#first time i managed to colour this set properly ugh

[trophywifemac]

IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA ↳ S16E04 “Frank vs. Russia”

[omgrachwrites]

Playing The Hero - Chapter Two

Pairing: Harry Potter x Ravenclaw!Reader

Summary: Soulmates have a way of seeing and feeling each other’s emotions by a gem that is set in the palm of their hand which glows with magic. The colour of the gem on the palm of your hand, erratically changes between different colours. Unbeknownst to you, every time the gem on your soulmates palm glows blue he feels very over protective and worried. That’s just what happens when your soulmate always plays the hero. Soulmate Au

Warnings: fluff, swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of death

Words: 2282

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think, and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

masterlist

Yellow - Happy, Secure, Excited

Red - Scared, Nervous, Unsure

Grey - Stressed, Worried

Blue - Sad, Hurt, Frustrated

Orange - Overprotective

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Chapter Two

Harry gingerly raised a hand to his swollen face, wincing as he pulled his hand back and saw that it was sticky with blood; it was a good thing that he didn’t have a weak stomach. Tonks had presumably done a decent job of fixing his nose because it felt as though it was straight again. It was still extremely sore, though not as bad as it had been when Malfoy had stamped on it.

Harry sighed, dragging his feet across the moonlit lawn as he followed Snape who was walking ahead of him, his long black cloak billowing out behind him, making him look like a vampire bat. The late summer breeze blew across the castle grounds like a whisper. Harry could hear Snape’s monotone voice but he manged to block out all the words – it was no doubt a lecture – after five long years of suffering in Snape’s class, it was a skill that Harry had managed to acquire.

After what felt like an eternity, he walked into the castle and a great sense of relief washed over him as the candlelight in the Entrance Hall reflected on the glass of his glasses. He smiled, he finally felt like he was home. As he looked down at his gem he beamed when he saw that it was glowing bright yellow. Y/N was standing in the doorway of The Great Hall, clutching a huge, warty croaking toad. She smiled as she glanced up; the smile soon fell from her face when she nervously looked at Snape before honing on in the state of Harry’s face.

“Merlin, Harry! What the hell happened to your face?!” Harry opened his mouth to reply, Y/N’s worried face making an unfamiliar feeling churn in the pit of his stomach.

Snape’s lip curled as hissed beneath his breath, clenching his teeth, “in, both of you!”

Y/N frowned at him, a muscle fluttering in her jaw, “I was just asking if he was okay, what’s the problem with that?” Harry bit his tongue so he wouldn’t suddenly burst out into peals of laughter.

Snape’s nostrils flared as he narrowed his eyes and whispered in a deadly voice, “don’t make me tell you again, Y/L/N!”

Y/N and Harry exchanged a scowl at Snape’s expense before they walked into The Great Hall. A gasp seemed to ripple through the sea of students as they all turned to look at Harry’s face. He swallowed nervously before fiddling with his sleeves and he glanced over at Y/N. She smiled softly at him as the toad croaked in her hands.

“Is that Trevor?” he laughed.

Y/N giggled, “yeah, you know that Neville is always losing him. Though, it did take me ages to find him, maybe a Hufflepuff could have helped more.”

“Well, I’ve heard that Hufflepuffs are exceptionally good finders,” he smirked making Y/N burst out into laughter.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that too,” she paused and bit her lip, “what happened to your face?”

Harry sighed, stuffing his hands into his pockets, for some reason he didn’t want to tell her, “how do I look? I mean does my face look fairly normal?”

It sounded like Y/N was choking back her laughter and she shrugged, “apart from all the blood over it, it looks fine.”

Harry was very relieved that his face would heal properly, “Malfoy did it,” he muttered but didn’t elaborate.

A look of understanding passed over her face and she glanced over at Malfoy who was guffawing and pointing at Harry, “I see,” she sighed, “I’ll see you later, Harry. I’m gonna go and give Trevor back to Neville,” she nodded at the worried looking boy who was sitting further up the Gryffindor table.

“Bye, Y/N,” Harry smiled and watched her walk up to Neville, Neville’s face lit up as Y/N passed him Trevor and he clutched his toad close to his chest. It looked like he was about to cry. He smiled as he sat next to Ron and Hermione.

Hermione gasped as she looked at his face, “what happened?!”

On the other hand, a grin slowly spread across Ron’s freckled face, “I think that you look badass, mate,” Ron clapped him on the shoulder and Harry couldn’t help but grin, being careful to not split his lip again.

“That’s not funny, Ron!” Hermione gave Ron a sharp look as her eyebrows shot up her forehead before she folded her arms and looked questioningly at Harry.

Unfortunately, Harry could hardly say because he was painfully aware of Ginny and Dean staring at him, “I’ll tell you later,” he shook his head.

Ron leaned closer to him, “have you heard the awful news? Snape is the new Defence against the Dark Arts Professor.”

Harry’s blood turned to ice, in what world could Dumbledore let Snape have that post? “ugh, great just great. At least he’ll be gone by the end of term,” he ignored Hermione’s gasps as he pulled a plate of treacle tart towards him.

Even the mere succulent smell of his favourite dessert considerably lifted his spirits, unfortunately he only managed to stuff a heap full of the sticky dessert into his mouth before the food disappeared, leaving the golden plates sparkling and spotless. He groaned through his mouthful of food as he tried his best to savour it before he rolled his eyes and got to his feet.

As Prefects, Ron and Hermione walked ahead of him to lead the new Gryffindors up to the common room. However, Harry noticed that Malfoy was still seated at the Slytherin table, completely throwing away the chance to bully the new Slytherins. Before Harry could muse upon it any further, a sleepy musical voice reached his ears.

“Hi Harry.”

Harry turned his head to see Luna and Y/N; as usual Luna was carrying a copy of the Quibbler, her dad’s magazine. She was wearing her huge radish earrings and she’d slid her wand through her dirty blonde hair, “Hello, Luna, how was your summer?”

“Dad and I went to find Nargles,” Harry glanced over Luna’s head to look at Y/N, she was looking at Luna lovingly but her shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. When Y/N met Harry’s eyes she almost lost it, “will the DA be meeting this year?”

Harry shook his head, “there’s no need now that Umbridge has gone,” he shrugged. Snape was the new Defence against the Dark Arts Professor – he’d always wanted the post – and Harry hated that fact. But hopefully they would be at least learning some defensive magic this year and Harry would be one step closer to fulfilling his ambition of becoming an Auror.

He watched Luna’s face fall with a sharp pang of guilt, he’d never really seen Luna upset before, “oh, I see.”

Y/N spoke up quickly to diffuse the tension and she smiled at Luna, rubbing her arm, “you guys will still be friends though, right?” she gave Harry a meaningful look.

He winced as the gem on his palm quickly burned, sending a sharp pain up his arm, he glanced down at it to see that it was glowing orange. He quickly glanced back up at the girls and offered Luna a small smile, “of course.”

Luna nodded, “I’d like that,” she smiled serenely, looking a lot happier.

The three of them said their goodbyes as they went to their separate common rooms and Harry smiled as he climbed through the portrait hole. Hermione already had her head in a book, in the comfortable armchairs that were seated next to the roaring fireplace. Ron glanced at Harry as he entered the warm common room and he shook his head.

“Bloody nuts she is,” he muttered, “c’mon let’s leave her to it,” as they climbed the stone steps, Ron turned to Harry, “what took you so long?”

“I ran into Luna and Y/N.”

Ron smirked, his ears turning red, “do you actually have a crush on Y/N?”

Harry shook his head as he ran a hand through his thick messy hair, “I mean she’s nice and all but I hardly know her and I’m not interested in dating anyone at the minute, not after what happened with Cho.”

Ron whistled, “yeah, that was a bad one.”

“Fuck off, mate.”

Ron pretty much fell asleep and began snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow but Harry stayed awake for a little, grinning into the darkness like a maniac. He was so glad to be back at Hogwarts, this was the first time that he felt truly complete since Sirius died.

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Before walking into the dungeons on the first day back at school, you braced yourself before walking into the usual gloomy room that normally had disgusting things floating around in jars. It always felt really hot and stuffy that didn’t make for a great lesson. However, you were pleasantly surprised when you walked into the dungeons to see that it felt somehow light and airy and pleasant smells were wafting all around the room.

Even Slughorn with his friendly grin had a good aura about him and you couldn’t help but feel very relieved. You smiled as Slughorn greeted you and Neville as you made your way to the front desk where all the cauldrons were emitting their steam. There was one potion in particular that was producing the most gorgeous smell, silver vapour rose from the cauldron. You leaned closer to it and took a huge deep breath of it, feeling slightly lightheaded, the potion smelled of Butterbeer, wood from a new broomstick and another scent that you couldn’t place.

“Doesn’t this potion smell of Butterbeer? It smells so good,” you sighed happily as you glanced at Neville.

Neville gave you a strange look as his eyebrows knitted together in a frown, “it doesn’t smell of Butterbeer, it smells like freshly cut roses and vanilla.”

You scoffed, what the hell was wrong with Neville’s sense of smell? However, before you could argue with him about it, Slughorn began the lesson and started running through the different potions that were on his desk. To your extreme annoyance before he could tell you about the one that smelled like Butterbeer, the door to the dungeons opened quietly, interrupted Slughorn’s speech.

Next to you, you could see Lavender Brown perk up and she was gazing at something with wide eyes, and when you followed her line of vision you discovered that she was staring at Ron Weasley. You smirked to yourself as you glanced at Harry who was giving Slughorn an apologetic look.

“Harry, m’boy! I was beginning to worry that you wouldn’t be coming!” Slughorn boomed with an easy grin on his pudgy face.

“Yes Sir, I’m sorry that we’re late, you see, we haven’t got our books or supplies yet. We didn’t know that we’d be here,” Harry bit his lip nervously as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

However, Slughorn waved Harry’s worries away like this sort of thing happened all of the time, “not to worry, get what you need from the cupboard.”

Harry nodded and he smiled gently at you as he slipped past you on the way to the supply cupboard where there was a lot of loud banging for the next couple of moments. You rolled your eyes and glanced over your shoulder and you had to cough to cover up your laughter when you saw the two best friends fighting over a book. It seemed that Ron had one the fight because Harry smacked Ron’s hand with the heavy potions book.

As Harry walked past you, you glanced down at the book to see the yellowing pages and the scribbles that were across the front cover, “lovely,” you laughed.

Harry chuckled as he rolled his eyes, waving the book around, “you’re telling me, a fat lot of good this book will do me.”

It turned out that the ruined book did do Harry a lot of good because the object of today’s lesson was to brew The Draught of Living Death and a little vial of liquid luck would go to the best potion. Seamus blew up his cauldron, Neville’s potion smelled so bad that you had to stuff a wad of tissue up your nose to get yourself some relief from the horrible smell, and in the end it was Harry’s potion that came out on top. You felt mean for even thinking it but you wondered how Harry had got so good at potions. Maybe it was due to the fact that Slughorn actually liked him and he wasn’t looking for an excuse to take away as many points as he could.

You caught up with Harry as you were walking out of the dungeons, “hey, that must have been one hell of a potion; I thought Slughorn was going to start snogging your cauldron.”

Harry snickered as he shrugged running a hand through his hair, “you’re not pissed at me too are you?”

You frowned as you tilted your head, you had no reason to be, sure it would have been nice if you would have won the luck potion but you potions weren’t really your strong suit, “no,” you trailed off, “I’m not pissed at you, even if you did cheat,” you laughed, turning around so you were walking backwards.

For a fraction of a second, Harry’s emerald eyes widened before he covered it up with a smile, “I didn’t cheat, you’re just mad that I’m better at potions than you,” he teased.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see, Potter.”

“Is that a challenge, Y/L/N?” he smirked, raising his eyebrow.

“You bet it is!” you laughed, sticking your middle finger up at him before disappearing into the crowd.

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@annemagus @smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @pregnant-piggy @justadreamyhufflepuff @esmelily123 @firewhiskyss​ @potters-heart​ 

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

orange and gold

...I just need more Cole and Vania content, they seem like they'd be great friends.

Basically it's just 'Cole goes to visit her there, they almost burn down the kitchen, and make way too many puns', lol.

Set a few months after Master of the Mountain, but before Seabound or The Island.

Also yeah, I couldn't think of a better title, sue me- I just know that they wear one of the colours at some point, so... 🤦‍♀️😂

Trigger warnings: none I think? Huh-

Also, bingo!! I really need to learn better time management, dear freaking gosh- I hope I'm not too late though? I know it's like half a day late, eek- and I was supposed to post this earlier, but I ended up literally falling asleep while writing it😂

Thank you so much Fabro, for hosting such a cool event!:D Your comments on my fics literally never fail to make my day<3. And I'm so glad that I met so many awesome, really skilled people through this event too - it's been a lot of fun working alongside y'all:D, I wish I'd had more time to interact instead of posting stuff and vanishing lol, but exams be like:////

Prompt: cooking (does baking count as cooking? I realized too late lol-) from @ninjago-bingo 's warm board.

Word Count: 2497

---

Trying to escape from killer dire-bats hadn't been on Cole's to do list today - although the mountains were kind of beautiful.

It was a bit difficult to see them while he was being dragged to his death, but hey, didn't Jay always tell them to be more positive?

That was, until he made the mistake of looking down.

Miles of snowcapped mountains touched the pastel blue sky, but he was more focused on exactly how high he was from the ground.

Great.

Trying to swing back onto the Bounty, he didn't notice a golden-winged blur shoot past the bat, almost dropping their spear in haste.

"Let my friend go, or I'll-"

"Vania?"

She throws the spear at the bird, successfully knocking one of its wings.

Huh. She must've been practicing - throwing with accuracy while flying seemed kinda difficult.

"I'm so sorry!" she replies, grabbing his arm before he fell down too. She winces at the strain on her wings, almost dropping him onto the deck. "I was supposed to come earlier, but there was an issue with one of the mines, and it took forever to-"

"There ain't anything in this world that's managed to kill me yet," he replies jokingly, checking that the autopilot hadn't been damaged. "I doubt an angry bird is going to be the first."

"Didn't you mention that you became a ghost once? Pretty sure that means you were dead-"

"Shh, that's not an important detail," he jokes.

"If you say so," she replies with a grin. "Did I mention that Chompy's been tearing down the palace flower arrangements again?"

"Send my regards to the gardener-"

"Did you just make a pun?"

"Remind me why I decided to visit you again?"

"Because you love me?" she asks stepping onto the ground as the Bounty landed gently.

"I hereby crown you as my platonic soulmate," Cole deadpans, taking her hand. "Vania and Cole-"

"Destined to annoy each other for eternity," she giggles, swinging their hands up and down. "But seriously - thanks. I don't think I realized how much work being a queen was."

"What's it like?"

"I mean - I'm glad that people trust me, and they come to me if they have a problem, but the paperwork is a nightmare. I never get to go outside anymore, I swear."

"Paperwork? Also, you just invited me here for a week. I don't wanna disturb you?"

"Nah, I cleared my schedule, don't worry. And trust me, you don't want to know. Everything requires some sort of official written thing, and it's so boring-"

"Official? But you're the queen?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't really want to change something unless it benefits the people. Not after..."

Her smile dims, eyes straying to the palace walls.

Oh- oh.

"You're nothing like him," Cole says firmly, squeezing her hand. "I mean, if you need to take a break, or you can make your job a bit easier by cutting out something unnecessary, that's just gonna help you become a better queen. You've definitely got the interests of your people at heart, and that's the most important thing, you know? And well, uh, everything seems to be going great so far - you don't have to beat yourself up over someone else's mistakes."

"Thanks," she replies softly, her smile slowly returning. "Speaking of breaks, what do you think we should do this time?"

"You could show me around the city again?"

"You've already seen everything cool," Vania giggles, skipping ahead of him. "We don't renovate much - unlike you guys-"

"Hey, it's not our fault that our city gets destroyed every few months-"

"More like every few days," she teases, tying back her golden hair. "How about we find some dragons to adopt?"

"Tempting, but where would you keep them?"

"They could sleep in my room-"

She breaks off when she notices him laughing. "What?"

"N- nothing," Cole replies, in between laughs. "Jay and I just made a bet."

"On what?"

"How many dragons you've adopted. I bet at least six, he bet fifteen."

"Well, jokes on both of you - I'm pretty sure my advisor's going to throw a fit if I show up with another one," she starts, giggling. "We've got twenty living in the palace right now."

"Twenty dragons?"

"They're so cute! You just look into their adorable little eyes," Vania pauses for breath, continuing her animated gesturing, "and you can't help but wanna hug them!"

"Oh, Jay's going to be so mad."

"Aww, I'm sorry guys. They're just too adorable!"

"...Wanna hear a funny story?"

"Yeah, sure!"

"I actually used to be terrified of dragons-"

"No way!" Vania exclaims. "Y'all have been on a lot of adventures though, so-"

"Nah, we used to have our own dragons at first. They were pretty cool! I just- I'm a simple guy! Huge animals with wings are scary up close when you're barely a teenager."

"Or when you're really short-"

"We're the same height!" Cole exclaims, facepalming in a bit of a fondly exasperated way.

"I'm two years younger than you-"

---

"Ugh, whose idea was this?"

"Yours," Vania grins, sitting down on the kitchen counter.

"You were supposed to help me, not leave me high and dry!" Cole accuses jokingly, staring at all the appliances they'd found in the cupboards.

"'One must always be prepared for new adventures,'" she quotes seamlessly, waving one of- what was his name again? Mulch something? Oh! Clutch! Some explorer he was, leaving them to die in the pyramid - Clutch Powers' books in the air.

"Fine," he sighs, staring at the old recipe book she'd found in one of their back cupboards. "But you've gotta help me? I almost burned down-" "Woah, what? If you finish that sentence with 'kitchen'-" "In my defense, Kai was playing a prank on me-" "In my defense, I wouldn't like to explain how the queen of Shintaro burnt down the palace by teaching one of her friends to cook," she grins, flipping through the pages. "What do you wanna start with?" "Something simple?" "Have you ever tried baking bread before? It's a lot of fun!" "I haven't really had the time, but that sounds kinda interesting."

He skims the recipe, raising his eyebrows. "Wait, why does this take hours? I thought you said it was simple?"

"Trust me, it is," she laughs, adding, "besides, I still wanna hear about all your adventures!" "Uh... okay," Cole replies hesitantly, "but if this fails, I'm so sorry." "Give yourself some credit, you guys literally saved the world! Multiple times!" "Bold of y'all to assume we know how we did it," he laughs, only half-kidding. "Besides. I botched soup once."

"I've botched toast," she mock-sighs, smiling. "Pretty sure that makes us even."

"Lemme get this straight. You've messed up toasting bread, but you can bake it from scratch?"

"Trust me, I don't know either," she giggles, trying to open a brightly coloured packet of... something? Did flour come in packets that small?

"Uh, why are you opening something called 'feast'?" he asks, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"Feast," she echoes, trying to stifle her laughter. "Off to a... rocky start, aren't we?"

It took him a second.

"I already regret this," he jokes, facepalming. "But I'd say that your puns are, uh, gold."

"I've un- unleashed-" breaking off, she half-falls off the counter, laughing so hard her face starts to go red, "a monster."

---

"Uh, is it supposed to look like that?" Cole asks, frowning.

The mixture looked less like the dough he'd been expecting - more like one of Jay's inventions gone wrong.

Badly wrong, he thought, eyes widening at the goopy mess of foam that threatened to spill over the jug.

"The yeast?" Vania echoes, poking her head out of one of the cupboards. "Yeah, all good! It always looks a little gross, and you're gonna doubt ever eating bread again, but at least it doesn't taste like it's fermented-"

"It's what?"

"Yeah," she grimaces, exaggerating her disgust a bit. "If aliens ever fell from the sky, they'd think we were crazy for eating bread-"

"Aliens? I think we're a bit crazy!" Cole exclaims, trying not to laugh.

Vania smiles, then sighs, lugging a huge bag of flour onto the counter. "I can never open these bags properly," she starts, eyeing the the bag a bit warily, "and it always makes such a huge mess all over the kitchen. You'd think they'd make it easier for people to use, right? I swear-"

He jokingly puts his hands over his ears. "I can't hear you!" "But you know that I've sworn off swearing-" she replies, breaking off with a laugh. "Pun not intended - that actually made sense in my head. I swear!"

"No," Cole interjects with a grin, shaking his head. "You don't, remember?"

"See, this is why we're friends-"

"Friends? Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh, be quiet," she shoots back, exaggeratedly dragging a hand down her face. "I mean, sure, just because everyone thinks that we're dating doesn't mean that we-"

Wait. What?

"People think that we're dating?" he asks, clamping a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to muffle his laughter. "I- I- really?"

"I know, right?"

"Even my friends thought so at first," he confesses, dragging a hand down his face. "I mean, as much as I love you-"

"I love you too," Vania replies, completely seriously. "Even if you'll always be more like an annoying-"

"Hey-"

"Sibling to me than anything else," she finishes, grabbing a pair of scissors. Cole watches, a little alarmed, as she stabs them into the flour bag over and over.

"Is it... supposed to be this difficult to just open the bag? Seems kinda stupid-"

"Well, er, they have this piece of paper with glue that you're supposed to pull away from the rest of the bag, but it never works properly and I-"

"Well, we could always make our own flour," Cole interjects, laughing. "I mean, I've got a scythe? Let's go!"

"Uh, but we don't have wheat growing here. I don't think it'd suit the climate very well?"

"Wheat a shame," Cole sighs jokingly, measuring out the flour (which had, finally, escaped the bag).

"Oh my gosh," Vania deadpans, "you did not just-"

"Yep, I did."

"You're horrible," she giggles, "then again, I was the one who started this whole debacle, so I think we'll share the blame."

"Debacle? Where'd you pick that one up from? Sounds kinda cool-"

"Oh, it's from a book someone wrote about you guys," Vania says casually, pouring a cup of water into the bowl.

"Hey, uh-" Cole starts hesitantly, twisting his fingers back and forth, then breaks off. "Why'd you read all that stuff about us, anyways? Adventure books don't really seem like something you read a lot, since we have similar favorite books. I mean..."

"Well, um..." Vania trails off, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh- I guess, well, it sounds kinda stupid, but I'd never really met anyone my age who wasn't a royal or something. I... er, I didn't want to be left out, you know?"

Cole thinks back to a scroll; a quest, a sacrifice. One that his friends never seemed to really notice, unless it was with horror or flinches. Not that he blamed them, but - joking about how he was much more useful to the team when he was freaking dead than he was before he'd stumbled and fell in the temple?

That had been a bit far, even for his best friend. Locks could always be picked or something, he didn't need to be a ghost to provide some sort of value-

Well, that's not completely true, is it? a small voice questions, and he can't keep his hands from shaking a little.

"Jay here thinks you're the least valuable ninja."

Not enough to be a performer. Now, not good enough to even be a ninja, apparently.

Well, he reminds himself firmly, you don't have to be the best - just stand up to those who are cruel and unjust.

Nothing but a scar that glowed warm orange occasionally left of the whole Cursed Realm ordeal, sometimes it was all too easy to forget - or pretend - that it had never even happened in the first place.

Other times, like when he'd dropped a glass of water on the floor and his hands hadn't stopped shaking for hours, or when he woke up screaming, expecting to fall through his bed again, it still felt like he was trapped as a ghost. Literally - and maybe a little figuratively as well.

Yeah. Yeah, I know.

"Thanks for trusting me with that," he replies softly. "And I'm sorry. That sounds... horrible, but, honestly, you're a pretty cool person, and I ain't just saying that because we're friends. People can be awful, and they can- they can leave, but you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not for people to accept you. I kinda know what it's like, and it's... just, uh, not great."

"No, thank you," Vania says, rubbing her eyes. "You're pretty cool, too. And I'm glad that we become friends, even if wasn't in the- the, er, greatest circumstances."

"Right back at ya. The fall was pretty terrifying, though," Cole says casually, as if memories of that nightmarish plunge into the depths of earth don't still send shivers down his spine.

"No, definitely! I was so sure we were gonna splat onto the ground or something, thank gosh we didn't."

"Yeah..." Cole trails off, reading the recipe they'd been following. "Oh- do we just leave the bowl somewhere for a few hours now?"

"Oh, yeah," Vania answers. "Other than clean up the kitchen, what else do you wanna do?"

"That's kind of you, but, ah, I don't mind. You can choose something."

"I don't mind either," she replies, covering the bowl with a dishcloth. "Seriously, I don't."

"Same here though."

"Really, I don't mind-" Vania breaks off with a laugh, adding, "Well, actually, there is something."

She doesn't elaborate, thoughtfully gazing out the window.

"Well, what is it? Don't keep me in the dark."

"Ugh, it's kinda stupid-"

"I'm sure that it's not- well, unless you want to try to jump off a flying ship with a homemade parachute to prove a bet to someone-"

"Do I even wanna know?"

"...uh, probably not. We're way too crazy sometimes, our Master has a hard time keeping us in check. Your thing, though?"

"Can I give you a hug?"

Cole blinks for a second, expecting some sort of punchline.

"That's your thing?"

"Well, yeah- I mean, I said it was kinda stupid-"

"No no, that's not what I meant. You're so sweet - that's all."

"Well, not more than you-"

"Nah, you're sweeter-"

"Let's just call it a tie," Vania says with a smile, reaching over to give her friend a hug. "Thank you so much, I swear- well, no, I don't, but you know, anyways-"

"Yeah," Cole replies, laughing softly. "I know."

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 9

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 9 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 8 / Part 10

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies: 

Only Freddie and Brian went to see Zandra Rhodes on that first evening. Also, this event occurred in 1974 and not in 1975, as I’m writing it :)

Word Count: 4.2k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Zandra bloody Rhodes?!” Roger cried for the hundredth time. “And she took your call?”

“Pretty fucking fantastic, isn’t it?” said Freddie excitedly.

The meeting had lasted hours, from morning until lunch— in which Roger and John had gone to pick up Indian takeaway— and into late afternoon. Freddie had a multitude of different ideas, and the others had passionate opinions on these ideas, so the morning meeting had quickly turned into an all-day event. Reid had left early on, claiming he had another meeting, this time with Elton— Elton bloody John— but you suspected he was just tired of you and Freddie and Brian and Roger and Deacy yelling ideas back-and-forth at the speed of derby commentators.

Now evening was rapidly approaching, the last sunlight of the day slipping slowly from the sky. The five of you were walking down the road to the flat of the one and only Zandra Rhodes.

Zandra Rhodes. You could hardly believe it. Sure, Freddie was brilliant, and persuasive too, but you hadn’t imagined that even he would be able to win an audience with one of the world’s most promising designers.

Freddie led the parade with you and John at his side, and Roger and Brian followed behind. Freddie glanced back at you, flashing a giddy smile. Roger stuck him a cigarette and the two of them sparked up in the amber glow of the streetlights. Deacy made a face, and you and he fell back to walk apart from the two smokers.

Brian was deep in conversation with Rog and remained that way, talking animatedly about something, a song, maybe, that you only caught snatches of because of the way the wind blew.

Just then, Roger made Brian laugh. Not quietly or shyly, but properly laugh, where Brian threw his head back and his shoulders shook and his smile spread across his face, broad and beautiful. You’d made Brian laugh like that once— when you’d sat on the wall outside of the Union Pub, months ago. Months ago.

It felt an age ago, it felt like yesterday, and how those two ideas could coexist was beyond you, and yet, exist they did. Brian was familiar, like the stars that wheeled above, like the soft sheets of your bed against your skin, like the strings of your guitar that were and would always be in E-A-D-G-B-E form. He was reliable, he was always there. If six point six seven times ten to the negative eleventh was the gravitational constant, then Brian was yours.

John’s voice startled you from your thoughts. “I see the way you look at him.”

You felt yourself flush, heat rushing through you in the same way that happened when you missed a step on the stairs and only just managed to catch yourself in time.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t play silly with me, Y/N,” Deacy looped his arm through yours. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. You’re always looking at him when he’s not looking at you, and you look quite besotted.”

You opened your mouth to speak, then realised you had nothing to say. You watched your shoes hit the pavement instead. “It’s nothing,” you said finally, lowering your voice. “I’m just a little...” you bit your lip, searching for a word. You gave up. “I mean, look at him,” you gestured vaguely in Brian’s direction. His elegant silhouette seemed to shimmer in the darkness, as though he were made of dark matter, effervescently gorgeous in the shroud of mystery.

Deacy raised his eyebrows. “I do, quite often, and most of the time, it’s to snap at him for being too obstinate with his guitar solos. I don’t,” he pointed to you, “look like that.”

“It’s nothing,” you repeated, shaking your head. “And even if it was something, it would be one-sided, anyway.”

John scoffed. “Ridiculous, Y/N, you’re being ridiculous. You’re all moony, and he goes all starry-eyed—”

The need to justify yourself was suddenly overwhelming. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little starstruck, but that’s all it is!” Your tone had gone shrill, and the heads of the others in front of you turned, wide-eyes and questioning expressions abundant.

“Deacy darling, what did you say to her?” Freddie piped.

“Not a thing,” Deacy raised his hands in surrender and Roger laughed.

Brian slowed until you and John caught up with him. He smiled at you, and you melted a little. “Deacy’s talking your head off, is he?”

John rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk, Mister Back-Chat.”

“Oh, leave us, John,” said Brian, and Deacy winked at you, jogging a bit to catch up with the others.

“Put those out, I’m here now,” you heard him say, and Freddie and Roger dutifully crushed their cigarettes.

“Oi!” said Brian. “In the rubbish bin, not on the ground!”

Freddie and Roger exchanged a look of ugh, mum, then once again proceeded to do as they were told.

Brian shook his head at them while you laughed.

“So, that rascal John Deacon bothering you?” he asked.

“I heard that!”

“Oh, he could never,” you said fondly.

“Does his hair make him more likable?”

You blinked, surprised that Brian remembered your conversations as well as you did. “No,” you said. “That’s your privilege and yours alone.”

Brian looked positively chuffed, and squaring his shoulders, he tugged the lapels of his jacket and pretended to fix a tie he wasn’t wearing.

“You’re secretly just as obsessed with your hair as everyone else, aren’t you?”

“No…”

“Yes,” you pushed him, “you are.”

“Okay,” he pushed back, “perhaps just a bit. But I used to hate it, you know.”

This surprised you. “Really?”

He nodded, tugging absently on a curl. “Brushed it out. Every day.”

“I’ll need to see those photographs,” you told him, admiring the way a ringlet framed his face in the dim light of the street.

“Ha!” said Brian. “Not if I have my way.”

“No?”

“They’re hideous,” he declared. “Can’t possibly let you see me like that. You’d never want to look at me again.”

Then, as though he really were afraid of you never looking at him again, his eyes fixed firmly upon yours, his gaze almost plaintive. The flecks of green amongst the hazel of his irises glittered, trimmed by dark, pretty lashes. The amount of sway he held with a single gaze would have been enough to disintegrate anyone.

“I think you underestimate the power of your presently curly hair,” you murmured, unable to look away from him.

Brian laughed.

Properly.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

Freddie rang the haphazardly hung doorbell to Zandra Rhodes’ small attic studio, and the sound of high heels against wood reached you through the door.

You and the others exchanged glances of anticipation. Freddie looked about ready to burst with excitement. You couldn’t blame him.

The door swung open.

A broad-shouldered yet petite woman, perhaps about five years older than you, held open the door. Her denim trousers were decorated in gems and assorted swatches of fabric, and her top was flowing, stitched of a fabric that looked to be African influenced. Wooden beads hung around her neck, and her boots were a white leather. Her bright eyes twinkled.

“Hallo! Come in. You must be Freddie Mercury,” Zandra ushered you all inside, then shook Freddie’s hand.

“Oh, I’m delighted to finally meet you, darling,” Freddie beamed.

“Likewise! I’ve been listening to your records everyday,” said Zandra. “You really ought to make another one. Roger Taylor?”

“I am,” Roger shook her hand with a grin.

“And you must be Brian, the studious one,” Zandra quirked an eyebrow at Brian.

“Sometimes,” he said with a friendly smile, and she laughed.

“That leaves John Deacon— or is it Deacy?”

Deacy shrugged. “Either one works, hello.”

Zandra nodded, “Noted.” Then she saw you. “And who might you be, my dear?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Y/N,” you said, shaking her hand.

“Ah,” she smiled, “you must be… Brian’s wife?”

Freddie sputtered, then elbowed Roger who was looking like he wanted to laugh.

Brian’s cheeks had turned the same colour as Betelguse, the red star of Orion. You imagined your pallor was something similar.

“I’m sorry,” Zandra apologised, “Freddie mentioned someone in the group was married, and I just assumed, since—” she gestured at how you and Brian had come to stand side by side.

“No harm done,” John swooped in to save the day. “I’m the only one who’s married, but my lovely wife is at work, currently.”

“Y/N’s a friend,” Brian added. “Practically family, she’s been with us so long.” He had regained his composure and now had the gall to wink at you, so that your own composure crumbled further.

You managed a tight smile at Zandra, who above all seemed amused by the whole thing.

“Well, thanks for tagging along, Y/N. I could always use another set of eyes and another pair of hands to help me do fittings. Come on through,” she waved you all down a hallway.

Sorry, Freddie mouthed to you as you followed Zandra.

It’s okay, you mouthed back.

“Secret language?” said Brian from behind you, and his soft exhale tickled your ear.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you replied over your shoulder, and Brian chuckled.

Zandra led you into a wide room crammed to the rafters with racks of clothing in all the colours of the rainbow, and all the glamour of Marc Bolan. Although, you supposed the glamour was Zandra’s own; she had only designed for Bolan just last year.

“Voilà, mes amis.” She swept her arms around the studio, and Freddie let out a little gasp.

“It’s stunning,” said Roger, and the others murmured in agreement.

“Thank you,” the designer said humbly. “I like to think I work hard.”

“So, now what?” asked Freddie, and Zandra shrugged.

“Go wild. Pick some things off the rails so I can get an idea of your concept.”

“Oh, be careful saying things like that,” Brian intoned. “Freddie’s like a child at a sweet shop.”

Sure enough, Freddie was already rifling through clothing pieces like he was on the clock.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t destroy anything, by accident,” said John, and followed after him.

“I could never!” Freddie cried.

“By accident,” Deacy reiterated.

Roger ambled off to the other side of the studio, and Brian turned to you.

“Where to start, then?” you asked him.

He pulled a feathery hat down from a stand and plonked it on your head.

“Right here,” he decided. You dipped the brim of the hat and lifted your chin, posing. “Gorgeous,” said Brian, “but I think it needs something more…”

“What about this?” Zandra appeared with a swath of sparkly fabric, which she handed to Brian.

“Oh I shouldn’t— we’re not here for me,” you said. But Zandra shook her head.

“No one comes to my studio without the opportunity to feel fabulous.” She grinned, then swept away in a jangle of beads and gemstones.

“I think she’s right,” Brian said, and he draped Zandra’s fabric about your shoulders, arranging it with careful fingers. He adjusted your hat so that it sat at more of an angle. “Magnificent. I must be a genius,” he sniffed in a haughty manner, and you laughed.

“Your turn, then,” you declared, ushering him down a row of racks. “Here’s the starting piece,” you reached up and threw a silky, checkered scarf around his neck.

“Hmm…” you squinted up at him. He narrowed his eyes in response. From another rack you drew a fashion piece that was something between a kaftan and a kimono, printed with little birds. Brian bent his knees slightly so that you could wrap the material around his shoulders. He placed his hands on his hips and pouted.

He looked absolutely divine. His angles were accentuated by the way the fabrics hung from his frame, and his volume of hair and the heartbreakingly gentle line of his lips rendered about him a feminine sort of beauty that looked better on him than it ever would have on you.

All that was missing from the picture of glamour was the makeup.

“I think we need Freddie to do your eyeliner,” you said, leaning against the wall.

“Oh, love,” he said, and your stomach flipped. Leaning against the wall too, folding his arms and peering down at you, “you think Fred does my makeup? I’m glam too, you know.”

He was so close to you that his curls nearly hung over your face as well as his. It was difficult to breathe when he was this close, as close as when he’d helped you to play guitar the first time. You yearned for him to touch you, or for you to muster the courage to reach out and touch him. Still, no one moved. But his proximity was startling, and the thrill of it rushed down your spine like shooting stars.

“Well, Spaceman,” you said softly, “be glamorous. It suits you.”

Your eyes flicked up to his, and you could have sworn that his fell to your lips.

Then he looked away, and your shoulders sank.

But who were you kidding, anyway? You didn’t want this. You didn’t want him. You’d meant what you’d said to Deacy, because just like your thoughts of worthlessness, this too was all in your head; anything that truly existed was one-sided, a lonely phone call with no reply. Better to bury whatever fluttery notions that surfaced in you at the thought of Brian. He hadn’t wanted to give you the wrong idea. He didn’t want you.

“We should… We should see what the others have found,” you murmured half-heartedly, deliberately not looking at him.

“Oh. Yes… Good idea.” He cleared his throat quietly, a finger brushing the side of his nose. It was a nervous tic he had— you’d noticed him do it before, when he was uncomfortable. Around you, he did it often. You made him uncomfortable. Yet another reason to get as far away from Brian May as possible.

Brian retraced his footsteps, putting the checkered scarf and the kaftan-kimono back into their rightful places. You took off your flamboyant hat and replaced it from where it had been taken earlier, but you remained cloaked in the dark sparkly fabric, because you had no idea where Zandra had picked it up from.

“There you are, darlings!” Freddie said upon spotting you and Bri. “Come see— I’ve fallen in love.”

Deacy and Roger and Zandra joined you as well, and you found Freddie holding up a lovely white top with flowing sleeves.

“Fred, that’s a wedding top,” said Roger.

“And what is a performance if not the marriage of music and fashion?” Freddie proclaimed.

Zandra bore the expression of a proud mother. “He understands,” she said. Then she urged, “Try it on.”

Freddie was in and out of the changing room in moments, which was really quite a feat, given the structure of the white top.

“Oh, I see what you mean, now,” said Roger, a faint smile appearing on his lips at the sight of Freddie, who looked like an avenging angel, with his dark eyes and hair a brilliant contrast to the paleness of the top he wore.

John looked impressed too. “Stunning, Fred.”

“Very regal,” agreed Brian.

“Very Queen,” you said as Freddie spun in view of the mirror.

“Enough room to move about in, onstage?” Zandra asked.

Freddie nodded. He stopped spinning, facing her. “Darling, I feel I could fly.”

Zandra had genuinely gone teary-eyed. “Oh, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for people to feel.” Then she sighed, composing herself. She clapped her hands, “Time to get you fitted!”

“Excellent, Zandra dear,” said Freddie with a contented air. “Have you got anything similar that the others could try on, to be fitted as well?”

Zandra shook her head. “Sorry, that’s a one-of-a-kind. I’m going to have to fit you all to the same top, then have you tell me your design preferences and replicate the model.”

Deacy exhaled, “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It will be. So how many am I fitting?”

Roger squinted at the white top Freddie modelled. “Mm. I might have a bit of a hard time drumming in that. Think I’ll keep browsing.” He disappeared between the racks again.

“Yeah, might get a bit on the sweaty side,” Zandra mused. She turned to John. “Deacy?”

“I’ve actually got my eye on another one of your other pieces.”

“Ah, lovely! Well, point me to that one, and I’ll sort that for you as well, while we’re here.”

Deacy went to retrieve his garment of choice.

“Brian, darling?” said Freddie in dulcet tones.

You watched the exchange from a distance, perched on a chair that was more for decorative than for accommodating purposes but lifted the weight from your weary feet nonetheless.

“You’d look like that lovely White Queen you’re always waxing lyrical about…”

Something shifted in Brian’s features at the mention of this White Queen, but you couldn’t distinguish a single emotion from the plethora of those that flashed across his face.

“How did thee fare, what have thee seen, the mother of the willow green; I call her name,” Freddie recited with a flourish of his hands. When Brian said nothing, only let his jaw tighten, Freddie went on. “And ‘neath her window I have stayed—”

“Alright, yes, I’ll do it,” Brian muttered through clenched teeth.

“Oh brilliant!” Freddie clapped.

You leaned your chin on your palm, wondering at the scene before you. When Brian’s stare caught on you, his eyes were so intense that you blushed and looked away. You felt like you’d been going through his diary and he’d caught you reading.

“Right,” Zandra dragged a crate towards where you were sitting, just as Deacy reappeared with a shiny black top, and Roger with a kimono. “I’m going to need some help, I think.” She tossed you a roll of measuring tape, which you caught deftly, despite your tiredness. “Will you take some measurements, please?”

“Yeah, no problem,” you nodded. She gave you some quick instructions as to which measurements she needed, then settled a pair of thick, round framed glasses on her nose, and went to work on scavenging fabric and threads.

You took Freddie’s measurements and then John’s, proving that both tops needed quite the alterations; they had been designed for women and thus did not fit the boys quite right.

Roger’s kimono, on the other hand, fit perfectly, and so he went on to peruse Zandra’s vast collection of fancy hats.

Freddie handed the white top over to Brian before joining Roger in the scavenger hunt for hats, and Bri went to change.

When Brian returned, you couldn’t help but stare.

Softness made his being— rounded lips, delicate curls, sleepy eyes— and he seemed wrong for this world; he belonged to the stars.

You stood motionless, the world spinning gently out of time.

And dry my lips no word would make. White Queen indeed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and his voice too was soft.

You nodded but said nothing. Tearing your gaze away, you strode toward him and wound the measuring band behind him, around his back, drawing the ends to meet at his front. You felt his chest contract as your fingers skimmed his collarbone. But you wouldn’t let yourself think about how he breathed, how his head dipped toward yours.

“There, done,” you said, short of breath and scribbling down the measurements without much thought at all. Then you slipped away quickly, weaving through racks of clothing before Brian’s gentle touch could unravel you.

In your mad rush to get away from him, you ran straight into John.

“Deacy!” you cried when you collided. “Sorry!”

Deacy took one look at you and frowned. “Y/N. Stop running.”

“I’m not running,” you said.

“Only because I literally stopped you,” he sighed. “Stop running from Brian.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.” John sighed again, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, he spent the entire morning with his arms wrapped around you.”

It was true. Brian had made no move to get you away from where you’d perched on his knee that morning. If anything, he’d settled farther back into the plush of the settee to make you more comfortable, arms encircling your waist lightly, as though he feared both shattering you and not holding you tightly enough.

“Look,” Deacy had both hands on your shoulders now, compelling you to meet his eyes. You did, though with heavy reluctance. “Brian… he may have his cheeky side, but he’s not a flirt like Rog. You can’t pretend that doesn’t mean anything.”

From the way your heart thrummed, anyone would have said you’d run a marathon. But the only thing that ran was thoughts of Brian, through your head.

You were breathless, “But don’t you see that I have to?”

Someone like you and someone like him. There was only an abundance of ways in which such an affair could fail.

“No,” said John firmly, but he didn’t get a chance to develop the argument further.

“There you are!” Roger exclaimed, sounding rather exasperated. “This place is a maze. Freddie says it’s time we’re off.”

Deacy frowned, still in his thoughts, but Roger roped an arm around you both in a Freddie-esque manner.

“We must be nearing Brian’s bedtime,” Roger said. “He’s awfully grumpy. Again.”

“That’s not—” Deacy began, but you glared daggers, and he backed down.

The three of you reached the door of the studio, where Freddie, Brian, and Zandra stood waiting, the former two back in their usual garb, and Zandra without spectacles once more.

You handed Zandra your list of measurements, and that was that.

The past few hours felt like they’d passed in a dream.

“So,” said Freddie when you’d bid Zandra goodnight and started down the road again, “we’ve got the costumes, the finances, and the music, more or less, sorted.”

Deacy smiled bemusedly, and Roger stifled a yawn as he nodded. Brian had sunken into silence, and there he remained, distant and inaccessible.

Freddie continued, “But what about a place to write it all? This new album? We need to get away from all of this city buzz. It’s distracting.”

“The city itself, or the people in it, Fred?” Roger chuckled.

“Aha-ha. Very funny,” Freddie elbowed Roger in the ribs. “Quite seriously though darlings, that empty lecture hall just isn’t doing it for me.”

“Don’t think it does it for anyone, excepting our two resident scientists,” Deacy joked.

You rolled your eyes good humouredly, but Brian gave no indication of having heard John’s quip.

“Any real ideas?” said Freddie.

No’s were mumbled and heads were shaken. But for you, a thought blossomed.

“Yes.”

They all— even Brian— looked to you expectantly.

“Well?” Freddie prompted.

You wrung your hands, swung them by your sides. “Well, it might be a little silly.”

Freddie shrugged. “We’ve got nothing, Y/N dear, so have a go.”

“My family owns a farm…”

“Go on.”

“My dad has a recording studio.”

It wasn’t anything fancy, but he did, and the studio was fully functioning in every sense.

“Does he really?!” Freddie exclaimed with childlike fascination.

“That’s pretty fantastic, Y/N,” Roger commented, genuinely interested and for once devoid of sarcasm. “Do you think he’d let us use it?”

Deacy wondered aloud, “Do you think we could stay at your farm?”

“At a reasonable price, of course,” added Freddie.

“Your family has a studio,” Brian repeated, as though he were only just catching on.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m sure you could use it, and stay,” you blurted.

What the hell, stop talking! your internal monologue reprimanded you.

Freddie’s face was lit up like a ferris wheel, and Roger and Deacy exchanged a glance of excitement.

You grinned back, their happiness contagious, until your eyes caught on Bri’s and your heart skipped a beat.

“When can we go?” Freddie inquired, looping one arm through yours and another through Deacy’s, who in turn linked arms with Roger, who pulled Brian into the chain.

“The summer holidays,” you said, as it was the first thing that came to mind. Apparently, the link between your brain and your mouth had been severed. “When I go home to visit anyway, and I can take some time off from studying.”

“Oh this is brilliant!” cried Freddie, pressing a delighted kiss to your cheek. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

But you couldn’t stop looking at Brian, and now you were inwardly kicking yourself; only a day ago, you had resolved to get as far away from Brian as possible, not spend an entire summer with him!

But from the way Roger cheered and Deacy literally waltzed down the deserted street with Freddie as partner, there was no backing out of this now. You would only let them down, and that was one thing you could not bear to do, no matter how selfishly your thoughts might have been inclined.

You would just have to face the dire consequences of your actions.

Even if those consequences involved Brian May. 

And his damning smile.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: the ridge farm era is coming up!! fun fact— this whole fic was inspired by a dream i had about living on ridge farm when queen turned up. the prologue to starstruck is actually a transcript of my dream. wild.

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @hgmercury39​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @topsecretdeacon 

Masterpost / Part 8 / Part 10

[angelicspaceprince]

Beetlejuice Headcanons - Him Reacting To The First Time You Say ‘I Love You’

So I’m in the a Beetlejuice rabbit hole atm and have been talking to @trelaney about things and yeah these headcanons were born as a result. I’m hoping to have more out later this week and maybe a NSFW and SFW alphabet by tomorrow morning if I get time tonight but for now, enjoy this. I might also do some Dewey Finn ones if I feel up to it, I gotta watch the SOR musical first. Also, a conversation with @snake-cadaver about what Beetleboi would call his dick lead to a line in this headcanon - my aim is to later write a fic about it but ya never know.

Also warnings for sadness and Soft Boi!Beetlebug because he needs love.

You had been dating Beetlejuice 🐞 for maybe three months before it happened, but you had known since the third ‘date’ that you loved him

He wasn’t the easiest person to date, even to get him just to wash his fucking hands was a nightmare but you made do

Your declaration of love just happened by accident

You were eating dinner and watching TV, Beetlejuice providing a running commentary which had you in stitches and it just slipped out

“God, Beej, I love you.”

It killed the mood in less than a second as Beetlejuice when from his usual, upbeat and somewhat cocky self to something you didn’t even recognise

He goes quiet, and almost seems to want to curl into himself

“You….you do?”

His voice seems broken, nothing you’d ever heard from him before

“Yeah, of course I do?”

“You sure?”

When you look up to see him properly, you realise that his hair is mostly pink with faint streaks of blue – your boyfriend was like a friggin mood ring. Blue was not a good colour for his hair to be

“B, you constantly go around calling your dick your Beetlebulge and I still let it stick it in me. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

His usual cocky sell returns as his chest puffs out.

“Of course you do! I’m the best in the Netherworld, babes, and don’t you forget it!”

It didn’t escape your attention that he didn’t say that he loved you back but that’s ok

It hurt, but maybe he wasn’t ready for that yet

Two weeks later, you both collapsed into bed, drunker than you thought was physically possible

And suddenly, the insecurity from that event two weeks prior reared its ugly head as you and Beetlejuice 🐞 just stare at each other’s faces, him with a stupid grin on his face that was either an effect of the alcohol or simply the fact that he had a stupid pun coming up in his head

You ruined that smile with one question

“Do you love me?”

His face scrunches up in confusion.

“Of course I do baby!” You wince as he shouts his overexcited answer followed by him putting a finger to his lips and continuing his sentence in an overdramatic whisper. “Shhh babes, people outside, don’t yell.”

You giggle which makes him smile again. “I’ve loved you since day dot, dollface.” He goes to kiss your nose but misses and lands face down on the bed, where you can hear a faintly muffled ‘shit’ against the covers before he pulls back to look at you again

You smile at your very cute (and very very drunk) boyfriend and move to put your chin to his chest. “That’s good, because I love you.”

You hear him hum and when you look up, he looks like he’s about to drift off to sleep. But you still wanted answers.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Beetlejuice hums as a hand moves up to trace faint patterns on your back (you are 99% sure he’s tracing dicks, but you’re too tired and drunk to really care)

“Well, sugar tits,” – you roll your eyes at the nickname – “it was the first time someone’s ever said that to me. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.”

Everything seems to pause as you sit up to look down at your boyfriend. “No one has ever said to you that they love you?”

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ as he squints to look up at you. “It’s too late, let’s go back to sleep babes.”

“Not even your mother?”

He scoffs. “She called me an annoying little shit, does that count?” He shrugs. “Babes, its no issue, really. Everyone thought I was annoying and painful, even when I was alive. I was a hard breather to love, even harder dead guy too I guess.” He pulls you down closer so you’re lying down again, but you slide to the side so you can still look at his face, hair still green but with the tips faintly blue. “Go to sleep babes.” He finally whispers

You can feel your heart break as you realise Beetlejuice 🐞 hadn’t been loved in a very, very long time. You weren’t really sure how to make the situation better. You finally resolve to say the only thing that came to your mind

“Hey. Hey. Hey Bug. I love you.”

His face breaks out into another large, dopey ass smile as he turns to you. “I love you too.”

He reaches over to kiss you, but somehow manages to miss epically and, with a loud crash, fall onto the floor beside your bed

You look over the edge in a hurry, seeing him currently face planted to the wooden floor, laying flat with his arms splayed out comically

“Uh….Beetlebug? Are you ok?”

His response is a loud snore so you figure, he’s ok

You quickly get a pillow under him and a blanket over him before climbing back into your own bed and mentally preparing for the massive hangover you no doubt will receive in the morning

Hey, Beetlejuice is too heavy for your drunk ass to lift and you don’t want a bad back in the morning. You love him, but you’re not stupid

In the morning, you wake up with a searing headache, limbs wrapped tightly around your body, pulling you close to a relatively cool body and loud snoring echoing through your head as Beetlejuice’s snores continue to grumble out his body and into your ear, his head firmly pressed against your shoulder

You groan and try to move with no success, so you pull out your phone and start scrolling through your various social media

You hear a grumble next to you and your boyfriend’s head moves so his eyes are buried in the crook of your neck

“Is too early babes, go back to sleep.”

“I can’t, I have a pest snoring in my ear.” You tease as he huffs a small laugh and kisses your neck gently

“You love it.” You hum in agreement as he shifts again. “Ugh, it’s too bright.”

You roll your eyes and dim your phone which leads to a content sigh before more snoring

When you finally do manage to get out of Beetlejuice’s grasp and set out on your quest for coffee and painkillers, it’s not long until two arms wrap their way around your shin

“Babe, come back to bed?” Came the pathetic whine, large eyes trying to convince you to pity the man attached to them and to return to the bed

“I need coffee.” You wince as your own voice echoes in your skull. “And Tylenol.”

Beetlejuice 🐞 refuses to let go and you end up dragging a (very heavy, clingy) demon out of your room and into the kitchen to get the coffee going

You weren’t even going to look behind you to the destruction his body being dragged behind you left until after you were awake

As you brew the coffee, Beetlejuice stands and quickly makes his way to rest behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he continues just to lazily hold you and kiss random parts of your skin that he can reach

Whenever he went to cop a feel, you’d slap his hand away. Too early for that bullshit

Your headache clears as Beetlejuice shuffles in closer, ignoring the cup you made for him that sits there in the sandworm mug you managed to commission for him

“Don’t leave me?”

His voice returns to the same emotionally unsure and vulnerable one that he had three weeks ago

You move to run your fingers over his arms as you start to sway

“Never, Beej. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slaps Beetlejuice’s 🐞 ass This bad boy can fit so much abandonment issues in it.

[billhaderlovebot]

beep beep (5) - richie tozier.

@ceruleanrainblues @the-star-above-you @a-second-hand-sorrow @shockwavee @socially-unaccepptable-dameron

the usual sexy stuff and swearing and weed. y'all know the drill.

"i've never been... uh... good at the whole, um, serious thing. but, this is us. this is... our wedding. and i put real effort into this shit. so, get ready, fuckers, because this is a real tearjerker. um, yeah. okay..."

you honestly hadn't trusted richie to write his own vows, but neither of you had wanted them to feel... artificial. you wanted them to be your own. and now he was standing before you, holding your hands in his and tearing up already. big softie.

he had also teared up as you walked down the aisle on wobbly legs, mike on your arm.

"we were... we were owed more time, i think." richie lamented. "we should have done this years ago. i should have married you years ago."

---

richie had known, for a long time, that you were the one he would marry.

it was 1993, and the sun was setting over sleepy little derry, giving the quarry an orange-pink glow and bathing you all in its warmth.

you were all pruning up a little, and it wasn't as warm as it was when you'd come down a few hours previously, but summer was coming to an end, and you wanted to make the most of your last couple weeks of freedom with your favourite people in the world.

richie watched as you sat in the shallows, taking a hit of the sizeable joint between your fingers. you exhaled loudly, leaning your head back toward the watercolour sky.

shades of blush pink and peach and apricot illuminated your skin, the low sun setting a warm glow across the water, and oh, god, he was in love.

you laughed, loud and beautifully obnoxious, at something stan had said, passing him the joint and wiggling your legs in the water. your laugh just so happened to be the losers' favourite sound in the whole world, as it was one of those wonderfully infectious laughs you can't help but laugh along with.

richie had always tried to make you laugh in the hopes that you'd like him, but when you did laugh, he found himself falling in love.

eddie watched on in disapproval, sitting cross legged on the bank behind you.

"when you get lung cancer i will laugh and i will spit on your grave." he grumbled, but took the joint anyway when it was passed back around to him, just as enthusiastically as the rest of you. perhaps he was trying to protest in hopes that it would lessen the guilt he would feel later as he frantically sprayed himself with deodorant to get the smell out, and applied the emergency eyedrops he had bought.

ben, bev, bill and mike were in the middle of a very intense game of chicken. beverly had toppled off of mike's shoulders at least twice, but she had pushed bill back into the water more than four times, shrieking with laughter as, arms flailing, he disappeared under the surface of the lake.

"rich! c'mere." you had caught sight of him and held out your arms in his direction, making cute little grabby hand motions toward him. the look of utter joy on your face warmed him from head to toe, and he smiled as he swam over, dodging bill, who had once again been knocked into the lake by bev. ("stop being such a little bitch, billy.")

you came to meet richie halfway, leaving stan and eds to finish the joint and sinking into the water up to your neck. you immediately attached your lips to his, running both of your hands through his hair because you were stoned and everything felt better under your fingertips.

kissing him was like... a whole other plane of existence. you were joined at the lips, joined at the heart. the sun was going down and it was getting cold, and you were both shaking, and he noted the way you tasted of smoke as he kissed the life from you, the water rippling against his chin. you groaned quietly, and richie smiled into the kiss, ignoring everyone else's exasperated groans because ugh they're making out again ew look at them they're so disgustingly in love.

"you're both whores!" stan all but screamed, and you flipped him off, kissing richie all the more enthusiastically.

and richie broke away just to look at you.

the sun, now casting a deep orange-red light behind you, was almost set, and you were beautiful.

the quiet "hi, babe." that tumbled from your lips made him feel as if everything was right with the world, and, then, staring at you, drinking you in, in all your red-eyed, swollen-lipped, soft-grinning glory, like he was seeing colour for the first time, he knew that if he didn't marry you he would probably die.

---

"but now we're here."

richie cleared his throat, his eyes darting around because if he looked directly you he had no chance of keeping it together. "and i have you for the rest of my life. it took a lot for us to get here, too. god knows how we managed to plan all this. thanks, bevvy."

---

eddie was your best man.

obviously.

eddie was your best everything, to be honest, so it was an easy choice while wedding planning. eddie had been the essential third to your group of three ever since you were kids, and he meant so much to richie, and so much to you that you hadn't even had to think about it.

eddie was going to be the best man. that choice was a no-brainer.

all of the other choices, however, were not.

richie and yourself, apparently, were completely incompetent at any sort of planning whatsoever.

you tried, though, you really did.

you got out the big notebook and a pen and richie pulled up pinterest and you had some serious talks about colour schemes and flower arrangements and the like.

well, sort of.

("can we have, like, yknow, like, those worms..."

"worms?"

"like those worms on strings... yeah, those."

"the googly eyes?"

"the eyes.... yeah, and just..."

"hang them?"

"from the ceiling... yeah. "

"richie?"

"yes?"

"i think that's the best idea you've had since i met you.")

but after consuming copious amounts of alcohol, and only having made one useful decision, the two of you decided that you were not in any state to plan your fucking wedding.

("so... s-so if we get- richard, stop trying to take my clothes off- if we get the worms, do you want the pink- rich, i swear- do you want the pink ones or the blue ones...?")

turning off whatever true crime show was playing in the background, you stumbled, leaning against one another, to the bedroom.

"sex?"

"that's the plan."

but any attempt to undress each other only got half way before you were both asleep atop the bedsheets, snoring lightly, an intoxicated tangle of limbs.

the planner notebook you had been using to write down the essentials lay open and abandoned on the coffee table, the only thing in it being one line of richie's chickenscratch handwriting.

it read: set a place for stanley.

---

richie was really, properly crying now, and the only think keeping him from losing his shit was eddie's hand on his shoulder, and your thumb running across his knuckles.

everyone else was crying, too. not a dry eye in the room.

"almost losing you again... so soon after we had found each other... really put shit into perspective for me, yknow? hospitals, um, suck. and i was so pissed... because... fuck, sorry, fuck... i was, uh, pissed, because all i could think was that we were losing time again."

---

(before the sewer fight)

"kiss me." richie's quiet, shaky voice came from behind you, and you whirled around from the suitcase from which you were trying to put together an outfit more suitable for clown killing.

he took you in his arms almost immediately, bending down to kiss you, but the kiss almost scared you.

it was too tense.

there was too strong an edge to the way he held you close, kissing you as if it were the last time.

"what's wrong?" you murmured, centimetres from his lips, your breath ghosting across them.

"i... i don't know if we'll both come out of this." he admitted in hushed agony, kissing you again, slower. "i won't be able to live with myself if something happens to you." richie kissed you again and again, such raw emotion behind each soft crush of lips that he had to swallow the quiet, broken gasps that spilled from you.

"whatever happens," you breathed, running your thumbs along his cheekbones. "i love you."

"show me." he pleaded, red rimmed eyes locking onto yours with such intent that you almost fell over. "please, just-"

"we have to be quick." you said, and he nodded, pulling you into another long, searing kiss. there was a sort of burning desperation to the way his lips moved, now.

richie shifted your shorts down and slid his hands under your thighs, whispering a low "jump" in your ear. your legs wrapped around his waist, and you gasped as your back hit the wall.

"fuck, rich, hurry the fuck up." you mumbled, tilting your head so as to give him better access to the skin of your neck, to which he was already leaving marks.

"okay, baby." and then he was all but tearing off your shirt, immediately exploring the newly exposed skin with his mouth, teeth included. fuck.

"you're such a prick." you hissed.

"and you might just be the most beautiful thing ever to have existed, sweets." said richie, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking at you with dark, dilated, sex-me-up eyes.

"do something about it then." you challenged.

"anything for you, doll."

richie was pushing you so hard against the wall, that you were surprised you didn't go right through the drywall and topple into eddie's room.

you ran your tongue along his bottom lip and he groaned so fucking loud.

"i love you." you whispered the sentiment against his lips, fumbling at his belt buckle.

"i love you more."

---

richie took a moment to compose himself, allowing you to do the same. your eyes drifted about the room. the absence of both yours and richie's families bothered neither of you.

at the front row, the losers and stanley's empty chair, reminded you that they were the only family you'd ever need.

---

"you fucking what?"

"it was an accident!" richie held his hands up in defense, slumping down next to you on the couch.

"richie, do you ever imagine what it would be like if you'd have gotten enough fucking oxygen at birth?" you snapped, raking your hands across your scalp.

"watch it, or no sex." he said.

"i will never have sex with you ever as long as i live unless you uninvite my mother right the fuck now."

"i couldn't say no!" richie was now flapping his hands about in frustration, looking a little like a cartoon character. "she called me up yelling about the divorce and then i told her about the wedding--"

"my life would be so much easier if your dad had just pulled out." you deadpanned.

"--and i didn't know how to tell her she couldn't come--

"we have to change the venue. she's not coming."

"but that's the beach grease was filmed on, babe, there's no way i--"

"richie, if you don't change the venue, i will fucking castrate you in your fucking sleep."

---

it was raining that day, anyway, so a beach wedding wouldn't have been possible. it was okay, though. richie quite liked the little chapel you had picked out, and the coloured light that filtered through the stained glass windows danced across your skin in a way that reminded him so much of quarry sunsets. it was perfect, really.

"we could have had... so much more, yknow? a normal life. but, instead, we grew up in fucking derry... like idiots from some dumb horror book." you laughed at that. so did the losers. you were the only ones who knew what it really meant. "i promise... i'm going to, um, spend every moment of the rest of my life, the rest of however long we have, showing you how much i love you. and i do... love you, that is. every moment of the rest of fucking time, baby, because god knows we've lost enough."

and you kissed him before the priest even said the words, knocking him backwards into eddie.

your first dance was unconventional.

of course.

richie was nervous. he had practiced this dance so many times, with beverly, with eddie, with fucking bill. (that particular endeavour had been a tough nut to crack.) and you pretended you didn't know, for his sake, because he had tried so hard.

his hands shook as he positioned them on your waist where beverly had taught him.

"i can't dance, babe." he snorted.

"i know you can't." you giggled, kissing his cheek.

you held him close to you, blinking back tears as the first chords of billy joel's vienna drifted quietly from the speakers in the corner.

richie lay his head on your shoulder, murmuring the words softly in your ear and pressing light kisses to the soft skin under it.

about halfway through the song, you realised you didn't actually know how to dance either, which was a relief to him. whatever you ended up doing had to have been acceptable, because, once again, everyone was sobbing.

bev cried, mike cried, ben cried, bill cried. eddie shoved almost his entire hand into his mouth to stifle his tears, because there was no way in fuck richie was seeing him cry.

richie would sooner find himself down in the sewers again than admit it, but he could carry a damn tune.

when the song faded to its soft end, the two of you didn't move for several more seconds, eyes gently closed, foreheads together. (admittedly, richie was quite a bit taller than you, and to lean down a fraction.) it seemed almost wrong to open your eyes and join the rest of the world, but the losers' over-enthusistic applause and cheering pulled you both from the trance as they drowned out everyone else.

"you're beautiful." richie whispered, and your eyes snapped open. you had a feeling he wasn't just talking about your dress. eddie, of all people, had helped you pick it out, following you around the wedding dress outlet centres, hissing profanity at the disheveled women who got in his way and muttering furiously about how he'd sterilise the fuck out of whatever you chose to buy.

"you're beautiful." you sniffed, wiping your watery eyes and pulling him down to kiss you softly.

"why are you two like that?" eddie whined when you sat down at the table you'd put them all on. he was only half joking.

"it is their wedding day, eds." bev shrugged, remembering how gross her and ben had been at their own wedding a few months previously.

"what can i say?" you arranged the skirt of your dress comfortably around you before slinging your legs over richie's. "richie's a whore."

the rest of the party was... eventful.

most notably, the losers club's exclusive, very enthusiastic (and frankly quite dangerous) group dance to uptown girl in which your shoe ended up across the room in the wine cooler on the table you dubbed "friends from work" and bill and mike accidentally threw eddie half way across the room at the final chorus.

there was also the matter of richie and yourself insisting on recreating the "come on eileen" dance from the perks of being a wallflower, but then not remembering any of the moves. losers club exclusive group dance part 2 ensued.

eddie's best man speech was a wreck, mainly because he was absolutely bladdered.

("trash-mouth... trash-mouth fuckin tozier got the girl. nobody thought it would ever happen, i mean ever-")

---

(6 months after the wedding.)

"are we gonna pretend we have kids?" you pondered, crumpling the empty juice pouch in your hands and tossing it onto the steady-growing pile in the corner of the living room. "or are we just going to have to own up to the fact we drank twelve boxes of capri suns between us this week?"

a quiet slurping noise came from beside you as richie drained his own capri-sun, throwing it onto the pile with a flourish of his arms.

"i think that they've come to expect this of us." he said, shifting your legs out of his lap and standing up to answer the door.

"alright!" you heard him call down the hallway, as who you assumed was bev began pounding the doorbell aggressively.

and then the door swung open, and you heard a chorus of cheerful greetings and borderline yelling. ah, your best friends.

the losers came over to the tozier residence almost weekly for drunken antics and the spilling of long overdue tea.

"MRS TOZIER!" mike hollered jovially, bill in tow. they'd been seeing more of each other recently. none of you were able to miss how mike looked at bill when bill wasn't looking. it was how beverly and ben looked at one another, and how you looked at richie every morning you woke up to his face, and all throughout the day when he wasn't looking, and even when he was looking.

"MIKEY!" you yelled back with equally as much gusto, stretching your arms out for a hug, which he gladly returned.

"novelty not wore off, yet?" mike asked, gratefully taking the capri sun you offered to him as he settled next to you on the couch. "you've been married long enough, realised you don't love him yet?"

"oh yeah, no, this is purely a marriage of convenience. he's not that ugly, and i get laid like every day, and all i have to do is pick up his socks and share a bed with him."

richie wasn't impressed, storming back into the room in front of bev, ben and eddie.

"hey, um, ok, well, i actually am having a passionate affair with ben, and, ben's fucking hung. so, there."

richie slumped on the other side of you, grabbing you and blowing a raspberry on the side of your neck.

"seriously, bitch?" you whined, but you wrapped your arms around him all the same.

eddie bustled over to the towering pile of capri-sun packets, a plastic refuse bag in hand that you assumed he'd just pulled from his fanny pack.

"you guys are disgusting." he shoved the packets into the bag with unnecessary force. "you fucking deserve each other."

"tell them why we got kicked out of the drive-in theatre last week, rich." you smirked, leaning into your husband's side. he cleared his throat.

"i, uh..."

"tell them." you pressed.

"we saw titanic-" richie started, quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

"oh, god." eddie groaned, storming out of the room in search of a recycling bin.

"-and i, uh... was yelling diving scores as they, uh, jumped off the boat."

"for fucks sake, richie." ben sighed. beverly was borderline cackling. mike and bill just looked disappointed.

"it's not my fault!" richie whined. "my beautiful wife was the one who insisted we recreate the sex scenes as they happened. hand on the window and everything."

"the toziers, everyone." eddie came back into the room, sitting on the ground on a beanbag near the coffee table. "you two should never have been allowed near each other."

"ah, but we were." you chimed in. grabbing richie's face and kissing him obnoxiously. "what say we get piss-drunk and, like, play dumb drinking games. for old times sake?" you suggested when you tore yourself from him, your lips separating with a wet pop. "it's been a while."

---

1993

"what's up, fuckers." you threw up a casual peace sign as you descended into bill's smoke-shrouded basement, stumbling slightly down the stairs and sitting between richie and stanley in the circle that the losers had formed.

richie immediately attached his lips to your neck, pulling you into his side.

"hello to you too, trash-mouth." you grinned. richie looked fucking good.

he'd only gone and got his septum pierced the day before, and you were wary at first, but the little silver horseshoe ring that hung between his nostrils now looked amazing, glinting in the low basement lights. richie wore a deep red, oversized, cable-knit sweater that you could have sworn was yours but you'd smoked a huge joint on the way here and weren't too sure. a black beanie sat on his head, a few errant curls poking out by his forehead and around his ears.

"you're hot." you mumbled.

"you're hot." he grinned against your neck, and lifted his head to kiss your lips, his glasses bumping against your nose.

"yo, whores, truth or dare." beverly said, throwing back about half of the bottle in her hand, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"i fucking hate this game." richie hissed, leaning against your shoulder, sulking.

"truth." you said.

"what's richie's biggest kink?" she leaned forward in the circle, her tongue poking out from between her teeth.

"beverly!" richie was not amused.

"he's really into hair pulling." you sniffed, taking a blunt from between stan's fingers.

"babe!" richie exclaimed. you exhaled in his face.

"is he loud?" bev asked, leaning to take the joint from you.

"BEVERLY!" richie was shouting, now, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"oh, yes. he is." you nodded, grinning from ear to ear.

"FUCK!"

"a bit like that, actually."

"this is actual abuse." richie put his head in his hands, edging away from you.

"i love you." you tried, tugging on his sweater and leaning against him.

he had crawled into stanley's lap at this point, curling up like a baby.

"i fucking hate truth or dare." richie sat up and reached for another bottle, allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

---

most of the losers were asleep, curled up in various, not so comfortable looking positions on your couch and beanbags and weird hanging egg chair thingy that you'd insisted on buying.

"where did you come from, babe?" richie sighed, snaking his arms around your waist from behind as you brushed your teeth. "you're fuckin'... perfect."

one thing richie had always remembered, if a little vaguely, was your smell. the smell of sleep and fabric softener and your shampoo. his memory hadn't done it justice, he decided. when he took you in his arms in the chinese restaurant and inhaled deeply as if it were his last breath, filling his lungs with the smell of you and trying to sear into his brain the memory of how you felt inside his arms. because he would forget again, surely.

he hated himself for forgetting you.

"we're married, rich." you pointed out, rinsing your toothbrush and dropping it into the holder. "you're not too bad, yourself."

"i mean it, though." he muttered, pressing the softest of kisses to your jaw. "you're so fuckin'... doll, i, fuck-"

"don't go all shy on me, babe." you teased. "come to bed, yeah? im cold."

he watched as you shuffled off to your shared bedroom, doing that thing you always did when you stretched, making an unnecessary amount of noise. he smiled. that's my baby.

"hey, rich." another voice came from behind him. at the door of the bathroom, small and tentative.

"oh, hey, eds." richie smiled, taking his own toothbrush from the one next to yours, continuing the conversation through the mirror. but there was a somewhat uncomfortable silence in the small room, made worse by the hollow rattling of the toothbrushes.

"i, uh..." eddie shifted his weight, leaning against the doorframe. "i, uh... gotta tell you something, rich."

"knock yourself out, eddie spaghetti."

"im getting a divorce."

"oh, yeah? good, she was a fucking-"

"im with someone. a guy."

"a guy?"

"yeah. his name is, uh, richie, as it happens. well, richard, but, yknow."

"eds-"

"i loved you." eddie blurted. quiet. barely there. "for, uh... so long."

"you-"

"when we were kids. and, and i... you were never out of my head. not for one fucking second. and my mom... god, my fucking mom, she knew. i think she knew. every time you came round she made sure to scrub me a little harder. the soap burned. fuckin, i don't even know, some carbolic shit, or something. but... it was always her, wasn't it? you and her, um, you loved her and you continued to love her for... for fucking ever. and i wanted it to be me, rich."

richie was almost choking on his heart.

"eds, you know i-"

"no, actually, i don't."

"well i-"

"im not... bitter. if that's what you think. because i think the world of her. she's... my best friend, i would do anything for her, rich. and it wouldn't have made sense for you to end up with anyone else.

and im not... pining anymore? this was uh, what i needed. and im with someone, and he loves me, and i love him. so much, i do. and i love... you... and her... "

"eddie, i loved you too, yknow."  richie muttered. the words hung in the air between them like the sword of fuckin' damocles.

"you did?"

"yeah. course i did."

"well, fuck."

"yeah. fuck."

"can i-" eddie held out his arms.

"yeah.",

richie was so used to hugging smaller people that it was natural to rest his chin on eddie's head, enveloping him almost completely. he noted how eddie gripped his shirt a little tighter than was probably necessary.

"you gotta let me meet this guy, yeah?" said richie, muffled against eddie's hair. "you're, like, small and shit. so i gotta make sure he won't break you or something."

"okay, rich." eddie laughed quietly.

when they broke apart, something had changed. there was closure. eddie could go back to his loving boyfriend and richie could go back to his wonderful wife and it was okay. all of it was okay.

it was okay.

---

"g'morning, doll." you had woken up to richie going to town between your legs. which was, um, always a good time.

after he had finished, wiping his lips, wiping you from his lips, he mumbled the term of endearment lowly into your ear, kissing the spot just underneath it, and you almost grabbed his head and pushed him back down there. however, it was cold, and he was warm, so you melted against him, pulling his arm over you.

"hey, baby." you weren't sure if the words had come from you, because you were floating. and half asleep. but they must have done, because richie kissed the back of your neck and pulled you closer to him, if that was possible. "what time is it." you continued, yawning.

"uhh, like, nine." he yawned back.

"ew."

"i know."

"why did you- and not that i'm complaining, because that was great- why did you wake me up, you fucking insane person."

"because they all left, and woke me to tell me they were leaving, and then i was awake, and you weren't, and i was bored, and i wanted to wake you nicely."

"mission fucking accomplished." you sighed, a sleepy grin spreading across your face. "but can we go back to sleep, now?"

"yeah."

"love you, stinky." you mumbled.

"love you more."

[seekstrivefind]

can i get some jamilton laser tag????

You sure can! Disclaimer: I haven’t played laser tag in 15+ years and I haven’t written Jamilton ever.

Want a Hamilton mini-fic? Prompt me!

Jamilton, laser tag, 1907 words

“Okay, so. Here’s our strategy—”

Alexander’s jaw is set, brow furrowed in determination. He’sgot his vest strapped on, the blocky plastic laser-gun held across his body,and he’s addressing his friends like a general addressing his gathered troops.Lafayette is listening intently. Hercules is shoving John, who’s bouncing onhis toes, eager to get going and barely paying any attention at all.

“—how about ‘lose graciously’?” drawls a familiar voice frombehind Alexander. Alexander scowls. Hercules rolls his eyes and John gives anaudible ‘ugh’. Lafayette’s face lights up as he waves.

“Thomas!” he exclaims cheerfully, and then catches sight ofAlexander’s murderous expression. “Ah, sorry. I forgot; we are enemies.”

Lafayette taps the blue of his vest, and nods towards thered of Thomas’. Alexander lets out a steadying breath, and turns on his heel toface their opponent.

Thomas looks ridiculous. Despite knowing that they would bespending the afternoon running through a darkened room with laser-guns pointedat each other, he’s wearing a button-down and a tie. An actual tie. The veststrapped over the top tapers towards his narrow waist and hips, the laser-gunswings idly from one long finger. His hair is pulled back, something thatAlexander has seen only rarely, and it seems to accentuate the high line of cheekbones,the slender column of elegant neck, and did Alexander say ridiculous?Because he’s not even convincing himself. His scowl deepens.

“Any tips for losing graciously, Jefferson?” he snaps. “Ohno, that’s right—you’ve never done anything graciously a day in your life.”

“Never lost anything, either,” Thomas remarks coolly, oneeyebrow quirking up.

“Dunno, pretty sure you lost big when they were handing outfashion sense,” John pipes up from behind Alexander.

“Oh, you trained your monkey to talk?” Thomas remarks, fauxsurprise colouring his face as he presses his hand to his chest. “You couldmake real money off that little trick. Finally buy yourself a decent suit.”

“Fuck you,” John says, and Alexander hears a brief scufflethat sounds to his experienced ears like John Laurens being held back by oneHercules Mulligan. Thomas takes a step closer, and Alexander remembers to makea conscious effort to untie the knot in his tongue and come up with some wittyrejoinder.

“Yeah, fuck you,” is what he actually manages, which—notexactly his best work. But Thomas is stalking towards him with an almostmesmerising poise, and Alexander’s mouth is suddenly as barren as a desertwasteland. He swallows. It’s distinctly unfair that Thomas—an arrogant,pretentious, privileged son-of-a-bitch determined to put Alexander down to getahead—is also a complete wet dream, like somebody somewhere went down atick-list of Alexander’s desires and then slapped a faulty personality inlast-second.

Makes arguing with him properly real difficult, and this ishardly the first time that Alexander’s been trapped in the confused placebetween anger and arousal.

Thomas extends a finger, and prods Alexander in the chestwith it, leaning down so that they’re face-to-face.

“We all know who’s going to come out on top,” Thomas says witha smile, and Alexander sinks a sharp tooth into the side of his tongue in a determinedattempt not to think too hard about that phrasing. “Might as well cometo terms with it now, Hamilton.”

And then he’s gone, sweeping past them without even a secondlook.

“—well!” Lafayette says brightly before whatever collectionof inventive curse-words John has been stringing together can leave his mouth. “Ifor one am looking forward to this. Let’s go, shall we?”

Alexander, still glowering darkly and trying to calm the jitteringthump of his pulse, follows his friends without a word.

It’s chaos once the buzzer sounds. Any strategy they’d beenrelying on quickly falls apart as grown men and women start sprinting andshrieking, hammering plastic triggers and swearing sharply when their vestsflash to show they’ve been hit. Hercules ducks away without any of the rest ofthem actually noticing him go. John gets hit from behind and takes off with awar cry in pursuit of his attacker, determined on revenge. Lafayette is laughingdelightedly, and it’s not long before Alexander is separated from him, too.

Not that any of it matters. It’s just team-building,a stupid day out with colleagues that they’re forced to endure once a quarter.It’s laser-tag, for God’s sake, it’s for children. Except that the office livesand dies by the winners of the team-building games, and Alexander’s departmentare on a winning streak that he’s determined not to break.

He tucks himself into an empty corner, listening to the mayhemand deciding on his best strategy now that he’s alone. Points-wise, finding agood spot and staying put, sniping his competition as they move around isprobably the most efficient, and judging by the bedlam of the first sixty secondsof the game, they’re going to need all the points they can get.

He ducks out from the corner, advancing down a narrowcorridor, staying low. He hasn’t been hit yet, and that’s a badge of honour initself; a hard one to keep hold of in these games.

Alexander wouldn’t have noticed the branching corridor if anarm hadn’t come out of nowhere, practically clotheslining him before grippingthe strap of his vest and pulling him bodily into it.

“What the f—”

That’s as much as he gets out before there’s a hand clampedover his mouth, and Alexander is blinking rapidly up at the face of ThomasJefferson.

“You’re welcome,” Thomas says flatly. Alexander makes asound that’s close enough to what for, asshole? to be interpreted, and Thomastips his head just as a knot of red-team vests tumble past, whooping andhollering. It’s a long moment before he removes his hand.

“What,” Alexander repeats, tugging on the bottom of his vestto fix it, riding up askew on one side where Thomas had pulled on it, “is yourgame, Jefferson?”

“What, a man can’t do something nice for a colleague?”Thomas asks, and there’s a sharp glint to his smile, preternatural in theglowing blue lights of the course. Alexander narrows his eyes.

“A man? Sure. The devil himself dressed in a person-suit?Not so much.”

Thomas tuts, leaning back against the wall and folding hisarms as Alexander finishes brushing himself off.

“You think so little of me, Hamilton.”

“And every time I think I’ve hit the lower limit, you find away to prove me wrong,” Alexander mutters.

“You think I’m playing an angle?” Thomas asks, apparentlyexamining his fingernails idly, though the low light must make it impossiblefor him to see much other than the vague outline of his hand.

“Obviously,” Alexander retorts. Thomas pushes himself upfrom the wall, and Alexander steps back reflexively as Thomas advances on him oncemore. In this narrow recess, there’s nowhere much to go; he feels his back hitthe wall. Thomas doesn’t stop, not until they’re toe-to-toe.

“Then ask yourself this, Hamilton,” Thomas suggests, leaningone hand on the wall next to Alexander’s face and leaning close. “Why are youstill here?”

There’s a long and laboured silence, tense despite the lowthump of the shitty electronic music that’s being pumped in through too manytinny speakers, cut through by the sound of two dozen adults behaving likekids. Thomas is close enough that Alexander can feel the heat rolling from him,the warm dance of Thomas’ breath against his own lips. Another shift and they’repractically chest-to-chest, and either Alexander is having a delightful aneurysmor Thomas’ knee is pressing between his thighs.

Alexander swallows hard against the tightness in his throat,gaze hooked on Thomas’ own. And he might be imagining the feather-light brushof fingers against his hip or the way that Thomas presses yet another half-inchcloser, but he knows he’s not imagining it when Thomas’ eyes flicker downtowards his parted lips.

“You seem to know everything,” Alexander says, faintly. “Youtell me.”

Thomas kisses him with a slow deliberation that chafesagainst Alexander’s impatience. When he runs his tongue across Alexander’s lipsit’s with unhurried intention. He laughs, a low and curling chuckle thatAlexander feels echo between his ribs, rattling between his lungs, whenAlexander tries to push up against him, to coax something more urgent from him.Thomas won’t be moved, won’t be pushed. He only waits, smiling into Alexander’sfrustration until Alexander is forced to meet Thomas’ terms, to move at Thomas’pace.

Thomas finally licks in behind Alexander’s teeth, suckslightly on Alexander’s tongue, drags teeth against his lower lip, and Alexanderis almost dizzy with want, hands pawing slackly at Thomas’ chest, frustrated bythe bulk of the vest that means he can’t feel the smooth curve of muscle thathe knows hides underneath.

“You lose, Hamilton,” Thomas murmurs against Alexander’slips, half pulling back. Alexander chases the kiss, freezing when he feelssomething jammed against his chest. He hears the descending bleep, sees theflashing of his vest as it illuminates Jefferson’s predatory smile. “Again.”

Alexander looks down in disbelief at the laser-gun pressedagainst his chest, and then back up at Thomas.

“You absolute fucking cu—”

“—ah, ah,” Thomas says disapprovingly, presses his lips againstAlexander’s once more to cut off the obscenity. Alexander tries to bite down,to drag sharp teeth against Thomas’ lip, but he’s already pulling back, a lookof smug satisfaction on his face. “What I did tell you about losing gracefully?”

And then Thomas is gone, and Alexander stands there, utterlyenraged and hopelessly turned on, heart jack-rabbiting in the cage of his chestand laser-gun hanging loosely by his side.

Once the lights come back up, Alexander finds the others inthe lobby. John is wild-eyed, bordering on the manic. At some point, his hairhas come loose and his curls are splayed wide around his face, a mess of darkhair that Lafayette is laughing fondly over, doing his best to finger-comb itinto some semblance of order.

“Why the long face?” Hercules asks as Alexander approaches,knocking a punch against his shoulder that rocks Alexander onto one foot for abrief second. Alexander glances at the screen, where the team scores are yet tobe listed. It flickers to display individual high scores, and John whoops whenhis name appears at the top, punching both fists up into the air.

“I am amazed he did not get hurt,” Lafayette laughinglytells Alexander. “He was running wild; shooting people point blank. Like Rambo.”

“I wish they’d let you have two guns,” John says, mournfully.

“Hey, man,” Hercules says, pointing up at the screen wherethe teams have been ranked in order. “We won!”

There’s assorted whoops and groans throughout the room as people,breathless and sweating, celebrate victories or bemoan defeat. Money changeshands, as is common. Alexander catches sight of Thomas, vest and gun alreadyabandoned, talking to Madison. He notices Alexander, and grins widely, closingone eye and stretching out an arm to aim one finger like a gun right atAlexander’s chest.

“I’m not so sure,” he mutters to himself under his breath,and then deliberately turns his back to Thomas to watch John slap Lafayette’shands away from his hair.

“Celebrations are in order!” John proclaims. “Let’s get wasted.”

And yeah. Yeah, Alexander can get behind that plan.

[achingforthestars]

some things i liked and did not like about the rise of skywalker ***spoilers***

now having seen it and having had the time to sit and talk and collect my thoughts, i have a list of the things i didn’t enjoy and, amongst all this negativity, the things i did. 

contains spoilers of course!

things i did not enjoy:

finding out about palpatine off-screen

so stupid! this was one of the things i disliked the most because of what a cheap, lazy writing choice it was. i wanted to see the characters have to put it together, have to work for it and then when facing palpatine, have it be on their terms instead of his? instead we get him announcing his presence and kylo meeting him in the first 3 minutes. 

treatment of characters

i made a post about this. just so much wrong, so many deserved better, most of all rose, rey and ben. a lot of the characters were treated as afterthoughts. 

implied finn having feelings for rey

dumb. overdone. tired.

knights of ren

felt cheap and underused. learned nothing about them, it was something i was waiting 3 movies for and the final chance to show them was wasted. 

the resistance is back to perfect! 

i understand that this was due to the timeskip, which i guess was necessary, but i felt that it was kind of cheap to not show any sort of struggle. a year has passed and BAM they’re right where they were in TFA. the losses faced in TLJ very much felt erased. 

the pacing

awful. just awful. things felt too rushed or too slow pretty much through the entire movie. 

the visuals

much less well-done than TLJ. the use of colour and light was much weaker in my opinion, the locations more generic, and the imagery lacking. that said, palpatine’s lair was so fittingly creepy, and the reylo moment on kijimi/kylo’s ship with the black and white juxtaposition - those were nice. 

irrelevant or convenient plot elements

zorii bliss was not a necessary character. chewie was conveniently on another transport. d-0, while super cute and funny, was also just a deus ex machina. hux being a spy - could have been entirely removed but oh, finn and poe need to get off the ship somehow. rey’s return to ahch-to was rushed, her interactions with luke could have been on any other planet. she did not need to pilot luke’s x-wing specifically but they forced it. lando - lando was basically a consolation prize for chewie with little relevance. pryde literally could have been replaced with hux and made for a more interesting narrative. 

snoke clones

what the fuck was that?

the fleet

somehow the entirety of the fleet was magically stored, 100% operational and with fully functioning crew, under the crust of some random planet? and every single one of those ships has planet-destroying capabilities? 

the other “fleet”

where the fuck were these allies in TLJ, huh? i get that it’s the last stand and maybe more people showed up because of that but damn. 

leia’s absence was felt

i understand this was not in the control of the creators but truly, i felt like there was a gaping hole where leia should have been. 

the Trio

i enjoyed their banter but it felt inconsistent through the movie. rey and poe didn’t get along one minute, the next they’re fine. if this had been introduced and pushed in previous films, it would have made more sense and felt less hollow. as it stands, it felt like a forced attempt to call back the OT vibes that just fell flat.

rey palpatine

ugh. let’s reduce strength to a bloodline and in the process ignore what was set up in the last movie. yay! also, palpatine fucked someone at some point and that is utterly disgusting. 

rey skywalker

felt forced. she did not need to take the skywalker name.

kylo’s transition to ben.

before anyone jumps on me, i want to clarify that specifically i am referring to the speed of his transition from ruthless supreme leader to full on ben. i loved his redemption, i just wish i could have seen him do it more gradually and with a bit more struggle? he just goes from “i will find you rey and turn you dark like me” to “i am ben solo” so quickly that i found it a bit jarring? 

palpatine’s constantly changing plans. 

kill rey, no wait, take the throne rey, no wait, let me kill you both and take the throne myself. pick one you crusty fuck. 

force dyad

honestly why establish it if you’re going to ignore it in about 2 seconds?

inadequate expression of star wars main themes

the ideas of hope, of redemption, of love and of family - all central to star wars, and none properly delivered on. 

ben’s death. 

heartbreaking. he deserved love and happiness and a life. that’s all i can say about that. however, in a transition to things i liked: if he had to die, i’m really pleased that it was with an act of love. he chose to make a sacrifice, the ultimate sacrifice, for his soulmate. i don’t like that he had to die, but i can find peace in the way it happened - on his terms, on the light side, in the arms of the woman he loved.

things i did enjoy (a lot actually):

babu frik

was so fucking funny. that is all. 

c-3po.

also surprisingly funny for a droid i’m usually annoyed by?

jannah

i surprisingly really loved her character. i thought she might be an addition like zorii bliss, but i enjoyed naomi ackie’s acting a lot. she felt much more genuine. however i do think there was a missed opportunity in working on her and finn’s shared background as ex-stromtroopers.

force healing abilities

i thought were super cool! i really liked healing the serpent, it was a nice subversion of the expectation to be trapped and outrunning a monster through a labyrinth of corridors. loved how when rey healed kylo, she healed his scar too. just also it’s always nice to see new things being done with the force.

force fighting. 

it was lovely to see force techniques being used in the lightsaber battles (as compared, for instance, to the throne room fight of TLJ); and also to see force-aided physical feats like jumps that don’t look like naruto-style ninja backflips. definitely felt more real.

poe’s moment in the x-wing

taking in the damage and destruction all around him. i felt the weight he was feeling in that moment.

rey picking herself off the ground

after palpatine drains her and kylo’s life force. i loved her moment of peace and centering, gathering the strength to do what comes next. while i didn’t love the voices of the previous jedi, it made for a lovely sequence of “i’m not done with you yet” and showcases her strength.

the moment with ben and han

gorgeous scene echoing han and ben’s last interaction in TFA. just an amazing callback with such different emotion and the final turning of ben back to the light. i really loved this bit.

adam driver’s acting performance in general.

absolutely the best, the most amazing, performance of the film. if nothing else, the switch from kylo to ben, despite having zero dialogue, should speak for itself. he managed to convey a completely different personality through his mannerisms, physicality and visuals alone. oh, and the death/ressurrection scene! the absolute desperation with which he crawls to the woman he loves. the infinite depth of emotion adam manages to transmit through only his eyes and his facial expressiveness. he deserves an oscar nomination for this in my opinion. 

reylo kiss

i don’t even need to explain this. the smile. the pure happiness, the tender touch, the moment of just love and joy and letting themselves be together, finally. i could not have asked for more of a beautiful first kiss. we’re ignoring what comes after. 

overall impression

tros fell flat. i lived for ben’s redemption and reylo, but this was not enough to make up for the mistreatment of most of the characters, the poorly coordinated and frankly rushed structure, and most importantly, the failure to deliver on its themes of family and hope. i felt like it tried to do too much and achieved too little. 

[salamanderskin]

Five times Caleb didn’t let the Mighty Nein take care of him when he was sick… (part 5)

 Parts one and two Parts three and four 

Oop I forgot to post this. In which Caleb falls asleep on Mollymauk.

Caleb thinks maybe the rest of the Nein allow him more time on the wagon would be fair, because he can use the time so profitably in transcribing spells or at least resting to recover the magic he has spent. He doesn't complain, if he can read rather than ride he is much happier, especially today Today Mollymauk is the one riding with him. They sit beside each other and Molly is quiet for once. The teifling occupies his hands with his deck of tarot cards. He shufffles them in intricate patterns and pulls the same card from the deck again and again, then makes it appear from each of his pockets in turn. Caleb idly casts 'detect magic' and is amused to see his companion is working with sleight of hand alone.

It would be a peaceful journey if it weren't for how his nose is bothering him. 

The itchiness of the night before has settled in the back of his nose and it seems like every time he gets into the flow of writing he has to turn and fish out his handkerchief for a convulsive, “hetPSch!”

From horseback a little way away, Nott calls, “Bless you, Caleb!” and gives him a wry, sympathetic look. He shrugs back at her.The first ten sneezes or so, his travelling companion doesn't react at all. Molly can read people well enough to know that intrusion into Caleb's reading time is nearly always unwelcome, and Caleb is grateful for this. 

It is hard enough to concentrate as it is, with the wind ruffling the pages and the cold making his fingers shake as he writes. It also makes his nose drip and he swipes it with his coat sleeve until his nose is raw and red. That is what forces the realisation that he is indeed getting sick. Verdammt.

The needling sensation of another sneeze makes his lip curl and he is forced to set down his transcription in order to draw a handful of chaotic breaths. At least it allows him time to dig out his handkerchief, tuck it around his nose and mouth and brace with a hand against the nearest firm surface before they slam through him.

When he looks up, he realises that what he is leaning on for support is actually Mollymauk.

“Bless you!” The teifling smiles, amused.

Another sneeze, another “bless” and he looks up to see Molly eyeing him. 

He shrugs in response, sniffles deeply. “I am very sorry, Mollymauk. If I am disturbing you I can move elsewhere?

”“Not at all,” Molly says easily. “Stay where you are, you're providing insulation. Sounds like something's really getting to you.”

Caleb flushes. Getting sick is nothing to be ashamed of, he knows that, but the attention makes his stomach swirl hot and cold just the same.

“It's really nothing.

”“As you say.” Molly agrees.

That interaction seems to make it harder to ignore how awful he feels. 

Caleb gives up trying to read, after that, though he keeps his book open, waiting for his focus to return. Gods he’s tired. 

He just needs a few minutes. 

He just needs- 

Needs-

Waking feels like being dragged up from the bottom of a swamp. 

His throat feels as though it is on fire, his sinuses are hot and clogged and an ache behind his eyelids warns him against opening them to the light. Ugh. He has fallen asleep on the cart, still sitting but with his head propped against something soft just enough to protect his neck from any jolts. As for what has woken him, it must be the low thrum of familiar voices. 

He hears Nott’s concerned rasp, “- should wake him up-” and a baritone murmur, “- Let him sleep, he’s not bothering-” 

That second, less familiar voice is very close by. So close he can feel the vibrations of it coming through his side where he rests against--against- 

has fallen asleep against Mollymauk. 

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

Caleb is properly awake now, with a jolt of embarrassment-induced adrenaline swirling up through his gut and his thoughts buzzing. Nott is going to laugh. Molly is going to laugh. Jester will never let him hear the end of this. And he is so tired, still, and he feels so awful that he can’t care quite as much as he should.

 It seems that they haven’t noticed Caleb is awake, so he weighs the options in his head. Getting up will mean facing his symptoms, moving out of the warm press of coat and tiefling body heat, then facing a combination of concerned questions and mockery. That sounds like far too much to deal with. Better to keep his eyes closed and feign sleep for as long as he can away with it

. The heavy throb of his head is calling him so firmly to sleep that he is sure he can muster the real thing, given ten more minutes.He turns his face away from the light and into what he now knows is Mollymauk’s shoulder. The space between arm and collarbone is at just the right height to protect his neck from aching, and he can smell the characteristic mix of incense and perfume that marks the teifling’s clothing. Gods, he hopes his nose isn’t dripping on his coat. It feels too stuffed for that to be likely, but he gives a testing sniffle to be sure and feels Molly’s arm tighten around him comfortingly. 

Nott’s voice fades in- “-catch it and then you’ll be screwed-” and Molly’s response, “It’s really, really hard to get a tiefling sick. I’ve got ten times the stamina of this guy.” He thinks it sounds affectionate, but it’s hard to tell. He does feel guilty for catching ends of conversation that are not meant for him, for forcing himself upon a companion in a way he never would if he was entirely himself. 

He manages to will himself back to sleep out of sheer self-consciousness.

Eventually the embrace has to end, as all good things do. In this case, when Caleb wakes again he can feel his nose beginning to run freely and he will not subject Molly or anyone else to that. He raises his head with a groan and tries to dig in his pocket for a handkerchief.

 “Ah, good morning sunshine! Well, good afternoon.” Mollymauk’s cheerful voice makes his head throb.

 “Hallo.” He manages, raspy and congested. 

Where is his handkerchief? He knows it was in his pocket but it is hard to search when ticklish coughs are spilling from what feels like the bottom of his lungs. Molly moves to give him space and graciously turns his head, pretending to ignore his companion’s distress.

 It is impossible to ignore the set of stuffy sneezes the wizard smothers against the sleeve of his coat. Caleb opens his eyes to find a lavender-coloured hand extended, offering a square of silk which is just as richly coloured as any of Molly’s belongings. 

“Need this?”

No. No, that is too much. Far too good for the likes of him, even when he is at his best. 

A blush races up his neck and he glowers at Mollymauk with as much pride as he has left. 

 “Nein, thank you. There’s really no need.”

Precious ruby eyes, big and searching. “Caleb? Let me at least-”  

“Nein. Go back to your cards.”

The hand withdraws, the silk hankie disappears into a pocket in that ridiculous outfit and Molly reverts to a playful shrug. 

“As you say.” 

With that, the tiefling vaults to his feet and moves to the front of the cart to spark some conversation with Fjord where he is driving the horses. Caleb is left sniffling and frowning.

 Alone with his book, just the way he likes it.  This is how things have to be. It’s all he deserves. 

[hxarrysbabe]

Wintertime love

Lina wasn’t a winter girl at all, actually she hated the season with a deep, red-coloured passion. There wasn’t a single good thing about it except for Christmas and her birthday, of course. The weather? Too cold. The snow? Nope, she didn’t like to be hit with the flying snow balls of her annoying nephews. Buying and receiving presents? Ugh, the prices were too big and she had to pay the rent for her small apartment in North London. Staying at home all the time and living under such a dark sky wasn’t exactly her favorite thing to do. 

Don’t get me wrong, she wasn’t a cynic and she didn’t complain about her least favorite time of the year all that much. She loved the spring and the idea of the nature waking up again. The autumn wasn’t all that bad because in the early September and October it was pretty much still warm and she wasn’t freezing from the chillness yet. And the summer? Oh, how she missed the days, spent on the beach, and the hot nights, and the sunshine...The summer was her time and she waited all year around for the short three months with eagerness and anticipation, yet they seemed to fade like a memory. The summer was never enough for her, simply because you can never have too much summer.

This winter was Lina’s worst one thought. She ended up spending too much money for her family’s presents, her best friend was gone for the holidays and the best part of it all - she got sick. It all started with spending two hours outside while it was snowing (because of Harry’s love for building snowmen) and her tendency of catching the flu in the most inconvinient of times. Her boyfriend’s birthday was after a week from the day she found herself, unable to get out of bed. 

From her heavy eyes and the unbearable headache she could tell she had a temperature even without using a thermometer. All of the muscles of her body were sore and pulsing with pain and when she tried to sit up, her own arms and legs betrayed her. 

“Har”, she rasped out with a shaky voice and reached for his naked arm to tug on. His skin was warm even without the cover being pulled over it. “Harry, please wake up.”

The feeling of being helpless started to sink in through her tired bones and overtake her. There was only one thing in this world, which she hated more than winter and this was it - the need to rely on someone else because she wasn’t able to take care of her own self. This was Harry thought and she knew that she could rely on him anytime, so she called his name once again, shaking him with the little strength left in her body.

“Wha’?”, he murmured with a sleepy voice, not opening his eyes yet. 

“I’m sick.”

It took him just a second to process the thought before he turned to face her, eyes fluttering wide open and soon filling up with worry.

“Oh, no”, was the first thing which fell out of his puffy pink lips after he looked over her face in a very careful way. “It must be because of our yesterday snowman building time.” 

Lina mentally slapped him across the face for the realization ‘cause of course it was all because of his stupid snowmen and “snow fun” like he liked to call it. She didn’t even know how he managed to convince her to do this every single goddamn year.

“I can’t move much”, the words felt bitter on her tongue, but she spat them out, forced of her helplessness. 

“Don’t worry, pet”, Harry rushed to help her sit up and to set a pillow behind her back. “I’ll bring you some pills and a cuppa in a minute. Just wait fo’ me, okay?”

Lina nodded (mainly because she didn’t have a choice but to do what she’s been told to) and took a deep breath throught her mouth since her nose was stuffed. Just as promised, Harry returned in the bedroom with a handful of pills and a steaming cup of tea. 

“What are all those for?” Lina coughed, not liking the idea of putting so much chemistry in her organism.

“These are Vitamin C”, he handed her three small yellowish pills. “This one is for your temperature after we measure it”, he pressed his palm to her forehead, making a face when he felt her burning. “And lastly, this one is a mint candy”, and surely there was a green pack of candy left inbetween his fingers. “Do you prefer sucking on it or do you want me to put it in your tea? It’ll help you breath properly again. My mum always gave me it when i was sick as a dog.”

Lina laughed to his choice of words, but immediately regretted it, after her small giggle was followed by a cough. “Let me drink the pills first, before you put it in my tea.”

A few moments later on, the both of them were cuddled up and wrapped in the covers in bed (she refused to let him close to her because of the possibility of getting him ill too, but he was too stubborn and clingy, not letting her move to the other side of the bed). “Pet sematary” was playing on the laptop and the plate of sliced apples and bananas was already half empty. Lina loved to watch scary movies while she was sick because only they made her lose in the plot and forget about her headache. 

“If you get sick for your birthday, i’m gonna buy you nasal drops as a present”, she warned her boyfriend. 

“Shht, pet”, he smiled lazily, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Let me warm yeh. It’s a cold time after all.”

Lina couldn’t deny it. 

[thegonnagle]

Happy happy birthday to my fellow fangirl, EdWin squad companion and amazing friend @winryofresembool !!🤗🎉 A super long time ago you gave out this sort of prompt to write something based on the topic of Ed‘s leather pants, and I do keep my promises^^ (And if you’re wondering why it turns serious and angsty about halfway through I DON‘T KNOW EITHER)

Anyway, I hope you have a wonderful day and a year filled with lots of chocolate (both the cake kind and the EdWin kind xD❤️❤️) 

It was the stupid pants.

More precisely, it was Granny finally forcing the boys to clean out the suitcases that had been sitting in the corner of their room for weeks.

But really, it was stupid, infuriating Edward Elric, who never in his life seemed to throw anything away. Because why in the world would he still have a pair of leather pants at the bottom of his suitcase, when to the best of her knowledge, he hadn’t worn those since they’d split up that day in Briggs?

And maybe she should have known better than saying out loud how small they seemed now, but noone besides that idiot could have somehow twisted that into her calling him short. Which apparently he now had to somehow disprove by putting on clothes that were never ever going to fit-

„Brother, it’s really not necessary“ Al sighed next to her on the bed.

She’d been helping him look through the clothes he’d brought from Central, sorting out the ones he‘d already grown out of. Al had lamented the loss of the first shirts he‘d picked out for himself in more than five years, but honestly, she was glad she’d never seen him in those. It was still scary to look at him sometimes, as if he’d be blown away in the slightest breeze like a dandelion seed-

„I‘ll show you! Just you wait-“ Ed finished pulling up the stupid pants with a grunt, and admittedly, they came up quite short on the ankles.

They were also very tight higher up.

Ed didn’t seem to care though, or was willing to ignore it for the time being as he turned around with a grand flourish. The effect was slightly ruined by his struggle to stay upright.

Winry snorted, and she could hear Al shake his head with a long-suffering sigh, muttering something like „Oh, Brother“.

„What are y‘all laughing for? Shut up, I‘m taller than you-“

He kept wriggling around, apparently trying and failing to pull up the zipper with-

Her tongue caught behind her palate.

It wasn’t like- she’d seen Ed in underwear countless times, hell she’d seen him naked after his surgeries, and it wasn’t something she’d ever given a second thought too-

She knew she loved him of course, had even admitted it out loud to Granny, but there was still something profoundly embarrassing about realizing that your childhood friend had a nice ass. Like really, really nice.

Winry could feel her cheeks grow hot, and bit the inside of her lip, hard.

She forced herself to look away, focusing instead on evading the foot he kept waving around in front of their faces, presumably to show off that he had indeed outgrown the stupid leather pants.

It was a beautiful foot, if she did say so herself, with the new suspension system she’d installed three weeks ago shining through at the heel, smelling slightly of Brautmeier‘s Best Machine Oil, now that the idiot finally remembered to properly take c-

Was that?- Was that actually?

„Edward Elric, why the hell is there a huge dent on your dorsal plate?! What did you do?“

He stopped whatever height-related rant he‘d been yabbering until now, and gulped slightly. Then he narrowed his eyes at her.

„Well if anything it’s your Granny’s fault, that old hag has been a total slavedriver and wouldn’t shut up about the roof leaking in the workshop-“

„Ed you absolute moron, we all told you to take it easy with your arm, and you keep insisting on doing everything on your own-“

She forced herself to take a deep breath and slowly unclenched her fists.

„Well what happened? Did your hand spasm again and you dropped the hammer?“

His eyes widened for a second before turning dark.

„So what if I dropped the hammer? My leg works fine. And you know what? My arm is fine too, I punched the literal incarnation of God in the face with this arm, so I think I can handle a fucking roof-“

She could vaguely hear Al struggling to get off the bed (at what point had she stood up?), telling her and Ed to please calm down, but the blood rushing in her ears seemed to drown out every other sound and if she could just make that bloody idiot see reason for one second-

„Well you obviously can’t handle a fucking roof, not if you’re damaging your automail while y-“

„See this is why I don’t tell you things, you’re always freaking out about the tiniest things! You’re-“

He stopped himself when he saw her blinking away tears, which only made her more angry.

„You’re such an idiot“, she shouted, and cursed her voice for sounding so screechy. She whirled around, and left the door rattling in its hinges on her way out.

Al could sort through the rest of his shirts himself. Hopefully.

Or maybe that stupid brother of his could do something useful for once, that didn’t result in him ruining her automail, and hurting himself, and-

She gripped the wrench in her pocket tightly, and imagined herself giving Ed a good, hard whack on the head.

She turned to the workshop, in need of a distraction, and started with the first thing on this week‘s list, which was measuring and recutting parts for an arm they‘d upgrade in four days.

It was a good arm, an interesting project because she could combine the lighter alloy she worked with at Garfield‘s with her earlier designs-

It was still not quite enough to get her mind to stop thinking about stupid, nerve-racking Edward Elric.

For all of his patience with Al‘s slow recovery, he remained just as reckless and prickly with his own as he had been at eleven.

Maybe it was frustration after they’d beaten all those impossible odds, or maybe he just didn’t want Al to see that the arm he‘d sacrificed himself for wasn’t working perfectly; whatever the reason, Ed‘s arm was a taboo topic and it annoyed her to no end.

The metal grinder was whirring loudly in her ears, and so she didn’t notice the knocking until it was accompanied by a particularly loud clang of metal against metal and Ed‘s irritated voice calling „C‘mon Winry don’t be a bitch, I‘m trying to apologize here.“

She shut the machine off and set her goggles aside.

„Sorry, I didn‘t hear you. Come in.“

The door opened and closed while she began to clear her work table.

She could see him shift his weight from one foot to the other out of the corner of her eye.

„I‘m sorry for yelling at you. I didn’t mean that- what I said. I‘m sorry.“

„It’s okay. I guess I overreacted a bit.“

„Would you- would you consider fixing my leg? I mean, it still works and all, but it ain‘t that pretty I guess-“

Winry gestured to the chair next to her. „Sit down, take off your pants, you know the- wait“.

She threw the screwdriver into the closest drawer (even if that one was for measuring instruments, technically-well nevermind) and hated, hated how her breath hitched in her throat.

„Why in the world are you still wearing those damn pants?“

His face turned red and he looked away. „I- couldn’t get them off“, he mumbled, waving vaguely with his right hand for emphasis. Oh.

„And Al refused to help me! He said it was my own stupid fault, and that I should go beg for your mercy or whatever-“

„Of course I‘ll help you! Just uhh- can you hold up your boxers if I pull?“

„Umm- yeah sure.“ His cheeks were flaming when she knelt down in front of him, his eyes fixated on the anatomy posters on the wall.

„Okay, so I‘ll just-“

„Uhuh.“

„Right.“ She could feel her ears growing hot, and bit her lip. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself, you‘ve helped your patients with this a thousand times. The fact that this is Ed should make it easier, if anything.

By the times she‘d managed to peel the pants off down to knee height, her lip was bleeding, and Ed‘s forehead was covered in sweat. Also he seemed to be mumbling something incoherent.

„Look, the hardest part is done. I think it’s easiest for the rest if you sit down, Ed. Ed?“

„-lium, Calcium, Scandium-“

„ED!“ She added a slight punch to his side for good measure, and he blinked at her.

„Uhh yeah.“ They hobbled over to the chair together, her supporting his shoulder.

„Why did you put them on anyway? I mean-“ Ed sat down with a grunt,and she rolled her eyes.

„I mean, you know that you‘ve grown since last year. You knew that these pants wouldn’t fit you. So why-“ she finally managed to pull the last piece over his feet, and threw the damn thing on his lap.

„Why did you do it?“

He leant back on the chair, crossing his arms behind his head and avoiding her eyes.

„I guess I had to prove to myself that I really can’t be the Fullmetal alchemist anymore“, he answered finally, his mouth pulled into a crooked smile.

„Because your pants are now too short?“ She raised her eyebrows.

„Well, I always made them myself, so it actually- ugh I don’t know, damnit Winry, they were a part of it too, my pants, my jacket, my boots, my coat- never got that one back from Mrs. Bradley now that I think about it-

I know it’s kinda pathetic, but I guess I had to really see it again-“

„It’s not pathetic“, she replied, careful to keep her voice neutral, and hopefully keep her face from pulling into any weird grimaces.

„Well I obviously can’t wear them anymore, so maybe I should give them to some kid in the village, someone who can appreciate my edgy-“

„ I don’t know, or you could keep them for your kids someday.“

Damnit, why had she said that? Her head was spinning as if she’d just gotten off of Rush Valleys most terrible rollercoaster, and Ed‘s face was rapidly approaching tomato colour.

„Win-ry“, he choked, and this clearly was a discussion for later, way, way into the future-

„Forget I said that! What I meant to say-“ was there something she’d meant to say? Well, she had better think of something fast-

„Don’t call yourself pathetic. Please. You gave up something really important to you, even if we got Al back. If I had to give up automail- I guess I would feel very lost for a while.“

„But I‘m not lost! After all those years I‘m finally back home, right, this is everything we wanted, and I‘m happy, I am, it’s just-“

He was breathing hard, fingers clenched around his knees so tight the knuckles shone white.

Their eyes met, for a second, and then he looked away again, lips pressed into a thin line.

„I guess I never imagined myself becoming this useless“.

„Ed you’re not-“

„I know, I know. And I‘d do it all again, obviously, because in exchange I got Al, and my friends, and y-“

His ears turned red again. He raised up his right arm, clenching and unclenching his hand, and she caught herself waiting for the familiar click-click-click of her first automail.

„It’s just, I started alchemy when I was five. First it was just fun, and then Mom liked it, and then I thought I had to get her back, and then I had to get Al‘s body-

Point is, I‘m not good at anything else. I don’t know anything besides alchemy, I can’t even figure out how to fix a stupid roof-“

„Will you shut up about the damn roof? I‘ll fix it tomorrow, if it bothers you that much-“

„More like it bothers Granny that much“, she heard him mutter-

„-and about the alchemy thing, I guess you just have to decide what you want to do with your life now. Not your mom, not what you have to do.“

She touched his jaw lightly, crouching down to meet his eyes.

„Just because you can’t do physical transmutations anymore doesn’t mean you stop being an alchemy freak though.“

His eyebrow twitched. Then the corner of his mouth.

„That’s rich coming from you. Damn gearhead.“

„Speaking of“, she lifted herself back up, „I still have to fix that foot of yours. You’re a walking disgrace to Rockbell automail right now.“

He snorted, probably about to spout some smartass remark, but she sent him a withering glare.

He wisely decided to shut up.

„Thank you, Win“, he mumbled amidst the clanking of her hammer.

„Seriously. I owe you one.“

You could wear those pants again. Get Al to adjust the size-

Out loud, she said: „Don’t worry about it. We’re all home now. That’s what counts. We have time to figure things out, right?“

[psychospeak-blog]

Won’t Go Slowly // 7

One // Two  // Three // Four // Five // Six

You wished you could say that you got your emotions together, but it just wasn't happening.  You seemed to cry whenever something made you smile, so you felt like you constantly had tears running down your face.  You supposed this was better than being irrationally irritable, but it was still annoying, because it felt like you had absolutely no control over your body.  Eventually, you gave up trying to control it, and just accepted that this was just the way it was going to be for now.

It didn't help that you felt like a goddamn pincushion, between the injections and the blood tests.  You felt bloated, emotional, and kind of crazy.  

Tyler had seemed to make it a priority to ensure he was around to give you your shot every night, whether it was at his place or yours.  Even though you made it quite clear that he didn't have to, you really did appreciate it.  Not to mention, you lived about 5 minutes apart, so it was just so much more convienent.

Eventually, though, it got to be just a little too much, to the point where he'd set a timer on his phone to let him know it was time.  One particular night, near the end of your cycle, had gently pulled you away from where you were talking with Andrea outside, leading you up the stairs, but you'd hung back, leaving him to pull on your arm.  "C'mon, it's time for your shot."

And you knew he was expecting you to walk right into through his bedroom and into the bathroom, to jump right up onto that counter and hike up your dress and just sit there, while he rummaged through your purse for alcohol wipes, and medication, and gauze.

Instead you'd just straight up exploded.  "Fuck, Tyler, I know it's time for my goddamn injection.  I don't need you to fucking remind me," you yelled, your voice sounding raspy like it wasn't capable of screaming as loud as you wanted to, "I did this for six days before I even asked for your help, and somehow I managed to survive."

You knew, even before you stopped yelling that he was only trying to help, of course.  That your reaction was completely uncharacteristic.  And yet, you couldn't stop yourself from screaming.  Or from recognizing that those first few milliseconds of screaming felt so good, even though that shitty feeling caught up to you by the end.  

And then you looked up at Tyler, who was frozen a couple of steps above you, and he look so absolutely crushed that you immediately started crying. It wasn't the welling in the back of your throat, a few years sliding down your cheek crying that you'd been doing all week, either.  This was full-on, face smushed up, snot running out of your nose, can't even breath properly, ugly crying.  

"Fuck," you heard Tyler mumble.

"I didn't -" You started, but you couldn't even finish your thought, though you weren't sure if your sentence was broken off with a sob or because your face was pressed against Tyler's chest, his arms wrapped around around your head.  His go-to reaction for whenever you'd started crying around him this past week was to simultaneously laugh and pull you in for a hug.  But, this time, he wasn't laughing.  

You felt him exhale against your ear, his hand dropping to rub up and down and down your upper back, his other hand just holding steady.  "I know you didn't mean it."

"I'm sorry," you choked out.  And you felt terrible, you really did, because not only had you just screamed at him like that, but now he was the one stepping in to comfort you, and you were leaving snot and tears all over the front of his shirt.

"It's okay," he said, his hands going to your shoulders to push you back so he could look at you.  You were certain you looked like an absolute mess, and you knew you were crying so hard that your eyes would be puffy for hours, evident of the way you'd fallen apart. "Sometimes, when emotions are high, people react in different ways."

You suspected he'd chosen his words carefully - "emotions are high" not "you're super emotional right now" or "you're bat shit crazy", which was exactly how you felt.

Now, though, you were happy to be back at home, sitting on your couch with Danielle, the whole process over and done with, and you were pretty ecstatic that you were done with those stupid hormone shots.

"You okay?" Danielle asked you.  You had set your head back on the couch, shutting your eyes, only because the anesthesia was making you feel just a little sleepy.

"Mhmm..." you mumbled, "Just resting my eyes."

You could hear the T.V. on low in the background, and really thought you were aware of what was happening around you the entire time but, the next thing you knew, you opened your eyes and Tyler was standing in the entrance to your living room.  "What is he doing here?" you asked sleepily.

"Well, it's really nice to see you too," Tyler said sarcastically, coming to sit next to you on the couch.

"Tyler's going to sit with you while I go grab us something to eat," Danielle said.

"I'm fine," you protested.

"You're supposed to have someone with you for the first 24 hours."

"I'm supposed to have a responsive adult with me for 24 hours," you argued, your mouth curving up in a smile, "So I don't know what Tyler's doing here."

You heard Tyler sigh next to you, "You're so funny," he said, poking you in the arm.  You heard the front door click shut, and pulled your knees up to your side, getting more comfortable as you tried to figure out what was on the T.V.  You were running your hands absentmindedly through your hair, until Tyler asked with a laugh, "What are you doing?"

And then you looked down, and saw it was his hair that you were running through your fingers, and you almost screamed because you could have sworn it was your own hair. "I thought that was my hair," you explained.

He laughed, deeply amused, "That's okay," he said, "But you know your hair is a completely different colour, right?"

"Yes," you muttered, and he laughed even harder.

"You can keep doing it, if you want," he offered, but you just shrugged, resting your hands on your lap.  "You were like this after you got your wisdom teeth taken out, too.  You kept braiding your own hair and getting mad when it would fall out, but you wouldn't let anyone give you a hair elastic."

"Really?" you asked with a laugh, wondering why no one had ever told you this before.

"Yeah," Tyler confirmed, "It was weird."

"At least I didn't try to get every female within a 3-mile radius to flash me after I had wrist surgery," you quipped.

Tyler laughed, "Yeah, I was really disappointed that didn't work."

You shook your head slowly, and then stretched your neck a little, realizing you had a bit of a kink in it from sleeping sitting up like that.  You could see Tyler watching you as you readjusted.

"Are you in pain at all?" he asked gently.

"Nope," you answered, "It was nothing, really.  The shots were the worst part."

"Mm...that reminds me," he said, resting his hands and shifting forward to stand up, "I brought you a present."

"What?" you said in disbelief, but he was instructing you to wait there, so you did just that.  He returned a moment later, tossing a package into your lap.  You looked down at it as he sat back down on the couch next to you.  "You got me Mini Eggs?"

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, "I didn't know what to get someone who just had their eggs frozen, and Google wasn't much help so..."

You burst out laughing, because it was quite possibly the strangest gift you'd ever received.  "That's kind of cute," you admitted.

"Yeah, I know.  Don't tell anyone though," he added, winking at you.

You were still laughing lightly as you set the package down on the coffee table.  "You really didn't have to anything though."

"Hell yeah I did," he said, "You went through a lot to do this."

"So did you," you said, "I was a mess."

He opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again.  "Yeah, you kind of were," he said, and you both laughed, "You weren't that bad though.  You just cried at everything, and you weren't even sad.  It was actually pretty cute."

"Tyler - " you said, noticing that he'd very specifically not mentioned the stair incident.  He didn't talk about it after it happened at all, actually.  Although, you noticed in the couple of days after that he'd look at you right after the timer on your phone when off to signal it was time for your shot, and you'd know the alarm he'd set on his phone had just gone off.  But he didn't approach you, not until you asked for his help.

"Seriously, I've seen way crazier girls, honesty," he said, "I've just never seen you that bad."

"Still," you said seriously, "thank you."

He shrugged, his hand squeezing your shoulder, "I was happy to."

"You were happy to?" you said skeptically, because that was not the word you'd use to use to describe it.

"Being able to help my friend with something she needed help with?" Tyler said, "Yeah, I'd say I'm pretty happy about that."

You smiled softly when he pulled your head towards his, placing a kiss on the top of your head.  

He'd stayed to eat dinner when Danielle came back and there was a movie on TV, but you couldn't really even pay attention to it, because all you were thinking was that you were so incredibly lucky to have such good friends.  You didn't have a lot of friends, quite honestly, but it didn't even matter, because you'd much rather have just a couple of friends who would do practically anything for you.

"Ugh," Tyler groaned, pushing himself up off the couch and running his hand through his hair.

"You alright there?"  Danielle asked.

"Yeah," he answered, "I just know the dogs are going to be pissed when I go home and they realize I went to go see their mom without them.  I'm not looking forward to it."

You blinked, shaking your head, "What did you just say?"

Tyler turned to you frowning, "I said the dogs are not going to be happy when they sniff me and realize I was with you," he said, "What did you think I said?"

You just shrugged and he laughed, coming over to pat you on the top of the head, placing another kiss there, and you found yourself pulling your legs up to cover the spot of the couch he'd just vacated.

"Make sure that one gets some sleep," he instructed to Danielle.  And even after the door shut and you knew he left, you were staring at Danielle, expecting her to react or verify what he'd just said, but she was silent.

****

You were walking back to your office, talking to a colleague  the first time your phone rang.  You glanced quickly at it - Tyler - and then you put in back in your pocket.  You were just sitting down at your desk, running your hand over your face as you looked at your computer when it rang again.  Tyler again.

And, by now, your chest had started to constrict a bit, wondering if something was wrong.  He didn't call you often - usually it was a text or Snapchat, but it was even more rare occurrence for him to call you twice in a row like that.

"Hello?" you answered tentatively.

"You'll never believe what I found," he said, and you relaxed when you realized he sounded excited and not upset.

"What?" you asked, your hand going to your computer mouse and opening up your inbox.

"I was on Tinder, and I found this guy but he's not just a guy, he comes with a girl, too. They're looking for a third," he said, sounding way too excited about this fact.

You shut your eyes, rubbing your hand over your forehead like you had a headache.  "Tyler, are you seriously calling me at work to tell me you're having a threesome?" you asked in a harsh whisper, very aware of the fact that you'd just said 'threesome' at work.

"What?" he asked, sounding startled, "No, no they're looking for a girl."

"What are you talking about?"

"You could be the girl," he said, sounding proud of this fact.

"Tyler.  Oh my god."

He laughed loudly, so that you had to pull the phone away from your ear, "Yeah, I kind of knew you wouldn't be into it.  Still, I thought it was something, you know."

"And you had to call me at work to tell me?"

"Oh. Right," he said, like he had just remembered that you had a job, "Well, I'll let you know if they swipe back right on you.  Even if you're not into it, it'd be kind of an ego boost to know that possibility is out there, right?"

You were blinking rapidly trying to comprehend what the hell he was saying.  "Wait.  You're on my Tinder?"

"Yeah," he replied.

You frowned, because you had your phone in your hand, and you were definately talking to him on it.  "How?"

"I logged into your account on my phone," he said, like it was obvious, "By the way, you're really not supposed to use the same password for everything."

"Tyler," you said seriously, and he laughed.

" I'm just kidding, you know," he said, "Well, those people definately exist, but I really am getting you together a nice assortment of options."

You took your hands off your keyboard, running a hand over your face.  "Options?" You slowly pulled your phone away from your ear, tapping on your Tinder app and your eyes widening as you scrolled through seemingly endless new messages.  "How long have you been spending doing this?" you asked when you set your phone back against your ear.

"I don't know, a couple hours?" he said, and you could practically  hear the shrug in his voice.

"God, Tyler, I'm not that desperate."

"Obviously," he agreed with you.

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Not really, no.  I'm bored and you're at work," he whined, like it was an inconvenience to him, "Besides, this is kind of fun for me, actually."

"Fun?" you questioned.

"Yeah. Can I keep doing it?" he asked hopefully.

"Uh, yeah, sure," you said.  Because what would it hurt, really?

"Okay, I really gotta go, I'm super busy," Tyler said.

You rolled your eyes.  "Not like I'm at work or anything."

"Great, so I'll let you know if that threesome couple gets back to you."

"Tyler!" you yelled, but he had already hung up, likely expecting your reaction.  Caroline, the receptionist, looked curiously into your office, but you just smiled to show her everything was fine.  

You'd just responded to an email, which had taken literally 3 minutes, when your phone started vibrating across the desk.  You sighed, hitting the answer button and bringing it to your ear without even taking your eyes of your computer, typing with one hand.  "Tyler, I swear to god if you're calling to tell me about a potential threesome or an orgy, I'm going to kill you."

The line was silent for a moment and then there was a small cough, followed by a male voice, which was very much not Tyler's, asked, "Who's Tyler?"

Your eyes widened, your hand going to your mouth and your hands dropping from the keyboard, moving back and forth in your desk chair.  "Uh...who's this?"

"Thomas, Tom," the voice said, and you were trying to run through your Rolodex in your mind, but nothing was coming up.

"Um, from Tinder?" he tried, "You gave me your number? Said it was alright if I called?"

Oh, holy fuck.

You were looking rapidly around your office, like somehow, someone was going to come in to rescue you. "Look, Thomas, I'm sorry, but my lame ass friend has been on my Tinder trying to set me up on a date," you said through pursed lips.

"So.. that's not...that wasn't you?"

"No," you said in a small voice, "Look, I'm sorry that you got in the middle of this."

"Yeah, that's..uh...that's okay," he said, and then cleared his throat, "Is this friend's name Tyler?"

"Yep," you said, your voice dripping with annoyance.  

You went through the rest of your workday, alternating between feeling completely mortified and slightly enraged.   Once you were finished, you drove directly to Tyler's house, not even stopping at home to get changed out of your work clothes or shower.  

You marched right in, and Gerry greeted you at the door right away, but you pet him absentmindedly because he wasn't going to be able to protect Tyler from you.  You strode throughout the house with purpose, finding Tyler sitting on the couch watching T.V. with the other dogs. He turned his head at the sound of your footsteps and didn't seem surprised at all to see it was you, probably having recognized you from the sound of your steps alone.  "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can," you said tersely.

He just sat there, looking you up and down and taking in your blouse and skirt.  "Fancy."

You sighed, hating that he was trying to distract you from the subject at hand.  "Why didn't you tell me about Thomas?"

Tyler's eyes widened, "He called you already?  He must really like you," he said playfully.

"Not after what I said to him," you said, sighed and plunking down on the couch, running your hand over your face.

"What did you say?"

"I said 'Tyler, don't call me at work to talk about threesomes and orgies,'", you said.

Tyler immediately started giggling, so hard that his body was rocking on the couch.

"It's not funny," you said, even though you were starting to laugh, your face was still red, "This is your fault."

"How is it MY fault?" he asked, looking appalled that you would even think such a thing, "I didn't tell you to say that."

"I thought you he was you, obviously," you said, "And you didn't tell me he was going to call."

"I was going to, I just didn't think he would call right away," Tyler said, and then added teasingly, "He likes you."

"Well, I kind of fucked that up right away."

"What? You told him you weren't interested?"

You shrugged, because you didn't say that, exactly, but it was pretty much implied.  And the whole situation was just...awkward.

"Nooo," Tyler ground out, like something was rolling away from him and he couldn't catch it.  "I liked that he wanted to call you.  It was classy.  Unlike freaking Mark who didn't even hear the sound off your voice before he asked you out."

"I thought you liked Mark."

"I don't like him if you don't like him.  Duh," Tyler responded.  

You shrugged again, falling into a comfortable silence, and watching what Tyler had on T.V.  All at once, you stood up.

"Where are you going?" Tyler asked.

"Wine," you said simply, going to the kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to get a couple of wine glasses down from the top cabinet, filling each glass half full.  You walked back into the living room, pressing on into Tyler's hand as you walked by.  

"Mmmm...thanks," he said.

You nodded your head in acknowledgment  going back to where you'd been sitting on the couch, this time getting more comfortable and curling your legs under yourself, taking a slow sip of wine.

"Which one is this?" he asked.

"It's the same one we had last night," you frowned, looking at him like he was insane.

"Oh," he said softly, and you laughed.

Your phone chimed from where you'd placed it on the end table, and you reached over to grab it as you took another sip of wine.  It was from a number you didn't have saved in your phone but, from the message, it was pretty evident who it was from.

Not gonna lie, I've kind of been wondering all afternoon if you killed your friend or not.

You laughed under your breath, adjusting yourself so the wine glass was held steady against your body, reading the message over again.

You caught Tyler looking at you out of the corner of his eye, eyebrows raised slightly.  "What are you smiling about over there?"

"Nothing," you said, your tone making it clear that it was, indeed , but you weren't ready to share it with him quite yet.

You stared at your phone, trying to craft out a clever message to send back.  Even though it felt equally strange and excited.  Even though you weren't quite sure what you wanted anymore.

[harleyquilt]

The Sin of Greed (6) (Part 2)

Summary: Touka awakes in Kaneki’s room in a less than happy mood. To try and perhaps seek for some kind of forgiveness from Touka, he tells her the past that made kaneki into the monster he is today...

Words:10k

Notes: Ugh, finally. Thanks to @captainhunterman and @madghoulworld for helping me through this chapter. Hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated!!

“Oh god, this smell.” Furuta gagged, pinching his nose as he moved the flashlight around the entrance of the White Suits hideout. “There's blood everywhere.”

“They did call it Yamori’s playroom.” Arima muttered and he moved onwards, Furuta following behind. “Let's see what we can find. If our info is right, we should find Yamori here if he hadn’t left already.”

Kaneki twitched in his chair, spasming every once in a while with sudden, painful laughter escaping him. The sound...God, the awful sound. The centipede crawled noisily in his mind, scratching it's small claws against his skull. His ears were sealed with tape and all he could do was squirm endlessly in his chair at the discomfort that travelled across his body.

He hadn't even realised he had stopped counting.

He was weak. So weak. He wasn't even worth saving. Not after the bloody trail of failures he left behind, his hands tainted with the death of the innocent man he murdered. He truly believed this was what he deserved - his punishment for ruining the lives around him. This was his fate.

How long has it been now? He can hear a constant ticking but he never knew the time. He was still alive but he knew deep down that what he was going through now was hell. He couldn’t help but think that this was his burden to carry after killing Hide. He killed Hide. He's the reason. Fuck, the noise doesn't end.

Kaneki's laughter grew louder and he flung his head back, crying out with his sore eye narrowing at the black and white ceiling. When will it end? The noise won't end. When will it end? When-

“Holy shit.” Furuta froze, shining the flashlight over to the mumbling figure tied onto a rotting wooden chair. “Is that...Kaneki?”

Arima froze and locked his eyes onto Kaneki, his gruesome state filling him with a sudden dread. The sight was something you could only find in an nightmare, the pool of dark blood around Kaneki enough to hint at the damage he had to suffer through. However, what was most noticeable was his hair. It was all white.

“Help him.” Arima ordered immediately, the other V henchman heading towards Kaneki. However, as soon as they placed their hands onto the tortured boy, he let out a loud scream, struggling in his seat.

“Get it out! Get it fucking out! Kill me. Please kill me. I can't take it anymore. The noise- the n-noise…”

“Ken Kaneki.” Arima stood in front of him and Kaneki shivered violently, the henchmen removing the tape from his ears. “It's me - Arima Kishou. Do you remember-”

Arima stopped when he saw Kaneki's face properly once it had tilted up, a large hole on one side of his face where his eye should've been. His other eye was sunken, heavy bags hung beneath it. This poor boy…

“Arima...you came to save me?” His voice was as quiet as it has always been and yet it was now colder, a deep sorrow within it.

“Of course, Kaneki.” Furuta stepped in, a reassuring smile on his face. Arima glanced over at his partner suspiciously but decided to nod along, knowing it'd probably be best for Kaneki at the moment. “You're going to be alright now, Kaneki.” Arima said softly before he turned to Furuta. “Go get a medic.”

Furuta nodded and ran off whilst one of the V henchman peered inside Kaneki ear and with some tweezers, pulled out a long centipede that was still alive, writhing constantly until it was finally crushed. What disturbed Arima more was the fact that Kaneki didn't even flinch. Not even a little. And when Arima looked into his now remaining eye, he saw nothing but a broken shell of a man.

“Hm, who's this young boy.” A woman skipped to Arima’s side, her height dwarfed by his tall figure. Her messy ivy coloured hair was pinned up and her arms and legs were wrapped in bandages, the rest of her covered in a red cloak. “He looks like great company.”

Arima explained who Kaneki was and how he was just simply a boy who worked with them and got mixed up with Yamori. However, the small woman seemed very intrigued by Kaneki, walking around him with eyes that seemed to glimmer with desire. She always had a taste for tragic stories.

“Oho, what an interesting boy he is.” She leaned in close to Kaneki's ear with a devious smirk. “You still haven't fulfilled your revenge yet, have you, boy?” She turned back and Kaneki slowly turned his face to look at her, her words echoing in mind. “We can help you, my dear.”

Reaching down she picked up what looked like a cane with a gold skull on top, the small gems sparkling as she twirled it in her hand.

“How about it? If we help you, will you promise me you'll be my new experiment?”

“Eto.” Arima warned, his eyes narrowed. “What are you planning?”

“Why throw out a broken toy when it can be made into something better?” She walked back to Kaneki, who still kept his eye on her, an almost lost look on him. “Wear it down and build it back up again. I see potential in this Ken Kaneki boy, you see.” She pulled her hood over her, two floppy ears bouncing as she skipped away. “And I don't plan to miss the opportunity to build something great. Besides, I need inspiration for my new novel.”

Arima remained silent for a moment, watching Eto disappear to god knows where and he sighed, pushing his glasses back up his nose. With a reassuring smile, he told Kaneki that he'd be allowed to stay in Arima’s home, considering his own home would be too dangerous, and said no more before he left Kaneki to his henchman.

“Then,” Kaneki did up the last button of his shirt, moving across his room to where the cane he had described hung over the fireplace. “I healed and trained. They were...preparing me. To take revenge on the man that broke me.”

“I guess everyone in the mafia is crazy in their own way.” Her eyes set on the cane, biting her lip at the reminder of Kaneki’s many, disturbing scars. It seemed to her that he was pushed from one dead end to another, but that wasn’t to mean he wasn’t to blame for that result. And yet, “Still, with your health…Did you ever talk about what had happened?”

“Not really, but I guess I managed in my own way, as unhealthy as that may seem. And Arima was always there for me.” Kaneki smiled somewhat sadly, silent with his own thoughts with the memories of his past floating back into his mind. “Still,” he sighed and looked back up to Touka, his smile fading. “I also grew closer to the other people in my life - Rize and Furuta.”

6 years ago

Kaneki, Rize and Furuta all enter the cafe called Anteiku, Rize’s arm linked through Kaneki’s as she rested her head against his shoulder. He looked down at her with small smile tugging at the corner of his lips before catching Furuta eyeing at them with an annoyed frown. However, his expression instantly changed to a warm smile again when he caught Kaneki’s eye, but he decided to look into it too much.

“This cafe has a lovely fragrance.” Kaneki said as all three sat in a corner booth. “Though it’s weird to imagine Arima coming here rather than the Helter Skelter.”

He saw a stacked bookcase opposite to their table in one of the corridors and Kaneki couldn’t help but think of the books Arima must’ve read here - they often exchanged books, Arima first offering him a collection when Kaneki couldn’t sleep from the constant nightmares of his torture. Since then, they grew close, even if it was only through the hard training he puts Kaneki through every now and again through Eto’s orders. Still, he was one of the only people he could connect to anymore and he was thankful for it; if it wasn’t for him, Kaneki could still be waiting in that god forsaken room to be subjected to monstrous torture. He owed Arima his life.

“Hm, he only really comes here to meet up with some clients, but he has said he was quite fond of this place and the manager that works here.” Furuta rested his head on the table, fingers strumming against the menu. “But forget that. Let’s try some of this delicious coffee I’ve heard of.”  

A sharp looking waitress by the name of Irimi comes by and they order their drinks, but her eyes always glance back at Kaneki, taken aback by his no doubt peculiar appearance that stood out from a mile away. After Kaneki was rescued, he saw the full extent of his drastic change, his hair now a snow white, his skin now pale and he was now forced to wear an eyepatch, the scars from the damage around it poking out from the edges. Rize had offered to dye his hair, but Eto had intervened and told him to keep the hair as a reminder of his failure...It’s that same failure that will help fuel his motivation to become stronger, to protect those he couldn’t before. He’ll pluck those that get in his way. All of them.

“Don’t let her gaze bother you, darling.” Rize whispered into Kaneki’s ear, her body pressed against his. “Weaklings like her don’t know what it is to suffer. Though we could certainly teach her.”

“Jeez, you sound like Eto.” Furuta groaned and he sat up, Kaneki raising a brow. “That woman is painful to be around.” Rize peered at his comment. “I don’t like these rumours about how Arima is creating an alliance with those Aogiri brutes. They’ve been rivals for decades.”

“I don’t care, as long as it doesn’t involve me. Though, I quite like Eto. She’s very sexy and I like the way she toys with others,” She chuckled to herself and Kaneki laughed along awkwardly, somewhat hoping she wasn’t getting any ideas. Furuta narrowed his eyes and smirked, resting his head on his hands. “You wouldn’t be interested in getting to know her personally, would you?” Furuta grinned and Rize sighed dramatically, shaking her head.

“Just because we’ve known each other since we were young doesn’t mean I’ll do anything and everything for you and besides,” she leaned back against Kaneki, her smile growing. “I have my own goals to focus on.”

As Rize and Furuta continued to squabble, Kaneki saw two siblings sat at the counter, their appearances remarkably alike but their ages clearly different. One was a young boy had unruly dark hair that framed his slightly chubby face that seemed to have a permanent frown and pout, and his short figure was dressed in only black. His sister, similarly, also had long dark hair that was slightly wavy, covering her shoulders as she remained hunched over the counter with her face cupped in her hands. Her eyes, however, were very striking, the deep violet catching Kaneki’s attention. She gave off an aura of uncaring yet confident attitude  that drew in the gazes of those around her. She was…

“Ah, give me a moment, I need to powder my nose.” Rize said and got up, leaving Kaneki with Furuta. Kaneki smiled and took a sip of his coffee, trying to ignore Furuta shuffling closer to him.

“So, Kaneki.” Furuta began and he wrapped his arm across Kaneki’s shoulders, making him jolt and choke on his drink. “What’s Eto’s interest with you. I see her talking to you like she’s your mother or something. What’s the big deal?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kaneki hissed, shoving him away. “She doesn’t mother me, nor does she care about me. She just sticks around because I train with Arima-”

“No no no, my dear boy. Don’t be so naive.” His voice lowered and Kaneki saw a dangerous look in his eyes, putting him on edge with caution. “She’s toying with you, molding you into her new protege. I care very little for that witch of a woman and even less for her playthings. Now, please enlighten me before I’m forced to make more serious demands-”

Just then, as Kaneki’s hands curled into fists, ready to face Furuta’s challenge, the clown is pulled back by his collar, Eto gripping him tightly with a dark smile, her eyes an intimidating glare. Furuta smiled weakly and shrugged, opening his mouth to no doubt spout out apologies before she’s holding a small penknife against the corner of his mouth, his smile dropping.

“What happened to that cheerful smile, you damned clown?” Eto asked in a low, deep whisper. “Maybe I should carve it back on.”

Furuta shook his head slightly, but after relishing the fearstrucken look on his face, Kaneki decided to intervene, convincing Eto to stand back. Of course his words hold no authority over her, but she wasn’t stupid enough to start anything in public. She stood back, pocketing the knife in the top pocket of her baggy dungarees.

“Ah, Ken, I was looking for you.” She said cheerfully. “I have some great news. We found your dear friend Jason-”

Kaneki stood up almost instantly, staring wide eyed at the woman before her as his heart began to beat rapidly against his chest, images of that dreaded man flashing before his eyes followed by the familiar ache he felt across his body from his wounds. Anger had risen within his, taking over with the desperate desire for Yamori’s blood. He will die. This time, Kaneki won’t hesitate, not for a moment. He will savour his screams just as he had done with Kaneki last year.

“Is everything ok?” An old man intervened and Kaneki jolted, staring at the man before him. His face was wrinkled, his grey hair brushed back neatly with his eyes squinted shut. “You seem...intense. I'm the manager of this-”

“Come, deary. We must leave.” Eto grabbed Kaneki's hand and dragged him away from the manager and Furuta, not giving him a chance to object. “I hate the stench of this shop.”

She shoved him into the back of her personal car, sliding into the seat next to him and they were about to leave before Rize caught up, convincing Eto that she should join. With little care, Eto nodded and slipped on her oversized jacket, leaning back with a knowing grin.

“Where is he?” Kaneki immediately asked, impatient for the answer. “Where's that bastard?”

“Oh, no worries, sweetie. We got him trapped just for you.” Kaneki tapped his foot impatiently and Rize leaned forward, placing a hand over his. “Don't worry.” She said calmly. “Soon you'll have your revenge.”

“You don't happen to have some pliers or scalpel with you?” Kaneki chuckled to himself and he looked up to see an almost stunned look in Rize’s usually snarky face.

“I have something better.” Eto turned back and pulled out a familiar looking cane, the top of af golden skull with a centipede wrapped around it, diamonds placed on each segment of its body. “Oho, that look in that sad eye of yours...does the little boy want it?”

Kaneki's jaw clenched and he pressed his hands against his thighs, biting his lip to stop him from indulging Eto’s teasing ways. Instead, Rize took it from Eto’s hands, bringing Kaneki's hands up before pressing the item into them.

“Take it, Ken.” Rize leaned in close to his ear, his eyes fixed on the skull that stared back at him with its eyeless sockets, the centipede crawling into one of them. “Spill his blood and you will become stronger. Become stronger..For me.” He shuddered and turned to her, Rize capturing his lips with hers. “Become the strongest there is and take Yamori’s power.”

“Ah, lovebirds. This should be interesting.” Eto hummed and sat back, licking her lips.

They arrived at an alleyway behind a club, the day still too early for there to be anyone really around with the surrounding bars or clubs closed for another few hours. However, the alleyway was one Kaneki was very familiar with, the smell of rubbish and alcohol still thick in the air. Last time Kaneki saw this shithole, it was still taped off by the CCG private investigators. Now it was just some alleyway again, no longer tainted by the crime that ultimately changed Kaneki’s life forever.

Near the far end were two figures, one kneeling on the ground with a sack over his head whilst the other stood besides him, his clothes a baggy pair of trousers that didn’t reach his ankles with an oversized shirt on top, his sleeves rolled up to show off his stitch covered arms whilst he played with a few daggers in hand. He turned back, his large, curious eyes focusing on Kaneki as he played around with a sweet in his mouth. With a wide smile, he waved them over excitedly, brushing back his messy raven coloured hair.

Kaneki glanced over to Eto suspiciously, but she seemed as unbothered as usual, gesturing for Kaneki to move forward and he took hold of Rize’s hand before stepping forward, his gaze continuously turning back to the kneeling figure that was soaked in blood, his body almost limp. For a moment, he even thought the figure to be a dead man. But no, Kaneki was promised his revenge.

“The name is Suzuya!” The boy exclaimed cheerfully, holding his hand out to shake. Kaneki, however, only gave him a cold stare, his grip tightening around the cane. With a confused raise of his brow, Suzuya dropped his hand and shrugged, moving behind the figure to tug off the mask. “I’m a hired assassin, you see, but I was quite excited to be asked to hunt down the infamous Jason. If you don’t mind, could I keep the mask?”

“Sure,” Kaneki grinned, his eyes narrowed at Yamori’s beaten and bruised face as the brute weakly looked up, the pathetic sight simply too much for him. “I’ve got all I need.”

Kaneki looked down to the cane in hand, raising it slightly only to find that his hands were beginning to tremble, a cold sweat forming at the back of his neck. Confused, he let out a frustrated grunt and tried to hold the cane steady with both arms to no success. Cursing under his breath, he quickly glanced back at Yamori, only to find him smirking back at him, and though he was the one tied up and wounded, Kaneki still felt so inferior, even with the circumstance. No matter how hard he tried, he was still to be looked down on, to be mocked, to always lose, because that was just simply his fate, wasn’t it? His punishment for failing Hide. His burden for spilling blood.

“Kaneki, you’re not hesitating now, are you?” Rize snapped as she placed a hand onto his shoulder. “You’re so close to accomplishing your goal and you hesitate now? Was I wrong to think you would be able to do one simple task?” Kaneki shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut but she continued regardless. “Look at this place, Ken. This is where you found your best friend as a stiff, rotting corpse. This is the place you promised revenge. Not to me, not to Hide, but to yourself.” She then stepped in close, cupping his face with his eyes locked on her gentle gaze that reassured him of all his doubts and concerns. “You’re so close now. Once you gain this new power, you won’t need to worry about the ones you love again. We can be free of those burdens.”

She walked around him, placing her arms around his and helped his raise the cane back, Yamori’s eyes filled with a sudden fear that wasn’t there before. Kaneki took in Rize’s words, his hands tightening around the cane with new resolve being poured into him. Rize stepped back, watching Kaneki remain firm with his fear and hesitation no longer present. He was ready.

“So this is how it feels…” Kaneki sighed, his smile and eyes widening. Yamori began to shake his head, his mouth opened to speak, but Kaneki quickly striked down, the skull head smashed against the side of his jaw. Yamori falls to his side, his face in the muddy grown as he yelled out in loud agony, Kaneki willing to guess that his jaw was already broken. “Hush, Yamori. There’s no need to be that loud and besides, I’ve had enough of your voice after last year.”

Kaneki pressed his foot down against Yamori’s head, forcing it down into the dirt as he raised his arms once again, watching with some delight as Yamori squirmed desperately in his restraints. Kaneki brought down the cane once again, slamming it against his ribs and again on his hips. His movements sped up and he was now mindlessly attacking Yamori with an endless onslaught of brutality, droplets of blood splattering across the ground as the skull head of the head slowly turned red. Yamori’s body quickly went limp, but Kaneki continued his attacks, not even realising he had begun to laugh.

However, before he could continue, he felt a hand against his arm, firmly holding it in place. Kaneki, who was at this point too crazed to hold himself back, flinched and saw Suzuya frown at him, his eyes showing a slight tint of fear. Kaneki’s grin dropped and twisted into a snarl tugging his arm back whilst silently threatening the assassin to back off.

“He’s already-” Suzuya started, but Kaneki was already ignoring him, walking around Yamori’s pulped body. He kneeled down and lifted Yamori’s head, his eyelids half closed with blood dripping down his swollen mouth.

“Can you hear me, fucker?” Kaneki ran his thumb over his eye, opening it up wide to see Yamori flinch slightly. Kaneki snorted and kept his eye opened, pulling out a dagger from his belt. “What was it people always say? An eye for an eye? Well, you owe a lot more than that for your sins, but this will do for now.”

Kaneki lifted his dagger and in the distance, Rize kept her eyes on the gruesome scene, witnessing the swift change between the quiet, awkward boy of the past into this cold, merciless persona that was hungry for more power, for more strength. Perfect.

It wasn't long before Kaneki's hands were also coated in blood, the heavy stench filling his nostrils. In his hand, in the centre of his palm, was the eyeball he had just messily carved out. He was tempted to squish it in hand, but when he looked back down to see Yamori pathetically groan, his body too crippled to move, he decided against it.

“I want this,” Kaneki held up the eyeball up between his fingers, knowing Yamori could still hear him. “To be the only thing left. This will be the only thing left to your name. Isn't the irony just perfect?”

Yamori mumbled something, but Kaneki was already back on his feet, the cane back in hand. Eto stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder and she gave a slight nod.

“You're one of us now, Ken Kaneki.” She said, an almost proud look in that coy expression of hers.

One of them…

5 years ago

Furuta handed over a handkerchief, Kaneki thanking him under his breath as he wiped the blood off his hands and face. They looked down at the mangled body before them, both of them still breathing heavily from their recent fight. It wasn’t long before the door at the far end of the room now opened, Arima walking out with Ui and Take by his side. Their coats had a few stains of smeared blood, but it was clear it wasn’t their own.

Ui held up the saya for Arima’s personal Katana called Ixa, the sheath a deep black with a gold silk sash tied near the top, the bottom rimmed with a swirling golden pattern. Taking the Katana, Arima headed towards the others and looked down at their handiwork, his expression as unreadable as always. Even so, he looked up and praised Kaneki and Furuta for their work before moving on. Ui and Take, however, strayed behind with the other two.

“Jeez, that was exhausting.” Ui groaned and lit a cigarette, the smoke twisting around in the air above him. “That woman sure put up a tough fight.”

“Those things will kill you, you know.” Take intervened, placing his gun back into the holster. “You know it annoys Hairu as well-”

“Oi oi, don’t go suddenly spouting her name like that!” Ui grumbled before he flicked away his cigarette. “Ah, I heard this guy was pretty tough too, though.” He looked down at the corpse that Kaneki and Furuta had just dealt with, the wounds too deep to even make out his face at this point. “Didn’t Eto’s right hand man help or something?”

“Tatara.” Kaneki nodded, sitting on the edge of a nearby table whilst he kept his eyes on the floor. “His combat style is...disturbing.”

“You’re not one to speak.” Furuta chimed in. “But Tatara went off when two of the targets escaped, so me and Kaneki had to finish off this bastard. Ah, but I’m not so fond of working with Eto’s men either.”

“I know what you mean.” Ui nodded with a frown. “Arima and Eto are now in alliance, but this whole thing seems...unstable.”

The four remained silent for some time, unable to deny the truth of the situation. It wouldn’t be long before some kind of mutiny would take place, or some war within the ranks. Even with how strong and powerful their group had become with this alliance, perhaps they would all eventually, and hopefully, branch off to their own groups and that would perhaps be the best option.

“Kaneki, Arima wants to see you.” A short woman by the name of Miza called. “He’s by his car.”

With a nod, Kaneki slipped off the table and headed towards the exit, but was stopped by Furuta. It was a while before Kaneki could actually trust Furuta again, considering the threat and all, but with some convincition from both him and Rize, as well as some forgiveness on his part, he was able to reform the friendship they had built up before. Still, it always made Kaneki uncomfortable when Furuta asked for him like this.

“I would like to talk later, my friend. Would that be ok?” He knew there would only be one real answer for Furuta, so he simply agreed and Furuta let go of his arm, waving him off. Kaneki decided not to think too much into it and hurried off to meet Arima.

Arima had taken off the long, grey coat he usually wore during missions, his black battle suit underneath with the only armour being the silver shoulder pads - he didn’t need much armour with his almost inhuman skills. Arima raised a brow when he saw Kaneki near, a slight smile forming on his lips that was always a rare, yet delightful sight to see. After all, he only seemed to really smile around Kaneki.

“I will return the books when we next meet.” He said, but Kaneki immediately told him it was fine, as he often did. “But I wanted to also ask, Kaneki, if those voices were coming back. You seemed distant when I entered the room.”

The voices, or more specifically, Yamori’s voice. Ever since he had brutally beaten Yamori into a bloody, crippled pulp, he had thought he would be relieved of his constant burden of guilt that wore him down, but instead, he had only been haunted by his memory of his torturer. At moments of stress or frustration, his voice would loom in his mind, slowly taking over before he entered a violent frenzy of thrashing out on those nearby. Most times, he’s able to push these impending thoughts back within his mind, control the rising need for violence, but at times, he would lose control and the consequences often left him broken with fear and regret.

“Yes, but it’s fine.” Kaneki rubbed his chin slightly, brushing it off with a warm smile. “I got it under control.”

Arima examined Kaneki, but said no more as he moved into his car, dismissing him. With a heavy sigh, Kaneki moved back to the entrance of the the building he had raided just earlier. Furuta was already standing in the doorway, clearly waiting for Kaneki. With some reluctance, he decided to follow Furuta as he turned into the corridor inside. Looking around, Furuta checked his surroundings before leaning in close to Kaneki.

“So, you’ve certainly made a name for yourself, Kaneki. Or should I say ‘Eyepatch?’ Perhaps even ‘Centipede,’ that’s a new one.” Kaneki frowned and crossed his arms, already losing his patience for his schemes. “Ah, don’t give me that look, I’m just commenting on your quite impressive reputation.”

“Impressive? I couldn’t care less. What do you want?”

“So cold, I wonder who you get it from…” Kaneki narrowed his eyes and his partner let out a sly chuckle. “Everyone can see that you’re Arima and Eto’s favourable child, but some might say think differently. Some people like Rize.”

Kaneki paused, trying to read through Furuta’s mischievous words, but he couldn’t help but sway at the thought that perhaps Rize may truly be against the way things are turning out. After all, Furuta has always been close to Rize ever since childhood, so it was possible the words he spoke were true. Then again, Furuta has never been a trustworthy figure. What was Kaneki to even think of all this if it were to be true?

“Oho, I’ve caught your interest.” He pinched Kaneki’s cheek, only for Kaneki to shove him back and turn his face away stubbornly. “Don’t deny it, my friend. Believe it or not, I know Rize a whole lot more than you do and I can tell you right now that she isn’t happy.”

Kaneki tried to think back to how she was like in their now shared apartment, her behaviour a little more quiet but not necessarily distant. But that look in his eyes…

“W-What about?” Kaneki asked cautiously, which prompted a snarky grin from Furuta. “Oh you know,” Furuta responded, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Just worrying you’ll just end up as some brown nosed pet for the people in power. You see, she wants to be with someone who has control in their life, both over themselves and over others. You, however, may fall short on that and well…” His smiled dropped, his tone lowered. “That just can’t work for her.”

Kaneki thought of his words continuously in mind, debating internally if it was worth trusting at all or whether Kaneki should reject them and move on. It frustrated him deeply, trying to figure out his intent in all this - Furuta was never a kind person and he thoroughly doubted that he was offering kindness even now. But Rize...It did somehow match up, which only made Kaneki more concerned. For now, it may just be wise to follow on for now and if things were to take a nasty turn, he could always deal with Furuta himself.

“What do you suggest then, Furuta?” A smile tugged at the end of the partner’s lips, patting Kaneki’s back with some praise.

“It’s simple. You take over as the head of the mafia.”

“W-What?” Kaneki parted from him with widened eyes, baffled by his words. “As a successor?”

“No no, it’ll be years before they think about retiring and that’s time neither you or Rize have if you want to give her what she wants. It’d be a lot easier to simply...remove Arima and Eto out of the system, don’t you think?” Kaneki seemed to have paled considerably from hearing this, the mere image of what he was describing too much for him to fathom. Killing the leaders of the strongest mafia there was? Killing Arima, the man that saved him? “That expression on your face is simply too cute. Ah, but you haven’t given your answer yet-”

“No. God, No. What the hell is wrong with you? Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“Oh, it’s certainly amusing, I won’t deny that.” Kaneki shook his head with disgust and snarled, appalled at the audacity of it all. “You can always ask your dear Rize about it. No harm in seeing her opinion, right? I mean, if you don’t trust me, then perhaps you would rather hear it from her pretty mouth. Nothing’s stopping you.”

Kaneki shoved him aside and decided to leave, his mind too much of a cluttered mess to think straight at the moment. He needed some air, to think this all through. He doesn’t know what to make of all this, if Furuta was even worth the trouble to trust. He seemed so confident, though and it only added to Kaneki’s discomfort of the situation. It should be easy enough to ignore such idiotic ideas, but even now....Maybe seeking out Rize may not be the worst idea at the moment.

. . .

Rize pressed Kaneki against the wall, her lips latching onto the crook of his neck as her hands smoothed down his chest down to the hem of his shirt, slipping them underneath. Kaneki shuddered at the feeling of her hands roaming across his toned skin and over his fresh scars, his grip tightening on her hips. Her trail of kisses move from his neck to his jaw, nipping lightly at his skin with a sly smile when he let out an almost embarrassing moan.

“W-Wait, Rize.” Kaneki winced, tilting his head back whilst he reluctantly parted from her, his hands moving to her shoulders. “I need to talk about something.”

She parted her lips and gave a single nod, rolling her eyes. He pressed his lips together and led her to the kitchen where she sat around the kitchen’s island, taking out a cigarette from the packet nearby and lighting it with some irritation. Kaneki awkwardly stood opposite, trying to put his words together in his mind before he opened his mouth to speak.

“Are you happy about the way I am?” He asked carefully. She breathed out some smoke, her expression unreadable and it only made Kaneki more nervous as he waited for an answer.

“Sure, you've made some success and influence.” She nodded. “But you could be something more.”

“More?” Rize grinned and took another deep breath from her cigarette. “What do you-”

“You're destined for great things, my love. Everyone within the underground knows of your name and you're Eto and Arima’s favourite pet.” She paused, putting out her cigarette on the counter before she moved to Kaneki's side. “No doubt within a decade, you'd be next head of the greatest mafia there is.” Her smile then dropped. “But we can't wait that long.”

She turned her back to Kaneki and he reached for her only for his hand to hand to drop to his side again. Furuta’s words repeated cruelly in his mind, the realisation dawning upon him that he was right. How was he even meant to feel about any of this? He could almost hear her next words, knowing what it was she would desire from him. Question was if he was willing to give that much to the woman he loved.

“Would it matter so much if I was the leader or not?” He came up from behind her, rubbing her shoulders slowly whilst planting a kiss on her cheek. “Aren't we happy the way we are?”

She sighed and turned to wrap her arms around his neck, caressing one side of his face with a sweet smile. Kaneki had almost thought he got through to her, to perhaps make her realise that success wasn't necessary for their happiness. That is until her nails dug into the side of his head and her smile twisted into a disgusted snarl.

“And live our lives being pushed around? To be nothing more than slaves as we suck up to the people we look down on? Give me a break.” She tugged herself away from him, leaving him shocked with his eyes widening at her words. “If you can't even do this one thing for me, then you might as well waste the remainder of your sad life licking their boots. You promised me once you would give me all that I needed-”

“And I will.” He reached forward and cupped her face in his hands, desperate to keep her close. He couldn't lose her - not now. “I will give you all that you need, no matter what. Just...don't leave me. Please.”

Her eyes crinkled and she leaned up to give him a chaste kiss, pulling him closer against her. Her moods fluctuate so much - he couldn't be certain if she was truly happy or not upon hearing his words.  He could only be certain until he did what she desired.

“I love you.” Rize pulled him away from the kitchen, Kaneki's heart swelling with her words. “Now, where were we?”

The next day, Kaneki sat opposite to Arima in the restaurant, his boss discussing the plans for the next few weeks with something about a new band of rivals plotting against the mafia. His foot tapped impatiently under the table and he could hardly pay any attention to the words Arima spoke. Rize and Furuta’s words plagued his mind, ideas swarming around with thoughts of spilling the blood of the man he looked up to.

“You ok?” Arima asked suddenly and Kaneki nodded quickly, trying his best to relax. However, Arima was no fool and pushed his plate aside. “If there's anything troubling you-”

“It's just…” Kaneki reached down and brought up a small paper bag with a small box inside of it. “Eto told me it was your birthday recently and I thought I'd get you something.” He took out the box that was neatly wrapped with a white bow. “It's nothing much.”

He opened it to find two cufflinks inside, both golden and in the shape of a horse. Arima smiled fondly, admiring them as Kaneki waited for a response. So this was what he was so nervous about…

“They're lovely, thank you.” He closed the box and placed it into his pocket with a nod. Kaneki looked pleased with Arima’s reaction, but he still seemed on edge about something else, his eyes not meeting Arima’s. “You still seem worried.”

“I'm fine.” Kaneki said almost too quickly. “Really.”

His hand reached up to rub his chin. Like he always did. Arima sighed and got up, placing down the money to pay the bill. Kaneki got up with him, but his boss told him he had other duties for now, saying his goodbyes before quickly leaving.

This wasn't good - he was already suspicious and if he grew too distant from Kaneki before he got the chance to...remove him of his position then...He will need to confront Arima sooner than he expected.

“How fucking surprising of you.” Touka snapped and Kaneki flinched, his eyes shut momentarily to calm himself down. “I guess I wasn't wrong when I called you a traitorous dog.”

As much as he hated to admit it, she wasn't wrong, his life a list full of deceitful acts shrouded by the shadows of the underworld. Even so, she offered not a single moment of sympathy, not a scrap of pity. It wasn’t as if deserved such things, but it still pained him to see such a disgusted look in those usually soft eyes of hers. Would he ever be graced by that tender, loving gaze she once blessed him with? Will his story be enough?

“I was desperate.” He tried to explain. “At the time, Rize was my world. I had nothing else in mind and to lose her - the thought itself would have shaken me to my core.”

Touka kept silent, his words reminding her of a time where she was also once so dependant on Ayato when it was only him and her after their parents died. It wasn’t an incomprehensible idea, if anything, she knew how it felt to have such attachments, but to see him go to such lengths for this one woman - it was almost like she was some witch, ensnaring him with some kind of spell. Or rather, a curse. She would pity Kaneki if it wasn’t so pathetic.

“Well I should’ve expected where this story was heading.” Touka mumbled with a frown. “Still, to think you would kill the man that offered you kindness.”

“It wasn’t easy.” Kaneki’s voice was suddenly sharp, an almost aggressive undertone attached to it. “Even now, I despise myself for what I did. I...I didn’t want to do it.”

“But you just said-”

“I planned to but in the moment, I paused and,” his speech broke, struggling with his words for a moment. “I hesitated.”

4 years ago

“It’s almost time.” Furuta said calmly and if he wasn’t mistaken, Kaneki could even detect some excitement within his voice. “We can’t waste this opportunity.”

They had planned for a few months now and during that time, Ken had played the role as the good protege under Eto and Arima’s gaze with Rize and Furuta spinning together their deceivious trap to ensure a place of power in which Kaneki would sit his throne as the new boss of the mafia. He was hardly prepared, his emotions muddled and conflicted and it was only with Rize’s reassurance that he was able to keep moving forward.

However, with Rize’s patience wearing thin and Arima’s suspicions only growing with every passing day, Kaneki couldn’t afford to waste his time overthinking things. And so, he pushed all thoughts aside and forced himself to go on with this horrid plan that had been conjured up since that day he had promised Rize the future she desired.

“I’ll take care of Eto.” Furuta grinned, placing his now sharpened machete into it’s holster. “She’s busy writing that novel of hers, so she shouldn’t be expecting me.”

Kaneki nodded, but he was paying no mind to his words, staring blankly at the Katana he held in hand. It was a gift from Arima after that particular mission last year. The blade was heavy in his hand, as if it were the weight of his guilt rather than the weapon. His stomach churned with this thought that haunted his mind, trying to keep his hand steady for what will happen next. It was almost like the moment before he went to kill Yamori, but instead, in that moment...that moment..

He killed an innocent man.

It’s what you want. Kaneki’s heart stopped for a second when he looked up to see Yamori’s bloody corpse stare down at him, empty holes behind the mask where his eyes should’ve been. Tears of red streamed down the mask from the eye-holes and Kaneki could’ve sworn he felt it drop onto his pale skin. You want to spill blood again. You’re just like me, after all.

“N-No, I’m not.” Kaneki’s voice was low and small, his body trembling at the feeling of Yamori’s hands on his shoulders. “I’m nothing l-like you.”

“Kaneki?” Furuta stared at him with some concern as Kaneki continued to tremble, his eyes darting around to find Yamori had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. “You seem a bit out of it. Who were you talking to?”

Kaneki opened his mouth, but no words were spoken, his mind too shaken up to even comprehend the moment. He had heard voices before, but he hadn’t seen the ghost itself that had fed terrible thoughts into his mind. He told himself it was merely an apparition from his fear and paranoia and yet it felt so real, chilling him down to the bone at the memory of the blood dripping onto his face.

“I’m sorry.” Kaneki lowered his face and wiped the cold sweat from his head, tightening his hold of his Katana. “Let’s get this over with.”

Furuta nodded and with a final few words, they parted their separate ways within the mansion, prepared to make their move against the beasts that ruled the mafia. Once Kaneki had turned the next corner, Furuta took out the phone in his pocket, calling Rize immediately.

“And so it begins.” Furuta declared. “Once I’ve dealt with that old witch, I’ll check on Kaneki. If he doesn’t kill Arima, I’ll finish it off.”

“And if he does succeed, you remember what to do, right?” He looked down to the pistol he held in hand, sighing with contempt.

“I’ll stick one right between the eyes. Whatever makes my girl happy.” She gave a small giggle, knowing she liked what she heard. Now, all they needed to do was wait for the right opportunity.

. . .

Arima sat with his back turned to Kaneki. It was no real issue taking out the henchmen by his door, but now was the moment for caution. Arima could very easily strike down Kaneki within a second, his skill nothing to look down on. With that said, after all the training sessions and  tortuous combat Arima had put him through, Kaneki knew he had some chance against his own teacher. He just had to remain calm, to keep his mind clear and offer no chances for Arima to take the upperhand.

Though that was easily said than done.

Kaneki silently stepped his way through the room, his sword raised up and his eyes locked on Arima. Each step felt heavier than the last, almost as if he was trudging through thick mud with his eyes constantly unfocusing and his mind becoming a haze. He couldn’t think straight, only thinking to kill. That was all he needed to do. To end it all quickly. Simple. So simple. It was almost disturbing how easy it was.

Eventually, he finally stood directly behind Arima, who was occupied writing down on some files to notice the man that was soon to be his killer. Kaneki pulled his arm back, readying to strike him down, but he paused, his body tensed yet his heart beating wildly within his aching chest. Why wasn’t he moving? His mind screamed for him to do something, to do anything, but he remained as he was, still and hesitant. That is, until he felt a cold breathe against the back of his nape.

Do it. His voice was harsh and unforgiving, taunting him to commit the sin that corrupted his mind whole. You know you want to, to feel his blood against your hands. You enjoy killing, after all. Just like me.

Kaneki shook his head slightly, not wanting to believe any of the words Yamori spoke, but he didn’t fade away. This couldn’t be what he wanted, right? No matter the thrills he gets when he takes out his weapon, no matter the satisfaction of every kill, no matter the excitement within him with every mission. It couldn’t be…

Just like me. A natural killer. Don’t be afraid, Kaneki, just accept it. Yamori’s hands wrap around Kaneki’s throat, his voice even closer. It’s the only way you gain power.

Power. Yes, that’s what he needed. He needed to be strong - for her. Even if it meant abandoning his humanity. He told Rize, didn’t he? He’d give her the world if it meant keeping her to his side. Yamori was right, this was what he wanted. Power. He needed power.

With a deep breath, he drew back his blade once again and with a wide, crooked smile, he brought it down and-

“You’re too loud, Ken.” His balde clashed against Arima’s, which he had suddenly taken out before Kaneki had seen it. He stared incredulously at Arima, seeing the disappointment that filled his expression. “I had such high hopes for you.”

Kaneki gritted his teeth and grabbed the dagger from his belt, swiping it down against Arima, but he crouched down and kicked his chair back against Kaneki. Kaneki stumbled back and as he regained his balance, Arima thrusted his Katana towards Kaneki. He leaned away from the blade, which only created a small, shallow cut to his side, and swung his sword down. Arima blocked it and shoved it back, lunging forward with the edge of his blade slicing upwards against Kaneki’s chest. With a pained cry, he forced himself forward and tackled Arima down with the slight opening he left.

However, when tackling him down, he managed to pierce his weapon through Kaneki’s shoulder, the throbbing pain forcing him to drop his own Katana. Before he could reach for it again, Arima punched him across the jaw, the sudden impact knocking Kaneki back whilst Arima pulled his blade back out from the wound. He stood over Kaneki’s aching body, his blade raised up to deliver the final blow. With some more pain, he grabbed the dagger that he dropped a small distance away and quickly stabbed it through his boss’s shin, causing him to suddenly collapse to the ground from the sharp pain.

Leaving no opportunity for another attack, he quickly grabbed Arima’s Katana and threw it aside, bringing out his gun to shoot two new holes into the man’s knees. He let out a agonised grunt, his body collapsing against the now blood stained carpet.

“Fuck.” Kaneki caught his breath, biting into his fist to try to distract him from his pain. “I wanted to keep it simple, but of course it wouldn’t be like you to not fight back.”

Kaneki kept his gun pressed against Arima’s head as he tied his hands together and removed the other weapons he kept. Then, once certain Armia no longer posed as a threat, he moved to grabbed his Katana and kept it inches away from his throat, adding a small amount of pressure. Arima, though, showed no fear in his eyes, just a deep sorrow that burned its way slowly into Kaneki’s mind.

“Why, Kaneki?” Arima asked. Those simple words sent a chill down Kaneki’s spine, his determination faltering. “What pushed you into this?”

“The strong take from the weak.” His voice shook and the tip of blade pressed harder against Arima’s throat. “And I plan to become the strongest.”

“Is that what you truly want-”

“Yes!” Kaneki chuckled with a disturbing laughter, his eye clouded with want and greed. “I will become the strongest so that no one can ever leave my side again.” He raised his sword and bit down hard against his lip. “No matter what the price. I’m sorry, Arima. It’s nothing personal.”

Rize stepped over the two dead bodyguards by the door and walked into Arima’s room. Within the room stood Kaneki, his Katana pierced through Arima’s neck, blood spilt everywhere. It was quite a morbid sight. He looked up to her, teary eyed with all the joy and colour drained from his face. Stepping back, he looked back down at the murder he committed, Rize moving towards him to lace her fingers through his.

“You did well.” Rize whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. “But what to do with this mess...At the minute, you’ll be caught in no time.”

“What do you suggest?”

He moved away to find something to treat his wounds, his blood still dripping down from the gash in his shoulder. All the while, he tried to ignore the overwhelming sorrow of guilt that throbbed painfully within him, focusing only at the task at hand. Rize stayed where she was, staring at Arima’s corpse as she tapped her finger against her chin, as if she was in deep thought.

“Furuta.” Rize suddenly straightened, Kaneki pausing in his step. “Pin the blame on Furuta. He’s not trusted here anyway and everyone will listen to you.” To hear not a single moment of hesitation in her voice was almost disturbing for him - he knew she held very little attachments towards people, but wasn’t this going too far, even for her? “What’s wrong? Don’t you think it’ll work?”

“He’s your childhood friend and yet you’re so willing to throw him under the bus.” She raised her brow, tediously waiting for him to make his point. “Does...It not bother you?”

“Why should it?” She scoffed as she laughed to herself tugging out the Katana from Arima’s body.

Trying to ignore her dismissive attitude, he roamed around the room and noticed a set of screens set up between two large bookshelves. The screens showed different areas of the mansion and he quickly realised it was CCTV cameras. Taking the opportunity, he skimmed through the different areas and found Furuta in Eto’s personal study, her leg severed off and her body lying in a pool of her own blood, Furuta crouched over the body with his hands gripping her throat tightly. Kaneki thought it best to record the footage just to reinforce the claims he will place onto Furuta when the bodies are found.

However, when he rewinded the footage back to when Furuta was nearing Eto’s study with his gun ready in hand, Kaneki didn’t expect Rize to appear in the shot. It shouldn’t be too surprising - she wanted to keep close in case things went south. With that said, Kaneki expected her to only say a few words to Furuta, but instead, she cupped his face and brought it down to hers, kissing him lightly with a growing smile. Kaneki felt his heart sink at the sight, shaking his head slightly with disbelief of what he was witnessing. His hands fumbled on the screen to switch the volume on, his mouth dry and hands shaking.

“Once you deal with Kaneki, you can lead the mafia and we’ll finally be free.”

He felt his stomach churn and he paused the tape, pressing his hand against his mouth with his eyes tearing up. That couldn’t be right - Rize told him she loved him, that she’d stay with him always. He did all of this for her, after all. He had committed so many sins under his name for the sake of pleasing the woman he thought of as his queen. Everything he did and it was nothing more than a game for that woman, using him as a tool to get her way. It was all a lie.

“Kaneki? Are you ok?” Kaneki flinched at the sound of her voice, so nonchalant and casual. He almost wanted to believe that it truly was a lie.

She used you, played with your heart. The voice filled his mind, his breathing heavy with his rage making his blood boil. She turned you into this monster, only to leave you with scraps of affection.

“Kaneki-” She reached for his hand, but he grabbed her wrist instead, his grip tightening until it was painful. “W-What are you-”

“Don’t act coy with me now.” He pulled her in front of him and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, fisting her hair. “You thought you were so clever.”

She stared at the screen, where the footage was paused at the image of her caressing Furuta’s face, a gentle and supportive look in that deceiving expression of hers. With the situation now clear, she dropped her act, her scared and worried reaction now annoyed with a scowl. There was no talking her way out of this now.

“I had it all planned out.” She hissed, struggling under his grip. “But of course, as usual, you had to fuck it all up. All this time you were so fucking blind and stupid and only now, when I was so close to my freedom, you had to realise the truth.” He pulled her back, staring at her with clear fury as she glared back in spite. “It’s amazing how well it went, actually. I’ve never met a bigger idiot than you before.”

He shoved her back against the bookcase, his hands around her throat and she kicked out, yelling out in protest. With his grip tightening, Rize gasped and stopped her movements, scratching at his hands.

“You actually thought I loved you.” She wheezed, Kaneki snarling at her words. “How pathetic.”

He slammed her body back against the bookcase once again, knocking the air out of her and his hold on her only tightened. She continued to desperately gasp for air, her eyes watering and her body writhing under his grip, her struggle only tempting him to go on further. He’d make her suffer, make her feel the pain he felt now and with her dying breath, he’d look into her cold, emotionless eyes and savour the sweet feeling of triumph over her.

But then...Would that make him any happier? Would her blood even heal the wounds that have been carved into him body and soul or would it just leave an empty void within him, knowing he was the one that killed the woman he loved? Even if she played with him, used with and messed with his mind, she was still the woman he would’ve died for for all these years. He just wanted to hope that maybe, with enough effort, he wouldn’t be alone again, but it was too much to ask for. His hands loosened slightly, his expression softening into sorrow and he dropped her onto the ground, sickened with himself. He couldn’t do it - he couldn’t kill the woman that ruined him.

“You maniac.” Rize panted, rubbing the sore marks left on her throat.

“Leave me.” Kaneki murmured, eyes narrowed at her. “Otherwise I may not hesitate next time.”

Kaneki pursed his lips, the memory reflected in the almost lost look in his face. It was clear that Rize wasn’t some woman for him, as Touka had previously thought, but someone that had carved themselves into his scarred past to mould him into the man he is now. Touka couldn’t say if she knew what it was to be used as a puppet in way that Kaneki did and she was in a way thankful for it - even now, it was obvious he wasn’t healed from those cruel moments from his life and it explained his obsessive need for control - for dominance.

“What happened then?” Touka asked, hugging her knees.

Kaneki explained that he had found Miza, who had caught Furuta red handed in the murder scene, and told her he had also attacked both himself and Arima, whilst taking out Arima in an attempt to gain leadership over the mafia. Of course, with no reason to deny his claims after all CCTV footage had been destroyed, they took his word and once everything had been sorted, Kaneki took on the new role.

The mafia didn’t take too kindly with the two factions leaders now dead with some young boy taking their place, so Ui and a few others left to form the Doves with the CCG whilst the others remained to reform into Goat. Kaneki eventually found Rize again in a brothel he needed information from and well...He had only meant to keep it professional, but it became complicated and she once again forced herself back into his life. Furuta, who Ui helped out of receiving punishment, then helped to create the Doves and held nothing but resentment against Kaneki since.

“A life of being used and thrown away.” Touka leaned back, watching Kaneki sigh with the end of his story. “With nothing but regret trailing behind and those voices. Can you...Not control them?”

“They only get worse when I try to resist, my dark temptations always looming nearby.” Touka could remember the distant, crazed look in his eyes the other day when he had forced Touka through that massacre. “I tried to get help, but it’s difficult sharing this story.”

“And yet I still can’t believe you. Or at least, not all of it. I...Don’t know how to feel about any of this. In my mind, you’re just a corrupt monstrous man greedy for power, but at the same time, I want to feel sorry for you.”

“I’ve never asked for your forgiveness or sympathy, Touka.” He held her hand in his and he felt her froze at his touch, her breathing hitched. She pulled her hand back stubbornly, facing away and laid her head against her knees. “I just wanted you to understand.”

“Great, can I go now?” She tried to sound sharp, but her voice came out as weak and tired, her hold around herself tightening. Kaneki scooted closer and rubbed small circles against her back, the motion both soothing and uncomfortable at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Touka. I’m sorry I put you through all this. If I could, I’d go back and undo everything.” He brushed his lips against her shoulder and she shivered at the touch, knowing full well she should just shove him back and yell at him to stay away. So why wasn’t she doing it? “At least know that I’m sorry.”

What was she to say of all of this? It was like she had no control over her own actions, not knowing how she should think or how to act. It was so infuriating that he managed to have such an effect on her, despite everything he had put her through. It wasn’t right or fair, always being backed into the corner to accept what she didn’t want. She didn’t want this, right?

“I think it’s about time I let you go home.” He got up to leave and let her get dressed in some clothes the maids had picked out for her.

Whilst her thoughts remained muddled and conflicted, she changed into a clean shirt and jeans and joined Kaneki outside his room. He tried to take hold of her hand once again, but she kept her distance, deciding it best if she didn’t let him get too close for comfort. She already let down her guard too many times before.

He took her to his car and told her he wanted to take her home himself - no doubt to make sure she doesn’t leave his sight. He was remarkably clingy for someone whose hands were covered with the blood of the people he betrayed. It was uncomfortable, knowing that for someone as broken and corrupt as Kaneki would depend his happiness so much on one person. Just like he had done to his friend Hide, then Rize and now her. She almost felt responsible for how he would turn out, knowing that trying to escape would only anger him.

If she were trapped into this new life she didn’t ask for, perhaps she could learn to live with it. After all, it’d be a better alternative than seeing her family get hurt due to her own selfishness. Besides, maybe with time, she could possibly help him. She might as well make use of the opportunity and well....he at least deserved someone he could share his thoughts and burdens with. It’ll be easy adjusting to this life, it’ll just take time. Besides, what other choice did she have?

“You seem troubled.” He glanced towards her with his voice filled with concern. He was sincere, at the very least.

“It’s fine.” She said quietly, leaning her head against the window. “I just miss when everything was so simple.”

The car stopped at the red light and Kaneki turned with guilt-filled eyes and he squeezed her hand, his eyes downcasted. He opened his mouth to speak, but the guilt within his eyes abruptly widened with sudden fear and panic and he moved to start the car until-

[theodosia-cipher]

Just One Summer (1)

Okay, this is a Dipper X Reader fanfic. I don't care if you're a guy, cause now you're a girl 😂😂 if you're gay, then ignore all the girl descriptions.

↠Chapter 1, The Twins↞

∙⋆∞⋆∙

A/N: Author's note

Y/N: Your name

L/N: Last name

N/N: Nickname

F/N: Friend name

BF/N: Best friend name

E/C: Eye colour

H/C: hair colour

H/L: hair length

F/C: favourite colour

F/F: favourite food

F/S: favourite song

⋯⋘Y/N POV⋙⋯

I was just chilling around the shack, looking through an interesting book I had found earlier today. That's when my great uncle Stan ─ or should I say Grunkle Stan? ─ called me to come out of my room, the attic.

"Y/N, my great nephew and niece are coming over to stay for the summer. Are you okay with moving out of the attic to let them stay there? You can come and stay with me for the time be-" Grunkle Stan asked me, but I cut him off.

"No! I'll stay with them...-" I said, thinking about how disgusting his room may be, when he cut me off like how I did.

"Well then you need to give your bed to one of them. I'll set up an extra bed for ya to sleep on, Kid." He said as he walked out of the shack to get me a new bed. I wonder how old they are... I thought as I went to clean up the room, which already had 2 beds prepared inside ever since a week ago, and put them all in one corner of the room.

I looked out of the window to see grunkle Stan pulling up in front of the shack with the bed on top of it. I smiled at the thought that he actually cared about me.

"HEY KID! Come down here and help me!" He yelled as he attempted to get the bed off of his car. I giggled while walking down the stairs and rushing to him to help.

I climbed on top of the car and and pushed the bed off, making it land on Grunkle Stan. I sat on top of the car, laughing my head off while clutching my stomach. He pushed the bed off of him and rolled his eyes while picking the bed up and going into the shack.

After I finally managed to calm down, I jumped off of the car and walked into the shack. I saw the bed placed next to the bed which I usually slept on with my things on them. I laid down on the bed and took the book which I was looking at earlier to continue looking at it. These things aren't even scary to me anymore.. I thought to myself. I didn't even realise that I didn't look at the cover of the book properly before opening it, so I put a bookmark at where I last looked at it and flipped it to the front. On the cover, there was a golden six-fingered thing with a number 1 written on it. Only then when I recognized that it was a Journal. I shrugged it off and flipped back to the page with the bookmark and continued to observe it.

"Heh, and I thought I was the only one who knew about all the monsters and the weirdness of this town. I wonder how the author knows about this. I only knew all these when I went on all the monster hunts with my... Parents..." I said to myself, while sparking up. Then when I said "parents", my voice slowed and started to drain away, as I thought of all the good times we went monster hunting before the incident happened. I started to tear up. After snapping out of it, I shook my head and wiped my tears away and laid down on my old bed. I decide to look out if the window, and when I did, I noticed that night has fallen on this little town.

"Y/N! Come down here and have your dinner!" Grunkle Stan yelled from the living room. I rushed down the stairs only to see Grunkle Stan sitting in front of the television. I looked over at the dining table and saw F/F on the table! Yes! I cheered in my head as I walking in front of Grunkle Stan to get to the dining table.

"Thanks, Grunkle Stan," I mumbled as I sat on the table.

"I heard that, kid. And you're welcome," he replied. There was total silence after that as I had started eating. When I was about to finish eating, Grunkle Stan broke the Ice.

"Hey kid, they're arriving at around 1pm tomorrow. Make sure the room is all in tack for them tomorrow," Grunkle Stan said as he turned his head to look at me. I had just finished eating. I gave him a slight nod and went to wash my plate. He turned back to look at the tv, leaving me alone. I walked in front of him as I had to go to the stairs. I headed up the stairs, almost tripping on every step I took. I was so excited to meet them! I prepared their beds and I took out a lamp that I had found in one of the cupboards and put it on the bedside table which was right in between the two beds. I then went to lay on my own bed to rest. It was next to my old bed. I turned my head to look at my old bed and sat up.

"Should I sleep on that bed or no..? It IS my old bed.." I thought out loud. I shrugged and climbed on my old bed, and snuggled in. Before I knew it, o was fast asleep.

I woke up to the sound of my phone alarm ringing. I sat up on my bed and fixed it back to the way it was before. I then walked over to my phone and turned off the alarm. Then I went to do all the morning things yada yada yada. And eat. And all that stuff (I had to LOL) After taking a short shower, I looked over at the clock. 12pm. I rushed into the attic to change into some comfortable clothes. I walked down the stairs, now wearing a F/C shirt with a few stars on it, a flannel and some ripped jeans. I also brought along Journal 1 with me and sat down on the ground next to the chair. I read it while waiting. When Grunkle Stan walked by─he was wearing business clothes and his eye patch as usual─, I quickly hid the book under me and watched him go outside. I quickly put the journal in a pocket of my vest and went outside. I saw two children─who looked to be around my age─coming out of a bus. I stood by the doorway and watched as Grunkle Stan introduced himself to them. You'll never know how they would act, so... Go on and introduce yourself! I thought to myself, while breathing for a while and walked a little closer to them. I was shivering a bit as I walked towards them. I then froze in my tracks and I was kinda sweaty... Wait what?! I thought to myself. You can't be sweaty! You're a girl! I mentally facepalmed myself, looking annoyed. I then noticed the girl looking at me and tugging Grunkle Stan's coat. She was excitedly looking at me, later proceeding to shake my grunkle. I'm so shy.. Eheheh.. I thought to myself as I smiled and gave her a weak smile and I slightly waved at her.

"OMG! WHO'S THAT?!?! CAN I BE HER BESTIE?!" she screamed. She stopped shaking my grunkle and ran towards me. I felt a shiver went down my spine as I backed up and nearly tripped. She managed to reach me, engulfing me with a hug so tight that she could suffocate me.

"C-can't... B-breathe...!!" I yelled at her, gasping for air and trying to get out of her grasp. She put me down and let me go, and waited for me to get some air. Once I regained my balance, she reached her hand out, waiting for me to shake it, saying, "Oh, where are my manners?! My name is Mabel! Mabel Pines! What's your name and can we be besties?!" I hesitated at first, then shook her hand calmly.

"I'm Y/N, and sure I guess?" I replied, but it sounded more like a question. She let go of my hand and jumped around me in circles yelling "Yay! I have a new bestie!" on each bounce. Golly does SHE speak fast. A boy who looked just like her walked up to her and pulled her away from me while calming down and whisper-yelled to her, trying to make sure I didn't her him but I Could.

"Mabel! What did I say about making friends with someone you JUST met?! Don't you remember what happened back in school, in California?!" she whisper-yelled at her while looking at me suspiciously. I turned my head whole looking down.

"Well, I'm not rude like you are! I introduced myself but YOU didn't! Also, move on from that incident, dipstick! You're so overprotective!" she snapped back cheerfully, while whisper-yelling back at him. He rolled his eyes at her and both of them approached me. I was still shaking, being me.

"Hey, I'm Dipper. Nice to meet you. What's your name?" the boy─Dipper─asked me.

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you too. You guys look really similar, by the way. Are you two twins?" I replied and asked, pointing at both of them.

"Yes, yes we are!" Mabel replied with her high-pitched voice. Dipper just replied with a simple nod. He was glaring at me. I didn't do anything!

"Kids, go rest up! Y/N! Help them! I'll be in the gift shop if you need me!" Grunkle Stan yelled over at the three of us while disappearing through the doors to the gift shop. I shook my head playfully and sighed, then picked up the twins' things and went up to the door.

"You knuckleheads coming or not?" I called out to them, acting really calm as I opened the door. They both followed me in. Dipper looked uncomfortable at me carrying his things but still accepted it anyway. I led both of them up, leading into the attic, the room where I slept.

"Well, you guys are gonna have to share a room with me. I don't want to sleep with Grunkle Stan..." I shuddered at the thought. I put their bags down at a little corner of the room and flopped on my new bed in a sitting position.

"Wait, so, where are you gonna sleep then, huh? Cause... We're like, taking these beds over here...!" Mabel said as she plopped onto her bed.

"Haha! Are you blind?!" I giggled as I pat my new bed, as I watched Dipper sit on his new bed. The bed which was previously mine. I glared at him for a second then shrugged the thought away, becoming my cheerful self again.

"Oh, right!" Mabel happily giggled as she took out a few posters from her bed, decorating her side of the room. I shared my side of the room with Dipper... Ugh... That rude... B-brat... I thought to myself while closing my eyes and rolled my eyes with them still closed. I took out my phone from my pocket and looked at the time, then giggled.

"Wow, time flies by real quick! Heck, it's already 3pm! You guys wanna go to the diner for lunch? I don't recommend eating what Stan cooks..." I asked them as I stood up, giggling. That's when that journal fell out of my flannel.

"Hey, what's that?" that observant little Dipper asked me as he walked towards the journal. I swatted his hand away and grabbed it. He hissed at me for swatting his hand away and looked at me with a face like 'I will get my payback on you' but I didn't care. I hurriedly put it back in my flannel.

"That's noting you will need to know of! Now, are we going to the diner or what?" I asked, smirking slightly as I leaned on the doorway.

"Let's go!!" Mabel yelped suddenly that I almost jumped. She rushed to the attic doorway and grabbed Dipper and I's wrists and dragged us down the stairs. She dragged us outside and started walking in a random direction.

"Uh... Mabel? Do you know where you're going? This isn't the way to Gresy's Diner--" I asked her and I was cut off by her dropping both of us. I groaned in pain as I rubbed the back of my head. Dipper did the same.

"Oops, sorry! You lead the way, N/N!" Mabel said as she helped both of us up. I started to wall towards the RIGHT direction with the twins following behind me. I could still feel Dipper's eyes on my back as I walked, but I didn't care much.

"Seems like you've already met them. Eh. Not even gonna bother."

"Leave me alone, they're my new roommates. Of course I have to be their friends! I wonder when I can see you again, mate? Also, how do you know them?"

"Haha, N/N, you know that I know quite a number of things. They're my friends from school! To your other question, I may be coming soon. You can tell me when. My parents won't mind."

"Okay! How about... In a week's time?"

"Sure! I'll see ya at the shack!"

[cathcacen]

I’ll be your friend, your other brother

Strahan dies and Rei finds comfort in an unexpected source.

Virkove isn’t at all what she’d expected. In the days following her arrival in the city with Heulan and their new friends, Ora has managed to make some new contacts – the local barkeeps, apothecaries, tradesmen, and smiths. She’s gained some valuable information regarding the trading norms of the Northerners, and she’s even managed to touch base with the Keep’s suppliers.

All in all, she thinks it’s been a very productive trip.

She doesn’t expect to see their forlorn travelling party again, so she’s more than surprised when Rei shows up at her lodgings in town, a bundle of furs and a basket of baked goods in tow.

The young woman is obviously exhausted – dark rings circle dull eyes, and there’s an edge in her voice that betrays anxiety. Her hair is limp, the curls knotted into a messy tangle at the nape of her neck. Despite that, she tries for a smile, and Ora has to wonder how long it’s been since the woman has slept through the night.

“Rei, hi.” She ushers the young woman into her and Heulan’s shared quarters, and fusses about with the tea. Her partner is currently out – something about helping a new friend with building a baby’s cot – and she’d only just gotten back from a daytrip to a nearby hamlet. “How’re you doing?”

“Well enough.” Rei’s words don’t match her expression, but Ora finds she doesn’t have the heart to call her out for the lie. “I’m sorry it took so long to call on you. We were a little caught up.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She pours some boiling water into their teapot, hoping she’s got the right leaves, then sets it down, along with two cups, at the table in the centre of the room. “We were at the funeral. It was a very heartfelt ceremony.” She pauses, and hopes she’s saying the right things. It isn’t often she’s had to make this kind of small talk. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yes, I thought I saw you and Heulan at the hill.” The healer’s smile is slightly strained. “We didn’t get to thank you for your help getting us back safely. I’m glad you’re still here – I was worried I wouldn’t be able to thank you properly. Have you connected with the local merchants?”

She nods at the other as she pours the tea. It’s under-steeped. Shit. “Some, yes. We’re working out the details for a couple of trading partnerships. Then we’ll have to do the rounds and see what goods are needed here.” Her cheeks flush warmly as she nudges a cup of tea forward. “Sorry. Heulan makes the tea. I just drink it.”

Rei lets out a wry chuckle, the barest hint of amusement flashing across her eyes. Then, reaching over, she digs into her basket, withdrawing a clear bottle filled with warmly-coloured, golden-brown liquor. “I brought something a little stronger, so I’ll be drinking this if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, thank the gods.”

The healer downs the first glass of tea, then fills both teacups with her liquid courage. They clink their cups together; it’s a rich, smoky whiskey she tastes, full-bodied and slightly salty. She’s just deciding that she likes it when she realises Rei’s poured a second glass.

“Hey. Wow.”

“Strahan.” Rei raises her cup again, the motion half-hearted. “To my brother, who knew bones and fine whiskey.”

She reaches out to grab the healer’s wrist, frowning. It’s a little presumptuous, she knows, but instinct tells her the young woman isn’t a frequent drinker. Not like you’re one to be giving advice here, but it doesn’t hurt. “You sure you want to be doing this? Are you even supposed to be drinking?”

As Lear tells it, the battle that had killed Strahan had also left Rei bedridden for a couple of weeks.

Rei thins her lips, meeting her eyes. Mild annoyance flashes in the hazel-greens, but it is quickly replaced with something else – a silent, vulnerable plea coupled with just a hint of nervousness. The words cut into the silence, sending ice into her heart. “I don’t want anyone at home to worry.”

She studies the young healer. Rei is strong, she knows – physically strong enough to pull away and drink all she damn well pleases. She doesn’t need permission – not from her family, not from her friends, and certainly not from me. The realisation hits. She just wants company – the company of a perfect stranger who won’t judge or worry unnecessarily.

It feels a little familiar.

“Alright, then.” She drains her own cup and allows Rei to refill it. “Alright. To your brother, who knew bones and fine whiskey.”

She finds herself standing at Rei’s front door one week later. The Naveau manor occupies a large plot of land atop a hill, built with plenty of room to spare. In better times, it might have housed the family’s retainers and servants. But it’s a time of war, and they will all have been relocated to the front by now – cooks for the militia, assistants for the officers, and scribes for the record-keepers. It’s Chryse who answers the door and points her to the family rooms upstairs.

Rei is sitting on the floor of a large bedroom – Strahan’s, she assumes – shoulders slumped over as she sorts through piles of books, charts, and notes. She’s not dressed for visitors, bundled up in an ink-stained nightgown and a thick, fur-lined robe. The healer is as unkempt as Ora has ever seen her. It’s not a pretty sight.

She glances up as Ora enters, evidently a little confused. “Oh, Ora. What’re you doing here?”

“Just wanted to check up on you.” She kneels beside the healer, then gently rights an overturned bottle of ink. In addition to destroying the healer’s nightgown, it’s seeped into the floorboards, staining the dark wood a midnight blue. “I know I’m not a healer, but I’m pretty sure drinking all that whiskey wasn’t the smartest idea you’ve ever had.” She pauses, and Rei favours her with a slightly embarrassed smile. “You didn’t end up throwing up and ripping your stitches, did you?”

Rei bites her lip and focuses her attention upon a stack of papers. “Let’s not talk about that. I thought you were due to leave today?”

“We’re thinking of taking a short trip to Tormorden tomorrow, but that’ll take us three days at the most.” She settles down on the floor, crossing her legs. “Heulan and I talked it out, and we think we might stick around for a bit after all. There’s plenty that needs doing here.”

“Oh?” Rei nods thoughtfully. They’d discussed it before, enroute back to Virkove from Lut Gholein, but she’s not sure the healer remembers – Rei had mostly spent that trip lost in her own thoughts after all. “Well, it makes sense that neither of you want to be near Caldeum at this point, I guess.”

She manages a weak little laugh at that. We all have unpleasant history with Caldeum after all. “We were thinking to make Virkove our base of operations for a bit. Know who we can speak to about offering our trading services?”

“Of course.” The healer shuffles some more papers, then sighs and sets them aside atop a small stack of worn books. Yet more piles remain. “Speak to Captain Cethlion. I’ll introduce you when you get back from Tormorden.” Rei glances up. “Ugh, pass me that crate over there, will you?”

“Oh, that would be great.” She stretches out for the indicated crate. It’s filled with an assortment of used quills, bone fragments, and crumpled-up paper. A few gold coins clatter within. “Hey, should you be doing this alone?”

“There’s no one else.” Rei thins her lips, thick brows furrowing as she tosses other unwanted trinkets into the crate. “And it’s not like he’s coming home anyway. How’d you think I found his stash of whiskey?”

“Please tell me you haven’t drunk it all on your own.”

Rei’s expression takes on a slightly guilty cast. After, she shakes her head, and her voice is genuine. “Nah. I’ve learnt my lesson.” A soft sigh escapes the healer, and she slumps over again, hands falling limp over her lap. “I’m so tired, Ora. And I miss him.”

She lets out a breath. “I can’t say I know how you feel, Rei. I’ve never had a brother. But I hope you know you’ve got people on your side.”

Beneath the shadows cast by her hair, Rei’s eyelashes twitch. She doesn’t speak, but the names hang unsaid in the air. She’s aware of it – surely she knows she’s not alone, not really.

They work through the day together. Sometime past noon, Chryse shows up with some lunch. By sunset, they’ve managed to put away most of Strahan’s things – clothes to be given away, books for the library, and personal notes to be stored in Rei’s study.

Heulan’s already back at the inn by the time she gets back, cleaned up and ready for an early night. She climbs into his bed and presses her face into the small of his back, and when he turns around to ask if she’s okay, she nods and hugs him even tighter.

“Long day?”

“Not really.” She pauses, then sits up to look at her best friend. In the dim candlelight, his eyes are black, but warm as the sun and full of affection. “I don’t say this enough, but thanks for always being on my side.”

[feynites]

*flings some nsfw, polyamorous concert au dirthalene in @selenelavellan’s general direction*

Fear fiddles around with the straps of their stockings, fighting back the urge to swear.

They’ve worn a lot of odd outfits for a variety of gigs. The giant bunny suit stands out in recent memory; a costume for a charity Halloween ball. But usually they’re content to leave things like heels and corsets and garters to Deceit or, occasionally, Dirthamen. The clothes are a safety hazard in and of themselves. The shoes are impossible to run in – well, impossible for Fear to run in – and the wide variety of straps and buckles and zippers involved just seem doomed to catch sensitive skin in unyielding places. Welts, cuts, infections… unnecessary risks.

At least, they think, the clothes are in their size. How Des got their size, they aren’t sure. They suspect Deceit, and they have a long and fitting retaliation planned, involving some highschool photographs and a certain MySpace page on the Wayback Machine. But that’s a matter for another day.

Today’s matter is the need to get Des out of his apartment for at least half an hour, so that Selene and Dirthamen and Deceit can all set about decorating it, covering the place in balloons and streamers, and setting out the cake they ordered from the erotic bakery down the street. And after two failed attempts and an increasing amount of desperation, as the countdown to the surprise party grew nearer, Fear had resigned themselves to their fate.

They know what will get Des moving.

They finally manage to get the stockings lined up right, and double-check their bustier. Which they have no bust for, but the questionable article of clothing seemed intent on making up the difference with some well-placed black roses. The skirt swishes around their hips as they pick over the pair of steep high-heels, and make their way out of the bedroom. Des has been trying to get them into an outfit like this for quite a while, now. It was a quest, according to him.

Fear supposes his preoccupation has its uses, sometimes. They’re not actually embarrassed to be seen in revealing clothing. They just don’t like attempting to walk in the stuff – and they’re not a big fan of giving Des the satisfaction, either.

He’s much more amusing when he’s being denied.

Stone silence greets their emergence back into the apartment’s main room. Fear glances up, and raises an eyebrow as Dirthamen and Deceit regard them with surprise, and Selene looks equal parts shocked and flushed.

“I can get you twenty minutes, guaranteed; it will take him that long to get here,” Fear offers, striding towards the kitchen counter, where they’d left their phone charging. “Any longer than that and you’re on your own, though he’ll probably make a point of being obnoxious for at least a few minutes more. You should head out now. Text me when you’re almost there, and I’ll call him over.”

They work their feet into the godless shoes, standing in the kitchen, and then start trying to figure out how to angle their phone to take the necessary picture. They’ve faked Des out a few times, just to try and make a point. Using store mannequins or obvious photoshops, mostly. So this one will probably have to be a convincing whole-body shot to get him to actually come over.

Deceit is the first to recover.

“Here, I’ll take the picture,” he says.

“You all owe me,” Fear declares, handing over their phone. Selene looks like she’s slowly scraping her jaw up off the floor. Her fingers are twitching; apparently she and Des share more than a few kinks in common.

That would explain the lace underpants they found in Dirthamen’s sock drawer. Definitely too big for Selene herself.

“At least you won��t have to give Des an actual present,” Deceit reasons.

“As if I would have given him one anyway,” Fear counters. They paid for the cake, after all.

Deceit makes them move into ‘better light’, then, and fiddles with the phone, despite the apparent need for haste. But before Fear can get too annoyed he finally snaps the necessary picture. Their pose isn’t precisely alluring, but then, they don’t think it needs to be. They’re wearing the outfit. That will probably do.

“Alright, shoo,” they instruct, waving towards the door. “I’m not wearing this for your amusement.”

“Would you, though?” Selene blurts.

Dirthamen nudges her towards the exit, as her cheeks flame, and Fear considers.

She does have a birthday of her own coming up.

“Maybe,” they concede, before stepping out of the heels again. Selene makes an odd sound, which they ignore, as they stride back to their room. Apart from the initial struggle of putting it on, the outfit isn’t actually as uncomfortable as they expected. Probably by virtue of fitting properly. Still, they are not a fan of the bustier – it seems like the kind of thing that could break and jab wires into their ribs, under the wrong circumstances. They take it off, first, and then shimmy their way back out of the skirt, as they hear the apartment door close. The outfit comes off easier than it went on.

Part of the point, probably.

After a few moments they are down to the stockings and the brightly coloured panties.

They consider, and then take a second photo. This one of their lower half.

Just in case Des is resistant to the bait, for some reason.

Then they finish changing out of the whole mess, and pull on a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a black undershirt. Fear settles onto their bed, and turns on the television. Surfing through some of the channels until Dirthamen texts them to announce that they’re almost at Des’ place.

They open a chat to Des.

What are you doing?

There’s a pause. Mercifully, not long.

Having fantasies about you ofc ;) ;) ;)

Fear rolls their eyes.

What will they claim as repayment for this?

They think Dirthamen and Deceit are going to be doing their laundry for the foreseeable century.

What kind of fantasies? they ask.

Pick your poison baby I am all full of wicked ideas

And no punctuation, it seems.

Fear supposes that’s enough preamble, and attaches the first picture to their next reply.

Something like this, perhaps?

Another pause ensues, longer than the first. Long enough that Fear feels the need to comment again.

If you’re touching yourself, you should know that it is actually me in that photo, and that the clock is ticking on how long I plan to stay dressed like this.

…omw

They snort.

You’re at the apartment right???

Yes. Move quickly, birthday boy.

They reconsider.

But don’t violate any traffic laws.

Des’ response is quicker this time.

No promises ;) ;) ;)

Fear checks the clock, and then settles back again. They give it ten minutes, before some unnamed whim has them considering the second picture.

…Well.

It is Des’ birthday.

And they suppose they could give him something to make up for the inevitable disappointment.

They send the second photo.

Tick-tock.

No response for several minutes.

Then,

Baby stay JUST LIKE THAT just right where you are I am c o m i n g

Fear can’t quite fail to take that opening.

What, just from the photo?

No response. They suppose he’s driving, though, so they probably shouldn’t test their luck any further. Unless… oh. Selene has the car. So he probably hopped on a bus, then. That should give them even more time.

Fear finds a marathon of Say Yes to the Dress and finds themselves drawn into examining the corset dresses a soon-to-be-bride is critiquing. Not much different from the bustier, in fact. It’s interesting how context and colours can change so much about clothing. The consulting team has moved on – possibly into another episode; it can be hard to tell – by the time they hear a distinctive thump from the fire escape.

They blink, and then head over to the window.

They’re not entirely surprise to see Des wedged up against it.

“Noooo…” he moans against the glass, staring at them.

Fear frowns, and pulls open the window.

“It’s dangerous out there,” they snap, reaching over to yank Des inside. “Take the stairs, you lunatic.”

“I forgot my key,” Des admits, looking distinctly forlorn and rain-soaked, and just pathetic enough that Fear actually feels a little bad for him.

A little.

“You should have buzzed me,” they counter.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking with my higher brain, if you know what I mean,” Des counters, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

They take it back. He can fall down the fire escape.

“Ugh,” they say, checking the time. “Go home.”

“Are you at least still wearing the panties underneath the sweats?” Des counters, eyeing them up and down.

Fear purses their lips. He’s not even wearing a coat. And after a moment they decide that they can be magnanimous, as they turn, and head for the laundry hamper next to their closet. They pluck the panties up from the top of it, and then toss them at Des. He catches them easily enough, and his cheeks actually darken as her realizes what he’s holding.

“Not wearing anything under the sweatpants,” they say.

Des starts moving towards them, but they raise a forestalling hand.

“No,” they say.

“Aww, but sweetums-“

“No.”

Des’ disappointment lasts for a moment, before he, of course, bounces back.

“I’m keeping these,” he declares. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“No,” Fear says. “I’ll get you a bag, and you can go home, and touch yourself in your own bathroom.”

“Tease,” Des accuses.

“You have photos, now,” Fear counters.

“Oho, believe me, I am going to make full use of those-“

They throw a spare canvas shopping bag at his head.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Fear says, as if they didn’t invite me here,” Des replies, but he doesn’t actually seem all that put-out. “Admit it, you get off on making me run around at your beck-and-call. Winding me around those pointy fingers of yours.”

Fear shrugs.

“Why would I deny it?” they counter. Though they don’t usually like to give him this much material. Still, it’s not as if they actually dislike Des. Disdain him sometimes, sure. But there’s a reason he’s part of the group, and it’s not just because Fear enjoys watching him have sex with Deceit and Dirthamen and Selene.

Though they do enjoy watching that, often enough.

“You’re such an odd duck,” Des tells them.

Fear makes a ‘shoo’ motion, and picks their phone back up. Interlude over, and discussion concluded. They won’t be making anymore ‘overtures’ for at least a month, now. Des will have that time to get tired of the material they’ve already given him.

He’s heading back, they send to Selene.

They get a thumb’s up emoji back, as Des finally gives up, and leaves.

He’s gone for less than five minutes before they get another text from him.

Send nudes? <3 <3 <3

Fear sighs.

They already regret everything.

 ~

 Selene’s birthday goes a little differently.

Fear buys a pair of dark ballet flats, that match their stockings, and pull a pair of leather booty shorts and a see-through tube top out of the pile of offerings Des has subsequently managed to ‘ply’ them with. The tips of their hair are bleached and dyed blue for a concert, so they throw on some blue eyeshadow and a sapphire choker, and a matching ring. Big enough to be useful, just in case they have to punch someone.

It’s one of the simpler outfits they could don for this occasion, but it still takes them nearly the longest to get ready. When they emerge from their room, they spy Des, hovering next to the windows. If Fear is black-and-blue, Des is black-and-purple, wearing a pair of thigh-highs and a silky dress that looks like it was vacuum-sealed to him, and absolutely will not cover his ass if he leans more than an inch forward. Amethyst earrings drip towards his shoulders. Safety hazard, Fear thinks. They could catch on something.

Deceit is wearing a dress, too. His is black lace, not much longer than Des’ little number, with dark green stockings and a… mesh veil? Over his head. With emerald hair clips holding it in place.

Fear blinks.

“Why do you look like a slutty widower?” they ask.

Deceit just grins.

“It’s my theme,” he informs them, with a wink. “I like to think I’ve just buried my fifth… no, sixth husband. There’s some debate about the first one, it was mostly a common law type thing. But I still got all of his money when he died so tragically young.”

Deceit bats his eyelashes.

Fear gives up. They should never have given him an opening. Des looks like he wants to join in, now.

“Are you on the prowl for husband number seven?” he asks, not quite moving away from the window.

Deceit purses his lips, and then shakes his head.

“No, I think at this point what I really want is to find a gaggle of attractive people, and settle down into some kind of polyamorous commune. It’s time I started thinking realistically about my romantic goals. I’m not getting any younger, after all.”

“Good point,” Des agrees. “You are getting pretty wrinkled…”

Deceit narrows his eyes, and then produces a faux crocodile leather clutch from somewhere, and pulls a make-up mirror out of it. Fear levels Des with a look, but he’s already gone back to staring out of the window, snickering to himself.

Dirthamen emerges, then. His heels click as he carefully walks out of his room. His own ensemble is all-black, with a fitted corset, mesh stockings, and matching fingerless gloves. His skirt swishes with his every step, and he’s going slow. But he seems mostly satisfied.

“Is this acceptable?” he asks.

Des offers a low whistle of approval.

“I’m in raptures,” he declares. “Are we sure it’s not my birthday?”

He moves away from the window, and Fear pre-emptively catches his hand before it can settle on their hip. Nudging him over to Deceit instead.

“You are thematically appropriate,” they assure Dirthamen.

“Selene pulled in,” Des adds, waggling his eyebrows to let them all know that if they heard a double-entendre in there, it was entirely intentional. Then he slips one of his hands up Deceit’s skirt, and gets reproachfully slapped away again.

“End of the evening. End,” Deceit reminds him.

“You people ask so much of my self-restraint,” Des sighs, but folds his arms to himself, at least. “Ten bucks says Selene gets in through that door and we never make it to the club.”

It’s lingerie night at one of the local hotspots. Des found the venue himself, said it would be a good choice because of the floorplan, and the lack of overwhelming crowds. Plus, there was a drag show. A nice change of events, watching someone else perform.

“I’ll take that bet,” Fear decides. Selene likes dates. And she’ll probably be too dazed to protest any plans for… twenty minutes? That’s their guess, anyway. They head over to the closet, and start pulling out the trench coats they’ll all need to make it to the venue without being arrested. Or solicited.

They’ve just settled the pile onto the arm of a nearby chair when they hear Selene’s key scrape in the lock. Fear knows Des told her that they were going out for her birthday date tonight. They couldn’t do anything earlier, unfortunately; they had a recording session that they couldn’t reschedule. But Des had spent the morning with her, anyway.

“The only movie at the nearest theatre was…”

Selene looks up, as she finishes getting in through the door, and then freezes.

Her eyes go wide.

The keys fall out of her hand and hit the floor with a distinct clunk.

“Happy birthday!” Des exclaims, raising his arms, and shaking his hips a little. Enough so that the edges of his skirt flutters.

Deceit offers a wink, while Dirthamen glances down at himself. Obviously uncertain if the outfits have gotten a good response, or a bad one. Fear gives Selene a look over, for their own turn. She’s wearing neat white slacks and a blouse, with her comfortable pumps. They head back over to the closet and pull out one of their white dress jackets, extracting it carefully from its hanger bag. It will go nicely enough with what she’s already wearing that – especially with the four of them in tow – she’ll look just fine for the club.

“…Uh…” Selene manages, her gaze flitting over all of them, now, as if she’s not sure where to put it.

Eventually it settles on Dirthamen. To no one’s surprise.

“Is this alright?” Dirthamen asks her.

She swallows hard enough that Fear can hear it, even with their back turned, and then just manages a fervent nod as her face gets redder and redder.

They stride over, and offer her the jacket.

“Here,” they say. “It is lingerie night at one of the local clubs. We thought we could go, and have a nice time. There is a drag show, and the boneless wings are reportedly quite good.”

Selene mechanically accepts the jacket from them, and stares at their chest.

“What?” she asks.

“Put the coat on,” they advise, a little more gently. “It is chilly out.”

Her brows furrow, but she seems to relax a bit once everyone starts sliding into their trenches, in turn. Then she seems to recollect herself, and puts on Fear’s jacket, before she bends down and retrieves her keys from the floor.

“We’re going out in public?” she checks, a little faintly.

“Mmhmm!” Des confirms, negligently buttoning his coat before he reaches over and links an arm with hers. Then he leans in and whispers something in her ear. Fear doesn’t hear him, but whatever he says has Selene’s face darkening all over again, and embarrasses her enough that she raises a hand to cover it.

“Des,” she hisses.

“What?” he replies, with utterly unconvincing innocence. “I thought you’d appreciate knowing. I certainly do.”

Selene thwacks his arm.

“Desire,” Fear says.

Des makes a face.

“Ugggghhhhh, do not,” he protests.

“You’re driving,” they inform him. “You know where the club is.” And if his hands are on the steering wheel, then they won’t be wandering elsewhere.

The man lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Fine,” he agrees. “But no more full-names, unless you want me to start calling you Enfanim.”

“I have no objections to that,” Fear informs him.

“Unfair,” Des mutters. “I’ll shorten it, then. Feefee.”

Deceit snorts, and Fear rolls their eyes, and sidles up to Dirthamen so they can help him if he trips. Not that he can’t navigate heels fairly well, but this pair is tall even by his standards, and they have visions of him getting caught between the elevator doors, or tumbling headfirst down the apartment steps and concussing himself.

Selene consequently ends up wedged between Deceit and Des as they make their way down, her equilibrium gradually restoring itself once they’re all covered by the trench coats. Though, not entirely, if the way her eyes keep flitting down towards their shoes are any indication.

“I feel over-dressed. Or… under-dressed? I’m not sure which,” she admits, once they’ve successfully made it to the car without incident.

“You look fine,” Fear assures her.

“Better than fine, mistress,” Deceit asserts, playfully.

Selene makes a sound of protest.

“Let’s not – no,” she decides. “It’s my birthday, no calling me that. We’re not making that a thing.”

Fear pushes Deceit into the front seat of the car, so that he doesn’t spend the whole drive nuzzling Selene like a remorseful limpet, and nods in agreement.

“They’re just playing,” they say, as Des slides into the driver’s side, and leaves them to squeeze into the back with Dirthamen and Selene.

“I know,” she says, and lets out a long breath. Then her lips twitch. “And I definitely don’t mind. I just need a few minutes to adjust. Never had four gorgeous people take me on a sexy lingerie date before.”

Fear nods in acceptance, and Dirthamen takes Selene’s hand. Threading their fingers together, as Deceit and Des squabble over which bridge to take to get to the club. It ends up being a longer drive than planned due to traffic, but not too bad. The club itself doesn’t have much of an exterior. But inside the atmosphere is colourful and exuberant, with a variety of scantily-clad people running around in corsets and bustiers and thongs and thigh-highs. The queens are in full form, with hair blown out in abundant curls and sequins aplenty, and their table gets them a very nice view of the stage.

It doesn’t actually take that long for Selene to adjust, once they’ve sat down. Des goes to procure drinks, and comes back with a bunch of colourful cocktails for them, and the atmosphere is good. Lots of compliments going around, playful flirtation and raunchy jokes. Fear keeps an eye on the other patrons. There a dwarven man at the bar who keeps looking at Des, and a human woman at one of the tables who is giving Dirthamen one of those ‘where have I seen that face before’ glances. After a few minutes Fear gets up and has him switch seats with them; it puts his back to the woman and settles Fear between Des and the man at the bar.

Selene ends up nestled between Dirthamen and Deceit by the time the drag show starts. It’s a good performance. Lots of audience interaction for parts of it, and the singing is very pleasant, Fear thinks. Bombastic, as expected. They make sure to leave substantial tips, especially for the queen who gestures to their table and then lets out a low whistle.

“Honey, are those all yours?” the vashothi performer asks, twirling a finger.

Selene actually beams, her cheeks flushed just a little bit from her cocktails, now, instead of embarrassment. She puts her arms around Dirthamen and Deceit.

“All each other’s,” she says, looking almost giddy about it.

“Aww,” the queen replies. “Well I guess no one needs to ask what you’re happy about tonight.”

“It’s her birthday,” Des pipes up.

Fear almost smacks him, as Selene’s expression turns worried. But thankfully, the performer doesn’t do anything more than drum up a round of applause, before launching into the next part of her act. And Selene relaxes again, enjoying the show. One of her hands slides under the table, and after a few minutes, Dirthamen shifts, and his own face starts to get a little flushed.

Fear appreciates Selene’s mischievous streak, when it comes out to play.

They let one of their own hands slip down to rest on Des’ thigh, idly stroking the exposed skin above his boots back and forth.

He leans a little closer.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says. “Care to join me?”

“It’s better to go in pairs,” Fear agrees, pretending not to notice Des’ slight pout as they ‘miss’ his meaning, and slide out of the booth. They make their way to the club’s unisex bathrooms, and Des gestures pointedly to one of the stalls.

Fear raises an eyebrow, and folds their arms.

“Did you honestly think I would fool around with you in a filthy public restroom?” they ask.

“I’m an optimist,” Des replies. “But if you’re not interested, I guess I’ll just take care of it myself.”

“If you come before we go home, I won’t touch you all evening. It’s Selene’s birthday, she should be able to appreciate the festivities,” Fear states, moving to check their make-up in one of the bathroom mirrors.

Des makes a sound of frustration, but then gives up.

”Fine. I don’t even know what we came in here for, now,” he says, moving up to the sink next to Fear’s.

Fear declines to mention that it was, ostensibly, to use the facilities for their intended purpose. Their make-up is holding up alright. Better than Des’ – though, they tend to use products that are meant to hold up under stage lights. Des steals some wipes from their purse and then redoes his eyes, leaving the rest of it plainer but also tidier than before.

“Remind me not to get this brand of eyeshadow again, it’s a mess,” he mutters, just as the door to the bathroom opens.

The dwarf from the bar, Fear notes.

They watch him as he moves up to the sink next to Des, and turns on the tap. His gaze drifts up and down Des’ form again, while the man himself mostly frowns at his make-up wipe.

“Having a nice evening?” the dwarf asks.

Des nods.

“Of course,” he says.

“Yeah, you looked like you were here for a good time,” the dwarf agrees.

Fear notes the movement of his hand, and moves quickly. Darting behind Des and grabbing the dwarf by his wrist, before he can settle his grasp onto Des’ backside. Des blinks at the sudden movement, and then turns and raises an eyebrow just as the dwarf wrenches his hand back.

“What’s the big idea?” the dwarf protests.

“You keep your hands to yourself,” Fear snaps.

It earns them a sneer.

“Like you aren’t all asking for it, in those outfits. Why else would you come here? What’s the matter, think you’re too good for me?”

Up go Des’ eyebrows.

“Ew,” he notes.

The dwarf’s face twists, and he makes like he plans on grabbing Des. To what end, Fear’s not sure, but they catch his fist again, and offer him a solid pop to the nose in further rebuke. It’s the button kind, so it smashes pretty easily beneath their knuckles, but without a lot of damage. They opt not to use their ring hand.

Yet.

“Hands off,” they repeat, letting the dwarf stagger back, cursing.

“Sluts!” he accuses.

Des sighs.

“Why do people always call me that when I don’t want to let them paw me?” he demands, mostly of the ceiling lights. “Do you not know what that word means? I suppose you couldn’t spit out something like ‘tease’ with the same amount of vitriol, but at least shift gears into ‘skank’ or something…”

Fear grabs Des by the arm, as he’s in the midst of critiquing his would-be assailant’s choice of insults, and firmly pulls him out of the bathroom.

The dwarf, thankfully, seems too preoccupied with the blood pouring from his nose to follow after them.

“Really,” Des drawls, and then sighs. “I suppose we should go tell someone about the angry molester in the bathroom.”

“Probably,” Fear agrees.

“Don’t tell Selene. She gets upset about these things.”

“Alright.”

They make their way over to the bar, and opt to tell the bartender. It gets Des a free apology drink, if nothing else, which he happily carts back with him to their table, as one of the bouncer goes to take care of their ‘friend’.

Des glances at Fear, as they sit down again.

Then he leans over, and, just quickly, presses a kiss to their cheek.

“You’re a good soul, Feefee,” Des informs them.

“Don’t call me that,” they instruct, but without a lot of genuine annoyance.

It earns them both a trio of surprised looks.

“What brought that on?” Selene wonders.

Des winks at her.

“Private bathroom adventures,” he declares. “Now, who wants to go home and have sex?”

She sighs at him.

 ~

 They do end up going home not too long after that, though. Back to Fear and Deceit and Dirthamen’s apartment, anyway. Fear drives them for the return trip, with Dirthamen cooling off in the front seat – he got a little hot under the collar in the club – and Des and Deceit both paying an awful lot of attention to Selene in the back. Fear’s mind wanders, though, tuning out the rustle of fabric and the hitches in various breaths.

They should think about getting a new apartment, they suppose. Maybe not soon, but, it’s a matter to be prepared for. Moving can be stressful. Better to plan early. Finding a place big enough for all of them could be tricky. Maybe a house would make more sense, at this point. Though they’ve always been a bit leery of getting a house, though. Not enough security. Too easy for one of Dirthamen’s relatives to just pull into the driveway, unless they invested in a gated property.

Fear bounces some numbers around, mentally, tapping a finger against the steering wheel. By the time they pull into the apartment parking lot, they’ve moved on to weighing the variables of different viable locations.

Should they factor in neighbourhoods with access to early education facilities?

They’re probably have to have a group discussion before they could consider that. Children – and the various means of acquiring them – are a complex and often dangerous venture. Not to mention additionally vulnerable, and in need of a lot more security considerations. Dirthamen doesn’t want biological children, they know that much. Where Selene and Des stand on it is less clear. Deceit wants kids at some point. And Fear would have troubles carrying them, for a variety of reasons. Pain not being the least concern.

Adoption seems like a good simplification, if it becomes relevant. Which it probably won’t, in the immediate future, but Fear prefers to think ahead.

They park, and head out to help Dirthamen stand up on his heels. Des and Deceit and Selene manage to emerge from the backseat, flushed and rumpled but still decent, and the five of them make their way back inside with a certain haste in their steps.

They set up in Dirthamen’s bedroom, which has the most supplies and the biggest bed. Selene switches gears from being rumpled by Des and Deceit, into pouncing on Dirthamen, her blouse open and her bra crooked, while Dirthamen tumbles back towards the bed. Deceit and Des start their usual back-and-forth in turn, half quarrelling about who’s going to do what and to whom until Deceit manages to handcuff Des to the bedpost.

“I win,” he growls, and shucks Des’ dress up to his armpits.

Fear takes up their usual station in the bedroom chair, folding their legs and watching the proceedings. Savouring the simmering heat that builds up in them, as Selene mercilessly teases Dirthamen up amongst the pillows, and Deceit carefully fits a condom onto his own erection. Fear opens up the drawer next to themselves, and tosses a couple of cockrings onto the mattress. Selene takes one, but Deceit puts the other aside, and instead sets about working Des open. Lifting his lower half up off the mattress.

Fear continues to sit, still with their legs crossed and their gaze hooded, and continues to watch as Selene sucks Dirthamen until he’s begging to come; and as Deceit fucks Des until he does, clutching the bedpost behind him. As they switch things up a little, and Dirthamen goes to suck off Des – still with his own cock erect and flushed, leaking as he bobs between Des’ thighs – and Deceit presses Selene into the pillows, turning all soft and cuddly even as his refractory period closes, and he switches out condoms so he can thrust into her, in turn.

Fear watches them all drive one another senseless, spending themselves and denying themselves by turns. Selene is the one who finally frees Dirthamen from his cockring, and rides him until he comes inside of her. Deceit uncuffs Des from the bedpost, and rubs gently at his wrists, until Des seizes an opening to tie him up in turn, and then slides the second cockring onto him for the next round. Smirking as he lazily work his hand up and down Deceit’s length, until his hips are bucking in tired-but-still-hungry thrusts. Then Selene and Dirthamen join Fear in watching, the two of them slumped together in sated bliss, while Des strokes and fingers an increasingly incoherent Deceit. All their outfits rumpled and pushed aside, bottoms pulled off and tops askew.

When Deceit begins to beg, Fear gets up from their chair.

They pull a dental dam from the drawer next to it, and make their way over to the bed, next to Selene. No one notices them at first; too caught up in their own activities. But Selene looks over as they settle onto their knees beside the mattress.

“May I?” they ask.

She blinks at them, a little hazy from her own activities, but nods nevertheless.

Fear takes her by her hips, and arranges her at the side of the bed. Legs on either side of them, sex spread out in front of them, as they settle the dental dam into place. They can smell sweat and arousal on her tired, still-flushed skin, as they lean in, and press their mouth to her. The dental dam tastes like peaches. Selene herself is warm and very soft, her thighs still shivering a bit, as they languidly drag their tongue up and down the length of her. Focusing on the changes in her breath, and the shifting in her muscles. It’s not often that Fear wants to perform acts themselves.

But tonight, they do. And, well. It is Selene’s birthday.

They keep their motions slow and savouring, enjoying the brush of her thighs against their cheeks, and the sound of Deceit coming on the other side of the bed. They let their eyes slide shut, and focus on pressing their tongue deeper into Selene. Sucking at her clit, and holding her hips in place, and noting every building quiver and twitch as she gets closer to completion. It’s important to note that, because whenever she gets too close, Fear has to slow down. Rest their tongue and their mouth a little, and keep her from coming too soon.

Their impulses are rare. So, it pays to make the most of them.

But finally their mouth becomes too tired to keep going much longer. So they grip her more closely, all at once. Swirling their tongue over the sensitive cluster of her nerves, as the peach flavour fades, and then they suck at her until she comes in definitive rush. Thighs clenching around their ears, fists balling in Dirthamen’s sheets.

Very gratifying.

Fear gives her thigh an approving kiss, before they pull back, and take the dental dam away.

That’s when they realize the others are watching them.

Des looks a little floored. Deceit and Dirthamen are less surprised, but still clearly affected.

And Selene, for her part, seems pleasantly dazed.

“Thank you,” they say.

Selene manages to raise a hand, before dropping it back down onto the bedspread.

“Anytime,” she murmurs.

Des snorts.

Fear just nods, and then goes to fetch some water bottles and wet wipes.