#Those aren’t pants anymore it’s like a cocoon

[hotrodpixkup]

This. This is what I mean by “Add more useless belts that don’t do anything but look pretty”

do you guys think he has enough belts yet

[attapullman]

Good at Makin' Bad Decisions | Rhett Abbott

Summary: Even a year after you've broken up, after a night of drinking you still end up in Rhett Abbott's bed.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: f! reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, fingering, swearing, alcohol, healthy dash of praise k!nk as usual

A Note From Mo: I blame reading an old fic I desperately wanted to re-write and having covid, strep, and my period all at the same time for whatever the fuck this is. Anyway, happy 6 months since the last time I wrote Rhett! xoxo

There’s something about waking up in a bed that isn’t yours that causes an anxiety like none other. Especially when the night before is a hazy blur. And you aren’t wearing any pants.

Wait, where are your pants?

Creamy morning light bleeds through the thin plaid curtains in the room. From your spot half-buried under the comforter, you notice the vaguely familiar rodeo posters tacked up on the wall and dust-covered flannels on the floor. The slight tinge of boy sweat engulfs the room. Definitely not a Tillerson room, but who the fuck did you go home with?

A quick body scan results in these observations:

Your jeans were long gone, but cheekies and tshirt still remained.

Your head was splitting open from the axe of a bad hangover.

Based on the groan that did not come from your body, there was definitely another person in the bed. And they were awake.

You flip over in bed, panicked. Praying to God that beside you is some random Wabang townie. But you would know those dark, grown out curls anywhere. He may be turned toward the wall, but you know him better than you know yourself.

“Rhett?”

A tentative hand leaves the warm cocoon of blankets to roughly shove your ex’s shoulder. He grunts with consciousness and a veiny hand rises up to rub at his eyes. Takes a moment to rake through those unruly curls. Flipping over onto his back, bright ultramarine eyes quirk up at you. 

“Good mornin’ to y’too, sunshine.”

It’s hard to remember everything you want to say when he’s looking entirely too delectable for the morning hours. Something you’d sweetly told him during your relationship, but after your swift uncoupling it’s downright rude of him.

“Why am I in your bed?” His eyes roll slightly as he lifts up onto his right arm, rolling the thick, labor-built muscles of his neck and back. It’s mesmerizing, watching him work out the kinks that come with his profession. Your eyes unable to leave where his hand massages over that bronc tattoo you’re still weak over. “We didn’t sleep together, did we?”

He’s sexy as hell, but you’ve been doing a really good job avoiding him the past year.

“D’ya not remember any of last night?” Your head shakes, cheeks heating. “Not even a little? Oh fuck, really? You had quite t’night, darlin’.”

The color completely drains from your face. In your hey day, the two of you could drink the bar under the table, stumbling out of the Handsome Gambler with the sloppiest grins and even sloppier kisses. Drunken shenanigans were the norm. 

But since your breakup last year, nights out had been quiet. A beer or two, a tequila shot when the time called. Your friends don’t have the tolerance of a bull rider. And neither do you anymore, since you can’t remember much past that third shot of Don Julio.

How had you landed in bed with Rhett Abbott? 

As you watch him roll out his other shoulder, it’s like no time has passed since that night. Sitting in his truck, the front porch light on as your roommates wait for you to come in. Deciding that if he’s gonna be traveling the mountain states to make a name for himself, it’s not fair for you to be sitting at home worrying what bone would break. You can’t take off weeks to follow him around. You’re too young to sit around pining. He can’t handle all that time away from you. It just makes sense to call it quits. And yet tears poured down both your cheeks when you shut that truck door for the last time, Rhett Abbott no longer your business.

Why are you here?

Blinking back the ghost of tears, you clear your throat. “What kind of night exactly?”

In the past, a night of too much tequila in Rhett’s bed would have had Royal knocking on the door at an ungodly hour and Cecelia giving you an exasperated yet playful look when you snuck out the back door in the morning. 

“Do ya really want t’know what happened?” He’s leaning against the headboard, broad chest in view, sheets low on his hips. You say one last prayer that he’s wearing sweats so that you can still believe that you didn’t have a blackout fuck with your ex.

“I’m scared to ask,” you admit, the gentle smirk on his face confirming that this story is not going to paint you in a flattering light. 

Rhett’s head tilts down as he laughs, teeth flashing as the hearty grumble fills the room. Looks back up at you with that boyish mischievous grin you’ve loved for years. There’s a pillow indent still marring his cheek. Your heart lurches for him, for when you could call him yours.

His lip quirks. “Ya threw a rock at m’window in the middle o’the night. Begged me to let ya in. Told ya to go home, but ya threatened t’wake up my folks.”

Your cheeks flame with shame. Drunk you was not in your corner.

“Snuck ya in the back door, like ol’ times. Said yer friends had dropped ya off, so let ya stay until ya sobered up.” The burning embarrassment lifts a little, imagining you quietly climbing in bed and sleeping. But that unruly mischievous smile is back. “Then ya started tellin’ me how much you miss my cock and asked t’go for a ride.”

A hole opening in the earth and swallowing you couldn’t make you escape this embarrassment.

“Please tell me I didn’t-”

“Oh, but y’did, darlin’. It wouldn’t be a drunk night out with ya without asking for m’fingers. Practically gagging for it as I got ya upstairs.” He’s radiating pride. You risk a glance at those thick, calloused fingers. Yep, you can see yourself begging for even just one of them.

“Then ya started strippin’ off yer pants…forgot how cute yer booty looks shakin’ like that.” He lets out a joyful grunt, the happiest sound a cowboy ever did make. “Had to hold yer hands to yer side to keep it from bein’ a free strip show.” 

You swallow down every ounce of your dignity, the scene playing behind your eyes. Those strong hands wrapped around your biceps. Your cheeky comments, grinding your ass on any part of him you could. The lack of inhibitions on your part was concerning, but when had you ever been able to restrain yourself when it came to Rhett?

His giggles fade as you both sit against the rough wooden headboard, the one that is nearly as old as this creaky house. In the silence of the room you can now hear the busy sounds of his folks making breakfast. Figures they still have that louder than sin coffee machine. You could really use a cup.

He shifts beside you, the energy in the room softer. “Ya know, after y’fell asleep, I kept on thinkin’ about all the times ya stayed over here. Nights in the pasture. We were s’good…” He trails off, the silence filled with reminders of rushed kisses between rides, lazy afternoons on horseback, and too many days spent in the barn pretending to do chores while the two of you fell in love. 

It was you. You couldn’t handle the broken bones. The purpled bruises week after week. He loved it, and you couldn’t take that from him. So you had left a part of yourself with him and spent the past year pretending like you weren’t missing a limb. It was him. He didn’t want to be always missing home. Canceling rides purely so he could drive hours back here. He cut his losses before he was in too deep, spending the last year acting like a chunk of his heart wasn’t permanently cemented in you.

When you two crossed paths in town you exchanged sad glances and half-hearted smiles. Nights at the Handsome Gambler a drink was raised in greeting. It was as painful and as amicable as a breakup could be. But this was the closest the two of you had been since that night in his truck. The most you’d spoken other than forced hello’s. The most you’d touched since that last kiss goodbye.

Looking into those impossibly deep oceans he calls eyes, there was an emotion that you couldn’t read. His smile gone, thin lips bitten as he worried them between his teeth. Mirth replaced with angst.

You need to get out of here.

“M’sorry for interrupting your night. You know my libido has her own brain when I drink. Give me ten and I’ll be out of your hair - think Ce will notice me going out the back door?”

You’re barely off the bed when an arm, all hard muscle and thick veins, wraps around your bicep and brings you to a warm chest. “I-I…just for a minute, ‘kay?”

It’s the best you’ve felt in so long. Safe, warm. He’d shaped perfectly to accommodate you. It’s only natural to scoot closer into him, blurring the lines of ended relationships to seek his comfort.

Rhett’s heartbeat is solid beneath your cheek, speed picking up when you curl into him and run your hand along his side. The rumble of his chest vibrates as he clears his throat. “Ya don’t have t’ leave. I like havin’ ya here, missed holding’ ya, yer so soft.”

You hum in agreement and then there’s a beat, and you can almost see the bashful grin splitting his face. “And yer s’sexy in those panties.”

At least you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

One of those perfectly large, comforting hands slides down your side, hitching your hip up so you can straddle his thigh. That thick expanse of pure muscle was exactly where you belonged.

You were already here, already embarrassed yourself. Might as well go the whole way.

“Rhett?” His eyes latch onto yours, eager to hear from you. “I don’t have to go. If you want to, uh, catch up?” If his hungry smirk wasn’t an indicator, the twitch in his boxers below speaks volumes.

Aware there’s an old house with no sound proofing and an entire family downstairs eating bacon, he rolls you over onto your back, rippling biceps boxing you in. That confident smirk that looks as in place in bed as it does atop a two ton bull. The hungover logic in your brain pleading you to go home not nearly as strong as the instant spring of your legs landing either side of his hips.

His lips ghost over yours, eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitance. The slightest groan left you, eager to feel him. Taste him.

“Please…please don’t tease me.” His smirk is bordering on arrogant as you wrap impatient hands around strong shoulders. Your libido was making her triumphant return after not being satisfied the night before, pooling in the apex of your thighs as he presses against you. You want Rhett, and you want him now.

He kisses the corner of your mouth, a shadow of the real thing. “If y’can be quiet f’me, I’ll give you m’fingers, darlin’.”

Dignity fades to the back of your brain as you quickly nod at him, lips pressed close like a good girl.

Scruff scratches along your jaw as he hums along your skin, pressing his weight to one side as calloused fingers make their way south, slipping and catching against your soft skin. Both your eyes fluttering as cotton is pushed aside and he finds your clit, rubbing the softest of circles. His little chuckle at how wet you already are. Small whimpers leaving you before he finally tilts his head down to smother your lips in a warm, soft kiss.

Fuck, he’s an even better kisser than you remember.

Running a hand through those unruly curls, letting the dark hair tangle between your fingers as you fight to keep your moans contained. A struggle as he presses deliciously on the button, delighted at how you squirm against him. Lips ghosting against your ear as he moans your name. “Doin’ s’good for me.”

While his thumb continues its mind numbing descent on your clit, the tips of his fingers brush against your folds. He knows you love a tease, the promise of what’s to come. His special trick to getting you to your orgasm in less time than he rides a bull.

“R-Rhett.” Your voice is barely audible, struggling to keep yourself from screaming his name to the heavens. Your fingers never feel this good, nothing could ever be as satisfying as his touch. Your pathetic whimpers picking up speed as the blinding white pleasure threatened to overtake you.

“Are ya gonna cum for me, darlin’? Y’know y’want to. Cum for me, baby girl, show me how good I make y’feel.”

Scruff against your neck and jaw as he showers you in kisses, whispers praises in your ear, fingers stroking and rubbing and bringing you closer to the promised land. Slips that wild tongue between your lips, groaning at your familiar taste, and that’s all it takes.

A thousand years could pass and you would still remember how all-consuming every orgasm is that Rhett Abbott has given you. The flash behind your eyes, the constriction of your chest. Thanking the good Lord that Rhett’s tongue is deep in your mouth to shush the pleasured scream that threatens to escape. 

You settle from your orgasm with soft kisses and his wet fingers trailing along your skin, soothing you. Not that it’s easy to be soothed when his erection is throbbing against your thigh. He’s hot and ready, prepared to take you all the ways he’s denied himself the past year.

You’re doing the mental math. Your ex giving you an orgasm isn’t that bad. Fucking him? That’s the kind of mistake you can’t undo and should be avoided.

But when you look in those midnight blue eyes, all reason hightails out the door. It’s just sex - not a relationship - you two are so good at sex. And it’s been so long since you’ve taken him for a proper ride.

Your fingers sink into the back of his boxers, itching to sink your fingers into the meat of his ass - hard and toned from hours riding. Tease him a little by pressing a kiss to that scruffy chin as he ushers you along, desperate to be inside you.

Just as you get the checkered material past his cheeks, there’s a knock at the door. Rhett’s a deer in the headlights above you; wide, scared eyes aimed at the door.

It’s Cecelia, speaking through the wood as she walks past with the laundry. “Rhett, hurry up, y’got chores in the barn.” 

The two of you exchange a glance, relief at being in the clear.

“Oh, and sweetie? Since you’re still here, if you want breakfast, there’s some extra bacon.”

Abandoning my normal tag list since it's not Bob and tagging some fellow Rhett bb's who might enjoy: @bobfloydsbabe @sorchathered @bobgasm @auroralightsthesky @creatchie8 @just-in-case-iloveyou @ryebecca @sebsxphia @lewmagoo

[slightlycrunchy]

pre-slash geraskier, angst with happy ending, whump, bodyswap, hc

1800 words

Enjoy!

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

“Dammit Jaskier, did you really have to call her that—“

Geralt stops mid-sentence, hand flying up to his own throat to stop the sound that has come from his mouth. He’s panting slightly, the witch having thrown them through a shoddy excuse for a portal into some endless partition of wilderness.

It looks like Velen. He’s sure it’s Velen.

His fingers crawl up his throat to his face, feeling slight stubble instead of the beard Geralt has grown over their weeks on the Path, which blankets a thinner face than Geralt is accustomed to. He looks down, expecting to see leather armor covering black cloth, the straps that cross his chest to hold his swords at his back, only to see silk; red, and gleaming with gold stitching across his torso.

Jaskier’s favorite.

He curses inwardly, kicks himself mentally for bringing the damn bard along. Of course he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, of course just as Geralt had finished his business with her and was accepting payment the foppish dandy had to go run his mouth.

“My dear, I thought witches could keep themselves young forever, and well, I think we can all see that maybe you aren’t as powerful as you try to appear—“

The bard had got no further than that. Witches and mages have notoriously short tempers and Jaskier knows this—and yet, here they are.

Thrown away like refuse and trapped in each others’ bodies.

Geralt can feel the snarl on his lips and it feels entirely wrong, the shape of his mouth pulling where usually it would not. He feels small and light, where usually the bulk of his own muscle would weigh him down at every turn, and as he lifts his hand to marvel at the foreign sensations, he gapes at his long and slender fingers.

Geralt has always felt…something about Jaskier’s hands, something he struggles to name. Sometimes he thinks it admiration—for their ability and their elegance. Where Geralt’s are toughened by hard labor and age, Jaskier’s have always been the complete opposite.

Geralt has held them, a time or two, and the almost feminine quality to them is a novelty. He looks at them now, controlling them as he clenches and spreads them, flipping them over to see unblemished skin and pale knuckles. He’s so engrossed for a moment that the rest isn’t noticed immediately.

Silence.

Pure, blessed silence.

It surrounds him, like a cocoon, like thick wool wrapped up to his ears in softness and calm. Geralt has lost his age—he stopped caring decades ago, after all, the information does him no good—but he knows he’s over a century by now, and yet he can’t remember the last time he felt like this. A time when every snap of a twig or breath of the people around him could be heard and analyzed for danger. Hypervigilance. Always, always Geralt is ready. For his next fight, his next job, the next time he must defend himself from the world that dislikes him for no good reason. His time before the trials is blurry at best, forgotten at worst, and he decides right now that this is the most peace he’s ever felt.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Ger-Geralt,” Jaskier gasps as he falls to his knees inside a witcher’s body.

It’s strange hearing his own voice sound so vulnerable, broken, breathy and quiet as he rushes to Jaskier’s side while the bard’s chest—his own chest—rises and falls rapidly. The comfortable silence inside his mind is restless now; Jaskier’s suffering is loud and insistent in an intangible way. It always has been.

“It burns Geralt—“ Jaskier bites out between clenched teeth, canines long and conspicuous. It’s strange seeing his own body like this, housing Jaskier’s soul, his very being. It clenches something in Geralt’s chest that he has not time to name.

“Jaskier, what is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Had the witch done something else to him? In her anger had she cursed the bard, hurt him in some other way? He can’t smell blood—but then again he wouldn’t be able to now, would he?

Jaskier’s body is heaving, on his knees and doubled over like some wounded thing. Geralt can see tears fall and hit the dirt, nails scrabbling for purchase at Geralt’s borrowed forearm, nearly tearing at the thick fabric of Jaskier’s frivolous doublet.

“My head, it’s exploding— It’s too much— How do you…” Jaskier starts and stops and slowly, in horror, the reality washes over Geralt.

While Geralt enjoys his first peace in an era, Jaskier has been dropped into a pit of torture.

Immediately Geralt places slender hands over Jaskier’s ears, attempting to muffle the onslaught of sensation that he must feel. Every sound, every vibration must be pounding at Jaskier’s head, wave after wave of movement, life, the earth shoving its way into Jaskier’s consciousness.

Jaskier’s golden eyes connect with Geralt’s borrowed blue, wide and wet, before he promptly turns and vomits onto the ground.

“Jaskier, I’m sorry, I’m sorry just—hold on.”

He doesn’t know what to do. They’re an unknown distance from the one who caused this—from relief—and yet Jaskier can hardly handle minutes of this. Jaskier chokes and spits, his entire body trembling under Geralt’s palms and the witcher can do nothing but stroke gentle thumbs over wet cheeks. It hurts him when Jaskier rises again, looking with pained eyes at Geralt. He doesn’t speak, Geralt isn’t sure if he really can, yet his eyes plead with Geralt to end it, please I can’t take it.

Geralt doesn’t know how he understands these words without hearing them, but they only drive the stake further into his heart.

Jaskier is suffering, and it’s Geralt’s fault.

He can remember, now especially, how those first weeks had been at Kaer Morhen after the trials were complete. Utter agony and sleepless nights as he withered away with the inability to keep anything down. Sound, feeling, pain overwhelming him constantly until his body could adjust. He remembers the fevers, Vesemir by his bedside with cool cloths and the kindest words he could remember hearing in recent memory.

He thought he would die.

“End it, please I don’t want to do this anymore—“

But he had survived…and somewhere along the way he had forgotten the beginning, the mutagens running through his veins like fire and adding to the never ending harshness of his new life. Now, however, he remembers in startling clarity.

Jaskier won’t survive this.

Geralt brings Jaskier to his smaller chest, forcing one ear against his rabbiting, human heart all while holding his hand closed over the other—acting as a beacon, a point of focus for Jaskier’s hearing that takes in everything around them. It won’t fix anything, but Geralt hopes it will help. Jaskier shivers, his breaths stuttered and sick, gasps taken between chattering teeth. Geralt knows his real body will be fine, it hasn’t stopped being a witcher’s after all, no matter who holds the reins, but Jaskier’s mind…humans were not built for this. They are fragile, temporary things.

Geralt feels panic bubble up within him and it is a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Geralt feels fear, contrary to popular belief, though not for himself. He has felt fear on behalf of others many times, but it is dull, manageable. He can easily breathe through it and tackle the situation at hand, the slow beat of his heart keeping the adrenaline from flooding his veins. But Jaskier’s body is mortal and weak in this regard, and he feels it slam into him, sharp and all encompassing as his stomach lurches when the bard falters beneath his palm, sagging with exhaustion so quickly that Geralt struggles to hold him up. Geralt’s borrowed muscles strain, but they hold; to be honest, Jaskier’s body is stronger than Geralt would have given him credit for.

He tightens his hold on the bard, and a thought suddenly occurs to him.

“Jaskier, you’re going to be alright, I want you to listen to my voice.”

Jaskier’s voice has always been calming to Geralt, and so he does the only thing he can think of: he talks.

About what, he doesn’t know; he certainly doesn’t have the wherewithal to make a coherent storyline, but he babbles all the same. He speaks of Roach and his contracts, his brothers and his childhood—the good parts that he remembers and his early days on the Path.

All the while he runs hands through white strands, putting a pleasant (he hopes) pressure against Jaskier’s scalp. He remembers Eskel doing this for him in those early days; it helped. He hopes it helps now.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there awkwardly upon the ground, Geralt’s untrained legs falling numb as his knees begin to ache. The time doesn’t matter, only keeping the pain at bay, the war against Jaskier’s fragile mind as it rages and slashes at the door.

Eventually Jaskier’s stamina gives out, and he falls, but only so far. Geralt catches him, and after folding his legs out from beneath him with a grimace, lays his actual body against his borrowed one, Jaskier’s head falling to the side in his unconsciousness. All the while long, slender fingers never stop carding through white strands.

Geralt lets the panic ebb away, having come up with a plan some time ago while holding Jaskier so close they practically felt like one. Jaskier’s bag lays to Geralt’s right, just at arms length and inside he knows the xenovox is cradled between extra pairs of garish clothing. When Geralt had remembered, he had never been so happy that Jaskier tended to keep his things on him rather than tied up with Roach.

Roach. With a sigh Geralt realizes he needs to find her too. Another thing to take care of after the witch.

He won’t forgive her for what she’s done.

With ginger movements so as to not wake the sleeping bard on his lap, he grabs the bag and soon finds what he is looking for. He savors the moment of quiet that has descended in Jaskier’s sleep, letting the panic and fear that tastes bitter on his tongue disappear into a practiced ease.

Yennefer will be annoyed with him, and once Geralt has gotten over what has just happened, he in turn will be annoyed with Jaskier. The bard got them into this mess after all. But as he looks down on Jaskier, his own sleeping form—a shudder going through him at the wrongness of it all—he decides perhaps not.

The bard has gone through enough, after all.

A voice comes over the device, slightly muffled and crackling, “Geralt?”

“Yen.”

“The bard? What are you doing with this, this wasn’t for your use.”

“Yen, it’s Geralt.”

Silence rests between them for a moment, the only sound Geralt hears with his human ears being the rustling of wind through the trees around him. He tries to savor it.

She sighs. “Oh, for fucks sake.”

He smiles.

[yanderemommabean]

Man... now I’m wondering about a yandere naga Deku waking up to find his darling gone after hibernation....

The smell of his cave empty of your scent wasn’t what he expected when he awakened. It struck him as odd at first, but soon creeped into a worried and horrified sensation while his senses came back to life. Where were you?! The cave didn’t smell like home anymore!

Instead of warm and loving it reeked of loneliness and isolation, sour and bitter. No, no this wasn’t right, something happened to you! He let his guard down and a vile beast took you away!

He’ll get you back. He’ll find you and save you from those monsters, no matter what! He didn’t even want to think about their dirty hands on you, hurting you, scarring your skin and making you bleed.

The thought of you being hurt at all sent him into a rage, and his body moved before he could think, trying to pick up the slightest hint of your smell. His tongue flicks out to try and get a better taste, the trees and nearby creek not helping as it only overwhelmed his senses -however that’s a given, as he has just awoken and his senses haven’t adjusted yet.

After an hour, Izuku leans against a nearby tree, huffing and panting as he tries to catch his breath, eyes hyper-focused on everything around him. Every slight movement draws his attention, his eyes darting towards every bird chirping and every critter skittering across the dirt and leaves on the woodland floor.

After he moves a few more yards, he catches a whiff of your scent, and his heart picks up in pace. It was dull, so it wasn’t fresh, but he didn’t care! It was you and it meant you were still alive! Now he just has to follow it and rescue you!

You don’t understand, you’re not safe in these woods! He’s the only one who can protect you against those Driders and Scorpion halflings, and the other Nagas, not to mention the feral werewolves who like to hang around. He’ll never understand why you insist on running away from him, honestly.

Your scent is getting stronger. He can taste it on his tongue everytime it flicks in the air, gaining on your trail, his instincts taking over and instructing him to prepare for anything hostile and dangerous. Anything could happen, you could even try to attack him again, thinking he’s a bad guy. Such a cute little mistake you keep making, but you’ve got to learn to trust him! He’d never hurt you, never ever!

He runs his body across the ground slowly, this spot being where your scent is the strongest. But you’re nowhere in sight. Odd, and concerning to say the least. Where could you be?! You should be right here! Well, no actually you should be home back in his nest where you belong, but your scent! It means you should be standing right here! So where are you?!

“Doll? Where’d you go? I know you’re here! I smell you!” Izuku called out frantically, searching for any sign of movement. It went quiet for a moment before the tree tops began to shake, and caught his attention. Before him dangled a cocooned and clearly horrified you, wrapped tightly in webbing and gagged with the same sticky substance.

His eyes widen in horror, seeing that you truly had stumbled into Drider territory. Don’t worry! He’ll get you down! Just stay still, any movement will wake up the disgusting spider! “Don’t move! I’ll get you down love, just...don’t move. It’ll alert them”.

You whimper as you try and stay still, shivers crawling up your skin as you watched the lesser of two evils climb up the tree to your “rescue”. If you had to choose between an angry, possessive, delusional Drider or a soft, delusional, territorial, protective Naga, you’d go with the one you’ve become a little acquainted with. Not willingly but acquainted nonetheless.

As Izuku climbs the trunk of the tree, the branches above start to shake and rustle, causing you to flinch as the other beast begins to make an appearance. Great. You’re either going to die or witness something just as horrific.

“Fucking Deku, the hell are you doing here?! This is MY web! Get your own!”. The blonde haired half-beast growled, spinning down his own webbing to wrap his arms around you and your still sobbing cocoon.

“Kacchan...” Izuku says with a low growl, eyes darkening in anger as he watched the spider close around you in an embrace. “That human is mine. I came to get them back”.

Katsuki chuckled before it turned into an all out laugh, cackling and shaking his head as he mocked the green haired naga. “Oh that’s priceless! This wonderful little thing, belonging to a useless dork like you? Aren’t you pitiful”.

Izuku lurched, swiping a clawed hand at him while the other clung to a branch to keep him balanced and upright. “TAKE THAT BACK!” He hissed, voice demanding as his fangs showed in a display of dominance, threatening to pierce and shred any skin that came into contact. “They’re mine Kacchan. I’m taking them back”.

Katsuki only snarled, kissing the top of your head as he taunted Izuku even more “Oh, so shy little snake boy finally wants to fight? “ he asked as he bared his own claws and teeth “Then let’s fucking go, bastard”.

(-Mommabean, this was poorly paced I know)

[maddiewritesstucky]

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60​ for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway. 

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea. 

"Steve,”  he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to. 

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night. 

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning. 

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the  throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of  home and family and right. 

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter. 

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’  with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off. 

...Steve’s not here to actually  see  this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will  know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve. 

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam. 

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get. 

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour. 

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted. 

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better. 

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away. 

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb. 

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on. 

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin. 

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell. 

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time. 

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’   

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock. 

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off. 

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream. 

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah  - there’s a  lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.” 

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together. 

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...” 

“Mm?” 

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?” 

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him. 

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been. 

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way. 

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it. 

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up. 

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head. 

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.” 

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?” 

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick. 

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift. 

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.” 

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D!  to  oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.”  Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway. 

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What  a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures. 

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?” 

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours. 

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins. 

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.” 

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings. 

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close.  So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.” 

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.” 

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose. 

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall. 

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.” 

“Oh my god.”   

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later. 

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly. 

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips. 

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to. 

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...” 

“Fuck,  Bucky, I...oh...” 

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him. 

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.   

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him. 

“You said it, pal.” 

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach. 

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to  Steve.  It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath. 

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.  

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair. 

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.” 

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose!  ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one  time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.” 

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time. 

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.” 

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?” 

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him. 

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

[secret-time-is-here]

An Error's Journey

Chapter 52

Previous - First - Next

Consciousness slapped him awake, throwing him up into the world and out of his slumber. The memory and the faces of his friends haunting him. His life felt jumbled with the simple words Core spoke. The shattering reality that he has nearly caught up to the present. That his memories are nearly over.

Nightmare is suddenly right there next to him, and he forgets for a moment that they fell asleep cuddled together. He can’t hear the words that his lover is saying, only knowing the comforting tone. His usually still soul beats in his skull like suspenseful drums, and for a moment he wishes he were in the Antivoid-but like an intrusive thought he ignores it and instead quests for the darkness of huddling away curled up against Nightmare.

Things are a little easier that way, curled up close enough to hear the souls of his mate. The thrum like live bees swarming in his mind, filling it with static bliss instead of thought. Nightmare hugs him close, understanding without a single word from Error what he needed. He nearly laughs aloud at the thought that they’ve been together for so long that words aren’t required anymore. It feels like something from a storybook of love, although he knows he’s still far from his happy end.

He hardly grasps it when he hears Nightmare’s tone go from caring to dull, the tendrils that had unknowingly wrapped around him now pulled away. Threatening whoever dared to intrude on the feared and venerable king.

“Nightmare, while I understand your wishes, killing me won’t do you any good-and you know it.” Core’s voice crept over to him, “I’m sure Error has some questions for me and likely some uncarefully chosen words to throw at me.”

“Fuck off ya’ brat-”

“Was I incorrect on the question front?”

“...why?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, God of Destruction.”

“Why… Why did you step in like that? I could’ve been happy-I was nearly-”

“You wouldn’t have become Error otherwise.” Core sighed, and Error refused to look over at the other, not wanting to see the pitiful expression he already knew would be on the other’s face, “It is impossible for you to be God of Destruction without the pain you endured in the Antivoid… and it is also impossible for you to have even a chance at sanity if you lived a good life beforehand.”

Core pauses, and he can feel Nightmare retracting his tendrils, moving them back to cocoon comfortingly around Error. Grounding him from the vast space of the antivoid. “...if it helps any… I spent a good few hundred thousand years of my life searching for a way. You yourself even helped me at one point looking for a way in one of the few timelines where you were created a God instead of turned into one… it was an odd timeline for sure, but still stuck in the endless loop of you all fighting until our enemy showed up. Then everyone was far too caught up in their biases to be of any help and the enemy wiped you all out.”

“Why don’t you just get rid of this stupid enemy yourself?”

“...I can’t. It's one of the few things I can’t do.” Error looked up from his cocoon, and Core looked tired. More tired than he had ever seen.

Their eyes held bags and they seemed to have aged greatly since they last saw each other, wrinkles around their eyes and roots of grey in their dark hair. Their outfit had changed as well, the striped sweater they always wore was gone, instead wearing a simple loose long sleeve shirt and basic pants, the pant legs of which stuffed into the top of their boots.

“You’ve changed.”

“Yes, our last conversation made me realize that while you’ve matured, I have yet to stop living my lie. I should’ve discarded those stripes long ago.”

“...It fits ya better.”

“Why I hardly believe so, I am wearing baggy clothes.” Core laughed, their face twisting into a smile for a moment before frowning once more. They sighed yet again, “I truly am sorry for the betrayal, Error…”

“Eh, ya did what ya needed ta.” Core seemed surprised by the answer, “Just… let us get some more sleep, al’ight? If ya wanna we can talk more later.”

Core nodded and then disappeared, leaving just him and Nightmare.

Nightmare didn’t bother to speak, and the air was heavy with the tension of uncertainty. He could practically hear the gears turning in the other’s skull as they tried to think of what to say. He simply curled in closer, wrapping his arms around Nightmare and leaning in as close as possible.

He earned a chuckle of a laugh from that, and Nightmare carefully laid them back down.

“...Is there anything I should avoid?”

“Can… can ya avoid usin’ ‘Soul’ for a bit?” Nightmare nodded, giving a quick kiss seemingly as a small reward. Communication is key after all, “Thanks, ‘mare.”

After that set of memories, he ended up at the base more often than not. Ignoring calls from Grim and Life, even Mercy who rarely called, he continued with his days sticking closer to Nightmare than he would like to admit. He still wasn’t ready to talk about it, and he knew Nightmare could tell this too. Nightmare simply let him follow around, and after another lesson with Dream-cuddling against Nightmare the whole time, it seemed even fighting was put off.

Although, thanks to his sudden clingy nature, he got to see Nightmare’s realm for the first time. Although, Nightmare had simply let him in rather than joining him.

Error hesitantly agreed to relax in Nightmare’s personal room while he worked, and he laid back in the pile of pillows his lover had collected. The pulse and forever-lasting buzz of his mate’s souls filled his mind, the comfort of being in his realm helping ease him despite not actually being next to Nightmare.

He surveyed the room he was in, most of the walls covered in bookshelves. Some seemed to hold dangerous spell books, a large sign saying “Do not touch or open (cursed)” in delicate handwriting. Others held what seemed to be important items, an ancient camera lay next to a golden polished crown on a dainty pillow and in the same case held a carefully folded pair of purple clothes-he could barely recognize them, but he knew it was from before the incident. The poor shreds of the clothes were barely functional. Some pieces were even burned or torn.

He could feel heavy magic burning from the crown, yet he held himself back from touching it.

Shoes clicked and clacked across the tile into the room, and if he wasn’t aware of the uniqueness of Nightmare, he would've thought someone broke into the realm.

Nightmare still wore the same clothes that he changed into for the day, although otherwise, he wasn’t the same at all. White bones shone despite the cracks and scars that littered them, his eye was an enchanting purple with swirls of the cyan magic locked within. He could see in full view just how large the crack in his skull was. It was like a massive bullet had gone through and splintered his skull as it went-he practically looked like Color. Although, there were also deep cracks into one side of his jaw, exposing his teeth like some comic book villain or human zombie.

“I… The corruption- uh, Nega, that is, can’t protect me in my realm… it’s why I haven’t really let anyone in here...”

Error got up from the pillows, walking over silently and peering down at Nightmare, he had also shrunk a good head in height. “...Ru?”

“You’re still as handsome as ever.” He smiled softly, and Nightmare’s amused laughter rewarded him, “Can ya explain who Nega is?”

“Oh, they’re my Familiar. Heh, I… animals don’t really suit me well and I wanted to see if I could make my corruption my familiar-I gave it one of my souls and managed to give it sentience. We’re actually preparing for a break right now… Nega can keep me protected-and well, together for a while, but they do eventually need a break to recoup. My body can’t exactly stay together outside of this realm…”

“Does the gang know?”

“I… uh- they, they don’t.” Nightmare shyly confessed, “Still hung up on showing any weakness’, especially my shattered body. For the break, however long it is, I simply tell them I’m sick. It happens irregularly enough that I’ve managed to keep up the lie for a long time.”

“Do ya want me to help out? In whateva ya need? If ya wanna tell them- I’ll help, but if ya wanna continue to hide it I’ll still help ya.”

“I...” Nightmare sighed, “It’s about time I tell them, or well-more accurately show them.”

Then Nightmare pulled them both out of the realm, the two of them appearing in Nightmare’s room. He rushed over and away to the bathroom, pulling bandages and healing ointments down before handing them to Error, “I need an extra set of hands to do this, my spell can only keep my skull together-my whole body together for so long.”

Error nodded, and Nightmare sat at the edge of his bed, throwing off his shirt and pulling up his pant legs too-mumbling that it was easier to do this sooner than later. “Alright, Ru-”

“Hey- Boss ?”The door burst open, and Killer walked in looking up from his phone.

Nightmare’s skull bloomed an angry cyan, and Killer’s expression turned from shock to coy.

“Ya should really put a sock on the door before you get started, Boss.”

“Killer...”

“Yes, Boss?”

“I’m giving you until the count of one to leave.”

“Got it!”

Error couldn’t help but laugh as the doors slammed shut behind Killer, him yelling “GUYS YOU WON’T BELIEVE IT!”

Nightmare shook his skull, still trying to battle the cyan that coated his cheeks.

“Anyways- Nega’s ready to leave, they like visiting Ccino for their breaks. Pretend to be a cat for a bit and be spoiled.” He explained, “Be ready to, quite literally, catch me. I don’t have barely any magic in my… uncorrupted form anymore, so when I’m keeping my body together I don’t have enough left over to keep control over my body.”

“So ya are a spirit...”

“Yes, I am. Did Dream let it slip at some point?”

“Something like that.”

Nightmare nodded and took a deep stuttering breath before relaxing, the negativity slipping away and draining away from his body. His eye seemed to bleed rather than cry the negativity as Nega let go of him, dripping to the ground in a puddle. Nega reformed next to them-copying Nightmare’s body before shrinking down to the shape of a fluffy cat. Only the blub of a purr heard before they made themselves a small portal and left.

Nightmare was soon to fall forward, and miraculously, his bones were staying together. The chips and missing pieces of his body were temporarily replaced with glowing green swirling purple magic, and Error set to wrap them up quickly.

He carefully covered the eye, wrapping it like he remembered they had to sometimes do for Horror’s head wound, and the magic from there slowly retracted, moving back to Nightmare’s enchanting purple eye. The eye watched carefully as Error gently maneuvered his body and tended to every little scrape, burn, and cut. Although, the more Error healed, the more he had to push away his anger. Some of Nightmare’s limbs were barely hanging on, and he was even missing a few ribs. Pieces of bones chipped off-even joints missing from his hands and back.

The sun had passed fairly far in the sky when they were finally finished, and Nightmare sighed, his eyes barely awake as he continued to lean against Error.

“Take a little nap then tell ‘em?”

“Mmm, I can stay awake long enough to tell them. Better than Killer walking in again and thinking you’re cheating or something absurd like that.” His soul pulsed with guilt, “And don’t you dare blame yourself for your memories, Ru. I still have my God powers even in my original form.”

“Right, right.”

Despite being much shorter now, Nightmare now nearly reaching his shoulders, he still had the same attitude. With a sly smile, he grabbed Error’s hand and pulled him along, walking down to the living room where everyone had likely gathered.

“Um, Error? Who’s that?” Hearts spoke up when they walked in.

“Stars, here I thought even without my corruption you’d recognize me.”

“...Boss?” Dust stood up from his seat, blinking as he stared down at Nightmare, “How’d you shrink?”

“As much as I hate to admit, I am known for my shapeshifting…”

“You’re shorter than Crossy now!” Killer chuckled

“Still only an inch shorter! An inch away from you!” Cross’s purple blush spread across their cheeks.

“Hmm, I dunno, you’re both pretty short to me.” Error chuckled.

“You got no say in this, Ru!”

“Oh, did I hear someone above the average height speak? Shrink, perhaps, tall man.”

“You won’t stop quoting that will you?” Killer shrugged with an innocent smile, much to Cross’ distaste.

“Hey, at least you’re still taller than me!” Hearts spoke up again, and Horror started laughing.

Error shook his skull at their antics. Still glad he chose not to go into the Antivoid.

-

Wasn't planned in the plot at all and I thought about /maybe/ revealing Nightmare's uncorrupt form in like a good 15-20 chapters but here we are _:|

Also what Killer quoted was some dumb TikTok audio that came to mind when I was typing-I have zero regrets on that it was perfect. And you can't tell me Killer forgets to knock sometimes... more often than not.

-

All characters belong to their respective Creators

[writing-for-the-people]

Vanilla Twilight

Pairing: Reggie Peters X Reader

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

T/W: Brief abuse mention, a tiny fight (Reader throws the first and only punch.)

A/N: I’m sorry it’s late! My friends had been gone for the weekend and got back last night, so I decided to spend some time with them, but here’s this! I was listening to Vanilla Twilight by Owl City when the idea hit me.

-----------

He hadn’t slept in two days. Reggie hated when these days hit. The days where you were all he could think about and he couldn’t sleep because of the thoughts of you keeping him awake. For once it wasn’t the loud voices of his parents ringing in his head, they had fallen silent, only after one of them (his father, Reggie knew) stormed out of the house, peeling out of the driveway, and most likely heading to the bar. No, it was one of the nights that his thoughts were consumed by you.

You had been his best friend for as long as he could remember. You were the one that he would come to when his parents’ fighting became too much. You were the only one, other than his other friends and bandmates, who had seen him when things became too much. Recently, Reggie had realized that his love for you had eventually grown to more of a romantic love, rather than just the familial way he had for a good chunk of his life.

Of course, it was Reggie’s luck that his realization hit him after you had already found someone else who made you happy. You had been dating your boyfriend for three months by the time Reggie realized what the burning feeling he felt in his chest each time he looked at you was.

And because you were his best friend, he would let you go. You seemed happy. Reggie could deal with someone else holding you if it meant that bright smile would forever stay on your face. 

It didn’t matter that he spent his time thinking about what things could be if he’d only figured these feelings out sooner. It didn’t matter that he wished that you would notice him looking at you. It didn’t matter that he felt like you were spending less and less time with him. It didn’t matter that he would lie awake at night and miss you. It didn’t matter that watching the sky change from blue to the oranges and reds wasn’t the same, because it took two to whisper quietly.

You were all that mattered to Reggie. More than anything. More than-

He was pulled from his thoughts by a soft knock on his window. He crawled out of the blanket cocoon he had made for himself and padded softly over to the window. He gasped as he pulled the curtains back.

You were there, with tear stained cheeks, a red mark bright on one, and your eyes were puffy and red. Your hair was frazzled, and he didn’t know how you had managed to climb the lattice to get to the roof outside his window with how much your hands were shaking. He unlocked and opened the window, (the screen was long gone from many nights of Reggie sneaking out or you sneaking in through the window) words instantly tumbling from his mouth.

“What are you doing here? Are you okay? What’s happened to your cheek?” you flinched away from him when the boy reached out to touch the red mark, and Reggie felt his heart drop. You never flinched from him. Something happened, and he wasn’t happy with the outcome that had developed from it.

“I’m sorry, Reg. I know we normally plan these things out, but I couldn’t stand to stay with him, and I can’t go home. Not with a mark on my face.” You were one of the few friends he had who had a relatively stable home life. You loved your parents and they loved you, and things  were good. It’s one reason why Reggie enjoyed going over to your house, because your parents would treat him as if he was their child as well, and he felt like he was a part of something good.

“What happened, Y/N?” Reggie asked, keeping his voice low, no matter how much he wanted to scream. He knew at least one of his parents was home, and he didn’t want to draw their attention, not to mention he didn’t want to scare you off, you looked like you would take off at the slightest misstep. Reggie didn’t want that. 

“He hit me, Reggie. We were arguing, and he raised his voice and hit me. He’s never done that before.”

Reggie felt anger boiling in his chest, but he kept it at bay, opting instead to focus on you. “Oh honey.” He murmured softly, and held his arms out. You didn’t hesitate before you threw yourself against his chest, your tears coming stronger than they had been. Reggie wrapped you up in his arms, one hand resting on your back and holding you close while the other stroked through your hair.

You were babbling into his chest, quick and muffled enough that Reggie could only make out a few of the words that you were saying.

“If he did it once…..I broke…..going nowhere….can’t believe….seen the signs…. I was so stupid.”  Reggie shook his head, pulling back from you only enough to look down at you.

“Absolutely not, Y/N. You’re not stupid. You didn’t know. Chaz really didn’t seem like the type that would.” he didn’t continue. You didn’t need a lecture right now, you needed your friend. Someone to sit with you and help you feel better. He led you over to the side of his bed, pushing you gently so you were sitting down on the edge of the bed. Luckily, it was Saturday, so neither of you had to worry about getting up early in the morning and try to make it through a school day with this hanging over you. He turned from you. 

The two of you had been friends for so long that staying over in each other’s rooms was just a natural thing in your life. That being said, Reggie had a drawer of his dresser that was dedicated to you and the clothes that you would leave there for impromptu sleepover nights. That wasn’t the drawer that he got into. Instead, he pulled out your favorite shirt of his, a goofy rodeo shirt that you had gotten him one year as a present. He knew you liked to be wrapped up in something familiar when you were upset, and he hoped this would be good enough for you. He also grabbed a pair of pajama pants and turned back to you, handing the clothes to you. 

Reggie hummed in response to your thanking him, turning around to let you change in peace. When you were done, he took your other clothes from you, dropping them into the hamper that sat in the corner of his room. He untangled the blankets from each other, holding them up for you so you could crawl under the covers.

During this small, familiar ritual, the both of you were quiet. Even in your distressed state, you didn’t miss the irony of the moment. Usually, everything that Reggie was doing for you, you would do for him on the nights he would come over to your home in the dead of night, bleary eyed and vacant, when his parents fighting got to be too much for him. You couldn’t recall the last time that the roles were reversed like this. Or the last time the two of you had done this. While you were with Chaz, Reggie had kept his distance, not once coming over as he did before.

You climbed into the familiar bed, curling on the far side of the bed. You felt the bed shift as Reggie climbed in behind you. He reached out, a hesitant hand resting on your hip. You turned, and rather than facing the open room, you turned to face Reggie. He pulled you closer to him, and you settled against his chest, letting more tears fall. Reggie would let you cry and cling to him for as long as you needed, never once judging you.

Once the tears had subsided enough, and your breathing seemed to even out, Reggie thought you had finally fallen asleep. He shifted the covers, pulling them more securely around the two of you, making sure you were protected from the cold air of the room around you. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, before resting his cheek on the top of your head.

In different circumstances, having you wrapped up in his arms like this would make him sleep peacefully through the night, but knowing that you were hurting, that you were upset made everything different. Reggie wanted to protect you. That had always been his goal. And now here you were, and he had failed in that goal. He wanted to wash all of your pain away and make you feel special again. 

He fell into an uneasy sleep, waking each time you shifted next to him. He wanted to make sure that you were still there each time, that you were okay, and that he was doing all he could for you at the moment.

------

You were the first to wake up the next morning, the sunlight from the window streaming into your face. You blinked, not fully registering your surroundings at first. Slowly, the events from the night before came flooding back to you, and you felt your heart break all over again. You had truly believed that Chaz was the one. You loved him with the pieces of your heart that weren’t already dedicated to your boys. But clearly he didn’t think the same thing about you. His words came streaming back to you, making you wince and cuddle closer to the warm body next to you.

“Ungrateful little thing. After all the time and effort I put into making this work, and trying to thaw that god-damned frozen heart of yours, you’re gonna run off on me and spend time with those boys?”

“What are you talking about? I’m not running off with anyone.”

“Yeah fucking right. You can’t spend all that time with those posers and then turn around and tell me you aren’t going behind my back and seeing one of them.”

“I’m not! You’re not listening-”

CRACK!

“No! You’re the one not listening to me.”

“You just hit me!”

“I should have done it when I first realized.”

“You know what, we’re done. This is done. I can’t stay here anymore.”

“Good! Get out of my house, you frigid bitch!”

You didn’t realize that Reggie had woken up, or that you were crying, until he pulled back far enough to wipe the fresh tears from your face.

“Hey.” he murmured softly.

“Hi.” you croaked out softly, looking up at him. He looked worried. You nuzzled into his chest again, making him laugh and stroke your hair softly.

“I missed you, Cuddlebug.” you hummed softly, realizing how true those words were when you said them. Something had felt off the past few weeks, and you were only just now realizing that it wasn’t just something shifting in your crappy relationship. It was the loss of your best friend and the little time that the two of you had spent together in recent times due to said crappy relationship. He hummed softly, dropping a usual peck to the top of your head.

“I missed you too, N/N.” The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. Daytime in Reggie’s house was usually quiet, with his father away at his job, and his mother either locked in her room drinking, or away at the bar. The two of you laid there for a little longer before Reggie noticed the time.

“I gotta go to practice.” He hummed. On Sundays, the band usually practiced earlier in the day, taking advantage of the fact that they all usually had the time free. You sighed dramatically, detangling yourself from him. He laughed at your antics, sitting up and stretching. 

As he climbed out of the warm bed, Reggie asked, “Are you feeling up to coming to practice today? You don’t have to, but I know the others miss you just as much as I did.” He asked you over his shoulder. You grinned.

Reggie and your other friends had a band, called Sunset Curve, that they had started two years ago. They were amazing and you loved to hear them play. In recent months, they had been getting bigger and bigger gigs. You thought they were close to their goal, playing at the Orpheum, and used to go to practices regularly to cheer them on. 

“I think that it’ll be good to go.” you hummed. “Give me something else to focus on rather than…” You didn’t want to say his name. Reggie nodded, and supplied a good substitute for you.

“Douchebag.” You laughed. 

“Yeah, Douchebag.”

------

An hour later, you and Reggie were sitting side by side on the leather couch in Bobby’s garage, which had quickly become the boy’s studio space. You were talking quietly, catching each other up on the things that you had missed while waiting for the other boys to show up.

Unsurprisingly, considering it was his garage in the first place, Bobby was the first out of the others to arrive. He did a quick double take when he realized that you were sitting on the couch next to Reggie. He smiled at you, though, lifting his arm to bump forearms with you. He wasn’t usually one for much physical affection, a stark contrast to Luke and Reggie who both craved the contact.

“Hey, Y/N, good to see you in here again. It was getting a little too bogged down with idiocy for my taste.” Bobby teased lightly. Reggie flipped him off, a smile sitting on his face despite his action. You grinned.

“Well, I’ll be happy to bring the balance back again, then.” You played along with him. He grinned back at you, dropping down on the side of you that wasn’t already occupied by Reggie. 

In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the wisest idea. Luke was the next to show up, nose buried in his songbook. You grinned.

“Hey, Luke.” You called out, gaining his attention for a split second.

“Hey, N/N.” It took him a moment to realize who you were, but when he did, his head popped back up, and a wide smile broke out over his face. “Y/N!” He called out, tossing his songbook onto the coffee table before throwing himself over you, and incidentally also landing half in Bobby’s lap. Bobby complained but didn’t move him off, knowing if he did, it would just make Luke pout, and a pouty Luke wasn’t what he wanted to deal with at the moment. Instead he delt with having the other boy half in his lap. You wrapped your arms around Luke, holding on to him, feeling a lightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt for a long time. You couldn’t believe you let Chaz take you from your boys as long as he had.

Alex was the last to arrive, stammering out an apology about his parents holding him back. The others waved him off.

“It gave us time to reconnect with our little N/N, anyway.” Luke spoke from his place, still in your lap. Alex paused, a happy smile playing at his lips, before it turned to a concerned frown.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N, but what happened to your cheek?” Alex asked. You felt three more pairs of eyes fall to you as they only just registered the light bruise that adorned your cheek. 

“Let’s not go into that.” Reggie said softly. You shook your head. 

“Please. Can we just leave it alone for now? I can’t guarantee that I’m not going to cry and you guys need to practice, not worry about me. 

“We’ll always worry about you. You’re one of us, kid.” Bobby smiled. Luke and Alex nodded their agreement.

“You don’t have to tell us now. But you will have to talk to us eventually.” Alex said softly.

“I promise I will tell you guys what happened eventually. And we have forever, now. I’m not gonna be disappearing for a while.” Luke and Alex smiled, but you didn’t miss the look that crossed Bobby’s face when you said that, and you knew that he picked up on what he thought had happened. You reached for his hand with your free one, and he surprisingly took it. The five of you sat for a little longer before the boys had to get up and start practicing.

You listened and watched them jam out, realizing once again just how much you missed your best friends. 

-----

Within the week, Chaz only tried to approach you once. He unfortunately tried when Bobby was with you at your locker. By this point, you had already told the boys what had gone on, and they were all wary of the other boy. So the moment that he tried to approach you, Bobby was immediately on guard when he approached you. 

“Y/N?” Chaz sounded hesitant. You barely glanced at him.

“What do you want?” You asked. Bobby stood off to the side, keeping quiet, waiting before stepping in.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.” You slammed your locker closed, turning towards him and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You shouldn’t have snapped?” you scoffed. “That’s the only thing you did wrong that night, Chaz.”

“I know.”

“Apologies don’t make up for it.” You huffed and turned away from him. Chaz reached for you, grabbing your arm and turning you back around, ignoring the fact that you stiffened under his touch. He couldn’t ignore Bobby, though, who had stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest. 

“Step back and let her go.” He told Chaz. Chaz huffed and did as he was told. 

“You’ve got a security detail now?” He huffed again at you. You snapped.

“No. I’ve got friends who actually give a fuck about how I feel.” You were too focused on Chaz to notice Reggie showing up next to Bobby. “We’re done, and I regret ever saying yes to you.” Chaz’s face morphed and he looked angry.

“You were never worth the time anyway.” Before you could think, your fist was colliding with his face. Chaz stumbled back, and you shook the stinging feeling out of your knuckles. You were lucky that it was after school and the only reason you were still around was to wait on Reggie. The group of bystanders that had gathered cheered.

“You weren’t either.” you turned to Bobby and Reggie, smiling. Bobby looked surprised. It was rare that you would even yell or raise your voice in the slightest, so seeing you punch someone else was a break in your character. Reggie on the other hand looked absolutely starstruck, but you didn’t wait around to find out why that was. You headed out of the building, knowing full well they would be following close behind.

You guys sat in Bobby’s old car, waiting on the other two to show up, and once they did, the ride back to the studio was quiet, which you were fine with. Once you were back to the studio, though, Reggie sat you down before disappearing and reappearing with a first aid kit. He held out his hand, and you looked at him, confused.

“Your hand, N/N.” He said softly. You looked down at the knuckles, not even realizing that they had split from the one punch. You handed him your hand and let him set to work, cleaning the cuts and putting bandages over them. 

You heard Bobby on the other side of the room, telling Alex and Luke what had happened, and why you seemed to be really tense. You could feel their eyes on you, but you ignored them, opting instead to focus on Reggie’s hands on your own.

In the past week that you had been separated from Chaz you realized just how much the raven haired boy in front of you meant to you, and you felt dumb. You regretted wasting all of that time with the ungrateful man you did, and wish you had instead realized that the best thing was right in front of you all this time. You hoped that it wasn’t too late for something to happen.

It took Reggie calling your name a few times for you to realize that you had zoned out, and had been staring at him while he had tried to talk to you. 

“Hm?” you felt your face heating up. Reggie laughed softly.

“I’m proud of you.” He said with a smile. He continued after he saw the confused look on your face. “You stood up to Chaz. That’s not something that you would have normally done, N/N. I’m proud that you finally did.” 

You smiled shyly. “I just realized that I had had enough. He had been trying to tear me from my friends. He didn’t support me the way you would.” You froze when the last few words left your mouth, and you wished you could take them back, especially with the way the boy was looking at you. 

“What do you mean?” He asked softly.

“I mean the way that all of you guys would support me.” You said softly, looking down. Reggie shook his head, squeezing your hand, which was still settled in his. 

“No you didn’t.” You pulled away, sitting back on the couch and pulling your legs up to your chest.

“I’m sorry, Reg. I didn’t mean anything. I just-“ you broke off, but you knew the harm was already done. Reggie stayed where he was for a moment. 

“What if I wanted it to mean something?” He asked, voice soft. You looked up at him, cocking your head. 

“Why would you want it to mean something?” You asked softly. ”It’s not like we’re anything more than friends.”

Reggie moved to sit on the couch next to you, and he gently loosened one of your hands from where they were tightly wrapped around your legs. “I realized a couple months into your relationship that I had wanted more with you.” Reggie said softly.

“Oh, Reggie.” You sighed softly.

“You seemed so happy with him, so I didn’t say anything. But now I have the chance to, and I don’t want to let that go.” He shot one of his signature soft smirks at you, and you laughed softly.

“I’ve realized in the past week the same thing. Look at us taking forever to figure out that our best friends were our best loves all along.” You teased softly. Applause sounded from the other side of the room, causing you and Reggie to look over at your other friends.

“It’s honestly about time.” Bobby rolled his eyes. “Now get over here so we can practice.” Reggie smiled at you before jumping up and moving to join his friends. He paused and turned back to you, pulling you up from your seat on the couch, making you laugh again. 

He pulled you in for a tight hug before pulling away enough to press a kiss to your lips. You might have had some bumps in the road, but here you were now, happy and knowing that you would remain so for the time to come.

-----

JATP Taglist: @spooky-scary-lesbian​

[fromiftowhen]

fic: the goosebumps start to raise (an Upstead one-shot)

For the first day of the Upstead Christmas prompt challenge -- SNOW. 

Rated T | 1005 words | Title from Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood

For the first time in a long time, Jay wakes up on his own -- before his alarm, without his phone ringing, without Hailey's lips pressing against his skin, drawing him eagerly from sleep. 

He's cold, even though her body is pressed against his chest, and it takes him a moment to realize why. 

The curtains are pulled back just slightly, and he can see snow falling outside the window, heavy enough he knows it'll still coat the ground when they finally have to get up. 

Hailey moves against his chest, her back stretching against him, her bare legs tangling with his under the covers. 

“Cold,” she mumbles, her voice sleepy. 

“Yeah, so are your feet, good lord,” he teases, but he pulls her closer against his chest and lets her tuck her feet under him. 

“Were you already awake?” She's slightly less mumbly as she pulls his arm tighter around her chest. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, brushing his lips over the shell of her ear. “It's snowing.”

“Mmm,” she murmurs. “You hate snow.”

He laughs softly and presses his hand up under the hem of her shirt. She gasps as his fingers settle on her hip, still cold even with the body heat. 

“I don't hate snow,” he tells her. 

“Oh? So it's not you I've heard complain for the last few years about how people are idiots on the roads and the streets turn the snow dingy too quick, and--”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, pressing his hand higher up her waist, grinning when she shivers. “That's months into winter, no one likes that. But the first snow is good.”

“Yeah?” She burrows back against him, shifting so she can see the snow fall too. 

“Mhmm.”

“Happy childhood memories in the snow?” Her voice is quiet. It's the first snow they've woken up to together, and it feels like they're both trying to keep the quiet, sleepy feeling as long as possible. 

He breathes out a sigh, maybe a laugh, against her skin. “God, no.”

“What?” She laughs, her fingers drifting over his on her waist. “You and Will didn't bundle up and get in snowball fights for hours? Cute little Halstead brothers?”

He laughs. “Sure, but that was to torture each other, not to play. Ask him about the time he tried to bury me alive the week before Christmas so he could keep my gifts.”

She laughs, her shoulders shaking against his chest. “I'm sure you all remember that story exactly the same. No good childhood memories in the snow?”

“I dunno, some, I guess. But those aren't why the first snow is so good.”

“It's me, isn't it? You hated the snow until five minutes ago, and now it's your favorite because I'm here.” Her tone is playful, teasing, but he brushes his lips against her neck slowly, grinning as she arches to give him a better angle.

It might be the first snow they've seen from bed together, but he's already well-versed in all the ways he can quiet her down and rile her up with just his lips. 

He bites at her neck lightly, chuckling into her skin as she sighs. 

“Cute,” he whispers, pulling back. “But no,”

“Rude,” she grumbles, but it's half-hearted. “So what’s so good about the first snowfall?” 

Her fingers tangle with his on her waist, and he runs his thumb over her skin, warming her cold hands. 

“When I came back from my last tour,” he starts, quietly, and her fingers grip his tighter, a reflex that makes him smile. “It was summer, and hot, and I was so messed up, I didn't know what way was up for months. There wasn't sand under my feet anymore, but… everything else felt the same.”

He doesn't have to say more, she knows enough about how he spent those first few months. They don't need to relive it. 

“But the snow came early and fast that year and I woke up one morning and everything was just covered in snow, and it was so different from how I'd spent the last few years...” He trails off, and her voice fades in. 

“It was like a reset,” she fills in, and he nods. 

“Yeah, kinda. I mean, it didn't fix everything. But it finally made me feel like I'd come home. Which helped.” 

“So familiar you didn't even realize you needed it,” she says quietly. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. 

“I get that,” she says, shifting and rolling over to face him. She smiles. “I like the first snow too.”

His arm wraps around her waist, pulling her against him. “It's me, isn't it? I made you like the snow,” he mimics, teasing, and she rolls her eyes. 

“You can keep thinking that,” she says, but she's still smiling. “You're just here to keep me warm.”

“Oh? I mean, I can leave. You can put on pants, you know. Normally, people wear them when it snows.”

“It wasn't snowing last night, and you weren't protesting when I was taking them off,” she says, her cold feet sliding under his again. 

He smirks. “Yeah, well. No pants are the best pants. But it was still 20°, Hailey.”

“I told you, that's why you're here. But wanna know why I really like the snow?”

Her voice is low, teasing enough he's prepared when she tosses a leg over him and straddles him, grinning down at him. 

“I might have an idea.”

She leans in, her hair falling in his face, building a quiet little cocoon around them in the dark room. “Sometimes, you get snowed in, and you have to stay in bed all day.” 

“Yeah, your answer is much better. Can I change my answer to that?”

She laughs as her lips find his.

Her feet are still cold, and they probably won't end up snowed in. But he kisses her back and pulls the covers up over their heads, keeping the room quiet and warming them up. 

He's pretty sure she's given him a new reason to love the first snowfall. 

[orange-waterfalls]

Reader w/wings hc's p.2: lesser- known egos/egos i just didn’t wanna put in the last one

ty @fancybootm for the request!

A/N: IT’S BEEN A WHOLE ASS MONTH SINCE I GOT THIS I AM SO FUCKING SORRY. school is suck. anyways. my brain convinced itself that I had to have the same amount of egos in this one as the last one so shit's long again. I had a bit of trouble but scrounged up enough of them. uhhh I don't... we don't really know a lot? about the personalities of these ones? so I just went with what I thought. for Heistiplier, I like to think Mark in AHWM and ADWM is a completely separate person from Actor. Like until we get to the Actor timeline he is a separate person altogether. Night Guard Mark is like mark from the fnaf musical because i can and fuck you. the egos are very random and from many lesser known videos so uh. you might not know all of them. I didn’t even know all of them at first. some of these fuckers annoy me to no end so I had to make them more likable for my own sanity cjfufydy. I only skimmed through after I wrote so it might suck lol. Uh rated T for cursing. Mentions of religion and mental health. Enjoy!

Y/N(reader) w/ wings headcanons p.2

Ed Edgar saw you as a profiting opportunity.

Bastard only uses you for commercials at first

Wings sell shit, don’t they? Kids are into wings these days?

One day you get pissed and just punch him

He respects you after that…

He’s very loud, of course, and your ears tend to be sensitive

He tries to quiet down when he sees you make a face

It’s difficult because that… that’s just his normal volume

He talks about his son sometimes. Not to you specifically

He gets sad… you still don’t completely understand what happened.

Sometimes it feels like he doesn’t either

You instinctively wrap your wings around him for Safety and Comfort

He is a MAN who DOES NOT CRY but goddammit, he was close 

He enjoys your company

The Silver Shepherd thought he was gonna rescue you

He’s a superhero, he HAS to save you, right?

Nah, you’re the one saving him more often than not

He tries not to be jealous, but goddamn

Your wings are just. So big. And pretty

He’ll complain to you about his girlfriend “cheating” on him

You know the bullshit he pulls, but you listen because why not

He appreciates that you at least pay a little bit of attention

He doesn’t do a whole lot of hero work, but he usually brings you along

Just for a bit of extra support

More often than not, you’re doing most of the work

You let him believe he did something, though

You boost his very low ego, and so you get along

Derek Derekson was a little bitch

Also saw you as a profiting opportunity

Yelled sometimes when you messed up

You took deep breaths and tried to stay calm the first few times

Then you snapped, calling him a variety of... words...

He stopped yelling at you, but not much else changed

You got along well with Eric, and he appreciated you for that

He does care about his only living son, at least a little

You two don’t… talk a lot

He’ll watch you from afar, occasionally

You constantly encourage him to TALK TO HIS CHILD and GO TO THERAPY

You still don’t like him, and he feels the same way

But he’s… trying

Randall Voorhees thought you were badass

He wasn’t as used to magic and weird shit as the others

You were absolutely awesome to him

He’d never seen an angel before!

Even though he didn’t really KNOW that you were an angel

He just assumed and refused to change his mind

Harder to hide you wings in crowded cities, like where he lives

You spend a lot of your time with him cooped up in his apartment

He felt bad, so he rents a mountain cabin up in Albany whenever you visit

You two ski and snowboard look me in the eyes and tell me the bitch isn’t a snowboarder

He’s a construction worker, so he’s usually busy

You visit him on his lunch break sometimes.

The other workers claim to see you, but he’ll always deny it

He buys a pizza whenever you visit and you eat it together

You two are so cute it’s sickening

Yandereplier claimed you as their new senpai

They saw you, you had wings, you were nice

And now you are Senpai

You aren’t sure why you get a weird feeling whenever they call you this

Luckily, you don’t have many friends, at least none that they could kill…

They showed you their weapon collection to impress you

You were scared and also impressed

They take you to a cherry blossom tree near their house

You talk and hang out and eat lunch

They don’t call you senpai anymore and they talk to you normally

And you no longer stare at the blood on their uniform

Night Guard Mark prayed you wouldn’t try to kill him

He might have PTSD from Freddy Fazbear’s

Those animatronics left a mark…

It took a little while for him to trust you not to harm him

When he did, HOO BOY is he a chatterbox

He has so many theories about the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Chain

Dark’s told you not to talk about the actual lore. It might break his spirit

You get very worried sometimes

He looks like that one picture of Charlie Day. You know the one.

Sometimes he gets panic attacks

You wrap him in a cocoon of your limbs and wings to ground him

He likes you for that

You hang out, playing games and watching movies. No horror. Absolutely NONE

You can handle him, and he likes you

Dr. Plier was curious about you

He wondered how you felt about… everything

He asked if you were ok one day and you broke down

He felt guilty and bought you ice cream

He sees you as a sort of… psychological experiment

Like he asks you very strange and slightly personal questions

Ok, very personal, but he’s a therapist, what can you do

He eventually stopped the interrogation and talked to you normally

You get along fine, but it’s kind of the same situation as Dr. Iplier

Chef Iplier wasn’t really all that phased

You were surprised by this because… well… wings

But he just… treats you normal, for the most part.

Sometimes he’ll pet your wings, but only if you let him

He loves how soft your feathers are

He doesn’t make that his entire perception of you

It’s a nice change of pace

He tries to cook for you sometimes, but uh. It doesn’t go well

You’re still confused as to how someone can set a glass of water on fire

You mostly just order take out

You hang out like normal people

Which neither of you are, but you’re both fine with that

Paranormal Investigator Mark is obsessed with figuring you out

Nearly had a panic attack when he first saw you

He wanted to prove the supernatural exists, but he didn’t have a lot of evidence before

And then your mystical-ass came along

Like the Jims, he tried to get pictures, and they all ended up blurry

He threw a fit over it, and you felt kinda bad

You tried to take the picture yourself but it came out the same

He gave up after a while

He info dumps about paranormal stuff to you

It can last from 5 minutes to 5 hours

You do pay attention though, and that makes him happy

He takes you on investigations sometimes

You don’t do much except break shit with those giant wings of yours

He stopped taking you on investigations

Cooliplier is not sure what to think

You have wings! Great! There’s absolutely nothing he can do about that

Not the most normal, but not the weirdest either

He tends to put on a tough-guy persona around new people

You were a lil intimidated

Then you became friends and mans did a full 180 around you

Went from “Your daughter calls me daddy too” to “I’ll have her home by 9 sir”

His personality is sort of a mix of the two

Catch you both screaming the lyrics to Mr. Brightside at 12:00 am

Took you to a mosh pit once

You got kicked out cause of the wings

He felt bad, but you had fun

He teaches you how to dance and roller skate

You also go for rides on his motorcycle

Once you just started flying while he was driving and it was the most fun shit ever

You’re “buds”, as he often tells you

Goopiplier likes you a lot

They like having another not-completely-human creature to talk to

I mean, some of the others aren’t exactly human…

But they’re not the best conversationalists…

Then again, neither is goop.

They mention the Dark Gods ONCE and suddenly no one wants to talk to them…

But you do!! Yay!!!

You mostly just hang out, do whatever

Watch movies, play games, or just talk

They like to draw you

They’re not very good, but you keep them all anyways

Sometimes they do… rituals. While you’re around

You are… a little scared, but that’s okay!

You have sleepovers and act like teenagers

You mock the others and then giggle, getting louder as you go

They’re not that funny, but you had to be there

Elder Jeremiah is terrified of you

He nearly pissed his pants when he saw you

He thought he was finally going to have to pay for his sins

He started crying, and you panicked

Why the FUCK was this 20-something-year-old well-dressed man crying at you???

He dropped his bike and fell to his fucking knees and begged for forgiveness

You felt very uncomfortable with the whole situation

You told him to get up bc he was dirtying up his pants

He eventually stopped crying and you told him you were not an angel

Also not a demon, as you said when he asked

He avoids you, mostly, still thinking you’re gonna drag him down to hell

He stopped the uh. The stealing since you came around

He will hang around/with you sometimes to see if you “reveal your true form”

You haven’t yet, and never will, BUT WHEN YOU DO, HE’LL BE THERE

He does think you’re very nice, though

Preistiplier thinks you’re an angel sent to assist him

He is doing holy work, it only makes sense that He would send a helper

He was disappointed, to say the least

He then came to the conclusion that you lost your memory of being an angel

You couldn’t exactly dispute it, since you don’t remember

So, he takes you on hunts

You don’t do much except make a bunch of fucking NOISE with your WINGS

He’d hoped you’d smite the demons

Or at least scare them, but they know you’re not an angel

He still takes you on hunts because, he’d never admit it, but he… gets scared

You promised not to tell a soul

You confess your sins to him sometimes

They’re usually not what he considers sins, but he listens anyways

He thinks you are a good person, and he enjoys conversations with you

Heistiplier was just normal around you

Well… as normal as he can be

You’d enjoy his company a lot more if he didn’t have such a god complex

You still like him a lot

He likes you too

Even if you did refuse to rob a bank with him

He’s a very… exciting person

Though you don’t really want to be around him when he gets upset

The entire world literally seems to revolve around what he does

He’s a drama queen, and completely feral

It’s worrying at times

You two are normal friends

Playing video games, watching youtube, etc. etc.

You listen to his stories and wonder how he's not dead yet

But you can admit, he's really fucking funny

[fairymadnessyeah]

A Definitely Real Dad

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016309

Summary: Gyro seeks advice from an expert when he is faced with his greatest foe yet: Parenting an adorable real boy.

Or Alternatively: Mad scientist feeling emotions for tiny adorable robot needs help from tired and expert parent that is also a sailor.

Notes: This needs to happen.

Also Ducktales Disney right now: "You get a child, you get a child, you get a child, EVERYBODY GETS A CHILD!!!!"

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"Why do you think Doctor Gearloose invited us to his lab?" Huey asked his companions Louis, Dewey, Webby, Della and Donald as they rode the elevator to the underwater laboratory below McDuck Enterprises'.

The elevator dinged and open its doors, revealing Doctor Gearloose looking at a piece of paper while Manny, Lil Bulb and Fenton working on a turbine.

"Oh, the ducks are here!" Gyro exclaims, folding the paper he had on his hands and pocketing it in his pants. He gently leads the family to where his partners were working as he explains why he needed them here. "I need your assistance testing my new mega super plane turbine powered by gold!"

Almost all the ducks present gasp in amazement and run towards the invention. The only one that looks at it in suspicion is the mature Donald Duck. He eventually shrugs it off, his uncle's employee wouldn't purposely put his kids in danger. But then he feels a feathered hand on his shoulder and a dark aura behind him. He turned around slowly, the feathers at the back of his neck standing up.

Doctor Gyro Gearloose was looking down at him, his face neutral and the light shining against his glasses hid his eyes, making him look extremely intimidating. "You will come with me Mr Duck," The scientist tells him slowly and threateningly.

As the unluckiest duck on the world was being shoved to a side room by the mad scientist, his family, ignorant to what was happening to him, kept playing with the machine. Although it didn't take long for the kids and Della to lose interest. As the turbine got boring, they noticed that the duck sailor was missing. Fenton dismissed their worries though, telling them that Doctor Gearloose probably needed him for something and continued to show them his inventions.

"And these are my spy-bugs," Fenton presents, showing them a bunch of different flying insects robots. Pressing a code on a mini-computer, the firefly one activates, lifting into the air. "With these little guys, we would be able to have 24-hour surveillance. They all work in a hive-mind structure and are controlled by this remote device that can be connected with any sort of memory RAM. NOW CONTEMPLATE!" Fenton uses the remote device to move the firefly out of the room and then turn on the giant computer of the lab and it starts showing what the robot is recording.

"HOW COME YOU WON'T DO IT!?"  A shout echoes nearby the robot and Fenton, recognising Dr Gearloose voice, makes the machine follow the sound. They see an office where Gyro is holding Donald by his uniform and shaking him. The scientist then sighs and lets him go.  "Well, If you won't cooperate, then you leave me no choice!"  Gyro declares as he takes off his glasses dramatically and stands taller over the duck, looking ready to destroy him.

"PLEEEEEEESSSSSEEEEEEEE!"

The peppers let go of the breath they were holding. Gyro had not done anything to Donald, instead, he fell to his knees and begged the other bird as he held his glasses in his hands clasped like a prayer.

"Alright, I'll help you," Donald sighs, his voice resembling that of a normal being. Dewey said he sounded like an actor from one of those comic book movies that everybody got crazy for. "But I can't guarantee results," Gyro got up and, out of nowhere, got top-notch audio recording gear and sat on a stool with a note pad and a pen.

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

"First," Donald started. "You need to listen. Listen to what they say, how they say it and what they don't say. That is usually where the problems appear,"

"You also need to be trustworthy. You want them to come to you with their problems. But until that happens, you need to show them that you can and will help them solve their problem,"

"But if they don't tell me what's wrong how am I supposed to know that something is even wrong?" Gyro asks.

"That is the next tip, notice the little details. For example, whenever Huey drinks chocolate-milk with three spoons of cocoa powder instead of two, means that his junior woodchuck meeting didn't go so well; Whenever Dewey does a dance that consists of two spins, one flip and landing on bent knees and jazz hands means he is proud of something; or whenever Louis gets a wrinkle next to his right eye, means he is lying,"

"But the two most important things you need to remember and never forget is that you are a parent and that your life is not only yours anymore,"

"What do you mean?" Gyro asks again. "I am his parent, what else would I be?"

"It means that you aren't his friend, you aren't his buddy that will never get mad and will do anything for you. You are his parent and sometimes, you have to be the bad guy of the story," Donald tells him.

"And the life-thing?"

"It's his no. You eat what they want to eat, you eat what they want to eat, you watch what they want to watch. Your life revolves around them, they matter more than you or your feelings now,"

Gyro nods and it looks like he is about to say something but the screen turns black.

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

"Hey," Dewey complains as the image disappears.

"I'm sorry little ducks, but that seemed like a private conversation and I refuse to eavesdrop on it anymore," Fenton tells them as the robotic-firefly returns and he leaves it with the rest. "Come, I have more inventions you can play with it," He gently guides them away from the monitor.

The ducks follow him with Lil Bulb behind them, except for one. The grown woman was starring at the screen. Every time she believed that she understood how the last years without her had been for her twin, she found out that there was something she had missed. And Donald's examples, about the tiniest details of the boys, she didn't know any of them, yet Donald seemed to know them by heart.

"Mom?" Dewey called as he turned back for her, after noticing she didn't follow them.

"Comin' honey" She snapped out of her inner monologue and followed her kids.

They spent a whole afternoon testing and helping Fenton, at some point, even Boyd joined them. The kids spent the evening together, playing, laughing and catching up. Boyd was now living full-time at the lab with Dr Gearloose, Manny and Lil Bulb.

The drakes had not taken the news very well, believing that once Boyd left, things would go back to the way things were before him. But the real boy made sure to pass his half of the inheritance to the two responsible adults, leaving Doofus without the power to be richer than his parents. They were all making plans for Boyd to come and sleepover at McDuck when the duck and the rooster that were missing came into the room. Dewey was the first one to ask for the cybernetic boy to come over.

"Well, I have no problem with it," Donald said in his normal voice.

"May I go, Dr Gearloose?" Boyd asks, looking up to the scientist.

"Maybe some other time, we still have to check if there is any residual damage from Beaks viruses on you," The chicken explains and pats the real boy on the head.

"Alright, thank you Dr Gearloose,"

Not long after the duck family is leaving, as well as Dr Fenton. Manny also retreated to his quarters soon enough. Gyro was working on Boyd wiring while the real boy was telling him about his day.

"And Mrs mom was very sad when I got to leave but she told me I can return any moment,"

"Would you like that?" Gyro asks remembering what Donald had told him.  ("Make him feel listened to. Do things he likes, and if they want to do anything without you, let him be. You are not the only person in his life.")

"Yes, that would be splendid! Once my programme is clear, could we visit?" Boyd asks.

"Of Course we can," Gyro tells him as he closes the lid on the robot's head. "But now it's time to recharge so that you have all your energy for tomorrow. You have that Woodchuck-thingy you like, right?"

"Yes, my Junior Woodchuck meeting, at 9:30 sharp, remember to bring Ice-pops wood sticks," He says as if reading a remainder on a calendar while the scientist and his creation when to Boyd's room.

The room used to be a storage closet for failed projects, but they put up a sliding door to give Boyd more privacy. The real boy had a closet, a small library with a study table, a laptop, some video-games and a bed. The bed was more like a nest, with a Japanese mattress and a lot of pillows and blankets piled up to make a circular form. Boyd would usually sleep in the middle with the blankets and pillows cocooning him in warmth. Next to his bed-nest, there is a tall bulbless lamp. Doctor Gyro used to have it in his room since it was Lil Bulb's resting place, but the little rascal moved it once Boyd's room started being furnished.

"Alright, I'll drive you tomorrow and we will pick up what you need on the way," Gyro tells him as he connects wires to his back panel to charge him. "If you need anything I will be on the room next door," The chicken said.  ("Always remind him that you are there for him. Kids tend to forget that,")

"Goodnight, Dr Gearloose!"

"Goodnight, Boyd!" He sees Lil Bulb climbing the lamp and posting himself on the top, before the light it emitted turned off before he leaves the room.

As soon as he is outside, the renewed scientist with a high intellect punched the air in excitement as the word "Success!" went off in his mind. When he turned to his side, heading towards his room, he saw Manny in front of his own door. The two scientists looked at each other for a while, no one moving, until the rooster fixes his clothes and his glasses.

"Not a tap from you, or your headless behind is fired," He tells the horse as he steps into his room.

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

Another date, another morning, another day where Doctor Gyro Gearloose wakes up to another mistake made by naive and foolish Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera that he had to deal with. This time in the form of a weird duck dressed in so much black, that the scientist is willing to bet its a hobo-emo that his stupid ex-intern picked up last night. The guy looks extremely beat up and not alone. There is also that stupid pilot that hangs around McDuck and a girl duckling.

Gyro sighs frustrated and rubs his temples. He did not have time for this. He had to take Boyd to his scouts meeting and even buy something on the way there.

"Explanation, Now," Gyro demand as he goes closer and checks on the individual better.

Launchpad, Fenton and the kid, who he learns her name is Gosalyn and the daughter of said hobo-emo, tell him that Gizmoduck and Darkwing Duck had a sort of agreement. They each take turns patrolling the city, both day and night, but last night, Darkwing came upon something too big for him and Gosalyn, who Gyro was starting to realize had more brain cells than the three adults combined, called Gizmoduck for back up. The two self-proclaimed superheroes ended the job, but the one not protected by a metallic super-suit, unsurprisingly, got the worst part of the stick and ended up in here to recover.

Just as they finished explaining their night full of shenanigans, Boyd came out into the main room of the lab, wearing his Junior Woodchuck uniform and a backpack.

"Oh, hi! I am B.O.Y.D! A definitely real boy!" The android says once he notices the other unknown ducks in the room.

"I want them out of my lab by the moment I'm back, Crackshell. Understood?" Gyro threatens the other scientist, that nods in response, and then turns to Boyd. "Come on Boyd, we don't want to be late to your meeting," The boy takes his hand and the two walk to the elevator.

"It was nice to meet you!" Boyd tells the others and waves as the elevator doors close.

The two birds head to the central park of Duckberg, stopping on a convenience store on their way. Using his moped is easier and faster than any car, not needing to wait for traffic. And even if Boyd can fly, he had already told him to only use his robotic enhancements when needed. Not to mention that it also helps with one of the tips he was given yesterday.  ("You have to prioritize him. Once everything is done with him, you can follow with your day,")

The reach the park fairly quickly, but when he gives Boyd the things they bought for this meeting, he notices that the backpack moves. It takes him a second to realize that Bulb never came out of the boy's room.

"Come on out Lil Bulb," He tells the backpack, and sure enough, said invention comes out of the little boy's knapsack.

"He wanted to accompany me to my Junior Woodchuck meeting," Boyd tells him. "Can he come?" ("You have to set rules, boundaries. There are things that they can't do or can't touch. And you have to tell him so, because even if it sounds obvious to you, it might not to them.")

"He can't Boyd, I need him at the lab," He explains to the real boy.

"Understood. Goodbye, Doctor Gearloose!"

"I'll see you at lunch," The scientist gets back on his moped and straps his helmet on. He notices that Lil Bulb is giving his back to him with his arm crossed, as if offended over what happened. "Oh please, don't be difficult you too,"

As he makes his way back to the underwater lab, he can't help the feeling that those three lunatic and that girl are gonna be there. Not surprisingly, when the elevator's doors ding open, the idiot, the stupid and the girl are marvelling at the facility and its contents as hobo-emo was slowly getting off the table he was laid in and stretching his column back into place.

"Gosalyn, don't touch that! You don't know what it does!" He reprimands the girl.

Gyro sighs defeated and pours himself a cup of coffee. As he sips his revival elixir, his mind wanders at the purple and black buffoon before him. The guy was in a dire need of an upgrade. He didn't scream battle-suit like Gizmo, but maybe a few gadgets and a more protective and lasting outfit would benefit him. If the guy was going to go around and try to be a nameless and unrecognised vigilante, the least he could do was have more than just a costume and a poor ensemble of sidekicks.

"Gosalyn, No, Get down from there!" Or maybe what he needed was something else.

Gyro looked at the girl duckling, who was balancing over an old cloning tube of his, and then back at the nightly superhero, who had red lines over his eyes, enormous black bags under his eyes, a stiff neck and almost ready to drop dead any second now. Analysing the facts he had, he made a decision.

"Gosalyn, Get down from there, We need to go! Now!" The dark avenger of the night kept scolding the younger duck, that still lead him nowhere.

"Here," Gyro, out of nowhere, presented a card to the shorter man. "A parenting expert, it seems like you need it,"

Drake looks between the card and the scary mad scientist twice before taking the card. Gyro left him alone once he took it to keep working on his inventions, leaving Drake to his own devices with the card.

Donald Duck xxx-xxxx-xxxx McDuck Manor's Pool

[alleycat97]

Fluff fic of Chloe trying to be sexy for MC but ends up being awkward but MC finds it really cute (idk any fluff of MC x Chloe will do i just think of them being like this lmao!!!!)

Sorry it’s late! Little bit of dirty dirty in this one. Not too bad.

Chloe x MC(Bea)

...

Just another typical Friday night at Belvoire, minus the big frat parties and football games of course. Bea was feeling under the weather and Chloe decided to come over and spend the night with her girlfriend.

It was mid autumn, the most beautiful time of the year for any college. Bea loved it. The orange and red leaves littering the ground as she walked to classes, the cool crisp morning air, it was reminding her of home. It also reminded her of her allergies.

So here she was, Friday night locked inside watching movies. But atleast she had Chloe with her. Her relationship with the girl was unique. It was one that grew from rock bottom, neither girl wanting to admit they were attracted to each other, but the more time they spent together, the more obvious it became.

It was forbidden at the start. Chloe’s alpha, Poppy would never allow her to romance her enemy. But Poppy soon realized Chloe was doing just that, and the girl was genuinely happy for a change. So she allowed it on one condition, if Bea broke Chloe’s heart, Poppy would break Bea’s face.

There was no danger of that, the girls were never serious about anything, they listened to each other and talked about everything. The perfect couple.

Bea sat back, staring off thinking about her road here and how lucky she was. She just wished she wasn’t sick so she could take Chloe out properly to repay her for being so good to her. “Hey Chlo?” Bea said reaching over to her girl. Finding that the spot became empty.

“Chloe?”

“In the bedroom! Be right out!” Chloe replied.

A few minutes had passed and Bea became engulfed back into the movie, her favorite part was coming up, she didn’t even hear Chloe clearing her throat tying to get her attention.

So Chloe blocked the view of the tv, something Bea was upset with but quickly forgave her.

“Chloe not to complain. But where are you pants? And...is that my flannel?”

“Mhm. It was getting hot in here. I just had to take off all my clothes.” Chloe winked.

“How the hell are you so hot!?” Bea said wrapping her comforter around her tighter to try and keep from freezing to death.

“Oh thanks babe!” Chloe laughed, “I am hot aren’t I?”

“You’re ridiculous. I’m freezing to death and you’re burning up.”

Chloe finally sat back down on the couch facing Bea. One by one she undid a button exposing more and more cleavage. “It’s so hot in here Bea.” She moaned.

Bea couldn’t help but glance at her girlfriend and her antics and good lord she had no underwear on...

“Chloe where are you panties?”

“I thought this would be more relaxing, getting a little airflow up the...”

“Don’t finish that.” Bea sighed.

An awkward silence filled the room until Bea couldn’t take it anymore, she had to sneak a peek.

Chloe had removed all the buttons and the shirt flaps were the only thing covering her breast, and the tail of the shirt was pulled over her crotch area.

Bea began to feel the warmth creeping back into her body. She needed this, needed Chloe now.

Chloe watched her like a hawk, she knew Bea couldn’t resist her charms, the sick girl began undoing her cocoon and easing her way closer to her.

“So nice to see you wanna play Bea.”

“I wanna play.” Bea said focusing on her target.

Chloe suckered her in and abruptly put her foot to Bea’s face stopping her in her tracks.

“Not so fast love. You’re still sick. So therefore you don’t get to touch, but I will let you watch.”

Bea just deflated. Drained again and feeling worse than ever, she had to watch Chloe pleasure herself. Talk about torture.

“I hate you right now.”

Chloe grinned as she hit the right spot and moaned loudly. “Mmmm Bea that was wonderful!”

“Still hate you.” She said wrapping herself back into her cocoon.

“Oh here you big baby.” Chloe said shoving her dirty fingers into Bea’s face. “You can have a taste. It’ll make you feel better.”

“You’re so weird.” Bea chuckled cleaning Chloe’s contents off her fingers.

“Says the girl who just willingly sucked the juices off my fingers.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.” Bea replied trying to suck those fingers spotless.

“That’s what I thought.”

[kathyprior4200]

Entertainment in Inferno! (Alastor Enters Hell)

Part 1: “Alastor enters Hell” 1933

  Hell: 1933

 Black empty space.

Complete silence.

He felt like he was floating in some kind of void. Where he was, he didn’t know.

 He had no form, no physical sensations of any kind.

For a moment he just…was.

 A small white light emerged from the dark above, and steadily grew. Though it was blinding, the light didn’t bother him.

“Alastor…Alastor…”

A choir of vocals were speaking the repeated word in the distance. The voices grew louder as he felt himself rising upward. The word felt comforting to him, and sounded strangely familiar.

“Alastor…”

 He suddenly stopped and saw a golden gate up ahead within white clouds. A winged figure puffed up his white wings and stared at him.

“I am Puriel,” the angel said. He had a white face with red blotches on his cheeks, yellow eyes and short bronze gold hair. He was dressed in white dress pants, a white shirt, a golden bowtie, and matching shoes.

“I am an examiner of souls and one of many who determine where one goes in the afterlife.”

He spoke an incantation.

“Alastor Roscoe Duvalier,” Puriel stated. “Here is your previous form.”

Alastor gasped as he suddenly remembered his name. A flood of memories of his past life rushed back to him.

Alastor stared down at himself and saw his human reflection in front of him. A thin man with a pointed chin stared back at him with chocolate brown eyes and small round glasses. His skin was a very light brown, looking almost white. His hair color was in-between brown and red, short with a bit of a wave pointing to one side. The longest parts of his hair were slightly past his ears, reaching toward his chin.

A large black bowtie was positioned below his neck. His undershirt was white with buttons and crisscrossing lines forming a few diamonds. The design resembled the structure of a radio tower. Along with tan pants and brown boots, he wore a candy red pinstriped coat with dark red stripes going vertically down toward his waist.

What was disturbing about his reflection was a small red x on his forehead between his eyes that seemed to be glowing. His clothes were stained with blood as was the side of his face.

Alastor sprouted a large grin and instantly felt better. He said his name out loud, surprised to hear his voice.

 The angel in front of him continued. “Alastor Roscoe Duvalier, born in New Orleans to French American Joseph Duvalier and Creole American Loretta Duvalier. Entered Earth January 24th, 1896 at 3:00AM. Died in 1933 in the woods via a gunshot to the head and mauling by dogs.”

A brief flashback of him running from the police, trying to hide in the woods. Hearing the growling of canines and being surrounded by sharp teeth. A loud gunshot and an exploding pain through his head. Briefly seeing a buck in the distance before things went black.

Puriel looked through an endless holographic list of souls. He turned to Alastor with a glare.

“Due to the endless number of people you killed, you are not fit to enter Heaven. You are to either enter Hell, purgatory, Tartarus…” he listed off dark places from other cultures…

“…or go back to the endless void, as those who die a second death are fated to go.”

Alastor could feel a strange sensation, like someone, or something was tugging at his chest. It seemed to come from far below. He suddenly felt the need to follow it.

Having read his mind, Puriel nodded, a look of disgust on his face. “Your fate has been decided. Suffering and death will be there to meet you, unless you can somehow redeem yourself. Farewell.”

 The angel and the golden gate vanished, the darkness filling in again. Like the sudden drop of a roller coaster, Alastor felt himself plummeting rapidly down through the dark.

He literally screamed into the void.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He thought he briefly saw a familiar blue and green planet out in space, but everything rushed by too quickly for him to comprehend.

Breaking through dark ground, falling further into hot magma, uncomfortable heat that was even hotter than the sun…

Falling ever so endlessly, until he rushed through an opening portal in a crimson sky, the rim surrounded by flames.

 Down below, a group of little red skinned imps were forcing enchanted voodoo dolls made of straw to dance on hot coals. Red glowing chains held the dolls in place around their necks, the magic coming from the lead imp’s claws. The lead imp cackled, wearing ringmaster’s clothing and a round hat while the other imps jeered. A few demons watched the show from a distance. Several circus tents were lined nearby. The lead imp looked up in horror as the yelling figure fell down…and crushed him, creating a giant crater in the ground. The chains disappeared and the dolls cheered. They jumped over the coals and chased away their tormentors with sizzling silver pins.

The imp and Alastor fell through another portal, this time into a dark void.  Alastor landed hard on his back despite no visible structure being there. He coughed and slowly stood up, brushing off dirt and ash from his hair and clothes. The imp rubbed his long horns in pain and stood up too. The imp glared at Alastor, baring his fangs, but was quickly held into place via black tentacles pinning down his arms and legs. The imp yelled before being consumed by rows of sharp white teeth that appeared in the dark.

Alastor remained perfectly still, not even daring to breathe. (Not that he really could, anymore.) The black space was nothing like the silent void of death. In fact, it was more like an ocean of dark matter, humid heat and…

…things that were alive.

 Shadow spirits ebbed and flowed through the endless space, some with glowing white eyes, others with horns, all of them blending in within the dark. Shrieks, moans, and the occasional cackle filled the air.

“Hello darkness, my old friend,” Alastor spoke to himself.

“Hello to you as well,” said a voice from behind him.

Alastor spun around and only saw darkness.

“Who’s there?”

“Over here,” said the voice, in a distorted eerie tone.

He looked to the side and nearly gasped. Surrounded by an aura of red was a shadow of what looked like a skeletal humanoid deer. The figure stood upright with large white holes for eyes and sharp teeth inside its mouth. A pair of large antlers sat around shadow deer ears and a mess of hair. A claw with four fingers gripped Alastor’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” Alastor asked.

The being morphed until it was a black copy of him.

“I am you,” the shadow replied. “You may call me… Rotsala. I was born from your deepest nightmares, nestled in your subconscious. All of your evil thoughts, your fear, your rage…and your desire for vengeance. Those thoughts nourished me. Every kill you made on Earth brought you one step closer to not only death, but also to the underground Loas, and myself. Once you died, I was born with this shadow vessel, and separated from your mind. I traveled down here, to my home, knowing you would come. Now we are reunited at last.”

“But you’re not a part of me anymore,” Alastor said.

“Yes and no,” the shadow said. “Though I have my own body, I am still a reflection of your true feelings, your true motivations. So, naturally, once we get to Hell I’ll be your…guide, as it were.”

“But we can’t go back to Hell. Aren’t we stuck down here?”

“Not for long,” said the shadow. He pointed down to Alastor’s arm. Alastor looked and saw three glowing red voodoo symbols etched onto it in blood.

Alastor could sense other ancient beings moving closer to him, speaking in ghostly whispers.

The shadow continued, “Your debt to the Loas and specifically to Lord Kalfu has been paid. A sacrifice of loved ones in addition to your own gruesome death…bestows upon you, neigh unlimited power.”

 It all happened before Alastor had the chance to blink. Shadow creatures rapidly circled around him and black tentacles enveloped his entire body like a macabre cocoon. Alastor yelled as his human skin cracked, and peeled off his body in fleshy chunks, which soon faded into dust. Muscle and bone also disintegrated rapidly. Surprisingly, it wasn’t agonizing. It was more like the natural process of a snake shedding its old skin to make way for something new.

He felt formless, naked and cold, but soon warmed up as new flesh formed where his old exterior shell once was.

 His new skin and face were grayish in color. Empty dark sockets took up much of his face, the home of his new demonic red eyes. Soon, other body features formed: thin gray arms, legs, four fingered hands and four-toed feet…an anatomy of a male human, though definitely not human at all.

Alastor opened his mouth and sharp yellow fangs slowly emerged from the top and bottom. They closed together to form a wide sinister smile.

Thick red hair grew on Alastor’s head, pointing out in a slight wave toward the right like his previous human form. Tuffs of hair ending slightly past his chin on either side completed the look, ending with black colored tips. Instead of round earlobes, thick fluffy deer-shaped ears grew from the sides of his head, ending in black furry tips. In addition, small black antlers stuck out in the middle of his head, along with a fluffy black and red deer tail that appeared near his tailbone.

Alastor waved his hand in front of his right eye, and an old fashioned monocle appeared under it, connected by a thin chain. A burgundy pinstriped dress coat and a red undershirt materialized and covered his body. The ends of the coat were filled with several holes, giving it a tattered feel. An upside down black cross lay under a large black bowtie in place under his chin and neck. He wore the same color pants, plus black shoes with red deer hoof prints on the soles. Black gloves with red tips covered his four-clawed hands.

With his new form complete, the tentacles released Alastor and parted away.

 Tingling hot red electricity spread into his head, then moved down his body, much of it resting in his hands and fingers. He snapped on instinct and a burst of red magic sparked to life like a firework.

Then knowledge of magic and voodoo spells entered into his brain. The new information faded into the back of his head, staying there like he had it within him all his life.

“HEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”

Alastor let out a maniacal laugh that rose higher into hysterical giggles. All this supernatural power was coursing through his veins, and he loved every second of it.

Finally the magic quietly faded with a humming sound.

Two shadow demon figures approached with silent steps, eyes glowing red. Alastor could barely make out their forms in the blackness.

“One more thing,” said the shadow. “Demons make deals down here in Hell, and they are not to be taken lightly. These two are friends of mine. They are a few of the representatives of this world below Hell.”

The shadow creatures morphed into two alternate versions of Alastor. The one to the left had a red deer head with large antlers, radio dials for eyes and a dark blue suit. The other one had an old fashioned radio for a head, and wore a red suit with a black tie with crisscross lines on it like those of a radio tower.

“These two have taken forms suitable to your liking. They were the main ones who helped transform you…you may call them by their pseudonyms Cerf and Muse.”

The two shadows turned men awkwardly waved, feeling out of place in their temporary demon costumes.

“Since they used all their effort to craft you a suitable body to enter Hell…it only seems fitting that you could help them out as well.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. There was more to this. “A proposal?”

The shadow nodded. “Give some of your newfound power to them and a connection will be forged between you and my brethren. You will be able to summon imps, shadow spirits and even the darkest creatures of the underworld with just a snap of your fingers. Cerf and Muse can serve as your bodyguards.”

Cerf walked forward. “I will give you animal instincts like sharp hearing and fast reflexes.”

Muse elbowed Cerf’s side and pushed forward. “I can give you something even better…your own personal weapon!”

Alastor was intrigued. “What is it?”

Muse smirked and wagged his claw, “You’ll have to agree to the deal if you want to find out!”

Alastor kept his smile on his face, standing proud in the face of uncertainty and risk. “And what’s in it for you?”

Alastor’s shadow grinned. “Why, your power, of course! Your sins on Earth coupled with your granted powers have made you, perhaps the most powerful demon yet to be. It would be quite useful for us in the long run.”

“Yes, yes,” said Cerf, “You know, ‘cause we want to eventually be free to roam Hell…and feast on delicious souls…havoc on the house!”

Muse elbowed him hard and flashed a warning.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Idiot,” he muttered.

“Aw come on,” said Cerf. “We worked for that Dr. Facilier not too long ago, remember? His soul’s still in Hell and he still has his Eldritch powers. This guy can’t be that bad.”

Alastor grinned, getting an idea. “Hmm…how much power do you want from me?”

“50%,” said the shadow.

Alastor scoffed. “Ha! No. Way too much. After all that effort in giving it to me? No. I won’t relent that easily.”

“Well…if you don’t take the deal, we could always take some away…”

Alastor leaned in close and sneered, “Then I guess I’d be left with fighting myself for eternity then. I think we both know that it would get boring fast.”

The shadow nodded after a pause. “Touche. How about 30%?”

“Still too much. I could give you a wealthy 1%.”

“It’s gotta be above a single digit, or the exchange is off,” said the shadow. “25%.”

“Nonono. How about 10%. You tell me where I can find this Facilier guy…make him my slave…it’ll be all yours.”

Alastor’s shadow held out his hand, the other creatures looking on eagerly. “So, do we have a deal?”

Alastor grinned and put his hand into the shadowy digit. Green electricity sparked as they shook.

Cerf and Muse spiraled around him in circles. Cerf vanished into Alastor’s ears, awakening his senses. Muse turned into shadow once more…and began to change shape. The shadow transformed and Alastor felt something appear in his right hand.

 It was an old red vintage microphone staff. A glowing red eye appeared on the top, just below where the speaker was.

“About time you sealed that surreal deal,” came a voice from the device. It was a male voice with a radio filter over it. It sounded like an announcer on a broadcast.

“So this is my new weapon and accessory you were talking about.” Alastor said.

“Yes indeed,” the microphone replied. “Just turn me on and you can broadcast what’s going on around you, anytime, anywhere. I should say…your desire and love for telling dad jokes…I’ll help you go overboard with it.”

Alastor grinned again. He was already enjoying this opportunity.

“Enjoy yourself while you can, Radio Star,” said his shadow before disappearing behind him.

The microphone muttered something about already feeling trapped but Alastor didn’t listen.

He was already planning his next move.

“What am I waiting for?!” he asked out loud. He concentrated on the space in front of him and a portal opened back to Hell. He stepped through it and it closed behind him.

 This would be the beginning of Alastor’s many conquests of Hell…and his new title of The Radio Demon.

 The very first attack occurred in a dark forest in the moonlight (if there were even moons in Hell). Alastor discovered that when he concentrated and waved his hands over the ground, he could summon tentacles, shadow spirits and even voodoo imps from below.

If he was going to take over this peculiar place called Hell and be entertained, at least he would have help.

The demonic deer could hear the patter of footsteps and hid in the shadows, behind an old tree. Moving his head sideways, he peered to get a better look. Walking on the trail were two skeletal deer walking on two hooves. One of them was smoking a cigarette and the other was talking about “borrowing” coins from his ex-girlfriend. Behind them was a black minotaur in jeans and overalls. The first deer carelessly threw his used cigarette on the ground.

Alastor stared at it and the path ahead, getting an idea.

He picked up a rock and threw it in the distance. It crashed hard into the ground, causing the area to shake.

The two deer froze at the explosive noise and turned their heads around.

“What was that?” one asked.

“I didn’t hear nothin’,” said the second.

“You boneheads be hearin’ things,” growled the minotaur. He unzipped his backpack and took out an axe. He swiped several times in front of him, causing the deer to duck. “I pay you to protect me. Your job’s to cut down these trees for wood. Our saloon’s not gonna warm itself up in the winter ya, know.”

He kicked one of the deer with his hoof, sending the creature forward in a pile of bones. “Hurry up, now!”

The deer got up and continued forward. Alastor stretched out his hand and a black tendril snaked in front of the path. Invisible and silent, the deer didn’t notice it until they tripped over it.

“Aurgh!” they yelled, face planting in the dirt.

“You’re good for nothin’ but shit!” chided the angry minotaur. “Get your fat bony asses up before…”

FWOOOSH!

The lone cigarette erupted into flames from behind them.

“Before…that happens?” asked one of the deer, pointing behind the minotaur.

The flames moved rapidly through the dried wood. The deer rattled as they ran but were blocked as sparks ignited in front of them, with a snap of Alastor’s fingers. The barrier of fire blocked their path. Soon, the trio of sinners were surrounded by the flames.

“Now what?” asked one of the deer.

“Run through it, imbecile!” yelled the minotaur. “Or you’ll be even deader than you already are!”

Chuckling, Alastor turned on his microphone and strode forward, the flames having no effect on him. A spotlight shone from the eye that appeared in the center of the microphone.

“I believe I can help with that.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” spat the minotaur.

“The end of your pathetic existence,” Alastor said. “I’d say your attitude is sheer bullcrap, but who am I to know for sure.” He laughed at his pun as sounds of a laughing audience emitted from the staff.

The minotaur bellowed in rage and charged forward. A hard slap on the face from Alastor sent the bull man to the ground. Alastor stomped his foot and the bone deer were sent down into the depths in pieces.

“I’ve never hunted a bull before,” Alastor said, walking up to the minotaur on the ground. Four black spirits with big white eyes appeared to restrain him. A hunting knife appeared in his gloved hand. “…But I look forward to the new experience.”

He wedged the blade under the bull’s horns and began to saw through the material. The minotaur couldn’t fight off the spirits holding him down. Taking his sweet time, Alastor cut off the bull’s other horn.

“I must say, your horns are exquisite,” Alastor mentioned. He examined one in his hands like it was an artifact.

“Stealing my horns for the black market, are ya?” asked the minotaur.

“Nope!” he said. “I’m just curious to see how useful these things can be. We’re about to find out, ladies and gents…”

He rushed forward and stabbed the minotaur with his own horn. The bull roared loudly and briefly gurgled before falling backward with a limp. The horn was removed and coated with dark red blood.

Sticking out his long purple tongue, Alastor licked off some of the blood from the horn’s surface. He bent down and began to skin the dead minotaur before enjoying his midnight meal. “In case you were wondering, folks, bull meat can be hearty and tasty. Venison is my favorite, though.”

He stood up and wiped off his mouth. With a wave of his hands, the flames disappeared as did the spirits. Clearing his throat, he said in his announcer voice, “Welcome to the first ever radio broadcast, hosted by me, Alastor. 66.6 FM. It has to be deeply embarrassing to get stabbed to death by your own horn. But I don’t have any horns except the severed ones in my hand. Honestly, seeing the life leave that sinner’s eyes got me…should I say…horny. Ha ha ha! Stay tuned for more broadcasts in the future. Ta-la for now!”

He turned off his microphone with a tap and hummed a happy tune as he walked through the woods.

 The second massacre was much more exciting for Alastor. It took place at an annual fair, which was jam packed with demons. Alastor casually walked toward the line of demons waiting to get in. He whacked one demon in the back with his cane. The demon toppled forward, ramming into another demon, who tumbled into the next one. In a comedic domino effect, all the demons crashed to the ground in yelps and grunts.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asked a grumpy old demon with the face of a mosquito. The insect demon wore a white shirt with vertical black stripes.

“Why hello there, good sir!” said Alastor, walking up to the booth. “I felt that the line was going much too slow, so I decided to speed things up.”

“Get back in line, punk,” the mosquito spit. “Or I’ll suck up your blood and energy.”

“Oh no, how scary,” Alastor exclaimed in a mocking tone. Still, he kept a protective spirit in his pocket for powerful demons like the one in front of him.

“Just tell me how much it costs to get in,” said Alastor. “I have lots of dosh.”

“One thousand and ten souls,” the mosquito grunted.

“I believe the sign only says fifty souls,” Alastor mentioned.

“No, it says one thous…”

He glanced at the sign which read: “County Fair, best in Hell, fifty souls.”

“It said one thousand and ten a moment ago.”

“I don’t think so,” said Alastor, laughing inwardly.

“Enough of your games!” bellowed the mosquito. “Get back in line. You should have enough to pay for this.”

“I do have fifty souls,” Alastor replied.

“One hundred and ten, idiot,” said the mosquito.

“Fifty!” Alastor answered.

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Hundred ten!”

“Fifty!” yelled the mosquito.

“How about zero!”

“Zero?!” yelled the mosquito.

“Zero it is! Thank you, fine sir!” called Alastor, swatting the mosquito’s face with his staff. He vanished ahead into shadow, leaving the mosquito in disbelief.

 Alastor hummed happily as he walked among aisles of stands and booths. Children monsters threw bombs at a target, sending a sitting bat demon into a tub of acid below.

“Rotten candy!” called a pink dragon at a booth. “Freshly spun for everyone!” Blue and pink candy floss was being spun, and scooped up into a white cone. The dragon burped and the candy turned a sickly green.

A hydra at another stand was throwing darts at live suspended teddy bears covered with sores, some with eyes missing. Another demon with a TV for a head was riding a unicycle while twirling live wires in his hands.

Off in the distance, a family of brown Gollums were riding on a Ferris wheel. One of the parents got mad and threw a baby Gollum off into the air.

A roller coaster with zombies in the cars sent them upside down, then dropping them several feet to the ground on a mattress of metal spikes.

 Inside a red and black circus tent, a crowd of demons sat in the stands, watching some individuals perform tricks in the center. A sign nearby read: “The Amazing Imp Siblings! Blitzo, Tilla, and Barbie Wire!”

Another sign read “The Incredible Blitzo! Big top, tickets now! One night only!”

“Come one, come all!” came the announcer’s voice from a speaker. “Presenting your favorite trio of tricksters…”

Drums played rapidly in the background…

“The Imp Siblings!”

Blitzo and his sisters emerged from an opening in the wooden floor and posed on a podium. The crowd clapped.

“Hello, I’m Blitzo, the “o” is silent!” called the imp in the middle. He wore a navy blue sequined outfit with yellow eye decorations on the sleeves. His face was red and white and his horns long and curved.

“I’m Tilla,” said the older imp sister.

Tilla’s face was red and her hair was long and black. Her dress was pink with black dots along the front.

“And I’m Barbie Wire!” said the youngest sibling. Barbie Wire wore a black and white stripped dress, and her horns were curved in spirals around her head like a ram.

After a jingle about their new Immediate Murder Professional Company, Blitzo mentioned to his siblings, who both grinned. The imps took their places as their performance started. Circus music played nearby, one scrawny demon playing a rusted organ on wheels off to the side.

True to her name, Barbie Wire balanced on a tightrope made of razor thin wire. When flying bats surrounded her, she took out a spear and sliced them down when they flew close. She almost fell, but held out the spear in front of her, steading herself.

Tilla was busy doing flips as a giant manticore was released from a nearby cage. The beast had a lion’s head, black bat wings, and the tail of a scorpion. Tilla dodged the deadly tail and began to jump over it like she was doing jump-rope. With a mighty back-flip, she landed on the manticore’s back and rode the beast around the arena. The manticore roared and reared up, but Tilla brought the beast back down, taming it.

Meanwhile, Blitzo was singing a song about murder into a microphone while twirling a double-sided torch in his hand. The three siblings killed off more creatures before landing gracefully back in the center before taking a bow. The crowd stood up and applauded with hands, claws, fins, and other appendages.

  “Wow, what a performance!” exclaimed Alastor, his voice blending into the cheers. “Now this is what I call one hell of a show!”

 The Radio Demon filed out with the rest of the crowd. Feeling giddy, he played several of the games at the stands (and didn’t hesitate to cheat in order to win.) He ordered hot dogs (made from actual dog), blood punch, bird brains on a stick…and passed on the literal shit kababs.

A pleasant feeling of nostalgia came over him as he remembered the fun times going to the circus with his family as a kid. He loved playing the games and feeding the animals at the petting zoo. He was especially fascinated by the fortune tellers, who had used Tarot cards to predict people’s futures. The Fool card, representing curiosity and beginnings, was drawn as his card for his childhood. For his future teenager card, the Hermit was chosen, representing isolation. Justice was the chosen card for adulthood, adding to karma. Last of all, if he made it past 30, the Devil card was placed in front of him.

At the time, he didn’t know what they meant, but it was fascinating all the same.

Back in the present, a troll with three eyes was dragging a struggling buck toward a sitting group of spider demons waiting to ride it.

“Man, I’m still hungry,” he thought. “Haven’t had venison in forever.”

He summoned a rifle in his hands and proceeded to blast the deer’s head clean off.

“The fuck?!” bellowed the gray-skinned troll, stomping toward him. “That was my prized animal!”

“And that is my meal,” he replied.

The troll raised his fist and brought it down to where Alastor once stood. He materialized behind him.

“Stop trolling around and show me what you’ve got,” said Alastor.

The troll landed more punches, Alastor dodging every one.

“You’re no fun,” Alastor replied. He held out his hand and blasted a fireball straight into the troll’s face. The troll fell backwards to the ground, only a smoking hole of charred flesh where his face once was. Alastor picked up the deer head and smiled at the spider kids.

“You arachnids still want a ride?”

The spider kids scurried away, without saying a word.

 Later on, Alastor saw something that disturbed him inside for the first time. A group of four black reptile-like demons were huddled near a yellow and red striped circus tent. One held a whip in his hand and repeatedly slashed at a living voodoo horse made of straw. The creature was hauling a cart with a cage and was whining in pain.

“Get moving you bastard beast of burden!” sneered the snake demon.

The driver of the cart let out a hiss and a laugh. “Boy, we’re gonna be filthy rich by today’s end. Got lots of good victims to torture, it’ll make the boss happy.”

Alastor walked over toward the cage and saw several small voodoo dolls who were very much alive. A father and a mother doll were comforting little doll children who huddled into their cloth chests. The mother’s eyes were purple buttons and though her mouth was stitched shut, a voice still emerged.

“It’ll be okay, my son,” she said, soothingly.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to the spectacle,” cried the kid.

The father doll sighed. “I can see why. My mother was used by a demon to harm his rival in the Second Circle of Hell. The pins and needles stuck into her every day, hurt her as much as that poor demon. But we’re stuck as slaves. We have no choice. To the demons and imps, we’re nothing but tools to be used.”

“That is very true,” thought Alastor. “But what if they could be used in a good way?”

The father looked at a grisly array of straw voodoo heads sticking from long spikes in the ground. The dead heads were trophies for the snake monsters. One wrinkled head with white curly hair remained motionless on a bloodstained spike.

“That’s your grandmother over there,” said the father. The boy doll turned away.

“The voodoo dolls who don’t serve their purpose right…” added the mother doll. She mentioned outside to more reptile demons eating living dolls, burning others, tearing other dolls to shreds and sewing them back together, only to repeat the process.

Alastor snapped his fingers and the cage door opened. The dolls stared confused but soon ran out when they saw the demon’s face.

“Hey, get back here!” called a bipedal snake as his captives fled on their short stubby legs.

Radio noises rushed from his staff as Alastor spoke a Creole spell.

Other voodoo imps and creatures slowly turned their heads to look toward him. Round faced dolls who were originally tied by chains broke free. Many gathered nearby knives, pitchforks, and even torches.

“You inssssulent strawberry clown!” hissed the boss snake, slithering over, wearing a business suit of black. “You think you can get away with ssssetting my prizes free like that. I’ll bite you and make you wish you never died!”

A tentacle rose from the ground and constricted the snake’s neck. His yellow eyes bulged and he gasped for air through his fanged mouth. He was then tossed aside into a pit of flames. A nearby doll rebel mob stabbed the snake with sharp pins.

Casting another spell, Alastor grew taller until he towered above the circus tent. His dress coat merged with the tent and flaps. Black spikes jutted from out of the tent and other tents nearby, some with voodoo heads on them.

Telepathically using pins to hold open the flaps, Alastor pulled the rest of the snake-men in with several tentacles. A roaring fire blazed to life right where the demons were standing. The reptiles roared in agony as the flames consumed their bodies. One snake opened his mouth, wide, reaching out from the tent, trying to escape. Voodoo imps off to the side, held their little weapons in the air, attacking any other demons who wondered by. The voodoo minions now had mouths of sharp teeth, with blood around their mouths, eyes white. Alastor, meanwhile was enjoying the carnage below, now in full demon form. His hands were spread out wide, his eyes red radio dials, and his antlers jutting out from his head. All the while, his victory was broadcast yet again over the radio.

“Goood afternoon, you filthy sinners! It’s your favorite radio demon, Alastor coming in live! I am here at the annual county fair. Just listen to that cheerful circus music, and the joyful sounds of sinners on their days off. And best of all, the screams of those unfortunate enough to be trapped in my inferno! Chaos is still running rampant here as voodoo dolls strike down their former masters with every kind of weapon imaginable. You know what they say: “be careful what you wish for…you may soon be on fire, for better or worse!” Tickets are still on sale for those who’d like to experience the show. Well that’s all for now, folks. Stay tuned for more, next time on 66.6 FM.”

 Now in Alastor’s control, the doll citizens caused havoc around hell in the name of their new lord of chaos. They had aided him in his many other conquests, doing his bidding like the shadow spirits.

 During one particular conquest, the voodoo imps stood in a line beside Alastor as they overlooked a city in one of the Nine Circles. The sky on that day was red and cloudless, the color of fresh blood.

The demons who lived there had supported Sir Pentious, the evil snake overlord from the 1800s. The boastful villain himself was there, controlling a hulking machine with metal arms and legs…and lots of blasters, from the inside. His egg minion army stood at the ready, some of them running around the inside, others watching their leader in awe.

“Oh I really wish I could be shot with one of those amazingly crafted blasters,” said egg #66.

“Shut up!” hissed the overlord, his one-eyed top hat on his head. “I need to focus here! There’s a rogue army of…toys straight ahead trying to take over this turf. But several perfect shots from my blasters will do the trick.”

The snake pulled several levers and the blasters fired torpedoes that exploded off in the distance. Alastor had formed a red energy shield which protected him and the dolls.

“Hey, red reindeer man!” Sir Pentious called through a loudspeaker. “What are you doing on my turf?”

Alastor turned on his microphone. His voice echoed through the air, accompanied by radio noises.

“It’s Alastor to you, old serpent. And I believe this territory now belongs to me.”

“Well my cult of demons would disagree with you,” Sir Pentious retorted. The demons stood holding spears and barring their teeth.

“You still have a chance to surrender and run,” said Alastor. “If I were you, I’d take it.”

“Fool!” Sir Pentious hissed. “You’re not getting in my way of my domination goal! Now, prepare to be blasted to bits! Hahahaha! Attack!”

More blasts shot from the robot’s arms. The demons yelled as the eggs charged forward, wearing pinstriped suits and black top hats. Alastor pointed his claws forward and the voodoo imps rushed in. One imp with horns, a black hat, and sharp teeth held a butcher knife. Another imp with horns bit into an egg minion with a large bite. The egg yelled and cracked open in a yok mess.

The eye on Alastor’s microphone created a spotlight that temporarily blinded the approaching demon soldiers. Happy, jazz music poured from the staff, a contrast to the grisly battle occurring.

A wealthy demon wearing a white shirt and rings on two of his three fingers, fled when flames sparked in front of him. Another demon wearing a blue general’s uniform had large black eyes and horns with black and pink stripes. He tried to fight off the imps, but the creatures held onto his legs with their fangs.

Black tentacles emerged from an opening portal, grabbing onto demons and tossing them inside like rag dolls. A final blast fired from Sir Pentious’ machine. “You’re done for!” the snake declared.

The torpedo froze in mid-air after Alastor held out his hand. The missile then flew backwards, right into the heart of the machine. The hunk of metal exploded and Sir Pentious fell out with a scream. He quickly fled while his remaining egg army followed after him. “I’ll have my revenge, Alastor! It’s far from over!”

“I’d say it’s closed curtains for your show,” the radio demon replied. He cut into his hand with a fingernail and droplets of red blood glowed.

The demon general stood up on shaky legs…then was instantly crushed by a large metal pillar. The pillar along with two others held up a tall radio tower that had materialized out of nowhere. A red light blinked ominously at the top, an Illuminati eye, watching everything.

“Now there’s some technology I can truly appreciate!” Alastor exclaimed with a clap of his hands.

Whenever Alastor paid a visit to a city or town, the people would run for cover, shouting, “It’s the Radio Demon! Run for your afterlives!”

Their screams and terrified faces filled Alastor with glee and a sense of dominance. He hovered in the air, his eyes demonic red, antlers long and extending from his head. He was a figure of chaos and power, under the glowing pink Pentagram in the indigo sky. Voodoo imps carried animal skulls on spikes as they roamed the streets. They left several spikes in the ground with severed demon heads attached (and sometimes voodoo doll heads.) The spikes would often stand near piles of dead demons. Some dolls broke into stores and smashed TV screens with their spears and weapons. “VOX EATS SOCKS!” was spray painted in red by two dolls on the glass window of the trashed TV store. After they left, a lone voodoo minion replaced the red “S” with a black “C” and cackled out loud. Alastor’s deer shadow hovered nearby in the air, with red eyes, large antlers and a grinning mouth.

Radios of all shapes and sizes were soon for sale in many stores in Hell. One of Alastor’s favorite ones was an old fashioned one with three panels at the top, a dial, and a row of grinning teeth that was part of the design on the front. A friendly reminder for listeners to keep on smiling.

The voodoo imps evolved further, some growing horns of purple and bright pink. Others rode in battle on skeletal deer with glowing red horns in place of antlers. Those more inclined to water hitched rides from moving skeletons of sharks and underwater monsters.

Even poor Husk, the alcohol drinking gambler cat demon, was dragged into Alastor’s schemes several times. At one point, he was forced to do a tap dance on stage to distract a crowd of demons while Alastor razed the nearby town. It was embarrassing for the winged cat demon, but Alastor obviously got a kick out of it. Reluctantly, Husk continued to serve Alastor in exchange for booze and cigarettes. Meanwhile, Niffty gladly helped out the Radio Demon by making him meals and helping to keep his interdimensional home tidy. She was just glad to be out of the flames and to keep busy. Both Niffty and Husk’s auras briefly glowed red like Alastor’s, indicating they were associates of his. However, they had free will of their own…when they were not summoned by him on occasion.

At one point, Alastor posed with the rest of the villain overlords: Vox the TV demon, Velvet, Valentino the porn studio owner, Rosie, a skeletal deer surrounded by a halo of blue fire, a two-headed bird in a tuxedo, a bird overlord with yellow shades, a black spider demon, a thick haired lady who looked like Helsa, and another woman who may have been Lilith. Husk and Niffty stood as shadow silhouettes. Thirteen individuals in all.

 By the time Alastor heard of the Hazbin Hotel, he had performed eleven successful massacres, all throughout the Nine Circles of Hell. There were even fliers taped around, showing Alastor at the circus with his victims burning underneath him. “THE RADIO DEMON! BEWARE HIM! DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM!” the fliers read.

Alastor hummed a jolly tune as he observed the fruitful results of his carnage. He was one step closer to dominating all of Hell.

 Part 2: “Exterminations”

During one random day, the clock tower ringed twelve ominous tones. Alastor was strutting down the street when he heard the noise. He glanced up at the tower where a counter read “number of days till next purge: 0.”

“Purge?” he thought. “Sounds intriguing. Some kind of killing contest between overlords?”

Alastor soon got his answer when the center of the overhead neon pentagram in the sky tore open. Through a dark hole, dark flying creatures swarmed out and headed off in different directions. There were at least twenty of them, perhaps more.

Upon closer inspection, they were dark angels with black feathery wings, curved horns and bird-like feet clad in dark armor. They wore LED masks complete with creepy glowing grins, large x’s over their right eyes and curved horns off to the back, reaching past behind their heads. Each one also carried a harpoon spear in their hands.

One angel threw a spear that struck a flying demon square in the eye. The demon fell to the ground, lifeless. Another harpoon struck an orange horned demon in the neck, resulting in a gory death. A lone spear flew and lodged itself in the wall right above Alastor’s head.

All around the city, demons were screaming and scurrying frantically for cover. Several Exterminators circled over the cowering citizens of Hell with mechanical laughs.

“Cleanse Hell of the sinner scum!” rang out on of the angel’s voices.

With a spin and swipe of a harpoon from another angel, other demons dropped dead like bowling pins.

One of the angels glanced over to Alastor. Two other angels glanced over too, all turning their heads, grins glowing.

Alastor hid his shock with a sinister smile of his own. The shock quickly morphed into a new excitement.

“Prepare to meet your second death,” said the angel in the middle.

“Am I supposed to be sacred of you crows?” he asked.

Alastor was surrounded by the three angels hovering above him, spears raised.

His eyes turned into red radio dials and his black antlers grew slightly longer from his head.

“This is going to be quite entertaining!”

The three spears were thrown forward and black tentacles reached and slapped the weapons away.

Just as the harpoons appeared back in the Exterminator’s hands, shadow spirits with red auras circles around the angels, screeching, clawing and attacking them. One angel flapped and flailed, shaking off several spirits by striking them with a swipe of his spear. A tentacle impaled the angel through his gut from behind them. The second angel got his wings torn off by two other black tentacles emerging from portals in midair. A shadow spirit grabbed the angel’s spear and sliced off its owner’s head, falling into one of the portals.

The third angel began to flee, but Alastor grabbed hold of one of the angel’s dark arms. The Exterminator elbowed Alastor and scratched his chest with long nails. Alastor glanced down at the tears and new flowing blood soaking into his red pinstriped dress coat.

He growled darkly in a demonic voice. “That was my favorite suit.”

The Radio Demon soon had the angel in a chokehold with one of his four-fingered gloved hands.

“L-let go, filth!” the angel sputtered with a gasp.

Using his strength, Alastor bashed the angel down hard against the pavement several times.  He soon heard a satisfying crack as his victim’s head split open and the dark horns fell off. He tossed the angel’s body aside for the nearby voodoo imps to consume.

 Tom Trench, a white-haired guy with a facemask and a business suit appeared on screen. 666 News logo appeared in neon behind him.

“Breaking news! Exterminators have invaded Hell once again, with an even greater number than last year. Pandemonium is in the air as Heaven’s army slaughters citizens right and left at random, to reduce the population, as is tradition. Please, for your own safety, stay indoors and on lockdown. If you’re looking to take over new territory, please refrain from doing so during the rampage. It’ll be up for grabs after the purge…if you’re still alive, of course.”

There was a sound of glass breaking from the news room as a spear flew over Tom Trenches head.

“That’s all for today! This is Tom Trench, 666 News at 5. Until next time, have a great evening.”

Tom Trench fled the scene as an LED wearing angel eclipsed the careen and smashed it, causing static.

Alastor stood still for a moment…

“Who ho ho! What a great picture show. Wasn’t expecting that nice surprise during this time. Perhaps I should broadcast my acts of destruction on those Exterminators…”

More spears flew in the air, crackling with electricity. Alastor saw more angels fly through the overhead hole. Alastor glanced at his stinging chest.

“One more act it is then.”

 His vintage microphone staff appeared in his right hand and lit up to life. The eye in the center of the microphone moved from side to side.

“You want to take things even further, do you not?” asked a radio voice from the microphone.

“You know me too well,” he replied. “But then again, you are a part of me, so of course you would.”

Alastor lifted himself into the air with a large tentacle, red voodoo symbols surrounding him. He tapped the staff and it blinked on.

 “Well good evening, little sinners! It’s your one any only host, Alastor, the Radio Demon. Right now, I’m in the midst of a bloody battle between you citizens and the infamous Exterminators. It looks like several denizens of Hell have already fallen prey to the invaders. One angel’s beating up an imp pretty bad over there. Another demon with a spear through her mouth by the store window, doesn’t look too good for her…”

Four angels flew headfirst toward Alastor, only to be knocked back by red energy flowing from Alastor’s body. One unlucky angel got set on fire with a simple snap of the demon’s fingers. The angel let out a rather unholy yell before disintegrating.

Alastor’s hands and microphone were splattered with fresh blood. He fooled with the angels for several more minutes and spoke into his microphone. “Time for some jokes, my friends. What do you call a rejected do-gooder from Heaven?”

Alastor punched a charging angel in the face, sending him flying.

“A fallen angel! Ahhahahaha.”

Several exterminators down below were disintegrating Alastor’s shadow spirits with beams of light from their hands. One angel shot beams of light at the Radio Demon, who dodged each one. Her hair was long and blonde in the back. The angel roared in anger and shot light spears in every direction. Tentacles around Alastor blocked her attacks.

“Wow, that angel over there looks pretty mad…”

She looped and spun herself rapidly toward him, her hand in a fist. Her fist stopped right in front of Alastor’s face. He grabbed hold of her chest tight with one hand and karate-chopped her head off with his other hand.

“…I guess you could say she lost her head! Hahahaha!”

He dropped her headless body and continued swatting angels away like flies.

 After a few more moments, Alastor was getting bored. It was time for the grand finale. He stood on a platform of surrounding tentacles.

He curled his right hand into a fist, sharp pointed nails digging into his now-glowing palm. Several large drops of red blood rained down from his hand, falling to the ground.

Several flaming holes appeared in the air around the flying exterminators. Tentacles wrapped around each of their waists, binding their hands and pulling back their wings. Their harpoons were tossed into the portals by separate tentacles. At least a dozen angels were brought close together, each of them bond by tentacles.

Voodoo symbols surrounded Alastor and his eyes briefly turned dark, displaying radio waves sizzling across them. His black antlers now extended far beyond his head.

Long thick shadows rose from the ground until forming into two swirling shadows on either side of the tied up angels. The shadows slowed, and solidified into two large gray four-clawed hands. The pointed fingernails were yellow, the same color as a spot down the middle of each finger.

Indeed, the large hands were uncovered copies of Alastor’s real hands.

The staff vanished. From a distance, Alastor lined up his own hands with the giant ones, which copied his hand movements.

 Then, inch by inch, the hands closed in.

 The angels stared in fear behind their gruesome masks, struggling to free themselves from their bonds. The remaining angels outside looked on in worry. A few bowed their heads and mouthed silent prayers.

The large curved fingers overlapped seconds after Alastor slowly interlocked his own. An invisible force tried to push the palms of his hands apart. But his hands closed in more, like he was molding invisible clay to his liking.

 “For my final act of tonight, you shall witness…”

The last of the angel’s heads and struggling forms disappeared behind gray fingers and flesh.

With an evil grin and a glow of his eyes, Alastor pushed his own hands together.

The large hands closed with a shuddering shake. Muffled crunching and squelching came from inside. Alastor opened up his hand and the giant ones followed. A shower of blood, bits of body parts, and black feathers rained down to the street.

He finished in a low demonic voice, “…the Exterminators’ crushing defeat.”

Applause erupted from his microphone as the large hands deformed and sent out shadowy creatures which vanished through the last several portals before they closed. The remaining angels shivered and fled through the black hole overhead. Alastor’s antlers receded back to normal size.

 “Well, folks, that’s all for tonight. I hope you enjoyed this remarkable demonstration of my amazing power. This is Alastor, 66.6 FM. Until next time, have a splendid evening…and as always, stay tuned!”

No one said a word as the Radio Demon lowered himself to the ground. The tentacles and portals vanished behind him. He stared at his bleeding hand and wrist. Lightheadedness overtook him. He waved his hand one more time and stepped down into a portal, which soon closed above him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in his lair, a bizarre home-like hideout floating in a void dimension just underneath Hell. It was a place where the Loa and dark spirits roamed.

Using so much power and blood magic had taken a bit of a stretch on his body. Gray circles were under his eyes, barely noticeable. With a yawn, he went into a bathroom to clean his wounds. The two handled faucets were made of gold and shaped like miniature deer heads. A black clawed bathtub decorated with large eyes stood in the center of the room.

After washing up and changing into a red velvet night gown, Alastor wandered past the living room, a room with a blood red rug, a couch, comfy leather chairs, and a fireplace of black flames. Above the mantle on the wall were stuffed deer heads mounted on display of various colors and states of decay. Rifles and several collected angel weapons were displayed in a darker corner of the room. Walking into the kitchen, Alastor pulled out vension deer meat from the icebox and heated it up on the stove. He hummed “You’re Never Fully Dressed” as he cooked.

After he ate his meal, he made his way into his room down the hall. Inside his room was a large bed with a leather comforter and satin red pillows. An old fashioned TV with two antennae sticking out stood nearby. Several different radios were lined up on a polished wooden dresser with a vanity mirror framed with round lights around it. Inside his closet were his suits neatly hung and shoes in a holder. Voodoo dolls resembling himself, Husk, Charlie, Angel and others were lined up in a black cabinet.

Alastor yawned again and climbed up into his bed. He soon had a small relaxed grin on his face. The lights went off after he waved his hand. His eyes dimmed and turned into small red radio dials. The droning sound of a radio powering off briefly filled the room as Alastor slept with his eyes wide open.

    Part 3: “Killing Spree for Three”

 Several years had passed since the Radio Demon had terrorized tons of provinces in Hell. It had started in 1933 shortly after his mortal death, when he fell down into Hell and was granted his powers by the Loas, Voodoo shadow spirits. Alastor, of course, had taken advantage of his new demonic deer-like form and Eldritch abilities, using his vintage microphone staff to broadcast his victories and carnage wherever he went. His sentient shadow had hovered by his side with an ever-present smile on his face like his counterpart.

During his time in Hell, Alastor had conjured looming metal radio towers and stations in the areas he had claimed. Despite being new to Hell in 1933, he quickly figured out the functions of Hell’s hierarchy.

Lucifer and Lilith were the powerful King and Queen, not to be tested with nor disobeyed. It was safe to assume that they knew everything that went on throughout the fiery realm. This was why Alastor never revealed his plans out loud…or if he did, he morphed the meaning into something more superficial.

Sinners, or those that had previously been human, were considered the lowest of the low in terms of class. They were the majority in Hell but also faced various forms of discrimination. Without his powers and charisma, Alastor would’ve fit the lowest sinner category.

Alastor was already familiar with being a societal outcast. Back in New Orleans as a human, he had been mocked and jeered at for being part white and part Creole. It was a time when racism ran rampant and white elites got to enjoy the most luxuries. If it weren’t for is mother and radio career, he would’ve rotted away in jail or in poverty.

 But unlike his previous life, Alastor was much more prepared, and powerful. The Hellborns included imps, hellhounds and other creatures born in Hell, considered “superior” to sinners. However, even the Hellborn were nothing compared to the Overlords, powerful demon rulers with abilities beyond average. Alastor had become an overlord the moment he broadcast his first massacre in a dark gnarled wood.

 It was not uncommon for overlords to not get along and to fight over turf, slaves, drugs and other commodities. Vox, the TV demon, Valentino the Porn Studio owner, and Velvet the doll demon were sometimes called the Three V villains. Vox and Alastor did not get along, for Alastor despised post 30’s technology. Alastor had also defeated Sir Pentious, an inventor snake demon who was previously born during the Industrial Revolution. Though that was so long ago, that he had forgotten who he was fighting with.

 Currently, Alastor had control over a voodoo doll and imp army, could summon shadow spirits at will and create portals to the “other side.” He even created his own interdimensional lair underneath Hell.

 Alas, just those benefits weren’t good enough. Alastor was a man constantly on the lookout for other sources of influence and entertainment. Why would he settle for anything less in his second “life?” Being one of the most powerful demons in Hell was no small feat. He required other allies and servants… those who were citizens themselves. Humming happily with his usual smile on his face, Alastor made his way into the city.

 Under the red sky, monsters and demons of all shapes and sizes wondered the pot-hole covered streets of Pentagram City. A neon Pentagram hovered over in the sky, a symbolic reminder to those below where they were. However, the demons went about their ways like ordinary humans would on Earth. Teen Hellhound females smoked cigarettes while leaning against a wall. A black furry spider demon got into an argument with a zombie over a meth purchase. The zombie punched the spider in the gut and in turn, the spider knocked the zombie’s head clean off. The head yelled swear words as it plopped to the ground.

 From inside a strip club, Angel Dust, a white spider demon was spinning upside down on a pole onstage. He was dressed in nothing but red lacy underwear, his legs spread wide for the viewers to see. Techno music was muffled by the window. Two snakes chased each other loudly and bust into the club, briefly catching Alastor’s attention. One demon spotted the Radio Demon from outside and fainted from terror. Angel Dust puckered his mouth in a kiss and waved at Alastor. Alastor rolled his red eyes in disgust and walked on.

 A vertical neon sign on a street corner displayed a yellow saxophone with white musical notes coming out of it. The words along the side read “Mimzy’s Club and Bar.”

“Mimzy…” Alastor said out loud. “That name sounds very familiar.”

He went up to open the door and walked inside.

 He was greeted by the upbeat sounds of trumpets, drums, a saxophone and even a piano not too far away. Demons wearing cowboy hats and mustaches were playing pool far in the back. Against one wall was a pink neon sign which read “Drinking” over a display of bottles. A humanoid couple dressed in Day of the Dead outfits were smooching in a booth filled with cigarette smoke. A red horned ogre dressed in gray Viking armor was serving up mugs of beer and alcohol to customers sitting on stools at the tall obsidian counter.

 Just then, a short demon dressed like a jester with a stripped hat complete with bells stood up from his chair. He looked up and saw Alastor’s pale grayish face leering down at him. The jester gasped in fright and scurried backward. “It-it’s the Radio Demon!”

The music abruptly stopped and the chatter ceased. Everyone turned to stare at him, fear, anger, and for a few, excitement in their eyes. Alastor snapped his fingers and a spotlight appeared over him.

“Hello, there fellow sinners! How are you all doing this fine evening?”

Nobody said a word.

He chuckled and held out his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to harm anyone. I’ve just come by to relax and have a drink. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Several demons quickly shook their heads and muttered affirmations. Alastor glanced at the jazz band on stage and tilted his head. “Aren’t you going to play some tunes for us?”

The band members started their next song, making sure it was loud and catchy.

Several other demons moved out of the way to let him pass.

Alastor tilted his hand toward his chest. “Ah, such pleasant company here!”

The spotlight faded as Alastor took a seat at the bar.

The Viking ogre turned to look at him.

“Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Surely you know who I am?”

The ogre shook his head, unfazed. The others turned to the bartender, with concerned looks.

“Well,” said Alastor, “It’s nice to meet you, good chap.”

The ogre just grunted in response.

“I’ll have a small black coffee and a glass of Sazerac liquor, please.” Sazerac was one of the first cocktails in New Orleans.

The ogre nodded. “7 souls each.”

Alastor placed 13 dark coins with a small eye on each one on the counter. The ogre scooped them up in his meaty hand and turned to get the drinks ready.

“Heh, heh, he forgot to count them,” Alastor thought.

 His black coffee was soon brought out in a small white mug on a white plate. Carefully picking up the mug by the round handle with several claws, Alastor softly blew over the cup before taking a sip. A satisfying bitter heat filled his mouth. It filled his core with warmth and made him feel more alert, just like it did every morning during his past life. He took more sips and closed his eyes in content. For a millisecond, unnoticed by anyone, his face briefly morphed into his human one: light brown skin, thin pointed chin, brown eyes and short brown hair with a wave off to one side. Small round glasses were placed over his nose. Then, just as quickly, his face returned to his current one: grayish pale, yellow teeth, red eyes, red and black hair, monocle under his right eye.

 After several musical numbers had played, Alastor’s next drink had arrived. Alastor noticed something was not right.

“Uh excuse me?” he asked.

“What?” asked the ogre.

“I asked for a glass of Sazerac. Why did you get me noodle juice?”

He stared at the cup of brown tea on the counter in disgust.

The ogre shrugged. “We ran out of that kind of liquor. That fellow over there ordered the last one.”

He pointed to a shark demon finishing up the rest of his liquor bottle before smashing it on the floor and pushing open the doors.

“Heheheheh…excuse me for a second,” Alastor said.

He stood up and followed the bipedal shark outside. The visitors sitting in booths and chairs could hear muffled pounding, grunts, and stomps coming from outside. At one point, a dark tentacle appeared out of nowhere and then vanished. The gray shark’s head was slammed against the window, slowly sliding down covered in red blood. The demons shrugged, turned back around and continued chatting.

The Radio Demon stomped back into the room, smile on his face but anger in his eyes. The ogre seemed to be whispering something to someone hidden in the back. Alastor spoke to the bartender, composed, hiding his frustration. “I believe we were at the part where I asked you…why did you serve me noodle juice?”

“I already told you, we were out of liquor.”

“How does a bar run out of liquor so suddenly?”

“How should I know?”

“Do you have anything else?”

The ogre occupied himself with cleaning a mug.

“Besides noodle juice?”

A muffled giggle came from behind a set of curtains. He waved his hand and the curtains pulled back. A demon with black wings, horns, and a hat with a domino on it was laying on the floor with several empty bottles of Sazerac around him. He whispered to the ogre who turned around, “You lost the bet, you fucking lard. I told you he’d say “noodle juice” when you gave him tea.”

“I ain’t giving you any money,” the ogre whispered. “I’m the one who pranked the prankster.”

The horned demon stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes. “6.6 souls, hand them over.”

Radio static suddenly filled the air. “You think I’m a joke to you?”

The horned demon turned around and his eyes met Alastor’s before he was plunged down into a portal that appeared from underneath him. The black tentacle monster swallowed the prankster demon in one gulp. The portal closed and Alastor stared at the ogre. He sat down in his seat.

“Kindly fetch me a bottle of Sazerac before I hang you from the ceiling with your intestines.”

The ogre gulped and ran out of the room. He was stopped by a sharp tentacle slicing through his chest. His mutilated body crashed down a flight of stars in the back, starling a waitress who looked like an ostrich.

Alastor tossed the tea aside and summoned a bottle of Sazerac in front of them.

“Sometimes you gotta do things yourself,” he muttered before taking a big gulp from the bottle. Despite his powers, he enjoyed it when people did things for him, like bringing him drinks. The soul coins he had given to the ogre, flew back into his hand and vanished.

  From backstage, a woman was putting the finishing touches of makeup on her face while staring at herself in a large square mirror framed in round lights. She took a deep breath and stood up from her seat. The music stopped and shortly after, a green suit-wearing alien stepped up to the stage and announced, “Our next performer, the marvelous Mimzy!” A woman walked onto the stage. Alastor looked over and his red eyes widened. His smile grew an inch more. The woman was short and chubby, wearing a pink flapper dress and a headband with pink feathers on it. Her black heels tapped against the floor in a rhythmic pace. Her face was white and her large eyes were black with hot pink pupils. She strutted up to the microphone, proud and confident.

Mimzy fluffed her short blonde hair and waved at the audience. Then she sang a lovely catchy jazz song from the early 1900s. Then she finished off with “Down in New Orleans,” much to Alastor’s delight. What a lovely melodic voice she had!

 Alastor remembered Mimzy as a blonde-haired human, she had been a worker at a jazz club in New Orleans and she and Alastor had danced together on stage. He admired her then and still admired her now. They had shared a kiss as humans but Alastor thought of her as an affectionate friend.

That was all before he went insane and killed her in a frenzy.

Mimzy had been sent to Hell since she killed her husband in self-defense and was briefly a prostitute to make ends meet.

 After Mimzy sang and stepped off to the side, another demon came up to the stage. She was tall and slender with sharp teeth in a smile, black eyes, and a large round pink hat with skulls on it covering her head. Several other demons bowed as she walked up to the microphone. She took out her pink umbrella, spun it around in a twirl and did a song and dance number: “Practically Perfect in Every Way.”

 “By the time the fire has burned the restless souls down,

I’ll tell you, yes I can,

No matter the circumstance for one thing you shall know,

My character is spite, shine, spic and span,

I’m practically perfect in every way”

 “For demons say

Each sin and misdeed knows no bounds

To hate is great and patently sound

I’m practically perfect head to tail

If you found a fault, it would be to no avail

I’m so practically perfect in every way”

 “Both prim and proper, graceful and stern

So passive, at peace yet willing to TURN (briefly goes to demon form)

I’m clean and honest, my manner refined

And I wear hats of the sensible kind

I suffer no nonsense and whilst I remain

There’s nothing much else I need to explain”

 “I’m practically perfect in every way

Factually flawless, that’s my forte

Uncanny ladies are hard to find

Unique, not meek, great matters of mind

I’m practically perfect, and never soiled

Killing like a villain with victims freshly boiled

I’m so practically perfect in every way

Well those are my credentials

Perhaps you have a few questions?”

 “Yeah I have one!” called a boar demon. “Did you copy Mary Poppin’s song and just add your words to it?”

The crowd laughed and clapped.

Rosie took a bow. “Yes, so what if I did? I did it for my audience!”

 On Earth, Rosie had been the CEO of a clothing company. She had also danced and met with Alastor as a human. She went to Hell due to forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks. Stern, elegant and vain, she was a perfectionist and it showed at her job. She did well when it came to organization, dressing fancy…and killing those who stood in her way. In Hell, she was an overlord and owner of an emporium.

Like with Mimzy, she and Alastor enjoyed singing and dancing…and terrorizing others. However, they had only gotten a glimpse of each other during their individual conquests and work.  

But now was the chance for Alastor to warm up to his lovely lady friends.

 Rosie finished her song and took a bow. Alastor clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, bravo, what an outstanding performance!”

Alastor waved at the two performers who briefly glanced at him.

“Who’s that?” Mimzy asked, curiously.

“One of my fellow overlords. Haven’t interacted with him, though,” Rosie replied.

Alastor morphed into shadow and teleported onto the stage between them.

Both women gasped as Alastor appeared with either hand on their shoulders.

“Why hello, lovely ladies! Care if I join you?” He kissed Rosie’s hand, then Mimzy’s.

Rosie raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you that super-powered radio guy that terrorized half of Hell?”

“Yes indeedy. How do you do?”

“Be thankful that you’re a fellow overlord,” Rosie replied. She stared into his red eyes, “…and I’ll admit, devilishly charming. You name?”

“Alastor.”

“I’m Rosie.”

“Mimzy,” said the other lady, already blushing at the handsome stranger.

“Boo!” shouted a white demon shaped like a fox. “You’re interrupting the show!”

Alastor merely shrugged and laughed, the spotlight now on him. He conjured up his microphone staff in his right hand, which glowed red. “How about one joke before the next dance?”

“No dad jokes, get off the stage!” the fox yelled.

Alastor turned to the booing demon. “What time does my radio show start in Hell?”

“No one fucking cares!” the fox yelled.

“6:06…A-M. But thankfully, you won’t have to listen to it.”

He snapped his fingers and the fox demon exploded in a shower of guts and blood. The other demons stepped away from the mess.

Having the time of his afterlife, Alastor smiled even more and held Mimzy and Rosie’s hands. With a wave of his hand, his usual outfit turned into a red suit, and a white undershirt with a black bowtie. He now had black tap dancing shoes plus a top hat complete with stitches and two small pins sticking out.

“Embarrassing fact, I can’t tap dance,” Alastor said under his breath.

“I can teach you how,” Rosie said.

Alastor’s red eyes curved slightly into arches, his smile genuine. “I’d like that very much.”

The jazz band began to play a catchy tune. Alastor stood between the two women.

“I think you may have heard this song on the radio. Ready?”

Mimzy and Rosie nodded, already knowing the lyrics and familiar music.

 Together the trio danced and sang Alastor’s favorite song: “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile.”

 “Hey, hobo man, Hey Dapper Dan

You’ve both got your style

But Brother, you’ve never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But Brother you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

 “Who cares what they’re wearing

On Main Street or Saville Row

It’s what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe that matters”

 “So, Senator, So Janitor

So long for a while

Remember you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

  After a standing ovation from the audience, Rosie, Mimzy and Alastor sat together in a both. The table in front of them had a white tablecloth over it, though it was smeared with bloodstains. A small vase of black roses was placed in the center of the table.

The brown-haired bipedal ostrich waitress came over and asked them what they’d like to order.

“Rare venison, a side of Jambalaya, and a glass of New Orleans whiskey, 1901,” said Alastor.

“Shrimp Creole with champagne,” Mimzy added.

“Bouillabaisse and a glass of red wine,” Rosie said.

 “Deer meat?” Mimzy asked curiously as the waitress walked away on her long yellow bird legs.  

“Yep. Still got the old hunter in me.”

Alastor mimicked gunshots with his hands and Mimzy giggled.

“I must say, you’re a really good singer, Alastor,” Rosie said, smiling.

“Why thank you kindly, dear.”

“Despite what many may say, even genocidal overlords need some time to unwind and relax.”

“I agree with you there. Say, how did you meet Miss. Mimzy?”

“Strangely enough, at Lilith’s Resist concert,” Mimzy replied. “Rosie wanted to sing a song for Lilith and needed a backup vocalist. Naturally enough, I volunteered.”

“Were you nervous?” Alastor asked.

“Nervous, terrified…and super excited! Me, singing with an overlord and beside the queen! It was too good of an opportunity to waste. Heh, I’m glad I did well on the stage, otherwise Rosie would’ve incinerated me on the spot. People soon heard about my performance and more sinners came over to my jazz club!”

“Oh how wonderful!” Rosie replied. She then sighed. “Nothing out of the ordinary; still beating up my workers with my cattails made from hardened cat tails. (They feel like barbed steel, despite the appearance.) They still moan and complain but it seems to work. Business is business you know. There are those boring overlord meetings, occasionally discussing politics with the Magnes, the whole 66 yards. I bet that someday, my associate Franklin’s gonna get murdered and I’ll be the head of my emporium.”

Alastor laughed. “Oh my, how intriguing. You plan to kill him?”

“No, I’ll let mother nature do the rest.”

“Don’t you mean…stepmother inferno?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Puns are not funny.”

“They’re punny to me,” Alastor added. “Such great classics.”

Rosie cleared her throat, “No dad jokes. Please.”

“Aw come on,” Alastor teased in a mocking tone, “I was about to do my “Radio not, here I come” knock knock joke.”

Mimzy crossed her arms. “Spoilers, much?”

 The trio’s dinners had arrived: a large rotten shrimp and clams for Rosie, Creole shrimp with demon bones for Mimzy and a fresh deer head over shrimp, rice, sausage and vegetables for Alastor.

“This is such a splendid meal,” Rosie said, satisfied.

Alastor whipped his face with his napkin. “I agree. Just as tasty as my human victims I ate on Earth. Though I will say, in regards to my…ignorant father, nothing beats the sweet taste of vengeance!”

Mimicking a choking sound, he leaned his entire head backwards with a loud crack and the others laughed.

He repositioned his head back to the front.

  Alastor raised his bottle of whisky as Mimzy and Rosie lifted their drinks.

“To eternal chaos and happiness for us,” said Alastor, “and eternal damnation to our enemies.”

“Here, here!” they all said as their glasses clinked.

 Soon, they had all finished their meals.

Mimzy then took a closer look at Alastor. “You…act familiar. It’s like I’ve known you before.”

Alastor tilted his head slightly. “You don’t say? Because I can say the same about you. I remember this beautiful singer I encountered at a bar in New Orleans. She was confident in her singing and loved doughnuts and desserts?”

“Yes…yes that was me!” she exclaimed. “Heh, being busy in Hell doesn’t give you much time to think about your past life.”

Then her eyes grew wide, suddenly fearful. “You…did you…”

“What?” Alastor asked.

“You were the one will killed me!”

Alastor’s eyes moved off to the side. “No, that was a different Alastor.”

“Phonus balonus!” Mimzy exclaimed in anger. “How many people in New Orleans have such a unique name?”

Alastor shrugged. “A lot, I imagine.”

Mimzy shoved Alastor off to the side and grabbed hold of his fancy red outfit. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“You know… I don’t like…to be touched,” Alastor seethed.

“Answer me!”

Alastor took a breath and removed her hands from his shirt. Memories came flashing back to him. “You were about to call the coppers on me. I knew I’d be caught and my life would be over. I wasn’t in my right state of mind and...”

Alastor stared down at his hands. He hadn’t felt this kind of regret and numbness since he watched his mother die and eat her remains. “Ending people’s lives…it was my only purpose…the one thing I could control besides broadcasting on the radio. I could lash out my frustrations and see results…I felt powerful when I did it, and I still do.”

He paused, unsure of what to say next. He held in his oncoming tears. “I…was holding your body, feeling regret at what I had done…”

Mimzy slowly backed away.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice cracked slightly, despite his smile.

“You just ended my life because you could! I tried to stop you.”

“Sometimes, I wish you would have,” Alastor said softly. Then his regular voice came back, though it didn’t display the usual showiness in it.

“But look at you know. You have a new life here. It’s in Hell, but you’ve made the most of it. You’re a star and everyone knows it. Aren’t you happy with your life here?”

Mimzy shrugged. “It’s still better than death.”

“I didn’t really know if there was going to be an afterlife or not. I…I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t.” Mimzy replied. “I lost the Alastor I knew, that day, and…and now he’s gone.”

Tears fell freely from her black eyes. Alastor wiped away her tears with his finger. “I might not be human anymore, but I’m still here. Deep down, I’m still the same entertainer, but more than that, your close friend. I swear by Lucifer that I’ll never harm you again.” He held her hands and she sniffed.

“A-apology accepted.”

Alastor lifted up the corners of her mouth. “Don’t forget to smile, my dear. You’re never dressed without one.”

Mimzy leaned her head into Alastor’s chest, then abruptly sat up, hands on her hips.

“But you owe me…big time. 666 souls, daily groin kicks, plus swimming in the lake of fire.”

Alastor grinned.

“…without extra powers.”

Alastor’s grin shortened.

“So… it’s a deal then?” Alastor asked with a smirk.

She slapped his hand away. “No deals, jackass!”

Rosie’s eyes darted between the two of them. “Okay, this is awkward. Should I leave you two alone?”

“No no no, sweetheart, it’s fine,” Alastor reassured her.

“Don’t forget the midnight overlord meeting tomorrow. Lord Lucifer’s orders,” Rosie mentioned.

“Ugh how boring,” Alastor scoffed. “One of the bad things about my status.”

Alastor and his lady friends talked and enjoyed themselves throughout the night. It was a “dinner date” but it was also a “hanging hang out.” Afterwards. Rosie came up with the name after dinner when the three of them hung other demons from trees.

Soon the three friends embraced (Alastor hugged them, then stood back) and they said their farewells. Although Alastor was tempted to turn them into his slaves, he decided against it. Using his powers on another overlord could prove tricky. And he already made a promise not to hurt Mimzy.

Alastor glanced over at a casino and noticed a black and white cat winning a gambling tournament for the third time in a row. The way the cat moved and gulped down bottle after bottle of booze seemed familiar. A cyclops demon was sitting within the flames of a fireplace inside the building, sewing a quilt.

“Hmm,” Alastor thought. “A Niffty darling…and a Husk of a gambling guy…this should be quite entertaining…”

He finished with a low laugh.

 Next time… “Shady Deals” 1973

 Next time... “Daddy Dearest”

[thenovelartist]

Falling for the Dork, set 6

<<Previous set  Next set>>

18.      In the Rain

The rainy season had begun once again, meaning that Marinette was unprepared for the first big downpour of the season. And this time, so was Adrien.

“Okay,” he said, looking at the downpour. “I have an extra hoodie in my locker. I’ll grab that for you, and then we make a mad dash to your house.”

“There’s no better option, is there?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Together, they walked to Adrien’s locker, where he pulled out a black hoodie with a bright, neon green paw on it. He scrunched the fabric up in his hands so he could easily pull it over her head. She slid her arms in the overlong sleeves, and Adrien flipped the hood up over her head before giving the pigtails that stuck out of it an affectionate tug.

She blushed bright red.

They then made their way to the front of the school again, only to pause as they stared out at the rain.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“One, two, three!”

They took off like a shot, running as fast as they could and, blessedly, not getting stopped at the crosswalk.

By the time they made to the safety of Marinette’s house, the hoodies were drenched and their pants were soaked as well. But they were laughing as they stepped into the entryway of Marinette’s house.

They took off their soggy sneakers, then got out of the hoodies that were almost wet enough to be wrung out. Their shirts were mostly fine, but their pants were another story.

“I think I still have those pants I designed for you,” Marinette said. “I’ll grab those for you, and we can toss our clothes in the dryer.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They trekked up the stairs to Marinette’s room, where she did find the pants from a previous design competition that would fit Adrien. She sent him into the bathroom to change while she quickly changed in her room, putting on a pair of fuzzy pajama bottoms and a fully dry shirt.

Adrien knocked on the door. “You changed?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, opening the door

To reveal a shirtless Adrien.

“Seems like my shirt got wet, too,” he said with a shy grin. “Could you throw it in the dryer, too?”

Marinette was trying not to stare at his bare chest. “Um, yeah, totally.”

She quickly took his clothes, then made her escape from the stupidly handsome shirtless boy she had a crush on.

Though she wasn’t a fan of drying everything together, the clothes could stand it this once. After taking a breath to steady herself, she marched back up the stairs. It’s okay. There’s nothing special about seeing Adrien shirtless. It’s all fine.

Except it wasn’t because all the lies she told herself went straight out the window at the sight of shirtless Adrien in her room.

She dug through her clothes, tossing an oversized shirt at him. “Put this on, dork,” she said.

“What? You don’t like all this?” he teased, shooting her an exaggerated flirty smile while he flexed his arms.

Marinette had to swallow as she watched the muscles in his back and arms tighten.

Slowly, Adrien’s expression faded as he turned towards her, his brows knit together in confusion.

“You look good.” The words came tumbling out of Marinette’s mouth before she could even think to stop them.

Outside, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled shortly after. Marinette felt herself blush bright red as Adrien looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m gonna go get snacks,” she said. “And then some Ultimate Mecha Strike three?”

He nodded, but still didn’t look at her. “That sounds good.”

“Okay.” It took everything Marinette had to not run from the room. And then once she was out of the room, not to scream.

 19.      Akumatized

They were in their last year of schooling, meaning that it was time to start applying to universities. Adrien had a handful he applied to and would be happy with any of them. But for Marinette, with her love of fashion, wanted a spot in the top fashion school of Paris. And considering she wanted to go to the best fashion school in Paris, there would be a lot of competition.

“And what if I don’t make the cut and then I’ll never be able to live out my dreams as a fashion designer.”

Which meant Marinette was beside herself with nerves and making up ridiculously dismal conclusions.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Adrien said, a plan hatching in his mind, “because you see, I’ll be your secret weapon.”

Marinette took that the complete wrong way and looked horrified. “No! I do not want to use your connections—”

“No no no,” he dismissed. “Not in that way. You see, I myself have a foolproof plan for getting you in.”

She paused, looking a little lost. “And just what would that be?”

“You see, Marinette. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m actually have secret superpowers.”

The very corner of Marinette’s mouth twitched upwards. “Superpowers?”

He nodded, trying and failing to keep the smile off his face. “I have an army of butterflies that I can use to transform people into my personal minons.”

Her smile was growing. “Oh really?”

“Yes,” he said. “I send them out into the world and when they land on people’s shoulders, they become my minions. If you don’t get in, I’ll be angry for you, meaning all the minions I create will be evil minions.”

Marinette was biting her lip at this point, desperately trying not to laugh.

“With my army of minions, I will march down to the admissions office and tell them they better accept you or I will use my evil army to destroy the entire school meaning that—guess what?—it won’t be the most prestigious fashion university in Paris anymore.”

Now, her face was in her hands, her shoulders shaking. He could hear her quiet giggles, and he felt like a winner.

“Then, I will go to the new most prestigious fashion university in Paris and I will march my army to their admission office and say they better accept you and by that point, they will, because my evil powers will have been exposed for the world to see and no one will turn me down. That will be my evil plan to get you into that university.”

Gradually, Marinette’s laughter subsided to the point she dropped her hands from her face and looked at him with a beaming smile and cheeks pink from laughter. “You. Are such a dork.”

He grinned. “Feel better?”

“Much,” she said, stepping close to wrap his arms around his torso in a hug. “Thank you, Adrien.”

He couldn’t resist cocooning her in his arms. “You’re welcome.”

 20.      Hamster

There was a carnival in town, meaning rides and games and such. Marinette and Adrien couldn’t help but want to check it out. Originally, they were a group of four, but Nino and Alya split soon after their arrival, leaving Marinette and Adrien to their own devices.

Which they really didn’t mind.

After going on a few rides and getting some snacks, they found themselves wandering around the games. Adrien couldn’t help but notice how her eye caught on a jumbo plush hamster. He knew she wanted a live one. Frankly, he did, too. Preferably with her.

“Come on,” he said, leading her over to the game. “Let’s try for it.”

It was a game of “knockout.” They each got 5 balls and had to knockout as many clowns as they could. Marinette managed three. Adrien got all five.

“See? You’re my lucky charm,” Adrien said with a grin.

She giggled. “You’re such a dork.”

They each got to pick out a prize. Marinette pointed to the black cat while Adrien grabbed the jumbo stuffed hamster. “For you, my lady,” he said, presenting it to her with a smile.

She beamed, her cheeks coloring red. “And for you,” she said, handing over the cat.

“You should keep it,” he said, “and think of this kitty cat every time you see it.”

“That’s what the hamster is for,” she said, squeezing it tight. “Take this one, because I want you to remember me every time you see it.”

How could he resist that?

He named it Plagg, and it took up a permanent residence on his bed because, true to her intentions, it did remind him of her every time he saw it.

 21.      Nightmare

School was over. They had graduated, and university was right around the corner. Meaning that they were all going off to different universities and starting the beginning of their adult lives.

Even though he’d known it for months, the realization slammed full force into Adrien right after graduation as he was saying good-bye to all his school friends. But it wasn’t until midnight that night that he realized that ‘friends’ meant Marinette, too.

And in his panic in the night, his heart racing and mind whirring, he thought that it was nothing short of a living nightmare.

First thing in the morning, Adrien headed over to Marinette’s house. It was early, and he knew Marinette wasn’t exactly a morning person, bus to his surprised, she answered, immediately turning excited at the sight of him. “Adrien! What are you doing here? I thought you were busy today.”

“I was,” he said. “But I’m kinda ditching my fencing class today because I really want to talk to you.”

Her expression fell, turning serious. She let him inside, and they quickly headed up the stairs to her room.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” she asked, sitting down on her chair.

Adrien collapsed on her chaise. “Remember how… yesterday, we were saying good-bye to everyone? Realizing we were all going our own ways?”

She nodded.

“I just…” He sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Out of all our classmates, I’m most terrified saying good-bye to you.”

She frowned, her brow knitting together in confusion. “Adrien, you don’t have to say good-bye to me. We’re staying close, remember? I’ll always be around.”

“But what if you aren’t?” he challenged. “What if we drift apart? What if you’re busy with your school and I’m busy with mine and we don’t stay in contact and—”

“Hey, hey.” Marinette had stood from his seat to grab hold of his cheeks. She gave him a soft smile that calmed his racing heart. “That’s not gonna happen. Even if we have to put each other specifically into our schedules, we’ll find time to stay together.”

He sighed. “I don’t think… you fully understand, Marinette.” He reached up to grab her wrists. “That… That I’m worried I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” she quietly replied, her head slowly getting closer to his.

“No,” he said. “Not that kind of lose.”

“Then what kind of lose are you talking about.”

“The kind where you live your life and I’m not there every step of the way.”

A long silence slipped between them.

“Marinette,” he said, moving his hands from her wrists to cradle her cheeks. “I’m sorry I never told you this sooner, but… it took me a while to realize that losing you in that way really isn’t okay with me. I really, really like you. And… I want nothing more than for you to be mine.”

Her breathing was coming in short, shallow bursts, and her cheeks were bright pink. Just as Adrien grew worried he’d overstepped his bounds, her eyes grew glassy and a smile stretched across her cheeks. “You have feelings for me?” she whispered as if not believing it.

He nodded. “For a while now,” he admitted.

If it was possible, her smile grew larger. “You have feelings for me.”

“Yeah,” he said, his own smile growing. “I do. And… And I can only hope that you have feelings for me.”

She sniffed. “You’re such an idiot.”

The words caught him off guard.

“Yeah,” she said. “Because… I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Those words hit him like a bat to the chest, knocking the air out of him and leaving him stunned. “Wh… really?”

Her smile widened, and with it came a tear.

He was quick to wipe it away with his thumb. “Really?” he asked, not sure he believed it. “You like me?”

Marinette nodded.

And that was all the confirmation he needed to yank her down against him, cocooning her up into his arms and pressing his face into her hair. “You like me.”

“I do,” she said shifting in his lap. “Since when did you like me?”

“I’d say it probably started when Juleka’s older brother came to town.”

“Luka?”

“And I hated how you were spending time with him.”

Slowly, Marinette pushed away from him so she could look him in the eyes. “Kitty?” she said, smile on her face. “Were you jealous?”

He growled, glancing away from her.

She giggled, her hands finding his cheeks again to pull his attention back to her. “You liked me since then?”

“That was the beginning of it, yeah,” he confessed. “Ever since then, seeing you with other guys… I just… and the thought of losing you…”

She settled back against his chest, her arms looping around his torso and holding him tight. “I don’t want to lose you, either.”

He clung to her like a lifeline. “Marinette,” he began. “I really… I love you, and I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to lose you. I want to pursue more with you. Will… will you be my girlfriend?”

Her arms tightened. “Adrien,” she said. “Nothing in the world would make me happier.”

“And we can’t let college pull us apart,” he insisted, heart fluttering nervously at the thought.

She hummed. “The love of my life just confessed his love for me. If you think I’m not going to fight tooth-and-nail for you, then you don’t know me very well.”

[dolphin-bouillabaisse]

GO-ctober Prompt, 24

Inktober except without the ink, and with drabbles instead.

Prompt #24 - Dizzy

(previous | next | beginning)

(find it all on Ao3)

They'd been driving for quite some time now, the usual heart-stopping tumble up and down small country roads that left Aziraphale grabbing onto whatever he could find. The demon hadn't told him where they were going, had only asked if he was interested in a 'day out', so he was quite confused when they stopped at a small carpark leading to nowhere in particular.

A field of grass stretched out before them, empty and desolate. Stepping out of the car, Aziraphale felt the wind rush through his hair, and saw it a bit more dramatically on Crowley's head, red strands almost obscuring his glasses.

“Not that I'm complaining, dear-” he said as they trudged a bit down the field, away from the car, and further into the windswept nothing, “but why exactly did you want to come here?”

“I really needed to stretch a bit.”

“What-” Aziraphale wanted to inquire further, but was silenced by the sudden appearance of black feathers obscuring his view.

He could count the number of times he'd seen Crowley's wings completely unfurled on one hand, and they never ceased to take his breath away. There was a difference between the small shape they took on when he manifested them at their home, asking for (or rather hinting at) a preening, and their true wingspan completely spread out. Neither of them were bound to specific shapes – their bodies could change, and so could their wings, conforming to whatever size they needed – but he'd seen human-bodied angels in full flight, and even they could not come close to the glorious black wings he was currently staring at as Crowley flapped them once, twice, cracking his neck with a quite joyful look on his face.

“Crowley!” He finally managed, not looking quite as happy. “What are you- someone could see!”

“No one around for miles, angel.” Crowley grinned. “That's why we needed to go so far. C'mon, get them out. Don't you feel cramped too?”

Aziraphale paused. It was hard to admit, but the demon was right, he barely needed to tempt him. Even when hidden from view in some ethereal plane not of their understanding, he could feel his wings constantly bumping against edges, pulling close, muscles and bones feeling stiffer each day. The small outings in the cottage weren't of much help, even though he quite enjoyed them (mostly because Crowley could not keep his hands to himself whenever he saw Aziraphale's wings).

He sighed, closed his eyes and let his shoulders drop, and felt the soft whoosh of another set of wings joining Crowley's in this realm.

Crowley let out a complimentary whistle. “Looking good there, angel.”

“Thank you.” He replied, all prim and proper, before a small grin pulled on his lips too. “I have a very good preener.”

“That you do.”

“I'm afraid all his hard work is for nothing, though, considering how windy it is here.”

He turned, nonetheless, in the direction of the wind, eyes closed, spread his wings even further, felt the air rush through his feathers. What a glorious feeling.

He'd barely opened his eyes again before noticing Crowley had wandered on, even further down the field, to where the wind was strongest. He could smell the sea as he followed him.

“Crowley, where are you- oh.”

They came to a stop at the very edge of the cliffs the field edged onto. A quick glance below revealed crashing waves between sharp rocks, a few seagulls swooping in and out before dashing back off to sea.

“You're not thinking of-”

Apparently he wasn't supposed to end a sentence today, as Crowley already turned to him with that bastardly grin again, and jumped.

“Crowley!” He fell to his knees to look far down over the edge – cream coloured pants stained with grass all but forgotten. This was far too dangerous. If he twisted just the wrong way, if he misjudged a current, if a sudden gust of wind caught him from somewhere, he'd...

Before he could properly look down, a swirl of black and red and iridescent colours already rushed past him up into the sky, the sound of raucous laughter trailing behind.

“Crowley, will you stop for a second!” He yelled after him as he saw him dive down again. The demon seemed to halt time for a second as he passed him, only to grin at him some more.

“If you want me to stop, you'll have to catch me. This is too good.”

And with that, he fell down the cliffside again.

Aziraphale got up, brushed grass and stains alike from his knees, and huffed. Fine. If a chase was what he wanted, he would get it.

He took a few steps back, collected his wits and a deep breath, and jogged forward until the edge of the field disappeared under his feet and he was airborne.

The rush of wind around his head become stronger with each foot he pushed forward. This was different from flying in heaven, where air and wind conformed more to the angel's will than the other way around. Here, it was a fight between powers, a test of strength and mind, flapping once or twice, searching for the right current to glide, all the while looking out for the endless wall of stone on one side, the endless expanse of deep sea on the other, spotting a small spot of black wings inbetween.

Aziraphale could feel his heart racing. What a glorious feeling.

He'd almost caught up to the demon when he noticed the angel, letting out another laugh.

“Come and catch me!” Crowley yelled again before twisting up, taking a turn, flying past just above Aziraphale. He could feel their primaries brushing for just a second before he was gone again.

Aziraphale took another deep breath, angled his body just so, and pursued.

A few more turns, sinking several feet once, roaring another few upwards, catching sight of Crowley's face once or twice, always with that silly grin, rarely so joyful – Aziraphale couldn't tell how much time they'd spent chasing each other along the cliffs now before going past them, further up in the sky. He'd almost forgotten he was actually planning to catch the blessed demon.

Crowley had not, it seemed, throwing a quick look back at Aziraphale. He appeared to slow down, whether intentionally or not, so Aziraphale could almost reach the tips of his wings – a quick push, a hurried flap, and he was off again.

“Oh no, you don't.” Aziraphale mumbled to himself, wind picking up around him, and with one more push himself he was at the demon's side, wings almost colliding, grabbing onto his jacket.

“Got you!” He shouted before realising he'd ignored the current for just one second-

they twisted, spiralled, wings knocking together, the wind coming from all directions. Seconds, and the ground came closer, Crowley twisted them up, Aziraphale pulled against him, and they slammed along the field, throwing up patches of grass all around them.

Whether by miracle or good reaction, he wasn't sure, but neither of them was particularly hurt apart from a few scratches. He dropped down onto his back, wings spreading on the cool grass, just as Crowley sat up next to him and laughed again.

“Lord, Crowley, you are-” He covered his eyes and sighed. “My head is spinning. I feel dizzy.”

“Feels good, eh?”

The voice was much closer now, and as he pulled away his hands, he came face to face with Crowley leaning over him. Instead of an answer, he pulled him down for a kiss. What a glorious feeling.

They stayed there for what seemed a little eternity. Aziraphale's heart was still racing, even as Crowley laid half atop of it. His wings spread over them, a canopy as dark as the night, and mottled with iridescent spots just as much as the stars sprinkled through the sky. The wind barely blew past them in their cocoon of feathers. A beautiful sight. Aziraphale never understood why he hid his wings for so long. Then again, maybe he hadn't – maybe Aziraphale had just never seen them.

“Do you do this often? Go out to stretch?”

“Mh. Every few centuries, I'd say. Not many places where you can really spread out. Even fewer where you can fly.”

“Mostly dangerous spots, I'd guess.”

“That's half the fun!” He got another one of those bright grins, a twinkle in uncovered golden eyes. “Though not as fun as chasing around an angel, if I'm completely honest.”

“I'm pretty sure I was chasing you, dear.”

Crowley only hummed before resting his head against Aziraphale's shoulder again.

“I don't think I've flown in ages.” Aziraphale scratched through the demon's hair, all snagged up and messy from the wind. “During my last annual report Upstairs, maybe.”

“Mh.” Crowley snuggled closer. “It might be the one thing I miss.”

“It's different here, though. On Earth, I mean. With the winds and such.”

“Yeah.”

“I think I prefer it.”

He could feel the demon's smile – not a grin anymore – against his neck. “You're a pretty good flyer, angel. Didn't expect that.”

“Did you expect me to dash against the rocks, then?”

Crowley sat up again to look at him. “Honestly? I didn't expect you to fly at all. Thought you were gonna rant at me about being careless, and silly, and all that. Like you usually do. All prim and proper. Guess I underestimated you again.”

Aziraphale blushed, just a tiny bit. “To be honest myself... I was going to catch you to reprimand you. At first.”

Crowley barked out another laugh before stroking down the ruffled coverts of the white wings stretched out under them. “Your wings are a mess, angel.”

“And whose fault is that?!”

“I suppose mine aren't looking any better.” He flapped his wings once, the wind rushing into their little safe sphere for just a second. Barely a feather out of place.

“Well, I'd say there's nothing left to do but to sort them out back at home.” Aziraphale smiled up at him. He was never going to ask for it outright, of course.

“Well.” The smile was returned. “If you're offering it like that.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Chain Of Command

Anonymous said: I️ really miss your COC and The Getaway fics. Will you be writing soon? I️ am also loving your art. You must be an amazing person.

Thank you, Anon. You’re way too kind to me. Have some CoC <3 MBD

Strapping wee Fergus to her chest, Claire made sure that he could suckle should he want to under the cover of the sling she’d mocked up. Jamie had been up and away quite early, leaving Claire to find her own amusement and she’d decided that she wanted to get back to work. Tired of being stuck upstairs on bedrest she was ready to escape.

Sneaking downstairs, Claire’s sweat drenched hands clung to the banister as she descended. If she ran into either Jenny or Ellen she was finished. But luck was on her side. The big house was seemingly empty on the main floor, the fire lit in the sitting room seemed simply to be there to warm the dogs more than the household. Bran, the largest of Lallybroch’s canines, had curled himself tightly on the hearth and it didn’t seem like he’d be moving anytime soon. Claire smiled as she strode passed the hairy beast. He was supposed to be the guardian of the house, but he was the softest creature she’d ever met.

Curling close to her breast, Fergus scrunched his eyes closed and nuzzled Claire’s warm skin. He liked the motion of her movement, she could tell by the way his breath came in short sharp pants, fanning across her chest. It soothed her to know that he was comfortable enough swaddled as he was.

Opening the door to the upper kitchens, Claire walked with purpose passed the few staff that were busy cooking lunch. None of them would question her, but she didn’t stop to find out, instead she continued her journey downstairs stopping only when she reached the end of the largest preparation areas. Grabbing an armful of potatoes, she started peeling, using the small knife that Jamie had gifted to her directly after their wedding instead of one of the kitchen knives.

Glancing over at her, Mrs Crook gave Claire the once over but kept her mouth shut.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Claire whispered, sensing familiar eyes on her, “but I don’t want to be isolated anymore. It’s lonely up there by myself.”

“Alright,” Mama Crook answered, her tone purposefully light as she continued to hand pick the ripe vegetables from the basket for the evenings stew. She knew better than to argue with Claire but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before a familiar Fraser came in search of his wife.

--

Claire had nearly finished peeling the enormous pile of potatoes before footsteps echoed from the small concealed staircase. She ignored the pounding of her heart as she began to chop the spuds into smaller pieces. Claire had been honest when she’d spoken those few words to Mama Crook. She was lonesome upstairs in her rooms. With this in mind, she pursed her lips and rocked Fergus as close as she could get him. Knowing Jamie would likely be more that a little put out at her dissent, Claire rolled her shoulders and prepared herself for a tongue lashing.

As predicted Jamie came storming into the kitchen, his cheeks stained red, his hair standing on end with stray pieces of straw sticking out of the side of his muddied shirt.

“Claire,” he began, hovering over her with a quirk to his eyebrow. Sliding one finger beneath her chin, he lifted her head so that she was forced to make eye contact. “I ken ye wanna work, lass, but ye’ve no’ long had the lad. Come, please?” He pleaded with no malice in his tone.

Taken aback by his immediate softness, Claire wiped her knife and placed it back in her sock before taking his hand, bowing her head in defeat and following him back up to their quarters.

Just as when she’d arrived earlier, none of the other lassies spoke or addresed her and before she knew it, Claire was back in their rooms surrounded by the warmth of the relit fire. Licking her lips she adjusted herself so that Fergus could feed once more, her arm cradling him to her breast as he suckled audibly.

“This isn’t forever, you know, Claire…” Jamie began, an air of apology to his words, “only whilst Fergus is wee.” “You don’t understand, Jamie,” Claire returned, her patience wearing a little thin now she was cocooned upstairs once more. It felt claustrophobic. The heat of the fire spread around her as her arms came up to wrap around her tiny son who’d neatly fallen asleep, her nipple still on his mouth as he suckled on and off in his sleep. It was shocking that he was still so dinky considering the amount that he fed.

Jamie watched, his eyes focused solely on Claire as he watched her shoulders sink as her hands came to cocoon Fergus. She was the perfect mother; nurturing and kind but brave and steadfast with it. He could attempt to make decisions for her and she’d bow to him eventually, but she’d resent him for it too.

“No,” he acquiesced “I dinna think I do…”

Claire stood stunned. She knew she was right though she hadn’t expected him to agree with her so easily. Jamie was nothing if not stubborn.

But he loved her and he saw her for who she truly was. Claire had been raised primarily between Mrs Crook and Ellen, his own mother. She was a product of a completely female upbringing and had been expected to forge her own path once she was old enough to see over the preparation tables in the kitchen. Having fallen hard and fast for Jamie, she had carried the burden of her feelings alone for so long. Independence was her armour, a shield she wore with pride and he would be foolish to try and erase that part of her.

Jamie had fallen in love with Claire; with her intelligence, with her energy, with her life and with her free spirited attitude - curtailing those would only dampen the spark that burned so brightly betwixt them.

“I’m lonely without you, without anyone - up here I’m isolated,” she began, seeing Jamie so ready to connect with her now. He was listening, so she would speak honestly. “I had to before, shield myself from everyone - even from you. But now we’re married I don’t have to, Jamie, don’t you see?” Jamie cocked his head to one side, his eyes soft in the dim daylight that streamed through the frosted glass of their windowpanes.

“I don’t want to be locked away in some ivory tower, Jamie. Swaddled tighter than wee Fergus because you think that’s the best way to protect us both. *You*,” she said, her passion rising as she rocked Fergus to and fro, “get to go outside. You can talk to your da...to Ian Murray and the other lads who work the fields with you. Aren’t I allowed the same freedom?”

“Aye,” Jamie whispered, nodding his head in time with his words. “Ye are, Claire. I could-”

“No,” Claire cut in, certain of what he was about to say next. “It isn’t just about company. It’s about being busy, too. I need something to keep my mind active, to keep my hands engaged.”

Pointing to the sling wrapped carefully around her, Jamie replied; “Ye made that yourself then? To help ye wi’ your chores?”

“Yes,” Claire said, her chin raising as she swayed on her heels, “I made it. Knowing he can’t be away from me, I wanted something that meant I could have my hands free whilst keeping him close and this solves that issue. He can feed too, come and look?” Beckoning him forwards, she moved some of the thick reams of cloth away so that Jamie, his tip-toed movements bringing him closer to Claire and Fergus, could see his dozing son clearly.

“...and he’s safe?”

“Of course,” Claire scoffed, “safe and warm...and *fed*,” she added with great mirth. “It’s like he’s back inside me, see…” she was pointing to the way he lay, his body twisted around hers, on his side but flat against her belly as if curled back in the womb. “He likes that, liked to think he’s enveloped within me once more. He doesn’t stir at all, only to feed and even then he’s quiet as a dormouse.”

Brushing his cheek with the back of his hand, Jamie ran a thick but clean finger over his son’s warm skin before leaning across to kiss Claire gently. “Would ye like to come out with me one day, mo nighean donn?” He asked softly, his voice a whisper as he breathed in the scent of her. “You can work and have my company. I dinna think I like sharing ye with the staff - no’ when I have to spend my time away from you and I dinna truly have to.”

Claire laughed as she wrapped her arm around Jamie’s waist bringing him flush against her. With Fergus sleeping between them she listened out for all three of their combined heartbeats before replying. “Yes, Jamie,” she returned in a sigh, her finger tapping against the hollow of Jamie’s back in time with each thrum, “I would absolutely love to.”

[monaisme]

Day 20: betrayal

Day 20: betrayal

Sam came as soon as Nick had called.

“There’s something wrong with the Spider-kid. You need to get here and fix him.”

He’d provided no additional background, save that the boy had needed the med bay for a concussion, broken forearm, multiple stitches and a few bandages.

But no one knew why. Spider-Man wouldn’t say a word.

Literally. Not. One. Word.

That had been two days ago.

Sam had come two days ago...

The first evening, he knocked on the door and waited. The medical report Nick had eventually forwarded to him as team leader hadn’t indicated any lingering concerns once they’d cleared the concussion so Peter had been released to his quarters. The fact that Peter hadn’t answered the door when he’d knocked hadn’t really shocked him. Sam knew that healing took a lot out of the kid and he’d be needing some serious rest and feeding when all was said and done. He confirmed through the compound’s new integrated AI system that Peter was alright and left him for the night.

Yesterday, Sam had shown up just before lunch with those sandwiches the kid loved from that little place in Queens. He’d knocked, and waited, and then confirmed again via the AI that Peter was in his room and awake. “Hey, Computer, can you ask the kid if he’s going to come open this door?”

The AI, not nearly as entertaining as FRIDAY had been, came back with, “Peter Parker is not responding to inquiry. Shall I continue asking until I receive a response?”

Sam left the sandwiches by the door after trying one last time. “Yo, Pete! I’ve got a sandwich for you! It may or may not have been squished for your dining pleasure.” But again, Peter didn’t answer. He eventually called out, “Pete, I’m gonna leave some food from Delmar’s outside your door for you. You don’t have to see anyone if you don’t want to, but come and grab some food to eat, okay?”

Of course, he didn’t answer.

—And when he stopped by to check in again later that evening, the paper bag still sat untouched outside his door.

“Computer,” Sam was becoming concerned. “Is Peter needing medical assistance?”

“Mr. Parker is in a comparable state to when he was released from the medical bay.”

That made Sam feel a little better... but just a little. “Has Peter left his room at all today?”

“Peter Parker has not left his quarters today, Mr. Wilson.”

“Has anyone been allowed access to Peter’s room?” He tried.

“Negative, Mr. Wilson, though no one has attempted to access these quarters.”

Sam was not okay with this. He knocked, putting all of his will and determination behind it. “Peter Parker, this is your team leader. I am ordering you to open this door, kid.”

Of course that would be the exact moment some new trainees for SHIELD walked by and started whispering about that Falcon guy banging on a door like a total asshole.

He waved them off, “Yeah, yeah, look at Falcon—“ and then mumbled the rest. “Can’t get his own Spider-recruit to open the damned door.”  

He turned to walk away, then thought of one last thing. “Hey, buddy, I’m gonna be back tomorrow morning.” He thought out his day and continued. “I’ll be here with breakfast at 9am, so be dressed, please? I really—REALLY don’t want any surprises, okay?”

The silence wasn’t a surprise.

“Computer, please set his morning alarm for 8:15am...” he huffed out a breath of frustration. “And let him know that pants are not optional.”

“Request accepted. Thank you.”

Sam headed straight to Nick Fury’s office.

* * * * * *

Sam knew that today was going to go about as well as the two previous days, and Sam was irritated. Nothing he’d read could explain what happened to Peter the day he was hurt. He’d managed to get to headquarters under his own steam, and then provided nothing save for some headshakes and nods while the medical staff treated him.

They never should have let him leave the med bay.

The silence had gone on too long. It wasn’t good for the kid. Anyone who knew him knew what a talkative little shit he was... and that was just Peter. And so, with Nick’s permission to access his personal quarters if he was denied, Sam was going to do his best to do exactly what he’d been tasked with—fix the kid.

Of course, even clutching a bag of breakfast sandwiches from that little diner a block over, Sam had been left out in the hall—again.

“Computer, unlock Peter Parker’s door. Charlie-Alpha-2-2-4-9.”

The satisfying *snick* of the door lock disengaging felt like a victory. He’d made it past the only barricade standing between him and Peter.

And then he saw Peter.

To the unobservant, it seemed that Peter had just rolled out of bed and moved to the chair in the corner. Yes, he was burritoed in his comforter but the sheets on his bed were rumpled in a way that demonstrated a long period of bed rest—for lack of a better way to describe it.

“Hey, Pete.” Sam stood just inside the suite. He may have gotten in, but he still wanted Peter to have some control. “You mind if I come in?”

Peter shrugged and Sam took it for as close to a ‘yes’ as he was going to get, so he closed the door behind and stepped in.

He waited for Peter to say something; a greeting, a ‘hey! get out,’ or anything. The quiet was unnerving.

Sam cracked first. “You’re a tough guy to get ahold of.”

Peter shrugged again, and turned his attention to the industrial grade carpet that covered all the personal quarters.

“I’m starting to feel like you’re not in the mood for a chat, Pete?” Sam tried to be humorous as he watched the boy staring out into the room.

Clumsily, thanks to the cast on Peter’s right arm, the boy got up and turned the chair to face the window then dropped right back into it.

“Aaaaaand that would be a no. Got it, kid.” He smiled, even though Pete wasn’t watching.  “You know, it’s a good thing I’m so unconcerned with things like social niceties and giving people space, otherwise I’d be leaving and you’d still be sitting here all sad and by yourself.”

Peter burrowed back into his blanket and slammed his head into the back of his seat-- repeatedly.

Sam dropped the bag of food on the floor, lunged from where he’d been standing and caught the back of Peter’s head. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Take it easy, Pete! You’re okay.” He soothed as he kept his hand in place but moved to kneel in front of the obviously overwrought kid. “This is a safe place, kid... even if that means from you so let’s just breathe for a minute okay?” Peter was avoiding Sam’s eyes. “Hey, you don’t need to be looking at me if you don’t want to; you just need to be breathing.”

Peter nodded and closed his eyes and then, in a move completely unexpected, he leaned forward, rested his head against Sam’s shoulder.

Sam’s hold on Peter’s head turned to soft, comforting caresses. “That’s it, Peter. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just keep breathing.”

He did just that, Sam could tell by the stuttering breaths he tried to bring in. After a few minutes, the efforts smoothed and Peter was calming down.

“I’m guessing you needed a moment, huh?”

Peter nodded against his shoulder.

“Are you ready to talk about what brought this on?”

Peter didn’t respond.

Sam couldn’t allow that. The boy was more than a little upset about a Spidey-shift gone wrong so he gripped the back of Peter’s head. “Look. The being quiet thing isn’t working, kid. I know you wish it was, but it’s not. And I know I’m not who you want to be talking to right now, but I’m the one you’ve got, and I only want you to be okay, you got it?”

Neither of them needed to say his name. The boy was heartbroken enough.

Peter stayed still, and then finally nodded.

“Good boy.” Sam whispered and without a thought, pressed a kiss to the top of the boy’s head. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He moved then, snuggled into Sam, practically falling into him—and Sam wondered how long it had been since the boy had felt cared for. The boy had his aunt, but since after the final Snap, he’d spent every weekend at headquarters training while his aunt was working the overnight shift at the hospital. Did he even see her anymore?

He had thought he knew his role as team leader, then thought of the man Peter had worked with most and best. Sam sighed. Maybe it was time to throw away the rigid ideas he’d been trying to emulate as the gold standard since his advancement and just spend more of his off hours getting to know his teammates and youngest charge.

Yeah, that sounded like a great idea.

Sam tightened his arms around him, “You know, kid, it doesn’t matter what happened. No judgement right now, okay? Everyone who knows you only wants the best for you. Got it?”

Peter took a deep breath and then whispered, “No. Not everyone...”

Sam smiled into the boy’s hair. “I don’t think the bad guys count, Pete.”

Peter laughed out loud, only for the sound to transform into a sob.

“Pete?” Sam pulled back so he could see his face.

He was devastated.

“But what if the b-bad guy is supposed to be the good guy?!”

Sam froze. “What do you mean?”

Peter gnawed at his chapped lip and looked back to the floor. “I’m just...” he seemed to be struggling to find the words.

Sam moved to grasp Peter’s hand—the one peeking out while he clutched himself tight into his blanket cocoon, and then looked at his face, twisting with apology. “Kid, you are not about to apologize for somebody beating the shit out of you, are you?”

“No.” He whispered.

And then Sam understood. He wasn’t going to apologize... he was going to justify! “Peter! You aren’t blaming yourself for this, are you? ‘Cuz, dude, we will be having some serious words if that’s the case.”

“But—“

“Nope. There are no buts. You were beaten, Peter. You had a concussion. Your arm was broken in two places—“ How the boy could think that! “Pete, I don’t care if it was a damned cop! You are no to blame for... Pete?”

Peter’s eyes had widened as he paled.

“Peter?”

The words flew out of his face before he could think about it, judging by the shocked expression he wore once he’d blurted out, “How did you know it was a cop?!”

“Excuse me?!” Sam exclaimed as he stood up abruptly.

Peter pushed himself back into his seat, trying to escape Sam’s obvious anger, “What? You said—“

“I was making what I THOUGHT was a ridiculous suggestion! Not telling you that I knew who your attacker was!”

“Well, now you do!” Peter yelled back, finally pulling his arms out of the blanket to throw them up in the air in frustration.

And Sam deflated. “Damn it, kid.” He drew in a deep breath to calm himself. “I guess now I do.”

The two superheroes took a moment to settle their thoughts.

Peter straightened his blanket around his shoulders, the wrap not nearly as tight as it had been before.

Sam—he took a few minutes to pace the room before he could come back. He simply placed himself back in front of Peter, though he sat on the floor now, back to the floor to ceiling windows Peter had been so captivated by earlier. “I’m sorry I lost my temper, Peter. That was an inappropriate response to you telling me something that you’re upset about.” He inhaled and then exhaled with obvious purpose. “I will try to control my reactions going forward.”

Peter sat in the chair and looked at Sam with a critical eye—

Sam deserved it, so he waited... until he couldn’t hold his tongue anymore and he whispered, “The cop is an asshole, though.”

Peter heard, and Peter laughed. It wasn’t a huge one, just a huff of air, like he hadn’t expected it to happen. But it was all the permission he needed for the tears to begin to fall.

Sam wasn’t sure that he knew he was crying.

The boy started twisting his fingers together and focussed hard on the comforter surrounding him. “He, um... he...” Peter cleared his throat. “It was a...” He stopped.

“I’m not going anywhere, Peter. You take all the time you need.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, ‘kay.”

“And you can breathe, if you need to. Just take it all the way down to the belly, kid. Nice and deep. You are safe here, don’t forget that.”

Peter nodded again and inhaled.

Sam waited.

And then Peter just went. “I know the cops don’t like me, right?” He finally looked up at Sam as he explained. “They didn’t before—thought I was trying to make them look bad and stuff, I guess, and that’s okay. I’m used to it so I just do my thing and call it good.

“There are a few, though,” he paused to take a deep breath, then cleared his throat again, “There are a few that got that I’m only trying to help so I’d try to do extra patrols and stuff when they were on shift, but especially now after the final Snap. I mean- so many cops didn’t come back to work after... they’re so short handed and the budget cuts are insane! How could I not help, right?”

There were things Sam already wanted to say, but he simply agreed with what Peter had said, “I totally understand that, kid. It was the right thing to do.”

His tears fell faster. “I know! I try so hard to be good enough, Sam, I really do! I just...”

Sam stopped him. “I know, Peter, sometimes it doesn’t feel like it’s enough no matter what you do, right?”

Peter inhaled... exhaled, then wiped tears from his cheek and nodded. “Right.”

And then he fell silent again, caught up in his own head.

“Tell me about the cop, Pete.” Sam finally prompted.

He blinked, like he was waking up from a daydream, and smiled. “I’d buy him donuts, like if I’d see that he was walking the neighbourhood. Sometimes I’d walk with him.” He chuckled at a memory. “I figured it could be good P.R. for the cops, or even me, what with all the bad stuff that’s been happening these days...”

And then he disappeared into his thoughts again.

Sam could see the memories warring within the boy, trying to reconcile what had been with what had happened. “Pete? Are you still with me?”

Peter didn’t respond for almost a minute, but then picked up where he’d left off. “I hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks, which was weird, but it’s been so crazy that it didn’t register until I saw him, so... yeah.” He swiped at the wetness on his face. “Anyways, I’m swinging around and I see him, so I wave and he starts waving me over, so I go, ‘cuz, of course! And then he tells me that he needs my help!” Peter looked over to Sam, begging him to understand. “He’d never asked me for help before, Sam! Like EVER! And here he was!—and he tells me that there’s a huge drug deal goin’ on down this alley and back up won’t get there in time and can I please just go and help him deal with them...”

Sam’s heart sank as he realized where this was going.

Peter inhaled... exhaled. Inhaled... exhaled. Inhaled... exhaled.

“I went in first, figured I could web up the henchmen and stuff. Make quick work of it, right? But I step into the alley and, um... there’s a bunch of...” Peter was having trouble catching his breath.

Sam didn’t say a word, just moved himself so he was sitting directly in front of the boy. He reached out and pulled the hand still fussing the blanket into his own—then gave it a squeeze. “Just breathe, Pete. In and out.”

He did.  

And suddenly the words were rushing out like a torrent—“Sam! They were cops! And I didn’t understand it at first ‘cuz my senses were going nuts and I was like, ‘are these cops the drug dealers?’ and I wasn’t getting it at all and so I looked at my fr...” He physically stopped himself from using another word. “My cop and he was there... with his gun.”

Sam tightened his grip again. “Breathe, kid.”

Peter inhaled... exhaled.

“He wouldn’t let me leave. He... he told me, Sam.” Peter squeezed his hand back. “He told me that I needed to feel fear like...” inhale... exhale... “like his wife had...” Peter’s chin quivered, and he fought it, but whatever came next was too much and Peter was throwing himself into Sam’s arms and clinging to the man like a lifeline. “I was so scared, I thought they were going to kill me... and I couldn’t fight back ‘cuz they’re cops and how do I fight the good guy—?“  

Sam pulled the boy in tighter. “They weren’t the good guys, Peter. Good guys don’t do that. You could’ve fought like hell and you’d have been in the right. Nothing you could’ve done would have warranted you deserving that.”

“No, Sam, you’re wrong.” And then he wept “I wasn’t there and I deserved it! I did!”

Peter was inconsolable. “I wasn’t there and he trusted me and now...”

“Now what, Peter? I don’t understand. Tell me what happened?” Spoke softly. “It’s eating you alive, man. You’ve gotta get it out.”

Peter breathed for a bit, trying to calm the tears, to no avail.

Sam finally just said, “Peter, if you gotta cry, you cry, but you need to tell me what happened.”

So Peter did, “He, um. He told me I’d, um—effed up. His wife had been walking home from an appointment and—“ he released a gust of air. “She was, uh, mugged and, um...” he sniffed and used his sleeve to wipe his nose. “She was hurt, like... bad.”

Peter stopped talking then, and Sam was sure that Peter would end the story there. A cop pissed that his wife got mugged, he could understand the anger, but surely he didn’t think...

“She lost her baby.”

“Oh.” Damn.

Saying the words out loud seemed to shift something in the boy. He calmed and pulled away from the embrace. “I guess she’s not doing so well and he, uh... he’s used all his sick time or something—can’t spend any more time with her.”

“That explains his anger, but you know that’s not your fault, right?”

Peter stared back at him. “I know the day it happened. Mr. Harrington was dealing with a student issue so decathlon practice ran late that day. I was tired and then Ned invited me over to work on—“ Peter shook his head, almost in disbelief. “We worked on a damned Lego kit, Sam.”

“Hey! Don’t do that to yourself. You aren’t Spider-Man 24/7, Pete. Even he has to realize that, eventually.” Sam placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. “He’s angry, justifiably so—but what he did to you was wrong. You’ve got to get that.”

Peter dropped his head into his hands. “It doesn’t matter. And now, here I am all sad and pathetic because I can’t get anything right and I hurt the people around me. And I’m trying to figure out how I’m supposed to be Spider-Man when I’m not sure I can trust who the good guys are anymore?!”

Team leader Sam popped up here, “Could you ID them?”

Peter chuckled sadly and demonstrated covering his head with his casted arm. “Too busy protecting my head from the crow bar, sorry.”

Sam cringed. “I’m sorry that you went through that, Peter.”

“It’s not your fault, and I can’t even blame him... I just—I thought he was my friend, you know? I feel so alone when I’m out there already and now...?”

The tears started trickling again.

“Hey, Peter? I know you don’t believe me right now, but all of us old timers know what it’s like to put your trust in the wrong people.” He laughed low, “Honestly, ask Cap if he can show you the elevator footage when you’re feeling a little more grounded. You’ll see what I mean.”

Peter nodded.

“And I also know that you’re gonna figure out how to navigate this crazy world. You’ll learn who to trust... and you’ll be okay in the end.”

The two superheroes sat together, quiet and both lost in their thoughts until Sam glanced around the room and spotted the breakfast sandwiches lying discarded on the floor.

“Peter Parker, we’re gonna start rebuilding trust right here. First thing to know is that you should always trust team leaders that bring you the good breakfast sandwiches.” He got up and scooped up the bag from off the floor and brought it back to the boy. “There’s this diner just down the street that poaches their eggs and it is magical—like Dr. Strange magical, man...”

* * * * * *

And later on, when Peter was finally fed and resting, if Sam happened to request that the HQ AI request access to Karen to download all footage from the attack—well, there was no way Peter Parker was ever gonna feel like no one had his back again.

@febuwhump