#Not the storefronts. Those were all shut down years ago.

[stiles-o-dylan24]

friendly little PSA to my fellow fic writers who also post their work on AO3:

my teen wolf rewrite, It’s Always Been You, was stolen word for word and uploaded as a kindle book to be bought on Amazon *insert all the angry expletives* The “author”, Plush Books, has 549 books in their amazon storefront page that are more than likely all stolen based on the info I received last night that led me over to a twitter thread that shed light on what’s happening.  Anyways more info to see if your book was also stolen from this “bEsTseLLiNg AuThOr” and what to do to hopefully get it removed below the cut

Here’s the amazon storefront for the literal piece of shit who stole books, I hope no one else has their work on here and if you do I’m so sorry you’re feeling the way I am.

Here’s the twitter page that was very helpful in bringing insight to what happened and the fact that this has happened before with another “author” on amazon a year ago who has since been shut down. 

Here’s the twitter thread that details what to do and say in your email to get your book taken down from Amazon. You cannot send attachments in the email to Amazon, as they state they will not open them under any circumstance, so keep that in mind and just be very detailed in your email about the proof you have ready to send them (google doc timestamps, screenshots of comments/kudos and those timestamps and so forth)

Here’s the Amazon faq answer to what happens after you submit a DMCA request

Here’s the Barnes and Noble "author” page as well, mine wasn’t here as of this posting but I’ll be checking back daily since the amount of books on this list is significantly less to what's on amazon. Here’s what you have to do to submit a claim to B&N.  

I was able to click on the book’s image in my stolen work’s listing and the first 7 chapters, and a little bit of chapter 8, were visible to read without having to actually buy the book to get more proof it’s plagiarized. I took a bunch of screenshots, along with a screenshot of the description which was copied straight from my ao3 description, to be prepared in case amazon emails me back saying they need the proof I mentioned having when I emailed my DMCA request in, so I’d suggest doing the same.

Based on a comment in the twitter thread from when this last happened apparently Amazon doesn’t really care about this and is very slow in actually doing anything to take listings down. I’m hoping that’s changed since the last person who did this had all their listings removed but in any case, in addition to emailing amazon with my DMCA request I also left a review on my actual book’s listing-- that will hopefully be posted soon-- stating how it was stolen work. I’m just so mad and I had to do something so even if the book listing never gets taken down at least that review will be there and I’ll keep sending emails and leaving reviews until it is taken down because fuck this person and anyone else like them who thinks this is ok.

Please don’t hesitate to reblog this to get the word out! There’s a lot of fandoms affected, just a few I saw were: Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Marvel, and Star Wars

if anyone wants a laugh here’s the link to IABY and the amazon book where they named it ‘It’s Always Been You: A Sisters Love’ which is just so wrong to what IABY is and created the actual WORST book cover image🙃

***********

EDIT to add that as of 19 December 2022 my stolen book has been removed from amazon along with 300 others! The barnes and noble page also no longer has any books listed from plush books which is amazing news! Keep spreading the word to get the real authors notified so the rest of the stolen works can be removed as well!

[orangeccreamsicles]

you ever think about registering a patent on your inventions?

I've thought about it, but the things I'd want to patent are the same as things I wouldn't want to disclose, like the methods I used to make Hal. A lot of the other things I make are based on other people's work and therefore unpatentable. Another aspect of that decision is universal design. I do a lot of work on design, assembly, and upkeep of cybernetics, usually for troll clients. If I started running patents it would make it a lot more difficult for my clients to get their shit repaired when the patent holder is having a depressive episode and their leg isn't working.

[jackrrabbit]

open season thirsts [3/?] /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Request: my darling sara dm’d me this request for halloween-themed dabi creeping on poor innocent reader <3

@printhes ily for getting me to make a halloween playlist in fucking september. your mind unparalleled. this is just a drabble but i’ll consider continuing it for real halloween…

Tags/warnings: stalking, mentions of alcohol/drinking, drugging, angel costume ok ok

everything seems a little more spooky on halloween.

your mouth tastes like cranberry juice and white rum and bacardi breezers and you wonder if it stained your lips red. the halloween party you were at was fun, but you shouldn’t’ve had that fourth drink…and you shouldn’t’ve said you’d walk home alone. it’s cold. you didn’t bring a jacket because you thought it would ‘ruin the outfit’, or something—and hey, 5-hours-ago-you has a point. this year you decided you were going to be an angel for halloween, and you don’t own anything that fits over the wings.

still. damn it, why didn’t you bring something to change into? sure, you’re probably not the only pretty girl stumbling down the sidewalk in a too-short costume and too-high heels past midnight on october 31st, but the stretch of pavement you’re walking down is weirdly deserted. no fellow post-party walk-of-shamers, no random teens in ribcage t-shirts smoking in huddles, not even the perpetual annoying men who seem to think yelling about your tits as you pass by should be taken as a compliment.

you don’t know this area of the city well—you took the bus here, and by the time you left the party the buses weren’t running anymore. according to google maps your place is less than a mile away, but everything around here looks unfamiliar. chain link fences, brick walls, rows of iron grating covering closed storefronts. you pass a club you’ve never heard of and hear a snatch of the music pumping from inside—‘this is halloween’, the marilyn manson version. so stereotypical...the clubs have to stick to the theme, right? they played this song at your friend’s party too, and now it’s going to be stuck in your head for weeks.

but the music’s fading into the background now, and the only thing you can hear is the clickclickclick of your shoes against the concrete and the buzzing of the streetlights overhead. mist is hanging low and thick in the air, seeping through the thin satin of your slip and lifting cold sweat onto your skin. the dark feels darker than usual. you check your phone for the dozenth time since you started walking…

no signal.

that’s weird, isn’t it? the neighborhood you’re passing through has gotten steadily more residential than urban, but it’s not like you’re in the middle of nowhere. you stop dead, hold up your phone and turn in a tight circle, trying to coax out a few bars of data.

nothing. damn it. well, you know you have to keep walking in this direction for a while. hopefully if you go far enough, you’ll get somewhere you recognize. you take a step forward, making for the next orange halo from the streetlight at the end of the block.

god, it’s so quiet. shouldn’t there be—like, a dog barking or something? a couple yelling at each other, crappy teen music from a house party, some kids snickering to each other while they TP their principal’s house—something. it’s halloween, for fuck’s sake. it shouldn’t be this quiet. it’s making you imagine things…

…like another set of footsteps behind yours.

click. the heel of your strappy white pump hits the sidewalk. click. you take another step. thud.

you’re imagining things. you stop in your tracks again and twist around to look behind you. there’s no one there, just the blue-black expanse of sidewalk disappearing between the trees. you’re just imagining it.

you start humming. just to have something to listen to that isn’t your shoes and your own nervous breath. as predicted, that fucking song is stuck in your head, so you start murmuring the lyrics quietly.

“come with us and you will see—“

keep going. keep walking. the house next to you is decorated like a 9-year-old’s halloween fantasy—big inflatable jack-o-lanterns lit from the inside, plastic bats hung on strings over the stairs, cotton batting stretched out to look like cobwebs. there’s even a hunched-over witch mannequin sitting on the porch swing with an empty bowl in its hands, the kind of thing you’re sure would bust out a terrifying animatronic cackle if a kid got too close. the next house has foam gravestones sticking out of the yard. the next house has gigantic purple-striped stuffed spiders twined into the trees near the entrance, and the next house—

“—scream in the dead of night—“

the light overhead flickers.

someone’s behind you.

you heard it for sure this time. footsteps, not yours. and the sound of someone flicking a lighter on. you’re not sure why that knowledge makes you shiver—weren’t you wondering why the hell no one else was on this street just a few minutes ago?—but you pick up the pace, almost skipping in the direction of the next light down the block.

don’t look back, you think. maybe you’re still imagining it, maybe the atmosphere is getting to you and you’re nervous for no reason. keep singing. “—everybody’s—everybody’s waiting for the next surprise—“

someone laughs—low, a man, mocking—but don’t think about that. your heart is beating like crazy, fuck, you’re an idiot, who walks home alone on halloween while dressed like the sluttiest angel since lucifer? damn it—your little white slip is riding up on your thighs and you smooth it down with cold damp palms. you can’t run in these shoes, not really, but you want to. he’s probably just passing by. he probably thinks you’re an idiot for running away. you’re being really rude, it’s really—you’re panting—

you hit the circle of light and the rush of adrenaline from being able to see around you makes you pause, turn involuntarily behind you to look for him. but once again, there’s nothing there. maybe you really were dreaming it up. maybe you’re too tired or you’re drunk or maybe you’re losing it.

either way, it’s time to call a damn uber. no more walking in the dark in a nightdress and fluffy white wings. you shrug your phone back out of your purse to check if you have signal yet—one bar, but the map isn’t loading. it feels quiet again and you realized you must’ve stopped singing so you pick up where you left off while you twist around again seeking a better connection. “something’s coming…no, what is it? something’s waiting now to pounce and how you’ll—“

“scream?”

weight on your shoulders. you whip toward the yellow streetlight and he’s in front of it. he’s dressed up, you think dazedly, he’s dressed up for halloween—dark eyes dark hair all those piercings and his face—but then your brain catches up and you try, you try to scream, except a hand is folding something over your mouth and pinching your nose shut and he’s squeezing around the grip you have on your phone until the pain is unbearable and you have to drop it—

you hear it hit the ground. your phone. it probably cracked. but you can’t look, can’t check, can’t bend down. how are you supposed to? a man, a man has you, he has you. the cigarette hanging out of his mouth glows blue and then a cloud of bitter smoke hisses out into your eyes.

his face. god, that has to be a costume, it has to. you need to breathe but he’s holding a damp rag over your mouth like some movie villain but you need to breathe. you shove a fist into the hard muscle of his torso and nothing happens. could you kick him? your legs feel shaky.

you make a whimpering sound and the corner of his mouth curls up into a smile. “are you trying to fight?”

your lungs are screaming. you need oxygen, your head is starting to spin. air rushes into your lungs before you even realize you’ve taken a breath and it tastes wet and warm and sickly sweet. he adjusts his grip so he’s holding you more securely, ready to lift you up when you fall. feels warm against him. you’re already getting dizzy but you shake your head, push weakly against the dark fabric of his shirt.

“save your strength, angel,” he laughs softly. one of those horribly scarred hands cups the side of your face where you’re staring up at him and he pinches your cheek. “…you’re gonna need it.”

[live-the-fangirl-life]

It's Only Temporary

Feyre Archeron x Rhys - Tattoo Artist Oneshot

After losing a bet, Rhys gets a new tattoo

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language, Tattoos

2492 words

*******

“Fey!” Cassian’s voice boomed through the glass door as he grinned and waved to get her attention.

Looking up from her sketchbook, Feyre watched as Cassian tried to open the locked door again, shaking the wood so hard the bell hanging above it started chiming frantically.

She rolled her eyes and walked out from behind the counter she’d been working at, quickly getting to the door before his enthusiasm ripped it from its hinges. Feyre had barely flipped the lock when Cassian swung it open and immediately wrapped her in a bone crushing hug, lifting her off the ground as she laughed before setting her back down and ruffling her hair. Then he strutted through the dim lobby of her tattoo parlor taking his time to survey the walls of designs, the colorful crushed velvet couches, and the small rack of t-shirts and stickers she had for sale with the shop’s logo printed on them.

The Rainbow was Feyre’s baby. She’d saved almost every penny from the time she’d gotten her first job in order to afford her shop. After studying art in school and apprenticing for a few years, she’d finally been able to buy a small storefront in Velaris and built her business from the ground up.

It didn’t hurt that most of her friends liked tattoos and were always happy to be her canvases and subsequent advertising.

Shaking her head at Cassian who’d made himself at home near her front counter, Feyre returned to her spot with her sketchbook, now open to display a howling water wolf, and raised a brow, “Can’t you read? I’m closed.”

He scoffed, grinning, and leaned his forearms on the counter. “Not for me, Archeron.”

She rolled her eyes again but couldn’t help her smirk when she told him, “It late and I’m busy. Care to tell me why you’re here?” Feyre looked at him expectantly.

Cassian just grinned. “Do I need a reason to visit my very successful, very talented friend?”

“Wow, such flattery, Cassian. What exactly are you trying to get me to agree to?” She raised an eyebrow, trying to reign in a smirk.

He flashed her a wolfish grin. “Convince your sister to go out with me.”

Feyre snorted. “I don’t think you’re Elain’s type.”

“You’re hilarious, Archeron.” Cassian deadpanned and rolled his eyes, “Come on, Fey. Talk me up to Nesta.”

Feyre sighed, closing her sketchbook, and resigning herself to not getting anymore work done tonight. “Cass, I’ve done all I can on that front, believe me. You’ll have to win her over all on your own.”

“Been trying that for years.” He grumbled then ran a hand through his hair.

“I know that isn’t why you’re here,” Feyre insisted, “you ask me to do that literally every time you see me, so I know you didn’t seek me out for that. What’s up?”

He shot her a grin that made his single dimple stand out as he glanced at the door to the parlor. “Az is on his way over with Rhys and we were hoping you would do us a favor.”

“A favor?” she asked skeptically.

Cassian kept grinning. “You see, baby Arche,” Feyre snorted at the nickname. “your idiot boyfriend made a bet that he never stood a chance of winning, and he lost. Horribly.”

“Okay…” she rubbed at her face, trying to steel herself for whatever she was about to hear. Cassian’s shit-eating grin wasn’t making Feyre feel any better.

“Az and I want you to tattoo a little something special on Rhys for us.”

She paused, halting her shuffling of her sketches and furrowed her brows. “You want me to tattoo something on Rhys…because he lost a bet?”

“Yes.”

“Does Rhys know this?”

A slow smirk spread across Cass’s face, “He knows he’s coming to see you.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Cassian, why would I agree to tattoo something—you haven’t even said what it is, by the way—onto my boyfriend when he obviously doesn’t even know what’s happening?”

“Well,” Cass pointed out, “I’d hope he’d realize what was happening once you sat him in the chair and got your needles and ink out.”

She snorted, “You know what I mean.”

“Because, Fey,” He sighed dramatically, “Little Rhysie is a punk and lost a bet so now he has to get a tattoo of our choice. And who better to do it, than his wonderful tattoo artist of a girlfriend?” his grin came back, wider than before.

Feyre said nothing for a moment as she stared Cassian down. Then she asked, “How drunk is he?”

Cassian chuckled, “Very.”

Feyre smiled slowly, “And how drunk are you?”

He narrowed his eyes at her but lifted his fingers to show a small space between his thumb and pointer finger. “Just a little bit.”

“So, a lot.” Feyre corrected

Cassian was silent a moment before grinning, “Rhys bet that he could outdrink me.”

Feyre blinked, then clutched the counter as she bent over laughing. She heard Cassian’s loud chortles next to her a moment later. When she stood back up, she wiped a tear from her eye and shook her head.

“Oh, my gods,” She was still chuckling, trying to picture Rhys go shot for shot with the mass of a man standing in front of her. “I love him, but sometimes he’s such an idiot.”

“I think you mean all the time.”

Just then, the bell on the door jingled again and Azriel held it open with one arm as he gripped a stumbling Rhys with the other.

“Hi, Feyre.” Azriel nodded at her as the door shut behind him.

“Hey, Az” She chuckled and walked towards the pair. “Can you lock that? Thanks.”

“Feyre, darling!” Rhys suddenly beamed and stumbled towards her, stepping close enough that she could smell every shot he’d taken on his breath. He used both hands to gently cup her face, squishing her cheeks in little and pressing a sloppy but sweet kiss to her lips. “I missed you.”

She smiled at him but stepped back to avoid his breath. “I saw you a few hours ago.”

He pouted, “That’s too long. I’ve had to look at those two ugly faces all night when I could’ve been looking at your dazzling one.”

“Why does he have to insult us when he compliments her?” Cass grumbled to Azriel who looked mildly amused.

He snorted. “Perspective.”

Feyre removed herself from Rhys’ grip only for him to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her into his side. She leaned into his touch, and helped keep him standing, as she rested her head on his shoulder as she faced Azriel.

“Az, can you fill me in? Cassian tried, but I don’t know how much I trust his story.”

Cassian feigned hurt and shook his head. “Fey, I am wounded that you doubt me.”

Azriel’s explanation had been essentially the same as Cassian’s with a few more details and a little less slurring of words. She’d rolled her eyes but told them to wait in the lobby while she took Rhys back to her studio.

Feyre had no intention of actually tattooing her very intoxicated boyfriend just because he and his brothers had made a stupid bet. He’d have to be completely sober before she agreed to that.

Guiding Rhys into her back room, she waited until he was sitting on the edge of her large, leather chair before moving to stand between his spread legs. His hands instantly found her waist and she rested her palms on his thighs.

Quirking a brow at her boyfriend, Feyre asked, “Did you actually think you could out drink Cassian?”

Rhys scoffed, “I’m just as big as he is, why shouldn’t I have been able to do it?”

Feyre smirked as Rhys pouted. “Babe, you may be fit,” she huffed a laugh at his raised brow, “okay, fine, extremely fit, but Cass is a tank. And he’s a bartender. There’s no possible way you could’ve won that bet.”

Rhys kept pouting, flexing his fingers over her hips, “You’re supposed to be on my side, Darling.”

She laughed and pecked him on the cheek. “I am, always.” She kissed his lips for good measure. “But I’m going to tease you when you’re being an idiot.”

He used his grip on her hips to pull her towards him for an actual kiss. Feyre stayed wrapped in his arms for as long as she could stand his horrid tequila-drenched breath. Letting her arms loop around his neck and her fingers tangle in his hair, Feyre pulled back.

Rhys let his forehead droop onto her chest and Feyre had the distinct feeling that it was less about the warm comfort of her skin and more about an excuse for Rhys to press his face into her breasts.

“I don’t hear any needles buzzing back there, Fey!” Cassian bellowed from the lobby area. She snorted at the clear sound of a hand hitting someone’s head and the following curse.

She rolled her eyes but kept playing with Rhys’ hair as he mumbled something too muffled for her to understand.

“What was that?” she asked.

Raising his face, he looked at her and winced. “Are you actually going to tattoo me?”

She snickered at the disdain on his features.

“Maybe I should,” she teased, “to teach you a lesson making ridiculous bets.”

Rhys winked. “you can teach me a lesson anytime, Darling.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and was about to retort back when Cassian yelled again, “Baby Arche! We’re not paying you to make out back there!”

She snorted and hollered, “You’re not paying me at all! I’m getting there, don’t rush me.”

Azriel’s voice came next, “We didn’t bring your intoxicated man-child here so the two of you could get it on in the back parlor.”

Rhys snorted and replied back, “You say that like it’s never happened.”

“Rhys.” She hissed, smacking his arm as he chuckled.

“Gross,” two voices audibly gagged from the other room. “You’d better sanitize back there!”

A pause, then a disgusted Cassian said, “You’ve tattooed me on that chair, I don’t want to know what you sickos have done to it.”

Feyre and Rhys snickered before she said, “You might want to avoid the front couch then, too.”

Rhys, still grinning, added, “And the check-out counter—”

“—and the bathroom sink!” Feyre finished.

“Heathens.” Azriel muttered.

Rhys and Feyre laughed at their friends’ obvious disgust.

“I don’t need to hear any more of this,” Cassian insisted. “Ever.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and turned on her machine, allowing the steady buzz of the needle to flow into the waiting area; Cassian’s loud whoop telling her the sound was loud enough.

She carefully set the device on her counter and let the buzz echo through the room as she turned towards a small drawer and pulled out a colorful packet.

Rhys raised an eyebrow at the needle she clearly wasn’t prepping to use on him and watched as she flipped through the pages of whatever she was holding.

She paused on a page and grinned, flipping it around for him to see.

“Do you want a flying bat or one that’s hanging upside down?”

Rhys blinked. Twice. He slowly grinned back at his clever girlfriend as she handed him the sheet of temporary, press-on tattoos.

They were cartoonish-looking designs; the ones made for children that you could use a wet cloth to press onto your skin. He flipped through the rest of the pages to see a variety of other animals and plants, all ready to be cut out and used.

“Is my only choice a bat?” He grinned, looking back up at Feyre to see her already grabbing a scissor and paper towel.

She snorted. “That was what your brothers insisted on.” She took back the packet and carefully cut out the two bats. “They may be drunk enough to think a press-on is a real tattoo, but I don’t know if they’d accept anything else.”

When she held up both bat options for him, he nodded towards the one with outstretched wings. Feyre wet the paper towels and pushed his sleeve up to reveal his toned forearm. After making sure his skin was clean and dry, she gently pressed the bat onto his skin and covered the design with the wet paper towel, allying pressure to keep the image steady.

Rhys reached over with his free hand and grabbed the packet again. “Why do you have these? Besides for saving your boyfriend from a stupid bet?” he finished with a wide grin.

She laughed, still pressing firmly on the tattoo. “I keep them for the kids.”

At his raised brow she rolled her eyes. “Sometimes my clients can’t help but have their kids with them, so I keep the press-ons for those who see their parents and insist they get a tattoo, too.” She snorted at some memory. “I used to have washable markers for them to use but then a few of them would walk out of here looking like some avant-garde painting, so I switched to these. It’s adorable when they hold their cartoon dragon next to their parent’s actual ink.”

Rhys chuckled and Feyre lifted her hand, slowly peeling back the sticky paper to reveal a cute, flying bat.

He flexed his arm, grinning as the movement made the bat’s wings look as if they were flying. “How do I look?”

She leaned in to inspect the bat, making a show of darting between the cartoon and his real tattoos trailing down his arm. “Hmm, I think maybe when you’re sober, I should actually ink this onto you.”

Her grin made him laugh. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss next to the bat, careful not to brush it, and he smiled as she looked back at him.

“How’s it going?” Az’s low voice carried from the front room, making Feyre chuckle and Rhys huff.

She leaned over and expertly turned off the still-buzzing needle before calling back, “Just finished!”

Rhys brought his arm up and laughed again at the small, cheery bat placed between his darker swirls of years-old markings. He locked eyes with Feyre again as she put her supplies away and moved to stand once again between his legs. “You think they’ll buy it?”

She snorted, “Probably not.” She laughed again at his sullen expression. “But I don’t think the bet ever specified the tattoo having to be real.”

Rhys’ grin returned in full force as he brought his hands to Feyre’s face and guided her lips towards his. “You, Darling, are spectacular.”

Laughing again, Feyre leaned out of his reach. “And you, babe, still have horrible breath.”

Rhys rolled his eyes but loosened his grip as she stepped out of his arms, taking her hand as she led them back towards the front lobby.

“Come on,” she said over her shoulder, winking, “let’s show them your new tattoo.”

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @surielandiareendgame @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash

[notchesandbullets]

Vintage Books and Midnight Promises (Tattooed!Bakugou x Bookworm!Reader) Modern!AU

Warnings: none, just fluff. features Child!Eijirou, Child!Izuku and brief Dadzawa at the end

Synopsis: Your days are brightened by the appearance of Eijirou and Izuku but you don’t recognize the tattooed man who accompanied the two children into your bookshop one day. But he finds his way into your heart and before you can stop it, you’re already in too deep for the man with tattoos that rippled like the purest form of water and smelled like blueberries hand-picked on the warmest day.

Inspired by: @all1e23 ‘s series “Astrophile” (this is one of my favorite comfort fanfics, i highly recommend it)

Words: 9.8k

It was a beautiful, sunny day.

Steam coming from a hot cup of coffee curled in the air and you sighed as you set down the porcelain teacup that had been a gift from your grandmother on the front desk, sinking deeper into the velvety cushion of your seat as you basked in the tranquility of the empty store before the bell on the door would inevitably ring again.

The musty yet homey scent of secondhand books clung to the worn pages in all the stories of mystery, fantasy and nonfiction that filled the old and rickety oak shelving you had bought at an auction five years ago.

The cornershop sat at the end of a particularly quaint neighborhood in the small town you lived in and you couldn’t imagine anything else more relaxing other than grabbing a cup of coffee from the loft upstairs and curling up with a good book until store hours were over.

You got a steady stream of regulars and occasionally a few new faces here and there that ended up coming back quite frequently. You hoped that had something to do with the notion that they liked to read, since that’s all you could really hold a conversation about.

The latest thriller that was published or that underrated author that never seemed to get enough attention in your opinion, even though their work was such a delight for you to read, whatever it was, you could talk about books for hours.

Maybe that’s why it was so hard to act normal around those vastly more social than you.

Ever since you could remember, you had your nose buried in a book, bumping into street lamps and crashing into people as you failed to look up for even a second to see where you were going.

People never seemed to quite understand you, why you preferred the company of books over people, but you didn’t need them to understand. Books were all you had and you liked to keep it that way.

Books were consistent and there would always be more literature to read.

Luckily, it was a weekday so business was pretty slow and in just another hour, you would be free to finish up repainting the storefront.

But first, you needed to conclude this book. You were so close to the ending and the author had been stringing you along on a thread of hope that the protagonist was going to make it out and save the day, you were on the edge of your seat!!

Your eyes flitted across the pages at a speed too fast for human eyes to comprehend and you were so engrossed in the book that you didn’t notice the shadow that passed by outside.

You jumped as the door to your little bookshop flew open with a bang, losing your balance from where you had been perched on your favorite stool and crashed to the floor.

Sitting up with a groan of pain, you rubbed your now sore bottom and winced. “Ow…”

You hadn’t anticipated someone coming and wreaking havoc on your little shop. It was a good thing you had a good memory and had marked the page you left off of in your head or else that customer that had so rudely barged in would be getting more than just some curt words from you.

“Sorry.” A curt and gruff apology came from over the counter and your mouth pressed in a hard line as you got to your feet.

“Is everything alright?” You asked slowly, brushing the dust off of your clothes and making eye contact with the stranger for the first time.

In front of you was some punk who had incredibly intricate tattoos visible on his arms.

You eyed him up and down. He was pretty tall. Okay, correct that, he towered a good head over you, but what was the most intimidating was that scowl on his face that looked like it was permanently glued there for some reason.

His shoulders were broad and even under that sleeveless tank he was wearing, his muscles rippled and you rolled your eyes.

So he was one of those.

But you stopped a bit of ink twining up his neck and cocked an eyebrow at the prospect of him having more underneath his clothes.

You didn’t react despite where your mind just went, internally screaming at yourself to get a grip.

Guys like him didn’t randomly walk into a bookshop like yours. You had half a mind to call the police, thinking he was about to loot your store, but hesitated because he hadn’t done anything and it was wrong to judge someone you didn’t know under stereotypes that were groomed into you from a young age.

Not to mention, if he actually was going to rob you for whatever reason, he wouldn't have announced his presence like that.

Unless he was an idiot. Either one was equally possible at the moment while you waited for him to say something. Anything.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said shortly after a pause, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and your stance softened a bit when you noticed how uncomfortable he looked. You could understand that feeling.

Plastering a smile on your face, you leaned back and shrugged, accepting what you suspected to be his version of an apology. “It’s okay, it was an accident.”

“Miss Y/N!!! Miss Y/N!!! Down here!!!”

“We’re down here!!!”

The small, childish chorus had your eyes brightening up in an instant as you recognized the voices and you were racing out from behind the counter within a second.

“Eijirou, Izuku!!” You knelt down to hug both of the toddlers tightly. “I didn't know you two were coming today!!”

They normally came on the weekends with their dad, it was so rare to see them on a weekday, with a new face nonetheless.

Eijirou’s shiny red eyes blinked up at you and he beamed brightly while Izuku shuffled his feet self-consciously, sniffling as he clutched his All Might plushie tight to his chest.

You cooed, lifting his chin sweetly to wipe away the tears. “What's wrong, Izuku?”

He sniffled, hugging his comfort plushie tighter as he pointed up to the scowling man that had accompanied them. “He… He’s mean.”

The ash-blond’s forehead creased in annoyance as you sent him a questioning look. “Shut your mouth, you fucking brat!!”

You covered Eijirou and Izuku’s ears, glaring at him. He matched it in intensity and it wasn’t until you saw how he wasn’t going to back down that you sighed, breaking off eye contact and conceding as you caught the tears streaming down Izuku’s round cheeks.

“Yeah, he’s big and scary, let’s leave him here, okay?” You said to the little boy, pretending not to notice the punk’s glare following the two of you as you led the now cheered up Izuku over to the back of the store.

Every time they came, you made sure to have the children’s area brushed up for them. The floor to ceiling windows in that one corner in the back had deep purple curtains drawn open during the day, shining light directly on the soft leather sofa that belonged to your family.

The perfect place to read.

A tug on the man’s hand had him looking down.

“Bakugou!!” The red-haired toddler shouted excitedly, frantically pulling him to where you were at only to run out of breath from his efforts as the man didn’t budge. “I want to go too!!”

“You’re staying here where I can see you, Shitty Hair.” Bakugou grumbled, running an exasperated hand through his spiky hair as he waited for the other brat to come back so that they could leave.

“You can come with!!” Eijirou begged, still trying to convince the stubborn man who was their guardian for the time being while their dad was busy. He huffed and puffed but still he didn’t move an inch.

He snorted haughtily, his grip tightening on the brat’s when he switched tactics and tried to pry off the hand that was holding his. “Like hell I would.”

Eijirou’s lower lip wobbled dangerously as he stopped fighting. “But you promised!!”

Bakugou inwardly groaned and looked away from the toddler. Tears from the brats were his fucking weakness and he hated it. But he still wasn’t going to let him.

The only reason why he agreed to take them here in the first place was because they wouldn’t shut up, begging for him to take them to the bookstore that they visited every week with their dad over and over again, promising that they wouldn’t ask for anything else the whole rest of the day.

They just wanted to see you.

Bakugou only agreed because they crossed their hearts that they would be quiet if he took them and if they didn’t make good on their word, then he would blow them up.

But what he didn’t mention was that he was a little intrigued by the girl that they talked about excitedly all the way there.

Tch, shitty brats. Fucking annoying.

Eijirou never cared about his threats when he declared that he would blow them up, going so far as to smile brightly in his face, completely unaffected while that shitty nerd’s face went ashen and lost all its color as he cowered behind his brother to avoid the scary man that towered over them.

Izuku lacked the spine that Eijirou had.

Bakugou pushed off the counter that he was leaning against as you came back into view with a happy Izuku in tow.

Eijirou visibly deflated and tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. “You’re all done? B-But I wanted to pick some out too!!”

You hushed him softly as you saw how close he was to sobbing, crouching down to his level and ruffled his hair. “You can choose what you want too, Eiji.”

His whole face lit up. “Really?!”

“Of course!!” You reassured with a smile, the edges of your eyes crinkling as you stood up and offered him your other hand that wasn’t joined with Izuku’s. But after Izuku swung your hand, you took that as your cue to let go. “Come on!!”

This time, Bakugou wasn’t fast enough to intervene as Eijirou took your hand and zoomed off with you trailing behind him, practically dragging you behind him as he took on the personality of a race car. He gritted his teeth in annoyance, wanting nothing more than to leave this place that had absolutely no business with and he clenched his hands into fists, storming over to where the two of you ran off to with full intention of grabbing the shitty brat and exiting with nothing more than a word.

But he faltered at the sound of your laughter bouncing off the bookshelves and unconsciously retracted his hand as he turned the corner.

To be honest, he didn’t know what made him stop. But seeing you there, with Eijirou tuckered out in your lap as you read him a book, Izuku bounding past him just to cuddle up on your other side was making him soft.

Fuck emotions. He hated having a heart.

You were seated on a huge, tan leather sofa that looked worn with age and was packed with brightly-colored pillows that looked much softer than he wanted to admit as he found himself drifting towards the three of you.

Truth be told, he only took them here because they were begging for either this or the zoo and he could not fucking stand the zoo.

What the fuck was so interesting about animals locked in a pen?

“Get up brats, we’re leaving.” Bakugou barked, glaring pointedly at the fucking brats when they cracked their eyes open as you stopped reading.

A chorus of whines and protests followed by some very pouty begging made you crack a smile at his unchanging demeanor.

“You know~” You sang, holding back a giggle at the suspicious look the man shot you as you shut the children’s book you were reading in favor of glancing at the two kids out of the corner of your eye. “I do have a ton of pizza that needs to be finished today. I don't suppose there's anyone out there that can help me with such a big task.”

Izuku and Eijirou shrieked in delight, bouncing up and down on the sofa, alternating between screaming yes and pleading for him to let them stay.

Bakugou, on the other hand, was fucking irritated as hell.

You were trying to bribe him with pizza? How un-fucking-believable. You were worse than the two troublemakers shrieking so loud, it felt like his head was going to split. He didn’t believe what he just heard. But was it working?

Yup.

Because your sundress flared around your knees as you crossed your legs to accommodate both the boys. The tresses of your hair fell around your face so softly he vaguely wondered if it was even possible for someone to look so innocent while conducting a pizza scheme.

Izuku scratched his head cutely as he yawned widely, exhausted from all the hopping he just did as Eijirou began to jump up and down around you, his endless energy coming off of him in waves.

“We can help!!!” He cried, tugging Izuku upright and the little boy stumbled, landing on his rear on the couch with an ‘oof’.

But he didn't cry. Instead, he tilted his head curiously and blinked. “We can?”

“Yes!!” Eijirou insisted. He wanted pizza. He loved pizza. And Bakugou never treated them to it whenever he watched them, he said it would make them fat. “Please Bakugou!!!”

You raised an eyebrow as you heard the punk’s name for the first time. It sounded fitting for such a stoic and emotionless person that he was portraying at the moment as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the red-haired toddler.

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “What did I tell you about referring to your elders, Shitty Hair?”

“Ahh!!” You blurted out, sending him a sharp look that was meant to reprimand him. “Don't swear in front of them!!”

Bakugou glared at you uncaringly and you matched it, throwing in a pout for good measure.

You had no idea what was giving you all this confidence now. You had never been this comfortable interacting with a stranger. You blamed it on the children. They were far too familiar.

The moment of silence as you glared at each other was broken when both of the boys jumped down from the sofa at the same time.

Weird.

“Ahh, don’t go too far!!” You called out after them as you sprang up. “And don’t leave the store!!”

“M’kay!!!” Eijirou shouted back as he tugged Izuku, who was struggling to catch up, behind him. “Can I flip the sign, Miss Y/N?”

You giggled, hiding a grin from Bakugou as you nodded even though they couldn’t see. “Yes, just be careful and don’t go outside!!”

As he yelled that he knew back at you, you moved into a better light so that that one bookshelf wasn’t blocking your view of them so you could see them. Once you were in direct line of sight, your smile softened as you saw Eijirou lift Izuku up so that he could reach the sign and flip it around to show that you were closed for the day.

“They’re so sweet to each other.” You murmured to yourself.

The closeness of Bakugou’s scoff had you jumping back in surprise and you winced as your back crashed into the bookshelf behind you.

“Geez, I was going to say hell no.” Bakugou started as he chortled, smirking at you as you collected yourself. “But you’re even more of a klutz than that shitty nerd is.”

Brushing down your skirt, you coughed a couple times to cover up your blush of embarrassment. “I am not.”

“Uh, yeah you are.”

“Oh hush.” You snapped at him as the boys came bounding back, Izuku proudly holding up another book he wanted you to read for him that he found on the way back.

You giggled and ruffled his hair affectionately before asking if they’d like to continue reading here or up in the loft, to which they both sprinted to the stairs.

Well, that answered that question.

You sent a smile over your shoulder, inviting the grumpy man to follow you. “You coming or what?”

Bakugou hid a smirk as you turned back around and followed the hyperactive kids up the stairs.

You sure were interesting, he’d give you that.

And that night, the four of you fell asleep in the loft, with four boxes of cheese, pepperoni and half-eaten vegetarian pizzas surrounding you as Izuku curled up beside you and Eijirou snored on top of Bakugou’s head.

You were very happy to see that it wasn’t the last time you saw the forever annoyed man who had barged into your store.

It had been a month since that day. And since then, Bakugou had become a regular face and you dreaded how you subconsciously looked forward to when he would show up randomly.

One time, he had popped in your store just to grunt out a greeting and toss a bag at you, demanding that you eat it or else he would fucking kill you, before leaving.

Opening it up, you saw the freshly-baked blueberry muffin inside. And when you bit into it, it was delicious.

The only thing that confused you was that there was no good bakery around here, so you had absolutely no idea where he got it from.

Today, another weekday, they came again all bright smiles and sunshine and you bolted off your stool, abandoning your freshly-brewed coffee to greet them before they could even step into the bookstore.

There were still a few hours of daylight until closing time and you had some more things to finish up.

Bakugou leaned against the wall as you rearranged the display on the top shelf. The ever energetic Izuku and Eijirou had sped over to their corner the second they ran into the store, greeting you over their shoulder as the two boys tunneled past you.

You had pouted but let them go have their fun since tonight would be another night of pizza and soft drinks while you read them their favorite books.

Last time, Eijirou came to you with a stack of at least fifteen and you nearly had a laughing fit when one of them was a little too high for his age group.

He could read all those young adult novels with glorious battles featuring knights and dragons when his vocabulary increased a bit more.

A green-haired boy with freckles toddled up to you with his counterpart and buddy in crime nowhere to be seen.

Giggling, you approved the ones that Izuku held up to you with wide eyes blinking slowly.

“I’ll read it for you a little later, yeah?” You said, patting his head.

“Okay!!”

You flailed for a second as you lost your balance, the little boy disappearing from sight once again before he could realize you were off kilter due to the speed that he zipped at but a pair of strong hands settled on your waist to steady you.

Lips parting in surprise, you turned around to see Bakugou’s trademark sneer as he stared up at you.

“Dumbass.”

“Hey!!” You protested, all gratitude gone, and your lips pursed in a firm line as you disputed his claim.

But you were startled at the rough rumble that emitted from his chest and it took you a second to realize that he was laughing. At your expense, but still, it warmed your heart to hear.

“Well, look at that.” You teased. “He’s not so cold after all.”

“Tch.” Bakugou’s amusement faded as he glared at you for that but you just brushed it off.

You turned your attention back to the top shelf but misjudged the distance as you stretched out your hand. Yelping as one of the stool legs gave out, you careened to the side and squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact.

But your eyes shot open as you didn’t hit the ground like you expected. Instead, you landed on something softer than the hardwood floor.

When a pained groan sounded underneath you, you scrambled upright.

“Oh my gosh!! I’m so sorry!!!”

Bakugou had somehow cushioned your fall, making you land on him rather than crash to the ground.

Your cheeks flamed when you realized you were straddling his waist, hands splayed on his chest and you squeaked when he caught you staring.

“Oi, are you going to fucking stare at me all day?” Bakugou snarked and you huffed, clambering off of him clumsily.

It was a good thing you weren’t wearing a dress today. That would’ve been so embarrassing.

“I’m really sorry.” You apologized again, sheepishly tucking your hair behind your ear as you tried to appear less frazzled than you felt as he picked himself up from the floor.

Before he could say anything, though it was probably something not very nice, Izuku ran around the corner with Eijirou hot on his heels.

“Miss Y/N!!!” Izuku called out breathlessly, his chubby cheeks flushed pink from running so fast. “Miss Y/N!!! I have a secret to tell you!!”

“Izuku, I want to tell her!!!” Eijirou complained with a small pout.

“No, I want to!!!” He pushed back fiercely before he turned to you with bright forest green eyes and beamed. “Miss Y/N—”

“Bakugou has a crush on you!!!!” Eijirou interrupted, dancing in circles around you and out of Bakugou’s reach as the man swiped at him.

Bakugou snarled as the toddler screeched and dived in between his legs to escape him. “Get back here, you fucking brat!!!!”

Izuku tugged on your pant leg, tears brimming in his eyes as his lower lip trembled. “M-Miss Y/N…”

Your giggles died down as Bakugou continued to chase Eijirou and you smiled reassuringly, bending down to pick him up.

“Aww, it’s okay, Izuku.” You reassured with a chirpy smile. “If you want, we can just pretend you told me, yeah?”

He smiled and kicked his feet happily, giggling as he waved his All Might plushie back and forth.

“Do we get to stay tonight too?”

“Yup!!” You beamed, hoisting him higher as you collected the book that you needed to put away and balance it on your head so that you could hold the toddler with two hands. “I already checked it with your dad and he said it was okay!!”

Aizawa had sounded stressed when you called him but that was to be expected. His line of work was tough but he had quickly agreed to it. He had interacted with you enough to know that you looked out for them almost as much as he did.

Besides, in the small town, word got around fast. If there was dirt on you, he would’ve heard about it by now.

Izuku tugged on your braid innocently to catch your attention. “Can we leave him downstairs when you read to us?”

You giggled and booped his nose, watching it scrunch up cutely. You already knew he was talking about Bakugou. “Why do you want him to stay downstairs?”

Izuku pouted. “Because he snores too loud.”

“Hah?! Say it to my face, Deku!!!” Bakugou’s yell echoed from somewhere on the other side of the store and you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

“C’mon,” You said softly, bouncing Izuku on your hip as you crept around the other side. “Let’s go see if we can help Eiji and then we’ll sneak upstairs before he finds us, yeah?”

“Yayyy!!!” Izuku cheered happily.

“FOUND YOU, SHITTY NERD!!!”

“Uh oh, Miss Y/N, run!!!!!”

An hour and a lot of duct tape later, Bakugou was sitting in the punishment chair for those that misbehaved while you read to the boys upstairs.

About ten minutes later, you flicked the lights off upstairs as you headed back down, being careful about which lamps to turn on since you didn’t want to wake the kids.

You fought back a grin as you saw the poorly wrapped duct tape tying his wrist to the chair. Apparently you could’ve been more clear to the boys that since the stuff was sticky, they didn’t have to necessarily tie it around his arm like string.

You were quite sure that Bakugou could've gotten up if he wanted to so you left him down there but when you finished the last book and he was nowhere to be seen, you came downstairs only to find him in the exact same position you left him in.

“What's wrong? Tied you up too tight?” You teased, knowing it had no merit.

“Ha ha, you’re so fucking funny.” Bakugou glowered at you, then his blank expression morphed into subtle curiosity. “The brats asleep?”

“Yeah,” You said, rubbing your arms as a breeze blew by and you frowned as you held out your hand and started to follow it all the way to its source and it only furrowed deeper when you deduced that it was coming from a crack in the front door. “Rats.”

“What the…” Bakugou trailed off as he came up behind you and at this point you didn’t even flinch.

For someone who was so tall and had such a fit physique, he sure moved like the wind. You were used to it by now.

You sighed, planting your hands on your hips after testing the lock to make sure it still worked properly. Thank goodness that was still fine. “It happens every winter. I think it has something to do with the wood and the weather when the temperature drops but I already fixed it this past season so I don’t know why…”

Burrowing your face in your hands, you groaned and tried to put it in back of your mind for now.

But Bakugou’s brow knitted at the safety concern and he jangled the knob to play around with it.

By the time you had stopped trying to think of ways to solve this problem temporarily until you had the means for a more permanent solution, Bakugou had fixed it.

Your jaw dropped as you saw he had stuffed some kind of weather strip you had laying in the corner with the rest of the maintenance tools collecting dust and bluntly claimed he’d fix it in the morning for you.

“You don’t have to do that!!” You cried out, feeling bad and not wanting to owe him anything.

Bakugou snorted. “That wasn’t a fucking question, dumbass.”

You opened your mouth to protest but the pitter-patter of tiny feet scaling down the stairs made you both raise your heads.

Your eyes filled with concern as you saw the little boy dragging a blankie behind him with his thumb stuck in his mouth.

“Izuku?” You rushed over and dropped down to the floor, not caring how you scraped your knees in the process. “What’s wrong?”

He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“... had a nightmare…” He mumbled under his breath, close to tears and your gaze softened sympathetically.

Opening your arms to him, you caught yourself as he ran into you and you walked back to where Bakugou was observing.

Nightmare. You mouthed at him and his eyes grew dark for a second.

You didn’t understand why but you didn’t ask any questions as you focused on consoling the crying boy.

“Hey, Izuku,” You whispered softly when he had calmed down enough to be coherent and tell you a little what it was about. “You know what always makes me feel better?”

He blinked up at you. “Pizza?”

You giggled and tapped his nose gently. “Well yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of ice cream…”

You didn’t miss the way eyes lit up and he automatically turned to an indifferent Bakugou watching the both of you while leaning against the wall with a pleading expression, and immediately, the man was shaking his head violently.

“Hell no.” He refused flatly. Upon the fresh tears that welled up in Izuku’s eyes, he turned to you, as though he needed to prove to you that he had a good reason for saying no. “It’s late out.”

“There’s a 24/7 store that carries ice cream right down the street.” You supplied helpfully, smiling innocently when he glared at you.

Bakugou sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair, gripping it in frustration. “It’s dark, Y/N. It’s dangerous.”

“I can go.” You suggested, trying to pry off an Izuku who was clinging to you.

“The hell? Fuck no.” Bakugou hissed and you sighed, giving up on trying to make the green bundle that was pretending to be a leech unstick from you.

“I’ll be right back.” You negotiated. “It’s not even that far—”

“You’re not going.”

You balked at the unrelenting tone he took with you but shut your mouth when you saw the look in his eyes. The look that told you he had seen things that he probably would never tell you.

You saw it in the way his hands shook ever so slightly when he held either Eijirou or Izuku, like he was afraid they would disappear on him the second he let go. You knew that kind of fear and you didn’t argue against him.

But before you could smile sadly at Izuku for letting him down, Bakugou was stomping upstairs and waking up the other slumbering toddler.

There was a muffled shout and then a grunt from above.

“Wake up, Shitty Hair.”

“Eh?! Where are we going?!”

You winced as a crash sounded from the upper level. You didn’t want to know what he broke this time.

But you followed Bakugou’s thinking. Even if the door was sturdy for now, it wasn’t a good idea to leave a child alone for whatever reason, even if you weren’t going to be gone long. If Eijirou woke up all alone, there was a good possibility he would venture outside by himself and that wouldn’t be good.

Besides, Eijirou would be sad if he missed out on this adventure.

It had taken five minutes for Bakugou to wrangle Eijirou, who was way too energetic this late at night, and an additional ten just before the four of you left the store.

Bakugou locked it behind you as you carried Izuku out.

Initially, he had insisted that he could carry him to give you a break but you told him you didn’t mind.

And you really didn’t. The little boy was snoozing softly against your shoulder and you were happy that you could provide some small amount of comfort to him after such a scary bad dream.

The trip was pretty uneventful. Nothing happened, you guys got there safely, Bakugou paid for more ice cream than you guys could consume in one night, saying something about how it was so he didn’t have to do this whole thing again and you walked back.

There were some stragglers out and you got a couple of glances that normally would’ve made your skin crawl but for some reason, this time you felt reassured as Bakugou drifted to your side and kept you close as he made sure Eijirou didn’t let go of his hand.

Eijirou was good, for the most part.

He was unusually serious and didn’t goof off inside the grocery store like he did in your bookshop and you were grateful for that. You didn’t know if you had the energy to chase him down like Bakugou had done earlier if he decided he wanted to play hide-and-seek.

At one point, Bakugou’s free hand that wasn’t busy holding onto the tubs of ice cream or Eijirou, to make sure he didn’t wander off, crept around your shoulders and pulled you close when someone who was drunk out of their minds strayed too close to you.

“Back the fuck off.” He growled protectively as he tucked you and Izuku into his side, glaring at them until they got the message and went on their way.

You were thankful that there wasn’t enough light for him to see the blush present on your cheeks and as you stepped back inside the safety of your bookstore, the boys going after the comfort ice cream like puppies with ice, you didn’t know quite how to feel when his scorching touch left you.

And you wondered why your heart was beating so fast.

By the time the next weekend had rolled around, it was their twentieth time coming together and you were starting to get a bit alarmed at how familiar their appearance was. You actually had to stop in your tracks when you realized you not only were looking forward to seeing Izuku and Eijirou but also Bakugou.

Crap.

That punk had wormed his way into your heart even more but you’d be damned if you let him stay there.

Convincing yourself you’d get over this petty little crush before it became a problem, you picked out some gifts for the two boys the next time you would see them.

By the time you had walked down the street to your shop from the toy store, you actually realized that they beat you to it. You had to calm the two toddlers down as they ran up to greet you, Eijirou vastly quicker on his feet than Izuku, even though the little boy tried his hardest.

They squealed as you gave them presents, showing them off to Bakugou and sped off into their corner to go play. Just like clockwork.

“So…” You started, cringing at how awkward you sounded now that you were alone with Bakugou. “Where’s their dad today?”

Bakugou coughed, then cleared his throat. “You mean that scruffy old man?”

You cracked a smile. “That’s the one.”

He was always with them. He was the first one to bring the boys in on a slow day, which quickly livened up due to the endless amount of energy contained inside a little Eijirou and a tiny Izuku.

Midgets. You loved them so much.

Their cheeks were so squishy, too. Adorable.

It had been months since you had last seen Aizawa and you were a little bit worried about him. But you figured if anyone would know if he was okay would be the man entrusted to watch his sons.

Bakugou sighed, crossing his arms over his chest so that his muscles bulged out from that sleeveless tank he was wearing. The patches of ink rippled in the light and moved almost like it was real. “Aizawa-sensei’s not their dad but he acts like it too fucking much to pretend that it’s not true anymore.”

You giggled at his harsh words edged with a bit of something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Something that sounded like begrudging fondness.

Bakugou jerked his chin to where Izuku was chasing after Eijirou, begging him to help him get a book down from the shelf. Usually, you’d go help them but the adorable little toddler puffed out his chest and started clambering up the step ladder to get it.

Bakugou had bought that one himself to replace the rickety one you had accidentally broken and fallen off of so you knew it was sturdy. They would only fall off of it if they weren’t careful but you were within sight of them so you weren’t too worried.

“He’s enlisted in the military so he can’t always watch them even after they blacklisted him. His old unit just recently got reinstated.” Bakugou said with a scowl, not bothering to elaborate on that, but his eyes softened the tiniest bit as Izuku huffed and puffed to catch up with Eijirou, his little legs working overtime to compensate for his lack of height. “So he gave the brats to me to make sure they didn’t kill themselves or something.”

You grinned, clasping your hands behind your back and stuck your face close to his, skirt swirling around your ankles as you sent him a cheeky smile.

“You volunteered, didn’t you?”

“Shut the hell up, no I didn’t!!” He shouted but you bit back the smile threatening to overtake your entire face.

“You’re too easy to read~” You teased.

Bakugou grabbed for you but you dodged easily. Gritting his teeth in determination, he ran after you and you yelped at how quickly he was gaining on you.

Damn, it was a bad day to wear these shoes.

You ducked around the corner only for him to catch up to you in a split second. You squeaked as he slammed you into the bookshelf, caging you in between his arms as he smirked down at you.

“I won.” He declared triumphantly.

You rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue. “Such a child.”

Bakugou scowled. You were one to talk, taunting him like you two were friends or something. “Oi, fucking take that back.”

Your eyes glinted mischievously. “Or you’ll do what? Try to punch me again? Maybe this time you’ll actually land one and not miss like a lose—”

You gasped as his chest bumped into yours, his red eyes glimmering dangerously. His breath was hot against your face and your heart stopped.

“I don’t fucking lose.” He growled.

You gulped. Perhaps you had crossed a line. Your gaze darted away from him for a second, not even bothering to push him away because you knew you couldn’t.

“Thank you.”

Bakugou raised an eyebrow in surprise but masked it quickly. “For what?”

“For the other day.” You clarified. “I think I would’ve been screwed if you hadn’t come with, so thank you.”

He snorted and looked away. “Don’t mention it, dumbass.”

You were going to leave it at that but at that moment, a soft giggle floated through the air along with some very loud and obvious shushing.

Bakugou immediately tore after the little brats without a second thought as both Eijirou and Izuku poked their heads around the corner to spy on you and you threw your head back and laughed.

They were so goofy but maybe that crush they had told you about that you had so easily dismissed at first wasn’t so ridiculous after all.

While you were busy helping other customers throughout the day, Bakugou occasionally came to check in on you and make sure you were taking your breaks and eating, all while reassuring you that the shitty brats were fucking fine and you didn’t need to be worried about shit.

He could handle it.

You smiled and waved a hand at him when he left, giggling when he flipped you the bird before turning to the next person who wanted to check out.

The sun set and night fell, all along with the comfortable routine you had grown accustomed to having with all three of the boys.

But you bolted upright as Eijirou nonchalantly revealed something you didn’t expect the instant you finished setting up the tent for movie night.

“IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY?!?!” You screeched in Bakugou’s ear.

Bakugou clapped a hand over your mouth, sending you a death glare, undoubtedly for your insanely loud volume, but you wrangled him off of you.

“Bu— You— Why didn’t you say something?!”

He looked at you as though you were crazy. You two barely knew each other and if he knew it was going to spur on this reaction, he definitely would’ve stopped Shitty Hair from saying that shit.

Too late now.

Bakugou slumped back against the makeshift fort you had set up for the boys in the loft. Said troublesome toddlers were currently going to town on your DVD collection so that they could choose a movie for tonight.

You only had cartoons from your childhood so it was a perfect selection for them. They were currently hunting through the bookshelf in your room that was connected to upper floor, just down the hall.

“What the hell is there to tell?” He grunted in your direction, a deep seated scowl on his features from the starry blankets and pillows that surrounded him.

You frowned. Growing up, birthdays had always been days that you looked forward to. The parties, the presents, family and friends to celebrate it with, you always loved it. Maybe there was a reason he didn’t want to celebrate it.

Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, you idly rocked back and forth as you thought about how best to approach the reproachful man.

Bakugou sighed and glared at your crossly. You weren’t going to let this go until he gave you an answer.

“There ain’t no deep reason for it, none of that bullshit.” He ground out eventually and you perked your head up, listening attentively. “I don’t see what’s so special about the day I was born, it’s the same as every other fucking day.”

He was caught off guard as you rapidly shook your head, crying out at his words.

“It’s not!!” You implored earnestly, the roots to your ideals running deep as you leaned forward. “The day you were born is so special!! It celebrates your life, Katsuki!!”

Bakugou swallowed hard. Your proximity was making it very hard to breathe. That light in your eyes, the one that was able to find happiness in even the smallest of things, he didn’t understand it.

It was the same kind of light that Deku had. How fucking annoying.

“Damn idiot.” He muttered as he turned your face away from you so that he wouldn’t be tempted to kiss your lips. They looked so soft…

Fuck, he was screwed over. Quick, he had to think of something else.

Luckily, the distraction came in the form of two very energetic boys barreling into the tent. You collapsed in a fit of giggles as Eijirou returned from his adventure and tunneled into you, Izuku tripping on the way in only to be caught by the back of his collar by a reluctant Bakugou.

Eijirou quickly fumbled with the DVD, holding the cartoons he and Izuku had selected together up proudly for you to see.

You cooed, pinching his cheeks and praised them for making such a good choice. This one was one of your favorites when you were younger and you hadn’t seen it in a while so this was as much a treat for them as it was for you.

The little tent was a bit more cramped than you had anticipated, especially with the two hyperactive boys added into the mix, but it was doable for now. Your leg was pressed up against Bakugou’s warm thigh but you tried not to think about it as you popped the DVD into the small TV you had set up on a table outside of the cozy fort.

Eijirou snuggled up in your lap while Izuku hesitated to climb onto a very comfy looking hothead, who was actually quite tame at the moment.

Unfolding his arms, Bakugou's lip curled back in a scowl. "Tch, hurry up, nerd."

You couldn't even bring yourself to say anything about his language because while Eijirou seemed largely unaffected by it, Izuku’s forest green eyes actually sparked as he recognized the indirect permission granted.

It was actually quite adorable how the boys could read the disgruntled older man like a book.

Bakugou attempted to hide it from you but he couldn't stop you from seeing how gently he rested his large hand on top of Izuku’s little green curls. The tent didn't provide that much privacy.

Not wanting him to stop showing the rare display of affection towards the affection-starved child, you averted your eyes so that he could carry on. You knew he would retract his hand so fast if he thought you were looking at them.

You didn't want to ruin the moment.

Snuggling back into the plushy pillow, you held onto Eijirou as he curled onto your stomach, straining to see the small screen that lit up with moving pictures.

“Izuku, it’s starting!!” He exclaimed excitedly.

There was a crash and then a loud swear and as you looked over to make sure that Izuku and Bakugou were both alright, you had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing at the scene that you were presented with.

At Eijirou’s well intended announcement, Izuku had hurried upright, knocking back into Bakugou at the same time as he scrambled forward to be able to see.

But in doing so, he had tripped over the cord connecting the TV to the outlet that was behind you and fell forward. Right as the box came crashing down, aimed directly for his head.

Luckily, no one was hurt.

Bakugou had caught Izuku by the collar of his shirt and hauled him back, out of harm’s way before anything could happen to him.

Any other time, you would’ve voiced how impressed you were but now you were just worried about the little boy, who was openly crying, apologizing over and over again for breaking it.

“It’s alright, Izuku.” You reassured gently, patting his head comfortingly. His emerald eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he blinked up at your, his freckled cheeks flushed an embarrassed shade of pink and your eyes softened. “You’re safe, so no harm done!! Don’t worry, okay?”

He sniffled and shakily nodded.

Bakugou had yet to say anything but his fingers were still curled protectively around Izuku’s stomach, ensuring that he didn’t move around carelessly. Next time, he might not be as lucky. Not that he was going to admit that he was scared or anything.

How fucking ridiculous.

While you switched out Eijirou with Izuku to calm him down, Bakugou took charge in cleaning up the shattered shards of cheap plastic that had broken upon impact.

Your TV wasn’t completely destroyed but the plastic screen had cracked at the corner. For something so old, it sure was robust, he’d give it credit for that.

Eijirou tugged on his hand, losing his balance and Bakugou’s arm shot out to prevent him from face-planting in the shards that he had just swept up.

“Watch what you’re doing, Shitty Hair.” He growled, concern masked under his sharp reprimanding and he glared at the now sheepish toddler.

“C’mere, Eiji.” You coaxed, waving your hand to have him come closer to you so that he was out of the way until Bakugou got rid of the small, clear pieces hiding on the floor. “I don’t want you to get hurt, so let’s stay out of his way, yeah?”

Eijirou nodded vigorously, finding the logic in your words with relative ease and agreeing with them instinctively.

Sighing to yourself, you unplugged the TV so that an electrical surge wouldn’t cause a fire. That was the last thing you needed.

You were sad that the boys were disappointed with the short-lived movie night. But Bakugou insists that he can fix it just like he fixed your front door so the three of you waited for him to work his magic while you curled up with a good book to read to them.

You had already asked if he wanted help but he glowered at you for suggesting such an insane thing and you backed off with a shit-eating grin.

After almost an hour of reading books and playing games to pass the time, he got it up and running again, laying the cable on top of the fort you built so that it was out of the way, making it impossible for anyone else to trip on it again.

This time, everything ran smoothly and all of you gorged yourselves on popcorn and soda as the cheesy cartoons played out on the screen, thoroughly entertaining the two little boys while you and Bakugou stole glances at each other the entire time.

By the time it finished, Izuku was already fast asleep and Eijirou was struggling to keep his eyes open.

You put them both to bed, Bakugou’s soft half-smile going over your head as you tucked them into the spare futon you had set up for them specifically, almost three months ago, when this all started.

“You’re too fucking soft.” Bakugou decided as you two went downstairs to let the boys sleep.

It was familiar, it was routine. After every night when they fell asleep, you two would stay up talking for hours about anything and everything.

He eventually opened up to you about the life he had been involved in before he met Aizawa, who saved his life. After that, he reformed, he got clean, the whole nine yards.

And you were proud of him.

You told him about your life, though it probably was nothing at all that interesting compared to his problems that he dealt with. But surprisingly, you found him nodding along understandingly as you voiced your hardships with being anti-social and having a bunch of insecurities and anxieties that often made talking to people a nerve-wracking experience and you were astonished to find the weight that uplifted as soon as he put in his two cents and said that he really did understand.

You skipped ahead of him, spinning around to tell him how much you’ve grown to look forward to your conversations when the guarded look on his face made the confession die on your lips.

“You okay?” You asked concernedly, approaching him cautiously to give him enough time to push you away if he wanted to be left alone.

He grunted in your direction. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But he didn’t sound fine. His voice was strained and a bead of sweat ran down his forehead.

Biting your lip, you tilted your head contemplatively. Ice cream and books generally made you feel better when you had a bad day but you realized you had no idea what comforted him.

Gingerly, you took his hand and frowned when you saw the faded scars. He had been hurt.

“What do you need?” You asked softly and he sighed in defeat.

“What’s your favorite book?” He grumbled out and your mouth parted in surprise at the odd request.

Wordlessly, you led him over to the counter to grab the same book you had been reading that day he had first barged in and so rudely knocked you off your stool.

You held it up to him and still holding your hand, he led you in the back where you normally sat with the boys to read to them.

“Katsuki?” You questioned.

He gritted his teeth, mumbling something under his breath.

“Um…” You trailed off nervously. “C-Can you say it again? I didn’t really hear you…”

Bakugou whirled around and you squeaked at how close his face was to yours.

“Read it to me.” He demanded without pause and you would’ve laughed, thinking he was playing a prank on you if it had not been for his steely gaze.

“Okay…” You drew out slowly, wondering where this was suddenly coming about as you sat down on the tan leather sofa and patted the spot beside you, turning on the table lamp beside you so that you could see him. “Do you want me to start from the beginning? I’m not sure if you’ll even like this book, I have no idea what you like to read—”

Bakugou shook his head to cut off your anxious rambling, recognizing that it was stemming from your nervousness at him possibly judging you for what you liked to read and he leaned back, resting his arms behind his head.

“Doesn’t fucking matter.” He mumbled. “Just start.”

Even though you had numerous questions running through your head, you obliged and began reading, the words flowing off your lips with practiced ease.

Bakugou never told you but he was jealous of how you always read to the brats. Granted, he was a full-grown adult who shouldn’t pout in the corner when they got more attention than he did but it was so fucking stupid how soothing your voice was and how much of an effect it had on him. 

He could listen to you for hours and never get bored. Why do you think he always stuck around when you hopped up on the same tan leather sofa to read to those shitty kids?

It wasn’t just because he liked to look at your face, but it was because of the smile you had whenever you would read to them, that soft tilt of your head when the books evoked emotions from the children you were reading to and the giggle that bubbled past your lips when they laughed at something that the character did.

It never failed to do things to his heart.

Bakugou’s eyes eventually drifted closed after an hour of reading to him and you tensed when he careened into you by accident.

“Sorry.” He said shortly as he righted himself and you shyly reassured him that it was okay.

He didn’t say anything but you knew.

Ever since he got out of his old life, he had found a steady job but it was in construction and the risk was incredibly high. The hours were long and often the conditions were unforgiving. He had seen things happen on the daily and you were cautious to ever bring it up to him when he pressed closer to you than usual or who stayed longer by the front desk while you worked during operating hours.

You were about to stand up and leave so that he could sleep since he was obviously exhausted but his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t go.”

It was quiet and it wavered but you didn’t hesitate.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you eased him down and swallowed hard when his own encircled your waist, bringing you close to him.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You promised.

Head laying on his chest, your heartbeat eventually synced with the rise and fall of it and you drifted off, unaware that Bakugou sealed your promise with a soft kiss to the top of your head.

The fragments of his heart gently pieced itself back together as he held onto you as though you were his lifeline and he couldn’t help but whisper brokenly.

“Thank you.”

Bonus:

“Papa!!!”

“You’re back!!”

Aizawa held a finger up to his lips as his boys reached for him at the same time, chuckling softly as he caught them both as they launched into him. He didn’t change out of his military gear yet, he wanted to see them first.

“Shh… “ He hushed quietly, ruffling both of their heads at the same time. Damn, he missed them. “Y/N’s sleeping downstairs.”

Instantly, both the boys shut their mouths and shot out at the speed of light.

Aizawa followed them downstairs just in time to see the two of them screaming silently as they danced around in rings around their favorite couch that you and Bakugou were cozied up on.

Your face was tucked under Bakugou’s chin and you were sound asleep. Meanwhile, the man beside you had his arm draped over your waist, the other one supporting your head as a makeshift pillow. The blankets on top of you were rumpled, as though they had been kicked aside in favor of you both seeking out each other’s warmth.

It was cute. Aizawa admitted it was one of the most heartwarming things he’d ever seen.

“Don’t wake them up.” Aizawa instructed as Izuku reached out to touch Bakugou’s spiky hair since he wasn’t awake to tell him off. “Not yet.”

Eijirou was curious but a wide grin broke out on his face when his dad pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures.

“Oooo, Papa, can I?! Please?!?!”

Gesturing for him to lower his voice, Aizawa nodded and handed it off, watching Izuku and Eijriou briefly squabble about who got to use it first when they sorted it out amongst themselves and Izuku took the first turn.

You awoke to the sound of a shutter clicking right by your ear and blinking slowly, your eyes shot open and you jerked as you realized where you were.

And who you were with.

“Katsuki, get up!!” You hissed as the boys laughed loudly. Hell, even Aizawa cracked a smile and you threw him an apologetic look, though you didn’t know what it was for. “Katsuki!!”

He groaned and turned his face the other way.

This time, Aizawa couldn’t help but tease him a little. “Katsuki, huh?”

Bakugou turned back around and glared at the offending person smirking at him. “Shut the hell up.”

Aizawa clicked his tongue. “Respect your elders.”

“Oh f—”

“OKAY!!!” You shouted, clapping your hands together before he could cuss him out. “Who wants breakfast?”

“Oh, oh, oh, me!!!” Izuku cried, jumping up and down excitedly.

“Yay, food!!!” Eijirou cheered.

Bakugou blearily rubbed his eyes and yawned. Thank goodness he didn’t have to go in today. “Oi, didn’t you just eat?”

“Yeah, but that was last night!!” The little boy protested. “My stomach is hungryyyyy.”

“Fucking Shitty Hair.”

A warning tone came from Aizawa. “Bakugou.”

“... Sorry.”

“Coffee?” You offered to Aizawa as you all traveled back upstairs, the little ones racing ahead of you.

He sighed gratefully, blinking his eyes tiredly. “That sounds perfect.”

He was exhausted and the trip back was even more brutal than the one that took him to his destination. But he didn’t want to get into all of that now.

Eijirou and Izuku shot to their designated seats at the kitchen island and you put on an apron before pulling open the fridge to see what you could make.

“I meant what I said.” Bakugou confessed quietly while you cracked the eggs and prepared the bacon.

You didn’t look at him, not wanting to give it away to the other three who were watching you both like some kind of TV show.

“I know.” You murmured, a soft smile playing on the corners of your lips. “I did, too.”

Your heart fluttered as he boldly pressed a kiss to your temple and you blushed violently when the boys whooped and hollered at the two of you, Eijirou making faces of disgust and pretending to gag when Bakugou made it look like he was going to kiss you on the lips in front of them.

Aizawa chuckled as he handled the coffee machine, able to easily figure it out as he brewed enough for the both of you. “Look at that? You have learned how to play well with others, Bakugou.”

And this time, Bakugou didn’t even spare him a glance as he gazed at you until you looked his way.

“What?” You asked nervously, wondering if you had something on your face.

Bakugou hid a smirk.

“How ‘bout blueberry muffins to go along with that coffee, sweetheart?”

[candidhart]

Made this one some time ago and had the HONOR of collabing with my dear friend @royai who wrote this AMAZING piece!

Love u Katie :3

After Dark

by @royai

It came as a surprise to Riza Hawkeye that the light could be as fearsome as the dark.

It never occurred to her that trouble could exist in the thin space between the two, that it should preserve itself there for a hundred years, maybe longer, and wait. She imagined herself as a girl asleep in her bed, moonlight slanting through her four-paned glass window, a ferry for the monsters and the things that were worse than monsters. Children checked under their beds and inside their closets, refused to venture into cellars and attics, thought of warding off the unknown with fat oil lamps and candles melting into their brass candlesticks. That things with spindly arms and bodies blacker than ink could use light as a conduit for their demented games… 

That they could touch her, even…

Nightmares took up residence in Riza’s sleep. In her waking too, they lingered there, limned her mind with the briefest flashing of tendrils. She curled into herself at night, closed her eyes on the horrors. The blackness found her, though. A million spider’s legs on her body, ghosting the flesh, raising the hairs, and that line on her cheek where the monster had touched her would weep. And she would weep, too, because it had been so long since dread had forced its way in. The tendrils brought strange, frantic memories to the forefront. A panic as familiar as church bells. 

Riza’s father, a monster in his own right, in the way that men become monsters and in the way that she had become a kind of monster too. He never minded her but to be those tendrils in the dark. Never in the light. That was her comfort, her safety, her promise.

The light.

A betrayal.

***

Central reached for her like a beggar. Grimy hands, oil-stained, gunk under fingernails chipped and jagged, it closed its hands around her and she was reminded, again, again, again, about the stories her father would tell. He would tell them in his sleep, and make promises of them in her ear, and he would tell them, even, through mouthfuls of blood. That Central was a bastard city. Its towers, spires, and cobblestones bathed in storefront lights bleeding from ornate windows, in the yellow glow of street lamps. 

Riza left her apartment and slipped off a curb, first thing. 

She remembered her first night in the city. Automobiles flicked light into her windows, made shapes out of the lamp she kept on a pile of boxes in the living room. Shadows in the dark. There were sounds all the time. Movement like tree branches.

Back East, back home, Riza could wander into the fields when she couldn’t sleep. She took a military vehicle into the countryside, an hour or so west, just a bit further inward. It parked fine on the dirt roads. Headlights would go black, melt into the darkness all around, and the hip-high grass cradled her as she sank down, down into the cottony earth. Most people counted sheep to sleep; Riza counted stars, stalks. 

She always woke before the sun. Home in time to rinse the sticks from her hair and brew coffee on her electric stove. 

Central did not exist to afford her any of that. Central was alive like hordes of flies are alive. Incessant buzzing, a whirring in your ear that you can’t see, that you worry might bury itself in your eardrum. Even before the tendrils and the monsters Riza would lie awake in her bed, books unearthed from boxes, clothes folded in neat squares over her dresser, a chest of drawers not quite filled yet, her apartment unpacked and unsettled, and fret over the whole of it: Central. 

She slipped off the curb and scraped her achilles on the concrete. Her teeth crashed together with the force, and she massaged her jaw as she reached down to rub her wounded ankle, fingers coming away wet and red.

A car beat over the cobbled street, spewing dampness from its tires. Riza wasn’t aware that it had rained but she smelled it now, acute and intense, like a single pinprick on the skin. 

Out east, that smell was earthy, ancient: soaked stone and evergreens, swollen carriages and damp horse hide, wetted dirt and a choked fire. 

Riza took Longmont to Leander, cutting her way through the city via back alleys where moonlight and street light was caught on brick corners and cordoned off by severe angles. She read the stories of women assaulted in Central well past dark, and had seen all the headlines he placed strategically at her desk, a tiny dog-shaped paperweight holding the newspaper steady until the moment Riza could read it and be properly warned. But it was never the people of Central who made her uneasy.

It was several blocks to his apartment. Riza folded herself into the dark. The creature could follow but he could not show himself here, not without a conduit, not without the light. Everything black, nothing inside of it, a void. 

A rectangle of light exploded over the ground. Riza stopped, terror seizing her hard. A woman with greying hair hummed and whistled as she sprinkled water out over hanging potted plants. Riza’s chest bounced frantically as she watched the shadow of the woman’s hands in the light, the shadow of the watering can wandering back and forth across the chasm of yellow, methodical as a pendulum. 

It happened so suddenly that Riza had little time to react. A mist, a gathering shadow, one red eye peeked out at her from the fluttering darkness. Then, like snakes, tendrils crept out of the line of black and into the little patch of light. Riza willed the woman to close the window, begged her, thought for a moment that she might shout or cry, but it was likely that the woman would only become curious and the window would remain uncovered as she came to watch from her lighted perch. 

The monster was an ancient child and yet, in this form, none of his features were childlike. His smile was wolfish and cruel, thin like a knife’s blade, and his tendrils sharp as barbs. They thrashed up against the liquid dark where Riza was hiding, attempting to gather her by the ankles. 

The child spoke using a dozen voices.

“Where are you going, Lieutenant Hawkeye?”

Home, she thought. An impulse, the truth, spoken so carelessly in her mind. To him. To the stars or the stalks, that tall grass and damp earth. Somewhere known. 

“You have made a rather purposeful attempt to evade me.”

“Forgive me,” she bit, “but our last meeting was less than enjoyable.”

The monster smirked.

“Do I trouble you so much, little Riza?”

The nickname, familiar in sound, comforting in its use, was a bitter poison on his tongue. 

“I’ll ask again for transparency.” The tendrils clawed at the ground, raked it. “Where are you going?”

Away from Central. 

Away from the light.

To him. To him. To him. 

He’ll shut off all the lights, pull all the curtains closed, feed her hot tea and leftover lentil soup and summer sausage. His apartment will smell like cologne and the candle with petals baked into it, and they’ll settle into the down of his bed and see nothing, and the monster will never even realize he has lost. 

“You have only as long as the window stays open,” she said, gaining confidence. “I am not bound to you. I can go wherever I want.”

As she said it, the woman in the window started to stir. Her footsteps grew closer, the sound of the humming rising, rising, rising into the final closing of the curtain. The monster’s frown was washed away by the night.

Riza ran.

His apartment was several blocks east of Central Headquarters. The storm’s eye, the quiet, the massive, white and oppressive thing. Riza wound her way past it without managing to sneak a glance. She didn’t need to. She could feel its gaze on her, what all of it represented. And the squared coach lights were tiny pillars of threats, waiting for her to come closer and be beckoned. 

She thundered past several shuttered windows; an older man on a stoop hunched close to the ground; the sounds of women chattering together like preening birds, their heels clicking over cracked brick and concrete. 

Riza took the stairs two at a time, lunging forward through the hall light, praying nothing would lurch out from the darkness and drag her away. She learned at a young age to fear the sudden jerk of the unknown. 

“Lieutenant Hawkeye,” he said. He must have heard her coming, because his door was wrenched open, and he stood there in pajamas and holding a cup of tea, the bag still soaking. 

“We’ve had an emergency at the office, sir.”

His brows trundled downward. 

“Please, come in,” he said, and moved aside as she nearly tripped her way into his apartment. “Excuse the mess.”

There was no mess, not quite like someone would expect. The Colonel’s apartment was better kept than hers, although she had just moved and he had gotten to stay. Things were collected together in neat piles: alchemy books gathered at one arm of the couch, on the floor, an old mug sat atop them, and there were coats strewn about too, though placed strategically, two on dining chairs and one on the lounge by the front door. Pots hung together in clumps along his kitchen walls, white-tiled, much nicer than Riza’s tan wallpaper; and on his floor, beneath the coffee table, several sewn blankets, all gifts from the Madame’s girls, as far as anyone knew. 

Riza reached for one as she folded herself into his couch. “Please, sir. Can you turn off the lights?”

He set his tea on the counter. Again, he looked at her with concern, but the lights started to fall away the closer he came to her. First the kitchen, the six squares of dining space, the hall light he shut off as he sat opposite to her on the couch. The lamp was last. And finally, with the lights of Central thoroughly shut out, Riza could breathe.

It was much like how she would lock herself in the bathroom as a child, plugging the bottom of the door with a wet towel, the waxy shower curtain a flimsy barrier between herself and her raging father. Eventually he removed the locks, and then the knobs. Even now, she felt the cold,  hard press of the tub’s porcelain on her back. 

“Thank you.”

Silence, and then: “What are you doing here, Lieutenant?”

Coming home. 

“I’m not sure myself, sir.”

The Colonel shifted his weight. He was a full cushion away from her, but his heat radiated all the same. 

“What happened to your cheek?”

“I cut it on a bramble while fetching a lost toy for Hayate at the park.”

Fingers pressed to her skin, a thumb ran slanted along her wound. 

It was reminiscent of childhood, for sure. Riza had always courted this quiet, contemplative darkness. It was when she was a little older that she invited Roy into it, and he welcomed the invitation, and he was a kind, treasured guest. But tonight she was feeling particularly fragile. 

She took his hand and fit his knuckles under her chin. 

The monster had allowed her to be here, that much was certain. There was no other reason that he wouldn’t have stolen her from those stairs. 

She crushed Roy’s hand into herself. 

What was he after?

What was the motive?

Was it… afraid?

Roy leaned closer to her. His fingers squeezed hers. He wanted to say something, she knew, or ask her why she had come to him and begged for the dark. 

She would not tell him. Tomorrow, maybe, but tonight she was fragile. 

Riza found his mouth in the dark. She set his hand free and it wrapped itself around the curve of her neck, tipping her head back. His other hand gave her hair a gentle tug. 

“Are you all right?” he managed to ask around her lips, while she occupied herself with tracing the scars on his hip and in his abdomen. She gripped the hem of his t-shirt and pulled him toward her until she was on her back and he had to brace himself against the arm of the couch. “Lieutenant,” he said, though the sentiment was weak, ill-willed. He was attempting and failing at control.

“I’m all right,” she said, and kissed him again. He tasted like his tea. Again his fingers brushed the cut on her cheek, and as they did she was shocked, jolted. She broke away from him and sat upright. “I’m, uh…”

“I really just need to know if you’re all right.” 

“I’m going to go.”

“Lieutenant— Riza.”

The name was too much, the break in her skin was too much, the darkness was not enough. It was not enough. The curtain hadn’t been enough. The porcelain. All the nights cascaded in the dark, the world pulling itself to a close around her, fitting like a glove. 

“I have to go.”

The Colonel kept to his place on the couch as she stood and put her hand on the door and wondered again about what the monster wanted. 

She hadn’t known as a child, and she had survived anyway.

She had survived.

The light swallowed her whole.

[junicai]

i search the universe.

| order no. | 5/21

| summary | Are ‘exploring’ and ‘being hopelessly lost’ synonyms? According to Jongin, they most definitely are.

| word count | 1.9k

| warnings | mentions of kidnapping but it’s just an old lady looking out for Aria when she’s with two very suspicious looking older men, sasaengs 

| era | circa. January 2020 

a/n: this definitely took a turn from the request, but i hope you still like it! if you’re not vibing with it, you can dm me, and i’ll see what i can re-write. thank you! 

The tour was set to kick off again in San Diego, California, after a pause for the duration of December. The time off was greatly appreciated; Aria found herself sleeping for twelve hours at a time occasionally, her sleep schedule trying to right itself after having been flipped on its head too many times to count. 

The flight from Seoul to California was long, and Aria had slept for a grand total of twenty minutes by the time they touched down on the tarmac runway again. 

It had been Jongin’s idea to go exploring before their first schedule that evening, an invitation that was proposed to all the members but only accepted by Taemin. When Jongin’s deflated look was fixed on Aria, she crumbled like the weak woman that she was, and agreed to accompany the two older men on an impromptu trip around the city. 

She’d never even left Ireland prior to joining the company (bar skating competitions, but those were less of a trip and more of a airport-taxi-hotel-rink-repeat combo, if you will) so each new city was met with widened eyes and dramatic oohs and aahs.

The trio had dropped their suitcases into their hotel rooms - Jongin rooming with Taemin this time around, and Aria with Ten - and pulled out a light jacket for outerwear, in Aria’s case, before they were marching out the door, masks pulled up over their faces. 

Aria’s hoodie that she had worn on the plane lay on the bedspread in her room, her phone forgotten in it’s pocket. 

The air was cool but not biting outside, and as Aria linked her hand into Taemin’s, the sun was still above the horizon. Jongin slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“The interview is scheduled for 6, which means we need to be back at the hotel for 4, which gives us,” He checked his watch, “Roughly two hours. Maybe a little more, if we push it.”

Taemin fixed him with a look. “Let’s not do that. It’s twenty to two now, lets aim to be back for twenty to four.”

Aria tugged on Taemin’s hand where the singer had still yet to let go. “Mhm! that way, if things go skywards, then we have time to take a back route or something.” 

Jongin nodded, satisfied. “Okay! So, where first?”

Aria exchanged a look with Taemin, before starting down the street. “Let’s find out!” 

With each building, came a new attraction to stare at. Small stalls sat at the street corners, attendees calling out to them to barter their goods. The buildings seemed to climb into the sky for miles, never-ending as far as Aria’s eyes could see.

The city was bustling with noise, cars passing on the wide streets with sharp beeps! that sent Aria jumping into the air occasionally, much to the chagrin of Jongin. 

He caught her waist when she jumped backwards the first time, stopping her from flattening him onto the sidewalk. “You alright there?” He leaned forwards with a teasing grin. 

Aria had huffed, swatting his hands off her waist before fixing her shirt. “Fine.” 

The grin had stayed plastered on Jongin’s face for the next two blocks, widening further when the girl jumped again at the sound of a harsh tire squeal and a series of rapid-fire beeps following it. 

Taemin lead the two away from the commotion, and they continued their in-depth exploration of the city and it’s secrets. 

It was wonderful; Until it wasn’t.

Honestly, they probably should have realized when they started being followed. It happened regularly on the streets back home, but here, they were off-guard and so the first flash of a shutter going off send Taemin stumbling backwards slightly. 

All hell broke loose from there.

A group of fourteen or fifteen teenage girls gathered, the leader of which had her phone gripped in her hand. “KAI OPPA!” She screamed, and like a battle cry - the others joined her.

Aria felt frozen, her legs refusing to cooperate with the frantic run, run, run run run that her brain was playing on a loop. The group advanced quickly, moving around the street corner and were only a few yards away when Jongin grabbed her wrist, fingers encircling tightly, and pulled her into motion. 

They ran on autopilot, blind as to where they were going only knowing that they couldn’t stop. The pounding of feet was still deafening behind them, and Jongin speeded up, Taemin following suit. 

It wasn’t long until Aria felt like she was doing less running and rather simply being tugged along by her wrist; legs pumping as fast as she could made them, but her strides were nearly double what she’d normally take even at a flat out sprint. 

Taemin tugged them both into a small alleyway, hoping that the shade the towering buildings offered on either side was enough to shield them from the fangirls’ piercing gazes.

Aria bent over, hands on her knees, panting.

“Oh god,” Jongin coughed out. “Not a single day, huh?” 

Taemin nodded sadly in commiseration, catching his own breath. “How did they even know it was us?” 

“The hair, probably,” Aria mumbled, already pulling her hair back into her hood. The bleached blonde and sky blue streaks combination was a tell-tale sign, and she kicked herself mentally for not at least putting her hair up into a bun to hide the most dramatic parts of it.

“What do we do now?” Aria looked to the two older men. “Do we just try to make a run for it? I don’t think I can remember which way we even went, we were just running. Oh god, are we lost now? Can we even get back to the hotel?” 

Taemin extended an arm, wrapping around Aria’s back and pulling her into a hug, before subtly moving them both behind a large sign that blocked them from view.

The group of girls passed by the entrance to the alley, chattering loudly. 

“Where did they go?” 

“Did you see which way they went?” 

“Taeminnie oppa~ Saranghae, come back~”

“Who was the 

“Okay,” Taemin took a deep breath. “Okay, we’ve done this before. My phone died somewhere back there, but Aria, do you want to call Baekhyun hyung while Jongin tries to figure out where we are?” 

He received two nods in return, and Aria’s hands patted her pockets. The empty lining gave underneath her fingers, and her stomach sunk slightly in dread. 

“My phone isn’t-” She looked up to Jongin with wide eyes. “I left it in the hotel room, I think, when I changed my jumper.” 

Jongin put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing soothingly. “It’s okay, we still have mine.” 

Aria’s breath was coming in slightly labored, with a light tremor that shook her chest. 

The ringing sounded loud as it echoed down the alley, and Jongin scrambled to turn the phone on silent. 

“What?” Baekhyun’s voice was tinny through the phone’s speakers, and Jongin moved down towards the end of the alley, out of Aria and Taemin’s earshot.

“Hyung,” Jongin spoke, heavy with relief. 

“What? You’ve just woken me up-” Jongin interrupted Baekhyun before he could start yelling down the phone. 

“Hyung, we got followed.” 

“By who?” 

“Fans, we think. They spotted us a couple streets ago, we ran and now we don’t know where we are.” 

A muttered curse came down the phone line, and what sounded like Baekhyun shutting a door. “Right, find out where you are, and I’ll get the manager to come get you lot. This is why I said no to going out, you’re all tired and then things like this happen Jongin-” 

“Hyung! I know, and I’m sorry you can scold me for it later, but right now,” He tossed a glance over his shoulder to Aria, who was encircled in Taemin’s arms. “Aria’s freaking out, and I’m not sure why, but I don’t think hiding in an alley is helping.” 

Baekhyun was silent, breathing out another curse. “Taeyong, he told me - it happened a while ago, and he didn’t tell me a lot, but enough.” 

“Hyung?” 

“Aria had a bad, altercation, lets say, with a sasaeng two years ago. I don’t know what exactly happened - Yongie didn’t tell me - but I’ll bet that’s why she’s freaking right now. Maybe just-” 

The line cut out. 

Jongin shook his phone, clicking the power button. “Hyung? Hyung?”

Taemin looked over. “Is everything alright?” 

“Phone’s dead.” 

Aria’s head peeked up, wide eyed. “Really?” 

Jongin nodded. 

“So- so what do we do? Did you talk to oppa?” 

He bit his lip. “Yeah, yeah I did. We’re gonna go find another store that’ll let us use their phone okay? And we’re gonna call the manager.” He turned to Aria. “Do you think you could talk to someone right now, Ari? Is that okay?” 

Aria took a deep breath, closing her eyes and exhaling smoothly. “I can do that. I can definitely do that.” The tremor in her hands told otherwise, but she tucked them into her pockets to hide that fact.

“Okay. Okay, let’s go.” Taemin peered around the alley walls, looking and seeing no gang of girls waiting to pounce on them. 

The trio stepped out from behind the building walls, and quickly jogged their way into the nearest café - two storefronts down. 

“Miss? Miss, I’m so sorry to bother you, but could I borrow your landline for a moment? My own phone’s dead, you see.” Aria cleared her throat, peering up at the kind lady behind the counter.

Her wizened eyes took in the small stature of Aria, and the two men standing at the doorway, peering outside. They looked suspicious; hoods pulled low over their eyes, and masks hiding the bottom half of their faces, staring out the window as if they were waiting for someone to show up; and they were ready to flee.

 Slowly, an understanding dawned on her - connecting the wrong dots together and garnering a jumbled up picture of the truth.

“Oh, dear of course, just come behind here and I’ll call someone for you - do you have your mother’s number with you? Your father’s?” She began to usher Aria behind the counter.

“Oh, no, miss, that’s alright, I just need to use your phone for a moment-”

The lady leaned closer. “Dear, if those men are trying to take you somewhere, you’re absolutely welcome to stay in the back room. Do you want me to call the cops?”

Aria choked. “Oh! Oh no- oh those are my brothers miss! They’re not- I haven’t been-” 

The lady looked on with squinted eyes. “They can’t hurt you dearie, you’re safe now-”

“No, I promise you miss, they’re my brothers, they just don’t speak very good English. Can I please use your phone? Please?” Aria was begging at this point. 

Reluctantly, a phone was handed to her, and she wasted no time in inputting Baekhyun’s number. It rang once, before being picked up.

“Oppa?” 

[shaanks]

The 6 AM Train

This is a repost of a little horror drabble I published almost 4 years ago now for a totally different fandom. adapted to be properly standalone, I think it still stands up. 

****************************************************************

The city was deeply asleep when the storm rolled over in the wee hours of the morning, whirling wind flinging rain against the towers and streets, and obscuring the river for all but those living closest to it. Thunder boomed and rattled the window panes of older buildings, lightning glinted off the metal of the newer ones, and not even the sunrise could completely penetrate the thick, inexplicably stagnant cloud cover, which roiled in the whipping winds but made no forward progress. They skulked over the city in huge, hunched stacks even as the new day dawned, grim and grey.

The storm did not arrive alone.

The first to discover this was a portly, kind-faced accountant by the name of Gerald Stoat. Gerald awoke that morning four minutes before his alarm. He spent, by his calculation, exactly one minute contemplating just shutting the thing off and calling in sick to work; the storm outside looked particularly nasty, and he wasn’t keen on his commute even in the best weather. The minute passed, however, and instead of going back to sleep, he shut off his alarm and began to get ready for work. Three minutes early getting in the shower, three minutes early preparing and eating his breakfast, and one additional minute spent debating calling off put him out on the sidewalk, making his way to the train, two minutes earlier than usual.

This wasn’t an especially strange occurrence, Gerald was slightly early like this several times a month, but he liked to keep track of his time. Particularly on nasty, stormy days like this when the wind tore at his umbrella and the whole city seemed to still be asleep, save for him. Indeed, were this route not so well traveled for him, Gerald could easily believe he was the only man for miles. None of the shops were open yet, the usually bustling storefronts darkened and deserted. He was a couple minutes early, after all, and he imagined he wasn’t the only one to be contemplating calling the day on account of rain.

He was making good time despite the steady downpour. One minute, forty-five seconds early hitting the corner of Bastenchury and Main. He was only a few blocks from the merciful shelter of the train station now, and feeling quite pleased that his little head start would give him time to knock the rain off his umbrella so he didn’t get water all over the floor, when something caught his eye. A quick spark of orangey-red flame, brilliant and almost alien in the unending greyscale of the storm. It drew his attention, and in the brief flash he caught the lean, elfish features of a man, standing beneath the awning over a bakery’s side door. He was wiry and pale, and even in the muddling downpour, Gerald could see the artfully tousled hair, the ripped jeans, the sneering eyes. Looking at him sent a droplet of icy, distant fear down his spine like a stray drop of rain, though he couldn’t quite identify the source of his unease.

The man said nothing at all to Gerald. The end of the cigarette he’d lit continued to glow in the semi-darkness, casting strange, jagged shadows over high cheekbones, making his eyes look like sunken holes with every pull. Gerald was dimly aware that he’d come to a stop there on the sidewalk. Fifteen more seconds lost, and another fifteen for him to realize he’d let the umbrella fall to his side, exposing him to the soaking rain. He frowned; one minute, fifteen seconds was not enough to go back, change his clothes, and still make the 6 AM train. Beneath the awning, the man mimicked his expression, the firelight making his eyes glisten almost menacingly.

“What do you want?” Gerald heard himself ask, his spine prickling with that instinctual fear when he realized the man’s lips were moving with his, mimicking his words in perfect sync. Why had he said it out loud? Were they even his words, his thoughts? The man under the awning quirked his head to the side, a jerky, unnaturally quick movement that made Gerald jump. The umbrella clattered out of his hand and onto the street, where it was swiftly torn away into the gale, and at the one minute mark, the kind-faced accountant finally realized that he could not move his legs.

The man under the awning noticed it, too. He grinned, taking a long, slow drag from the cigarette, and Gerald could see his teeth, too many, simultaneously even set and a jagged, gnarled horror. The man pushed away from the wall, and sauntered out into the rain. He didn’t come directly towards Gerald, instead crossing the street several feet to his left. Ten seconds of baited breath later, the tall man crossed into his paralyzed sight again, crossing back the other direction to his right, except when his feet got back to the sidewalk again, he turned sharply, making his way with jittery purpose towards the frozen man. Gerald stared at him, transfixed and anguished, and as the man broke away to his left again, he caught a flash of green, dancing eerily in the dark and sunken pits of the other man’s eyes. Twenty more seconds passed as this being circled him, grinning and smoking his cigarette, seemingly untouched by the rain. He could hear the train coming, could feel the rumble of it beneath his feet, but could no more turn his head in that direction than he could his legs.

The lights of the train were just beginning to break through the blinding sheets of rain when Gerald felt the sharp cleft of the man’s chin, digging uncomfortably into the crook of his shoulder, his lips resting close enough for Gerald to hear his steady breath

“Say, mister…do you happen to have the time?” the man’s voice was garbled and strange, with the faintest hint of an accent that Gerald, in his state, lacked the wherewithal to identify. It was staticky, almost, like a message being relayed on a damaged walky-talky, and Gerald deeply wanted to flinch away from the sound, to run and never looked back, but his body wouldn’t obey. 

There was something mocking in that question, like this being knew he’d been counting. Like they both knew he was out of time.

“Well, that’s the 6 AM train,” He responded, his voice thready and weak in his own ears. “I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to go…I’d hate to miss it.”

He felt the strange man grin, his sharp jaw distorting painfully into the chilly flesh of his shoulder.

“You’ve never hated anything in your life, Gerald Stoat. Which sucks, honestly..you’d taste a lot better if you’d had even that much passion in you.”

His last coherent thought, before the blinding pain of those perfectly even, jagged teeth tore all of his senses away, was the four minutes this morning he’d had, lying in the warmth of his bed, to make a choice, and just how…frustrating it all was, in the end, that one minute and forty-five seconds had been the margin of error that ended his life.

From within the narrow tunnel of blinding agony,  a roaring fire suddenly lit in his chest, like he’d swallowed a hot coal. Something flew out of him, terribly bright in the darkness and gripped tight in a hand too large to reasonably belong to his killer, and then Gerald Stoat knew nothing at all.

**

He was discovered by a mousy seventeen-year-old on her way into the bakery that had served as the other man’s trap. Truthfully there was barely enough left of him to identify, and while her screaming had alerted plenty of witnesses after the fact, no one at all seemed to have seen what actually happened to Gerald.

**

On the 6 AM train, a roguishly pretty man with artfully tousled curls and a perfectly even smile sat by the window, looking flushed and well fed. He grinned charmingly at the trolley lady, happily accepting the fresh cup of complementary coffee she offered.

“Just a shame there’s not a nip of whiskey to season it with,” He said with a wink.

They both laughed, and she moved on with her cart. He kept laughing long after she’d gone, grinning with unpleasant mirth into the storm, jagged teeth flashing in the faint reflection of the train window.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

Introductory prologue. The main pairing will be established ironstrange x reader. This story will be rated explicit, have some canon-typical violence and language. The 'fuck' harvest is bountiful this time of the year. Updates - irregular so far, I'm posting it as I go.

No y/n, no "you", no name - nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns. Please leave a comment if you spot a stray 'blushing' or the likes, I write as it flows and sometimes miss those words when I proofread. I try to be inclusive of all my readers.

"Your total is twelve dollars, seventeen cents," I rattled off on autopilot, casting a glance at the cash register and plastering an automatic smile onto my face. The pleasant expression was frozen on it, stuck like glue, despite the news I had received earlier in the day. "Thank you, have a nice day," I doubted the customer actually heard my words.

One of those business-types, wearing a tailored two-piece, with a Bluetooth headset attached to their ear and brain always a mile away, our little coffee shop a mild interruption in their daily routine of making more and more money. "Hello, how can I help you?" I addressed the next customer, my eyes unseeing, gliding over their face and to the storefront where I noticed we were running low on eclairs and carrot cake.

"Hey, Starlight," the woman's voice was familiar, tone soothing, as I snapped my eyes to meet a pair of reddish-brown ones, staring at me with concern. "The usual," our city's very own superhero; Wanda Maximoff stood before me with her head curiously tilted to the side and her brother hovering behind her, examining the assortment of various cakes on display. "Long day?"

"You have no idea," I sighed, sending off the organic, single-use cups with scribbles off to Dave, our barista. Wanda's order was large, usually about ten or twelve coffees and quite a few treats, so I donned on some nitrile gloves to package the treats while Dave handled the drinks with practiced ease. I admired his stoicism. "Might be seeing a bit less of me," the woman's eyebrows rose in displeasure at my admission.

"Tony won't be happy," Wanda mumbled, side-eyeing the backdoor behind which my boss usually resided during the day. "You got fired?" The words attracted the attention of her brother. Pietro was immediately at her side, joining into the concerned staring.

"Nope," I popped the 'p', methodically shoving the food in its packaging. "The café is expanding hours and our shifts are being split now. Jeremy is dead set on me working the graveyard shift, so I'll be here six AM to two PM," I couldn't help the sigh that left my lips.

My boss, Jeremy, had opened his boulangerie little over two years ago, and as he had predicted, it set off almost immediately. The place was located almost in the heart of the dozen corporate sky-rises full of busy, wealthy people who liked their things to be both instant and luxurious. Jeremy had fit right in with the law sharks and business vultures, if you ask me, with his penchant for demanding the impossible.

I was expecting an increase in work hours, I wasn't going to lie - our little cafe was busy nearly all the time it was open - but the fact that he chose to split a day's shift came as a punch to the gut. Like most service staff, I made most of my money from the tips, and they and they only were the only reason I stayed in a place with a shrew for a boss and the worst health insurance in the area. Thankfully, the rich businessmen from local offices didn't count their money and left me more than generous tips.

The coffee machine beeped for the last time as Dave passed me the three cupholders before I carefully bagged them, arranging the treats on top. I saw Wanda lick her lips at the aromas coming from the paper bag before Pietro snatched them out of my grasp. I rattled off the total, catching Wanda's eye as she passed me several twenty dollar bills, waving off my attempt to return the change.

"Penny for your wandering thoughts?" She smiled warmly as I chuckled at the question I've grown to expect with a quiet sort of joy.

The first time she'd wandered in, soaking wet from the rain and looking as lost as a child in a mall, ten minutes before closing time, I was reading my book right at the counter as I waited for the coffee machine to clean itself. I hadn't even noticed the quiet woman until her words startled me out of the book-induced trance and I shamefully had to ask her to repeat herself, hastily shoving my book under the counter. She smiled at me, shyly, and asked me about my reading instead of rattling an order for one of the sickly sweet caffeine concoctions female customers seemed to love. And she returned in a few days, asking the same question after taking a careful look at my face.

"And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about." I took a careful moment to recall a paragraph from the book I was currently reading, Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. It seemed fitting, with all that had been going on in my life recently. I was still caught in the middle of the storm, unsure if I'd make it out but hoping for it nonetheless.

"That's beautiful," Pietro smiled at me, the tips of his silver hair reflecting the lights of the cafe's baroque style chandeliers. I barely managed to smile at him as he was already speeding off, the entrance door banging shut behind a blur of white and blue. Each time he did that, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to not spill any of the hot beverages.

"Because it's true," Wanda added with a comforting smile. I nodded in agreement, hoping some of her positive attitude would dissipate the sense of doom I'd been lugging around all day. She departed, taking the sense of comfort with her, as I caught the tail end of something shouted in Sokovian - something that sounded exactly in place, coming from one disgruntled sibling to another.

When the residents of the nearby Stark tower began frequenting my workplace, I barely had the composure to stifle my quiet fangirling to socially acceptable levels. Not long after the Scarlet Witch turned a semi-regular, she started bringing her colleagues with her - Hawkeye at first, who was a decent, normal dude; he looked like an exasperated dad and Pietro appeared every thing the rambunctious son, as the younger man peppered the older man with questions about the cakes on our display.

They all had fancy names, but at the bottom of it, a chocolate cake was a chocolate cake. That much I told them, with a snort, earning myself a lopsided grin and a generous tip as I patiently listed off the more commonly used, simplified designations for the twins as the knowledge of them being European immigrants crossed my mind.

After Hawkeye came the Black Widow, and then Captain America with a sunny smile and his moody boyfriend in tow. While Bucky Barnes' expression was generally sour, the man had a wicked sweet tooth, shoveling frosted, glazed treats at the rate of a competitive eater. Both men were extremely polite if not very chatty and tipped well.

Tony Stark himself - well, he was a special one. His sense of humour trailed on the fine line of obscene, oftentimes raising the eyebrows of nearby people standing in line. I wasn't born yesterday, either: years of customer service work left me with little-to-no surprise regarding overzealous men and I could quip back equally as sharply, just slightly south of Tony's own jokes. He never overstepped, however, and with time, I developed a quiet appreciation for our small talks.

Which did brighten up my day, if only a little. "A little birdy told me your boss is being a douchebag. Want me to clean up that muck?" Tony was, as usual, wearing a bespoke suit and sunglasses, which he'd pushed up to his forehead as he frivolously leaned on the counter after placing his order.

I sighed, remembering Wanda's words. I didn't know what to expect from the eccentric billionaire; last of all, I didn't want any handouts. I'd started a search for a second part-time job the very day I got told my pay would be essentially cut in half. "No need, Mr. Stark, I'm gonna be fine and dandy," I replied with a smile that I was sure didn't really reach my eyes. "We'll still be able to resume our nice chit-chat at brunch on Saturdays," I winked, hoping to keep up the usual light atmosphere of our banter.

"I told you to call me Tony!" He exclaimed, like always, shaking his head and glaring at the back door. "Yeah, no," the man had absolutely no chill. "I'll still sic the IRS on him," the last part was said quietly. Mr. Stark often spoke to himself.

I laughed at the rich-kid, spoilt way he was acting. A grown man with an attitude of a teenager and a sweet tooth to match one - except for his coffee. That was always the strongest, blackest one we had on hand. I hadn't even heard of a triple espresso until Mr. Stark had waltzed in, skipping the line and filling the air around him with the smells of cologne that smelled like money, motor oil, iron and soot.

The moment I opened my e-mail at home, I felt my gloomy mood worsen, Mr. Stark's words echoing in my head. I'd sent my resumes to two dozen places and only a handful even bothered to reply - all preemptive rejections, there weren't businesses needing a part-time employee with a useless degree, who could only work evenings. Except bars, but they required some sort of certificate for bartenders and lots and lots of bare skin for waitresses. I tried to steer away from that part of the industry as much as I could, saving it as a last resort option.

It had come down to browsing Craigslist as I ate my way through a carton of cheap take-out, too exhausted to cook and too anxious to go out to the nearby bodega after 9 PM. One more negative side of working late shift - making my way home in the dead of the night in NYC and hoping Spider-Man was hanging out nearby should a thug decide on me to be their next victim. The joys of big city life.

As the column of various ads stared at me with various suspicious offers to make quick money, ads for 'young, sociable women' and I stared back at them in muted disgust. The 'looking for a job' section was much more sensible with the few ads I'd clicked on out of curiosity depicting people seemingly in a similar situation as me - short on money but not desperate enough to surrender their dignity to corporate greed. The decision was momentary - I'd started typing and hit the post button before I was through with my food, slapping my old laptop shut as soon as the as posted.

Hopefully, the creeps will stay away. The next couple of days stretched out slowly as I got up at the crack of dawn to open the shop, served the early birds whilst sipping my own matcha latte and clocked out not a second later than 2PM, taking home half the usual amount of tips. My e-mail remained as silent as ever, only a few suspicious replies to my ad, texts that I didn't even bother replying to. Human trafficking and pyramid schemes, was that all that NYC had to offer?

Apparently, not. Around 6PM, my phone dinged as a notification popped up and I scrambled to read it - all too aware of the upcoming rent day, and was pleasantly surprised with the contents of the e-mail, re-reading it several times to make sure there weren't any hidden stones under the water. I replied with my phone number, not expecting it to ring within minutes of hitting the send button.

"Hello?"

"Hi, we just corresponded," the voice on the other side was feminine but slightly rough, as if it's owner spent days chain-smoking. "I would like to invite you for a small interview, if you wouldn't mind."

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Could I ask you some questions first?" The levels of anxiety, I thought, were reasonable in the situation. It mutely gnawed at my chest.

"Sure," the woman agreed amicably. "My name is Odette, by the way," she mentioned off-handedly, the name fitting her voice in a strange way.

"Uh, well," I stammered. "You mentioned it's a herbal medicine shop, you're not selling weed under the counter, are you?" I voiced my worries meekly, hoping for an honest answer.

The woman laughed, a sharp, terse sound. "No, dear, I do not sell or possess anything illegal. I merely offer supplies for the locals that prefer natural, alternative medicine." She sounded jovial.

"Like - um, healing crystals?" I vaguely remembered reading about them on the internet, or seeing them in a YouTube video, perhaps.

"Yes, we sell those, too," her tone grew more joyful at the mention of the shiny rocks. I didn't think that they actually cured anything, to be honest, however I was willing to give it some credit - the placebo effect was a scientific fact. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

"Okay then," I chuckled nervously. "I'm free tomorrow after 3 PM."

"Grand. The shop is open until 10 PM, just say your name at the counter and I'll be right with you."

As soon as I hung up, relief and curiosity and trepidation blossomed within me, imagination unhelpfully supplying images of human trafficking documentaries, basements with chains and other, less horrifying but still unusual things. The pep talk over a wine glass that I had was necessary: it was a herbal shop, for fuck's sake. Worst case, I'm going to work with Karens who think the Earth is flat and quartz cures cancer. I could even get a funny story or two out of those, something to share with Bucky or Wanda in lieu of the usual book quotes I entertain them with.

The day went by smoothly, the café no more and no less busy than usual so after a brief detour back home to put on something that didn't smell like coffee grounds and yeast: comfortable pants and a soft sweater, something that would keep me warm but would not unnecessarily restrict any movement. My good luck charm, a large oval necklace with a shiny gold star in the middle, hung heavily around my neck, providing quiet comfort.

Heart thudding in my chest, I approached the old-style, inconspicuous building, double-checking the address before opening the old, heavy wooden door right at the corner of the building. It was like a movie scene, in a way - the day was overcast, meager sun rays shining through the lead curtain of clouds, the streets were clear and few honks rung out in the far end of block, sending a flock of pigeons into a lazy scatter over the slanted roof. The door creaked softly, the handle cold under my touch, instantly filling my nose with a strong smell of herbs so plentiful, I could not distinguish one from another.

Inside didn't look any less intriguing: the décor was outdated but somehow fitting and homely, high wooden shelves stocked with glass jars and wooden boxes with neatly placed labels on them. The counter was empty - save for a large, golden bell, which I timidly pressed.

The woman who emerged from behind the worn cotton curtains behind the counter most certainly was impressive. Tall and broad, with dark eyebrows and even darker eyes, she critically surveyed me for a moment, making me shiver under her gaze - and then she smiled, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and instantaneously losing the imposing aura around her.

"Um, hi- I'm-" I didn't get to finish my nervous stammering.

She interrupted me with a careless wave of her hand. "Here for the interview. Yes. Welcome, Star," her eyes briefly fell on my necklace while I struggled to swallow the unease.

I hadn't told her my nickname - to be honest, these days, I heard it more often than my given name. People quickly took notice of my love of star-patterned items and teased me relentlessly over it, losing heat only when I calmly went along with it, too used to hearing the same jokes since my early childhood.

Odette motioned me over, parting the curtains to reveal a tiny, but tastefully decorated hall with two doors on each side and a staircase at the far end of it. I followed her into the room on the left, which turned out to be a peculiar sort of office. I thought I noticed an Ouija board in there but wisely kept my mouth shut.

"I live on the floor above the shop so don't go throwing any parties while you're on the job," she remarked playfully, gesturing to a pot of tea. "It's peppermint, does wonders for calming one's demeanor," the gesture was sweet - and very telling.

I wondered if I looked as spooked as I felt. After all, it didn't seem like Odette and her business were fishy in any way, and the décor and atmosphere were quite... Appealing, in a way. Something magical, something belonging in Europe or on a high schooler's Pinterest board. I sipped my tea in-between questions, thinking how maybe, I could actually grow accustomed to this place.

The shopkeeper acted as if I'd already accepted the job and I - well, it's not like I had any other options waiting for me. The pay was more than I expected it to be, for such a small bodega and a part-time shift, and it would help me cover my bills with enough to spare. The customers were said to be mostly regular and undemanding, with a few rare exceptions, and should I need assistance, the owner was always a call and a floor away.

With a considerably lighter heart, I left to pad the damp sidewalk back towards my house. Thankfully, my new workplace was only a short walk away.

The tag list is open until the story is finished. Please use the 'taglist' Google form to request (top of the fic, clickable link).

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[rainpuddle13]

35 Ross and Demelza

#35 - An awkward kiss given after a first date

This was a lot of fun to write. Thanks, anonymous!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was like a knife to his gut to sit there and listen to Demelza recount her previous evening out with an old chum of their friend Caroline. The bloke fancied himself some sort of artist and poet apparently.  She showed him a sketch this Hugh Armitage had supposedly done of her which Ross found a bit off-putting. She had seemed inordinately pleased though to his dismay. Ross thought it had barely captured the unique beauty that made Demelza so earthy and desirable.

“Dandy more like,” Ross muttered under his breath before stuffing chips in his mouth.

“He breeds racing  horses,” she continued on, seemingly oblivious to his disparaging words.  “He promised to take me to Ascot in June.”

Ross wiped his hands on his napkin before speaking.  It was like she was trying to pour salt on his wound. “So you’ll see him again?”

“I think so. He is nice,” Demelza flicked her blue eyes up to meet his, arching one delicate brow, almost as if daring him to say something, “and he is handsome.”

Oh, Ross knew the type alright, Armitage was one of those old money aristocracy types who have never worked a day in their life, using his family connections and money to float through life without the burden of actual responsibility. His occupation was probably more along the lines of being elegantly wasted all of the time.

He wanted to damn Caroline all to hell for interfering, but ultimately he knew it was his own fault that he found himself in this position with Demelza. Ross had fancied her from almost the first moment they met nearly five years ago. He’d been entangled at the time with Elisabeth Chyoweth so he was unable to act upon the spark that was obvious between them. The timing never seemed right after that, and was not helped by his lengthy deployments, so he’d settled to just secretly worship her from afar.

“Hmm,” Ross mumbled, very unimpressed. “Rich too.”  There was no way that he could possibly compete with the ponce on that front.  While his salary was adequate compared to what it was when he had first enlisted, he wasn’t trying to support a wife and possibly a family with it either. He’d always thought Demelza had deserved much better than anything he could have to offer.

It was her turn to huff coupled with a dark glare. “You know I don’t care about that.”

He did know what she said about matters of money, but there was this little voice inside his head that told him she deserved the whole world.  “I know what you said,” he reminded her.

This long awaited lunch out with Demelza all to himself was not going according to plan. He hadn’t been able to see much of her while he’d been back in Cornwall.  Her catering business had exploded during his last deployment after she had been featured in a local magazine for her farm to table approach to cooking.  Ross was happy for her to be sure, but it really cut into the time he could spend with her.

She broke the silence after a couple of minutes.  “Have you gotten your orders yet?”

“Yes,” Ross answered, glad for the change of subject before he could say something to really tick her off, “I’m leaving for training in Canada at the end of the month.”

She reached across the table to place her warm hand over his, clear relief was etched on her lovely face.  “I’m glad it’s not Iraq again.��

“Me too. It’s miserable no matter the time of year.”

“I’m just glad you won’t be in a war zone,” she admitted softly.

“Just from the local wildlife” he assured her. “I understand moose are a particular danger.”

“At least it’s not IEDs or bullets.” 

“Agreed.” He reached up to touch the scar that ran from his eye down his cheek almost to his jaw on the left side of his face.  It was only thanks to Dwight’s skills he hadn’t fared any worse than he did. Demelza had visited him several times when he was home convalescing and did her damnest to talk him out of reenlisting.

“I guess I won’t have to send you care packages this time since you’ll be near civilization,” she said while taking her hand back and becoming very interested in her nearly empty plate. She’d had the ploughman’s lunch.

“I wouldn’t say no to some of your chocolate biccies.”

She looked up again and laughed, a warm throaty sound that made him feel all quivery inside. “I’m sure you wouldn’t!”

“I’ll need a break from poutine and maple candies.”

She made an adorable scrunchy face. “I’m not sure I even want to know what poutine is!”

“I understand it’s chips and cheese covered in gravy.”

“Sounds very healthy.” She jumped a bit when her phone buzzed and she picked it up off the table, frowning. “I need to go. I’ve got a cocktail party tonight at Tehidy.”

Disappointment didn’t begin to cover how he felt about their time together being cut short because of her work commitments, but he also more than understood. His chosen line of work was keeping him from being with the woman he was pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life with. It would be unfair to her with him being deployed to dangerous parts of the world for long stretches of time. He couldn’t even bring himself to imagine what it would do to her if the worst happened.

“Let me settle the cheque and I’ll walk you out,” Ross said, getting up to retrieve their jackets. 

Demelza was waiting out front of the Red Lion in the bright afternoon sunlight for him. The air was crisp for early spring and the sky a cloudless deep blue.  She took his proffered elbow when he joined her and they walked the few streets over to her storefront mostly in silence.  It always amazed him how at ease felt being with her.

“I should go in,” she said once they’d reached the cheerfully painted building.

He nodded.  “Yes, Jinny might be burning the canapes.”

“Bite your tongue,” she grouse and playfully shoved him.

“You know it’s true,” he laughed. The girl’s misadventures in the kitchen were near legendary in their circle of friends and it was a true miracle she’d not burnt the building down.

Demelza sighed and looked up at him, like she was waiting for him to do something. He shifted his weight off his bad ankle, torn between wanting to ravish her senseless on the spot and leaving so he could go be miserable that he hadn’t acted on his impulse.  

Then it all happened so suddenly after staring at one another in awkward silence for a few heartbeats. He mistook Demelza leaning up to hug him while biting her bottom lip as something more than it was meant to be, engulfing her in his arms and without thinking mashing his mouth to hers,  somehow painfully clinking their teeth in his haste.  He’d almost managed to get more of her cheek than her lips while nearly crushing her nose.  As far as kisses went, his first and only kiss with Demelza could be deemed a spectacular failure.

Demelza growled at him after he finally released her and balled up her fist before proceeding to sucker punch him in the stomach as hard as she could. He bent over double from the unexpected blow while she hopped about shaking her hand and cursing. 

“What was that for?” he asked after catching his breath, but he was leant over with his hands on his knees still. Thankfully his fish and chips lunch seemed to be staying put.

“For making me wait four years, seven months, and eleven days for you to kiss me, you wanker,” she hissed.

He stood up straight, blinking at her first in confusion then in wonderment as the gravity of her words sank in. “You kept count?”

“Of course I did,” she said, exasperated, balling up her fist again, this time punching his shoulder.

“Oi!” he yelped.

“That’s for making me suffer through a date with Hugh Armitage to make you jealous.”

“At least it was just a first date,” he chirped, a wide grin splitting his face as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Only date,” she promised, reaching to grab a hold of the lapels of his jacket. “Now shut up and kiss me properly!”

[where-dreamers-go]

“Nothing More” Ben Solo x f!Reader

(A/N: Requested by @mykyloren-addiction. Thank you for the request!

So….including fluff was not specified and I went all out Star Wars brain. Also I tweaked it a little. More avoidance. Ben Solo is back and wants to reconcile with an old friend, Reader, but is Reader willing to even look at him?

Warnings: Angst.

Word Count: 2,870 words)

The roaring podracing engine rumbled loudly next door between the joined chatter of travelers. Sitting outside of Docking Bay 7 was never too quiet. Yet it was a doable tradeoff from your racing and invasive thoughts. You needed a few moments to rest your feet and not actively having to check over your shoulder for a patrolling stormtrooper. An old structure wall of sorts shielded your back and one side. Strong meaty scents came upon a breeze from the neighboring Ronto Roasters. It was a place to get away without completely leaving.

Black Spire Outpost had a little bit and a lot of everything. Busy storefronts, unique travelers, varying landscapes, and all sorts of possibilities. That was one reason the Resistance made camp on Batuu. Another reason was to rebuild the Resistance while the First Order was extremely close by. It was unnerving, however not the most surprising.

A little over a week ago, you had returned to camp one day to the buzzing of information revolving around Ben Solo and Rey. It was shocking when you stayed to hear more. Ben found Rey and through learning he left the Dark Side as well as The First Order, she let him join the Resistance. General Leia was reportedly happy, however not planetside. It was a load to grasp onto mentally. No sooner had you heard the news, you avoided the camp and in turn Ben as much as physically possible. Helping batuuans and helping to spread the Resistance’s purpose took up most of your day.

As it should, you thought.

Even as you ventured through the Outpost, Rey had lead the former Kylo Ren into the Resistance encampment. Tensions had been high for at least the first forty-eight hours. Having a former leader of The First Order so close did that.

Yet keeping busy and out of sight didn’t seem to do much good with Force sensitives around. You were surprised when Rey had approached you and asked if you’d speak with Ben. She had learned that yourself and Ben had known one another prior to him donning a new name. Something you weren’t too keen on thinking about.

Yet, here we go.

You let out a long heavy sigh. It had been a long while since you had really thought about your life prior to joining the fight to save the galaxy. You were not the first to do so, but you truly hoped you would be among the last.

You had family in the New Republic’s political system. Some of which were currently on the First Order’s radar. You and Ben had met in a senate building. Family busy with their job and duties. You remembered a time when you would jump at the opportunity to join whichever family member had a senatorial meeting. Back then, you had an entertaining friendship with the young Ben Solo. The two of you would share both bizarre and mundane stories from across the galaxy. Between visits, meetings, and comm conversations, the friendship had grown into something more. There were feelings that were blatant mutual, however never spoken.

Your feelings had changed. Time and experience made you stronger and more aware.

Things change. People change. Some more than others.

Back then, after hearing what happened to Ben—him actually contacting you and asking you to support The First Order—quickly lead into a heated conversation before you just shut off the call on him and threw yourself into fully supporting the Resistance by joining. There was such a heavy rock-feeling in your heart then. One you used to and turned into a fire to help the Resistance.

I don’t want to see his face, you thought. Sitting back on the bench, you stretched out your legs. Didn’t think I’d be disappointed or annoyed with seeing Rey though. Sometimes she’s too kind for her own good. But no. No. She’s not getting me to speak with…him. No. How many times do I have to tell her ‘no’? He can be here all he likes. I’m busy. The Resistance is busy. I don’t need to see him.

The usual stress of being a Resistance member had tripled on top of growing frustration. That was no way to live. You needed air. You needed space. And you needed to venture to other communities on Batuu. A perfect escape.

An escape?

Grumbling lowly, your eyes scanned over the populace. No sign of of Resistance members. Two stormtroopers on patrol, citizens walking between other citizens, and possibly a handful of scoundrels. A typical day.

. . .

Double checking you hadn’t forgotten your credits, you peeked out of your tent. Looking left, right, and back again—the area was free of Ben. As far as you were concerned, you didn’t need to speak to him. You didn’t really want to anyway.

Things to do, food to eat, people to help. Can’t spend my whole day like this. Again. No one’s up this early anyway.

. . .

“I don’t know about this.” Finn murmured to Poe as the two waited for Rey outside.

“I just want to see if (Y/N) uses a blaster on him.” Poe said as he crossed his arms and rose his eyebrows to his friend. “I really wouldn’t be surprised. But I’m hoping.”

“Hey. Rey really wants them to talk it out.”

“If she pushes (Y/N) any farther, there’s going to be a shoot out. Very little talking.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? Let him try something.”

“He wouldn’t dare.” Finn crossed his arms as well.

The two Force sensitives came into view from behind a line of foliage and storage crates. One tall and confident, the other tall and guilty.

“Guess we’ll find out.” Poe leaned his weight to the side.

“Have you kept an eye on her?” Rey asked as she reached the pair.

“She left her tent about ten minutes ago.” Finn said calmly. The calm tone only a thin layer over his wariness. “She headed towards the ships about a minute ago.”

“Good. She couldn’t have gotten too far.” She smiled and turned to Ben. “You two will be able to talk this time. I know you will.”

Ben Solo simply nodded, but a small hint of a smile graced his features. Rey’s smiles were sometimes hard to not share. He hoped she was right.

“Yeah, no. Why don’t we—you two—leave (Y/N) alone. She doesn’t want to see him.” Poe gestured to Ben. “Don’t encourage this. Whatever the hell it is.”

“They were friends.” Rey said, standing firmly.

“Exactly. ‘Were friends’.”

“Why don’t we let (Y/N) decide.”

“Fine.”

Finn sighed quietly to himself. He had no idea how any of this was going to turn out. Holding out hope that everyone he cared about would keep their heads, he walked with the group towards the ships.

It didn’t take long for them to hear the familiar sound of a ship’s engine. The sound only fueled the group to rush over to an A-Wing still grounded. The pilot? You, of course.

Ben swallowed thickly as he made eye contact with you. The recognization in your face only resulted in a heavy curse word easily read on your lips. He could sense your distaste from where he stood. It only added to his vulnerability. He had not expected to be opening up to his past in this way. It frightened him. Would you still have any hidden feelings for him?

. . .

If you did not care or work on your ship, you would had hit a panel with your fist. Reluctantly, you left the sanctuary of your A-Wing and trudged your way across the sand to the group staring at you. There was no way you were going to risk Rey keeping your ship down using the Force when it would hopefully be easier to just get one conversation over with.

I hate this already.

You stopped about two paces from the group. There was no need to guess what they wanted. It was only a matter of time before they tried a different tactic to get you to talk with Ben.

“Hi.” You said flatly, arms crossed under your chest.

Poe and Finn stood off to the side, both pairs of eyes checking on Ben every few seconds.

“You were leaving?” Rey asked, eyebrows raised slightly. She stood next to Ben who still wore dark tones and a guarded expression.

“Yes.”

“Can you stay long enough to talk?”

“I have some time.”

Everyone stood rooted in their spot. The breeze coming through the trees gave noise to the break in conversation.

Here we go, I guess. Remain calm. There is nothing to get entirely aggravated about. Just breathe and listen.

Rey turned to Ben for a moment before saying, “Ben would like to talk with you.”

You nodded.

“It’s…uh…,” Ben began speaking to you. “It’s been a while. You look well.”

Your eyebrows rose on their own accord.

Wow.

Again, you nodded. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

From his side, Rey gave him an encouraging head gesture. Ben’s hands hung loosely at his sides.

“Look, I know that I’ve done terrible things, but I left all of it. I’m not a part of it any more. I want to help.” He said, his tone somewhere between calm and persuasive.

“So you joined the Resistance.” You added to whatever narrative he was saying.

“I did…and I didn’t know you had joined. If I’d had known that I…maybe things would be different.”

“I joined right after we last talked.” You pursed your lips and soon the words started tumbling out. “I’d think that me telling you that I wouldn’t join the First Order would had told you something.” Keeping your voice calm was all you needed to focus on.

Don’t let him get to you.

Ben’s frame deflated, shoulders falling.

“There’s a lot that’s changed over the years. No doubting that. Is there something….else that you wanted to talk about?” You asked. Being taken through memory lane with Ben Solo was not what you had in mind. Especially when those memories brought up were the last ones you had when he decided to join the First Order and he left his Jedi training up in flames.

“I want to be your friend again.”

“What?” The word slipped out from you before you could stop yourself.

“I miss you,” Ben’s voice lowered, almost hushed as the words seemed to tug their way out of him. “I want to be your friend again. I miss spending time with you.”

The kriff?

“I’m sorry for all of the terrible things that I’ve done. I can’t change the past. But I can do what I can now.”

You shook your head.

Dark eyebrows knitted together. It looked as if he had taken a hit to the gut.

“I—wow… Look, I can not promise that I’ll be your friend again. I’m just being realistic here. A true friend would not have done…would not have asked me what you did years ago. I don’t…,” you sighed and uncrossed your arms. “I don’t trust you.”

Ben’s mouth hung open as he stared at you. A strong amount of hurt and confusion colored on his fair face.

Keeping your ground was what you intended to do from the start and you would. There had been too many nights, too many days where his choices effected more than simply him. Forgiveness did not always have to be given. It had taken you so long to forgive yourself for things you never did, for feelings your had for him, and things you had considered doing. What Ben did, you were not obligated to forgive him in any amount.

“(Y/N).” Ben said quietly.

“No.”

No. Can’t do it. I’ve already been through this.

You looked away from him and to the other two men. Poe and Finn. Two people you did trust, especially at that moment. Neither one said a word in favor of either you nor Ben. In fact, Finn looked to be observing from a more calm stand point whereas Poe had his arms firmly crossed across his chest. If there was someone who truly did not like the conversation happening, other than you, it was Poe.

Are we finished now?

Boots shifted the sand as Ben took a more wide stance.

“I’m here now. I’m trying to help.” Ben urged. “If you’d just forgive me, we can start over. I didn’t do anything to you. I’ve said things and asked you to join the First Order when I had, but I never went after you. I would never do that.”

You squared your shoulders. There was only so much a person could take.

Calm. Calm, you thought as you breathed through your nose.

“You made a choice, Ben. You ran off to Snoke instead of your parents. To your mother who would protect you from anyone and anything. You chose The First Order instead of your own family. What the hell for? You are not and were not limited in your choices. You’ve done unspeakable things in The First Order. You hurt Poe, Finn, and Rey.” Your breath came out as hot air through your nose. “Did you really just ask me to forgive you?”

Ben’s throated bopped, “Yes.”

The kriffing hell. He just—

“I cannot pretend that you weren’t Kylo Ren. Words aren’t enough.”

“Ben is with us now.” Rey interjected. “He left The First Order.”

You returned your gaze to Ben’s dark brown eyes. “Did you do anything to help dismantle them? Sabotage their plans besides leaving?”

“(Y/N),” Rey said. “You’re asking too much of him. Give him a chance.”

“I did. Years ago before I dropped the call. The call where he asked me to join the kriffing First Order. No.”

Poe and Finn shifted uncomfortably.

“If what you all want is for me to give him a chance in the Resistance, fine. That’s technically not my call. It’s a group effort. But,” You looked Ben hard in the eyes. “If you’re asking more from me…don’t expect anything.”

His dark eyebrows curved up, a look of hurt returning twice over.

“Wait…,” Poe started to lean closer. “What more could he want?”

Your silent answer and unmasked facial expression gave cause to Poe’s reaction.

“Oh, come on…You can’t be serious.” The pilot groaned.

Ben sent a narrowed gaze to the other man.

“We’re not talking about what never happened.” You added more calmly.

“All in favor of ending this conversation?” Poe asked as he could no longer make eye contact with anyone around him. “Because it needs to.”

“(Y/N),” Ben took a step closer. “I’ll do all that I can to help stop the First Order.”

“That’s what we’re all here doing,” Poe added dryly.

“Finn. Poe.” Rey said in a direct and calm manner. “Let’s give them a moment.”

Both men looked over with incredulous looks.

“Come on,” she gestured with her head as she turned and started walking away.

Finn made eye contact with you and said, “Let us know if you need anything.”

You nodded.

Poe Dameron on the other hand cleared his throat and unmistakably patted the weapon in his holster. Thankfully his messages were never subtle.

The moment that the others were out of earshot, you turned your attention to Ben once more.

“Anything else you’d like to say?”

“Are any of my ‘sorry’s enough?”

“There needs to be action to match. Help us. Show that you changed.”

“My feelings haven’t changed.”

A heavy exhale left you.

“You don’t feel the same?” He asked.

“No. Not for a long time.”

It was easy to recognize the genuine hurt in Ben’s eyes. Yes, you felt empathy, however you no longer held romantic feelings for Ben Solo. There was nothing for you to do.

“I have to get back to work.” You said, giving a general gesture behind you. “We have a Resistance to rebuild.”

“I understand.”

“Best of luck, Ben.”

“…Thanks.”

Giving an awkward wave, you pivoted on the spot and headed back to your A-Wing. A weight was lifted from your shoulders and the need to check your surroundings in a safe area had drastically dwindled down. At least your mind would be in a better place while you went out to other communities.

There was limited choice in how you would be interacting near the newest Resistance member. You would learn to work alongside Ben because saving the galaxy from the overpowering use of the Dark Side did not stop for ruined relationships. One day he might even become a nice partner to have when having to go out in your ship. Ben was a great pilot. Yet, only time would tell. Only the Force knew about what was to come.

You would not stray to far from camp, however you would keep a firm eye on Ben to protect the ones you cared about. You did not have to forgive him and you did not think you ever would at that point. The First Order was still a threat and they were scrapping many corners of Batuu to find their base.

It was time to go to work.

~~~

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coffee

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[furtheradvofsanta]

Santa Letter 2020

Every year, Santa Claus writes a letter to my nephew, and somehow every year I manage to find a copy. If you’ve been wondering what Santa and crew have been up to in quarantine, well, here you go. Bonus: Jack Frost and Frosty the Snowman go hunting for a yeti.

Santa’s Workshop

Beyond the Riphean Mountains

Beyond the North Wind

True North Pole

December 21, 2020

My dearest [name],

What a strange year this has been. I hope you and your family are doing well, or as well as possible at least. I don’t know how much you remember your five Christmases before this one, but they weren’t much like this sixth one, and I hope the seventh and beyond won’t be much like this one either! At least this year I am definitely writing to you from home and not the Moon, where the mail takes so long to travel from (and where I guess they print in blue ink!), but I’ve been at home so long now, I honestly wouldn’t mind a quick little hop to the Moon, or anywhere, if I were allowed.

But before I tell you about what things have been like here at the North Pole as we have all been stuck at home, let me tell you about what happened at the beginning of the year, which I think will amuse you. You see, our good friend Jack Frost came to visit us after we had finished our rounds for Christmas. Along with him came his brother, whose name I have not mentioned before, because his name is in Russian, and is something of a big name for little eyes: МОРОЗКО. Some of those letters may not even look like letters to you, but I promise you, in Russian, they are. It means something like “Little Frost,” and he got the name from his grandfather, Grandfather Frost, so I suppose I will call him “Frostie,” which some have been known to call him.

When Jack and Frostie arrived at the workshop after the Christmas rush, it was obvious that Frostie was upset. Angry, even. This is fairly unusual for him, as he is usually the cooler head that prevails over Jack’s flights of fancy. Another thing you need to know about Frostie is that, well, he doesn’t have a body. Because of an accident that happened many years ago, he’s more like a ghost who lives in a hat. But whenever that hat is placed on something--a mannequin or doll, for instance--that thing comes alive with Frostie’s spirit. Because of his family’s power over the winter frost, the most common thing he uses for a body is a snowman. In fact, he’s pretty famous for his adventures that way.

One of his best-known adventures happened many years ago in the small town of Armonk, New York, where he played with the children there and raised Christmas spirits considerably. You might have heard about it. The people of that town celebrate this adventure every year with a parade in which Frostie is the guest of honor. Despite generally being a pretty modest young man, Frostie does love this parade and he attends every year. In most ways, 2019 was no different. But then something chanced to catch his eye.

As the parade was processing down Main Street toward the village square, Frostie happened to look over at a local storefront that was decorated for Christmas. What he saw was a snowy mountain scene populated by dolls fashioned to look like strange figures: mostly human-shaped but very large, with long white hair covering most of their bodies and only bits of blue skin peeking out at their faces, hands, and very large feet. You might have heard of the creatures depicted in this scene. In the snowy Himalayas, they call them the Migoi or the Mirka, but most people there and elsewhere call them the yeti. In English, the yeti is often called the Abominable Snowman, and an old friend of mine used to call them bumbles because he couldn’t say “abominable” very well.

America has its own fair share of large, hairy, human-like ape creatures that stalk through their woods. The most famous of these of course is the sasquatch, also known as Bigfoot, who lives in the Northwest states like Washington and Oregon, down into Northern California, but there’s also the Fouke Monster in Arkansas, the Skunk Ape in Florida, the Hillbilly Beast in Kentucky, and several others. The yeti is related to this, but lives way over in Asia, high in the Himalayas, the highest mountains in the world.

The yeti looks like a large ape that walks on two legs, almost eight feet tall, with long arms, a powerfully strong body, and a head with a flat nose, all covered in long red or black hair. While they often appear white, this is usually because their naturally dark fur is covered with snow and ice. They are clever hunters and can turn their feet around backwards so that their footprints look like they’re going the opposite direction, just to fool anyone trying to follow them. Their main hunting weapon is a magic rock that they carry under their left arm which always hits and stuns its target--which is usually a yak or a goat, unless a person is really unlucky. They normally live alone, but they talk to each other by making a whistling sound. Plus they smell really bad.

After the parade was over, Frostie decided to see if he could find any more Christmas yetis, so he let his hat take to the wind, and he flew all over the place. The more Frostie looked around, the more decorations he saw of these Abominable Snowmen. He saw ornaments, stuffed animals, dolls, tree toppers, and inflatables in people’s front yards. They were everywhere. And Frostie didn’t like it.

Do you know what the word “abominable” means? It’s not a very nice word. It means something so bad, so mean, so disgusting, that everyone who sees it immediately hates it. Frostie, who was often a snowman himself, didn’t want that to be the word everyone thought of when they thought of snowmen at Christmas. As he himself is a jolly, happy soul (usually), those are the kinds of words he would want to be used to describe snowmen.

(His brother Jack, of course, suggested that the real reason that Frostie was so upset is that he had become used to being the most famous snowman of all, and he didn’t like his spotlight being stolen. This, I think, was Jack teasing his brother, but who knows? There could be some truth to it.)

And so it was that when Jack and Frostie came to visit us after Christmas, Frostie let us know of his plan: he was going to go to the Himalayas, catch a yeti, and tell them to go back up into their mountain caves and leave Christmas to less abominable people! He wasn’t going to go alone, of course. Jack considers himself a big-time adventurer and thought catching one of the scariest monsters in the world would be a real feather in his cap. (Though knowing Jack as I do, I knew he would tell stories of bravely catching an abominable snowman even if he never saw one.) What’s more, the two brothers would be joined by their cousin, the Snow Maiden, whose duties for Grandfather Frost (the grandfather of Jack, Frostie, and the Snow Maiden who lives in a snowy estate in the forests of Russia) she had completed after the New Year, which is when Russian children get presents.

Frostie thought it would be a good family outing for the three cousins to travel together, since the two brothers are normally roaming the world and the Snow Maiden spends most of her time with Grandfather Frost. I think the Snow Maiden was more interested in the travels with her family than any chance of seeing (or smelling) a yeti. And, as I said, Jack was more interested in being able to boast about hunting a great monster than in saving the good name of snowmen everywhere.

But Frostie was still glad to have them along. Each one of them has a good amount of snow and ice magic on their own, but together the three of them should have been unstoppable, even in the face of giant hairy ape-men. As they were preparing for their trip, Jack even started singing a song that he made up (or so he says) about their expedition. I don’t remember all the words, but I do remember him singing this part over and over at the top of his lungs, until the words echoed through the reindeer stalls and frightened all the calves:

“Well, it’s cheer up, my lads!

Keep your hearts ever steady!

For the bonny brave Frost cousins

Go a-hunting for the yeti!”

And before we knew it, they were off. As quick as a wink, Jack and the Snow Maiden had whisked themselves up into invisible snowy winds and carried Frostie’s hat off with them. Fortunately, the same Christmas magic that lets me know when children are in danger or when they’re up to coal-worthy antics would warn me if anything went wrong for them on their trip that required a quick reindeer rescue. Frostie had told me not to worry, as he had once saved a city in Maryland from monsters that were a lot like yetis except much, much bigger. In that case, a local doctor had simply built a very, very large snowman body for Frostie to inhabit, which made scaring off the frost giants much easier. He said that if things got too scary, Jack could easily make him a similar body. I guess it was better than no plan at all, but I hoped they wouldn’t have to count on a giant snowman saving them.

As it turns out, they didn’t have to build a giant snowman. But that’s not to say there wasn’t any danger. In fact, only a few days after the Frost cousins had left for the mountains of Tibet, I had a dream in which I could see what they were up to. After failing to find a snowbeast for some time, the three cousins decided to find a place to rest. What they found was an old abandoned mill where the local people used to grind barley into flour. Since it was obvious no one had been there in a long time, the three built a fire and settled in to sleep.

In the darkest, quietest time of the night, they were all suddenly woken up by the sound of the mill door slamming shut! When they opened their eyes, they saw the giant, shaggy form of an angry yeti standing over them! “This is my hideout!” he growled in an angry voice. “What are you doing here? I’m going to eat you up!”

The three cousins were scared and didn’t know what to do. They had great power among them, but this yeti had caught them off-guard. There was no snow inside the mill for Frostie to use as a body, so the plan that had worked on the frost giants in Maryland wouldn’t work here. Jack decided to turn to his most powerful weapon: tall tales.

“It’s good that you’re here, Mister Yeti,” said Jack. “We’ve been looking all over for you. My brother and sister and I are all powerful frost giants from the land of Giants’ Home and we have taken on these puny human forms to come and see how this world’s snow and ice monsters are doing.” He stood up and walked around the yeti as if he were checking out a suit of clothes that he was considering buying. “You seem to be doing a very good job, very frightening. The stink is good, it reminds me of home. Your sweaty armpit rock is very intimidating as well. I’ll let the king of the giants know that he doesn’t have to worry about the ape-men of the Himalayas.”

Unfortunately, the yeti wasn’t buying Jack’s story any more than you might. He grabbed Jack by the back of his collar and lifted him up off the ground to look him straight in the eye. Jack did his best not to grimace when the sour milk smell of the yeti’s steamy breath puffed into his nostrils. “Show me,” said the yeti. “Show me that you are a giant. If you are so strong, you could crush me.” Jack couldn’t answer. “Why do you look so scared?”

So Frostie’s plan to make a big snowman hadn’t worked, and the yeti wasn’t convinced by Jack’s fibs. Fortunately there was still a third Frost cousin. The Snow Maiden cried out, just as the yeti was about to bop Jack one right on the head, “Wait! Mister Yeti, I know we have come into your hiding place and now you are going to eat us up. That is only fair. But I have one request. Where we come from, it is a custom before dying to cover our legs with oil before dying. That way we can run swiftly to Heaven. Will you allow us to do this?”

The yeti thought it over and decided he didn’t really care if his dinner tasted like oil or not, especially since he planned to gobble them up so fast that he wouldn’t even be able to taste anything. And so he agreed to let the cousins brush their legs with oil before he ate them up. But what he didn’t know was that the brush the Snow Maiden held up wasn’t a brush for rubbing oil on things: it was Jack’s magic paintbrush that he uses to paint frost crystals on windows and sparkling white icicles on tree branches.

The Snow Maiden ran the brush up and down her leg and said, “This is so wonderful. My legs feel like I could run anywhere, as fast as the wind. I could catch up to a yak without trying. I could leap from mountaintop to mountaintop.”

The yeti, who would have liked to be able to catch a yak without trying, grabbed the brush from the Snow Maiden’s hands. “Let me try that!” he growled. Soon he was rubbing the brush up and down his hideous hairy legs, just as he had seen the Snow Maiden do, all the way down to his furry, backwards feet. With each swipe of the brush, however, the yeti’s legs became more and more covered in ice thanks to the magic of the paintbrush. Before he even noticed what was happening, his legs were so frozen that he couldn’t move. Jack couldn’t believe the Snow Maiden, normally so polite, had pulled off a better trick than even he could think of, and with his own brush no less.

With the yeti frozen to the ground, the Frost cousins took their chance to escape. Jack, with one last flick of his brush, froze the yeti’s mouth closed so that he wouldn’t be able to whistle a warning to the others out there hiding among the mountain caves. The three Frosts disappeared into a flurry of snow, and that was the end of my dream. I did not dream about them again for a long time, so I figured that meant they were safe.

Meanwhile, it turns out that it was everywhere else that wasn’t safe! Suddenly, everywhere all over the world people were getting sick, and the only way to stay healthy was to stay inside or wear a mask if you had to go out. That was true everywhere, even here at the North Pole. You may have heard on TV that I can’t catch this sickness, which is true--I wouldn’t be able to deliver presents this year otherwise--but that’s not true for everyone who lives up here at the North Pole. And so we had to make sure everyone was safe.

My main apprentice, Pete, was very helpful in making sure that his brothers all washed their hands several times a day while singing the song “Saint Nicholas, Little Rascal” (a very popular song in the Netherlands) twice to make sure they were all the way clean. The animals couldn’t get sick, so Rupert didn’t have much to do besides his normal job, though he did make sure the werewolf in our stables always kept a mask over his snout. The elves in the workshop made special breathing devices that filtered out any sickness from the air. I told them they didn’t have to work and that I would make all the toys this year, but they said that toymakers are essential workers, and I couldn’t disagree. We can’t disappoint the children. This year has been bad enough.

The Krampus assured me that the beasts huddled up in our outbuilding of furry friends were enough like animals that they wouldn’t get sick any more than the reindeer would. That was good, because I couldn’t imagine trying to convince that big pile of monsters that they should stay six feet away from each other.

Once we had made sure that everyone at the workshop was being careful and staying home, it was up to Mrs. Claus to make sure that everyone out in the village in the forest was being safe. Mrs. Claus and her two closest helpers, Holly and Ivy, who are both tree spirits like Mrs. Claus, went out into the thick forest of fir trees that surround the North Pole workshop. First they told all the other tree spirits that it would be best to just stay in their trees this year unless absolutely necessary.

Then they turned to the Mushroom People who make their homes underneath the fir trees, with their little red caps with white spots. They had come to live in our forest after being driven out of their homes by the Penny Bun Mushrooms in the War of the Mushrooms. They found it most comfortable to live under the shade of silver fir trees, and since we have more of those than anywhere else in the world, they live with us. When Mrs. Claus told them about how everyone was getting sick, they said they weren’t worried because their people were blessed with good luck, but that they would still stay inside anyway to help everyone else.

Then Mrs. Claus, Holly, and Ivy checked with the Moss People, the Mossmen and Mosswomen, who live with us to hide away from the wild hunters who try to catch them every year. The Moss People were all fine, tucked away inside their hollow log homes. Next, Mrs. Claus and her helpers checked with the timid Pinecone People, who can normally be found climbing over the rooftops during the Twelve Days of Christmas, and made them promise to stay home and not climb on any rooftops at all.

Holly and Ivy then ranged out deeper into the fir forest in an attempt to find Belsnickel, the woodsman of the North Pole, who keeps to himself at the best of times. They looked and looked and couldn’t find him, so we feel pretty confident that he’s keeping away from other people, which is pretty normal for him anyway. Don’t worry about him being lonely, though, as I’m sure he has no shortage of snowshoe hares, Arctic foxes, puffins, and snow buntings to keep him company.

I myself went to talk to the Valkyries, the warrior women who watch over the northern sky and whose armor twinkles in the distant light of the sun, creating what most people call the Northern Lights. I talked to their leader, whose name is Mist, as she hovered in the night sky above the Earth. Normally, the job of Valkyries is to select the bravest warriors from any battle who might be worthy to join the Hall of Heroes who spend their days training to fight a giant wolf who they know will one day try to eat the world. (Don’t worry, that wolf is chained up with the strongest chains ever built. They were made by the relatives of our workshop elves, so I know they’re of good quality and should last a long time.) Mist told me that because so many people were staying home this year, there were no battles for them to watch over. That meant they could stay home in the skies above the North Pole.

I went next to talk to the Great North Polar Bear, Callisto, and her son, Arcas. As they are bears, I knew they wouldn’t need to worry about a human sickness. I still wanted to check on them and make sure they were okay, because I didn’t want them to be lonely. I also asked them if they would do me the favor of keeping an eye on the entrance to the Star Land. You remember that Callisto and Arcas live up among the stars above the Pole to be a sign to the people so they can always find which way is north. Because they live in the stars, they are neighbors to the Star People of Star Land. I was not particularly worried that the Star Man or the Little Star would wander out of the Star Land and into the human world and get sick, but I knew that some of the little ones, the Star Boys and little angels who romp and play all over that starry land, might not be old enough to understand that they can’t play with or sing for little human girls and boys this year. Callisto promised that she would look out for any stray cherubs dancing down the light beams towards the Earth. I thanked her by promising her we would save her and Arcas an extra big portion of their favorite soda when they visited next.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Claus took one of the horses from the stables and rode out to the Riphean Mountains, which surround the North Pole and help keep unwanted visitors out. She rode to the court of King Lunicursor, the king of the griffins who live in the mountains, protecting their hoards of gold. Griffins, of course, are half eagle and half lion, so they can’t catch a human virus. We weren’t worried about the griffins, but rather about the one-eyed giants who also live in the Riphean Mountains and who are always trying to steal the griffins’ gold. Despite only having one eye and being larger and meaner than a normal human, we were worried that the Arimaspians, as they are called, would not care very much about their health or anyone else’s, and they might run down into human villages and spread sickness everywhere. They are definitely rude enough that they would never wear a mask or stay six feet away from someone, or even wash their hands or cover their mouths when they cough. Very rude.

Lunicursor, you will remember, is quite friendly with Mrs. Claus after the two of them flew to the Moon last year to stop the Mouse King with the legendary sword Crackatook. He was, of course, very happy to see Mrs. Claus, and he agreed to keep a close eye on the Arimaspians this year and try to keep them too busy to make war with their neighbors south of the mountains. Mrs. Claus and Lunicursor also agreed that the griffins’ job of flying across the world and finding homes for unwanted toys was more important than ever this year. This year has been lonely enough for some children. We want to make sure they get all the toys they can.

Beyond the peaks where the griffins guard their gold and the valleys were the Arimaspians pasture their horses lie the banks of the Eridanus River, the only river that leads up through the Riphean Mountains. Along its banks grow long rows of poplar trees that never stop weeping golden, sticky amber. The trees cry because they used to be human, the sisters of a young man who foolishly thought he could control the sun as if he were driving a sleigh. He was wrong, and he steered it too close to the Earth and burned a big part of it up, creating what we know now as the Sahara Desert. In the end, he lost control altogether, and his sisters were so sad after he fell from the sun and back to Earth that they turned into trees that have been crying ever since. 

Swimming in the waters of the Eridanus are huge flocks of swans. Most of them used to be human; in fact, they were the people who lived at the North Pole before we did, when it was still spring all the time, before the cold came. When the people of the North Pole became old, they would dive into the waters of the Eridanus, and its magic turned them into swans. Also among them are many Swan Maidens, who can change between human form and swan form, but who are not originally from the North Pole. They are watched over by their brother, the Swan Knight, who rides a boat pulled by his sisters in their swan forms. I’ll have to tell you more about them another time.

Anyway, Mrs. Claus rode down from the mountains, sneaking through the valleys of the Arimaspians, and to the banks of the river. There she talked to the Swan Maidens and the Swan Knight and made them promise to stay along the banks of the river, or if they had to visit the human world, that they would stay in their swan forms. The Swan Maidens all promised to obey Mrs. Claus, and I hope they were being honest. Many of the Swan Maidens used to be princesses and are not used to doing what other people say, even when it’s for their own good.

Beyond the banks of the Eridanus lies a snowy land that has been cursed to eternal winter where only horrible creatures like the Awgwas live, so there isn’t much good we could do there. The Awgwas are even ruder than the Arimaspians, and besides, they can turn invisible, so it’s not likely we’d find them if we wanted to. Once you get beyond that, you’ll find the Islands of Amber and the Island of Tin and Furthest Thule and other places that are well outside the influence of the North Pole. Hopefully those people will make good decisions for themselves.

And so you can see, from the Pole to the Workshop to the stables to the Krampus shelters to the village to the fir forest to the Northern Lights to the Star Land to the Riphean Mountains to the Riphean valleys to the banks of the Eridanus, we have done our best to keep everyone safe and inside this year. It has been a hard and lonely year, but we have done our best. We tried to focus on our work and making toys and getting ready for Christmas, but sometimes it can be hard to pay attention to work, and that’s okay too.

The good news is this: after many months of staying home and making sure all the creatures of the North Pole were doing the same, I finally had another dream about the Frost cousins. The three of them were standing on an icy peak near Mount Everest, the tallest mountain in the world, hoping from that high point they could spy a yeti. Of course, the wind and snow made it very hard to see anything, let alone a sneaky beast whose fur was crusted white with frost against blankets of snow. And while their attention was focused on what was down the mountain, they weren’t thinking about what was coming behind them!

Yes, it was a yeti! This one was even taller than the one who had tried to gobble them up at the mill. Fortunately they heard his large, backwards feet cracking through the snow behind them. When they whipped their heads around to see what had made the noise, they saw a yeti very different from the one they had encountered before. This one was not crusted over with snow, but rather his long, black fur appeared to be neatly combed. The look on his face was peaceful and welcoming, rather than snarling and hungry. And perhaps most strangely of all, he was wearing clothes! Even though they were ragged from age and use, the Frost cousins could tell that the yeti was wearing monk’s robes. With his magic rock tucked under his left arm, this unusual creature was dragging a large portion of meat behind him with his right arm.

Rather than threatening to eat the Frost cousins up, he asked if they would like to get out of the cold and join him for a meal. The way he asked was so polite, even sassy Jack didn’t bother pointing out that the Frost cousins never got cold. Instead, the polite Snow Maiden agreed that they would follow him. Frostie was nervous about following a yeti to his home, but he knew this was perhaps his best shot at telling an abominable snowman to leave Christmas to the jolly, happy snowmen.

This yeti, it turned out, lived in a small house near the peak of Everest. For many years he had lived there with a monk--a human monk--who was his friend, and who had taught the yeti how to be a monk himself. It turns out that many, many years ago, the monk had been keeping watch over the world one night, silently praying for good things for the people and animals of the world below him. In the winter moonlight, a yeti--this yeti, the one telling the story--tried to sneak up on him to gobble him up, as the yeti at the mill had tried to do to the Frost cousins.

Instead, the monk turned around and showed the yeti his peaceful, smiling face. The monk’s attitude was so loving and calm that the yeti forgot that he had meant to make a meal of him. With gentle words and loving gestures, the monk invited the yeti into his humble home, the very cabin where the yeti and the three cousins now sat. The yeti was a welcome guest here at the home of the monk. He had never felt so happy and accepted in his life, and soon he wondered why he had ever tried to hurt anyone.

The monk treated the yeti as if he were his brother--because, the monk said, all those who walk the Earth are his siblings--and as if he had lived in his home for years. The monk’s words were like seeds that he planted in the yeti’s heart, and those kind and gentle words blossomed into peace and love within the yeti. Soon the yeti would help the monk by getting food and firewood for the two of them, and the monk taught him his way of life. Although the monk had grown old and died many years ago, the yeti lived on, continuing to live in the style of peace and kindness the monk had taught him.

And that is how the Frost cousins had found him. The four joined together in happiness and warmth inside the monk’s cabin, enjoying the warm fire and the meal the yeti prepared for them. It was very good, in my opinion, that the cousins found someone so kind and helpful, because soon after they arrived in the yeti’s small house, the order went out that everyone needed to stay home or else get sick. That was, of course, back in the spring.

So Jack, Frostie, and the Snow Maiden have been living with the yeti monk for most of a year, eating yak for dinner and learning the ways of peace and kindness. My dream didn’t show me everything that has been going on with them for nine months, but I do know that now that he’s met this yeti, Frostie has changed his tune about yetis. He thinks that calling them abominable is very rude, and that while some of them are mean and cruel, others of them are more like adorable snowmen. And so he’s decided that it’s okay if some people decorate for Christmas while using yetis as long as they don’t forget to use regular snowmen, too. I think he’ll probably get his wish.

The extra good news is that a doctor just called me this week to tell me that they were making a medicine to help people fight the sickness that caused so much trouble this year. While they are still working on making enough for everyone to have some, they know how important Christmas is to so many people, so they wanted to make sure we got some at the North Pole so that we can make our rounds. As soon as it gets here, I’m going to fly the sleigh down to the Himalayas to find Jack, Frostie, and the Snow Maiden and take them back to Grandfather Frost in Russia so they can get ready to help him deliver gifts on New Year’s!

I will have to take my fastest reindeer, because we at the North Pole of course have our own work to do, and Christmas is coming soon! I will definitely be coming to see you, because I know you have been good this year, staying at home and wearing a mask when you go out! I wish there were more people who would follow your example, but there are a lot of names on the naughty list this year, I’m afraid, all because they are so angry about masks! Anyway, there’s plenty of coal to go around for people like that.

Have a merry Christmas, and here’s to a better year in 2021! Give my love to your mommy and daddy and all of your family. I will be there to visit soon! 

Your friend,

Santa Claus

[whump-tr0pes]

HB4-43/Whumptober day 31

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, and Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

~

Content warning: discussion of death, off-screen death, threats of death

~

Gray adjusted their hands on the wheel as they turned onto ninth. They shot a glance into the back seat, at the young man huddled there, fast asleep. As they rolled over a bump, he jerked and looked around, dazed.

“Wha…?” He wet his lips and met Gray’s eyes. “Um. S-sorry, Mx.—”

“Please just call me Gray,” they said gently. “It’s alright.”

Zachariah nodded. “G-Gray. Um… could I… do you… have any water?”

Gray’s lips pressed into a line. “I don’t. I was planning on getting some in town when I headed back. I can get you some, too. Are you hungry?”

Zachariah slowly nodded. “Y-yes,” he murmured. Dark circles were etched into the skin under his eyes.

“Hm.” When Gray reached Main, they took a left, towards the city center. The trees on either side of the road made patterns in the shadows that slid over the car.

They pulled up to a storefront that sold snacks, bottled water, and candy. The team usually stopped there before heading back up to Burmingham. Sometimes Vera would chant road trip, road trip, road trip as she picked out her snacks. The memory made Gray smile.

“Stay here,” they said softly. “I’ll go get you something.”

“No, you, you don’t… have to…” Zachariah licked his lips as he said it, and shot a look out the window at the store. Gray could hear his stomach grumble from the front seat.

“No, but I will,” they said with a gentle smile. “I’ll only be a moment.”

They climbed out of the car with a groan and walked into the store. Lining the walls were shelves of snacks, little pies, bags of dried fruit, sticks of cured meat wrapped in plastic. There was a long row of nothing but chocolate bars and fruity hard candy. Against the back wall was a long refrigerator filled with sandwiches and bottled drinks, juices and sodas, and if you brought in five empty bottles, you got the next drink free. Gray picked up a basket at the front door and wandered down the first row.

They grabbed a bag of chips, a packet of jerky, and a small apple pie and put them into the basket. Down the next, they took a bar of chocolate. From the refrigerator against the wall, they took a ham sandwich, a bottle of root beer, and two large bottles of water. They took the basket up to the register and dug into their pocket for their wallet.

The cashier smiled at Gray as they hit buttons on the ancient cash register. It reminded Gray of their childhood, years ago, before the syndicates crept into the world and broke it from the inside out. The register dinged and the cashier looked back up at Gray.

“Seven units,” they said quietly.

Gray pulled out the folded papers of credit Schiester had given them in exchange for helping with the refugees. Each bill was printed on cloth-like paper, with his signature in the lower right hand corner. Most of the town got by on bartering. Daniel payed his people in cash.

Gray laid down two bills of five units each. “Can you keep the change as credit here?” they said as they tucked the snacks under their arm.

The cashier nodded. “Sure,” they said with a smile. “For anyone in the family?”

“Yes.” They briefly wondered how many other places knew them all by name, or just by their faces. Gray gave a nod and turned to leave. “Have a good day.”

“You too! Thanks for coming in.” The cashier waved as Gray turned and left the store.

As they walked across the sidewalk, they could see Zachariah’s dark head of hair just visible over the door of the car. They opened the door and slid into the seat. Zachariah raised his eyes to Gray, dull with terror and lack of sleep.

“Got you a few things,” Gray said gently. “Also, you might want to sit a bit further down. I can see you through the window.”

Zachariah’s eyes went wide and he shoved himself down lower behind the seat. Gray’s mouth pinched as they passed back the food.

Zachariah licked his lips and clutched at the snacks as Gray passed them back one by one. He tore open the packet with the sandwich and shoved almost the entire thing into his mouth.

Gray watched him with sadness dragging at their heart. The sandwich was gone in three bites. Zachariah cracked open the bottle and gulped down half of the root beer in one breath.

“Hungry, huh?” Gray said, the corners of their mouth turning down.

Zachariah nodded vigorously. “Yes,” he gasped as he pulled open the bag of chips. “Thank you.”

“Hm.” Gray started the car. For a moment they sat still, distracted by the sound of crunching coming from the back seat. Then they put the car in drive and pulled away from the storefront. They pulled onto the street and drove south.

The crinkle of the chip bag and the sound of crunching fell silent. “Um… G-Gray? Where…? I thought you lived north of Crayton?”

“I do,” Gray said heavily. “But I’m going to the town hall first.”

There was a soft gasp from the back seat. “Oh… sh-shit, no, please,” Zachariah whimpered. “Gray, please, M-Mathias said I wouldn’t be, um, welcome, and I just want to… please…”

“I’m not turning you in,” Gray said gently, casting another glance back at the boy. His eyes were red-rimmed and filled with tears. His hands shook as he clutched at the seat in front of him. “I said I would keep you safe, and I will. Daniel Schiester has his own history of being… unwelcoming… to people in my own family.”

Zachariah nodded. “I’ve heard he’s… um… pretty intense.”

“Right.” The street opened up into the main square. Gray pulled up to the town hall. It towered over Gray, casting a broad shadow across the wide square. Multiple cars were parked outside it, some in good repair, and some barely held together with duct tape and rope. Every now and then, someone would stagger out the front doors, alone or in groups, all with identical haunted looks in their eyes. Must be a heavy refugee day. Gray put the car in park and turned it off again. “I just have a few questions for him.”

Zachariah nodded weakly. “And… and should I…”

“Stay here,” Gray said firmly. They climbed out of the car and made their way up the steps to the front door.

As they pulled the door open, they nearly collided with a young couple. The father held a baby in their arms, barely a year old, kicking her little legs and squalling at the top of her lungs. The mother briefly met Gray’s eyes. Gray’s stomach lurched at the look of… blankness there. Like there was no soul, no mind, piloting the body that walked through the door.

A volunteer Gray recognized, Mandy, stepped up and tucked the young woman under her arm. “Hey, Gray,” she said sadly as she steered the couple through the door. “Thanks for holding the door. See you in a bit?”

“Maybe,” Gray said as the family passed them and trudged down the steps. “I’m only here to talk with the mayor for a second.”

“Later, then,” she said with a nod. She guided the couple to her car and helped them into it.

Gray tore their gaze from the family and walked into the atrium. There were about ten refugees inside, some wandering aimlessly with empty eyes, some huddled against the walls as if hiding from blows. Two volunteers, Jeff and Denise, stood at tables, taking down information. Daniel Schiester stood at another, helping refugees fill out the packet of papers to get them settled once they were screened by the other two.

Gray shuddered as they realized, now, what those questions were meant to do.

Daniel looked up as they approached. A flat smile spread across his face, the ice-blue of his eyes never warming. “Gray,” he said, and held out a hand. “Good to see you. I didn’t think you were on the volunteer list for today?”

The three refugees standing in front of the table looked up at Gray without curiosity or fear. They all, to a person, looked… vacant.

Gray shuddered.

“I’m not volunteering today, no,” Gray said gently. They motioned with their head towards the staircase to Daniel’s office. “But I would like a word. Just a few questions. I won’t take up much of your time.”

Daniel’s mouth tightened his smile. “Of course,” he said evenly. He turned to the refugees. “Excuse me, please,” he said, his voice pitched low. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” He turned to the other volunteers. “Denise!” She raised her head. “Help these three out, would you? We’re almost finished with the paperwork.” Denise nodded and broke away from her table to take Daniel’s spot at his. Daniel turned and walked up the stairs, not checking to see if Gray was behind him.

Gray’s knees cracked as they climbed the stairs to Daniel’s office. Their thoughts drifted to Zachariah, and to the journey he’d had from Fort Meyers all the way north. Twenty-four days. Ever since their own family had returned, Zachariah had been slowly making his way north, facing god knows what.

They swallowed dryly as they stepped into Daniel’s office. They kept the door open.

Daniel sat down heavily behind his desk. He steepled his fingers as Gray took a seat in front of him. He raised his eyebrows at him. “What brings you in, Gray?”

Gray blew out a slow breath. Something in the back of their mind whispered at them to get out, to leave, to keep their mouth shut about everything they’d seen and heard. Perhaps it was all a misunderstanding. Perhaps this would anger the most powerful man in Crayton, and they would lose his support forever.

They couldn’t let it go unsaid.

Gray wet their lips. “I… I’m concerned about… some rumors I’ve been hearing.”

Daniel’s lips pursed in amusement as he blinked. “Oh?”

“I… I keep hearing reports of… people going missing. Disappearances. And… I was wondering if were looking into them. If you had any updates.”

Daniel huffed out a laugh. “Gray… I’ll be one hundred percent honest here: I am too busy to chase after every report of someone going missing. The people who find their way here, they’re too traumatized to make a truly comprehensive and factual report anyway. I’m…” Daniel leaned in. “I’m sorry. I know hearing about these things must be hard. Especially after everything you and your family have been through. If it’s… too much, or you need time, just tell me. I can arrange for your credits to be paid until you are all well enough to help more regularly. This work… it takes a toll. On all of us.”

Gray shook their head. “It’s not that. It’s—” They raised their eyes to Daniel, then to the wall behind him, where the pictures of the refugees hung.

There was a new picture on Daniel’s wall.

It was of a young man, maybe Sam’s age, maybe a little older. He had thick blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and was wearing a worn brown t-shirt. His eyes were an almost startling green, bright enough that Gray could see the color even in the dark, slightly-blurry photograph.

He looked familiar. He looked…

Except for the eyes, he looked exactly like his sibling, Aryn. The young kid they and Isaac and helped not even a week ago.

A chill punched through Gray’s gut. They looked at Daniel where he sat in his chair, relaxed, almost looking bored. They thought of Zachariah, huddled in the car, hungry and exhausted and desperate. They wondered how long it would have taken for his picture to end up on the wall behind Daniel’s head, if Mathias hadn’t stepped in.

The smile slid from Daniel’s face. “Is there a problem?” he asked, coldness hardening the edges of his voice.

Gray glanced at the photo and back to Daniel. “You told Isaac you thought Caleb disappeared on the road,” they said darkly. “Caleb.” They pointed with one finger. “That’s that boy’s name.”

Something tightened behind Daniel’s eyes. Goosebumps erupted over Gray’s skin. They wondered, dizzily, if Isaac would have already started shooting, if he was here.

Daniel sat back in his chair, his head tilted at Gray like he was calculating something. Deciding whether to tell Gray the truth, and how much of it. Or perhaps deciding whether or not he was going to kill them right here.

How long would Zachariah wait before he took the car north? He doesn’t know where he’s going. How long without hearing from me until the others come for me?

Daniel shrugged. He raised an eyebrow at Gray.

“Gray,” he said softly. “What is it you thought we do here?”

Gray’s breath froze in their chest. “…wh-what?”

Daniel leaned back in his chair. “I told you,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “On the very first day I met you and your family. Your Stormbeck boy is not the first syndicate agent that we’ve caught in our net. Not the only one… by far.” Daniel tilted his head back towards the wall behind him.

Gray’s eyes went wide as they moved over the photographs. “You mean… all of them…?” Gray’s chest tightened. “You’re calling them agents?”

Daniel scoffed. “What else would you call them? We’ve caught spies, assassins, the engineers for the entire syndicate machine. They come north to destroy us. I stop the threat.”

Gray leapt to their feet. “And that boy?” Their hand shot out to point at Caleb’s picture. “Would you call him a syndicate agent?”

“Yes,” Daniel said as they watched Gray evenly. “I would.”

“By what… measure?” Gray gasped. “By what proof?”

Daniel laughed, and the sound grated on Gray’s ears. “By the measure that he was syndicate.”

“But—”

“He had their fucking mark on him, Gray,” he said through his teeth, his veneer of control slipping. “Tattooed it right on his arm.”

“But…” Gray’s stomach dropped as they again thought of Zachariah waiting for them in the car. I should never have brought him here. I put his life at risk. “What did he…?”

“He was a low-level Stormbeck enforcer,” Daniel said through thin lips.

“‘Enforcer,’” Gray scoffed. “You make him sound like he’s… Daniel, he’s nineteen—”

“How old do you think your own Stormbeck was when he first killed someone?” Daniel said, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t pretend every young person is somehow absolved of all their sins. Anyone can do evil, no matter who they are.”

“You seem to have learned this intimately well,” Gray hissed.

“I have,” Daniel said as he slowly got to his feet. “I know the nature of Stormbeck cruelty better than most.”

“And you’re continuing their legacy, as far as I can see,” Gray spat. “That kid, Aryn… they’re an orphan now, Daniel. They came north with nothing, and you stole the one thing they had. What happened to them? Are they just—”

“They’ve been placed with a loving and protective family,” Daniel said, his eyes flashing.

Gray’s hands shook as they stared at Daniel. “What… what happened to you?” they murmured. “Were you… a, a plaything? A rebel? What did they do to you?”

“I wasn’t a plaything, no,” Daniel said softly. His cold eyes blazed with icy fury. “But I did have a front-row-fucking-seat to Joseph Stormbeck’s destruction of my life, and of the Defense Corps.”

Gray sucked in a breath. “So Finn was right.”

Daniel frowned. “Finn? Right about what?”

“They said you were Defense Corps,” Gray said softly. “They said they thought they could see it. And you… what, you… you’re getting revenge? By… by sifting out people who… anyone you deem to be a syndicate threat? Anyone who wears a syndicate mark?” They swallowed thickly, terror tightening in their throat. “Daniel… what do you do with them?”

Daniel smiled, saccharine. “Gray… you’re a pragmatist. You’ve done what you had to do to protect your family.” He narrowed his eyes. “What would you do, if you were in my position?”

“I wouldn’t kill just anyone who wears a syndicate mark, that’s for goddamned sure,” Gray hissed. “Do you even… ask them their stories? Do you even try to find out who they really are?”

“I don’t have to,” Daniel said. “Playthings get branded. Playthings don’t have a choice. But tattoos… and anyone who works in a syndicate household…” He shrugged.

“Sometimes there’s no choice!” Gray said, their voice rising in pitch. “Sometimes there’s—”

“There’s always a choice,” Daniel sneered. “There’s always a choice between providing comfort and service to the enemy, and finding another way to live.”

“Is that what you did?” Gray said darkly. “Provide comfort and service to the enemy?”

Daniel’s mouth slowly fell closed. He thrust his chin at Gray. “I made mistakes,” he rasped. “I chose the wrong things. And I atone for that, every day. I keep this town, and the entire north with it, safe. I make the hard choices no one else is able to make. I deal with the threats, so it doesn’t fall to anyone else.”

Gray’s lips trembled as they forced themself to look at Daniel. “Daniel,” they said breathlessly. “Where is Caleb?”

Darkness passed over Daniel’s face. “When you comforted Aryn on Friday,” he said, even and measured, “Caleb was in chains, two floors beneath their feet.”

Gray blanched. “No—”

“He was executed that afternoon, by private tribunal. His blood is on my hands. I carry that burden, so no one else has to.”

“No,” Gray whimpered. Their hands closed into shaking fists. “Daniel…” Tears burned in their eyes.

Daniel rested his hands against the desk and leaned towards Gray. “Gray… I make the hard calls. I make the sacrifice, so my people can sleep at night. Yes, it’s ugly work. I eliminate some people that you might deem redeemable, especially given your clement standards. But believe me…” Daniel’s mouth twisted in an ugly grimace. “The syndicates, and the people who tolerate them, cannot be changed. There is no redeeming someone who no longer cares about human life. If your Stormbeck boy had been allowed to survive his return south, you might have learned that.”

“You have no idea what kind of person Gavin Uriah was,” Gray growled.

“I have a far better idea than any of you,” Daniel said, his voice soft as a whisper.

Gray clenched their jaw and leaned away from Daniel. Their heart pounded in their chest.

Daniel’s lip curled as he leaned away as well. “This system works, Gray,” he said, his voice suddenly perfectly even. “I understand that it is… distasteful to some. If you and your family cannot live with the consequences of this work, I understand. I can release you from all of your obligations here. After all the work you have done to fight the syndicates, I can ensure that your credits are covered, wherever you go.” Daniel folded his hands in front of him. His thumb rubbed back and forth against the top of his hand. “You can find work elsewhere, or live your lives in peace doing whatever it is you wish. But please understand…” He fixed Gray with a cold look. “Any resistance to this system, I will see as an act against the safety of the north. And I will deal with it with the prejudice with which I handle the threats I already find myself burdened to handle.” Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Do we understand each other?”

Gray pulled in a deep breath and pushed it slowly out through their nose. Their hands were shaking, their chest so tight they could barely draw breath. Their heart hammered against their ribs.

“Yes,” they said softly. “We understand each other.”

“Good.” Daniel sat down behind his desk. “Then can I expect you for your shift on Friday? Or should I take you off the list for that day?”

“N-no,” Gray mumbled. “Or… let me think about it.”

Daniel tipped his head in a magnanimous nod. “I understand,” he said gently. “This work is hard. I understand if you need some time to wrap your head around it.”

Gray struggled to calm their breaths as they took a step backwards. “We’ll be in touch,” they murmured. They turned and didn’t look to see if Daniel responded.

They strode down the hall and had to stop themself from taking the steps two at a time. Their head swam. Their lungs burned. They rushed across the atrium and shoved the doors open, blinking in the sudden brightness outside. They jogged down the stairs and yanked open the door to their car.

Zachariah sat up with a start. “What—”

“Stay down,” Gray ordered, jamming the keys into the ignition. “Don’t move. Stay down.”

Zachariah gulped. “Wh-why, what… what happened?”

“Found out what happens to you if you’re found,” Gray said darkly. They tore away from the town hall and flipped around. They had to force themself not to slam their foot down on the gas.

“Wh-what happens?” Zachariah whispered. Gray glanced back at him again. The packets of food were all empty. The bottle of water was half-full at his feet.

“You’re executed as a Stormbeck agent,” Gray said through their teeth.

“What?” Zachariah whimpered. “I… oh, fuck…”

“Just keep your head down,” Gray spat. “Don’t move. You can come up front once we leave the city but don’t move.” Zachariah shuddered and huddled closer to the floor. Gray snatched the phone up from the passenger seat and flipped it open. They dialed the number for the team’s other phone and held it to their ear.

Isaac answered almost immediately. “Gray?”

“I’m alright,” they said quickly.

Gray could feel Isaac tense on the other end. “Gray… what happened? Do we need to—”

“I have another rescue,” Gray bit out. “And I found out about what Daniel has been doing to the people going missing.”

“Gray, I—”

“It’s a lot,” Gray said in a rush. “We’re not in danger. But we need to talk. All in person. I’m just leaving Crayton, but I’ll try to be there in less than three hours.”

“O— okay. Drive safe. Gray… who is it?”

“Someone you know,” Gray said with a glance behind them. Zachariah looked back at them with terror in his eyes, etched even deeper than before. “His name is Zachariah.”

Continued here

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[kestrelmando]

Writer Wednesday - The Phone Booth

The great @autumnleaves1991-blog has put together a weekly “Writer Wednesday” where she provides an image prompt.

This one is Jack “Whiskey” Daniels/f!OC.

Set in my, as of yet, unpublished f!OC x Whiskey series “Whiskey Smash”. Basic relevant background info; Whiskey and Mezcal (my f!OC with previous mob ties) were partners in Statesmen, just barely dip their toe into catching feelings when a near death experience with Mezcal scares him away due to his past. They haven’t talked/seen each other in a couple years at this point.

Warnings: Swear words, descriptions of a fight, impalement with a high heel, descriptions of wounds

-- 

A mission hadn’t blown up in her face like this is a long time, a really long time – the last one was years ago on that dingy rooftop where he had finally finally yanked her in and kissed her only for the night to end with her shoving him out of the line of fire. Three bullets later, two doses of Ginger’s experimental clotting serum, 3.5 liters of blood loss and she had woken up alone.

Just a note next to a vase of purple hyacinth and white amaranth; ‘I can’t do it again. – J’.

Oh, and she’d protested heavily on taking a mission in fucking New York. He was running the NYC branch, he could find someone local but Champ had insisted. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission; blend, listen, collect evidence.

Mezcal had wined and dined all evening, batting her eyelashes and smiling with doe eyes. She was this close to sticking her hand into the right pocket when someone had recognized her. He locked eyes with her across the room and recognition rippled across his face instantly. One of her father’s high level enforcers – hard to forget the boss’s daughter especially when she all but disappeared.

He knew better than to cause a scene in a private residence with stupidly rich people floating around between them. What the hell was he doing here? She made her excuses, off to powder her nose, and slipped into the empty side hallway. There was a small window in the butler’s pantry three doors down or she could try just walking out through the foyer and the front door. He’d be expecting the foyer, the cleanest exit was usually the simplest, so she made for the pantry.

She slipped off her heels and carried them, the click being far too loud on the marble floor, and quietly slid the pocket door open. The window was small, almost too small, but she was confident she’d make it and more importantly – the enforcer wouldn’t. Mezcal slid the door mostly shut and quickly went the window, shoving the frame up and grimacing at the chilly fall air.

A hand closed around her ankle just as she was halfway out, one knee dangling and the other in an awkward bend, and yanked her back. Her shoulder and head crashed against the upper window pane and frame with a crunch. Dazed, she dropped one shoe to the ground and swayed. Still, her free hand locked around the window frame. She would not be pulled back into the house – the other shoe came up, stiletto first, and embedded into his cheek.

The enforcer howled with pain, ripping it from his face with an arc of blood, and wrapped his beefy hands around both legs before dragging her back inside. They both tumbled to the ground at the momentum and she rolled to her feet, hands raised and ready for a fight.

 --

 She didn’t know how long she walked. Her head was swimming, ears were ringing. The cold autumn night bit at her bare feet and tattered dress. It was just like some rich asshole to have his home nearly on the slopes and away from everyone and everything else.

Eventually she stumbled onto a tiny town – if you could call it that. The storefronts were all long closed and she considered breaking into one for a phone and some warmth when she saw the lone phone booth. It stood out like a sore thumb, a relic even, but more secure than using a phone inside one of the stores.

She dutifully trudged to the booth and slipped inside, grimacing and checking the coin return for any spare change. At least one thing went right; seventy five cents in quarters rolled into her hand. Mezcal paused, she had to pick the right person to call and seventy five cents wasn’t going to give her long. After a mental run through of possible contacts, she sighed and let her head slump against the booth.

It had to be him. Goddamit, it had to be Whiskey.

He was all but guaranteed to be at the office still and the New York City branch was only a hour and an half by car. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, willing herself to forget his forlorn face all those years ago when he said he didn't like going home to an empty bed. 

She slid the quarters into the phone and dialed the number she would never admit she knew by heart; Whiskey's direct line. 

It rang twice before he picked up, voice stretched and thin, "Whiskey."

The air left her lungs and her tongue cemented itself to the roof of her mouth. Absurdly, she felt tears prick at her eyes. Even tired and lacking its usual ridiculous bounciness, it was the most beautiful sound she'd heard in ages. He sighed into the receiver.

She finally found her voice, "It's me." 

He breathed her name like a prayer, "Mezcal," he paused and then pressed on more urgently, "What's wrong?"

"I'm in New York, Middletown. I need extraction. I...I was unable to get back to my planned exit."

"Darlin' are you hurt? Where in Middletown?"

She leaned out of the phone booth looking for a street sign, "Oak and Main, phone booth."

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix."

He muttered something she didn't quite catch before saying, "Sit tight,  extraction comin' in a hour."

Mezcal hung up the phone, and slid the phone booth door shut in a vain attempt to stem the flow of cold air. She sunk to the floor and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her fingers around her numb toes.

--

Time was immaterial; all she knew was cold. The thin dress offered no insulation and both shoes had been lost on the grounds of the target's home.

Headlights cut through the night and she raised her head to see an unmistakable white bronco and a familiar stetson emerge from truck.

He didn't send a driver.

She tried to unfold her frozen limbs but everything was sluggishly moving. Instead, she reached over and slid open the phone booth door.

He caught he gaze over the hood of the bronco. Whiskey hurried over to her and immediately bent to help her up, hissing at the iciness of her bare arms.

She let herself be pulled up, mumbling, "You didn't have to come."

He knew her meaning; he could've sent someone. Instead he just replied, "Yeah I did."

They walked back to the truck, Whiskey's hand on the small of her back, and he opened the passenger door for her. The interior light of bronco illuminated her face and his face quickly morphed into alarm. He blurted out her name, her real name. "Kenna?" 

"You should see the other guy." She attempted with some bravado.

He gave her a once over in the light and all but lifted her into the truck, "Where the fuck are your shoes?"

"Just... let's go. Get the heat on, I'll tell you on the way back."

Whiskey nodded tightly but shut her door and got in on the other side. He turned on the truck, got the heater running, but didn't make a move to go anywhere. Instead he flicked on the overhead lights and reached into the back, broad shoulder brushing against her, and fished out a Statesmen first aid kit. 

He opened it with a snap and began pulling out various items, not glancing up from the kit, "Start talking."

"Recon, potential medical front for a bioweapons dealer. Wasn't supposed to see any action."

She sucked in a breath when she caught his eye. Those damn eyes. His brow had that knit in it and his gaze was the same soft one it had been that night all those years ago. She pointedly did not look at his mouth.

He reached up and tucked his fingers under her chin, turning her head to apply antiseptic to a small cut near her temple and on a few scrapes along her arms. Next was a prototype field ice pack, he gave it a few vigorous shakes and the small pouch froze. 

His fingers swept across her cheekbone, just below her black eye. "And who did this, sugar?"

Silence loomed between them and he frowned, anxiety swirling in his gut the longer she didn't say. His other hand crept up to cradle her neck.

"Kenna--"

"An enforcer. One of his enforcers, Jack."

The knit in his brow increased, his lips turning down into a frown. "Do we need to go take care of it?"

Mezcal smiled grimly then, "No. Dumb city kid was too enraptured by the fancy dumb waiter. The new, modern hydraulic dumb waiter."

Whiskey smirked at that and pressed the ice pack to her swollen eye. She told herself it was just her icicle limbs thawing in the warm truck, but a wave of heat rolled through her as his gaze openly drifted down her body. 

He picked at the tattered line of a slit in her dress, just above her knee, "Anywhere else we need to address?"

Her mouth was a desert, "Just the usual flesh wounds." 

Whiskey hummed and slid the slit over slightly to investigate, the fabric sliding across her legs and opening further up her thigh.

Like a goddamn curtain opening on a reminder of their last op together, the dress revealed the raised, white, puckered scar of a bullet wound. The same wound that nearly bled her dry in Jack's arms. 

Mezcal slowly raised her head to meet his eyes and she could see it happening in real time; his eyes became distant and his expression closed off. Her heart clenched -- goodbye Jack, hello Agent Whiskey. He moved his hands to wheel and they set off back to New York City.

Later, as she took a company car to drive back to Kentucky that night, she didn't bother saying goodbye. They were back to strangers.

[jujywrites]

don’t know how to say this (you’re really my dearest friend)

Valintine’s floof for Valentine’s! I wrote this some time ago for @julzlajulzjulz’s Fruits Basket zine, and... I really like it ghgfhfhfhfhfhh

AO3

FF.net

or keep reading~

***

On a February morning, Uotani Arisa woke up with an excess of energy. She dressed efficiently, pulling on a recently-bought coat (purple, with a fleece-lined collar), made sure there were instructions for the leftovers in the fridge, and left for Kaibara High with a lilt in her stride.

Not even the red decorations and explosions of hearts on nearly every storefront could dampen Arisa's mood, and she regarding the ads for chocolate (discount and otherwise) as a personal challenge. Chocolates were easy to make; store-bought chocolate was for unimaginative, lazy losers.

Rounding the corner, she spotted Tohru and Hana waiting at a crosswalk and jogged to catch up. "Yo," she said with a wave.

"Good morning, Uo-chan!" said Tohru, smiling brightly.

"Good morning," Hana echoed, nodding. It was warm enough that she could wear her lace gloves.

The light changed, and they stepped off the curb.

"Is that a new coat?" Hana adjusted her own, edged with lace around the collar. "It's a flattering color on you, Uotani."

"Hana-chan's right," said Tohru. "You should wear purple more often."

"Jeez, you'll make me blush." She chuckled, remembering how she'd felt looking at her reflection. "But I do look good, don't I? Not as—" She cut off what had been about to come out with a cough. "Not that I don't always, obviously."

Not as good as you, Saki.

Her near slip-up didn't dent her mood either. After all, Hana liked her coat.

Today's gonna be great.

~~~~~

Around lunchtime, amid chatter from her classmates about chocolate brands and chocolate ingredients and how many gifts the Prince would get, Arisa's mood had changed from determined to panic-struck.

Goddamn it, what am I doing?! I'm such a loser.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?" she asked Tohru as they left the classroom for the cafeteria. Hana was (Arisa looked over her shoulder) talking with Carrots, of all people.

Tohru barely agreed before Arisa dragged her out of the crowd with an iron grip.

"You gotta help me," Arisa said, far more frantically than she'd intended. "There's-" she swallowed some words, "someone I like, and I wanna make chocolate and I have no idea how!"

Tohru's confused expression gave way to pure joy. "Uo-chan, how exciting! Of course I'll help."

"But I!" She shut her mouth, opened it again, and sighed, feeling the adrenaline leave her. "I can't decide whether Valentine's or White Day would be better."

Tohru blinked. She stepped forward, raising a gentle hand to Arisa's arm. "Is the person you like a girl?" she said, almost too soft to hear.

Cringing inwardly, Arisa nodded. She blinked at her arm being squeezed.

"You should do it whenever you like," Tohru said, voice firm.

Arisa stared. A smile took over her face without warning, and she scratched the back of her neck with a short laugh. If Tohru knew which girl…? "I guess I should stick with Valentine's. If I survive that long."

"Valentine's it is," Tohru replied with a giggle. "How about this Friday?"

"What about Friday?"

Arisa didn't yelp when Hana appeared. She did startle and say, "Nothing!" louder than necessary.

Tohru started walking, seemingly unaware. "I'm getting a head start on tomo-chocolates, and Uo-chan wanted to learn how to make some."

"Alas," Hana said, voice distant over Arisa's ringing ears, "I would join you both, but I have a prior engagement."

"That's too bad," Arisa said, shakily. "You'll miss out on me making a fool of myself."

"Don't be silly, Uo-chan," Tohru said, beaming.

"You're the least foolish person I know," Hana added.

Arisa dearly hoped she wasn't blushing.

~~~~~

Hana had once said that her wave-reading didn't reveal romantic intentions. Still, after asking Tohru for help Arisa couldn't shake the feeling that there was now a sign on her back announcing just that, never mind what her waves were doing. Hana didn't comment, and Arisa wasn't going to question why.

The shift in Arisa's feelings toward Hana had crept up on her over the new year; she still didn't know what the catalyst had been. All she knew was that February had stolen any chance of keeping them buried and there was only one thing to do. The thought of shoving those feelings back down now was infinitely more painful than the possibility of getting rejected.

But was that worth the change it might cause in their relationship? Just putting the confession out there would change things, even if Hana was gracious and Arisa was understanding. She had made peace with that possibility, hadn't she?

On the way to Tohru's house her mind had remained quiet, thanks to daydreaming about perfectly-made chocolates. She'd managed to keep most of her cool around Hana after the Monday incident. Small talk with Tohru while she got settled further filled the time; writer guy was in his study, the Prince and Carrots were AWOL and hadn't had the decency to inform Tohru why, but the soft look on her face when she mentioned how quiet they'd been lately seemed to mean she wasn't concerned.

Arisa had plenty to think of. But as soon as Tohru began telling her what equipment to get and what to put where, all those pesky concerns came back. Well! She'd beat them back with the power of knowledge.

Having failed to notice whether Hana had a preference or if she loved all kinds of chocolate with equal fervor, Arisa figured two-in-one was a safe bet. Thus, white and dark. Tohru, in her infinite wisdom, said that chocolate bark would be a good choice. And so Arisa had meticulously followed directions up to this point, where the makings for one bowl each of white and dark were ready to be melted.

"Thank god I asked you for help," she said for the twentieth time as she carried one bowl to the stove. "This would've been a disaster otherwise."

"I'm sure you would have been okay," Tohru responded for the twenty-first time, carrying the other bowl. She set it down with a smile. "Now for the fun part."

It was rather meditative, waiting for the mixture to melt enough to be stirrable. She found herself counting bubbles despite the thoughts bubbling up in her brain; she couldn't poke those out with a spoon.

She stayed quiet as she guided the mess into something recognizable; once it was smoothed out, though, her mouth had other plans. "Tohru… how do you- how would you, hypothetically..." Her words were getting tangled in the swirl of the spoon, it seemed, but she couldn't stop blathering. "If there's someone you've only given tomo-choco to, and meant it as tomo-choco… how would you handle explaining why, this year, it's honmei-choco?"

She startled at the clunk of the spoon next to her and looked up. Tohru's face seemed oddly flushed, even given the heat of the stove.

"W-Well, that is… oh, I think mine is done now! A-And yours looks good too!" She grabbed potholders and moved her bowl back to the counter, onto a hot pad.

Arisa followed, anxiety fluttering. A baking sheet had been laid out for her to pour the dark chocolate onto.

It took no time, and Tohru handed her a knife with reverence, and now it was up to her what patterns to make.

After the first spoonful of white met dark, and Arisa slide the knife into it, Tohru spoke.

"You have to have courage, that's all. If you know they don't owe it to you to return your feelings, it's not selfish to confess. It's okay to hope, but... whether they like you back or not isn't a matter of deserving something. They're their own person." Her voice was contemplative, almost unsure. But then she paused and caught Arisa's eyes. "You've known this girl for a while, right?"

"Nearly as long as I've known you," she whispered, dolloping more white in.

"Then… You'll be happy she's in your life, even if she wants to stay friends."

Arisa looked up again; Tohru wore a strangely pleading expression. "...Yeah." Then more firmly, returning to her task, "Yeah. We've been through… a lot, and I think even if she rejects me our friendship won't change."

"I hope so."

Had she spoken? No, Tohru had. Before Arisa could figure that out, Tohru was smiling widely down at her handiwork.

"It's beautiful." She took a breath. "Hana-chan will love it."

~~~~~

She put the bark into a plain box, tied with purple lace. She left it with an unsigned note in Hana's— Saki's— locker (because she was a living cliché), asking to meet her in the yard when the school day ended.

Seeing her there, with Arisa's heart in her hands, made everything Arisa had planned to say disappear.

"You should open it." She moved closer while Saki did. Close enough to touch her cheek if she were braver. Instead, she kept talking.

"This is honmei-choco. I made it. With Tohru's help, but..." She chuckled drily. "I know a heart-shaped box would've been plenty to clue you in. But I didn't just wanna buy something that looks extra pretty. This is— you're too important."

Her pulse stuttered from Saki's hand around hers, from her gentle gaze.

"I understand now why your waves have been different the last few weeks," she said. Her cheeks were pink, and Arisa forgot to breathe for a moment. "I'm glad. You were braver than me."

Another laugh, incredulous. "I was what?"

"You confessed first. I was too afraid of what might happen to our friendship if you didn't reciprocate."

"You've got it all wrong. I was terrified." She pulled her hand free of Saki's only to place it, lightly, on her shoulder. "I was just too bullheaded not to say anything. But even if I didn't feel this way…" A sudden lump was in her throat; she swallowed, blinking fiercely. "I want you to know I wouldn't give up our friendship for anything."

Saki half-smiled, and reached into the box, breaking off a small piece. "Tohru wouldn't stand for it either."

"God, of course not." She grinned back, heart pounding. "It's a moot point, anyway."

"True." Saki looked at the piece intently before putting it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, eyes closed.

Arisa waited.

Slowly, Saki opened her eyes. Slowly, she brought her hand to Arisa's cheek. "It's delicious. Thank you very much." The pink on her face bloomed crimson. "...Arisa. May I kiss you?"

The lace against her skin made her want to tremble. "Saki." She inhaled shakily. "Yes, Saki. Please."

Arisa closed her eyes and leaned down. For a few seconds, everything was sweetness and warmth.

After, Saki's hand stayed on her cheek. Arisa put her own over it. "Happy Valentine's Day, Saki. Thank you."

"The happiest." Saki's bright smile was better than any sugar rush.

[toothpastecanyon]

Mizar the Mediocre, Chapter 3

Alcor gets a summons from a strange Mizar. Maybe there's still something to recognise, here.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

 Mini golf turned out to be surprisingly fun. The three of them spent a couple hours knocking balls down courses and through neon clown heads. Mart turned out to be pretty good at it after all; he’d line up a shot, shoot a wink at his daughter, and putt right into the hole almost every time. Apart from the course where Ashley bet him he couldn’t shoot a ball over the windmill and stood around snickering when it came back down and hit him in the face, he had a great game.

 “Looks like I won, Dipper Pines.” Martin waved the score card in his face. “How’s about that fifty dollars, huh?”

 Dipper distinctly remembered not taking that bet, but he handed it over nonetheless and took the gloating ride back to the apartment as a form of payment. It was nearly sunset, now; he sat back in his seat, and stared up at the silhouetting skyscrapers as Mart’s words washed over him.

 This had been a good day, he thought. A good day with a fun Mizar… why hadn’t he visited this one sooner? Ah, well. As a Mizar like him would probably say, there’s no time like the-

 “Stop! Stop!”

 Brakes squealed and Dipper was nearly thrown into the legroom. The next thing he could hear was Ashley’s voice.

 “What the hell, Dad! You nearly T-boned that guy!”

 “Yeah, sorry, sorry!” Mart turned around in his seat. “Is everyone okay? You okay, sweetie?”

 “Yeah, no thanks to you! Pay attention to the fucking road, Dad!”

 “You’re right. Sorry.” Mart tried to reach a hand out, but drew it back when she glared at him. “Sorry. I was just, I was, I was talking about mini golf, and it was really fun, and we were havin’ a good time… I-I’ll just drive. Keep my eyes straight ahead, right? Where they’re supposed to be, right? Heh…”

 No one laughed at that. Dipper sat back as they started moving again, and put his seatbelt on.

 As the night set in, the city came alive. Bright lights shone out from every headlight, every storefront, every towering casino with spotlights shooting up to the heavens. Neon was everywhere he looked: neon red flashing arrows, neon yellow strobing signs, neon brands sticking out of every neon neon-soaked building they passed neonically screaming for his attention.

 Under their glaring light, the little people passing one another on the street were rendered faceless. The sky, rendered starless. Mart pulled up to the casino, and the great big neon sign above the entrance bathed their car in blood red before plunging them into shadow. On the other side, Mart peered out at the parking lot towards the back of the building.

 “Ugh,” he said, and let out a nervous chuckle. “I always forget how dark their, uh, parking is. Guess this is why they want you to let a valet do it.”

 Ashley groaned. “Why don’t you ask, then? I thought they were free here.”

 “No, that’s the other casino I go to - the, uh, Florencian. They’re not as nice about that here… but hey, as long as they comp my room, they’re pretty nice in my book!” He started grumbling as he turned the wheel. “But a whole sixty dollars just to drive my car into a parking space… nobody told me it wasn’t free here, I would’ve done it myself.”

 The car cruised right into the centre of one white line, and Mart turned off the car with a grin.

 “See? I’m a great driver! Don’t even need a valet, sweetie - just need these!”

 He wiggled his hands, and Ashley stared at him for a second. Without a word, she opened the door and got out of the car.

 “Oh, uh… Wait for me! No, really, the parking lot gets kinda sketchy sometimes Ashley, I’d really rather you…?” He watched her disappear behind the bend. “O-okay, I’m coming! I’ll catch up to you!”

 Mart left his car and half-jogged after his daughter, leaving Dipper to follow along. He followed them through a lobby still filled with chattering guests and tired clerks, and turned his head to see the casino on their way to the elevator. It was down a few steps and through an archway. Judging by the number of voices emanating from down there, there were a fair number of souls within it.

 Dipper couldn’t see them, though. All he could make out was the flashing of slot machines before they passed it by. There was a pat on his shoulder.

 “Looking at the real fun, are you?” Mart cracked a grin. “I might go down there tonight. You can come too, if you want!”

 Dipper frowned at him, which only made him chuckle.

 “What? Aw, c’mon! It’s what you do in Vegas! I won five hundred dollars on the slots once, first try!”

 Ashley said something, but it was drowned out in the chatter.

 “What was that, sweetie?”

 “I said, then you lost it, Dad.” They got into the elevator, and the doors closed shut. “So you didn’t really win anything.”

 “Aww, yeah, that happens. Part of the fun, y’know? You win some, you lose so-”

 “Mom said you lost two thousand dollars.”

 Dipper could hear a pin drop in the silence that stretched between them. The elevator moved up. Music played. Mart shot a glance down at her, and then forced out a laugh.

 “That was, uh… she told you that?”

 “Not on purpose, if that’s what you’re trying to insinuate.” Ashley glared down at her phone. “It was a loud argument. Maybe because you lost two thousand dollars of her money. All part of the fun, though, isn’t it?”

 Dipper glanced sharply at Mart, who wasn’t meeting his eyes. The doors opened, and Mart made a show of ushering everyone through.

 “Heh, after you, sweetie!”

 She stormed past him without a word.

 “Alright, haha… after you, Dipper!”

 Dipper didn’t know what to say, so he just stepped off and started following Ashley to their room. Mart slung an arm around him.

 “Well, uh, mini golf! That was fun, huh?”

 They rounded a corner.

 “Yeah, it was pretty fun-”

 “And you’re really not down for going down to the casino, huh?”

 Dipper raised an eyebrow. “No? You’re still going?”

 “Just for a little bit, don’t worry. You can hang out with Ashley - you two’ll have so much fun!”

 “You’re asking a demon to babysit your daughter.”

 “Babysit? Hah!” Mart clapped his shoulder. “No, she’s a smart girl, she doesn’t need a babysitter. You two can keep each other company, though! Put on some movies, play some games, do whatever you like!”

 Dipper smiled a bit at that, but he couldn’t stop looking at Ashley as they followed her down the corridor. “What about, uh, that stuff Ashley said? About you losing two thousand-”

 “Oh, there’s our room!” Mart said loudly, then made a show of fumbling in his pockets. “Ashley, sweetie, you got my keys, don’t you? Why don’t you just go inside?”

 She stared at him for a second.

 “Go on! You wanna order room service? I know it’s about your dinner time - go look at the menu!”

 No reply. After another moment of uncomfortable silence, she unlocked the door, swung it open, and slammed it behind her. Mart flinched a bit at that, but turned back to Dipper with a wide, wide smile. He put another hand on Dipper’s shoulder.

 “Buddy…” he started. “So, uh, alright, you’re good here?”

 “What? No, I asked you about-”

 “The money thing. Look, that was a mistake, that was years ago. I’m sorry if it got kind of awkward in the elevator, but there’s nothing to worry about, seriously.”

 Dipper peered at Mart’s aura. Something in his omniscience was needling him.

 “So we good?”

 “That was…” Dipper frowned. “That wasn’t years ago. It happened nine months ago.”

 “Jeez, it isn’t even a year yet?” He watched Dipper’s frown deepen. “No, I wasn’t trying to lie or anything, I just - huh! It feels like it was longer.” He started scratching his beard. “Well, I guess the divorce was in August. Then I was… y’know, sleeping in cars, doing odd jobs… I guess that really makes you lose track of time, you know what I mean?”

 Dipper shifted uncomfortably. “No, uh, not really. I’m… sorry to hear about-”

 “Yeah. You know, the casinos are super nice - if you do a bit of gambling, they’ll sometimes just give you a room for free! It’s crazy!” He chuckled, and put his hands in his pockets. “That’s really the only reason I go anymore; y’know, I save up those offers for weekends with Ashley. Just so we’ll have somewhere nice to stay, you know? So it’s really all for her.”

 “Oh… I guess that doesn’t sound so bad.”

 “Nah, it’s not bad. See, you get me.” Mart pulled him into a squeezing hug. “You’re the best buddy ever, Dipper Pines.”

 At that, he snorted. “You’ve only known me for a few hours.”

 “...Well, I suppose I have. Huh. I guess I just have no sense of time today, heh.” He pulled back, his grin softening into something more wistful. “I guess you just - you give off these sorta old friend vibes, you know what I mean? It really does feel like I’ve known you forever.”

 Dipper stared down at that gentle smile, those twinkling eyes, that wonderful soul nestled within him… and he found himself smiling right back.

 “I know what you mean,” he said, and Mart pulled him into another hug. Through all the things that were different, through the beard scratching against his suit and the funky smell of that leopard print dressing gown… this felt so achingly familiar. He      missed    this.

 Dipper wanted to hold on longer, but it was only a short hug. Then Mart pulled back, gave him one last grin, then shot off finger guns as he backed away down the corridor.

 “Right, buddy, we’ll hang out later! Have a nice time while I, uh… figure out which way the elevator is! Man, walking backwards is hard!”

 “It’s on your right.”

 “My right or your right- ohh, you said my right! You’re way ahead of me! Alright, to the casinoooo!”

 He chuckled as Mart backed into a wall and awkwardly shuffled out of sight. Yep, that man was definitely a Mizar.

 …

 What was he doing again? Oh, yeah, watching Ashley!

 The door was locked when he tried it, so he checked for cameras before phasing through. Mart’s suite was darker now than when they left it; most of the light came from the glow of the city from the far window, and from the glare of a phone screen off Ashley’s face as she sat on her bed. She frowned when he flipped a switch.

 Dipper waved. Ashley didn’t respond. He cleared his throat. She didn’t look up.

 “Uh… hey,” Dipper started. “So your Dad’s, uh, gonna be gone for a bit tonight…”

 He paused there, but she didn’t have anything to say to that.

 “...so it looks like it’s just you and me! You want to do anything? Put on a movie? Play board games?”

 She reached into her pocket, and brought out a pair of earbuds.

 “I’ve got any game in the world if you wanted… wanted to… oh, you’re, uh, putting those in.” Dipper watched her stick them in her ears without casting him so much as a glance. “Want to be left alone? That’s okay too! I’ll… do my own thing, I guess.”

 He stood in the doorway for a moment, twitching his wings as he looked around the room for something to do. His eyes fell upon the TV mounted to the wall; he floated over.

 “Hey, where’s the…” he started, but trailed off. To his surprise, Ashley pointed to the remote sitting on the end of the second bed. “Oh… oh! Thanks.”

 “Not much on this late,” she said. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

 “Oh. Any requests?”

 “I just told you there’s not much on.”

 “Oh, sorry, sorry…” Dipper shied away to the ceiling. “I’ll just see what’s on.”

 He turned on the TV, and was instantly greeted by one of those strange commercials that only played after nine. He assumed it was advertising some kind of car, but all the women in bikinis made him roll his eyes and change the channel. It switched onto a medicine advert, and then a food advert, and then it dropped him right in the middle of an intense fight scene where a man got knifed across the cheek and put an hand over the blood and yelled out, “You      fucking bi-”  

 Dipper gasped and scrambled to shut it off. He was met with a loud snort; Ashley was snickering into her chest, and he gave a nervous smile.

 “Yeah, that was, uh, funny.” He discreetly floated the remote back to its position on the bed. “I guess it’s too late for Magical Mizar to be on, huh?”

 She just kept snickering away, and he felt his cheeks redden a little. How long was Mart gonna be gone for, again? He cast his mind down the stairs and found him gushing about Ashley to a poker table; it seemed like he was having a good time.

 Maybe he should find something else to do.

 Dipper summoned a little flame, flicking it between his fingers as he thought. Just to the left of him was the window, and the city that shone out from it. It was impossible to ignore he was in Vegas; the whole room seemed to lead his eye out to the Strip, forced him to focus on the beautiful lights and the beautiful lights only. And there was beauty, in the beautiful lights. There was a luxury, an excitement lent to being here, a rush to seeing all those blinding lights laid out beneath his feet. It was like he was on top of the world… and all else was black. All else was hidden. The lights were beautiful.

 Someone said something.

 …

 “Alcor?”

 “Huh?” He looked up at the name, then over at Ashley, who was still looking at her phone. “Oh, do you need something?”

 “No. I said, you don’t need to babysit me if you’re bored.”

 “Oh, I’m not bored, don’t worry!”

 “You’re just staring out of a window, dude.” She tapped her screen. “I’m not a little kid, you can leave if you want.”

 “No, it’s okay, you shouldn’t be on your own the whole night. Mart wanted me to stay here until he gets back.”

 Ashley finally looked up at him. She raised an eyebrow.

 “What?”

 “He did not say that.”

 Dipper frowned. “Well, he didn’t say that explicitly, but I’m sure that’s what he meant.”

 “Oh, really.”

 “Yeah! So don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

 To that, she rolled her eyes and looked back down at her phone. That seemed to be the end of the conversation, but then she paused, made a face, and looked back up at him.

 “Is it like a demon thing?”

 Dipper blinked. “Is what a demon thing?”

 “Did my dad, like, make a deal so you gotta stay here, or-”

 “No, no, no! We didn’t make a deal or anything-”

 “Then why are you here?”

 “What do you mean?”

 Ashley made a face. “I mean, I’m not trying to be rude or anything, but, uh, you’re a demon, right?”

 “I am.” He twitched his wings, and sighed. “Yeah, I get what you’re asking. I know it probably seems a little… weird, that I hung out with you guys all day without a deal.”

 She didn’t say anything to that. He continued.

 “It’s just… you know, it was fun! With Mart, it was fun!”

 “Okay?” Ashley snorted. “I didn’t know Alcor the Dreambender liked mini golf that much.”

 “Heh, I mean, I didn’t mind what we were doing.” He gave a little smile. “It was nice to catch up with Mart, though.”

 “Catch up?”

 “Huh?”

 Ashley sat up. “‘Catch up’ with Mart? Do you know my dad, or something?”

 He froze.      Oh.     This might be a little difficult to explain.

 “Have you guys met before?”

 “Uh… no? I mean kind of, but I haven’t met your dad before, like your dad the person! I, uh…” He watched Ashley’s face as it morphed into a confused frown. “I know… I know his soul.”

 “His soul?”

 “Yeah! He’s, uh… Mizar.”

 Silence. For a moment, Ashley just stared. She looked he’d told her Mart came from outer space. Her jaw had actually dropped, and her eyes were bugged out. He cringed.

 “Yeah, uh, I know that’s kind of… kind of a lot to take in, but-”

 “My dad’s Mizar?!”

 “Yeah-”

 And Ashley      laughed.     She collapsed on the bed, laughing until tears were in her eyes, and Dipper raised an eyebrow.

 “What?”

 She didn’t respond immediately. He crossed his arms, and found himself wrapping his wings around his sides. Finally, her howling turned into a lighter chuckle.

 “Sorry,” Ashley started, wiping her eyes. “You just - that’s got to be a joke. That’s      amazing.”  

 “What do you mean? Mart is a Mizar, he’s-” Dipper paused when she let out another wheeze. “Why’s that so funny?”

 “He - he can’t be Mizar, oh my stars.”

 “Why not?”

 “Well, he’s-! Well, Mizars are like, legends, you know! Like Mabel Pines, I learned about her in school!” Ashley cackled at the thought. “Oh my stars, you’re telling me my dad is Mabel Pines.”

 “Well, no,      he’s     not Mabel Pines-”

 “Gee, I hadn’t noticed.”

 “But he is a Mizar! Look,” Dipper struggled to explain. “He’s… it’s just… Mizar is just a specific soul, I’m just saying he has her soul-”

 “Oh my stars, Magical Mizar!” Ashley wiped the tears from her eyes. “I am never going to watch that show the same way again.”

 “Heh, yeah…” He made a face. “Yeah, I know this might be a bit weird. Maybe Mart doesn’t…      exactly    fit how people think of most Mizars-”

 “Understatement of the century.” She saw him open his mouth and cut in: “L-look, look, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, I know Mizar is, like, part of your demon business… but it’s kinda weird that you’re saying      my dad     is part of your demon business. I mean I’m trying to think of him, like, busting cults…” she started cracking up. “I-in his dumb, smelly old dressing gown… a-and his crocs, hahaha!”

 “Heh, yeah. That is pretty funny, but, uh… yeah.” He looked away, out of the window. “Mart’s… a special person to me.”

 Below Dipper’s feet, a million lights twinkled like stars in the sky. A smile graced his face.

 “He’s always been special,” he said, quietly. “Every time I meet her, she’s always special, in some way. Always finds some way to surprise me, you know?”

 “...uh, sure?” A pause. “Alcor?”

 After a moment, he tore his eyes away from the lights. They took a moment to adjust and focus back on Ashley. “Yes?”

 She was giving him an odd look. She opened her mouth, took a breath… then closed it. Offered only a shrug.

 “Nevermind,” she said, and reached over to the phone on the bedside table. “I’m gonna order dinner.”

 “Okay.” Dipper watched her pick up a plastic menu. “Let me know if you need anything.”

 She grunted in response to that. After a moment of silence, his eyes drifted down. They settled on the baseboard for a moment, then followed the line it made to the left, to the window, then outside.

 Outside, where a million beautiful stars twinkled like the shine in Mizar’s eyes. He smiled, wistfully, then sat back in the air, and took in the view.

 This sky was full of surprises.