#Putting his hand on Ody’s shoulder and looking down for the first half

[bloodied-dagger]

after dancing around my room for the past 10 minutes or so with a staff and imaginary blindfold, I have concluded that I would want to play Tiresias in EPIC if given the chance to play any character

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 4

Thank you to everyone who reached out to me about the drop in numbers. I appreciate you and will try to be patient as everyone seems to be really going through shit right now. Honestly if I wasn't a SAHM I probably would be one of those people.

In this we have Steve resigning himself to doing the game show, more of the kids, and we get to the actual game show! ka-shonk, I know!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

~

“Meow!” Odie cried at the indignity of being shoved in someone’s face.

Steve carefully wrapped his little feet so Odie would feel more supported. He stritched under his chin and Odie began to purr.

Chrissy inched forward until she was close to Steve. “Steve, he’s adorable. Where did you get him?”

“I found him in a cardboard box out by the dumpsters,” he explained, never taking his eyes off the kitten. “It was starting to snow and I just couldn’t leave him there. He was wet, and cold, and alone.”

Robin’s shoulders sagged. “Of course you can keep him, dingus. I wouldn’t have said no even without the Sword of Damocles in the form of the game show hanging over my head. He’s adorable.”

Chrissy tickled his little toes and then looked up at Steve. “Why Odie? For the name?”

Steve blushed, grateful his head was already down so they couldn’t see his blush. “A couple of reasons I guess. To honor Garfield the goldfish, for one. But also because of the coloring the cream body and brown ears is so much like Odie’s.” Just then Odie twisted and tried to leap out his arms. “And there’s the fact he very likely has only one brain cell,” he deadpanned as quickly caught the kitten before he hurt himself.

Robin snorted. “So I see.”

Steve handed him to Chrissy and he allowed himself to be subjected to her neck scratches.

“So are we forgiven?” Robin asked, shyly. “We really didn’t think anything would have come of it. Though we were really building you up, talking about how you really deserved to find love and how your luck had run to catastrophic with those you dated. We made sure be really sweet about you.”

“I think that’s another reason why they picked you, Steve,” Chrissy said, walking over to sofa to cuddle with the new kitten. “You would be a perfect opener if not season finale. All you have to do is fill out the questionnaire and then they’ll tell you when filming is.”

“You’ll need about a week off,” Robin explained on her way to the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge. “It takes two days to film the first half of the episode and a day each for the dates in the second half. Then a whole day filming the choosing ceremony or whatever the hell they call it. They just want you there two days before for interviews and legal stuff.”

Steve sighed and ripped into the bag of gummy worms. “All right, you fill it in while I dictate.”

Chrissy and Robin cheered. Chrissy opened up her phone with the email and started asking the questions.

“Why would they even need to know my measurements?” Steve huffed about half way through. He had migrated to floor where he was using a gummy worm that had fallen to said floor to tease Odie with.

“Probably for costuming,” Robin said sagely. “They just can’t let you wear anything to their show.”

Steve wrinkled his nose, but allowed them to continue. Once it was all filled out most of the bag of gummy bears were gone and he was a little exhausted by it all.

He buried his head in his hands. “Fuck me. What even is my life right now?”

Chrissy and Robin shared a glance and then slid down to the floor where he had Odie curled up on his lap. They wrapped their arms around him and just held him.

He let himself be comforted by their support.

~

New Year’s brought new challenges, especially when he learned he would have to get a sub for his class the last week in March. They couldn’t have waited a week so that he would have it off for Spring Break? Which meant he had to tell Mrs. Byers why he needed the week off. Which meant Will found out. Which of course meant the rest of the little buttheads found out about it, too.

“Do you get to decide the questions?” Mike asked, one day while they were hanging out in the AV room, Mr. Jenner finally having been fired and Steve forced to take over for the rest of the school year.

He had come to class after the winter break, drunk off his ass, stoned out of his mind, and completely trashed his classroom. Thankfully the equipment had been locked up and not subjected to his rampage.

Otherwise the school would have had to have him arrested to recoup their lost.

Mike had actually started to warm up to him after it was revealed he was going on some dating show. Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he decided to count it as a blessing and move on.

“Some of them,” Steve confirmed. “The first question of what is your ideal date is standard, and is part of the game show setup, but mostly they want me to be able to answer the questions myself, and if I can’t there’s really no point in having the suitors answer them either.”

“Suitors is a stupid name,” Max huffed from the corner. She was forced to join the AV because it was the only after school program that ran on Fridays and her mom started to have to work late on those days.

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah and what would call them?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Contestants or something.”

“Eh, eh!” he said sounding like a buzzer on an old game show. “Boring!”

She cocked her head to the side. “Yeah, whatever, Mr. Catch.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I’m not sure what the would replace it with consider a lot of the other options are copyrighted due to other similar shows, but yeah. It sounds like I’m a fox and they’re the hounds.”

“What about Hitch?” Lucas suggested. “It plays on the Love Connection theme.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s an old movie called ‘Hitch’ and he’s a matchmaker. So I’m betting they didn’t go that route for that reason. Especially since this show is on its thirteenth fucking season.”

“Mr. Harrington!” Dustin scandalized. “You aren’t supposed to swear at school.”

“It’s after hours and we’re literally outside the school waiting for your parents,” Steve huffed. “Anyone here gonna rat on me?”

He looked around at the bright faces and knew that not a one of them were snitches.

When no one answered, he said, “Here, I’ll tell you what. Each of you come up with a question for me to ask my suitors and bring them by next week.”

All the kids cheered.

~

After Steve got in his questions from the kids, he sent them into the game show and most of the questions were approved. Some were simple Star Wars or Star Trek, others were fun questions like ‘what is your favorite sports team?’ to in depth questions like ‘do you consider yourself to be a good person?’ That last one was from Max. He loved that girl fiercely and only wanted good things for her.

He packed up his things and made sure that Robin would take good care of Odie. He was going to miss the little furball.

He was flown out to LA where the show was filmed. He was shown to a fancy hotel where he would be spending the week. He was told that the suitors were in other hotels are around the city so that they didn’t meet accidentally before the taping.

Steve’s first day was with legal and how much money he would be making for his appearance on the show. It was roughly three thousand dollars to make up for the fact he had to take time off from work. Other than that it was all about them footing bill for all his meals and lodging during his stay.

He wouldn’t get the money until it aired, which he thought was bullshit, but it was whatever.

Robin had been right about the measurements as they gave him a lot of clothes to chose from. Then whatever he picked would be doubled so that he could look the same on both filming days. Then he would have special date night outfits that would be picked based on where they were going for the date.

All in all not a bad gig. Steve definitely preferred teaching though.

Then they did all the pre-show interview stuff the next day. He got to talk about his school and the kids he taught. He got to talk about Robin and Chrissy and his adorable new kitten Odie. That part wasn’t so bad.

Then it was time for the first day of taping.

He got dressed in a cream colored suit with a light blue button up shirt. The shoes and belt were nice leather, too. He briefly wondered if he got to keep the clothes. He couldn’t imagine they needed to keep them.

He wasn’t told anything about the suitors before hand, but they knew a lot about him. Which felt a little creepy if he was honest.

He sat in the ridiculous little booth he would be in so he couldn’t see the contestants. This was because they didn’t want him to judge their answers based on their looks.

The host was Bob Newby. He was one of the best parts of the show, Steve thought. He was sweet and friendly and everything wanted out a dating game style host. He was in a dark grey suit and white shirt with a red tie. A tie he was currently stroking nervously.

Steve smiled at him and Bob blushed.

“I’ve done over a hundred of these things,” Bob admitted, “and I still get nervous.”

“Well that makes me feel better about throwing up breakfast this morning.”

Bob laughed. “So this is how it will go, we will film more than questions required so we can get a good bunch of questions and answers. We will be filming out of order. The rapid fire questions first. Then half of the questions for round one today to round out filming. Then the second half of the round one questions with all of the round three questions.”

“That’s a little weird,” Steve huffed. “But it’s your show, man.”

“Trust me,” Bob said, “this way is easier to film.”

Steve just shrugged.

“You ready?” Bob asked. When Steve nodded, Bob pointed at the camera and counted down from three with his fingers.

“Hey, everyone!” Bob said. “Welcome to a brand new season of ‘Love Connection’ where we help lonely people make that special connection. This season we will be focusing on getting all those fancy letters LGBTQ+ a chance at love. We have your gays, your lesbians, your non-binary folks, your trans people, and one very special ace lady just looking for love.”

The audience politely clapped.

“I’m your host Bob Newby and today we have one very lucky catch. Steve Harrington from Hawkins, IN. He’s a middle school teacher who recently became a cat dad, to the adorable Odie.” A picture of Odie sleeping on Steve’s chest under his chin is shown on the screen behind them. “He coaches basketball and the swim team. And yes he does look hot in a Speedo!” A picture of Steve in a blue Speedo and wearing a white jacket and his whistle.

Steve decided he was going to murder Robin and/or Chrissy for that photo alone. Especially when the crowd goes wild, complete with wolf whistles.

“He enjoys watching sports, swimming, and reading in his spare time,” Bob continued. “He has tried everything to get a partner in this hellscape we call modern life, apps, bars, clubs and not just the ones with a dance floor and sick beats. So he came to us, so let’s see if we can match him to any of our suitors.”

The audience clapped again.

“Suitor number one,” Bob said, “why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself.”

“Hi, I’m Billy,” the first voice said, “I’m a professional surfer with a ton of sponsors. I’m the most decorated surfer both nationally and internationally. I like sex, sex, and more sex. Just kidding. I like other things too. I’m a big car guy and a bit of a foodie, too.”

Steve was grateful that they can’t see him because Bob and he shared an exasperated glance.

“Suitor number two,” Bob said. “Tell us about yourself.”

“Hey, I’m Tommy,” the second voice said, “I’m an investment banker at a prestigious company. I like sports, traveling, and deep sea fishing.”

Steve tilted his head and nodded. Not bad. He wasn’t sure about the whole investment banker thing, but the rest sounded good.

“And last but not least, Suitor number three,” Bob said, “tell us about you.”

“Hello!” the third voice said brightly, and Steve could almost picture a dorky little wave to go with it. “I’m Eddie. I’m a music producer with my own studio. I like heavy metal, all things nerdy, and camping.”

Steve smiled fondly. He sounded a lot like Dustin. He could only hope this didn’t have the ego to match.

“All right, everyone!” Bob said with a winning smile. “Let’s begin the Love Connection!”

~

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: CLOSED

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2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @wheneverfeasible @themoonagainstmers @garden-of-gay @little-birch-boy

[zarnzarn]

new fic, tw rescue from a kidnapping and s/a (calypso), illiad modern spy au

They find him in the place they were told they would.

The lot of them almost don't make it past the door with how all of them fight to get inside first. The woman inside screams and drops her basket of fruits as they storm into the kitchen, staring at them with wide, piteous eyes as they all point their swords at her.

"Where is he?" Eurylochus snarls, half-bear in his rage. The guilt has been ripping him apart, whatever he and Odysseus disagreed on before he disappeared into thin air all those months ago, driving him wild. Menelaus nearly flinches himself when he roars louder, "WHERE IS HE?"

"Have you people never heard of politeness?" The woman demands starchly, even though she's still pressed back against the counter. Menelaus sees her eyes flash with power as she scowls at them, and takes a deep breath, readying his sword.

If he dies fighting her- if any of them do- the rest will understand. It's only because of Odysseus that any of them were alive at all.

"We were told that the merchant Xen'ath made a sale to you, seven months ago," Diomedes cuts in, voice cold. "An illegal one, even for a protected one like you."

She snorts, jewellery tinkling. She looks kind, and for a desperate moment Menelaus hopes.

"What will you do, put me in jail?" Calypso giggles. "Besides, a sale is a sale. He's mine, fair and square, so if you all would kindly-"

A vase crashes by her head, scattering muddy water and making her scream.

Patroclus hasn't recovered much from the coma, but he's just as angry as any of them and wouldn't be talked out of not coming along, even though he has to use a cane. He doesn't know about how they all fell apart while he was under, but has informed them all quite clearly that not only does he not care, in this situation it does not matter.

Menelaus holds out a hand to signal him to back down, knowing that they are all barely holding onto their fury enough to get answers.

"Where is he?" Ajax cuts in quietly. They point their swords again.

She scans them all calculatingly, grimacing. Then recovers, tossing her hair over her shoulder proudly, hmphing at them.

"In the basement," She says casually, and Menelaus' heart drops. Horror suffuses the faces around him, with many eyes closing in pained resignation, even though they already knew the truth. Knew what kind of sale it had been.

Penelope had recovered over fifteen hundred victims in her search for her husband, and all of them had the same story.

"He tried to run last week," She sighs, putting her hands on her hips and talking with such casual disappointment that it makes his blood run cold, makes him want to throw up. "Honestly, I made sure that he had everything one could need, I don't know what on earth-"

"Shut up," Polites snaps. "Just- shut up!"

"Why, you-" Calypso growls, eyes turning pink as she calls her power, and with a roar of fury, Achilles rounds the table and attacks.

Menelaus whistles to the others and they all scatter. He comes out at the veranda, opening every door and cursing when there's nothing beyond. It's a beautiful house- idyllic and pristine and packed with luxury, and it makes Menelaus want to claw off his own skin.

"HERE!" Someone shouts inside, and Menelaus skids to a stop and changes direction. They all reach the door at the same time, and he holds back the dizzying wave of horror at the lock on the outside as they all hack at the wood like crazed people to get in.

The door crashes down and Menelaus charges down the stairs into the dark room, scrambling for his torch.

"ODYSSEUS!" He shouts, moving it around. "ODY-"

They all go dead silent.

Odysseus scrabbles back, eyes glinting and wild in the light of the torch. He's still in the same outfit they have the last sighting of him in, dirtied and torn now, but the man wearing it is completely different- hair overgrown and body rail-thin, so much so that Menelaus for a heart-stopping second doesn't recognise him.

There's a chain around his leg, connected to the floor. A collar with an owl on it, made of metal that's been welded shut straight on and rope on his wrists. A dirty cloth stuffed in his mouth.

Blood on his legs.

"Odysseus!" Polites is the first to break their standstill, a huge grin of pained relief on his face as he rushes forward. It falls as Odysseus gives a small scream of terror and tries to get away from him, making the metal dig into his already scarred ankle.

Of terror. Of terror. Ten years of knowing him, and Menelaus has never seen Odysseus afraid.

Odysseus spits out the cloth. "Please," He whispers, voice wrecked, and they all flinch. The Odysseus in Menelaus' memory shines bright and golden, charming and funny and kind and angry and humble, despite having run missions for his kingdom since he was thirteen, sharper and swifter than all of them. This is not his friend. "Please, not them, not them, don't wear their faces too, please."

And-

Menelaus comes to with his face pressed against the wall, tears streaming down his face. Sick with rage and guilt and fury and horror. The others aren't faring any better when someone snaps over the microphones for them to hurry up and he turns back around- Eurylochus is sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, two others are vomiting, Polites has disappeared and the rest are just standing there frozen, crying. Patroclus is the only one who's kept his head on enough to attempt quiet reassurance, crouched near a trembling, animal version of their best spy and talking softly to him, trying to coax him away from cutting into his own skin with the rusted metal.

He tried to run away last week, Menelaus grasps onto desperately. It means he's still in there, fighting.

He can't take his eyes off the blood. There's so much of it.

"Eurylochus!" Polites snaps as he comes back down the stairs, a blowtorch in hand. "Hold him."

Odysseus screams at their approach and Menelaus does not have the courage to keep looking, places both hands over his ears like a child, unable to bear it.

(Penelope had opened the door to the group of them; twelve men Odysseus had run with for ten years who had no idea he disappeared until someone casually mentioned that Penelope had gone rogue and was on the watchlist for having tortured and murdered Circe.

Her eyes had been frigid. "Welcome," She said, as if they were strangers and not close friends. "You're quite lucky you decided to visit, you know. I had plans of killing you lot next."

Menelaus doesn't blame her.

She'd sent them all message after message, call after call- begging, pleading, bargaining; that they all ignored out of grudges and anger, until she'd stopped asking and done it herself. None of the fights Odysseus had had with them had even been that bad- it was just, somehow, every single one of them had just been that little bit extra annoyed as to not pick up when it had been her calling; and then Xen'ath had all Penelope's calls rerouted, so she couldn't reach them anyway.

"Queen of Ithaka," He'd bowed, Helen bowing lower at his side. "... Penelope. I- We are all so incredibly sorry-"

"Save it," She'd said, holding up a hand. "Just answer me this- would you rather run a mission or guard Telemachus? And what is your price?"

That had thrown them.

"Penelope," Diomedes had stepped forward hesitantly, looking heartbroken. "We would- all of us, any of us- we would do anything to save your husband. You don't need to fucking pay us to rescue him- we are his friends. We are your friends."

"Then WHERE WERE YOU?" Penelope screams, and her mask finally cracks with it, eyes filled with tears and mouth curled in rage. "Where were any of you when he- when I-" Diomedes grabs her and pulls her into a hug and she breaks down sobbing. "Where were all of you when we needed you?"

"Penelope," Menelaus says, stepping forward to place a hand on her shoulder. Glass crunches under his feet and guilt overcomes him again- all this while he'd been living in luxury, unburdened, his sister-in-law had given up everything to run missions on her own, feeding her people and taking down enemy after enemy while living in squalor herself, in a building full of unsavory men. Tears come to his own eyes. "Please, I beg you to believe me. None of us, not a single one- we did not know. We did not know your husband never made it home, Penelope, I swear on the Styx."

"Then you should have picked up my calls," She snarls, venomous, and gathers herself back up to push Diomedes and him away. "Now. Mission or Telemachus?")

When he takes his hands off, the silence is ringingly loud, the phantom screams still stuck in his ears. Menelaus looks when Odysseus whimpers suddenly and sees his sister's husband holding him down while Polites melts the collar off, Ajax silently working on the chain around his ankle.

Achilles shouts from upstairs and Diomedes calls back, and he comes into the room with grim eyes. "How is he?"

None of them can bring themselves to reply. The collar falls off with a thud.

"Odysseus, hey, we've come to rescue you," Polites tries again, smiling at him and holding his head in his hands so they can meet his eyes. "Don't worry now, we're here."

Odysseus is still. Too still.

Diomedes steps forward, eyes hard, and carefully pulls Polites' hands away. "He'll attack you. If shapeshifting is involved-"

Silence.

"What is wrong with all of you?" Patroclus says suddenly, scowling. "Did you lose your training along with your brains when I was unconscious? Soldiers, post-rescue protocol, now."

The command shocks him back to adrenaline, and they all burst into familiar movements, collecting pictures and pulling out shock blankets. Someone grabs Odysseus as the chain unravels and holds him still while they cut him free, and another talks gently to him as they inject him with a sedative. Menelaus is just glad it isn't him, because he doesn't think that even with his hardened nerves he could bear to face the fact that- to treat Odysseus like-

He looks away as Achilles grabs the other in a fireman's carry and makes his way to the door instead, pushing the debris out of the way to let them through.

Calypso isn't going to be held back for long.

"NO!" She screeches as she bursts through a wall, three times bigger than they left her. Menelaus slashes and she cowers back, baring her teeth in fear. Her face falls as she catches sight of Achilles running out the door, and tears well up in her eyes instead. "No, please, I can't be alone again! I can't be locked in here, please, I can't be alone, send anything, anyone, please!"

"Go fuck yourself," Ajax says savagely as he swings at her, and Menelaus grabs the person closest and yells for a retreat.

The van rumbles along. The windshield wipers swing.

"How long does the sedative last?" Menelaus hears himself ask.

"Should be done by now," Polites says, voice similarly bleak, turning to Odysseus. "Ody?"

Odysseus is crouched in the far corner of the van, staring at them all with sharp, hate-filled paranoia. Menelaus swallows and slows the vehicle, the rest of them turning to look.

"You're safe," Ajax says, softer than he's ever heard from him. "We got you out, Odysseus, you're going back home."

Odysseus narrows his eyes and snarls. Menelaus braces himself for something biting and sharp about how they could have done it earlier, better, faster. Except- "I'm not falling for another illusion, Calypso. Drop the fucking act."

Menelaus hits the brakes and closes his eyes as he presses his face against the steering wheel. "It's not an illusion, Ody, we promise. We're actually here."

"You don't have your chains any more, see?" Eurylochus tries. When he turns, they're all clearly holding themselves back from rushing forward in heartbreak; Odysseus had been the touchy one amongst them, winding around them like a hyperactive snake and hanging off them and hugging them tight and offering handshakes and high-fives, no matter that they were all hardened warriors. To have him clearly ready to throw a punch if they approach hurts. "Your collar is off- why would Calypso do that?"

Odysseus' face spasms and he grabs for his neck. Feels around as if it might be a trick, expression blank.

"Athena," He says abruptly, and Menelaus is extremely confused for a second before he recalls the owl etched into the metal and catches Diomedes' eyes in sudden horrified agony. Of all the terrible-

"Athena," Odysseus breathes, bending over with eyes wide in disbelief, saying it as if he can't believe he can. Hope flares in his eyes, before crumpling at the sudden landslide of grief that follows, tears Menelaus never saw from him at the worst of the Troy mission dripping down his face. "Athena. Athena. Athena! ATHENA! ATHENA!"

His voice is agonizing to hear, crazed and desperate, and someone rushes forward with a tranquilizer, before-

A loud clap, blinding light, and Athena, the goddess herself, appears in their mission vehicle.

"What the fuck," Ajax whispers next to him, grabbing Menelaus by the arm. They're both trembling. Everyone is. "What the fuck- that's actually her."

Athena snaps her neck around to study them all with blank eyes, nodding to a terrified Diomedes, before looking down at Odysseus. Studies him.

Oh shit, Menelaus thinks, remembering the rumors of Medusa, and motions for someone to intervene as he struggles with the seatbelt.

She dissolves her spear suddenly and- holds out her arms.

"What?" Odysseus says faintly, which sums that up too.

"What?" Athena returns, sounding- defensive? Confused? "You were the one who insisted on hugs and physical touch to be added to the rescue recovery manual."

Menelaus finally makes it over the barrier to the back of the van and gets to watch everyone's brains break slightly, and for Odysseus' mouth to drop open in sheer disbelief. Menelaus still knows him enough to recognise the look of him very much wanting to say that is not something you say in a situation like this before a smile suddenly pulls at his lips. A threadbare, incredulous giggle escapes him, then rickety, mirthful laughter and Menelaus breathes a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, I did," Odysseus grins slightly, and walks closer- hugging the goddess without a lick of fear, of course he does. The gods are famous for their pride and detachment and untouchability and of course this crazy man goes and hugs the most closed-off of them like an old friend.

Although, the way they talked to each other, and the implications-

"I'm not thinking of this anymore," Ajax mutters, rubbing at his face. "Odysseus, you believe this ain't an illusion yet, my dude?"

He pulls back and stares around at them like he's seeing them for the first time. His face twitches, like he can't decide whether to smile or be devastated, and quietly says, "You're here. You all came?"

The van bursts out in noise as they all trip over their sorrowful reassurances and apologies, almost shouting. Odysseus trembles. Blood drips to the floor.

Achilles steps forward and Menelaus feels the same alarm of a disaster incoming from earlier; he and Odysseus had never quite gotten over their irritation at dragging each other into the Troy mission and argued plenty during- he'd even heard word that they'd let a target escape once because they'd got into a fistfight.

But Achilles just gives Athena a wary look and a wide berth, and then pulls Odysseus into his arms. Menelaus suddenly remembers who'd been the first to run to Achilles and hold him when he'd sunk to the floor at Patroclus' diagnosis.

"We're here," He murmurs. "We came late, but we came. You're out."

"I'm out," Odysseus repeats, letting his tense posture drop as he leans into the embrace. "I'm out."

"You are," Athena confirms clinically, then- surprise on surprises, she kneels down to pull him closer as well.

Menelaus smiles, then climbs back to the front of the vehicle, satisfying himself with the flickering relief that slowly takes over Odysseus' expression. Gives his friend the privacy he can when he starts to have the breakdown delayed seven months, turns the keys to start the engine.

It's still a long journey to get Odysseus back to Penelope, then back to the Ithaka headquarters. But they have him now, and they'll get him back.

Menelaus, and the rest of them, will have to content themselves with that. That at least, the most they can do now, is bring him home.

He taps on his earpiece, and it crackles to life. "We have him," He tells her. "We're bringing him back to you by morning. Rest, please, Penny."

She sobs over the comms and the car drives on.

[niemernuet]

ommggggg you‘re taking prompts i‘m so happy!!!! i‘ll send you like 14 asks just you watch me 😍😍😍

first one:

i‘d LOVE confessing in the heat of the moment, leading to a kiss for hmmmm let‘s say any pairing involving odi? 😁

THANK YOUUU!!! I know I can always count on you and I love you for this. 😍🥹 I wrote like three sentences last night but they were moot when I woke up today and checked instagram. So, without further ado:

He only needs to wait a few seconds before the door opens again, and a tall figure slips inside. Marco carries a chair in one hand, and a half-empty bottle of champagne in the other. He checks the stalls, and, upon seeing that they are all empty, shoves the chair under the door handle. Cyp stay put in his position, leaning against the sink. It is a really fancy toilet, as fancy as everything around here, every surface black and metallic and stencilled with the head of that inevitable bull. Once Marco is satisfied with his work, he stands up straight, and turns his focus on Cyp. His gaze is serious now, his face no longer glowing with the bright smile that makes the entire world go into a frenzy on the regular. Anyone not in their line of work would probably misread the situation; would think that there was danger in this room. But the way Marco eyes Cyp does not carry any threat, only the same doubtless certainty with which he conquers the slopes. A first shiver runs down Cyp’s back. Marco knows he will get what he wants, the same way he knows that he will find the ideal line in a race, the same way he knows he is better than all of them, and that there is nothing they can do to beat him for long. Slowly he steps closer, until he is right in front of Cyp, essentially locking him in place. He takes a gulp from the bottle, his eyes never moving away from him. Cyp lets him watch, from his wet hair down to his soaked dress pants. They are both sticky with beer and champagne and sweat, and their skin immediately feels glued together when they come into contact with each other. Marco moves his free hand over Cyp’s chest and down his abs to his waist. He does not have to look as he pries open the belt buckle.

Cyprien breaks the silence first. “I have to confess something.”

The belt dangles against his thigh, and the pants sag a tiny bit as Marco opens the button. He steps even closer, until Cyp can feel Marco’s hot breath on his bare skin, and Marco’s hard dick through the thin fabric.

“I didn’t have to piss.”

Marco pauses. He blinks, and for the first time looks Cyp in the eyes. He grins, and takes the bottle out of Marco’s hand. It is almost completely empty, and he has to tip his head far back to reach the champagne. New shivers rock his body when he feels Marco’s tongue on his adam’s apple as he swallows the last remains of the champagne. He puts the bottle down on the sink.

“I got a message from Pintu when I was still sitting in the chair. He was warning me of you.”

Marco laughs, and Cyp can do nothing but join him. The whole world is at his feet, how could he fight against such power?

“I wonder how he could write you.”

Cyp shrugs, puts his arms around Marco’s shoulders. “I can't say how long it took him.”

Marco looks at him as if he wants to memorise his face. “I remember Lenzerheide. It was nice, despite…you know.”

Cyp keeps grinning, waits until Marco grows too impatient. He savours the kiss, lets Marco’s tongue lead the way.

“And do you believe him?” he mumbles in Cyp’s mouth.

“What? That you’re a bit of a pute?”

Marco’s kiss grows more intense, the answer unmistakable. He does not fight when Cyp moves away from the sink, and pushes him back until he hits the door to a stall. His breath hitches, and his head hits the flimsy wood with a soft bang when Cyp sinks on his knees, and tears his pants open. His dick is straining against the tight boxers, a small patch of wetness already forming. Softly, Cyp bites down into the bulging fabric, just hard enough to tear a first sigh out of Marco.

“Better check for myself,” he says, and pulls Marco’s underpants down.

[oh-puffle-cakes19]

Warmth

Pairing - Peter Parker x Reader

Summary - Peter and you have a movie night, comfort is needed as the movie (Star wars revenge of the sith) gets sad!

Warnings - slight angst but very minor as it is just a film! Sadness/crying! This imagine does contain Spoilers! Mention of death in the movie! Other than that there is so much fluff!

A/N - This one shot was requested by the lovely @spideysbae Tell me what you think! Darling and I hope you all enjoy! Many thanks to the love and support on all my posts. 🥰

Word count - 1k

Getting through Peter's apartment door after a long day at school, it's finally the weekend! You was grateful that you can be snuggled up with Peter and watch movies, although it was Peter's choice tonight.

You go into Peter’s room to change in cosy sweats and a jumper, you lay down on his bed as he went for a shower. "Babe, have you seen my ho-odie," he stopped as he looked up to see you wearing it "Oh, I'll go get another one," he smiled, going into his closet.

He pulled out his fave one, putting it on showing Star Wars! He was going to climb into bed with you until you sat up, making grabby hands and pouting your lips.

"What's wrong, Princess?" He questions, confused still standing up. You point, at his hoodie! "Oh, you want this one now!" You nodded, "Yh, I really really need it!" You desperately announced.

"Want if?I don't want to give you it, sweetheart," he smirked, sticking out his cute tongue. "But Petey! I'll give you this one," you continue "plus, that one is really comfy no wonder why it's your fave," you smirked, making kissie faces at him.

"But it's Comfy, plus it's Star Wars," he chuckles but he leans down to you, gently grabbing your face giving you a kiss. "Fine, My Baby can have it. Give me the one your wearing!" He smiles as Your face lit up like Christmas lights, removing his other jumper.

He lifts up his jumper over his head, winking at you! you stare in awe because let's face it, him showing half of his abs and his cute face being scrunched up is adorable.

"Thank you Petey," you smile, putting it on. "anything for my girl," he winks again, climbing in his bed with you.

His strong arms cradles you into a warm, cosy cuddle. "What movie are you putting on, Baby boy?" You pull the cover over your bodies. Of course there was no secret of Peter Parker being obsessed with star wars.

"Star-wars because we only watched the first one the other day and we haven't seen the rest," He grins, grabbing the remote to turn the movie on. His cute ass grin, gets you every-time.

Watching the movie was interesting, by nearly the end you were far away from Peter's limps, munching on snacks. You particularly, concentrate on this scene now because there was a lot of angst, hearing Anakin and obi-Wan Kenobi fighting and shouting at each other.

You stopped eating your snacks feeling Peter’s arms lifting you up against his chest to come back to Him. “Why was you all the way over there, chocolate face,” Peter pouted, licking your cheek. “Mm, tasty,” He smiled, laughing. You giggled as You stretch then turn over laying your stomach against his chest now. He notices that the next scene is going to happen in a moment, so he gets ready to comfort you.

your still surprisingly intrigued! Thinking that it couldn't get worse, you see the girl called Padmè giving birth. you furrowed your eyebrows, snuggling more into Peter's warm, toned, muscular chest whimpering.

“Sh, Sh it's ok Baby girl," Peter whispered, wiping away the Tears running down your flushed, red cheeks as you try to comprehend that she just died, in child labour! Peter hold is tighter on you, softly, petting with your head with his large hand to comfort you with gentle words.

"But she just died, how can I be ok Petey," you bust into tears again frowning, holding Peter for dear life! Peter sits up against the mountain of pillows, pulling you into his chest with him to rub your back and shoulders.

"I know, it's upsetting sweetheart! But you are so beautiful, strong and smart. I wouldn't ask for anyone better because I have you! Your My Padmaè, Darling," He smiled, looking at you directly in your Gorgeous, teary orbs.

“Your the best handsome boyfriend anyone can ask for Pretty boy, like literally your so cute in that hoodie," you giggle, kissing his cheek. He leans back to stare in your eyes again, "what, have I got something on my face?" You giggle again.

He shook his head, while he pushes some hair back behind your ear as he learns towards you to kiss your lips passionately. "Your cuter," he says in between kisses.

Now forgetting the movie as you swirl and intertwine your tongue with his. He holds your jaw as he deepens the kiss, biting your lip. Kissing your lips again into a finale kiss. You smile as you sit in his lap. "Your My Ani Baby boy," twisting your finger tips through his heavenly, curled locks.

"I'm glad your feeling better, I love you so much Darling," Peter smiles kissing you. "I love you so much too Petey," you smile kissing him again.

You laying in Peter's arms is like home, safe and secure! He is still stroking your head, playing with your hair! "Mmm, Peter your too sweet," you sigh in content happiness.

“You are the sweetest of honey, best girlfriend ever," he whispers, kissing your forehead. He looks at your adorable face as you drift asleep on his chest. "Sweet dreams, My love," kissing your forehead once again. Him too drifting off in a peaceful slumber.

May comes back home from work, slipping her shoes off. Hearing the tv still on in Peter's room, she opens the door a bit to see you and Peter cuddled up sleeping together. "Awe, such cuties," she whispers to herself hand on heart, turning the Tv off walking out the room.

You and Peter shift in your sleep to get more comfortable into each other's arms, smiling. He turns kissing your cheek wrapping his arms around you tighter. You smile wider rubbing your head more into his chest Falling back asleep, happy to hear May coo at you and Peter.

[odos-bucket]

So I was reading @andillwriteyouatragedy​‘s incredible Brand New Day where Bruce and Clark adopt a young Dick Grayson together, and was thinking about a sort of companion story where they take in Jason together too. Using that story as a rough reference, I’m gonna say they’ve been together for a decade or so here. Dick is somewhere in his late teens. I’m figuring Clark probably offers to tag along on Bruce’s annual trip to crime alley every year. Bruce always politely declines. It’s basically become a part of the day’s bleak tradition. Clark is surprised when for once his offer is accepted. Later on, if pressed, neither of them would be able to pinpoint what was different about that night that made Bruce decide that it might be okay to have some company for once. Clark probably feels weird about it at first. Even though he’d asked Bruce if he wanted company, and Bruce had said yes, which he never would have unless he’d absolutely meant it (and Clark knows that). It still feels a little like he’s intruding on something private, even sacred. Then of course they get there, and there’s nothing going on. Superman’s senses don’t pick up the slightest hint of disruption anywhere in the neighborhood. Maybe they start patrolling around it anyways, maybe they just wander for a couple of blocks. Sooner or later they overhear someone talking about how it’s this night every year that Batman comes calling. Local criminals have picked up on the fact that if they just keep their heads down for this one specific night they can pretty much avoid him. Bruce is all grumbly about it, and immediately goes into ~strategy mode~ like, “Okay, I’ll have to start coming here on different days, on an irregular schedule.” He immediately opens up a dozen different tabs in his brain with calendars, and crime statistics, and is thinking a mile a minute, because that’s what he does. He’s kind of agitated about needing to change something that’s been a ritual for so long (because Batman has OCD, fight me) and he’s annoyed at himself for being bothered by it. Absolutely none of this sudden inner turmoil is detectable in his expression or body language. But Clark knows Bruce, knows how he reacts to things, and that there’s no way he’s not annoyed right now. He says, “Sounds like tonight will be a bust if we stay here,” then when Bruce grunts in response, continues, “We could go back to the manor. Watch a movie.” Then after a pause. “Or we could patrol somewhere else.” A moment passes. When Bruce says, “Okay,” Clark isn’t sure which suggestion he’s agreeing to, but they start back towards the car. It’s not a long walk, but they aren’t moving particularly quickly. By the time they get back to the batmobile it only has one wheel.

Clark frowns as he walks closer, before being stopped in his tracks by a surprising sound. It’s a sound that he recognizes immediately, that he hears all too infrequently. Bruce is laughing. Clark’s mouth quirks into a half smile. He takes a few steps forward, thinking about just picking the whole thing up and flying it back home. Then from a few paces ahead he hears Bruce’s low, gravelly Batman voice say, “Hi there.” Once he’s tuned in to the idea of another presence nearby, it becomes obvious to his advanced senses that someone is lurking behind the car. “Shit,” a small voice says. Bruce takes a few steps closer. “Planning on finishing the job?” He gestures to their remaining wheel. Clark shifts until he can get the kid partially in his sight without the aid of x-ray vision. He’s small, and looks to be somewhere in his pre-teens. “I got no idea what you’re talking about,” he says quickly. “Oh really?” Bruce asks. The boy glares at him. “Nice tire iron,” Bruce continues. “Comes in handy.” “I bet it does.” No sooner than the words are out of Bruce’s mouth, the tool is colliding with his shin. The boy shoots out from behind the car, and down a nearby street. Clark starts toward Bruce, who quickly gestures for him to go after the kid instead. He catches up with him in less than a second. When his hand falls onto the kid’s shoulder he freezes, muscles tightening throughout his body, and heart rate speeding up rapidly. The fear response is so sudden and extreme that Clark finds himself pulling away as if he’s been burned. The anxiety around being feared is something he’s mostly left in his past, but there’s a deep rooted insecurity within him that it still prods at. The kid stumbles when he starts to run again, and by then Bruce has caught up. They hang back, but trail after the boy at a distance, until they reach a condemned building a few blocks away. “Should we go in?” Clark asks. “Probably where my tires are,” Bruce says, before climbing through an uncovered doorway. It isn’t hard to find him again. There aren’t too many heartbeats in the area to distinguish between. When Bruce opens the door to the dilapidated room, the boy’s pulse rate jumps through the roof. Nothing changes externally about him though, and Clark wonders whether or not Bruce can tell that he’s afraid of them. There’s the slightest vibration to his words when he speaks. “Okay, take your stupid tires already. I’m sorry, all right? Just leave me alone!” Bruce isn’t looking at his tires. He’s looking around the room, no doubt noticing the same things that Clark has, mold, water damage, a broken window. The place is freezing. Then in the corner there’s a cardboard box with some pasta and canned goods in it, a small stack of books, and a mattress on the floor. “Do you… live here?” Bruce asks. “Yeah. What of it?” Bruce takes a few more steps into the room. “Where are your parents, son?” Clark asks. “Mom’s dead. I dunno where Dad is; don’t really care, if I’m being honest. Now take your stuff and go already!” He’s holding the iron up again, wielding it in a manner that’s clearly meant to be threatening. Bruce plucks it out of his hands with relative ease, inspects it, then turns it around and hands it back. “Move your thumb up like this, and you’ll have a sturdier grip. And don’t stand with your legs so far apart, it’ll put you off balance.” He sighs. “What’s your name?” “… Jason.” He grabs the tire iron back, shuffling to adjust his grip and footing, keeping his stance defensive. Bruce looks around the place again. “You can’t stay here, Jason.” “Oh yeah? Says who? I can take care of myself! Been doing it for long enough.” Bruce glances up at Clark, who can see the wheels turning in his head, before looking back at Jason. “I’d really like the wheels of my car back,” he says carefully, then hurries to continue before Jason can interject. “Can I make you a deal? We’ll buy you dinner if you reattach the batmobile’s tires?”

There’s a fast food place a couple of blocks away that’s open 24 hours. Jason agrees to accompany them, but walks a few yards behind. The employees at the place aren’t at all phased by the appearance of the two vigilantes. Bruce inspects a suspicious stain on one of the walls, while Jason and Clark look at the menu posted above the counter. They order- Bruce gets two of what Jason asks for- then go outside to eat. Bruce is lost in thought as they exit the restaurant, wondering what it would take to bring free food trucks to the area. Jason’s halfway done with his meal by the time they sit down on the sidewalk. “Do you go to school around here?” Bruce asks, wanting to put together a fuller picture of the boy’s situation. Jason gets a distant look in his eyes in response to the question. He finishes chewing slowly, swallows, then shakes his head, clearing his throat before replying. “No. Not for a long time now.” He shrugs. “I got all I needed to out of it.” “You had some pretty advanced reading material back at your place for someone who didn’t finish middle school.” Bruce recalled seeing The Odyssey amongst his few possessions, as well as a couple of Shakespeare plays. Jason shrugs again. “Reading’s not that hard.” “Some people find it very difficult,” Clark says. “Some people are stupid.” Bruce cuts in before Clark can start on the gentle reprimand he can see him preparing. “Ever think that maybe you’re just smart?” Jason gives him a curious look, like that really wasn’t a possibility that he had considered before, then takes another bite, and stares off thoughtfully. “So, Homer,” Bruce prompts. Jason nods. “It’s a fun story. Odi-seuss is a dick though.” Bruce resists both the compulsion to correct his pronunciation of ‘Odysseus’, and Alfred’s voice in the back of his head urging him to tell the kid not to swear. “What makes you say that?” He asks instead. Jason looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Gee, I don’t know, maybe all the pillaging, and murdering he does throughout the entire book.” “Poem,” Bruce corrects. “What?” “The Odyssey is a poem.” “Wait, really?” Bruce hums an affirmative. “Huh… cool. But the point still stands.” “I’m inclined to agree with you. Have you ever read The Scarlet Pimpernel?” Jason shakes his head. “It’s been a personal favorite for a long time,” says Bruce. Clark shoots him an amused grin. “I’ll keep an eye out for anyone throwing out a copy,” Jason says. Bruce frowns. “You have a library around here.” The remark earns him an unamused snort. “It’s a Gotham library; people don’t go there to read books, they go there to buy, sell and/or ingest drugs, and they tend not to be too happy with anybody who’s lingering around while they’re doing it.” Bruce feels a pang, not for the first time that night. “Jason,” he starts, before realizing he isn’t sure what to say. Jason keeps angled to watch him expectantly as he rises to deposit his napkins and bag in a nearby trashcan. “We’d like to help you,” Clark says. “Yeah,” Jason scoffs. “Right. Just how do you plan on doing that? Because I’ve heard that before. I’ve done the whole foster care thing already, and I’m not about to go through it again.” “No,” Bruce is quick to agree. “But there are residential schools in the city. We could help you to get enrolled in one.” Jason seems taken aback by the offer. “…Why?” He asks slowly. “Well for one, because kids should be in school. You’d be provided with room and board for the duration of your time there, which would leave you with less to worry about.” He reaches out to pass Jason the second takeout bag. He’s still lingering at a distance from them. “At least think about it?” “No. I mean, like, why?” Bruce’s eyebrow raises, tugging at the material of his cowl. “What’s in this for you?” Jason continues. “Why do you even care?” “It’s our job,” Clark says. “You’re job is to beat up bad guys.” Clark smiles when Jason mimes punching someone, before saying, “Our job is to help people.” Jason purses his lips. “Don’t boarding schools cost money?” “Most of them offer scholarships,” Bruce says. “I have a few friends who are deans. I could make the necessary introductions to ensure you a place at one of their institutions.“ Jason’s arms are crossed high over his chest, and his expression is set like he’s deep in thought. “I don’t want to end up stuck somewhere where someone else is the boss of me.” “How about you at least come with us to check a couple of these places out,” Bruce suggests. “Just see how you feel about them. No commitment.” Jason’s nose scrunches up. “Where exactly are these places?” He asks. “It varies,” Bruce says. “All within the city.” They watch the boy chew on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Just to see,” he says eventually. Bruce nods. “I’m not getting into a car with you,” Jason adds. “We can take the bus,” Clark offers. Jason raises an eyebrow at that, and his mouth quirks almost into a smile. “Batman and Superman are gonna ride on Gotham’s shitty public transit?” “Why not?” Clark asks. “… Okay,” Jason says, still plainly unconvinced. “Let’s meet back here,” Bruce suggests. “Tomorrow?” Jason takes a minute, but eventually starts to nod. “Sure,�� he says. “Why not.” They part ways after Clark disposes of his empty bag. The heroes return to their car.

While they’re driving back Clark says, “I know that look.” Bruce pauses to take stock of his own expression, and makes sure to neutralize anything on his face that might be out of the ordinary. Clark continues, unbothered by the lack of response. “It’s your ‘I’m already deeply emotionally invested in this kid’ look.” Bruce hums noncommittally. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” Clark adds. Bruce doesn’t either, but that’s par for the course at this point.

Part Two

[one-piece-dumpster-fire]

Ohooho, I saw the ask box was open and got excited. Can I ask for headcanons of X Drake and Killer taking a nice fluffy bubble bath with their female S/O after a rough day or battle or something (I think we could all use a little relaxation in life rn lol). Thank you so much in advance!

This is it, the final request from my last box opening!!! I'm so sorry you had to wait this long my dear, hopefully what I wrote will suit you ;^;

Taking a bubble bath with their female!s/o headcanon

X Drake

usually his baths are either very cold (when he wants to freshen up) or scorching hot (when he wants to relax). An inbetween doesn't really exist. However, Drake gladly makes an exception whenever you plan to join him

afraid that you might catch a cold if the water is too cold, he tries to get it to be as warm as possible, but also not too hot so you won't get burned. Half an hour passes before he finally finds a temperature he deems 'acceptable' and calls you over to get in the tub

he's not the biggest fan of bubble baths, mainly because the risk of him getting a little too relaxed and falling asleep is just too high, especially after a tough day at work, but he just can't say no to you

at first he'll try to keep himself occupied by thoroughly washing himself right after entering the tub. Once he's done scrubbing his body clean, he'll shyly offer to do the same with you

good thing your skin is already wet so you won't be able to tell how sweaty his hands are when he starts washing your back

Drake is always nervous when your naked body is infront of him, but luckily the warm water really helps to not only soothes his muscles, but soon washes off his nervosity as well

now fully relaxed, he gets a bit closer and wraps an arm around your shoulder to keep you by his side. Eventually the steam coming from your bath starts to humidify the air and turns the room into more of a sauna, but he doesn't care. If he could, he'd stay with you like this forever

while he's holding you close to him, Drake leans down to rest his head against your shoulder or, preferably, ontop of your head. His whole body and mind is so relaxed that he feels weak like a puddle, unable to support his head on his own

it's all super cuddly and sweet until a loud noise tears through the air. With his eyes now closed Drake leans back against the tub, snoring as if he hadn't slept in days

unfortunately though you're still in a bubble bath; and before you can nudge him awake, one of said bubbles soon makes its way into his mouth. Drake's eyes instantly shoot open as he begins to cough, embarrassed that he slipped away again. So much for a relaxing bath...

Killer

luckily the bathroom on the Victoria Punk is almost always vacant (thanks to the crew's lack of hygiene) so you and Killer are able to have romantic moments quite frequently

before entering the tub with you he usually puts his hair up in a bun so it won't end up sticking to his skin and face (or you for that matter)

he doesn't talk much while you're soaking in the warm water together, only humming quietly whenever you scoot closer to him and press your back against his rock hard chest

he'll definitely ask you to sit on one of his thighs though so he can touch you better

on some rare occasions Killer might feel a little playful and starts to tease you by blowing bubbles your way or pretending to slip underwater with you on his thigh. He mostly does that stuff because he's still got some pent-up energy left, and what better way to deal with it than by messing with you-

once Killer had his fun though he switches to being very affectionate and begins to crave a more gentle touch from you

imagine all of his content little sighs and hums as you attempt the impossible: untangling the knots in his messy hair

you look so adorable and tiny as you try to work through his blonde mane, your little frustrated huffs only make him chuckle as he sinks deeper into the tub, the feeling of the warm water around him and your fingers running through his hair utterly relaxes him

it often causes him to get a little bit more handsy too as it's his way of showing you how much he's enjoying himself. He starts by softly cupping your chest or running his hands along your curves before searching for pressure points he can massage on your back or shoulders. You could see it as sort of 'payback' for helping him relax earlier

Killer could stay in the tub with you for hours and only ever considers leaving it when the water turns too cold for you and you begin to shiver, which instantly prompts him to lift you out of the bathtub and wrap you up in a big, fluffy towel

the bubble bath left him quite tired and he's now eager to get ready for bed and collect some more tender goodnight cuddles from you before finally calling it a day.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @sassy-sara @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85 @watermelonlover-123 @xiaomailab

~^~

Sunday, 16:38

Song: Troye Sivan - The Good Side

Jens stands at the window with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a mug of Lucas’s famous hot chocolate. He feels cosy, with the beverage and his own hoodie, freshly washed and still smelling somewhat of Lucas with the shared fabric softener. The rain outside has turned into snow, heavy enough to cover the pavement but just dusting the trees. It’s washed in orange tones under the streetlights, but there’s a frost on the window. It finally looks wintery, and cold, and it’s a little like being a kid, looking out with a vague stirring of excitement while being safely tucked away in the warmth. There are marshmallows in his hot chocolate and the lights on the Christmas tree in the corner are already twinkling. It’s homely. Cosy.

Jens can only bring himself to half-appreciate. It’s not exactly the same, when he can’t actually go home.

He’s warmed up further when a body presses up against his back. The arms that slide around his waist feel a little more familiar. He wonders if it’s possible, or okay, to make a little home of his own for a while.

Lucas presses a kiss to the back of his neck then rests his head between his shoulder blades, hugging him loosely. They’ve spent the past two days like this, in almost constant contact. Even while decorating the tree yesterday they had distracted themselves, stopping every few minutes to sidle up to the other and kiss an available patch of skin or tease them over their decorating choices. Lucas has been good at keeping the mood light, at making Jens feel somewhat okay and a lot less alone. Last night, Jens had spent more time watching him than sleeping.

“What are you thinking about?” Lucas questions.

Jens glances around at him, smiling slightly. “You.”

Lucas tilts his head up and raises his brows. “What about me?”

“Just you.” Jens shrugs, twisting around to pull the boy into his arms, careful of the mug in his hand. “That I’m lucky to have you. Be here with you.” He presses a kiss to Lucas’s temple. “In your bed.” Then his cheek. “In your shower.”

Lucas huffs, elbowing him lightly in the stomach and Jens calls a protest, quickly retreating with his mug held up in defense. He takes a sip and the marshmallows bump against his lips. He licks over his top lip when he lowers the mug and grins as Lucas tracks the movement. Lucas takes the mug and sets it on the windowsill before looping his arms around Jens’s neck and pulling him down into a kiss.

Jens goes easily, as he always does, unable to resist Lucas at any given moment. Lucas laps it up, as he always does, and provides accordingly, making Jens putty in his hands with just a few skillful brushes of lips. It’s the best way to forget. This is their little universe, just the two of them and their touch. It doesn’t matter where they are. It makes everything else in Jens quiet, too. It reminds him that he’s real, and needed, right here in this universe.

Wanted.

“Sometimes I really wish it could just be like this all the time,” Jens mumbles, mouths and noses and foreheads still brushing. “Just you and me. Is that bad?”

Lucas shakes his head, kissing him gently. “I wish for that all the time,” he whispers. “Just me and you, whole universe to ourselves, making out wherever and whenever we want.”

Jens snorts and shakes his head, squeezing Lucas’s hip. “Nice,” he mutters, and Lucas hums and kisses him again.

After a while, Lucas settles into a hug instead, tucking his face into Jens’s neck and sliding his arms around his waist. “I know what you mean, though. It’s been nice just being in our bubble.”

“Yeah. But that ends this evening. Then tomorrow, back to school and reality.”

“You don’t have to go to school,” Lucas says softly.

It would be nice if it was that simple, but it isn’t. Jens knows Lucas is definitely going to go to school, and he’ll feel weird if he has to stay in Lucas’s apartment alone. Or worse, with the boy’s father. He’ll likely fail the remaining exams, because he hasn’t even had any books to study, but he’ll have to take most of the resits already anyway.

“I should. I think it’ll be better than not going. That feels overdramatic, or something.”

Lucas leans away to look at him. “Jens, you aren’t being dramatic. In fact there’s been a worrying lack of reaction from you.”

Jens breathes out through his nose and rests their heads together, closing his eyes, wondering if it’ll be easier to say the words into the dark. “I’ve already spent a week thinking about nothing else. I just...I want to feel a little normal again. I’m so tired of having to react.”

Lucas rubs his side, unbothered by the occasional catch of his fingers against the hoodie. “It doesn’t match your usual chill vibe,” he allows. “Still. Trying to just ignore it...that doesn’t help.”

“It’s impossible to ignore. I’m not doing that.” Jens shakes his head, licking his lips. “I just don’t want it to be the only thing. I want to be able to be with you and to go to school and to sleep. I don’t want the world to stop spinning so I can wallow.”

“But would you mind, if the world stopped spinning and kept us like this right now?” Lucas bumps their heads together, and Jens pulls him closer, lips pulling up slightly. “See. It isn’t just time to wallow. It’s just time. To figure things out a little, and re-centre, and give yourself room to breathe.”

Jens opens his eyes and considers the boy in front of him, trying to figure out how to word his thoughts better. “It’s not like that, though. Whenever I’m just on my own, with too much time...I can’t breathe. It doesn’t work like that. With you, it’s different. But I definitely can’t just stay here all day waiting for you to come back.”

“Well, I could always stay with you.”

Jens shifts back and tilts his head, giving him an unimpressed look. “No, you can’t.”

“I am an adult, and I can do whatever the fuck I want.” Lucas raises his brows, smiling smugly.

“Is that so?”

Lucas jumps at the voice, and Jens’s heart quickens, but when they turn to look at the man in the doorway he finds a smile. He’s tall, probably around Jens’s own height, and a little broader, with hair the same shade as Lucas’s and a light scruff around his chin. His eyes are bright, and warm, and remind Jens of Lucas’s even though they differ in colour. The similarity is certainly present and overall there’s nothing entirely threatening about his demeanor.

Jens drops his hands from Lucas and shrinks back as Lucas flushes.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” Lucas raises a brow.

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt,” the man shrugs. “But I couldn’t help overhearing your plans in passing and now you’ve made me curious.”

Lucas rolls his eyes, just slightly, and then grips Jens’s wrist, softly caressing the skin on the inner side. He steps forwards, towards his father, drawing Jens with him. Jens keeps just a little bit behind as the man’s eyes skim over him.

Lucas seems only slightly nervous as he says, “Dad, this is Jens.”

The man holds a hand out, and Jens takes it carefully, looking at the kind smile and searching for his voice. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr Van Der Heijden.”

The title is waved off as their handshake ends. “None of that. Just call me Hugo, alright? You’ll make me feel too old.”

It makes Jens relax a little as he nods, managing, finally, to return the smile.

“I wish we were meeting under different circumstances, but I’m happy to have you here all the same,” Hugo says. Then he gestures at his son. “And I’m happy to see this one smiling.”

Lucas flushes again, and Jens decides he quite likes this interaction as he offers Hugo a shrug. “I like that better, too.”

Hugo grins. Lucas grows redder, but said smile is working its way onto his lips. “I should’ve realised how awful it would be to put up with you both.”

“We’re excellent company,” Hugo waves him off. “You certainly didn’t seem too eager to leave it, before.”

“He was just joking,” Jens says hastily, regretting it when he earn’s the man’s attention. “We’ll both be going to school. I wouldn’t let him miss the exams.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but I’m not sure this one would listen to you,” Hugo gestures at Lucas with a huff, still smiling. He softens as he looks at Jens, skimming his eyes over him again, lingering on his tensed shoulders and where Lucas is still loosely gripping his wrist. His tone gentles, but loses its fond teasing to take on a more serious note. “You don’t have to be scared here, Jens.”

Jens’s throat closes up, but he shakes his head. “I—no, sorry. It’s just been a long time, since I did the ‘meeting-the-parents’ thing,” he admits, then instantly blushes.

Hugo’s smile returns and he laughs, carefully settling his hand on Jens’s shoulder and gives a squeeze. “Well, this is the first time I’ve ever done the ‘meeting-the-boyfriend’ thing. So there’s still no need for nerves, alright?”

Lucas squeezes his wrist, and Jens nods, and after another small consideration the man steps forward and captures him in a short hug. His grip is tight, but not forceful, and beyond the surprise Jens finds himself sinking into it. He closes his eyes when they start to water, after realising it’s so surprising because he has never experienced it. He can’t help but wonder if this is how it’s supposed to be, or if Lucas is just really lucky.

Hugo releases him too quickly, and Jens quickly and quietly clears his throat to get rid of the emotions clogged there. The sudden absence of contact is mended by Lucas pulling him back against his side, hand now clearly gripping Jens’s with their fingers interlocked.

“Come on, let’s sit down first,” Hugo beckons, setting his hand on his son’s arm this time as he pushes them back inside the room and lets Lucas guide the way to the sofa. Lucas sits down and pulls Jens with him and Hugo takes the armchair, leaning forward with his hands clasped between his knees. “Do you want to talk about your options, Jens?”

Jens licks his lips, leaning closer to Lucas. “My options?”

Hugo nods. “Now, before you worry, you’re staying here for as long as you need. No arguments. You were always welcome.”

Jens relaxes, nodding gratefully as Lucas sets a hand on his knee.

“I’m just talking about what could help. There are measures you could take, over what happened,” Hugo says softly.

“I don’t want anything like that. It’s not—I didn’t even think about it. I’m not doing that.”

He worries that it’s too harsh, but Hugo is already smiling and nodding again, working to put him back at ease. “Alright. Feel free to stop me, any time, if you don’t want to discuss it, alright?” He waits for Jens to nod before continuing. “I mostly want to know if you have any concerns. Lucas mentioned a younger sister?”

Jens swallows. “Yeah, Lotte. I don’t think that I have to worry. It’s never been like…” he trails off, searching for the words, avoiding both their gazes. “He isn’t violent, or anything. Not really, not like that.”

Hugo purses his lips, but accepts the explanation without pushing any further for now. “What about your mother?”

“I don’t actually know. I thought that...that she agreed with him. She usually does. But then I realised she wasn’t even aware of what he was doing, and she was the reason I got out. She doesn’t—I never actually got to tell her anything. I don’t know what she thinks.”

“Then is it possible that she’d be on your side in this?” Hugo asks gently. “I know if, like you say, she usually supports your father, it can seem like the obvious answer to everything. But this is a very specific situation. You’re her son, and very often that counts for something more.”

The back of Jens’s eyes prick, and he does his best to blink the sensation away, tightly gripping Lucas’s hand again. Jens had returned his ring, and it’s there now on Lucas’s finger for Jens to run his thumb over, a point of focus. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine she would kick him out and that’s the only way…”

“I see. When are you eighteen, Jens?”

“Uhm. Next month. The nineteenth.”

Hugo nods. “Would it be suitable, then, to work towards other living arrangements? I understand the finance can be scary, and having a job in your final year is an additional layer of stress. But there are supports available, and I could give you a helping hand.”

Gosh, no. Jens can’t be any more of a burden. He quickly shakes his head. “I couldn’t accept that. It’s kind enough of you to let me stay here for a few weeks, but I promise I won’t be that much of a bother.”

“And what happens in a few weeks?” Hugo raises a brow. Jens stays quiet. “Jens, you’re really welcome here for as long as you need. Until you graduate if necessary. I just understand that it might not be the most comfortable feeling for you. But we don’t have to worry about it right now, alright? It’s just something we’ll work towards thinking about.”

After a while of hesitation, Jens nods in acceptance and hears Lucas’s quiet breath of relief. Jens squeezes his hand and relaxes slightly as Lucas squeezes back.

“What about your belongings? I see you had some of your clothes stored for you, but I’m assuming it’s not quite a full wardrobe. What about school supplies, even?”

“I didn’t take anything,” Jens admits. “I don’t even have my phone.”

Hugo hums. “Alright. Would you like me to go collect some things for you?”

Jens’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.”

“Well, I would prefer it to sending you on your own, or with Lucas,” Hugo points out.

“No, really. I can manage without for another few days, then maybe get another friend to come with.”

“Of course, you can do what feels best, and take someone closer,” Hugo nods. “My offer still stands. Even if you just want someone to drive you, so you have a boot for the luggage. At any time.”

Jens nods again, overwhelmed with the generosity. His gratitude has rendered him speechless, and he’s almost relieved when Hugo claps his hands against his knees and then rises from the chair.

“Alright, I’ve done enough pushing and prodding at you. Tell me when I’m too much, kiddo. How about I make us some dinner to make up for it, hm?”

“Do you still know how to do that?” Lucas asks dubiously.

Hugo scoffs, looking over his shoulder on his way to the door. “Just for that, you’re waiting longer for a gourmet meal.”

Lucas snorts as the man winks at them, then tilts his head against Jens’s shoulder once he’s out of sight. Jens sinks against him and releases a shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” Lucas questions, voice quiet even in the silent room. There’s distant movement, the sound of knocking cupboard doors and clanging pots and pans. Everything about it holds an intimacy Jens doesn’t feel entirely familiar with.

“Yeah,” Jens says honestly. “I actually can’t believe how cool he is.”

“For my sake, you’ll never tell him.”

Jens snorts.

“You’re right, though,” Lucas says quietly. “It’s good to have an actual adult who knows what they’re talking about, I guess.”

Jens hums, turning to press a kiss to the top of Lucas’s head before resting his cheek there. “By the way, the clothes thing. Does that mean he saw you in my hoodie?”

Lucas huffs. “Of course, that’s what you’d pick up on.”

“That’s kind of adorable.”

“Shut up.”

Jens laughs, about to say something else when the buzzer to the apartment sounds and he and Lucas pause to look at each other. After a few seconds, Hugo appears in the doorway with a furrowed brow.

“Were you expecting anyone?” he asks. They shake their heads, and he gestures for them to stay where they are. “Alright, I’ll see who it is.”

When he disappears into the hallway, Jens rises to his feet. He shifts his weight anxiously, staring at the door, and then Lucas is up and pulling him along. They creep out of the room quietly, though not enough to avoid Hugo’s notice, who shoots an aggravated look back at them before there’s a knock on the door. Lucas and Jens remain mostly concealed around the corner as Hugo cracks the door open. There’s a pause, and then he pulls it open fully and looks back as two boys are revealed in the entryway.

Jens steps out and Robbe barrels into him instantly, knocking the wind out of him as he winds his arms tightly around Jens’s waist. Jens comes out of his shock quickly and returns the hug, pulling Robbe into his chest with arms wrapped around his shoulders and face buried in his curls.

“Fuck, I missed your dumb face,” Robbe croaks, clinging to him, and Jens tightens his own hold with a hoarse laugh.

“I missed your dumb-ass,” Jens returns, completing the old joke. Robbe just keeps hugging him silently, pressed as close as he can get, and Jens eagerly accepts the affection of his best friend. It’s even more familiar than Lucas, and while it doesn’t incite quite the same reaction, it’s just as comforting.

“I know you didn’t invite us, but he got impatient,” Sander says apologetically, presumably talking to Lucas. “I did send you a text.”

“My phone’s in my room,” Lucas says. “Don’t worry about it.”

Robbe finally loosens up and steps back as Hugo speaks up, most of his attention on the new arrivals. “Wait, don’t tell me,” he holds a finger up to Lucas, before pointing it at Sander, still hovering in the doorway. “You’re Sander,” he guesses, leaving the boy nodding awkwardly as Hugo turns to his boyfriend. “So you must be Robbe.”

Instead of agreeing, Robbe blushes, one of his hands still curled in Jens’s hoodie. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have barged in.”

Sander hums in agreement, nodding at him. “He’s usually the polite one,” he tells Hugo.

Hugo waves them off with his already-familiar smile. “Understood. These are special circumstances, I imagine. I was just about to start on dinner, if the two of you would like to join?”

Sander’s lips part as he and Robbe share a bewildered look and Robbe quickly shakes his head. “No really, we didn’t mean to intrude—“

“Nonsense,” Hugo scoffs, ushering Sander inside along with them. “Come on, come in, sit down. It’ll be a while, anyway, so you can catch up while it’s cooking. Finally, I’m getting to meet you. I missed having a group of boys to feed.”

“Dad, you’re being weird,” Lucas says, exasperated, but Hugo merely flaps a hand at him and makes his way back to the kitchen.

“No allergies?” he calls back to them.

They all confirm the negative, and he offers a thumbs up before disappearing, leaving them all staring after in silence. Sander is the one to break it, looking to Lucas with raised brows, teasing smirk already in place. “Personally, I think he’s swell.”

Lucas groans, and Jens laughs, and Robbe beams at him before gathering him in another hug.

Jens accepts it with a growing warmth in his chest.

[chappedandfadedvds]

Jan 8th, Friday 21:32

„It didn’t even look like a snowflake. More like a big blob of nothing.“

„We hang the whole ceiling full of them, you should have seen it. So cool.“

Jens watched the two girls giggling though their story, told with too many pauses and constant overlaps of their voices. So much so that he had a hard time to figure out who said what. But it didn’t concern him too much, as they care not much for him and only for Lucas.

Lotte, Olivia and his boyfriend sat crosslegged in the pillow fort, which they all had build over the afternoon. Dinner had been eaten an hour ago and the tiny crumbs, left on otherwise empty dessert plates, were the last reminders of the birthday cake.

Except for the one large piece Jens had saved to give to Lars tomorrow morning, once Olivia would be picked up again.

He stood by the door, halted in affection towards the scene he had found. 

He hadn’t even dared to interrupt them yet, instead opted to lean on the frame, his head resting against the wood, while he smiled at Lucas asking some question, that made no sense to Jens.

„No that would be silly.“ Olivia accused, cackling delighted as Lucas only helplessly shrugged in response.

„Alright. Go on then.“ He tried, hands raised in defense, a loopsided grin on his lips, that Jens hadn’t see so soft and gentle before. His heart fluttered with a faster beat and he was no longer sure if one could actually fall deeper in love, despite being in a relationship for months already.

Lotte didn’t wasted another second to disabuse the poor boy sitting lost between two chattering eight-year-olds as she further explained: „So first you have to take the paper like Emma had done in class.“

She went on to hold up a piece of paper and folded it twice, then laid it back down in their center of the half circle. Though at this point Jens had been noticed, all three pairs of eyes falling on him. Olivia had spotted him first, his name spoken in surprise.

„Don’t mind me.“ Jens only declared, not moving from his place. It somehow was insanly comfortable.

„Ladies, if you’d excuse me.“ Lucas played the part of a gentlemen, little nod and and posh voice included as he rose from his seat, though rather ungraceful, stooped under the stretched blanket of the fort.

Jens bit back a laugh at the attempt from Lucas to step out of the construction, almost falling over the cups at it’s entrace. It wasn’t the biggest thing they could have build, no matter if it contained already half the room. 

Lotte and Olivia had been pretty admant about this size as the bare minimum, both strictly insiting to sleep in the fort tonight. Which also therfore included a huge array of pillows cushioning the floor and two strings of star-shaped fairylights spending a warm light.

Jens was actually quite proud of their achivement, mainly his and Lucas’s under watchful eyes and demanding voices of two girls from the sidelines.

„Hey there.“ Lucas said. And yes Jens definitely fell deeper, enamored by the gorgeous smile and brazen wink he was greeted by, before his boyfriend stopped infront of him. Only to be grapped by his hand and pulled from the doorframe into a kiss.

„I was perfectly fine without you over here.“ Jens teased, when he found his breath again, a grin on his lips.

„Really? Well I can go again.“

„Don’t you dare.“ He replied, holding onto Lucas’s hand, when the younger boy intended to leave fim for the company of his little sister and Olivia again. For a second Jens had expected Lucas to keep uo the act and walk away, instead Lucas gave in easily. Still fingers intertwined, while his boyfriend went to rest his forehead on Jens’s shoulder with a yawn.

„Did they already exhaust you that bad?“ 

Jens’s question was only answered with a nod. Jens couldn’t hold it against him. He as well felt rather sleepy, especially after that first week back in school.

„You did a great job though. Maybe you should consider becoming a kindergartner.“ He said into the mop of curls that he breathed a kiss into. And one more while he waited for Lucas’s answer.

„No. I’ve got other ideas.“ The younger boy said tentive, pushing himself back to be able to lock eyes with Jens, his expression more serious all of a sudden. Jens frowned. However, he let Lucas explain first.

„I’m actually planning on studying law.“

Jens was baffled. Actually perplexed. They hadn’t really talked about their plans yet and even though he hadn’t had imagined their future fields of studies, let alone professions, yet, it took him by surprise. How would that work for their relationship? Law sounded like such a hard and long process to endure and invest years in.

And Lucas was a bright student. Of course it should be something matching his brillance, Jens pondered, unsure what to make out of it now. He didn’t know what he would like to do with himself. Suddenly he felt a little insecure.

Not even considering the fact that Lucas would most likely move back with his mother at the end of the school year.

Their graduation was still six month from now, he had still time, right?

„Are you okay?“

Shaken from his thoughts, his gaze focused back on Lucas and the worried smile he saw across the younger boy’s face. He tried to look happy again, just like he had before the topic had somehow dropped a huge weight onto him. It worked not as well as he had hoped. Perhaps he was shaking a little?

„How about we talk this through another time and not infront of these two.“ Lucas suggested, back on his cheerful tone and expression. Perhaps his boyfriend could read minds. He gestured with one hand behind him, while he left Jens by the door, to collect his phone from the pillow fort.

„How about some music?“ The younger boy asked into the room. The little sound of the blutooth speaker on Lotte’s desk chimed loudly as it turned on, followed by Kool & The Gang with Celebration. Jens huffed a laugh at it, shaking his head, as Lucas started to sway on his spot. „Girls, Jens needs some solace.“

Lotte and Olivia didn’t needed to be told twice, when they jumped up in the fort and darted out towards the older boy. He was tugged further into the room, and then put in between the three people dancing around him for some reason, that only made him wheeze, amused at the ridiculous sight. 

And even though the two girls hummed along the melody and pulled his hands to move in beat with them, his gaze only saw Lucas. His infatuation for the boy only growing by the second. To a daunting degree, it almost felt to much for his heart to handle. So he tried to not think too much about it. Not now.

Jens watched Lucas amazed by the soft beauty in his movement. His daring blue eyes shining in the yellowish lights dancing across his face, as he spun Lotte around. His carefree laugh consuming any other sound for Jens inmidst the chaotic mess that was this room. 

Between draped blankets and star covered pillows Jens only wanted to live in this moment forever.

__ __ __ tagged: @odi-et-amo85, @tayspots

[ad1thi]

part 4 of the carbonell family au

/

before you read this chapter, this is your disclaimer that this is a mob au; so tony will be a morally grey character. he wasn’t intended to be cookie cutter good for this au and i won’t write him cookie cutter good. he’s the patriarch of a crime family, not an orphanage

//

Natasha knows the minute they enter the car that he’s mad. Simmering with rage that he’s furiously tamping down on. 

The part that loves him wants to let him unleash it, let him scream himself hoarse at the injustice of the world and then cradle him in her embrace while he recuperates

The part of her that was borne out of the ashes of a broken country wants to pull out her lip a little, jut her hips, and play up her sympathy so she never has to see him mad

because for all that she loves him, there is no part of Natasha that isn’t utterly and completely terrified of Anthony Carbonell

--

In the end, she settles on nestling against his chest, letting him comb his fingers through her locks lightly. He’s uncharacteristically quiet in a way that still bristles through her skin, reminding her of when he was 16 and he pushed his knee into her 17 year old throat. 

(it was the first time she ever feared for her life)

Eventually, his hand meanders, perfunctory touches against her skin until he reaches her hip. He pulls at her shirt from where its tucked into her skirt, and brushes his thumb against her branded C, over and over and over

She lies perfectly still, matching her breathing to his and letting him work through his anger; until he stops being Anthony and starts being Antoshka

Her lips still tingle from where he sank his teeth into them not 15 minutes ago, and there’s beads of blood that she wants to reach out and lick off

but she doesn’t

because she isn’t cradled in the arms of her lover

she’s cradled in the arms of the Carbonell Patriarch, and she, more than anyone (save for Rhodey), knows just how dangerous he can be

The car pulls up at their house, and he nudges his leg twice before she lifts up and rearranges herself. She moves to give him space, to let him get out first; but he pulls her back; nails digging into her hip where the brand is- and she acquiesces, moving with him seamlessly and without contest; because its her best bet

--

--

At 29 years old, Tony is acutely aware that he is one of the most powerful men in the world, if not the most powerful

He has his finger in a lot of pies, as the americans would say; and he’s virtually untouchable

Its a luxury that he fought tooth and nail for, and it was no small feat; and its not something that he plans on giving up anytime soon

no matter what Detective Steve Rogers has planned

He keeps his hand around Natasha’s waist as they enter Stark Manor, letting her sag slightly against him once the doors close behind them and manoeuvring her slightly towards the kitchen where he’s sure James is waiting

There’s a sharp right, and sure enough, with his back to them, is James manning the grill

His black henley is stretched against his muscles, straining at the seams, and had it been an ordinary day; Tony probably would’ve curled up against his lover and licked him out of the tight fitting tshirt 

but it hasn’t been an ordinary day

and Tony’s having a hard time being their Antoshka right now

--

He releases his hold on Natasha’s waist when they near the island, and watches dispassionately as she fights the urge to bend down and look at how deep his nails have dug into the brand

His mama always said that running the Family was like essendo due persone tesoro, a volte non mi riconosco allo specchio. He never got that at 12 when he was cleaning her wounds

(now he does)

She slips off her heels and pads over to James softly, pressing her lips in between his shoulder blades to alert him of their presence

He turns instantly, tilting her chin up for a soft butterfly kiss before he looks up and latches onto Tony, who’s standing a bit away like he’s an intruder to a painful domestic scene

James extends the hand not curling Natasha, “Antoshka, won’t you join us? It’s been a long day and I’ve missed you. The food was getting cold”

Tony stiffens and pulls at the lapels of his jacket, “I’ll be in my study. Find me after”

He doesn’t bother to pretend he’s from Manhattan, letting his rich italian accent seep out, when he stops mid way to the exit and says, “Don’t be late”

--

He’s poring over their dossier on Steve when he hears a knock on the door

“Entra,” he calls out; not bothering to look up from where he’s scrutinising Steve’s military record, and he hears the door creak open- but there’s no other sound

After he thinks he’s let them stew enough, he looks up to the see -

“Jesus, Zio Obie, mi hai spaventato a morte,” he says, putting a hand to his chest instinctively

“You work too hard my boy,” Obie replies, making his way to the liquor trolley

He offers a glass to Tony, which Tony grasps but doesn’t sip, sinking back in his chair

Obie flops down in the opposite seat, taking a long sip and smacking his tongue obscenely

“Your,” his mouth moves like he’s eaten something sour, “people were flitting outside the door as I was coming in”

“I take it they’re in the doghouse?”

It’s never sat well with Tony that Zio Obie never accepted he had two lovers, but he’s let it go as long as Obie continued to run SI smoothly

Even now, he shakes the whiskey softly before turning to Obie and asking, “to what do I owe the pleasure Zio?”

(obie’s thick boston accent has never failed to remind tony he’s italian. he can’t decide if he loves or hates that)

“Can an uncle not visit his nephew?” Obie’s presence is overwhelming, his voice booming, and Tony desperately wishes he wasn’t in conflict with his lovers because he would love nothing more than James standing on his side 

“I thought we decided after last time that it was too dangerous for you to drop by unannounced,” Tony raises en eyebrow, “so I ask again: to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Predictably, mentioning the shoot-out makes Obie shudder, giving Tony the cover he needs to press the button under his desk

Obie’s pouring himself another drink when James and Natasha enter, and none of them miss the way his eyes glint slightly

Natasha shoves slightly until she can settle on his lap and James tilts his head up for a kiss, slipping the drink out of his outstretched hand and onto the floor in one fluid motion

“I see the guard dogs have arrived,” Obie says and James bares his teeth almost obligingly

Tony runs his nails against James’ inner arm pointedly before giving Obie a smile of his own, “They were going to entertain me before you decided to stop by Zio, so I must a third time- why are you here?”

He bends slightly so Natasha can rearrange herself, “Don’t make me ask again Zio”

Obie holds his hand up in surrender, “There’s no need to threaten me boy, I come in peace”

He pushes over a folder that Natasha thumbs open and holds up for Tony, “The quarter’s profits. The company is struggling ever since we made the switch to green energy boy, and I wish you would reconsider at least finishing out your militar - “

“No.”

its soft, so soft that Tony’s almost worried that Obie missed it, but his eyes flick up to where James is clutching the end of the seat

“I’m sorry?” Obie looks up at him owlishly, like he can’t believe James is speaking to him directly

“I said,” his voice is flat but firm, “no. Antoshka will not finish out his military contracts”

Obie looks at Tony despairingly, but Tony tilts his face away; burying it into the crook of Natasha’s neck and lazily sucking a bruise

There’s palpable tension in the air when Tony decides he’s had enough and resurfaces; and its at times like this that Tony is reminded of just how powerful he is

He keeps his eyes lidded, his lips wet and cocks his head just so when he says, “I don’t know what you tell you Zio. James says no.”

“Now if you don’t mind, I would like to go back to pleasuring my lover”

he nods once, dismissing his Zio and turns his attention back to Natasha, who’s palming his half hard dick through his trousers and pulls at her tanktop until it gives him access to her breasts

He doesn’t wait for his Zio to leave, instead lifting his left hand and pinching her nipple experimentally

Its only when the door close does he stop, pushing Natasha off his lap and standing so he’s facing his lovers

--

If Natasha is upset at basically being used as a common whore, she doesn’t show it; adjusting herself almost immediately before curling into James’ embrace

"The first thing I ever told you,” he says, drawing every word out, “was that you are mine.”

“You were mine then, you are mine now, and you will always be mine”

He lifts his gaze to them, “il tuo passato è morto, because you are mine and I am not interested in it following us around”

“Take there of Steve Rogers, or I will”

He forces himself to ignore the way James turns pale and crumbles against Natasha, and instead stalks out the room

--

When he reaches their bedroom, he slips off his shirt and sinks into the bed, propping his chin against his right knee and letting the left leg dangle off the bed

He lifts up his hands and pulls at his cheeks experimentally, before cocking his head and staring at his reflection

Hazel eyes bore into him as he wonders ti odi anche tu mamma? ma di sicuro non mi amano

--

tbc

//

italian translations (all off google translate):

essendo due persone tesoro, a volte non mi riconosco allo specchio: (running the family was like) being two people, I sometimes don't recognize myself in the mirror

Entra: enter

mi hai spaventato a morte: you scared me to death

il tuo passato è morto: your past is dead

ti odi anche tu mamma? ma di sicuro non mi amano: did you hate yourself too mama? because i sure as hell don’t love me

[friendlylocalwhumper]

Three nightmares, three kinds. When he does manage to sleep. Mostly, he’s awake, searching, gathering information. But the nightmares plague him when he tries to rest.

One, where he’s in his room, but the bed goes thin and stiff and bolted to the wall. His door is locked, and he can’t get out. Instead of panicking, in this dream, at the concept of being trapped, he’s fine with it. Resigned to it. He lies on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, which looks oddly like the bottom of a metal bunk.

One, where the people he’s killed, the people he’s killing, turn out to be the wrong people. Their bones clank under him where he walks, under the ground, but loud, despairing. Their thoughts swirl around him - intel, and things like fucking warlocks, and knowledge of terrible things done to innocent people under the guise of official business - but then, there are swarming memories, too, from easier times, and recollections of children growing up, of heartbreak in youth, of times before these people decided to end up torturing and locking up magic users.

And one, finally, where he finds Anders. Finds him shattered and bloody, dead in the eyes, but still breathing, still alive, horrifically. Lux finds him, but too late, far too late.

The first nightmare is inconsequential. The second, a necessary and probably fair burden. But the third - it’s why Lux works so hard every day, in his search. That one won’t ever prove to be true. Lux is certain. Anders will live, will speak, will think and move and come home to his family. To Vic, and Odie, and Lux.

Like any other morning, since he was broken out of prison, Lux awakes and lies in his bed, trying to push down the lingering terror of the nightmares, before he gets moving.

Today, he’s going to get information from a guard who worked at the prison, one who retired early in favor of using up an inheritance he was left by a relative who’d passed. The guard will know things. He has to know something.

When he’s made it to the guard’s house, then inside, easy, when someone has no magic to put up wards with - Lux is efficient. The retired C.O. is sitting on his couch, watching some sports program - then, he’s trying to bolt upright in surprise as tendrils of magic stream out of the couch and wind around his arms and legs and torso, pinning him in place.

“What in the hell - !” The C.O. looks in automatic furious panic, then just plain fury, at the warlock that moves to stand before him, one hand glowing a calm purple with the magic of binding someone. “Goddamn warlock, in my house - get your damn magic off of me!”

Lux watches him fight the magic, for a moment, before sitting down on the couch beside him. The cushion dips and moves a bit with the fruitless struggles. “You were a Correctional Officer at a prison that held warlocks.”

The man’s struggling eases somewhat at that, probably to trade yanking at the unwavering magic for glaring at his enemy with some dignity. “And you’re a filthy warlock.”

“Uh-huh.” With a flick of his fingers, the man’s stricken silent with magic. He tries to yell, but no sound leaves from between his parted lips, his bared teeth. Lux does a lot of watching, he finds, since he knows his magic will keep others from harming him, and since reactions and noises are just as telling as thoughts and words.

“There are some things that I want to know,” Lux informs, vaguely. “You’re not going to talk willingly, are you?”

The ex-guard’s expression crinkles in rage, and he spits at Lux, hitting his cheek. Lux sighs and pulls down one of his long sleeves to wipe it off. “Right. Well, you’ll tell me what I want to know, and then some. I’m going to read your mind.”

The man pales, fear betrayed in his eyes, and he tugs harder at the restraints that will not chafe his skin, will not bruise him. Lux’s eyes don’t soften with sympathy; he’s already being as merciful as he can, more merciful than is strictly necessary. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’ll just be uncomfortable. You can’t hide your thoughts, so just show me what I look for, and I won’t see anything you don’t want me to.” With that explanation, which surely has been ignored judging by the all-consuming abhorrence in the ex-guard’s face, Lux reaches forward to touch his fingertips to his temple.

At the last second, the guard grins. Lux doesn’t stop quick enough, doesn’t notice him looking somewhere past Lux’s shoulder. In an instant of chaotic action, Lux is grabbed from behind and yanked away from his target. His magic brightens in his panic and then fizzles out, and his hands come up to claw at the arm wound around his throat. His sneakers shove against the floor as he tries to escape the chokehold, gasping, only snatching breaths when he kicks hard enough, pulls hard enough to loosen the arm’s grip for a second.

There are people around, now, men dressed like they’re ready for a tactical assault, but they’re just - what, guarding a retired Correctional Officer?

“What - w-what -” Lux wheezes, and struggles, trying to twist free. He gets scared enough to kick back and slam the heel of his shoe into the man’s shin. The arm cinches tighter around his throat so no amount of fighting will get him air.

“So, this is the one that’s been on a killing spree,” One of the men says, as another offers the Correctional Officer a hand up from the couch he was restrained on. The man speaking pulls a pistol from his hip holster and holds it under Lux’s chin to tip his head up. “Young, for a killer, isn’t he?”

Lux is frightened, but angry, too. They’ll kill him or drag him off somewhere to be tortured. Like Anders. Lux can’t let that happen. Anders needs him. Or - at least, Vic does, Vic can’t lose someone who has a shot at finding Anders.

The chokehold is loosened, and Lux wheezes loudly, gulping down air and coughing. As soon as he can get words out without mangling them, he goes for it. “I didn’t hurt anyone,” He says, uncertain if anyone cares.

“Fucker was going to use that disgusting telepathy on me,” The retired guard informs, glaring at Lux like he’d strangle him if they were alone.

Lux swallows, and the muzzle of the gun stays planted against his skin. “I didn’t hurt you, I - yes, I killed. But no one suffered.”

His arms are twisted behind him, and a boot knocking against the back of one knee gets him kneeling, released from the loose chokehold. The muzzle’s centered against his forehead, now. Lux looks up at the man above him. The man who plans to execute him here and now, maybe.

“You’ll die for the lives you took,” The man says, the others seeming content with this, hands on their guns as backup.

“No, I won’t.”

A wave of energy bursts outwards, at the breaking dam of Lux’s words, and everyone in the room is sent flying back into walls, tumbling over the couch, careening into the mantle of the unlit fireplace. They’re all pinned where they’ve been thrown; Lux gets up off his knees, one hand coming up to his throat a moment before lowering to his side.

One of the men must have slipped an arm from the magical restraints, Lux figures, as something slams into his back. As he registers that the thing that hit him wasn’t large like a body, but small, like a bullet. He didn’t focus enough on the magic restraining all nine of them; the hold was loose on one, one who still had his gun.

They’re silenced, by magic, all of them, but Lux isn’t. He stumbles and gasps, one hand going to the bottom left side of his back and coming back coated in sticky red.

He was going to say something like, You all know I’m going to have to read your minds now, and make you forget, don’t you? Now, he has to go. He has to get out of here, and patch himself up - information lost. He got nothing from coming here. He has no time to read their minds… just enough to circle the room, going to each man, and erasing the last half hour of memory. He can’t let them remember his face. His work isn’t done, yet.

Lux makes it into his room before he staggers badly enough to need to collapse. He sits on his bed, sets his hand palm-up in his lap and summons cool white magic to his fingers. He finds the source of the blood with his left hand, then tries to reach around with his right - he can’t, can’t quite reach it, and moving like that makes it hurt even worse. He lets out a frustrated cry and summons the magic to his left hand instead.

The bullet digs itself out of his back, drawing pained keens from him, and then the skin knits itself together. Lux is clammy and pale by the time it’s done, both hands coming around front. There’s blood on the floor, on his bed, on his hands.

He can deal with it later. He needs to scry, again. He got no information today, at the very least he needs to scry for Anders. Lux gets back up on his feet, unsteady, and walks back out of his room to sit on the floor in his circle of gems and maps and books. In somewhat of a daze, he picks up a gem, ignoring the bloody smudges he leaves on the smooth surface, and starts chanting.

[scouthearted]

spaces in your togetherness - a streetcrows fic

Six.

The world did not exist, and neither did Odette Rowel.

Everything, including her body and soul, was in a state of dreamlike horror, a state she was intrinsically familiar with. She never did remember any of her dreams but the nightmares, and those played out so normally except for the little twists in the world around her, little details that made the last vestiges of her personality cringe. The photographs that sat in their frames around the parlor were ones that she or Ethan never would have picked, for one; the two of them in tutus as they danced through part of Swan Lake as children, Ethan fake smiling during a family vacation as their father’s hand clutched his shoulder too tightly, and that horrible picture of their first day of college… the very picture that convinced Ethan to shave his long hair off. He never let it grow back. It looked better short, anyway.

Around her, people mumbled condolences. Odette decided not to respond. No, decided was wrong. She couldn’t have responded if she wanted to. She only had one sentence anymore, it seemed, and that sentence had been silenced by the only person she thought would understand.

Four.

“He’s not dead! I am going to find him. Don’t act like he’s dead!”

Oliver Rowel ignored her, continuing his phone conversation. “Roses. Twenty dozen of them. Black.”

“Father! He’s not dead!”

“Yes. I understand.” Odette momentarily softened until she realized this was to the person on the other end of the line. Her eyes, usually focused and steady, seemed to dart around. She was looking for… for Ethan. She could always count on Ethan to mock their father behind his back, until Odette had to try not to laugh, until she felt better.

But he wasn’t here.

Two.

“It’s not here,” Ethan laughed as he watched Odette overturn every little corner of his little apartment. “What do I need with a comb?”

“If this is one of your tricks, I swear to Grimen...” she said, half-snapping at him.

“Have you asked Mallory?”

“What would she do with it? She has combs of her own. I think, and her hair is so different than mine that it wouldn’t do her any good.”

Ethan adjusted, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Odette recognized it as his “sibling talk” position, honed between them after years of secret sharing in their shared bedrooms and dormitories. “Maybe it’s a girlfriend thing.”

“Or maybe you took it because you want to do your eyebrows.”

“With a comb?”

Odette shrugged. “I don’t know how you manage to keep them so perfect.”

“Actor vanity.”

“My comb.”

“Tweezers.”

Odette had to laugh at that, just a little. “Fine. I suppose I’ll believe you.” The grudging tone of her voice was her own little act… she never would choose theatre for a living, but she always had been able to give convincing performances anyway. “Well, then, I have business to attend to. I’ll be off.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Odie,” Ethan said with an eye roll and a smile.

She didn’t say it back. It would ruin the moment.

It would, later, break her heart.

Three.

“Breaking news, another disappearance in a streak that police and media alike are calling the Aberration Spree Killings. Twenty year old theatre student Ethan Rowel, son of the Dean of Students at…”

Quieter.

Her Gift responded to her will, and the newscaster seemed to fade away. It was wrong. This wasn’t something to keep quiet. Everyone should know this. Everyone should feel how awful she felt. Like a switch, the realization made the volume reduction reverse, until the voice was normal volume, then loud, then terrible, then ear shattering, then-

the television exploded. As glass flew towards her, Odette sat, unflinching. The crescendo was always her favorite part of her gift.

Ethan had been the opposite. He had always preferred the softer decrescendos, when the volume was low and the world and the heavens were just the two of them.

Seven.

Odette fell onto her childhood bed feeling worse than she had at the reception, the viewing, the not-funeral. Whatever her father had chosen to brand it as when he decided Ethan was never coming home.

The room was pleasant like a room in a dollhouse, or a picture book. A child might dream of living in it, with its candy floss pink walls and curled iron bed frames. The carpet was plush and white, stains masked by Gifted housekeepers over the years. They must have never stopped cleaning the nursery, as there was no expected layer of dust. Odette’s three story dollhouse in one corner was pristine. Ethan’s little wooden stage with the tiny red velvet curtains looked as though it had been recently waxed. It felt as though any moment, two tiny and tired identical twins would enter, throwing their ballet duffle bags on the floor (they’d be yelled at for it the next morning) and collapsing to the beds. If only. Odette would scoop little Ethan up and never let him go.

She looked up. In the center of the room, as though straddling the invisible line that divided Odette’s half from Ethan’s half, was a plaque with a quote.

“You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore but let there be spaces in your togetherness. And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.”

Their mother had picked it out before she died. Ethan and Odette had always liked that quote. They liked the dancing imagery, when they took ballet together as children, and the rest when they got older and learned what the quote really talked about.

Had they ever known? A space in their togetherness, once upon a time, had meant going on study abroad trips in different semesters. Not this. Not this.

Don’t dance through the heavens yet. You aren’t dead.

Five.

“Listen to me, Father, he’s not dead.”

Oliver Rowel never listened.

One.

Ethan picked his name with the gusto of a five year old. He played with Danger, with Rowan, and with the names of a hundred stars. He toyed with Siegfried and Benno and even Tchaikovsky, to match Odette’s name.

It took a while before he had the final idea. “Ethan Oliver.”

“Ethan Oliver?”

Ethan grinned. “Yeah, it’s Dad’s name, but flipped. Oliver Ethan Rowel… Ethan Oliver Rowel.”

“I never would guess you would want to be connected to Father.”

“Well…” Ethan shrugged. “We don’t always get along, sure.” An understatement if Odette had ever heard one. “But he’s still my dad. Maybe this will make him happy.”

“But does it make you happy?”

“Yeah, I think so. Ethan’s a good name. I think it fits me.”

Odette looked at her brother, a once-identical face, now so different than hers, like she was looking into a what might have been. She looked at his piercings, his clear eyes that were stuck between contacts instead of glasses, and his ever present smirk.

She thought about her initials, OER, Odette Elizabeth Rowel. They were once his initials too. Ethan Oliver Rowel, EOR, was close, but not the same. It was a space between them, two separate people who remained linked.

“I think it fits too,” she said.

Eight.

Ethan kept clothes at Oliver Rowel’s house, same as Odette did. Oliver, however, never liked Ethan’s clothes. Ethan’s wardrobe was thirty three percent leather jackets and metal band shirts, thirty three percent athletic wear for his active classes, and thirty three percent hoodies and comfy jeans. Casual, not befitting someone of their social standing, so Oliver liked to say. So while Odette had a dresser in their childhood bedroom, full of nice blouses and skirts for emergency stayovers, Ethan hid his clothes in the attic, among their mother’s things.

The cardboard box labeled Tonya Rowel smelled like attic musk and lavender and leather. It sat opened… Ethan stopped taping it back up when he realized Oliver never looked up there. Odette rarely did either, barely enough for it to be familiar to her.

Inside was a mixture of photographs of their mother, a lovely woman who seemed to bring her own light to wherever she was, and soft hoodies. They smelled like Ethan’s detergent. Odette tried, and failed, to blink back tears. For a moment, she crouched on the attic floor, her nose buried in her brother’s clothing, her heart recognizing him even as her mind knew he wasn’t there.

It was so confusing, something had to give.

And give it did. Dazed, dreaming, dissociating, she put on his hoodie and went to see Mallory.

Nine.

“Don’t worry. I’m not really crying. It’s just sort of happening right now.”

Whatever was left of Odette Rowel tried to make Mallory feel better. Hard when her own cheeks were streaked with tears that poured down her face, when her glasses were salt-stained and dirty. Mallory, still, looked more distraught than Odette felt. Odette had to comfort her girlfriend. That’s what girlfriends did, and anyway...

Mallory is all you have left.

Mallory, beautiful Mallory, brilliant Mallory, bold Mallory… she looked at a loss. A part of Odette wanted to laugh, but it came out a choke.

For once, she’s not together. She doesn’t know what to do. Isn’t that funny?

Her green eyes seemed to flash, and there it was. Mallory the wonderful was back, and somehow, Odette resented it down in the bare vestiges of personality she held. “Do you want to talk about him?” she asked, as if talking about him would bring him back.

“Let’s not… Mallory, let’s just go home for today, okay?”

She stared, then nodded.

When they got home, Odette locked herself in the bathroom with a pair of scissors. She didn’t come out until her hair was short. It was messy. Any other day, she would hate it, but Ethan would have loved it. She looked in the mirror and smiled.

Ten.

“You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore but let there be spaces in your togetherness. And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.”

“This is a space in our togetherness.”

“Ethan Rowel is not dead.”

“I will find him.”

“I will do anything to find him.”

“I will do anything to find him, even if it costs me everything.”

“I will do anything to find him, and I have nothing else to lose.”

Eleven.

As she slumped into Raccoon’s arms, bleeding, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in Raccoon’s goggles. Short hair, a hoodie on, a genuine smile on her face for once. She looked like Ethan, as much as she could while still being herself. They always… they said twins… were like this… even as different as we are… we’re identical, Ethan, aren’t we?

“Bluejay! Blue...jay…?”

She laughed. “Looks like I overdid it a little bit…”

It was with the strength of an actor that she pulled herself up. She patted Raccoon, idly said some things (she wasn’t sure what. Focus hadn’t gotten easier, and dissociation was her normal), and walked away.

Ethan, I look like you. I don’t act like you, but I look like you. Would you be proud? No, I know the answer. Just trust your older sister, okay? This is a space in our togetherness.

Together we shall be forevermore.

[niemernuet]

Little Oneshot after Marco's visit to a cooking show after Bormio

Kitchen Nightmare

rating: T pairing: Loïc Meillard/Tanguy Nef (a little bit) characters: Loïc Meillard, Tanguy Nef, Marco Odermatt (mentioned), Daniel Yule, Luca Aerni, Marc Rochat length: 1'300 words

The beautiful weather of the past few weeks had come to an end, and the world behind the rain-bespeckled windows of the business-class lounge was drenched in grey. Loïc reluctantly looked up from the laptop on his knees when Tanguy put down a paper cup on the small table in front of him.

“I didn’t order anything.”

Tanguy smiled down at him while he handed out the other cups to the rest of the team.

Marc opened the lid of his cup, and eyed the contents warily. “Is that caramel drizzle?”

Tanguy ignored his question, and kept looking at Loïc. “I assumed you just didn’t hear me when I asked who wanted a cup of coffee.”

Loïc shook his head, and turned his attention back on his computer. “I did,” he muttered gruffly. Hastily he half shut the laptop when Tanguy sat down next to him, and peeked over his shoulder.

“What happened in Sölden?” he asked with the same soft smile.

“Other than me losing a ski?” Loïc asked back sarcastically.

“Yes.”

Loïc tried to stare Tanguy down but had to give up after a few moments. “Nothing,” he grumbled, and took a sip of his cup.

Tanguy shook his head. “You never stay angry for so long about a simple dnf. Something happened.”

On the other side of the table, spread out over a couch and an armchair, Luca, Ramon, Daniel and Marc were busy stirring sugars and milk into their paper cups, and nobody took any heed of them.

Loïc shook his head with a shrug. “It’s nothing…it’s stupid.”

Again he made a futile attempt to stare Tanguy into giving up, and once more failed miserably.

“You’ll laugh…” he whispered.

“Try me! You don’t have to bottle things up, you know?”

Loïc sighed, a soft blush growing over his cheeks. He took another gulp of his coffee before he braced himself: “They invited Odi and Niels into a cooking show.”

Tanguy kept staring at him, his entire body stock-still except for his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I knew it!” Loïc exclaimed, and jumped up. “I knew you would…”

“I’m not laughing!” Tanguy laughed, and pulled Loïc down onto the couch again. “I just wasn’t expecting that answer. Tell me more!”

“Tell you more about what?” Luca butted in.

“Nothing,” Loïc grumbled but it was futile now that he had the attention of the entire table.

“It sounds really mean,” Tanguy said to Loïc. “But I’m sure there’s a very good reason why they didn’t invite you. I mean, everyone knows what a great chef you are.”

“I don’t know,” Loïc griped. “All they said that they’re taping it after the races in the US, and Jasmine and Joana are invited too.” With a sullen scowl he stared into his coffee. Tanguy waited patiently until the rest of it burst out of Loïc.

“Fucking Niels fucking Hintermann and Marco? Who are they kidding? Do you know that one year, when we were in South America with the speed team, Niels made a cheese sauce out of a white roux and called it his ‘spin on carbonara sauce’? He put peas in it!” The last sentence Loïc yelled into the lounge, and Tanguy hastily put his hand on Loïc’s arm but to no avail.

“And Odi, who managed to mix up baking powder and flour and was wondering why the package was so small and barely enough for one batch of pancakes and that the batter was foaming? That’s who they want for their show?”

“Maybe they just want to make sure that none of their guests will go full Gordon Ramsey,” Daniel muttered into his paper cup.

Loïc glared at him but his anger deflated quickly, and he sank back down into the couch with hunched shoulders.

Still barely able to hide his laughter, Tanguy patted Loïc’s back. “Come on, don’t you see it? They had to invite German speaking athletes. I’m sure if they had chosen according to merit you’d have been the first to be invited.”

Loïc chuckled sadly. “You’re just trying to cheer me up.”

“And does it work?”

Marc snorted. “Do you have to ask?”

Loïc huffed indignantly but his red cheeks spoke for themselves.

-----

The coaches had ordered them to their usual hub in Zermatt for an additional training session before the new year.

“You are getting more boring with every year,” Marc whined to the people splayed over the couches.

“And you are blocking the view!” Tanguy answered, and waved his hand at him.

Marc groaned but did take a step out of the way of the television. “We could go to the bar down the street. It wouldn’t take three minutes.”

“Shhh, it’s starting!” Loïc hissed, and turned the volume up.

“Seriously?” Marc exclaimed, and turned to Daniel and Luca. “Even you?”

“Nothing will be more entertaining than this tonight,” Daniel proclaimed, and held out the bowl of popcorn towards Marc.

“It’s just a bloody cooking show.”

“This does not look sanitary!”

Marc stopped in his tracks, and followed Loïc’s gaze to the television.

“They didn’t even wash their hands, and they’re just touching everything!” Loïc continued with raising indignation. “They’re not even wearing aprons!”

Daniel shook the bowl of popcorn at Marc, his raised eyebrows saying ‘See? I told you so’. With a sigh, he sat down next to him, and grabbed a handful.

“I’m sure they washed their hands earlier,” Tanguy said. He shared the smaller couch with Loïc, barely more than an armchair, and they sat thigh squished against thigh.

Loïc snorted. “That doesn’t mean anything. Marco always licks his fingers when he cooks. Oh my god, they are using pickled asparagus instead of fresh ones?”

His voice rose again, and Tanguy laughed as he put his hand on Loïc’s thigh to stop him from bouncing his leg.

“They taped this a few weeks ago. Where would they get fresh asparagus in December?”

Loïc crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I would never serve asparagus from a glass to Vreni Schneider,” he mumbled.

They watched quietly for a while.

“See, now they’re wearing aprons,” Luca piped up after a while.

When Loïc did not answer, Tanguy turned his head. He chuckled softly.

“What did you do?”

Loïc’s smile vanished, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Nothing.”

Tanguy’s smile grew. “Did you help him with his task?”

Loïc shrugged. “Maybe…,” he said, stretching the word apart.

“That’s cheating!” Daniel remarked.

“As if Jasmine didn’t ask her father beforehand,” Loïc snapped. “I was just giving him some tips to…” He abruptly broke off, and jumped up.

“He is using paste?” Loïc yelled at he TV while Tanguy tried to pull him back down with breathless laughter. “When I said truffles I meant real ones!” Loïc shouted at Marco on the screen, both their faces getting redder and redder for very different reasons. “The black ones of course, you don’t have to waste white truffle on Berthod but paste? PASTE?”

“Calm down,” Tanguy giggled when he finally got Loïc back onto the couch, and, to be safe, put his arm around his shoulder. If Loïc realised how close they were sitting together, he did not let it on.

“Of course, store-bought pasta dough,” he sneered when Marco and Jasmine began to assemble their raviolis.

“You would never,” Tanguy smiled, craning his head back to get a better look at Loïc.

Loïc shook his head, his brown hair almost grazing Tanguy’s cheek. “It’s too thick! Pasta dough needs to be thin, that’s why you roll it through a machine. But what does it matter? The filling is made with truffle-paste anyway; the only thing setting those things apart from raviolis from a can is that they were fondled by Marco Odermatt.” He huffed, and sank deeper into the couch, until his head was level with Tanguy’s shoulder, and glared at the TV where Marco was busily placing raviolis on three plates.

“And you seriously wanted to go to a bar?” Luca muttered, and rammed his elbow in Marc’s side.

[ghchgc]

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[halcyon-writings]

Can you do a #20 in the angst prompt with Dante from Devil May Cry?

since I wasn’t sure if anon wanted the reboot or original I just decided to go with the original

masterlist - fandom list - prompts tag

Not that you minded still being alive or anything, but you were pretty certain that you were going to die on that last job of yours. Well, it was almost a given, as ever since you partnered up with Dante’s business, it seemed like there was always some weirdo that wanted to destroy the world, take over it, or even both, and this was basically one of these times. 

You were putting pressure on the stab wound on your side (which may or may not have been deeper than you anticipated, but did they seriously have to stab you? No, no they did not) and you were pretty sure something was broken. The entirety of your body felt numb, and the new ‘baddie’ decided to take their time and just start monologing about their plans and goals.

They wanted Dante’s attention, with him being the Son of Sparda and all that. So their plan was just why not take a captive for a while.

(You’d eventually learn that he didn’t really want you to know, but seriously, it was a little obvious, what human man had bright white hair and could transform into a powerful demonic form?) 

You were in too much pain to make a snarky remark as they continued on with their speech, but one thing you were certain about was that holy shit, you were gonna die. The thought of that might’ve scared you a little. 

You weren’t going to let yourself be used like bait, and so you attempted to escape, which led to your current predicament: you on the ground, bleeding out, broken, and bruised.

With a rather showy display of breaking down a wall, not like doors had a purpose or anything like that, Dante had appeared, with Trish, Lady, and oh goodness was that Nero and Lucia ? behind him. However, he was uncharacteristically serious, eyes flashing dangerously. 

The baddie, or whatever their name was had no time to react before Dante took them down. Well, at least that was taken care of. 

“Good god what took you guys so long,” You joked tiredly, the pressure from your hand was beginning to get weaker, “With all this blood there wouldn’t even be a need for blood drives anymore.”

Although Dante seemed amused at your remark, you could still see the seriousness in his eyes, along with hints of concern?

“I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you weren’t staring at me as if you were a kid whose dog just got hit by a car,” You muttered weakly.

Dante raised an eyebrow, “Selling yourself short aren’t you Lassie?” 

“If I wasn’t in a lot of pain right now, I’d hit you,” You replied, a sudden jolt of pain surged through your body and the usually cool and aloof Dante was kneeling beside you, 

It was probably because you were losing consciousness, but you let a little bit of your fear show on your face, before grabbing his forearm as tight as you were able (which wasn’t much since you were going to pass out anytime soon). 

“Please don’t let me die, Dante.”

It had been two weeks since then, and you were basically fine, you didn’t need to talk to anyone about your ‘ordeal’, as Lucia had so eloquently put it, and your wound was barely hurting anymore. But, Dante wouldn’t allow you to get back to work right away, believing that no you weren’t fully okay yet. He did let you stay at Devil May Cry during your recovery.

He was a total mother hen, and you were getting a bit annoyed, since half the time he’d be his usual snarky, outgoing self and the other half he’d shoot down any idea of you getting back to work.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened either, as you remember before you fully worked with him, he got this way after what happened to his brother during the Temen-ni-gru fiasco. 

You normally didn’t like to start any arguments, but you were just that tired of being treated like this. Trish and Lady weren’t at Devil May Cry, as the two were out either on an actual job or another shopping trip (to which you declined an invitation, not feeling like walking around a mall a lot to look at different clothes)

And when you confronted your longtime friend/ maybe-possibly? boyfriend (you’ll admit that once or twice the two of you slept together), an argument was bound to start.

“I just don’t see the issue with me getting back into jobs, especially if they’re terribly simple,” You insisted.

“Well for one, you’re still injured,” Dante answered with a scoff, currently seated in the swivel chair you got him as a gift and partially a joke (when he complained about how uncomfortable his old one was), legs propped on his desk, hands behind his head, which irritated you a just a little bit, “and you almost opened your stab wound again a few days ago, when you should’ve been resting.”

“My bladder didn’t mind that I had stitches and I needed to pee man.”

“Yeah and having you bleed out in my bathroom? Doesn’t sound like an ideal situation,” He answered smartly.

You narrowed your eyes, “Fine, but clearly this,” You gestured towards yourself, more specifically where you were wounded, “Isn’t the only thing that’s bothering you.”

“I think I’m doing pretty okay, thank you very much,” He answered tersely, getting up from his seat, which meant the conversation was over, and made his way towards the door of the shop, “I have a job to do, and you should just rest up.”

You clenched your fist, and before you could even stop yourself, you snapped, “For once, stop pretending you’re okay! Just talk to me! How is it that whenever you’re injured basically similarly if not worse than I am, everything’s all fine and dandy but if I even stub my toe, it’s suddenly as if I can’t even function without someone helping me. ”

“Because even if I had those injuries, I’d be more likely to survive, you’re only human (Y/N).”

Your eyes narrowed again, “Are you really insinuating that I’m weak? If you are-”

“I don’t want anyone else important to me to die, alright?” He interrupted, making you go silent, “I’ve dealt with that enough already. And when you grabbed my arm before you went unconscious, I swore to myself that I never wanted to see you be that scared again.”

It was quiet for a few seconds, before you walked over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. Despite your annoyance, the more rational part of you could understand where he was coming from, as you were also aware of his life and how difficult it had been for him.Which also meant you felt a little guilty about how you were acting. 

“I’m sorry,” you began, “Here I am, pushing myself to get back to jobs and all that, worrying you more than I probably should. With how much I was just sitting around or laying down, I would’ve felt myself going a little crazy, but I know that you’ve lost good people from your life. So I’ll take it slow, and then I’ll try and get back to the swing of things.

Now come on, you have a job to get too, and the later you are, the less they’ll wanna pay,” You added, beginning to move him in the direction of the doors.

Dante had the usual cocky smirk on his face, but this time, it was  a lot more natural, “Oh come on babe, you know I never keep a client waiting.”

You snorted, “Yeah totally, and seriously, get going, I expect you to bring home something for Dinner, you know as well as I do that I can barely cook.”

“Being able to make instant ramen doesn’t mean you can cook,” Dante reminded you.

Playfully, you swatted at his butt, making him laugh, “Well go on, but I do expect something good to eat later.”

He gave a mock salute and then was out the door.

[newtothewaywardparty]

Love Interruption 4

So, I accidentally wrote another Sam chapter. The thing is, he’s a better exposition monkey and also maybe I’m in love with Odie a little bit. Why do you keep talking about my shoulders? LOL, we are all Velma. ANYWAY here’s a long chapter and the next one has Destiel FEELINGS and AWKWARD SILENCES and GROUP THERAPY so if that’s your jam please keep reading I love you all like Sam loves books.

Sam awoke to the sound of the surf. He sighed deeply and raised his head off his pillow on the floor palette Odie had fixed him up in her small living area directly off her kitchen. After ducking in the bathroom, he investigated the tiny cabin looking for her, but it was empty. He helped himself to a bowl of the sweetened coconut rice pudding-type dish he found on the stovetop. Grabbing a mango from a bowl in the center of the metal folding table and a knife, he made his way outside.

He scored a mango half into edible cubes, which clung to the thin green skin until he chewed them off, their sweet juice dribbling down his chin. Odie strode confidently up the beach carrying her surfboard, water droplets on her skin and hair catching the morning sun. She gave Sam a grin that was all white teeth and a big wave with her free hand. Sam waved back and tried not to notice the way her board shorts hugged her strong thighs or the way her yellow bikini top set off her radiant skin.

Sam ducked his head until she was close enough to call to him over the morning waves. “Do all American hunters go to the beach in jeans and boots?” Odie propped her surfboard in its spot along the cabin wall and grabbed a towel from the clothesline.

Sam chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Don’t have many other duds, I guess. This is our first beach trip in a while.” Or ever, he thought. “Plus,” He tapped his boots together firmly where they sat at the end of his crossed legs in the hammock. “It’s sort of our all-purpose uniform. Protect the feet, the skin, layers for different temperatures.” His smile fell a bit. Their lives were not like normal people’s. Sam had a tendency to make himself sad. The downside of being smart, he guessed.

Odie pulled on a graphic tee and gave him a knowing look. “It’s the same here, but you need clothes that won’t get in the way. Loose, sweat-wicking so you don’t dehydrate. Light colors to reflect heat. Flip flops can be lost in a hurry. Sport sandals are better for the jungle.” She jerked her head toward the beach. “Good luck running something down in the sand in those huge clodhoppers.”

Sam made as if he was actually willing to haul himself out of the hammock. “Wanna race? Put your money where your mouth is?”

Odie swatted him with the towel. “I’d hate to humiliate you on your first day. Besides, we have work to do.”

They set up research headquarters at her kitchen table. Odie boasted a premium wifi connection one of her hunter network friends had spliced off the line running to the Stone Jaguar resort where Cas and Dean were staying.

“So, these couples all checked into the resort, and then disappeared on the last day of the couples’ retreat.” Sam summarized. Odie nodded, indicating the proto-murderboard she had rigged up, complete with photos of the couples, their names, and details of their cases underneath it.

“We already had our hunters work with local law enforcement but they’re worthless.” sighed Odie. “They all think the couples were mixed up in drug business in town or kidnapped by Guatamalans near the border.” She tossed her hair disdainfully. “Both theories are ridiculous, of course, but they are eager to write them off because nobody in this part of the country wants to hurt tourism.”

Sam nodded. Made sense, and reminded him of plenty of cases he had worked before. People were pretty much the same everywhere. Willing to turn a blind eye as long as it didn’t affect the status quo.

Odie stood, putting her hands on her hips, pacing in front of the posterboard she had tacked to her kitchen wall. “We also tried interviewing resort employees. They didn’t have any further details. The couples went to the retreat’s final ceremony-a graduation kind of thing. They returned to their rooms, and nobody ever saw them again after that.”

Sam sat back, clicking his pen. “Run through them for me again.” They had been through all of this online already, when he had agreed to come down. A former acquaintance of Eileen’s based in Mexico had connected them. Sam felt a pang at the memory of the brunette hunter, with her sass and bravery and great smile…

“Four couples with no connection I can find. Two in their 50s, one in their 20s, and one in their 30s. One from New York City, one from Sydney, one from rural Alabama, and one from a small town in Northern England. One white couple, one Asian couple, and two mixed-race couples. Three hetero, one same-sex. Two had children; two didn’t.” Odie blew air through her lips in frustration. “It must be opportunity rather than profile.”

Sam agreed, typing on his laptop rapidly. “And the reason we think it’s something supernatural is…” He trailed off. This had been a sensitive topic online. If he was being entirely honest, he didn’t think there was a case here. Maybe the local police were right. Just missing couples in a developing area with higher-than-usual crime.

If he was really willing to look honesty in the face, he’d admit he only agreed to the case to get some beach time and possibly, maybe, just a little part of him wanted to get his brother and Castiel into a couples’ retreat. But Sam was not on trial here.

Odie immediately bristled. “We’ve been over this. It’s too clean. Too neat for humans.” All the couples were found missing the morning they were to check out. Their rooms were undisturbed and locked. All luggage, valuables, and passports remained in place. Nobody saw or heard anything in the night or the morning. No bodies were ever found. They simply vanished.

Sam held a hand out, placating.  “Okay. I believe you.” He didn’t, but Sam was good at talking people down. With patience borne of years dealing with jittery victims and his histrionic brother, he changed tack. “Who are the usual suspects in these parts? Vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts? Shifters?”

Odie gave a weird half shrug. “Yes. And no.” I’ve hunted all of those, but what we get here is a little different. After all, our folklore and indigenous gods are different than what you find in middle America.”

Sam raised his hands over his keyboard again, eager. “Okay, well, I’m okay in Spanish, too. What should I look up? Aztec or Inca?” Odie was silent long enough that Sam looked up to confirm she had heard him. She was doubled over, laughing so hard she wasn’t capable of making sound. She drew in a deep breath and schooled her features.

“Well,” she began in the prim tones of a schoolmarm. “Begin by researching all the lore from Mayan/Mestizo peoples whose cultures were indigenous here. Then add in all the French/Creole traditions of the Garifuna people, those descended from shipwrecks of enslaved Africans bound for the West Indies. Don’t forget the British Hondurans. Then of course the British colonizers themselves. In recent generations the Amish with German-descended lore can be found in many of our farming areas, and our cities are full of Chinese immigrants with their myriad religions.”

Sam pushed back from the table. He realized, of course, how reductive he had been, but he was also frustrated. How would they even begin to pinpoint what they were dealing with here?

He looked up at Odie who was watching him with less mirth now and more wariness. “I’m sorry. That was incredibly stupid. You obviously have been over all of this already, and know more than I even will about your community. What do you need from me? How can I help?”

Odie’s brown eyes measured him, assessing. “First,” she walked over and shut the lid of his laptop with a ‘click.’ “The answer’s not going to be online.” She leaned over him and quirked an eyebrow. “And due to the largely oral culture here, it’s not going to be in one of your books.” She pushed one of the tomes Sam had crammed into his carry-on away from him on the table.

She flopped into a chair next to Sam, sighing. “The reason I wanted a second set of eyes-experienced eyes-” here she cut her gaze to Sam who shifted, uncomfortably. The Winchester brothers were becoming somewhat of elder statesmen as far as hunters were concerned. “-is because I can’t figure it out. It’s…” she pressed her knuckles to her lips, and her gaze fell on a small framed photo on the opposite wall. “It’s not the first case that’s been unsolved here.”

Sam followed her eye line to the photo. A small girl with chubby cheeks and arms clung to a woman in a long skirt with armfuls of jewelry and a long, dark braid. A man with a beard and kind eyes had his arm around her, gazing at the girl adoringly. “Your parents?” Sam nodded towards the picture. They had talked about it a bit online. Hunters were often orphans.

Odie’s lips hardened into a line. She took a deep breath as though to begin a story, then stood abruptly. “I need a drink” she announced, grabbing a worn denim jacket from the hook by the door. She opened the door, then paused with her hand on the handle. “You coming?” She didn’t look behind her. Sam didn’t reply. He just walked past her into the warm night, resplendently clear with a beautiful three-quarter moon.