on the same team again.

“What, like it’s hard?” you respond playfully. Bruce easily holds up his hands in faux-surrender, though looks thoroughly impressed. You turn to your partners before asking, “So?”

“Well, we found an ex-scientist from Cadmus in the bar being used as a footrest.” You can’t help but quirk a brow at Roy’s odd recap. “Told us that the Winter Rose Ivy sold carries a symbiotic protein, which she conveniently left out when you were beating her ass.”

Symbiotic?

Could that mean…?

Maybe your hunch over the origin of your visions in the subway tunnels had been right.

“The data I gathered during my own analysis of the stem you brought in from Cadmus seems to support that as well,” Bruce adds.

So, there was no doubt that the Cadmus scientist had been telling the truth.

“So, whatever they’re concocting is both water soluble and symbiotic?” That doesn’t sound good at all.

“Not to mention the stolen microwave emitter,” Roy says grimly. Before you can even ask, he shakes his head, sending his red hair sprawling in front of his eyes, “No, he doesn’t know where the machine is. Says he didn’t have access to that level of information but that another team was running hypotheses on the matter.”

“And you still don’t believe in killing these fuckers, Bruce?” the raven grumbles. Everyone turns to Jason. “Still think everyone deserves a second chance- mercy?” he scoffs. “We’re talking about a large scale attack on, well, who knows what and we’re just supposed to sit here and shove our thumbs up our asses until it comes? Why don’t we prevent-“

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now, Jason,” Bruce says tersely. 

“If not now, when?” Jason’s arms spread out like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “When millions of people are being murdered by The Court, no, by him.”

You gulp.

One look at Roy proves he’s ready to step in at any time should any issues arise, but Bruce is already walking away. He throws you the keys, which you catch easily as he tugs his cowl over his head.

“I refuse to sit here and debate ethics with a man who's killed for pleasure.” It’s cruel- blunt and Bruce’s words do nothing to stop the anger already brewing over in Jason. “I’d hoped being around her morals would’ve smacked some sense into you by now, but it’s clear you’re a lost cause.”

“I’m a lost cause?” Jason tries to act as if he finds the situation funny, but everyone can clearly see the tears pooling behind his emerald eyes.

“Please,” Bruce looks unimpressed, “there’s only so much redemption one man can accomplish before he diminishes it all with repeated, skewed antics.”

Roy steps in before Jason can manage a step forward.

“Yeah? Well, I refuse to sit here and take this hot and cold shit from you. You forgive me one day, are disappointed in me the next. You hold me at arm’s length for cleaning up the streets like you never could over some bullshit antiquated sense of morality. I am necessary evil, sure, but it doesn’t make any of the things you do any less evil either, Bruce.”

It’s not Bruce anymore when he smacks Jason across the face.

The resounding sound, coupled with your gasp, lingers as silence overtakes the room.

Seconds tick by. Maybe minutes, you’re not entirely sure.

Your body thrums with an intensity usually saved for battle. 

Everything’s fucked.

“This is not up for discussion,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. Well, it would leave no room if it were anyone but Jason. “You follow my rules or face the consequences.”

Jason laughs darkly, keeping his head turned from the original impact as his shoulders slowly shake before slowly turning to face his father again. “Still the same old Bruce, yeah?” Your eyes are still wide not quite believing what you’ve just witnessed. “Keep your fucking car. I don’t need shit from you. Never have, never will,” Jason spits.

With this, Jason spins on his heel and storms out of the cave. Roy makes to follow him, then stops. He opens his mouth, finger poised at the ready, but the words never come out. Instead, he just shakes his head, red hair flying in front of his face before throwing a dirty glare over his shoulder and following after Jason.

Your feet, however, remain planted.

“I always kind of hoped your ways would rub off on him,” he says with a light sigh. Bruce isn’t even looking at you, he’s just blankly watching after Jason’s retreating form. You don’t say anything, still completely stupefied by everything that transpired. “Just make sure his way doesn’t rub off on you. You’re better than that.”

You don’t recognize the man in front of you. Regardless, he seems similar enough to the descriptions Jason always warned you about and you never believed. You still can’t necessarily bring yourself to believe his words even still. Call it naivety, call it stupidity, call it excusing it all… but you feel frozen. It’s as if two completely different versions of Bruce are trying to combine into one right in front of your very eyes, yet your mind still resists their complete merge.

You’re shaking. Your entire body continues to thrum as if electricity is coursing through your veins as you just stand there. You want to leave, you want to comfort your love, you want to ask your dad why he- just why, but you just stand there. 

“If you’ve forgiven him once, surely you’ll forgive him again,” you say, but in a way, you’re asking. You need to know if he’d be able to drop you so easily for not following his code perfectly. You need to know if your place in the family is a conditional circumstance. 

You don’t want to know, but you need to. 

Would he really be able to keep you at arm’s length and all the other like he did Jason? 

“Forgiveness, when asked upon so many times, isn’t asking for forgiveness- it’s asking for acceptance,” he says lowly. “I refuse to give that to him.”

His cruel words finally spur life back into you.

You have your answer whether you like it or not.

Regardless of how Bruce would treat you, you know how Jason treats you. Even all those years ago when he disappeared, he was still there for you, still protecting you. You want to do right by Bruce, but you need to do right by Jason.

Bruce seems to think you’re leaving and makes to walk away but you stop him with a firm grip on his forearm. He looks down at the contact briefly, quizzically meeting your eyes. 

“So, per your words, Jason’s accepting this disgusting behavior from you? Because I can’t count how many times he’s told me he’s forgiven you, Bruce,” you say. The words are coming out of your mouth before you even realize it. “If you ever touch him like that again, especially in front of me, it won’t be his forgiveness you’ll be begging for.”

You place the Rolls Royce keys into the open palm of his gauntlet and pick up the minivan keys instead. 

Alfred’s already replaced both tires at this point and that’s good enough for you. You quickly help him remove the tire jack before peeling out of the manor garage, heart pounding intensely all the while.

When you pull around, Jason’s nearing the end of the manor driveway with Roy following closely behind. You can hear their loud voices as they traverse the infamous Wayne gravel that you yourself have stormed down, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. Roy looks pissed, Jason looks like he’s disassociating. 

Roy shoots you a grateful look when he notices you. Probably because he would’ve had to sneak back in for his metal baby later had you not pulled up in it.

What do you even say to Jason? “Sorry that the man I look up to…” No. 

You can’t.

You view Bruce in a different light after tonight- Jason as well. It makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. 

Logically, you know everything will go back to normal, that you’ll show up to the luncheon and Jason will avoid his father just as much as Bruce avoids him. You know that a month from now, Bruce will make a half-assed apology that devolves into him lecturing Jason over the same things and Jason will sit there and take it because, at the end of the day, he loves and looks up to that man as much as you do. Though Jason will never admit it, his actions leak it.

“I’m sorry. I understand what you mean now.” You go to say more, but he cuts you off.

“Enough,” Jason barks, leaving your mouth to click shut in an instant. Roy sits in the back, wanting to touch Jason, but he shrugs off his touch every time. He slinks down slowly in his seat, crossing his arms menacingly as he does. “Someone change the subject before I talk myself into going back there and starting an all-out war with the cunt,” he growls.

Change of subject? You can do that. You’ve had something on your mind for a while and, you can’t deny that you also want to get the slap out of your head. Regardless of your parent's carelessness surrounding you growing up, neither cared enough about you to ever lay a hand on you. Today honestly shook you to your core.

“I think that the symbiotic nature of the serum explains why I’ve been seeing all these visions,” you hesitate slightly before continuing. “It could also be the reason why I’ve been feeling so sick recently.”

“You’ve been feeling sick?” Roy questions slowly, almost cautiously. You already know he’s thinking back to the first pregnancy scare. Well, it’s about as good a time as any to tell them about the second scare, especially now that you think you know what caused it.

“When we were in those test tubes, I woke up. I heard what the scientists were saying.” Your face scrunches up as you try to remember as much of their conversation as you can. You sigh, “That there were two subjects in my tube.” You glance quickly in the rearview to see their shocked faces. “Obviously I thought, you know,” you trail off uncomfortably. “I took a pregnancy test, though. It came back negative, which just further proves I’ve already received a dose of their new serum or, at the very least, some sort of variation of it. If it causes me to see Joker’s thoughts, imagine what that could do on a wide-scale attack.”

Just like you thought, they both freeze up before acting way too nonchalant. 

“Oh.”

You can hardly keep yourself from rolling your eyes. “Guys, that’s not the point,” you huff. “I think it all has to do with the new serum. It’s possible that, at the dockyard last year, Poison Ivy had already sold them a stem and I was the lab rat, just like Two Face said my contract stated.”

“You’re saying you think your contract is back on?” Jason asks dubiously. You’re glad, at the very least, that he seems to be more present again.

You sigh, “I’m saying, I don’t think it ever ended.”

Having to deal with psychopathic killers hunting you down for a large insurance scheme was hard enough when it was just Joker, Two Face and your parents. Now Cadmus and, seemingly, The Court of Owls, along with Joker and his new lackey, was something entirely different.

How are you going to survive this again?

“They’re coming to collect what they never got, then,” Roy surmises. “It’s actually starting to somehow make sense. If they tested out the new serum on you at the dockyards, that would explain why I never felt strong effects like you did after being in the tube. Do you think it has to do with multiple doses?” Roy asks.

“That could explain why the effects of the injection at Cadmus seemed to strengthen my visions,” you say with a shake of your head as you pull into the apartment garage. “Whatever this concoction is, it’s extremely dangerous. Especially in their hands.”

“It’s him,” Jason says with disgust. “He wants control.”

“Or to drive people mad,” Roy supplies as he helps Jason out of the car. Jason surprisingly lets him and you lightly jog to catch up to their longer gait.  

Whether or not Roy was calling you crazy, you didn’t know. What you did know, however, was that you can’t deny how heavily these visions have weighed on your psyche.

“Well, if you both fully believe me now, then maybe it’s time we test my visions again,” you say. “We need to go back and collect a sample of the subway water. Maybe we’ll be able to find Joker’s accomplice, too.”

Anything to get the upper hand… You definitely don’t need a repeat of last time happening. Not when the enemies are this powerful and the stakes even higher.

You refuse to lose it all. 

You refuse to go down without a fight.

A/N: ik I said i'd upload this friday, but i had a really good day and wanted to share this early :D i'm thinking of changing my upload dates to mon/tues EST as a heads up too btw

be sure to check out my fic update for more info on what you can expect for this month :p

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