#for them to be five followers apart is hilarious

[britneyshakespeare]

I hate to look at LinkedIn because as a platform it gives me the creeps while bringing out my inferiority complex, but out of curiosity since I know both WC and Man have very searchable accounts on there, I thought to compare both of their follower counts and they're almost exactly the same. They are both in the hundreds for followers and "connections" (whatever that is), followers outnumbering connections by about the same amount. Man has five more followers than WC. Five.

[waywardwhispersblaze]

I'll be forever mad that Jayce ruined the moment right there, but not because I think this would've been a perfect ending for them (I don't). I'm mad because if Jayce had just waited five fucking minutes, the resulting scene would've been so juicy.

Look at the way Vi and Cait look at each other here:

Caitlyn: shocked, betrayed, hurt

Vi just looks sad:

We know from their dialogue in ep 8 that while Vi and Caitlyn were making the plan to distract Ambessa, Vi had another one, to bring in Jinx as a contingency in case Caitlyn couldn't be trusted or failed. She had to know Caitlyn wouldn't take it well once she found out. Vi's priority n°1 was saving Vander though, and they likely didn't have much time to think this through. Basically, she had to know that from Caitlyn's POV, it would look like "Vi chooses Jinx over Cait", edition number 2.

And she was likely right! We know Caitlyn lets go of her anger towards Jinx in the next episode, and accepts that Vi has the right to choose her family, but in my opinion, she wasn't there yet in ep 6. Having a broken Jinx locked up in a cell (her single goal for the last few months) while Vi was lying unconscious on her bed for days very likely helped Caitlyn reassess her priorities in life. But here in this scene she literally doesn't have time to think!

Let's look at Caitlyn a bit more here. During their reunion, She probably expected Vi to hate her guts, but instead, Vi looks grumpy, calls her a mongoose and a cupcake in two sentences, and drops the "my dad needs help" bomb after hesitating for a hot, single second. Moments after that, Caitlyn reevaluates her life choices and decides to make a big career change. Plenty of great posts have already been made about Caitlyn's motivations there, but to sum it up, I'd say it was a combination of: her being already wary of Ambessa and not wanting to let a Noxian warlord get her hands on a dangerous weapon / innocent man, being tired of hating herself, and, yes, her feelings for Vi coming back to her in full force.

For a few, glorious moments, she was working with Vi again! Probably feeling more like herself than she had in months. Maybe she started to hope they could reconcile after all. Maybe, she hoped it could be a "do over" for their failed mission with the strike team, where she'd be helping a member of Vi's family, instead of being torn apart by one of them.

... only to find that Vi didn't actually trust her (which was deserved, but still, ouch), and to come face to face with the source of her seething hatred, the single object of her obsession in the last few months. Right after being saved by said source of seething hatred. It's a lot to take in. She had to be simultaneously disappointed and shocked

So, what was she gonna do? There was probably nothing Vi could have said that wouldn't have pissed Caitlyn off right then (no, Vi, saying "she's changed" probably wouldn't have helped), Jinx opening her mouth would have likely made it worse, but at the same time they still had to run away asap. Caitlyn had already betrayed Ambessa, she couldn't go back. Vi pretty much put her in a position where she'd have no choice but to follow along, no matter how angry she was, at least for a little while...

and I made this post just to say, that the resulting bickering would have been hilarious to see :S

(forget about Jayce waiting five minutes, though, what if it they had an hour? what would Caitlyn had done once they were far enough from the Noxian army? point her gun at Jinx? attempt an arrest? (right in front of Vander? gulp) she might have simply ended up separating from them, and that would have been heartbreaking enough, but a completely different story)

((and that's assuming cult member!vander would have just agreed to leave the commune without acting weird))

[stuartdesharnais]

Ain't In Kansas Anymore: A Stu & Vinny Lore Post.

The NHL has its big love stories - Sway & Ully, Connor & Leon (or Matthew & Leon depending on your persuasion), Sid & Geno. And then there's the smaller ones that fly under the radar, like Stu & Vinny - two people who's careers are so entwined that the 24/25 season is their first professional year playing apart from each other.

We've all seen the high fives, the VinnySkinnyWinny ™, but when did it start? The playoffs? The cup run?

Nope.

Wichita, Kansas - 2019, ECHL. Two roommates who weren't sure whether it was worth it to keep going, to even bother trying for the NHL. Two roommates who made a pact to push each other, to be the best they could be, and to have some fun along the way.

But, to understand their connection and who they are now, we have to go back a little further than Kansas.

Let' start with the joyful, whimsical man that is Vincent Desharnais.

Vinny grew up in Laval, Quebec. He started off figure skating (which is hilarious when you think about someone who is now 6'7 gliding around beautifully - I would pay good money to see him do a triple axel) but he much preferred hockey. His older brother Alex played and his dad was a defenceman who once attended the Detroit Red Wings training camp and shared the ice with Gordie Howe [1]. So yeah, Vinny was always gonna do hockey.

He attended a hockey prep school and was always told that he was good, but not good enough. At 16, he sat at the QMJHL draft and watched as all his friends were chosen, but not him. He was heartbroken. But, he decided to prove that they'd made the biggest mistake and worked even harder, making the huge decision to move to New York for his final year of high school [1].

Only one problem: He couldn't speak any English.

He knew "Yes" and "No" and that was it. He begged his mother to come and get him, and she almost did, but his dad talked her out of it.

Which was for the best, as he wanted to go to college.

His last chance at being drafted into the NHL, Vinny spent the day at his brother's lake house, checking his phone periodically throughout the day. Just as he'd finally given up, the Oilers called him. He hadn't heard from them at all, and was so incredibly grateful that they had chosen him. Even though he was a 7th rounder, he promised them that he'd make sure they'd made the right decision.

"He's the kind of guy you'd die to coach"

Providence College allowed Vinny to work on his skills, get his degree and wait until the Oilers were ready for him. By the end of his last year, he became Captain of the team.

He's fiercely loyal - what you see is what you get. No one ever has a negative thing to say about him, he's just out here to make people happy.

And the love of his life? Babygirl, People's Princess, Stuart Skinner.

Stu was born in Edmonton (homegrown local boy!) and is the youngest of 9 children, all of them with names that start with the letter S [2].

Following in all their footsteps, Stu loved hockey. When he was 7, he got to see his favourite goalie Dwayne Roloson play in Rexall Place with the Oilers and always had to have the sports channel playing on the radio anytime the family jumped in the car [3].

He played Timbits hockey as a centre, but wanted to be the goalie. One day, his dad came back from a work trip and went to pick him up from practice, only to see him dragging goalie pads behind him. Apparently, everyone got to have a turn. His dad wasn't sure, so when they got home, he told Stu to put all his gear on and go out in the yard - two of his older brothers were given buckets of pucks and told to slapshot the hell out of 8 year old Stuey.

Of course, this didn't work out the way anyone wanted - Stu loved it.

He loves to just stop the puck, loves being in the crease, dancing and singing to himself [4].

At 16, he was drafted into the WHL and joined the Lethbridge Hurricanes. They had asked to him to come and play straight away, so there weren't many other 16 year olds around [4]. He was good, and got a little cocky.

"I thought I did not have to work hard in practice. I guess I was a selfish, immature kid. I did everything for me."

After he was drafted by the Oilers, he headed back to Lethbridge until he was traded to Swift Current and gifted with the opportunity to grow up a little, to work on himself and let go of his ego [5]

He doesn't get upset, he just focuses on what he needs to do. He's still a classic brat though - when he was little, he'd have the principal chasing him around the school yard until the principal was bent over, gasping for air. Stu would go up to him and ask "What's the matter, are you tired?" and then just walk back to school [6]. He'd finish his maths test early and spend the rest of the time practicing his signature, it'd be worth something one day [7].

Stu's a huge fan of stoicism and tries to use that mentality when he's on the ice. His favourite author is Ryan Holiday - a non fiction writer who focuses on stoic philosophy in his books. The first one Stu read was Ego is the Enemy, given to him by Dylan Wells (Dallas Stars) when they met at Hockey Canada camps [5].

He learns from his mistakes - readily admitting that he's a product of failure. He kept his broken goalie stick from the LA playoffs as a reminder to always check his stick for cracks [8].

“It’s important for me because it’s a reminder. That it’s life, you know? All of us in this room have experienced it, things don’t go well all the time.”

Stu's quiet, funny and caring. He's also a bit of a dork - challenging everyone on the team to Mario Kart battles (toad forever!) and chirping Connor. He's the teams little brother.

And then, in Kansas in 2019, two souls destined for each other meet.

Vinny arrives in Wichita and meets his new roommate - Stu, who's just been sent down from the Bakersfield Condors. Stu's only there for a few weeks, but an immediate friendship forms, the classic Goalie and his Defender.

Everything comes to a head when they lose 8-2 to the Utah Grizzlies, Vinny ending the game with a -2. They're sitting on the couch, playing a video game, when one of them pauses it. Quietly, they ask each other, what are we doing here? Is this it? [1].

"I remember hanging out with Vinny. We went back to our apartment and I remember saying, 'I don't know if the NHL is going to happen for us. It seems so far away." - Stuart

They decide it's worth it, they can do it and they can do it together.

“When you’re two people in the same boat, you don’t feel as lonely.” - Vinny Side note: this quote kills me.

And so, the VinnySkinnyWinny was born. Vinny waits for the goalie line to end, waits for Stu by the boards before getting into position and lifting his hand high above Stu's head - they high five and wrap each other in a tight hug [9][10][11][12].

Every week, until this season, they hang out together on dates and revisit that conversation in their old apartment; a reminder of just how far they've come together.

They both end up together in Bakersfield, playing for the Condors where the tradition continues. Stu is up and down with the Oilers until a spot opens up as the back up goalie to Jack Campbell. Eventually, Stu is given the starter position and a full time contract while Vinny is still in Bakersfield, leading the AHL with a +36.

Things took a turn for Vinny when he suffered a terrible concussion that resulted in him suffering major depression and anxiety. It was so bad, his mother flew for three days from Montreal to get to him [13].

"I developed anxiety, starting having anxiety attacks, starting being depressed, led to the depression. I wanted to quit hockey, wanted to quit on life pretty much. I didn’t want to be here anymore."

Eventually, it got so bad that he realised he did need help, that he needed to push aside his ego and his own stubbornness - it made all the difference and is why he is still here today [14].

"I feel like my depression just kind of made me realize that you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow but you control today, so today, smile. Put a smile on your face because you control that. I don’t control what my neighbour does but I control my smile on my face, and I control my mood, and I control my happiness."

Journaling became a huge part of his mental health journey [1] [14]. Every emotion, good or bad, gets written down, every post game decision that he can learn from - written down and studied.

Vinny speaks openly about his mental health struggles and that it's possible to work through them [15].

Finally, in the 22/23 season, our boys are reunited when Vinny is called up for his first NHL game in Anaheim.

The pure joy on Stu's face will solve all our problems. The hand holding. I cannot.

Vinny's whole family flies out to Anaheim to watch his first game, crying in the stands as he does his rookie lap [16][1].

The start of the 23/24 season for the Oilers was rough. We all know the story. They sucked and their coach was replaced. Stu and Vinny both worked extra hard, trying to help out each other and their teammates. The thing about Vinny, is that once he's in, he's in and you can't get rid of him. He's fuelled by people believing in him, and no one believes in him more than Stu does [17].

"Big body, Big stick" - Stuart Side note: Stu, please.

"He knows his job and he does it, I think about how much he's helped me. The things that he does in front of me is just beyond - how he can block that many shots for me on the PK." - Stuart

True love.

It's rare that someone plays with a teammate in three separate professional leagues - it's something that Vinny treasures about Stu.

"Tougher days you show up, and you're a little bit more tired, the body is sore, and you're going through a tough streak at the start of the season. We kept reminding each other of where we started." - Vinny

Everyone - Ken Holland included - expected Vinny to resign with the Oilers for the 24/25 season.

But Free Agency came around and he signed with Vancouver - just before the deadline.

He didn't want to leave. Not at all. But it's a business, it's his job [18].

For the first time in their professional careers, Stu and Vinny will be separated.

Over the break, they both attended Connor's wedding - staying in the same hotel and sharing a rental car, knowing it was going to be their last time together [19].

"I swear to God, if I see you doing the high five with Demko, I'm gonna lose my marbles." - Stuart

The first big game, Vancouver v Edmonton, both are interviewed by Oilers TV. Stuart's laughing, betting that Vinny is going to try and score on him (Vinny's not a playmaker, he doesn't care about goals for himself).

Vinny ends up with two shots on Stu - neither of them goes in.

Stu misses Vinny, but Vinny texts him all the time, so it's not too bad [20].

These two cannot leave each other alone. Even in different Provinces. Through all the high fives, you can see the joy that they find in each other. They've said I love you [21], they wait for each other, they do the high five even if one of them isn't there (and it's the saddest thing in the world to watch) [22].

Did I mention that their numbers are consecutive?

And let's not forget that Halloween picture [23].

It's been almost 8 years, up and down through the ECHL, AHL and finally the NHL and they did it all together. Tell me they aren't the most married players to ever exist.

Oh, you want more? I got you.

Stu & Vinny AO3 Tag

Tumblr Tags: 7374, Stuart Skinner/Vincent Desharnais

Gayer Than a Piece of Tape - by @tysonsquared (large group chat fic that features Stu & Vinny married as hell)

Ficlets by @stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

A massive, massive thank you to @deniedbyskinner, @stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu, @ohpuckno and the oilers lb for helping out with this! And for having to deal with my constant screaming about how married these two are.

[fiveredlights]

happy 202-five 🥳🥂 (sorry i think i’m hilarious)

as it is new year’s day, it only felt fitting to write a little snippet of glitter on the floor max and daniel celebrating new year’s alone—or so they thought. (1.2k, G)

“I feel like we’ve forgotten something,” Daniel says as Max passes a flute of champagne to him. Below them, the hoards of people wanting to catch a glimpse of the fireworks over Port of Monaco grow louder, as the clock ticks down till midnight. “Or someone.”

Matilda’s stuck in London after her flight was delayed. Lucia’s out with Andie and their friends at some Michelin star restaurant somewhere. Gary and Steve are probably destroying the new chair they got after they destroyed the last one. Molly is sleeping soundly on the sim chair in their office. Daniel’s next to him on their balcony, curled up on the sofa with two blankets and a puffer jacket on him.

(Two blankets because Daniel still refuses to wear shorts even when he’s cold.)

“I think this is the first year in a long time we’re spending New Year’s alone,” Max responds, tucking himself between the couch armrest and Daniel. “So maybe that is why it feels so weird.”

“Yeah, the house is so quiet without the kids. Reminds me of when we first started dating,” Daniel says, balancing the champagne flute on the armrest next to him. “Could do whatever we wanted without two children bickering in the background,” he murmurs, turning to face Max and sliding his frozen hands underneath his shirt.

He nudges a knee between Max’s legs and slots himself on top of him, swinging a leg over his thigh and placing his weight on it. Max reaches up and threads his hands through Daniel’s hair, pulling him down into a kiss but it’s hard to take him seriously when his puffer jacket squeaks at every movement.

“Daniel,” Max murmurs in between their kisses. “Daniel, your jacket.” He tugs on the zipper, trying to get his husband to temporarily part with it when Daniel pulls back.

“Daniel,” he says again. “Your jacket. It makes that sound that you know I do not like.”

“Aw. But I like this jacket,” Daniel pouts, like he doesn’t know that Max has been trying to get rid of it for the past twenty years. Every time it’s in the donation pile it mysteriously finds its way back into their closet, front and centre.

From behind them, there’s a big slam from the front door, before a voice yells down, “I’m fine!”

Max is about to chalk it down to one of their neighbours being drunk and confusing the apartments for one another, when the voice comes echoing down the apartment again, with three knocks on the door.

“Papa! Dad! Can you open the door? I think I broke the lock.” Max and Daniel take one look at each other, before pushing themselves off the couch and making their way down.

Lucia is standing there with a sheepish look on her face, a box of pizza in her hand. Andie’s next to her with a nervous smile. “I tried the code and it wasn’t working, and I left the keys at Andie’s place. Sorry.”

Daniel waves them in, hugging them as they walk past. “All good Luce. Thought you two would stay out longer?”

Gary and Steve immediately saunter down the hallway, tails up in the air and weaving between them. Gary lets out a long perfunctory meow at Andie, who picks him into her arms, bouncing him like a baby. He can hear his purring, even from a distance.

“I just don’t think we’re fine dining people,” Andie explains. She has a finger underneath Gary’s chin, scratching him to his heart’s content. “Plus the restaurant doesn’t have Sir Gaga, does it?”

Lucia pulls a face. “Absolutely not. Sir Gaga is worse than Gazza. I am not letting you name our future children, your track record of names is terrible.”

“Don’t listen to her Sir Gaga,” Andie gasps in mock outrage, walking past her and out to the balcony. “You have a wonderful name, Lucia’s just jealous.”

Molly comes trotting out of the office, sitting herself right in front of Lucia. She shakes her head fondly, following Andie with Molly in tow. “At least you have a normal-ish nickname, don’t you Mozzarella?”

Daniel takes a moment to process Molly’s nickname. “Mozzarella?”

“You named birds, Daniel,” Max says bluntly. “So I am not sure you can talk.”

They’re about to move back to their outdoor couch when the sound of keys jingling in the lock plays. Max opens the door to find Matilda on the other side, two suitcases behind her and slightly frazzled.

“Did you know they wouldn’t let me into the street until I proved I lived at the apartment? And of course none of my ID showed this address—why would it show my parents address—and this cop was such a dick to me,” Matilda rants, yanking her suitcases inside.

“Oh my god, I am never travelling on New Year’s Eve again, that was horrible.” Matilda looks at the door behind her. “Did you change the code?”

Max waves his hand around. “Lucia timed it out. We’ll fix it in the morning.”

The broken door lock offender sticks her head out of the balcony door, pointing at her sister with the pizza box in hand. “Why are you here? I thought you were stuck with Riley in London,” she asks, using air quotes for her back half of the last sentence.

“No, I was actually stuck in London, don’t do the air quotes,” Matilda shoots back. “Why are you here, I thought you and Andie were at that fancy restaurant or whatever with your friends?”

“We got hungry, so we left,” Lucia explains.

“At a restaurant?”

“The portions were really tiny—look, shut up. Maybe I just wanted to eat pizza with my fiancée at home instead of wondering if I was using the right fork or not,” Lucia says pointedly, shaking the box. “Do you want the pizza or are you still judging my restaurant choices?”

Matilda practically vaults over all the living room furniture and snatches the box from Lucia, almost planting herself on top of Andie when she jumps over the back of the outdoor couch.

Andie slides a soft drink across the coffee table towards Matilda, who downs a quarter of the can in one sip.

“What?” Matilda looks around at them. “I refuse to pay for bad airport food, this isn’t a new thing about me.”

“Where’s Riley?” Andie asks instead, passing another soft drink across in preparation. “I thought you two were going to visit his parents in Colorado?”

“Left him in London,” Matilda mumbles through a mouthful of pizza.

“Matilda!” Daniel chastises. “Are you serious?”

“I did ask if he wanted to come, but apparently staying in a hotel overnight was more appealing than flying back here, so.” Matilda shrugs in a way that definitely tells him she’s annoyed at him over it. “Would rather spend the new year with you guys than in some random hotel.”

There’s a silent pact between them to not push too many questions about Riley on Matilda. Max could barely keep up with the way they were bouncing around each other at the very beginning.

They’re all saved from accidentally saying the wrong thing when the fireworks start. Daniel startles with the loud bangs echoing across the sky, scrambling to get his jacket off the floor and pulling the hood over his ears.

“Pretty cool fireworks, right?” Matilda asks, looking over at them. Max stretches his arm over Daniel, pulling them all closer.

Daniel slides his hand into Max’s underneath the blanket, squeezing it three times. “Yeah,” he exhales. “Pretty cool fireworks.”

[nb-octopus-writes]

once you’re in the hive, the other bees assume you’re supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 5: The Most Accidental of Thefts

Wordcount: 2.4K

~~~~

The rest of Virgil’s shift is about average, which means he's tired at the end but not ready to drop dead of exhaustion, and he catches the bus home like usual. He'd charged his phone at work, so he's able to put his travel earbuds in and drown out the various noises of mass transit with the dulcet tones of MCR.

Soon enough, he's home. He drops his apron in the hamper—he'd gotten splashed with coffee, so he's gonna need to do laundry tonight—and flops into bed.

The pool noodles are still there from this morning, which makes the flop considerably less pleasant than usual. Virgil tugs them out from underneath himself and drops them on the floor, settling back again. Man, he's tired. In a bit, he'll have to get up and do something about dinner, and start that load of laundry, but for now, he's just gonna be flopped for a bit.

Virgil lies there for a few minutes.

One of the springs is poking into his back. Virgil shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position. He may not have wanted to stay for so long, but his back sure hadn't protested sleeping on a softer surface for a few nights.

The spring is persistent, and Virgil slides a hand under his back to see if he can adjust it.

It's not a spring.

Virgil sits up and looks. Lying innocently on the bed behind him is a phone. It isn't Virgil’s phone. Virgil’s phone has a black and purple case, and it's still in his pocket anyway. This phone is red and gold and sparkly. 

It's Roman's phone.

Well, fuck.

Virgil is a thief. He's a damn thief! Roman took time out of his own morning to drive him to work, and Virgil repaid him by stealing his phone! How could he!?

Virgil is going to die of shame. He really is. He's the worst houseguest ever. He didn't bother to learn their names beforehand—hell, he still only knows one name out of three even after being there for days, he showed up in an inappropriate costume that he's lucky didn't trigger Calico's arachnophobia, he stayed way longer than he was supposed to, he inconvenienced Roman and used him as a private chauffeur, and then, to top it all off, Virgil stole his phone.

How is he supposed to get Roman's phone back to him!? He can't text him, he doesn't know Roman's number and anyway Roman doesn't have his phone with which to receive a text.

He could text Remus. Remus would probably find the accidental theft hilarious. He also might just respond LOL and not help him return it nor inform Princey of its location.

Virgil’s out of ideas. He frowns at the stolen phone.

Well.

Maybe he has one more idea.

He can't text Princey, but maybe he can text Nerdbot or Calico.

Surely Princey has their numbers. Virgil can text them from his phone, and explain the situation. Mentally trying to compose the text, Virgil picks up the sparkly phone.

It's locked.

Part of Virgil wants to give up. He tried, he failed, time for bed.

He needs a number combination. Maybe Princey did the smart thing and came up with something unique, but maybe…

Virgil tries Remus's birthday, which is, after all, also Princey's birthday. The lock screen cuts him off after just four digits and says that nope, that wasn't it. Virgil tries just the year.

The phone unlocks.

“That is not a very secure passcode,” Virgil tells it. “Anyone could guess that, all they need to know is how old you are.”

Princey's phone is still open to the map app, and the route they'd taken from his house to Virgil’s apartment is still up. It had been a pretty quick trip, only a few miles.

Virgil has another idea.

Five minutes later, Virgil is on his bike, following the route in reverse. He doesn't dare touch any buttons and risk losing the starting position, so he can't ask for a route intended for bikes instead of cars, but he has the blue dot of his current location, and when he has to detour around a too-busy road with no bike lane or sidewalks, he's able to navigate back to the route without undue difficulty.

Soon, Virgil is pedaling up the driveway. He parks his bike in front of the porch, takes a steadying breath, and knocks on the door.

Nerdbot answers the door. “Virgil, hi,” he greets, looking mildly surprised to see him. Which, fair, they just got rid of him this morning.

“Hi,” Virgil says, trying to look past him without being obvious and rude about it. “Uh, is Roman home?”

Nerdbot raises an eyebrow at him, but nods and gestures for Virgil to step into the foyer. “Roman?” he calls into the rest of the house.

“Whaat?” Roman calls back from another room. He pops round the doorframe, and Nerdbot gestures to Virgil. “Scaramour!” Roman says, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “What brings you here?”

“My bike,” Virgil quips. He holds up the accidentally stolen phone, and Roman lights up.

“You found it!” he cries, bounding over and snatching his phone out of Virgil’s hand. “Oh, I have been looking for this, where was it?”

“At my place,” Virgil admits.

“Huh,” says Princey, and, “Oops.”

Virgil’s about to apologize for accidentally stealing Roman's phone, when thunder rolls and the sky, which had gotten increasingly cloudy on the way over, opens up.

Roman shoves his phone back at Virgil, who only doesn't drop it due to luck and reflexes, and dashes out into the sudden rain. Before Virgil can process what's happening, Roman grabs Virgil’s bicycle and hauls it bodily up the porch steps and through the front door.

“...What,” Virgil says.

“You are my dark and stormy knight on shining bicycle,” Princey proclaims. “You have done me a great service by locating and returning my phone, and it would be dishonorable to send you home in such weather. Nor shall I allow your noble steed to rust!” He slicks his dampened hair back from his face. “I must insist that you grace us with your company until the storm passes.”

Virgil looks to Nerdbot for help. Nerdbot looks out the door at the rain. “I agree, this certainly isn't biking weather,” he says. “Have you had dinner?”

“Um,” says Virgil, feeling quite off-balance. “No?”

Nerdbot nods decisively and closes the door. “We were just sitting down to eat. I insist you join us.” He ushers Virgil into the dining room and says to Calico, “Please set another place, Patton. We have a guest.”

“Oh!” Calico—Patton?—says, smiling at Virgil. “Welcome back!”

“Hi,” Virgil says, and lets Nerdbot seat him, and lets Calico put a plate in front of him.

The rain doesn't let up all through dinner. In fact, it's pouring harder at the end of the meal than it had been at the start.

Nerdbot pulls up a weather forecast and frowns. “It looks like we're going to continue having heavy rain all night,” he says. “We currently have a flash flood warning until five in the morning tomorrow. ‘Do not attempt to travel unless you are fleeing a flooded area.’” He looks up at Virgil. “I'm sorry for the abrupt change in plans, but it looks like you're going to have to stay the night again.”

“Oh,” Virgil says. “Sorry.” He'd just meant to return the phone and apologize, but because of the rain they had to feed him again and now they have to put up with him for a whole nother night!

“It's no imposition,” Nerdbot reassures. “I'll prepare a guest room for you, and Patton can find you a spare set of pajamas.”

“Thanks,” says Virgil weakly. They're much better hosts than he deserves. He could have just slept on the couch again.

Nerdbot smiles at him. “You are welcome,” he says. “Roman, will you clear the table?”

Roman pouts, and Virgil offers, “I'll help.” It's the least he can do.

“Do you have work in the morning?” Roman asks while he puts away the leftovers and Virgil does the dishes.

“Yeah.”

“I'll drive you. Do you wanna stop by your place again, or wash your clothes here so you can wear them tomorrow?”

Fuck. Virgil winces. “I was going to do laundry tonight,” he remembers aloud. “My uniform is dirty, so I was going to wash it!”

“Oh no!” Roman says. “Do you have a spare?”

“I… I guess there's one at work I can borrow,” Virgil says, relaxing slightly. Yeah. He can do that, and then he can do laundry tomorrow.

Calico comes back with an armful of pajamas. “I think these should fit you,” he says, handing them to Virgil. “They might be a little loose.”

“I like loose,” Virgil reassures him. He hesitates. “Is… do you think I could take a shower?” He hasn't had one in days, and honestly he's feeling pretty gross.

“Probably?” Calico says. He starts back the way he'd come. “Logan?” he calls.

There's a muffled reply, and Patton leads Virgil up the stairs. “Logan?” he calls again as they reach the top.

Nerdbot steps out of one of the several doorways lining the long upstairs hallway. “What?” he asks.

“Is it safe to take a shower?”

“It's not ideal,” Nerdbot says, “but as the thunderstorm appears to have given way to just rain, we're unlikely to have a lightning strike. Go ahead.”

Patton smiles up at Virgil. “I'll get you a towel!” He opens one of the other doors, which leads to a stuffed linen closet, and hands Virgil a fluffy blue towel. “The bathroom's at the end of the hall,” he says, pointing. “Take as long as you need, we've got a big water heater.”

“Thanks,” Virgil says, and absconds into the bathroom. He locks the door behind him and sets his pile of borrowed clothes on the floor. Then he strips and enjoys a nice hot shower.

Their water pressure is great. Virgil stays under the spray far longer than is necessary to scrub the grime from his skin. When he steps out, Virgil is squeaky clean, and the most relaxed he's been all day.

Time to see what kind of pajamas Calico picked out for him.

Long pajama pants the same style as Logan's nerdy ones, but plaid this time, both a long-sleeved and a short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of boxer briefs. Virgil debates, but eventually decides that someone else's clean underwear is better than his own dirty underwear, and puts them on. He wonders for a moment whose boxers they are, but shuts that thought down. He doesn't need to know. He doesn't want to know.

There's also a rolled pair of ankle socks, a stocking cap, and a hairband. Patton really wanted to cover all his bases, huh?

Virgil puts on the pants and the long-sleeved shirt, but leaves the rest. They are loose, but not too much more than his own pajamas.

Virgil hangs his damp towel on the open hook beside the other towels, gathers everything else up, and slips out.

Logan had said he would prepare a guest room for him. Virgil figures his best guess would be the room he'd seen Logan come out of. It is indeed a bedroom, with the bed made and the covers turned down invitingly, and there's an unopened water bottle on the nightstand.

This is probably the right room. There's not really any personal stuff in it, so it's really unlikely this is someone else's bedroom.

If it's not the right room, they can tell him later that he was wrong and fucked it up. Virgil puts his dirty clothes on the floor, then cracks open the water bottle and sits down on the bed to have a sip.

What is this mattress made of, cotton candy!? It's soft and he sinks right in. He can't feel the springs at all. Virgil puts his water back on the nightstand and lies down.

He is in heaven.

Objectively, Virgil is in heaven right now. He is lying on a cloud, and it is the most comfortable surface he has ever laid upon. He is never getting up. He's not even near ready to go to sleep yet, but he's never getting up. They'll have to pry him out of this bed with a crowbar. This might be a problem for Future Virgil, when he has to get up for work or, like, to pee, but Future Virgil can suck a dick.

Around an hour later, there's a soft knock and Patton peeks in through the open door. Seeing that Virgil is still up and on his phone, he tiptoes exaggeratedly across the floor. “Sneak, sneak, I'm not here,” he whispers. “I'm just gonna steal your clothes to wash them so they're ready for you tomorrow, okay? I'll empty the pockets first so I don't accidentally destroy anything important.”

“’Kay,” Virgil says.

Patton empties Virgil’s pockets onto the nightstand, and then bundles up the clothes. “Thievery!” he declares softly, scampering away with Virgil’s dirty laundry. Virgil’s lips twitch and he holds back a giggle. Patton pauses at the doorway and asks in a perfectly normal tone, “Do you want me to turn off the light?”

“Sure,” Virgil says. Might as well, and it'll save him the trip. Or the falling asleep with the light on, rather, since he's never leaving this bed.

Patton turns the light off. “Goodnight,” he says, silhouetted by the hall light. “Sleep well. I love you.”

It's probably just a reflex. He probably didn't mean to say that, not to Virgil. He barely knows him. He probably says it to Logan and Roman all the time, and it just slipped out. Virgil bites the reflexive ‘love you too’ back from the tip of his tongue, then thinks maybe he should have said it back anyway, make Patton feel less awkward about his own reflexive slip. But then it's been too long, and it wouldn't sound natural, and Virgil just says,

“Goodnight.”

Patton pulls the door to, and leaves Virgil alone in the dark.

He plays a game on his phone for a few more hours, and then sinks back into the wonderfully soft bed and sleeps.

~~~~

Chapter 6: Baiting the Trap

[mxxtalupyourass]

HI can you pls make me a fic of Izzy or Nikki of him becoming a dad? Thanks 💋💋💋

Sober

࣪ ִֶָ☾ Description: Fluffy Morning & head canons, fatherly Nikki

࣪ ִֶָ☾. Reader: Tired mom

࣪ ִֶָ☾ Word Count: 496

࣪ ִֶָ☾ CW: Past Drug Use

࣪ ִֶָ☾. Disclaimer: This work is for entertainment purposes only & does not reflect on the living people referenced. They are purely caricatures based off released media (books, magazines, interviews, etc) depicting their behavior, personalities and preferences. This work does not encourage inappropriate behavior towards them.

Soft heat rolls off the pan in front of you, gently stirring a thickening mass of eggs, shredded cheese quickly melting away.

Humming Nikki's newest lyrics he unknowingly mutters in his sleep, your eyes drift around the apartment you two share.

Warm sunlight filters through the window perched over the sink, birds flitting around and chirping away. Kids toys litter the living room floor, colorful books cluttering the shelves amongst full novels. Your eyes trace across the couch, spotting animal farm on the side table again. You expected nothing less-

Your morning peace is unexpectedly interrupted by the incoming pattering of feet. And the unmistakable footsteps belonging to your escape artist partner.

"Ahaha! Got you!" His voice rings out, followed by a childish scream. Just as expected, he rounds the corner, dangling your five year old daughter by the ankles.

"We have another case of sock less feet." He grins, displaying his discovery as your two year old son peers from behind his legs. Just as shy as ever, unlike his tempestuous father.

"I swear the dryer is eating them…" You mutter, shaking your head as smile tugging at your face. He places the giggling child back on her feet, as you ask, "Did you ever call the repair place?"

You feel his hand trace the small of your back through your nightgown, sensing the guilty look on his face that he did not.

"I may… have forgotten…" As if trying to make it up to you, his arms loop around your belly and his chin flops against your shoulder.

You pat his cheek, "Well… if you don't today then enjoy sleeping on the couch tomorrow."

Memories

You two had a rough start as new parents.

He crawled into the hospital bed beside you, only fitting beside all the wires, IV, and monitors because he was so skinny from heroin.

Sat beside you, her tiny head cradled on his emaciated chest as a thousand emotions ran across his face. "Having a daughter will sober you up in ways you never imagined."

No, he wasn't there for first birthdays. But he was there for the second one, and then thirds.

Your favorite memories are finding him arguing over pastel baby clothes with Tommy, or finding him dead asleep with a book lulled off in one hand and your son in the other.

Oh how hilarious it was to find two rockstars in the middle of Macy's bickering over fabric composition and patterns.

Then there where the long nights of drawing up baths as his muscles spasmed and his body desperately tried to rid itself of the drugs he's abused for so long- all with a crying infant.

But then there was weekly grocery shopping and park visits, watching two heads of brown hair and green eyes screech and dart around the playground with speed and vigor.

And before that, grins in the bathroom and minty toothpaste as brushes moved left to right rather than up and down.

[perotovar]

into the beat of the night (ch 3) "self control"

moodboard by the lovely @hellishjoel, gif by me

pairing: frankie morales/enby!oc!river price (they/them) rating: 18+ (minors dni) chapter warnings: fingering, one (1) handjob, discussions of sexuality/gender (in an... interesting way), goth stereotypes abound, swearing, more cute shit word count: 3k dividers by @saradika beta: @scenaaario (ily adrienne ♥)

for notifications, follow @oakslibrary and turn on alerts ♥

series summary: frankie thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series masterlist

“What’s their name again?”

“River. I already told you, Benjamin,” Frankie chuckled, taking a drink from his beer.

“Right, sorry. I’ve just never met a non… what was it again?”

Frankie, Benny, Will, and Santiago were at their usual bar that night. It was in a different part of town than The Night Owl, with a completely different vibe, but it was cozy. The four of them had become regulars and knew the staff by name.

“Non-binary person,” Will said, shoving Benny on the shoulder. “Are you listening at all?”

Benny shot his brother a look and stuck his tongue out, because apparently Benny was still five. “Of course I’m listening! Non-bi-nar-y,” he sounded it out, tapping his finger on the table with each syllable. “What does, uh… What does that like, mean, Fish?”

Frankie furrowed his brows and took another drink. “I haven’t actually asked yet. All they told me is that they’re like… both, and neither, at the same time.” He hummed thoughtfully. “I was a little distracted after that and didn’t get to ask.”

Santiago grinned, slapping Frankie on the shoulder. “Good for you, Fish.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, but smiled, thinking about the kiss he shared with River the other night. They kept texting, and he’d even asked River out on a real date, which brought the guys to the bar. It had been a year or so since his last date and he needed advice on where to take someone like River. He wasn’t as familiar with the goth subculture and thought maybe his brothers would have experience. At the very least Ben, who’d been with a few different kinds of people.

“I did look it up that night after I got home, but I’m still a little confused,” Frankie shrugged.

“Just ask them, man,” Will offered. “They seemed cool with your first question.”

Frankie nodded, a look of determination crossing his features. “You’re right. It couldn’t hurt, right?”

Frankie was sweating. Marisol was with her mom this week, so he hadn’t had to worry about having that conversation yet. He was planning on telling River about her tonight. He checked his hair in the mirror again before he left, deciding to go without his hat tonight, but worried all his nerves would deflate the work he put into it. He sighed as he messed around with the unruly curls again. This is why he stuck to hats. Frankie’s phone vibrated on the bathroom counter, startling him.

ok im ready, eddie 😉

River still thought it was hilarious that Frankie had worn an Iron Maiden t-shirt to a goth club, claiming that it fit his “old man aesthetic”, whatever that meant. This led to River referring to Frankie as “Eddie”, after the band’s skeleton mascot.

Yeah yeah i’m coming

Frankie saw the typing dots appear and disappear a couple times before disappearing completely. He sighed to himself and checked his hair one last time before leaving his apartment. 

When he got to the neighborhood of the address River had given him, he checked his phone again, making sure he was in the right place. He slowly crept up the hill towards the last line of apartments and immediately his heart started pounding. Frankie really liked River. He didn’t want to fuck this up, and hoped him being a dad wouldn’t ruin that. Or his big dumb mouth.

River was standing at the bottom of the staircase of the apartment complex and waved, a huge grin on their face. Frankie stopped the truck and leaned over to open the passenger side door for them to climb inside. The scent of bergamot, clove, and sandalwood filled his nostrils again as the truck door shut. Frankie calmed down, and smiled, leaning over to give River a kiss on the cheek. “You look amazing,” he breathed, taking in River’s outfit; they had a collarless shirt buttoned up all the way, tucked into plaid pants, and nice dress shoes. All black, of course. They wore no lipstick today, their makeup was simple, and their hair was perfectly straight. It looked like they’d freshly shaved the right side of their head as well. River’s look was so new for Frankie, he couldn’t help being captivated by them every time he saw them.

“Thank you,” River smiled, heart skipping a beat. “Where are we off to?” They rested their ring-clad hand over Frankie’s larger one in between the two of them on the seat. “When you said it was a surprise, I admit I got a little nervous.”

Frankie placed his hand on the back of the truck seat and looked behind them as he backed up to leave the apartment complex. River’s eyes were glued to Frankie’s neck and subtly licked their lips at the sight of the thick muscles and veins. Their eyes moved up to Frankie’s side profile and they swooned.

“How come? Don’t trust me?” Frankie smirked, making eye contact before his eyes moved to the road, and started heading toward their destination.

River shrugged, even though they knew he couldn’t see them. “Maybe. Maybe not,” they smirked. The red light of the clock on the console caught River’s eye; 7:30pm. 

“Well, that’s a shame. I had a nice dinner planned and everything,” Frankie showed them an exaggerated pout, a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, well, in that case.”

The restaurant Frankie picked might’ve been a little more… casual, then he remembered. The last time he was here was with Jackson. He shook off the memory. He was here with River now. The place was actually more like a diner, with vintage photos of women in pinup-style outfits and poses.

Frankie reached for River’s hand and laced their fingers together as he found them a table, letting River sit first.

“Such a gentleman,” River teased, squeezing his hand before getting comfy in the booth.

“I try,” Frankie smiled bashfully as he joined them on the opposite side. The light shining down onto the table lit River beautifully. He noticed that River’s button-up was actually a dark green, with subtle velvet roses all over.

They ordered their food and made easy conversation. River talked about their job as an architect. They were working on designing a building that was be built in the next couple of years in the city. Frankie found it fascinating but couldn’t focus on the words, too distracted by their calming voice and watching their mannerisms. River talked with their hands a lot whenever they got excited about something, and Frankie thought it was adorable.

“Sorry, I know I’m rambling now,” River shook their head, cutting themself off. Frankie frowned,mouth full of french fries.

“Please, continue, I don’t mind listening.”

So River did. They talked about anything and everything. Frankie interjected here and there, but was more than content to listen to River talk. When there was a lull in the conversation, Frankie’s palms started to get sweaty. Their plates were empty now, but River still had half of their milkshake left.

It was now or never. Frankie took a deep breath.

“So… I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he started. River raised an eyebrow and rested their chin on the palm of their hand, listening. Frankie cleared his throat before continuing. “Um, so I know this is a dealbreaker for some people, so I won’t be offended if you want to stop things after tonight. B-But I would like to stay friends if that’s the case.” He rubbed his sweaty hands on his thighs. “I’ve got a daughter.”

River was quiet for a second before a small smile appeared on their face. “I’m actually not surprised. How old is she?”

“You’re not?”

“Of course not. You’re an incredibly handsome man of a certain age–”

“Hey.”

“And any woman would be stupid not to make an honest man outta you,” River winked.

Frankie blinked a couple times before chuckling softly. River continued to surprise him. “Well, her mother isn’t in the picture, at least not with me. Marisol, my daughter, sees her half the time, and stays with me the other half of the time,” he explained, crossing his arms comfortably over the table. “Oh, and she’s four.”

“Aww, can I see a picture of her?”

Frankie’s heart fluttered as pulled his phone out, opening the album of photos devoted just to his little girl. He slid his phone over to River and they started scrolling through the photos with a smile on their face.

“She’s adorable, Frankie,” River hummed, returning his phone back to him. “I can tell you think the world of her. I won’t lie, I’m not really… uh, a kid kind of person. I always just planned on being the cool cousin and not a parent,” they muttered, resting their chin on their palm again.

Frankie nodded in understanding. “I totally get that. I just figured it wouldn’t be fair to you, or to Marisol, to keep her a secret, y’know?”

“Absolutely, and I appreciate you telling me,” River nodded back. “But I like you. A lot. And I’m willing to give this a shot with you. So I don’t think Marisol is a dealbreaker.”

Frankie’s heart soared at River’s words. “I really like you, too,” he grinned like an idiot, cheeks warm. “C’mon, we still have another part to this date.” He stood up and held his hand out for River to take.

After paying, the two found themselves back in Frankie’s truck heading down the highway. It was starting to get darker and the roads were clearing. They pulled up to a drive-in, but there weren’t any other cars.

“What is this, Grease?” River teased. “A diner and then a drive-in movie?”

Frankie snorted and reached out his window to pay for their tickets before finding somewhere to park. “I happen to like drive-in movies and diners, thank you very much.”

“That’s because you’re old–”

“I’m only a few years older than you,” Frankie deadpanned.

“Details.”

About a third of the way into the original Halloween, Frankie put his arm around River’s shoulders and pulled them close. River happily cuddled into Frankie’s side, loving the warmth and softness they found there.

Halfway through, River’s eyes started wandering elsewhere. They looked down at the crotch of Frankie’s jeans, and wondered what lay beyond the tight denim. They looked up at Frankie’s face and kissed the little patch in his beard that refused to grow hair. Frankie looked down at them, deep brown eyes looking over River’s features. He went from their dark-rimmed eyes, to their collarbone, and back to their plush lips, his heart pounding. He didn’t need any further convincing and started kissing River deeply, holding the side of their face.

River hummed into Frankie’s mouth and slowly crawled into Frankie’s lap. They grinned as Frankie huffed a breath against their lips, holding River’s hips in his large hands. River kissed the corner of Frankie’s mouth before moving down to the side of his neck and sucked a mark where his neck met his shoulder. Frankie shuddered, moving a hand down and squeezing River’s ass. They lifted their head and looked at the far-away expression on his face.

“Are you one of those guys that doesn’t like to fool around on the first date?”

Frankie blinked up at River, thinking about it. “I mean, no, but–” “Good,” River growled, latching back onto Frankie’s neck and sucking hard.

Frankie moaned openly at that, but pulled them away. “Wait,” he breathed. River tilted their head to the side and didn’t say anything, letting Frankie continue. “Um, I had another question.”

“Okay.”

“Well, uh. I don’t mean to kill the mood, because God, I really wanna get back to that, b-but I was curious,” Frankie swallowed, not making eye contact again. “I looked up what non-binary was after you told me and I was a little confused, and basically I just– Um, I wanna know like, how… this would… work,” he trailed off, gesturing between the two of them and at the bulge in his jeans.

“You’re asking what I have so you know how to proceed.” It was a statement, not a question, said softly in understanding. River played with the curls at the back of Frankie’s neck.

Frankie nodded. “If that’s an invasive question, I’m really sorry, and–”

“Shh,” River chuckled, pecking Frankie on the cheek. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m not offended. You’re actually being really sweet about all of this. I know this is new for you.”

Frankie smiled shyly and shrugged, but let them continue.

“I was raised as a girl. ‘Assigned female at birth’, is typically what we call it,” River looked down, playing with the collar of Frankie’s shirt. “You were assigned male at birth. The doctors looked at your parts and decided that’s what you were, and you never felt like it was incorrect, right?”

Frankie nodded, listening carefully.

“Right. Well, it felt wrong to me. I didn’t really know what the feeling was growing up. It’s actually kind of a recent development for me.”

Frankie chewed on his bottom lip, one question still buzzing around his head. “How do you… How did you know? And did you… have any… surgeries? To um–” he didn’t know how to word any of this.

River laughed softly. “Yeah, I had top surgery. I no longer have breasts, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Everything below the belt is still intact,” they grinned, moving their crotch closer to Frankie’s. “The complicated answer, especially for someone so new to this, is that gender is a societal thing. How you’re perceived, presented to the world is just through the eyes of society. How you see yourself is what actually matters, though. And when all that societal bullshit doesn’t affect your life, the roles you’re ‘supposed’ to play don’t matter anymore.”

“I’m River. River is me. I don’t care how people see me. I did all of this,” they gestured to their body. “For me. Not for anyone else. Because if I didn’t, I would be unhappy. And my own mental health and happiness matters more than some so-called church-going do-gooder’s opinion.”

Frankie looked at River in awe. Their confidence and respect for themself was one of the most attractive things he’d ever seen. “You’re amazing,” Frankie breathed, surging forward to kiss them deeply. He gripped River’s ass again and pulled them closer, grinding his hardening cock against them.

River moaned softly, grinding back, and tangling their fingers into his hair. Suddenly, Frankie pulled back, catching his breath.

“Wait, does that, like…” He thought for a second. “While I was doing my research, I came across a couple other terms I didn’t know.”

River chuckled and kissed down Frankie’s neck softly. “Go on.”

Frankie’s breath hitched, speaking shakily. “Um, I’ve always considered myself b-bisexual– oh– a-and if non-binary people are technically a th-third gender, then does that change?”

“No,” River hummed, licking underneath Frankie’s ear, before taking the lobe into their mouth and nibbling.

“It doesn’t?”

River shook their head. “Bisexual is more like an umbrella term. People interpret it differently,” they reached a hand down between them, trailing their fingers to Frankie’s belt buckle and undoing it. “For example, you’ve always assumed it just meant you were attracted to men and women, right?”

Frankie moaned softly as the pressure was relieved from his hard cock, and nodded.

“Exactly. Another way you could see it is you being attracted to people that are like you,” they gripped Frankie’s cock tightly, making him gasp sharply. “And people who aren’t.” They grabbed his hand and placed it onto their crotch, grinding against him.

He was so hard he was throbbing, and so turned on his head spun. He started undoing River’s dress pants and slipped his hand down to their panties, finding their pussy impossibly warm and wet. 

“Fuck,” Frankie groaned, rubbing at their clit through the fabric of their underwear. River moaned sweetly and bit their bottom lip, moving Frankie’s boxer briefs out of the way so they could grip around his cock.

“You’re so hard,” River grinned, rubbing their thumb over the tip. They started stroking him slowly, watching as the head of Frankie’s cock appeared and disappeared underneath the foreskin. 

Frankie was breathing heavily, resting his head on the back of his seat and looking at River through his lashes. He moved the tips of his fingers in small circles for a few moments before he moved his fingers beneath their underwear and touched bare skin. River gasped at the contact and nodded, giving him permission.  Frankie slowly sunk his middle finger inside them and started pumping in and out. His thumb rubbed in time against their clit. River started moaning louder, throwing their head back to expose their throat to him.

Frankie saw an opening and latched his mouth onto their neck, marking them in return as his free hand held the back of River’s head. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned, biting at River’s skin.

River shuddered at the praise, rocking their hips against Frankie’s hand. “‘M close,” they whined, panting down at him. They started to lose their rhythm on Frankie’s cock and squeezed him tightly in their fist. Frankie nodded in understanding and started moving his fingers faster, adding a second one as the slick sounds coming from between River’s legs filled the truck. 

“C’mon, baby. You gonna come for me?” he breathed against their neck, leaving soft kisses against their skin. The contrast between what his mouth and what his hand were doing was overwhelming and River wouldn’t change it for the world. 

River nodded, their brows moving downward in pleasure before stilling above him as they came. Their hips rocked back and forth over Frankie’s hand as they came down, moaning and biting their lip. 

The sight of River coming was enough for Frankie and his cock twitched hard as he erupted all over River’s hand. He grunted and hid his face in their neck as his balls emptied messily. He whined softly, twitching in the aftershocks. 

River giggled quietly and held him close after licking their hand clean. “Gonna have to blow you next time,” they hummed thoughtfully.

Frankie groaned as his oversensitive cock twitched between them. “Don’t say shit like that while I’m still vulnerable, you menace.”

River bit his cheek, then kissed it softly. “You love it.”

He did. He really did.

a/n: please enjoy this meme that inspired the scene above

[andro-beaurepaire]

I have been in the Temeraire fandom for a whole five minutes and now I am demanding fics from Temeraire's point of view as he's pampered and spoiled by Laurence.

This man had been gifted with a giant scaly cat and understood the assignment.

Oh dear, I wish I had so much more of those than I actually have to rec you ! ;-; My own venture into the fandom is relatively new as well, so if people have more other recs, please feel free to send them ♥

Most of those fics are super spoilery if you haven't finished the series though ! Also you will soon find out that dragons are actually the ones who are most interested in pampering their humans, so a lot of those are actually Laurence getting dotted on by Temeraire too, which I hope will appeal as well ♥

-

-Gifts for Dragons by trolldoll (set post-canon, Temeraire has questions about the little tokens humans exchange to remind themselves of each other when they're apart, and Laurence decides to give him one suited to his size ♥ Hilarious and adorable, with background Laurence/Tharkay)

-Care Package by canis_m (set after book 6, Temeraire's mom sends a package of gifts destined to both her son and his captain ♥ Fluffy and adorable !)

-Seasons by drifloon (one of my all time favorites ! Set between book 6 and book 7. Laurence tries his hardest to be the best caregiver/provider he can for his dragon, and Temeraire frets and worries over his captain's mental health and emotional wellbeing. This has a more romantic take on their relationship, though absolutely nothing sexual happens. Mostly fluff, with a dash of hurt/comfort ♥)

-Glorious Revenge by Phnx (Modern AU, Temeraire plans for a matching couple's costume with as much feathers and glitter and shiny stuff as possible, Laurence suffers the indignity out of love for his dragon, and Tharkay has a good laugh at their expense until he doesn't XD Pure comedic fluff!)

-Marks of Esteem by @verdet-cadet (another all time favorite of mine ! Set during book 1, the aviators have a long tradition of getting their dragons a very particular gift, and both them and Laurence realize that Laurence is more than ready to follow this tradition as well ! Or : Laurence gets a tattoo for Temeraire /0\ Fantastic aviator slice of life, hilarious and hot at the same time ♥)

-An Ever-Fixed Mark by Boochicken (if you liked the previous one, then I can only recommend this one as well, for it is a direct follow-up ! Temeraire wants the most perfect design, Laurence complies, the aviators help and get drunk :D ♥)

-Priorities by @roboticnebulawrites (Set during the whole series. If you like the dragon/cat parallel, you will most certainly love this one ♥ Humans are definitely the cats here tho !)

-The Ship's Cat by Ystradwel (Another fic that dives into the dragon/cat parallel, only this time there is an actual rivalry between Temeraire and the Reliant's ship's cat for Laurence's attention :D Laurence does his best to gives both creatures the amount of love they need ♥ Set very early during book 1)

- I hope I did not miss the mark too much ! I'm always down myself for some good Laurence & Temeraire stories in general, so all the recs are welcome ♥ Thank you for the lovely ask !

[gublernatural]

The Very First Night ❆ Emily Prentiss

☃︎ SUMMARY: spencer takes the team to meet his old friend, she really connects with emily.

☃︎ WARNINGS: cliffhanger, drinking, lots of drinking, reader takes ibuprofen (does this need to be a warning?),

☃︎ NOTE: we've arrived at our first cliffhanger. if anyone is interested in a part two lmk. also i do not believe in criminal minds' portrayal of emily as a closed off lover. she is an angel and she loves hard. fight me on it.

☃︎ swiftmas masterlist!

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

And so it was, we never saw it coming, not trying to fall in love. 

“Y/N!” Spencer practically squealed at the sight of you, dashing through the crowd to reach you. Being in Vegas brought about a lot of emotions for him, but knowing he would get to see you was particularly exciting for him. The people with him, a blonde lady, a brunette lady, and a bald guy, were watching him with amused smiles as he made his way through the bar.

“Hi, Spence!” You smiled at him, moving in for a side hug. You knew his afflictions to physical touch, so you always kept it minimal. “How have you been?” He asked, leaning up against the bar, waiting to order a cup of water. “I’ve been good,” You spoke, bringing your drink of choice up to your lips. Your eyes left him as the people he entered with approached.

“And who’s this?” You asked Spencer, eyes not moving from the brunette. “This is my team!” Spencer smiles, turning to the group. “This is JJ,” He points to the blonde, “This is Derek,” he points to the only man, “And this is Emily!” He points to the woman who has captured your attention. She gives you a wave.

“This is Y/N, we went to school together way back when.” He introduces you and then moves away to retrieve his water from the bartender. “Oh, so you’re a certified genius too?” Derek asks, cocking a crooked smile. You laughed, albeit a bit uncomfortable, “No, I’m not. We met before Spencer’s abilities were discovered and he was in normal classes. We go wayyyy back.” Emily laughed at your use of the word abilities, “His superpowers!” You two giggled, leaving Spencer to pout just a little bit.

Everyone ordered their drink, you grabbed another, and then you went to attempt to find a table that could fit all five of you. “Don’t forget Garcia lands in an hour!” Derek informed the group, reminding them to get an extra seat. Spencer explains their boss gave them time off in Vegas and their technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, would be joining the group soon.

You ended up between Emily and Spencer, striking up conversation about the most random of topics. It feels like you three could talk forever, as you kind of kept to yourselves. You were learning that Emily is hilarious. Maybe it was because of the alcohol that was steadily flowing amongst the group, but you found yourself relaxing with them, something that didn’t usually happen with a new group of people.

You were so relaxed, that you even found yourself on the dance floor with the ladies of the BAU. By the time Penelope had arrived, Emily was reaching for your hand, pulling you to the center of the makeshift dance floor, and exclaiming, “This is my song!” All you could do was follow her and giggle, loving the attention.

But we did like children running. Back then we didn’t know, we were built to fall apart.

Emily couldn’t stop her drunken laughs as you sloppily grinded against her, allowing her hands to discover the expanse of your torso. She wasn’t being too handsy, just allowing her hands to lightly rest on your hips and help guide your movements. The smile on your face was starting to make your cheeks hurt.

“Prentiss,” Derek called, his deep voice easily cutting through the loud crowd, “We’re rolling!” She stopped her movements, pressing harder down on your hips to stop yours as well. “Can Y/N come?” She asked, using her grip on your hips to pull closer to her chest, almost protectively. “I don’t care!” Derek answered, turning around and walking away from you two. 

She turned to meet you, asking for permission with her gaze. You nodded, not really knowing what you were agreeing to. At this point in the night, you would have followed her anywhere.

Apparently, you weren’t far from the hotel the team was staying at, as the group opted to walk. Spencer was placed behind you guys, slowing down his pace just in case you or Emily stumbled due to your intoxicated state. Yours and Emily's conversation never dulled as you walked with the group as if you two were the only people in the world.

“Wanna race?” She asked with a curious look on her face. You let out a loud giggle, taking off before giving her any confirmation. Neither of you could see Spencer’s panicked look as she took off right after, yelling “That wasn’t fair!” Soon, Spencer was jogging behind you two, trying to give you directions to the hotel.

Her FBI training came in handy and she was the first to reach the hotel door. By some kind of miracle, neither of you fell, despite tripping multiple times. You and Spencer, who had barely managed to catch up, were out of breath as you waited for JJ, Penelope, and Derek to meet you at the front door of the hotel.

Spencer walked you and Emily to her room, helping her scan her room key, and made sure you two had settled in before he disappeared into his own. Since Hotch and Rossi had returned to Virginia, she was gifted with her room for the couple of days they got to stay in Vegas.

As much as you two wished to continue your antics, you and Emily were both asleep quite quickly after landing in the queen bed.

Emily was met with a pounding headache when she woke up. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. She stretched her arms out, surprised when she punched someone in the side.

“Fuck!” You groaned out, hating how the light hit emphasized the banging of your head, brought on by your hangover. “Y/N!” Emily gasped, surprised to see you lying there. Despite not remembering making it to the hotel, she could never forget meeting you. “Hi Em,” you groaned again, rolling away from her. Your headache was really bad.

Emily smiled at the nickname you gave her as she got up, making her way to the bathroom. After she did her business, she made her way to her go-bag, pulling out a rather large bottle of ibuprofen. She took her dose, before moving closer to you. “Need some?” She asked, keeping her volume down.

Your disheveled face raised from where you were burying into your arms, looking out the bottle and giving her an eager nod. She poured two of the pills into her hand and grabbed a leftover water bottle from the nightstand. She raised her hand to your mouth, dropping the pills in when you opened it. She untwisted the water bottle, handing it to you. You swallowed the pills, then buried yourself back into the bed.

“You should probably go pee,” Emily spoke again, moving to grab clothes from her bag. You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it, then made your way to the bathroom. The way she was taking care of you had your heart fluttering. As you washed your hands, and then your face, you realized the feelings from last night were not created by the alcohol as you had first assumed. They were coming from Emily.

As you emerged, Emily smiled at you from where she was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Feeling any better?” You nodded at her question, feeling the pain in your head start to subside. Emily stood up, taking a few steps closer to you. She surprised you as she pressed her hand to your cheek, “I had fun last night.”

The intimacy of the moment had your cheeks heating up underneath her gentle palm, “I did too.” You answered honestly as your heart began to speed up in your chest. “I’d love to get to know you, sober.” Her eyes moved from yours to your lips, and you tried your best to ignore it. “I would, too,” was the best you could muster up. You two were growing impossibly closer, chests almost touching

“I’m glad,” She looked you in the eye again and gave you a gentle smile. She removed her hand from your cheek and stepped back towards the bed. “I’m gonna get in the shower,” she explained as she grabbed her clothes from the bed, “leave your number for me?”

You felt like she was giving you whiplash. Your heart was still hammering as she moved so casually around the room. “I will,” you managed to sigh out. “I’m in Vegas for two more nights, will you be around?” She asked from the doorway of the bathroom. “Y-yeah, I’m having dinner with Spencer tonight.” You were disappointed in the way your voice wavered.

“Maybe I’ll join you guys for dessert.” Then she disappeared into the bathroom.

We broke the status quo, then we broke each other’s hearts. 

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 3

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved. Trying to stick with established lore but taking some liberties to make the drama work. Multiple headcanons from various sources I’ve come across included as suits the story. Starts roughly five years before Murder Family, I’m making assumptions about the timeline]

[18+ rating for language, sex, violence, alcohol consumption, abuse, and general Hellaverse-ness]

[Part 3/?? Word count 3826 Mostly SFW]

—————

His dreams were pleasant nonsense until they shifted to something prompted by memory in the early morning hours. A growling hiss, searing pain in his palm, his own childish voice repeating “don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him.”

“WHAT THE FAWK STOLAS!” A screech unrelated to the memory/dream jerked him awake. Blitzø was crouched over him on all fours, that growling hiss rumbling from his chest. It had deepened over the years but the sound must have been enough to trigger memories.

Stolas didn’t have time to think about that however. Stella, the vulture his father insisted he marry, was shrieking next to the bed. Blitzø was crouched over him protectively. The imp’s chivalrous actions were marred by the facts that he was still naked and that in order to face Stella, his crotch was right over Stolas’s beak. His dick flopped against Stolas’s face; if he’d had any sort of erection the prince would have taken him into mouth just to piss Stella off more. But Blitzø was flaccid and his genitals slapping facial feathers was more hilarious than anything.

“WHY THE FAWK IS THAT PEASANT IN OUR BED AGAIN?!” If his wife’s voice could be compared to music, it was an out of tune oboe played at full volume by an amateur DJ.

Blitzø’s tail whipped around. “Oh fuck off you dusty whore. You knew exactly what fucking night it was. Satan’s taint, you even had your personal Chucklefucks bring me in.” He shifted his posture to look her closer in the eye. Now he was straddling the prince’s chest, tail still flicking around Stolas’s head. “Thanks for that by the way bitch; they scratched up my hooves, motherfuckers.”

Stella loomed over the male demons. Blitzø flinched at her approach but stood his ground. “I couldn’t let you just saunter in here like you own the palace. Especially when you keep forgetting your place, you foul mouthed cock sucker.” She refused to put herself at eye level with any lower ranked demon. “And I know you being late results in some sort of punishment. Which apparently this excuse for a man is too weak to follow through on.” Her dark pink eyes glared at the two down her elegant beak. She looked the part of a distinguished prince’s wife, but five seconds in her company made that illusion fall apart.

Blitzø couldn’t help himself; he stuck his tongue out with a smirk. “What can I say, I’m verrrrrry good at apologizing to Master Stolas.” He ran his hands down his chest and thighs seductively. “You’d know if you ever unclenched your cloaca long enough to try.” He kept smirking, his forked tongue sticking out and flicking at Stella.

She squawked, her hair feathers rustling in anger. “How dare you, you little bastard.” She raised a manicured claw to back hand the imp. Before she could swing, Stolas grabbed her wrist. He squeezed with just enough pressure to keep her attention.

“Firstly Stella, this is my bed in my chambers. You and I haven’t shared a room since Octavia hatched.” He matched her glare, the frustration over his marriage boiling up in a rare show of anger. “Secondly, Blitzø is bound to me and has been since before you and I ever met. So you, my bitch of a wife, have no say in what happens between us.” She opened her beak to interrupt but Stolas kept on. “And thirdly, if you ever attempt to harm Blitzø again, I will lock you out of the expense account.” This might have sounded like a weak threat but all three of them knew Stella cared more about her appearance and status than anything else in life.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She hissed and yanked her hand away. This year’s fashions had just debuted and Pentagram City’s elite party scene was just getting started for the year. If Stella showed up in last year’s gowns, all of the Goetia and Hell’s other notables would know she’d made some sort of mistake in her domestic life. Rumors would start. Any damage control she attempted would just fan the hellfire. She’d done the same to enough rivals to see that outcome. But Stolas didn’t back down. “Fine,” she turned dramatically, the layers of her gown fluttered against the floor. “But this isn’t over, imp fucker.”

Blitzø stretched and fell into the pillow nest after Stella slammed the door. “Shitbiscuits, I swear she gets crazier every day. Christ on a stick Stolas, you’re gonna have divorce her at some point here.” They’d both dealt with her abuse for years; Stolas’s threat would only keep her at bay until the end of this year’s party season.

Stolas lounged next to him, tail feathers swishing around as he thought. “I know Blitzy dear. I’m trying to hold out until Via reaches her majority. Then we don’t have to worry about custody or child support.” He lazily stroked Blitzø on the back. His talons stuttered slightly over a patch of white scarring, a reminder of a time Stella had been alone with Blitzø. “But I don’t know if we can wait that long.”

Blitzø could tell what part of his skin Stolas had come across. It had been nearly twelve years since Stella and her brother cornered him alone. Octavia was still in the egg and Stolas had a meeting with one of the Sins that day. He shuddered at the remembered pain. “I’d hate to think of what she’d do to Via if she had any custody.”

The imp loved the gangly owlette as much as Stolas did. He’d known her for her whole life. From a crowned egg (he still thought the Goetia’s egg portraits were ridiculous) to a fresh hatchling (Blitzø compared her to an angry peeled potato) to a downy ball of excitement (the cutest fucking stage in his opinion) to the clumsy molting preteen she currently was. The idea of Stella treating his Puffball like she did him was terrifying.

“Sir?” A voice piped up from the door to his room. “Is everything alright?” Right! Moxxie was here.

“Yeah, the bitch is gone for now.” Moxxie entered, fully dressed for the day in pressed trousers, a button down shirt and tailcoat jacket. Blitzø recognized the outfit from when some of the staff tried to push him into a more subservient role. Obviously it hadn’t worked. The clothes fit the other imp decently enough. “I’m just glad we didn’t have to deal with her last night, just her lapdogs.”

“I’m sure she’ll be out shopping as soon as possible today, just in case I do lock her out of the expense account.” Stolas put on his robe for a bit of modesty. “Good morning Moxxie. That out of tune alarm wrapped in feathers is my wife and mother of my child, Stella.” Blitzø snorted a laugh. He launched himself off the bed, not giving a shit about being on full display. “Darling, you should probably get dressed or I think our new friend will pass out.”

“Whaaaaaat, we’ve all got cocks here. I’m down to compare. I’ll fucking win too.”

“Yes but I doubt our guest is. Not to mention if Stella is about, Via may be coming by soon. She’s missed you as well after all.”

“Oh shit. Yeah, I don’t need Puffball seeing this. Be right back.” He grabbed the clothes he stripped off the night before and popped into the other room.

“My apologies if Stella disturbed you. There’s no excuse for her behavior but I do lock the doors when Blitzy is here. Apparently I need to change the locks again.”

“Oh, uh, no I was already up your high- Stolas.” Moxxie corrected himself quickly. He’d actually had some fruit as a light breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen before he’d heard the wall shaking shriek. Considering how well sound proofed the palace seemed (he’d barely heard anything from Stolas’s room last night) he was sure it had been ear splitting in person.

Stolas glanced over at Blitzø’s room, as if debating something. “Might I have a moment of your time Moxxie? Blitzø will take a bit and I have something I’d like to ask you.”

“S-sure thing sir.” They took the same seats as last night and Stolas pinned him with that four eyed stare. Moxxie was certain this was how mortal rodents felt when trapped by a bird of prey.

“You’re connected to Greed’s mafia families, correct?” Flustered, Moxxie gaped at the demon prince. “I’m sure Blitzy didn’t pick up on it, but your surname caught my attention.” He lazily shrugged his shoulders and continued. “I have no intention to inform Blitzø, nor to prevent him from hiring you. I just prefer to have you and I on the same footing. Or as close as we can manage.” There was no avoiding that a prince of Hell had so much power over even the head of an imp mafia, much less a fledgling member like Moxxie, that being on the same footing was laughable.

He nodded nervously, claws reflexively clenching the chair cushion. “My father’s head of the family. I was inducted just over a year ago.”

“That does explain your prowess with firearms. I assume your presence here means you’re distancing yourself from the family.” A statement, not a question.

Moxxie knew what happened to demons that crossed his father. He knew what would happen if Crimson got his claws on him again after trying to leave. But no one from the family or their muscle had done anything for him when he was caught. “Yes sir, I am.”

The red pupil-less stare became less severe. “Very well then. You’ll be glad to know there are very few in the Pride Ring that will recognize your name as being part of Greed’s crime families. The vast majority of the Ring is filled with Sinners after all. I’ll let you and Blitzy discuss your employment.” He paused, realizing something. “Or if you decide being involved with the Goetia family is too much, we can attempt to find you an alternative solution. It’s the least I can do in thanks.”

That was more than Moxxie could have hoped for. “Thank you sir.” The imp decided to press his luck. Stolas seemed open to talk at the moment. “Stolas, sir, what is this binding you mentioned between you and Blitzø? I thought the Ars Goetia were all powerful.”

“Is that what the rest of Hell thinks of us? Good to know the illusion of omnipotence is working. Sadly however, we do have limitations.” His gaze turned to the not quite hidden door. “When we were very young, before I even started my studies in the arcane, my father King Paimon used my own blood and sigil to bind Blitzø to my will. ‘To teach me a lesson in status and the dignity of the Goetia,’ he claimed.”

Stolas sighed dramatically. “Nothing I’ve learned has been able to break the binding. The only thing that might do so is my death…but that would likely cause his as well.” He glanced at Moxxie. “Please don’t tell Blitzy. It’s something I’d rather he not concern himself about.”

“Of course sir.” Secrets for secrets it seemed.

The owl prince continued. “In lieu of breaking the bond, we’ve done our best to test and bend it. At first Blitzy had to be within thirty feet of my person or my grimoire. As my power has grown, he can now traverse all seven rings with my permission and even the mortal realm. But he cannot be away forever. We’ve concluded his presence on the estate for a day every lunar cycle satisfies the conditions of his binding.”

“Who’s talking about me out here?” Blitzø emerged dressed in a long dark suit coat accented in red. A frilled high collar covered the gold sigil around his throat. Black and yellow bracers covered his forearms. The clothes were well fitted; not tailored to perfection but not something snagged from dozens like it off a department store rack.

“Moxxie inquired as to the specifics of the binding spell on you.”

“You mean besides the fact that it sucks ass?” Blitzø checked his reflection in a wall mounted mirror and adjusted his shirt collar slightly. “Whatever, I’m fucking hungry. Yelling at the feather duster worked up my appetite.”

“We’d best accompany him, else he’ll likely end up eating Fizz-Os with water,” Stolas remarked dryly. “Hey it works and I don’t burn the building down.” Blitzø opened the door with a flourish to let everyone out.

“It’s vile and I refuse to let it happen again if I can help it. I believe pancakes and eggs are in order.” Stolas led the way to a well stocked kitchen with a breakfast nook overseeing one of the gardens. Moxxie was just offering to help cook when a high pitched voice yelled “BLIIIIITZYYY!” At least this one was cheerful.

Blitzø braced himself as a fluffy weight landed on his back. He quickly supported the two long legs that stuck out under his arms as downy feathers fluttered around his head. “Oof, where’d these tent poles come from?” He waggled one of the young bird’s legs. “Stolas, you sure there isn’t some flamingo in your family?”

“Noooo!” The adolescent demon kicked her legs with a giggle before standing up to give Blitzø a proper hug. “You were gone so long this time, Blitzy. Dad was starting to freak out.”

“Sorry Puffball, I got held up in Greed. Made a new friend though; this is Moxxie, he might be working with me if we don’t scare him off.” He hugged the girl back, realizing his head didn’t reach as high as he expected. Octavia had hit a growth spurt evidently. “How’s the molt going?” She’d just started losing her baby down and was growing her juvenile plumage. She’d have another full molt in a few years when she reached adulthood. After that she’d go through partial molts to refresh her feathers about once a year.

“Absolutely awful! I’m so itchy!” Octavia was dressed in an oversized band shirt and loose fabric shorts so as not to rub the growing feathers. Normally she had a crown stitched beanie on as well but her scalp was too irritated for that.

Blitzø gently patted her arm. “I can help with that. Been helping Stolas whenever he molts since we were kids.” He stood on the window bench so he could reach her head once she was seated. Normally parents would help their fledgling avian demons, sometimes siblings. Paimon was the least attentive parent possible though. All of Stolas’ grooming had been handled by servants growing up, including his molts. Seeing his friend so uncomfortable, Blitzø had the servants teach him what to do.

So he had years of practice gently removing dead feather sheathes, giving delicate scratches and checking that the new feathers were coming in properly. Stolas could handle most of his body feathers at this point but his head and neck were hard to manage alone. Via had smaller isolated molts throughout childhood but this was her first full body one. Blitzø focused on her head, since that was likely the worst part. Her soft hooting sighs sounded just like her father’s when Blitzø did this for him.

Blitzø kept up his preening assistance; he had to be careful as feathers right next to each other could be at vastly different growth stages. Stolas and Moxxie meanwhile started on breakfast.

“Let me help you, Stolas, sir,” the imp pulled over a chair to reach the counter easier. “I can take care of the pancakes.”

Stolas blinked well…owlishly at him. “I should say you’re a guest and to allow me but assistance would be appreciated. Do you need a recipe?” Stolas placed ingredients on the counter. In consideration of Via’s molt and her increased nutritional needs at the moment, he decided to defrost some mice as well.

Moxxie started measuring and mixing. “No thank you sir, I’ve got it. Although if you’ve got some almond extract I’ve found it gives a refreshing flavor profile if you’re used to vanilla in the batter. Or perhaps some fresh ground cinnamon. If anyone prefers something sweeter I can add in blueberries or honey, I personally enjoy honey from Gluttony on mine.”

“Ooo! Can I have chocolate chips?” Octavia’s eyes popped open and she waved her hand to get their attention. The thought of personalized pancakes made her stomach growl in a very undignified way. Chocolate chips were more important than dignity at breakfast though.

“Make that two Moxxie!” Blitzø said from his perch behind Via. He was currently checking around the base of her neck. “If you jerks are gonna keep me away from Fizz-Os then I want some chocolate.”

Stolas set a bag of tiny chocolate chips next to Moxxie mixing bowl. “May as well indulge them.” Moxxie fired up the griddle section on the stovetop. “Coming right up Miss Octavia, sir.”

“Just Via,” the girl said through soft hoots. Blitzø’s attention really was helping her itching head. Her dad was helping her preen throughout the day but first thing in the morning was the worst. She let her eyes close, the comforting sounds of her dad and Moxxie prepping breakfast was accompanied by Blitzø’s unending chatter.

She’d never tell him, but his talking was basically like white noise for her at this point. It was comforting, similar to listening to the acid rainfall. Unfortunately the thunderclap that was her mother ruined the moment.

Stella strode in, wearing a gown only slightly less sumptuous than her evening wear. “As if seducing my husband isn’t bad enough,” she spat at Blitzø, “now you’re going to have your claws on my daughter?”

Via sighed. From a young age she’d known that her mother despised the imp that she’d come to think of as an uncle. Blitzø and her father had recently explained some of their complex relationship. Blitzø in particular was quick to reassure the girl that despite being forced to stay with the Goetia, he loved Via and her father. No mention of Stella however.

“Mum, I told him to help with my molt.” She’d learned that framing interactions with Blitzø as things she’d ordered seemed to mollify her mother. Stella huffed and waved her taloned hand dismissively, allowing them to continue. Via caught sight of Blitzø slowly flipping her mother off as she turned away.

Now she spotted Moxxie pouring the next batch of pancakes. “Another one Stolas?” She knew the current crop of imp servants (by sight, not by name obviously) and this wasn’t one she recognized. Like Blitzø he wasn’t dressed in a staff uniform, another giveaway. “Are you going to fuck this one too?” she sneered.

“Language! And no, of course not!” Stolas knew she didn’t have any respect for him, but it wasn’t like he went sleeping around with every demon that crossed his path. “He simply rendered some assistance to myself and Blitzø.”

“G-good morning ma’am,” Moxxie caught a glimpse of Stella before he remembered Blitzø’s warning about not making eye contact with “the overdressed bitch.” He quickly turned back to the griddle. He’d gotten the impression of pale height that rivaled Stolas’s, draped in layers of fashionable silk. Despite not looking directly at her, he knew this was how prey felt. The owl prince’s glare seemed almost gentle compared to the open hostility from Stella. Moxxie gulped, searching for some way to ease the tension. “Wo-would you like some breakfast ma’am?” Maybe he wouldn’t get chomped into pieces if she was distracted by food.

Another moment of her glaring. “Have it and a pot of coffee brought to the dining room.” She whirled back around, making sure her full skirt swirled with the proper flair. She clap her hands with glee, as if coming up with an amazing idea. “Octavia, poppet, do you want to go shopping with Mummy today?”

The owlette perked up. “Oh, can we go to Stylish Occult? Or Eclipsed Shore? There’s a new album by-“

“Pwah ha ha! Of course not dear, we won’t be going to plebeian shops like those. No we’re going dress shopping. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Not really.” Even on good days going dress shopping with her mother was exhausting. It couldn’t be called clothes shopping since Stella only wore gowns and would only purchase dresses for her daughter as well. The thought of being a giant doll for a day, shoved into unfamiliar clothes, made her already itchy skin crawl. “Trying on a bunch of dresses is gonna make me loose even more feathers.”

“I suppose you have a point poppet. Another time then.” As quickly as she entered Stella swept out of the kitchen, not sparing any more attention on her husband or the imps. Used to this, Stolas simply buzzed for a servant. Once Stella’s portion was plated to her preferred level of elegance the small imp server left with the meal, a carafe of strong coffee and a bottle of coffee liqueur on a cart.

Moxxie and Stolas delivered stacks of pancakes with eggs (and defrosted mice for Via) to the table. Blitzø had already finished the mini preen so they’d just been chatting as they waited. Via and Blitzø’s identical looks of sparkling glee at the sight of their chocolatey breakfasts proved they had spent a lot of time together. Blitzø launched into his stack while Via ate in a more refined manner. Except for the mice. There was no refined way to swallow mice whole.

Sipping his own coffee Stolas asked, “Do you want to go out today sweetheart?” Yesterday she’d been too tired for much of anything. But if she was up for it, it could be a nice distraction from the molt.

“You and Blitzy won’t be too busy Dad?” She was used to them being inseparable the day after Blitzø got back.

“Nah, I really do gotta talk to Moxxie about a job. Haven’t seen Loonie Toonie yet either.” He’d been talking about the Hellhound girl since her recent adoption but Via hadn’t met her yet. “I’ll be back tonight or tomorrow though Puffball.” He’d normally ruffle her head feathers but that’d ruin all the grooming he’d just done.

“Besides, I want to just treat my little Starfire on occasion. We can go wherever you like. Make a day of it.”

“I’ll get dressed!” She popped out of her chair and rushed off to room, legs tangling a bit on her way out. “See you later Blitzy! Thanks for breakfast Moxxie, it was great!”

“I suppose I should dress as well; I doubt she’ll be long with how excited she is.” Stolas snagged a mouse left on Via’s plate and gulped it down. “Mm, delightful.” He stroked Blitzø’s head between his horns as he unfolded out of the seat. “Send a text when you’re heading back darling. Have a good day you two.”

A/N: Taking a few liberties with Octavia here as she’s much younger than in the show and not so jaded or angsty yet. Hopefully the wall of text isn’t too daunting, I’m trying to break things up in manageable sections.

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[dwarrowdelf]

o my brother

Seven drabbles for @maedhrosmaglorweek which I’m definitely not two entire weeks late for 😅 You can also read them on AO3 with any relevant author’s notes, but I’m posting them there in batches.

one: childhood/growing up

Of the brothers, Maedhros and Maglor were closest in age. They spent nearly their entire childhoods as a family of four, roaming the cultivated wildlands of Aman. Tirion upheld them as darlings, once the crown prince returned to the city: bright-haired, quick-witted Maitimo and sweet-voiced, silver-tongued Macalaurë, ever together. Two shining jewels to adorn any debate parlor, concert hall, or royal party. There were the other brilliant princes, and of course the beloved princesses, but the eldest house was ever the most brilliant and most beloved by the Noldor, in the days before Morgoth spread his discord to peaceful Valinor.

two: the oath

Maglor had not, as many suspected in later years, helped to craft the oath. Fëanor was a great orator and wordsmith in his own right without his second son’s help.

Their father had stood in the square under the Mindon and spoken his oath fiercely and without forethought. And what a rousing oath it was! The younger sons had been quick to follow. Maglor had looked to Maedhros and found him already looking back. Neither of them had wanted to swear it, but they had agreed, with that look, not to abandon their little brothers.

Funny how that worked out.

three: the long peace

“I cannot believe the audacity of that boy!”

“‘That boy’ is the Lord of Nargothrond,” Maedhros says, amused.

Maglor whirls on him, finger pointed in a hilarious mirror of their mother at her most high tempered. “He’s our little shit of a cousin who abandoned us on a hunting trip that he planned and then found the Secondborn! Without us! No, don’t look at me in that tone of voice, I’m very cross!”

Maedhros’s tremulous hold on his expression cracks, and he breaks into laughter. Maglor smiles to himself, relieved to see the tension finally slipping from his brother’s shoulders.

four: nirnaeth arnoediad, reputation

Maedhros’s well-earned reputation precedes him. Orcs would sooner run than face him, fearsome as he is; even trolls and wargs are wary.

Maglor’s reputation precedes him too, carefully crafted. The kind brother, the soft brother, nevermind that softness alone could never hold the least defensible line of the leaguer. But it is good to be underestimated, good to let everyone forget that he was the one Maedhros trained against when relearning the sword.

That soft reputation is why Ulfang’s eyes are wide with shock in the head that Maglor cleaves from his body for the crime of betraying his brother.

five: change and loss of self

Being burnt by the Silmaril did not break Maglor as it broke his brother, though losing him nearly did. What broke Maglor, in the end, was realizing that the burn would never heal such that he could play any two-handed instrument again.

He contemplated, then, following in the footsteps of his brother or grandmother.

But many years ago, when Maedhros still could not leave his sickbed, they had picked apart the Oath. It seemed fit to kill them all, but they thought if just one of them lived, perhaps the rest might have a chance, however small.

So Maglor lives.

six: alienation and isolation, AUs and fix-its

Maglor dreams, sometimes: a voice telling him it is time to come home. His mother telling him not to stay out too late, his father calling that dinner is ready. Maedhros as he had been, slinging an arm around his shoulders and telling him he’s done enough and to stop hiding in his room before they all forget what he looks like.

Sometimes he wakes up after those dreams at dawn or dusk, and a red-orange sky tricks him a moment longer.

He confesses all of this to a stranger near Mithlond, and finds himself on a boat sailing West.

seven: fate

Maglor never came to the timeless halls, and Maedhros feared. The only tapestry he could find of his brother was a vast stretch of shore with one figure, alone, walking. Anyone who might have news, he asked.

Lost, faded, disappeared, they all said, some even with pity.

Maedhros reembodies last of his brothers, and there, there is Maglor. Maedhros folds himself without thought into supplication older than Valinor, begs forgiveness from the one he most wronged.

Two scarred hands deign to cradle his face. “There is no need. Only do not leave me again, I beg you.”

“Never,” Maedhros swears.

[yellowgreendinno]

My Ick

You know what gives me the ick? The fact that Fuenozel would be a much more popular ship (more than it already is, because from what I've seen, many ship them or say that it would compel them) if it was straight. Just imagine the following, because I assure you that with what society has taught us during our lives, this will look much 'cuter' and 'shippable' than the original. These are my Fuenozel headcanons that I've decided to publish with my not really OC, Nobuko Silva. It's their story, gone from 'oh my god, I love gays!' to 'ugh this is so chiché' with the simple act of genderbending one of them.

!Recommendation! - Listen to "Kyoto" by Phoebe Bridgers

Enjoy~

Imagine two little royals, one is six and the other's just barely five. A little red head boy and a tiny silver haired girl. They meet for the first time because his mom was busy, and so decided to ask her mom to keep watch of him and his big sister. They arrive to the Silva Castle, where the woman by the name of Acier Silva awaits with a little girl hiding behind her long leg. So, naturally, he goes to say hi to her the first, while his sister stays behind to chat with the beautiful mother, who seems interested in the youngling's fast whit and attitude even at such a young age. The both leave, leaving the boy and the girl on their own to play house or whatever kids their age do, said his sister. The girl is shy at first, and genuinely thinks her new playmate is a demon because- Momma are those fangs and eye marks even human?!

And so it goes, and they meet regularly. And by the age he turns ten and she's barely nine, he's managed to get the girl to see him as a friend. Her best friend, actually. But he knows she'll never admit it out loud. One day, she asked him what his dream was, not expecting his friend -his all too sensitive friend, in his opinion- to throw a tantrum, because- "Not fair! Becoming Wizard King is my dream! You stole it!" Obviously, he didn't want her to be upset, so, with a hug that held the sentiment of their pure little age, he promised that - "We can compete to see who becomes the Wizard King, I promise"

And just like that, their dynamic has changed completely. By the time he turns twelve and she's barely eleven they meet every day before lunch time at the Vermillion Estate's training grounds to fight, gaining more and more control over their mana every time they spar. It's never seriously though, they wouldn't dream of hurting each other. At least seriously. How many of her favourite blouses were torn and burnt? And just how many of his blue jackets were cut apart? How many scars does she have from third-degree burns? How times has he gone to Owen because of mercury poisoning? They're young and they're having fun, that's what matters.

But of course, things change. And soon, let's say by the time he turns thirteen and she's barely twelve, he finds himself spending more and more time inside her room than in his. They hang out, talk about their dreams, and simply are. They were friends before, but now their bond was deeper, nearer. She wouldn't find it to be a surprise to see him slumped in her own home, in her own room, in her own bed, after a long day. She would still get scared when he sometimes slammed the door open with a loud noise against the wall, his loud voice wanting to tell her something he'd done the day. And for him- he lived to see that reaction every day. If you asked him why, he would answer that- "It's hilarious!"

He starts to get scared when he turns fourteen and she's barely thirteen. She's starting to learn what stoicism is, and his sensitive crybaby of a best friend is slowly but surely slipping from his fingers. Things don't change much aside from that as time moves on from that year. But they become close, inseparable. More than they ever were before. His sister, her mother and even Lady Theresa Rapual had noticed it. There was a subtle change in his mana. Lady Theresa once told him that one's mana shifts to appease and please the ones close to oneself. That's why his mana had always been loud, fiery, dangerous, booming, wild, savage. It mirrored his sister's. But the Lady had noticed, however, that her devoted student's mana was slowly becoming more collected. It imposed respect. Beauty. The inexistent coldness of the crackling fire. But she knows better. The girl is often seen in family dinners now. She talks to his parents as if they were her own, to his sister as if she were her own. He, in exchange, finds himself holding a baby boy with white hair and blue eyes as he walks into the Silva Castle, his presence now brotherly and calmly. He finds himself witnessing a little girl with pink eyes create specks of mist with her own hands for the first time. Being without each other equals to cutting off their dominant hand now. It feels good. Lady Acier's somewhat like the non-neglecting mother he wished he had. And he found himself blushing once he barged into her room one day, and found the sight of his best friend in a towel, in the midst of styling her damp hair. He tells her what he was about to with excitement, and then goes out of the room. He tells her to meet him outside, and their sparring session goes by as it normally would. They gone to Raque and the volcano's hot springs together. And it goes on as usual - the playful pushes into the water and booming laughs. There was only one problem. The one thing that scared him. He found himself thinking about her white, damp hair and fair, wet skin afterwards.

It all changes then. By the time he's fifteen and she's barely fourteen. Acier Silva falls and so does the earth under his friend's feet - and consequently, under his. The only thing that his mother- Lady Acier had left behind was a small baby with all to big lungs. He spent the night after her death. He saw it all. The quivering mess his best friend has become. The screams. The tears, sorrow, guilt, all the hairs pulled out of spite. She wears a golden choker now. She tries to comfort her siblings, but she can't even comfort herself. So, he climbs up the tallest tour in the kingdom - to her window. And in all those years, he had never seen her cry like that. The sobs and screams. The next morning, she assured him he was better. So he left the Castle with an uneasy feeling. He doesn't see her in a year.

Then, he receives a letter. This happens probably when he turns sixteen and she's barely fifteen. He got a pretty silver decorated card with a place, a time, and a dress code - an invitation. To her Grimoire receiving ceremony. His mind runs a thousand miles a second as he dashes to his chambers to prepare himself. And now... now is when that funny feeling appears. He finds himself searching purpousely through all of his clothes to find an outfit that she'd like, he cleaned up perfectly, sprayed a bit of cologne on his neck and wrists - the one he knew she liked -, and made sure he was the most charming picture of a royal man. He wonders what she'll look like... Will she wear a Silva dress, or a tailored one? Will she wear heels? "No, she probably has grown" Will she be up for a spar, or has she turned into a pretty royal? Only now- he realises she's always been pretty. He jumps on the carriage for it to take him to the Silva Castle, the place he's avoided for a year. He feels mighty as all those faces turn to look at him, a perfect single young man who could make a match for all those noble's daughters. But it doesn't matter, because they all disappear once he makes eye contact with the person he misses the most. She wears a tailored dress. A white one, adorned with feathers. Heels hold her weight, and a silver tiara adorns her perfect white hair. He wonders if she stares at him too, watching his perfect vermillion mane wave in the open window's breeze. If she wonders what he smells like, what his now calloused hands will feel on hers after a year. They walk closer, and he sees - she hasn't grown a bit. Not in height. He looks at her closely, and notices he always knew his friend was pretty. She always knew her friend was pretty. But now? They see each other and only see the perfect image and the whole epitome of ethereal beauty. Her new Grimoire glows beside her, but he couldn't care less. He now has to look down at her, as she has to crane her neck to make eye contact with him. He places his hand on waist, her hand going to his shoulder. "May I have this dance?"

[frontlinebicepsoftheninth]

I saw you tagged killing eve in the 'worst series finale' poll - how *does* it end? I watched the first two seasons and then lost interest. (also I hope you're having a good day!)

first of all thank you i am and i hope you are too!!

but alright here we go ⚠️⚠️ MAJOR SPOILER WARNING MAJOR SPOILER WARNING ⚠️⚠️ for anyone who does want to watch for themselves bc tbh the first few seasons are excellent but i honestly don't know if i can recommend them anymore in good faith after knowing where it all ends up

so okay. you know how the whole crux of the show is this intense psychosexual relationship between eve and villanelle. and how there's an obvious romantic tension between them. well from what i remember (cause it's been a while) they started actually working together in season 3, but then because they realized they make each other worse they had this whole dramatic moment where they walked away from each other on a bridge and weren't supposed to look back but of course they both did turn around at the last second and then the season ends.

flash forward to season 4 and you can tell time has passed and they aren't working together and it's implied there was some big falling out and we have no idea what it is. eve is just annoyed and done with villanelle and villanelle is like trying to prove she's not a bad person and goes to church and stuff and actually that plot was extremely hilarious and she imagined up a drag jesus version of herself for advice and they were acting like exes and it was playing into the whole comedic surrealism aspect of the show really well. but after the first few episodes it just kinda fell apart like i just remember feeling lost all season and not understanding where we were going and this is definitely due to the changing showrunners (they should have just kept pwb for the whole thing!!!!) but they kept adding new characters out of nowhere, some of which were really well done but then we were following plots that were thrown in randomly and it was just a bit of a mess.

but eventually by the LITERAL SERIES FINALE eve and villanelle have both given in to the fact that they enjoy being in each other's company as the worst versions of themselves (which is honestly such a fun direction to go that i really enjoyed especially for a sapphic pairing). and after they've been apart for a vast majority of the season finally they have this good banter going and it's all domestic and then there's a scene where they're walking down an empty road together and this romantic music comes in. and they finally literally actually have The Moment. like they had kissed before in the previous season but not in an explicitly romantic way, they were physically fighting each other on a public bus and eve kissed villanelle to throw her off before headbutting her (SO GRIDDLEHARK OF THEM THAT SCENE IS ACTUALLY SO GOOD) anyways. villanelle kisses eve on the cheek and then eve stares at her and grabs her and they make out for a solid FORTY-FIVE SECONDS. it was so intense and they're kissing as they're stumbling down the road and they run back to the camper van they were travelling in and it's for sure implied that they have sex in there. so everyone was like oh my fucking god they actually did it. like this is where the show was always going, it's a whole I Can Make You Worse thing where both people were like "fuck it i'll be worse then" and gave in to the tension that had been building for years not just within the plot but FOR VIEWERS SINCE 2018.

so i don't exactly remember what happens next but the whole season they've been trying to kill The Twelve which was the assassin group in charge of villanelle, and we find out carolyn was a founding member actually, and i will be honest that plot was always confusing to me but iirc she wasn't with them anymore. so eve and villanelle infiltrate this wedding party boat that's a cover for a meeting of The Twelve (this is like the last 10 minutes of the show now) and they kiss again and there's a scene where it's like they're indirectly talking to each other through the wedding speech that eve somehow ends up giving and that's so romantic too and then villanelle slinks off, finds the meeting, and murders everyone. so yay the protagonists are together finally and villanelle killed her abusers and they are finally in happy gay love. then out of fucking nowhere as they're standing outside on the boat villanelle starts to get shot at. (this is literally the last five minutes of the entire show now) and she falls into the river or maybe jumps in to get away i don't remember and she's still getting shot and eve is swimming to try to catch her. and it's all this dramatic slow-mo beautifully shot stuff that's like horrible in context cause the blood is blooming in the water and eve can't reach villanelle and they do a whole creation of adam hand reach before villanelle slips into the depths.

so literally eve had just thrown away any chance at a normal life to embrace the side of her that loves violence and loves villanelle so they could spend the rest of their life together and that was such a slay. and then she loses villanelle which like, if they wanted a tragic ending it would have been kinder to kill them both, it's so much fucking worse to leave eve spending the rest of her life mourning the one person who understood her and let her give in to her carnal desires. and it is directly after letting the two queer characters finally achieve happiness that one of them is killed off which is the DEFINITION of the bury your gays/dead lesbian syndrome tropes, there have been literal academic papers written on how the phenomenon is like a punishment for queer joy etc etc. this shit has been in the discourse for decades and they fell dead center into the trope which is just so disappointing because at the start ke was such a unique story and one of the first mainstream shows that embraced morally gray queer characters in a way that wasn't homophobic.

oh! and guess who shot villanelle? carolyn!!!! and it was still NEVER CLEAR WHY! she worked for MI6 now so it being in revenge of The Twelve didn't really add up, some people thought she wanted to kill villanelle as like a prize for MI6, it was kind of implied that konstantin told her in this note he spent his last breaths writing (yeah he also died which was the saddest tbh) that villanelle had killed carolyn's son kenny (this was a major plot point of season 3 and carolyn was trying to get revenge, he fell off a building under mysterious circumstances) but that made no sense because it was implied to be konstantin since he was on the roof with kenny and also villanelle was literally in fucking spain or something the episode when it happened.

like i get it. this is a tragic show. people die every episode. but from a writing standpoint it makes absolutely zero fucking sense to kill off one of the two main characters of your show, in the last five minutes of the show, after finally cashing in on your flagship queer romance between them, and leaving the motivation for killing her completely ambiguous.

anyways i'm so sorry that ended up this long jesus christ but tldr: killing eve ends in the worst bury your gays i have ever seen after a season that didn't even have good plot or pacing

[scavengerssuccotash]

What are your thoughts on a Clint x Nat baby? I’ve read some fics where Nat accidentally gets pregnant and debates between keeping the baby or not. But I’ve also read a few fics where they both desperately want a baby and excel as parents once they have one. Personally I think Nat would be terrified if she was pregnant but eventually come around to the idea, because it’s a lil part of her and Clint, and be a great mom.

How did you know about my Sims 4 Clintasha save file?

(They have a daughter named Katya. And she’s fucking adorable.) 😭

Kid/baby Clintasha fics are definitely a real guilty pleasure for me. While I don’t agree with how Whedon presented that bit of character backstory for Natasha, I think taken with in universe logic it would make sense for the Red Room to sterilize their Widows. (It’s one of the few things that is canon that I’ve kept for my fic Sightline.)

(I ALSO have a real big problem with the tone in which it was discussed and handled in the Black Widow movie but let’s just skip over that for now.)

I think Clint and Nat would be exceptional parents. Extremely doting and highly protective I must admit I see them a bit of a helicopter parent duo. At least until the age of ten I want to say, when they start to loosen up their reigns as they finally start to believe that their child is safe. I think they would also retire from both SHIELD and Avenging, I don’t think Natasha much less Clint would be able to handle the separation and uncertainty in leaving for missions for months at a time. Clint is also immediately a girl dad. (I can’t help but picture Jeremy Renner a bit as I type this. Which hilariously shines a glaring light on my own father issues, but like in a ‘awww I wish o had that!’ way.)

I think it’s rather a cliche in the fandom to imagine them having a little girl, and I’m firmly one million percent within that camp. I genuinely can’t picture them having a boy for their first kid. (Yes, I said first. They have two! A girl and a boy roughly three years apart. They live in my head as a happy little family on a farm in the cornfields of Iowa and I love them very much.)

As for the pregnancy—it was fucking brutal! For my headcanon of a non-sterilized Natasha the Red Room kept them continually supplied with birth control and other hormonal blockers to the point that it was actually assumed that she would not be able to get pregnant or at the very least it would be rare. That one in a million chance happened after a particularly nasty fight when Natasha ran into the line of fire to save Steve. Cue a couple of thrown dishes and Clint growling into her ear and pinned to the bed.

“I’m not fucking losing you, do you hear me, Tasha!”

It was very hot and very intense and oops!

What really was difficult about the pregnancy, you know besides being pregnant (her back hurt like a son of a birch) was the emotional torrent that it brought. Sleepless nights, constant worry, questioning if she even wanted to keep it, followed by a surreal disbelief that she was even pregnant. It was a body horror watching and then feeling a tiny baby growing inside her. In the end she decided to keep it, partly as one last fuck you to the Red Room and her past but also because it was part Clint too. When she told him, it was in the middle of a firefight. (He would later tell her that her timing was shit.) As soon as the words left her mouth he looked at her for a good five seconds, blinked and then nodded to himself. He then, without any of the fanfare, dispatched the ten guys shooting at them, clean kills. All ten headshots. One right after the other with the cold efficiency she’s only ever seen once before when she was captured and tortured for three months.

Katya Philomena Romanoff-Barton was born November 16th. Three months premature, and weighing two pounds and thirteen ounces. She has blue eyes like her father and the freckles and red hair of her mother. They were able to bring her home after a year in the NICU.

She starts her Freshmen year at Princeton this year, double majoring in International Politics and Psychology, with an applied minor in History. She has one championship trophy in Olympic Archery and does Ballet in her free time.

[ms-nunuvurbsness]

Ack, sorry. Marimoth 49 (for now.😈)

49. Kiss ... out of necessity

This situation was ludicrous. 

It may seem hilarious from an outside perspective, but she did not feel like laughing. At all.

After a day full of courses, worrying about finding an internship next year and an abnormal amount of mishaps - seriously, she lost count of how many times she had misplaced something or pricked her fingers accidentally while sewing today! - she had been ready to come home and fling herself onto her bed. Dressing and eating could wait. She was far too exhausted to care about anything.

But no.

No, this day just had to turn from bad to worse when, after five years of blessed silence, a new Akuma decided to show up.

At first, she had no idea what was happening. She was walking home when she saw a couple frantically clinging to each other while trying to evade the edges of a strange shimmering barrier surrounding them.

Of course, she had run over to try and help, but before she could do anything, a high-pitched voice screeched: "You will not ruin their first kiss! I will not let you break apart this perfect match!"

Suddenly, she was plucked from the streets and flying towards the starless sky. There had been sounds of distress from other people around her, but she could hardly make out what they were shouting because the Akuma kept complaining about her ruined day right into her ear.

Tell me about it.

That had been her last thought before she had realised she was flying right towards the lit-up Tour Eiffel - without any sign of slowing down. She didn't even have time to react when she got deposited roughly on one of the crossbeams. The Akuma hadn't wasted any time, hitting her with a light beam before leaving for the city again. Temporarily blinded, Marinette had tried to keep her balance, frantically waving her arms to find any purchase. Thankfully, somebody had grabbed her and prevented her from tumbling down.

Once she was somewhat steady on her feet again, she had turned towards her rescuer - and had lost any manner of speech once she saw a silver butterfly mask staring right back at her. Her heart had plummeted at the realisation that the Akuma had brought her to Paris' most notorious villain.

Hawk Moth.

Her mind had started racing.

Why was she here?

Did he know she was Ladybug?

Was he about to demand her Miraculous?

Should she transform? But this would be a bad idea! Because what if he didn't know-

"Are you alright?"

Her thoughts had screeched to a halt. Had she heard right? A question which she had articulated with an intelligent: "What?"

"I asked whether you're alright," he had repeated, enunciating each word with slight impatience.

She had blinked, taken aback. That had been the last thing she had expected of him: inquiring about her well-being. 

Was this some trick?

 "I... I am?" Despite sounding more like she was asking him, he had accepted her answer with a nod.

He had then turned away from her, facing forward towards the shining city with his gloved hands folded atop his cane. His following words had surprised her even more. "Don't worry, mademoiselle. I will handle this situation immediately."

She would've laughed had she not been so apprehensive over his true intentions.

Not worry about Hawk Moth? That would be a first.

But as the minutes passed, it became apparent that he didn't plan on doing anything to her. On the contrary, he seemed to have forgotten about her existence altogether. He was more preoccupied with haggling quietly with the Akuma, the glowing outlines of a butterfly framing his eyes. His low tone became increasingly more threatening the longer it took to convince the Akuma to cooperate.

She had tried to focus on his words but was quickly distracted by the butterfly brooch on his purple suit. His Miraculous was so close in reach that it seemed almost too easy to lunge forward and take it. She would lie if she said she hadn't contemplated doing it. But she knew she hardly stood a chance as her civilian self. And she would not risk revealing herself to him. That was out of the question.

Therefore, all that was left was to stay put while trying to ignore the dizzying height and the dangerous proximity to her sworn enemy.

So this was where she was now: trapped on the Tour Eiffel with Hawk Moth at night.

At first, she had wondered why he hadn't simply taken her to a safer place where they could each go their own way. He obviously didn't need her for anything. So much time had passed, yet the only thing he had done was argue with the Akuma or just silently glare at the city as if it was responsible for his misfortune. For a moment, she had been afraid that he would leave her any moment now, but curiously, he stayed where he was.

The answer to her musings appeared right at the corner of her eye, shimmering golden when the city lights hit it at the right angle. 

A barrier.

It was just like the one she had seen that couple surrounded with.

Distinctly, she remembered being hit by a light beam from the Akuma. Right. So that's what the attack did.

Squinting, she tried to study the barrier but soon grew irritated with her lack of progress. It kept shifting in and out of visibility like a living thing, making it difficult to catch any potentially meaningful details.

She contemplated whether there was a possibility to phase through the semi-invisible wall.

Just as she raised her hand, about to probe it lightly, a stern voice interrupted her advance. 

"Don't touch it."

Her body froze. Slowly, she turned her head in his direction, glancing up at him with apprehension. "Why not?" 

"It will burn you if you do, " he stated plainly.

As if to prove his point, the barrier contracted slightly, inching closer towards the pair. 

Marinette was too slow when trying to snatch her hand out of reach, her fingers accidentally grazing the surface of the magical bubble. Pain shot up her arm, and she bit back a surprised yelp. Staggering, she tried to move away but, in doing so, almost lost her balance all over again.

Hawk Moth reached out reflexively, ready to catch her if she were to slip. She managed to steady herself with effort, her legs still shaking from the adrenaline rush. Only when she finally stood still did she grow aware of his hand hovering over her back, fingers slightly brushing over her thin blouse. A shiver ran down her spine at the butterfly light contact.  

Noticing her reaction, he withdrew, placing his hand back atop the other on his cane. 

From the corner of her eye, she saw the glowing butterfly shape reappear around his eyes again.

He wasted no time showing his displeasure.

"I thought I made my instructions clear. Come back this instant. Stop fooling around with your powers and reverse the damage you have done."

There was a pause in which the Akuma apparently argued her case.

"No, this is not "doing good" or helping. This is causing mischief out of pettiness. It was not part of the deal, " he replied coldly.

Marinette raised an eyebrow.

"Doing good"?

She hardly had the time to think more about that before the barrier moved again, getting tighter around them. Any more, and she would be burned again.

Swallowing, she willed her - once again - shaky legs to move, sliding one baby step after another away from the danger zone. Being unsure of her footing, she made the mistake of glancing down towards her feet. A sense of vertigo rolled over her, making her freeze in terror.

Oh God, oh God, this is too high, oh God, oh no-

"Hold onto my arm. And don't look down."

His gruff voice startled her out of her racing thoughts. Trembling and wide-eyed, she accepted his offer without question. Their eyes met, and despite his mask covering a significant part of his features, she could see frustration written all over his face. But more than that, he looked resigned. Weary.

Uncomfortable, she averted her eyes to the side. Instead, she eyed the distance left between them and the edge of the barrier. It was alarmingly small. Three more contractions, and there would be no escape.

"There must be another way to break out of this, " she muttered.

"I'm already working on that."

"Yes, I can see how well this is going for you."

He turned away once again, resuming his glower towards the city. She thought that was the end of the conversation and was about to get worried over her impulsive reply when he continued: "The other option would be to wait for Ladybug and Chat Noir to show up and solve this." 

Unwittingly, the corners of her mouth twitched. 

He had ground this out with such annoyance she couldn't help the small bubble of amusement flickering through her chest. That was something she was familiar with: his blatant dislike of Paris' heroes.

This small bout of nostalgia didn't last long, however. There was another problem: Chat Noir had told her at their last night patrol that he would be out of commission for a few weeks. He would travel to a different country - not too far away, so she could still reach him. But he had warned her that there would be a significant delay if he were to help her. So the only other hero who could've done something right now was trapped herself. And she couldn't call Chat Noir because then she would have to transform.

Out of the question, out of the question, out of the question. Think, Marinette! There is a way to break out of this without giving up your identity! There must be!

She bit her lip, her fingers unconsciously tightening around his arm.

It didn't help when the barrier shifted closer to them again.

Closing her eyes in concentration, she envisioned the trapped couple from before. What was it that the Akuma had said when she had tried to help them? Why had she prevented her from going near them?

Something about-

"You will not ruin their first kiss! I will not let you break apart this perfect match!"

The words resounded like a distant echo within her mind, making her world tilt at a dangerous angle. She blanched.

First kiss.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, don't tell me I- ?!

How absurd! No way! There must be something she was overlooking!

But time was short, and her frantic thoughts always circled back to the same awful conclusion. This limited supply of information was all she had. She didn't have anything else to go on.

A small, high-pitched giggle escaped her, sounding about as breathless as she felt. Give it a minute, and she might start crying on top of that. Of course. Of course, this type of ridiculous thing could only happen to Marinette.

"What is it?"

The cautious tone of his voice filtered through her panic-stricken mind, yet she couldn't bring herself to meet his stare. It wasn't bad enough to be stuck with her enemy. No. Apparently, the Akuma wanted her victims to share a first kiss - only because her own had been interrupted.

A first kiss with Hawk Moth.

It was that, or give up her superhero identity.

Pick your poison, Marinette.

"Mademoiselle?"

There was also something else she realised. Hawk Moth talked to his victims through a telepathic connection. Therefore, he knew their thoughts and feelings. And by giving them their powers, he also knew what they were capable of. Which meant he was familiar with how each and every attack of theirs worked.

"You know, " she breathed.

"Beg your pardon?"

Finally, she looked up at him. "You know how to get out of this."

Outwardly, he showed no sign. His expression remained infuriatingly neutral. He didn't even blink. "Well, of course. That is why I've been trying to talk-"

"No, don't pretend to misunderstand! You know very well how to get rid of this barrier without the Akuma! " she interrupted him, before he could continue with his made-up excuse. His blind insistence on pursuing this idea made her more confident in her dreadful theory.

She got further proof when something flickered in his eyes. Something that was gone as fast as it had appeared. It was too late, though.

Gotcha.

"I have no idea what you're speaking of," he said, a warning edge to his tone.

Oh, so he was going to make it difficult. But there was no time.

Because, at that instant, the barrier shifted so close, it would definitely touch them with its next contraction.

Mind made up, she decided to act before she could think. 

With a snarl, she grabbed his lapels and forcefully yanked him down towards her, meanwhile pushing herself up to meet him. She pressed her lips to his, her vice grip keeping them locked together for the moment - making sure this act met the magical requirements for their release.

Her heart kept pounding a warning beat as they teetered dangerously close at the edges of the crossbeam, somehow evading the lethal fall by pure luck. 

She had squeezed her eyes shut to spare herself the embarrassment of his reaction. The sudden tension in his body spoke volumes nonetheless. 

Two heartbeats passed with nothing happening.

Then she felt one of his hands press down on her shoulder, his fingers digging into her skin almost painfully.

Gasping, she tore herself away from him, immediately casting a look over her shoulder. She tried to ignore her flushed face, squinting through her blurry vision to try and figure out whether they had succeeded. There were no flashes of gold as far as she could see. That alone, however, wasn't enough to confirm her suspicion, so she raised one of her hands and tentatively reached out toward the empty air. 

There was no pain nor any resistance.

A flash of relief passed through her, lessening the tension from her frame.

So she had been right. They really had to- !

Well.

At least it was over now.

That was when she grew aware of a hand resting on her shoulder, its grip not as bruising anymore, but its weight still heavy on her conscience.

She herself was holding onto his lapels, unwilling to let go and refusing to look up. His body remained tense, and his unnatural stillness was foreboding. She knew she needed to say something fast, or else, she felt, he would explode on her.

"I'm sorry, monsieur," she muttered, half meaning it, half defiant. "It was the only thing I could think of."

And it had worked.

When he didn't answer, her heart sank. That was it. He was probably going to leave her up here. Or worse. Maybe he would throw her over the edge for her audacity.

She cringed inside when he let out a forceful exhale, preparing herself for the worst. What that might've been, she would never find out.

Her eyes widened when he suddenly bent down and picked her up. He shifted her to a more comfortable position in his arms while simultaneously managing to hold onto his cane. She frowned. Opening her mouth, she was about to question his intentions. What left her lips instead was a silent scream as he jumped over the edge without any warning.

Their fall was occasionally interrupted by him landing on one ladder or crossbeam and then jumping to the next. This way, they could steadily descend the many levels of the tower. Eventually, they reached the safe and solid ground.

This whole time, he had said nothing to her. He hadn't even spared her a glance. The longer this oppressive silence persisted, the worse she felt about her actions, no matter how justified. 

Had it been reversed, she knew, she would've been furious. God, she would've despised him for it! 

But she had to face the truth.

He could've done to her what she had done to him and just left her then and there once they were free. But he hadn't. Instead, he had insisted on trying to convince the Akuma to reverse the attack. And not only that. The very first thing he had done was prevent her from plunging to her death. And despite being preoccupied with his negotiations, he had stayed aware of her safety, helping whenever he felt she was in danger. Even now, he had chosen to bring her down rather than leave her behind as punishment.

This Hawk Moth was a stranger to her. She didn't know what to make of his unusual change in demeanour. 

But she couldn't ignore the suffocating heaviness in her chest anymore.

So when he set her down, she kept her grip on his lapels, holding him in place as she gathered the right words. Breathing in, she braved herself to look him in the eyes. He needed to realise that she meant what she was about to say.

"Monsieur, I'm really sorry, I-"

He didn't let her finish.

"Spare me your incessant apologies."

She flinched at his biting tone.

Noticing her reaction, he paused, his eyes studying her face in quick saccades. He must've found something in her expression because some of the severity seemed to leave his features. 

Closing his eyes, he sighed.

When he spoke again, his voice had lost its cutting edge. "You did what was necessary at that moment." Reaching up, he closed his hands around her fists and carefully loosened her grip on his clothes.

Her breath hitched. "Still..."

She clamped her mouth shut when he gave her a look. 

"I don't want to hear any more of it." He didn't let her go. Not yet. Instead, he tightened his hold on her hands, letting her know the weight of his following words. "Let us both do ourselves a favour and forget this incident."

Slowly, she nodded. She wanted to do nothing more than that.

Satisfied with her agreement, he released her. "Well, then..."

"Thank you."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. It was too late to take them back now.

He tilted his head. "For what?"

Does he think I'm thanking him for the kiss?

The unbidden thought made her flush in mortification, and she immediately shoved it into the deepest recesses of her mind.

"F-for rescuing me. I could've died had you not saved me!"

After a beat of silence, he inclined his head. "Any time, mademoiselle."

Having finally cleared up the situation, they exchanged goodbyes, and she watched him vanish into the night. She stayed there for a while, eyes unfocused while gathering her composure. Soon, she also left the scene.

Paris was still in need of Ladybug's intervention, after all.

There was one problem, however, she would not be able to solve.

Both Hawk Moth and Marinette would fail at their agreement to forget the events of this evening.

[sroloc--elbisivni]

Something from the Transformers Band AU or Regency AU? Those were super fun.

Five times Drift’s new bandmates were weird and one time he embraced the chaos

The first time Drift realized how weird his new bandmates were, he hadn’t even joined the band yet. They weren’t his bandmates. They were just Arcee and Rod’s friends he was meeting at a diner because they were about to go on tour without a bassist and one of them had heard him practicing on the couch. Drift was kind of expecting to get about five questions in before they figured out he wasn’t worth it and moved on.

What he got instead was the guy he was pretty sure he hadn’t met going, “So you’ve done tours before, right? You know you can handle it?”

“Yes,” Drift said, and got ready for it to fall apart as soon as they asked him about those tours.

“And double checking—you’re not using anything, right?’ the guy he was pretty sure he had met said. “Like, no shade, no harm, it’s not a problem, we just gotta know.”

“Using…?” Drift said, carefully.

“Drugs,” Rod elaborated from where he was playing games on his phone and stealing fries from the guy who must have been the one Drift had already met.

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Do you snore?” the guy he hadn’t met before asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Rod said. Drift tried not to wince. That didn’t seem like an answer they’d want to hear.

“Okay, you’ll bunk with Percy,” the guy he’d met before said. “So how this is gonna work is, we’ll run you through the schedule and the set basics and if it all sounds good, we’ll get you in to talk with our lawyer and—do you have an agent?”

Not anymore. Drift just shook his head, cautiously.

“—that’s fine, you can borrow ours. You can talk to them two and get the contract shit straightened out and call the first tour leg a trial run. Doesn’t work out, that’s fine, we can track down someone else and you can get back to your life?”

It went up at the end like a question. Drift was still trying to figure out what was going on. They hadn’t told him to leave yet.

“He’s in,” said Rod, who had managed to figure out how to interpret Drift’s blanking face in the past two months. “Hey, you should let me be your agent.”

“Don’t do that.” The guy Drift had just met today, whose name he would learn in short order was Impactor, pulled out a pen and grabbed a napkin out of the dispenser. “So here’s what the first few shows are going to look like—”

===

Drift had actually learned what band he was gigging for by the time the publicity circuit started. Seemed like the ‘Wreckers’ were pretty well known in the States. They had pretty regular radio interviews, and after they’d wrapped a very successful first leg of the tour and were starting to talk about him sticking around, they had him come along to one of them.

Drift hadn’t absorbed much of Springer’s rundown besides “Are you kidding me, that’s fucking hilarious, please say that,” when he checked if it would be okay for him to say that he’d never heard of the band before he joined if the interviewer asked. About the only other thing he’d tracked was “Oh, and if we all stand up, that’s a signal that the lady asked a walkout question and we’re getting the hell out of there.”

He’d assumed this was them trying to fuck with him and nodded accordingly. As such, it took him a couple seconds to notice when the rest of the group went silent in response to a question to Springer about some kind of anniversary.

“Welp,” Impactor said, and slapped his hands against his thighs. They were all standing now, and Drift scrambled to his feet to follow them out. The radio host was staring at them with baffled offense, but none of the rest of them even looked at her.

Whirl led the way out of the radio station at a confident saunter, losing his helmet that he wore for all official band business into his backpack in a quick slight of hand Drift couldn’t catch. That plus Perceptor’s sunglasses rendered them just about invisible, as a group.

“So, ice cream?” Whirl asked. “I’m feeling ice cream.”

“What was that?” Drift asked, still glancing back. No one was coming out of the station after them, not even Kup. Were they in trouble?

“I told you about walkout questions, right?” Springer asked. “Stuff about my dad who’s in jail qualifies.”

“...I thought you were joking.”

“Oh, super not joking.”

“It’s in the contract,” Perceptor said. “All of us have things we’d rather not discuss publicly. Some of the press don’t read it, or think that the ‘right to terminate immediately’ isn’t something we’ll actually exercise.” He adjusted his sunglasses. “Kup will take care of it. We haven’t had to show we’re not bluffing in a while.”

“Sorry, dude,” Impactor said, clapping Springer on the back.

“It’s whatever. Drift, you wanna put anything on the list? Shit people absolutely cannot ask about?”

He did. Might as well start big and let them help him figure out what was unreasonable, right? “My entire career before this.”

“Fuck yes,” Whirl said. “I love it. Walking enigma of a man number two. Do you want help making up a fake backstory or are we just calling it a void?”

Drift’s new bandmates were very weird, but he couldn’t say he minded.

===

They were through the second of three tour legs and taking a night to celebrate—both making it this far and that Drift had decided he’d be joining the band. They’d crammed into the same room, along with Rod and Arcee and a bunch of things from the game shop down the road that looked fun. Everyone except Impactor was drunk and Arcee had her head in Springer’s lap while he petted her buzzcut. Drift was pleasantly buzzed for the first time in a while

“Hey,” Arcee said, reaching out to pat Drift on the arm. “Hey. Hey Drift. If you’re with the band now. What’s your carsona.”

“What?”

“OH FUCK YES,” Whirl said, sitting up so fast he fell off the bed. Perceptor dropped a pillow on top of his face. It didn’t dampen the effect. “Did I tell you guys, I had the coolest fucking idea for the next one. First off, I’m going to need a bunch of guns—”

“What are you fucking talking about,” Drift said, because he’d learned that Whirl explaining one of his ideas could take an entire conversation’s worth of words and he didn’t want to move on without an answer. “Impactor?”

Impactor was already scrolling on his phone, and five seconds later he shoved it in front of Drift’s face. Drift could recognize the opening notes of Wreck and Rule before it even got four bars in, playing over an animated shot of a tank rolling down a deserted road. The song built to the opening fermata, and as the saxophone held out the note, the tank started to break into pieces and reform into a helicopter.

“What,” Drift repeated.

The helicopter launched into the sky as the bass dropped and the drums kicked in, and two cars shot off a ramp in the background to come crashing into frame as another helicopter dive-bombed the camera. An unsupported microscope flew through the air to keep up.

“What.”

The next three minutes featured car chases, helicopter acrobatics, and absolutely no concern for the laws of physics. It came to the end and Drift immediately dragged the video back to the beginning to watch it again, this time complete with commentary as everyone had to tell him which vehicle they were and why and the cool effects.

“What,” Drift said, helplessly, again, when it had finished. “Why is this a thing.”

“Percy’s idea,” Whirl said. “Because he’s a weeb.”

“Revolutionary Girl Utena is a masterpiece,” Perceptor said to no one in particular.

Drift hit replay on the video again, because he could. This was so weird. It was so cool.

“I wanna be a racecar,” he said, when it had finished again.

“ONE OF US,” Hot Rod cheered, and tried to wrestle him into a noogie. He failed, of course. Springer helped pin him down while Drift got his revenge.

===

“Hey,” Whirl said, somewhere during a long overnight drive on the bus when he and Drift were the only ones awake. “Do you like instrumental stuff?”

Drift looked up from his book. “Sure?”

Whirl waggled a pair of headphones at him. “Wanna give something a listen for me?”

“Sure.”

Drift knew Whirl did a lot of the band’s instrumentations, and that he got bored easy, so he was expecting this to be a new riff on one of the songs they’d been playing so far, or maybe a completely unknown song for the album that was scheduled for work when they were done with the tour. Instead, he got a string quartet.

Even with the tinny, unvarying tones of automated transcription software, it flowed. It was elegant, all the notes interlocking like clockwork, the instruments passing around the melody and making it their own. It cut off abruptly enough that Drift could feel how much he wanted more.

“Okay, this bit. Is the cello doing enough?” Whirl asked, and played the last thirty seconds again.

Drift hadn’t done instrumental music in years, but he had a pretty good understanding of bass parts thanks to this tour. “It’s kind of boring. Syncopate it, maybe?”

“Well, fuck you too,” Whirl said, and snatched the headphones back. He clicked something and scowled at his screen. “Fuck. You’re right.”

“You’re writing this?” Drift asked, instead of going back to his book.

“Side gig. Cyclonus listens to the classical music station all the time. I will get something on there. He can’t escape from me.”

Every time Whirl mentioned either of his housemates Drift wasn’t sure if he was dating them or not, and at this point Drift was honestly kind of scared to ask.

===

Drift was already nervous on the first day of recording for the new album. It was going to be the first time he’d been in a recording booth in almost a year. He might completely fail at this, and not know how to work with them, or not be able to adapt, and just stick to being a touring backup. Which he liked, it was great, but it wasn’t like he could live on that, and it was pretty damn unlikely that he was going to trip into gigging for any other bands the way he had for this one.

So his nerves were running high even before he let himself in with the code and wandered down a hallway towards the sound of raised voices and found Perceptor, of all people, having a shouting match with a stranger in the production booth. The rest of the band was in the recording booth, all doing things completely unrelated to music. Drift snuck in to join them.

“Uh…” At least it was quiet in here. “Are they…”

Impactor flipped a page in his motorcycle magazine. “They’ll need another couple of minutes.”

Drift decided to take a very long time tuning his bass.

Sure enough, a couple minutes later Percy stormed out of the recording booth and slammed the door open to join them. The stranger, grinning smugly, flipped on the mic to chat with them and waved. “Hey! You must be the new guy. I’m Percy’s ex-boyfriend.”

“I told you to stop telling people that!” Perceptor shouted at the booth. “He’s my husband,” he added in a far calmer aside to Drift.

“Oh,” Drift said. He’d vaguely known Perceptor was married, but he hadn’t really expected...this?

“Mwah!” The guy who must be Brainstorm blew a kiss at the booth. “Oh-kay, if you gentlemen would like to get this show on the road, I need some sound checks.”

“Our regular producer is your husband?” Drift asked Percy, quietly. He was pretty sure this wasn’t standard, even for the American music industry.

“He works for takeout,” Springer said, and played a rimshot.

Well. At least his nerves were gone.

===

The album recording process went...fine? It went fine. It went great, actually, Drift didn’t have to do any singing at all and finally understood enough about how they liked the bass to fit into their songs that he could improv some of his own parts instead of asking Kup for help or trying to follow Impactor’s increasingly incomprehensible whims. The album was coming together, they were creeping towards release and planning the next tour, the paparazzi still hadn’t figured out where he was, and he only slept on Rod and Arcee’s couch when he didn’t feel like going home after movie night.

They were doing their first show in a while, to build hype for the upcoming album, and Drift was wandering around the venue after sound check doing nothing in particular. Springer was nearby, challenging people to dance-offs with the camera guy who was doing a documentary for the upcoming tour and also enabling Springer’s burgeoning social media empire trailing behind him.

“Hey, Drift!” Springer waved at him. “Dance-off?”

Drift thought about it. He was less scared of being found than he had been a year ago. He liked it here, he liked his band mates, his old agency hadn’t tried to get in touch with him at all. He’d found a life after washing out of Kpop. Why not?

“Sure,” he said, and launched into an old routine. Not one of the ones from his last tour, that had ended with him falling off the stage, but one of the ones from before that when his health hadn’t been as bad. It wasn’t one of his flashier ones, but he’d drilled it a lot and it looked good close up.

It ended with him facing his audience, one hand outstretched, so he had a fantastic view of the shocked and delighted awe on Springer’s face two seconds before he tackled Drift into a nearby couch shouting “What the FUCK was THAT?”

Drift was going to assume he’d won.