#fucking good at managing nausea at this point but. it doesn't mean i have to fucking like it!!!!!!! :((((

[intertexts]

i hate being sick i hate being sick i hate being sick!!!!!!!!!

[tumblybumbly7]

"Excuse me everyone" atch said as he walked back to the mouth of the cave, and promptly threw up.

Atch was an odd man, a kid, younger than most of them, and not nearly numb enough to death and misery for their comfort, he was a fine leader, one better than any of them remember, but they were concerned.

They all stared in shock at his retching, they were all even more concerned when what came out of atch's lips wasn't just bile, but blood.

Styx stared ahead, wordless, he could sympethize with his leaders retching, last loop was particularly vicious, he still felt the phantom hands twitching around his neck, and felt a little sick at the thought himself.

"Atch, you gonna be alright lad? We can postpone the mission?" Glyde asks hopefully, even through all the loops she was smart, and always seemed to know when something was wrong, of course its easy to see something is wrong when a freind of yours vomits blood.

"N- no- no i *hkk* im fine, don't worry, just a spot of nausea, we'll be good to go soon, promise" he said, before getting a book out and opening to a page marked in styx's name, and crossing another line into it.

Claire, the groups potion maker, went over and handed him a potion that would clear it, he thanked her and slipped it into his robes, no doubt until someone else needed it a week later.

They had all joined up with atch a few months ago, and the boy seemed to not be a fan of letting go, whenever one of them fell in battle, the day would restart, atch's body warping and twisting as the world turned to dust and reformed.

This mission was proving to be a particularly frustrating endevour, and styx was thinking of just telling everyone about atch's efforts, since the boy was getting more and more harrowed with each jump back.

Atch caught his breath, this mission fucking bites, but that doesn't matter, he finally found the perfect strategy to make sure no one dies, all he has to do is kill all of the spiders in the cave himself, walk styx over to every hidden door to unlock them, have glyde rage on the skeletons guarding the treasure, and have claire coat his hands in acid to break the solution holding the treasure in place, easy, easy, easy.

It wasn't fucking easy, goddamnit it wasn't easy, everything had been going perfectly, and then suddenly as they were escaping, a new boss had appeared, some sort of skeleton, it launched red attacks that hurt, always managing to catch glyde, or claire, sometimes styx, and he would be forced to die and restart, or just launch his way into the skeleton's attacks for a quick death, and the pain seemed to stick through the next couple of loops too, what a fucking miracle.

"Alright, i need to take five, i'll be right back everyone, please wait here." Atch said, and then walked further into the dungeon, he was done, he would just do everything himself until he could figure out the skeletons patterns, he didn't care anymore.

"Soo... somethings wrong with the lad." Glyde said.

"Im afraid for the boy, he's hypercompetent to the point of misery." Claire responded.

"I've been meaning to say for a while, but do you two ever notice atch feeling, particularly tired?" Styx posed the question, trying to ease them into the truth, when they heard a scream from the dungeon, they ran in, and saw atch distorting, warping, like his whole body was becoming undone.

"W-what the fuck is happening?!" Atch yelled at the figure before him, trying to hold his body together.

The figure walkec into the light, it was but a simple skeleton, with red eyes and tattered armor "no more" it said, and then styx realized its armor looked familiar.

Atch had one other member of the group he had failed to save a way's back, a paladin known as trice, the paladin was loyal and headstrong, and shared something with styx, he could remember the loops, he had always taken it upon himself to help atch through particularly bad days, holding him as he cried into his arms, or being there to lean on when atch had nightmares, until one day they had gone against a soul strider, a mage that can devour someone's soul to use as weaponry.

Trice had thrown himself in the way of a blast meant for atch, and it was like he had ceased to exist, his body turning into ashes and dust, atch had screamed for hours, and even more so once he looped and realized something, trice didn't come back with them.

Now here atch was once more, brought back as a revenent, and he seemed to want atch to stop.

"T-trice is that you?" Atch's distorted voice rung out, tearful.

Trice slowly walked up to atch, and leaned down, until they were eye to eye.

"I did not die for you to destroy yourself" trice's voice echoed out onto the cavern, cold and emotionless.

Suddenly trice plunged his hand into atch's chest, and atch's body stilled, the distortion focusing on the point trice had touched, something popped out, and trice held it up, it was a symbol of the god eras, the god of time, embedded into atch's chest.

"N-no No No, PLEASE I NEED IT, PLE-" atch tried to plead, only for a wet cough to exit his lips, and a torrent of blood to stream out, his body hunched over and shaking.

"You will split the difference" trice said, and crushed the symbol, the biggest of the peices flew back into atch's chest, and his shaking seemed to subside, the other peices flew towards himself, styx, glyde, and claire, and they couldn't avoid it as it made contact and sunk into their skin, the world warped white, and suddenly...

Atch breathed deeply, gasping as a hand swung to his back, patting it.

He looked around wildly, and saw it was the night before the mission, surely that couldn't have all been a nightmare? Surely not.

He looked at the hand patting his back, and his eyes widened, it belonged to trice, who was still a skeleton, but he saw that trice also had a tent and a bedroll out, like he had never died.

"Hey atch, i think its time we had a talk about how little you value your life, that you would sacrifice yourself so much for others."

"How many times?" A voice spoke out, and atch's heart grew heavy, it was glyde's voice, and she seemed to remember the last loop, suddenly incensed.

"It doesn't mat-"

"1325" styx said, his voice betraying no emotion.

"Just for this one mission?" Claire sounded devastated.

Styx suddenly burst into laughter, mad and wild.

"Nonsense, he could do this since we met him" styx whispered, no mirth in his tone.

Glyde and claire's jaws hung open, any anger replaced by intense sadness, how many times had atch died so they would live?

"Listen it doesn't matter, i would die for each and every one of you, and the fact that i mean that shouldn't concern you it should fill you with pride to have a leader ready to follow his convictions."

Atch's eyes glowed brighter with a quiet rage, he slapped atch, then hugged him, holding him close.

"You've killed yourself before to save us you goddamn moron, you've thrown yourself into the jaws of death, just to get us back, how fucking terrible must this be for you to see death as a comfort, how bad?" Trice's voice sounded the most like his living self it had since he died, and it was because he sounded close to tears.

Atch tried to reassure him, but was quieted by glyde suddenly scooping them both into a hug, quickly joined by claire and styx, and atchs demanour shattered, he tried to tell them he was fine, but could barely stutter a single lie out before he devolved into tears.

They all remembered now, though glyde and clair only noticed the most recent loop, and even with just that, it proved any and all claims styx and trice made, the claims of atch's slowly growing suicidal ideations concering them greatly.

"What did you do to me?" Atch asks after a while of silence.

"I've now limited your power, any time your power starts to overwhelm you physically, it will lock out, and you won't be able to use it again until you're healthy.

Atch started panicking at this

"B-But what about if you guys are hurt?! What if someone dies before the limit is up?!! What if one you gets hurt to the point of disabeling levels of pain?!!!" Atch grew more incensed with every question, until trice shushed him.

"You once broke your own neck because glyde's arm broke in the middle of combat, and you were so convinced it would lead to someone's death that you killed yourself to save us a potential bad fate, you have grown so reliant on this power its become a get out of jail free card, do you not see why i'm so concerned for you?!!" Trice answered back, his voice vitriolic, though the tone was tempered with concern.

Atch looked away, cowed, but then he muttered that the loops still fixed things.

Styx's eye twitched.

"You once had us fight a dragon, and when it was about to burn me, you jumped in the way, reset, and when the reset finished, your arm was still on fire, i had to put you out, and glyde had to fucking sit on you to prevent you from trying to fight the dragon again."

Atch looked even more embaressed, and then remembered what they were to do the next day.

"What about the quest we were on? That treasure's important." He said, as if he had a point.

The problem being that he did have a point, the treasure was a nexus, a warpkey that can let them set up camp in a pocket dimension whenever they needed, it was a valuable piece of kit, and atch had his eyes on it ever since they accepted the quest for it.

"Damn the quest, you are to rest, and trust us, and after you are well rested and in good health, then we can get it." Trice said, his tone brooking no argument.

Atch tried to protest again.

"Glyde sit on him again, i'm force feeding him a sleep potion" claire said, already reaching for her satchel.

"Alright! Alright, i'll stop and take a break." Atch responded, sweating slightly at the apperent threat.

"Good, no more resetting at the cost of yourself, you hear?" Styx bellowed out, ready to turn in for the night, eager to see how long atch could go without putting himself in harm's way for someone.

Atch nodded, despondent, and they all forced him into his tent, and went to their own.

Atch stared up at the ceiling of his tent as he lay there, he couldn't help but panick quietly too himself, he knows that the looping might have been hurting him slightly (coughing blood isn't slight) but he didn't want his teamates to die, he supposed he'll just have to deal with this in the morning, and have to try staying in tip top shape to get around the restriction.

He closed his eyes and drifted off, a feeling of intense dread leading to a squirmy and restless slumber.

Player keeps reloading trying to save every ally in a mission, one of their allies remembers every attempt.

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden----Anonymity Ch.5 (NSFW!)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

'Cassandra's favorite', the other maids call you.

You can't tell if they mean it as a good or a bad thing. Hell, you can't even tell which of the two it really is.

Being her 'favorite' does not make you immune to harm in any way; bruises litter your shoulders and sides from when she grabs you too forcefully and cuts from her nails sting at your neck and stomach, renewed each time she comes to take a kiss.

None of that existed back when you were something of zero interest to her. On the other hand, she's told you several times you're 'a thing of beauty' --her thing of beauty-- and she won't let anything ruin a natural piece of art.

If you know anything about Cassandra, it is that she takes art very seriously. Your interpretation of the word greatly varies from hers, you're sure, but it doesn't change the fact she won't easily raise a sickle on you.

Cassandra won't break you. She won't let Daniela do so, either. Bela doesn't even care to hurt you. It means you're safe for now...

Unless Lady Dimitrescu decides you're best taken away from her daughter. Permanently. You don't dare meet her eyes, but you can feel them on you, scrutinizing, every night at dinner.

You're pretty sure she knows.

The thought sits heavy in your mind while you're cleaning bloodied steps off a corridor at three in the small hours of the morning, along with another maid. Adella is a quiet and hardworking one; the two of you make a good team and you know you'll be done in record time.

But it only takes a single moment for everything to go wrong.

Adella is hastily walking back to you with a bucket of fresh water in hand when you hear a different set of steps approach from the side. You make to warn her, but it's already too late.

The collision happens at the turn where the two passageways meet. As soon as you see black robes dripping wet you pray to whichever God will listen for mercy.

Because Cassandra has not been in a good mood all night and she is not the understanding type regardless.

Adella gasps and shakingly backs away, a waterfall of apologies spilling from her lips. Cassandra rolls her neck and draws her sickle, advancing on her slowly. She looks terrifying.

"Don't move now." she orders.

And you just- can't watch this. You don't know why, but the realization you cannot hits you like a speeding truck. You can't stand there while the the woman you frequently kiss cuts away at a girl you know is as good and compassionate as a human under your circumstances can possibly get.

You react.

Before you can even think how impossibly stupid you're being, you drop the mop in your hands and dash forward, crashing into Cassandra's form. Your right arm wraps around her waist and your left grips at her wrist like a vice. Your heart is pounding. You don't even know what you're saying;

"Cassandra, no! Please. Don't." Cold and rigid as she is, it may as well be a statue you're holding. "Cassandra, stop. Please." Once impulse dies down, you realize you've just signed your death wish for two seconds of playing hero.

And you thought you were smarter than that. Ha. But maybe, just maybe, part of you wants to die, so long as it's quick and painless.

With Cassandra, though, you doubt it. Especially with how lethal she sounds when she says:

"You. Disappear." You hear, rather than see, Adella scurrying off for her life. "As for you..."

You only register a blur, nausea, cold nails piercing at your neck, over already existing marks. You are shoved into the nearest wall so powerfully you can't breathe for all of ten seconds. It's a wonder you don't hear any cracks from within your body.

Cassandra is on you, her fingers harsh on your chin and breath chilly on your lips. "Good pets don't bark against their own masters. What made you so bold, hm?"

You don't answer, too busy summoning your mental strength for what comes next. The way her eyes and the lines of her pretty face have hardened, she looks nothing like the flirty girl who comes to steal kisses from you at random times during the night.

"Maybe I've been too nice to you. The first time you call my name and it's for some other maid?"

She looks like she wants to let out a bitter laugh, break something and slice you into stripes simultaneously. And then you realize; Cassandra is jealous.

It doesn't get any worse than that.

"Maybe I should make sure you never say anything again." The corner of her lips curls up in dark amusement as she talks. "You don't talk much, anyway."

Well. She did say she wouldn't let anyone ruin your looks. Never promised anything about what's on the inside.

You're shaking, even if her grasp doesn't leave much room to do so. Your brain is restlessly trying to come up with something to get you out of this mess-

"I'm of way more use to you with my tongue intact." you somehow manage to speak without stuttering. It makes you wonder where the hell this confidence came from.

Cassandra stills for a moment. Her grip eases the slightest amount, probably from surprise.

You wonder what the hell you're even doing, yourself, when you bring your hands to her sides and lean in, to the curve of her nice jawline. You've never kissed her neck before, but you remember from the times you've given her a massage that she's very sensitive around it.

Cautiously, you press your mouth to the soft spot under her ear.

She smells so good and her skin feels so smooth you're not exactly forcing yourself to kiss her. If you're going to be mutilated anyway, the part of you that must be severely messed up muses, you may as well take some pleasure for yourself beforehand. Who knows, it may change her mind along the way.

So you lick her there and suck over her faint pulse. You don't get any stimuli from her, at first.

Until her hand trails from your shoulder to your nape, urging you harder against her. It's the green light to keep going.

You put all your skill into it as you lavish her neck and collarbones with open-mouthed kisses. She's loose and moaning low in her throat now.

You can't tell why, but the sound echoes right though your adrenaline-induced system, tickles down your spinal cord to pool low in your stomach. You either had a kink for danger you never knew of, or you developed one in the castle.

Whatever the case, your fingers are working on the buttons of her outfit and she doesn't seem like stopping you has even crossed her mind.

When the robes barely hang onto her shoulders, Cassandra maneuvers you to the closest room, shuts the door and presses you against it. Hard. Your lips slide together hungrily. You taste wine on her tongue.

At this point, your hands are the only thing supporting her outfit on her. She looks too fucking sexy for words like this, half-undressed, lipstick smeared, so turned on and ready for you. But you also want to see more of her, so you let the black fabric drop.

She's getting impatient, though. Being more vocal, tugging your hand to the apex of her legs.

"Cassandra." you moan when you push the midnight lace of her panties aside and touch her. She's so wet.

Her mouth falls open in a soundless gasp, brows drawn softly. "Oh, you're lucky I like my name on your lips." she says, breathless.

You did start this trying to prove to her how useful your tongue can be attached to your body, however... so it's only fair that's how you finish it.

Finish her.

Cassandra looks dazed and confused when you kneel in front of her, but it's quickly replaced with a broken moan when you take her into your mouth. You revel in every single gasp you coax out of her, every minuscule shake of her perfect thighs.

She bites into her own hand when she reaches her peak, nails leaving four parallel marks on the wall.

You're gentlewomanly enough to pull her outfit up for her while she's coming down from her high. Your gaze takes its sweet time admiring the contours of her chest as you button it closed. She really is the most attractive girl you've ever seen, if you somehow don't take into consideration her body count.

"Good?" you ask when she opens her pretty eyes to look at you.

"It's not cute to be smug, plaything." Cassandra makes a soft grimace at you, though you can see the lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lip. "But. I suppose your tongue has its uses to me, after all."

You gently push off the door to let her exit at her leisure. The movement makes you realize you won't really be able to move tomorrow, with how sore you already are.

To your surprise, Cassandra takes a moment longer in the room.

She turns back to you and raises her hands to your torso, then carefully adjusts your wrinkled shirt. Her long fingers smooth over the imperfections she caused...

And you don't know why after everything the two of you just did, it's this that feels the most intimate.

The same digits brush over your throat as she pulls away.

By the time your mind starts working right again, Cassandra is already gone. Absently, you trace over the weeping scratches on your neck.

-

-

Later, at the main hall of the castle...

"Oh, boo, look who's late again." Daniela rolls her eyes at Cassandra's fashionably delayed arrival.

"Surprise, surprise." Bela smirks, casually leaned against the side of the fireplace.

"Are you two done being insufferable or should I come by later?" Cassandra asks.

"And scar our ears and minds with another round of your 'oh's and 'ah's, sister? I think not." Daniela comments.

Bela raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Had a nice time?"

"You two have very active imaginations, you know? Tells a lot about you." Cassandra chuckles. "She was just giving me a massage. But do go on. Be thirsty. I can wait."

Daniela and Bela share a look, thrown off their game by the nonchalance.

Cassandra hides a smirk under her hood and steps out first, into the peerless dark.

[maximumsunshine]

Good luck tomorrow!!!! I hope you find the answers you're looking for, and whatever the issue is is manageable and resolved quickly! I believe in you!!!

Tests were today. Made the post late night and stayed up all night so I'm not sure when tomorrow became today.

ANYWAY

The tests went well. MRI results in my portal nut in medical speak. No Nuclear Med test results yet. That was an interesting test. "Hey we're going to IV you this med that is the equivalent of two really fatty meals so you are SUPER going to want to puke. Here is a puke bag. Try not to puke though just because we know puking sucks. And no we can't let you take your zofran because that sort of defeats the purpose. Sorry. But once the drug is administered you pretty much lose the going to puke feeling. So we just gotta get through this little bit if meds. It's a small amount but we administer it slowly because if given it too fast you will for sure puke. Wait. You mean if i let you lay down on your left side (I had been sitting up) and arrange your arms just so, you can probably completely even avoid serious nausea?! Give me a minute, I'll go find a gurney." And thus I avoided puking. AND THEN she pulled another syringe of meds out of a lead tube, incases it in a smaller lead shield, and then injected THAT directly into my veins. Lol. So yeah, I'm radioactive right now. Not sure when my system will flush that bit. But I find it funny. I watched her remove the syringe from this massive lead case and put it in a smaller lead shield and I'm just like, "Oh. It's RADIOACTIVE radioactive. Lol"

Anyway, no nuke test results in yet. And I don't understand the MRI results. But my doctor will be able to figure out what's up soon enough and will explain it so I can understand.

I sort of feel like I'm going crazy. Like maybe nothing is wrong. After years of doctors invalidating me telling me I'm just fat, maybe I'm really just fat. But my blood work does validate that something is going in. And that something started when my gallbladder was removed. And we KNOW my gallbladder pissed my liver off because it made the surgery much harder. And then my liver spewed bile just loose into my abdominal cavity for a month and i got sepsis and hadvto have a drain installed. Like we have all this evidence that even I can understand that my liver is fucked up and it ties into my gallbladder not being yoinked fast enough. And we know it took as long as it did for my gallbladder issue to even BE FOUND because when I told my old doctor i was feeling pain and pointed to roughly where my gallbladder was, she tolde it was just me being fat. Those words. Cramps from being fat. Doctors also blamed 5 years of severe anemia that led to many a blood transfusion on "me not making my own blood" because I was fat. And THAT was cancer. So yeah.

When a doctor dismisses a symptom as you just being fat, get a new doctor before you get a new symptom.

Anyway, I have a better pcp now who takes me seriously and doesn't call me fat. I have a better hemotologist oncologist who takes my cancer history seriously and does regular checks and has never called me fat. He was the one that found my liver numbers in his routine blood tests he orders fir me and sounded the alarm which explained the nausea and fatigue and got me into a great GI doctor. Who omg he listened to me talk and talk. He took fucking detailed notes on every word i said. He let me give him my full GI history and all my current symptoms. First visit lasted an hour and I left there with more blood work ordered and these two major tests ordered. He took me so seriously he ordered major tests in the first visit. I'm loves him. I love them all.

I settled for shit doctors that almost let me die from cancer all while promising me i didn't have cancer (literally) all while refusing to run any tests.

I went from wearing this to my hemotologist oncologist and him finding it funny.

To no longer needing it. Because all my new doctors take me seriously and run tests.

I knew i was dying. I was told I had the best hemotologist oncologist in Columbus. So what was the point in finding a different one? Yeah. Well the assessment of his abilities came from his coworkers at Ohio Health. All of that bullshit was Ohio Health. When I showed up in the ER with a hemoglobin of 4 and had my cancer found and removed within 2 days, that wasn't an Ohio Health ER. I didn't just fire a doctor or two. I fired an entire medical system.

Anyway that was an unexpected rant. But I have complicated feeling about medical shit. Like trying to reconcile years of medical abuse that ended in serious trauma just over a year ago. With the overwhelming change in quality of care I'm getting now. It's a full 180. I'm trying to catch my breath. Which, i guess will be easier when this liver bullshit is figured out and corrected.

Then i can focus my efforts on being retested for asthma. Maybe get care for that. Figure out my headaches. Need an mri on my neck for the constant pinched nerves in my shoulders. So much to move on to when the liver is figured out. But there is great comfort in knowing without a doubt my pcp has my back.

/end rant

Oh. That shirt is a 3xl and in good shape if anyone needs it. Cover shipping and it's yours. But, I'm begging you that if you're thinking you could use this shirt, to please just fire your doctor(s) and hire new ones. It could literally save your life! Anyway, hit me up if you want the shirt. Open offer to everyone who is losing patience with their doctor.

[demonfamilytherapist]

Idk if you've covered this already, but how did Duck feel about being selected for the exchange program? And their reaction to being teleported to the Devildom and all that? In their canon, does Duck apply for the program and do they know what they're getting into with that?

Thank you for asking!

I imagine Duck put her name down for something, but they were not 100% clear on the nature of the 'exchange program' nor that the departure would be so... sudden. That's why they had a profile of those humans but MC still seems so shocked at being in the Devildom.

Lilith probably influenced Duck in her own way to encourage them to apply, but since Duck never heard back about it they sort of forgot and assumed they hadn't gotten in. That is, until...

------

Duck regained their balance and swallowed back their nausea as the darkness cleared from their vision.

The first thing they see is the floor - an old tile pattern that vaguely reminds Duck of their old uni. It's familiar enough that it grounds her for a moment. Before she looks up.

She's in... court?

Five men look down at her - they're all tall, even taller in their elevated seats. Duck is outnumbered and without any idea where the fuck this is.

"Welcome to the Devildom, Duck."

The voice is loud enough to make them jump. The man who speaks sits in the 'chief judge' seat in the center, the tallest and most looming of the lot - his smile is weird, almost friendly if it weren't for the circumstances.

"Oh, pardon me," he continues as Duck continues to stare blankly. "Feeling a bit shocked, are we? That's understandable. You've only just arrived, after all. As a human, it will probably take a little while for you to adjust to things here in the Devildom."

Duck considers a few possibilities. Most likely: this was a dream, and so going along with it would be harmless. If it was real, she needed to figure out what was going on now. And if she'd finally snapped and this was some sort of hallucination... well, not much she could do right now.

"The Devildom?"

"Yes, the Devildom. I see that you catch on quickly. Excellent." Duck tried to figure out if the man was trying to be condescending or if he just had a low opinion of their intelligence. "I suppose I should start by introducing myself. My name is Diavolo. I am the ruler of all demons, and all here know of me."

Ruler? Good thing Duck had bit back any commentary.

Duck tries to listen closely to Diavolo's explanation of RAD. It all seems very important, but one question overrides all others...

"Why am I here?" Duck is proud of how clear her voice is despite the situation. She notices another man, one with black hair and red eyes - demon, right - look at her more closely.

"I will explain everything to you," the man says. His features and expression are serious. Duck tries to imagine a smile on his face - a real one - and finds the most she could manage is a sadistic smirk.

Lucifer, Diavolo explains.

At least that serious expression is undercut by the exasperation he shows to the prince.

"...I offer you a most heartfelt welcome, Duck," Lucifer offers with a... smile? Smirk? Whatever it is, it's not even close to sincere. If he's a demon, he must be a good liar, right? Which means he probably doesn't care if Duck thinks he's being sincere or not. Or no one in this room had any respect for her intelligence.

"Thank you. Answer my question, please." The politeness is tacked on mostly as an afterthought. Duck thinks they should probably be more nervous, but they can't really bring themself to care.

"...Interesting," Lucifer says, and now the smile looks somewhat more sincere. "This one is quite different from Solomon."

Lucifer explains the idea of the exchange program. RAD sending away its own students, and... "We're welcoming four students to our school; two from your world and two from the Celestial Realm. So, I take it you've probably put two and two together at this point, right?"

Duck thinks they have, but they're not happy about it.

"You've been chosen from among the people of the human world to participate in this program of ours. You are our newest exchange student. Your period of stay is one year-"

One year? Everything fades in the moment after those words - a year away from home, from her family, did they know? Would she be able to call them? Isa already stressed enough-

"Tasks?" Duck echoes faintly.

"You are here as an exchange student. Did you really expect to spend your time here fooling around?" Duck gives Lucifer a withering look before they can think about whether it's a good idea or not. "Don't glare at me like that. It's not like I will abandon you all by yourself here in the Devildom. You need someone to look after you, and I think that someone should be my brother Mammon."

So demons have families too. That's at least a little comforting.

"He's the Avatar of Greed and... how should I put it...?" Once again, Lucifer's serious expression cracks for a moment - this time into annoyance. "Oh well, you'll find out soon enough. Here take this device-"

Lucifer hands her what could not be more clearly an iPhone but that he nonetheless insists she calls a DDD. Duck scrolls through the numbers - Lucifer's is there, as is Diavolo's and a bunch of other names she doesn't recognise. Their finger hovers over Mammon's at Lucifer's encouragement.

Duck's eyes flicker to the other three in the room - a redhead stuffing his face, a blond examining her like an ant under a magnifying glass, and a peachy-haired guy fixing his mascara in a hand mirror.

Duck suddenly feels very, very nervous about their odds of surviving the year.

[trashcankitty12]

Flora Headcanons:

Guys, meet the Sugar and Sweet part of the Winx Club.

Or, as you already know her: Flora La Rosa of Linphea.

Under the cut are the headcanons because again, these get long. (Also some I’ve mentioned before, I think, but whatever. And again, these are mostly for my main verse ‘Balance/The New Company of Light’ and for ‘Left’.)

-Flora has a rather large family, one that stems partially from cousins adopted after the Great War of Magic ended. (So many were displaced or orphaned, and her family was just one of many who took in the children left behind.)

-Honestly though, she really just sees her immediate family often, the rest of them coming around only for major Linphean holidays. (Though they all stay in touch through letters, phone calls, and social media. Especially the cousins.)

-Flora tends to be closer to her father as they share a similar sense of humor and have similar hobbies (like leaf surfing and giant ladybug racing). But her magic took after her mother’s and her mother was her first magic teacher.

-(She was a bit late getting her magic and a bit late getting her wings. She was eight when her magic came in and already 13 by the time her wings sprouted. Though she wasn’t surprised, as her mother had been a late ‘winger’ too.)

-Flora’s mother is the Guardian Fairy of Linphea and helps run the Main GreenHouse alongside the Nymph of Linphea and the royal family. Thanks to Alyssa’s job, Flora got to meet and assist all sorts of people from her realm. (Including the witch triplets who went to Cloud Tower; Euphorbia, Ververine, and Gerbera. And Princess Krystal.)

-Rhodos works with a faction of conservationists in Linphea to keep endangered animals (and plants) alive. He mainly works with the magiwolves of Linphea and tries to keep their numbers where they’re supposed to be. And because of his job, he ended up adopting a young magiwolf pup they named Amarok.

- (They weren’t going to keep him… They weren’t. But because he was born a different pigment than his littermates, his mother had abandoned him and… Rhodos couldn’t very well leave him to die. Besides, Amarok is nothing more than an overgrown lapdog. Usually.)

-Miele was born when Flora was about six or seven, give or take a few months. And yes, there was a touch of jealousy when Miele first came home because Flora didn’t understand why her parents weren’t spending as much time with her.

-Her parents were quick to pick up on her anxieties about the new baby and started incorporating Flora into assisting with Miele’s care. (Like reading and playing with her while Alyssa made dinner and helping her toddle around the family’s garden while naming off the plants.)

-Honestly, they grew up close and Flora became like a second mom to Miele. (Which would later turn into a minor annoyance as Miele got older, but that’s fine. They’re working through that.)

-Sibling shenanigans still occurred however, like Miele taking and reading Flora’s diary or Flora planting frogs or bugs into her sister’s room. (Or the Great Baking War that Alyssa refuses to let them live down.)

-Flora’s paternal grandmother, Nana Rose, is close to her family and has been living with them since her husband, Poppop Miden passed away.

-She’s a witch who works at the local clinic, her focus is on potions. (Which she passed on to Flora and has tried to teach her everything she knows about them… And everything she knows on poisons too because sometimes a poison is necessary.)

-And yes, Nana Rose did have hope that at least one of her granddaughters would be a witch, but she’s still proud of them. Wings and all.

-Flora has a hidden angry side. It doesn’t come out much and she does her best not to show it often, but she has a major temper when she does slip and let it out. She will unleash her will into the plant life around her and have it come for whoever pissed her off. Or if she’s really feeling it, she may just go in for a physical attack. The girl can pack a punch. (Granted, this only happens in situations where loved ones are in danger.)

-Flora is the only one from her elementary and middle school friend group that went to a Magix School. Most of her friends went to the Linphean Academy.

-She’s the tallest in her main friend group, standing at 5’7.

-She’s one of the Mom friends in the group, the other being Tecna. (She’s the more empathetic and emotional mom friend. Tecna’s the ‘well you fucked around and found out the hard way’ mom friend.)

-Flora wasn’t too sure about Chatta being her pixie at first, but is beyond grateful for the pixie helping her come out of her shell more.

-They now attempt to have weekly (though it’s sometimes monthly) tea parties to catch up on everything.

-Flora doesn’t really ‘do’ competitive sports often, but leaf surfing is the best thing ever and it’s one of the few sports she’s better at than Layla. (Though she does have the advantage of being Linphean and getting to leaf surf regularly…)

-Flora is a romantic and enjoys the ‘rom-com’ things; walks on the beach, silly moments around the town, dancing in the rain. But that shouldn’t mean she’s not careful with her heart. She’s empathic (as many Linpheans are) and is good at reading people when meeting them. So unless you’ve got a ‘beautiful’ soul, she’s not going to be interested.

-Flora loves that her friends are from such vastly different places because it means she can learn more about the realms from people who actually live there. (And teach her their languages, though she’s only really fluent in Solarian and conversational in the others.)

-She’s a spiritual person, as many from Linphea are. Flora believes that just like plant life, all life is connected by an invisible root system and that life is precious and should be treated with respect. (However, she also recognizes that there are those who have ‘tainted spirits’ and need to be dealt with so they don’t harm others.)

-Flora’s not exactly shy. She’s just shy around new people. But once she gets to know you and considers you a friend, you’ll find she has no problem speaking her mind. (And sending random things to you over the phone because they made her think of you.)

-There’s a misconception that she, and other Linpheans, are vegetarian. That’s not entirely true. Linpheans do eat meat: fish. They don’t have it often, only for certain occasions, but they do eat it.

-Flora also doesn't mind dirt or getting dirty. (But there is a difference in natural dirt and gunk. Okay? And gunk sucks.)

-Flora doesn't swear often, but she has let a few slip out from time to time. Usually in heated or emotional or upsetting moments.

-Her favorite parts of an Linphean holiday are getting to spend time with her family. She loves it when they all get together and enjoy each other.

-Like most Linpheans, Flora is immune to most poisons. She’ll likely feel a touch of nausea or a minor headache when poisoned, but due to her immune system, she’ll be perfectly fine within a few hours.

-Despite the fact she’s usually the one trying to talk the others out of dangerous situations, doesn’t mean she’s actually afraid of them. Sneaking into another school, fighting through a realm of shadow creatures, going toe-to-toe with magical terrorists; those don’t phase her.

-No, her real fear is something a bit more… Relatable. She’s scared of losing her loved ones. The thought of having her magic and being able to do such incredible things, but not being able to save her family or her friends just absolutely shakes her to core. (Especially in her nightmares when she’s forced to watch them die and she can’t do a thing to save them.)

-(Freshman year really fucked her up when they were fighting the Army of Darkness/Decay. There was a moment she thought she’d lost Musa and Tecna and she nearly broke down. Thankfully, the other two fairies managed to recover with a few of Palladium and Ofelia’s healing salves, but it was touch and go.)

-Flora can’t stand bullies. Granted, not many people like bullies or tolerate them, but Flora just can’t stand for someone to pick on anything that can’t fight back. It’s why she’s managed to enchant a few endangered plant species to being able to speak up and fight back against those who want to pick them apart and why she’s always ready to take on the Trix.

-Flora was the one who helped catch Bloom up on some of the most important aspects of the Magical Dimension (or at least the parts that Stella glossed over or that Tecna overexplained to the point of making it sound alien even to Flora). In return, she learned so much about Earth culture… She was stunned.

-(And fell in love with Earth’s versions of disaster movies. She likes to show other Linpheans and be like “see, if we don’t start really helping the other realms with the ecological problems, this will happen here too.”)

-(Bloom may have also gotten Flora hooked on those ‘hidden camera’ shows... It’s a guilty pleasure.)

-Flora’s got a major sweet tooth. Major. Which is fine because the girl is great at baking. (The other girls are always excited to taste test.)

-Flora’s not quite as delicate as others make her out to be. Yes, her hands are soft despite being in dirt and soil 80% of the time (Linphean lotions are awesome), and yes she’s good a giving that gentle touch to her plants, but she’s physically stronger than she appears. She can lift 50 pound bags of fertilizer with little issue. She’s pretty handy with a shovel (and not just for digging, which her poor cousin Marlow found out when a prank went wrong). And she’s not ‘razer thin’. She has decent muscle mass and is a bit on the broad side. Doesn’t make her any less graceful in the air or on the ground.

-In a fight, she tries to be more defensive than offensive because she doesn’t want to get in Bloom, Layla, or Stella’s way. And she finds her spells work better as traps than as an offensive maneuver. That said, if she feels her friends are in extreme danger, she will not hesitate to call on the Plant Life around them for help. (And she’s known for getting physical too, so watch out for that.)

-Aside from Layla, Flora feels a connection to Roxy. The younger girl’s passion about animals makes her think of her father and she does her best to encourage Roxy to use her passion in her magic.

-Bloom introduced Flora to the game Minecraft. For the first time, Flora understands why Tecna gets so involved in her videogames. (Please send help, she may be addicted. But her farm is looking amazing.)

-Flora doesn’t really worry about fashion, preferring to go by what she feels is comfortable, but she has a hard time saying ‘no’ to Stella when the other fairy has ideas. (Which usually turn out to be beautiful and comfortable and really, Flora just has the best friends.)

-Flora enjoys the nights when all six Winx Club girls can just hang out and be normal for a few hours. Sleepovers, Truth or Dare, movies and junk food. She loves it.

-She got close to Mirta while the other girl was a pumpkin, even finding a way to communicate despite the spell. After the spell was broken and during their sophomore year, Flora was one of the students who helped show Mirta around and made sure she was comfortable. They often talk and catch up. (And yes, Flora did have a hand in helping push Mirta and Lucy together. She regrets nothing.)

-Flora has thought about a tattoo. Many people on her realm get them, though it’s not a requirement nor does it give any extra magical benefits. She just doesn’t know what to get and she wants it be special. (All she knows is where she’d put it, over her burn scar from the Wizards.)

-At her time at Alfea (and in her middle school), Flora was part of the Student Council and Eco Club. She did her best to help make her schools a little more ‘green’ and energy proficient. (Tecna was a big help in coming up with a design for more efficient electrical equipment.)

-Out of all the girls, Flora has the hardest time connecting to Musa with convergence. Their personalities and magical abilities tend to clash from time to time, so they need to really strike a feeling of harmony before trying.

-Bloom is the easiest to converge with. They shared a room and often had so many late-night chats that their auras and feelings just naturally come together when needed.

-Out of all the girls, she’s the most likely to continue living on Earth. She finds the realm so fascinating. (It was a magically dead planet that kept on living... Just.... how?)

-Flora’s current goal in life is to start the revival process of other dead realms in the Magical Dimension. She feels that if she and her friends can resurrect Domino, bring ShadowHaunt back to its former glory, and bring magic back to Earth, they should be able to handle bringing others back to life too.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Okay well then!!!! I am very glad and excited to share my most recent idea I had while rereading Yeti Hunting again!! And the new Incubus one too!! They're almost exactly the same idea, just different flavors I suppose. Also Joe is trans in both the ideas but that's less to do with the ideas themself and more to do with just me projecting on him sgfjgsjfhsjdh

Okay so it's like a reverse au so Stern is some kind of cryptid, but as far as Barclay knows they're just two good human friends (but maybe they wanna be a little more than friends...). And then one day Joseph goes into heat and tells Barclay he's sick to try to keep him away, but Barclay being the sweetest man alive goes to his house with fresh soup to take care of him and Joe seems really panicked about Bar being there and tries to make him leave but he is CLEARLY unwell and Barclay is very stubborn when it comes to helping people he cares about and so he plants himself down on the couch and says he's not leaving until Joe tells him what's wrong and Stern tries to hold onto his human form but it's taking too much focus and energy and whoops Barclay finds out his friend not human and currently in distress and so horny it hurts and if he can help his friend and fuck him at the same time, well then that's just a win all around (bonus points if at the end Barclay is kinda sad because he thinks Joe just needed somone to fuck him, not nessacarry Barclay, but Joe frantically assures him that he is SUPER into him and if it were anyone else he would have kicked them the hell out and probably skipped town bc he couldn't trust anyone else with a secret like this).

Or!! (This is where the incubus part comes in) Joe is an incubus and currently hiding out in his human disguise at the Amnesty lodge and it's going fine for a while, but then he starts talking to and getting to know the really hot chef. And they slowly start growing closer and closer. And maybe in this world, the power an Incubus gets from sex depends just as much on their desires as it does the human's. And this has never been an issue for Stern before, but now he's falling for Barclay and wants him and no one else so he's getting less and less energy from his encounters and Barclay is worried about him because he doesn't seem like himself anymore. Almost as if he's... dulled? When Barclay looks at him the blue of his eyes seem muted and his general aura seems... gray. And it all comes to ahead when Joe finally stops insisting he's fine and after dinner one night he asks if he can speak to Barclay privately, and he comes clean about everything and Barclay, while a little shocked, rolls with it very well and cups Joe's face in his hands and kisses him softly and it like,,, you should have come to me sooner, I'd do anything for you,,, and yeah it's really tender,,,,

Okay that's it I'm sorry it's so long and probably incoherent. I tried to use at least little formatting to make it better but it's a tumblr mobile ask, I'm not sure even the new paragraphs will translate over. The general idea is that they're close friends and Stern is Not Human and Barclay finds out under less than ideal circumstances :3 I know these are far from original or unique but I just wanted to share my ideas with you bc you're the inspiration for a good 70% of my private writings, but if you like them enough and ever feel like doing something with them that'd be cool ;3

Here you go! I went with scenario one. Content Note: some “mating” talk and mild subdrop at the end (which is, of course, taken care of)

The two canvas bags are ready to burst. Barclay peers into them, contemplating the addition of another box of tea, in case Joseph doesn’t like the other two. Mama was cagey when he asked, he doesn’t know what’s ailing the other man, only that he’s sick. 

Joseph manages Amnesty Lodge, where Barclays’ been a cook for the last six months. Barclay was initially wary of him; his cosmopolitan bearing and clean-cut appearance is so out of place in the rustic mountain town of Kepler that the logical explanation is he’s one of those city types who fell on hard times and got stuck here. 

It took less than forty-eight hours for him to prove Barclay wrong. Polite and polished, efficient and stunningly good in a crisis, Joseph handles the day to day chaos of the lodge while Mama, the owner, took care of the big picture stuff. His friendly greetings and consistent compliments about Barclays cooking gradually turned to afternoons spent at a table with his work so they could talk during lulls in business. 

When Joseph leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he helped Barclay tidy the kitchen, the cook rushed headlong into his crush and never looked back. He regularly dreams of blue eyes and a movie-star face, finds his day doesn’t really start until Joseph pokes his head in to say good morning. 

He’s been without that greeting for two days now. Joseph never misses work, and his sudden absence worried Barclay enough that he checked with Mama to be sure the manager was okay.

“Joe’s fine big fella, just under the weather is all.”

The one time Barclay got sick, Joseph brought him tea and soup himself, checked in on him every hour, and--if Barclay’s fever addled brain is to be trusted--fluffed his pillows. It’s the least Barclay can do to drop off snacks and be sure his friend is okay. 

It’s a short drive to cabin Joseph calls home; he used to live at the Lodge, but as it got more crowded, he moved to his own space so those who needed a cheap, safe place to stay could have one. 

His knock on the door is answered by a brisk, “Who is it?”

“Barclay. I, uh, I brought you a get-well gift.”

Joseph opens the door to the cabin and to an entire new universe of fantasies. His normally slicked-back hair falls, relaxed, across his forehead, his loosely tied blue robe shows a tantalizing V of skin, and the dreamy-sleepy expression makes his face even more kissable. 

“Hi.” Joseph takes a step forward, taking the bags and bringing his face achingly close to Barclays’. Then he freezes, reversing into the house, “I, um, it was very sweet of you to bring all this. But you need to go.” He takes another step back, then doubles over with a groan. 

Barclay hurries across the threshold, setting the bags on the floor and steadying him over to the couch.

“Fuck, do you need me to get you like a heat pack, or a puke bucket?”

“No, no I just need to lay down, and for you to g-” he shudders, curling in on himself and tipping sideways. 

“Joseph, you’re really sick, I’m not gonna just leave you here. I mean, fuck, what if it’s your appendix or something?” He sits down next to the shaking man, rubbing his back comfortingly. 

“It’s not, I promise. Oh lord” he whines, looks at Barclay with frantic eyes, “I hope you can keep a secret.”

“Of course I can. Whatever I can do to help, I want to.” 

“Careful with those promises, big guy.” The nickname comes out in a growl as Joseph stands, undoing his wristwatch. 

“Oh FUCK!” Barclay scrambles back, almost falling over the arm of the couch.

There’s a monster where Joseph just was. Years ago Barclay saw a Maned Wolf in a zoo, and he’d swear that’s what he’s looking at now were it not for several glaring issues. First, it’s standing comfortably on two legs. It’s paws are more like hands, able to hold the watch and adjust the collar of its shirt. And he’s never seen a wolf, maned or otherwise, with spines down its back and a whip-like tail.

The creature runs a clawed hand through the fur at the top of it’s head, the way Joseph does when he’s nervous,  “So. I can’t tell you everything, at least not right now. What I can tell you is that this is the form I was born into, somewhere far away from earth.”

“Okay.” Barclays brain grinds like a broken ice machine as a familiar voice speaks to him from a fanged mouth. 

“I, um, I’m what humans call a Chupacabra. To answer the usual questions: no, I’ve never been to Puerto Rico. No, I don’t eat goats. And no, I’m not going to eat you.”

“Okay.” His heart is still racing, but not from fear, which is the most confusing was this could have gone.

Pointed ears flick, worried, “Are you in shock?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He nods as Joseph sits next to him with a heavy sigh. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I took the next few days off to avoid this exact scenario. I figured I wouldn’t see you, but forgot how thoughtful and caring you are.” Claws gently stroke Barclays hair, “my wonderful Barclay.”

He’s about to bring his hand up, cup those strange fingers to his cheek and whisper “always”, when Joseph pulls away. 

“I, I’m sorry. Again. I always get too handsy when I’m in heat. That’s the second worst side-effect, after the fact that being in my disguise is untenable when I’m in the thick of it. It’s like wearing a wet, wool sweater made of nausea.”

“....Hold on, you had to take time off work because you’re horny?” 

“Almost. Heat doesn’t come that often for me, which means whenever it happens, it’s intense. I have a hard time eating or sleeping, I can’t focus, and I spend most of the week masturbating. Which is not as fun as it sounds; I’m not even at the height of the damn thing and last night I humped a pillow on the kitchen floor while dinner reheated.”

Barclay groans, tries to hide it when the ears swivel his way, “Uh, guess I’m glad I brought you lots of food so you remember to eat. Shoulda, uh, put some lube or something in there as well, huh?” 

Joseph chuckles, “My nose tells me you put molasses cookies in there, so I’ll let it slide.”

“There anything else I can do to help?”

“Well…” he shakes his head, “never mind, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what?”

“My heat is more manageable when I have a partner. Fucking someone relieves things more effectively than masturbation does. But I can’t-”

“I can help with that.” The offer is out before his brain catches up with his mouth. 

“Barclay, my kind have a very, um, involved mode of, um, well, I guess you foreplay. As, as much as I’d love for you to be my mate” he winces, “see, that’s what I mean. I say things like that, most of them not even possible given the fact you and I can’t reproduce.” 

“Uh, does it help if I say hearing you call me that is really hot?”

Blue eyes widen, and a tail traces up Barclays leg, “Only if you mean it.”

“I do.”

A narrow, long tongue flicks into the air, “In that case, big guy, how about we have a little planning session over dinner?”

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

Barclay parks in the driveway, next to Josephs’ sedan. He heads past the house and down a short slope to a creek, the twilight sky casting the forest in eerie grey-blue. There’s a tire swing leftover from a previous resident, and he idly pushes it back and forth as he waits for the game to start. 

“It’s like hide and seek” Joseph wipes his mouth, cleans cookie crumbs from the table, “We start outside, move inside, and you go as long as you can without me catching you. After all, I want a mate who can hold his own.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket to warm them. A yip bounces out from the trees behind him. When he turns, he quickly spots glinting eyes and bared fangs hidden in the undergrowth. 

Sprinting towards the cabin, he realizes Joseph laid a trap for him from the start; by asking him to begin at the creek, he’s forcing him to run uphill to safety, slowing him down. He lets his lizard-brain, concerned only with the fact that something dangerous is chasing him, take over and drive his legs as fast as they’ll go. The back door is locked, he double-checked that on the way down, so he doesn’t waste his time trying it, races to the front of the cabin and slams the door shut just as something huge rounds the corner after him. 

The nob jiggles, his pursuer testing the lock and discovering the thrown deadbolt. Barclay uses those few seconds to secure the windows on the first floor, throws his jacket down into the cellar as a failsafe, and bolts up to the bedroom. His hammering heart insists that locking that door is not enough, so he crawls into the closet and shuts himself up among the meticulously organized shirts and slacks. It’s not enough space for him to stand, so he tucks his knees to his chest and waits. 

“What happens if I, like, completely outsmart you.”

A toothy smile, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Each of the downstairs windows rattle in turn. Then the scratching starts, claws on wood coming closer with each breath. Joseph is climbing the wall up to the bedroom window that Barclay knows for a motherfucking fact he did not secure. 

A shuff as the window slides open, the cryptid landing with remarkable stealth on the bedroom floor. Barclay tracks him by the light coming under the closet door, his mouth covered so his breathing won’t give him away. The shadow pauses, sniffs, and then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Barclay’s not moving until he hears the front door do the same. 

Just as his legs start to protest being smushed up against his chest, the door reopens. Snuffling signals Joseph closing in, and an instant later the only light coming in is from the far ends of the door. Slowly, his last line of defense rolls to the right, revealing the creature crouching on the other side.

“Not a bad effort, big guy. You actually confused me for a minute with the scent trail of your coat downstairs.” Joseph reaches for him and Barclay, remembering that he’s not supposed to give up until he’s pinned, leans away. 

“That’s how my mate wants to play?”

“J-just following your instructions, babe.”

An intrigued purr, “I guess you are. All the more reason you’re the perfect partner for me.”

The words Barclays dreamed of hearing for months distract from the claws closing around his ankles. He lets out an undignified yelp when Joseph pulls his legs straight out and drags him out of the closet. Once he’s free of the forest of clothing, the cryptid picks him up and drops him on the bed. He moans and Joseph snickers, joining him on the bedspread. 

“Fuck, Joseph, no one’s ever been able to do that before and it’s so, so fucking hot.” He arches his back and shifts his limbs to help Joseph undress him.

“It’s because you’re the perfect size; big and strong, large enough to give me a decent cuddle when I’m human, but still small enough to be an easily subdued mate.” He gets the humans’ jeans and boxers off, hesitates, and then tosses them on the floor with a pained expression, “I’ll fold those later.”

“Gonna hold you to that. Also, wanna point out that it wasn’t that easy to subdue me.”

Joseph nuzzles his cheek, claws caressing his thighs, “Barclay, I was jogging while you were sprinting.”

“You coulda caught me right awaAAy ohwhatthefuck.” Tingling heat glides down his throat as Joseph licks a stripe along the skin, “fuck, it, it feels like the time I tried hot wax.”

The cryptid sits up slightly to look at him, “Is that a...good thing?”

“Fuck yeah. I really fucking liked it but it was fucking murder with the chest hair.”

Joseph runs his claws through the hair in question, “I like it.”

“I know, I saw you eyeing me that one time I used the springs at the lodge.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph leans back down, curling his tongue around Barclays left nipple. The sensation makes him buck his hips, which Joseph correctly takes as a signal for more. He moves to the other side, takes his time teasing it and licking down the sensitive center of Barclays chest. Noses his stomach, nips his sides, and slides the alien heat of his tongue into the crease of his thighs. 

“Y’know I, ohfuck, I assumed from all that talk yesterday you’d get right to fucking me.”

Joseph kisses the inside of one thigh, “I, um, I thought about it, almost ripped your jeans to shreds and took you on the floor. But I wanted to be sure you were turned on. You’re not just a warm body, Barclay. You’re my mate. That means your pleasure matters as much as mine.” He licks up Barclays’ cock, hardened from rubbing against the soft fur of his belly, and sighs, “and what a mate.”

“Fuck” he squeezes his eyes closed because if we watches that mouth saying everything he wants to hear in between sucking his dick, he’ll cum in ten seconds flat. 

A final lick to the tip and then Joseph hops off the bed, “Did you prep the way I told you?”

“Uhhuh.” 

“Good.” Joseph returns, sets several items he can’t see by his feet, “that’ll make things easier. First things first” he produces a cock cage, sliding it into place, “these are a few things I smuggled over from my original home. This is enchanted, so it can go on an erect cock but still prevent the wearer from cumming until it’s removed.”

“That’s just cruel, babe.” He sits up on his elbows to kiss Josephs snout, earning him a pleased yip. 

“If you cum too fast, I won’t be able to properly breed you.” He winces again, “sorry, I sound like one of Indrids romance novels.”

“Again, gorgeous, I find it really fucking hot.”

The spines on Joseph’s back ripple, “You think I’m gorgeous? Like this?”

“I do. Also kinda scary, but in a hot way.” Now it’s his turn to cringe, “see? I sound like cheap porn written by an eighth grader when I’m horny. The way you sound is fine.”

Joseph lovebites his ear, then retrieves the other two items from the end of the bed. 

“And how does this look, big guy?”

“Like it’s either going to kill me or make me cum like a dozen times.” He furrows his brow at the strap-on. It’s narrower than the average human dick, with a pointed, slightly up-curved tip. What’s worrying him are the spikes. 

The entire shaft is coated in short protrusions. They don’t end in points, thank god, but if they’re at all stiff this is going to be miserable. 

“Here” Joseph waves him over, “touch it.” He guides his fingers along one side and the spines bend fluidly under his touch, and now all he wants to know is how they feel inside him. Joseph also moans, bucking his hips so the toy slides along Barclays palm.

“It’s, ohlord, also enchanted so that the wearer feels it as an extension of their body and can cum with it. Also, please decide in the next thirty seconds whether you want to be on your back or your stomach.” Amber pre-cum drips down Barclay’s fingers. 

“Stomach is better for meWHOAH, ohfuck, okay we’re doing this.” Now flipped on his belly, he raises his ass. The cryptid kneads it appreciatively before holding it open and sliding his cock in with once, graceful thrust. 

He bottoms out with a groan, which is more articulate than Barclay is managing to be as the spines rub and glide inside him, finding every patch of nerves, every angle to drag against in just the right way. Joseph hauls him onto his knees and then he’s off, growls and yips filling the as he fucks him. Barclay only just registers the bed banging into the wall so forcefully the headboard is cracking when claws sink into his hips and Joseph pulls him all the way onto his cock and pulses into him. 

“Holy fuck that was fast.”

“I, I didn’t jack off once today. Didn’t want to waste it, wanted to save it all for my perfect mate.” He’s thrusting again, not as hard but twice as fast, “shit, you feel so good, big guy, please tell me Mama okayed your time off for tomorrow.”

“Wh-why are we talkingAHnnn, about this now?”

Hot breath tickles his ear, “Because now that I know what’s like to cum in you, I don’t plan on cumming anywhere else for the next day and a half.”

“Ohfuckme” Barclay groans happily into the pillows as Joseph empties into him, cries out when his tail whips across his calf.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no it felt good, fucking-A babe every fucking part of you is amazing.”

The cryptid whines, pleased, and wiggles his hips, giving Barclay an idea. 

“That’s, uh, that’s why I want you for my mate, because you’re so fucking goo-mmph” his face presses harder into the pillows as Joseph pins his shoulders down and fucks into him, snarling “yes” over and over again. When he finishes this time he hunches over, nipping Barclay’ shoulders and neck. 

“You catch on quick, big guy.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, are we gonna switch it up at any point or am I staying like this until tomorrow night?”

“No, we can fuck however we want. After” a fuzzy hand rubs circles on Barclay’s abdomen, “I’ve cum in you enough times that I can feel it from out here.”

Barclay moans, tightening around him as his hips snap once more, already imagining being full and fucked out. Maybe it’ll take all night. He’ll be limp if it does, but right now nothing sounds better than melting into the bed while Joseph fucks his ass like it belongs to him. 

After forty-five minutes, his cock is aching, his mind holds only thoughts of how good it feels to do as Joseph tells him, and he’s been cum in so many times that wet, obscene sounds accompany the cryptids thrusts. Said sounds pale in comparison to Josephs’ voice, which is spinning increasingly impossible scenarios the longer they’re in bed. 

“I hope they take after you.” Joseph murmurs. 

Barclay just manages to turn his head, “Who?”

A muzzle playfully nudges his cheek, “Our kids.”

His heart seizes and shakes at the words; they both know that’s not what will happen. Joseph warned him he might say things like this, said he could tell him to knock it off if need be. 

“Maybe they’ll, ahnn, they’ll have big, beautiful brown eyes and bigger hearts, just like you.”

He doesn’t want him to stop. Every thrust hits deeper, every point where their skin meets buzzes brighter when he talks like this.

“H-hope at least one looks like you, blue eyes.”

A guttural whine, tingling heat as Joseph laps tenderly at the back of his neck, “We’ll just have to see, usually we’re born in threes so, soOH, oh I’m close, shitshit” 

“That’s it babe, fill me up, c’mon, c’mon I want it so bad, Joseph, baby, please.” 

There’s a howltrill as cum spurts into him, Joseph panting as he smooths his hand around Barclays side.

“There, that’s done it.”

Barclay whimpers as he pulls out, his mind and body pulled tight, certain that if he doesn’t cum soon he’ll propose marriage instead and that’ll be a fucking disaster. 

Joseph carefully rolls him over and unlocks the cage, “Do you want to cum?”

“More than anything. Oh!” he’s unprepared for Joseph to sink down on his cock, “oh fuck, yeah, wanna cum so bad babe please, I’ll be so good, be such a good mate if you just let me cum in y-fuuuck” A trio of sensations levels him as he climaxes; his vision whites out, his hips jerk more violently than they ever have before, and a line of cum drips down his leg. 

Somewhere far away, Joseph says, “I think we’ve earned a break.”

He nods, body limp as the cryptid climbs off him. Then he’s falling, spinning helplessly down in a pit of realizations. 

Joseph didn’t mean any of those things he said. His friend needed a mate and Barclay, lovesick fool he is, was eager for a chance to play pretend that he didn’t think about what would happen when the game ended. Even if Joseph keeps him here through tomorrow, the next time they meet at the Lodge he’ll act like nothing happened. 

Fuck, Barclay didn’t even get to kiss him during all this, and now he’ll never get the chance, never, nevernever-

“Shit, I should have put a towel or a spare blanket down. Now I’ll have to strip the bed before I can--Barclay? Oh, oh baby, what’s wrong?” A hand pets his face and he turns away from it, refusing to open his eyes. Joseph takes his hand instead, “it’s okay, I’m here, whatever you need I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t give me what I need, it isn’t your fault I, I know I’m not really your partner and I, I…” he sniffles, wipes his palm under his eye. 

“Barclay, look at me please.”

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes just in time to see Joseph dip down and kiss him. It’s awkward, their mouths not made to fit together, but he savors it all the same because it’s Joseph, his Joseph, kissing him like he hoped he would. 

“My heat can make me say some ridiculous things. What it can’t do is make me feel affection where none exists. In fact, the reason I wasn’t able to keep my disguise on yesterday is because being near you meant being near the mate I wanted most in the world. I, um, suspected you might share my feelings, but I didn’t want our first interaction as boyfriend to be me asking if you wanted to spend a day or so with me while I was in a sex haze. But then you offered to help, and I wanted it so badly that I barreled ahead without making sure you understood that this was me declaring my feelings. I’m sorry.”

Barclay climbs into his lap, not caring about the mess he makes in the process. The cryptid laughs, hugs him close.

“I, I shoulda said something sooner too. Not that I regret how we spent our first date.” He kisses Josephs chin.

“Me neither, though I don’t think it quite counts.” He rubs their foreheads together, “can your boyfriend take you out to dinner on Friday?”

Barclay grins, looks into loving, blue eyes, “Yeah, he can.”

[brideofcthulhu10]

The Lost Boys Find Out Their Fem!S/O is Pregnant [4/4]

SUBJECT WARNING: PHYSICAL AGRESSION, SEXUAL THEMES AND A WHOLE LOT OF SWEARING. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Alrighty then, my lovely fang babes! Here we are, we have the last of the first edition of the pregnancy saga! Worry not, dearest readers, for there is hope! I plan on doing a separate series about going through the pregnancy, and maybe even going through the childbirth with how the boys are as new dads. Let me know in the comments if you'd like to see more, and by tomorrow night we'll have a whole new set to love!

It was such a blast writing Paul's, I'm not gonna lie I got lost in the magic! We have a cute little character cameo for all you 80s movie nerds, lemme know if you can figure out what it is! So, without any more delays; here he is. The gorgeous, the goofy, the one, the only:

PAUL

Today had been an unexpected challenge. You barely got through your shift at the record store, every time you were in light it made you dizzy. Hangovers had nothing on this! Did you drink too much the night before? No, now that you thought about it any attempts to drink had you hugging a toilet. Not to mention your period was late as hell! Well, not the cramps, go figure. Just no blood. None at all. 

You never let on to your beau, Paul, though. The party boy vampire would become overly worried if you told him you were sick, and you weren't about to spoil a good time with a bit of nausea. So here you were, stumbling about the day into the late afternoon absolutely miserable. Your manager Iona offered you some crackers and ginger ale during your lunch break. No dice, within an hour you were running to the bathroom again. 

"Gosh hon, I dunno what ta tell ya. Maybe you ate something nasty, I told you that boardwalk food was fishy," Iona sighed, poking at her own lunch with a fork. Currently your coworker Andie was watching the front until you were feeling better.

"Kill me now, Iona," you groaned, chin resting on the table with your arms laid over your head. Then there was a smell. The greatest, most flavorful, mouthwatering scent you've ever experienced. Like a honey baked ham and a New York sirloin had a glorious new baby drizzled in ecstasy. Glancing over, your stomach growled at whatever it could be. If this were a cartoon you'd be flying to what it was.

Oddly enough, it was coming from Iona. Well, whatever black stuff was in her little plastic tupperware dish. Who cares what it was, it smelled incredible.

"Hey uh..," you asked, leaning over towards the sticky, mysterious delicacy calling your name. "You wouldn't mind if I had a bite, would ya?"

"You sure, hon? This isn't exactly your average dish, it's kinda weird," she tried to explain. God you couldn't take your eyes off it! Finally, your merciful manager pushed it your way, and you couldn't resist any longer. 

"I don't even care, this is the first thing in the past two days that hasn't made me nauseous," you muffled between cosmic bites.

Oh shit, this was heaven! It had to be some sort of meat, it reminded her of a nice spicy kielbasa, a slow roasted brisket, every second it changed to some new world of food you had never tried. What it was didn't matter by this point.

"Wooow. I've never met someone who liked black pudding that much."

Pudding? "I thought it was meat or something? It doesn't taste anything like pudding," you insisted, polishing off the very last specs of it. "Got any more?"

"No, no, not like chocolate pudding or stuff like that, kiddo. black pudding. It's this dish from the UK my new boyfriend made me. It's congealed pig's and cow blood mixed with spices."

You made a face. Blood? Like, blood blood? The cow equivalent of what Paul drank on a daily basis? Yet this was the first time you didn't puke, in fact, you kinda wanted more. Even knowing what is was made of.. for some reason you craved more. Meanwhile Iona continued to talk on and on, until one phrase caught your ears. "Yea, ya know my mom was so into for the longest time. Said she craved it her whole pregnancy, I never got a taste for it honestly."

A single thought popped into your head. A dangerous, foreboding thought that your intuition said was very much a possibility. In a flash you jumped up, nearly slamming your hands on the table. "I gotta go. Oh shit, I gotta go! I'll be right back, I swear, I'm so sorry, I swear to god I'll be right back," you shouted as you bolted out of the store.

"Wait what-?!"

You'd make it up to her once you got back. You had to know! You had to be sure..! Please just let it be paranoia! Please let it be anything, anything at all besides what you thought it was!

Once you reached the nearest CVS you made a B-line to the women's health section. Your hair clung to your face, your lungs stung like crazy but all you could think about was getting answers. And cue the disapproving glare of some old bat picking out a box of pads. Alright being 17 in front of the pregnancy tests looked bad. You weren't just a high schooler, you looked it too. "What're you looking at, " you snarl. Immediately she clutched her pearls, startled by this abrasive youngin' in no mood for dirty looks. God why'd there have to be so many options? Pink boxes, purple ones, bright yellow insisting it worked the fastest. The heavy fluorescent lights were no help at all, it made your head spin. You had no time for this crap. In a sweeping motion you grabbed three different brands and threw them into your basket, all you needed was….where was your wallet? Shit... Glancing around you checked for any nearby cameras or staff. Karma be damned, it was an emergency! Five finger discount it was. 

Once again you made a mad dash back to the record store as the sun finally set. All three boxes were crumpled in your hand, your boots running so fast it you hit a rock that'd be it.

But getting back to the record store was your best bet. You weren't about to pee in some dirty, old, nasty pharmacy bathroo- oh fuck. There was something that finally slowed your steps, nearly making you trip in the process. Four bikes parked right outside. Three of which were occupied by by Dwayne, David and Marko all talking amongst themselves.

Shiiiit, shit, shit! All you could do was swear repeatedly. Before they could spot you, you practically dove into the alleyway behind the store, rapidly disabling the alarm. If that went off it'd be a dead giveaway. Quickly you looked left and right before you slammed the door shut behind you still trying to catch air.

But there, right past the door to the employees lounge, over by the counter you could see a mass of blonde hair chatting away with Iona about Led Zeppelin's best album to date. Paul, gorgeous as every, laughing. It made your heart flutter, but then it sank. What if it was a-... He was never the type to run away from a challenge. But then again, a kid wasn't a challenge, it was a massive ordeal. It would take a huge chunk of his life- well, afterlife! Boozing and cruising would be switched out with drowsy days and busy nights. You weren't sure if you wanted him to know if you were, it would take all that from him. Unfortunately, he must've smelled you or sonething, because immediately he turned around like a puppy being called.

"Babe," he cheered with delight, rushing over to hug you. Rather squeeze you by your hips and lift you four feet off the ground. Quickly you stuffed the skinny boxes into your back pocket, now smushed up against his chest. "Where were you? Ion's said you just bolted mid-shift, we were worried sick! Well, I mean, I was more worried though, cuz I can't stand you bein' gone, kitten."

"Well, yeah uh, I forgot something I had to get at the store, and I forgot what time I got off," you hesitated, still antsy to escape to the bathroom. Truthfully you didn't actually want to, you had to! If you could, you'd just kiss him and ride off into the night to raise some hell like you always did. But this was too big to ignore.

Paul raised a brow. You weren't known for being this jumpy. You wouldn't look him in the eyes, they just kept darting towards the bathroom. Boy, you really did look sick, though. Pale, almost greenish with dark circles under your eyes. You even felt colder than usual. "Am I uh, interrupting something, babe?"

You managed to work out if his arms, giggling nervously. "Actually I-I had some of Iona's lunch earlier, and I just, gotta- be right back!"

With that, you bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you. Again, weird. Paul just shrugged, maybe you had some bad Mexican.

 Iona wasn't convinced. Little miss jumpy-pants skipping out on her, you owed her an explanation. While Paul perused the albums she sunk over to the bathroom, rapidly tapping on the door. "Y/N! Psst! You good in there, hon?"

You were most certainly NOT good! Your hand shook, the third test finally finished. Not like it mattered! They all said the same thing. Every fucking one of them.

Positive. Positive. Positive.

No, no, no!

"Shit," you hissed. "Shit! Oh shit, oh fuck! Fuck-fuckity shit fuck fuck! Dammit." That's all you could do! You swore over, and over, and over, rapidly kicking the wall in front of you. Stupid pink plus! Why? Why did it have to be a plus?? Immediately you threw it in the trash and scooped up the other two. Maybe they were all flukes? Maybe only a doctor could tell you! You had to get home. Like now. Right now, you just had to rush home, make an appointment at the doctors, maybe hide in shame for a few days just until you could figure out what the hell to do with all this! Once again you wedged the tests in your back pocket and nearly tripped, cracking open the door to face your boss. "Iona, I gotta get home."

"Seriously, Y/N?? Why? What is with you?"

"Please, I swear I will make it up to you, I'll take a double shift, I'll wash your damn car-"

"Oh no, nuh-uh. Not until you tell me why you're being such a spaz," she practically shouted in a hissing whisper, absolutely exasperated. You teens and your drama, when she always said she wanted to fell young again this is NOT what she meant!  

"Listen i-... iyay amyay egnantpray," you whispered. Pig latin. It was a little code you two usually reserved for secrets. Well, that and talking smack about snotty customers. But wow was this a big ol' secret. 

Iona covered her mouth. Oh, you little idiot! You poor little idiot. Looking over at the unsuspecting boyfriend she sighed, looking you in the eyes. She wanted to just tell you to come clean to your man. The boy hung around you constantly, you two were the ultimate it-couple, there wasn't even sparks it was like watching supernovas. Something this big.. it shouldn't be left in the dark!

But that pitiful expression on your face just begged her to keep quiet, and frankly it wasn't her place to tell you what to do- well, at least in this regard. "Alright, alright. This saturday you're taking my night time shift, there's a big concert I wanna go to. And you gotta wax my car, it's gettin' nasty. And you better write the best damn apology note in the history of apology notes, sweetie. This is huge, you better come clean to him eventually, or I'll kick your little butt you hear me?"

"Yes. Absolutely, fine, deal. Just please, please keep him busy, I'm not ready to tell him," you whined, clutching the door. Frankly it sounded like a piss poor plan, but it couldn't be helped, not right now at least. You didn't have the strength to confront the situation head on, you were barely keeping it together. You wanted to cry all over, jump into his arms and come clean now, but this was neither the time or place.

As soon as Iona went to go over to Paul you stuffed the tests into your purse and bolted out the back door, only this time stealth was not on your side. Right at the mouth of the alleyway, just as you were about to be home free- you ran smack dab into a particularly lithe blonde that felt like a brick wall. You went flying onto the ground, your purse crashing onto concrete with a hundred pieces of your privacy going every direction. In a panic you began to rapidly stuff it all back, barely able to hide the first two tests as you threw some half baked apology Marko's way. Honestly he deserved a better one than that, but you were too frazzled to be fair at the moment.

"Oh shit, Y/N," Marko exclaimed, immediately kneeling down to help you gather the scattered remains of your purse. "Sorry, I didn't even see you, I was coming back for a smoke. Big Ed is such a douche, can you believe theres no smoking on the-..." His words trailed off, and you shortly saw why. Grasped between his pointer finger and thumb was the little pink strip, and a look of complete disbelief. All you could do was snatch it from him, a heavy moment of silence magically muffling the wild noise and shouts of the busy boardwalk. 

"Do...D-Don't worry about it. Look, I gotta get home, I'll see you arou-," you started, trying to jump up, maybe catch him off guard and make a run for it. Not this time. 

You hadn't even noticed he grabbed your wrist, it was such a blur. He stayed silent, standing up and looking right into your eyes with hidden malcontent. You swore if you answered wrong this mischievous cat would tear your throat out. After all, you were his best friend's girl. If you did anything, ANYTHING, to hurt him... Well, let's just say a pregnancy would be the least of your worries. "Why are you running, Y/N? What the hell is this thing," he asked quietly, eyes flickering between red and blue. "Did you…?"

"Oh don't fuckin' even," You snapped, smacking his arm, yanking your hand out of his grasp. "Of course not! You butt! God, are you serious? What do you take me for- No! I- fuck I just- no!" You kick the tin trash can beside you, watching a plethora of trash fly into the air. "I am freaking out! Of course it's Paul's. Oh fucking god, it's Paul's and I don't know what to do!"

Marko's expression softened, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I didn't mean to make it sound like that, Y/N. Paul's my friend, I just had to be sure you weren't sneaking around, you know?"

You sighed, pushing back your mess of a hair with misty eyes. This was perfect, a real big screw up from start to finish. All you could do was look over at Marko with pleading eyes. "You can't tell him yet. Please, just please please PLEASE, Marko, don't tell Paul yet!"

"Tell me what, babe?"

Shit. Shit on a stick. You looked behind to see Paul halfway out the back door with a look of concern, one that he rarely carried. You and your dumb mouth, go figure.

The blonde pushed through and let the door close behind him, looking over at his best bud standing alone with his girlfriend who was begging him to keep something secret, from him no less.

 "Marko?"

"Nah, nah, don't look at me man, this is all on you guys," he sighed, hands up in a shielding motion. "Good luck buddy. Gotta go, Y/N." with that the young vampire excused himself from this melting pot of drama, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

You just stood there, keeping the little strip tightly grasped behind your back. Paul was silent, but glancing at his hands you saw they were balled so tight his knuckles were white. "P-paul…," you hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip. "I should really… get home.."

Paul only raised a brow, glancing at your arms still tucked behind you. This wasn't like you to hide from him, and that alone frightened him. Nothing had ever frightened him before. And he didn't like the taste of it one bit. "What's behind your back, babe?"

"What?"

Again his spoke, this time his voice lowered into a low growl. "What... do you have... behind your back, babe?" The way he said it was so firm, it made you shake a little. You didn't like stern Paul. They way he hissed the word "babe", practically spoken through clenched teeth

Your throat ached, eyes darting across the ground struggling to think up a good excuse. Anything. A book, your purse, a surprise for him! Anything!

"N-nothing." Apparently, you failed to find any excuses. Great.

Paul's knuckles began to crack, jumping forward to try and snatch it from behind you. When you dodged him, he grew even more furious. You both began to struggle, pushing him away, insisting he just stop and let you leave. But every attempt to reject him only upset him further. Why were you hiding things from him?! How could you just ditch him at the record store when he was worried sick about you??

The struggle built up until finally he had enough. His eyes turned white with rings of fire, brow looming heavily over his eyes and fangs jutting out where his incisors once were. In a flash he grabbed you by you wrists, pinning you so hard to the wall it shook. You still tried to struggle. Thrash, kick, squirm! Steel wished it could be so strong, your muscles ached. This probably wasn't even his full strength, but it dwarfed you in comparison. This terrifying side of Paul you had certainly seen before, but never had you been on the receiving end. It was in all sense of the word, predatorial. He'd never try to kill you, but you still felt that horror build up inside. Rapid, sharp breaths made your chest heave, too afraid to look up at those red eyes still fixated on whatever you kept hidden from him. He continued to pry your stubborn fingers open, ignoring your shaking whimpers. He squoze your wrist, the tendons aching and contracting until your fingertips began to lift up. Any resistance was pretty much useless at this point, but dammit you still tried everything to worm out of his grip. But he had finally had it, you weren't gonna be keeping secrets from him. Now your last finger was pushed off, and he could see what was so damn important that you physically fought him to keep it secret. It was almost slow motion the way the strip spun to the ground, clattering down and landing beside his mud caked boots. He froze, slowly looking down at it. That's it? That's all you-...

You could barely read his face, so many different emotions flashing across it all at once. Occasionally he'd look back up at you, then back down at it. To the point you almost got annoyed that you were still being stuck to a wall while the reality set in. After all, it didn't take a rocket scientist to know what that was, just put you down already!

Paul looked at you still pinned beneath him, horrified at how he lost his temper and immediately released you. Still rubbing away the pain across your wrists, you watched him pick it up. A wave of guilt swarmed your body, you didn't know whether to hug him or punt him in the chest.

Hell, a massive tidal wave of guilt overflowed him too. It'd been such a long time since he got that angry.. but worst of all he'd never been like that with you. Never grabbed you so forcefully and ignored your pleas, it was a dark side of him he never wanted to display in front of you. Glancing at the little pink plus at the end of the stick, his mind swirled with a plethora of questions. But slowly he stood up, looking down at you still really trying to process everything that had happened in the past few minutes. "I don't… I don't understand.."

"You- You are such an ass," you shouted out of nowhere, enough that it made him jump. There you were. That's the fiery girl he knew, not the one he exactly wanted to be on the opposing side of at the moment, though.

Paul wasn't surprised you were pissed, but he definitely didn't expect you to start punching his arm. Again. Then again, and again you just kept hiting his arms, his chest, pushing and crying, you were so mad you wanted to chuck him in the ocean! It didn't really hurt that much, but he felt awful he drove you to that point.

Tears blurred your vision as you lashed out on him. All you could do was yell names between sobs, even whack him with your purse. "Paul, you absolute jerk! Butt! Jackass! You smarmy, half wit, blood-sucking tool! You said you were packing blanks, you absolute liar! I was gonna tell yo-! I mean, I know I shouldn't have run-! But you just couldn't wait- and then Marko- and you! You ! Jerk ! Butthead !"

"Hey, ow! Ow! Ow, dammit! I know, I know I went to far-ow not the hair dammit," he demanded, grabbing your arms before you could lay another mighty blow. "Babe! Babe, stop! I thought I was! I swear I didn't know- I-..I never thought that I could get you...." His hands slowly released your shoulders, moving to your hips. "I'm so sorry, baby. I swear, I didn't know.. I'm so sorry."

The way his voice softened only made you want to cry more. This whole day was a mess. You didn't mean to try and run.. You never should've tried to in the first place. God, you were so tired. All this running around, all this secrecy, the fighting, it was exhausting. Paul was the last person you wanted to fight. Sure you had spats and a few heated arguments. Every couple did, even vampires. But this, it was just so.m draining. With a firm thud you plopped your forehead on his sternum, your fingers tightly clinging to the upper sleeves of his jacket. "Wh-what am I supposed to do-… what are we supposed to do now..?"

Paul pondered his options with a solemn face, but there was only one that made him happy. Only one that sat right in his heart. What else could he possibly do, there was only ever going to be one answer even if you told him right away. Most of all, he couldn't stand the sorrow in your eyes. A frown never suited such a beautiful face. He never expected there to be anything to come from your heavy sexcapades, it never seemed like there was any risks in it. He'd never seen a vampire munchkin, least of all he'd never even heard of a vamp conceiving with a human. All he knew now is you, crying in his arms, terrified of what you were carrying. What it could mean. In that moment, he steeled his resolve and came to a final decision.

Silently he tilted your chin up, using his thumb to brush away all those tears staining your cheeks. Those blue eyes, you could get lost in them. Swallowed up by the sea. It wasn't hard to read his mind when he held onto your hip with one hand, while the other that pushed away salty droplets now cupped your cheek. Within moments you crashed your mouth into his, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck.

Warm. A surge of heat filled your body. It was the first time you felt truly alive all day. You could feel your chest heave against his, you didn't want any space between the two of you and only pressed tighter until there wasn't anything left. Each kiss gave momentary breath before you dove in for more. Neither of you could stop. You didn't want to pull away, not even for a split second. The way he smelled, the way he tasted, the way he touched you, the way he felt beneath your fingers; it made your head spin. His hands began to wander, you clutched at anything you could get a hold of. Your body burned, so sweet and long. In those moments the world stopped, it just melted away in streams of light. No one was there but you two. 

It was over too soon, both of you rapidly panting for breath still intertwined. Oh, how you could stare into his eyes forever.

That frown was long gone, replaced by a tender smile. The one he had come to cherish. Paul chuckled softly, breathlessly nuzzling against your collar bone. Slowly he leaned in close to your ear, his disheveled blonde hair brushing up against your cheeks. Lips trailed up flesh, reavhing just beneath your ear. And then you heard those three forbidden words. Such sweet, tender words, you hadn't expected him to say. Although he whispered them so softly they might have gotten lost in the wind, to you they were as clear as the moon on a cloudless night.

"Y/N.... I love you."

It made your heart throb, you thought you might even faint. A lifetime of struggles led up to this beautiful moment. You never expected it to be a half-undressed heavy make out session with your vampire lover, the father of your unborn spawn, in the back alley of a record store on the Santa Carla Boardwalk. But here you were, nestled between him and an old brick wall. Paul loved you, he had said it, he finally said those words that could destroy any doubt you had. And more than anything in the whole wide world, you knew once and for all, you loved Paul.

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Seventy-Eight

Words: 3k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, substance abuse

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"H-Hi." Deana tries to keep her composure upon the sight of Nikki freshly off-stage. 

He looks more pale than he was before heading to play, his sweat cloaked body shaking slightly. 

His mother, her dark hair curled and bright red lips tugging into a sappy smile as tears bubble in her eyes.

Even without probably knowing the whole story, Axl and the guys know Nikki doesn't have a relationship with his mom, and the nightmare about to take place has them slowly leaning against the wall of the hallway, quietly looking down, uncomfortable with getting caught in the middle of this. 

"What are you doing here?" Nikki asks, confused, more than likely questioning if its a hallucination from mixing too many drugs or not. 

"I made the arrangement." Doc states chipperly, stupidly thinking Nikki would be happy. "An early Christmas present." He adds. 

"I wanted to see you," She tells her son, taking a few steps closer, "I wanted to see both of you...I've already missed out on so much." She explains, looking at me. "I-I know the timing is off, but I really wanted to talk to you." 

"No, the timing isn't off--" I try to assure her. 

"--Don't waste your breath, Viv, she's just gonna ask for money and then disappear for another ten years." Nikki scoffs, brushing past her. 

"Frank--"

"--That's not my name." He snaps to her. 

"It's the name on your birth certificate, Frankie. Frank Ferana. It might not be as glamorous as 'Nikki Sixx' but--" 

"--It's Nikki. Legally. It's Sixx. Legally. It's her last name. Legally." He refers to me and she clenches her jaw. "And any kids I have are gonna have that last name. Legally. I'm not 'Frank', or 'Frankie', and I'm certainly not a fucking 'Ferana' so don't even start that shit."

"You're still my baby." She tells him, trying not to cry. "I came all this way to see you." She adds, wrapping her arms around him. 

I see the glimmer of a little boy in his eyes, for a split second, then it's quickly pushed aside and replaced with that of an angry, abused, hurt, scorned, abandoned dog. 

And he's going for the throat in a moment the second she says:

"Oh, my Frankie." 

He's shoving her off of him so hard she nearly goes to the floor. 

"That's not my fucking name!" He screams at her, throwing his bottle of Jack at the ground at her heeled-boot covered feet. 

He's storming off, Doc following after him, and Fred takes a breath and goes to Deana, to politely usher her out. 

"That's fucked." Izzy mumbles, shaking his head slightly, going to their dressing room and I walk behind them. 

"Nikki--"

"--Who the fuck do you think you are?! Huh?! Who the hell are you to bring my personal life front and center for every God damn body to see?!" 

"I didn't realize you and your mother weren't on good terms." Doc tells him, honestly. 

"You think I'm this fucked up for the hell of it?! You think I'm this way after growing up with parents who gave a shit?! Really?!" Nikki laughs humorlessly.

"Nikki, I'm sorry, alright?" 

"No, you're not, you don't give a shit and you never have, you're just another greedy fuck getting his rocks off from the money in my pocket but I'm done!" He yells, turning to walk away. "You don't know what's fucking best for me, you don't care about me, you don't care about the band, you're not my fucking father and you sure as shit aren't my manager anymore so just go get fucked, Doc, you're fucking fired!" He calls. 

"You're not fired." I assure Doc, wanting to go after him, but not able to bring myself to. 

He doesn't want to talk to me about it. 

I am surprised to see Axl rub his forehead and roll his jaw before stalking past me, Nikki's way. 

"Where you going?" I ask him. 

"I fucking hate my mom." Is all he says as he goes by. 

I didn't know what exact issue Axl had with his own mother, but I'd later find out it was because her horrible judgment in men and what abuse she'd allow him and his siblings to endure from those men, along with her forceful hand in religion that she and Axl's stepfather enforced brutally on their kids.

"Did Doc really not mean to set that up?" Steven asks me when I get into their dressing room. 

"No, he didn't." I reply. 

"Is Nikki gonna be okay?" Tansy asks quietly. 

"I don't know, Tansy." I roll my eyes and she furrows her brows, slightly. 

"Do you even care?" She asks me and I look at her. 

"Tans--" Duff starts. 

"--No, I mean, really, Vivian. Do you even care?" She cuts him off. 

"Excuse me?" I ask, practically seeing the dullness in her eyes of a mixed-drug high.

Without a doubt coke and smack.

"Of course I care, Tansy. Just because he and I are separated doesn't mean I want him to suffer."

"Way to take one for the team by sleeping with Duff, then, because surely that is the one thing that has to be done to prevent Nikki's suffering." She states. 

"What I do and who I do it with is my business, Tansy." I tell her, crossing my arms. 

"Sure doesn't sound that way when everybody on the same floor as you can hear nothing but, 'ahh, ahh, Duff, ahh!'" She mimics moaning. 

"Maybe I'm staying under Duff so much because if I don't, you'll take it as an open invitation, and there really are some people you don't have to try to sleep with mandatorily based on their wallet size, Tansy." 

"Just like there are some people you don't have to sleep with based on whether or not they're gonna be big rockstars or not." She shoots back. 

"Wanna be the pot or the kettle?" I ask. 

"I want you to stop adding fuel to the fire and then acting like your hands are clean while smiting all of us." She outbursts. 

"Smite you for adding to his problems? Offering him drugs when he's already going down hill? Letting him think screwing another woman is okay--not even screwing her, having an entire relationship with her." I correct myself. 

"Given the circumstances of your marriage, he needed an escape." She says next. 

"Given the circumstances of your new-found smack-induced courage, you act like you need my fist to knock your teeth out." 

"Viv--"

"--Then you'll really be laying on your back to get work." 

"But at least I do work. What do you do? Aside from spend Nikki's money and sleep with his friends?" 

"I'm not killing him like you and Sparkie have been with your junkie bullshit." I manage to keep myself from having an outburst, more concerned with Nikki's crisis with his mom. 

"Not yet, at least." She mumbles as I'm walking out. 

"Where you guys going?" Tommy asks as we head to leave for the bus. 

"Um… about to pack our stuff up and head out?" Izzy replies.

"No, no, no, just because Nikki's parade's been pissed on doesn't mean ours has to be." Tommy suggests to them. 

"Yeah, c'mon it's our last night hangin' out for a while." Vince points out, two groupies already under each arm. 

"I was gonna check on Sixx." Slash explains. 

"I'm fine." Nikki shows up, his hands on Slash's shoulders, tightly in an aggravating manner, making Slash chuckle as he twists away from him. 

Axl isn't far behind, he and Izzy looking at the invitation to hangout with the guys one last time on this tour, hesitantly. 

"What the hell," Izzy shrugs. 

"So glad you said that, man, because we have a special surprise." Nikki grins, beckoning them with his finger. 

"Stevie, c'mon!" Duff exclaims from behind me, Steven exiting their dressing room with Tansy behind him. 

"You good?" He asks Nikki. 

"Yeah." Nikki assures him. "I have a present." He adds, leading the guys to the double doors of what I assume is a bigger room. 

Sure enough, he opens the door, and at least ten girls are lined up, naked, asses up, thick lines of coke down their spines. 

Nausea nestles it's way into my stomach, but Tommy, Vince and Nikki look as if this is their promised land. 

Even Steven looks slightly off-put by the brazen display. 

Complete disinterest cascades off of Duff, a heavy puff of cigarette smoke leaving his nostrils with the huff of his unamused breath. 

"Who's first?" Nikki asks. 

Naturally, the guys look to their "leader," and Axl reluctantly rolls his eyes and walks over to the first girl. 

It's like he refuses to acknowledge she's naked, his main focus is the line of coke on her back. 

He snorts one-eighth of the line before deciding that's enough. 

I don't blame him--the way his fingers hold at the bridge of his nose makes me wince because I know it probably burns like a bitch. 

"Boo!" Tommy disappointedly calls to Axl as he walks out. 

He's had his party. 

Izzy follows. 

"More for us." Nikki shrugs, smirking. 

He looks at me directly in the eyes, heavy black liner sharpening the contrast of his hazel eyes as he keeps my gaze, spitefully unbuckling his belt and he starts unlacing his pants, making his way to the girl Axl was at earlier. 

He is not…

Duff's snatching me out of the room only milliseconds before Nikki enters the girl in sync with snorting the line up her skin.

That was that.

It's a bittersweet draw to an end, "thank you" and "damn, I'm gonna miss you" seeming to be on everyone's lips as hugs and high-fives go around between all the boys once we get back to L.A.

I rub my lips together and smile softly as I hand Fred my purse to put in the car, sighing softly, smiling when he looks down at me. 

"See ya later, kid." He tells me and tears swell in my eyes as I wrap hug him tightly, taking him off guard a little. "Don't kill each other...not even over that dumb shit he pulled tonight." He says, referring to the groupie cocaine platter. 

"I'll try." I mumble, wiping my eyes quickly before stepping up to say bye to the guys. 

Steven and Slash are pretty easy, but Axl just stares at me for a moment before reluctantly wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tightly. 

"I'm sorry I was an asshole this entire trip." He mumbles lowly in my ear. 

"I'm sorry I almost got you kicked off." I reply in the same low tone. 

"You're one of the reasons they took us in the first place." He states, pulling away to look at me, cupping my face in his hands, grinning. "You're gonna keep up my lie that we're siblings, right?" He asks and I chuckle. 

"You guys are gonna make it big and I need a meal ticket so of course." I shrug and his smile grows wider. "I love you." I tell him. 

"I love you, too." He assures me, kissing me on the cheek, giving me one last squeezing hug before heading to their bus. 

Izzy looks at me for a moment. 

"Izzy." I say to him. 

"Viv." He acknowledges me and steps to the bus. 

Just before Duff can tell me 'bye', arms are locking around my waist, and pulling me against the person they belong to. 

"Izzy?" I ask after a moment. 

"We're not friends." He says, pulling away to leave, leaving me and Duff. 

"Um, I'll see you later?" I offer and he rubs his lips together, his eyes over my shoulder, and I look to see Nikki and a woman that we'd picked up from the airport, getting into the car. 

I turn back to face Duff, biting my tongue to keep my tears back. 

"You can stay with me tonight." Duff offers. 

"Really?" 

He just smiles down at me. 

I inhale the familiarly comforting scent of cigarette smoke as we walk into Duff's apartment, dropping my bags and running to the bedroom, face planting into the mattress, exhausted. 

The weight of Duff's body laying on top of me making me laugh, his own chuckle further making me grin. 

"I'm so tired." I tell him.

"Me too." He replies, and I turn over underneath him, wrinkling my nose.

"You stink." I say. 

"I think I smell pretty sexy." He grins, teasingly. 

"No." I shake my head a little, scrunching my face to my shoulder when he tries to kiss my neck. "Go shower." I giggle when he tries again. 

"Come shower with me." He counters. 

"I don't feel like it and I don't stink, so--ew, Duff!" I squeal as he takes his shirt off that reeks of sweat and rubs it all over my face and hair. 

"What about now?" He asks and I pick up the pillow above my head and start hitting at him with it.

After a few hits are gotten in, he's getting off the bed, stretching. 

"You coming?" He asks when he walks to the bathroom. 

"I guess." I reply, following after him. 

Once I get out and have one of Duff's shirts on, I go to the kitchen to grab some water before bed, the quietness of the apartment allowing different thoughts to invade my mind. 

I can't help but wonder what Nikki's doing. Is he high? Is he drunk? Is he even still alive? They leave in a few days for Japan but I honestly don't believe they should go. They need help. 

I think at this moment everyone's just trying to see if they can get away with pressing at them a little more without anybody snapping. 

But by the looks of it, Nikki is pretty damn close to snapping, and Tommy anf Vince and Mick aren't far behind at all. 

Nikki. 

My heart tightens in my chest, remembering last Christmas, how he sat curled under our tree, shooting up. 

He'd get strung out, then lay underneath the tree and stare up at the lights for hours. 

"Are we gonna buy a Christmas  tree?" I ask, looking at the empty living area. 

"If you want to." He calls to me from the bedroom.

"I want to." I reply, going into the room and getting in bed while he follows. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. You know, homey-ness and stuff." I add. "Especially if I'm gonna be here longer." I add and he falls beside me. 

"I'll get a tree tomorrow." He assures me, kissing me chastely before yawning and getting comfortable, and I turn off the lamp and lay down, too. 

He goes to sleep in no time, but two hours later, in the early hours of morning, I smile to myself in the dark room, Christmas lights from the street shining into the window, lighting up the room and cascading a comforting dim light over Duff's sleeping body next to me. 

Reaching over, I run my fingertips softly against his cheek, pushing blonde strands of his hair out of the way, his eyes slowly blinking open slightly before a small tug of a smile pulls his lips slightly. 

"Sorry." I whisper, not meaning to have woken him up. 

"It's okay." He says quietly, closing his eyes again. "I love you, Vivian." He adds, his eyes staying closed, but he grabs my hand that's on his cheek, and presses a kiss to my palm, holding my hand when he's done. 

I snuggle closer to him, laying still and closing my eyes, too, while I reply, "I love you, too," the way I wish I would have done to Nikki all these years. 

Years later, while on what I presumed to be his deathbed, he told me that simple moment was what made him feel sure that I was the one. I took everything he had done up to that point with stride. But thinking he was going to die, reflecting on everything that could have been between us but never got to be, and hearing him tell me, "there's a ring I got you years ago when we thought we were gonna be together, but I never gave it to you. Mandy never knew about it. Linda doesn't know about it, but it's on my closet shelf and I don't want to go without giving it to you," broke my heart more than anything he could've done up to that point.

NIKKI

I turn over, seeing the silhouette of the brunette I picked up at the airport, her sheet-covered chest rising and falling with each breath. 

A part of me feels irritated because her perfume is contaminating Vivian's side of the bed that still smells like her. 

I've been reduced to plucking Viv's clothing from drawers or from in the closet and smelling it. That makes me sound like a fucking stalking creep, but it's the truth. 

How the fuck did we get here, again? 

Oh, right, me not able to keep my dick in my pants, and the woman I didn't keep my dick in my pants for, didn't keep her mouth shut.

I sit up, walking to the bathroom to piss. When I'm done I look at myself in the mirror and feel a little impressed. 

I don't look as bad as I thought. 

Well, kinda. 

I splash water on my face, wincing at the dark circles under my eyes. 

I end up staring at myself for God knows how long, remembering how Vivian would wake up and come in here to get me back in bed if I left her for too long because she didn't like sleeping by herself. 

I smile a little, slowly closing my eyes, feeling her touch across my back, the softness of her lips pressing to the skin of my spine before her cheek presses to the same place before she sleepily mumbles out, "come back to bed." 

Opening my eyes, for a split second, I see her. Standing behind me, green eyes peering at me over my shoulder, the feeling of her holding me...it's gone in a flash. She's gone in a flash. 

My nose burns with the oncoming tears cooking up in my eyes, and I erase them quickly with another splash of water to thr face. 

[lovelylogans]

love light gleams

previous chapter | chapter four | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, teenage emancipation, emotional abuse, mentions of being disowned, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, mentions of past underage drinking, crying, religious content (church, going to confession), remus cameo, mentions of choking/killing someone, something similar to the canon “have you thought about killing your brother?” monologue, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairings: gen 

words: 57,686

notes: uh, this one’s heavy on the crying/angst/hurt comfort, folks, so tread carefully! take care of yourself!!

"you can just point," virgil says to logan, for the fifth time. "it's okay if you just... make any gesture ."

"um," patton says.

"he's going to pick which one it is," virgil says steadily, ignoring the fact that he's the last of the family who are picking a box from their pile. "i'm always last to pick anyway."

"it's true," says silas, "and why didn't i get to pick this year, again?"

"you'll like it, trust us," meredith says.

"yeah, but—"

"si," essie says, and she's the only one that patton's seen so far that gets no rebuttal for shortening his name, " trust us."

silas sighs, grumpy, and slouches over his (pretty sizeable) box.

"just one gesture," virgil wheedles to logan, adjusting him, and logan squalls in protest, throwing his pacifier. which happens to bounce off a purple box.

"you know what?" virgril says to logan, tilting his head. "joke's on you, i'm taking that as a choice, so there."

"i'll take him," patton says, amused, and he picks up logan's pacifier. "i'll meet you all upstairs, i'm just gonna rinse this off really quick."

they all nod, virgil picking up the carrier so that patton won't have to juggle it and an armful of baby, so patton makes a brief detour to the kitchen to wash and rinse off logan's pacifier. really, even with as clean as the diner is, it still touched the floor, so. 

patton ensures it's dry, before he makes an offer of it back to logan. apparently, since he's tossed it, he does not want it anymore, how dare you, and so patton takes a bit of time to walk around and get logan calm before he goes back upstairs, so that a fussy baby won't interrupt anything.

and, thank goodness, it seems like patton doesn't—mark is laughing, showing off one of the new aprons that was in the gift he chose, a mr. good lookin' is cooking one as freddie snorts to herself—so he settles in one of the chairs that's been pushed aside to make room for everyone in the middle of the room, the one next to where virgil's set down the baby carrier.

he carefully lowers logan into the carrier, holding his breath, and logan, thankfully, stays quiet. 

so patton curls up in the armchair and he watches the danes have family time. they open presents in an order that patton doesn't really get—freddie gets the latest book of world records, then essie gets some kitchen tools that make her go "ooh!" so it's not by age or anything—and it looks... really nice, honestly. all of them are clustered together in a messy kind of circle, watching as each person opens their gift of choice. so they go, and go, until—

"last but not least," mark prompts.

"finally," silas says, and begins tearing it open as he's talking. "i get to see why i couldn't pick and everyone else could," he's opening the top of the box, and patton notices everyone in the family grinning, "seriously, this better be..."

he trails off. he stares. his jaw drops, just a little, and patton watches as silas' eyes go wide, and a little shiny, and he seems to just get a little... softer.

"i," he says, falters, looks up and then back down at the present. "i—i don't—how did you even...?"

"well," meredith says, with a kind of benevolent, easy smile, and she reaches over to squeeze silas' arm and mark copies and they are so clearly being comforting or something to him, what is in that box?

and silas smiles, a real, genuine smile. it makes him look nice. it makes him look good. and for the first time all visit, patton notices how little silas has been smiling, or excited, and the glimpse of essie and silas on the mezzanine, and it hits him that... that maybe his problem was never really just with patton at all.

silas unearths it, and patton... well, patton doesn't know what he'd expected, really, but it's not what silas pulls out from the box. 

it's... a lego set. one of those big ones that make up a specific thing—patton can spy the millenium falcon, on the side, before silas wraps an arm around it, obscuring his view, but he's still smiling so much.

"i can't believe you got this for me," silas says.

"well, you begged for this, for years, and—" mark begins

"yeah, i," silas says, "i mean, it was—it was years ago, i never expected you to actually—"

"well, we promised, didn't we?" mark says, and simultaneously, silas ducks his head with a laugh, and patton feels like he's been punched in the stomach—

("—where were you?" patton asks. he's maybe seven, eight at oldest, and he's holding his skirt in his fist, tight, probably crumpling the material that his mother will yell at him for later, as if she has anything to do with the upkeep of their clothes, as if she won't just buy him a new one to dress him up in later.

"hm?" his dad asks, looking up from the papers, and patton clears his throat.

"where were you?" he repeats. "it was the school play today."

"oh," his father says absently. "was it?"

"you and mom promised you'd be there."

and neither of you showed up , he doesn't have to say. christopher's latest nanny dropping him off after a 'playdate' is enough evidence for that.

his father sighs, annoyed, and sets aside his papers. "your mother and i both had meetings, pumpkin, i couldn't very well skip it."

"but," patton says, floundering, unable to find words other than "but you promised."

"yes, well," his father says, "i'm sure there'll be another one. we can try and make the next one, darling, how about that?"

"but—" patton says, voice small, and his father nods, as if the whole situation is settled.

"why don't you run along, now? i have a lot to get finished, you know."

it's not a suggestion.

"okay," patton whispers, before he tries to swallow before he turns and runs out of his father's office, to fling himself upon his bed and sob, for no one to hear—)

a tiny voice in his head, with all the finality and gravity of the two paths of his future stretched out in front of him, says, i want logan to grow up with the kind of family that the danes' are.

and he does. he wants logan to grow up in a warm, loving family, with nicknames for each other, with him looking forward to spending time with his family, with christmas cookies and christmas movies and fights that always seem to get settled and don't leave him heart-achey and hurting for days at a time, with warm, happy time together that feels like it's out of a movie, with the kind of mystical warmth and christmas spirit that's easily within reach, with promises that always get fulfilled.

he wants logan to have that. he wants to be that for him. 

then, the voice continues, you can't get that with the family that you have, and patton can practically see the gilded gates back to his parents' house close, and it's almost anticlimactic, like there's been something in his heart that's known that was how his life was going to go as soon as he'd planted that note in logan's crib, and oh god, oh, god, he's going to be emancipated, he wants to be emancipated, he wants to make his own family and oh god oh god oh god oh god oh fuck—

what kind of person does that make him?!

and with that, as the whole danes family is entrenched in their happy moment with silas, patton stumbles blindly to his feet and staggers for the nearest escape he can manage—the mezzanine.

it's bitingly cold, but that's almost welcome as the wind nips at his cheeks and his nose and patton grabs for the wrought-iron railing so he doesn't fall to his knees, because his legs are shaking and he's shaking, so patton blindly grips tighter at the railing and feels the cold wind steal into him and it's almost welcoming as his stomach twists, full of nausea and self-hatred because what kind of person does that make him, what kind of person is he to throw aside his parents and run away and stay away and want a whole new family, what kind of horrible person is he to think about that on christmas eve, and so patton feels his fingers go numb and his nose get cold and there's tears on his face, he thinks, or maybe it's snowing and the cold is hitting his face and melting, he doesn't know, he just knows that it stings, and he deserves it, he deserves it he hasn't even missed them the closest he's come is to missing the apple tarts, the fucking pastry, patton has been missing pastry more than his own parents and they're never going to want to see him again they're never ever going to want to see him again and he's going to deserve it he deserves to stay out here and freeze and his parents would be right to never ever talk to him again and there's a click and a gust of warm air and a feminine voice saying "wondered where you" before falling off and patton lets out a hitching, terrible noise, and "oh, sweetheart" before the warm air goes away.

"i—all right, honey, is it okay if i touch you?"

patton manages a nod, and shudders as meredith pulls him into a hug; she's warm, and she only flinches a little when patton's cold nose makes contact with her skin, and she wraps him up in one arm, cradling his head with her other hand, and patton rests his head on her chest, forehead resting in the crook of her neck, pulled there, almost like a doll, because he's so busy crying, because it isn't snowing, he's been crying, that he can't really negotiate a hugging position.

"can you try to breathe with me, sweetheart?" she says.

and patton tries, he really, really does, except he can barely take in a breath like she is before it gusts out of him in sobs.

"i'm sorry, i'm s-sorry," he chokes out.

"it's all right, sweetheart, it's all right," she says. "you're trying, that's what matters. you're doing a good job."

he isn't, he's doing the opposite of a good job, he's doing a terrible job—

"okay. in again, here we go."

except patton keeps doing a terrible job, he can't even breathe right, how on earth is he supposed to manage a baby, he's going to emancipate himself and he can't even breathe it's pathetic he's pathetic and a terrible person and overemotional and stupid and too sensitive and he—

"patton," she says, and patton tries to gasp for breath.

"y—you don't have to stay," he sobs, in a sort of shuddering way, and she shushes him even as he continues, "i don't wanna r-ruin your christmas, you don't have—"

she shushes him again, and says, "you aren't ruining anything, sweetheart, you aren't ruining anything at all, we were just all saying goodbye when we noticed you hadn't been there for a while, that's all, you're all right—"

patton sobs again, and she brushes her hand through her hair, still breathing deep for him to try to copy.

another rush of warm air, and "patton," virgil says, hushed, concerned.

"could you make him some tea?" virgil's mother asks him.

"he hates tea," virgil retorts, without thinking, and patton nearly smiles. it's true. he does hate tea. he's kind of surprised that virgil's remembered that, though. nearly no one remembers the kinds of foods and drinks he likes and doesn't like.

"hot chocolate, then," meredith says, and there's a noise, and patton lifts his head, staring.

"logan—"

"i got him," virgil says. "i got him, don't worry, just—"

he leaves, and the door swings shut, and so patton doesn't really have much of a choice but to lie his head back onto meredith's shoulder and try to pull himself back together.

it turns out he gets exhausted more than anything else before he's capable of pulling himself together, meredith continually sweeping her hand through his hair. but he guesses that it must look like he's managed it well enough, because she draws back enough to look at him.

"are you all right?"

"logan," he mumbles, and she lets go of him. 

"we can check on him, if you'd like?"

he does. he really, really does. it's less of a he'd like to check on logan and more like he viscerally needs to check on logan. so she opens up the door for him and patton shuffles into the kitchen, looking around, and virgil glances up at him, logan in his arms.

"is he—?"

"yeah, he's good, just wanted some attention," virgil says. "we've just been kinda chilling. you want—?"

but patton's already reaching out to hold him before virgil can even finish the question, and logan makes an indignant sound of protest before he starts to settle again. patton takes some shaky breaths, holding on tight, staring down at his son.

i hope i'm making the right choice for you, patton thinks. but, again, there's that... there's that something in him. this is going to be hard, yes. this is going to suck a lot, yes. but he thinks... he thinks this is what's going to be best for logan. for them. he wants logan to grow up in this place where affection abounds, and everyone is so ready to reach out and help someone who needs it. he wants logan to grow up around the people in the inn. he wants logan to have a horde of honorary aunts and uncles and godparents. he wants logan to know virgil. he wants logan to know he has a loving family, even if it isn't his biological family, but the family they both choose.

he doesn't want logan to grow up expecting his dad to break promises.

patton leans down to press a kiss to logan's forehead, and logan makes a sleepy, content sound. well. at least one of them was easy to calm down, tonight. maybe they'll just swap off for the rest of time.

logan's forehead's very warm, and patton has a moment of panic, before he realizes that he's probably just freezing. he's spent god knows how long out on a balcony in the middle of winter, after all. 

there's a sound, ceramic against ceramic, and patton turns just a little to see virgil, managing to hold three mugs in his hands, before meredith sighs at him just a little and takes one.

"dramatic escape to bury myself and pretend that never happened isn't an option, is it," patton says wearily, and virgil huffs out a laugh.

"not really, but couch or kitchen is."

"um. couch, i guess."

patton moves to plunk the carrier on the coffee table, but virgil does it for him, and patton gives him a look before he sets logan down—he's pretty sure virgil's going to have him drink cocoa, so he needs free hands, and he'd probably feed him if it was any other day, but patton's still stuffed full of christmas dinner and three different kinds of pie.

and, true to form, virgil presses the biggest mug of cocoa into his hands, before he shakes out his throw blanket and wraps it around his shoulders. patton looks at him in surprise.

"it's cold," virgil says defensively, as he tucks him into it. 

"i guess," patton mumbles, and shifts where he's sitting, cradling the cocoa in his hands, letting the warmth seep into his palms. he keeps his eyes on it, too—much easier than meeting anyone else's eyes. god, way to make it all about you, patton.

"did we do something?" virgil asks hesitantly, and patton's neck just about cracks from how fast he looks up.

" no," he bursts out. "oh my goodness gracious, no, of course not, you guys have been great, i'm just—"

he chokes up, swallows, and gestures with the mug with a wordless kind of exhalation, and virgil and meredith nod like they understand. they're probably just being nice.

“logan cries all the time.” meredith says, suddenly.

“he’s a baby,” patton says miserably, pressing his fingers under his eyes to try and stop the tears from coming again. “that’s different.”

“is it?” meredith says. “when does he cry?”

something in patton shrinks. a question. and he’s going to get it wrong, because he gets everything wrong, because he’s an idiot, he’ll never be good for anything but—

“it’s not a trick question, i promise,” meredith says. “why does logan cry?”

patton bites at his lip, nervous, before he says timidly, “if he’s hungry.”

“good. when else?”

“um. if he needs to be changed, or—or if his colic’s acting up.”

“right,” meredith says. “babies cry when they need things.”

“are you saying i’m… a baby?”

“i’m saying that grown-up people—or teenage people—don’t change all that much from when they’re babies,” meredith says wryly. “would you get angry at logan for crying for something he needs? of course not.”

“but i shouldn’t,” patton says. “it’s—it’s christmas eve, you shouldn’t have to spend your christmas eve with me because i’m c-crying—”

“people cry, sometimes,” virgil says. 

“except i cry all the time now,” patton says wetly. “i’m s-sorry, this was st-st-stupid, i’m stupid, you sh-shouldn’t have to deal with me when i can’t stop crying, um, i’ll go—”

“ absolutely not,” virgil says, so firmly that it freezes patton from where he’d been about to stand. “this is not stupid, this is you reacting to something that is a seriously huge deal, okay? however you’re reacting, for however long, that is perfectly normal. okay? not bad, not strange, not stupid. ”

but i am , patton would say, but he can only look down at his hands in his lap and take in a shaky breath. 

"do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?" meredith asks, brow creased in concern.

"you don't have to, if you're uncomfortable," virgil says hastily, and he adds, "drink your cocoa, you look like you're freezing."

he takes a sip. unsurprisingly, it's delicious, creamy and rich and good, and so he takes another, deeper sip, and it's like it's warming him from the inside out. huh. turns out he is pretty cold. he ends up drinking about half of the cocoa in one go, then he cradles the mug in his hands again, staring.

well. this isn't when he'd wanted to tell virgil, but it isn't exactly when he'd wanted to have this realization and subsequent breakdown, either, so. patton's gonna have to take what he can get.

"i'm just," he repeats, and he hates how defeated his voice sounds.

"yeah?" virgil prompts softly.

"i—i haven't told you yet, but, um. maria put me in touch with a lawyer to maybe make the whole not-going-back-home thing, like. legal." he swallows. "permanent."

"oh," virgil says.

"yeah."

"i—when?"

"um," patton says, and wearily scrubs a hand across his face. "your birthday? i think that's when i got the—the document, anyway."

"oh," virgil says, and his voice is strange. he's staring at patton, and patton can't read the look on his face, and—

"please don't be angry," patton says, and his voice cracks.

"oh, patton, no, no no no no," virgil says, a tone of panic entering his voice when he notices that patton's started to cry again. "hey, patton, listen, it's okay, i'm not angry, i promise—"

"i'm sorry," patton chokes out, and he scrubs his sweater sleeve under his eyes. “you sh-should be mad at me.”

“well, i’m not, so there,” virgil says, and patton looks down at his cocoa again and tries to breathe deep, to calm himself down, except it comes out hitching and shaky and definitely like he’s still crying—

“aw, buddy,” virgil mutters, and hesitantly shuffles closer to put an arm around patton’s shoulders. patton sniffles, and takes the opportunity to bury his face from their staring, because really this is incredibly embarrassing and he doesn’t deserve comfort, but—

selfish, overemotional creature he is, he’ll take it. he’ll take it for as long as he can get it.

“i’m not gonna be in my family anymore,” patton sobs out.

“hey, that—that’s not true, necessarily,” virgil says. “you’re you, you could work something out—”

“i’m throwing anything nice they’ve ever done for me back in their face and spitting on it—”

“hey, no, no—”

“—because i kept so many secrets for so long and this included, i mean, i didn’t even tell you that i was thinking about being e-emancipated—”

“—which you’re totally allowed to do, if it’s what made you feel comfortable and safe—”

“why are you so nice to me?” patton bawls into his chest. “i’m a terrible person.”

“you’re a good person,” virgil says firmly, rubbing a comforting hand up and down his arm. “you are a good person. you just got dealt a really bad hand, and you’re trying to fix it with the tools you’ve got, okay? wanting some distance from your parents does not make you a bad person.”

“they’re gonna hate me,” patton bawls. “i’m an awful son and an ungrateful idiot and i’m a disaster and—”

virgil says, in an even, comforting voice, “you’re a good son, you are not ungrateful, you definitely aren’t an idiot, and, i mean, who can say they aren’t a disaster, sometimes? and they are not gonna hate you.”

“ i hate me.”

“hey, no, no, no,” virgil says firmly. “you are a good person, okay? you’re just going through a lot right now, and that’s okay. just—just let it out.”

and so patton falls apart, and anytime he thinks he’s close to regaining some kind of composure, he falls apart again, and again, and again, and he really doesn’t know how long he spends tear-staining virgil’s shirt, or how long he spends when meredith eventually moves to sandwich him between her and her son, or how long it takes until finally, at last, he gets dehydrated and cries himself into puffy, red eyes, unable to shed anymore tears even if he’d wanted to. 

at virgil’s gentle urging, he finishes another mug of cocoa (the one he’d had before had long since grown cold) and, as he’s staring at the dregs, he swallows.

“i should go,” he says.

“yeah, uh, no,” virgil says. “there’s no way in hell i’m letting you be alone right now.”

a beat, the sense that meredith glowers at virgil over patton’s head, and then he adds, “um, that, except, like, pretend i was more sensitive about it.”

“you don’t have to—”

“patton,” he says. “i would not let anyone who just cried on my shoulder be alone after, let alone you. i mean, you could stay here, if you want. you could go with my mom, if you want. just—just don’t go back to the poolhouse. or at least, if you’re going, i’m gonna go with you.”

“i—”

“patton,” he says. “it’s christmas eve. just for tonight, i can help look after logan and we can tell him about santa, or we can eat leftover cookies and cocoa, or you can just go to sleep, or whatever, just… don’t be alone. please. ”

patton hesitates. on one hand, he’s kind of embarrassed that he broke down this much in front of virgil and his mom, who patton barely knows, really. on the other hand…

well, on the other hand. he doesn’t want to be alone right now. he really, really doesn’t. and he loves logan, loves him more than he could ever have imagined loving someone, but… well, logan is a baby. he’s not exactly company.

patton chews his lip, before he says, “i don’t have anything to wear.”

“you can borrow some of my old clothes for pajamas, if you want,” virgil says immediately, back straightening up a little, like he’s paying closer attention. “and, um—”

“i can drop by your place to pick up clothes or anything the baby needs and swing by early tomorrow,” meredith says. “mark and i were planning on swinging by early anyway, really, to see if virgil needs any help with breakfast.”

“oh,” patton says. “i—okay. yeah. that works. thank you.”

“do you have a preference? for the clothes i should grab, i mean.”

“oh. i mean, i—i have a box of sweaters? any one of those should work,” patton says. “it should be right by the door. i can just re-wear these pants.”

“box of sweaters, got it,” meredith says. “do you want anything else? water, more cocoa?”

“no thank you.” 

“all right, then,” she says, and gently squeezes his shoulder, rubbing her thumb briefly over his shoulder blade before she rises to her feet and gathers the empty mugs in her hands. “i’ll just drop these off in the kitchen, then.”

she rises to her feet and, with that, logan, patton, and virgil are on their own.

“um,” virgil says. “so, i could. i could grab some stuff for pajamas now, if you want. or we could explain the miracle of christmas to logan. or—”

“pajamas sounds good,” patton says. “i—i kind of just want to go to sleep.”

well, really, it’s less of a i want to go to sleep and more like this was so embarrassing and i really don’t want anyone to look at me right now, but. sure. sleep sounds good too.

“yeah,” virgil says, getting to his feet. “yeah, of course. um—follow me.”

it’s not like patton really needs the direction—this is a one-bedroom apartment, after all—but patton picks up logan’s carrier and obediently plods after him anyway.

virgil’s room is dark, and tiny. there’s a pile of blankets on the bed, messy, which shows patton that virgil doesn’t really make his bed in the morning. there’s a couple discarded clothing items on the ground, like the purple flannel he wore yesterday, and the black hoodie he wore the day before that, but other than that, the room’s pretty tidy, with a few frames dotting the walls, the windowsills, and the top of the dresser, which virgil is now digging around in, so patton can’t see them.

however, he can tell that there are some framed posters on the wall, and patton smiles a little. bands that, a couple weeks ago, he’d been surprised to learn virgil really liked, some art that fits the dark kind of vibe, and—

“disney guy, huh?”

“oh, yeah,” virgil says, and awkwardly smiles at him a little over his shoulder. “um, don’t spill my secrets.”

“cross my heart.” patton says, and does so with the hand that isn’t holding logan’s carrier. 

“okay, so,” virgil says. “um. you know where the bathroom is, here, i’ll take logan so you can get ready for bed. i think i’ve got a spare toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink.”

mostly on autopilot, patton hands over the carrier and accepts the clothes that virgil sets in his arms. he goes into virgil’s bathroom. he closes the door. he plants his hands on the counter, and stares at himself in the mirror.

jesus, he looks awful.

his eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks flushed and patchy, tear-streaked and exhausted. the bags under his eyes are about as deep as they’ve ever been, patton thinks, and that’s just his face and not even going into the rest of his body, which patton has a much more complicated relationship with, and this is not the time to get into this he doesn’t think he could cry again but he doesn’t want to risk it, so. he turns his back to the mirror, and shakes out the clothes that virgil’s grabbed for him.

they. are. massive. they are so big. like, patton knows that virgil’s taller than him—patton thinks he’s almost exactly a foot taller than him—but it’s almost a whole other thing to hold one of virgil’s old shirts up to his body and watch as the hem falls practically to his knees.

okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. but it’s not a huge one.

he keeps his back to the mirror as he changes—honestly, it’s fortunate that he’d worn one of the really comfy nursing bras that are meant for sleeping anyway—and ends up drawing the elastic drawstring of the sweatpants as tight as they’ll go, shoving them high on his hips so they can at least catch on the wider part of his belly, because if he wears them like he wears his normal pants they’ll undoubtedly fall down. and even then, patton has to bend to roll up the hem of the sweatpants, so he won’t trip and fall over them. patton usually wears bigger, baggier clothes (hurrah dysphoria) but this is above and beyond patton’s usual fare.

it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like it, though. he likes it a lot. under this black t-shirt advertising a sideshire winterfest from a few years back, there is only the vaguest suggestion of a body, no telling what gender. the clothes are well-worn and cozy, and patton feels oddly comforted at the sensation of them. (even men’s clothes feel better on him than clothes made for women. he isn’t sure if that’s the sexism or if it’s him being trans, but, honestly. the presence of pockets alone are such a gigantic benefit.)

so, after having splashed some cold water on his face and brushed his teeth with the fresh-from-the-plastic-packaging toothbrush that he’d found tidily tucked away along with enough spare toothpaste, shampoo, and soap to last virgil probably until he’s forty, he emerges back into virgil’s bedroom to see him wrestling with a fitted sheet.

“what are you doing?” patton asks, going to peek briefly at logan’s sleeping face from where he’s safely tucked away in a corner—probably the best place for him, really, if he’d been put on the top of the dresser there was the slightest chance that logan might fall, which is a chance that patton doesn’t want to take, and anywhere else in the room there might be a chance that he’ll get stumbled over, or, god forbid, stepped on, so—

“putting down fresh sheets for you,” virgil says, and scowls at the corner he’d just tucked under, as if ensuring that it’ll stay through willpower and intimidation alone. “sorry, i don’t have very many super clean blankets, but i just washed these last weekend so they should be okay—”

patton frowns. “i’m not kicking you out of your bed.”

“that’s right,” virgil says, “ i’m kicking me out of my bed.”

“virgil—” patton begins in a sigh, but virgil’s already shaking his head.

“think about it logically,” he points out. “you have quickest access to the bathroom from here, which means quickest access to a surface that logan might need to be changed on. if you need water or anything, sink’s right there. if you need some privacy to feed logan, you’ve got it—”

“but—” patton tries.

“patton,” virgil says. “i know for a fact that your ‘bed’ in the poolhouse is just a busted old pull-out bed. please just take the chance to sleep in a real, actual bed for the first time in nearly two months.”

patton hesitates.

“consider it a christmas gift,” virgil says, and patton sighs in defeat.

“all right,” he says. “okay, fine. one night.”

“hey, that’s all i ask,” virgil says, and takes a step back. “okay, i think i managed it fine. if it tries to mummify you just yell for help.”

patton huffs out a laugh and extends his leg, so virgil can see how many times he’d had to roll them up. “if your clothes don’t do that first, you giant.”

“i’m 6’2”, that’s normal enough,” virgil says mildly. “you’re just a shrimp.”

“i am not a shrimp!”

“you’re, what, five foot even?” virgil says, and it’s so clear that he’s been joking to try and get patton to smile, but right now it’s just genuine joking for the sake of joking, not even a little pitying.

“five feet, two inches, and a quarter ,” patton says, and jabs a finger in his direction. “do not discount the quarter.”

“yeah, i guess when you’re that tiny, you take what you can get,” virgil says, and patton huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“you know,” he says, “i’m not even done growing yet.”

“a common defense.”

“ especially when i get back on t,” patton continues. “i’ll grow more then. i might even grow a whole foot. ”

huh. when i get back on t. not if, not a potential, distant, hazy future thing. when i get back on t. that’s nice to realize, patton thinks. being able to resume transition, that’s something to look forward to in his future, too. so that’s two things on the list. logan, and transitioning.

“that sounds like a whole lot of excuses, for a shrimp,” virgil says. 

okay, three things. logan, transitioning, and gloating to virgil when patton towers over him. 

“i might even be taller than you and then you’ll be sorry.” patton says, shaking his fist up at virgil jokingly. 

“oh, i tremble in fear of the day,” virgil says dryly. “i bet you could team up with the baby, logan might give you some much-needed height.”

“he’s twenty-one inches,” patton says, “so you know what? give us a bit of time, when he’s able to hold up his head reliably i can put him on my shoulders and we can—”

“put on a trench-coat and pretend to be an adult so you can try to buy a ticket to an r-rated movie?” virgil says, and patton weakly punches virgil’s arm even as he laughs, and they settle into comfortable quiet.

until—

“virgil?”

“yeah?”

“um—thanks,” he says, looking at virgil sidelong, and virgil’s looking at him, all quiet and respectful and not even a little pitying, like patton had almost been a little afraid of happening. brown eyes a little shiny, even in the dim light, but steady, and warm. “for—for this.” 

“hey,” virgil says. “what are friends for, right?”

“not just, like, the pajamas, and the bed,” patton continues, “for all of this. the christmas, the food, the helping with logan, and the—the everything. ”

a tiny, special kind of smile quirks virgil’s lip.

“i don’t know how i’ll ever be able to pay you back,” patton continues.

“this isn’t a thing to pay back,” virgil says, “you know that, right? that none of this is anything to pay back? all the stuff people do here—they’re doing it to be nice, not because they’re expecting some kind of retribution. well, i mean, they’re probably expecting you to be nice back, but i don’t think you’ll have much trouble with that, since you’re a nice person, so—”

“yeah, well,” patton says, staring at his bare feet, as the sweatpants he’d so dutifully rolled up are starting to puddle around his ankles. “still. thanks.”

“i mean, hey,” virgil says, even softer. “what are friends for, right?”

⁂

meredith watches as her son cautiously tiptoes out of his bedroom, and from the stillness beneath his hoodie that he’s holding his breath. he eases the door painfully, slowly shut, before he turns to her.

“they’re asleep,” he informs her, barely above a whisper.

“good,” meredith says back, in the same tone. “that’s good. let’s go downstairs, i don’t want to risk waking them.”

virgil nods, taking a moment to drop some of his spare blankets on the couch, before he obediently plods behind her, down the stairs, into the diner that once bore her name. none of the other children are there; mark must have sent them along, back to the inn. 

however, mark glances up at the sound of footsteps, taking a moment to hastily finish his sip of tea before setting aside the mug. meredith’s not a betting woman, but if she were, she’d put her bets on lemon balm; most nights, since freddie was born, he’s had a mug of the stuff to wind down before bed. meredith’s more of a chamomile woman, herself.

which is exactly what’s in the mug he nudges before her, and she smiles at him in thanks. it’s probably a bit strained around the edges. she’s going to need a boatload of chamomile to calm herself down, tonight.

“is everything all right?” mark asks mildly, clearly posing it more to virgil than her, and virgil shifts even as he slides into the booth across from them.

“uh,” virgil says. “so, turns out. patton’s been considering getting emancipated and he just now decided that he’s gonna go through with it.” 

“oh,” mark says, and sets aside the teacup with a definite clinking sound onto the table. “dear me. that’s quite a step further than you mentioned when we talked.”

“yeah, since i didn’t know,” virgil says, and accepts the mug of tea that meredith pushes toward him—boy knows better than to refuse his mother food or drink. it doesn’t help the dejected look on his face. “i didn’t even—i just thought he was having trouble sleeping, how did i not know how un-okay he was?”

“oh, virgil—” mark begins.

“i should have noticed,” virgil says. “he comes here almost every day and i didn’t even notice how upset he was until he was having a breakdown on my balcony—”

“cinnabun,” mark says. “it’s very nice that you’re looking out for this boy, but you aren’t a mind-reader. none of this is your fault.”

“of course it’s not,” meredith says. “virgil knows that. don’t you, virgil?”

he should know that. the ways virgil has been helping that poor teenager and that baby, from what she heard through mark, after they met the poor boy for the first time, and maria, when meredith had wrangled her into coffee, is proof enough for that, let alone all the little day-to-day things that she hasn’t heard, that she knows her son is capable of giving. tough exterior, her virgil, with a soft center. he’s the best of the both of them, meredith thinks, briefly bumping her shoulder against mark’s. all of their children are.

but virgil hesitates for just a moment too long, and mark puts his hand on meredith’s before she demand to know why on earth he thinks that it’s his fault, of course it’s not his fault, didn’t he see how much he was helping?

“some people,” mark says, “are very, very good at hiding when they don’t feel okay. you can’t help someone when they’re hiding it. and it certainly isn’t your fault if you don’t see it, at first. that isn’t your fault. you aren’t the one who hurt him. what matters is that you’re doing what you can.”

“i still didn’t see it,” virgil says. “i mean, you—you always see it. with everyone. ”

“not always,” mark says. “not with you.”

meredith leans a little harder into her husband’s side.

of the two of them, mark’s always been the sensitive one. always, always. she was the one who brought him flowers on the first date, he was the one to swoon and go sappy over romantic gestures, she was the one who had awkwardly mumbled out a response to his first “i love you,” too unequipped to actually respond properly. he was the one who cried during sad movies, to be swayed to adopting some poor unfortunate animal. he was the emotionally adept one. 

he’s the person that people went to advice. he’s the person he’d be the person to quietly intercede and discuss matters with a diner attendant, and she’d come back to someone crying on her husband’s shoulder. it’s like he has a sixth sense. 

so not cottoning on to the fact that so many of virgil’s teenage behavioral issues were rooted in some deep, emotional conflicts? his own son?

mark had taken it hard. they both had, of course, they’d both had their moments in the aftermath of virgil’s diagnosis wondering if there was somewhere they’d gone wrong, relentlessly backtracking their memories to see each and every opportunity they had missed to reach out to virgil and intercede sooner. but for mark, it had been a whole other level. how could i not see him? he’d asked her bleakly, one night. how could i do that to him? how did we not know as soon as he started acting out? how could i have possibly failed him like that?

meredith had, perhaps, seen that her husband had taken it hard, and moved to blame the only outward source she could. oh, of course, in retrospect, she knows that remus duke was only a little older than essie and silas, but…

but.

her husband had been hurting. her husband is the emotional one, the soft one. of the pair, she’s always been the angry one, the defensive one, the fighter. for better or worse.

virgil looks into his cup of tea, and mark’s hand moves to squeeze his wrist.

“i’m not trying to blame you,” he says, quiet but firm. “you were hurting. you did what you thought would help. i didn’t understand. what matters is—and i hope you agree—we did what we could to help you when we did understand.”

“you did,” virgil says.

“and that’s what matters,” meredith says. 

“i hardly think you’re just going to abandon that boy and that baby because he’s just now told you about something that’s bothering him,” mark adds.

“of course not,” virgil says, a little offended.

“well, there you go,” meredith says. “you can’t change the past, you can only keep moving forward.”

“emile says the same thing,” virgil says, and then his eyes widen. “i’m an idiot.”

“what? no, you’re not,” meredith says heatedly. if emile picani has taken a sudden turn to cruelty she’ll march right in there and—

“ emile, ” virgil says, and opens and closes his hand. “someone has to have a pen—”

meredith takes one out of her pocket—waitress hobbies run deep—and virgil scribbles a few times on the corner of a napkin to get the ink flowing. meredith tilts her head in order to read what her son is scrawling.

emile picani, the address, phone number, and he’s my therapist. i know he has experience with emancipation stuff and he does pro-bono confidential stuff for teenagers, if you ever want someone else to talk to about everything. he’s a bit weird (really into cartoons) but he’s a really good guy. 

“just so he has the info,” virgil explains, folding the napkin into a crisp square. “god, i can’t believe i didn’t think of emile until now.”

meredith frowns. “haven’t you been seeing him lately?”

virgil shrugs. “holiday hours, for the both of us,” and, presumably because he can see the pair of them gearing up for a lecture, “i had an appointment in november and i’ve got an appointment sometime in the middle of january, i’m still taking my meds, i’m doing pretty okay on the whole anxiety front, promise.”

“pretty okay?” meredith repeats. she’d sure hope that her son was doing a lot better than pretty okay. she’s really hoping that all of her children are deliriously happy.

“kinda hard to be like yeah, i’m doing real good with anxiety, mom,” he points out, and she cedes the point.

oh, not for forever, of course. she’ll be asking after him whenever she can get him alone. but she’ll cede it for now.

“do you think he’ll go?” mark asks.

“i’ll encourage it, and i’m sure if i mention it to maria, she will too,” virgil says. “i’ll make sure and grab one of his pro-bono cards so that patton knows it won’t be too expensive or anything. so. we’ll see.”

he pauses, before he says, “i think it’d be really good for him to, y’know. talk to someone about everything. having a kid, running away. his parents.”

aaaand that’s what makes meredith snap.

“ parents,” she hisses. 

“mer,” mark begins, with the distinct tone of now, let’s keep our heads, but meredith shakes off any of that, because—

“what kind of parents raised him to think you’d be angry at him for being upset,” meredith snarls. 

“shitty ones,” virgil agrees, scowling, and meredith jabs a finger at him in agreement as mark sighs at him for swearing, before doubling down and saying “real fuckin’ shitty ones.”

“virgil,” mark says, in warning.

“he’s right,” meredith says. “mark, if you’d seen how upset he was—”

well, patton would have gotten calmer a lot faster, probably. mark was always better with crying than her—even back when the kids were all babies. the only surefire way she could calm them down when he couldn’t was when it came to feeding time.

“they are his parents,” mark says.

“which is exactly what he would say,” meredith points out. “what, just because they’re his parents, he should tolerate them treating him badly?”

“of course i’m not saying that,” mark says, placatingly. 

“virgil,” meredith says. “how bad did that boy have it, before he got here?”

virgil hesitates. meredith leans forward.

“i need to know if i should swear to kill them or not,” she says, joking only a little. virgil’s lip quirks, ever so slightly, so she guesses she’s succeeded.

“but, seriously,” she continues, “we’re all thinking the same thing, right? about helping patton give logan a great first christmas, by giving patton a great first christmas away from home?”

virgil nods.

“right then,” meredith says. “is there anything we should know?”

“he hasn’t told me tons,” he cautions them. “and this—y’know. this should be kept quiet. as far as i know, it’s—it’s just maria and me who know this stuff.”

“if you’d be betraying confidences,” mark begins, but virgil huffs out a breath.

“i was kind of planning on going to see emile about it anyway,” and oh, even if the sobbing, near-hysterical teenager hadn’t been a hint, that’s another big one. though this is something that, admittedly, she and virgil might not see eye-to-eye on, virgil’s therapy habits are sound. meredith thinks he should go more frequently; virgil makes appointments sparingly, to discuss things that really weigh on his mind. he tends to rely on other coping mechanisms before he goes to therapy.

planning to go see emile about something was a surefire sign that virgil was, well. anxious.

mark exchanges a look with her—clearly, he’s come to the same conclusion—and meredith takes a sip of her tea, mostly for show. she can barely even taste it.

“so,” meredith says. “patton’s… history.”

virgil sighs, a long, gusting breath, and traces his pinky once, twice, thrice around the rim of his mug, trying to gather his words together.

“patton’s family is rich,” virgil says bluntly. “ really rich. sickeningly rich. i looked up a few of the organizations that patton mentioned his mom was a part of and this one art piece that patton said they had in his house that he hated and they’ve got to be, like. i don’t want to ask patton and pry too deep, but they’ve gotta be multi-millionaires, easy. that might even be the low end of the prediction spectrum.”

“oh,” mark says, and meredith wonders if his mouth has gone as dry as hers has. multi-millionaires. well, you wouldn’t predict that just by looking at patton, with his secondhand sweaters and ill-fitting jeans and also the fact that he lives in a poolhouse . “goodness me.”

“yeah,” virgil says. “so. i dunno what patton’s dad does exactly, he told me but i kind of forgot. i think it’s insurance or banking or something, and his mom is on like a million committees, and they’re old money, i guess, so they pride themselves on contributing to society or whatever. stereotypical snooty rich people. you know the type.”

not personally —it’s not like stereotypical rich people tend to frequent diners—but as a business owner, meredith knew the type, or at least, the kids of those related to the type. convinced that since they were born with a silver spoon in their mouths, their lives were just as hard as the lives of families like meredith’s, who’d had to count pennies and struggled their way to each payday just to barely scrape by. and that they were better than people like her and her family, and that they had one something to deserve their amount of privilege and fortune rather than just hit the lottery in the genetic draw.

“anyway. so. his parents…”

virgil huffs out a breath, and takes another deep one in, and meredith probably shouldn’t be surprised that he looks like he’s fighting to keep calm. usually, he doesn’t take after her in conflicts; that is to say, virgil’s never been very shouty.

“his parents,” meredith repeats, trying to urge him onward. 

who patton wants to separate himself from legally, and felt the need to run away with a newborn , and is willing to give up all those multi-millions of dollars just to get away from them. meredith feels a creeping sense of dread in her stomach.

“i hate them,” virgil spits out, and then an almost-surprised look at his own vitriol that flashes across his face, before he doubles down. “i mean—jesus, i’m twenty-three, and i know that it isn’t a good parenting move to keep telling your kid their life plan that’s detailed down to the very college dorm and expect them to keep at it perfectly despite the fact that he’s his own person, for fuck’s sake,” and he’s off.

it’s evident that an appointment with emile is probably the right call for all of this, because how was virgil supposed to help a sixteen-year-old kid? it’s not like virgil’s in the habit of making friends with sixteen-year-olds, since he’s twenty-three, but patton has so few people on his side, not even his own parents, so virgil’s all in for him and that tiny little baby that are both asleep upstairs.

it’s evident that an appointment with emile is probably the right call for all of this, because virgil had no idea how to strategize how to help this poor homeless kid, who sleeps on an old pull-out couch (maria had said that the latest mattress to get harmed in some way was going straight to patton but how often did an inn guest harm their mattress?!) and won’t let people lend him any money and virgil’s trying as much as he can, giving him a newly-invented family-and-friends discount and inviting him to do some odd jobs at the diner on the weekends just so he could make sure that he’s getting fed and has some money to save and how is he supposed to help when patton was so wary of it?

it’s evident that an appointment with emile is probably the right call for all of this, because how was virgil supposed to help patton transition into learning that being treated with kindness wasn’t a debt to pay and that not everyone has it out to lecture him about every little thing he does wrong.

it’s evident that an appointment with emile is probably the right call for all of this, because meredith’s about ready to take the car and drive into the city to give them a piece of her mind. meredith doesn’t want patton near those people, but if she ever has the opportunity to meet them—

“i’ll kill them,” meredith says, cold and bleak, and virgil meets her eyes.

and, for maybe the first time she’s ever made that threat, she isn’t sure how much she’s kidding.

from the glint in virgil’s eyes, she’s pretty sure that he doesn’t know how much he’s kidding, either.

mark, always the level-headed one, lays his hand over hers.

“hey, now,” he says, and then, “that’s hardly in the christmas spirit, is it?”

“i don’t feel particularly christmassy,” virgil mutters. 

meredith can’t help but agree. christmas is supposed to be about laughing children, the glee of tearing shiny wrapping paper off that gift you weren’t expecting and yet was so perfect that you should have been expecting all along, cuddling with her husband on the couch with a warm mug of (spiked) eggnog in her hands, watching their children play and talk as they bounced around with the boundless energy of youth that only seemed escalated by a christmas morning, the solemn beauty of a congregation singing christmas hymnals, the warm feeling of all of humanity taking a day, just a day, to remember that they’re all in this together and to reflect on what’s important: family, and friends, and kindness, and good will to all.

christmas wasn’t supposed to be heartbroken, abandoned, homeless teenagers. christmas wasn’t supposed to be screaming babies. christmas wasn’t supposed to be about missing something that he should have had to sever himself from. christmas wasn’t breakdown after breakdown. christmas was supposed to be a lot of things, but not sad. never, ever sad. 

and, meredith thinks with a surge of that old, familiar anger, it wasn’t about to be. she wouldn’t let that happen.

she’s on her feet before she even realizes it, and both mark and virgil blink up at her in surprise.

“we all agreed that we invited patton to our family christmas because we wanted him to have a great one,” she says, shrugging on her coat and grabbing her purse. “so, we’re going to give him a great one.”

“uh—i mean, sure, mom, that sounds great,” virgil says. “but it’s nearly midnight on christmas eve. what—how are we going to do that?”

meredith smiles, letting it unfurl on her face.

“oh, god, no, i know what that look means,” mark says, then, slightly more pleading, “meredith, honey, it’s christmas. ”

“what?” virgil says. “what does it mean?”

“it means,” meredith says, smiling as wide as she can, “that i’m going to go and raise hell as a special christmas treat for taylor doose.”

[swiftwind3]

i liked the last bit so i wrote it out @dekuisms

---

"I'm sorry," Izuku shouts as he enters the room.

His eyes sting with nervousness. The tie around his neck sat in a stupid bundle even after he spent an obscene amount of time trying to figure out how the hell you actually tied it. He couldn't figure it out. It was when he gave up that he realized that he was running late.

It was the first day of school.

Great, late on the first day. Fantastic, Midoriya, fucking stupendous. Some reputation you're gonna build.

He was already imagining the story he'd have to tell Kacchan when he sat down to write later. He could easily text him instead, but something about dropping their staple method of communication felt like sacrilege of some kind. It wasn't like Kacchan was pressuring him to use his phone instead either.

"Sorry, mom, gotta go, love you, bye!"

But even in his rush, his mother managed to stop him.

"Wait, Izukuー"

"Mom, I'm running late, I'm sorry, forget about breakfast, I'll fix the stupid tie later, I gotta goー"

"Can I tell you how much your mother is proud of you first?"

The seconds were heartfelt. At the sight of his mother's tears, Izuku pushed back his own. He'd probably have to save them for the teacher. With a smile and a gentle caress to his cheek, he sped away from home.

The teacher hadn't even shown up yet. But it wasn't the teacher he had to worry about chewing him out.

"Tardiness of any kind is not acceptable! Have you any idea the magnitude of disturbance it causes to your classmates?"

A guy with glasses and blue hair gestured his entire hand at him, almost steaming.

Izuku flinched and bowed. "I'm really sorry. You're right."

"Dude, don't sweat it." Another guy with spiky red hair grinned.

"Teach isn't even here yet," the blond next to him shrugged.

"Regardless of the abscence of a proper authority figure, it is the student's responsibility to arrange a proper schedule to minimize and preferably avoid tardiness. It's the first day of the school, and while I am unaware of your circumstances, I am quite aware that risking penalty and possible expulsion for inappropriate time management is not your intention. You are attending a prestigious academia. Surely, you understand the weight of that."

Izuku's throat closes a little, but he smiles. "Yes, I do. And again, I'mーI'm really sorry."

"Very well! I understand you mean no harm in your disruption. But do take care it doesn't happen in excessive proportions."

"Right. I'llー"

"I'm sorry!"

Someone squeals behind Izuku and his world tilts. Next thing he knows, he's upside down. Flailing, he cries out.

"Uh uh uh, whatーhelp? What's going onーah!"

"Gaah! I am so sorry, Deku!"

"AhーUrarakaーyouー"

"Hereーhang on! Just gotta get you upright firstーI'll get you down, hold on!"

Uraraka hops and pokes around him, spinning him until everything is right side up. Then, she presses her fingertips together.

"Release!"

Landing on his toes, he lets out a groan. He hangs on to Uraraka as he shakes his head at the blood rush.

"Sorry, Deku..." She pouts.

He tries a green smile. "Well, it's a good thing I skipped breakfast..."

"You skipped breakfast? That's not really a good thing."

"I know, I know, I was running late."

She chuckles. "Same here."

"Need I repeat myself?" The boy with glasses stands, pointing his accusing hand.

"Iida, chiiill, my dude." A pink-skinned girl a desk over from his whines. "Relaaax. Aizawa isn't here yet. It doesn't count."

"Regardless of the presence of a proper authority figureー"

The class groans.

"Oi, Deku," another spiky haired blond catches his attention. Red eyes pierces into his own green ones, a pale eyebrow quirking.

Confusion zips across Izuku's mind before it finally and quietly supplies.

Kacchan.

The blond nods his head up and his nausea replaces itself with excitement.

"Kaーcchan?"

The boy's face splits with an ominous-looking grin. "Fucking called it."

Izuku lets out a quiet gasp. "It's you!"

"Duh, dumbass," Kacchan snorts. He actually stands from his seat and Izuku laughs when he's put in a headlock.

"Buhー" Izuku guffaws. "Kacchan, stop it!"

"Nah, I'm gonna crush your spine for being late."

"Gah, I need my spine to be number one, Kacchan," he strains. "If you break it, that's cheating."

An elbow digs into his side, not too hard, but enough to drag a squeal for him. Kacchan's hand tugs firmly at his green locks and Izuku grins.

"Your dumbass knows I don't fucking cheat. Hell, I don't need to cheat. Everybody in this room is below me."

Izuku snorts. "Kacchan, quit being rude."

"If they can't handle the truth, that's a they problem, Deku. You, on the other hand, might just be right behind me."

He splutters and then smirks. "Who's to say I'm not over you?"

Kacchan looms over him with a full grin. "You tryin' to challenge me or something?"

"If the shoe fits," Izuku doesn't back down. "Wear it."

Kacchan presses down on his head and Izuku strains with a giggle.

"Oh, yeah. Forgot you actually had a pair." Red eyes narrow. "We'll see after later today."

"Is that a threat?" He grins.

"If the shoe fits, Deku."

"Uh, Deku." A finger pokes him. Uraraka tilts her head. "Do you...know each other?"

"Unfortunately," they chorus. They spin at each other and snigger.

okay au where midoriya and bakugou are pen pals? okay so midoriya and inko live near shizuoka prefecture, but bakugou is in tokyo w/ his designer parents. inko and mitsuki were in high school together, so inko’s like “oh, you should send a letter to her son, he’s about your age, izuku” and midoriya’s like i don’t know this kid but he sounds nice so okay. they’re pretty young at this point

and so izuku’s like “hi my name’s izuku midoriya, i’m inko midoriya’s son, our parents went to high school together. i’d like to be your pen pal!! my favorite hero is all might who is your favorite” and his mom teaches him how to sign it and their address and all that and he sends it and he doesn’t really expect a response

and then like a week later he gets a response and it’s ALL CAPS because bakugou LOVES big letters and it’s like “MY NAME IS KATSUKI BAKUGOU!!” and then it’s smaller letters because his mom made him and it’s like “my mom wants me to be your pen pal and my favorite hero is ALL MIGHT AND IM GONNA BE A HERO JUST LIKE HIM”

and bakugou doesn’t mention that they’re pen pals but they totally are. and so they’re pen pals for years, and when middle school gets rough for midoriya bakugou keeps sending letters even though they get really irritated when midoriya doesn’t respond.

and this is totally a quirk au because you know that the letters when they get accepted is totally stoked. they don’t see each other in the exam so they don’t know but they get accepted and they send simultaneous letters and it’s like

midoriya’s letter: “hi kacchan i got accepted to yuuei and i don’t know how much time i’m gonna be able to send letters since the regime is supposed to be really hard but i’m going to do my best”

bakugou’s letter: “hey deku as you may have guessed i got accepted into yuuei (which is no surprise, of course) and i’m gonna win at it like everything i do so don’t stop sending letters because i sure as hell won’t stop”

and they see each other in yuuei and it’s like a brief moment of “do i know you” before uraraka says midoriya’s name and they hug so hard midoriya is sure his spine is broken (it’s not)