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

[bravevolunteer-a]

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

[maopll]

"Haha...well I definitely didn't think this through.."

"I can see..."

The situation you are in should be embarrassing for most people. But lil' ol' you here have been possibly the biggest fan for the one you are stuck here with. The good side of you says this is wrong while the bad side is just....'hell yeah'

"It's momentary...trust me! I bet we can figure a way out"

You look around the small and tight escape room. Above was the trapdoor with a little space left, just enough for air and light to enter. It would be fun, they said. Your current predicament says otherwise...not that you're complaining.

"We cannot stay stuck like this with eachother forever. Perhaps you'd have an idea on how to get out." His eyes hadn't met yours during the whole ordeal. Was he embarrassed ?!

"I uhh....Maybe if we shout?" You shout quite loudly for 'help'...fortunately for you no one came

"Heh, guess you're stuck with me forever...can I rest my head?" "...Yes..."

And so it turns into a different seven minutes in heaven session. You noticed how he was more frantic than usual. Was it because your bodies were practically pressing eachother and it was harder to ignore this feeling? Bingo.

Through the faint light coming in, you saw how his cheeks had flushes a pretty shade of pink. His heart too was beating quite loudly since you could hear it because you laid your head close to his chest. You smile to yourself 'thank god, I think he likes me'

....

"Oh my god how did you two end up here?!"

Your friend shrieks as they pull you two up from the narrow space. "That would be my fault I didn't see the trapdoor" you chime as they removed dust and debris from your hair.

"Wait wait I gotta say something to him" you pause your friend's movement and give a small wink, an inside code for the fine shyt.

"So uh... after today's events, would you like to have a little coffee afterwards? My treat!"

He was a little taken aback, with your sudden request, but as he finally realised what you meant by that, he won't admit it but his insides felt a little giddy. A small smile forming at the thought of the next moment.

"We can do that. Wanna hang out at my house sometime?"

© 2024 maopll. do not copy, repost or modify my work in any form

[winterbunz]

@sir-kettle-of-countertop you ask and you shall receive!! I've been thinking about Wolke quite a bit, mostly in context of Kratzer, but you inspired me to think about this specific dynamic a little more.

Just a small naming update before I proceed: since I've been using Turmfalke and Kestrel interchangeably for her, Kestrel shall be the nickname for the unit in my main story. That should make things easier going forward when I inevitably end up making more of them :]

With that out of the way, onto the fun part! We will indeed see them interacting together... in fact, you may do so right HERE! 👇👇

(image transcript in description if hard to read)

Aren't they adorable? And, uh oh, who might that mysterious Eule be? More yapping below!!

Wolke can very much be considered part of the hospital staff at this point, since she's stationed there much more often than not. Aside from the practical benefits of having a much taller, combat-ready unit around, a predictable routine builds security - it's good for reducing stress in both the staff and anyone staying at the hospital for their recovery. Why change something that works?

Thanks to this, Wolke has gained a little bit of medical experience and formed bonds not only with the Eules, but also, if not more importantly, Kestrel. Kestrel very much appreciates that routine and Wolke herself, for her personality. She's easier to talk to than most Stars - still fairly reserved but more chatty and expressive, although she tends to have her head in the clouds... perhaps that explains the nickname. The influence the company of Eules has had on her also makes Kestrel feel a bit more comfortable around her, less nervous to give her specific orders which she has permission to do.

Wolke holds a lot of respect for Kestrel; she can understand the hardships of her job well through observation, admires her dedication, and is just simply grateful for everything she does for the Replikas in the facility especially. She even salutes Kestrel when accepting a given task or when they greet each other at the start of the shift. Kestrel never asked her to do this and she doesn't hold a military rank that would warrant that sort of formality... it's just one of the Star's mannerisms and it's kind of cute, actually.

That is to say, Kestrel is not exempt from Wolke's teasing and flirting. It's pure entertainment, making their medic all flustered, watching her face turn bright pink as she tries to hide it... if the Eules do it, why can't she? It's not her fault that some models aren't immune to a Star's killer smile-and-wink combo. She tries not to be too distracting - Kestrel already has her whole entourage taking care of that, it's quite enough for one easily-overwhelmed unit. However, she's more than eager to help fetch stuff from higher shelves for her... or pick her up so she can grab it herself. Perhaps someone else has given her a green light on that idea, someone who knows Kestrel better than anyone else...

And who could that be, you ask? A somewhat familiar face, which finally has a name and more solid features. Meet Kirsche, one of the facility's nurses and Kestrel's assistant, emotional support, maybe even her... girlfriend?? Replika yuri on MY blog? It's more likely than you think! Find out more in a dedicated post, coming to your Sektor's dashboard soon!!

Thank you so much to everyone who managed to get all the way down here and thank you once again Kettle for the idea to write about them, as well as pretty much inspiring me to draw this!!

[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.

[radioactivepeasant]

Surprise Snippet Sunday (Part One)

(Father's Day silliness. For context, this comes from an au I haven't posted, where Spargus invaded Haven at the end of Jak 2. Someone tipped off Damas about the time loop, but they'd initially expected Jak to be older because he got through the Tomb. First face-to-face meeting didn't go over well, Jak just came off a week of 80% of the adults in his life betraying him. Also features @sparguscityangel 's character, Ru (first seen in Over Haven's Wall) and her family, who Jak crashes with sometimes because Abuela said he wasn't going to stay outside and Abuela is Always Right)

(Ru and Jak have encountered Damas in the boiler room of the old Westside Hotel, working with Vin to restore water filters in the slums)

Damas shifted on the ladder and looked down at the computer.

"Alright, Vin. Let's see if that's got it."

Under his breath he muttered,

"And if it didn't, I have an excuse to stay down here longer."

"You need an excuse?" asked Jak incredulously.

"Kid-" Damas made a face and corrected himself. "Jak, I either fix something or go kill something, and the latter is not conducive to relief efforts."

"How long are your people going to be here?"

Jak wondered if he needed to start planning for when the Wastelanders left and there was no one to keep these changes from coming undone.

"We stay," Damas quietly replied, "until I feel I can trust this territory with a regent. I stay until I am able to leave this place with my son."

Uncomfortable, Jak pushed his hood back and rubbed his face.

"Look-"

Why couldn't he have had Daxter here? Daxter would've known what to say.

"I...don't know you. It's not like...your fault, but-"

This was a strange concession to make, and this warlord probably wouldn't appreciate it if he knew Jak was doing it out of pity.

"Man, I can't even be in rooms without windows too long before I have to run. Gonna be a while before new faces stop making me nervous."

Damas immediately clocked a very important detail in the confession.

"You're not going to be in here long, are you?"

Jak tried to ignore that undercurrent of pain in the man's voice. The guilt swam up from the depths of his mind, ready to sink its claws into handholds long drilled into place by Samos. The need to reassure an adult, be their protector. Sacrifice his own feelings of security or mental health to spare the feelings of someone older.

Part of him was trying to tell him to stay. To give up and let this stranger tell him what to do because that's what heros did, they listened to their elders.

Jak wasn't that obedient little kid anymore. He was his own man, and even if he felt bad for Sig's friend, he wasn't going to set himself on fire to keep a stranger warm. Not anymore.

"Yeah, this room's...not great." Jak shrugged. "Also me and Ru were kind of trying to get some food when your buddies showed up, so."

Damas grimaced. "I apologize. And I'm...sorry about the ambush. Before, I mean. Sig was near frantic by that point."

"Okay yeah, you know what," Jak frowned. "What was all that with "training" and "Federation law" or whatever it was you said?"

Damas leaned over the ladder, seeming to ignore Jak's question at first.

"Well, Vin?"

"Not operating at 100%, but sediment levels are 90% lower than before!" the data ghost called happily.

"Well, that's one thing to go right today, at least," Damas remarked. He groaned and climbed down the ladder before looking up at Jak.

"That is a...difficult thing to explain without getting long-winded, I'm afraid. Perhaps the next time I see you, circumstances will be more accommodating for longer conversations."

The next time.

He wasn't going to stop Jak from leaving.

Part surrender, part leap of faith.

And partly a recognition of a need Jak had expressed.

"Uh...okay." Jak slid down off the pipes and side stepped to Ru. He firmly ignored the raised eyebrow he got when he laced his fingers through hers.

"Oh- wait!"

Damas held up a hand suddenly.

"There was a reason I still had people looking for you-"

He knelt to poke around in a shadowy recess beneath the pipes a moment before coming up with a familiar weapon.

"Sig wasn't fast enough to give this back to you that night -- and I was in no state to even remember it existed. But you shouldn't be tearing around a city like this unarmed."

Jak blinked. All that fuss and chasing...to give him his gun back?

As though he were reading Jak's thoughts, Damas grimaced and held the gun out, stock first.

"To a Wastelander, your weapon is an extension of yourself. A new module reflects a new skill learned or a new experience survived."

The grimace became a bittersweet smile.

"You've...already earned all three of the traditional ones. Says a lot about you."

"Says I have to fight a lot," Jak grumbled.

"And," Damas replied, "it tells me that you're a survivor. A weapon like this isn't the kind of thing you trust to a random individual to take back to its owner. It needed to be done in-person."

"You could've just said that," Jak pointed out. It was hypocritical, and he knew it. He was no paragon of "talk before you act" himself.

Damas rubbed his forehead -- wincing slightly when he touched the red spot where he'd slammed into the pipe. "If I may speak in my own defense," he said with the slightest touch of humor, "there has been a lot going on."

Jak was quiet for several uncomfortable seconds, just staring at him. Then he shrugged and took the gun back.

"Fair enough, I guess."

Damas watched them start to look for the path back to the door with a barely disguised sadness.

"Be-"

Jak turned his head with a questioning look, and Damas winced.

"Be careful out there. Stay out of the Fortress area."

"I'm fine." Jak squeezed Ru's hand a little tighter. "I know every street and passage in this hellhole. They've never caught me yet."

"You don't know every passage," Damas scoffed, and a bit of the sadness left him.

"And I suppose you do," Jak retorted, rather rashly. The grin he got in response confirmed it.

"No you don't. City's changed," he argued.

Damas’s grin got wider. "I can get to the Underport without going through the flooded section."

"Bull!" Jak snorted.

Now the man was starting to remind him of Sig a little more. There were worse things.

Damas studied him for a second, then muffled a snort.

"Tell you what, kid: pick a day. You beat me to the Underport, I have to show you the secret way in and out. If I beat you, you have to explain the orange guy."

"Wh- Daxter?"

Damas turned slightly, and Jak and Ru just barely heard him mutter, "I knew his name wasn't Chili!"

Ru and Jak exchanged glances. Well, he wasn't stopping them. And he was letting Jak set the terms for their next encounter. That was more than most people gave him.

"Alright, fine." Jak folded his arms and raised his chin. "When I pick a day, you'll know."

"And how, exactly, will I know?"

This time it was Jak who had the ominous grin. One Samos and Torn had long since learned to fear.

"Trust me. You'll know."

[baronessvonglitter]

Star-Crossed

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader | WC: 2K

Summary: On a shoot in Italy, Dieter has one of the worst weeks of his life. Perhaps one unselfish act can turn all that around..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Language. Alcohol drinking. Mentions of drugs. Allusions to smut/possible mmf threesome. Accidental flashing. Duo the Owl is its own warning. Dieter goes commando because I say so. Burglary. Dumpster-diving. More stealing. Dieter's having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Mention of a fire. Salmonella is yet another warning on its own. Sickness (obviously). Reader is gender neutral and not described apart from having an accent. No use of y/n. Not beta'd so don't come for me. A very special thanks to V in the notes ❤️

A/n: this is my submission for the Italian music challenge hosted by my dear friend @itwasntimethatdidit40. Big thanks to her for assisting with some Italian phrasing 🙌🏼 This was such a lovely and interesting challenge and thank you so much for being patient with me.

I chose to write for Dieter because I've never written him before, and I was given the song "Giudizi Universali" by Samuele Bersani:

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

FULL MASTERLIST

The paparazzi now has photos of Dieter's cock, and it's all the song's fault.

The last thing he remembers are the purple lights, neon and sharp overhead as sweat runs down his neck. They blink in a crazy rhythm, every other second bathing the room in a dim violet glow before going out quickly to black, and back again.

He's dancing at full speed, doing everything at full speed the way Dieter Bravo just does. The beautiful young woman dancing with him swivels her body so lusciously that it almost tempts him away from the beautiful young man she's with. She shouts something over the music, leaning in closer when he can't hear her the first time. Her lips graze the shell of his ear.

"Balli come una scimmia!" she says laughingly.

Dieter forces his own laugh, his gaze flicking to her partner. "Uh, what did she say?"

"She says you dance like a monkey!" The young man shouts back, still dancing, his neck and chest giving off a sheen of sweat.

"Well that's not very nice, is it?" He starts to doubt himself and his dancing ability. No one has ever said anything about his ungainly dancing. The innocuous comment starts to sour his night, so he orders another round of drinks.

The vodka flows freely that night, and Dieter remembers being grateful that some words, especially alcohol-related ones, are universal.

He remembers nothing more, waking up just past noon, in between the young woman and her boyfriend, wearing nothing below the waist. His mouth is dry and he wants a cigarette. Even better, some ketamine. Like he always does, he procured a dealer just as quickly as he was on the ground at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport.

With a grunt he pushes himself out of bed, nearly toppling over the young man, his weight falling on his supine body. Unfortunately Dieter's cock is more awake than his brain, and responds eagerly to the stimuli of being between the young man's legs.

"Give me a break, we don't have time for that now," he mutters, getting off the bed and taking a moment to stretch. He goes to the window and, shielding his eyes, tries to get an idea of where exactly he is in this city.

He can see his hotel sign on the other side of town, and he groans. The thought of having to hoof it is not one he wants to entertain. His host and hostess were the ones to kindly walk him to their place tonight, chattering away in the musical Italian tongue he'd bothered to learn just a little of while here on the shoot.

A historical soap opera set in the 1880s, Dieter plays an evil count, hellbent on taking over his estranged brother's wealth. The role is basically a softball for him. His agent wants him to acclimatize himself to foreign fans. And so far he's done just that. If you consider fucking them to be acclimatization.

He's here for the next few months and he plans to take advantage of all that. But first he needs to get hold of some Special K.

He grabs his phone from the back pocket of his pants, hung haphazardly over the vanity mirror, and he thinks about taking a selfie. Not to post, of course. But his Face ID isn't working, and his passcode seems to be incorrect.

Too late he hears a crowd gathering below, and still in his sluggish state, he frowns, peering down out the window to see a group of people, some holding cameras, most holding smartphones. And they're all taking pictures of him. He smiles good-naturedly and waves, knowing his hair is a mess, his beard is scruffy. He can still taste the Grey Goose at the back of his throat.

And he realizes why they're photographing him. Not just because he's Dieter fucking Bravo.

He's not wearing any pants. Or underwear for that matter.

"Shit! Shit!" He closes the window and hides, still hearing the chatter below. Fuck! He promised his agent he'd be on his best behavior while in Rome. All he did was dance and drink at a club, go home with a hot couple, and accidentally show his dick to a bunch of innocent bystanders.

But he should know better. Likely the paprazzi have been following him, waiting to get a juicy photo op like the one he just gave them. He can see the evening edition already: Academy Award Winner Caught with Cock Out After Night of Debauchery.

Eyes squeezed shut as he feels a migraine coming on, he holds his head in his hands as he tries to figure out What the Hell to Do.

Taking a look at the phone in his hand he realizes it's not even his. It has a glittery purple cover with hearts. Though it'll fit his own phone. He removes the cover and puts it in his pants pocket where he thought his own phone was. He can't even use this phone to call it.

Suddenly it chirps to life, playing an upbeat pop song, the lyrics melodic and expressive and going completely over his head because as usual he hasn't bothered to do his Duolingo lessons. That owl is going to be pissed at him.

He answers the phone, pressing the green Answer button, but the voice on the other side is unknown to him. It sounds like an angry boss or even an angry lover. One of his party pals from last night is in trouble. He hangs up on the caller and shoves himself in his pants, the phone going into his pocket. He doesn't even bother looking for his underwear; he doubts he was even wearing any last night.

But the crowd outside hasn't dispersed. He hides in the bathroom until he can think straight.

Splashing some cold water on his face, he tries to calm his breathing, mentally cursing himself for getting in this situation. Why does he never learn?

He stares at the phone, pressing instructions on the screen until he gets to the number keypad. Of course he doesn't know any phone numbers by heart. Who does in this day and age?

When he finally gains the courage to leave, the couple are gone. And so is his wallet, which he'd left on the nightstand. He curses his shitty luck. He doesn't even remember their names, so there's not even a chance of tracking them down.

A migraine starts, making him wince. He needs something for the pain and his nerves now. With no other viable options, he takes a deep breath and leaves, finding a back exit leading to an alley filled with dumpsters. Upon hearing chatter and the clicking of cameras, Dieter heaves himself into one of the dumpsters, right into a pile of day-old organic waste.

Great.

He eventually makes it back to his hotel, stealing a pair of sunglasses and a hat from a nearby street vendor to disguise himself, running at the fullest speed possible for him (he's been told he needs to trim down but the food here is too delicious to have just one serving at each meal), shouting out promises to return when he has some cash.

He probably won't.

His agent catches wind of the photos, and promises to do something, even if he has to sue the bastards for invasion of privacy. He assures Dieter that he'll put a stop to those scandalous photos being reprinted or distributed in any way. Dieter puts every ounce of trust in his agent to do just that, even though he sees his costars and even some of the crew giggling behind his back.

Go ahead and let them laugh. He's grower, not a show-er. He'll show anyone just to prove it.

At least he has a working phone now, courtesy of the studio.

He hears the song again when he's in the makeup chair, tissues tucked into the high collar of his historical costume as a gorgeous man whose name he's forgotten touches up Dieter's makeup, adding a touch of bronzer at his hairline. The makeup artist is listening to a playlist of Italian 90s songs, and this one begins. The MUA sees Dieter's frown and says something in his melodic accent, pointing to his phone where the music is emanating from, smiling and giving a hopeful thumbs up. Dieter nods, giving a thumbs up as well. But it's too early for a smile, so he attempts a half-assed smirk.

"Turn it off." he says loudly, hoping he'll be understood. "Silenzio.. per favore?" {Silence... please?} But there's some malfunction with the phone or the app or whatever because the song doesn't stop. In fact it skips, the song sounding more threatening until the MUA forces it to turn off. The silence thereafter is a relief to Dieter, though his frustration is mounting.

Perhaps his mood has set the tone for the day, because Murphy's Law attaches itself to the set like a leech. The lead actress keeps forgetting her lines and has to have them fed to her, taking up more of his time than he'd like. Then there's an electrical fire during one of his most important scenes. The entire cast has to be evacuated off the set, but luckily it's close to break time and craft services is ready to feed everyone while they're displaced for the time being.

Unfortunately there's an outbreak of salmonella in the seafood bisque everyone's been eating. Fortunately he only had a couple spoonfuls of it, but production on the show has halted for the time being, and the remaining cast and crew are sent home. Unfortunately, he's still confined to the restroom for the remainder of the night, swearing off craft services for the rest of his life.

He should have recognized that as the second sign.

Most of the cast and crew are still being treated by the time he's feeling better days later. Even so, he dares a little night walk even though it's only been a week since he flashed the photographers. There hasn't been anything in the press lately, but he knows there are probably some greedy little cunts who refused to turn over the film, probably keeping it for a blackmail-kind-of-day.

Living in the spotlight, there's always a chance for someone to spring out of the shadows with an unexpected reprisal. A scorned lover, a repudiated friend, even a teacher from his past who would sell an embarrassing story about how he failed ninth grade world history before dropping out completely.

What the hell, let them come for him. He's older now, and tired despite the fast lifestyle he'd adopted decades ago. He's slowing down by the minute, the drugs and alcohol wearing him down, smoothing him out like a used tire.

And so what if the paps come for him? So what if his dick shows up on TMZ, pixelated beyond recognition? He's been Hollywood fodder for much worse. He can just stay here in Rome, an ancient has-been in an ancient city. Maybe he'll be considered a landmark himself, given enough time.

He wanders in the gold and magenta evening light, his stolen purchases on him: black baseball cap and dark sunglasses. He has the cash to pay for them in his pocket.

At the vendor stand he finds you, and for a brief moment he feels his luck has turned around. Your smile is beatific as you look up at him, and he doesn't know if it's because you recognize him or because you're just an angel on earth. You ask him in accented English if he sees anything he likes, and while you're talking about the keychains and magnets, he sees you and boy does he like you.

And later, when you're walking in the Piazza Navona, licking at the cold sweet gelato you're carrying, you laugh as he explains what he's gone through, the trials and tribulations that he's endured just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Just as he's finished his story, that song starts blasting from a nearby bar. Dieter winces as if expecting a blow: some mischance to befall him. Maybe he'll trip on his own two feet and fall headfirst into the fountain.

But all that happens is that you squeeze his hand and press your lips to his cheek. They're delightfully cool on his heated skin.

tagging those interested in my wip: @thedilfdiaries @everybodylovedcontractors @inept-the-magnificent @sawymredfox

[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

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Headcanon - Vark

----------------

Alastor being disdainful and aloof when he sees residents playing with /cooing over their pets, like fat nuggets and kiki.

But perhaps one day as he is speaking with dear Charlie in an overly paternal manner that is causing Lucifer to nearly snap his cane in half, there's a ruckus from the lobby and panicked shouting.

In seconds a great bounding Thing is hurtling through the area, all lolloping teeth and claws and floppy tongue.

Vaggie finds her spear knocked absently aside by a microphone staff as Alastor queries a pleasantly surprised, "...Vark?"

Surprising the rest of the hotel by not vaporising the shark dog thing when it actively jumps up to knock them both over.

"VARK! What are you doing here? Yes it's quite swell to see you too, what have you been fed? You seem a tad slim. No matter, I think I can find a lovely fresh femur for you in my kitchen, hmm, would you like that? I do believe you would."

"Uh so, how d'you know Vox's pet, Smiles?" Angel asked, knowing the creature from the rare times it would gallivant about Vee tower trying to find vox, velvette or valentino for attention and treats.

That snaps Alastor back into the reality of being on the floor covered in shark spit, thanks to excited licking, and he gently moves the shupppy off him (all 7ft) to stand. Pointedly ignoring the giant shiny eyes charlie is making at the rare affectionate scene.

"Simply from association with that insipid little picture box a few decades before, when Vark was an infant and no larger than your porcine companion… ah, Rotund Chicken Pieces, was it not?" Alastor deflects.

He shoots a warning glare at Husk when the latter snorts in response.  Which is ignored.

"Sure, if  that's what you wanna call it..."

Sensing gossip, Angel slides back to the bar, fat nuggets swinging wildly like a ferret in a secondary set of arms. "Oh, gossip on the scandalous secrets of THE radio demon, huskie? Do tell."

Before anyone can, the front doors burst open as a frantic swarm of sauce drenched voxtech employees arrive, all low-performers made into tasty little enticements for the missing pet.

Followed by the overlord himself, on a three way call with vel, val and their own swarm of worker treats. Clearly all searching with different levels of desperation and arguing back and forth.

"...-ell maybe you need to check you locked the fucking door BEFORE the orgy, val, its common fucking sense!"

"As if either of you were paying enough attention to do it, it's not my fault Voxxy. Tell him Vel-Vel!"

"You boomers are exhausting but if you can can it for a sec, i've got some sinstagram posts showing he was headed to the hotel your old boytoy is running. Nothing new past that, probs cause'a the scrambling thing the fucker does."

"Why, Podcast and accomplices, to what do we owe this displeasure?" Alastor drawls, all false cheer and dripping poisoned hospitality. As if he wasn't holding a gigantic shark dog thing in his arms like it was nothing, and pointedly flicking his ears out of reach of an enthusiastic slobbery tongue. 

"VARK!" The television headed overlord shouts in a mixture of joy, relief, frustration and that strange rage all parents and pet owners feel when finding a lostling safe and mostly sound. "Where have you BEEN?! Do you know how worried daddy was?"

The employees all made it very clear they had heard nothing of such a soppy statement by looking studiously at different floor tiles, ceiling fixtures and the wallpaper.

Through the split screen, Vel and Val were also smooshing themselves close to the screen and using their own endearments and admonishments at the shuppy. Amusing,  but grating on the ears. 

Lucifer, having met and wildly exceeded his quota for social engagement for the day and off the wall shenanigans, finds his eye twitching. "Can someone explain what is happening here and why it's happening in my daughter's hotel of all places?!"

He gets a dirty look from the radio prick, but who cares.

Before Vox can say anything, muting the other two; Alastor speaks. 

"I believe it is clear, your majesty, that dear Vark was not having his needs met and so came to find someone who could provide that care. And is not the hotel all about second chances?" Levels the overlord, allowing Niffty to sit on his shoulder to pet the shuppy while giggling maniacally.

"HEY!" Came the trifold scandalised reply from the Vees. 

"Or maybe  someone left the door open at our tower and Vark came to find one of the few people in hell who spoils him rotten..." Vox tries to snark back and trails off as if he wasn't sure where that was going. Then a maniacal glee lights up that calculating grin, as the overlord adds, "or perhaps Vark just missed his other daddy and wanted to come visit?"

That caused an uproar.

"You two was together?!" 

"That is neither here nor there, my envenomed associate, do close your mouth before a fly... ah, actually, you might enjoy that." The deflection falls flat in the face of the whole situation.

"Hah!" Comes the unexpected contribution from the King, "so all your snarky little comments about bad parenting, and here we find you abandoned your own kid!"

"Vark is only a shark dog demon, not a child." He drawls back. Pointedly ignoring the huge sad eyes vark was using at him, but  scritching carefully by the shuppys gills all the same, enjoying the delighted rumble it elicited.

Vox and the vees gasped like he'd torn their hearts out and ate them in front of their eyes. A twisted mess of indignant statements about how vark was not JUST a shark dog, he was amazing and perfect and Alastor was a bad father to say such things when they might impact the shuppy's emotional development... 

"Okay, this is very weird and as nice as it is to have three overlords visiting our lovely hotel, I-... have no idea how to handle this." Charlie says diplomatically, exhausted from the whole thing and also staying up two days in a row to work on plans for activities and counselling programs for residents. Which was what a combination of Vaggie, Alastor and Lucifer had been addressing prior to the Vark incident.

That seemed to snap everyone back into reality, and Vox cleared his throat, brushing off his suit and ordering semi sticky employees outside. Niffty already cleaning up their soppy footprints with an almost hysterical glee.

"Apologies Princess, I am afraid you caught my team at an inopportune time..." Vox bluffed, straightening his coat. "Nevermind. If you could just get your hotelier to relinquish our, and by that i mean the vees, shuppy Vark that'd be great "

"...no." 

"What do you mean NO?! That's our, again the vees, shuppy!"

"In all technicality he is also mine, but really Vox... he's quite thin, are you not giving him enough livers? His skin isn't very shiny..."

"We cant all just go get sinner meat for him all the time, Al..." Vox sighs, then remembers where he is. "Hah, i mean, you ancient airwave loving fucker. He’s fine, but in the spirit of collaboration… we'll take that suggestion under advisement."

Velvette was visibly scrolling through some sort of online store and adding gorey content (of which livers featured prominently) to the cart. Val was looking through a site that seemed an odd mix of sexual items as well as animal toys. No one thought too hard about the implications of that...

Sighing and acting casually bored with the whole affair to the outside observer, Alastor demurred slightly by putting Vark down. "I suppose that I shall allow him to return with you for now, with a few items to tide Vark over..." 

Niffty blurred as she went to grab sinner bones and organs from the fridge in his room. "...but I will be watching. You may leave him here once a month for a few days so I can ascertain he is well, you know he enjoys swimming in the bayou and eating the alligators."

There's a short pause, before Vox buffers through the conversation to the underlying meaning. "Uh, yeah... I'll have someone draft something up. Y’know you can always come see him at the tower..."

"Not necessary at this time, Podcast. Do you agree to my terms?"

There's a moment where the three overlords have a technological discussion, before Vox replies, "Deal." 

Taking the outstretched hand. A blast of green and blue energy, with faint traces of intermingled pink and purple, raced outwards. 

"Very well then. Niffty darling, would you be so good as to assist the picture box in returning to his vehicle and ensuring he remembers the bag of treats for Vark?"

"Okay sir!" She salutes excitedly, skittering off and dragging at Voxs pant leg. 

"Now Vark, you do need to go with..." there was a deep pause as if the next word was painful, as it came out in somewhat revolted static. "...Daddy... but I will see you again shortly. And, I believe I promised you a nice sinner femur, did I not?"

His shadow manifested the gristly item and provided it to Vark, who lost his little mind in excitement. Growl yapping and thundering about before coming back for a final pet, then galloping outside chewing happily.

"Okay, I'll  bite... what the fuck just happened?" Angel asked. "I feel like i just watched a hell version of two divorcees making a custody arrangement for their kid "

"Probably ‘cause ya did..." Husk muttered, and the spider spat out his cosmopolitan. 

"What?!"

Charlie is trying to offer comfort to Alastor but isn't sure what to even say because the last few minutes had been pretty strange even by the hotel's standards.

"So... that happened. Are you okay? Seeing an ex is always kinda weird... and with your sorta kid too? Should we, uh, maybe call Rosie?"

That snapped him out of things and the enigmatic radio host was back. "Nonsense my dear, everything is fine. And dear Rosie has heard all she cares to stand about that capitalistic shill over the past few decades I would hazard. But perhaps I can arrange for her to visit when Vark is next here, she does adore the little thing. Always has a fresh heart or two to slide him under the table..."

"Hey, don’t ignore me, Smiles! Are you tellin me you was like hell married to fuckin VOX?! Is that why he has the bodypillow of y-...uh, forget I said that."

"Why, that is not quite an accurate statement, my pastel pal... I never inferred it was only to Vox  now, did I? And-..." a pause as the previous query registers, and his overlord form bleeds through in dial eyes and antlers. "He has a WHAT?!"

His incredulity and discomfort at the idea is undercut by the howling laughter of the king of hell, who is near crying from mirth. 

Angel is grinning up at him. "You heard me, Smiles. It's on his bed, and he sometimes shares it with the other vees on occasion if ya know what i mean... I thought it was hate stuff, but now I know it’s sad ex drama it’s kinda funny. Does explain that one real weird video Val got me to do with it a few years back that never aired..."

The overlord form snapped away in an instant. " ...I'd ask for elaboration, dear fellow, but i fear that it may lead to a rampage. Let us agree to put it from our minds and never speak of it again, deal?"

"Deal."

A very small flare of green and pink between the clasped pinkie fingers, all Angel was willing to extend, and grinning at the lack of amusement from the other, and both parties immediately moved back to what they were doing before everything went down.

"Now, I believe a certain princess needs to go and take a well-earned nap before she collapses from exhaustion, hmm?"

Lucifer immediately joins in with Vaggie in attempting to coerce their beloved Charlie to nap before she falls over. However he does shoot the smug fake smiling radio parental usurper a very pointed glare that said he hadn't forgotten the little drama that just occurred... and felt a thrill of satisfaction as the other's grin dimmed slightly.

At the bar, Husk slips another drink to Angel and a glass of cordial to Niffty (she was a menace when drunk and had access to weapons).

"Hey didja know about all... that?"

A noncommittal hum.

"Do ya think... do ya think Smiles'd let me be like a distant uncle to that shuppy? He was fuckin adorable and i just wanted to squish his murderous little face. Always wanted to pet him the few times i saw him at work, but... i was usually busy."

Husk can't help the laugh that rumbles out. "Legs, whether the guy likes to admit it or not he loves that sharkdog like he does Niffty, you're gonna have Vark shoved in your face so often you'll be sick of him after a bit. Heck, when that lot broke up I think he was honestly more upset about losing Vark..."

Angel felt Fat Nugget wriggle about in his arms and scritched the demon pigs ears, eliciting  a delighted grumbling squeal.

"Heh, I get it. Things're gonna be interesting around here then, hmm, sourpuss?"

"When are they ever not, Legs?"

[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?”

[shoegazingmonad]

Looking back on this, I think it just might be my favourite panel in HSBC so far. And I say this because I just picked up on the hilariously concerning implications they're putting down here.

All of this is Jake's view on the situation. But the idea that Tavvy was being tricked into eating the peanuts seems to be projection from his subconcious; since CD forced him to eat peanuts against his will when he was sleeping on prospit, causing him to die of anaphylaxis.

I have good reason to suspect Tavvy's anaphylaxis was self-imposed. We've already had a situation similar to this one back in 'A Conversation Regarding Relevance', in which Jade threatens to kill herself with a Reece's (peanut butter chocolate snack thing) to force Alt Calliope out of her body. This entire argument happens within Jade's head, as though she's fighting her own psyche, and from an outside pov ignorant of her internal strife it looks like she's having an unexpected meltdown and trying to kill herself.

This panel of Tavvy choking manages to convey a similar sentiment despite its brevity. Gamzee is stood in the back, blending in with the purple background, the absolute picture of inaction in such a tense situation. Jake is ignoring him in favour of Tavvy, but it helps to emphasize Gamzee's lack of presence in a scenario that is, according to Jake, his fault entirely.

And Tavvy? We're only shown his body. Face obscured, but aligned with Gamzee's smug grin perfectly within view. Pose loosely based on Jake's from the ACT 6 ACT 5 flash (also referenced by Jake's outfit) where he's smiling his fucking ass off. Hand perfectly cut out of view so that you can't tell whether he's thrashing in panic or shoving those peanuts down his throat all by himself. Jake worrying himself as 'sick' as his boy was and wishing that 'nutty nightmare' would stop it already now just kinda sounds like he's calling Tavvy crazy for trying to kill himself on the regular. Amazing.

His motivation for doing such is kept pretty vague, but it's probably Gamzee in some way. If we're taking the Jade / Callie scene into account, it might have been a way to oust Gamzee from his body under the belief he's 'possessing' him. Jake suddenly imitating Gamzee's voice like he's being possessed by him whilst BGD is asking why he's doing the voice certainly works with that idea. 'It'd be so sick if you stopped doing the voice' kinda reads as Tavvy becoming sick to stop Gamzee's internal voice now that I'm looking at it. The end of this scene is supposed to be read with Tavvy in mind anyway in the sense that he's being haunted by Gamzee in the same way BGD is haunting Jake, and it ends with BGD taking his leave so I think that works fine. However I'm unsure of what that would mean for Tavvy.

The peanuts themselves are important though since they can sometimes be symbols of the audience (the peanut gallery) in HS. So alternatively Gamzee hiding them around the mansion and Tavvy desperately seeking them out them comes across as him trying to find the audience? And uh, eat them I guess. Perhaps a desire to kill the audience, and him being healed of his inability to do so is foreshadowing? Hrm.

On another note, Tavvy's hand looks blue and Jake's kneeling over him, crying like he's just discovered his son's cold corpse. The peanut allergy and death are simultaneous here, and following this Jake uses his hope powers to bring Jade back from the dead, so perhaps this event also cured Tavvy of death? Considering Gamzee's involvement in this (you can't keep down the clown) maybe that idea might not be too far-fetched... Though it'll probably be a while before we get to see any examples of that yet

[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.’