#gave him some extra whimsy

[gaybuttyogurt]

i'm going to put him in an air fryer .

[bamboobooshark]

yaaaayyy u write 4 him!!!! can we just have some silly Kurt headcanons? they don’t have to be any kind of relationship, i just want fun and whimsy :3

KURT WAGNER • 🌀

Miscellaneous Headcanons || 426 Words || P.G. Rating || Fandom: Marvel (X-Men)

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for requesting some Kurt! I’ve never written him, so I’m very thankful you gave me some mercy by letting me write you my headcanons. I’ll try to write some more for him in the future, this was so fun to make!

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CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

NAME CALLING

In my heart, Kurt is always calling everyone his friend, or “mein Freund.” He thinks everyone technically can be his friend as long as they don’t give him a reason to think otherwise. I’m telling you right now, he is a very social person if he feels comfortable with his surroundings. For example, if he goes to a resturant he goes to every week or so, he talks to the staff as if he’s a family friend. However, that has caused some rather awkward conversations and moments for the mutant. At one point, there was a government organization going undercover trying to collect his D.N.A for research, and Kurt ended up trying to befriend them. Thankfully he got out of that situation safely. He later pouted to a few of his fellow mutants about how he genuinely thought he’d end the day making some new friends but was met by enemies instead.

BATH TIME

I AM A LOUD AND PROUD FURRY KURT TRUTHER!!! And of course, being a very active furball due to being a hero, he’s gotta get a good bath every day so he doesn’t stink. Of course he does what almost everyone else does; wash his hody, shampoo, condition, and dry off with a towel. However, he has the guilty pleasure of drying off a little extra using a blow dryer. He loves the warmth, the way the wind pushes his fur to the side and the air can hit his skin directly, and how it makes his fur so soft and shiny. Bonus: If you’re dating Kurt, he will beg you to blow dry him after his showers and baths. He will return the favor however or with whatever you want, I promise.

NIGHT VISION

His hero name is Nightcrawler. His eyes glow in the dark. He can make shadows. There is NO way this guy doesn’t have night vision. Even though he can see in the dark, his pupils still get huge—akin to a cat’s in low light. Because of his night vision, he’s developed a habit of never turning on lights when he sneaks around at night. It’s a bit of a scare for the others in the mansion and/or his partner though when they come to the kitchen to get a snack and see two very thin, yellow rings in the dark. Kurt will just furrow his brows and question them without the awareness that it’s pitch black besides his eyes. “What? Is there something on my face?” “Kurt, I can’t tell. I can’t see anything.” “Oh. My bad, mein Freund!”

[jo-harrington]

You don't have time for Christmas.

Work and home and this friend in a crisis.

Work and home and, let's be honest, probably work again.

And before you know it, it's December 20th and you don't even have any decorations up. Barely anyone does. The neighborhoods that are usually lit up with lights and figurines enough to rival the Griswolds are noticably dark this year.

What holiday? What festivity? It's wake up and hustle and lay in bed in a dreamless sleep. Then wake up to do it all again.

You are a cog in a machine.

You don't know how to voice these things, your displeasure, the secret yearning for the pomp and circumstance and childhood whimsy for the holiday season that's tucked somewhere deep inside your weary body. You can't bring yourself to indulge in it.

You're tired.

You glance down the card aisle at the grocery store but don't stop to grab any for friends. You pick up a bag of peanut butter bells for your candy jar at work but then second guess it at the checkout. Gifts are bought with as much care as you could, but you can't even bother to wrap them as prettily as you usually would.

You can try again for Valentine's. Chocolate hearts with the crispy rice inside and roses for your coworkers. Something.

But this year, you don't have time for Christmas.

And he notices.

It starts with cookies.

He likes to bake--started with boxed cake mix and then you bought him a handheld torch one year so he could try his hand at creme brûlée after he watched a little too much Jacques Pepin on PBS--so it's not anything suspicious. No ulterior motives detected.

Only he's dug up the little handwritten notebook full of your grandma's favorite recipes. Grandpa's handwriting because he wrote it while she dictated. Cookies he's never tasted before himself but seemed to have nailed exactly the way she made them. The love he poured into the treats matched hers exactly.

He brings you a plate and a cup of cocoa when you come home and collapse on the couch.

You cry when you eat them. And he lets you.

Then he digs out the tree from the garage.

The one-car garage that you pay extra for doesn't fit either of your vehicles but fits all your crap. You both vow to clean up at some point and never do. He slogs through the boxes of old band tees that don't fit him and kitchen crap that you don't miss or really need, to get to the plastic 6 ft tree that used to have stickers to note which bough went in what slot but those are long gone.

He spends hours figuring it out and decorating it, and imagine your surprise when you come home to an otherwise-dark apartment illuminated by the fat, colorful incandescent bulbs that you're sure he spent a significant amount of time untangling. You'd both given up last year and went without lights. But there they are.

"What?" you drop your bag by the door. "What is this?"

"I dunno," he grins proudly. "Thought it would be nice. Get in the Christmas spirit. Saved the star for you to put on top if you want."

And you did. You wanted it so bad. Ever since you were a kid, you were the one to put the star on top of the tree.

After it's up, you marvel at the special care he's taken with the important ornaments. Fragile little wooden ones from your grandma, popsicle stick frames with baby pictures of both of you, a macaroni snowman that he gave his mom once-upon-a-time that his uncle had stashed away, and then a fancy hallmark one you got the year you moved in together.

They all have special places on the tree and tell a story of your lives, separate and then together.

You both lay under the tree that night, staring up at the glittering lights as you hold hands.

Finally it's Christmas Eve. Which to him really meant nothing, but to you meant the world. Christmas Days were spent with individual families but Christmas Eves of old meant a big dinner and time spent with your cousins and It's a Wonderful Life on the TV.

It's a tradition that got put to the wayside as everyone got too old and too tired. As you started getting scheduled to work, like this year. And it's almost worse this year, as you've done a stretch of you-can't-remember-how-many days, that you even turned down an invitation for the two of you from your mom for a small dinner with her.

You're exhausted by the time you get home and, more than anything, you're looking forward to the day off tomorrow.

Not the holiday. The day off.

Still, you remember to bring in the handful of gifts from their hiding place in your trunk. You don't really do gifts between the two of you anymore. Nothing big at least. Just a cheesy little thing. Something fun, not something serious. But you did a little more this year than you usually would--all of the OT you'd clocked for one, and too many things you saw that you knew would make him smile for another.

You try to tip toe into the house as quietly as possible so you can throw the boxes under the tree and shower but he's vigilant. He's been at the stove cooking for a while, and he greets you at the door as you shut it behind you.

"I thought we said no big gifts," he admonishes you and snatches the boxes from your hands. The wrapping paper isn't festive--just brown craft paper you stole borrowed from work since you wrapped on your lunch--but you managed to slap on some red and green bows from the drugstore that you grabbed the other day.

"They're not big," you explained. "I promise."

"Well neither are mine," he winked.

You slap a hand against his chest and then give him a kiss in greeting and thanks.

"One better be the RC racer I wanted when I was nine," he mutters against your lips.

"Hmmm, you're just gonna have to wait," you tell him. "And no shaking the boxes.

You're almost a little ticked off'; one of them is the RC racer.

You kick off your shoes as the smell finally hits you.

Dinner.

Thick and savory and fragrant.

Some kind of fish and roasted potatoes and the starchiness of a pasta and the tang of its sauce.

Recipes, again, taken from your grandma's little notebook. They stir something deep inside of you. That yearning you never voiced.

The weariness that's been slowly building within you finally comes to a head when you make it to the kitchen and see the pots and pans and two plates already portioned out.

An ice cold beer for him, and a Shirley temple, extra cherries, for you.

"Remember when you told me," he comes up behind you and his arms snake around your midsection, "that you and your cousins would sneak extra maraschino cherries from the fridge when your gram wasn't looking. And then she went to go get them for the pistachio salad and they were gone."

Your knees shake and you practically collapse against him.

"Speaking of which, there is a pistachio salad in the fridge for dessert."

"Why?" you sniff.

"Because that's actually my favorite, so sorry to your grandma's tiramisu." He pecks a kiss to the side of your head and rocks you back and forth. "But if you want to make that for New Year's Eve, I won't say no."

"No," you let out a watery laugh. "Why are you so good to me, why did you do all of this?"

"Because I know it's been a hard few weeks. Few months." You can feel him shrug. "Fuck, it's been hard for me too but...I know this is one of your favorite parts of the year and you just...haven't been in the spirit for it. So whatever I could do to make it happen for you..."

You turn in his arms and bury your face in his shoulder, in his neck, so he doesn't see your tears. Again. Worse this time as you begin to shake from your sobs. He shushes you, runs a hand over your back, and leaves kiss after kiss against your head.

"Baby, I'll do anything for you," he tells you, voice thick with emotion. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," you whine against his skin. "I'm so...so happy."

"Good."

"Thank you," you repeat it over and over again until it feels like you're empty of all the void and indifference that have filled you for the past few months are gone. In their place just...love and gratitude for him.

"Merry Christmas baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Merry Christmas."

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Meguru Bachira x reader [ SYNOPSIS ] You're Bachira's good luck charm. idk there's no plot, don't think too hard about it. [ WORD COUNT ] 1.6k [ CONTENT ] Aged up!Bachira, he went pro (ayyyy), knife play, blood play, sadomasochism, praise, marking, scars, y/n is kinda needy (but so is he), vaginal sex, size kink (I believe in big dick Bachira), teasing, nipple play, overstimulation, pet names (baby), creampie.

You hated away games, loathed them. They were an inevitable occurrence, something you should have grown used to over time. But still the night before every flight you spiraled, lamenting that you couldn’t follow Bachira around. It wasn’t because you were insecure or lacked trust; you just hated sleeping alone. There was nothing more disappointing than rolling over in bed at three in the morning, reaching for him, and then remembering, Ah, yeah. He’s in Sapporo. You had always assumed you’d build up a callus, one to protect you from the melancholy known to overwhelm you on those lonely nights.

Unfortunately every away game was a wound reopened.

In six hours Bachira would be flying first class to Fukuoka, sleeping with his face pressed against the window. His team’s manager was less than enthused with this arrangement. He thought it was ridiculous to spend an extra day at home and fly out the day of the game, but denying the left back was easier said than done. Bachira’s beguiling whimsy and immense talent rendered most people under his spell. The world was effectively his for the taking, his manager no different.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you  sighed.

You tried to ignore the looming dread that hung around you, but it was nigh impossible while straddling him. He fluttered his long, dark eyelashes and looked up, leaving you bewitched by his golden gaze. It radiated a fervent adoration no other man was capable of. He was artful in his mastery, his affection unmatched.

“I know,” he said, pinching your cheek.

You batted his hand away. 

“You sure you don’t want to get some rest? I’ll feel moderately guilty if you fuck up tomorrow.”

“Stop,” he whined. “I’ll be fine. It’s a short flight and it’s not like I’m gonna be playing the second I get there.”

He would be fine, he always was. He had his ways; the absurd things he did in the name of good luck never failed him. So you surrendered yourself and bought into his vision like you had many times before. There was nothing to worry about, all you needed to do was trust him.

Still you couldn’t hide your melancholic expression. You’d miss him all the same, win or lose. 

“C’mon. You believe in me, don’t you?” he asked. He gave you a cat-like grin, one that would make you sign your life over to him.

“Yes, yes, yes. I believe you.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, tickling your sides.

You groaned. “I’m—ugh—I told you. I'm going to miss you, alright”

“Aww. I could come inside you if that’ll help,” he teased.

“You were going to do that anyway!”

He playfully stuck out his tongue as he slipped his hands under your shirt. His hands were big and weighty, but his fingers were elegant. His palms rough; his touch tender. He tugged at the hem of the shirt and giggled.

“You thief,” he said, pulling it off of you. “I was looking for this while I was packing.”

“Not my fault it’s the perfect nightgown.”

He tossed it in the general location of his half-packed suitcase.

“At least it’ll smell like me now,” you said coyly.

He sat up and buried his face in your neck, taking in the scent of your skin. He let out a dreamy sigh as he exhaled. It was such a lovely noise, one you wanted to hear again and again. You reached down and stroked his soft cock. You pulled back his foreskin and rubbed your thumb around his sensitive tip. He shivered with delight.

“I need all my stuff to smell like you. Go roll around in my suitcase for a little bit.”

“How about I give you some pairs of dirty underwear to remember me by instead?” you snickered as you squeezed the base of his cock.

He rutted against your fist. “Fine, but they have to be those tiny, cotton ones. They feel the best against my skin.”

“Anything for you.”

He looked so sweet lying beneath you. You braced yourself, placing your hands on his pecs, and felt the rise and fall of his chest. His warm skin was dappled with water, his sinewy body fresh out of the shower. The towel he haphazardly wrapped around his hair had unraveled, each strand exuding the scent of your shampoo. His cheeks were glassy, a sure sign he slathered on your facial serum and night cream. Even his skin smelled like yours. He wriggled under you, trying to guide your attention to his semi-erect cock. You decided you wanted to tease him a bit, make him earn it.

“Don’t you need a good night’s rest so you can win tomorrow?” you asked, dropping your arms to your sides.

He scoffed. “I have my ways,” he said, eyes fixed on the thin scars etched on your upper chest.

You decided to change your tune. Wasting time was criminal.

“Hm. Remind me of what those are. I forgot.”

He grinned and began to dig around the bedside table for his tools. He pulled out a wooden box with a floret of goldenrod painted on the lid. Inside were some single-use scalpels and a modest first aid kit. He pulled you close, hand resting on the small of your back, and licked the cluster of scars. Each one was a thin line about an inch in length and spaced close together like tally marks. They were all perfectly straight, the handiwork of a master. You were proud to bear them.

Bachira held the scalpel between his fingers, his eyes narrowed and focused. You froze like a statue awaiting the chisel of a sculptor. The blade glided across your skin; you barely registered the sensation.

“Deeper,” you urged.

He ran the blade across the slit once more. Blood trickled freely from the wound. He made another cut underneath. It was deeper and hurt more than the first one. He watched as the blood made its way down your breasts and let out a giddy whine as it clung to your nipple. Unable to contain himself he swirled his tongue around it. Your cunt throbbed as he held it in between his teeth. He looked up at you, his eyes wild with adoration. You loved seeing him like this. You felt special, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

He licked up the trails of blood before rolling his tongue against the cuts. It was like getting stung by bees. You loved finding ecstasy in the ache. You’d forever be in debt to Bachira for aiding you in  your libertine awakening, for leading you hand-in-hand down the proverbial primrose path. He was the first to show how to walk the line between pain and pleasure.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he whimpered before sucking on your breast once more.

You lifted his chin and kissed him. You ran your tongue over his lips, the taste of your blood still lingering on them. He eagerly opened his mouth, overtaking yours. His kisses were always sloppy, wet, and needy. His desperate passion knew no bounds and you wouldn't have it any other way. You slowly stroked his cock, his precum sliding in between your fingers.

He panted, “I need it now.”

You kissed his forehead and slid his cock inside your dripping cunt. He tossed his head back and let out a heavenly moan. You bounced up and down, driving his cocktip into your cervix. His girth was a gift from god. You felt so full, almost like you would burst at the seams.

He lapped at the blood trickling from your cuts. You tangled your fingers in his damp hair, letting the strands snake around them. You wanted to become a part of him, for your bodies to meld into one. Both of you were swept up in a euphoric frenzy. As he rutted against you he pinched your swollen clit. He couldn’t help but smile in the face of your desperate yelps.

“Gentle! Gentle!” you said, squirming.

It was too strong a sensation. You were so full as it was; you weren’t sure you could weather another intense sensation. You felt like his cock was buried deep in your stomach.

“Ah,” you winced. “Me—Meguru, it’s too mu—”

He forced you to look at him, his yellow eyes overwhelmed by dark pupils, and sweetly said, “Your body can take it.”

Five words was all it took to bewitch you. He alternated between pinching your clit and massaging it. You felt like you were ascending as your orgasm inched closer.

“You gonna come all over my cock?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” you whined.

His thrusts were relentless, not a hint of mercy in his touch. It was maddening. You kept babbling his name, begging him for more. Shame was a concept neither of you were familiar with. Neither of you could quiet yourselves. It was a chorus of panting, whimpering, and moaning. As your orgasm crescendoed all you could do was choke out a few expletives and drool.

“That’s it, baby,” Bachira said, jaw clenched and completely charmed by your demeanor.

He held you close and took the lead, driving his cock into your cunt, lips pressed against your still bleeding cuts. You felt like you were operating on a different plane of existence. The only thing that brought you back to reality was the warm feeling of Bachira’s cum filling you up. You collapsed in his arms, and tried to catch your breath.

“Was… that… helpful?” you murmured.

“Oh yeah. I’m gonna bring you home a win,” he purred against your ear.

[unknown-carnage]

Been awhile since I've done some sketches got a little busy qq. Some more phantom troupe sketches however this time a lil au that's been cooking in my noggin. (I'm a lil shy about au's bear with me)

Enough waffle, blood warning sketches under the cut. I'll explain as I go 🗣️💯

(yeah it's a Shal revival au 💀)

General idea is that Chrollo steals Zakuro's Nen ability (Bloody Mary / blood manipulation) and through some extra Nen abilities and allat whimsy revival happens 😁

(so yeah new form made from blood and inspo'd from Shal's phone)

Just some beta designs / alt forms whatever you'd like to call them as qq.

And dw there is a human form 🗣️👏👏 (gave him back long hair cause>>>>>>>)

Also in regards to Shal's spider tattoo (and technically through the au it's not his og body but a body made to look like it) his tattoo isn't actually inked but rather made from blood pooling under the skin (blood manipulation 😁)

Thx for coming to my ted talk, if y'all are interested I will make more 🗣️💯

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jade, Riddle: Days that we Treasure

Why do they use the most Obviously Evil and Unsettling images ever 😭 Who looks at the Mega Ursula painting and goes, “Ah, yes. This is a perfectly sane and totally good person”??????? Or that unsettling image of the Evil Queen??? They did NOT get their best angles…

THE TWINS ArE NOT BEATING BACK THE LEECH CRIME FAMILY ALLEGATIONS ANYTIME SOON... Jade says his dad taught him and Floyd skills like how to break free of ropes and how to pick locks... 💀 and then Jade talks about how he beat up some sharks and made them bleed--

It's really cute to hear about how Jade collected baubles just like Ariel did 🥺 even gifting some coins to Azul!! Him chucking everything once he lost interest broke my heart though... (Some clarification: Jade indicates that he used to like manholes; this is a unique cultural aspect of Japan, as manhole covers tend to have fun designs there. He was probably referring to those, not just plain manhole covers.)

A Tale as Old as Time.

"Oya, what a charming portrait of a crustacean."

Jade spoke of a painting of a crab, lips pursed as if midsong, a flurry of bubbles and sea life swirling around it. Light shone down from the surface world, as if spotlighting a lone performer on an otherwise dark stage. Such fun! Such whimsy! Such…

… easy game, Jade thought. His polite smile tugged into what was decidedly a far less polite smirk.

He had honed a discerning eye, parsing people as easily as one might parse papers. One look was all that was needed for him to tell: the crab would easily be suckered into signing a contract. Gullible, cheery fools like him always were.

His grin grew. Fingers curled against his chin, almost resembling a folded paw which concealed claws.

“I don’t like that look of yours,” Riddle declared. His resolute tone resounded in the darkened museum as he fell beside the eel. “It looks extremely suspicious!”

“Riddle-san. How good of you to join me.” With a hand shifting to be placed over his head, Jade gave him a curt bow. "I apologize if you were disarmed by my expression. You see, I have a tendency to smile awkwardly out of nervousness."

Riddle made a face and shook his head. “I’m not sure if I entirely believe that.”

"Who can you trust, if not your dear classmates?"

Riddle gave no response, only meeting him with an exasperated look. Jade’s chuckles were loud in the cavernous quiet of the museum.

He gestured to the platinum frame containing the singing crustacean. “Are you familiar with this gentlecrab?"

"I have learned a bit of the history of merpeople," Riddle declared proudly, puffing his chest out like a swaggering peacock. "He is the Sea King's favored composer. From what I understand, music is highly regarded in your culture—and it is for that reason that this composer was able to earn such an important position in the king’s court. He was not only wise, but also wove stunning melodies which captured the hearts of all sea creatures. Truly an ideal candidate to stand by the king’s side.”

“That’s right. My, you certainly put in the extra effort to your studies. As expected of Riddle-san.”

Jade brought a hand to his mouth. “Ah, but there are many stories of him that the land textbooks do not tell. For example, did you know that this great composer was also a friend and confidant to the Mermaid Princess?”

“The Mermaid Princess… Surely you don’t mean the Mermaid Princess that bridged the humans and merpeople?”

“The very same.” Jade gave a light laugh. “They say she was spirited and defiant, with a deep fondness for humans, in spite of her father’s protests. The great composer discovered her hidden grotto, which was full of gadgets and gizmos aplenty, items the Mermaid Princess had scavenged from shipwrecks—and his loyalty was put to the test.”

Jade held out both hands, lifting one while lowering the other, then swapping sides. He simulated a scale and changing weights.

“The Sea King, who detested humans, and the Mermaid Princess, who loved them. Which of the two would the composer follow?”

“What a ridiculous question!” Riddle frowned, sweeping out an arm—as if to collapse a house of cards. “Of course the Sea King is the most correct. He has the most authority in the circumstances, and furthermore, the composer is in service to the king. It is clear that it is the composer should side with the Sea King.”

Jade's eyes glinted like coins shifting in the darkness. "In the end, he chose to support the Mermaid Princess."

"What?!" Riddle recoiled in visible shock. "That's preposterous! On what grounds....!"

“He must have valued the Mermaid Princess’s friendship with all of his heart,” Jade replied teasingly, “or rather, it was because he understood her sorrow and desire.”

“A man of his skill and stature, understanding her feelings and breaking the rules on her behalf…? I can’t picture it myself.”

"Perhaps it is difficult to understand without full context." Jade's brows turned upward, almost passing for sympathetic. "... There was a dark era of the Sea King's rule when music of any kind was expressly forbidden. However, the great composer—in an act of rebellion—played to his heart's content in secret. The Mermaid Princess came upon his secret and learned of the joys of song and dance from him. She understood that, to the composer, music was his most prized possession. His treasure. He could not bear to be without it, just as a fish cannot be without water."

Riddle's face creased. "I see, so the Mermaid Princess and this composer... They understood one another's circumstances. Both of them knew the pain of longing for something forbidden."

"Yes. To them, it was worth disregarding the law to attain that which they loved the most." Jade's suspiciously pleasant smile returned. "I believe that is incredibly courageous and admirable of them."

"That is hardly surprising, seeing as you and your brother constantly skirt school rules!" Riddle grumbled under his breath. "And no matter the reason for it or the results achieved, you are all still guilty of your crimes!!"

"Such harsh accusations." Jade's lips peeled, revealing the many tiny, razor-sharp teeth he so often hid from public view. "Most graciously, the story I was telling you has a happy ending. Th Sea King pardoned them both for their transgressions. As they say, all's well that ends well."

"Rule-breakers walking away without so much as a light sentence... That's considered a happy ending for you?!" Riddle's snarl filled the room, rattling the portraits that lined the walls, the priceless artifacts out on display. He was redder than the crab composer himself.

"Oya, Riddle-san. What a loud voice—you may just disturb the other museum goers.” Jade tossed a glance at the room adjacent to theirs. Their peers milled about, clamoring for glimpses of pieces of art, scraps of history, and shards of greatness.

The dorm leader hastily cleared his throat. “Apologies... I lost control of my temper for but a moment.”

“There is no need for an apology. I’m certain the merciful Sea King would have granted you clemency as well.”

“D-Do not tease me!!” Riddle’s face inflamed once more, earning a stifled snort from his classmate. “S-Stop laughing!! It’s NOT funny!!”

His protests were of no use. Jade’s snort swelled into barely concealed chuckling, and then finally burst into a monstrous grin. It didn’t quite match with the soft laugh that bubbled up from his throat.

The surface world had introduced to him a plethora of new wonders. Mushrooms, mountains, and what else…? The very people of the land.

I will never tired of these peaceful, fun-filled days.

They were his invaluable treasures, things well-worth fighting for.

[squelchbug]

wtf verified my email finally after 2 yeaurs turns out i been missing out on a lot of Interaction . any ways . CND posting at 5 am here’s my guy his name is Cacophony

no way in hell i can concisely summarize all his shit rn … unless

the basics : he’s a Yuanti Tiefling Monk, 7ft tall& 32yrs old rn. he was raised in Partirisvarati and as a child amidst a war he got tossed into a prison where he then had his hands cut off &eyes gouged out by brutes as punishment for getting caught attempting to steal a handful of seeds for his family’s farm . but don’t worry. he got better

hes blind , uses Tremorsense . knows Common & Bolidian (Partirisvarati native language. +because it’s funny, as this dialect is translated into Common, it gives him a cockney british accent). got acid blood & is venomous, but he’s too polite to use it for evil, until he isn’t . he is a goofy goober(walking murderweapon) but alas, is a creature of joy and whimsy at heart . he suffers w PunchDrunk syndrome& frequent tremors/seizures . wizardry antics grew his hands back and gave him an extra arm, thanks Dee . (hi Simon)

he spent ages 10-20in prison, 20-23on parole+ after escaping parole he met Krishika, Krissie for short, a Githyanki halfOwlin Warlock. bsf4lyfe. actualy, wrong, these two are insane . imagine if you would a psychological torment comparable to that of a paranoid mother hellbent on building a dynamic so codependent slash parasitic BOTH sides end up Killing & Dying for eachother(multiple times) each against yet fully within their own wills (i love contradictory!). Krissie… has issues and problems. her soul had been permanently shattered into three components, and due to some species complications , left her In-Between multiple states of being at once . Blah blah blah… autism to save for another day..All she wants is some god damn control in her life . enter sir scapegoat Cacophony, who’s only aspiration since gaining real freedom for the First Time In His Life , is to provide an unconditional support to any new friend he makes !! 😁😬.. Cacophony lets & encourages Krissie to use him as a vessel for possession, as at the beginning it’d benefited both of them, but overtime, Krissies state had worsened and too late she’d realized she had been taking advantage of Cacophony. Krissie is fueled fully on adrenaline and fear, and the moment she knew she done fucked up was a pivotal point for them both- a point of absolutely No return, Krissie decided Cacophony would be much safer in her grasp and at her command. She strikes a deal with a man named Soren Trouvaille to soulbind herself to Cacophony, turning them both functionally immortal , unless one kills the other half . glances around

….as a result of multiple decades worth of various forms of mental abuse Cacophonys biggest flaw remains to be how forgiving he is 🫶 or yk, better put, how willingly he will allow second chances to those he considers worth it. he’s done an awful lot of healing these last four years. i blame his lovely husband (Soren, Tabaxi/Orc Artificer/Cleric) and their weird daughter (Siobhan, Jackal Artificer)

more of them soon, i love them very much . love heart xoxo . their family is so perfect icant wait to talk abt them . yes i mentioned a Soren Trouvaille earlier and yes this is him ooo drama

what more to share on Cacophony… i don’t know how to go in depth with personality and morals even tho i desperately want to lmfao . Cacophony is such a hypocrite, and he genuinely doesn’t mean to be . he will formulate an opinion on you based off of the Whys and How’s of the situation rather than the What. absolutely describe him as understanding as he tends to dig to the root of the cause for Anything and fully hear you out,but as a professional hypocrite he Will abandon this method of he doesn’t like you 💀. he’s an extreme optimist, or as i like to call it, Delusional ! people like to accuse him for putting up a front, but i swear he’s just insane . he would be dead in the fucking gutters if he wasn’t , truly . aint he a sweetheart , though . ok i’d love to add more . but i am dying. gootbye

[darthkvznblogs]

October Spooks After-Action Report

I didn't have nearly as much free time as I hoped I would, but I still managed to watch Over the Garden Wall, Coraline, and Paranorman, all for the first time! Here are my thoughts:

Over the Garden Wall: I think I went in maybe just a tad overhyped - it left me wanting a bit more, by the end - but nevertheless, it was pretty fantastic! I totally get why it's a yearly must-watch for some people, the ambiance and sense of unsettling whimsy is pretty much worth the watch on its own, and the VAs do a fantastic job of selling you on the characters right away. It's so...immersive, that when they flashback to the real world you feel like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on your head. I will say, though, having seen The Beast around many times, I did not expect him to sound like that lol.

Coraline: great movie, good story, though I do feel like it only lands half as well as it does due to the art and animation styles. Not to say a 2D or 3D animated version would've been bad, I'm sure that they would've figured something out, but watching it I just got a sense of "this movie lives and dies on the jitter and jank of stop motion". I was kinda surprised by the portrayal of neglect from Coraline's parents. I really loved Other Mother's final form. And Coraline herself is a huge standout, loved her character.

Paranorman: this movie is half pretty funny, and half really sad. I was expecting to be a bit more disturbed by the zombies (I am a notorious zombie hater, death and rot freak me out), but their designs and MO are more comedic than anything else (the only bit that got me was at the very start, when the movie zombie chomps on a victim's head and the sound effect of Norman munching on something sync up, gave me the heebies and the jeebies). Aggie's story kinda messed me up (surprisingly didn't tear up, which I do very easily). I do feel like the supporting cast went from "we reject Norman and his weirdness" to "we defend him in front of the whole town" way too quickly, the movie needed like 10-15 minutes extra there (which I'm sure would've been another year of pain-stakingly posing clay, so I don't hold it against them haha)

I can't quite decide if I liked OTGW or Coraline more. I think the latter, right now, but it changes day by day. Wish I'd gotten to more suggestions, but there's always next year :')

[audinosaur]

aoba johsai <3 lover

hi here’s some songs from taylor swift’s lover album that i think match each seijoh pairing :)) 

iwaoi <3 lover

i mean c’mon

it’s IWAOI ofc they get the title track

“and you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me / and at every table, i’ll save you a seat” 

AHSJDJ it’s them !! they don’t even have to say anything, if there’s a chair open next to iwa/oiks, everyone automatically knows who it’s unofficially reserved for

“and i’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”

^ i think this covers both oikawa’s natural jealousy as well as how iwaizumi’s watched time after time again as countless amounts of people crush on his tooru

just the term “lover” for them. i think it’s the word they’d use in the timeskip when describing their “secret relationship” during interviews, it reveals as little as possible about the “mystery person” while still properly communicating just how important they are :)

matsuhana <3 it’s nice to have a friend

makki and mattsun genuinely have no fucking clue how they got together, they just sorta slowly shifted from being friends and doing friend things to doing boyfriend things and being boyfriends

bc of this they just picked a random ass day as their anniversary and just rolled w it

matsuhana’s so interesting to me because they’re friends to lovers like iwaoi/kinkuni yet each of them is a different FLAVOR of friends to lovers that i can’t quite explain but i love em

“something gave you the nerve / to touch my hand”

THEY!! YES! doing all their coupley shit all the while saying “it’s nice to have a friend” even though they both realize it’s faded into something much more

“twenty questions, we tell the truth” idk they just seem like they’ve never lied to each other before bc they’ve never had any reason to hide what they’re feeling

kyouhaba <3 afterglow

*deep inhale* OKAY there’s a LOT !

it should be noted that literally so fucking many of the other songs fit them but i want something slightly kinda happy pls :’)

i really love this song and it’s portrayal of arguing w your loved one and then taking the time afterwards to apologize and take accountability 

and there are so so many kyouhaba fics where they fight and then make amends (although i still think there should be even MORE)

i just love them having so many feelings and not enough ways to deal w them and the vulnerability when they own up to their mistakes and AAHHHHHHHH

“i don’t wanna do this to you / i don’t wanna lose this with you” and “hey, it’s all me, just don’t go” 

(^ examples of them being VULNERABLE AND OPEN)

also “tell me that you’re still mine / tell me that we’ll be just fine / even when i lose my mind”

i am normal about them! (lie)

side note i like how when perusing the seijoh couples gallery you just see “childhood friends to lovers!”, “best friends to lovers!”, “pals to lovers!”, then you turn the corner and see the most aggressive, tension-fueled enemies(?) to lovers pairing you’ve ever seen for no goddamn rhyme or reason

kinkuni <3 paper rings 

paper rings has a childlike whimsy that suits kindaichi & kunimi’s relationship perfectly 

half of the lyrics seem like things kindaichi would say to kunimi w full earnesty too

“i’m with you even if it makes me blue” and “wrap your arms around me, baby boy” !!!

(kunimi calls it “corny”, kindaichi calls it “romantic”, both with dumbass, lovestruck smiles on their faces)

“i hate accidents except when we went from friends to this” is 100% kunimi though, he doesn’t like surprises and events that require him to exert extra effort, but for kindaichi? he’s more than okay with it

the whole song is just so sugary sweet and shamelessly adorable and at the end of the day that’s what kinkuni is! (at least behind closed doors, bc they get embarrassed sometimes)

and bc i can’t leave my boy out, it should be noted that watari shinji is a red man to his very CORE. you bet your ass on his twenty-second birthday he was blasting 22 like his life depends on it

[edwinspaynes]

Butterflies

A Herondaisy drabble based on @hanelizabeth's beautiful art. Also, @angeldaisies, I think you'll like this one too.

You can read it on Ao3!

---

James dimly recalled Cordelia once telling him that she looked better in deep hues rather than pastels. She could not have been more wrong. James knew that his wife would be beautiful in anything she chose to wear, make the wings of his heart beat heavily until it took off inside of his chest. And now, looking upon her in her newest gown, James felt those wings take flight and lodge in his throat.

He was lost for words. Breathless. Angel, Cordelia was a dream beyond anything he had ever imagined.

She spun around, an impish smile on her face. "So, do you like it? I know it is far from my usual attire, but I rather liked all of the butterflies on the skirt." She paused. "There's just so much... so much whimsy-"

James knew that his golden eyes were smoldering as he took her in. "'Whimsy' is perhaps not the word I would assign to what I am currently feeling," he said, his voice deep and rich. He laughed, a low sound in his moth-addled mouth as the butterflies moved low in his belly. "I am thinking more along the lines of 'beauty' and 'excessively hopeless desire.'"

In an attempt at true whimsy, James waggled his eyebrows, and Cordelia laughed. She strolled up to him, lifted a finger, and poked his nose. "Your expression is truly quite amusing," she informed him lightly. "As though I am some sort of angel come to life, though I assure you that I am having far too much fun teasing my husband to truly be angelic."

Up close her opal earrings winked. They were set in gold, bringing out the glint of the globe necklace that James still remembered being fastened around her neck for the first time. The gold complimented the flame of her hair perfectly, and the blue...

Well, that brought out the sky shade of her gown, and the white accents and butterflies and sash offset her rich brown skin. The curve of a smile graced her lips, and James...

He wove a hand around her waist.

He pulled her in close.

And when their lips met, the butterflies in his throat and stomach became too much to bear. He made a small noise of desire as he trailed his hand up the small of her back to rest at the nape of her hair, the thick red chignon brushing the sides of his hands...

Cordelia pushed him away with a giggle. "Do control yourself," she said. "There shall be plenty of time for that tonight, and I will wear the dress if you want."

"I certainly would not complain," James told her in perhaps too agreeable a tone. "But you're right. As much as it pains me to let go, I would not wish to miss our dinner reservation. You know that I can never say no to duck ala orange, tempting though it may be."

-

The duck was good, but Cordelia was better.

She sat across from him devouring her lamb chops and parsnips, talking of a ridiculous dinner that she had recently had with Thomas and Alastair at their home in Cornwall Gardens. "I am telling you, Alastair gave me those lemons to mock me," she said. "You know how I find them too sour!"

"Very rude of him," James agreed, though there was no mirth in it. He liked Alastair. "Next time we have him over, we'll find a way to get him back. Perhaps an extra lump of sugar in his tea?"

"Oh, no. Set out blackberry tarts and pretend that there are not enough for him. He will be horribly overset by the time I reveal that there are, in fact, more in the icebox."

James laughed.

Over dessert, he told Cordelia about the time that he had gone to a market in Alsace with his father, an overcast day when the sun shone over dozens of cards filled to the brim with books. "And that was my first experience with a pop-up stalls," he said. "And now they are an eternal part of my existence."

"Oh!" Cordelia clapped her hands. "I remembered something. Next week in Camden there is to be a book fair. I saw a flyer for it at Comb's Coffee."

"Well, we're going. Mark the date," he told her. "And I will, of course, buy you all the books you want."

Cordelia grinned radiantly, and the opals in her ears sparkled. "Sounds like I'll be requiring a handcart," she said.

"And don't worry," James told her. "I'll select the most insufferable-looking bargain romance that I see so we can read it before the fire and laugh at its nonsense all night."

"My favorite kind of sleepless night," Cordelia agreed.

"You mean second favorite," James argued.

"No, actually, I don't." She smiled. "Though, of course, our other activities are a very close second, I very much just enjoy spending time with you."

She is my best friend, James thought unbidden. Absolutely and completely, I am hers.

And when he finally peeled her butterfly dress off after a night of laughter by the fireplace, he did not forget that.

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Thinking about that scene in boom town where they all pull out shitty early 2000s mobiles despite the fact jack and nine are time travellers and theres really no need for them to have them except. I'm fully convinced they bought them to keep in contact with rose when she's being jeopardy friendly

Anyway. So nine has his boom town phone ten has the flip phone Martha gave him and maybe rose (in a rose stays au) has the same phone or she keeps getting the same phone because it's what she's used to do and she does not want to update, she doesn't care what these new phones can do. But then the old companions are trying to set up a group chat so she finally relents

But they're time streams are so often out of sync that they still don't hear from the time travellers all that often and they start to wonder if they're dead or something but then they'll get a message from rose like 'cant talk right now we're being held in a dungeon again and about to get tortured for information. See you Sunday when we get out of here :)' and it's always some insane shit like that. I don't where I'm going with this but I think the companions should be allowed to share their insane lives with each other with the doctor and rose occasionally popping in to give updated before disappearing again because they had to reset the timeline again

i sat here and just nodded the whole time, you're so right on every count.

- jack and nine having special rose phones!!!! are you for real!!!! yes!!!

- also nine has, like. three numbers on speed dial. one is rose and the other is a pizza place that closed in 1983 and never reopened. the third number is cher, but he does not know that because he's never called it

- i think rose would only upgrade when a) yes, the gang beg her to join the groupchat but also b) she discovers that getting an iphone or whatever doesn't mean you have to give up all your cutesy nokia phone charm whimsy!!!! she goes to some random market and sees a stand selling the most extra phone accessories imaginable. pop sockets with aj mclean's face on them. glitter gel cases. stickers that squish when you press them. cases shaped like burgers and unicorns and stuff. like, she can truly just get whatever she wants and that's what ultimately sells her on the upgrade. (i firmly believe bill is the one helping her with this. to her chagrin)

- rose being the most unhinged in the groupchat also tracks to me. she'll on the one hand be like hey martha, can you ask your mum for her roast recipe? but then she'll follow immediately with btw can't make it to dinner, we're currently on a sinking ship in kublai khan's fleet and martha is just like..... *sigh* *flips through recipe cards*

- rose and jack have a complex and inscrutable shared emoji language. i don't make the rules

- unlike david tennant, nine knows what the eggplant emoji means and he uses it indiscriminately and with extreme prejudice

[ideas-on-paper]

Lies of P - No Specter Challenge Results

It's been a while since I finished Lies of P, and I'm already on my first NG+ right now, but I thought it would be fun to take a retrospective look at the results of the No Specter Challenge I had running during my live playthrough of it.

Since I streamed my complete first playthrough of Lies of P, I still have the recordings of the boss fights I did live on camera. The breaks during my streams have been subtracted from the times, however, since I had to take those from the edited episodes (the breaks were usually about 10 - 15 minutes).

More information and backstory under the cut 🔽

My Lies of P No Specter Challenge was something that I originally started out of a whimsy. When I got to the Scrapped Watchman (who really gave me a hard time during the demo), I did a voting on my Mastodon account, saying "Hey, would anyone like to see me trying myself at the Scrapped Watchman without Specter? Y'know, for the extra challenge?"

Of course, everybody voted "yes" (probably expecting to see me gloriously fail), and I said "You know what? I'm going to set 2 hours as a limit, so let's see if I can beat him in that time."

It was, as I expected, a fierce struggle, but about an hour into the stream, I actually managed to beat him - with one millimeter of health left, three perfect blocks just at the right moment, and a final blow just before the lightning got me. Needless to say, I was beyond myself with happiness and relief.

Later, when I was about to fight Fuoco, I did the same voting again, this time (curiously) with the result that I should fight him with Specter. However, my stream crashed at some point without my knowledge, so I not only had to re-do the boss fight, but all my game progress up until this point. (I made a habit of regularly copying my saves on a USB stick since then.)

Nevertheless, despite winning the battle against Fuoco, it almost felt too easy with Specter support. So when I re-recorded the fight, I said "You know what, I feel like I can do this without Specter, so let's give it a try." And I succeeded, at my second attempt even! (I almost got him the first time, just took a bit of an unlucky hit at the end.)

From there on, I decided I would try myself at all the bosses without Specter for my own fun (and kind of regretted it when encountering Andreus). I'm pretty proud that I managed to do almost every boss solo, with the exception of Romeo. (Unfortunately, it seems I blew all of my luck on the White Lady beforehand, whom I defeated first try - weapon break included!)

After Romeo, I also introduced a rule allowing me to use a guide after one hour if I can't beat the boss for whatever reason (frankly, the biggest problem for me was how to deal with Romeo's inferno combo). This rule really helped me out later with Laxasia, who also has what I call "bullshit combos" you can only counter with very specific tactics or items.

Other than that, I actually did all of the boss fights in the game with one and the same weapon: the Wintry Rapier handle + various upgraded versions of the Greatsword of Fate blade. (I started out with the Rapier and a Technique build, and I've been using the combo with the Greatsword blade ever since the Scrapped Watchman.) It may not be the fanciest weapon combo skill-wise, but it does really good raw damage. I did briefly use special weapons during some battles - like Etiquette for my first few tries against Andreus and the Puppet Ripper for the Green Monster - but these didn't really do much to help me (in fact, it almost ended up losing me the fight against Andreus, since the raw damage of Etiquette is really lackluster).

So, I essentially took on all bosses in the game solo, with no special weapons, no special amulets (since these were always too heavy for me to wear), just with my good old trusty standard weapon and my more or less fixed combination of amulets. (Life/Blue Guardianship Amulet, Patience/Leaping Amulet, Recharged Amulet and an amulet for bonus damage depending on the type of enemy.) And from my experience, it's absolutely doable.

As far as explanations go, I think this should suffice for now. However, if there's anything else you'd like to know, like tips for a specific boss, feel free to leave me a comment. I'm open for Q&A. :-)

[brothershardy]

Now that things had been finally settled, Joe could enjoy the start of the holidays, and Hogwarts was at it's most crowded. Snow had fallen thickly on the ground, making the Beauxbatons carriage look like a giant blue frosted cake, and he could only imagine how the Durmstrang students were handling their ship, now frozen in so close to the shoreline of the Lake. But considering where they came from, this was probably mild weather for them.

Ron did manage to ask Padma, having lost some of his grumpiness, and Padma graciously accepted, as she must have been warned by Parvati ahead of time. But the girls rushed off together to plan their outfits, and Joe finally was able to convince Ron to give him the redhead's dress robes to try and fix them.

"Do you even know how to handle it?" Ron asked as he handed over the offending garments.

"One of my absolute best friends is a fashionista," Joe assured him. "I learned from the best. Now, I just need some scissors, some thread and a few needles, and no one to fucking bother me for a few hours, or I'm gonna get distracted."

Emboldened by this, Ron was able to convince the other Gryffindors to give Joe a corner of the common room to himself, but that didn't stop many from stopping and watching him as he worked, tearing off the lace and cutting some of the frayed endings, before he started in one some extra measuring, adding cloth, and some new golden thread points. He started in the morning, and by that evening, after only a few bathroom and food breaks, he had a set of robes that looked incredibly stylish and revamped from their original era.

"Wow!" Ron accepted them with awe in his eyes. "They look brand new!"

"I knew my cosplaying days would work out," Joe said with pride. "And I even lengthened them so that your ankles aren't showing. You're welcome, thee of little faith."

(*)

Christmas Day was when things got exciting. For one thing, Dobby gifted socks to everyone in the boys' dormitory, even though none of them matched, which just added to the whimsy. He got a good portion of presents from everyone, and the presents he gave to Harry and Ron -- individualized bags of their favorite sweets and a certificate to Zonko's respectively -- were also appreciated.

Breakfast in the Great Hall was wonderful, as per usual, before they spent a good morning in the common room enjoying and swapping presents. Joe's Christmas sweater from Molly was a beautiful rose red with a golden dragon on the front, and he, with the Weasleys, Hermione and Harry, took a selfie to send back to her to let her know that her sweaters were always loved.

Lunch was a wonderful feast to celebrate the holiday, with lots of ham and turkey, and various knickknacks scattered around the tables. Joe and Ginny pulled a few crackers for the prizes inside, one of them including a rather gorgeous wizard's hat of old. Then they all ran outside for a few hours of snowball fights and sledding, before Hermione mentioned it was time to start getting ready for the Ball.

The other boys, once dressed, were more awkward and self conscious than one would think. Joe was the only one really primping in the mirror, working on his curls and even adding a bit of makeup to hide a few red spots. Once he was ready, he headed off with Ron and Harry, until they reached the Great Hall, where it was already packed with various students in their best outfits.

"Hello boys!" Parvati and Padma were at the bottom of the staircase, both dressed in identical dresses -- Parvati in shocking hot pink and Padma in a beautiful teal shade -- with their hair braided in gold and bangles on their wrists.

"You look quite dashing," Padma complimented Ron, who blushed a little.

"Hello Joe!" Luna came drifting over, in the fluffiest periwinkle blue gown he'd ever seen. Little silver stars had been sprinkled in her hair, and she had large silver earrings shaped like ornaments; overall, she made for a pretty image, and she smiled serenely as she joined them. "Professor McGonagall needs us to stay by the doors so that we greet everyone as they go inside."

"Sure thing," Joe said, offering her his arm, and she accepted it. "See ya guys. And remember, be gentlemen. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Harry had absolutely no idea why, but for some reason it caused him a feeling of relief to know that Joe was taking someone nice, and…platonic. That he cut Hermione’s smirk off at the knees, asserting that he’d asked Luna as a friend, made Harry grin even though he didn’t know what he was happy about. Joe was matter-of-fact on such things, if he was interested, he’d say so.

As for poor Ron, his mortification over the flub with Fleur was more than relatable. Joe’s report of her bloodline had them all raising brows, and Hermione nodded knowingly. “That makes sense, and explains a lot. I mean, she is lovely, but it felt rather supernatural. How’d you learn that?” she asked Joe with interest.

Harry shook his head at Joe, and gave Hermione a wry look for correctly interpreting. “I was walking over to, but she was with some friends and one of them asked about the colors they’re wearing. I mean, I reckon she’d have been kind about it, she is sweet that way, but I’m glad I didn’t have to go through the fluster.”

And, well, if he had to be too late to ask the pretty Ravenclaw…at least Cedric was someone he could admire. They did make a rather handsome pair.

He was surprised to hear about Draco and Hermione, and joined Ginny in grinning at her. “Well, well, now. I’m proud of him for getting right on that, sounds like he knew what he wanted.” Hermione smacked his arm, but Harry kept laughing, glad that for once they could tease her over something fun and lighthearted.

Hearing that he’d been a rubbish date to Parvati, or her sister, made Harry wince. “….another opportunity to be damned glad you’re here,” he sighed. “I’m finding all of this to be nonsense, but yes, I’d regret being a prat for no good reason.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “This ball’s more trouble than it’s worth, if you ask me.”

As if on cue from Joe’s words, Lavender and Parvati were coming in through the portrait hole, and Harry straightened his shoulders. Why not. “Parvati? Will you go to the ball with me?”

Parvati went into a fit of giggles, which Harry neither understood nor wanted to understand. “Yes, all right then,” she said finally, blushing furiously. Harry desperately hoped Joe wasn’t misled by his world’s books, and that Harry hadn’t just sparked some later drama over an unreturned crush.

“Thanks,” he said, aiming for polite. “Um, and it’s weird to ask, but Ron’s still stag–does your sister have a date? I’d ask you, but I know Seamus did,” he added to Lavender, who looked flattered that this was public knowledge.

“I can ask Padma, sure,” Parvati confirmed, giving Ron a sidelong look. “Though he ought to, you know.”

“He’s a bit out of sorts, but I’ll tell him to,” Harry offered, sparing Ron by not explaining the whole Fleur debacle. “Really, though, thank you. I don’t mind the idea of going alone, but it seems all our close friends aren’t, and I’d just prefer a big group fun thing, you know?” There, wording it so it was clear it was platonic.

“Ooh, right, I heard about Malfoy asking Granger,” Lavender said keenly. “Is that a thing? What a twist, coming from a family like his.”

“I’m going to stay out of that,” Harry replied, snorting, and he parted from the girls as they burst into giggles again, heading back to the others. “Done, and Ron, shake it off. Joe’s right, we need to be nice, so actually ask Padma. Just–you know, ‘want to go as friends?’ kind of thing.”

“Well, that worked out tidily,” Hermione said, smiling as she sat down. “And we’re going to have fun! Gin, can Luna dance? Joe’s got ballet experience, I assume he can lead just fine if not.”

[bourbonbees]

Suptober Day 6- Cemetery Boys

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34336042

Rating- G Jack POV

Jack has discovered there are a great deal of things that he loves about being human, he loves eating cake, taking his dog for walks, and swimming, but there’s nothing he loves more than his family. His family is not conventional, he’s got three dads, one of which is an angel, but all of them love him unconditionally. It’s rocky at first with Dean but after some quality time spent listening to Zep and going fishing together, the grumpy hunter warms up to him. It also doesn’t hurt that Jack’s first dad, Castiel, is also Dean’s partner and therefore holds a lot of sway over him, whether he likes it or not. Sam, his third dad was the best! He’s the one that establishes family movie night, Jack’s favorite night of the week!

Sam lets Jack pick the movies pretty much every week, much to Dean’s dismay. This week Jack chooses Ghostbusters as his pick. It’s great, he especially loves the jokes and the Stay Puffed Marshmallow man. He isn’t sure where the writers did their research for the movie though, his experiences with ghosts contain a lot less whimsy and a lot more salting and burning. The movie is just wrapping up when it hits him, they don’t have a name, every great team of heroes has a name.

“Hey, why don’t we have a name?” Jack poses the question, looking to Dean for a response.

“Kid, how much candy have you had? Are you sugar crashing? Remember, me Dean, you Jack, that annoying guy over there, Sam, this adorable ray of sunshine, Castiel.” Dean is concerned, he feels Jack’s forehead and looks him over, his parental instincts kicking in.

“No like a team name! Like there’s The Avengers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, uh The Fellowship of the Ring.” Jack lists off, Sam sending him a proud smile at the last one.

“Jack, hunters don’t really do teams. We’re kinda solitary, it’s our nature.” Sam explains, causing Jack even further confusion as he looks around at his family. They do everything together, live together, celebrate wins together, spend holidays together, work together, is that not a team?

“We’re not a team? Isn’t a family a team?” Jack frowns, worrying that he’s misread a long series of social cues. He is prone to that sometimes, his brain working a bit differently from his dads, neurodivergent, that’s what Sam had called it.

“Jack, oh, of course we’re a team. But more than that, we’re family.” Cas swoops in, reaching over and patting Jack on the shoulder. Cas is always the gentlest of his dads, he gives really good hugs, and is the one Jack goes to on the days where being a human is too much to deal with.

“Would it make you feel better if we had a team name?” Dean offers, following Cas’ lead. Jack doesn’t miss when Cas sends Dean a small nod of approval. Dean has a different parenting approach, sometimes he’s a bit harder on Jack. Jack doesn’t like that but he understands that Dean is trying.

“Yeah, I was thinking Cemetery Boys!” Jack says right away, looking around the room expectantly. Sam chokes slightly on his beer while Cas smiles approvingly, Dean laughs softly, shaking his head at Jack.

“Well we do spend a disproportionate amount of time in cemeteries, so it makes sense to me.” Jack defends, his cheeks feeling hot, blushing, that’s what Sam had told him it was. Sometimes Jack hates being human, blushing is embarrassing and makes him feel a bit like a baby.

“Shouldn’t we be cemetery men?” Dean questions, raising a quizzical brow at Jack.

“Technically speaking, Jack and myself are neither male nor female. So, no.” Cas supplies, shrugging his shoulders at Dean and earning an eye roll. Jack doesn’t understand why his dads enjoy teasing each other so much, maybe annoying someone was another human way to express love?

“So, you’re telling me, I came out as bisexual for nothing because, I’m not really dating a man?” Dean blanches, gently smacking Cas on the shoulder. Hitting people is another love language Jack has learned, but not too hard, he learned that after accidently punching Sam a little too enthusiastically on the shoulder. Play fighting is good, actual violence is bad, he had explained that to him.

“We’re non-binary! Claire taught me that.” Jack is happy to interrupt, always happy to share the latest things he’d learned. He loves Claire for that reason, she’s always full of new things to learn, she is an excellent big sister. “Claire, Me, Cas, and Dean, we’re all LGBLT? Or is it LGBTQ? Either way, Claire is a lesbian, she also taught me that. And Dean, you’re a bisexual! Cas, you’re gay, I think? So, you didn’t come out for nothing, you came out for your non-binary partner.” Ha! Jack is very proud, this is one area he feels confident he knows more about than Sam, Dean, or even Cas.

“You’re surprisingly well informed for a toddler.” Sam compliments, tipping his beer bottle at him.

“The toddler age range ends at 3, I assure you, Jack is 4. He is no longer a toddler. I read all the development books.” Cas corrects, earning a laugh from Dean and a groan from Sam.

“He did, trust me Sammy, made me read some of them as well. Babies are weird man. Glad you came out fully formed kid, it was a relief.” Dean chuckles. Jack is relieved he came out fully formed too, it’s a lot more fun hanging out with his family when he can talk to them like this.

“I’m a celestial being, age doesn’t exist for me. I am as old or as young as I want to be at any given minute. Isn’t that neat?” Jack prides himself on choosing this form, a teenage body, he likes it because he can help his family. He likes going hunting, driving cars, and helping Dean cook dinner, a baby couldn’t do any of that!

“He really is your son-uh I mean they really are your child?” Dean self corrects, Jack notices he does that a lot more lately, again he really is trying to be better. Jack admires that about Dean, it’s something he tries to emulate as best as he can, always working to be a better person and make his mistakes right.

“Oh, I’m comfortable with he/they, just like my dad! I do feel like a boy most of the time.” Jack looks to Cas who nods along with him. They’d talked about it once, Cas explained that Jack could change a number of things about himself if he wished, if it would better match his soul. But Jack is really and truly happy with who he is. So is Cas.

“Yeah that’s my son.” Cas says fondly, pulling Jack into a hug. This is a good hug, the kind that makes Jack feel safe and cared for. Cas always makes him feel like he belongs, that no matter what he has a place in his arms.

That night, Jack sets a plan into motion. He waits until everyone is asleep and gets to work on creating gifts for his family. He uses his powers to manifest a set of matching black crew neck sweatshirts with the words ‘Cemetery Boys’ embroidered on the front in white thread. He then designs a magnet, putting a little ghost and tombstone on it. Once he’s satisfied he goes through the recycling and finds a box to put the sweatshirts in.

The next part is the most dangerous. Jack, creeps down the hall to the door that leads into the garage attached to the bunker. His eyes glimmer when he finds his target, the black 67 Impala, sitting dead center in the garage. Dean had just waxed her the day before so she was extra shiny. Jack likes when Baby is shiny, it makes the sun reflect on his face, nice and warm. He takes the magnet and carefully places it on the bumper, making sure not to scuff or scratch the shiny metal. Then in a flash, he is back in his room, laying in his bed as if nothing has happened.

Dean doesn’t notice the magnet until they are packing for a hunt the next day, a simple salt and burn case in Wisconsin. The whole family is going! Dean has even promised Jack that he will take him to Wisconsin Dells if it goes well and they will go to a place called Deer Park where he could pet and feed a bunch of deer. Jack likes animals, sometimes more than people, they’re much less complicated.

“Oh my god! My Baby is a whore! You gave her a tramp stamp?” Dean gasps, pointing to the offending ‘Cemetery Boys’ magnet on the bumper.

“You like it? I made it myself!” Jack beams with pride, hoping Dean was speechless because he was blown away by his ability to create magnets.

“Also, the term you’re looking for is sex worker. You need to be more sex positive Dean, especially for someone, who from the sound I hear coming from your room at night, seems to enjoy sex a great deal.” Jack blurts out nervously when Dean doesn’t respond. Jack tends to do that, he wishes he could stop, another part of what makes him different from most people.

“Oh, for the love of Christ. Please Jack, no.” Sam is doing something Claire told Jack is a facepalm, meaning he was either embarrassed or frustrated, perhaps both?

“Do not be ashamed of our healthy sex life, Dean. But do but ashamed of your gendered slurs and generally overdramatic demeanor. The car is unharmed, it’s a magnet.” Cas steps in, doing the teasing thing again. Jack really doesn’t understand his dads, but he’s glad they seem happy together.

“I swear one day Baby and I will drive away and leave you all behind. Traitors.” Dean threatens, this is a joke, Jack measures. Dean does that a lot, uses sarcasm and empty threats, at first they used to confuse and frighten Jack but now he just accepts it’s part of his nature. Dean is grumpy. Loveable but grumpy.

“See your theatrics are quite comical. You couldn’t leave us if you tried. Who would open the pickle jars for you, darling?” Cas smirks, Jack remembers witnessing this scene, Dean saying all the “no words” at a jar of gherkins as he struggled for a good 5 minutes, until his dad took the jar and opened it within two seconds.

“It was one time! And I swear I loosened it!” Dean glowers, clearly ashamed by the great pickle debacle of last week.

“Dads, stop. I will remove the magnet.” Jack decides it’s his job to play peacemaker, he steps up and gently takes the magnet off baby’s bumper, Dean visibly sighs in relief. Jack tries to hide his disappointment, he’d meant the sticker as a gift.

Cas notices his mood shift and is by his side, pulling Jack into a side hug. “Hey, you can put it on my truck.” He offers, rubbing Jack’s back and making him instantly feel better, must be magic dad powers Jack figures.

“Thanks dad, this is why you’re my favorite.” He says without thinking, Sam and Dean giving him matching offended expressions.

“Uh-what about me, I’m the one that sneaks you candy when Cas isn’t looking.” Sam makes a good point, he is exceptionally good at sneaking. He and Jack have so much fun together, that’s how they ended up with Miracle the dog. Sam had helped Jack smuggle him into the bunker and once both Jack and Cas had bonded with the dog, Dean couldn’t kick him out. Though Jack knows that Dean loves the dog just as much, he’s caught him slipping Miracle some of the good bacon when he thinks no one is looking.

“No Dean is the one that gives me candy. You help me pull pranks!” Jack laughs as Dean, flinches, quickly busing himself with packing all their bags in the trunk along with the weapons they’d need.

“Dean!” Cas says in his low, ‘oh no you’re in trouble,’ voice. “We’ve dicussed this, Jack’s intake of high fructose corn syrup is frighteningly high. He needs to eat real food.” He adds. Nougat is a food, Jack thinks privately, nougat might be his favorite food in fact.

“He’s a kid, he’ll be fine. Dean and I lived on that shi-stuff as kids and we turned out alright.” Sam, usually the vegetable police, surprisingly comes to Jack and Dean’s rescue, earning a matching raised brow from them both.

“Did you though?” Cas challenges, hand on his hip, sometimes dad gets sassy. Jack likes when dad gets sassy because it’s funny, makes him laugh.

“Well damn, don’t sugar coat it or anything babe.” Dean says in disbelief, opening the passenger door for Cas, Sam climbing into Baby’s backseat before Dean motions for Jack to come sit behind him. “Do I even want to know?” He sighs as he spots the box Jack is carrying.

“Well you’ve all been distracting me, I almost forgot.” Jack pauses as he opens the box and holds up the Sam sized sweatshirt. “I made us all shirts! Team shirts, we’re the Cemetery Boys!” He says proudly, shoving the shirt at Sam, then two at Cas, one for him and one for Dean. Jack pulls on his own shirt right away, stretching his arms and modeling it for them all.

“Can you all wear them for me?” Jack pulls out his trump card for this one, using the ‘look’ that Sam had taught him. He made his eyes big and kept them open just long enough so they were watering slightly, then bit his lip.

“I really screwed myself when I taught you my secrets. Really, using my own puppy eyes on me. Really short sighted of me to teach you that.” Sam sighs as he pulls on the sweatshirt, Cas doing the same.

“Nope, still not doing it. I don’t do matching shirts.” Dean holds firm, shaking his head at Cas when he holds out the sweatshirt to him as they pull out of the garage.

“Dean, the couch in the library is awfully uncomfortable. It’d be a shame if you had to sleep there.” Cas is firmly on team Cemetery Boys, pulling out the big threats to get Jack his way.

“Ugh fine, but no one can ever find out about this!” Dean groans, waiting until he’s at a stop sign at the end of the road to pull it on. Jack lights up, his team is complete, all three dads are wearing his shirt!

“It’s funny how easily emasculated you are Dean. Life is a lot more fun when you stop caring about gender expectations.” Cas smirks, Dean rolling his eyes at Cas and mimicking his know it all expression.

“Dean is sensitive, dad, and he’s really good at making pies! I think he cares less than you think he does.” Jack pauses, pleased when Dean makes eye contact with him in the rearview mirror and smiles. “Besides, I saw the pink underwear he hides when I helped with that laundry that one time.” He adds, Dean’s smile quickly disappearing, his eyes wide as he tightly gripped the steering wheel.

“Jesus Christ, kid, stop selling out all my secrets.” Dean grits between his teeth, now he is blushing. Jack knows Dean hates blushing just as much as he does.

“Oh that’s good! Can’t wait to tell Claire that one!” Sam barks out a laugh, taking his phone out of his pocket.

“You wouldn’t!” Dean hangs his head in shame when they stop for a train.

“Already did!” Sam sing songs, holding up his phone. Jack is sometimes thankful that Claire doesn’t live with them, living with your sibling seems exhausting sometimes, if Sam and Dean are any indication.

“Alright that’s enough Jack, don’t spill all the coffee. Your dad is allowed to have his secrets.” Cas intervenes, gently patting Dean’s thigh.

“Tea, dad, its spill the tea!” Jack sometimes can’t handle how out of touch his dad is. Guess that’s what happens when you’re millions of years old.

“Oh right, what’s the difference?” Cas sighs, laying his head back against the headrest as if he’s exhausted, Jack knows it’s just for dramatic effect because Cas doesn’t sleep.

“Cas, there’s big difference! One is the nectar of the gods and the other is glorified leaf water.” Dean defends, holding Cas’ hand, it’s meant to be a private gesture, but Jack can see it and it makes his heart happy.

“Tea is good.” Sam tries.

“I rest my case.” Dean counterpoints.

The case is a rough one, it turns out to be a bit more than a simple salt and burn. The ghost, a family annihilator was coming from beyond the grave to try to kill his son who had survived his attack. They had split into two groups, Dean and Cas at the cemetery burning the bones and Jack and Sam with the victim, trying to keep him safe.

“Do you think maybe we can take a photo together in our shirts?” Jack asks offhandedly as he and Sam roam the house looking for any objects that might still tether the ghost to the house.

“Why do you care so much about these shirts and taking a photo together?” Sam asks curiously, making Jack pause to think for a moment.

“Because, I’ve been watching a bunch of shows and movies, and all the families in them, they have all these photos together. They make all these memories together and they display them in their houses for everyone to see. I want that. The fact that we don’t have that makes me kind of scared, like this isn’t real. Like you all are prepared to run at a moment’s notice if I go nuclear.” Jack explains, using air quotes around the word nuclear.

“Oh. Oh. Jack, hey, it’s not like that. I guess, well we’ve been so busy saving people and hunting things, we’ve lost track of normal family things. You’re family Jack. Promise.” Sam says right away, pulling Jack into a crushing hug. Sam is strong, Jack hopes to be that strong someday.

“Can we take a photo then, a family portrait?” Jack asks hopefully.

“Family portrait? Family portrait. Shit! Jack, the family portrait!” Sam gasps, letting Jack go and looking around the room with wild eyes.

“Huh?” Jack is trying to catch up before he spots the family portrait hanging above the fireplace, both the victim and his evil departed dad in the photo. He rushes to grab it off the wall and tosses it into the fireplace. Sam pulls out a container of salt and lighter fluid, coating the portrait, then Jack tosses a match, lighting it on fire.

“Good work kid.” Sam grins as the ghost appears and then bursts into flames. “I think you’ve earned that portrait.”

True to his word, the first thing in the morning, Sam helps Jack use the laptop to find the closest portrait studio. It happens to be a JC Penney portrait studio, making Dean groan and complain about cheesy backgrounds and awkward poses that they’d likely endure. With much coaxing and further threats from Cas to relegate Dean to sleeping with Miracle on the dog bed, he agrees to the photoshoot.

Jack gets several copies of the photos made. He hands out wallet sized copies to Mary and Eileen who both coo over how adorable they look. Cas gets it framed and hangs it in the library, Dean never admits he likes it, but Jack catches him stopping to look at it every day, a proud smile on his face.

This is Jack’s family. His team. His Cemetery Boys.

[auggieparkhurst]

Labyrinth

Perhaps he could not find respite in the shadows of their shared hearth, the second chair now occupied by someone else,  but he could still find it  within dust-filmed tomes. The bell’s chime welcomed Augustine into Stacks. It was  an old, decrepit bookstore. Haphazardly wedged between two towering buildings, as if it’s been an afterthought.  Even late in the evening, as Augustine had left the house at nine bells, the door to the shop remained unlocked. Ever confident was the Archivist in her security measures. The runes of her ingenuitive mind were etched into the doorframe, their lament light barely visible. He blinked up at them, flashed a smile, and stepped inside. Immediately the young man was met by the dower countenance of the Archivist. A gnome, who showed the first signs of grey as testament to her age, by the name of Tinkara, perched behind an adjacent counter. The ledger sprawled across her desk marked by a quill as she peered over horn-rimmed glasses.

“Hello again, Augustine.” She spared no time for pleasantries. Any kind word to be offered by him promptly silenced by an upheld hand. She licked a fingertip and flipped a few pages in her ledger. The crow’s feet at her eyes deepened as she strained to read. Her lips puckered in an indignant pout, nail tracing along a line of text. “Here we go.  Alchemical Principles and Runic Associations,” -she quirked a thin brow- “Just got it in, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

He forced his smile to grow beyond its limits, revealing a sliver of teeth, while he stuffed any misgivings down his throat. The passenger in his bag squirmed. “Oh,” he chittered, clutching his satchel’s strap in a  white-knuckled grip. “Um...Not tonight, actually. I was just looking to browse.”

“Hmph.” Tinkara squinted. Milky gaze traipsed up and along his length until it lingered on his face. Another chuff. She flipped the ledger closed with a satisfying smack. “Look to your heart’s content, I suppose.”

“Thank you.”

Just as he turned to leave, Tinkara beckoned him back. “One moment, Augustine.”

He froze in the aisle, gaze fixed on some distant point. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You don’t have that cat with you, do you?”

His laugh was effortless. Light and airy, he expelled it like any other breath as he shook his head- extra sure to jostle his curls just so. “Of course not.” He looked over his shoulder to the Archivist, canting his head. “Wouldn’t dream of bringing her inside. Not after what happened last time.”

“Uh. Huh.” Tinkara pushed the spectacles further up her nose. She gave Augustine another once over.  “I should hope so.” She waved him on.

Augustine dipped his head in gratitude and scurried down the seemingly endless aisle of books. That was the magic of Stacks.  It’s exterior belied little of it’s interior. A street view would lead by-passers believing the shop to be little more than an insubstantial accrual of second-hand books. Only those who ventured inside knew the truth-- that the shop was bigger on the inside. Augustine ventured down the aisle, hand trailing along the spines of leather-bound books, and veered right when the path forked. And continued to choose right whenever the opportunity presented itself.  Further and further, he dove into the labyrinth. His shadow growing into itself by glow of alchemical lanterns. The tension in his shoulders began to unwound as the thick shelves swallowed any idle sounds made by the Archivist. Sure that he had placed enough distance between himself and her, Augustine paused. Knelt down and opened his satchel. From its fold, a black coil spilled onto the floor. A pleasant purr rolled from the feline shade as she nudged his hand.

“Yes, hello.” Augustine ran his hand down Calcifer’s back, and smiled when she rewarded him with the languid swish of her tail. He rose onto his haunches, arm extended down. “Come on then.” A devious smile curled at his lips as he added in a haughty tone, “As it please you, my Shadow.”

Green gaze wrinkled beneath the weight of the cat’s smug grin. She plodded up his arm and curled herself around his neck- tail coiled just under his chin.  

The two continued their journey- always right, never left- until they reached the emporium’s heart. The endless line of books opened into a central chamber lit by alchemical lanterns and furnished with a handful of weathered tables and accompanying chairs. A few ink pots and quills dotted the separate work spaces for anyone who chose to use them, stacks of parchment kept at the head of each table. Everything always kept in order, no matter the occasion, by an unseen force which enacted on the Archivist’s demand for organization.

Augustine expected the space to be vacant, as it normally was at this time of evening, and found himself a bit miffed when a mysterious man occupied his favored spot. A Kaldorei reclined back in the chair closest to the trolley of books. One hand supported the back of his head while the other held a weathered-novel folded back on its spine. He read with an impassive countenance. Skimmed through the pages as if they were little more than filler.

Retorts churned in Augustine’s stomach. Unsure if he could muster them beyond a shy whisper, he continued to swallow them down. His fingers flexing as they worked the icy-pricks of annoyance from his hands. Resolving to leave the man alone and choose another spot, he turned on his heel-

-and froze when the gentleman cleared his throat.

“Master Parkhurst?”

Augustine bit back a crestfallen smile as he faced the man. “Oh. No. You must have me mistaken for my sister- Max Parkhurst.”

The Kaldorei rose from his chair with the shake of his head. Stepping out from the shadows and into the lantern’s glow, Augustine caught a better glimpse of the man.  He was such a miserable specimen. Ears cropped to a length far unusual, cheeks hollowed and eyes - faintly lambent and silver- sunken into his skull. Wisps of black hair, dull and a bit lackluster, pulled into a haphazard tail. Only the wire-thin hairs of a goatee brought softness to his features. Augustine might’ve thought him to be bitter with his ill-fitting clothes and slight limp. But then, the man’s thin lips curled in a beaming smile. All teeth and no eyes.

“No. I am quite certain I have the right man.” He dipped his head low. “Augustine Parkhurst, yes?”

Augustine cast him a dubious look. “Yes…” A tentative hand reached for Calcifer, finding remedy to his nerves in the down of her fur. “That’s me- I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Laughter eased the bite from the man’s appearances. He extended a callused hand out to Augustine. The chemical stains on his fingers contrasted against his ash-grey skin. “My apologies, young master. I am Hyleass Duskbough.”

An excited current danced up Augustine’s spine. “You’re...The Hyleass Duskbough?” he breathed, lips curling in a manic grin. He promptly took Hyleass’s hand in both his own. “The Glasswork Alchemist?”

“Anu’dora,” -Hyleass turned bashful gaze skyward- “That is one of my many titles. Though, these days I’m referred to as Councilman Duskbough.”

The sudden realization sapped the warmth from Augustine’s blood, and settled heavy in his stomach. He pulled his hands from Hyleass. Swallowed back the lump crawling up his throat. “High Alchemist…” He folded himself over in a low bow- Calcifer spilling from his shoulders. “I-I am so sorry for the disrespect! Had I known- If I was more observant… I’d wouldn’t have guessed you of all people would frequent- erm. Um! Not saying you couldn’t visit a bookstore,  but tha-”

Hyleass culled Auggie’s stream of incoherent babble with an upheld hand. His smile turned gentle. “It is quite alright. I am no more a man than you. Amongst these stacks, we are equals. So, please, just Hyleass.” He left no room for interjection as he canted his head.

Augustine nodded slowly as he rose. His gaze remained rooted to the ground. “Then it is an honor, Hyleass.” A moment’s contemplation passed before he cracked a meek grin, stealing a glance up at  the elder alchemist. “I am a big fan of your work.”

“As I of yours, young master.”

Inklings of warmth swelled in Augustine’s chest. “Really?”

The Kaldorei gave an affirming nod. Either of his hands came to rest in the depths of his coat pockets. His gaze found the young man’s, twinkling with aged whimsy. “Quite. Unique ideas with execution of equal measure. And your dissertation?” A breath of laughter filled the momentary quiet. “It I was none the wiser, I’d have sooner thought you a wordsmith rather than alchemist.” The gaiety all but withered from his smile. “A pity,” he lamented with the twitch of an ill-cropped ear, “That the Board refused to advance it.”

For all the praise in the world, Augustine couldn’t ignore the thin dagger which those words slid between his ribs. Old wounds never quite healed reopened with a simple reminder. The rejection still lived rent free in his head. Denied advancement. Try again next year. He tried to not let the disappointment show in his smile. Brushed it off with a half-shrug. “It gives me plenty of time to re-evaluate. To hone in on my research. As they say, ‘A jack of all trades is a master of none.’”

“Dora’ dor,” Hyleass remarked, “Though, you neglect the entirety of the quote.” He ventured back to the table, gaze thrown over his shoulder. “ ‘But oftentimes better than a master of one.’” A knowing smirk given as he began to collect his things. “You’ve remarkable potential, Augustine. Let not the word of a few pious individuals sully your thirst.”

The tailspin of emotions had begun to make Augustine dizzy. He entered Stacks with a seedling of resentment in his chest. So quick it shifted. Like the passing of a season. First to annoyance. Then annoyance rolled into excitement. To embarrassment. To pride then shame. And now, he stood in a dizzying stupor. Strength siphoned from the current dancing up his spine. Not a name to be given to this buzz as he merely beamed at Hyleass. For once, he was left speechless.

Hyleass filled the silence for him.

“It was a pleasure to meet you in person. Unfortunately, I’ve other duties to attend to.” He paused beside Augustine, casting the young man a knowing look. “Shall I see you here tomorrow, same time?”

Augustine blinked out of his stupor. Met the question with an eager nod. “Oh. Um. Yes, sir!”

A dubious brow was quirked at Auggie. He quickly checked himself. “I mean- Yes, Hyleass.”

The elf grew a face-splitting grin. “Excellent. Until then, ande’thoras’ethil.”

And with a departing nod, Hyleass ventured into the labyrinth of books. Augustine left to simmer in his excited buzz until Calcifer’s delicate chirp plucked him dust-filled clouds. He smiled down at his feline shadow.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, reaching down to stroke Calcifer’s ear.

The cat responded with the deft thump of her tail.

Tomorrow.

[Prelude] | [Audience] 

[delos-mio]

Death of a Bachelor - EPILOGUE

“Fuck, we’re so late!” you sighed as Charles pressed the elevator button for the 15th floor of the downtown high-rise. This photoshoot and interview had been on the books pretty much as soon as you and Logan got back from your honeymoon, so really, there was no good reason to be running this far behind. But, you’d been held up at the hotel putting out small fires that didn’t stop just because you were away from the office.

“Sorry! I know, I know. I don’t know why Cole can’t figure out how to convert anything to a fucking PDF.” Charles had been promoted to office manager and had been doing a spectacular job. You always knew he would be, but when it was finally time to add on those additional responsibilities, he took them on effortlessly. He did still enjoy moonlighting as your personal assistant, even though technically you had hired someone new to do that job. Now when he helped you out, it was as a devoted friend as opposed to paid employee.

“Just…just talk to him tomorrow, please?” you asked, the elevator pinging and doors opening.

“Don’t worry- you can consider it done.”

Your heels clicked on the tile floor as you made your way to the receptionist’s desk. The Forbes HQ was sleek and screamed “wealth”, which you were used to at this point. As you got closer, the curly haired woman stood up from her seat with a bright smile and rounded the desk to greet you.

“Mrs. Delos! We’re so excited to have you here!” She took your hand and gave it a shake.

“Thank you, happy to be here,” you replied, dropping her hand. “But, I actually kept my own last name,” you corrected gently. It was an honest mistake and one that happened often. You’d perfected the polite correction over the last couple months.

“I am SO sorry,” she said with genuine embarrassment. “Truly, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s really ok, dear. It happens all the time.” You waved her off quickly and reassured her it was just fine. “Besides, there are a lot worse things to be called than a Delos, right?” The smile finally returned to her face.

“You’re right about that,” she laughed and visibly let out a breath. “Here, follow me. The rest of your group is just through here.”

You followed her down a hall with double doors at the end. Just as she was about to usher you in, you heard your favorite laugh in the whole wide world. There Logan was, laughing at something Elliot had said, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. You loved it when he let go like that and just enjoyed himself and his company. He was handsome all the time, but he was absolutely breathtaking when he was happy. Logan must have heard the door shut behind you as he opened his eyes and turned to you, a grin plastered on his face. He held out his hand to you, which you were all too happy to take.

“Hey,” you whispered just to him.

“Hi,” Logan breathed back before placing his palm on the small of your back and kissing you with a smile still on his lips. “Glad you made it.”

“I was always going to make it,” you huffed, shoving his shoulder gently. “Sorry for being late.”

“I’m a patient man,” he shrugged.

“No, you’re not,” you laughed and he broke into a grin. “You look extra handsome.”

“Thank you, princess. You look entirely fuckable yourself,” he said in a low voice just for you, his hand wandering down your backside.

“Ugh, ok, enough,” Juliet said with a roll of her eyes. “Can we get this show on the road?”

With that, the photographer came over and started arranging everyone in front of the windows with the New York skyline in the background. Elliot and Emily were directed to stand together back toward the window, Charles placed just next to them. Juliet stood near the middle with John by her side. Finally, the photographer had you stand on Logan’s left side, the two of you front and center. Without prompting, Logan wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you in close, kissing your temple.

“Can you…sorry. Forbes is looking for more…professional shots…” The photographer attempted to interrupt, but Logan kept his arm around you, only glancing in his direction.

“So, I’m not allowed to kiss my wife?” Wife. You still loved hearing the word fall from his lips.

“I…” the photographer drawled, clearly uncomfortable and unsure how to answer.

“I’m fucking with you. We can behave for an hour, can’t we?” Logan asked you, arching an eyebrow.

“I can. Jury’s still out on you,” you winked. You heard Logan groan that desperate little sound he liked to make in the back of his throat and ignored him, turning to the lens as the camera clicked.

The photo shoot was light and fun. You weren’t really sure what to expect since your experience being professionally photographed was extremely limited. But, Logan was a seasoned pro and never let you out of his grip, quietly encouraging you and fawning as picture after picture was snapped.

“Alright, I think we got what we need. You all did great,” the photographer smiled and set his camera down. “I think Carmen is set up in the other room whenever you’re ready.”

“Have you guys already talked to her?” you asked Emily.

“Yeah, she grabbed all of us before you and Chuck came. I think she’s doing his interview last.”

“Sounds good. How was it? Is she nice?” you asked, nervously thumbing the band on your ring finger, a new habit you’d picked up.

“She was pretty cool, actually,” Elliot shrugged.

“Mostly asked about you two,” John smirked. “Y’know, making sure you’re treating us good and all that.”

“Whatever,” Logan laughed. “You ready, babe?” You nodded and he draped his arm over your shoulder, ushering you into the small side room where a Forbes journalist sat.

“Mr. and Mrs. Delos! Very nice to meet you! I’m Carmen.” She introduced herself and shook your and your husband’s hands.

“Thank you for having us. However, my wife has kept her last name,” Logan said with a charming smile.

“Of course, of course. My apologies. A modern woman- I love it!” Carmen chirped before gesturing you both to take a seat. Logan waited for you to settle in, smooth down the top of your pencil skirt, before taking his seat next to you and placing his arm around you along the back of the couch.

“So, some congratulations are in order! First, congrats on Delos being named one of the Most Innovative Companies. That’s quite an accomplishment for your first year of ownership.”

“Thank you,” Logan said with a small nod.

“Second, congrats on your recent nuptials! Tech’s most eligible bachelor is officially off the market,” Carmen laughed. “Tell me a little bit about your wedding before we get into the meat and potatoes.”

“Well,” you started, “We started planning a kind of big wedding, something that we thought weddings usually looked like. But a couple months into making arrangements, we decided that it wasn’t for us and everything we’d been planning just wasn’t what we wanted. So, we rounded up everyone who was in that photoshoot with us and eloped in Fiji.”

“Wow, that’s quite a 180. And Fiji, that must have been beautiful!” Carmen beamed, clearly caught up in the whimsy of just fucking off impulsively to another country and getting married.

“They’re our family and at the end of the day, everyone else we planned on inviting was just decoration. It was nice just to have the people who mattered there with us,” Logan said, looking at you with a soft smile. “I only cared that my wife walked down to meet me at the end of that isle. Whatever else she did or didn’t want on that day was good with me.”

“That’s so sweet,” Carmen cooed. “Well, I’m very happy for you and marriage looks good on you both.” She took a moment to turn on the recording function on her phone and organize her notes. “So, once you got home, walk me through what happened at Delos. There has obviously been a lot of speculation between the change in ownership, the pivot to Virtual Reality, and the acquisition of other businesses.”

“As you know, John and I bought Delos last year from my father. In that last year, we more or less gutted the whole thing and started new. We kept on Juliet, obviously, and my secretary and that was it. Everyone else was let go. We made sure to bring in talent that was new and fresh and rallied around building Delos back up. My father liked people who said yes to him, and that led to a lot of stagnation both in new ideas and growth for the business. John and I didn’t want that. We wanted to make Delos our own.” Logan had that proud, serious look in his eyes that made you clamp your thighs together just a little bit tighter. “Our vision of the future of Delos required a clean house and staff who were excited and innovative.”

“That’s a bold move. What empowered you to take such a big leap?” Carmen asked.

“Is it corny if I say the woman sitting next to me?” Logan chuckled.

“Oh Christ, stop,” you laughed.

“I mean it though!” Logan looked over at you fondly, his gaze soft before turning back to Carmen. “She has pushed me since the first day we met. And she’s supported me unconditionally all this time. I don’t think I’d have the courage to do half of what we’ve accomplished if I didn’t know I had her behind me.”

“The thing about Logan is that he’s incredibly driven. If he wants to accomplish something, he puts his mind to it and he does it. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” You squeezed above his knee, feeling an incredible swell of pride in your chest. He really had some so far and worked so, so hard in the years you’d been together. It was hard not to feel proud and keep the tears from your eyes. Logan must have sensed what was going through your head because he leaned over to press a quick kiss to your temple, just something light to ground you, remind you he had your back too.

“Once John and I had cleared everyone out, that left us with four employees. Which wasn’t going to work, clearly. But lucky for me, my beautiful wife is also an entrepreneur,” Logan smiled.

“Yes. I’d owned my own marketing firm and really, it just made sense at that point kind of merge the two companies.” You nodded.

“We brought marketing in house and took on her staff and bought her business in exchange for ownership shares. Now, Delos is a three owner operation,” Logan grinned. It was important to both of you that you not work for Logan, but rather with him. “Her old assistant became our office manager and is now in charge of day-to-day operations. My sister and brother in law, Emily and Elliot, moved out to LA from Milwaukee and headed up talent management and recruiting. They helped us fill in the other vacancies left.”

“So, it really is a family affair, huh?” Carmen asked, looking between the two of you.

“I think we’ve both learned how important it is to keep a tight circle of people you can trust. These are people we’ve known our entire lives, that are the very best at what they do, and are unwaveringly loyal.” You looked at Logan, who nodded in agreement. “Saying ‘yes’ to everything and being loyal aren’t the same thing. And I think that’s something that previous ownership never understood.”

“Damn right,” Logan affirmed with a crooked smile, his eyes still trained on you.

“I think ‘power couple’ doesn’t even come close to describing you two! It’s been amazing as someone who watches the market and businesses to see Delos rise from the ashes into this juggernaut that it is today.” Carmen seemed genuinely impressed and a bit enamored by you and Logan.

“It was a lot of long nights and hard work. But we like to think it’s been worth it, right?” You asked Logan.

“It’s all been worth it. Everything.”

---

About a month later, you were curled up on the couch, totally zoning out as an episode of Real Housewives of Potomac played. Sleep was weighing heavy on your eyelids when the front door opened and shut again. Finally, Logan was home which meant you now had your favorite pillow to fall asleep on. You listened to him set down his keys, hang up his jacket in the closet, and grab himself a San Pellegrino before wandering into the living room.

“Happy you’re home,” you said with a sleepy smile, reaching out your arms to beckon him over.  

“Happy to be home,” Logan laughed and took his normal spot in the corner, legs sprawled out on the chaise, and quickly scooped you into his arms. You settled in his lap and gave him a kiss hello, an I missed you kiss, an I’m so happy to see you kiss. “Got a surprise for you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Yeah?” you asked, running your fingers through his dark hair. From over the side of the couch, he pulled out a copy of the newest Forbes magazine with a proud flourish. “Oh lord.”

“Page 71,” he directed, handing it over to you. And sure enough, there you two were, front and center, with every important member of your team, and family, behind you. There was something uncomfortable about seeing your own face on a glossy page, but the picture really was nice of the whole group. Logan radiated confidence and power, his arm securely around you in a way that said I wish you would try to fuck with us.

“It sure is…published,” you laughed.

“You look so fucking beautiful. I can’t wait to get this blown up and hang it in the lobby,” he mused, looking over your shoulder at the write up.

“For real?”

“I think it’s a great picture! It should be the first thing anyone sees when they come in the office, don’t you think?” Logan placed a tender kiss on your shoulder.

“I suppose.” You still weren’t entirely convinced, but it was also impossible for you to say no to Logan. You handed the open magazine back to him and let your head rest against his shoulder. “Read it to me?”

“Of course, princess,” he chuckled and raised the article into his line of sight, starting in on the story you knew and lived. Your eyes slipped shut as you let the sound of Logan’s voice and his heartbeat comfort you and lull you into a peaceful sleep.

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