#genuinely thought this one was dead in the gutter for a few months

[hebuiltfive]

WIP i-haven't-done-one-of-these-in-a-while-so-screw-waiting-for Wednesday

“I could still create the scene, if you so wish.”

She held up her ungloved hand. “Please, do not. I do not wish for you to injure yourself.”

“Your concern for me is gratefully accepted, but I assure you, I would be perfectly fine.”

“I believe gravity would have something to say about that.”

“Gravity would only be a problem if I fell.”

“Which is something you would likely do if you tried to scale the wall of my home.”

Scott turned to her fully, eyes alight with the prospect of a challenge and with all his earlier woes forgotten. “You do not believe me to be a skilled climber?”

“Have you scaled walls before?”

“… No, but I am rather skilled.”

“In climbing?”

“In many things.”

“But not in climbing?”

“I think you’re missing my point.”

“I think you’re failing to make a point.”

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of It - A Training Exercise

Characters: Jason Todd x fem!oc

Rating and warnings: G, swearing.

Word count: 1,764

Summary: Jason and her her run through a pretend-kidnapping for training purposes.

Masterlist

-----

BWAAAAAAA!

Her eyes cracked open to Jason standing at the foot of the bed, holding an air horn. 

She stared at the ceiling and placidly considered that she might be dating the worst person alive. The haze of comfortable sleepiness clung to her despite the rude awakening. She was not someone who snapped awake quickly. 

“Yes?” she asked. 

“You’ve woken up in a strange place. You don’t remember how you got here, assume you were kidnapped. The door is locked. There is no sign of your captors, but you don’t know how long that will last,” he said, dead serious. “What do you do?”

Andy blinked slowly at him. “I ask the guy with the air horn not to blow it again.” 

BWAAAAAAA!

“Genuine answers only.”

He lifted the side of the mattress up, dumping her on the ground. 

“Oh no,” she despaired, sitting in a pool of sheets and blankets on the hardwood floor.

“What do you do?” he demanded.

She breathed in deeply. Okay. Okay. “I put pants on.”

“Go on then.”

She stumbled up, and shuffled to her clothes folded atop the dresser. 

They were in a countryside cottage for a weekend getaway. The night before had been normal enough, although Jason had been dropping pretty obvious clues all week that he had something planned. She had waxed her legs but also brought hiking boots and the first aid kit. 

Alas, the lovely romantic night before had lulled her into a false sense of security. They cooked together, enjoyed the privacy of the cottage, and had an early night in. Their relationship was young enough that they were still acclimating to sleeping next to each other, but she was very relaxed and fell asleep quickly. 

She tied her hair up, half tucked her blouse into her pants, then yawned. Kidnapped, huh? She tried to remember what the Safety in Gotham City pamphlets said to do, but couldn’t come up with anything. 

“Now what?” Jason asked. He was fully dressed in sturdy civilian clothes from the beginning. 

“Um. Is it better to try and escape or to stay where I am in the hopes of not making it worse?”

“For the sake of this exercise I’m not here. What do you think is better?” 

She pursed her lips in thought. She jiggled the door handle. Yup, locked. Hmm. She looked out the window. The bedroom was on the second floor but with the gently sloping roof of the first story below them. There was no sign of anyone outside, it was a lovely autumn morning in fact. 

If she were kidnapped and moved to a second location, she should try to escape, right? They said that chances of being found dropped to almost nothing once you were moved to a second location. For her, either they would be using her to get to the Red Hood, or they were just a regular serial killer. The latter might actually be the safer circumstance now that she thought about it. 

She grabbed her handbag, opened the window, and climbed out. The tiles were cold beneath her feet. 

Jason followed without comment, sliding the window closed behind him. 

She inspected the edge of the roof, with its overhanging gutter, and the large bricks of the wall below.

“It was very kind of these kidnappers to not tie me up, or blindfold me, or anything,” she commented, while committing to the awkwardness of clambering backwards over the edge. 

“Consider this easy mode.”

She hummed, not liking that one bit. 

Now that she thought of it, he had made a promise a few months back to teach her some proper survival skills. It was probably overdue, all things considered. 

“This doesn’t really feel like training,” she said. “Feels more like ‘watch Andy make a fool of herself’.”

He smiled and didn’t say anything. 

Asshat. 

She landed on the gravel of the driveway. She winced at the sting to her bare feet. She should have grabbed her socks, but her shoes were in the cottage entrance. Her hands were already sore from gripping the bricks. The last of her sleepiness was thoroughly gone, leaving behind only uncaffeinated grumpiness. 

The car they’d arrived in was still in the driveway, unmoved. She tried the driver’s door and found it unlocked, but who knew where the key was. 

The gravel and the cold were making her feet sting. She stalked back towards the front door. 

“You’re going back in?” Jason asked, aghast. 

“I thought you weren’t here.”

His lips twisted. “Fine. Go on, re-enter the building you just escaped, through the front door.” 

“I’m not wearing any shoes!”

He looked wholly unsympathetic. 

“Wait, is that why you always have some boots under your bed?”

“Gotta be ready to go.” 

“Huh. I guess that makes sense. But I doubt kidnappers are going to be so thoughtful.” 

BWAAAAAA!

“Ah!” 

She snatched the air horn from him.

“Make a decision,” Jason said. “What are you doing?”

“Oh! I put my hiking boots in the car!” She spun back to the car, and pulled them from the back seat. Opening and shutting car doors was probably not stealthy behaviour, but in the absence of any clear threat, she was going to take that chance. She had shoes, but no socks. She’d have to make do. 

Now what? 

She sat in the driver’s seat, and rubbed her temples. Jason sat himself in the passenger seat and looked at her expectantly. 

The air horn was back in his hands. 

Damnit. 

She grabbed the screwdriver and pliers from the glove box, then she reached beneath the dashboard and pulled out a bundle of wires.

Jason leaned back in his seat, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. 

She got the car started. She put it in reverse and backed out. 

“So how’d you learn how to do that?” he asked.  

“Youtube tutorial?” 

He snorted. “Try again.”

She sighed. The road from the cottage was a long winding single lane road for about a mile before it rejoined the main road, hedged by old red oaks. Their broad leaves glittered with dew under the early sun. 

“After I got out, I didn’t have a nickel to my name. Getting legit work as an ex-con is, well, you know. And I couldn’t stomach the other options. My old cellmate offered to help me out, but only if I helped her with a little something first. Clearing out a dealership.”

“Well look at you, miss grand theft auto.” 

She shrugged, terribly embarrassed. “It was just the once.”

“Those skills are still useful, I don’t care how you got ‘em”, he said, as frank as always. “What else can you do?”

“Not very much,” she said, her shoulders relaxing some since he wasn’t making a big deal of it. “We, uh, don’t keep up.” 

He leaned an elbow on his window ledge. “Much gas left in those dealership cars?”

“I think she brought some cans.” Her eyes swept over her own fuel gauge. It was empty.

“Did you syphon out the gas?” she asked. “Of course you did. Of course.” 

She gripped the steering wheel, tired, frazzled, and hungry, as the car slowed to a stop. Jason had the gall to smile. 

“So now what?” he said. 

“Now I commit a murder.”

“Uh-huh. And after that?” 

“We walk,” she said sourly. 

They set off into the woods in the direction of Gotham. She had a good sense of direction and recalled from the view at the cottage that the grounds sloped down towards the city’s outskirts. She ate the snack bar she kept in her bag and emptied her water bottle, offering Jason none. He didn’t seem to mind. 

Her lack of socks was really aggravating. He owed her a foot rub tonight, damnit. 

Just as the sun reached its height, they came across a shed with a couple of old quad bikes in it. 

That made the day a little less galling, and they rode across some wild fields with what appeared to be an abandoned horse obstacle course, crossed a river, and then crested the slope of a hill. Wayne Manor sat before them. 

“Oh thank fuck,” she muttered. 

There was nobody home, upstairs at least, but apparently Jason had expected this. They cleaned up and raided Alfred’s pantry for a late lunch. 

She was much more sore than she expected from what was really just a bit of unexpected walking.

“How’d I do?” she asked, face down on the kitchen bench.

“Could be worse,” Jason said, amused, as he assembled some sandwiches. “Could be better.” 

“Give it to me straight.” 

“ Your idea of a getaway needs some work, but we’ll go over how to handle that later. You need to learn how to pick a lock, and how to move quietly. We made good time on the hike, and your wilderness survival craft is surprisingly good for a city girl.”

“Thank you,” she said, grasping the positive while she could. Jason tended to give reverse compliment sandwiches. 

“Your situational awareness is non-existent. You were walking around in the open outside the house without a care in the world.”

“Fair.”

“You also forgot shoes and socks exist.”

She groaned. 

He patted her head. 

“Besides the socks, and the not paying attention to anything, did I make the right calls?” She tilted her head to fix one eye on him. “Should I have trekked through the words or stuck to the road?”

“It’s not about whether you made the optimum decisions, nobody ever really does.” He brushed a loose curl of hair back from her face. “It’s about my learning how you handle an emergency, so when the time comes I can predict what you’ll do and meet you halfway.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“For example, I would never have guessed you’ll hot wire any vehicle you can get your hands on.”

She pulled herself up with puffed up indignation. “I will not. I won’t hotwire anything later than 2003. Too many anti-theft measurements.”

He snorted a laugh. “Not with a little more know-how, there aren’t.” He slid her a plate and pulled up the stool next to her. 

“I was a touch more confident than I would have been without you there.” 

“I know.” 

She took a big bite of her sandwich, then registered his shark-like smile.  

She pointed a finger at him. “Just so we’re clear, more than one fake kidnapping a month and I’m leaving you.”

He laughed. “Alright, no more surprises until at least October.” 

“November.” 

“It’s worse in the cold.” 

“Bring it on,” she said with undue bravado.

Next >>

[stovetuna]

Oh! Oh! Your Tony-finally-accepts-Steve-Loves-him fic was so lovely. A+ 🥺

And the reverse-ish! The first time Steve realizes Tony doesn’t actually believe him when he says I love you and how Steve both reacts and comes to term with the situation (does he plan on talking about it? Love offensive with super romantic dates? Figure out that the solution to this problem a marathon not a sprint?)

aaaaaahhh I am gonna EXPIRE

can you imagine?? the moment I think about it my heart absolutely BREAKS in the best, most bittersweet way, because oh, Steve. you really thought the moment you kissed Tony the first time—you were sitting next to him on the living room sofa, a whole empty seat on either side of you because you were so unnecessarily close together, but then you were struck by the thought not close enough, and you were in the middle of listening to and watching Tony watch the Lost in Space reboot (so many science critiques you didn't understand a lick of but you are more than happy to play audience to the things Tony cares about, loudly) when you leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on the corner of Tony's motormouth, which apparently was all the invitation Tony needed to crawl into your lap and press his warm, warm, warm lips to yours and kiss the breath out of you—he understood.

because it was so easy to go from best friends to romantic partners, and you had years of friendship between you to hearken back to. Plenty of moments when you thought you'd made it clear to Tony that you loved him, that you cared about him, that you admired and respected and yes, deep down (not that deep, really) were very much attracted to him.

you thought.

so when you kiss the first time, you think he knows. when you go on your first real date and play footsie all night under the table and hold hands the whole walk home, you think he knows. when, a few days later, he slides inside you, deep and hard and wet, and butterfly-kisses the tears from your eyes and tells you how beautiful you are as he fucks you, wailing, into the mattress, you know, down to your soul, to the basest atoms of your existence, that Tony loves you as much as you love him.

but something isn't right, because even as weeks, months go by, and you move into Tony's suite and fall asleep wrapped around him almost every night (except those when he's in another country, and the bed is almost as cold as the ice, or when he's consumed by some project in the workshop and loses track of time), and you tell each other "I love you" out loud multiple times, and say it without words in a million other ways, you get the feeling that Tony. doesn't. believe you?

you're baffled. genuinely, it doesn't make sense. you've loved each other for years. even when you fought, bloody and fierce and deeply, horrifically wrong, you loved each other. it wouldn't have hurt nearly as much—felt like a piece of you being ripped away, phantom pain aging you inwardly until every step in any direction that wasn't toward Tony was agony—if you didn't.

but even though Tony says it back, and he does, every time, even when you're yelling at each other after a battle goes "tits-up," thank you, Logan, he has this look in his eyes, and the only word you've been able to put to it is doubt.

at first you think it means Tony doubts you—your feelings, your intentions, yourself and all the baggage that entails—but that thought quickly passes. because you know he doesn't. you know, from experience, that Tony's worst thoughts and feelings very rarely have anything to do with anyone other than himself. which means Tony doubts himself. maybe even reality. not in a "you might be a Skrull" kind of way, but in a "this is too good to be true" kind of way.

and doesn't that just break your fucking heart.

for months you watch this doubt flicker like a guttering little flame in Tony's bright blue eyes, every time you say "I love you, Tony" with your voice. it's never there when you're brushing your teeth next to other in the morning, bumping hips and giggling like the children you never got to be; it's not there when you silently hand him his coffee and kiss him on the temple on his way out the door to a morning meeting, grousing on the phone even as he blows a kiss to you before the elevator doors close; it's not there when you sit down next to him after a battle, on the steps of some middle-of-nowhere courthouse that just got blown up by some no-name villain, taking unspeakable comfort in the radiating heat coming off the armor that kept Tony safe in combat, and without having to ask or say anything at all Tony takes the helmet off and you lean your foreheads together and just breathe each other's air, too relieved and too exhausted to kiss; it's not there when you make love to him, slowly, excruciatingly sweet, your hips rolling in a steady, undulating wave between Tony's long, golden thighs, his arms loose around your neck, his gorgeous voice gone raspy and quiet from screaming through two orgasms already, and you tell him to look at you as you come together one last time.

it's only when you say it. put words to it. make it real. that's when that banked ember of doubt flickers to life, and it feels like you have to start all over again. which isn't a hardship, per se. not at all, really. it's an honor and a privilege and an absolute pleasure to be a part of Tony's life like this. it's also frustrating, and infuriating, and dangerous, but that was always the case. the only difference is now, you can have make-up sex.

you fight about it first. it starts out in earnest, a forthright—if frighteningly vulnerable—conversation over dinner that turns into a shouting match to rival anything from the war that of course gets cut short by the Avengers alarm going off and having to Assemble before you can clear the air. he almost dies in the battle, short-circuited by an exceptionally advanced EMP that takes out the RT (and whoo, boy does that make you spiral, thinking back, to the moment you did that to Tony, almost killed him, and thinking those thoughts while you keep vigil at his bedside for days makes you wish harder than you ever have before in your life that you could drink yourself to death), and you're too relieved when he opens his eyes and the first word out of his mouth is your name, like he's the one who should be relieved, to bring it up again.

you love him. he loves you. it works. better than that, it's good. and eventually—quickly, even—you learn. you learn tell him in every which way you can think of, without words, how much you love him, and why. you text him pictures from your runs through Central Park (he makes the photo you sent him that spring, of the adolescent raccoon emerging from a hollowed-out tree, his lock screen for a week before he changes it back to a picture of you in bed drooling onto your pillow). you help him take off the armor when he's dead on his feet. you feed him. you train with him. you listen to him ramble on about bad movie science and cheer when Matt Damon mentions him in that Mars movie. (You literally cry laughing when Tony picks up the phone at the end of the movie and calls Matt Damon and tells him to text him next time, "I'll come pick you up, just stop getting lost in fucking space, asshole!")

you kiss his scarred fingers, with their fresh cuts and scrapes and bruises from working in the shop, with a reverence. you draw baths for him and don't join, even though it's one of your favorite things to do in the world, because you can just tell Tony is going through something and he needs the space to work it out for himself. you're always there to fish him out when the water gets cold, and by that time Tony's ready to tell you about whatever's eating him.

you call him every foul, dirty name in the book when you fuck him loudly against the wall and sob yourself hoarse when he makes love to you for what feels like hours, so slow and deep and steady you honestly lose track of how many times you come. you clean him up after and tuck him in. you kiss him on the forehead before you go on your morning run, every morning without fail (except for those when you're apart, and you still, even after almost two years, catch yourself mid-motion sometimes, about to kiss empty air—you text Tony about it and he laughs every time).

you learn to be patient. you learn to show more than you tell. because you realize that Tony was lied to his entire life, about so many things. Lied to his face about who he was, who he was going to be, who he never would be allowed to be. Told over and over again by liars and cheats and villains and friends and lovers and family that he wasn't worth the effort of loving. that he would never be loved for anything other than the black credit card in his wallet, the cars in his garage, the houses and the private jets and the clothes and the money and the things he invented—the things he made—that were supposed to help people but only ever ended up killing them.

money, and blood.

it's no wonder he doubts.

so you set yourself to the long and genuinely joyous (if at times frustrating) task of convincing Tony that not only do you love him, more than you've loved anything else in your life, ever will, but he is lovable. not worthy of love, not deserving, and he is those things, but inherently—he is a sweet, caring, kind, fierce, sexy, strong, dangerous, incredible, dorky, suave, fumbling genius of a man and he is loved for those things.

it takes time. good things always do.

you've had a little velvet box hidden away in your bottom bedside drawer for four months when Tony wakes up and sees you in bed with him, realizes you've been watching him sleep—so peacefully, the furrow between his brows erased, as you play with his slightly overgrown hair (you wish he'd keep it, but it's a hazard, in your line of work). you kiss him on the forehead and say good morning, sweetheart, because it is, even if it is pouring down rain outside.

maybe especially because it's raining outside. because here you are, high up among thick grey clouds that smother every inch of the city, so it's just you two, in this bed, together in your own little world, and you're watching that stubborn ember of doubt in Tony's eyes finally get washed away.

read part one

[kylatheartist22222223]

Pairing: Loki/reader

Warnings: teeny tiny bit of swearing.

A/n: "Guess who's back- dun dun- back again- dun dun- tell a friend- I'm kidding, but consider telling a friend... This is a Loki blurb for a friend of mine ;)"

___________________________________________

I swore up and down my entire life that when I moved out of my parents house I was moving somewhere on the equator, somewhere where I can sweat and get sunburn every damn day of the week as I pleased. That is why I wonder how I could let myself stray so far from my inherent dream, sunny skies, a warm breeze, sand-

"Alright, I know you dislike the cold, but you do remember I can read your loud thoughts, correct?" Loki, the God of mischief, a Frost giant, and my lovely boyfriend was giving me the most dead panned look I ever did see.

"Well, my love, light of my life, when I pictured the next five months of my life, I didn't picture living on an ICE planet!" I shivered despite the five fur lined coats I was currently wearing, probably looking like an overstuffed penguin. Loki on the other hand, wore his usual asgardian leather and gold, openly mocking me with his rolled up sleeves and lack of coat.

I openly glared at him as snow dripped off of a nearby arbor and onto my face. No longer able to hold his stoical expression, he burst into uncharacteristic laughter. He stepped back and gently wiped the chilly water from my cheek, then placed both hands on my shoulders. Even though he was a frost giant, his skin was still decently warm.

"I know love, it's only for a little while, after this I promise you we can visit a warmer planet. " I pouted for a moment, he did look genuinely sorry...

"Promise? " I asked while trying to lift my pinky in the thick glove I was wearing, he chuckled softly before wrapping his own pinky around mine,

"Promise." I knew that once we reached the central kingdom, Loki wouldn't be able to openly show his affections towards me, this moment would probably be one of few for awhile. The thought seemed to dawn on him about the same time I thought this. A mischievous look glinted in his eye for a moment before he leaned down to softly place his lips on mine, slightly chapped from the brisk air.

I suppose it was a sweet moment before it ended.

That mischief wasn't for nothing, the next second he had lifted me up and tossed me into a nearby dune of powdery snow.

Cold cold cold cold cold cold cold cold cold!

Snow went down my shirt, in my sleeves, in my boots- everywhere!

"LOKI LAUFFEY-ODINSON! I'M GONNA-"

___________________________________________

I suppose all these hours later, where I am warm and under the thick blankets of our large bed, those moments of cold weren't all that bad.

Sure as hell was still going to hold a grudge though.

I sat cuddled at the edge of the bed, every thick blanket within the room draped over my shoulders. I was closest to the fire here, the hearth built high and burning brightly.

Loki lay propped up at the head of the bed, reading one of the many books stacked next to him. I was still grumpy about the earlier act of betrayal.

"Come now darling, it wasn't that bad." I turned sharply to give him an animated glare then swiveling back around to stare into the flames.

I felt the bed dip and a shuffling of sheets as a pair of arms circled around my shoulders, Loki nuzzled his nose into the crook of my neck.

"I have something I think will make you feel better.." He whispered

(Get ya heads outta the gutter ya nasties, dis ain't that type of fic.")

He kissed gently just below my ear before pulling away and venturing up to the head of the bed, I turned to give him a confused look.

He lay as he did before, but had his arms open in invitation.

"I think it's time we call it a night love." I unwrapped myself from my cocoon of blankets and made my way to him, face planting on his chest when I got there.

He chuckled before rearranging me into his arms and pulling the covers over both of us. He kissed the crown of my head gently as he skimmed his fingers across my spine, I could already feel that pull of drowsiness.

I traced patterns across his chest with the tip of my finger before smiling a small smile. I began writing letters into his soft skin. He paused his movements on brushing up and down my spine, a look of slight concentration on his face. He smiled after a moment, continuing his dizzying moment. I stopped my words with a small frown.

"Don't worry, I love you to darling" he whispered while placing a kiss in my hair, I smiled as I felt the final pull off drowsiness drift into oblivion.

---

Loki glanced down at her as he felt the absence of her movements, chest rising and falling evenly, and heartbeat in a steady thrum.

He brushed his fingers through her hair softly, placing one kiss atop her head. He flicked his fingers and the candles in the room dimmed, glowing only slightly.

Loki fell asleep to the soft breaths and thrum of his lover, with the fire crackling and burning softly in the hearth, both as happy and warm as one could be.

___________________________________________

A/n: I'mma sucker for fluff stories! How about you?

-Kyla ❤

[strangestcase]

Bro I fucking hate the gothic lit fandom bc they just have like a million excuses for the gross shit they do and nobody can ever hold themselves accountable

Same here!

I love gothic literature but holy shit, it’s probably the most toxic cesspit of a fandom I’ve ever been in. Because everyone has this tendency to justify the bullshit that appears in the books such as racist tropes or incest, and if you tell them that’s gross and fucked up they’re like “well it’s canon! Imagine liking dark Romanticism and complaining about incest!” as if we’re supposed to agree with everything the author lays down... as if we have to take everything at face value! For a fandom based on literary analysis, some people can only see subtext if it’s gay.

I’ve seen them say “Romanticism is a movement of the grotesque therefore romanticizing pedo shit is okay!“ like sure Jan, go ahead, tell victims of CSA you think the hell they went through is desirable. I’ve seen people stan dead writers, ignore their antisemitic beliefs and the awful shit they’d do (ahem ahem OSCAR WILD ahem) and overall be very vicious. I’m not surprised a genre of fiction that’s already full of problematic elements (even when many times it’s to DENOUNCE THEM) attracts these sorts of people but their reading comprehension skills are fucking down the gutter to the point it’s baffling.

It’s amazing how the “they looked at each other angrily! they’re in love!” yaoi obsessed crowd has somehow gathered around literary classics that have already been butchered and misinterpreted thousands of times (and that def don’t need to be misinterpreted again, not even in a “gay” way).

When I complained about this back in my old blog, I’d get basically pissed on. I’d get angry comments and even hateful anons because how dare I tell them to tag their porn accordingly! How dare I criticize an adaptation they like! And then I still saw so so many posts that were all like “the jekyll and hyde fandom is so peaceful and devoid of drama” yeah because you fucking refuse to hold gross users accountable! Every day I saw gross users still be platformed! Only recently I’ve started to see jekyll and hyde fandom blocklists and callouts! And I’ve spent years seeing gross ships and bad takes fly about and almost no one listened to my critiques?!?!? How was I the one stirring up drama? By calling them out on their bs? How dare I be angry at users that fetishize my sexuality, right?

Like only a few months ago I got angry anons because I complained about the fatphobia and ageism in the jekyll and hyde fandom!

Because of this I’ve walked away from the gothic lit communities I used to frequent (looking back? some of them were... a little messed up...) and now I only stick to like... the three or four blogs that produce what to me is genuinely enjoyable gothic lit content (and that have healthy boundaries at that).

Sorry for the rant, I just have Thoughts and Opinions.

[gemma-lemma]

Cloudy Days - JJ Maybank x Male OC

PROLOGUE

Parker Cloud had always been a good runner. Fast, with great stamina, and he'd always loved it. He had also been very good at parcours since the very moment he decided to pick it up in seventh grade. That was due to his best friend, Billy, who had seen videos on the internet and become obsessed with it. Within the first three months of picking it up, Billy had twisted both of his ankles consecutively, and Parker had broken a rib due to an unfortunate fall. But even though it had hurt like a bitch, it hadn't mattered, because he was doing it with Billy, who in turn had been the happiest boy alive. And seeing Billy happy had always been a priority to Parker. Because even though he understood only now, when it was already too late, Billy had not only been his friend. His feelings for the curly boy had always been slightly more than just friendship.

"One day, Park, we will be so good, that we can go to the Parcours-Olympics!" He had cheered,

getting a giggle for an answer. His golden eyes had lighted up, and he had thrown his fist up in the air as a challenge.

"Parcours-Olympics? Is that even a thing?" Parker had laughed, sipping on his cherry fruit pack.

"Of course it is! And if it isn't yet, then we will just invent it once we're grown-ups!"

Upon seeing the light in his eyes, Parker hadn't been able to bring it over himself to ask the question that had shot through his mind aloud. Were they really ever going to be so lucky to grow up? Because in all honesty, they already had known how the rest of their lives probably was going to look like. Following their parents into a gang, selling drugs and beating up the assholes who didn't pay, probably dying before reaching the sweet age of thirty because of some senseless gang war or a junkie gone rogue. He just couldn't bring it over himself to turn off that light in his best friend Billy's eyes.

That same friend Billy who was now bleeding out behind a dumpster in a dark alley of the slums of Jacksonville, North Carolina. And Parker could not even be there for him, telling him to hold on just a little while longer, or call an ambulance for that matter, because he was too busy running away from the guys who had shot him. Damn, he could barely even see his hand amidst the dark of the night, how was he supposed to find a way out of this fucked up situation? Parker wanted to scream his guts out.

It turned out, that after years of working for the Blood Hounds, a gang that was known for drug trafficking and violence, it still only took a single tiny mistake to cross another gang so far that they were willing to shoot them on the spot. The Aquila, Eagle. Parker would've laughed if he'd had the breath. This was all Damon's fault, that disgusting bastard. He must've known. He couldn't have not known!

Running through alley after alley, not knowing where to go or if they were still behind him, he pushed the picture of Billy's dilated eyes out of his head. He could not think now of the way the blood had soaked his white t-shirt, or the way his breathing had become more and more laboured, right before he sank to his knees. He could not think of the way he had begged him to run, before he landed in the ditch.

Upon meeting a dead-end, Parker came to a slithering halt. Fuck, and what now?, he thought to himself, looking around frantically and trying to suck as much air into his lungs as possible.

Just as he realised his one-way ticket out, he heard voices behind him and knew he had to hurry. With sloppy movements he jumped onto the dumpster and hauled himself up onto the brick wall. Though sore, his muscles knew the movement perfectly, and did not betray him. He was half-up the rain gutter, when the first shot rang and he flinched.

His hand almost slipped, but he could catch himself in the last second. Frantically, he glanced down towards the ground, where three men were stood, two of them pointing their guns at him, panting. If he fell, he would break his neck. If they hit their target, he wouldn't have to worry about his neck anymore.

"Come on, little hound. Come down and we promise we're not gonna hurt ya!" One of them called, wickedness in his raspy voice, and Parker wasn't sure whether he wanted to cry out loud or bark a laugh. If he came down, if he actually made it back to the ground alive, they would not only kill him, but also torture him for wasting their time and calories.

"Uh, sorry, Compadre, but I think I'll pass! Thanks for the offer, though!" He called down, dodging a shot, but not quite. It tore open the skin of his arm, and he let out a pained scream. If he didn't get out of there asap, they would shoot him down like a porcelain dove. And he certainly had never liked hunting.

So he decided to climb higher, hoping that the dark would affect their accuracy as much as it did him in not seeing the dead end. Three shots rang, each of them missing him, until he finally reached the roof. Once he was over the edge, he glanced down one last time and saluted mockingly.

"Hasta la Vista, babies." He called before running off towards the next roof.

That should keep them off for a while, he thought to himself and allowed himself to feel a little victorious. But what now? He would never make it back in time to save Billy, considering he was still breathing, and they probably already knew who he was, so no matter what he did, they would come for him. He couldn't ask Damon, the leader of the Blood Hounds, for help either, knowing that he would probably kick him out upon hearing what had happened to wash himself clean of any guilt.

Parker barked out a dry laugh. That man really was a rat with no honour. He hadn't even told them that the party they had announced to sell drugs at had already been claimed by the Aquila. Had they just known, Billy would still be alive, and Parker wouldn't be on the run, bleeding, scared. He wasn't even surprised by it. What had he expected from Damon, anyways? It still hurt, though.

So, what now? Now, he had to run until he reached a place where they wouldn't come looking for him. But where would that be?

As he reached the edge of the roof he was currently running across, he jumped down and right into a dumpster, wondering whether he should even dare to go home and get some things. He had a stash of money hidden in his mattress, after all.

Breathing heavily, he hauled himself out of the garbage and landed on the cold, hard concrete with a loud thump. Everything hurt, but he couldn't listen to his body now, when he actually had a genuine chance for to escape.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He murmured, trying to think clearly as he sneaked out of the alley and onto the dimly lit street. Right across from him was a 24hour supermarket that looked worse than a garbage dump, especially with the palm stickers on the windows. Someone had sprayed the coconuts into dicks with graffiti.

Upon studying the way the light inside flickered, a picture of surfboards and a beach crossed his mind, and a certain brother of his mum smiled at him through his memory, who certainly would not refuse him refuge.

That was what he was going to do, he decided. He was going to visit his uncle. Now that he had a destination, he just had to get the fuck out of here as fast as possible. Where even was he? He walked down the street a little further until he could read a dirty street sign and realized that he was only a few streets from home. Jackpot!

The run he broke into was the fastest he had ever run, and when he finally jumped up the stairs to his apartment, he was so out of breath that he couldn't even say hello to his father who lay on the couch, half empty beer bottle in his hand and feet propped up on the table. The TV threw little light on his dirty tank top, and when Parker barged into the tiny living room, he threw him an irritated look for interrupting his show. But Parker had no time for that. He made a beeline to his room, where he grabbed his school backpack and turned it upside down, emptying it on the floor.

"Boy, what has gotten into you? Why are you back so early?" Vincent Cloud asked, standing in the doorframe to his son's room. His son, who now frantically tore random pieces of clothing out of his closet and desperately tried to suck in enough oxygen to answer.

"Are you bleeding?!" He realised.

"We were set up. Or maybe not - I don't know." Parker gasped, throwing the covers off his bed and tearing the mattress open with a knife he fished out of his nightstand drawer. "The party we wanted to sell the drugs at, the Aquila had already claimed it. We didn't know." Parkers voice began to shake just the slightest as he grabbed a wad of cash and began to count it. He lost count several times, starting over and over while standing up and turning his body towards his father.

"Parker, where is Billy?" The older man asked, worry underlining his voice. Parker looked up at him with glittering eyes, barely shaking his head.

"Billy's dead, and they're coming for me next. They made it clear. I have to- have to get- get out of he- out of he-here." He gasped, starting to hyperventilate as the adrenaline left his veins. Was the room turning? No, the walls were coming closer!

Stepping over torn up schoolbooks and crumpled laundry, his father crossed the tight room and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, forcing him to look him in the face.

"Parker, breathe!" He instructed, and the seventeen-year-old followed the order best as he could.

"Do you know a place to hide?" Vincent asked sternly, hating the life he had dragged his son into. He often told himself that it had been the only choice he had had but could never quite live with that answer. When he had been younger, dreaming of being a father one day, he would never have wanted for his kid to live a life like that. He never would have wanted this for Parker and had been trying to get out of the gang for some time now to help his son secure a better future. It wasn't that easy though, he had come to realise, as the only way Damon allowed the members of his gang to leave was in a coffin.

"Yes, it's-" Parker began to explain, but he interrupted him quickly.

"Don't tell me. Just make sure you're safe. Send me an email or something once you are, and then build yourself a life. Get the hell away from your past, you hear me?" He said with emphasis, and Parker was close to tears. He nodded and counted his money again, ignoring the fact that he had miscounted probably at least twice. Then he split it in half and held one half out to his father.

"I don't know how much we owe. I don't know if they're gonna come for it. Take this in case they want it back or something. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Build yourself a future, son, and now go."

"I love you, dad." He said his goodbye, and his father nodded knowingly.

"I know. I love you, too."

Thanking his father one last time, Parker grabbed his backpack and left the apartment he had grown up in. The rest of his way to the harbour was barely more than a blur, he wasn't even sure how he landed on the ferry in the first place. He just knew when he was sat in some dark corner, that nothing would ever be the same again.

Only when he was hiding there in the protecting darkness of the night, he allowed himself to truly burst into tears, grieving the loss of his best friend, his father, and everything he had known. Hopefully, the future would be kinder.

[benaffleckofcrowdsurfing]

Lazerquest - part 3

Alex Turner x Reader

Chapter 3/?

Description: you are an impulsive bartender who recently moved to London after traveling across the United States and living on the road for a few years. You befriend Alex, a musician who recently got out of a long term relationship, and you show him the ways of your free-spirited lifestyle in an attempt to help him move on from his ex. However, you become more of a muse than a friend for Alex and all is revealed when he releases his band’s fourth studio album, “Suck it and See”.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

Tag list (msg me if you would like to be added):

@lolurnotmileskane @imagine-that-100

Updates whenever the heck I please (at least once a week) 

Oh also for those of you who don’t know: 

Y/N: your name (first)

Y/L/N: your last name

Y/F/N: your full name (first & last)

Y/N/N: your nickname

**************

“Oi, Y/N. Do you want to explain to me why Alex Turner is asleep on my couch?”

You were shook awake by your roommate, who looked rather embarrassed.

“I told him he could stay the night. Him and I were up until like 5 a.m…. Is that a problem?” you grunted before flipping back over and shutting your eyes.

“Yes it’s a problem, I just went out there in nothing but a towel to start my coffee! A literal celebrity could’ve seen me nearly naked!” Tatiana whisper-shouted. 

“Well he didn't, did he?”

“Well...no…”

“Then why are you in here, Tatiana? I don’t see an issue.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone grumpy,” Tati said and walked out of your room, but immediately she turned around and shot you a devious look. “Before you go back to sleep, though, I think your little friend is waking up. And since you didn’t give him a good shag last night, I’m gonna go make my move.”

Your eyes shot open and you were out of bed in a matter of milliseconds. “You better not, Tati. I swear to God.”

She winked at you before darting down the hall, and you ran after her. The two of you turned into a scene out of Tom and Jerry, chasing each other around the apartment but being silent so as to not wake up Alex. This went on for way longer than it should have, before the two of you heard rustling coming from the couch and stopped dead in your tracks. Tati had to put her hand over her mouth to suppress her laughter and you mouthed some profanities at her before watching Alex’s head pop out from the couch and rub his eyes at you.

“Well good mornin’ ladies. The two of you are pretty energetic, aren’t you?”

You thought Tati was going to pass out from embarrassment, and you had to chew on your bottom lip to stop yourself from bursting out into laughter. “Morning, Turner,” you said.

“Can I get either of you some coffee?” Tati asked and turned toward the kitchen. Both you and Alex expressed interest in Tati’s offer, and you went to sit beside him while your roommate was in the kitchen.

“How’d you sleep?” you whispered to Alex and rubbed his back reassuringly.

“Not too bad considering how small your couch is,” he smiled and ran a hand through his messy hair. “I actually slept better than I have in days. I think that opening up to you last night really helped.”

You couldn’t help but grin. Alex and you had stayed up for hours talking about his feelings, and you could tell it was something that was long overdue. He had so much pent up that he told you it physically hurt to talk through his emotions, but a bottle of wine and many tears later he said that a huge weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He wouldn’t tell you this until months later, but that first night Alex came to trust you and enjoy your company more than he ever had with anyone before. You already felt like an old friend to him, the way you clicked and communicated was perfect and he never wanted to be away from you.

“I’m glad to hear that, Alex. You better be well rested, we have a long day ahead of us,” you chirped, and rubbed your hands together in anticipation. Boy oh boy did you have a day planned for Alex. You genuinely wanted to help him get his mind off of Alexa as best as you could, and you knew only one way to do that.

Alex gave you a curious look. “What kind of long day?”

“That’s unimportant. Just know you’ll have lots of fun. Oh, you don’t have anywhere you need to be tomorrow, do you?” 

“Not that I know of… but if we’re going to be out all day and night then we’ve gotta go back to my place so I can change.”

Before you could respond to Alex and let him know that’d be fine, Tati re-entered the room with 3 cups of coffee, creamer, and sugar in her arms. “Where are you guys going? Do I get the apartment to myself today?”

“There’s our little waitress!” you clapped. “and yes, you get the apartment to yourself today. Alexander and I are going on a bit of an adventure.”

“Ah, a classic Y/F/N adventure! How come Mister Turner gets to accompany you in one before I do?” Tati pouted and handed out the coffees. She put a considerable amount of cream and sugar in hers before handing you the creamer.

You took the bottle from your roommate and thanked her. “Well, Tatiana, maybe if you didn’t work 6 days a week we would have gone on one by now. Alex just so happens to have an open schedule today, and I want to help him take his mind off of some things,” You smiled at your new friend, before noticing that Tatiana was giving you a wild look. “Not like THAT Tati. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Alex laughed heartily at that and began to drink his coffee.

“No cream or sugar for you, Alex?” Tati asked.

“Nah, I like my coffee like I like my women…. bitter and unforgiving,” Alex smirked. You and Tati looked at each other and then back at Alex before cackling like witches.

The rest of the morning was spent with the three of you on the couch, cracking jokes and enjoying coffee. Around noon you left Alex alone with Tatiana in the living room so you could go get ready for your day. 

After taking a shower, you slipped on a pair of black Levi’s shorts that very much reminded you of your time spent in the southwestern United States. They were vintage and had an extremely worn look, and you had added studs to the front and replaced the worn pockets with new ones made of a black bandana material. They served looks that you described as “trashy cowgirl”, and you thought they paired perfectly with a black bralette, a leopard print fur coat, and your go-to platform Doc Martens for a True Romance vibe. Back home, your friends praised your sense of fashion constantly, saying you were “classy coke whore chic”. Your most iconic looks consisted of vintage mini dresses, printed pants, platform shoes, corset style tops, and lots of fishnets. Basically anything that was out of the ordinary and had a vintage vibe, you were all over. 

After putting together your outfit for the day, you put on some mascara, a plum lipstick, grabbed your denim bag, put your hair up into a banana clip, and walked back out into the living room. You were surprised to find Tatiana and Alex still on the couch, playing chess. 

“That’s checkmate,” Tatiana yelled victoriously, and Alex had his head in his hands.

“Aw Turner, not too good at chess, are you?” You giggled. When he looked up, a wide smile appeared across his face.

“That’s one hell of an outfit you’ve got on, Y/L/N. You may even be taller than me in those shoes. Looks like something out of a horror movie,” he chuckled, and stood up from the couch. “Time for us to go, then?”

You nodded and walked toward Tatiana to hug her good-bye. “Yep. Except we have to take the tube around, unless Tatiana wants to lend me the car,” you looked at your roommate with puppy dog eyes, praying she’d say yes. Her BMW Z4 was one of your favorite cars to drive, and any excuse to do so you were all over. 

“Oh, don’t be silly. I’ve got a perfectly good car that we can take on our day trip back at my place. We’ll just take the tube back to mine,” Alex said, and gave Tatiana a hug. “Farewell, Tati, thanks for completely destroying me in chess.”

“Anytime Alex, hope to see you again soon!” Tati chirped, and with that we were out the door

************

“This is a really nice place, Alex,” you gasped as you walked through the door of his apartment. It was one of the most beautiful spaces you’d ever seen, and it was obvious Alex lived here. There were massive bookshelves overflowing with books and records everywhere, convert and movie posters on the walls, and close to 20 guitars in different spots of the apartment.

“Oh it’s not much, I’m in the process of moving again since Alexa took her shit and left. I think I’m going to take a lot of this stuff back to Sheffield and then get a spot in LA to record the next Monkey’s album,” Alex mumbled. You could tell he didn’t like being here much. “I’m gonna go shower, feel free to pop a record onto the turntable over there or raid my fridge or whatever.” You smiled and nodded as Alex turned down the hall. You headed over to the shelf containing his vinyl, and browsed his collection for 10 or so minutes, just taking in the massive amount of music he owned, before settling on a Best Of Tom Petty album. Petty’s music reminded you a lot of home, it’d be the perfect music to get Alex into the mood for the day you had planned. You walked over to his record player, which was very nice and had an amazing speaker setup, before putting the disk onto the machine and adjusting the needle. When you pressed play, American Girl began blasting through the apartment. You smiled. How fitting. 

Moments later, Alex emerged from the dark hallway, wearing nothing but black skinny jeans.

“Where’s your shirt, silly?” you laughed over the music. Alex didn’t reply, though, he just started singing and grabbed your hand. He put his other hand on your waist, signaling he wanted to dance, and after you put your free hand on his shoulder the two of you started singing and dancing around the apartment. The music was so loud and you both were so distracted by dancing and singing and laughing that you hadn’t noticed the door open and a man walked in. 

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” The man said, and you and Alex both nearly jumped out of your skins. 

“Jesus, Miles, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” Alex gasped, still clinging on to you for dear life. Miles was laughing so hard he struggled to breathe. When the three of you calmed down and caught your breath, Alex let go of you and went over to Miles. He gave Miles a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Miles grabbed Alex’s ass. The embrace lasted a few seconds, and then they both turned to face you. 

“And who might you be?” Miles said in a cheesy, fake, posh accent.

“Miles, this is my friend Y/F/N. Y/N, this is Miles Kane, one of my closest mates.”

Miles flashed you a smile and shook your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” 

“As it is you, Miles.” You flashed a grin at Miles. He was quite charming, and you could tell that his personality complimented Alex’s well. 

“So, Alex,” Miles muttered. “What kind of friend is this Y/N?” 

Alex elbowed him in the side. “A friend friend. We’re going on some sort of ‘adventure’ today, but Y/N won’t tell me where we’re going.” 

You gave the boys a devilish smile. “Patience, Alex. If you’d go out a damn shirt and some shoes on, you’d find out sooner than later.” 

At this Alex chuckled and shook his head. “Fine. I’ll go get ready. Miles? Is there any specific reason you’re in my house?”

“Just dropped in to say hi. You go get yourself fixed up and I’ll keep your lady friend company.” Miles said and put an arm around your shoulder. Alex gave Miles a warning look as if to say ‘play nice’, and walked back down the hall toward his room.

“So, Y/N, care to dance? I didn’t mean interrupt your and Alex’s waltz,” Miles said, and put a hand out. You nodded your head and flashed him a toothy grin before putting yours into his and the two of you began doing a little tango.

Miles was a flashy dancer, he had spun you around and dipped you over and over again, the both of you laughing and singing. When Alex came back out he stood against the wall watching the two of you with a big grin plastered across his face. Miles and you danced through the entire album, and when the familiar sound of the needle hitting the end of the record sounded, Alex erupted into applause. 

“That was bloody amazing, you two!” He exclaimed. You and Miles took a bow, and then he hugged you. 

“You’re welcome to Alex’s any time I’m here, Y/N. You’re a brilliant dance partner.” Miles chirped, and you gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek.

“As are you, Miles,” you smiled and turned to Alex. “Ready to go, slow poke?” 

Alex nodded. “Miles, lock up when you leave, please? And don’t eat all of my leftovers!” 

As the two of you turned to walk out of the door, you heard Miles shout “No promises!” Alex rolled his eyes and shut the door behind you.

“So, how do I look?” Alex grinned, and did a little spin as to show off his outfit. He was sporting a Rolling Stones tee, his skinny jeans, and a pair of suede ankle boots. His hair was as long and unruly as always, and you had to refrain yourself from running your hands through it.

“You look fantastic Alex. Although I know something that would make your outfit absolutely perfect,” you smirked. He furrowed his brows in confusion, but you just turned around and started down the hallway of his apartment complex. “So where’s this car you were telling me about?”

[into-crazy]

Man Under the Makeup Pt. 7

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Female Reader series

Warnings- Cursing, mentions of violence, more sadness, talk of bad eating habits, Arthur breaking down, lots of FLUFF🥺🥰

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “Man Under the Makeup” tag lovelies!💘

Freshly cleansed, Arthur steps into your living room. Following the scent of something delicious drawing from your kitchen. You stand over the stove, mixing sauce in a pan. The spaghetti noodles boiling on the burner next to the sauce. Unaware of his presence behind watching you focus on your cooking, humming to the tune barley coming from the small radio on the counter. Everything about you is so angelic to Arthur, your own signature qualities he adored witnessing as you obliviously displayed them.

"Something smells good."

Arthur's voice startles a slight jump. Turning to a smiling Arthur, wet hair framing his handsome face. Clear of the blood and makeup. No shirt on, displaying his thin, bare torso. He's wearing a pair of your light grey sweatpants. Not to worry, he made them fit. In fact, they dropped a little low on his hips. Exposing his lean waistline in all the right ways. No underwear. It's difficult not to stare, especially when his lower regain practically challenges your wandering eyes.

"Spaghetti sounded good, thought I'd make some." You acknowledge handing him a fluffy robe. Again, one of yours. That'll surely help keep your mind out of the gutter. Hesitant in taking it, he leaves your arm hanging. "Don't be like that," you laugh with a humorous roll of your eyes. "It's cold, take it. No one's going to see you." Waving the article until he takes it.

Sighing, he accepts it. How could he deny the comfort you so blithely provide? He wraps the fabric around his body, it's warm and soft. Okay, yeah, maybe the robe was a good idea. "Spaghetti huh? Sweetheart you know it's past 10, right?" he laughs.

"Have you ate?" You blink at him.

"Well I- no," he answers in playful defeat.

To which you snarkily reply, "hm, that's what I thought. Well then looks like we're having pasta tonight." Draining the noodles, you start fixing him a plate.

Of course he hasn't ate. There's no way he could lie to you about that. The only time he'll eat a proper meal is when he's with you, and you took note of this. So when he's in your presence, you make sure he's well fed. Though you know better not to push it. Naturally appreciating every aspect of his- which includes his slender frame. Finding him beautiful in his own skin. You just don't want him to ever go hungry.

After dinner, Arthur watches the news station while you clean up in the kitchen. He kindly offered to help out, but you refused. Telling him to relax on the couch. That might have been a mistake- the channel's replaying the 'breaking news' segment from a few hours earlier. There was a mention of the Joker and his gangs activity, plus a death resulting from it. They didn't go far into detail about the man, quickly transitioning into the next topic. You felt it was best, for Arthur's sake.

His leg bobbed up and down, he's craving badly for a cigarette. The carton sat next to his revolver by the door. However he's choosing not to have one, since he knows you're not fond of it in your home.

Once finished up, you grab a blanket from the room. Taking a seat next to him, wrapping the blank around both of you. The news isn't mentioning him anymore, yet his eyes are still widely glued to the television. He's in deep, worrying thought, you sense it. Grabbing the remote from the table, you switch the power off. He doesn't move, like he didn't even notice you turned it off. It's dead silent.

"Arthur?" You ask scooting closer, "baby, everything alright?" Shutting his eyes, he slowly shakes his head no. "You know you can talk to me. I'm here for you." Resting your head on his shoulder, you rub his arm.

"That's, that's just it.." he whispers.

"What is?"

He signs deeply before opening his eyes. "You're so good to me, so kind. Even after all the horrible things I've done."

Having gotten your full attention, you straighten up. "What are you saying?" You face him, uncertain by what he's trying to explain.

"I've done some bad shit," his tone is serious, "I guess what I'm saying is I don't.. deserve you."

Taken aback by his words, you couldn't believe he really said that- thought that! "Don't say that-"

"It's true!" He cuts you off, "Y/n, I've hurt people, killed people. Those wall street guys, Murray, people from the jobs, my- look I never told anyone this but- even my adoptive mother." You gasp in surprise, placing your hand over his. Hearing about a parental figure for the first time. "Yeah, that's right. The only woman I killed, was Penny Fleck. See, she was in the hospital. I had found out she adopted me at a young age. I was abused, neglected, lied to.. finding that out I felt so angry. When I went to see her I took a pillow-"

Arthur talked in grim detail about how he suffocated Penny to death. Describing how relieved and happy he felt when she fell lifeless. "Ha, you know she used to call me Happy? I always hated it, how I had to smile through everything." Then he goes on to describing how he also felt after shooting Murray and the guys on the train. Even some guy formally known as Randall- the gruesome stabbing followed by the furious bashing of his head against a wall. You stayed silent the whole time, carefully listening to every recited incident.

"Now do you see me for what I am? I am a monster." He tells you, ashamed. Not from what he's done, but of how you'd react.

"No you're not, not to me."

He can not hold back the fit that surges out. Unable to move, his body clenches up as the hysterical coughs and laughs emerge. Laughing so painfully hard his chest and stomach hurt. This right here, is the worst you've seen his fit take over him. Tears roll down his strained cheeks. He's crying, really bawling, it shatters your heart.

Taking his head in your arms, "that's okay, cry. Let it out. I'm here." Assuring him while he slowly calms.

"I just- I just don't understand," he whispers, "my hands are stained with blood, scarred from murder, yet you trust them- trust me- completely.. Why?" He's confused, you should be repulsed by him, despise him, hate him even for what he's done. You're a beautiful, perfect soul- giving this monster to the world your unconditional care and compassion. Is it out of fear, pity? "Why do you care so deeply for me?"

His words are like stab marks to your chest. Deeming himself unworthy of your affections. Talking terribly, tearing himself down. You choose your words carefully before answering in all honesty. "I don't judge people off of their worst, Arthur. No one in this world is perfect. You.. you're real. Been through so much, guided by your pain and anger, taking a beating from this terrible excuse of a society. But, you're free now. You've been so real, and so good to me." You reply, shedding a few tears of your own. "I'm not here to judge you. Not going to tell you what to do unless you ask for it. I won't tell you how to live your life. I'm here to hold you, comfort you. Just as you've done for me, because I care for you- I find you beautiful. I accept you, all of you. The man underneath the Joker, under all that makeup." You finish, lightly rocking him in your arms.

It's obvious he's never been familiar with this amount of kindness, endless supply of pure affection. Surely he'll question what he's not used to. And it's okay. He has you here- to show him, give him what he's been missing out on. He knows all too well that he can be a handful. A complicated man. He'll have his good days, and he'll have his bad days. It's bound. There's nothing he can do to push the bad out of his life. But, no matter how rough, how gloomy- you will be there with him through it. He's starting to realize. Fully accept it finally. He doesn't have to be unsure anymore.

Releasing your hold on him, he takes your face in his hands. Rubbing his thumb over your soft cheek. He's exhausted, telling by the heavy bags beneath his tired eyes. Giving you a heartfelt kiss, his tongue glides slowly among your own. You caress his jaw, kissing the air out of one another.

Taking a breather, his forehead rests on yours. "Is.. is it too early to tell you I love you?" He whispers deeply, causing you to giggle. Oh, how he adores those little giggles.

"You can tell me anything you're ready to tell me." You laugh.

He squints, "well, um, do you?"

"Do I, love you back?"

He nods against you, thinking maybe he's brought it up too soon. Having only been in a relationship for over two months. Heck, you're not even living together! Yet, here he is already talking about "love."

Rubbing your nose on his, you answer, "I love you." No sign of regret or dishonesty when it rolls off your tongue. You mean it. Getting to know him over time, no issue accepting his flaws. He's only human, after all. Every human has their flaws. You'd undoubtedly give your love to Arthur, in a heartbeat.

"I love you," Arthur smiles. You've become his safe haven, his genuine happiness. Because of you, he feels whole.

Kissing his temple, you nudge him over. "Alright, you should get some rest, come on." Positioning back onto the couch, you invite him in.

He removes the robe, to avoid getting hot and sweaty under the blanket. Wrapping your arms around him, he lays comfortably between your legs. Head settled atop your stomach, his hands make way underneath your thin shirt, caressing your smooth skin.

"Now, you just go ahead and fall asleep baby." You purr massaging his scalp, "I'll stay awake a little longer."

"Okay.. wait y/n, don't you work tomorrow?"

You shrug, "Not a problem. I'll call in sick." With the reassurance, Arthur drifts into a peaceful, much needed sleep. Listening to the beating of your loving heart. His relaxed breathing soon inducing you to join him.

End of part 7. Not gonna lie, I was on the verge of tears writing this up😭 Also, there’s a lovely smut piece coming up next!😆

[bookandcranny]

Stone Heart Gambit

Part 1 - Chapter 1

Soso likes her town, but she’s starting to think she’s never going to find a single interesting thing about it. There’s a supermarket, a park, a few family-owned shops and eateries that haven’t yet succumbed to the pressure put on them by the encroaching chain franchises. Pretty standard small-town fair, not unlike the one she grew up in.

Therein lies the problem. She’d been so excited to leave home for the first time all those semesters ago that she hadn’t considered that change doesn’t always equal improvement, and putting a hundred miles of distance between her and her old problems didn’t guarantee her a perfect new life. She doesn’t particularly miss living with her parents, rather she finds herself feeling homesick for a place she doesn’t think she’s found yet. There’s a restlessness in her-- her mom claims she gets it from her dad, and vice versa. It’s plagued her in small ways all her life, in the way she finds new friendships but struggles to make them last, in the way she throws herself into new passions only to grow bored of them within weeks, in the way college had seemed so thrilling and full of promise when she was a bright-eyed freshman and now here she is, on indefinite academic leave, struggling to remember what it was she saw in the place that was worth a lifetime of student loans.

She only has so long to figure it out too. She wants to finish her degree, she does, but art requires inspiration and there’s only so much to photograph in a town whose main export is cow shit and stale gossip. If she changes her major again at this point her advisor is for real going to mount her head on a pike outside the bursar’s office, so she has to at least try.

It doesn’t help that she’s pretty much limited to the immediate vicinity surrounding her housing co-op until she either manages to get herself a car or the bus drivers union wins their latest standoff with city hall. Cars cost money though, which means getting a real fulltime job, which she expects will spell the end for any lingering chance of her going back to school anyway. The snake devours its tail, and Soso commutes by bike.

Soso’s handy; she’s confident she can fix anything given enough time, the right tools, and a couple reliable video tutorials. That, among other odd jobs, is her main preoccupation right now. It’s something, but she can’t picture herself changing tires and cleaning out gutters for elderly neighbors to support her Chinese takeout dependency forever. At the rate she’s going, her best customers are going to start dying off before she graduates.

On that morbid note, Soso decides she needs to get out of the house. She slings her bag over her back just in case she manages to run into something photo-worthy and grabs her bike. It’s a brisk autumn afternoon and the fresh air is just what she needs.

On the way out she runs into one of her housemates, Carmen the highly caffeinated, returning from campus looking frazzled. Soso isn’t particularly close with any of her housemates, frequently as they tend to come and go, but that doesn’t stop her from offering her sympathies.

“Any luck with the research?”

Carmen groans. “My paper is doomed. Remind me why I thought ‘modern impact of classical mythology’ was a good choice for my level 300 history course?”

“Uh, beats me.” In reality she thinks it sounds like a fun subject, but it doesn’t feel her place to say so given that while Carmen’s been slaving away at the school library, she’s spent the better of her day half-watching questionable documentaries on alien conspiracies.

“Ensfield is full of weird old superstitions and legends,” she goes on frustratedly. “The old bridge makes it on one of those ‘top 10 spooky locations’ lists like once a month. Complain about a cough to the wrong person and suddenly you get people telling you you’re hexed and you need to walk in a circle counter-clockwise under the new moon to get rid of it.”

She’s pretty sure that’s not a thing, but nods anyway, waiting for the point she hopes is coming.

“You’d think the library in a town like this would have better sources on mythology. But no, all I get is a shrug and the same three books everyone else in the class is using. If I want to bump up my GPA, I need something you can’t just find on Wikipedia.”

Another one of their housemates crawls out from the shrubbery by the porch. “Maybe you should try that other library.”

“Jesus!” Carmen jumps. “What are you doing down there?”

Phoebe brushes dirt off her knees. “I saw a black cat go into the gap.” She points at a thin crack in the woodwork. “Halloween is coming. Any cats, especially black ones, you see wandering around need to be brought to the shelter pronto. People do terrible things to them if they see them wandering around this time of year.”

Soso squints. “Looks too small to fit a cat.”

“I saw what I saw. Anyway, there’s supposed to be an old town library way past the woods, thataway.” She points. “Guy who works there is really weird I heard but almost no one goes there anymore so you’d have first pick.”

Carmen looks thoughtful. “I think I’ve heard of it. I kind of thought it was just something people made up.”

“Nah, it’s real. My brother’s fraternity brings freshman there to haze them. They tell them to go up and throw eggs at the place and then ditch ‘em in the woods.”

Soso blinks. “Why?”

She shrugs. “It’s just a thing they do. It sucks and it’s totally immature but no one ever accused those guys of being creative.”

“Whatever,” Carmen says. “I’m done with books for today. I’m gonna go inside and enjoy some nice brain-rotting TV.”

“Good call, honestly. If you get caught hanging around that place too much they’ll probably start egging us next.”

Carmen heads inside and Phoebe goes back to making little coaxing noises at the gap in the porch. Soso frowns to herself. Sometimes she feels like people in this town purposely go out of their way to ruin anything that could be the slightest bit different. It’s probably just a normal library that happened to be in a weird spot, run by a typical cranky old librarian. Even if it is nothing it probably has more to offer than spending the rest of her day throwing french-fries to birds and squirrels in the Burger Beast parking lot.

“Hey Phoebe,” she says. “Where did you say that library was?”

 --

 The trip is longer than she had anticipated. Her legs are strong but the sun’s getting low enough that she worries she’ll be riding home in the dark. A generous part of it she blames on Phoebe’s vague directions, scribbled into a patchwork paper map of hear-say more than anything else. Despite this she continues. She’s snapped a few pictures of the foliage in its brilliant reds and golds, so if all else is a bust at least she won’t have completely wasted her time. Worst case scenario, she returns home with a little extra muscle on her calves from all the pedaling.

Well, the real worst case scenario is probably more along the lines of her getting caught by an axe murderer and left to rot in the spooky woods, another ghost for the local repertoire. Even then, at least she won’t have to worry about the next family phone call if she’s dead.

Grim musings aside, she loops back and manages to find the correct path, a trampled dirt road half-hidden under the leaf litter, and at last make her way to the fabled “other library”. It’s one of those old brick buildings, surrounded by a low fence that struggles to hold its own against the climbing vines and insects nibbling at its posts. It’s early enough in the season that their collective buzz-chirp-hum still fills the air, though otherwise it is almost eerily quiet. It’s strangely peaceful, Soso thinks as she wades through wild patches of tall grass, as if she were returning to somewhere familiar.

The place is clearly abandoned, she decides, sunlight refracting off the firmly shuttered windows. It’s a cool discovery to be sure, but she ought to have known a mysterious library in the woods with an equally mysterious shut-in tending it was too much to expect from a town like Ensfield. That doesn’t stop her from exploring though. She likes it here, and she especially likes the gorgeous, ancient-looking gargoyle that sits in front of the steps leading up to the entrance, like one of those stone lions that stand guard outside of libraries of greater fame than this one.

The thing is magnificent, as well as truly hideous, its face twisted in a snarl so visceral and strikingly lifelike that it sends a genuine chill down her spine. The attention to detail, to carving out each individual wrinkle of flesh, is astounding. The stance the stone creature is frozen in comes off much more threatening than the regal intensity she might have expected, and it seems to her a counterintuitive choice of décor, but one the artist in her wholeheartedly approves of.

Propping her bike up against the stairs she crouches in the shadow of the gargoyle to get a better look. Organic shapes like vines encircle the beast, so lifelike that feels compelled to touch, as if they might fall away under her fingertips. Just as she reaches out however, the front doors of the library swing open and a stout, middle-aged man rushes out.

“Don’t- who- don’t touch that! It’s- it’s not-“ he stammers. “It’s an antique. Very breakable.”

The man is well-dressed, but his head of yellow hair is mussed to one side, like he’s just woken from a nap, enforced by the wrinkles he anxiously tries to smooth out of his vest. His eyes are a shocking shade of spring green.

“Sorry?” Soso offers, still recovering from the fright. She pulls her hand back guiltily and he seems to relax. How fragile could something made of stone be, she wonders, that he would work himself up into such a state over it. “Uh, is this the library?”

The man finishes straightening himself out before he responds. “That’s what you’re here for? Books?”

“What else?” she asks. His eyes remain narrow with scrutiny, so she adds, “Books on mythology. It’s for a school project. I heard… I am in the right place, right?”

There’s a copper plaque by the door that reads “North Ensfield Public Library”, but at this point she’d be as willing to accept that she wandered into a random person’s front yard, for how he looks at her. After another awkward pause, the man turns back towards the entrance and gestures for her to follow.

“Sorry about that. I don’t see many regular patrons anymore, not for a while now. Pardon the mess.” He speaks quickly, not leaving any room for interruption.

There isn’t much mess to pardon, not really. In fact, the shelves look well organized, if a bit dusty, and the space isn’t as cramped or cluttered as she had expected from the outside. A certain saying about books and covers comes to mind, but she doesn’t think her host would appreciate the joke. It’s no wonder he doesn’t see many people if he acts this way with everyone. Soso bumps into a table and nearly upsets what seems to be a pyramid assembled from various glasses, topped with an upside-down teapot.

“Do you live here?” she asks before she can curtail her curiosity.

“I’m a librarian,” he answers. “This is a library.”

“Right, but that doesn’t…” she fumbles.

“Do Canadians not live in Canada? Do Norwegians not live in Norway?”

“Vegetarians don’t live in vegetables,” she counters.

He considers that. “Well-played.”

Soso laughs despite herself and, to her surprise, things seem to go more smoothly after that. She continues speaking with the librarian and learns that his name is Surehouser, though if there’s a first name attached to that one, she doesn’t catch it. He’s certainly as eccentric as the rumors had led her to believe, but he seems harmless, and quite frankly more than a little lonesome. She doesn’t know how a person could be anything else, living like this.

He’s not friendly or unfriendly; his words have a measured quality to them, as if he’s afraid of saying too much. Soso gets the impression, as the sole carer for this seemingly ancient place, his occupation is more out of a sense of obligation than a passion for literature. He looks the part of the academic for sure, down to the silver that threads through his hair and the half-moon reading glasses folded in the front of his shirt, but his eyes track her as she browses like he doesn’t know what to do with someone who actually wants to check out a book.

“Do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?” he asks after she’s been at it for a while.

She doesn’t want to admit that not only is she not sure, since it’s not really her class she needs it for, but that whatever organizational system is in place here is totally incomprehensible to her. “Anything you have should be good.”

Which is how she ends up checking out way more than she meant to, sending up a tiny prayer that her comparatively tiny backpack can rise to the occasion. Surehouser gives her a look like he knows what’s going through her head as he leads her to the front desk. There’s no computer in sight, just a leatherbound book of names and dates and a thick rubber stamp.

“On my way out, would you mind if I took some pictures of that statue you have out front? For my project.” She adds that last part as an afterthought, then regrets it right away. She’s a notoriously terrible liar and the more she enforces the threads of this pointless story she’s weaving, the more awkward she feels.

He frowns and says, more to himself than to her, “I always thought that old thing was a bit gaudy myself. I’d have gotten rid of it ages ago if I could.”

Something about the way he says it strikes her as strange. Not knowing how to respond, she simply says, “I don’t know, I think it’s cool.”

He laughs. Or, she thinks that’s what it is. The sound is gentle but rusty at the edges. “I suppose you would. Feel free to do whatever you want, only do not touch it, and be careful.”

She walks down the stone steps, her haul unexpectedly light on her back, and pauses to look at the gargoyle once more. The light isn’t any good right now, but she’ll be back.

“See you later,” she tells it.

Sure enough, the next day she’s back. She hadn’t actually planned to be such a regular, but she’d been unable to keep the place from her mind, and it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do. Carmen had looked about to cry when Soso showed her the books she’d picked out. The ones she didn’t need for her paper, Soso decided to flip through herself and had found herself more invested than she’d counted on. The book on obscure pagan deities she’d selected, though dense and confusing in places, was particularly interesting. Before she knew it, she was finished, and thus had the perfect excuse to go back.

“This guy kinda looks like you, don’t you think?” She holds the page open so that the gargoyle could “see” it. Despite arriving at noon on a Wednesday, the library seems to be truly closed today and no amount of knocking had managed to change its mind. Since she’d already come all this way, she figured she might as well find some other way to entertain herself before heading home.

“The horns are all wrong, but the general look is there. He could be, like, your second cousin,” she tells the statue.

The statue doesn’t respond, obviously, but Soso likes talking to it regardless. She adjusts her position so she can keep reading while keeping the book within its line of sight. When it’s time to leave, she turns to it and says,

“Keep an eye on that guy who runs the place for me. He’s weird, and should really keep more regular hours, but he’s nice, and I think being alone out here is making him a little…” She makes a spiraling motion with her finger. “Guess I’m not one to talk though. I’m chatting with a hunk of rock.”

She doesn’t stop though. Maybe it’s the boredom, maybe it’s something just fundamentally Soso, but whatever the reason, she keeps coming back. Partially for the library, yes, and for the company of the strange librarian that dwells within, but primarily to have a quiet place to vent her frustrations and speak her mind, where often the only one around to judge is one who’s incapable of talking back.

Surehouser is an acquired taste, and they don’t have much in common, but he never turns Soso away on the days when her visits magically coincide with the hours of operation. He always seems to have snacks on hand and is content to let the young woman ramble on about whatever latest subject has caught her interest, which as much as she could ask of anyone really. He still speaks frustratingly little of himself, but she believes she’ll get it out of him eventually.

She’s moved from taking pictures around the library to breaking out her old sketchbook, sitting on the steps and muttering to the empty air as she tries to map the contours of the stone body before her. She’s always been visually minded, for whatever good it does her.

“My mom keeps calling and asking if I want to come home for the holidays,” she complains, holding her knees to her chest. “And I know that’s months away but if I say yes that means having to see my family in person while they interrogate me about my future. I’m not even sure I have a future.”

She paces around for a minute to work out some pins and needles and brushes back her hair where it’s been falling in her face. Feeling playful, she imagines she can feel the gargoyle’s gaze watching her.

“Oh this? Yeah, I did get a haircut, thank you for noticing. Just a couple inches off the bottom but I think it’s nice.”

She tosses her head. Nestled among her dark hair, a tip of pointed ear pokes out and she worries idly at the cartilage like she used to do when she was younger.

“You noticed that too, huh. I was born with this itty bity point to my ears. They used to stick out when I was a kid. I was kinda self-conscious about it, actually. I dreaded whenever we had a course in school about fairytales because the kids in my class would call me an elf. I started making my mom do my hair so that they were hidden and just, never grew out of the habit I guess.”

The gargoyle is without comment. She smiles.

“I knew you’d understand, dude. Us freaks have to stick together.”

The following week is a flurry of last-minute Halloween preparations. Soso herself hadn’t been planning to dress up, not having anywhere to be other than planted firmly on the couch in front of a horror B-movie marathon, but the other girls insist they decorate, as there’d been whispers in their neighborhood of pranks planned on those deemed not festive enough. According to Carmen, who had become the resident expert on local tradition since she aced her last history test, the custom of shunning those who didn’t partake was almost as firmly rooted as the decorating itself. It stemmed from a belief from ye olden days that the festivities helped to fend off ghosts and goblins and the meddling of the fae on the day when the border between their worlds was the thinnest.

“Wait, do ghosts come from the same place as fae, or do they just, like, carpool here?”

She snorts. “It depends who you ask, but a lot of people around here believe that anything that’s magical or ‘otherworldly’ in origin is technically ‘fae’. Ensfield has a whole history of convoluted fae-based superstitions. Did you know some people still leave out bowls of fresh milk for house spirits?”

“House spirits?”

“Like, brownies.”

Soso nods. “I love having milk with brownies.”

Phoebe pipes up from the kitchen. “I had a girlfriend in high school who left out offerings when she was doing her SATs.”

“Did it help?” Carmen asks. “I’ll try anything.”

Soso is no skeptic, but she’s more inclined to believe that leaving food out overnight will attract more mice than faerie blessings. The sentiment is nice, but it’s hard for her to take comfort in fairytales without remembering her childhood teasing. How much worse could it have been if it had been more than just a joke, if her ears and her daydreaming demeanor were enough to get her labeled as an outsider for life, rather than just for the span of third grade.

“Are you doing anything special for Halloween, Soso?” Carmen asks.

“You mean like leaving out bowls of milk?”

She laughs. “No, like going to a party. You can come with me to Katy’s if you want. It’ll be lowkey.”

Carmen has been making more of an effort to get to know her since she got her those books for her paper, but while Soso appreciates the thought, being a plus-one at a stranger’s party where everyone knows each other from the classes she’s still not attending doesn’t sound like her idea of a good time.

“No thanks. Someone’s gotta stay and hand out candy to the trick or treaters, right?”

“Good point. Did you pick up candy?”

“Not yet, but I’ll do it.”

“Just don’t put it off until the night of.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

That is exactly what happened. October 31st finds Soso standing in line with a back of candy under each arm. Their neighborhood isn’t exactly kid-heavy, but better safe than TP’d she figures. She’s nearing the register when a pair of college-age boys stumble in, looking conspicuously red around the whites of their eyes. She sighs inwardly as they wander around, talking just a bit too loud for comfort, and does her best to ignore them even as they get in line behind her. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she notices that there is nothing in their baskets except a two-liter bottle of off-brand soda, a box of marshmallow snackcakes, and about four cartons of eggs, each.

It almost doesn’t click for her until she remembers what Phoebe said about the frat bros and their hazing. That paired with it being a night notorious for pranks by idiot teens is enough to get her nervous. After making her purchase she lingers outside the store for a moment and watches as the boys climb into a car and drive away in the direction of the woods.

It might still be a coincidence, they might be heading to some other destination that just so happens to be in that direction as well, but the image of some stupid stoners invading her sanctuary makes her hackles raise all the same. She starts pedaling after them, following just far enough behind so as not to be spotted in the swiftly fading light.

[blooms-of-ice]

RP Log: Wyda welcomes Cyrus to the company

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn lingers by the company entrance, and every so often she checks a note she’s written on her hand. Whenever someone passes by, she gives them a good, long stare...clearly waiting for someone in particular.

Cyrus Leafwalker Shuffling the paperwork in his hand he checked each number as he passed the estates, the subdued hiss and clank of his armor announcing his arrival before the lanky elezen actually appeared on the doorstep. Adjusting his glasses he looked up, confirmed the number and then the large woman standing out front.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Ah ha..was my arrival expected..or is this coincidence?

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn looks at Cyrus, then at the smudged writing on her hand. An...an elezen, with blonde hair. Yup, it all checks out! With arms wide open, she approaches him as if he’s an old friend. “Ah! Yes, and no. Heard there were new recruits, so I’ve been keeping an eye open! I’m Wyda, nice to meet you.”

Cyrus Leafwalker He beamed a genuine smile at the woman greeting him and gave a half bow in the way of greeting. "Cyrus, I've recently been hired on to your company and decided to make my way here" His glasses slipped down his beaky nose a bit to be pushed back into place.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “You’ll find us a friendly bunch! No better crew to kick ass and, well...get your ass saved by.” She sheepishly grins, having been on both ends of that story. “Are you from around here?”

Cyrus Leafwalker motions to himself.

Cyrus Leafwalker the smile turned into a frown for only a brief second before he spoke. "Ah..now that's a complicated question. To be honest I have no idea where I'm from..nor do I possess any memory at beyond a scant handful of months."

Cyrus Leafwalker: I was found wounded and near dead in the forest, Apparently I had taken quite a hit to the head. It's rendered me an amnesiac.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn’s eyes light up, and she regards Cyrus with a growing curiosity. “Oh, really? That’s weird...I’m glad you’re mostly in one piece though?”

Cyrus Leafwalker: After a bit of nursing and mending I was indeed made whole again. At least so far as my body goes. The mind...well..My memories may return or they may be ever lost to me. Only time will tell.

Cyrus Leafwalker shrugged. If he was bothered by it he hid it well. "I was found with only this armor and sword in my possession, and naught a thread more. No emblem of house or any indication where I might have hailed from"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn looks as if she’s about to say something, and then gasps. It was rude of her to let Cyrus sit out here in the open. “Oh! Shall we continue this conversation inside? Warm fires and good drinks await.”

Cyrus Leafwalker: Aha. Yes please..my journey was long and I am *famished*

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Right this way! Mind the pillar, and stairs.” She hurries downward.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Ah...this is quite welcoming.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “You think so too?! Very cozy, right?” Wyda is clearly very excited about this, and dives behind the counter. She starts pulling out random snacks and drinks from the area. Just sort of creates a mountain of foodstuff on the bar. “This is my favorite spot.”

Cyrus Leafwalker looks around, Growing wide eyed. The homey nature of it stirred a feeling of warmth in him he could not explain, but the smile that graced his lips said what words did not. His gaze fell back to her and that smile widened further. "I can't recall ever feeling so welcomed anywhere. Truly...I think I'm going to enjoy my time here"

Cyrus Leafwalker reached out to pluck a small bit of pastry from the tray, munching it thoughtfully. "Oh this is..heavenly"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - With expert-like speed, she opens a bottle of rum and pours herself a glass. It’s a motion she’s practiced at least a thousand times. Afterwards, she raises it to Cyrus, offering him a glass without words. “So, you don’t remember a thing, huh? Do you...want to remember?”

Cyrus Leafwalker took the offered drink with a nod of thanks as he pondered her question. "I..don't know to be honest. I am curious how I came to be in such a state..surely I have a family somewhere?" He threw back the drink and set the glass on the table, grimacing at the burn. "But no ones come looking...or recognized me. So mayhaps there is naught to remember.."

Cyrus Leafwalker: Cyrus is most likely not even my name..but the one I was given by the one who tended my wounds and nursed me back to health.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn sips on her own drink, pondering his words. “A name, your own or given later, is still important. And even if you don’t remember anything of your past, the memories you’ve made since are still precious.” Wyda shakes her head, unsure of where she’s going with this. “I guess I’m trying to say, take your time. And we’ll be here to support you, whatever you choose.”

Cyrus Leafwalker nodded and gave a reassuring smile. "I am not overly burdened by my lack of memories. The ones I currently have are good ones, and I'd not trade them for anything in all the world" He snagged another bit of pastry. "I *am* Cyrus, Who I was cannot..must not be a shackle to who I will be. It is much the same for those in full accounting of their lives, is it not?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn cheers to that! It’s refreshing to see someone in a similar situation as herself push forward with such optimism. “You said you were bonked on the head earlier? We’ve got medical services for that, if it’s still bothering you. Though I’m no help for matters like that...the only thing I’m good for is punching baddies, pretty much.”

Cyrus Leafwalker shook his head, tapping his temple with a finger. "I am of sound body if not mind" He said with a soft laugh. "Now it is simple a roll of the dice, For now I am content to be as I am."

Cyrus Leafwalker: Though perhaps I'd like my coin purse to be a bit heftier. Thus why I'm here.

Cyrus Leafwalker laughed.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods in agreement. “Hah, yeah! Plenty of jobs and coin to go around. It’s not without risks, so...” She glances at Cyrus’s armor and weapon. “Are you some sort of defender? Like a knight?”

Cyrus Leafwalker pondered for a moment before placing a hand over the magitek armor. "So it seems...I can fight though I know naught where I learned the art. I've made what little coin I have by selling my sword"

Cyrus Leafwalker: My armor was in a sorry state when it was returned to me. Apparently the battle that took my memories was a fierce one. I've spent almost all the coin I've earned repairing it.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Like your body remembers...” She nibbled on her bottom lip, thoughtful. “Well, you’ll find we’re dealing with much of the same at the company. Monsters to hunt, bandits to bring to justice. Every so often, something really risky pops up...Pays good though.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Once your pockets are full of coin though, you start to wonder whether it's worth it. For me, it’s more about doing the right thing now.”

Cyrus Leafwalker He nodded. "My first memory was an act of kindness...I want to repay that kindness to any who might need it. I am also blessed with steel and skill, these things I would like to use well, In defense of those who have it not."

Cyrus Leafwalker: But alas...I cannot protect anyone if I am wasting away homeless in the gutters.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “It’s hard to balance, huh? Those who can’t pay often need our help the most.” She finishes her glass, and refills it until it’s precariously full. “Just gotta do our best.”

Cyrus Leafwalker: We charge the ones that *can* afford it so we can help the ones who cannot.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Balanced upon a swords edge..as it seems that most of life tends to be.

Cyrus Leafwalker rather he liked this state of things was impossible to tell.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods, though as of late she hadn’t been able to do much herowork. All the more reason to get back into shape! She raises the glass and takes a sip, drink spilling all over her hand as she does so.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “You and I....we’ve only just met, but I feel like we share quite a few similarities. I look forward to working together.” The corner of her mouth lifted into a smile.

Cyrus Leafwalker that smiled returned, it seemed to fit his features well. "I feel the same. I look forward to working together and getting to know *your* story, For certainly it must be more interesting than mine" With that he laughed that soft musical laugh.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn shakes her head with a laugh. “Things were simpler when I /didn’t/ know my own story! And I can scarce believe anything that’s happening.” She gives Cyrus a hard look. “If I said it involved ‘evil twins,’ would you believe me?”

Cyrus Leafwalker looked a little stunned but shrugged. "It's hardly any more odd than a bereft knight awakening in the wood with not a memory to his name. Though I admit "

Cyrus Leafwalker "Evil twins" was not quite what I was expecting"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn chuckles. “I know right? It’s straight out of a thriller novel...and a bad one at that. Would much rather read about something else, something with a happy ending and more slapstick humor.”

Cyrus Leafwalker smiled at her and met her gaze. "I dare say you've not even neared your end. There is plenty of time for you to find happiness before the finale, And humor too beside"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn gives Cyrus a tired, half-smile. “There is, isn’t there? It’s easy to forget sometimes. But I digress, this is all too depressing to chat about! Come, why don’t I show you around the house a bit more?”

Cyrus Leafwalker He pushed his glasses back into place and nodded. "Please my lady, lead the way"

Cyrus Leafwalker: Ah ha..this is lovely.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn is thankful that the subject has been changed, and leads him to the upper floor. “Yeah! A bit of an indoor garden, and our library to boot. If you’re the scholarly type, we’ve got a wide selection of books, from ten-gil paperbacks to encyclopedias.”

Cyrus Leafwalker frowned a bit, had he inadvertently trampled on her feelings? "Ah..yes I do enjoy a good read, a guilty pleasure"

Cyrus Leafwalker runs a finger along the spines of the books, quickly perusing the titles.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn pulls out a book, whose cover is mostly taken by a swooning maiden and a beefy sailor, set to a backdrop of roses. “I’ve read this one a few times, if you want recommendations. Very...steamy..”

Cyrus Leafwalker a slight flush touched his fair cheeks and brought forth a laugh, the frown vanishing. "And all semblance of my being an honorable knight would vanish" He teased with a wink.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Embrace it!” She pushes the trashy romance novel into Cyrus’s hands with a laugh. “I won’t judge.”

Cyrus Leafwalker He took it with a smile, Seeing her laugh put him at ease. "I will give it a read, but let this stay between us" He said with a chuckle.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn places a hand over her chest. “I solemnly swear, won’t tell a soul. Unless said information is key to saving your life.” She gives him a sly grin.

Cyrus Leafwalker took a moment to ponder how a romance novel might save his life, but considering the oddity of his last few months..he didn't dismiss it out of hand. "What a story that would be, saved by a romance novel"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Never underestimate the power of love!!” She raises and clenches both of her fists passionately. “...Ahem. Anyway, let me show you to the other rooms.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Please, Lead the way.

Cyrus Leafwalker was finding he really enjoyed her company.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn walks back down the stairs. “This is our...is the word foyer? Uhh. This is the entrance hall!” She nods to herself. “And over here, our reception desk, and rooms for company members. You can get one too, if you want.”

Cyrus Leafwalker I may have to do that. I've been staying at Inns and whatnot according to the needs of my jobs.

Cyrus Leafwalker looked around, taking in the foyer, admiring the decorations.

Cyrus Leafwalker seems lost in thought.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “I definitely recommend it. Nothing like decorating your own room, sleeping on your own bed. It’s the responsible thing to do.” She crosses her arms and nods along to her own words.

Cyrus Leafwalker: A place to call home..

Cyrus Leafwalker seemed to look far away for a moment, a light smile curving those thin lips.

Cyrus Leafwalker: Home is a nice thing to have. No?

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn - It’s heartwarming for Wyda, to watch Cyrus. She can’t help but grin widely. “Nice is an understatement, if you ask me.”

Cyrus Leafwalker: I suppose I'm getting to experience a lot of new "Firsts"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods happily. “It’s honestly a privilege to be here, to witness all your firsts! Have you...ever had cake?! Ever been to a hotspring? Or... or go stargazing in the Shroud?” Her eyes may as well be full of stars at this point, as she starts a mental list of frivolous but fun things for Cyrus to try.

Cyrus Leafwalker: I admit to having a soft spot for sweets..but no. I've never really been stargazing. Most of the last few months has been recovering from my wounds..repairing my armor and trying to earn enough coin to live.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn lets out an audible gasp. “You...well, when you’re up for it, I can show you. How to really, and truly, /live/!”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn corrects herself a beat later. “How I like to, anyway.”

Cyrus Leafwalker smiled brightly. "Let me get settled in, and I'll gladly let you show me your path. It sounds wonderful"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods, beaming all the while. “Great! Well, I gotta head off, but it’s been a pleasure Cyrus. Hope to see you round, you know where to find me.” She motions towards the ground, in the general direction of the bar.

Cyrus Leafwalker He nodded, and gave a small wave. "IT's been an absolute pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again"

Cyrus Leafwalker He nodded, and gave a small wave. "IT's been an absolute pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again"

[ckret2]

Rats Look out for Rats

Prompt: this was originally for @tfspeedwriting 12/1, Prompt 3: Hired assassin. But considering it took me a month and a half to write, I don’t think it counts anymore. Continuity: IDW, prewar Characters: Prowl & Rattrap. Guest appearance from Lockdown. Wordcount: 5300 Summary: When the Decepticons ask Rattrap to do one job too many, he runs to Autobot law enforcement to offer information in exchange for protection from the ‘Cons. At least, that’s the story the Decepticons tell Rattrap to tell Prowl. One last job—one last job, and one dead cop—and Rattrap’s outta this game for good.

"They said it would be easy money," Rattrap said miserably. He was mumbling directly into the surface of the enforcer's desk, both hands clasped over the top of his head. "Followin' a few guys, a hint of petty theft, a coupla deliveries where I wasn't s'posed to look in the boxes—nothin' worse! I knew what they were probably up to, but—but it wasn't my problem, you know? I wasn't the one shooting people. I was just tryin' to make an honest livin'!"

"'Honest.'"

"Tch—fine, a decent livin'. Decent as it gets when ya had to replace your hind legs with cheap wheels and still can't hide your tail in 'bot mode. How do you sound so monotone and so judgmental at the same time? Do you practice that? Is that a—a skill ya practice, here? You got your good cops, your bad cops, and your completely-neutral-but-vaguely-condescendin' cops?"

The officer that Rattrap was talking to, one Prowl of Petrex—and oh, boy, did he exemplify everything Rattrap had ever heard about Petrex—didn't even acknowledge the jab. "So. Stalking, robbery, smuggling—"

"Whoa whoa whoa, don't make it sound that bad! It's nothin' worse than petty misdemeanors, you've got my word." Rattrap lifted his head enough to give Prowl an earnest look. "But, hey, you wanna fine me, throw me in the slammer a couple weeks to pay off my debt to society? Be my guest, pal. Anythin' it'll take to get away from the 'Cons. I ain't even a 'Con, myself! Think they're crazy!"

"I'm not charging you with anything yet—"

"'Yet.'"

"—I'm just repeating what you told me," Prowl said, just as dryly and droningly as always. He wasn't even looking at Rattrap—his gaze was fixed on his datapad, fingers tap tap tapping away, no doubt taking copious notes on everything Rattrap said. No wonder the Senate had this guy on statistical analysis up until Orion dragged him into his crack team of hero cops (pfeh to that); based on the one comm call and fifteen minutes of conversation Rattrap had had with him so far, he had the personality of a calculator. He'd actually said, out loud, with his mouth, like he'd really done the math, that there was only a 2% chance anybody would walk into Prowl's office while Rattrap was talking to him. He should have a numpad instead of a light bar. "And you were okay with doing all that."

"Sure. Like I said: easy money. That ex-senator they got in their ranks's got a pile of shanix the size of Luna Two, and he don't care about givin' it away almost exactly as much as I do care about gettin' it."

"I take it you're talking about Shockwave and not Ratbat."

"Heh! Yeah, you got it. Shockwave's been bankrollin' me. Ratbat? Pffft." He shifted, laying his head flat down on Prowl's desk, staring at the wall behind Prowl's elbow. "All Ratbat does is sigh wistfully 'bout all the moolah he don't have anymore and wishes he did. You'd think him 'n' me would get along better—bein' a couple greedy beastformer Rats like we are—but nah, he's still all high-n-mighty. Hehn! Like he still thinks he's the king of Kaon and everyone around him is wallowin' knee-deep in the gutter."

Rattrap had to give Prowl this: he endured Rattrap's tangents with good grace and greater patience than most people Rattrap had met. The twitching of his elbow, however, suggested that he was still typing. "... You uh... you think that's relevant to your case, here?"

"Everything is relevant."

"Yeesh. Little intense—but okay, whatever you say. You're the cop."

"So what changed? There's an enormous change from 'rolling in easy money' to 'not only backing out, but also calling up a cop frequently seen in the company of Orion Pax, Decepticon hunter, to confess to petty misdemeanors and gossip about ex-senators.'"

"You think I offered to be your stool pigeon because you hang out with Orion Pax? I woulda called him up if I wanted to catch his audial."

"It's certainly not because I have a reputation for being open and approachable."

Rattrap let out a genuine laugh. He finally lifted his head off Prowl's desk, sitting upright. "You're self-aware, neutral cop. I like that."

And a little too savvy. Prowl was right: Rattrap had sought to speak with him because he was associated with Orion Pax.

Or rather, he'd been sent to speak with him because he was associated with Orion Pax.

"But—do me a favor and keep the big 'bot outta this, would ya? It's not that I don't respect what he's doing, takin' down as many 'Cons as possible, and all—like I said, I ain't one of them, I just take their money—but word on the street is he ain't too careful about how many pieces they're in when he gets them in to the station, you know what I mean? And I might not be wearin' their badge, but, considerin' what I've been doing for them..."

Without glancing up, Prowl cut Rattrap off with a swift, small hand gesture. It was the most expressive gesture Rattrap had seen him make so far. "I understand completely. He won't be involved in this at all. If things progress to the point where I need backup, I'll ask," he paused for a couple of seconds—even his typing paused—and finished, "Bumblebee, most likely."

Rattrap perked up. That was a new name. "You got a bugformer on the force?"

"No, that's just his name."

Disappointed, Rattrap said, "Ah."

"He's a car. About your size."

Rattrap scoffed. "We don't want the new senate to be too progressive, I s'pose."

"Sarcasm?"

Rattrap gave him a startled look. Did he really just—? "Nah, not at all."

Prowl said, "Hm," in a vaguely uncertain way that made Rattrap think he wasn't sure if that was sarcasm either. He really was a calculator in a cop car's body, wasn't he? No wonder Shockwave was wary of him. He probably thought Prowl was gonna horn in on his schtick.

"Back to my question. What changed? What made you come to me and offer to tell me everything you know about the Decepticons?"

Rattrap hesitated. "Okay. Lemme emphasize first that—that—I had no idea things were gonna get this bad. If I'd ever expected things were gonna end up like this, I'd never have agreed."

Prowl nodded once, stiffly, like a ratcheting joint clicking down and back up. "No doubt." Somehow, he sounded even more monotone.

"Pfeh. I bet all your informants say that, don't they."

"You're self-aware, too."

"Okay, okay." Rattrap slouched back in his seat and laced his hands behind his head. "Tell you what, neutral cop—if you promise to make a note in your unnervingly thorough report you've got goin' there that says I defended my honor fiercely, I'll do us both a favor and skip past all the excuse-makin' and face-savin'."

Prowl looked directly at Rattrap, for what Rattrap was sure was the very first time since Prowl had met him in a shadowy back alley and hustled him in through the back door. "I appreciate that," he said; and if he'd had slightly more emotional expressivity than the average text-to-speech program, Rattrap might have even believed he meant it. "So what's your story?"

Here was Rattrap's story:

The last and biggest job he'd done for Shockwave had been to sneak into a secure energon refinery, steal the access codes, and take them to the 'Cons. He'd thought that the Decepticons wanted to jack a few free cubes. That's what he'd been lead to believe—although they'd never told him that was what they wanted, they were always talking about how hungry they were, how worried they were about running out of fuel. Instead, the results...

Well, Prowl no doubt knew the results. He might've been one of the enforcers sent out to what was left of the refinery to try to pick forensic evidence off of the smelted workers.

And that was it for Rattrap. Forget the easy jobs for easy money. He'd been willing to go along with it as long as the Decepticons had him doing small jobs with small consequences, but now people were dying and energon refineries were exploding, and he was getting out.

So he'd done some snooping, found Prowl's frequency, and called him up. He could help—he could tell the 'Bots all sorts of things about the 'Cons—and in exchange, all he asked for was protection in case the 'Cons found out and retaliated.

That was the story Rattrap told Prowl.

It was true.

But here was the part of the story Rattrap didn't tell Prowl:

Between deciding he wanted out and contacting Prowl—which originally, he'd never intended to do—he'd gone down to Nyon to chew out Swindle for getting him into this fragged up game in the first place. Swindle had told him not to do anything hasty, not to walk away just yet—he'd get Rattrap one last job, just wait and see, with a very lucrative payout. Think of it as generous severance pay. And while Swindle had steered a great many people very, very wrong, he'd never steered Rattrap wrong—rats had to stick together, after all, and Swindle was certainly one in spark if not in body—so, begrudgingly, he'd let Swindle talk him into taking one last job.

A week later, Shockwave had called him in for his final assignment: take out Orion Pax's top supporter, the stiff white-and-black knockoff with the army-builder frame that seemed to be scowling just a step behind Orion every time he was on the news. Orion might have been the face of the new senate's war on Decepticons, but, Shockwave assured Rattrap, the vast majority of what passed as Orion's brain power was actually located inside Prowl's head. Without Prowl reeling him in, he'd be just another dumb jock cop who liked beating up suspects in dark alleys and then saying they resisted arrest in his reports.

Now. Rattrap was no moron. He wasn't overcome with misty-opticked patriotism at the sight of the enforcers' recently-adopted "Autobot" symbol. He'd been telling the truth when he said he was no Decepticon; but he was no Autobot, either. And he sure didn't think Cybertron would suffer with one less enforcer on the streets.

But if the enforcer that was being taken off the streets was, as Shockwave had suggested, a good ninety percent of Orion Pax Hero Cop's impulse control? Rattrap wasn't so sure he wanted to see that one, in particular, get the ax.

And that aside—Rattrap was no murderer. He was torqued off—no, more than that, he was horrified—that his info had been used to kill so many innocent refinery workers. He didn't want someone else's life on his hands, especially knowingly. Even a cop. Hell, especially a cop—if he was caught...

... But...

But...

But.

But.

But then Shockwave showed Rattrap what he'd pay him to do it.

And, well—Primus below—that changed everything, didn't it?

Rattrap and Ratbat didn't like each other, but they both liked the Decepticons even less. And rats had to stick together. If this was fishy—if Shockwave was gonna go back on this deal, or arrange for Rattrap to be found out later—Ratbat would know, and Ratbat would tell him. What Ratbat said, though, was that Shockwave was playing on the expectation that if Rattrap was greedy enough to take this job, he'd be greedy enough to take just one more, and just one more, and just one more, until he'd just-one-mored himself straight into the Decepticon army.

Shockwave didn't know Rattrap. Unlike Ratbat or Swindle, he didn't do what he did for the love of money; he was doing it to get his legs back.

He'd lost them a few millennia back—workplace accident. The medic who'd repaired him had fixed him down to his hips, then slapped a couple wheels on and called it a day. When Rattrap had protested—said he was supposed to have legs, said he wanted his legs, said he was a rat, it was even in the name—the hospital had told him that, in their professional medical opinion, wheels were an improvement on a rodent's haunches, and he oughta be grateful for them. And what did it matter if he wasn't mobile enough to do his old job anymore? Planting explosives for building demolition wasn't what one would call specialized labor. Anyone could fill his position. Just a dirty job for dirty 'bots.

Ever since, Rattrap hadn't considered his relationship with Cybertron to be what one might call cordial.

This last job wouldn't just push him over what he needed to get some back-alley surgeon to reconstruct and reattach his legs; it'd also give him the means to get off this stupid planet and find one where he wasn't gonna be judged for having as many limbs in one mode as in the other. At least in the GC he could be judged for something different for a change.

So he took the job. Okay. Just one more.

Here was the plan: Rattrap was to contact Prowl like he wanted to be an informant ratting on the Decepticons. He had permission to say whatever he had to in order to make it believable. Shockwave had long since reaped the benefits of all the old jobs Rattrap had done for the Decepticons, and he and his cadre of terrorists had only ever met Rattrap at neutral locations, so Rattrap didn't have any info Prowl could honestly use against the 'Cons. As long as Rattrap achieved these two things:

One, make sure that Orion Pax didn't get involved.

Two, make sure that Prowl agreed to protect Rattrap.

At the start, Prowl might keep a couple officers stationed around Rattrap's place at all times. Probably no more than that; he didn't have much pull without Orion to back it, and he wouldn't be able to turn to Orion for this case. Eventually it would be down to one officer. Shockwave was convinced—although Rattrap had doubts—that Prowl would put himself in the rotation of officers protecting Rattrap.

When Prowl was watching him, and only Prowl was watching him, a hired killer—nominally sent to dispose of Rattrap—would show up. Prowl would fight him. He would retreat, and Prowl, like a good little enforcer, would pursue. And the hired killer would lure him into a trap.

Now, Rattrap wasn't too keen on the whole "hired killer pretending to try to kill Rattrap" part. That sounded a little too likely to end in tears—specifically, Rattrap's tears, as he lay dying. Shockwave offered to let Rattrap meet the guy who'd be doing the job ahead of time.

They had dinner. He was a decent thug. Good lookin', too, in a patchwork kinda way. They'd lamented together over the costs of getting good bodymod work done outside of the official healthcare system; Lockdown even recommended a guy who did medical work for gladiators that might be able to handle Rattrap's repairs—don't let the constructibot alt mislead you; he's the best doc on Cybertron who's never been to medical school. Lockdown said he was saving up for his own ship to get work as an interstellar bounty hunter; Rattrap was planning to head to Hedonia when he was fixed up and all this was over. He invited Lockdown to look him up on Hedonia sometime down the line.

So, Rattrap was in.

And when Prowl said, "We're stretched thin right now; if I get Orion to pull some strings, I might be able to get two officers posted around your apartment at all times, but if you don't want to get him involved I can probably only manage to get one officer to look in on your place"?

Rattrap said, "Hey, that's fine. I don't need my place swarming with law enforcement anyway, you know what I mean? I think I can trust ya to make sure nobody's gonna get to me."

Waiting to be attacked was nerve wracking.

Even if he knew the guy that was gonna do it—well. What if Lockdown's hook slipped? What if he was a bad shot? Rattrap had no idea what kind of a shot he was.

What if Prowl decided he didn't need Rattrap's info as much as he'd originally thought, and decided to just... not worry too hard about keeping him safe? What if he didn't even have someone stationed outside anymore?

Rattrap had fallen into the habit of pacing in the evenings after dark fell—the time he thought it was most likely Lockdown would come for him. Rolling back and forth in a long figure eight through his filthy apartment, crumbs of dirt breaking up and discarded foil wrappers crinkling under his wheels. He cast green and orange shadows across the walls, illuminated by strings of light and a couple of lamps buried so thoroughly in his collection of things that he hadn't been able to scramble up to them to turn them off since he'd lost his legs. He figured nervously pacing was an appropriately in-character action for a 'bot who supposedly thought he was gonna get hunted down while only a single plucky enforcer stood between him and certain doom.

Whenever Rattrap glanced out the window, he never saw anybody standing guard. He told himself that meant that whatever officers Prowl had assigned him were good at their job, not standing out and all—but it still made him nervous.

Surely, though, Lockdown wasn't gonna attack until he was absolutely sure that Prowl, and only Prowl, was outside—right? Right. Right?

It was eleven nights in before his window shattered. Someone barreled Rattrap over; he crashed to the ground screaming. Please be Lockdown. "What're ya—hey!" Rattrap reflexively swung a fist at Lockdown's face. Lockdown held Rattrap down with his hook pressed to Rattrap's throat and leaned back. Rattrap's fist couldn't even reach his face. "That ain't fair."

Lockdown grinned crookedly. "Half my job is about making things as unfair for my target as possible."

"Okay—point." He tried, unsuccessfully, to wiggle out from underneath Lockdown. His wheels squealed against the floor as he spun them uselessly. That probably had to look good to any officers watching from outside. "So how're we gonna do this? You pretend I actually managed to slip free and chase me around the room a couple times 'til siren-butt shows up?"

"Naaah, I'm not letting you up."

Well, that was disappointing news. "Yeah? What if it takes him a while to get in here? He's gonna be suspicious if you've got me pinned for a while and don't take the opportunity to kill me."

"Oh, I don't need to worry about that." In his hand, he raised— That was a gun. Why was he pointing a gun at Rattrap's head. "See ya."

"See ya?!" Rattrap crossed his arms over his face. Lockdown snagged his hook around a wrist and tried to tug Rattrap's arms back down. "Whaddaya mean, see ya?! What's the gun for! I thought we was on the same page!"

"Yeah, we were," Lockdown said. "But when Shockwave heard you were planning to make a run for Hedonia—"

"You told him?!"

"—he decided there's no point in paying out if you're not gonna eventually come back to the 'Cons for more jobs." Lockdown successfully tugged one arm away from Rattrap's face. Rattrap wrapped his other arm more tightly over his forehead. "Prowl's my target, but I get a nice bonus if I take you out too."

"H-hold on! What's Shockwave payin'?! I can beat it! Or, or pretend I'm dead, and we'll both pay ya—"

"He's paying me with your bank account info."

Rattrap's jaw dropped. "... I hate how clever that is."

The gun jammed into his mouth. "Sorry about Hedonia." Rattrap squeezed his optics shut.

Lockdown's weight suddenly disappeared. Rattrap's optics flew open again, and all he saw above him was the ceiling. He turned toward a noise just in time to see Lockdown and Prowl tumbling back his direction. He scrambled out of the way, crabwalking/rolling backwards.

Watching Prowl grappling with Lockdown was somehow one of the most terrifying things Rattrap had ever seen. Not because of his fighting—Rattrap was actually pretty confident that Lockdown could take him—but something about his face. His eyes were wide and his jaw was set tight, and he should've looked angry but he didn't, and somehow that was more disconcerting than having a furious cop twice Rattrap's height in his apartment would've been.

Lockdown got a hook in one of Prowl's doors; Prowl pulled his knee to his chest and kicked Lockdown's shoulder, and Lockdown's hook snapped off in Prowl's door. He drew back, hesitated as he glanced at Rattrap, and retreated out the window. Prowl rushed to the window and leaned out, watching which way Lockdown went.

Lockdown had dropped his gun.

Rattrap picked it up.

Maybe it wasn't too late. If he killed Prowl himself, threw himself on Shockwave's mercy, and gave some bunk about seeing how awful the Autobots' noble enforcers were up close and wanting to get rid of them, maybe Shockwave would let him sign up as a full fledged Decepticon. He didn't want to be a Decepticon, hell no, but it was better than being dead. He could empty out his bank account in a couple of minutes—buy a bunch of scrap he didn't need, maybe a mountain of lottery tickets—an empty bank account would buy him some time if Lockdown came back and Rattrap told him there was no longer a bonus for him to claim—plus Shockwave might believe Rattrap’s professions of allegiance if he could check and see Rattrap no longer had any funds to get himself off-world. It was a long shot, it was a gamble, it'd mean several more millennia before he could get his legs back; but Primus what was the alternative? If Rattrap warned Prowl that this was a trap, admitted he'd been in on the setup, and begged for some real protection, he'd get hauled to some Autobot secret prison and beaten to death. The only other option was running for his life. Once Prowl took off after Lockdown, Rattrap would only have until Lockdown had lured Prowl into the trap and killed him to pack his things and run, and Rattrap might've been more familiar than most with Cybertron's underworld—both the figurative one and the literal one—but there were more Decepticons in dark corners and subterranean tunnels by the day, and it wouldn't be long before one saw him and reported back to Shockwave.

Running wouldn't work. This was his only chance. He had to kill Prowl—now, right now, before he jumped out the window and ran off and Lockdown killed him instead—

Prowl did not jump out the window. He turned around.

Rattrap froze, gun pointed at Prowl's chest. Prowl looked at the gun, then Rattrap's face—his expression was ice cold, his gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce straight through Rattrap’s head.

Then Prowl pointed at the floor and snapped, crossly, "Gun safety."

Rattrap almost dropped the gun. "What?"

"Gun safety," Prowl repeated. He reached forward and pushed the gun barrel down, so it was aimed between their feet. "Never point your gun at something you aren't interested in shooting. There's no point in trying to cover the window if there's someone between you and it."

And then, to Rattrap's further disbelief, Prowl walked away from the window, and turned to survey the mess of crates and packing materials that had been recycled into Rattrap's shabby—but very thrifty—furniture. "Does any of this serve as a chair?"

Rattrap gestured at his lower body. "Do I look like I need chairs? My butt's two inches off the floor."

"Hm." And then Prowl sat, on the floor, and turned to face the window. Like he planned on staying there.

"... Okay. All right," Rattrap said. "I give. What's going on, here?"

"You said you don't have chairs. Did you want me to sit on a table?" Prowl glanced at a stack of flat boxes. "This is a table, right?"

"Not that! How come you ain't going after the guy that just tried to kill me? Isn't that your job?"

"Ah," Prowl said, like he finally got it. "No."

"No?!" Rattrap gestured emphatically at Prowl.  "You, a law enforcer, your job ain't to enforce the law! Is that what you’re telling me? Because I'm pretty sure he just tried to kill a bot! Last I checked, that was a crime!"

"As I understand the parameters of my job, my duty is not to prevent criminals from killing bots." Rattrap's jaw dropped, but Prowl immediately went on: "It's to prevent bots from being killed by criminals."

Rattrap almost said there was absolutely no difference; but paused, uncertain, as he started to realize maybe there might be.

"Sometimes, yes, the best way to prevent murders is to chase after the murderer. In this case? I think the best way to prevent a murder is to stick close to the potential murder victim, in case the original assailant doubles back or an accomplice arrives."

"... Yeah," Rattrap said. "Sure. Makes sense." It made perfect sense, for anyone whose priority was protection instead of punishment. Except Rattrap had never once considered the possibility that that would be Prowl's priority. Nor, apparently, had Shockwave; nor had Ratbat, nor had Lockdown; nor had any of the other 'Cons.

But here Prowl was, blithely avoiding a fatal trap just by not being interested in it.

Rattrap attempted one last time to fit this information into what he already expected out of Prowl. "You uh— You think the info I've got is that valuable, then, huh? On Shockwave?"

Prowl looked—not at Rattrap, but near him—with an expression that, while basically emotionless, Rattrap was pretty sure was meant to convey cluelessness.

"That you'd rather guard me than chase after one of Shockwave's goons?" Rattrap prompted.

"Oh. No, I don't think so. We checked out the info you gave us so far; it all appears to be about projects that the Decepticons have concluded or bases that they've burned. From our past experience with the Decepticons, we've determined that they only have outside agents like you doing jobs that they could wrap up almost immediately after their involvement, just in case those agents decide to do exactly what you've done. You've probably got nothing useful to us," Prowl said. "I'm guarding you anyway. You're a living person and therefore automatically worthy of being protected. That's true even if you're not a vector for strategically valuable information."

"A vect—?!" Rattrap laughed. "You know, that's the first time anyone's ever called me a vector for something and meant it as a compliment?"

Prowl looked around at the piles of empty cubes and broken-down equipment scattered around Rattrap's apartment. "I wonder why."

Rattrap swatted at Prowl's shoulder. Prowl visibly flinched. "You know what?" Rattrap asked. "I think that maybe—just maybe—you're one of the good ones." He didn't need to specify that he was talking about enforcers.

"I'm the only good one."

Rattrap snorted.  "You includin' the famous Orion Pax in that statement, neutral cop?"

"I didn't include any qualifiers when I said 'only.'"

Rattrap didn't know whether Prowl's declaration was a statement of supreme egotism, or a sweeping indictment of every other enforcer on the planet.

Whichever one it was, in that moment, he decided he liked Prowl. Cop he might've been, but there was a little bit of rat in him—and Rattrap meant that as a compliment. You had to be a rat to openly distrust the cops from inside the cops. And only fellow rats had ever looked out for Rattrap.

That's what rats do. Look out for each other.

Rattrap looked at the window—somewhere out there was Lockdown, sitting in the center of a trap that was never going to be sprung—and then at the gun in his hand.

He tossed it on a makeshift table, rolled up next to Prowl, and sat. Okay. He was taking a chance. Maybe he was still gonna end up dead in an Autobot prison, but he wasn't going to end up anywhere better any time soon if he didn't take the chance.

"Well, as long as you and me are all cozy in here," Rattrap said, "I figure I might as well tell you I am, in fact, a vector for strategically valuable information. Somethin' you might find personally interesting."

Rattrap couldn't even tell whether or not Prowl was surprised at the revelation. "And that would be?"

"First, you gotta promise you're not gonna hold it against me."

"Hold what against you? Holding out on me?"

"No. Conspirin' to lead you into a fatal trap."

And Rattrap still couldn't tell whether Prowl looked surprised. But he did notice how Prowl glanced at the gun on the table.

"I switched sides," Rattrap said quickly. "For real, this time."

"Glad to hear it. Tell me about this trap."

"First," Rattrap said, "before Shockwave realizes I've sold out, you've gotta let me transfer my whole bank account into yours."

For a long moment, Prowl was silent. "... What?"

"Yeah, Starscream's let me into everything," Rattrap whispered into the comm to Earth. Every once in a while he threw glances over at the entrances to his hidden quarters, double-, triple-, and quadruple-checking that they were still blocked. "He's havin' me pass around his orders, he's tellin' me which guys he wants to have trailed—he's even tellin' me who he expects to backstab him, in what order, and his plans for backstabbing 'em first. And I'm on the list. Can you believe that? And he's still trusting me with all this?"

"Starscream takes 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer' to excessive new heights." Even through the many alterations to the comm signal—from distance, from a dozen layers of encryption, and from the deliberate distortion of the pitch to disguise the voice—Prowl's old, familiar monotone was unmistakable. Rattrap didn't know why he even bothered to disguise his voice. "Is he up to anything that calls for an immediate response?"

"Nah. Just dealin' with infrastructural issues and doing some ego-stroking projects—you know, things that'll make him look good to the populace." Another check to the door, and Rattrap lowered his voice again: "He's made some worrying talk about plans to contact Caminus, though. I wouldn't say he's up to anything bad—yet—but I don't like the way he's talking about Caminus, you know? Like he's already viewing them as future citizens."

"If Starscream starts expanding his empire, he's never going to stop. Keep me updated on his plans. We need to be ready to stop them as soon as he puts them into action."

Prowl was already talking about empires, was he? Rattrap didn't think Starscream was anywhere near that yet—but he also didn't think Starscream would pass up the opportunity if it came to him. And Prowl always did think far ahead. "You got it, boss. I'll call you when I've got more."

Over the course of the war, Prowl had become something of a rat king: the point at which a hundred little rats tangled together. Spies, saboteurs, and assassins—every dirty 'bot that did every dirty job the Autobots had. And as long as Rattrap had known him, Prowl had always looked out for his rats. He'd kept Rattrap out of the 'Cons, he'd connected Rattrap with the medic that gave him his legs back, and he'd kept Rattrap at one of the safest (and, admittedly, most boring) stations in the war when he didn't have more practical ways to make use of Rattrap's skills. And Rattrap was proud for Prowl to make use of them.

Because no matter what nasty accusations were flung at Prowl (some of which, Rattrap happened to know quite intimately, were true) and no matter how many people declared that Prowl was cold and sparkless, and no matter how many people said that Prowl was nothing but a manipulator—Rattrap would always know that he was the one cop on Cybertron who'd sneered at the idea of arresting a murderer when instead he could protect a useless rat. And Rattrap didn't believe for a second that was manipulation. That was Prowl's core.

Four million years later and Rattrap was still willing to trust Prowl with his life. After all, Prowl had never steered Rattrap wrong.

Rattrap hung up the call, transformed to beast mode, and scampered out into Metroplex's tunnels. Back to work.

Also posted on AO3, see link in my sidebar.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @greentealycheejelly!

Written for the lovely @greentealycheejelly for the Malec Secret Santa 2018 exchange! You said that you liked "canon au, fluff, angst, and action" so I tried to hit those tropes!

Read on AO3

*****

all night (or a hundred years)

Alec’s pencil makes a scratching sound as he scribbles into his notebook. “Thank you for that update, Luke.” Alec shuffles through his notes. “Next order of business… Raphael, any updates on that mundane found dead by the DuMort?”

“My clan is still looking into it, but I’ll let you know as soon as they find something.”

Alec nods. “Thank you, please do. Magnus is also following up on a lead as we speak.”

“So that explains his absence,” Meliorn says, an annoyed lilt to his tone.

Alec quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, because he’s on an assignment.”

“A special assignment from the Head of the Institute?” Meliorn huffs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I don’t believe you were nearly as gracious when I had to take a leave of absence last month. I wonder why that is?”

“Are you implying something, Meliorn?” It takes all of his years of training to reign in the fire bubbling in Alec’s veins.

“Cut it out, you two,” Luke interjects. “Alec, you said there was a lot on the agenda, and we’ll never get through it at this rate.”

Alec takes a deep breath, centering himself. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Meliorn says flippantly, and Alec’s about ready to snap his pen in half.

Footsteps squeak against the linoleum floor as someone approaches their congregation. Magnus hurries over to them carrying a decaying, leather-bound book and a stack of yellowing parchment.

He wears a pair of tight, black skinny jeans that hug him in all the right places and a sheer, short-sleeved top that showcases his strong arms. Sky blue and lilac flowers are embroidered throughout the black mesh, interspersed between patches of gorgeous bronze skin, and Alec has to look away before he swoons. The universe is truly testing him today.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” Magnus says, pulling out the empty chair next to Alec.

They’re so close that Magnus’ breath tickles the back of Alec’s neck on the hiss of his ‘s,’ sending a warm shiver throughout his whole body. Magnus’ hand brushes against Alec’s as he sits down beside him, and it takes longer than it should for Alec to get his breathing under control.

“No, problem, Magnus,” Alec manages to stammer out. “We all understand.”

“Do we?” Raphael raises an eyebrow, and Luke (not so) discreetly elbows him in the ribs. He swears under his breath in Spanish.

“Right, so what did I miss?” Magnus asks.

“Alec was just telling us about the special assignment he had you working on.” Meliorn’s voice is as thick as honey and drips with the weight of heavy implication.

Alec clears his throat to try and distract from the way color bleeds into his cheeks as if he was in the heat of battle or had a bit too much to drink at the Hunter’s Moon.

“Alexander, are you alright?” Magnus asks, placing a hand on Alec’s shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Alec’s voice cracks at the end of the word.

“Are you sure? You’re turning crimson.” Magnus’ mahogany eyes hold concern and a genuine regard for Alec’s well being. It’s overwhelming being caught in such a gorgeous, compassionate gaze. “Do you have time to stop by my apothecary later? I want to get a proper look at you.”

Raphael gives Meliorn a knowing look and mutters, “Playing doctor?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Raphael,” Magnus chastises. “You know I take care of my friends.”

Friends. The word stings more than kuri venom; it lingers far longer than any demon attack ever could. It lingers in Alec’s mind when he’s tossing and turning at night imagining what they could have been if Alec hadn’t been such a coward all those years ago. It lingers in his heart whenever they’re alone, and Alec swears he sees a glimmer of those feelings Magnus must have buried long ago. And it lingers in his soul whenever they work together as allies, as leaders, as partners, because they really are compatible in all the ways that count.

But none of that matters, because they’re just friends.

“Thank you for the offer, but I have some work I really need to catch up on,” Alec says.

He doesn’t miss the way Magnus looks almost disappointed; it tugs at something in his chest, and regret pools in his gut, but then he reminds himself that he must be imagining it. There’s no reason why Magnus would be disappointed at not getting to spend time with him.

“Another time then,” Magnus says.

“So, how did your mission go?” Luke asks, steering the meeting back on track.

“Well, it was certainly interesting to say the least.” Magnus shuffles through his stack of papers and fishes out a few blown up photographs, sliding them to the center of the table. “Raphael sent over these photos of the burn patterns on that mundane found by the DuMort.”

“Right, you thought they might be Edomei in nature?” Alec prompts.

“Precisely,” Magnus confirms. “But I had to track down one of my more… unseemly contacts to be sure.”

“What did they say?” Meliorn asks, and Alec’s relieved that he finally seems to have dropped the teasing and focused on work.

Magnus licks his finger and leafs through the decrepit tome, scouring the pages for whatever he’s looking for. When he finds it, he turns the book towards the others.

“Dragons?” Raphael asks, incredulous.

“Dragons have been extinct for centuries.” Meliorn waves him off.

“Mostly extinct,” Alec corrects. “There have been about half a dozen dragon demon sightings in the last century.”

“That’s not extinct enough.” Luke shakes his head. “When was the last sighting?”

“I believe last week,” Magnus says.

“You think a dragon demon killed that mundane?” Raphael asks, tilting his head to the side.

“I don’t think, I know.” Raphael opens his mouth to speak, but Magnus continues on before he has the chance. “I brought a sample of the ash found at the scene to my contact, and they confirmed it was the same ash produced by a dragon’s hellfire.”

“Why would a dragon be stalking my hotel?” Raphael looks skeptical. “And how come we haven’t seen it yet?”

“Perhaps you have something it’s looking for,” Magnus suggests.

“My abuelita’s award winning empanada recipe?”

“Or a solid gold casket,” Magnus suggests.

They table the issue for now, deciding to have Alec dispatch extra patrol teams to cover the area around the DuMort while they conduct more research, and move on with the rest of the meeting agenda. Meliorn launches into a complaint about mermaids swimming in the Central Park entrance to the Seelie realm, but Alec barely hears a word of it. He’s too focused on the way the light streaming through the Institute’s stained glass windows hits Magnus just right, casting him in a warm, ethereal glow.

He looks beautiful, incredible, otherworldly. Then again, he always does. And Alec is so in love with him.

A few days later, Alec finishes typing up the meeting minutes and sends them out in a quick email to the rest of the Cabinet. As soon as he hits send, he folds his laptop shut, and drops his head to his desk, letting out a muffled groan into the treated wood. It’s certainly been a week.

A knock on the door sends him scrambling, but when he looks up, Izzy’s already standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a knowing smile playing at her ruby-red lips.

“Rough day?” she asks as she crosses the room and takes a seat on the couch.

“Something like that.” he says, joining her. His head is pounding, whether from banging it on his desk, worrying about the murdered mundane, or embarrassing himself in front of Magnus, he’s not sure, but probably all three. “What’s on your mind?”

“I just wanted to check on you. You seem… stressed.” She rests her hand on his knee and gives it a soft squeeze.

“I’m fine, Iz.” He shakes her off, scooting down the sofa. “Just busy.” Busy hiding. “Speaking of, any updates from the patrol teams?”

She shakes her head ‘no.’ “So far they say everything looks normal near the DuMort.”

“That’s good.” Alec gets up and heads over to his desk. “Is that all? Because I have a lot of work to—”

“You can’t keep hiding this from him.”

Alec freezes, his feet glued to the spot but his heart beating so fast it might break through his chest and run away. Alec wants to run away with it. He’s not ready to have this conversation; he’s never going to have this conversation, because there’s nothing to discuss. He and Magnus are colleagues, nothing more.

“He deserves to know how you feel.”

At that, Alec turns to face her. “Why does it matter how I may or may not feel? Magnus is an adult, not some pining teenager. I’m sure he’s fine without me.” He realizes that he’s gripping the edge of his desk when his hand starts to cramp, and he quickly pulls it away to relieve the ache.

She raises an eyebrow. “When did I say I was talking about Magnus?”

Dammit. Alec deflates, caught by his far too perceptive baby sister, and all of his confidence and bravado dissolves as he slumps back down on the couch with her. “How did you know?” He doesn’t dare look at her, just stares down at his hands in his lap.

“You’re not exactly subtle,” she says, trying to be gentle.

“Do you think he knows?” Alec doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I think you should find that out for yourself.”

Alec sighs. “It’s not gonna change anything.”

Izzy inches closer to him on the couch and rests her hand on his back, rubbing circles into his shirt with her thumb. “But it might.” She looks up at him with warm eyes. “And you deserve to be happy.”

Alec cracks a smile and wraps an arm around her side, pulling her in closer. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, and the scent of her floral shampoo tickles his nose. “Thank you for looking out for me, but I promise you, I’m fine.”

“And stubborn as all hell,” Izzy tries to mutter under her breath.

“What was that?” Alec asks, and Izzy perks up, quickly uttering, “Nothing!” just a pitch too high.

“You know.” She presses the back of her hand to his forehead. “You feel a little warm. Are you feeling well?”

Alec tilts his head to the side, confused by the direction the conversation has turned. “Yeah?”

“Well, it’s flu season. I think you should get checked out.” Her eyes drift away from his face and focus on the couch upholstery. “I heard Magnus has a friends and family discount for check ups.”

Heat flames from the tops of Alec’s cheeks to his ears to down his neck. He wants to ask her how she found out about that but realizes that she was probably eavesdropping during the Cabinet meeting. Knowing Iz, she had her ear pressed to the door like they used to do when they were kids, and their parents were hosting representatives from the Clave.

“I think I’ll take him up on that offer.”

Alec could keep fighting her on this until she finally dropped it, but then she’d just give him the cold shoulder for the rest of the day and he’d feel guilty, or he could play along with the out she’s giving him like he really wants to. If anyone asks, he’s going over to Magnus’ to see if he has any new intel on the dragon demon investigation, but he and Izzy know the truth.

Though he doesn’t want to admit it, Alec would use any excuse to see Magnus.

“Alexander.”

Magnus says his name like he’s savoring the taste on his tongue. It sends goosebumps down Alec’s arms. He gestures Alec inside, closing the door behind him with a snap of his fingers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Alec wipes his clammy hands on his jeans and prays to Raziel that Magnus doesn’t notice the way his hands shake when he does. Alec spent the entire walk over rehearsing what he was going to say and practicing his confidence, but all of his meticulous planning and false resolve melts away as soon as he comes face to face with Magnus.

“I was in the neighborhood.” About 45 minutes away from your apartment. “So, I just thought I’d stop by.” Alec wets his chapped lips with the swipe of his tongue. “And, uh, see if that offer for a proper check up was still on the table. I’m not feeling well.” I needed any excuse to see you.

Magnus’ lips curl into a smile, his lip gloss glinting under the soft lamp light, and Alec imagines what it would be like to tug him by the jacket and kiss him senseless.

“For you? Always.”

Magnus guides Alec into his apothecary and sits him down on a leather stool. He flits about the room, collecting jars with concerning labels like “Giants’ Toes” and “Snake Tears” and rifling around drawers and cabinets for tools and magical oddities. He pokes and prods Alec with so many things, Alec actually breathes a sigh of relief at the sense of familiarity when Magnus draws out a mundane stethoscope — primitive though it may be.

Magnus stands behind him, instructing Alec to breathe normally, as he listens through the device. He presses two fingers to Alec’s wrist and checks his watch, taking Alec’s pulse. Then takes it again a minute later.

“Your breathing is a little shallow, and your heart rate is slightly alarming, but besides that, everything else seems normal.”

Alec swallows down the urge to tell Magnus that it’s because of him. “Thanks for the check up. Any recommendations, doc?”

Magnus pretends to think about it. “Spend the whole day in bed.”

Magnus’ eyes widen as soon as he realizes the implication laced in what he just said, and he drops the stethoscope. Alec moves to pick it up at the same time as Magnus. Their hands brush as they reach for the cool metal. Their eyes meet, and Alec feels the temperature in the room increase by about twenty degrees.

The moment is interrupted by an alarm screeching from Alec’s back pocket. He yanks his phone out and swipes over the screen. A red angelic power rune flashes, and Alec scrolls up to read the distress signal.

“One of my patrols.” There’s a delay as his words catch up to his mind, and he reads and rereads the alert. “They were ambushed by the dragon demon. Down in Astoria.”

Alec grabs his leather jacket off of the back of the chair he tossed it on when he first arrived and scans the room, trying to remember where he left his bow.

“Give me the coordinates. I’ll make a portal.”

Alec opens his mouth to protest but then thinks better of it. There’s nothing he can say that will dissuade Magnus from coming along, because that’s the kind of man Magnus is. People are in danger, so he’s going to help. There’s no argument to be made.

It’s one of the infinite things Alec loves about him.

Magnus takes the phone from Alec. He stands in the center of the room and circles his arms, glowing orange magic flaming at his fingertips as he conjures a portal. The air grows thin as the vortex sucks out all of the room’s oxygen — like a vacuum. Magnus looks to Alec to make sure he’s ready. Alec slings his bow and quiver over his shoulder and stands beside Magnus in front of the portal.

Magnus laces their fingers together, and they leap.

Alec doesn’t let go when they step through the portal. They emerge near the Hell Gate Bridge, which Alec thinks is fitting given the circumstances. He hears the crash of rushing water coming from the Hudson and a shriek unlike anything he’s ever heard before.

Footsteps crescendo up the asphalt path he and Magnus are standing on as Underill sprints over to them. He’s out of breath by the time he catches up to them, panting as he rests his hands on his knees. Alec finally realizes that he and Magnus are still holding hands and releases his grip.

“The demon… sir…” Underhill tries in between breaths. “Lindsay and Raj—”

“Are they okay?” Alec prompts.

Magnus summons a bottle of water and passes it to Underhill, who swallows down the whole thing in three gulps. “They’re alive,” Underhill says, “but they need medical attention.”

Alec turns to Magnus. “Can you keep the portal open?” Magnus nods, and Alec shifts his attention back to Underhill. “I need you to take them to the infirmary.”

“But, sir, what about you—” Underhill tries to protest.

“Magnus and I have it covered. Now hurry up; that’s an order.”

Underhill helps Lindsay and Raj to their feet, slinging their arms over each of his shoulders, and dragging them through the portal. Alec has his bow drawn and ready, surveying the area for the dragon demon to cover them while they make their escape. As soon as Underhill ushers them through, Magnus seals the portal behind him.

Alec hears a flapping sound and a sudden gust of wind knocks him off his feet.

“Alexander, are you alright?” Magnus asks as he kneels down to help Alec up.

Alec dusts himself off. “Yeah, I’m fine— Magnus, look out!”

They duck just as a giant flying mass swoops above them. It fills the air around them with a rancid stench, like rotting flesh and spoiled eggs but a hundred times worse. The scent is as ingrained in Alec as the sound of Izzy’s laugh or Max’s favorite book. Demon ichor.

Alec looks up and sees the unmistakable silhouette of a dragon. Its emerald scales glisten under the afternoon sun as two wings, at least ten feet each in length, flap to keep the beast afloat. Six ivory horns protrude from the top of its head and smoke flares from the tip of its snout. It opens its mouth to let out another piercing scream, so sharp it could shatter glass, and reveals a mountain range of jagged teeth. But what Alec can’t stop staring at is the dragon’s eyes — as pitch black as coal and as cold as a January blizzard.

The demon launches up about fifty feet in the air in five seconds, and Magnus and Alec make a run for it, taking cover behind a stone fence.

“What do we do?” Alec asks, breath coming out in pants.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who hunts demons for a living.”

“But I’ve never hunted a dragon.”

The demon barrels towards them, its body spinning like a lethal projectile. They dart away in opposite directions just as the demon collides with the fence and shatters it. The demon clenches its jaw, almost like it’s charging an attack, and Alec realizes that it’s readying a fiery breath.

He braces for heat, but instead, the demon opens its mouth and shoots out a bolt of lightning, scorching the earth below. Magnus hurls an orange pulse of magic at the dragon, and it cries out when the blast connects. Alec nocks an arrow and launches it at the demon’s abdomen, and the demon retreats behind a patch of trees, black blood dripping as it goes.

“I think we made it angry,” Magnus notes.

“Could be worse.”

The demon charges towards them again, plowing down the bramble of trees in its path, but it swoops upwards and abruptly stops as soon as it reaches Alec. Its motion sends an even stronger gust of wind Alec’s way, knocking his quiver off his shoulder, and the demon breathes out a bolt of lightning, destroying all of Alec’s arrows.

Alec, rendered defenseless against an aerial target, runs as fast as his legs will take him away from the dragon. Magnus throws a ball of energy at the demon’s head, his glamour dropped in the heat of battle revealing two golden cat eyes. Rather than go after Magnus, the demon seems to want to finish what it started with Alec, accelerating towards him after recovering from Magnus’ attack.

Alec runs towards an open plane — cover nowhere close enough. The dragon takes the opportunity to breathe out another barrage of lightning.

Magnus’ piercing cat eyes dart from the dragon to Alec, and in a split second decision, Magnus hurls out a pulse of magic that sends Alec flying. As he’s launched through the air, Alec watches the dragon’s blast collide with Magnus, shooting electricity throughout his whole body. Magnus cries out in pain but lashes out with every last drop of magic he has.

Alec passes out as soon as he hits the stone wall of the bridge.

Alec comes to gradually. He feels warm sensations tickling his skin, like he’s bathing in a bed of silk, and the soft hum of familiar blue flames coaxing him awake. Magnus.

Alec blinks his eyes open, wincing as his eyes adjust to the light from the setting sun, and moves to sit up. A sharp pain shoots up through his chest where he collided with the bridge. It feels like a shard of glass is traveling through his veins, and for all he knows, maybe that’s what’s happening.

Gentle hands nudge Alec back down, and an arm wraps around his back, pulling him closer to a chest that beats as rapidly as his own.

“I’m sorry, angel. I’m not done healing you yet,” Magnus’ soothes.

Alec grimaces as Magnus’ magic stitches his skin back together, healing bruised ribs and mending broken bones. Magnus works with the skilled hands of a surgeon but with the delicate care of a NICU nurse, only moving Alec when absolutely necessary to minimize the pain.

“I know it hurts.” Magnus’ voice sounds like a lullaby. “But I’m almost done.”

Alec reaches up, his fingers brushing Magnus’ cheek. The simple motion takes far more energy than it should — a testament to just how serious his impact with the wall was — but it could have been so much worse if it was the dragon’s lightning blast he faced instead of the rough concrete.

“You threw yourself in front of the demon, that could’ve killed you.” Alec groans as Magnus mends a particularly tender muscle. “Why would you risk your life to save me?”

Magnus stops healing him for a moment and shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “You stupid Nephilim,” Magnus chides, but his tone is light, as if he were scolding Alec for having dessert before dinner. “You honestly haven’t figured it out by now?”

“Figured what out—” Alec starts to ask, but then it dawns on him and suddenly the last few years of their relationship click into place.

All of the late nights poring over ancient texts until dawn broke at the Manhattan skyline. The biweekly updates to the Institute wards Magnus assured him were standard protocol. The charged glances across the room at Clave functions and the casual touches during post-Cabinet meeting drinks at the Hunter’s Moon. Every moment that Alec cursed himself for reading too much into.

He was right.

“By the Angel, I’m an idiot.”

Magnus chuckles, beaming down at Alec’s head in his lap. He absentmindedly runs his fingers though Alec’s hair as a sad smile tugs at his lips. “I’m sorry for bringing this up now. I know it’s not the time, especially when… I know you don’t feel the same.” Magnus looks away, but his fingers still tangle in Alec’s hair.

“What? No, I—” Alec moves to sit up again and regrets it immediately, stumbling back into Magnus’ lap. “I want to be your idiot.”

Magnus’ eyes widen, his rich brown irises glamouring his natural gold, and he sits back on his heels. He looks shocked and scared and ready to flee as soon as he can, like a trapped deer, but after learning that Magnus feels the same, Alec will never let him go. He’s wasted too much time already that could have been theirs.

“I’ve been in love with you since we defeated that Circle member together.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says, “that was years ago.”

“I know.”

“I clearly made my affections known back then.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows down a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you terrified me.”

Magnus’ face falls, and he looks as though Alec just stabbed him in the heart. Alec has unknowingly played with his heart and disappointed Magnus so many times throughout their relationship, and he’s tired of it. He’s done hurting Magnus. Magnus deserves so much better.

“You’re the most incredible man alive, and I didn’t deserve you. I still don’t,” Alec clarifies. “You were also the first guy I ever had real feelings for, and I was afraid that you’d break my heart. But now I see that’s all I’ve done to you.”

“You still don’t see how special you are, Alexander.”

“Not with you right above me.”

Magnus leans down and presses his lips to Alec’s. Magnus tastes like everything Alec imagined he would, from the cool mint of his lipgloss to the salt of his skin and the fire of his soul, Alec loves it all. Alec cups his hand around Magnus cheek, and Magnus tugs at his hair. Alec licks into the wet, hot heat of Magnus’ mouth, savoring every last moment with this beautiful man he craves so desperately.

When they part, Magnus whispers, “So, you want to be my idiot?”

Alec wouldn’t have it any other way.

[jakkosisle]

Career Change

The first six months of the Battle for Azeroth was essentially one long stalemate.  The Horde burns down Teldrassil, so the Alliance lays siege to Lordaeron.  The Horde tries to recruit the Zandalari Empire, so the Alliance tries to recruit Kul Tiras.  The Horde opens up a new front in the Arathi Highlands, so the Alliance opens up a new front in Darkshore.  Back and forth, blow for blow, the Alliance and Horde competed with each other endlessly, with neither side really getting a leg up over the other.

Until now, that is.

Jakko looked around the Hot House.  What was once his favorite restaurant in the Zoccalo was now a makeshift hospital for wounded soldiers.  Waiters and waitresses suddenly having to play nurse to dozens of injured orcs, tauren, elves, and of course trolls.  Similar medical outposts had been set up all over the city, to treat the wounded from the battle.

The Alliance had sacked Dazar’alor.  First, they faked an attack from Nazmir, luring away the bulk of the Zandalari and Horde armies, leaving the harbor nearly defenseless.  Second, they somehow destroyed what ships remained in the harbor - witnesses say the ships just blew up for no damn reason, leading most to suspect sabotage.

The Alliance made landfall in the harbor, slaughtering anyone and anything that was too slow or stupid to get out of their way as they stormed their way up to the pyramid.  There, they did the unthinkable.

They killed King Rastakhan.

By that point, the Horde had finally returned to the city.  They were able to chase the Alliance forces back out to sea, but the damage was already done.  The God King was dead, and the Golden Fleet had been gutted like a fish.  The Alliance now stood with the superior naval force, and the Horde’s odds of winning the Battle for Azeroth just got a lot slimmer.

Jakko reached checked his watch.  She’s late.  That didn’t surprise him.  Punctuality had never been Spritzie’s strong suit, and that was back when they were on speaking terms.

Ever since the Battle for Lordaeron, Spritzie…changed.  That sweet, cheerful young goblin was gone.  She lost too much that day.  She became harder.  More ruthless.  Started picking up bad habits like drinking and picking fights for no damn reason.  Her bad attitude got her kicked out of two guilds, and the last time they spoke was months ago, and that wasn’t so much speaking as it was yelling and screaming.

I’m sorry, Rikko.  Jakko promised his brother, minutes before his death, that he would look after their family.  Lately, he was failing.  Miserably.

Jakko’s ears twitched as he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in weeks.  He looked over and saw Spritzie outside the Hot House, instructing a devilsaur and a large spider to stay put outside while she went in.  Gone were the goblin’s childish pigtails and in their place was a sweeping hairstyle held in place with a skull pin.  She wore armor that was black as night with a skull emblem on the belt.  Jakko was sensing a theme.  Strapped to her back was her old sniper rifle, a wolf-slayer model, souped up to double as a shotgun through the miracle of goblin technology.  She didn’t even look at Jakko as she took a seat next to him at the bar and ordered a drink.

“Surprised you showed up.” Jakko said.

“I was thinkin’ of blowin’ you off.” Spritzie replied.  “But your letter made you sound so fuckin’ pathetic that I had to come and see for myself just how deep in the gutter you are.”

That surprised Jakko.  He had kept the letter brief.  He only said that a lot had happened in the last few weeks and that there were some things that Jakko and Spritzie needed to talk about.  Spritzie must’ve inferred Jakko’s desperation from the simple fact he bothered to reach out at all.  It unnerved him, seeing how perceptive she really was.

The troll tapped his finger on the table as an awkward silence hovered between them.  “So…what’ve you been up to lately?” he asked, unsure of how else to begin the discussion.

Spritzie paused in thought, taking a moment to digest Jakko’s question.  Then she smiled like a cat in a canary cage.  “Well, lately I’ve been in Darkshore a lot.  Guess those night elves didn’t quite get the message the first time we kicked their asses.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like destroying their city pissed ‘em off or somethin’.” Jakko quipped.  You fucking dumbass - you need her help and you think NOW is a good time to be a snarky dick?

“In that case, YOU should be as pissed off as they are.” Spritzie pointed out.  She jerked a thumb outside.  “Don’t know if you noticed, but the Alliance kinda kicked your race’s ass in a major way.  Don’t tell me you’re not itchin’ for a little payback.”

Jakko had to admit, Spritzie had a point.  Jakko remembered being awe-struck the first time he set foot in Dazar’alor.  A living, breathing, thriving city of trolls.  He never thought that such a thing could exist outside of history and legend.  Seeing the City of Gold in all its splendor made him think that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for the troll race.  Hope that they could one day become something more than just a collection of survivors stubbornly clinging to the edge.

Hope that the Alliance tried to destroy.  He was there, with his mate Vorz’ka, in the Zoccalo when the Alliance attacked.  Mole machines erupted from the ground and Dark Iron poured out, terrorizing the people, looting anything that wasn’t nailed down and setting fire to anything that was.  It was a miracle the Horde showed up when it did to take back the Zoccalo before Alliance forces could do too much damage.  From what he heard, the docks weren’t as lucky.

The Zandalari didn’t even do anything wrong.  Not this time, at least.  Their only crime was asking the Horde for help.  For the first time since this stupid war started, Jakko found himself truly, genuinely angry at the Alliance.

But he was even angrier at Sylvanas.

“If Sylvanas hadn’t started this war, the Alliance would’ve never attacked Dazar’alor in the first place.” Jakko growled.  “The Alliance killed Rastakhan, but she was the one who put the target on his back.”

“Oh, don’t even TRY to spin this to make it look like Sylvanas’s fault!” Spritzie snapped.  “The Alliance kills trolls so often, they use troll sweat to grease their war machines!  Dazar’alor was just another Tuesday for them!”

“Then how come they didn’t wanna attack Zandalar until WE came here?!” Jakko snapped back.  “Everything the Alliance has done was because SHE pissed THEM off!  SHE’S the reason we’re in this mess to start with!”

“The Alliance hate us!” Spritzie ranted.  “Remember Stormheim?!  The Burning Legion was lookin’ to destroy BOTH factions, but that wasn’t enough to kill the Alliance’s hate boner for us, judgin’ from the way they merrily bombed our fuckin’ fleet!  THEY’RE the reason we went to Zandalar - because we needed a new fleet to replace the one THEY blew up!”

“Oh, they hate us.  Okay.  Well.  Here’s an idea.  LET’S BURN DOWN THEIR WORLD TREE!  THAT’LL MAKE ‘EM NOT HATE US!  GREAT PLAN, SYLVANAS!”

“War was inevitable!  Ever since we figured out what Azerite was, it was only a matter of time until war broke out over the stuff!  Sylvanas was just smart enough to get in the first punch!”

“War was inevitable?  Really?  With Anduin ‘Let’s all just hug it out’ Wrynn as High King?  Gimme a break.”

“Two things - first off, Anduin’s not as much of a goody-two-shoes as he lets on.  Call it a gut feelin.’  Second, look at all the Alliance leaders who DO hate us!  Greymane!  Whisperwind!  Fuckin’ Proudmoore!  And you think they’re all gonna lay down their arms just cuz some teenage pretty boy tells ‘em to?  That’s NOT how it’s gonna go down and you KNOW IT!”

Jakko groaned.  “Fucking…okay, look, I don’t want to argue with you on this.”  Political arguments like these were part of the reason Spritzie cut communication for so long.

“Ah, so you’re giving up then?” Spritzie asked with a smirk.

“No, I’m-“

“You said ‘I don’t wanna argue with you on this.’  Which I know is Jakko-speak for ‘I’m wrong and you’re right, I just don’t wanna admit it.’”

“Can we PLEASE just-“

“No!” Spritzie snapped.  “Not until you admit that I won the argument!”

“Look, I just want-“

“Oh my gold, you can’t even admit that YOU’RE WRONG!!!”

Spritzie was now standing on top of the bar stool, giving Jakko the most hateful glare he’d seen since…well, the last time they had an argument like this one.  “…THIS is why I cut you out of my life.  THIS is why Akivani left you, and it’s why Vorz’ka’s gonna leave you too one day.  It’s because you’re arrogant.  It’s because you think you know what’s best for everybody.”

She paused, then shook his head.  “I came because I thought maybe you finally swallowed some of that fuckin’ pride of yours.  I shoulda known better.”  With that, she hopped off and began storming her way out.

Nice going, you stupid asshole.  You just couldn’t do it, could you?  You just couldn’t NOT be a piece of shit for five fuckin’ minutes, huh?  The fuck is wrong with you?  How many times do you have to do this shit before you realize that doing this shit is a bad idea?  You are letting EVERYONE down, you STUPID, SELFISH, WORTHLESS-

“Vorz’ka’s pregnant!” Jakko called out before Spritzie could reach the exit.

The goblin turned around and looked over her shoulder.  “…What?” she asked.

“…Vorz’ka’s pregnant.” Jakko said again, quieter this time.  “I…I need your help, Spritz.”

Spritzie turned back towards Jakko and stared him down.  “…Help with what?”

“Shiverblood’s not payin’ enough.” Jakko said.  “Not enough to feed three.  I…I heard you was with Firebrand now, right?  Pay’s good?”

“Yeah.  So whaddaya want?” Spritzie pressed, running low on patience.

“…I need you to put in a good word for me.  I need a job with Firebrand.” Jakko said.  “Please.”

Spritzie stared down Jakko for a good few seconds.  She then sighed.  “…I’ll talk to the boss about it.” she said.  “If I get you an interview, it’ll probably be at our office in Orgrimmar.  Ask for Tamani Tightclamps, she’s our hiring manager.”

“Thanks, Spritz.” Jakko said.

“Don’t thank me.” Spritzie replied.  “I’m not doin’ this for you.”

On that note, she turned and left the Hot House.  Jakko sighed as he rubbed his face with his hands.  Okay.  He’ll have an interview.  That’s…something, he guessed.  All he had to do was not fuck it up.

Good luck with THAT.  Stupid asshole…

[discogs]

the permanent shivers down your spine,

a look at an underrated classic.

There is no right configuration of words that can express the weight of a song like ‘Shivers,’ although I set out to persuade you into believing this is a masterpiece I really cannot do such a thing if you do not believe from the first few seconds that it is. If it does not create a dwelling within you upon its start, this may prove a fruitless venture. At the risk of sounding exclusionary, some art is made to matter only to a set few. It is because of this that I will not try to force your head under water to understand how it feels to drown. All I can do is paint you a picture of the bottom of the ocean to explain the way the current feels.

Shivers, in short, is a approximation of everything one should aspire to conquer in an artistic career. The biggest horror of humankind is to be forgotten. The thought which wracks at the collective soul of mankind is to be a stranger to the history books, the common goal of creators and the everyday man alike is to be eternal. Every name which leaves our lips in a list of legends is a name which carries with it some kind of resounding cultural wealth.   Every song you hear repeatedly on the radio leaves something within you every time it is played, no matter the love or hate you may feel for it, you will remember it, and you will continue to hear it. These songs, often albatrosses to the musicians associated with it, stab their flag into the world to shine for the rest of time. This is the common denominator in all of history. A need to be remembered. It’s at this point that you’re probably realising you have either never heard this song or at least hadn’t heard it until you were much older than you were when you first became aware of music. The specific memory of this song is lost to most, but to me what matters is not the the song itself as a singular entity, but instead its power as an encapsulating phenomena. It is the wide plains within the song, the feelings this song conjures up that are universal and eternal to the human condition.

Shockingly, the song’s origins do not lie in the winding milky way, orchestrated by some celestial fiend looking to stir the whole of the earth. Instead it has its roots inside a sixteen year old’s harsh cynicism, remarking one day in 1977 that the infatuation of teenage love is beyond childish. The chronically sarcastic Rowland  S. Howard was then fronting Melbourne band The Young Charlatans with fellow bandmate, Ollie Olsen. I would be remiss to imply that Howard was unaware of his destiny to become a towering figure in rock, it is evident in early video recordings seen in the 2011 documentary, Autoluminescent that Howard has always carried himself with the unmistakable power of an established rock’n’roll star. This trait carries on into the original 1978 recording of “Shivers” with the Young Charlatans where Howard scowls over rough instrumentals about a ‘love’ which sees none other than herself, making hollow statements about the fragility of his heart and the poker face he holds to mask the non-substantial pain he feels for the woman at hand. In this version we can clearly make out the jaded tone of the song and understand it more as a vision of dead, perhaps never lifeless desire, mistaken as heartbreak by an idle teenager. This idea is resoundingly lost in the more popularised version of the song, recorded just a year later with bad-seed-to-be Nick Cave on lead vocals, backed by another Melbourne band which Howard joined forces with just a few months after the original recording of ‘Shivers.’

Despite the sarcastic intent by the ghostly Howard, the version recorded by the Boys Next Door in 1979 has cast a romantic shadow over the work. The blasé attitude of the first cut is thrown aside entirely for a more genuine, harrowing ballad echoing the likes of Roxy Music. The song created here is one of true heartbreak and disbelief with the cruelty of humanity’s heart. The track  is introduced by a stinging guitar and tumbling drums, expanding a wide open space within your mind shrouded in cigarette smoke from which arises the devastated Cave, who’s shaking vocals shoot a hole straight through your rib cage leaving you fatally wounded. This is a boy torn to pieces by vicious indifference, shot down from Cupid’s grasps by the worst feeling known to his teenage heart: unrequited love. Cave’s dominating voice are rivaled only by the staggering presence of Howard’s signature weeping guitar, piercing the lush, heavy song with razor blade precision, as is custom for Howard’s style - which seems to aim to kill more than it aims to please. There is no better adversary to Cave’s crooning than Howard’s sting, the two of which do not meet harmoniously until the chorus, which delivers a gutteral kick to the chest sending you spiraling through the darkest of emotions back to your most sorrowful nights. One cannot help but imagine a pouring champagne bottle hurtling through a dusty velvet clad and lonely lounge when embarking upon the expanse of this track. It solidifies for the listener a dark and terrorising thought of love into a barbed wire wrapped sacred heart bleeding crimson.

Though the premise of the song is essentially warped, the ability to create an entirely new entity out of unchanged source material proves the unstoppable malleability of the lyrics themselves. The most remarkable thing about this song is it’s unbelievable capacity for interpretation, artists have twisted and turned the music and melodies of this song into innumerable different sensations, all having only one thing in common - the undeniable genius of the lyrical framework. Seldom ever are the words altered, they stay put like the metal frame of a skyscraper unable to move, it is simply the world around them which changes. The distinct adaptability of the track is what digs its nails into the field of unforgettable classics, for the best of things that we can make are those which can mean platitudes to hundreds of different people. It is this kaleidoscope of expression that renders it deserving of its place in music history, for there are very few things which can mean so much without ever changing, and continue to do so for every listener and artist who decide to take it on.  I had mentioned the sheer scope of the song at the beginning of this article, touching upon the plains that rest within this track. Though one may find it useless to be remembered for something that your face is not directly associated with, I find the opposite far more poetic and substantial. What it is that Howard has managed to do here is to strip this monolith of an art piece from all it’s corporal ties, allowing it to become a free form, endlessly traveling thing which falls into the possession of a select few to be toyed with and thought of before escaping back into the ether to be discovered once more.

[sickdaysofficial]

Sickdays 4.0: Day 4: Hiding it

Street Rats, Part 2

this is a continuation of a collab between me (@lickstynine) and August (@feelingsick), with my Kazu and his Bel

tw for injury and drug use

It was nearly a month later when the two crossed paths again. The weather had gotten colder and much wetter, alternating between snow and ice most nights. Having finally made a bit of money on the first job he’d gotten in far too long, Kazu had decided to drop by the strip club. He only had a handful of ones and a crumpled five, having spent the rest on food and… other recreations, but he figured it was better than nothing. He glanced in the screen of his phone, using the glass as a mirror and praying the black eye he’d gotten the other day had faded some. He couldn’t do much about the cuts on his face or the bandages on his hands, but he hoped actually having money on him would make his sorry appearance forgivable.

It didn’t take long for him find Bel, the purple hair making him impossible to miss. The dancer had apparently just finished his set as the song ended to uproarious applause. Bel smiled coyly to his audience, blowing a kiss to some of the louder patrons. As he turned to head off the stage though, his gaze fell on Kazu and froze there, his sultry mask slipping to give way to genuine surprise.

Bel grabbed one of the dancers by the edge of the stage, whispering something to them before slipping off the stage and making his way to a door in the back. He turned, giving Kazu a pointed look and nodding towards the door as he slipping inside.

The dark-haired boy, though a little out of it, was no fool, and quickly followed Bel into the back. He gave a halfassed wave, trying not to wince despite the motion hurting his wrist. “Sup?”

“Where have you been?” Bel asked, eyeing him up and down. “Jesus, look at you…”

“Workin’, mostly,” Kazu mumbled. He was slurring a bit, likely wasted. “‘n we si’down ‘n talk? I gotta headache…” that was no lie; he’d taken a nasty hit in the fight the other night, resulting in a massive bruise and a fairly decent-sized cut on the back of his head. Luckily, it was obscured by his hair, so Bel was unlikely to notice it and start fussing.

Nodding, Bel took hold of Kazu’s arm, dragging the lanky boy behind him as they moved through the dressing rooms. The dancers they passed paid them no mind, most not even glancing up as Bel escorted him to a set of stairs at the back of the building. He drug him up the stairs and into a tiny room with nothing more than a cheap bed in it.

“What’re we doin’ up here? I ain’t got money to fuck… barely got cash for a dance…” Kazu slurred, fishing through his pocket for the handful of bills he’d brought.

“I’m not on the clock right now,” Bel said, shaking his head and pushing the offered money aside. “You look like you’re about to keel over. Just sit down,” he urged, pushing Kazu over to the bed.

The taller boy didn’t object, plunking gracelessly onto the bed. “Didja miss me?” he asked, clearly joking.

“More than you missed me, apparently.” Bel sat beside him, looking at him more closely. “Please tell me you haven’t been sleeping on the streets this whole time,” he said, though it was clear Kazu had been doing just that. Bel touched his hand, noting the deep cracks in his knuckles from the cold.

“S’not that I didn’t wanna come back… jus’ didn’t feel right to show up broke again. I stiffed ya once already, ain’t that bad enough?”

Bel stiffened. “I’m more than a piece of ass, you know. You don’t have to pay to spend time with me.”

Kazu’s brow furrowed. “I ain’t tryna buy ya, I just feel like I’m wastin’ your time if I can’t give ya anything in return. D’ya want some worthless bum hangin’ around?” he stared shamefully at the ground, wishing his vision would stop wavering.

“Only if it’s you,” Bel answered. “Jesus, Kazu, I was really worried about you.”

“Well, whatcha doin’ that for?”

Bel huffed in irritation. “You should have come back sooner. I’ve been expecting to find you frozen to death in a gutter.”

“Hey!” Kazu huffed back, “I ain’t that easy to kill.”

“Obviously, because you look like you should be dead by now.”

Kazu snorted indignantly despite knowing Bel was right. “Rude.”

Bel smiled a little. “Seriously though, are you okay?”

“Eh,” Kazu simply shrugged. The answer was no, but he would have to admit that to himself before he’d say so.

Bel didn’t look like he was buying it, but he didn’t know how to press the issue if Kazu wasn’t going to talk. He glanced towards the door, biting his lip. “I should get back to work soon. You could stay here though, if you wanted. Sleep off whatever this is.”

“Shit, yea. Don’t lemme keep ya. I won’t go anywhere.” Kazu promised. It was partly to placate Bel, and partly because he wasn’t sure he was even capable of leaving in this state. The pounding in his head had only gotten worse, and he could hardly see straight.

Bel still looked unsure, but he stood moving towards the door. He turned back to Kazu, hesitating. “Just sit tight, okay? I’ve only got a couple more hours.”

“No rush. Make your money.” Kazu was already curling up, hoping a bit of rest would ease his growing lightheadedness.

When Bel returned a couple hours later, he had changed out of his skimpy clothes and into something more substantial. He knelt by the bed, shaking Kazu’s shoulder to rouse him. “Hey, we can get out of here if you want.”

“Mmh?” The taller boy only lifted his head a few inches, eyes bleary and unfocused. “Fuckin… what?”

“Come on,” Bel said, nodding towards the door. “We can head back to my place.”

“Right, yea…” Kazu swung his legs off the bed, stumbling to his feet. He nearly toppled over, but managed to stay upright, groaning softly and putting a hand to his head.

Bel put a hand on his arm. “Kazu, are you alright? You don’t look good.”

“‘M fine.” He lied, “‘n who said ya could call me ‘at?” He didn’t sound legitimately mad, more like he was just giving Bel grief.

“Oh, come off it. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Fine, I feel like shit. Whaddaya wan’ from me?” Kazu groaned, somewhere between frustrated and generally miserable.

“I knew it,” Bel accused. “Are you alright? Do you think you can make it to my place?”

The taller boy nodded, though he was only about 70% sure. “Yea, let’s… let’s jus’ go.”

Bel nodded, taking Kazu’s hand and tugging him out of the room. Going down the stairs made him nervous, but they took it slow, Bel watching nervously with every step Kazu took.

“So, are you ever gonna tell me what happened?” he asked once they were outside.

“Jus’… rough work.” Kazu mumbled. He wasn’t trying to be vague, just struggling to string together coherent thoughts, especially in English.

“You’re not making this easy.” Bel sighed. “What do you need? You didn’t find me just to pay for a dance, yeah?”

“I’unno… jus’ wanted to see ya.” The taller boy admitted sheepishly, his cheeks glowing pink.

Bel rolled his eyes, looking like he wanted to be annoyed but couldn’t manage it. They made it to Bel’s apartment, and Bel pulled Kazu inside, dragging him to the couch. “Here. Sit down before you fall over.”

Kazu couldn’t be bothered to argue, dropping onto the couch with a sigh.

Bel hovered beside him, unsure of what to do. “Do you need anything? Medicine? A drink?”

“Drink would be good, yea.” Kazu nodded, managing a tiny smile.

Bel retreated to the kitchen, coming back a second later and offering Kazu a glass of water. The taller boy furrowed his brows as he took a sip, thoroughly disappointed with the lack of alcohol. He didn’t say anything, though, as he actually was pretty thirsty. Stretching out, he asked, “So whatcha normally do when there’s not a loser camped out on your couch?”

Bel shrugged, taking a seat beside him. “I don’t know. Relax, mostly. Sleep. Read.”

“Nerd. You read?” Kazu teased.

Bel blushed. “Well, what do you do for fun?”

“Get high, beat people up.”

Bel snorted. “Wow. That sounds like a lot more fun than quietly relaxing at home.”

“Not really,” Kazu shrugged, “It’s just all I’m good at. I couldn’t read a fuckin’ book if ya paid me.”

“Mmm, well then you’re not invited to my book club,” Bel quipped.

“Good, it’s prob’ly full a’ nerds.” Kazu grinned mischievously. He was kinda tipping over into Bel’s lap, and it wasn’t clear whether he was doing it deliberately or not.

Bel draped his arm over Kazu’s shoulders, pulling him the rest of the way down into his lap. “You’re such a mess,” he murmured.

The taller boy couldn’t really object to that, especially considering he had to adjust to ease the pressure on the back of his head, which was still aching like a motherfucker. “Well, ya like me anyway.”

Bel ran his hand through Kazu’s long hair, pausing as his fingers found the sticky cut on the back of his head. “What’s this?” he asked, trying to part through Kazu’s hair to get a better look.

Kazu winced, mumbling, “Nothin’…” even though that was obviously not true. His hair was a bit of a matted mess, but it was pretty straight and sleek, so it wasn’t too hard to untangle. The cut wasn’t very deep, but it was surprisingly long, easily four inches and surrounded by dark bruising.

“That’s definitely not nothing,” Bel murmured. “Shit. Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No!” The taller boy scrambled to sit up, pulling away with fear glinting in his eyes. “No, I’m fine.”

“Kazu, you probably need stitches,” Bel protested, reaching for him. “You could have a concussion.”

“I-I’m fine, it’s fine. I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine.” Kazu attempted to stand up, but he stumbled, falling to his hands and knees next to the couch. He cursed under his breath, trying to pull himself back upright.

Bel caught his shoulders, holding him down. “Take it easy. I won’t take you to the hospital, alright? You’re okay.”

That seemed to relax Kazu some, and some of the tension faded from his wiry frame. He gave a shaky exhale, nodding slowly. “Help me up?”

Bel took his arm and helped him to his feet, easing him back onto the couch. “Shit. What…what do you do for someone who’s had their head bashed in?” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

“I’unno, fuckin… painkillers?” Kazu grumbled, burying his face in the couch cushions. He was still a little dizzy, and his headache hadn’t eased up in the slightest.

“Oh, right…” Bel dashed into his tiny bathroom, grabbing a bottle of painkillers and hurrying back to Kazu’s side. “Here.”

“Thanks…” The dark-haired boy swayed a little as he sat up, accepting the pills and downing them dry. He curled back up on the couch, struggling to get comfortable despite the aches all over his body.

Bel retreated to his bedroom, returning a moment later with a blanket. “You can crash here as long as you need,” he offered, draping the blanket over Kazu’s body.

“Are you sure?” Kazu squinted up at the purple-haired boy. “I don’ wanna get in your way…”

Bel shook his head. “You won’t, trust me.”

Lacking the energy to argue it further, Kazu just nodded. He tugged the blanket around himself, one hand reaching out to gingerly rub his temple. “Thanks.”

“Do you need anything else?” Bel asked.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Can I ask for you?”

Bel couldn’t help but laugh. “I really don’t think you’re in any shape to be asking for that.”

Kazu huffed, despite expecting such an answer. “Damn…”

“Maybe if you’re still around in the morning, though…” Bel shrugged.

“I don’t think I could leave if I tried right now…”

“Fair enough.” Bel turned and headed into the kitchen rummaging around his cabinets. “I’m gonna make some ramen. Do you want any?” he called.

Kazu recoiled at the thought of food, despite looking like he hadn’t eaten in days. “Not hungry.”

“You’re wasting away,” Bel argued, dumping two packets into a pot of water. “Come on, you should eat something.”

“Don’t wanna.” the dark-haired boy pouted. The combination of whatever he was coming down off and a mild concussion wasn’t exactly kind to the appetite. Just thinking about eating made him queasy, and he pulled the blanket over his head to hide.

“Not negotiable,” Bel sing-songed. “You’re not gonna come over here and die on my couch.” He came back into the room carrying two bowls and held one out to Kazu. “Eat.”

Kazu stayed hidden under the blanket. “Nope. Get that shit away from me.” He wasn’t being very cooperative, but in his defense, the aroma of overly salty fake flavoring was actually starting to make him nauseous.  

Bel set his bowl on the tiny end table beside the couch, grabbing the blanket and trying to pull it away. “Come on, you’re acting like a child. It’s just soup.”

The taller boy scrabbled for the blanket, but lost it to Bel, reluctantly sitting up a little. Most of the colour was gone from his face, giving his golden-tan complexion a ghastly grey undertone. “Fine,” he grumbled, “gimme the stupid soup.”

Smiling triumphantly, Bel placed the bowl in Kazu’s lap before taking his own bowl and taking a seat on the couch. “You can sleep after you eat, I promise.”

Kazu didn’t reply, busy forcing down mouthfuls of soup while making a face like he was eating rat poison. He barely touched the noodles, mostly just sipping at the ridiculously salty broth.

Bel ate his own food quietly, glancing at Kazu now and then to make sure he was eating. Satisfied, he pulled a worn paperback off the side table and began absently flipping through it. As soon as Bel was distracted, Kazu stopped properly eating, fiddling with his spoon for a bit before just setting the bowl aside. He grabbed the glass of water Bel had brought earlier, downing the rest to get the taste of salt and disappointment out of his mouth.  

“I could pick up some more food when I get off work tomorrow,” Bel offered, not looking up from his book. “I don’t have much here.”

“Don’t waste your money on me. I don’t eat much.” Kazu waved a hand dismissively at Bel before cozying up to the smaller boy to use his lap as a pillow.

Bel set his bowl aside. “I don’t mind. I can afford a few extra bucks worth of groceries.” He ran his fingers through Kazu’s hair, being careful to avoid his cut.

The taller boy settled down, burying his face in Bel’s thighs. If he were capable, he would’ve been purring. As he started to doze off, his breathing grew steady, the quiet exhales tickling Bel’s legs. It only got worse as he drifted deeper into sleep, snoring softly. Not wanting to disturb him, Bel reached down with some difficulty and grabbed the discarded blanket off the floor, tossing it over Kazu’s shoulders. With nothing else to do, Bel picked up his book again, continuing to play with Kazu’s hair as he read. Clearly exhausted, Kazu was out for the count, a lanky heap of dead weight sprawled across the couch.

Bel had already been awake for quite a while when the stray demon on his couch started to stir. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Kazu only stayed up for a second, dropping back against the cushions with a hiss of pain. “ah, fuck me…”

“Good morning to you, too,” Bel greeted, stepping into the living room. “If you’re hungry, I’ve got cereal.”

“I dunno if I can even sit up, man. Everything fuckin hurts…” Kazu’s voice was muffled by the couch cushion against his face, but he was still audible enough.

“Maybe just this then?” Bel asked, holding out the bottle of painkillers and giving them a little shake.

Kazu nodded, forcing himself up again. This time, he focused his weight on his left arm, as it felt like he’d pulled, or maybe even torn something in his right shoulder. It didn’t help that he had been too wasted to take it easy last night, and probably put more strain on whatever injury he’d started out with. He held out his good hand for the bottle of pills, eyes squinting against the light of the living room.

Bel opened it for him, shaking a few pills into his outstretched palm. “So, do you have any plans for today?”

“Survive till tomorrow.”

That was less sarcastic than it should’ve been. Kazu downed the pills and dropped back onto the couch, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt. He wasn’t having much success, and it didn’t help that he was longer than the couch. He ended up curled up on his left side, gingerly prodding his right shoulder to try and gauge the level of damage.

“Are you hurt?” Bel asked, frowning. “I mean, are you hurt more than what’s obvious,” he amended.

“‘S my stupid fuckin’ shoulder. Seems like I fuck it up every other damn month…” Kazu grumbled. It was a slight exaggeration, but it was also remarkable that he still had full mobility in his right arm. “I think I just pulled somethin’. Should be fine, just hurts like a bitch.” He muttered dismissively. The sleeve of his t-shirt had gotten scrunched-up from his prodding, and there was some pretty nasty bruising visible from about the top third of his upper arm to where it vanished into the body of the shirt.

Bel winced at the sight. “I can get some bandages and things from the store when I go out today.” He reached out to try to lift Kazu’s sleeve for a better look. “What even happened?”

“Good question. I don’t actually remember? The last week or so is kinda… not there.” Kazu didn’t fight Bel, allowing him to move the shirt as needed.

Bel lightly touched the mottled purple skin of his arm, feeling for any swelling or displacement. “It looks pretty bad.” He sighed. “I assume the hospital is still out of the question?”

“Yup.” Kazu was way too paranoid for that shit, despite the fact that he felt like a dollar store Barbie doll whose arm had been pulled off by a dumb child and lazily glued back on. It was swollen, for sure, but luckily not dislocated (this time).

“Welp, then you’re gonna have to make due with my mediocre first-aid skills.”

Kazu shrugged and immediately grimaced in regret. “Fffffffffff… fine by me.” He stammered.

“You should take a shower,” Bel suggested. “I bet the warm water would help.”

“If you say so.” Kazu shrugged, stumbling to his feet. He was trying to put most of his weight on his left leg, having likely done something stupid to the other.

Bel stood by in case he needed anything, waiting until he heard the shower turn on before he got to work in the kitchen. He didn’t have much, but he was determined to make something nice for Kazu.

The taller boy was gone a good while; partly out of laziness, and partly because he hadn’t realized how much he needed to shower. The amount of blood and grime on him was almost comical, and his hair was in desperate need of washing. He finally returned about forty minutes later, wrapped in a towel, with his hair dripping around his shoulders. Without a layer of dirt on his everything, he was noticeably paler, and his freckles were visible for the first time. He looked tired, but more comfortable and relaxed by far, and he dropped onto the couch with a sigh.

“Whatcha makin’?” Kazu asked, having spotted Bel in the kitchen.

“French toast!” Bel said, looking pleased with himself. He piled a few pieces onto a plate and poured a glass of milk, taking both into the living room and presenting them to Kazu. To his credit, the food was only slightly burned on one side.

The dark-haired boy blinked in surprise. “For me?”

“Of course!”

“Thanks.” Kazu accepted the food, though he was clearly having some difficulty maneuvering a fork left-handed.

Bel couldn’t help but smirk as he watched Kazu struggle. “ Do you need me to feed you?”

“No!” the dark-haired boy blushed, grabbing the fork in his fist like a toddler.

Bel laughed. “There, you’ve got it.” He returned to the kitchen and began cleaning dishes. “I’ve gotta head into work soon. You gonna be alright here on your own?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.  Don’t suppose ya got any clean clothes that might fit me?”

“Oh, uh…” Bel dried his hands before heading into his bedroom. He returned a few minutes later and sheepishly offered his findings; a pair of low-cut jeans and a black shirt sporting the logo of a local bar. “This is the best I can do.”

Kazu shrugged, surprisingly unbothered by the feminine aesthetic. “So long as I ain’t naked all night.” He tossed the towel aside, getting dressed in front of Bel. It took a bit with only one good arm, but he didn’t care. Modesty didn’t really matter in front of someone you’d already fucked. The jeans looked like capris on him, and were definitely a bit tight in the crotch. His whole midriff was showing, from the bottom of his ribs to the top of his hips, revealing a toned, if alarmingly slender physique and an assortment of bruises and scars. “Good enough.” He grumbled, dropping onto the couch again.

“It’s a good look on you,” Bel said, grinning. He checked the time on his phone. “Shit, I have to get to work.” He grabbed his coat, shrugging it on. “Help yourself to anything here, okay? I’ll be back tonight.”

“See ya.” Kazu waved with his good hand, getting comfortable on the couch.

[ruby-stones-blog1]

A/N: I am very sorry for that mess of a fic. I wasn’t even sure if I would post this or even finish it. So here I am, with a shitty fic, a lot of typos and no energy. Mentions of @ariciaeast @cameronnicholls @domschreave @ladykatdempsey @princesscallieschreave . And sorry to all the people I have annoyed with the process of my fic. Enjoy.

The flower that blooms in adversity is the most beautiful of them all

My widend pupils absorb the shallow light hitting the shiny mirror infront of me. The last bits of sunshine are hitting my exposed neck, spreading warmth through my cold body. Pleasurable I close my tired eyes and softly massage my eyelids with my gentle ringfingers. The maids shuffeling around, cleaning my complexion and my gorgeous surroundings are turning into a comfortable background noise. You know what you’ve got to do Ruby. I mentally prepar myself for the upcoming evening, vividly picturing the stack of endless energy and sugar drinks hidden in the back of my drawer. “Do you have any plans for the ball tomorrow, Lady Ruby?”, Aurelia, the very outspoken maid, asks me while sofly brushing trough my curly hair. “No, not really. I don’t know for how long I’ll even stay at the ball, but I know for sure that I’ll stay away from our lovely prince”, I announce with a heavy voice, playing with the hem of my light pink night gown. “You are still upset about the Interview, I see (…)”, Aurelia adds. Even though I can’t see her face in the mirror, I am certain that her eyebrows are narrowed as always when she is speaking in a thoughtful tone like this, creating a slight crease. “Lady Ruby, I am pretty sure that he doesn’t think any less of you than the other girls”, Luna comments while gracefully preparing my bed, tucking a brown strand of hair behind her ear. “Mhh (…) I am not quiet sure about that”, I mumble slightly before getting up from my seat. “But I don’t want to think about that now, I need my beauty sleep. Thank you ladies for your astonishing work”, I thank my maids with a genuine smile, seeing a little twinkle in Radia’s quiet eyes. “Are you sure you don’t need us anymore?”, Radia speaks up, gazing around my room looking for any flaw in our surroundings. “I am very sure my dear. Now hush, hush, you need to sleep as well!”, I laugh quietly settling down onto my bright duvet. “Good night Lady Ruby”, the girl announce in a lovely choir and with a last worried smile they leave the room, finally giving me some time to breath. Don’t get me wrong, the girls are lovely and definitely are much nicer and way kinder than I expected them to be, but constant company is still a concept foreign to me.

I crawl across my bed, slowly opening the bedside drawer and free my liquid courage from it’s dark prison. Carefully I tuck the colourful cans into a small backpack of mine, before grabbing a light pink coat from the game next to my wardrobe, matching my night gown. Doubts still spinning trough my busy head, I open the door to the hallway and silently close it behind me. Trying to eliminate as many noises as possible, I tip toe trough the hallway, letting my finger graze the rare wallpaper passionately awaiting the bumps gracing my soft finger tips. Still debating whether I should turn around or not, a dark brown heavy door with a golden sign reading the name ‘Lady Katharine’ comes up in my vision. With one step forward and one to my right I reach the door and let my shaking fist collide with it. A few seconds later I can make out a muted groan and something along the lines: “Who is it? I hope you realise it’s the middle of the night…” Ignoring the comment of her, I pock my head trough the door and greet her with a nervous smile: “Euhmmm… Hi Kat!”

She grunts and rubs her eyes, still lying in her warm bed: “What do you want?” You can still run away Ruby, you don’t have to do this. Kat will probably just assume she had a fever dream of some sort, it’s not to late. “I euhhmm… wanted to ask a favour of you”, I address my sudden appearance to her, still fighting the urge to run away. she slowly gets out of her bed, making her way towards my nervous figure: “What’s so important that can’t wait for tomorrow?” It takes a lot of strength to completely open the heavy doot, resisting the good sense which took control over my entire body. “A tattoo?” I blurt out in a high pitched voice, crossing my still shaking legs, hearing my bones kneecaps collide. “I heard you are up for everything.. So I figured why not ask you?”, I add trying to sound convincing.

Suspiosly raising an eyebrow, she states: “Well…”, stops herself with a quiet sigh and goes through her shiny hair, “Fine, what do you have planned little Stone?” No backing out anymore. “You know Dom said I wasn’t having enough fun and I realised I got the chance of a life time and can finally do whatever I want, so why not get a tattoo? I thought about getting a wolf with a quote or something like this”, I widely grin with trembling lips, playing with my raw hands, trying to calm myself down a bit. She won’t bite you, Rubes. She simply frowns at my statement, disfiguring the brunettes otherwise regal complexion, making me wonder where I went wrong. “You don’t need to change because he says so… Is this what you really want? It’s not my problem but, you know”, she states clearly worried. I always thought Kat was an ice-cold queen, never deeply involved with anyone. Nodding my pulsing head I state with fake confidence leaking out of my throat: “I do. He just helped realise that I have got chance to change for better now. That’s what I wanna do. And come on tattoos are badass.” My failed attempted at finger guns didn’t make me seem so badass anymore (…). With a small scoffs she finally gives in: “Fine by me. Give me a sec.”

She blindly grabs some random clothes from a hanger next to her mirror and makes her way to the ginormous bathroom. Innocently I let my gaze wander across the room, viewing the few truffles she brought from home and study the two paintings littering the floor to dry. The light blue walls and decorations remind me of the sweet cold ocean, just the fainted memory of the salty air gracing my body sends a slight shiver down my spine. “Okay, let’s get you in trouble”, Kat suddenly announces with a joyful grin lingering on her face, making me jump a bit. Just as the heavy door is opened by Kat, realization enters my body and excitement numbs my brain. I will actually get a tattoo tonight, accompanied with the biggest trouble maker I know. We could become trouble budys!

Norepinephrine and endophrins are floating my bloodstream, making my body jump nearly as high as I hit launching pad. “Follow me. But if you don’t keep your mouth shut, we’ll both be dead, so don’t try to chitchat with me, got it?”, she states in all seriousness, making me nod in a polite manner. After we managed to leave Castle which has more similarities to a labyrinth than any other architecture, we slowly dive into the electrifying night life of Angeles, with a can of a sugary substance near my lips.

“Can I talk again?”, I plea with wide eyes and a pouty lip. Kat simply sighs and adds a “If you have to so badly.” “Sooo how do you know where the nearest not so crappy tattoo shop is?”, I ask out of curiosity, strolling beside to her, enjoying the exhilarating view. “I don’t. As soon as we reach the part of town where the nightlife is, I’ll ask someone”, she shrugs her shoulders while explaining, “Just need to ask the right kind of people.” “Ohh .. okay. As long as we don’t end up in the gutter, I am fine”, I state while admiring the nature around me, listening to the birds chirping lullabys to their children.

“So do you have tattoos?”, I randomly ask a question which appeared out of nowhere. “Three”, she answers while nodding her head, facing the buildings at the sidewalk to our left and closely watching the people around us. “Wow. That’s impressive. When did you get them?” Isolated faces appear in my vision, every single one with it’s own unique features and stories. “They’re not that big, so I had two small ones on my feet done at the same time like a year ago? And the last one seven months ago or something.”

“Did it hurt a lot?”, I ask a bit nervous, realising I haven’t thought about that before. While awaiting her answer, I nibble the tops of my nails, running my perfectly done manicure. The brunette next to me simply raises an eyebrow, still watching the crowd and answering in a cool tone: “Not that much, depends on the place…Are you still sure about this?”, she takes a short pause, deeply inhales and slowly faces me, “This is all fun and game but if you start crying, I swear-”

“I promise I won’t cry”, I state before remembering the unpleasant incident after the interview, “I’ve heard that upper back tattoos aren’t as painful as other ones.” Viewing the sidewalk infront of her, she states: “Hmm, well you do ballet, don’t you? Nothing can hurt more than walking on those awful ballet shoes.” She wrinkles her nose, probably shivering at the thought of dancing on pointé herself which makes me laugh a bit. “Yeah that’s true. My feets are really thankful for the break the selection is giving them”, jokingly state trying to forget about the possible pain which will await me. But maybe Kat it’s right and it won’t hurt more then falling a few feet down from the bars. “Lucky you”, she states before spoting someone who intruges her in someway, “Now, wait here, don’t move. Don’t do anything more stupid than this whole idea either.” she turns around and stalks towards a random man with a lot of tattoos and trained muscles shaping his figure.

As soon as she opens her mouth her body starts to relax and shifts in a more comfortable position. A distant smile is appearing on her face and her entire being morphes into someone, something else before returning to me and the real world. “You coming little Stone? I think Selected get a discount”, she shouts across the dark street, a little smirk gracing her smug face. Excitement is drowning my body with stimulations, jumping in the air and tasting the sweet air around me. A ring bells as we enter the shop, loud music is pulsing through my veins, and bright lights are illuminate the room. Kat strolls over the counter, leaning her body against it and whispers with the good looking man infront of her. “Last chance to back up”, she simply states, silently pleading my conscious mind to leave this place. My head is shaking, negating her silent plea: “I want that, don’t worry Kitty. I am all grown up.” Her face hardens again, annoyance leaking out of her harsh words: “No you’re not. And don’t call me that, we’re not friends”, she simply nods to the guy at the counter and continues her instructions, hands in her hips and a straight face for everyone else to see, “Now go tell that guy what you want to get inked in your skin forever, and get it over with.”

The first thing I notice is the unbearable pain in my back, spreading from my upper back to my head and spine. A moan rips through the mid day air, as fire is burning my skin. My eyes fly open in a hurry, fingers are caressing the burning flesh on my back. I sit up straight, trying to eliminate the pain which is caused by rubbing my back against the silky beedsheets. The events of the past night still lingering in my head, I rub my eyes and pay the bathroom a short visit, wondering where my maids are. “Radia?”, I shout trough the bathroom door. No answer. Still a bit sleepdrunk and drowsy I toddle trough the bright hallway searching for my lost maids, the midday sun shining through the large windows, illuminating the floor.

“Hey Rubes, look, theres a ball”, a familiar voice makes their way towards me. In the distance I can make out a stunningly beautiful redhead, embellished with glamours clothing and makeup. “Wait what?”, I wonder a bit dumbfounds, still walking down the glimmering hallway in my now dirty night gown. “The next challenge, weirdo”, she states, loudly laughing as a few strands of her fall down from her lovely updo. “Wait so there will be an actual ball? With ballgowns and music and a prince and stuff like that?” “Yep, exactly like that” “Oh shit”, I swear, nearly running to my room, “so when does it start?” She flinches with her fingers, her eyes searching for a clock in the distance. “Two-ish hours? Maybe three? You better get ready quick, its taken my maids an hour just for hair”, she laughs out loud while touching a curly strand of hair, framing her face. “Holy crap. Thanks fin!”, I declare while blowing her a sweet kiss and dart away towards my door like a scared deer.

As I turn the knob I can hear my maids worriedly chatting about my disappearance. “Ohh Lady Ruby, we thought you would never wake up!”, Aurelia states pulling me into a warm hug, slowly hissing at her touch. “Just like Sleeping Beauty”, I hear Luna giggle from the other side of the room. “But now hush-hush, we need to get you ready for the ball my dear”, Aurelia exclaims, pushing me onto a seat while already working on detangling my hair. “Ohh Radia would you be so kind to bring me some painkillers? My head is being awful today”, I remember to ask after seeing the glass of water next to breakfast on the wooden table, testing my lying skills. The pain in my back gets more bearable as plenty of hair is teased, makeup hides my flawed figure and time passes. My father’s finest jewelry is added to my glowing complexion and a mixture of sugary drinks and heavy painkillers makes me radiant as the sun from the inside.

A strange liquor with a heavy taste makes it’s way down my throat, burning of the mucilaginous skin, numbing every part of it. A bitter taste clings to the back of my throat, making me wonder why I consume this liquid in the first place. My gaze wandere around the room, gracing the dancing beauties, looking for familiar faces. Just minutes ago I was among the crowd, full of life, dancing along the guests and guards. I was ripped out of my blooming state of mind as I saw a familiar face, getting involved in a strange conversation, laughing about the fear of horses and nature fetishes. In the distance I can still make out her regal complexion, gleaming full of grace, her whole being radiating royalty, but in a different way than her brother. I take another sip of the burning red liquid and turn my back to the celebrating crowd, drunk on happiness and full of energy, searching for a cold lonely place. With soft steps I walk onto an abandoned balcony, soothing cold wind hitting my bare skin and soft candle light is illuminating the dark night. Soft waves complete the otherwise resting skyline, occupying my restless mind and soul.

A soft “hello?” disrupts my never ending train of thoughts. With a silent “Huuhh?” I turn around, towards the source of the sudden sound. “Ohh, hello Lady Aricia”, I greet the incomer, studying her calm presence. “Hello Lady Ruby! What are you doing out here?”, she strolls over, a simple smile playing around her soft lips, settling down beside me and letting the wind pass through her silky blonde hair. “Ohh I just needed a break, giving my body some time to sober up a bit, but I don’t know if that will work”, I half truthfully state while holding up my alcoholic beverage. “Ahh, i see”, she laughs a bit while continuing her statement, “the first step of sobering up is probably to get rid of the alcohol.” Well she is not completely wrong. “Yep, that’s why I need to finish this”, I affirm before emptying the glass full of treacherous alcohol, whose name I can’t even pronounce, placing it gently on the railing. “So why did you leave that electrifying party my dear?”, I ask of curiosity, genuinely trying to engage into a conversation

. She simply shrugs with her shiny shoulders before voicing her reason: “Well, my feet started hurting from all the dancing, and i was having some conflicting emotions about stuff, but mostly, I just wanted to stop listening to that god awful music.” A melodic laugh disrupts the silent nightsky and is being carried away by the gentle wind into the endless darkness, before my soft voice can join her melody. “It’s not that bad.” “Well when youve been dancing and listening to it all night it gets a bit repetitive”, she declares while studying my expression incredelously, wondering what went wrong in my pretty little head. “Touché. So any interesting thoughts about our dear prince so far?”, I ask, still testing my social skills. “He’s alright, he’s nice and has a good taste in music, except he doesnt like classical. But i can probably convince him that classical is wonderful by the end of the selection. how about you, my dear”, she dissolute recounts her first impression of the prince, while simply winking at me, without me fully grasping her reason behind it. “He seems very nice indeed, but I am not so confident about my time here as you are”, I admit, trying to finally get out of my shell. “Aww, why?”, Aricia simply wonders, a frown gracing her delicate skin. “Apparently I am very boring. I talked to Alina earlier and she mentioned that I shouldn’t really worry about that, but I don’t think he seems very interested, in me at least”, realising I said too much, I desperately look at my glass, trying to find the answer to all my problems in it’s reflecting form, “Gosh I wished I had more of that sweet liquor.”

“I don’t even know I am talking to you about this”, I slightly shake my head while depicting my thoughts. “Hey hey hey”, she softly acknowledges my trouble, placing a hand on my bare shoulder, “If you need someone to talk to, i’m here. You should never hold your feelings inside because they will only destroy you.” Her blue eyes are full of compassion as I give her a sad but genuine smile. “Thanks, that’s very kind of you. I am just so used to barely talking to anyone ever and never even talking about my feelings and thoughts, that it feels so wrong speaking up about anything now”, I open up trying not to worry about possible consequences I might face. I don’t know if the alcohol is loosening my tongue or if her calming aura stirs up something familiar and trusting deep down inside and let’s me trust her more. “Yeah, it’ll take some time, but it’ll all work out at the end. So, how was your life back home? Where are you from?”, she tries to ease the conversation, changing the topic as she senses my discomfort and works around it.

“I am from a very small town in Dakota, with a tiny gymnastic club and ballet school which practically represents the entire social contact I received until now. What else is there to say? (…) Well my parents are wealthy jewelers, I was born a 4, trained to become a 2 and am an only child.” “Oh, that sounds cool! did you like your life in Dakota?” Haah, as if. “It mostly sucked, if it didn’t I wouldn’t have been so desperate to get away. Most people I know aren’t very nice, including my parents.” Alcohol is now pumping trough my veins, spitting out words I’ve never dared to voice before. I barely her hear answer, the blood so loud, pulsing near my heart. “So apparently both of us have awful parents, great”, I laugh a bit bitter at this irony,why do I only connect with people who are wearing a similar pain to mine, “You know I came hear to live life at it’s fullest but now that i tasted it, fear is consuming me. I always worry that I don’t have enough time left to experience everything I want to. And there is always my mother’s treat in the back of my head”, I thoughtfully proclaim which devolves into an ongoing conversation about our life after the selection with a promise of friendship and companionship, living together and leaving our toxic families behind. But how long will she stay? Will she leave when she gets to know my darker side, the ugly truth and the hurtful words I can so casually voice. Her gaze wanders across the moon, counting the stars and listening to soft music of the waves.

“So have you got any exciting plans for the time you are still here?”, I ask watching the nightsky as well, wondering if God is watching right now. “Well, not really, I just want to enjoy all the experiences, and hope that everything works out well”, she sighs before adding a quiet “You?”. “I’ll just enjoy making my own choices and trying not to think about how stupid they are.” Remembering the events of last night, I try not to giggle, realising it was an obviously stupid decision. “Yeah, you should let loose and have fun!!”

“I am trying very hard, okay?”, a genuine laugh originates from my slim belly, making me feel all warm inside, “My next goal actually is to finally taste some chocolate cake.” Her smile still hasn’t left her face and makes her glow in the soft candle light, filling the night sky full of genuine happiness: “Ah, we should go to the kitchen one day together and try the cake!” “We definitely should. I need someone to protect me so I won’t die of a sugar overdose”, another giggle escapes my blood red lips and makes me seem drunk on happiness. Aricia’s melodic laugher combines with mine a second time before she breathy voices her approbation: “Same Ruby same!”

“We’ll probably die together. Just like Romeo and Juliet.” What a tragic ending, I can already see the headlines - ‘Selected die of sugar overdose - Is chocolate cake really that dangerous?’ “Wow, Ruby, very pessimistic”, a small sigh escapes lips as her endless laugher are dying down, “is there anything that you really want to do with your life?” “To fall in love?” I sigh as well, realising to late how our body language is adapting to each other, “I would also love to finally make friends. I don’t know I am good at that and if I’ll be able to put my trust into people but I really want to try that. And you Aricia?”

“Thats wonderful, but when the right person comes across, you’ll know to trust them. I also want to fall in love with someone who loves me back, and didn’t just settle for me because they couldnt get someone else, you know? My dad chose himself over me, my mom chose my dads best friend instead of me and my dad, so i want someone to choose me first instead of something or someone else.”

“That’s very understandable Lady Aricia. I am very certain that there is a person out there so will choose you, no matter what. And I really hope you will find this person very soon”, I smile lightly, hoping for the best. Her genuine smile making it worth it, letting her into my heart so soon. “Thanks Ruby. You too!”

“Shall we go back? It’s getting a bit chilly out here.”

The warmth of the room hits my chilly back, loud music still floating the room, as I make my way to the generous buffet, filling up my empty stomach again with promising liquor. The world starts spinning again, and dizziness is clouding my head as I gulp down one pain killer after another, trying to cool that burning flesh of mine. Be bold, Sera’s forceful voice halls through my chaotic head, as I spin trough the dance floor from guard to guard presenting each one the same simple smile, nothing more. I behold his handsome face on the side, as he tries to vanish in the distance from his own celebration. With alcohol injected confidence I stumble towards him, trying to regain my composure. Nervously awaiting to see his beautiful face again, being surrounded by his heavy scent.

“Are you having a good evening your hotness?”, I ask delightful, trying not to giggle over my own choice of words. He simply turns around and raises an eyebrow, scanning my messy figure. “Are you feeling okay, Ruby?”

“I am felling better than ever”, I state before taking another sip from that sinful liquid. His eyes darken at my comment, making his face look much more harder and edged. “Not another”, he comments with a groan. “Stop complaining and just dance with me”, I desperately try to lighten the mood, not reacting to his comment. I simply drag him across the dancefloor, waiting for him to get into position while closely watching the loud and messy crowd. The heavy classical music is calming me down, relaxing my stiff muscles and enlightens my mood. He carefully takes my hand, leading the way as I adapt to his way of movement, flowing with the music. My feet are dancing on their own, walking on clouds as I float trough the night sky. Everything is forgotten, just the music, (…) and him. “So where did you learn how to dance that well mister?”, I ask with a light chuckle.“I’ve had teachers coaching me since I was little. To prepare me for balls and stuff like this.”

“So you got a long history of dancing, nice”, I twirl around letting my dress flow in the air, flattering my slim body even more, “Assuming you only learned formal dances, would you try out any other type or are you not really fond of dancing at all?” His attention drifts away, watching the people behind me: “Not really fond of it. I just do it when I have to. Like now.” I puff a bit, releasing sickly sweet air, as I roll my eyes at his lack of enthusiasm: “You could at least pretend to enjoy it, for your own sake.”

“I’m just worried you’re about to pass out at any second, or throw up on my shoes. I know what too many of these drinks can do to a person”, his eyes now focus on me and my sickly drunk figure. “Don’t worry, if I have to puke I will try not to ruin your expensive shoes, my Highness”, I try to lighten the mood with a soft giggle of mine which passes my slightly open lips. “Still, I think you’d better rest before you say something you’ll regret later”, he states, worry is gracing his features, still searching for something which isn’t me. “Ohh no, but I wanted to tell you secret of mine.” Ruby, you are drunk. Stop it. “Ooh, definitely not. Lets wait for that for when you’re sober”, his hand rests with a gentle touch on my waist as he leads me to an empty chair near the golden gate to the gardens. The wings are slightly open and fresh wind is slowly replacing the warm and stuffy air inside, carrying the sweetly calming scents of the colourful blooming flowers from the garden. “Buuttt -”, I start to argue with my last bit of liquid confidence, slumping down onto the selected chair, “I need someone to share the fun with Kat and I had last night. Gosh the people in Angeles are so nice.” His eyes dart away, focusing on someone else.

“Ok. Here’s some water. Don’t die. I have to go now, okay?” His soft voice consumes my mind, combining with the alcohol still flowing through my blood, making me feel numb inside. “Don’t leave me! I even wanted to show you the tattoo I’ve got last night -”, I start, not even bothering to end the sentence, letting it die in the cold night sky. “Oh, please tell me you’re joking. Whatever. I don’t have time for this right now.” He just walks away, his body finally relaxing. His soft voice in contrast to his actions. The water in my cup is shaking, slowly creating small waves, trapped in a never ending movement. “My tattoo is way too cool for him anyway…”