#I dunno if anyone did though because of all these amazing folks coming in clutch for me and my obsessive need to post throughout the day

[sincerely-sofie]

Y’all are the nicest people without even knowing it.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Apology Flowers (Indruck)

@cyborgrabbit  requested 63 from the meet uglies:  “sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “[person] is [attractive] enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard.” They added, “If it wasn't a personal Garden but like a large private/public outdoor Garden that Duck was the main care giver for he absolutely would verbally attack anyone who touched his flowers”

Indrid considers the plants before him carefully; he wants variety, but he also wants flowers that fit the occasion and the setting. Roses would be nice, but as a human he can’t get them off the plant easily. He needs his mandibles for that.

He picks snapdragons, some lilies, some foxglove, and a smattering of pink and orange blossoms he can’t quite identify, wrapping them all in one big bouquet in a few sheets of USA Today. He’s so busy preparing himself for the hour ahead that he misses a change in the future and the figure stepping around the bushes. 

“Hey man, you know you ain’t supposed to pick those, right?”

He whirls, ill-gotten blossoms clutched to his chest.

“I, ah, I, yes, I, I am aware it is frowned upon in a public garden but none of the ones in the store quite, ah, suited my needs.”

The man, clearly an employee, crosses his arms, “so you decided to take some from the botanical gardens?”

“Yes. You have so may, I assumed a few would not be missed.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t, but if everyone gets it into their heads to take just a few, suddenly whole chunks of the garden are missing and all our hard work is for nothin’. Besides, average folks can’t tell the difference between a common plant that’s easy to replace and one that was a pain in the ass to grow.” He doesn’t sound angry so much as tired, as if he’s had this conversation dozens of times.

“I see your point. I, ah, I can’t really put them back though. May I keep these?”

The man smirks, “sure thing. I’m comin’ with you though. I wanna see if the person you’re given ‘em too is good-lookin enough to warrant flower theft.”

Indrid has zero desire to admit where he’s actually going.

“Ah, but, you are clearly at work. And I’m in a hurry.”

“Lucky for you I just got off and can walk pretty fast.”

Indrid sighs, defeated, “Very well. And no need to walk, I have a car.”

The man follows him to the little sedan he’s been towing behind the ‘Bago. Indrid opens the doors, pausing before he gets in, “are you certain you wish to come with me, Duck Newton? It’s not going to be very entertaining.”

“I’m sure. And how’d you know my name?”

“Name-tag.” Indrid replies automatically, hoping the man is actually wearing one.

Duck shrugs, and climbs into the car. As Indrid turns onto the main road, the gardener asks, “you been to Point Pleasant before?”

“A few times.”

“You got family here?”

“No. My family lives rather far away. Ah, what about you?” His distracted state is a blessing, as it keeps him from accidentally saying Duck’s words along with him.

“I’m from Kepler originally, moved out here for this job. Uh-” Duck turns, looking back at the arch they just drove under, “you sure we’re goin’ the right way?”

“Yes.” He says tightly, pulling into the cemetery parking lot.   

“Fuuck” Duck groans, smacking a hand onto his face in embarrassment, “why didn’t you tell me those were for this? Woulda eased up on you a little.”

“I wasn’t sure how to explain it.” He opens the door, “will you be joining me, or do you wish to wait here?”

“I’ll come help you pay your respects, seems the polite thing to do.” 

They enter the grounds, Duck removing his hat as they do. There are a few other visitors scattered about, the sky blue above them and the grass pleasantly fresh cut. 

Indrid finds the first grave, removes a snapdragon from the bouquet and sets it atop the stone. Stares at the name a moment, long enough to think the words he’d usually say aloud, then walks to the next grave he needs to visit. He knows their order by heart. 

He’s expecting Duck to become bored with his wandering, or try to talk with him, or offer some thoughtful but useless platitudes. But the human simply follows him from grave to grave, keeping a respectful distance between them.

Indrid doesn’t cry, he never does during this. But with Duck near him, he feels like he should. A human would cry, would they not? Only a monster would remain so unmoved. 

Not all of them are buried here, and so after a half hour they return to the car. 

Indrid stares at the wheel, “I have one more stop to take flowers to. I can drop you somewhere else if you’d like.”

“I’ll come with you. Come this far. But uh…”

“Indrid. You were about to ask my name. It’s Indrid.”

“Right, yeah. Look, Indrid, you seem like you’re dealin with somethin heavy and, well, I don’t feel quite right leavin you to deal with it alone. But if you need me gone, I can go.”

“I’d very much like your company on this next part.” 

“You got it.” 

They drive in silence, and Indrid turns on the radio because human music is one of his favorite things. Duck hums along at one point, the noise off-key and charming enough to make Indrid forget what’s ahead of him. 

When they approach the memorial, Duck says softly, “ah, thought I recognized some of the names, couldn’t place where. The Silver Bridge Collapse.”

“Yes.” Indrid sits down on the ground near the first row of bricks inscribed with names of those he failed to save. He sets the remaining flowers on a nearby stone, so it will be clear what they are for. 

A scuff as Duck sits down next to him.

“Did you know someone on the bridge.”

“Not exactly, no” Indrid sets his hands on his knees, focuses his gaze on cracked ground.

“I, uh, I think what you doin’ is real noble. Most folks come and just visit the Mothman statue.”

“I’ve seen Mothman plenty of times, I do not need to see him anymore.”

“Nicest ass in West Virginia.”

Indrid snorts in surprise, glancing over at Duck.

“Sorry, tend to goof when I’m feelin’ awkward.”

“It’s alright. My actions are less noble than you perhaps think. I, ah, I was there. The day it happened. I suppose you could say I have a, ah, a very intense case of survivors guilt.”

“Oh, Indrid, I’m so fuckin sorry. That must have been terrifyin.” Duck rests his hand on his knee and Indrid starts. He hasn’t been touched on purpose in two years, maybe more.

“It was. I come back whenever I can, to, to pay my respects. To say I’m sorry. Sorry that I couldn’t save them. Sorry that I failed.”

“Hold up now, you didn’t fail no one. Bridge collapse was an accident.”

“But-”

“Let’s say even if you, I dunno, had some way of seein’ it comin, you’re just one guy. One guy can do a lot, but he can only do so much. Trust me, I know. Whatever happened on the bridge, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I…” no one’s ever said that to him so sincerely, so plainly. But as the story he’s told himself all these years starts to crumble, emotion seeps through the cracks. 

He shudders, head collapsing into his hands. The strong arm wraps around his shoulders and he crumples, falling against Duck’s chest. Through the silent, sharp tears, he tries to be polite, tries not to make the man feel Indrid is any strnager than he already must. 

“I’m s-sorry, I shouldn’t, you don’t need to-”

“Hush now” Duck murmurs, hugging him, “just get it all out.”

Indrid does, streaking his face with and wetting Duck’s shirt with tears. When they finally abate, his mind is pleasingly clear, save for one question.

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because it seems like someone needs to be. Plus, was kinda a dick earlier.”

Indrid snickers at his candor, “You were right to scold me for picking those flowers. Perhaps I should grow my own. There must be a way to do so inside a small space.”

“Can think of a few.” 

In all the futures, Duck clears his throat and says that even so, he should be going and that it was nice to meet Indrid.

“If you, uh, if you want, could brainstorm so with you over dinner.” A warm hand rubs his upper arm, soothing and protective. 

He sits up but stays in Duck’s arms, looking down at him, “I would, but you do not need to ruin your evening for my sake.”

“Wouldn’t call gettin’ to know you more ‘ruinin’ somethin’. Plus, you’re still in a raw spot. You telling me you wanna spent the rest of your evenin’ with your own thou-”

“No, no I do not.” Indrid says flatly. 

“C’mon, some friends of mine have a real nice place to eat near the gardens. French Onion Soup is to die for.”

“I have never had it.”

“Fuck, really? Well now we gotta go.” Duck smiles, his mellow enthusiasm contagious, and by the time they’re in the car Indrid is smiling too. 

Dinner really is delicious, though Indrid prefers the pie to the soup (though he must admit he enjoys watching the pleasure on Duck’s face as he eats said soup). Duck asks him about his travels, eagerly shares stories about the garden, and shows him pictures of his cat. When Indrid mentions he draws, Duck asks to see the little pocket sketchbook he carries, and proceeds to tell him a half-dozen times how amazing it is. He also hears Duck laugh for the first time, a ridiculous sound that he wants to hear a hundred times more. 

They talk until closing time, no longer across from each other but side by side, as Duck had hopped around to Indrid’s booth to show him more pictures of the gardens. The human offers his arm, and they walk at a leisurely pace. When he reaches the car he hesitates, then hugs Duck. The shorter man hugs him back.

“Thank you, Duck, for everything.”

“You’re welcome. You stayin in town?”

“For awhile, yes.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you around.” Duck slowly retracts from the hug, tips his hat with a wink and heads to his car. Indrid gets into his own, watches Duck drive away before heading towards the trailer park. As he reaches into his pocket for his keys, he finds a folded slip of paper with the words “dinner and movie tomorrow?” followed by a phone number.

He grabs his phone, and hurriedly dials. 

And in every future, including the one that comes to pass, Duck answers the phone with a smile.  

[writeanapocalae]

Name Exchange

The first time the met was at his sister’s wedding. He was small, his shoulders bunched forward, his arms crossed to hide his chest, his eyes dark and haunted. The stranger’s smile was a knife reflecting moonlight at midnight and was dressed far too well for the small affair. He was standing by the punch bowl, glaring at it, even as he sipped it from a champagne glass. He wasn’t someone who belonged at the wedding, he wasn’t someone who belonged anywhere.

The brother of the bride went to him, curious, tugged at his skirt to keep what little modesty he was allowed to have.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he admitted, “You must be someone’s plus one.”

The stranger smiled at him, blue eyes flashing gold or, at the very least, reflecting the light, for just a moment. “Oh no,” he shines, “I am but your humble wedding crasher. I do so adore parties and weddings are some of the most important ones. Though I am finding this one rather dull.”

The human looked around at the wedding party, college friends, grandparents and other family, a few coworkers. There were only a few people that he knew and he hadn’t spoken to them in years. He had no interest in speaking with them now.

“I’ll admit, it could use a bit of livening up.”

“The punch isn’t even spiked.” The strangers chuckle sounded like the chittering of a house cat at the window. He poured the contents of his glass back into the punch bowl and there was a moment in which it caught the light like a star but the fluid was almost black instead of the usual pink color.

The human drew closer to him, feeling safer with him than with the rest, more open, just because of the way he was standing, the way he wasn’t staring, the way that he felt. He felt like a dark room with oak floors, a roaring fireplace, and an overstuffed armchair. He smelled like cloves and cigars and the deep earth.

The brother reached down into his dress, pulling out the skin warmed flask that had been buried in his cleavage, a necessity for all family gatherings. Using the stranger as a shield from others he poured all of the flask into the punch.

“Well,” the stranger grinned and the grin lasted longer than he did, “That was rather unnecessary.”

“What was in your glass?” the human asked.

“You noticed that did you?” A smirk then, the fireplace crackling in his voice.

“You weren’t terribly discreet.”

“Hmm, I like you. What’s you’re name?”

The human went quiet then, shuddering at the fact. He didn’t know his name, not yet, just that it wasn’t what he was called. He liked this stranger, with his sharp features and all knowing gaze. He felt safe with him. Giving his name though, at least the one that he knew, felt like he would be breaking some spell, exposing himself to a thousand sharks while the red of his dress drew his blood with all of the needle pokes that had gone into it’s making.

“Clara.” He gave in, speaking quietly, eyes flickering down, missing the storm in the stranger’s eyes.

“Oh dear,” the stranger’s voice was as smooth as an overcast sky and as dark as the thunder within it. “That won’t do at all.”

The human jumped as a hand touched the base of his back and his head spun, panic burning through him as he looked up at a different stranger, a much less interesting one. This one was broad and smirking and wore a class ring like it was something important.

“Is this guy bothering you?” he asked and there was a kindness in his voice that didn’t reach his words, his smile not reaching his eyes, his fingers still on Clara’s back.

He shook his head. He didn’t know how to respond. Men like him always made him feel small and vulnerable. Part of him wanted to reach out and clutch at the stranger, get his aid in some way, but he knew how men were. The stranger wouldn’t help him, would allow the newcomer what he wished, which was humiliation and unwanted flirtations. Still, he glanced up at him, silently pleading with the stranger.

He wasn’t expecting the stranger’s golden eyes to burn a bit of red, for his teeth and fingers to appear a bit too sharp in the angles, or for him to step forward, between the two of them. “I believe you’re the one doing the bothering with your interruptions, Charles. Now, I believe you should get your punch and be on your way.”

Charles perked up at that, body going a bit stiff. He grumbled insults and slurs under his breath but did as he was told, ladling some punch into a glass and leaving them to their business.

“Thank you,” Clara said.

“Here,” the stranger reached into the breast pocket of his tailcoat to procure a business card, his features and eyes back to their sharp and very human standards. The writing on the card was floral and curved and silver, turning purple when looked at at a steep angle. “His mother’s phone number. Charles will return for you in an unsavory fashion and you may do with that as you please.”

Clara put the card against the flask in his cleavage, wishing that he at least had a bag with him. He didn’t know how the stranger had gathered such information or why it was on a business card that suited him so well, but he decided not to ask.

He slid his hand up Clara’s arm and his skin was almost too warm, the texture as if he were wearing fine silk gloves though they were bare. “It has been a great pleasure, but the night is growing late for me to remain in one place, and there are many others I have to meet.”

Clara wanted to ask for his number, his name, something so that he could find him later, but he held his tongue. It was good conversation, a warm sensation, but nothing more than a moment in passing with a stranger who would never remember him and never know him as he wanted to be.

---

The second time they met was at Jupiter’s End. His hair was wrapped up and shoved into a hat. His chest was tight and there was glitter on his face. He was a little bit drunk and he was with friends who acted like they understood him. There were so many people dancing that it was hard to see anyone and it was easy for him to get separated from the rest.

The crowd seemed to part, still dancing to some EDM beat, to reveal the stranger, standing at the bar, watching all of the humans gyrating against once another. He was overdressed, if that was possible at all. He was wearing a leather jacket with studs and there was no denying that it was real leather, paired with tight leather pants of the same caliber. His hair was a poof of green brushed to the side and up. He was bare chested aside from a body chain, buried under other chains that had to be real gold.

Pulse quickening, the human danced his way through the crowd, aiming for the bar, for the stranger. He had never expected to see him again.

“You’re here,” he giggled, flopping against the bar, perhaps a bit more drunk than previously imagined.

“I am. How was the wedding?” His smile was the slide of lemon against the rim of a glass.

“Spectacular! You should have stayed!” The wedding was over six months ago but there was no possibility he would ever forget what happened. “My grandma, Flo, beat the shit out of Charles for hitting on a minor. It turned into a little brawl between the old folks and the frat boys. The old folks one. And Dave, my, I dunno, brother-in law? I don’t know how it works, almost broke it off because he hates my sister’s singing but then my dad started speaking tongues at him and it scared him into going through with it. All of the catering staff got drunk out of their minds and spilled half of the cake onto the bridesmaids. You would have loved it!”

His smile grew, a bit of wickedness in his eyes. He looked different now, in the club lights, not less handsome but much less sharp. His nose was crooked as if it had been broken at some point and his eyes drooped with heavy lids.

“You must have enjoyed it,” he smirked. “You’re welcome.”

“That was you? With the punch?”

���That and a few other things.”

There was a spattering of scales on his cheeks, as if they were freckles or stars in the night sky. The human reached out, running his thumb over them. He could feel the stranger stiffen under the touch, skin peel away to reveal more scales, like he was wearing makeup over them. They actually felt real.

“I like these,” He murmured, drawing close enough for the stranger to hear him.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” The stranger spoke in his ear, close enough that neither of them could see the other’s face. “How terrifying and exhilarating it is to show ourselves as we are.”

The human felt more drunk than he had been before, hot and handsy and wanting. His hands went to the stranger’s shoulders, reaching under the leather, feeling more scales, feeling an unnatural heat, feeling a throbbing need.

“I like you.”

“What’s your name?”

He shuddered, pressing his body close to the strangers. He could feel that safety, that warmth, draw him away from the club and the pulsing ambiance. Everything was quieter and while, it was just a name, it felt like a contract. It felt like something definitive. It felt like something he could never give because he didn’t even know what it was himself.

“My father named me Clara.”

“Hmm,” the stranger wrapped an arm around his waist, taking his other hand in his own. His hands were covered in gold rings, his wrist in gold bangles. There were serpents wrapped around him, both in green, translucent ink, and gold. The light hit them in such a way to make them squirm under his skin. “Come now, you can do better than that.”

The steps were certain and strong but the human didn’t know them. He faltered and stared down, trying not to step on the gold tipped shoes. They were snakeskin. He would have laughed but they suited the stranger so well as he slithered them both out onto the dance floor. They suited him like a red plush robe would or nothing at all.

“What do you want from me?” The human had to shout to be heard. “That’s the name I was given. It’s the only name I have.”

“It is as much your name as an ugly sweater you were gifted and plan to return to the store is.” He didn’t need to yell, he didn’t need to raise his voice at all. He spoke plainly and was heard easily. “It does not fit you and you do not desire it. Re-gifting it to me is no good.”

They were waltzing, once he counted the steps to realize it, to the beat of the music, even though such a dance made no sense. He had thought that waltzes were easy, but the steps were difficult and the direction odd. The human had no chance to guess at what he was following but he was able to get the hang of it alright as long as he didn’t think about it.

“Can I get back to you on that?” He called out.

“Of course, take all the time in the world.”

He pushed out and spun the human and there were eyes on them, those that were jealous or pleased at the view. At that moment the attention was good, made the human feel like he was something special instead of something wrong or strange. With the stranger, he felt more himself.

He was drawn back up, turning into the stranger’s shoulder and he was in love with the moment, with the feeling of these hands against him, with the way that his sides brushed against the waves of the crowd and how they were so far away and yet so intrinsic to the sensations.

“Marcel is not your friend,” The stranger spoke plainly, dazzling green eyes searching the crowd for the friends that the human had come with. “They will eat you from the inside, you must not let them.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, before being dipped and then pulled even closer. He didn’t ask how the stranger knew this.

“I shouldn’t get involved, that’s what they say,” the stranger explained, his smile a gash of purple from the strobing lights. “I cannot help myself though, not when my interest is captured. Ares though, xi you can trust, you can spill your heart out to xim and xi will never betray you. Give xim care when xi ask.”

He nodded even though he did not understand.

---

The third time they met wasn’t even real. With a bottle of amaretto under his arm he had fallen asleep, heartbreak leading to the dark winding paths of a dream. His hair was short and his body more his own,  a black ring tattooed behind one ear and bite mark tattooed into a shoulder, the teeth of a wolf digging deep and marking him.

He was in a forest that smelled like cloves and apricots and almonds. The trees were all oaks, their wood dark and polished like a hardwood floor. He could hear the crackling of a fire that threatened to consume it all and a pulsing beat like a heart. At his feet was a winding path, which he walked on with bare feet, gold dust sparkling between the smooth river rock that led him deeper. It was fall as so many leaves fell to the ground in different colors and it was spring in how the new plants were growing up through the undergrowth.

He knew that the path was a spiral but he also knew that stepping off of the path was death. What he wanted was at the very center.

It was an armchair, red and overstuffed, large enough to be a throne. It was surrounded by fat and heavy mushrooms, all in a circle, ready to trap him. Sitting upon it, a glass of blood red wine in one hand, was the stranger. He looked different from how he looked in real life, his features much softer, even under a beard that was filled with small flowers. His cheeks were green and gold scales and there was a pair of thick and massive horns on his head, a thinner one growing from the center, pushing forward before curling back and braiding themselves down his spine. He was nude, though scales coated his joints and there was a mass of leaves and flowers and furs piling in his lap and other divets in his body.

“I was wondering when you’d come,” he admitted, his words dripping gold, physically, into his beard. “I have been waiting for you a while.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting you,” the human excused, “I’ve wanted to see you, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He opened his eyes and they were gold with slit pupils. Some of the mass slipped off of his lap as he spun, sitting to face forward, to force the human in his midst.

“Everywhere? I have been hunted before and have great defenses, there is no chance that you would have found me. Still, the though interests me, as I do not sense malice in you.”

“Are you a demon?” He knew it was a bad question, that asking could get him killed if he was right.

The stranger, with the shaking of trees and the blossoming of crocuses, cackled. “Oh no, no no no, not a demon, not at all. I have never met a demon, although I am certain that they would entertain me.”

“Then, what are you?”

“Have you chosen a name yet?”

There was a sultry purr under his words, as if there was a cat somewhere in the room. They were not in a room and there was nothing there, nothing but the two of them.

“Not yet, I have a list, but I’m still checking out my options.” He felt like he should be ashamed and he looked down, away from this thing that appeared to be a god before him, on a throne and with the most transient seasons at his disposal. “I should have listened to you. Marcel ended up being an ass. I couldn’t trust them. They outed me to my parents, said that I was lying by staying in the closet. Now my family hates me and I yelled at Marcel so they’re gone too.”

“Come here,” it wasn’t so much an order as it was a request. There was a tilt to the stranger’s head, a curiosity that filled the world with coriander. The human obeyed without question. He looked up at him, searching his face and his expression. He reached up, and the human did nothing to avoid his touch, even though his nails were black underneath, as if he’d been digging in the dirt, the only clean spaces in his skin coming from the lines of missing rings.

He traced the ring tattooed into the human’s scalp and then twisted his fingers, a magician with a coin from behind the ear, though this was no coin. It was a golden ring, tarnished until it was almost the same black as the ink in his skin. The stranger took his hand and his skin, like in life, was uncannily hot. He spread his fingers and slid the ring onto his middle finger.

“What do you want from me?” the human asked quietly.

The stranger kissed the ring on his finger. “I do not know. What do you want with me?”

His words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to admit to things, to everything, how every night with Marcel he’d been imagining nights with the stranger, how no one’s attention felt the same as those golden eyes being on him, regardless of how he hid them. He wanted to know the strangers name but, more than that, he wanted to be with him, to be an equal with him, to be understood and loved and safe. He couldn’t say that though, not to some deity that he’d only met three times and didn’t even know the name of.

“Why won’t you tell me your name?” he asked.

The stranger was still playing with his fingers, tracing them with his own. He licked his lips with a split tongue and his teeth were sharp. “The giving of a name is a great offering, one that cannot be undone. In giving it is to give someone your essence, to give them power over you. I will not give you such power over me. I wanted you for my own, to take your name and you away from the world.”

“You wanted to steal me,” he realized, shuddering, wanting to drag his hand away, feeling a cold terror spread through him, his trust misplaced once again.

“I did,” the stranger admitted, “I do not wish that now. I want to be your equal. To me you are most interesting and I wish to explore more of the world with you. I can only visit uninvited for so long.”

“I’m just normal,” the human argued, “There’s nothing interesting about me.”

At that the stranger’s face split in a mischievous grin. “And yet you were so quick to join me in causing chaos at your sister’s wedding. You allowed me to make a show of you to the club that night. You not only indulged me but didn’t shrink away from me when I was less than human in my appearance.”

The human blinked and he knew. He figured it all out. “You’re a fairy.”

The smile was just a sliver of a coin, flipped and landing on the edge. “There we have it. Are you afraid?”

“No,” the human said, realizing that it was true. “I’m not.”

His eyes reflected the leaves around them, twirling like snowflakes, the world slowing around them. Sunlight pierced through between the trees.

“That is good. When you are ready for me, come and see me. I shall be wearing a green scarf.”

And with that he woke, alone in his apartment, clothes and memories of an argument strewn upon the floor. Tucked against his chest, under one arm, was a full bottle of amaretto. On his finger was a ring, blackened by tarnish.

---

The fourth time that they met was on a pier. He was himself. There was no question about it. He was alone, aside from a few friends, but he was happy. He didn’t need his family. They had almost killed him, in their own way, in which they did almost nothing to influence him. The ring on his finger had only come off to be cleaned and now it sat on his finger as a series of golden scales, reflecting green instead of any other color.

There was a man, standing at the end of the pier. He was overdressed, in snakeskin shoes and a navy suit. He was staring out at the water, a storm brewing further away, and there were dangerous waves crashing against the shore. Children screamed as they rushed by, chasing after an ice cream truck. It was a safe and expected insanity, the first warm day of spring.

There was nothing strange about the man, nothing to draw his attention, but still he felt compelled to walk towards him, leaving Ares and their other friends to stare after him in confusion.

He walked to the end of the pier and mirrored the stranger’s pose. His hair and beard were white and his nose had no direction to it, having been broken a few times over the decades. His skin was smooth and his bone structure soft. Around his neck there was a green ascot with gold embellishments.

“Ashton,” he introduced, offering one hand.

The stranger smiled, the upturn of his lips like the curl of the coast. He took Ashton’s hand in his own and he shook it, rubbing his thumb over Ashton’s knuckles.

“Elies,” he gave.

“So, this is it?” Ashton asked.

“No,” Elies promised.

“Then what is?”

The fairy grabbed Ashton then, by the back of the head, and pulled him in, pressing their lips together. He tasted like cloves and smoke and honey. His lips were so hot that they filled Ashton, the warmth sliding through his veins and coiling in his lungs.

“Your place or mine?” Elies asked, reverent, like a prayer, and Ashton knew that it wasn’t just for the moment. He remembered the dream, he remembered how Elies couldn’t stay where he wasn’t invited.

“How about mine?”

Elies took his hand and allowed himself to be turned back towards Ashton’s friends.

[thelastspeecher]

Superheroes/Villains AU Filbrick shows up to try and bully stan into admitting he (Pops) was responsible for Stan's current success (or something) but it happens a couple of the other McGuckets besides Angie were home, visiting the grandkids/or nieces that weekend and they take care of him for Stan.

Day 01   Day 02   Day 03   Day 04   Day 05   Day 06   Day 07   Day 08Day 09   Day 10   Day 11   Day 12   Day 13   Day 14   Day 15   Day 16Day 17   Day 18   Day 19   Day 20   Day 21   Day 22   Day 23   Day 24Day 25   Day 26   Day 27   Day 28   Day 29   Day 30

Ohohohoho this was fun to write.  Anon, this was such an amazing prompt.  Love me some Filbrick getting his just desserts.

Word count: 1508

              There was a knock on the frontdoor.  Stan looked up from the blocks heand his daughters were playing with.

              “Mind getting that, Ang?” heasked.  Angie nodded and got up from the couch,where she had been reading a précis about her crew’s last score.

              “It’s prob’ly my ma with thepower dampeners,” she said.  Danny sneezed,spraying snowflakes over Stan.

              “Not a minute too soon,” Stanmuttered.  “Fire, I can handle.  Snow? Not so much.”

              “I know,” Angie said.  There was another knock, this one moreinsistent.  “I’m comin’!”  While his fiancée went to get the door, Stanturned his attention back to his daughters. Daisy grabbed a block eagerly.  Itburst into flames in her hand.  Stan silentlytook the block back from her and stifled the fire.  Daisy pouted. “Oh!  Um, hello.”

              Shesounds surprised.  Must not be her mom.

              “So you’re the poor girl my no-goodson knocked up,” a voice rumbled.  Stan’sblood ran cold.  For once, it had nothingto do with the frost spreading from where Danny was sitting.

              “I- I beg yer pardon?” Angie saidpolitely.

              “Don’t bother trying to cover forhim.  I know he’s here, I know he got youpregnant from a one-night-stand, and I know he hasn’t even married you yet.”

              “Look, sir, I- hey!”  Footsteps stormed down the hall leading tothe living room.  Stan looked up,dreading what he would see.

              “Hey, Pops,” Stan saidweakly.  Filbrick Pines scowled at him.  “What- uh- what are you doing here?”

              “I’m here because you neverbothered to tell me I had two granddaughters,” Filbrick said.  Angie appeared behind him, furious.

              “Mr. Pines, don’t do that,” Angiesnapped.  Filbrick turned to faceher.  “I’ll invite people in when I want to invite people in.  Ya can’t barge in like that.”

              “Hmph.”  Filbrick looked back at Stan.  “Figures you’d find someone as insolent asyou.”  Angie’s eyes widened, thennarrowed.  Stan started to panic.

              Iknow that face.  She’s gonna kick his assto kingdom come.  As much as I’d like tosee that, I can’t let it happen.  Whoknows what he’d do after a beating from her.

              “Ang, wanna take Danny?  I think she needs a change,” Stan said.  Angie’s scowl deepened.

              “All right,” she ground out.  She walked over to where Stan and the girlswere sitting, picked Danny up, shot another glare at Filbrick, then marched tothe nursery.

              “I hear you’re some big hero now,”Filbrick said to Stan.  Stan swallowed.

              “I dunno about big, but, yeah, I’ma hero.”

              “Hmph.  I’m not impressed.”

              Figures.

              “Show me my granddaughter,” Filbrickdemanded.  Stan picked Daisy up andstood.  Filbrick walked over.  “What’s her name?”

              “Daisy Leigh McGucket.”

              “McGucket?  She doesn’t even have your last name?”

              “The other one does.”

              “Hmph,” Filbrick huffedagain.  Daisy was apparently picking upthe mood of the room, as she was being abnormally still and quiet.  “She’s got more than ten fingers, like Stanford.”

              “Yeah.  She does.” Daisy abruptly hiccupped and burst into flames.  Filbrick took a startled step back.

              “She’s a super.”  The snarl of disgust was identical to the onehe’d had when Ford’s power first manifested.

              “So’s her twin.”

              “Does her twin at least have auseful power?” Filbrick asked.  Stanopened and closed his mouth, unsure of how to answer.

              I don’t know what kinda power he thinks is useful.  The only power I know he liked was Mom’s, ‘causeit made scams easier.  But beyond that…  The front door opened.

              “Hello?” a voice called.  Stan broke out into a cold sweat.  “We were told to let ourselves in.”

              Shit.  Angie’s folks are here.  This isn’t gonna end well.

              “I’m in the living room, Sally,”Stan finally managed.  Mrs. McGucketwalked into the living room, closely followed by her husband and youngest son.

              Lute’shere.  Why the hell is Lute here?

              “I was tellin’ my daughter on thephone that these are much easier to use than they look,” Mrs. McGucket said,fiddling with what looked like two bracelets in her hands.  She looked up.  “Oh! You have a guest.”

              “Pops, these are Angie’s parents,Sally and Mearl,” Stan said.  “And Angie’stwin, Lute.  McGuckets, this is my dad,Filbrick Pines.”  A shadow crossed Mr.McGucket’s face, but was gone in a second. Stan suddenly remembered a conversation he’d had with Mr. McGucket theday Danny and Daisy were born.

              “Stanley, what I just heard ya say was that yer father abused you.  Is that correct? … Goodness gracious.  That ain’t right.”

              Ispilled about my childhood, and even though he was pissed at me, he went out ofhis way to be nice.  He even stoppedthreatening to kill me for a hot minute.

              “Ah, so yer my granddaughters’other grandfather,” Mr. McGucket said. His tone was diplomatic, his face carefully neutral, but his eyes stareddaggers at Filbrick.  Filbrick glared atStan.

              “I don’t know what Stan’s beentelling you, but-”

              “But it’s enough,” Mrs. McGucketstepped in.  Filbrick rounded on Stan.

              “Stanley,” Filbrick growled.  Stan’s heart began to race.  All the memories of his childhood wereresurfacing, and it didn’t matter how many villains he beat up on a day-to-daybasis, his mom did that too, and she never-

              “Ngah!” Daisy said happily,stopping Stan’s train of thought in its tracks. He stared down at his daughter. She was aflame again, attempting to set fire to Stan’s fire-proofclothing.  Daisy grinned up at him.  The blue eyes she’d inherited from Angiereflected the flames she’d inherited from him. Stan smiled back at her.

              “Hey, sweetie,” Stan saidsoftly.  He looked back at Filbrick,resolute.  

              Mom might not have done anything for me and Ford, but that doesn’t meanI have to fall into that, too.  Daisyrested her head against his chest.  I’m not gonna let Pops spit his poison in myhouse, in front of my daughter.

              “Back off, Pops,” Stan snapped.  “If you wanna be in my house, you can’t talkto me like that.  Especially not when I’m holding my daughter.  She’s a year old.  She doesn’t need to be exposed to that kindof BS.”

              “You impudent brat,” Filbrickspat.  “Don’t talk to me like-”  A vine suddenly wrapped itself around Filbrick’smouth, gagging him.  Stan glanced over atthe hanging pot nearby.  The ivy in it haddrastically increased in size, multiple tendrils sneaking over to whereFilbrick was standing.  Stan looked atMr. McGucket.  Mr. McGucket noddedsilently.  Filbrick pried the vine offhis mouth.  “How-”  He gagged and collapsed to his knees,clutching his throat.

              “I think it would behoove ya tolisten to yer son, Mr. Pines,” Mrs. McGucket said calmly, striding over toFilbrick.  She crouched next to him, avicious smile curling the corners of her mouth. “If ya don’t, ya might have some trouble breathin’ in the near future.  And, ah, ya may not be a scientist like mydaughter, but I think even you knowthat ya need to breathe to live.”  Mrs.McGucket waved a hand.  Filbrick gasped loudly.  He stared at Mrs. McGucket.

              “Sirocco,” he croaked.  Mrs. McGucket beamed.

              “Oh!  You’ve heard of me!  Well, in that case, you know that anyone whomesses with the man what will be my son-in-law in a few short months ain’tliable to survive those actions.  I don’tbluff.  And neither does anyone else inmy fam’ly.”  Mrs. McGucket stoodagain.  She took Daisy from Stan’s arms.  Daisy giggled loudly and grabbed at herhair.  “Aw, howdy, sugar-cube.”

              “You all are insane!” Filbrickshouted.

              “Hush, now,” Mr. McGucket saidcalmly.  “There are children here.  Don’t raise yer voice.”

              “Stanley, you- villains-”Filbrick stammered.  Stan raised aneyebrow coolly, letting his father splutter. “Fine.  I’m out of this hellhole,”Filbrick finally spat.  He stormed out ofthe house, slamming the door with enough force to knock down Angie’s frameddiploma hanging on the living room wall. Stan grinned broadly at the McGuckets.

              “That.  Was. Awesome!”

              “I can imagine how satisfyin’ itmust be, fer someone who hurt ya so much to fin’lly get a bit of what hedeserved,” Mr. McGucket said, patting Stan on the shoulder.  He was grinning as well, but it had a vicioustint to it.

              “It was very satisfyin’ fer us aswell,” Mrs. McGucket said, playing with Daisy’s hands.  “We don’t want that bastard anywhere near thegirls.”

              “Amen,” Mr. McGucket said.  Angie walked back into the living room withDanny.  She looked around.

              “Is he gone?”

              “You betcha, junebug,” Mr. McGucketsaid.  “We read ‘im the riot act andspooked him out.  I doubt Filbrick willbe comin’ back anytime soon.”

              “Aw, shucks,” Angie said.  Stan stared at her.

              “Why are you disappointed?”

              “Well, I never got to take a shot at him.” Angie sighed.  “Maybe next time.”

              “Ang, if he ever shows up at thehouse again, you have my permission to do whatever you want to him.”

              “I can do anything I want?”

              “Anything,” Stan saidfirmly.  Angie grinned evilly.

              “Good.”