#THAT UH. PERHAPS. MY FAULT. BUT HERE WE ARE!

[bravevolunteer]

not gonna lie the longer i write michael the more he's not being the autism allegations

[i-starcreamed]

Beggingggg for a Megatron (Transformers One) x kind male reader who looked up to him not as a friend but as a small crush. Megatron saw jt at first when he was D-16 and didn’t think much until when he declared to kill their leader (did not like him that I forgot his name) and tries to take advantage of the readers fondness towards him to make him join his side. The reader knows it’s wrong and declines which turns into a small argument about why the reader should join them..

THINKS OF SOME TOXIC TANGO OF LOVE AND LOYALTY WHERE ONE ISNT SURE—

MEGATRON X READER

Basically megop but with Y/N. You two are divorced YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SO MUCH MORE!! Also I don’t mention pronouns that often in my work but I’m tagging this as male reader :3

[cybertronian! male reader Angst AGAIN 😭 not that much though, you guys just argue a lil]

As D-16, he hadn’t thought much of your crush. He knew you as the mech who treated everyone with kindness, a trait he silently admired. You were almost an even softer version of Orion, gentle to a fault sometimes.

You were with them when you went to find the Primes, there, you uncovered the truth as they did. You watched as D-16's expression fell with every detail revealed about Sentinel and..everything he did.

Gesturing for him to follow you, you pulled him aside. He did so without hesitation—he knew you had no ill intent. Maybe his entire life had been a lie, but at least you were still there. As genuine as ever.

"I can’t believe…” he muttered, his voice strained. His optics moved across the ground, he had to blink rapidly to snap himself out of whatever thoughts he was having. You quickly placed a comforting servo on his shoulder, grounding him before he could spiral.

“D, look at me. I can’t believe it either,” you whispered, locking optics with him.

“We’re going to stop him…okay? I’m here with you.” You murmured. Was it a confession? Maybe so.

Your words hung in the air, heavy with hesitation. “I’ll follow you anywhere. We’ll get through this..together.”

D eyed you, his own voice faltering for a second.

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” He exvented, his optics again panning towards the ground as he let you comfort him. Despite the small flutter in his spark, the sudden goal to make Sentinel pay overrode any other emotion. He will pay.

When D-16 spiraled into Megatron, you were the first he sought out. His eyes were not the vibrant golden they used to be. You questioned him, to which he eagerly—almost desperately, held onto your shoulders in response.

“Y/N…listen to me. Do you trust me?”

“..I do trust you.”

“Then join me, come with me. I know how I’m going to make Sentinel pay for his lies. Unlike Orion's plan, I will make sure it gets done.”

You slightly shook your helm, “But D.. you two should be working together. Not split apart. I don’t want you doing anything uh.. extreme.”

His optics turned cold, narrowing in anger. “Extreme? You call my ideas extreme? Sentinel was the one that has been keeping us as slaves,” He hissed, inching towards you. “For years, for years, I thought we were doing the right thing. But no, everything was a lie. You, Y/N—you have to understand”

You watched in horror as Megatron killed Sentinel. He should have been satisfied now, but he wasn't. He called upon an army. Freedom fighters, but now they fought for a cause that no longer needed fighting. From his elevated position on the structure above, you locked optics.

His gaze flickered, just for a moment, as he took in the fear in your expression. Once, you looked up to him as someone you admired. Hell, you thought you loved him. Deep down, a part of you still did.

He’s still D-16, maybe. He must be, right?

You realized maybe you did have different ideals, different goals. To you, it should have ended when Sentinel was exposed. Then you had no option, perhaps after his death? You all would have rebuilt Cybertron together. Maybe even properly confess to D. Things just didn't go as planned in many ways.

But now, you could only watch as he descended the stairs toward you, his steps slow and deliberate.

You flinched, feeling his servo against the side of your helm. He stopped a couple inches away from you, leaning down, his voice a low hiss,

“Do you see it now, Y/N? That…I did that for you. For us.” His fingers traced the ridges of your helm, a caress that made your spark stutter in confusion. He was never, ever, this bold as D-16.

“I want you to join me. We can do this together.”

You hesitated, still trying to process how affectionate he was being with you. As much as you've dreamt of this, there was something off about it. D-16 was always soft, and casual about his demeanor. This Megatron was intense, his red optics burning into yours.

“Megs…I can’t.” You murmured. This was wrong. Very very wrong.

Megatron raised a brow, “You cannot?”

His servo shifted, cupping your chin and tilting your helm upward to meet his gaze. “Tell me something, Y/N. Are you a liar too?”

You furrowed your brow, “What? No, no, I haven’t lied to yo—“

“You said you’d follow me anywhere," He interrupted, "I need you to do that now.” He said in a softer tone, but you heard the hint of menace in his voice. It was an order, not a plead.

You took a deep intake, slowly stepping back from his grasp—his servo hung in the air for a moment before falling to his side.

“I don’t want to kill anyone, Megatron. I’m sorry, I can’t do this with you.” You said firmly, your voice steady. You had made up your mind.

His teeth clenched, frustration flaring in his optics as he stepped closer again, closing the distance between you two.

“Where is loyalty when you need it the most!? Where is it?! Tell me!” He exclaimed, his outburst making you take another step back.

Your optics flickered back to where Orion and your friends should be, then back at Megatron. “I want to be with you, Megs, I do. But this fight.. it’s over. Sentinel is dead.”

You stepped forward despite your frantic sparkbeat, your servos grasped onto his which were balled into fists.

“Come with me. We can help build Cybertron together, all of us. I need you to trust me.” You urged softly.

For a moment, you thought you had reached him. His optics softened, and his fists slowly unclenched, his gaze drifting to where your servos held his.

“I don’t want to rebuild Cybertron,”

He slowly scowled, his servos tightened around yours.

“I want to fix it.”

He turned away, leaving you standing in the dust and debris. You coughed, the air thick with smoke, watching him disappear into the distance with Primus knows how many High Guard fliers behind him.

You begin to wonder if you made the right choice. You wanted your D-16 back, but you couldn't bear the death and destruction that came along with Megatron.

As doubt crept in, you realized one terrible truth.

He had already won you over.

[cinnamostar]

blind date

pairing : changbin x gn!reader

summary : when you’re set up on a blind date and it turns out to be your ex boyfriend from two years ago

wc : 1.6k

cw : nonidol!au, they’re exes your honor, fluffy, cutesy, not proof read that much idk what else

a/n : wrote this on my phone again so sorry for any mistakes! i don’t really know how to feeeel abt this fic, not my best work but i hope you like it!

you let out a nervous sigh as you enter the restaurant, a cold shiver traveling down your spine as the hostess leads you to your table, one your friends reserved on your behalf. you were starting to regret agreeing to this blind date your friends, hyunjin and felix, set you up on, but they were so insistent on it and said they found the ‘perfect’ match for you. you weren’t sure if you could trust them that much, but you knew at the very least, whoever it was wouldn’t be some creep like your other unfortunate dates.

hyunjin and felix were some of your best friends, ones you made in the last two years since you moved to the city due to a new position you got in your company. you met them by chance through a few coworkers, and since then, the three of you have been inseparable. they were incredibly supportive people, but they were tired of hearing you complain about shitty dates every weekend, so they decided to take matters in their own hands, stating they know this really cool guy through some other friends who was ‘totally’ your type. and apparently this new guy just moved to the city a few months ago too, so you would be the perfect tour guide for him too.

regardless of your nerves, you decide to put your trust in your friends as you patiently wait for this mystery man to arrive. you were curious to know what those two boys believed your type was and what made them so hellbent on making you go on this date, but perhaps curiosity killed the cat.

“hey, sorry im late!” a voice you were all too familiar with rings in your ears, the man before you rushing into his seat across from you with an apologetic smile as your mouth hangs open in utter shock and surprise, goosebumps making themselves known all over your body.

once he sits down, he looks up to meet your flabbergasted expression, the smile on his face falling once the realization hits him. his faces pales, almost as if he just saw a ghost appear right before his very eyes.

“changbin?” you ask incredulously, still not able to accept the ridiculousness of the situation.

“y/n?!” he mirrors your tone, except he was far more boisterous than you, causing a few heads to turn as he flashes a sheepish and apologetic grin to the other patrons around you two.

“i… uh, you’re my blind date?” he questions in a lower volume with raised eyebrows.

you sigh, an astounded chuckle escaping you, “i guess so…”

“i see… since when did you move here?”

“uhm, a little bit over two years ago. i ended up taking that promotion my company offered me,” you respond, a hint of anxiousness trembling through your words.

“oh, so, basically after we broke up..?”

“mhm,” you hum in confirmation, your body feeling tense due to the awkwardness that hung in the air between you two. “felix and hyunjin told me you just moved here, right?”

changbin nods, “yeah, one of my old friends needed a roommate and i just kinda wanted a fresh start, so i took my chances. how do you know hyunjin and felix?”

“coworkers,” you reply shortly, not really sure what to do in this situation.

“oh, cool! they’re old high school friends of mine, we only reconnected recently,” he smiles gently, biting his lips due to his nervousness, “i’m sorry if this is awkward.”

“ah, no, it’s okay. it’s no one’s fault, this is just some crazy coincidence,” you reassure him, “we don’t have to go through with the rest of the date, it’s okay to end it he-“

“no, no!” he interrupts, a dusting of pink appearing on his cheeks, “if you’re okay with it, we can just use this to catch up, no? it’s been awhile since we last spoke.”

you let out an uncertain sigh, “i’m fine with it, it’s just that we really didn’t end on the greatest of terms, did we?”

changbin’s face grimaces as he reflects back on the last months of your relationship, ones that were filled with constant fighting and disagreements over the littlest of things, which ultimately led to a very over dramatic break up since you both had become sick of each other over time. “no, definitely not,” he chuckles, “but we can catch up like old friends, no? unless, you wanna miss out on a lovely time with me, then that’s your decision,” he teases, the old changbin you once fell in love with slowly peaking through.

you roll your eyes playfully, “right, it would be a shame if i missed out on something like that,” a smile breaks out onto your face, a sudden wave of butterflies and shyness overtaking you. “sure, let’s catch up. i don’t mind.”

“great,” he clasps his hand almost as if he was celebrating this small victory, an embarrassed smile taking over his features, “well, i guess hyunjin and felix weren’t lying when they said this ‘mystery date,’” he lifts his hands to do air quotes, “would be my ideal type.”

you shake your head, laughing at his statement, “right, they weren’t wrong at all. maybe they were a little too spot on.”

somehow, those two hit the nail on the head and somehow paired up two former lovers through some miraculous twist of fate. there was no denying that your heart still had room for changbin, a piece of it feeling empty since your relationship with him ended. at the end of it, you had chalked it up to right person, but bad timing, as each of you were far too engrossed in each other’s career goals that inevitably took time away from the other. it wasn’t the right set of circumstances for either of you, as nether of you were at a stage of life where you could nourish a healthy relationship. he was once the person you imagined to spend the rest of your life with, but at that time, you thought if you weren’t able to bear hardships with him, then maybe he wasn’t meant to be that person. it was easier to accept you two were never meant to be, but your heart knew better than that. your heart knew he was the one, but that life just cruelly got in the way of your relationship with him.

eventually, the waiter came around to take down your orders, briefly interrupting the flow of conversation you and changbin were having. in some strange way, talking to changbin against was incredibly refreshing, as you missed the sense of safety and familiarity he brought with him. he was still the same sweet and endearing changbin you once fell in love with all those years ago, and maybe those feelings of love never truly left your heart as each time he would giggle, your heart would thump out your chest. you found yourself having to resist the natural urge to hold his hand, or to reach over and pinch his cheeks like you use to do back when you were together.

you missed this, and you missed changbin more than you could’ve ever imagined. his very appearance was enough to rekindle old flames of affection you once held for him, ones you never thought you’d be able to experience again. you both were enjoying every moment together, laughing and poking fun at each other as if nothing had ever changed, and before you knew it, two hours had gone by in the blink of an eye.

changbin insisted on walking you to your car, matter-of-factly informing you it’s what chivalrous men like himself do, which sent you into a small fit of giggles.

a gentle breeze bellows through you both, a comfortable silence filling the air, the awkwardness from earlier no longer to be found. you look up to the night sky, taking a chance to admire the full moon that glistens above you.

“you know, whenever i look at the moon, i still think of you,” changbin confesses in a hushed whisper, a longing look in his eyes as if he was looking off into some distant memory. you turn to him with a quizzical expression, urging him to go on. “you use to always tell me to look how pretty the moon was nearly every night. even if we weren’t together, you would text me to go outside and look at it,” he reminisced fondly.

“you always looked too,” you smile.

“honestly, i didn’t really get it at first,” he laughs, “but i loved you and it always made you happy whenever we looked at it together, so i made sure to look at it every night. even if we were fighting and weren’t with each other. even now, i still look up and think of you.”

your face grows hot as his words fluster you, the unexpected vulnerability catching you off guard, “thank you,” you respond gently, “for doing that for me. it always made me feel very loved.”

“i still do it. i think part of me will always love you no matter what.”

your breath hitches, your eyes widening as he looks away bashfully, not expecting or planning for those words to ever leave his mind. you let out a soft exhale through your nose, a shaken smile taking over your features, “i feel the same way too.”

quietness returns, neither of you sure how to continue the conversation as you reach your car, “well, this is me,” you break the silence, pointing to the car next to you, “thank you for today, it was… fun. i had a lot of fun.”

he nods, “me too,” taking in a deep breath, “do you… do you want to do this sometime again?” he asks meekly, fearing your response.

“yeah, i’d really like that, changbin.”

“okay, great. it’s… it’s a date?”

“it’s a date.”

[watarfallar]

Desert Duo treats because it's a week until Christmas

Grian: I’m going to get so much done today. Scar: I’ll hold you to that. *8 hours later* Scar: So how much did you get done? Grian: One thing. Scar: Well, that’s one more than usual.

Scar: So my therapist was talking to me and she said that I really just need to break down my walls and let people in. Scar: So I’ve decided to break the fourth wall. Scar: *looks at camera* Hi there. I use humor as a coping mechanism.

Scar: Hey, are you alright with swearing? Asking for a friend. Grian: Yeah? Scar: Bitch.

Grian: *Gives a bouquet to Scar* Scar: You know I'm allergic. Grian: That's the point.

Grian: Is this mistletoe? Scar: Uh, no, no, that is basil. Grian: Too bad cause if it was mistletoe I was gonna kiss you. Scar: Yeah, no, it’s still basil.

Grian: What have I done wrong?! Scar: Everything. For your entire life.

Scar: If it’s any consolation, they got me here on a very misleading text message. Grian: Technically, you are about to be screwed in the biology room.

Scar: What is wrong with you? Grian: Many, many things… Grian: And most of them are your fucking fault.

Scar: Live fast, die young, leave behind a pretty corpse! That’s what I always say! Grian: You should say something else.

Grian: My back hurts. Scar, walking into the room: Take the spine out.

Scar: Everything will be ok. You can not stop it. Scar: Everything will be fine. You have no choice. Grian: What the fuck kind of pep talk is that? Scar: Ominous positivity.

Grian: Scar, what did you just do!? Scar: I took your advice. I stopped running from the problem and I tackled it head on. Grian: I meant try emotional honesty, not murder!!

Scar: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this? Grian: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

Scar: Detective! The man belonged to some kind of cult that worshipped a divine forest creature with antlers and that’s how he met his end. Grian: Dear God! Scar: Yeah! Exactly!

Grian: You've got to act tough, Scar! Show 'em you can't be pushed around! Show 'em they can't mess with you! Scar: Right. Yes. Tough. Got it. Scar, standing up on their stool and slamming their hands down on the bar: I'LL TAKE A CHOCOLATE MILK.

Grian: Fight me! Scar: gets on one knee and pulls out a ring Scar: Fight me for the rest of our lives.

Grian: Don’t preach to me about romance, Scar. I had a three-way in a hot-air balloon.

Scar: What’s sexting? Grian: I'm not having this conversation with you.

Grian: If I ever had a child, I imagine they would be a lot like you. Scar: Aww, thanks— Grian: Which is probably why I’ve never reproduced.

Scar: What’s your greatest weakness? Grian: Interpreting the semantics of a question, but ignoring the pragmatics. Scar: Could you give an example? Grian: Yes, I could.

Scar: Okay, but what if we went to dinner not as friends this time? Grian: AS ENEMIES?! Scar:

Scar: I desire moisture. Grian: Please just say "I want water" like a normal person.

Scar: Babe, you're so funny! Grian: We have 1492 days until your tragic premature death. You will break my trust three times before that happens, but I forgive you. Scar: Awwww, that's sweet of you!

Grian: I didn’t want to do it, no one else wanted to do it, so I made Scar do it!

Scar: You got a date yet Grian? Grian: No… Scar: Well you do now! Get your ass up and hold my hand!

Grian: Dammit, you ruin everything! Scar: You're welcome.

Scar: They called me the B-word. Grian: Motherfucker doesn’t start with ‘b’.

Scar, talking about Grian: WHAT THE FUCK I WAS ARGUING WITH HIM AND I SAID “OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD” AND GUESS WHAT? HE DID. HE KISSED ME. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO I DO.

[misc-obeyme]

Dearest CC, I have fallen victim to the Mammon x Barb agenda and now I crave a Greed sandwich. Might I submit an ask for a bottom!reader who asks Barbatos to teach them how to dom with Mammon?(I'm picturing established poly relationship if that helps?)

Thank you, and no rush!

- 🥧 anon P.S.: This is all your fault.

Well hello there, 🥧 anon~

I must apologize for the length of time it took me to get to this, but I'm finally here with the Greed sandwich!

I have to say, I'm pleased to know that someone else has been enjoying macaron because I still have so many ideas for it hee hee! I take full responsibility for it~

Anyway, halfway through writing this I realized I've never actually written a threesome before, so I was kinda like what am I doing?? But hopefully it still turned out okay!

Barbatos x MC x Mammon

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: threesome, dom!Barb, sub!Mammon, collar, restraints, the tail's involved obviously, demon forms, praise, fingering and penetration (reader receiving), uh um I think that's it?

There was a tension in the air. It sizzled between the three of you like the desert on a summer's day. Oppressive, all encompassing, making you sweat. The stare that Barbatos was giving Mammon made your stomach flip. It was a mixture of exasperation, fondness, and mischief.

The table was set for tea, everything laid out perfectly as it always was. Plates of perfectly made pastries and steaming cups of a subtly flavored floral brew were spread out before you. There was even a lovely centerpiece in the middle of the table.

Barbatos had just set down his D.D.D.

Mammon looked like he was about to spontaneously combust.

This was a fairly common occurrence, which meant that you knew exactly what was happening. Barbatos had just been informed about some scheme Mammon had pulled at RAD to make money and now Mammon was sweating bullets.

"I hear the cookies Luke made in home economics were being sold for exorbitant amounts of Grimm at RAD this morning," Barbatos said casually.

Mammon folded his arms. "I gave half of it to the Chihuahua!"

"Hmm." Barbatos tilted his head. "How benevolent of you. However, as you well know, it is against the rules to sell the baked goods from any home economics class."

Because you knew that rule only existed to prevent Mammon from gouging the students, you had to cover a laugh with a cough.

"All right, all right," Mammon said. "Whaddaya want me to do? Give all the money back?"

"That would be a good place to begin," Barbatos said. "Be sure to pay for the amount you gave to Luke from your own pocket."

Mammon groaned. "Man, why do ya gotta be such a stickler, huh?"

"It is simply because you never learn your lesson," Barbatos said. He smiled and it was slightly ominous. The tension ramped up a bit. "What do you think, MC? Is there perhaps something different we could do to enable Mammon to change his ways?"

You had been waiting for this cue. You grinned. "Oh, I can think of something."

Barbatos met your eyes and the normally peaceful teal was lit with the flame of a desire that made your stomach flutter. "What do you suggest?"

You blushed, almost having to look away, but you managed to hold his gaze. "Actually, do you think you could teach me?"

You couldn't bring yourself to say exactly what you meant, but you knew you didn't need to. Barbatos understood you without further context.

"H-hang on, MC," Mammon protested.

"Certainly," Barbatos said, as though Mammon hadn't said anything. "It would be my pleasure."

And that was how you had ended up in Barbatos's room with Mammon in front of you and Barbatos behind you, your heart racing and your stomach tumbling.

Mammon was on his knees, a black leather collar around his neck, a silky black ribbon tying his wrists behind his back, and nothing else. He was looking up at you with desperate eyes, his mouth open, his body straining. He was panting a little and occasional soft whimpers escaped him.

Barbatos was standing behind you, a hand on your waist, his lips by your ear. He was fully clothed, as were you, but his presence so close to you was distracting. You tried to listen to the instructions he whispered in your ear, to focus on what he was telling you rather than how he was making you shiver.

You ran your fingertips down Mammon’s cheek, letting them trace the edges of his lips and the line of his jaw. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed, shaking with need. You pulled your hand away to tuck your fingers into the collar, yanking it forward suddenly and tipping him off balance. He didn't fall, instead sucking in a breath as his knees shifted on the stone floor.

There was a slight shift behind you and suddenly you felt Barbatos's tail wrapping around one of your thighs. You had been following his directions, of course, but seeing you do it seemed to make him lose control of himself just a little.

You lifted your other hand and pressed your fingers against Mammon's lips. He opened his mouth readily, letting you push them inside. He moaned around them, leaning forward.

Barbatos's hand twitched against your waist.

"You're doing so well, MC," he whispered in your ear.

You nearly fell to your knees with Mammon. But instead you pulled in a deep breath and tugged up on Mammon's collar, causing him to stand before you. You took your fingers out of his mouth, making him whine.

"Oh?" you asked softly. "Do you miss my fingers in your mouth?"

"Please, MC," Mammon whimpered.

You tugged him closer to you using the collar. "Isn't this supposed to be a punishment?" you asked. "I can't just let you have whatever you want so easily."

Barbatos actually chuckled in amusement behind you. His tail left your leg and ran its tips down Mammon's bare chest. He whined again.

"Don't ya think I've been through enough?" he asked hoarsely. You had indeed already been edging him for quite some time.

"I suppose you feel we've been teasing you for too long," Barbatos said. "But you see, MC. You mustn't give in too soon. No matter how much he begs, you are the one in control."

Mammon closed his eyes. His face was flushed and his erection was prominently leaking. "C'mon, MC," he said. "Ya want it, too, don't ya? You wanna give in."

"Hold your ground, MC," Barbatos said quietly in your ear.

You were feeling a little dizzy. With Mammon flushed and begging before you and Barbatos speaking slowly and steadily behind you, his slight movements giving away his own desire, you thought you were the one who couldn't last much longer.

Barbatos seemed to understand this, though. You weren't really suited to this role, after all. It was fun, for him to direct you like this. But in the end, he knew what you wanted.

While you held onto Mammon's collar, Barbatos began to undress you. For the brief moment you had to let go of the collar so he could remove your shirt, Barbatos held it himself with his tail. Mammon looked dazed as he watched, his hands twitching where they were tied behind him. His eyes kept flicking between you and Barbatos's tail.

Once you had been freed of all your clothing, you felt Barbatos's lips on your neck, gently leaving a soft trail of kisses along it and down your shoulder. You gasped, reaching out to pull Mammon even closer, feeling his body pressed against yours, your hands flat against his chest. Mammon moaned as your hands moved across him.

Barbatos's tail had moved from Mammon's collar to his cock, where it stroked him oh so slowly, pulling desperate whimpers from him. You reached around to untie his hands so he could steady himself. They went straight to your hips, holding on for dear life, his body leaning into you even more as he needed your support to keep standing.

While this was happening, Barbatos's hands were moving across your skin before his fingers entered your waiting hole. It was already spasming, but now it contracted around him.

You were finding it difficult to remain standing, too, but somehow you and Mammon managed to hold each other up. You couldn't see Barbatos, but you were sure he was completely composed as he always was.

You moaned deeply as he replaced his fingers with his cock. He must have removed just enough of his own clothing to do it. You felt Mammon's cock jump where it was pressed against you, his reaction to hearing your own pleasure. His mouth found your nipples and Barbatos continued to kiss along your neck and jaw.

You could feel Barbatos's tail still moving sluggishly between you and Mammon, likely still wrapped around the latter's cock. The way it moved so precisely caught your attention just before one of the tips began to stroke your already pulsing arousal. You cried out in response to this stimulation as Barbatos moved behind you, his cock picking up speed along with his tail, stroking both you and Mammon at the same time.

Mammon burst into demon form, as though the feelings were so intense he couldn't help himself. His wings wrapped around both you and Barbatos, his lips and tongue still focused on your nipples, though he was whining and panting around them.

Barbatos seemed to have everything under control, but you could still hear his ragged breathing in your ear, even the soft moans that escaped him.

Mammon came first, his cum exploding between your bodies and dripping down Barbatos's tail. His hands gripped your hips hard, nearly causing you to fall over, but somehow Barbatos kept you steady.

You were next as Barbatos's tail sped up significantly and his cock hit deep inside you over and over. The orgasm washed over you, your fingernails scratching down Mammon's back above and then between his wings.

And then you felt the warmth of Barbatos's cum inside you as he came last, his tail finally slowly down.

The three of you stood there for a long moment, covered in each other's cum and gasping for air.

Mammon moaned and leaned his head on your shoulder to look behind you at Barbatos.

"You're ruthless, ya know that?" he said, his voice low with the edges of sleepiness to it.

You heard the smirk in Barbatos's voice. "I fear this is only the beginning," he said.

Mammon shuddered against you. "Ya think I can't take more?"

You snorted. "Don't try to bluster like that, you'll only get yourself into more trouble."

"Aww, c'mon, MC," Mammon said, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into him. He seemed to have gained some of his strength back. "Don't ya know I can handle anythin' this guy dishes out?"

"Anything, you say?" Barbatos asked from behind you, his own arms wrapped around your stomach above Mammon's.

"Mammon," you said, a warning in your tone. You knew he was pushing it.

"I ain't ever backin' down," Mammon said.

"It seems you have yet to learn the lesson we were trying to teach you," Barbatos said with mock disappointment in his voice.

You giggled. "I mean, I wouldn't be opposed to trying again. You still have so much to teach me, Barbatos."

You caught Mammon's eyes, which were glittering with anticipation. Barbatos moved so he was standing beside you, one arm around your back and the other now around Mammon. His own expression was surprisingly open, full of a flirtatious desire that made your heart flip.

"Shall I continue the lesson, then?" he asked.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[lucabyte]

i am looking at nohats au 👀 please share more

So! NoHats! I'm going to grab you and use this to ramble. A Lot.

The NoHats AU is @samhainian's it's just that I'm the strange little freak who takes the words said unto me and executes on them. But I can still do a little explainer on what our overall thoughts and vibes are. (And, that we are in fact propping up a little box with some cheese under it here. 🪤 Please (PLEASE) feel free to pick up what we're putting down.)

We're far from the only ones exploring a "what if siffrin fucking died" AU, though the main difference with NoHats is the placement of the death in the timeline. Instead of being 'Mal Du Pays Wins' or 'Act 6 encounter goes horribly wrong', the death is… Just after the (literal) falling action.

(This placement is because Sam is a comic book fan who thus has become used to characters being ripped away at the cruelest times by shitty writers. THANK FUCKING GOD adrienne is not that and isat is delightful yippieee, but, back on topic.)

Giving the party the full understanding of What Happened that you get by putting the death after black hole siffrin, but before the A6 encounter leaves an interesting gap to be filled. See, making Siffrin's death very much not Loop's fault means that… this once again reads (when not read as simply a tragedy...) as the universe doing what it sees fit to fulfull Loop's wish… Thus making Siffrin's death Loop's fault again, but only in their eyes. And only in a way they could express if they were honest about who they were…

And this is where having had excuse to waffle about my general Postcanon Loop thoughts the other day comes in handy, because Sam and I have that as our canon-compliant reading to begin with, NoHats plays off of a lot of the same readings of Loop's character. Namely: Uh Oh Somebody's Lying By Fucking Omission Again. (BECAUSE TO BE FAIR THIS TIME… HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU HANDLE THAT?)

Now, neither Sam nor I are fanfic writers, so this has been a little bit trapped in our heads and DMs (and my unfinished art but,)

But our thoughts on how NoHats like… Goes.

Siffrin's death is peaceful, but that does not mean the aftermath of it is. I can't imagine the party takes it well, especially after understanding the circumstances of the Loops. (And, of note, in A5 where nobody had the discussion on what to do with each other's bodies should something happen…) But I'd imagine it traumabonds them somewhat (understatement of the century) and now knowing how the rest of the party feels, they resolve to travel together for the forseeable future.

The party track down Loop to deliver the terrible news, since they were clearly Siffrin's friend too, and invite Loop along to travel at least long enough to (let them grieve) get the burial over with. Loop, here, can be helpful in knowing what Siffrin would've wanted where the party would be at a loss. Loop, I think, takes a bit of a lead on the funerary aspects of it all, because, um. (Performing rites on your own body, huh?)

Then, as things are after a death, life just… Kind of has to continue on as normal. The party travel, pick up Nille, and get to know Loop as this mysterious new person. Maybe in this situation they might stay in Bambouche for a while to give Bonnie more stability since. They are probably taking it the worst. It would've come out of absolutely nowhere for everyone in the party obviously but god, for a kid? For A Kid?

It should be stated NoHats is not intended to be grimdark, just y'know. An exploration of grief. This is also why it's got a bit of a lopsided focus on Bonnie vs the rest of the party because hhrrhghghhghghhhghhghhh <- incoherent

Now, a crossroads.

How does the party discover Loop to be Siffrin? How long does it take. How much have the party embraced them as part of the family (especially with something as intense to bond over as this)?

There's the Odile option. Have her put it together and have to bring it up somehow. This could also be done by Isabeau, perhaps. He's smart. (which. God. If anything's the real Isabeau Torment Nexus it's this)

Then there's the other option batted around by Sam and I. The: The Universe Dislikes Duplicates option.

The items in the house that fzzt away when inspected. The Universe doesn't like there to be two of something, at least not when they're acknowledged. But one of something is just fine…?

Which is to say. I'm not a personal proponent of 'Loop getting their body back'. EXCEPT …… except this one time.

There's only one Siffrin now, so they don't need to be obfuscated to exist.

Consider, if you will. Loop swallowing their guilt for long enough to be comfortable. Falling back into old habits. Without another Siffrin around to compete for the niche of, they actually begin to act like Siffrin again. Not intentionally, it's just… The party is as welcoming as they've always been. And the party swears they keep catching glimpses of a face under all the light.

Then, one day, while still not fully human again, the resemblence becomes undeniable. Loop having not even noticed until everyone looks at them like they've seen a ghost.

Has it been months? How long have they kept up this lie? Is it even a lie, to them? They're Loop. But they were, once, Siffrin.

Even after explaining it, does that make it better or worse?

Bonnie cuts through the betrayed, struck-nerve reactions with a sobering "I missed you."

… Anyway !

Yeah so that's the vibe for NoHats. As for LoopLoops? That's more nebulous. I think it can go anywhere really in the NoHats timeline. I err personally toward the "Loop continuously replays the last 10 minutes before Siffrin's death almost immediately after they find out and have to parkour their ass up the House in the most distressing situation possible to try and get them to hold on, just please hold on." (Remember! Siffrin can remember the contents of Loop's loop backs in the A6 fight!)

But there is the possibility that this happens months, or worse years down the road. One last Loop back. Throw it all away for the chance to just get that one thing you didn't know you even wanted but now know you NEED.

Misc:

Okay miscellaneous time.

This is where I admit that I have a bunch of unfinished NoHats art that I haven't gotten around to yet because I feel like a right tool being so obviously Loop-Centric with my fancontent (I AM . . I REALISE I AM NOT DOING MUCH TO BEAT THE ALLEGATIONS.) So like if people want to see that please say because euaghghghhfh <- the nervous.

this is like the most fucked up place to do isaloop fr. anyway.

one of Sam's mid-game observations that I'm just going to share for no particular reason is that Bonnie's hair shares a bunch of shapes with Siffrin's. The flick up at the top, the 3 pronged shape of the fringe… just something to think about.

Without 2 Siffrins around to compare each other to it'd likely be a lot harder to notice Loop's similarities. Doesn't mean that those similarities don't sting more in this context though.

If you do NoHats without LoopLoops. The concept of this all fading into memory years down the line while they just have slightly-glowy but otherwise regular Siffrin hanging out is fucked up to think about. Just like real grief. Augh

6. a peek into the original dms as a treat from us

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 43

Joyous Walpurgisnacht: Part I

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Here we go!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you stand from the table, your name draws your attention from your plate. Mr. Laufeyson mirrors you as he peers over at his mother. You notices how his fingers twiddle by his side. 

“You’ll come get ready with us, dear,” Frigga says, “Trina is coming to do our hair an makeup. Be sure to grab your dress.”

“Oh, uh…” you look at Laufeyson and he shrugs with one shoulder. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry about my brother,” Hela snorts, “I’m certain he’ll be torturing himself over the proper shade of white; shall I go for the ivory or the pearl?”

“Quiet,” Laufeyson sneers under his breath before he turns to you, “go on then,” he looks at his watch, “we all have much to do.”

He strides past you and you watch after him. He’s still upset. It’s your fault. You’ve been errant in your duties. You will make it up to him. At Walpurgisnacht, you won’t dare leave his side.

“Come,” Frigga beckons to you, “Hel, you too.”

“Yes, mother,” she drones and rounds the table.

You follow them to the door, only noticing as you approach that Thor’s done the same. He keeps a step back as he waves within, “after you, lady.”

“Er, thanks,” you eke out and step in ahead of him.

He’s quick to tail you, his fingers sending a shiver through you as he touches the back of your arm, “happy birthday, little one. How old are you now?” He asks.

You wince and hug yourself, keeping your chin down as he matches your pace. Frigga reaches to flick a strand of Hela’s black hair as she gabs on about it. You chew your lip and crane to look over your shoulder. You don’t see Odin, he must’ve stuck behind to chat with the staff.

“Thirty-two,” you answer as you face straight.

“Mmm, not too old,” his hand brushes across your back, “you look much younger.”

“Thank you, uh,” you stutter as his touch ventures further, tickling the top of your ass. Your panic swells and you bat him away, “I… have to go.”

You don’t know how to make him stop, but you can control yourself. You rush ahead to catch up to Frigga. As you come up at her side, Thor’s low rocky chuckle rolls through the air. You don’t look back as your blood runs cold. You don’t know why he won’t leave you alone.

“Ah, dear, I think we could put some flowers in your hair,” Frigga remarks as she waves you ahead of her up the stairs, “to go with that pretty dress of yours.”

“Sure,” you agree.

“She’ll look like a bride,” Hela scoffs, “perhaps just some diamonds around her neck–”

“Pearls,” Frigga argues.

“Pearls? She’s not an old lady yet,”

“Eh? Pearls are nice,” Frigga counters.

“Perhaps for you,” Hela rebuffs, “babe,” Hela swoops around her mother and drapes her arm over your shoulders as you turn down the hall, “what do you prefer?”

You blink, finding it hard to breathe through the tension. You don’t dare pick a side.

“I like the dress on its own,” you say.

“Ah, yes, she’s right, it is so nice, it would be ruined with too much,” Frigga hums, “how about just the petals,” she reaches to touch your hair, “a small accent but not garish.”

“Mm, yes, like a little fairy,” Hela muses as she retracts her arm, “I’m afraid I’m going for more of a witchy vibe.”

“Oh dear,” Frigga mutters, “Hel.”

“A good witch, mother, never fear.”

✨

You look in the mirror, swept away by your own reflection. The small white flowers in your hair are placed so delicately and just so, matching with those on the dress in their fluttery display. You skin seems to glow from the precise application of makeup, your lashes are long and curved but not too heavy. Your lips are painted a natural hue with a glossy finish and a touch of blush lends colour to your cheeks. It feels like a lot but looks like less.

The dress is just as wonderful as you remember. The outer layer decorated in carefully cut flowers over the simple dress of white beneath. The skirt flows to your lower calves, ending just above the straps of your heels, a bow on the back of each. You blink and tilt your head at your reflection, is it really you looking back?

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Hela growls as she steps up behind you, “uh, so darling.”

“You look amazing, dear,” Frigga calls over.

You turn to watch the older woman pin on large dangling earrings. She wears a white dress hemmed below her knees with large fanned bell sleeves. Her necklace is strung with pearls that get large towards the centre and her silver and gold hair is spun into loose waves pushed back behind an elaborate headband with golden points.

Hela is dressed much less elegantly. Her jumpsuit is taut to her figure, the neckline cute so deep you wonder how it stays up. She wears a sort of cowl, sparkling with diamond as it goes from chin to shoulders, a larger gem dangling down her cleavage.

“Well, I think we’re almost there,” Frigga announces breezily, “come, come.”

She ushers you and Hela from the room into the hall. The house is buzzing with activity. As you come downstairs, you’re lost amid the flurry. The kitchen is bustling with furor and workers flit around like bees in a hive. You stay close to the other women as they walk unfettered through the rush.

You come out to the veranda, clutching the sides of your skirt as you watch your feet, careful not to trip on your heels. In the sunlight, Frigga sighs, and calls to someone. You look up and follow her down the steps. 

The lush green flat of the yard is entirely changed. A white floral arch, white cloth draping over the roofs of newly erected tents, tables in similarly silky ivory, petals scattered all around as stems are capped with full blooms atop posts, in plinthed vases, and around tables. A stage stands, blocking out much of the garden, a bar along an edge of the expanse with several workers behind it arranging glasses and bottles.

“Yvonne,” Frigga trills again, “come, come, we should like some photos.”

A woman in a white suit approaches with a large camera in hand. She is tall with full hips emphasized by the cut of her clothing. Her strawberry blond hair is twisted into a high bun with two pin straight pieces framing her face.

“Hello, Von,” Hela purrs at her familiarly. The women glance at each other and an eyebrow twitches. They know each other. Everyone does but you.

“This is our photographer,” Frigga introduces you to Yvonne, “she’ll be taking pictures so don’t mind if you see a flash or two through the night.” She turns back to the strawberry blonde, “hm, where are the men? They must be here…”

You fold your hands and sway back and forth. Surely you won’t be included. This is for the family. You’ll just stand to the side.

“Ah, Odin!” Frigga throws her hands up, greeting her husband as he approaches in a white pressed shirt beneath a matching stiff vest and white slacks. He wears a golden chain around his collar and cufflinks at his wrists. His shoes also bear golden buckles. “There you are. Where are your sons?”

“So quick to disown them,” Odin kids, “they were…” he looks back.

Thor clamours down from the veranda, combing out his long blond hair which he’s let loose from its usual bun. The waves fall to his shoulders, just along his open collar, unbuttoned to boast the thick muscles of his chest. He beams in white just like everyone else. A gold medallion hangs from his neck and his fingers are stacked with rings.

Loki follows last, shoulders high, hands staunchly tucked into his pockets. He looks at the sky as he appears in his simple attire. White shirt, white tie, white slacks cute perfectly to his sleek figure. White loafers with plain silver buckles. His black hair is swept back, the front pieces drawn back into a clip behind his head as the tails curl out behind his ears.

As he takes the same path as his father and brother, his eyes search and find you. His irises flicker and his brows arch. You avert your gaze and look at the grass, fidgeting as you wait awkwardly to the side. Frigga preens at each son and tells them how handsome they look.

“Alright, alright, we’ll get a few photos before the guests arrive,” she claps her hands.

There’s movement along the edge of your vision. You keep your head down as Frigga orders her family around. You flinch as she grabs your wrist suddenly and pulls your hands apart.

“Right here, dear,” she guides you next to Odin before she stands at his other side. “Okay, everyone, no scowling.”

You look up, wide eyed and the camera flashes. You bat your lashes and put on a smile as Odin bends his arm behind you, resting his hand on your lower back. The gesture calms you as the photographer counts down.

You stand frozen as the camera shutters, wondering why you’re there. What will they do with the photos when you are irrelevant? Finally, you’re allowed to disperse as Frigga struts over to Yvonne to have a look at the photos.

You turn nearly collide with Mr. Laufeyson before you can even think to look for him. You back up as he stares at you. He raises a hand as if to touch your arm then thinks better of it. He clear his throat and tugs on his skinny tie.

“That is a beautiful dress,” he remarks, “very on theme.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laufeyson,” you sniff and rub your palms together.

���Stay close,” he says tersely, clearing his throat, “or…” you hear his tone soften, “I might lose you in the flowers.”

His lips curve, just a little. Is he joking? You’re not sure.

“Come,” he jabs his fingers through the air, “let us get a drink before it is too busy.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

You walk beside him and he sighs. No, you’re not sure he was being funny. He’s still unhappy.

As you reach the bar, he greets the workers in white behind it. He orders whiskey on ice, then turns to you. For a moment, you’re taken back to the night you found him with the same drink… that was the first, maybe the only time, you saw him so human.

“What would you like?” He asks.

“Um, I don’t… know,” you murmur.

“Our cocktails,” a worker points to the standing list of drinks. You lean in and read each. 

“Oh, uh, could I get the lavender lemonade, please?”

“Yes, miss,” the worker replies and sets to mixing the drink. Laufeyson takes his and holds it tight.

“Lokiiiii,” a familiar brogue rumbles through the air.

You turn to face Bragi as he approaches. A pocket watch swings from his vest, though he wears no shirt beneath it. You greet him with a tight-lipped smile.

“And his lady,” he smirks at you, “you haven’t seen Fossegrim, have you?”

“You brought that creature?”

“Ah, he tagged along. He chased off a chickadee and I’ve not seen him since. Never to worry,” he snaps his fingers, "I'm all set up.” He nods towards the stage, “and look at you too, pretty in white.” He looks at you pointedly, “I must say, you look like a goddess. I was also let in on a secret,” he declares, “it is your birthday. Happy birthday, did you have a favourite song? I might fit it into my set.”

“Um…” you think. “I don’t…” you look over as Mr. Laufeyson reaches back to take another glass from the bar and offers you the purple drink. You take it with a meek nod before facing Bragi again, “there was this song… from a movie… Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She sings it on the balcony but I can’t remember how it goes.”

“Oh, yes, I know the one. Beloved Hepburn, what a treat she was,” he purrs, “I think I can figure out the chords.”

“You don’t have to…” you shrug.

“I want to,” he insists, “oh and watch for dark shadows, Fossegrim will surely return once he smells food.”

“Sure,” you agree and squeeze the glass tight. Laufeyson just hums in his throat.

“Anyhow, I need water,” he sidles past you, “happy Walpurgisnacht!”

You return the sentiment before you step away. You peer around, uncertain what to do next. Your heels sink into the grass and you pull them out, teetering. Laufeyson glances over at you.

“Shall we sit?” He asks.

“Erm, okay.”

He waves you ahead of him and you weave over to one of the tables. You sit and put your glass down without tasting it. He sips his own as he lowers himself. He’s tense, setting it down with a heavy clunk.

You look around and see new faces arriving. It’s beginning. Your stomach churns as each guest appears. It really is a big deal.

“You are nervous,” Laufeyson intones, bringing you back to the table.

“A little.”

“Mm,” he pokes his tongue in his cheek, “well, then, even more reason to stay by my side. I’ve navigated these waters all my life, I can stave off the sharks.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

His lips slant and he spreads his hand over his chest before dragging it down, “and…” his throat bobs, “happy birthday, if I forgot to say.”

“Um, thank you,” you squeak, “it isn’t a very big deal.”

He inhales, “it isn’t? By your choice or… his?”

You shrug, “I never made it one. Really, just another year.”

“Certainly, time does keep on now matter what,” he mulls.

You’re quiet. You take the drink and look at it. It’s a lovely colour. You take a sip; it’s tangy but nice, a little kick under the citrus notes. Your cheeks pinch as you put it back down.

“Too strong?” he asks.

“No, it’s good,” you assure him, careful not to drip any on your dress.

He taps his fingers on the tabletop, “I must say, you do look rather… rather nice.”

“Oh, yes, um, Trina, your mother’s friend…” you utter, “she did it.”

You look at him, finding his eyes rapt upon you. His gaze almost takes your breath away. He reaches to touch your hand, leaning in just a little. His eyes flick past you suddenly and he stops, his hand lightly over your as he sits frozen.

You turn to peek over your shoulder. You hear Thor’s thundering voice as he greets someone. A perfect swoop of dark hair bounces before him and he embraces the tall, slender woman. You know, even without seeing her face, who it is. Sif.

You bring your other hand over Laufeyson’s and press it down firmly as you face him, “are you alright?”

His eyes skitter back to you and he slips his hand free. You deflate as he instead takes his glass and slurps with a scowl. Walpurgisnacht will not be a new beginning, only a reminder of old wounds.

[apomaro-mellow]

King&Prince 10

After his foot was deemed fine, Dustin dragged Steve to a sitting room and pushed him onto a couch.

"Wait here. I need to get everyone", he beamed before running off.

Steve really didn't understand what had gotten into him, but figured that he might finally meet this enigmatic Eddie. It was odd that he hadn't made himself known. From how the kids talked, he seemed like a larger than life personality. Dustin must have sent his friends ahead first, because Max, El, and Lucas arrived, and then Will and Mike.

"Where were you this morning?", Max asked, arms crossed.

"I...went on an outing with the king", Steve answered. He didn't think it wise to admit that while on the outing, he had smacked him and ran off up into a tree. Now that he thought about it, the whole thing was embarrassing. Steve rubbed his eyes and groaned.

"What's wrong?", El asked.

"I think my father was right. I'm an absolute idiot."

"Yeah, but a useful one", Robin said, coming in, following behind Dustin. "If our liege is going to be taking you out like that, I suggest we draft up some kind of sign out sheet."

Steve brought his hands down from his face. "What? For me? Like a piece of equipment."

"The music room looks great now, thanks to you", Will pointed out.

"Dustin. Why are we all here?", Lucas asked.

Dustin really looked like his face would break from how hard he was smiling. "You guys aren't gonna believe this. Steve says he's never met Eddie. Ever."

Steve wondered when he got comfortable not hearing the title 'prince' before his name. Probably when people spat it out to him like a curse word. While he was meditating on this, the rest of the group shared confused looks.

Mike spoke up first. "But he-"

"I know!", Dustin giggled.

"Does he-", Lucas stammered, pointing to Steve. "Does he not know-"

"How is that even possible? Is he brain-dead?", Max asked.

"Starting to seem like a real possibility", Robin said.

"If you all came just to insult me, I'll be heading back to my room now", Steve said, standing when El grabbed his arm.

"Wait. Sit", she ordered softly, so he did. Then she looked to the others. "Don't be mean. It's not his fault he doesn't know."

"Know what?", Steve asked.

"Certainly the things a Harrington doesn't know could fill a book", the king announced his presence with that quip. "Perhaps several books."

"Perfect. We're all here", Dustin grinned.

Steve didn't get what he meant by 'all'. "You all were talking him up so much, I thought I was finally going to meet this Eddie." He didn't miss the way the king's eyes got wide.

"This is probably the funniest thing I've ever seen", Will grinned.

Dustin cleared his throat. "Steve, why don't you tell us about Eddie?"

"Why would I tell you about your friend?", Steve crossed his arms.

"Just, tell us how you'd describe him", Lucas urged.

Steve glanced at King Edward, always wary of him, even though there was a small table between them. "He's always hanging around you guys. Telling you stories that you like, playing with you."

"Which was your favorite story?", Dustin asked.

"Depends", Steve shrugged. "If it's the one he does with you guys, I sort of liked that one about the missing friend. I don't believe in leaving anyone behind and I can't believe you argumentative shits actually worked together long enough to find them."

"You gonna let your prisoner call your wards 'shits'?", Robin smirked at the king.

"If the boot fits", he replied, face unreadable.

Steve didn't actually know how the king felt about this band of children. They seemed to enjoy the benefits of having the king's favor, despite at least one of them being a servant's child. Not for the first time, he wondered what they were all doing here.

"Anyway", he continued. "If it's my favorite story about Eddie, probably the one you called the uh, what was it? The ribbon incident?"

The king shot up to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger to Dustin. "You told him about that!?", he squawked in a very un-kingly manner.

"I didn't, Max did", Dustin ratted right away.

"I did. It was funny", Max said.

"What about the nice things about Eddie?", El asked.

"Who's saying nice things about Eddie?", Robin asked, brow raised. "Like, out loud?"

"Great gusts, you'd think they worship him", Steve groaned. "Half the things they told me about were how amazing Eddie was."

"Okay, Steve you can shut up now", Mike warned.

"'Eddie did this and it was great', 'Eddie did that and we fucking loved it'. 'Eddie's the best', Eddie is-", Steve paused when he saw the king smiling. Not just smiling but looking...well and odd combination of smug and bashful. Why would he...wait...

"I'm going to ask a stupid question", he started.

"My word, I think he's got it", Robin said.

"Shh, birdie. There's no such thing as a stupid, little prince", the king looked to him.

There was something different about the way he said 'little prince' this time, but Steve forged ahead. "King Edward...are you Eddie?"

"That I am", he answered.

"You just-you just let these random children call you that?"

King Edward-no Eddie-no, he was still King Edward, looked around the room at the gaggle present. "I wouldn't call them 'random'."

Steve couldn't take it. He was looking at them with...well it could only be described as fondness, as adoration, something like love. He shot up from his seat and marched towards the door, needing to get away. This time, El didn't hold him back. But he did hear Dustin running after him and calling for him. Steve didn't stop until he was back in his room. Not his room, a cell. He might have a better bed and a window now, but this was still very much a prison.

"Hey, what the shit?", Dustin demanded, coming in without so much as a knock.

"You all just expect me to believe all of that? That King Edward is Eddie?"

"Yeah", Dustin jutted his chin out. "Why's that so hard to believe?"

"That man is the same one who cried when his favorite lute broke? The same one who used to sing El to sleep? The same one who ate so many strawberries that he passed out?"

"To be fair, he was shifted into a bat at the time, so it only took like ten strawberries", Dustin clarified.

"You're asking me to look at red and see blue."

"Huh?"

"King Edward is not the same as Eddie. Those are two different people and I won't believe that they're the same." Steve turned to look out the window. He was wasting his time here. He had to think of an escape. It was far up but with enough sheets, this might be a viable option.

"Maybe I don't want you to see blue. Maybe I want you to see purple."

Steve's brow furrowed. "What?"

"You knew about one side of Eddie. Let's call that red. Now you know the other side, his blue side. Now you just need to put them together to make purple", Dustin explained.

"You're asking the impossible." Steve sat down on his bed but kept his eyes trained on the window.

Dustin came over and sat next to him. "Have you ever had someone look at you and only see one thing?"

"It's different with him. He's a tyrant."

“Did you ever think it might be time for you to get rid of that narrow worldview of yours and broaden your horizons?”, Dustin tilted his head like he was talking to a child.

Steve, ever stubborn, didn’t respond and kept looking out the window. He couldn’t see his kingdom from here, and at this point he was wondering if he’d ever lay eyes on it again. He didn’t know whether that would be a bad thing or a blessing. He didn't want to admit it, but Dustin had hit the nail on the head. Back home, he'd only been one thing or the other. People rarely got close enough to see the whole picture of what he was.

“Seriously, what’s the worst thing that can happen?”, Dustin urged, frustrated.

“I’m not going to be toyed with by your king.” At the end of the day, they were mortal enemies. There was no common ground wide enough to change that. A few stories of him not being a menace meant nothing. At least that's what he was telling himself.

"Henderson, leave us alone", the king said, also coming in without knocking.

Steve expected to hear protests, but Dustin got up and left without a word. Apparently he did actually respect the king's authority sometimes. Steve turned, knowing it wasn't wise to have your back towards the enemy.

"Suppose you're here to tell me how nice you actually are."

The king closed the door but didn't step away from it, keeping the distance between them. He looked uncertain and that enough threw Steve off. What did he have to be unsure about?

"There's something I need to tell you. Something I should have said days ago."

"What? Your nickname? I would have figured it out if those brats had any sense of awareness."

"They talk about you the same way."

Steve stood slowly, feeling somehow vulnerable even though neither of them were positioned to fight. "What?"

"Ever since they started talking to you, it was always 'Steve this, Steve that'", the king smiled in much the same way he had before. "'Steve knows so much, I learned a lot from him today'. It was kind of annoying to be honest."

Steve crossed his arms. He could relate, but he wouldn't let that show.

"I didn't want to believe that the son of my enemy could be good with kids. That he could be kind and gentle."

"Why are you telling me this?", Steve asked.

"Because I know you're not like your father. Or your grandfather. As much as you pretend to be."

"You don't know anything. And if you think being nice to me is going to get me to defect, you've got another thing coming."

"You're that loyal to your father?", he felt the words rising up out of his mouth like venom but couldn't decide if he wanted to poison the prince or protect him.

"I'm loyal to my kingdom", Steve said, voice full of sincerity. He knew he wasn't the perfect prince, but his father wasn't infallible either. But Steve's allegiance had been to his people for a long time. He felt as though he'd said too much though, when he saw the king's expression slip.

“Your king…Your father���”, Eddie looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t he say it? “When I sent the ransom letter, all I asked was to negotiate. Only then could I guarantee your safe return.”

Steve’s face showed no change. No realization. If anything, he looked resigned.

“King Alric has refused to sit with me.”

“So you can no longer guarantee my safety”, Steve surmised.

There was an even deeper resignation as his shoulders sagged and Eddie knew that Steve believed he was here to execute him. He shook his head frantically, making a decision right then and there.

“Your safety is between you and I now. It has nothing to do with that man.”

Steve frowned. "But you just said-"

"I said you're not your father."

"...So you'll let me go?"

Eddie could hear Nancy berating him and even Jeff giving him some choice words for releasing what should be a very valuable hostage without consulting them first. He pushed their voices away.

"If that is what you wish."

Steve didn't know if he felt a weight lift off his shoulders or a heavier one bear down on him. Before, his father had decided where Steve would go and he obeyed. Then he had been shackled by King Edward, only allowed where he let him. But now he was being giving a choice. To return home or to...to what? Stay here? Was it even a choice?

He felt completely unmoored and didn't know what was right.

"If you stay...", Eddie started, looking unsure himself. "If you stay, you won't be a prisoner anymore."

Steve let out a breath. "Then what will I be?"

Eddie grinned cheekily and Steve thought of the color purple. Dammit, Dustin.

"You'll be one of my little shits."

Steve laughed so sudden and loud that Eddie startled. Everything he'd been feeling had bubbled up and overflowed and finally found its way out. When he finished, he wiped a stray tear and caught his breath.

"Can we think of a better title while I think about it?"

"At your leisure, little prince."

Holy cow can you believe we're nearly done with the first arc?

Part 12

Tag Team

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent @snakeorsquid @ignoremyworld @theclichefortunecookie @goodolefashionedloverboi @just-a-tiny-void @0body0disphoria0 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @samsoble @jamieweasley13 @y4r3luv @xtkxkrzrizir @un-knownperson @greekgeek24 @justdrugsformethanks @potato-of-the-lord @notaqueenakhaleesi @swimmingbirdrunningrock @queenie-ofthe-void @nebulainajar @lil-gremlin-things @nicememerino @robininblue @hornedqueenofhell @anne-bennett-cosplayer @moomkin77 @here4thetrama @bookworm0690

[tsmukanii]

Heir to the Throne

Wednesday X Firebreather Reader : I'm not sure where this is going but I'm having fun with it.

“Y/N, you’ve only been here for a week, and this is the 3rd time you have been in my office for roughhousing." It's not like it was your fault. People are just asshats that need to be put in their place. You can’t help it if they see you as an easy target.

“I didn’t start anything and you know that.” You couldn’t argue for yourself further, already drained from it all.

Principal Weems could see it written on your face. She couldn’t help but feel pity for you, already knowing how hard your situation is but before she could say anything more on the matter, the door to her office opened. You turned your head to see who possibly saved you from this lecture. 

 “Oh pardon the intrusion, a student said you were ready to see us now.” You immediately knew that it was Eugene, the thought brought a small smile to your face but it quickly vanished when you made eye contact with her. It was like making eye contact with death itself; as if wrapping you up in its cloak. It was calming to you in a way. What you didn’t know is that you had affected her as well. 

“Y/N, do you mind showing Wednesday to the dorms while I get everything settled with Mr. and Mrs. Addams?” You shook your head as a means to break the sudden trance you were in but also knew the headmistress took it as you accepting.

“Oh please no need for formalities Larissa, after all we were schoolmates.” You could see the slight grimace behind her smile but still she nodded along to the statement and then set her eyes on you.  You couldn’t really refuse knowing that this was punishment for fighting again, even though you were just minding your own  business. But still with a roll of your eyes, you gestured for the girl to follow you without saying a word about the matter. 

You could feel Weems’ stare on your back, taking it as a sign that she will track you down after this but you couldn’t care less. You walked in silence, making no move to strike up a conversation with Wednesday. You were halfway to the dorms when she spoke to you, leaving you in shock of how soft her voice was. 

“You do realize you are bleeding, correct?” 

“...What?”

“Your nose is bleeding, though your blood is quite an interesting color…perhaps you would be interested in letting me use you as a test subject one day.” 

You snorted thinking she was joking but stopped when her face never changed realizing that she was completely serious. You quickly reach up to wipe the blood away glancing at the bright green color before wiping your hand on the back of your pants.

“Uh sure, it could be fun.” You swore you saw a little upturn of her lips before it turned back into a blank stare. She didn’t say anything else after that so you continued on your way. When you finally reached the room you hesitated for a second before knocking, remembering how she was when she first gave you your tour. You could see Wednesday raise a brow at your actions and she got her answer when you both walked into the dorm room. Enid squealed when she got sight of you.

“Y/n! Omg, you finally decided to come pay me a visit!” You were quick to interject. “Yeah actually I’m here on business.” you gesture to the girl next to you. “Omg! You must be Wednesday, I’ve heard so much about you!” Enid moved toward her in an attempt to hug her but was quickly rejected. 

“Uh Wednesday this is Enid Sinclair, your roommate. Enid, Weems wants you to give her a tour of the school.”

“Oh ok so what are you gonna do?” 

“I’m gonna go thank Eugene for getting me out of another scolding. Wednesday it was…interesting meeting you.” You sent a nod her way before doing the same to Enid and quickly making yourself scarce.

Wednesday slowly turned to Enid , taking her in before opening her mouth. “So, are you going to stand there gaping like a fish or are you going to start your tour? 

–

You arrived at Eugene's hut fairly quickly while also being wary of Weems who you can hear entering the courtyard. You push open the door, spotting Eugene sitting at a small table looking over his notebook.

“Dude I owe you big time for getting me out of there, I couldn’t take another moment in Weem’s office.”

“Eh it’s no biggie I mean you only got in trouble because you were helping me. I’m just sorry those jerks said you attacked them.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m pretty sure I got in a few good hits so that they’ll think twice about messing with you again.” He smiled at your words before reaching into his bag pulling out a jar or honey, holding it out to you.

“Here, to say thanks. I make it myself,

 I add in chamomile and sometimes lavender. It's actually really good.”  You don’t hesitate to grab the jar, smiling at the fact. 

“I’m sure it does, maybe we can plan for tea next week or something.” Eugene lights up quickly nodding his head.

“Of course! Anytime except Thursday, I have a foraging expedition.”

–

“So I heard that you got into another fight yesterday. Did you win?”

“Of course I did but it wasn’t my fault, they were picking on my friend.”  

“Rude, I thought I was your friend.”

“I can have more than one friend Sinclair, isn't that why you’re in my dorm painting my toes? So has Wednesday tried to escape yet?”

You felt Enid pause at your question quickly looking up at you before focusing back on your toes.“You think she’s going to run?”

“Of course she is, it’s written all over her face.”

“Are you sure we were looking at the same face?” You roll your eyes at her before smiling.“God Enid I get that she’s all stone but trust me she’s gonna do it. Probably during the fair, I bet you ten bucks she asks you to help.” You hold your hand out to her and she quickly shakes it just knowing you were going to owe her.  After that you two talked a bit more about what was going on around campus giving Enid her fill of new material for her blog before her watch went off letting you both know that it was almost curfew. 

After you both said goodnight, you went to your desk to finish sketching the outline for your latest comic but you were interrupted by the sound of scurrying outside your window. You didn’t pay any mind to it, thinking it was a squirrel but then you heard a tap on the glass making you whirl around to see a disembodied hand waving at you. 

“What the fuck?”

[gay-for-the-snz]

Baggage (M, cold, pt. 1/3)

So I decided I wanted to do something self indulgent, so here we are! rewinding back in time a bit--a decade, in fact!--to explore what brought him to the west coast, and his initial few days there, meeting coworkers and trying to decide who he wants to be with a fresh start

First chapter POV comes from his boss, second will come from him. Slight CW for the fact that the Captain definitely views him as like...basically a kid, and addresses him as such, including in narration, but he is 19 here and of age, so dw about it

[part 1, part 2, part 3]

⁂

The baggage claim of an airport is not the most exciting way he could be spending his Sunday morning--in the wee hours, no less--but the travel cup of coffee he'd hastily made in those bleary moments before making the drive is starting to seep into him enough to actually take effect. Bill's instructions for picking the whelp up had been exceedingly vague of who he was looking for--nothing more than that he was tall, long haired, and "impossible to miss." Scanning the crowd of people as they filter in and then back out, he's starting to doubt that this is necessarily the case. The flow of people has slowed enough that he doubts there can be that many left to make it here. Only a few lonely suitcases remain on the carousel, and they're rapidly being picked up.

He's rechecking the flight information when a figure awkwardly makes its way to grab the last suitcase, and--

Oh. Well, perhaps he owes Bill an apology. He is impossible to miss.

He's a gangling youth, easily six foot but probably a few inches above, with a braid that hangs down past his ass and the same awkward disposition he'd ascribe to a newborn fawn.

"You're Elliott?"

"Uh--yes! I mean--yes, that's me. You're Mr. Addington?" He extends a hand to shake, a bracelet of tattooed pansies encircling his wrist.

"You can call me 'Captain'."

"Oh! Right, I'll, uh--I'll do that." He doesn't really look at him, avoiding eye contact like the plague. It doesn't do anything to make the black eye less noticeable, but he supposes he can't fault him for trying. It looks like a nasty one, shades of deep blues and purples ringed by the greens and yellows of healing that's already on its way out.

He opts to tactfully leave it alone for now. He's had a long flight, and a stranger grilling him about what on earth happened that's making him pick up stakes and move cross country with a couple day's notice likely isn't the way he's going to earn his trust. He gets the distinct sense that he's going to have to coax him out like luring one of the warehouse cats out of hiding to take it to the vet.

"Well!" He startles at the sudden transition. "Is that everything, or are we still waiting on any bags?"

"This is it."

He keeps his expression carefully neutral as he takes in the sight before him, this bedraggled kid who's got a black eye and nothing to him but two suitcases. It's sad. More than that, it's actually heartbreaking. "Alright. Did you eat anything on the plane? I'm thinking about stopping somewhere on the way back, getting a little breakfast, if you're not opposed to stopping."

"I wouldn't stop you if you wanted to get yourself something."

It doesn't escape his notice that he hasn't answered the question. That beanpole probably weighs a hundred thirty soaking wet. He's going to feed him, whether he asks for something or not. "Good! There's a diner close to home that should be just about open by the time we get there."

He takes one of the suitcases, despite the fact that he was very much not asked to, and drags it a few feet before hefting it up to avoid the broken wheel that doesn't seem to actually turn. "Come on, then, let's see if I remember where I parked."

"Oh, are you--"

"You can relax, that was a joke. I'm not so old yet that I'm going to lose my car at the airport." Hopefully. He hasn't done it in awhile. It helps that he wasn't flying this time, just picking someone up, well before dawn's bothered to crack.

By the time they actually make it out to where he's parked, he's beginning to half worry that he actually did lose track of it, but relief washes over him at the sight of the old pick-up. She's a beat up old thing, but she's beautiful to him.

"She ain't the prettiest, but she's reliable. More than I can say for my ex-wife!" Shockingly, the joke doesn't land. He just shrugs. Worth a shot to break the tension. "Hop in, we'll be out of here soon."

Elliott is, if nothing else, compliant. Not much of a talker, but he looks dead on his feet, and sinks against the door as soon as he's buckled.

"We've got about an hour and a half drive, so feel free to close your eyes. Not much to see at this time of day--a new coast is great in the daylight, but all we'll be passing for awhile are headlights and highway." And he could probably use the sleep.

"Oh, no, it's fine. If I, uhm, sleep now I don't think I'll get any sleep tonight. I wanna see what I can see." He scratches at the back of his neck, and straightens his posture somewhat, like he can't be caught being tired.

"Suit yourself." The radio is playing something soft in the background, static blurring the sound of Creedence with a commercial for something he can't make out. He gives it a few minutes before he leans over, offers him a cigarette. "You smoke?"

"Uh, no, sir."

"Good! Don't start." He strikes the lighter, then gestures with it towards the cigarette already in his mouth. "Mind if I do?"

"It's your truck, and you're already doing me a huge favor."

He throws it in the center console for later. "Speaking of!" Elliott winces. "Bill doesn't usually stick his neck out for anyone--he must be awfully fond of you."

"Oh! Well, that's nice of him. I don't think that I really, uh, have earned it, though."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, sir."

"Nineteen! I remember being nineteen. Long time ago, mind you--I was probably nineteen before your parents were even born."

"Maybe..."

He's striking out hard, here. Usually it's a bit easier to get someone talking. "Well, whether you think he's a good judge of character or not, Bill thinks pretty highly of you to call me up and tell me that he's cashing in a favor like this. Said he had a real good kid that needed out of Virginia in a hurry. Said that you're a good worker." When Elliott doesn't respond, he just continues the conversation anyway. "Now he uh, didn't tell me where you're gonna be staying. You've sorted that out, I trust?"

"I don't need any help with that."

"So where is it?" He stares out the window, doesn't even attempt to glance back towards him. "That's what I thought, yeah. Alright, well, you're gonna be with me at least tonight until we've got you sorted out."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"Then it's a good thing you're not asking. I'm telling you." If he's got anything to say to that, he keeps it to himself, but he's clearly not thrilled by the prospect. He takes to braiding one of the locks of hair that frames his face, clearly an old hand at this the way his fingers deftly run through the motions.

There's few enough cars on the interstate at this hour that he feels comfortable letting his gaze linger on him in his peripheral, paying more attention to the kid in his passenger seat than to the road ahead of him. It's not a good habit, sure, but it's a calculated risk, and despite how he looks, he's always been pretty sharp when it comes to figures. The training of being in business, he supposes. It certainly hasn't hurt him.

"You got family out here?"

"No, sir."

"All back in Virginia, then?"

"I...guess, yeah. At least for now."

"Are they planning on falling you out here after you're settled?"

"God, I hope not." He crosses himself instinctively.

"Not a great relationship, I take it?"

"No, sir."

"You don't have to call me 'sir'. But I can sympathize--I've got some family up in Alaska, but not much anymore. Two sisters and a brother, and a host of nieces and nephews, and a couple of great-'s by now, even. No kids of my own, though--not that I'm complaining. I don't think it would've served fatherhood well to be gone most of the time."

"Could we--could we talk about something else?"

"Anything your heart desires."

"I think I might actually try and sleep. You were right--there's not much to see, and I-I'm kind of tired..."

He's squirrely, clearly dodging this topic in particular, but he's got enough sense to let the poor beast alone--for now, at least. He's gonna have to ask him later, both because he wants the gossip, but also because if he has to worry about whatever he's mixed up in, he'd like to know before anything happens. " 'course. You just get yourself a little shut-eye, and I'll wake you when we get there?"

"Thank you..."

He must be exhausted, because it's only a couple of minutes later that he's snoring softly, weirdly curled in on himself in his sweatshirt, arms crossed protectively over his chest and head leaned against the cold window. He doesn't disturb him, just drives in relative silence aside from the radio to let him rest.

⁂

"Hey. Elliott. C'mon, up we get." He waits until he sees him stir to try again. "Wake up. We're here."

Elliott rouses, albeit slowly, and does his best approximation of a stretch in the cramped quarters for someone so tall. "Uhm..." He sniffs, digs a knuckle into the corner of his eyes to clear the vestiges of his nap from them. "Here?"

"Home."

"I thought we were--that you were stopping for breakfast?"

"I drove through somewhere. No point in stopping and getting caught in commuter traffic if we didn't have to." He shakes the paper baggie of McDonald's the same way he might shake a bag of dog treats for a wary pet. "It's just about breakfast time, I'd wager."

It's been breakfast time, the same way they've been here, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him. The two cigarette butts drowned in the remnants of a water bottle are evidence, but there's no saying that he didn't smoke while he was driving. He clearly needed the rest, and is equally clearly someone who would apologize for trying to get it, so he doesn't present him the opportunity to have a reason to.

"Oh." In the daylight, he looks positively ghastly, the shadows under both eyes nearly the same shade as the bruising surrounding the one. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn't get much further than to sniff and awkwardly get out of the car, stretch for all he's worth in the driveway.

"You're hungry, I'm sure?"

"I don't really feel like it."

"But?"

"No buts, just that I don't feel like I'm hungry."

It's gonna be pulling teeth to do anything nice for this kid, he can already tell. Well, whatever. He's not known for being shy, nor for being one to back down from a challenge. "Alright. You'll take something for the road, then."

"I don't--"

"It wasn't a question." He just won't give him a choice if he's going to make a bad one.

"Yes, si--uh--Captain."

"Good man! Come on, then, let's get your bags into the house." When he opens the door, he's immediately struck by the reminder that he had not been expecting company, nor has he hosted it in awhile.

It isn't a dump, by any means, but it's definitely a space that one might say "lacks a woman's touch". A collection of pipes and tins of tobacco on one of the shelves. A collection of mugs that haven't made it to the sink just yet, concentrated on the coffee table. The mounted crabs hanging over the mantel.

Elliott stares at it in what he can only describe as a mixture of amusement and repulsion.

"Well, listen, it's not everyone's taste." He carries the suitcase he's taken custody of into the house, gestures broadly towards the house as a whole. "Living room. Kitchen back there, bedrooms to the left, bathroom and laundry room to the right."

"It's very--uh--rustic."

He snorts. "Very diplomatic of you." He seems like a sweetheart, carefully walking on eggshells to be as tactful as he can about his interior design decisions. "You'll be staying in the guest room--it's nothing glamorous, but it's got a queen bed and a closet and electricity, and that's just about all anyone really needs around here." It also has some decor that some might describe as "tacky" or "hideous", but that's neither nor here.

"I still don't--you don't have to do this. I can just find a hotel, you don't have to open your home to me--I mean, I'm a stranger--"

"Anything you find around here is a dump and priced like it's the Ritz. You haven't got a car, and you don't know the town. If you don't want to stay, I'm not going to force you, but I am strongly encouraging you to just stay here." Perhaps he's coming on a bit strong, but there's so little reason to go somewhere else that he finds it difficult to imagine anyone would think it's honestly a good idea. He feels confident that it's merely that he doesn't want to impose--he's already said as much.

"...right. You're--you're right. I'm sorry. Thank you for opening your home to me. I'll--I'll pay for the time I'm here, of course, and help with anything you need. I don't, uh, take up a lot of space--I'm pretty quiet, and I'll probably just keep to myself--"

"We'll talk about this after you've had a chance to actually settle in. For now, go put your stuff down, take a gander at the house. Breakfast will be on the table when you want it."

Elliott doesn't seem entirely relieved, but he does seem to accept the order, and goes to drop his stuff in the room. In the meantime, he starts trying to clean things up somewhat. Gathers the mugs to the kitchen sink, and throws the coats that piled on the couch into the closet, and scoots the pile of newspapers into a slightly more organized pile of newspapers to clear a seat at the table.

It dawns on him that he's been at this for almost half an hour and still hasn't seen him return yet. The house isn't minuscule, but it certainly isn't large enough that he could've gotten lost.

He peers around the corner into the open doorway to the guest room, and is greeted by the sight of Elliott sprawled on the bed, having succeeded in getting as far as taking off his short cowboy boots and laying down to fall asleep, fully clothed, on top of the covers. He's snoring, phone still loosely clutched in one hand where he'd clearly not been anticipating dozing off.

He just leans against the doorway to watch him for a minute, arms crossed over his chest. What did he get himself into here, taking on a stray like this? What did Bill get him into, sending him the kid?

He grabs an old quilt from the armchair in the corner, and awkwardly drapes it over Elliott, covering as much of his frame as he can with it, before he leaves him to sleep if he needs it. A car nap wasn't good enough--it doesn't sound like he really slept at all yesterday, if he's understanding the timeline correctly. If he's sleeping now, it's because he sorely needs it.

He's got things he could be doing, anyway. He hasn't hosted in a long while, and it shows in the fact that his house is very much set up for his use and his alone. He shoves shit into drawers in the bathroom to sort through later when he cares, throws a clean towel and wash cloth on the counter next to the shower, somewhat haphazardly wipes down the bathroom mirror with a little Windex to get it looking a little less grimy.

With that squared away, he turns his attention to the kitchen. Christ, what a mess. He isn't entirely sure how old some of these coffee mugs are, the remnants solidified into a gross sludge in the bottom of the ceramic. Luckily, it's mostly just the mugs, and then a case of tidying things up enough that there's enough space at the table for two, and he can actually see the countertop again, instead of piling it underneath the debris of being a busy man. Newspapers, and mail he hasn't thrown out yet. Keys, and receipts, and coupons. Things he comes in and sets down, and then they never move again until an occasion like this forces his hand to do something about it.

He whistles while he works, some jaunty little tune he only sort of remembers the origins of, and even less of the words to it, but slows down and lapses into silence to strain his ears. When he catches the faint sound of snoring, he takes his cue to slip out onto the front porch.

"...Bill! You sorry sonuvabitch, how're you?"

"I'm assuming you got the kid without any issue?"

"That's what I'm calling about. Now, I've got a whelp that isn't even old enough to drink sleeping in my guest bed, and I don't know a damn thing about him. He hasn't told me anything yet, and neither have you, so I'd say one of you had better start acquainting me with him."

He can hear the long pause on the line, and a deep sigh from Bill. He can picture him ashing his cigarette, taking off his readers. "I don't think it's my story to tell."

"But it's your story to call on me to intervene in? I'm not asking for every dirty detail, but I am asking for the broad strokes of it. He's not involved in anything criminal, so why was it so important he move out of state in such a hurry?"

"Legal trouble, but not his. Suffice it to say, family matters are complicated and he really shouldn't be sticking around to see them get any more complicated than they already are. There was trouble at the courthouse a week ago, and he called me in a panic and asked what he should do. I said I knew someone who owed me a favor and could hire him on until he found something else, and he packed up everything he had and got on that plane yesterday night."

"So I have to worry about someone showing up to my house looking for him?"

"Not unless he breaks out or gets paroled."

"Oy vey." He sits down on the steps with a grunt, letting the cool afternoon wash over him. "I don't suppose that's the source of that shiner, then?"

"He was reluctant to talk about it, but it seems to be the case. Look, Hyatt, I know this is a big ask, but you can trust me: he's a good kid. He's shy, but he's got a good heart, and he'll open up in due time. If he's underperforming, just hold onto him long enough to let him get himself settled with a new job--but I really think you'll take a liking to him."

Something makes him feel like he's getting snookered, but he's already got the damn thing asleep in his bed. He's in it deeper than he'd normally allow himself to be, purely because it's Bill making the call. "You know that I'm only doing this because it's YOU asking?"

Bill laughs, something warm and raucous. "I know. Hey, I never steered you wrong as your business partner."

"What about as my friend?"

"Ehh, we'll call that more often than not that I gave you good advice. And look on the bright side! Now you don't owe me anymore."

"I hope you go out of business tomorrow morning."

"Then I'll just be joining him in the guest room."

He can't help it--he grins. "Alright, well, I'll be calling you if anything happens."

"I'm looking forward to it. Hey, Hy, take it easy. I've gotta run."

He just sits there for a long moment, mulling over the information he's pieced together about his newfound tenant. Whatever his family member--a father? brother? uncle?--is involved in, it got him arrested, and he was so spooked by it that he jumped ship and left the east coast entirely just to avoid the situation.

He doesn't seem the type to get involved in anything shady--and Bill certainly isn't the type to employ anyone that he thinks is involved in anything untoward. He's a shrewd businessman, and fiercely defensive of his business--he would never let anyone work for him if he had reason to believe they were going to be bringing anything into it like that. So whatever the unnamed family was up to, either he wasn't a part of it, or Bill found out too late and the kid was remorseful enough to overrule his instincts not to get involved, and shipped him off this way.

And whatever happened at the courthouse or jail or wherever it happened, ended up with a fistfight, or something of the like. He seems like the last creature on earth to willingly get into a fight. More than anything, he looks like someone who's probably spent more time getting fought than fighting--the homosexuality practically oozes off of him, and rural Virginia doesn't seem like the most...nurturing atmosphere for that sort of thing.

He heaves a sigh, and heads back into the house to make himself something for lunch.

⁂

By the time he sees Elliott again, it's dinnertime. He's just about to go wake him when he sees the disheveled figure shuffle out of the bedroom, hair mussed from sleep and staring at him blearily, the quilt still clutched around his shoulders.

"Weeelllll, good morning there, Sleeping Beauty. You look like you slept well?"

He looks around silently, and he can practically see the gears turning in his mind. He can hear the dial up tones, the blanket lines on his cheek still visible. He slept hard. He brings a hand up from under the blankets to mash the heel of his palm against his eyes to grind the sleep from them. "Uhmb." There's a congested edge to his voice, and he coughs. "I didn't mean to."

"I didn't think you intended to, on top of the covers, in all your clothes."

He gently knuckles at his nose, still bleary-eyed as he shuffles a little further into the room. " 'm sorry. I didn't think that--that--? Hh-! H-hh'dDZzhhyue!"

"Bless y--"

"EedZZhhue!"

"Bless--"

"Heh-! heEHZzhhyue!"

"I'll just wait till you're done."

He teeters on the brink of it, brows pinched together in sneezy limbo for a couple wavering breaths until he ducks down into the quilt again. "heEDDZzhyue! 'DZZHhieww! ...guh! Excuse me."

He snuffles, the sound thick and wet, and he brings a delicate knuckle up to swipe at his nose. It seems a bit pink, now that's getting a good look at him, and the shadows under his eyes from exhaustion haven't really lessened any, despite the fact that he just slept like nine hours. "Bless you. You're feeling alright?"

"I feel fine."

He isn't sure how "fide" he could really be feeling, given the congestion rounding out his consonants into a soft, blunted sound, but he doesn't push it any. "If you're sure." He inclines his head towards the kitchen. "I made stew for dinner--I hope you eat lamb."

"Uh--sometimes. I'm not, uh, strictly vegetarian."

"Well that's a good thing, because this is not a vegetarian household." He softens slightly. "But it's never too late to learn. I could probably do to fit a few more vegetables into my diet."

"You don't have to change anything just for me. I'll eat anything."

"Anything?"

He looks sheepish, fussing with the edge of the quilt. "Uh, almost anything."

"Except?"

He looks like he expects to be shot dead. "Seafood."

Ah. Well. Yes, that would explain why. He glances sideways towards the fridge and freezer, stocked with more seafood than anything else. "I can work with that. I needed to get groceries anyway. As long as you can tolerate that my cooking is not Michelin star worthy."

"Oh, I can--I can cook for myself. You don't have to worry about me, I'm not--uh--you don't really need to do anything for me. Letting me sleep here is already more than enough--and I still need to pay you. How much do you, uh--"

He holds a hand up to stop him. "I was meaning to talk to you about that. I won't charge you rent, but you're going to have to work. Bill said you're a hard worker and that I wouldn't regret hiring you, so I'm going to trust him and give you a chance--but it's not a free ride. You're going to have to earn your job, and your stay here until you've found somewhere else to live."

"Of course! You won't regret it, I swear--I work to work, and I-I do a decent job, I think--"

His eagerness is equal parts endearing and pathetic. "Alright, alright. You don't have to pledge me a life debt, just don't make me have to fire you." He pushes a bowl across the table to the empty seat and gestures to it. "I didn't cook for nothing, so eat up--you must be half starved by now."

"I...don't feel hungry, but I'm sure I am. I'm sure it smells delicious." He looks around the kitchen, and awkwardly tears a paper towel off the roll to gently dab at pink nostrils. The color seems to be creeping in more every time he touches his nose, the pink soft but noticeable against the pallor of his skin. Was he that pale when he saw him earlier?

"Are you sick?"

Elliott seems genuinely taken aback by the question, almost defiant in his immediate rigidity. "I am definitely not."

He quirks a brow. "Is that so?"

"I can't just be a little sniffly, in a dusty guest room?"

"Dusty might be putting it strongly. I clean in there, even if there's no one staying." Well. Definitely not as often as he should. But he doesn't think it's that dusty in there--not enough that he thinks it should really be effecting anything like this, at least.

"I think it's understandable if I'm a little congested when I wake up, especially in a room that's dusty, after traveling all day!"

He can't fight the amused smile at how adamant and offended he seems by the notion that he's sick. "Alright, fine. I'm sure by the end of dinner you'll be feeling right as rain, then?"

It's the first real show of emotion he's gotten out of him that wasn't fawning or exhausted, a strange streak of obstinance. "I'm sure I will!"

Jee-zus. He really is a teen, even if he's an adult. "Good. Eat up, then."

He narrows his eyes at the challenge they've both locked themselves into now, and sits down with more of a dramatic huff than is necessary by a long shot. Once he actually starts eating, it seems like his body realizes how hungry he really is, because he starts shoveling stew like a ravenous beast who hasn't eaten in months.

"You're not a snake. This isn't your one meal for the next two weeks, you can take your time."

He pauses, the spoon halfway between the bowl and his mouth, and stares like a deer in headlights. Color floods his cheeks, matching the shade of pink his nose has deepened to. "Oh." He sniffles, swipes at his nose with the paper towel in his other hand. "Yeah, I just--"

He trails off, eyes narrowing slightly as his brow furrows and damp, pink nostrils flare. He sniffles again, the sound equally unproductive but more urgent than before. His lashes, thick and dark like he's wearing mascara--and, now that he thinks about it, he might actually be--flutter shut as he takes a wavering breath.

"huH-! uuUDDZzhhyue! huUHZzhhyue!" He sneezes twice into the bedraggled paper towel, now pretty well spent and ineffective--but he definitely doesn't seem done. The freckled bridge of his nose is wrinkled in irritation, breath scissoring as he takes uneven gasps towards the next one. "heEDDZHhue! eEZZhhyue! Huh-! huH-!? huUDDJZzhhuuee!"

He actually whimpers a little after that last one, cupped hands having taken the brunt of it, the sodden paper towel that's sitting limply in his palms of no use at all now. He sighs, sniffles, and immediately regrets it, because--

"heEZZHhieww! h-heH-! heEDDZZHHhue! ...guh! Oh my God--excuse me..."

He puts his spoon down, folds his hands on the tabletop. "Elliott."

He snuffles, a little bleary in the aftermath of the fit. "Captain."

"Is it still the dusty guest room?"

He nudges the sink on with his elbow to wash his hands--ugh, Christ, he can see the sheen of moisture on his palms from here--before tearing off a couple of paper towels to blow his nose into at such a soft volume he doesn't realize he's doing it at first.

"It might be."

"Elliott."

"It could still be! I'm sure I'll be fine by morning!"

Why this is the hill he's chosen to die on, he cannot possibly fathom, but it is. Fine. Whatever. "Have it your way."

⁂

He's just laying in his bed, listening to Elliott snore from across the hall. He could get up and close the door. In fact, he should go do that, and close Elliott's, too, while he's at it. But something about that feels too risky.

For who, he doesn't know. He highly doubts he's going to wake to discover that he's been robbed, nor that he isn't going to wake at all because he's been stabbed to death in bed. Nor does he think that Elliott is going to weep and gnash his teeth if he doesn't have the doors open as reassurance and comfort. But he went to bed with the door open, and it's some bizarre comfort to him as well to be able to keep tabs on what his new house guest is doing.

Snoring, mostly.

He's listened to him wake a couple of times, but he hasn't really done anything else, except to roll over and make the bedframe creak ominously, and to cough. Nothing horrid, and certainly nothing annoying, but something that since he's been paying attention, he finds impossible to miss.

He leans over, looks at the clock on the nightstand again, and lays back down with a sigh. At least one of them is getting some sleep tonight.

Eventually, he gets up and moves to the armchair in the living room, puts on some stupid "documentary" about something he's sure is bullshit, and lets the sound of someone whose accreditation includes "foremost psychic folklorist" lull him into sleep.

⁂

The light streaming in through the blinds is what rouses him--and as soon as it does, he is aware of two things. The first: the pain in his back and hip from sleeping in a recliner all night instead of laying in bed. The second: the sound of muffled coughing from the bedroom, chesty and congested.

His hip is barking at him, and he awkwardly gets himself up from the chair to go hobble into his bedroom to grab the bottle of aspirin out of the nightstand drawer. There's nothing to really do for it at this point, but he takes a couple of them to hope that it'll take the edge off of the pain.

He stares at it in his closet, and frowns before relenting and grabbing his cane. He hears the sound of Elliott walking behind him towards the living room, and throws a sweater and some socks onto his bed to get to later when he gets around to getting dressed, and follows him out.

"So about that cold that you definitely don't have..."

Elliott is standing before him, clad in pajama pants and thick socks and a heavy sweatshirt, and garishly cold-ridden. His nose is startlingly red and damp, the shadows beneath his eyes dark as a raccoon's mask. He's breathing through parted lips, chapped from the way he's been having to move around the congestion settled deeply into him. Just looking at him feels like he's going to contract whatever plague he's harboring within him.

"I might--" he interrupts himself to snuffle thickly and wetly, coughs into his elbow, "no, okay, I am sick."

"That much is obvious, but thank you for admitting it." He scratches his beard thoughtfully, mulling over his options here. He could try and spare him having to be out and about like this--and, in so doing, spare everyone else from his cold--but he's already made a commitment to going into work today, and dragging Elliott along with him before he puts him to work tomorrow. "Get dressed after you've eaten--we're going into work--not for a full shift, mind you. Consider it a tour more than anything else. I have to fax a couple documents over to a client, and you could use the familiarity."

"Yes, Captain."

He doesn't look happy, but it's difficult to tell if that's over the prospect of going to work, or if it's because he's being forced out while he's sick, or a combination thereof. It doesn't matter, really--he's sick, but it's a cold. He can't let him shirk any responsibility just because he's caught cold, even if it does look like a nasty one.

"Good man. Eat up and get dressed--we've got business to attend to." He claps him on the shoulder, and leaves him to get himself ready for the upcoming day.

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

Hey, Amee!! I hope you’re doing well <3

If by any chance you’re up to it, could you please write a fic about Heist Mark being super jealous of Yancy because he and Y/N clearly seem to be into each other?? I LOVE your art and writings and I couldn’t get this idea out of my head <3 (Obviously no pressure, though!)

I'm so happy to hear you enjoy my work, thank you🥺💖 and thank you for your request! it got me out of a terrible writer's block. on that note, sorry this took quite some time, I've been in a bit of a funk of on and off general creative block, and unable to finish any writing at all for even longer. this was a pretty fun challenge! I myself view Yancy platonically so I wasn't quite sure where to go with this initially, and I had to fight every urge to just make this heist mark x y/n dfsjsjsv. that said, it did end up being more heist mark-centric than maybe you intended? in which case, I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself😔 yancy is there but very briefly haha

Don't you tell me that you never even thought, 'maybe we could run'

2,603 words | Read on AO3

‘We're all gonna be rehearsing tomorrow so youse best get some sleep.’

You nod as you close the gate to yours and Mark's shared cell, stifling a yawn.

‘Goodnight, Yancy.’

You hold each other's gaze for a moment, before he turns and heads off, a tattooed hand over the back of his neck and a sweet smile still on his face. You watch as he disappears into the outer hallway and a guard appears to lock up your cell for the evening.

Your long-time accomplice and friend stands at the edge of your vision, arms folded.

‘Having fun with your new boyfriend, buddy?’ he asks, sounding unimpressed and slightly strained.

‘Oh, shush, Mark,’ you chide, but your stomach flips at the notion.

‘Yeah… Well, while you were busy playing Broadway,’ he glances to either side of the cell outside and continues in a lowered voice, ‘I've been hard at work hatching our escape. And I'm telling you, it's foolproof.’

‘Uh huh. As foolproof as your other three failed plans? I really don't wanna get thrown in solitary again.’

‘Please, that was one time! — and I don't see you bothering to come up with any ideas. Even though you pretty much got us into this mess.’

That accusation ticks you off, but you're quick to retaliate.

‘Are you seriously still hung up on that? How is this my fault? You couldn't fly a helicopter, why would you assume I can? You shouldn't have even presented it as an option!’

Your exclamation earns you a couple looks from other inmates slowly filing into their cells for the night.

‘Nevermind that now,’ Mark says, infuriatingly placatingly, ‘do you wanna hear the plan or not?’

The thread of uncertainty that you've been avoiding coils tight in your chest and you pause, wondering how to bring up what's been nagging at you for days.

‘Um, so, I've been thinking. What if… what if we don't try to escape?’

‘Ha ha. Funny joke, pal.’

‘I'm serious, Mark. We could just… stay here and wait out our sentence, if we play it safe we might even get our time reduced on good behaviour. We could be gone in like a decade. Or a few years! Maybe. Probably. Maybe.’ Wishful thinking, perhaps.

He scoffs, as if the idea isn't even worth considering.

‘There is no way you're genuinely telling me to just wait it out. Maybe you haven't noticed since you've been in la-la land lately, but we're not on vacation, we're in prison,’ Mark spouts, voice growing thick with agitation. ‘What was supposed to be the heist of a lifetime, would've set us up for decades to come, is still on the line! And we're on a bit of a time crunch here — I don't trust that warden guy one bit with the Box, or in general,’ he sneers. ‘I mean what kind of name is Murder-Slaughter? Ugh, do we even know for sure if he still has it?’

‘Yancy mentioned seeing it in his office the last time he was there, which was earlier today, so yeah, probably.’

‘Ugh, there you go again about Yancy. It's always Yancy this, Yancy that, blah blah blah, Yancy!’

‘Wh– I was just answering your question!’

‘Y'know what? I'm sick and tired of being the only one taking this seriously while you act like it's all a big party.’

He places a hand on his hip, the other poking a finger towards you as he speaks. It would be comical, if he wasn't acting like a jerk.

‘What's up with you?’

‘What's up with me? What's up with you? You seriously wanna stay in this— this shithole, ‘cause of what? Some pretty face you've known for all of like, less than two weeks??’

‘Oh my God, Mark, it's not that terrible, and Yancy is actually my friend, he's been nothing but welcoming and kind since we got here, and—’

‘Oh, did you forget that he tried to beat you up when you first met? Real interesting, how you let that little detail slip.’

‘We just got off on the wrong foot, he's really—’

It's then that you see it — something in the slight hunch in his gait, the furrow of his brow, his pursed lips and tense jaw — and you wonder why you hadn't noticed before. It's not just anger and frustration, it's something bitter and personal.

‘Mark… are you jealous?’

Bingo. His eyes only widen a sliver, for a fraction of a second, but you're so used to reading him that even the most imperceptible of reactions on his usually very expressive face have become familiar to you.

‘Psh. I'm not jealous.’

‘You so are jealous! Oh my god, you're super duper jealous,’ you say with a grin, revelling in this new information.

‘Shut up, why would I be jealous?’ he protests, trying to sound nonchalant. But it's too late. You've already seen through it.

‘Is that what this is about?’ you say with a laugh. ‘You just want my attention back or something?’

He stares blankly for a moment.

‘Are you serious right now? You actually think the only reason I'm mad is because some random dude just waltzes in and starts acting all buddy buddy with you and you fall head-over-heels,’ he jeers with his hands either side of his face, fluttering his eyelashes mockingly. ‘Hook, line and sinker.’

‘Mark—’

‘I mean, never mind your partner, right? You know, your best friend who you've known and worked with for years? Who cares what he thinks?!’

‘Mark, I—’

‘In fact, he can get punched through a wall for all you care! You won't even bat an eye, as long as there's a random spontaneous musical number immediately afterwards, it's all in good fun!’

‘Ok, that's not fair,’ you push back. ‘Of course I was worried! But I was also surrounded by violent criminals at the time, we've been over this!’

‘Oh, so they're “violent criminals” now? But they're simply “hurt, misunderstood souls” when it suits you?!’ he shoots back, making air quotes to emphasise his point.

‘They're people, Mark! They're allowed to be… multi-faceted!’

‘Lights out, everybody,’ comes a guard's voice, ringing through the hallway as it suddenly becomes dark, save for the glow of dim lamplight emanating from one or two of the other cells.

‘Whatever, let's just get some sleep,’ Mark grumbles under his breath.

‘You always do this!’ you whisper harshly, but inadvertently let the volume slip back into your voice as you feel your blood boil. ‘You try to cut things off and act like the “bigger person” just to get out of an argument that, newsflash, YOU'RE LOSING.’

‘Oh, whatever, what-f*cking-ever!’

‘You're being so damn overdramatic, Mark! It's not like I'm trying to break up our team.’

‘Yeah, well– well maybe we should!’

You don't know why it jolts you like a gunshot when he says it, but it does. His words, the force and resentment behind them, pierce you to your core. It stops any quick-fire response you had at the ready in its tracks.

Regret immediately flashes across his face, but he quickly attempts to cover it with a steely, hardened gaze. ‘Clearly, we want different things. So maybe it's for the best.’

‘Hey!’ one of the guards calls out from across the hall. ‘Lights out means quiet, you two. Don't make us separate you into different cells.’

With a frustrated huff, you reluctantly traipse off to bed, yours being the lower half of the bunk while Mark settles above you.

It really is a rather decent bed. The mattress is nothing special, but comfortable, and the soft blanket is accompanied by an oddly luxurious, fluffy pillow. Definitely above what you'd expect is probably average prison standards. Frankly, you don't know what Mark's problem is with this place. It's honestly not half bad. As far as you expect jails go, it surely could be a lot worse.

You lay back and let your breathing even out, trying your best to allow some of the bubbling anger to die down. Eventually, you hear the guards leave.

Time passes, it could be minutes or hours; it's not like the passage of time has felt right at all to you since that last heist.

It's silent, save for the sound of your breaths and Mark's above you. You're still upset with him, but the sound of him breathing nearby has always been oddly comforting. The two of you have had plenty of close calls as a pair — even times when you had to patch each other up after jobs that went particularly badly. If you got injured on a heist, you couldn't simply call an ambulance or show up at a hospital in an emergency and risk having your whole operation blown. That was simply the nature of your line of work.

At the worst of times, as long as you could hear those steady, even breaths, you could tell yourself he would pull through, and things would be fine.

You idly watch the mattress above you, letting the rhythm of your friend's breathing become a gentle white noise, and think.

You think about that heist and the Box. Ancient, coveted, mysterious. Sitting atop its perch in the museum vault, in all its glory and allure, practically asking to be stolen. The gleam of the gem encrusted in its surface. You wonder if the prize held within would be worth all of this, if you managed to get it back.

You think about Yancy, a little rough and a little troubled and not seeing much point in trying to kick old habits; but fun and soft and sensitive and full of remorse. You think about the feeling of your hand in his when you practise a routine with him, how his whole face lights up when he's excited or falls when he's sad or pensive. You think about how he has made this penitentiary into a home, and these inmates into a family.

You think about Mark. Silly, stupid, steadfast Mark, snarky and thoughtful and loyal. Who isn't actually as dumb as he lets on. Who is resourceful and quick-thinking when a plan needs to be formed. Who makes bad puns and trusts you whole-heartedly, and who always lets you decide which course of action to take, no matter how much he disagrees, simply due to his unwavering faith in you. Mark, your co-worker, your friend, your partner in crime. Who is maybe a little enamoured with you, despite you trying to ignore it. Who you half-heartedly agreed to go on a date with, not having it in you to turn him down, nor prepared for the guilt that would be eating away at you now.

You think about one of the first things he told you when you landed yourselves at Happy Trails: About how he doesn't belong here, but maybe you do. What if he were to leave and you were to stay? The thought breaks your heart a little.

Then, a whisper from above into the quiet, gently interrupting your thoughts.

‘Hey, you still awake?’

‘...Yeah.’

You hear his voice, soft-spoken, but clear enough that you can hear the sincerity laced into it.

‘I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so worked up.’

‘Yeah, I'm sorry too,’ you reply, matching his volume.

‘And I didn't mean it,’ he says, and you think you hear the slightest tremble in the statement, almost as if he's fighting tears, and for a second you wish you could see his face, ‘what I said before, about uh, splitting up. I know I joke about that kind of thing all the time, and not coming back for you… But you know I don't really mean it, right?’

You've certainly had your doubts in the past, but those moments seem so far away now; footnotes in a slowly unfolding tale, stepping stones on the journey the pair of you have taken together as you worked your way from theft to theft to get to this point. As much as you'd butt heads over the years, you could always count on each other and you always stuck together.

‘Right?’

‘Yeah, I know…’

‘...And, alright, your lack of interest in breaking out aside, maybe I am kinda jealous.’

‘Ha! I knew it.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He sighs. ‘It's just… it took us a while to be like we are now and yet, you're suddenly so close to him when it hasn't even been that long, it just doesn't feel fair. I dunno, it's stupid.’

‘Nah, I get it. I'm sorry if I made you feel left behind.

‘And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel pressured into something you're actually just not all that into.’

You feel a bit of tension leave your chest as a small smile appears on your face. ‘I appreciate that.’

In some ways you're grateful for the small bed separating you and preventing you from being face to face. You think it makes this easier for both of you.

‘I don't want to lose you, y'know? I mean, we're supposed to be partners. Ride or die, remember?’

‘Oh, Mark… You know I still trust you with my life…’ You pause, considering your words. ‘For the first time in ages, things feel a little more complicated than just being about us.’

A beat, then you hear him inhale, and he says your name, foregoing any of his usual nicknames.

‘...Are you… happy here? Does he make you happy?’

‘There's things I miss about freedom, sure, but it's not so bad here. And let's face it, our crimes were probably gonna catch up to us eventually, one way or another, right? And Yancy…’ You let out the smallest huff of laughter, smiling to yourself once again. ‘You're right, it hasn't been very long… There's just something about him, I guess. I know he might be a little much at times but I enjoy being around him, and he honestly seems like he wants to make up for things he's done in the past by being here. Maybe nothing will come of this but even so, in a weird way, he kind of makes me want to do better?’

Mark breathes a good-natured huff of laughter as well, and the two of you take a moment to muse on the irony of that sentiment.

‘I just– I can't handle being stuck here,’ he finally says. ‘But you're right, nothing I've tried so far has worked, anyway.’

‘Y'know… Yancy knows all the ins and outs of this place. He could probably help us if we wanted it.’

‘Do you want it?’

Do you want to leave or stay? The real question beneath it all.

You're quiet again, and it feels as if every possibility is laid out before you, only obscured.

‘I don't know,’ you say eventually. ‘I need more time to think. I just don't want you to think I'm making a choice between you or him, there's so many other things I need to consider. That we need to consider.’

‘That's fair… Just don't take too long, ok? Not like we can pause or rewind time, haha.’

‘Right… In the meantime, could you at least try to get along with Yancy and the others? You might like them if you give them a chance.’

‘... Fine, I'll try,’ he acquiesces.

You raise a hand to your mouth to cover a yawn. A far more comfortable silence falls over the room, and you start to feel sleep overtake you.

‘... Hey, Mark?’

‘Yeah?’

‘We're still partners.’

If nothing else, you hope this will reassure him.

‘...Ok. Sweet dreams, partner.’

[skyfallscotland]

So this has been in my head all day and I just had to get it out. I don't know if I'll just leave it here or uh...yeah. @justallihere I want you to know you're taking FULL responsibility for this nonsense. This is your fault 🫡

(consider this some AU world where Tyrrendor successfully seceded years ago, Xaden is king, and they have their own riders academy but Tairn still bonded Violet because he lives to make Xaden's life difficult, also...violet/cam/liam has a certain appeal to it...no, someone stop me)

“You know you can enjoy yourself while you’re here.” Violet Sorrengail says judgementally. “If you’re forced to follow me around, you may as well have some fun.” 

“I’m not forced to follow you around.” He replies immediately, shifting on his feet as his eyes scan the dark tavern, noting each of the patrons lingering by the bar. It’s true he’s not. His brother had asked and he had accepted. It’s the least he can do while they try and figure out how to deal with this—the mess that Tairn has caused, bonding a rider from Navarre.

“Sure you’re not.” There’s that judgemental tone again.

“Perhaps I just enjoy your company.” He tosses back, a hint of flirtation in his voice. Violet eyes his boyish grin before snorting, shaking her head as she picks up her drink—some sweet-looking lavender concoction. 

“And if I decide to enjoy someone else’s?” She challenges, a hint of conceit in her voice as she leans around him, nodding her head. “Like maybe Prince Cam’s? He’s been watching me since we got here.”

Liam’s head whips around and he instinctively moves to the side, shielding Violet’s body with his own as his eyes search out Navarre’s third prince. It takes a moment to find him, shrouded in darkness where he sits in the far corner of the tavern, boot on his knee as he nurses a glass of bourbon, his posture unnervingly relaxed. 

He can’t quite make out the other man’s eyes across the room, but he knows from memory they’re a deep forest green, just like the rest of his family. “Yeah, totally fine with it.” Violet says sarcastically, drawing his attention back to her. She looks pointedly at his torso and the way it’s shifted automatically to shield her from the prince’s view. 

“I’m not forced to do anything.” He insists, dragging his attention back to their conversation. “But I am here to keep you safe and that,” he shifts his eyes back to Cam, “is not safe for you—not anymore.” 

It’s entirely out of her control—out of all theirs—but Violet Sorrengail is now the key to taking down Tyrrendor, so regardless of how she might feel about it, he’s going to protect her and that means not going anywhere near Navarrian royalty. “I’ll go and see what he wants.” Liam says sternly, his hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder. “Go back to your friends.” 

Her jaw tightens and she opens her mouth like she might protest, but clearly thinks better of it. “Fine.” She rolls her eyes, swiping up her drink and turning on her heel. She tosses one final glance over her shoulder towards the dark corner the subject of their conversation is in, but otherwise doesn’t falter, storming back over to her squad.

He watches, waiting for her to be safely ensconced between Rhiannon and Ridoc before striding slowly to the other side of the tavern, moving easily through the Saturday evening revelry until he’s standing over a man he’s only ever seen in passing.

“Liam Mairi.” The prince’s lips tick up. He drags his eyes up over Liam’s frame as the blond rider does the same. He’s sprawled out in the chair, relaxed as could be, his knees slightly spread as he takes a long draw of liquor. “Come to threaten me away from Sorrengail?” 

“You know who I am.” It’s half statement, half question. 

“I made it my business to know.” He taps his fingers on the table in front of him. “A Tyrrish citizen attending Basgiath War College? That sort of news travels fast.” 

Liam crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

Cam’s lips tick up like that’s something amusing. “Many things.” He pauses for a moment, studying Liam’s face. “Where’s your king?” 

Liam tenses. “In Aretia. Obviously.” He tries to appear as relaxed as the prince in front of him, but he’s certain he fails. “Xaden has a country to run, unlike…some.” His tone is mocking, challenging in a way he should probably refrain from, given his status as a diplomatic representative. 

“Yes, it’s terrible being third in line. I really detest having all this free time to do whatever I like, truly.” He downs the rest of the bourbon in his glass, dropping it onto the table. “Tell me, does she know?” He climbs to his feet, circling around the table slowly, like a predator. “Do you plan on filling her in? After all, it’s only fair given the danger it puts her in—being bound to your king.”

“She doesn’t know.” Liam lowers his voice threateningly, “and you’re not going to tell her.” Blue meet forest green in a fierce glare. “Interesting that you do though,” he moves closer until there’s only an inch or two separating them. “I guess that means you’re just like the rest of your family—happy to sit back and watch the world burn.” 

That gets a reaction out of him, the younger man stepping forward with a snarl on his lips. “You know nothing about me.” He looks up into Liam’s eyes. “You riders always think yourselves so superior to everyone else.” His voice drops to a low murmur, barely audible over the revelry of the tavern. “Just because I’m not flying around on the back of a dragon, doesn’t mean I’m doing nothing.”

He’s slightly shorter than Liam but just as well built and when he steps further into the blond’s space, Liam can’t help but look. His sandy brown hair is immaculately styled, his clothes are clean and pressed, and when he glances down even the man’s boots shine. It’s obvious he doesn’t belong here but…there’s something in the way the other man holds himself—with a spine of steel—that stirs something within him. That same steel is reflected in his eyes. 

“So what are you doing?” He murmurs, the corner of his lips quirking up mockingly. “What’s your plan to help fight a war your family would stop at nothing to keep quiet?” Cam’s jaw is clenched, like he’s fighting to keep something in, rather than speak his mind. Almost against his will, Liam’s hand rises, his fingers sliding over the scruff on the other man’s jawline as he cups it gently. “All that power and what do you have to show for it?”

Cam’s lips part, his eyes roving over the blond’s face. “Nothing I can talk about here.” His green eyes are hard, unflinching as he tilts his head, pressing his cheek into Liam’s hand.

“Are you asking to get me alone?” The Tyrr’s lips curve up in a smirk.

“Would you like that?” The prince fires back.

He would actually. The shock of that revelation has him faltering, his usually unflappable composure dissipating as he stares down at the slow, arrogant smile spreading across full pink lips. 

“Tell your king I want to speak to him, Mairi.” The younger man whispers, reaching up to lace his fingers through Liam’s before removing the blond’s hand from his face. It feels like it takes an eternity for their hands to separate, his fingers sliding purposefully over Liam’s own. “Whenever that dragon of his drags him back here.” The prince turns to leave, his torso brushing Liam’s as he slides past him, far too close for it to be considered accidental. 

“And where will you be until then?” Liam enquires, his eyes dark.

Cam looks over his shoulder, a smirk on his lips. “I’ll be around.” He disappears into the crowd, going unnoticed by the rest of the taverns patrons and Liam watches him go, a dangerous, terrible curiosity stirring in his chest. 

He remains frozen for a moment, unmoving until a flash of silver catches his eye and he shakes it off, striding across the floor to rejoin his new squad.

“That looked like it went well.” There’s laughter in Violet Sorrengail’s voice and a hint of arrogance as she ribs him. “I’m glad you took care of it.” A sarcastic grin slides over her face as she lifts her drink to her lips. “I’m fine here if you need to take care of anything else.”

He stares at her, unimpressed. “Very funny.”

“Mhmm.” She hums, her eyes dancing with mischief. “First time with a man?” This woman is entirely too smart for her own good and it’s only going to cause him more and more headaches as time goes on, he just knows it. 

“I’m not into men.” He shuts her down. 

“You’re a consummate flirt, Liam Mairi.” She laughs. “I refuse to believe that.” 

But he’s not lying. Consummate flirt he may be, but he’s never been interested in anyone of the male gender…until now. Liam knows himself and his own mind well. He’s not into men, but Navarre’s third prince and his quiet arrogance, his ridiculously green eyes and the way his skin feels beneath Liam’s hands? That…that he may be into. 

Shit. 

[leggerefiore]

Okay I know you've said you aren't really into Giovanni but just an idea that's been rolling around in my head sometimes I think the idea that Nanu's partner was with Giovanni before is funny (or vice versa) because I like to imagine one finding out and just being like "ah you've got a type" aka older men with Persians even if it's just an accident on their partner's fault Also as I wrote this I just imagined Nanu and his partner spiderman pointing meme at each other like "...how do you know Giovanni"

cw: nondescript references to sex,

relationship: Nanu/Reader, implied Giovanni/Reader

“… What do you mean that you had a one-night stand with the head of Team Rocket,” Nanu cocked a brow up from his place on the couch. He had been watching television vacantly while petting a Meowth. Some news flash had occurred, which brought your attention to it, too. A familiar logo was shown on the screen alongside an apparent takeover of the Aether Foundation. The old man planned on ignoring it and waiting it out, but you had apparently recalled something.

As much as he wanted to feign surprise, he supposed he should not play dumb. Giovanni was well-travelled and had a bit of streak. His time as an Elite officer in the International Police had garnered him a few connections. Most officers struggled with negotiations with Giovanni, but Nanu was fully aware of how to deal with those types. “You really aren't his normal type,” Nanu continued, leaning back. You seemed surprised by his words.

“How do you know Giovanni?” The question was heavy in the world. He only responded with a deadpan look. It should have been obvious. You were aware of his previous work. Looked had made sure of that when he paid a visit to Po town police station.

“… I'd ask the same of you,” he tilted his head. You blanked for a moment. Nanu did truly debate it for a moment. Were you a powerful trainer? It was a sure-fire method to encounter him. He seriously doubted you were a member of Team Rocket, but he supposed that was not impossible. Did you like to gamble? There was that casino Giovanni had owned as a front in Kanto. “Is it a common thing for you to go after older men with Persians?” he finally asked.

You blanked again. Well… It was not as if there was not an appeal to older men, but you were not sure that having a Persian was a necessary prerequisite. Though, thinking on it, there were some other traits that seemed to link the two, even if it was not so strong. “Uh… maybe,” you replied to his question. Nanu fought back a chuckle. Well, not overly surprising. “Hey, shouldn't you and Looker do something for what's happening at the Aether Foundation, then,” you decided to change the topic.

“No,” he leaned back, “Not my job.”

You wanted to sigh.

Well, why not go yourself, you thought. Maybe it would be nice to run into Giovanni again.

~

“What do you mean that you are dating Nanu?” The Rocket Boss seemed bewildered when you showed up within the depths of the mansion he had taken over. Certainly, he had recalled a previous “relationship” between him and you. Well, he supposed an alternate version for you, but a you nonetheless. Clearly, you were a more than capable trainer to have got through not only his grunts, but the many other organisation leaders that he had brought here. Then, you start a conversation immediately with that.

“I don't know,” you shrugged, “He implied I have a type because I mentioned that we fucked once.” Giovanni hummed. Well… Nanu certainly was not dissimilar to him, but he would not say their overlapping traits were more than their differences. Though, he did find the information that Nanu was around fascinating. Had he helped you? His eyes narrowed.

“Uh, also I'm here to stop you,” you pulled out a pokeball, “Before you ask, I'm not interested.”

“… Interested in having an affair or joining Team Rocket?” he tilted his head. Might as well try. Perhaps you could be convinced to either and get out of his way for just long enough to finish his work. Whatever it took to satiate you… And still possibly convince you to join his group would be preferred.

“Both,” you shrugged, “Nanu is better than you, sorry to say.”

Well, that pissed Giovanni off. Now he really had to put you in your place.

Nanu could only ask later what you did and why.

[stardustprompts]

thirteen ghosts  sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw ;  language , blood , death

'oh, bad! that's one way to describe it. uh, 'insane' seems a little more appropriate.'

'it is my professional opinion that we should get the hell out of here. now!'

'I just need to take the edge off.'

'careful, (name). don't get too curious.'

'who are you to play god?'

'playing's for children.'

'I thought you were psychic.'

'that's not how it works and you know it!'

'perhaps we'll meet again in another life.'

'you crazy son of a bitch, what did you do?'

'you're being paranoid and overprotective.'

'I know this is gonna sound completely whacked, alright? but I need you to stay with me.'

'don't laugh at me.'

'not so fast, you gotta cater to my ego first.'

'don't touch me.'

'how's your head?'

'they're kids, what'd you expect?'

'just this once, don't argue with me.'

'what part of that code are you having trouble cracking?'

'I don't see any ghosts.'

'I want you to do me a favor and stop with all the haunted house nonsense. okay?'

'you don't have to scream, alright? just ... chill.'

'no, I don't think we should split up.'

'I told you, I can't see any ghosts.'

'it's a ghost! just like I've been saying all night.'

'there are ghosts around us all the time. most of them, they can't hurt is. most of them don't wanna hurt us. but there are exceptions.'

'there's no such thing as ghosts.'

'don't speak. don't move.'

'I don't think you should be teasing the ghost.'

'it looks to me like I'm saving your ass.'

'if you want help, you gotta help me first.'

'can I rely on you not to get me killed?'

'what the hell are you doing here?!'

'stop dragging your ass, man!'

'you got something to say, say it.'

'let's start with this is all your goddamn fault!'

'if you haven't noticed, I'm a little bit of a freak!'

'I touch somebody, and a whole life full of shit just flashes in front of my eyes!'

'so yeah, I'm depraved. and (name) was my friend and he accepted me!'

'he didn't accept you, you're pathetic! he used you!'

'god, I've been trying to help you.'

'love is the most powerful energy.'

'I don't read latin.'

'it doesn't add up. it doesn't make any sense. there's gotta be a better way.'

'how much of this equation makes any sense at all?'

'I sure as hell hope I don't bleed to death, 'cuz that would suck.'

'why are you so mad at me? I did everything you asked me to do.'

'you're not mad at me, are you?'

'I've been looking for a reason to like myself for a long time.'

'greatness requires sacrifice.'

'I'm nothing without you.'

'the world has no time for little people like you. it needs people who are willing to do anything for greatness.'

'I am sick of this nanny shit.'

'this was not in the job description. I quit!'

[cosmerelists]

Support Groups that are Needed in the Cosmere

[Spoilers throughout!]

Sure, Kaladin has invented therapy, but where are the highly specific, timeline-blind, Cosmere-spanning support groups that our heroes desperately need? Support groups like...

1. "My Parental Figure Tried to Murder Me and all I Got was this Stupid Trauma."

Vin: You grow up thinking your mom tried to kill you, but it turns out she was just spiking you to be controlled for an evil god. Vin: Not better. Charlie: Oh man, that's horrible! My dad just sent me to an evil sorceress he thought would kill me because I was just that embarrassing to him. Wax: My uncle, who raised me, tried to blow me up with my own butler! And that was just, like, the first murder attempt. Shallan (sweating): I really thought there'd be more "and I killed them back" by now.

2. "Kin-Killers Club Support Group"

Wax: Kin-Killer's...Club? Shallan: I thinks someone thought the alliteration would be jolly before realizing that this group probably shouldn't be. Raboniel: Some would claim that "kin-killing" must be specifically a blood relative, like a daughter, rather than a spouse. Dalinar: ...should I go? Wax: No, no, I think wives definitely count as family! Vin: How do we feel about in-laws? Father-in-law? Brother-in-law? Shallan: Hey, it's all trauma. Kaladin: What if you didn't kill your brother exactly but you feel like it's definitely your fault and the guilt eats you alive? Wax: Yeah, nixing the jolly alliteration was definitely a good idea.

3. "I Did Not Enjoy Being Enslaved"

Kaladin: I think, for me, the worst part was that by the time I had fallen that low, I kinda felt like I deserved it. For not protecting people. Kaladin: I think that's why I kept my slave brands for so long. Rlain: I never thought I deserved it. None of my people did. Crow: Hey, why is this group's name in the past tense? Some of us are STILL enslaved to the big stupid dragon, you know!

4. "Dead Brother Gang"

Kaladin: Uh, Shallan? Is it awkward to have me here? Shallan: Eh, it's okay. Narratively, I got over you killing my brother really quickly! Shallan: Sorry he killed, like, all of your friends. Kaladin: I think that's trauma for a different support group. Shallan: Ha ha yeah! I've been to so many it's hard to keep track. Jasnah: If the two of you are finished, perhaps the rest of us could also talk about our deceased brothers now? Llarimar: Uh, is it okay if our brother died but then later came back to life? His death was still, like, very sad. Marsh: Of course. Even brothers who don't remain dead can be grieved. Marsh: ...Sometimes they manage to annoy you more.

5. "Horses Suck So Much--Why Doesn't Anyone Else See It?"

Kaladin: ... Vin: ... Kaladin: Vin: ... Kaladin: I really thought we'd get more people. Vin: Me too!

6. "Killed Off For Another Character's Development"

Evi: I know my death gave my husband such a powerful backstory but...it would have been nice to be in the main narrative. Vin's mom: Hey, at least you got a name. Parlin: It sucks, but it must be nice that you were grieved, at least! Parlin: People are like, why was Parlin even a character? Kelsier: (sighs) Yeah, our deaths may help the main character grow...but at what cost? Evi (low voice): Are we sure he qualifies?

7. "I Really Thought That Guy Was Cool and then He Almost Murdered Me and I Felt Kind of Stupid"

Vivenna: Turns out you CAN'T trust mercenaries, even if they seem jolly. Shallan: Some men who bring you jam and bread are...bad. Siri: Even nerds can be evil. Hrathen: Sometimes the crazed, violence-prone, deeply unstable underling you think you can control for your own purposes turns out to be crazy, violent, unstable, and murderous. Vivenna: ... Shallan: ... Siri: ... Hrathen: What?

7. "Wronged By Hoid"

Kelsier: Ugh, that jerk. Punched me in the face. Sigzil: Abandoned me in the Bridge Crew. Not to mention that I have to run forever now, thanks to him. Jasnah: "Wronged" is perhaps strong, but I will say that he is not the ideal boyfriend. Riina: That son-of-bitch kicked me off of a perfectly fine planet! Amarem: He was quite rude to me, once. Or many times. Hoid: It's all so true. I get myself into SO much trouble sometimes. Hoid: Is there any greater victim of Hoid...than Hoid himself? Kelsier: YOU CAN'T BE HERE

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

(fascinated by the choices made between books and show so I gotta study them like bugs under a microscope. Spoilers for the whole show and the books)

Season 1 episode 6 [Like Angels Put In Hell By God] - part 1/2

- [Louis] "Excruciating pain was the proof I was still alive." - that's one way of confirming proof of life.

- [Daniel] "'He could fly?' [Louis] 'Yes.' [Daniel] 'Like Superman?' [Louis] 'Not like Superman. Superman is a fictional character.' [Daniel] 'But in the air, with a 'fuck you to Newtonian physics' flying?' [Louis] 'He said it was more like floating, arising at will, propelling in a direction by the decision. He called it the cloud gift.'"

Love how Louis is adamant in pointing the difference between Lestat and Superman: one's fictional, the other is very much real. No fiction here, no sir-e. And hello canon callback, the Cloud Gift.

- [Daniel]"That's the voice of Doctor Fareed Bhansali." - EXCUSE ME. WHAT. WHO. HOW. WHAT. Filed under things that mean nothing to the non-book readers but will make the book readers lose their minds.

- [Louis] "Are you still dreaming about our first meeting, Daniel?" - I'm gonna go ahead and say, yeah, from what we know of that meeting now, that's definitely the stuff of dreams. Bad dreams, that is.

- [Daniel] "Can you fly, Louis?" - helloooo PTSD.

- [Louis] "I suppose he thought if he exposed all his power to me, I would never feel his equal and the relationship would suffer." -… Correct me if I'm wrong but isn't that exactly what it came to be? Also, in book canon, Lestat doesn't like using the Cloud Gift. It's very tied in with Akasha and the abuse he goes through at her hands, and he resents that loss of control and bigger divide between him and humanity.

[Daniel] "'He only beat me the one time, Officer. It's not his fault.' Classic Stockholm, eh, Doc?" - still tripping over the fact that THAT'S Doctor Fareed, oh shit, 1, he's hot, 2, THAT'S FAREED BHANSALI. Oh, and also, Daniel is right and he should say it. But also he doesn't have all the facts, which are 1, we love Lestat, 2, one murder attempt kinda makes up for it, they're even now, and 3, "memory is a beast".

- [Louis] "Are we the sum of our worst moments? Can we be forgiven if we do not forgive others ourselves?" - THIS. I don't have more comments, just this, so much.

- Oof. Welcome to physical therapy. As a vampire, that must be excruciating.

- [Louis] "'If you ever wanna talk about what happened to you while you were gone, you know you can, right?' [Claudia] 'Uh-huh.' [Louis] 'Or you could just tell me his name, write it on a scrap of paper.' [Claudia] 'You gonna be my knight in vengeful black?' [Louis] 'I am the knight.'" >> 80 years later, "I own the night", we love character development when the seeds are planted from the beginning. And puns, we love puns too.

- [Lestat] "The Book of Hours, extremely rare, 15th century. Silver and gold in the vellum, palettes of blue and old rose." - I want that book so bad… Ahem. I mean, nope, forgiveness will not be bought by gifts, no matter how impressive or expensive.

- [Lestat] "Perhaps we should let him decide if he wants to see me or not." - I think the coffin flying out of the window is a very clear answer.

- You know what, I'm ready to incorporate in my belief system that Emily Dickinson is a vampire. After all, s2 already said Samuel Beckett is. Let's add the Brönte sisters to the list too. Not the Austens tho, I don't think so.

- I love how mature Claudia looks in that hairdo.

- [Lestat] "I'm nothing without both of you." - sweetie, you need to grow an independent self.

- [Louis] "For six years in all, these raw and desperate mea culpas came like the tide. And for six years, they were greeted with silence or fire. We burned more gifts than bodies in that decade, but they would not stop coming. And Lestat's relentless determination began to crack my considerable armor. Perhaps it was the modesty of the gesture. But in the spring of 1937, one broke through."

If they were real people, I'd say" girl, no, run, stop". But the beauty of fictional characters is that the more messed up, the more compelling, and I am on the edge of my seat getting ready for Lestat to come crawling back and for Louis to fall even harder.

- Aaaaaaaaaah, Lestat singing!!!! Rockstar Lestat wheeeeeeeeeeeeeen.

- [Louis] "The audacity of it all was matched only by its sincerity" - that's the definition of Lestat, that here.

- [Louis] "Six years of begging, you think a song's gonna get a rise out of me?" -… Babe, you just swam the Mississipi and broke down a door, I'd say he managed it.

Also, hello again, Sam Reid's training routine. Man, that chest.

[Louis] "Write me a song and put your lover's voice in it?" - I don't know if I wanna applaud Lestat's boldness or rip his heart out for his casual cruelty.

Sorry Antoinette, nobody ever holds a candle to Louis in Lestat's eyes…

- [Daniel] "'You took Lestat back.' [Louis] 'The vampire bond. There is no human equivalent.' [Daniel] 'Lover, murderer, maker. You took him back.' [Louis] 'It's a bond than can never be fully severed. A bond like that makes you believe there's only the two of you on the planet.'"

Daniel Molloy season 1: giiiirl he's abusive and violent and a cheating liar, why would you take him back?

Daniel Molloy season 2: never mind, better the guy who loves you and would have died to save you even though he's the one that broke you than the psycho besides you who's been lying for 80 years and is the reason your daughter's dead, I am now the number one Loustat defender.

Mate, same.

- I am absolutely mesmerised by Louis's eyes in this episode. Oh, boy, how is he so, so beautiful.

- "His name was Magnus. He took me from my room in Paris, as I kicked and screamed. He kept me for a week, locked in a room full of corpses - some freshly killed, some bloated and black. But they all looked like me - my coloring, my physique. My own eyes staring back at me from rotting faces. He fed on me every night. And then he put me back in the tower with the look-alike corpses. I thought for sure I'd be one of them, but instead he turned me into this. No grand history of vampiric origins or physiology, no rules, no counsel. Just a sweeping hand to a pile of money and the sight of him throwing himself into a fire. And then I was alone. I thought… 'I can't drink hot blood. I can't feed on others.' I cried. I called to God. I didn't want this. But I have a capacity for enduring. It's why I don't particularly like being abandoned."

Aah, this is such a fascinating moment. Lestat is trying so hard to remain impassive and neutral, but his voice wavers all through the story, and his gaze is distant and clouded when he recounts the worst parts, his fear, his loneliness. And then Louis looking at him with so much compassion and so much pain, fully empathising, and Claudia, even though she also feels some modicum of pity, immediately looking to Louis and seeing that he's fully back to loving Lestat, and for his sake, for his sake only, she agrees to Lestat coming back… Beautiful.

And then when you think about Lestat's origins as a vampire (and we haven't even touched on his human history because damn that part too is hard), enduring is really his main trait. He's a survivor. In every meaning of the word. Survivor of rape, because that's what his turning is, survivor of several types of abuse going back all the way to his childhood, survivor of his own demons,… As Louis said, are we the sum of our worst moments? In Lestat's case, I feel like the answer is clearly "no. We are the sum of how much we're trying. We mess up at times, we fail, we hurt each other - but we keep trying our best and we keep trying to stay true to ourselves and we make amends and we recognise our faults".

A pause, here. Breathe. And then onto part 2.

episode 1 | episode 2 | episode 3 | episode 4 | episode 5 | part 2 | episode 7