#has very much of a sad half-drowned kitten about him

[sanguinarysanguinity]

#I can't stop thinking about this man as a cat!! it's getting concerning #lord stowe voice: my lady wife are you Sure you want to put your son on craigslist..? well whatever you wish dear

just saw a screen of a desolately sad-looking kitten being sold on craigslist and I immediately thought. this happened to keith windham

[crowfeatherquill]

Mint or Ginger?

First installment of what will likely be several contributions to @colormywords' coffee shop AU. This...was meant to just be Sickfic of Astarion being a sad wet cat and also the worst patient ever and it turned into somethinnggggg /else/. Enjoy! --

Astarion is sick.

Not the useful kind of sick, where he could theoretically go down to the cafe and mope loudly until Tathlyn takes pity on him and showers him with attention. Not even the annoyingly pointless but ultimately painless kind of sick that he could ignore in the interest of getting on with his life. No, this is the worst kind of sick -- the roiling stomach, aching body, chills-and-shaking kind that makes him want to curl up in a dark hole and die.

He should have cut and run the second he smelled whatever biohazard that Oblodra woman was trying to pass off as an innocent drink, but instead he’d grit his teeth and swallowed it for the sake of saving face, and now he’s paying for his hubris. With interest.

He’s lost just about every meal he can be accused of having attempted to eat over the last day and a half -- and possibly a few he’s only looked at -- and has only recently managed to convince his rioting guts that water isn’t poison to be expelled at the earliest opportunity. His head aches like there’s something trying to peel his brain away from his skull and eat it in the slowest, most torturous way it can manage.

In short: he’s fucking miserable. And as such, he can hardly be blamed for not noticing when somebody knocks. In his esteemed opinion, he can also not be blamed for ignoring the subsequent attempts -- it’s not as though he has any idea who it is and quite frankly there are few people he likes enough to put up with in his home at all, let alone like this. He will emerge from his miserable isolation on his own terms when he’s damn well ready and not a moment before.

When his phone lights up on the bedside table he briefly entertains the idea of throwing it across the room. His absence should have made it very clear that the only thing he’s fit to do at the moment is sit here and desiccate, but somehow the universe simply will not take the hint. He paws after the device in the semi-dark, cringing at the way the light off the screen forces his eyes to engage instead of staring unfocused into nothing.

He has a message from Tathlyn. Isn’t that novel?

If you cant come to the door i can let myself in but it might cost you a chunk of the security deposit.

So that’s what that knocking had been.

Astarion is too tired to fight the bemused little smile that creeps onto the corner of his mouth at the thought that Tathlyn would be willing to bludgeon his door down to check on him if that was what it took. Ordinarily he’d be disgusted with himself, getting so maudlin over something so stupid, but evidently being poisoned has eaten more holes in his brain than he anticipated.

Did I never give you a key? he replies, taking solace in the few extra precious moments of horizontality it buys him. He is not looking forward to trying to move around while he feels about as hardy as a half-drowned kitten.

You did not. And they did not teach us cool subtle ways to get past locked doors in bootcamp.

Alright, point taken, give us a second?

Astarion sets the phone back down and runs his hands over his face. He hasn’t really bothered making the attempt to move around much since yesterday. Any time he’d tried, things had started to go sideways rather quickly, and he’d resolved himself to remaining stationary until he woke up feeling anywhere close to normal.

He levers himself up to sitting, noting with distaste the way his arms shake under his own meager weight and his stomach lurches ominously. He freezes -- breathing slowly and with intention through his nose -- and the feeling fades. The next step is to extract his legs from the blankets he’s tangled himself in and stand. The room swims as a wave of dizziness tries to overtake him. He plants a hand on the bedside table and rides it out, focusing on the way the carpet feels under his feet.

After that, it’s an easy jaunt from his bedroom to the front door, though he feels a bit like he’s trying to do it while up to his shins in molasses. His joints ache, obstinately, and the late-day light pouring in through windows he hadn’t bothered to draw the curtains on is oppressive.

“You look like shit,” is the first thing out of Tathlyn’s mouth when Astarion opens the door.

Astarion scoffs and moves to one side, allowing him entry.

“How observant of you. Terribly convenient that I feel like shit too, then, isn’t it?”

“Figured.” Tathlyn slides past him and cuts toward the kitchen -- it’s only now that Astarion realizes he’s carrying a grocery bag. “Had to be something nasty to keep you away for two whole days, and even you don’t hate ‘Zel that much.”

“Yes, it’s been quite the ordeal, lounging around in my nice quiet apartment and not having constant nosey questions to answer. I’ve been perfectly miserable.”

Tathlyn shoots him a look, and Astarion finds himself suddenly inspired to backpedal.

“What’ve you got, there?”

“Tea, meds, soup broth,” Tathlyn names the items as he lines them up on the sideboard, pristine with disuse. “Wasn’t sure whether you were more of a ginger or mint person, so I got both.”

Something flutters, unbidden, in Astarion’s chest and he tamps it down with an arch expression and a sniff. This isn’t the first time Tathlyn has stirred this…pathetic reaction out of him and at this point he’s resigned to the fact that it won’t be the last, either, but that doesn’t mean he has to give Tathlyn the satisfaction of seeing it. Still…he finds himself curious.

“How did you…”

“Know?”

Astarion tries to bristle and can’t quite find the energy. He shouldn’t be this transparent. He isn’t. Is he? Tathlyn is still talking.

“Educated guess. Maybe a little luck,” he starts removing the packaging around the medicine he brought, “Figured if it was a cold, you’d have dragged your sorry ass into the cafe anyway and made it everyone’s problem.”

Astarion makes a rather undignified squawk of offense and goes to retort, but Tathlyn just waves a hand at him.

“Relax,” he says, “I’m fucking with you. The point is, you wouldn’t have let some sniffles or a cough stop you. You’re too stubborn for that. So…it had to be stuck-in-bed sick. Honestly, my bet was flu, but you seem pretty lucid. Feverish at all?”

Astarion settles his weight against one of the bar stools, already feeling drained from the few minutes he’s spent on his feet, and sighs.

“No. No, I believe this is a case of ‘wrong math, right answer,’ as they say. I’ve been poisoned.”

His tone is all sullen dramatics, but he feels Tathlyn’s sharp gaze on him in an instant anyway, and when he looks up, Tathlyn’s expression is practically growing icicles.

“Intentionally, or…?”

Astarion realizes too late how he’s just made this sound, and flaps his hands awkwardly as though they could banish the notion from the air.

“Hardly,” he insists, “At least I don’t imagine so. Wouldn’t put it past her if I was willing to give her the credit to assume she’d even think to do something like that, but no. I was invited out to an event the other night and there was some…unwise experimentation at the bar. Also, I’m beginning to suspect they wouldn’t have passed any sane health and safety check. Suffice to say I won’t be going back.”

“Sounds like a hell of an event.” Tathlyn’s hackles are still up, but he seems at least marginally appeased for the moment. “Take this. And go get comfortable. Alright if I use your stovetop?”

“Use whatever you like,” Astarion says, absently, inspecting the label on the medication, “I’ll admit, though, I’m not feeling particularly hungry.”

“You might change your mind once those meds kick in. Can’t imagine you’ve been able to keep much down recently.”

Astarion can feel the prowling threat of nausea still lingering at his core, and suppresses a shudder. He closes his hand tighter around the bottle of meds.

“I’m…going to go lie down,” he says, in lieu of a direct response. “I’ll leave the door open.”

“Sure,” Tathlyn says by way of dismissal, and then, once Astarion’s back is turned, “Oh. Mint or ginger?”

“Mm?” Astarion glances back over his shoulder.

“The tea. What kind?”

“Oh. That.” Astarion makes a little show of mulling it over before leaving it -- like so many other things in recent days -- in Tathlyn’s hands. “Surprise me. I don’t mind either.”

Once he’s back in the dim of his bedroom, bundled under the blankets and waiting for the medicine to do its work, Astarion lets himself drift away from his body and into his other senses. He listens to the soft sounds of Tathlyn bustling around in the kitchen, and for a moment he lets himself imagine a world where this is his life -- where he shares this precious, private space with someone else, who putters around and hums quietly and gives the place life. A pulse.

It’s all maddeningly saccharine. He’d be making himself sick if he wasn’t already. All the same, he finds he can’t really muster the disdain for the idea that he feels he should have. It’s almost pleasant, the thought of living in comfortable, companionable not-quite-silence with somebody else, instead of the isolation he deals with now.

He must start to drift off because he feels himself pulled back to consciousness when Tathlyn knocks -- and what a revolutionary show of boundaries that is. To knock on an open door, just to be sure it really means, as it appears, that he’s allowed entry. Astarion forces himself to sit up, squinting blearily in the direction of the doorframe, and finds the movement doesn’t cause his stomach to lurch. It’s a welcome change.

“Tea,” Tathlyn lifts the mug in indication as he enters, “And soup. Well. Broth.”

He sets the mug down on the bedside table and settles on the edge of the bed, ever-so-slightly making contact with the outer side of Astarion’s leg. Astarion ignores the way it makes him crave a firmer touch.

“Don’t feel obligated,” Tathlyn is saying, though Astarion finds he can barely stay focused on the words, “But you should at least try. Starving isn’t going to do you any good getting better.”

‘Starving’ is not a word Astarion would have associated with the way he’s been feeling lately, but when Tathlyn says it and passes him the warm bowl, he feels an overeager twinge in his stomach that he isn’t expecting. The savory smell, though not particularly complex, is divine, and in mere moments, Astarion’s forgotten appetite unearths itself and leaves him feeling famished for the first time since…well, since meeting Araj for drinks.

He takes the first mouthful incautiously and flinches as it scalds his tongue. Tathlyn chuckles fondly.

“Careful,” he chides, but there’s no bite to it, “Meds doing the trick, then?”

“Mm.” Astarion nods his confirmation, drawing air through his teeth to try to soothe the pain in his mouth.

“Good.” Tathlyn braces his hands on his legs and rises, and Astarion surprises himself at how bereft he suddenly feels at the loss of Tathlyn’s warmth against his leg. “I’ll leave you to it?”

It’s not a question -- not precisely -- but it’s not a firm statement of fact either. Tathlyn leaves it intentionally open-ended, an offer without strings or expectation, and for a moment, Astarion has no idea what to do with it. He is still so unused to anyone giving a flying rat fuck what he might want that it continues to stun him into silence how easily Tathlyn takes him into consideration at every opportunity.

“You…could stay,” Astarion hedges, not quite brave enough to face the offer head-on, “if you like. I’ve got- uh. Well there’s not TV, but my phone…”

Tathlyn, bless him, has the grace to let himself be sold on the idea. It’s easier to swallow asking for company if it’s transactional. If he feels like he’s offering something in return. Watching television seems like meager settlement to him, but given that his usual methods of entertaining guests are a bit out of reach at the moment, it’ll have to do.

Tathlyn circles the bed and settles on the open side, not so close as to crowd. Once again, that vexatious want creeps over Astarion’s skin -- he wants Tathlyn’s hands on him. Wants to feel the way his chest moves as he breathes. Wants to be tucked against that broad, warm chest and held.

It’s disgusting. He swallows it with another mouthful of broth and tries not to let the resentment ruin the taste. With one hand, he pats down the covers until he finds his phone, unlocks it and brings up one of the half-dozen mindless streaming apps he keeps himself company with. He passes it off to Tathlyn.

“Figure it’s only fair you get to pick the programming. Since you’re the one stuck here with me.”

“I’m not stuck. I offered.” Tathlyn doesn’t look up at him as he says it but the weight of it still seems to squash some of the self-reproach scuttling about unchecked in Astarion’s head -- pinning it down until it stops squirming.

Astarion focuses on eating -- drinking? Consuming liquid. If his mouth is full, he figures, all the more difficult to make an ass of himself. Tathlyn is trying to be kind. He owes him neutral acceptance at the very least.

Eventually Tathlyn settles on something and leans across Astarion to prop the phone up on the bedside table. The proximity is tantalizing and Astarion feels himself tensing like a wire primed to snap. He hates this. It’ll never be enough. The ask gets caught in his throat and burns. He swallows more broth and turns his attention to the screen. Tries to ignore the howling behind his ribs that only he can hear.

He feels Tathlyn settle against the pillows and the headboard, and lean close. Too close, and so achingly far away all at once. He reminds himself it’s likely just to see what’s playing. It has nothing to do with him. Tathlyn’s just kind by nature, under all that gruff -- he’d do this for anyone. Gods, but it doesn’t stop him wanting to curl up until he feels Tathlyn’s support against his back.

He sets the bowl aside, half-finished, still hungry in a way the broth won’t fix, and shuffles himself horizontal. Maybe if he shuts his eyes and lets himself drift away from his body again, it won’t be so bad. That’s how he’s gotten through all the rest of this torturous illness.

His plan quickly crumbles when Tathlyn drapes an arm over the top of Astarion’s pillow -- inches or less from his head. He feels that wire-tension snap, and the words are falling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“By the Hells, either touch me or don’t but for the sake of my sanity, make up your mind.”

It’s probably the most direct he’s ever been with Tathlyn. It’s an egregious breach of the little code of conduct he’s been constructing out of Tathlyn’s unspoken reception of him. An icy talon of dread closes around his throat as soon as he’s said it, too late to stop the words from escaping, and too tight to allow him the space to explain or apologize or beg forgiveness. His whole body goes rigid.

Tathlyn shifts very carefully behind him. They’re not positioned for easy eye contact, so he doesn’t try, but Astarion feels him sit up. Feels his gaze on the back of his neck. Wants to curl into a little ball of nothing and disappear.

“...Do you want to be touched?”

Tathlyn’s voice is so soft it’s almost cruel. Astarion is strangled by indecision. There’s nothing in the world he wants more than for Tathlyn to touch him -- the one in a million who’s never showed any real interest. By the same token, there’s nothing he thinks would destroy him more utterly than being turned down. He can’t ask. If he never says it out loud, he doesn’t ever need to find out whether it was possible to have something more than the shallow dance he knows by heart.

Tathlyn is motionless behind him for a long time. The urge to stuff his pillow into his mouth and scream mounts with every passing second. Eventually, he sighs and reclines back against the pillows. Astarion hears skin-on-skin and can imagine him rubbing his hands over his face. Brushing his fingers through his hair the way he does when he’s overwhelmed or worried.

He wonders how it’d feel to have those fingers stroke through his hair instead, and it chokes him.

“Some things I can guess,” Tathlyn says, softly, “But this isn’t one of them. Talk to me. Do you want me to touch you?”

Astarion weighs his options. He desperately, desperately wants the comforting pressure of someone else’s weight against his body, and he cannot think of a person he trusts more than Tathlyn despite them hardly knowing each other at all. Hells, he’s so used to considering Tathlyn as part of his routine that he’d forgotten Tathlyn didn’t have a key to his apartment.

And, he reasons, even if both of them know it’s a lie, if it turns out this was all a gargantuan mistake, he can always plead delirium and Tathlyn will surely accept it without pressing.

He swallows nothing -- saliva, air, fear -- and nods.

“Yes, I- I think I do.”

Tathlyn shifts some more and Astarion feels the heat of not-quite-contact all along his back. Gently, almost hesitantly, Tathlyn drapes an arm over him, under one arm and across his chest, hand curling around his opposite shoulder. The flood of satisfaction is instant, and Astarion curls his back, pressing closer to Tathlyn’s chest without thought.

A sigh falls easily from his lips and he closes his eyes. He’s barely tracking what’s happening on his phone -- some old thriller comedy with lots of melodramatic scrambling over murder weapons and blackmail. His whole brain is consumed with the heady pleasure of Tathlyn, warm against his back, holding him without holding him down.

“That good?”

What a stupid, silly question, Astarion thinks. If he could, he’d be purring. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Yes,” he sighs. “Right there.”

He doesn’t allow himself the space to fear what all this might mean, and Tathlyn seems content not to broach the topic at least for the moment. Small blessings.

Astarion’s not stupid. He knows they’ll need to discuss it at some point -- what this means for them. What it says about him. What he wants and what Tathlyn is willing to give. It’s too much to process just now and frankly, if he thought he could get away with it, he’d avoid the conversation altogether. He’d much rather just stay like this until both of them rot. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt safer in his life.

That, too, will need examining, he knows. All of this will be meticulously unpacked into the searing light of Tathlyn’s full attention, and likely sooner rather than later. But it’s not a problem he can stomach just yet. For now, he’s content, hungers of the body soothed if not entirely sated, and he intends to keep it that way for as long as he can.

[sweets-cookies]

Hi~ I've been in a pre shitty mood lately, just yknow, life. Sooo could I request some hc of Bakugou, Shinso and todoroki comforting theirs s/o? Perhaps silently getting their signs and just cuddling them close or making them smth to eat? Up to you tho!! Thank you sm in advance, darling ❤

A/N:Hi babes~ this is such a good and I had such a fun time doing it but fun fact I got half way done with it the first time and my phone ended up restarting for no reason and it erased all the stuff I wrote so I had to redo it but I in fact did finish it somehow apparently my phone didn't like the first one and said "No❤" anyway I hope you enjoy it since all of us have bad days~~

Katsuki Bakugo

Despite popular belief this boom boom boy would probably know straight away how your feeling and everything

He would probably start off not knowing what to do I mean who the hell would go to him for comfort normally

The answer is basically no one so he doesn't really know what to do everytime he's sad he just kinda sucks it up and deals with it

So don't expect him to know what to do right off the bat all he knows is he definitely doesn't like seeing you like this but he doesn't know what exactly to do so he does what he knows best, violence

He will try and hurt whatever hurt you, yes that includes things that technically can't get hurt like just life in general or school but he has good intentions I promise

After he realizes it's only making you more upset he'll try the second thing he knows how to do

"Hey dumbass I made your favorite food so stop pouting and come eat, and don't say you have I know you haven't"

Your health is so important to him and he wants to make sure your still taking care of yourself and he knows how much you love his cooking so expect him to cook for you when your not feeling like yourself

He will always be down to cuddle with you when you need it and honestly even when you don't need it

But even more when you do, he'll just hold you for hours and rub your back and try and tell you sweet things to the best of his ability which surprisingly isn't bad at all

"Hey baby I know things are hard right now but that doesn't mean that they wont be fine soon maybe not tomorrow or maybe even next month but I'll be here to help you alright dumbass" he always has this lovesick smile

And it's encouraging to him that you trust in him enough to show him your insecurities and to tell him and show him that you haven't been doing so well lately

He will always let you cry in his arms if you need to and he won't make fun of you for it after spending time with deku he understand s its important to let those emotions out(charecter development sis)

He feels lowkey privileged to be able to see the side of you that isn't happy and isn't perfect

He will read his Romance manga to you or with you when your feeling down to try and make you happier whether it's during a cuddle session or with you in his lap while hes sitting at his desk with his head on your shoulder

He's happy to make you happy and if having to show a more vulnerable side of him is makes you happy he will make that sacrifice

His main priority although is just making sure your taking care of yourself like eating,brushing your teeth and hair, and showering and if your not he will help do those things for you until you can

Hitoshi Shinso

Why tf does he look so fucking musty in all the gifs like huh?

Anyway He wouldn't know what to do either tbh he isn't really known for being exactly considerate to others feelings

But for you he tries his best it's not that he's bad with his words he's actually pretty okay at it but not really comforting words he's better at setting people off

He always wants to make sure that his words never come off condescending either as he can sound like that at times

He can always give you reassurance of you need it but unlike bakugo he won't try to solve your problems for you

He believes that everyone needs to figure out their own shit, that doesn't mean he won't be there to support you though he just wants you to be independent in a way

He let's you be down and doesn't complain since he understands that going through tough times happen to everyone and that it's best to ride out that wave and soak up that emotion

"Cry a river but don't let it drown you" type stuff he's supportive but your demons and problems are yours to fix he'll hold you If you need but when it comes down to the problem that's your problem to fix but he will be your cheerleader

"I know that things are hard kitten but just remember how amazing you'll feel when all of it is over the fact that you can endure so much in life and your still here is so important"

He wants you to know that just cause he won't solve your problems it doesn't mean he doesn't care about them he cares enough to know that he needs to let you handle some things while he's ok the side lines

But he also cares so much that he wants to fix everything for you even if in the end it won't help you very much

He just wants the best for you and sometimes it can get hard for him to do considering how important to him you are

Will happily take naps with you all day long if life has been beating you up to much and you just need some time to reenergize yourself

"Come on let's take a nap kitty you look like you need one"

Life gets hard for everyone and it's not fair but he tries his best to make you forget about it but the time you have to leave his dorm

He lives for the cuddles he gets while napping and you guys do it even when your not upset about anything but they last WAY longer when your not feeling like yourself

He will also hold you for hours telling you how proud he is of you

"This week was really hard for you kitten I'm so proud that you managed to get through it and still try and be optimistic"

A lot of head kisses while napping and him with his hair down while he tries to use his words to warm your heart~

Shoto Todoroki

Okay he's so fine tho like wow😶

Okay sorry my simp side is coming out so anyway when he see's you upset expect a lot of hugs and kisses and cuddles in public

He like the others isn't very good with comforting words but more of his actions are what shows he cares, he never had anyone show him how to treat someone when they feel down so he tries to figure it out on his own

"I heard you haven't been doing well lately so um I thought maybe we could share my soba"

He will give you anything you want expect him to come to you with random gifts bought from his father's card

"I wasn't sure if you'd want this new dress or this new necklace since they both reminded me of you so I just got both"

He definitely thinks that money can fix shit which I mean it lowkey can but not in all circumstances so just like politely tell him to stop buying you expensive shit(unless you don't care)

He will gladly also cuddle you and most likely will tell you all the shit he wished his father had told him when he was younger so expect a lot of sweet words

"Hey love, your doing amazing alright don't stress out so much my love what your doing is enough"

He's surprisingly really good with his words but is always scared of saying the wrong thing so he doesn't talk much and just cuddles with you and will let you lay on either siad of him(ya know if your hot or cold)

He'll heat up his hand and rub your back or stomach since heat is known to relax people and he Hope's that he can do that for you as well

He will feed you all the fucking time I think he just finds it cute especially when your not feeling like yourself he will just baby you 100%

He's really caring and just wants to make sure your taking care of yourself and you look cute with him feeding you usually you'd sit on his lap with the food infront of you on your phone and he'd just randomly put the food infront of your mouth on a fork and wait for you to open your mouth

He finds it cute and thinks that it's his own way of say that he does care about you a lot even if he doesn't say it all the time

He will also brush your hair and braid it or just style it into anything you want he just wants you to feel relaxed with him and would do anything to make you feel better

He definitely will go and talk to his mom about what he should do and how to make you feel better and he also will probably just bring you to his mom for like a little family meet up

His mom loves you and she will always be down to see you and he knows how much you like her so he Hope's it'll boost your mood a bit and she's better with words

He absolutely adores you so he'll do whatever you need until life stops fucking with you

[hansolmates]

jjk; angel’s trumpet [06]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter—partial nudity, dry humping, sad tears  w.c; 3.5k a/n; a little steamy in the beginning but soft and gooey in the end! enjoy the softness while it lasts bc we’re getting close to the end!! and to satiate your curiosity yes cheesecake factory was ultimate date night 

[05] [06] [07] -> masterpost

Abiding by the dress code, you show up at Jungkook’s doorstep with your rattiest sweatpants, Adidas slides and a plain black t-shirt. You hold your night pack in one hand, and a pint of taro ice cream in your other. 

Before you even have a chance to knock the door is flung open, Jungkook ushering you inside with his marigold oven mitts. Aside from the frilly pink apron that you’re half sure is Minghao’s, you and Jungkook are unexpectedly matching in overworn sweatpants and oversized t-shirts. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he’s hot under the stove, sweat beading from his temples as he concentrates on simmering the cream for your pasta. He’s carefully spooning the angel hair pasta from the pot to his saucepan, mixing the sauce vigorously in order to emulsify the contents. You wonder how many Binging with Babish and Joshua Weissman he watched to get to this kind of expertise in the kitchen. 

You hug his torso, peeking up from his elbows, “It smells divine.” 

“Thanks, baby. It’s almost done. Mind finishing up the table?” 

A smile quirks up when you see the coffee table cleared, apart from two wine glasses and a Bath and Body Works candle lit in the middle. Off the table you see a plastic bag with a takeout strawberry cheesecake. You quickly move through his kitchen to grab some plates and cutlery, setting the table that is lined with a simple white table cloth. 

“I’m getting the whole Olive Garden treatment today, huh?” you say as you uncork the wine, pouring two hearty glasses. 

“Nuh-uh. We’re going full-out Cheesecake Factory tonight.” 

You set out the coaster for him to place the pasta pan between you two. The pasta is mixed with a hearty aroma of your favorite aromatics and with plenty of fix-ins to declare a hearty meal. Jungkook also pulls out a basket of bread with a pad of butter in the middle, and your mouth salivates as you pick up a dark brown one. The bread is still hot from the touch, like a little pillow in your hands as you rip it open. 

The two of you converse mindlessly over dinner, talking about various things and catching up with the week. Warm, flushed with affection and wine, you bask in the simple but sweet dinner with your favorite person. 

Eventually you two got lazy spooning pasta into your plate and cuddled up in the middle of the table, spooning each other twirled pasta until the pan’s licked clean. 

Jungkook’s quick to turn on Disney+ once you’re done, hopping on the couch to flip through his holy grail films. 

“Quick. Favorite Avenger?” 

“Well… I think Antman’s pretty—”

“Antman? Antman? You may be only one of three people in this world that like Marvel over DC,” he wags the remote at you like a child, “I’m sorry but I think we need to re-evaluate your sanity.”

“Hey! It's a cute movie, okay? He’s sacrificed everything out of love for his daughter.” 

You sit up on your knees, putting your hands atop your boyfriend’s thighs as you explain your earnest opinion. You’re nestled between his legs, looking up at him with a determined look on your face. 

Jungkook on the other hand, can’t help but view this precarious situation as anything but innocent. But seeing the pout on your face and your insistence to defend the superhero has him melting. 

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you up. 

You immediately let him tug you to his lap, fitting your legs between his torso like a puzzle piece. It’s a perfect fit, and you immediately thread your fingers through his head, feeling like a koala as you cling to the scent of his fabric softener. 

“Wanna know a secret?” he faux whispers.

You hum against the collar of his shirt. 

“I really, really like you.” 

“That’s a terrible secret,” you deadpan, “I already knew that. You gave me the whole Cheesecake Factory treatment, after all. In high school, going on a date there confirmed you were serious.” 

“I guess this is me confirming how serious I am about us?” he tugs you away from his neck so he can press his forehead to yours. He lets his eyes flutter shut, and your finger goes to trail down his nose to his lips, “because I am,” he whispers, words moving against your pointer, “very serious about us.” 

“I am too,” you reply earnestly, the pads of your thumbs brushing against his soft cheeks. As you stare in his eyes, you feel a shift in your chest, a sign. 

Hoseok was right. He’s Jungkook, but not your Jungkook. You try not to let your smile falter as you trace the planes of his skin, noting the clear, stress-free skin and lack of eye bags. 

You try to pin your incessant thoughts for now, Jungkook put a lot of effort in this date. He presses his lips to yours, and you immediately let yourself relent under his touch. His hands are warm and needy, trailing from the waistband to the bare skin of your back. His hands fumble to where your bra is supposed to be, and he breaks from your kiss. 

He raises an eyebrow, “You really committed to the dress code tonight, eh?” 

You reach for his hand, letting him palm your bare breast. “I–oh,” you bite your lip at the way he kneads the tender flesh, his wide doe eyes fixated on your facial expression, “always like to be prepared.” 

Squirming in his lap, you let yourself sink against his crotch as you fumble to rip off your t-shirt. Jungkook drinks you in, petal pink lips parting like a kitten starved for milk. One large hand settles on your waist, and his lips latch onto a nipple. 

You cry out, instinctively rolling your hips against his as he brings you to a slow, sensual pace. 

“My pretty girl,” he praises, marveling at the way you immediately respond to his touches. “You look so, so beautiful like this.” 

He snaps his hips up, and through the thin material of your soaked sweats, it’s apparent that he likes this as much as you do. You bite your lip, getting lost in the way Jungkook tends to your body. 

“Baby,” he rasps against your neck, dampening the skin, “hold tight.” 

And his hands move to cup your cheeks, lifting you up in one swoop and bringing you to his room. You immediately cling to him like your life depends on it, and you both giggle and laugh as your boobs bounce with every step and how he suddenly got a cramp in his calf for getting up too fast. 

Jungkook quickly throws you on his twin, and for a second you feel like you’re floating. The sheets smell like floral fabric softener, and you’re encased in an ocean of seashell white blankets and fluffy pillows. Jungkook crawls over to you, looking absolutely smitten as he trails a stream of kisses from your bare belly button all the way to your lips. 

“God, I’m so lucky,” he husks against your collarbone, and you can feel the smile on his lips melding into your skin. “I’m so lucky to have met someone like you, and you’re all mine.” 

At the second he says that, the whole moment feels like an out of body experience. Not in the way two minutes ago, when you felt like you were on cloud nine as Jungkook ravished your body. This feeling is akin to drowning, making you all choked up as you try your hardest not to let the man above you notice. 

“Hey,” he brushes against your cheeks, the pads of his thumbs gathering the moisture welling from your eyes, “baby, are you okay?” 

“Oh,” you sit up slightly, roughly scrubbing away the tears from your face. A strong flush overrides any hint of pleasure that you felt, effectively ruining the moment. You feel terrible, angry at yourself for getting so caught up in your emotions. “I—I’m sorry, it’s just…” 

“Is it me?” he looks a little hurt, sitting on his heels to give you some space, “did we go too fast? I’m sorry—” 

“No, no Jungkook!” you fling up, finding the strength to wrap your small hands around his. “You, you’ve been wonderful. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for more. You’ve done so much for me in a short amount of time,” you squeeze his hands, feeling the warmth of his fingers sink through yours. You wish you could hold onto him, keep this moment tangible for as long as possible. “It’s me, Jungkook. I’m a little messed up in the head.” 

“Is it him?” 

You can’t tell from Jungkook’s expression if he’s feeling slighted by W1 Jungkook. Despite not knowing the situation fully, he really does have a good grasp on how much this has been affecting you, and how much you’ve been trying to avoid it. You have it good here, you can’t deny that. But you can’t be here forever, it isn’t fair to anyone. 

“Some of it, yeah,” you let go of him, hands falling at your lap as you dampen his sheets with your continuous bout of silent sobs. “I’m so sorry, Jungkook. You must think I’m awful and you’re the second choice and fuck—you don’t deserve any of this. I’ve been so selfish wanting to be happy after so long and—”

Patient, loving Jungkook pulls you into his arms, forcing your head between his so he can stroke your head. You’re now full on sobbing on his chest, succumbing to his touch as he soothes you like a baby. 

“What’s so wrong about being selfish for a little bit?” he asks, tone light. He rests his chin on your crown. “At the end of the day, this is your life. Do what makes you happy, save yourself.” 

You don’t know if you can form coherent words so you nod fervently, nuzzling your nose into his collarbone. 

“I’m not going anywhere. Take your time with me, y/n.” 

Is there even time left to take? 

The two of you stay like that for a while. You don’t know how long, but eventually your tears dry and Jungkook’s body is too furnace-like to be pressed up against. Moving so you can still face each other, you plop yourselves side-by-side on the mattress, facing each other. 

Fiddling with the sheets you ask, “Can I still stay here?” 

A soft smile resurfaces to Jungkook’s lips, immediately alleviating your hesitancy. “Of course, I wouldn’t want you to sleep alone if you’re still shaken up.” 

“Could you tell me something happy? So we can end the night on a positive note.” 

He chuckles, propping his arm up on the pillow and tucking his hand to support his head. He’s still shirtless, inadvertently flexing as he adjusts himself. You try not to stare, but Jungkook decides not to tease you just this once. 

“So, it’s kinda-sorta a secret. I’m not really confident about it yet but,” he blows on his black bangs, nervous, “I like to sing.” 

A small, tender smile worms its way onto your visage. “Yeah? I’m sure you’re a beautiful singer.” 

Jungkook snorts, “You’ve never even heard me.” 

“Hm, I still know you’re beautiful.” 

“Well, there’s this producer that works at the radio station. He’s a friend of a friend, and they hooked me up and I’m gonna collab with him. We’re gonna finally meet up and I’m gonna demo some of his songs. He needs a vocalist.” 

“That’s amazing. I can’t wait to hear.” 

“Yeah,” and a dreamy smile overtakes his lips, his eyes floating to the gold LEDs decorating his room as if they are stars. “It’s just a hobby, but I wanna give my all in this.” 

You hum, tucking your hands between the cool pillow, “Can I hear you sing?” 

He frowns, “I’m not even warmed up.” 

“C’mon, just a ‘lil sample!” 

“What do I get out of it?” 

“A happy girlfriend. And if you’re that uncomfortable I’ll sing for you after. I make a pretty mean rendition of Happy Birthday.” 

A pause, and he relents, reaching over to squish your cheek. “Only because you look so peaceful right now,” he sits up a little, “any requests?” 

“Lost Stars, by Maroon 5.” 

“Oh, so she has taste.” 

He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be vulnerable around you. You almost tear up again, hearing the sweet sounds of his voice as he starts off with the pre-chorus of a cover near and dear to your heart. He’s right, his voice is rough and untrained, but the potential is there. But it’s the one thing from home that you’ve missed, and just a couple notes is enough to make you feel at home. 

Once his sample ends, he throws you a small smile and buries himself in the blankets. His face pops up cutely, embarrassed. 

You throw yourself onto the mattress with a flourish, clutching your chest as you make a show of swooning. “That was beautiful,” you say sincerely, “please post a full cover on YouTube. They’re gonna swoon over you.” 

He rolls his eyes, “As if. Only K-pop idols get that kind of attention.” 

“I suppose,” you shrug. 

“But you, however. I remember you saying you were gonna sing for me in return,” he laughs when you groan and flop against the cushions. “C’mon, I wanna see that Happy Birthday remix!” 

You playfully sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Alright, but you only get one line.” 

“Mhm, hit me with that Happy Birthday.” 

No, you are not going to sing Happy Birthday. You take your time, and reach a hand to caress his face. He easily leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours. 

“Take my hands now, you are the cause of my Euphoria.” 

Whether your singing talents are good or not did not matter, Jungkook is equally enamoured. “That’s a nice song,” he says simply, “I’ve never heard it before.” 

You shrug, scooting closer, “Maybe you will one day.” 

The length of the day starts to edge you off to sleep, and you feel your eyes fluttering in and out of consciousness. Jungkook seems equally exhausted, but patient as he watches you fight to stay awake. He pulls the blankets over both of you, reaching forward to pull you closer. 

He looks at you in consent, hands hovering over you as you nod. He starts with your shoulder, trailing his palms down your smooth skin before it reaches the curve of your waist. 

“G’night, Koo,” you mumble, snuggling into his warm chest, “‘M sorry again, we’ll talk about it soon.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” how could he possibly be upset, when he feels how much you care for him right here at this very moment? He presses his lips to your forehead, “everything will be fine, pretty girl. The way I see it, the way we met was fate.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1. 

Jungkook jolts awake, as if lightning pierces his system. 

Instinctively, his hand reaches for yours. Despite the weather getting warmer, your hand still remains uncomfortably cold. He rubs a hand across his face, sweeping the sleep that so desperately wants to take him. 

Things have changed. Your superficial wounds have healed, however you still appear pale and lifeless, twitching occasionally in your sleep. 

Your position has been replaced, right off the bat. There’s a new language teacher to guide the rookies, who has big shoes to fill as they take long hours to ensure that they’re worth keeping. He isn’t sure you’ll have a job to come back to when you wake up. 

It’s been well over a month since he’s seen you. The first couple of days he refused to leave your side, insistent on cleaning your skin with a warm cloth and putting lavender lotion on because you couldn’t. After that, he had no choice in the matter. Life had to go on without you. 

If anyone was in pain from your hit and run, they’ve so far masked it really well. Everyone other than Sehlyung however, whose roots have grown in and her stitching has slowed considerably, as if always interrupted by mere thought. But smiles continue to be exchanged, performances are full of unbridled energy, and he immerses himself completely. Except today when he gets a break, he insists to drive straight to the hospital to keep you company, even if you don’t know it. 

At that time Jimin placed a soft hand upon his sunken cheek, pale due to overexertion and lack of sleep. “Jungkook, you can go home with us and rest for a few hours,” he tried to convince him, “she’s not going anywhere.” 

“I know,” he felt like a child, fiddling with his hangnails as he’s pressed between Jimin and Hoseok in the back of their van, “just don’t wanna waste any time doing needless things.” 

“Like showering, eating, making sure you’re still a human being?” Hoseok tried to lighten the mood, staring out onto the city as they made their way to their apartment complex. “C’mon, I’m sure y/n can still smell how much you stink right now.” 

Someone chided Hoseok, and threw a bag of Cheetos in his lap. The conversation on their side started to morph into something else, completely forgetting the conflict Jungkook was going through. Jungkook sunk further into his seat, thighs brushing against Jimin’s as he continued his spiel. 

Jimin offered him a tentative smile, “In case she wakes up, y’know? I’m sure she doesn’t want to see you like this.” 

Jungkook’s not even sure if you’d want to see him at all. 

Nevertheless it’s six against one, and with a quick shower and a granola bar he’s already Ubering to the hospital. Initially he was going to bring his work computer to get some stuff done in your room, but he figured your family would be in your room and he didn’t want to impose. 

Thankfully, he could avoid another awkward conversation today (he didn’t want to remember the first one)  as the nurses told him that your family already left for today. That much was evident when he spotted a garbage bag by the door, filled with pizza boxes. Courtesy of the company you’ve been moved to a VIP room, large enough for your visiting family to spend their days in. 

The desk that he usually occupies to do work is filled with coloring pages from your younger cousins, renditions of you awake and playing dress-up with them. He doesn’t bother pushing them aside, instead plopping his bag in its chair and going over to the sofa chair closest to your bedside. 

Fast-forward to now, he doesn’t know when he fell asleep holding your hand. He opens your bedside drawer to search for something to wake him up. You always kept a tin of breath mints in your purse, just in case. 

Your purse is splayed out across the drawer, stray items rolling back and forth. Immediately finding the forest green tin Jungkook pops two spearmints in his mouth, slamming the drawer shut. 

He hears glass shuffle between the wood. Confused, he opens the drawer again, slowly. In the very back corner, there’s a bottle he’s never seen before. He picks up the tiny container, weighing it between his palms. A wilted, once sunset orange flower is floating sadly between the clear liquid. There’s a little bit of the liquid left, and it almost looks like a novelty item you keep in your purse, like a good luck charm. He pops open the lid and brings it to his nose. Maybe it’s his propensity to get sick more often, but he can’t smell its contents. 

With a shrug, he throws it back and takes a swig. 

He immediately coughs at the sudden and unexpected tang of floral alcohol. Some of the nurses passing by ask if he’s fine, but he waves them off and reaches for the glass of water on the counter. After downing half the glass he quickly caps the jar and shoves it back in your purse. 

Resting his head on the thin mattress, he reaches for your hand again. He whispers your name. 

“Can you hear me?” he says, halfheartedly trying to get you riled up like old times, “when you wake up, you owe me an explanation of whatever poison is in your bag.” 

When he closes his eyes, he dreams of you. It’s like he’s swimming, present but not. But it’s definitely his gaze, from his point of view. He sees you, naked in an unfamiliar room with warm yellow LEDs, reaching to caress his messy hair. Jungkook’s hands are splayed over your body, and he can almost feel how soft your skin is, slightly damp but comfortable enough to hold you. He can’t make out whatever you’re saying, but you flash him a tired smile and snuggle further into his chest, as warm as can be. 

[notgonnarememberthis]

today (of all days) - pt. 2

Here y'all go!!! Another update has officially dropped and I hope y'all enjoy this. Ngl I wasn't entirely sure where this one was going BUT I do like where it ended up.

The second time she comes Gil is half asleep on the couch, case files spread all around his coffee table and a half filled mug dangling precariously on the ledge. They’d been around each other a lot more in the months following, but she never did come with a bottle in hand and her burdens to unload. The knock startles him awake and he shuffles all the papers back into their respective folders, pulling on a shirt to go answer.

Jessica stands, her face twisted in pain he hadn’t seen since the first night of Martin’s arrest. When her eyes meet his she just crumples, like a house of cards in the slightest breeze. Tears slide down her cheeks and her breath comes out in short whines. She’s trying desperately to explain but she can’t get out anything past her frantic sobs.

Her cries send him into immediate action, one hand securing the bottle she has in one hand while the other loops around her shoulders ushering her inside. He kicks the door closed behind him not really caring about the noise or the attention it might draw when Jessica is falling apart in his arms.

He places the bottle down next to the bowl that contains his keys and slowly reaches out his hands to her. He waits until she sees them as not to startle her with touch, when she doesn’t jump away he places them gently on her shoulders. “Jess, easy. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I couldn’t.” She wheezes. “I can’t.”

She can’t breathe, he surmises from her hands scratching at her own chest. His eyes widen momentarily, he’s seen panic attacks before with Malcolm but seeing them come from Jessica is new. He wonders how long she’s kept them a secret from others. “Jess, focus.” Her eyes snap to him again. “Breathe with me.” He breathes slow, and she tries to follow the rhythm but-

“I can’t.” She sobs.

“Yes, you can. Keep trying with me.” She forces herself to play along, breathing in short hiccuped air before exhaling slowly. Eventually with the movement she settles, though her tears do not stop. “What’s wrong?”

“Martin,” She sucks in a deep breath again trying to control her panic. “Martin called. And I answered.”

“How the hell does he even have a phone?” She tosses her head back, the motion screaming that she was wondering the same exact thing. “What did he want?”

“He wished me a happy anniversary.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

“It’s your wedding anniversary?” She nods with a note of shame.

“I saw the call and for a minute. I just forgot. I forgot everything.” Her head falls, her hand coming in front of her eyes to try to hide her face. “How can you forget 23 dead women?” She devolves into sobs again and he simply pulls her into a hug letting her cry it out. He doesn’t have any words to help her. How can you comfort a woman who’s so suddenly a single mother, not because of her husband’s death but because he’s a prolific serial killer? “I just froze.” She cries into his shoulder. “His voice. It was.”

He shushes her as she cries, one hand resting between her shoulder blades and the other brushing through her hair. Her fingers cling to the front of his shirt, desperate for anything to cling to.

“God, Ainsley found me just standing there. He’d hung up but who knows how long I was just there.”

“She’s too young to know. She’ll forget it by tomorrow.”

“I know.” She sighs. “If it were Malcolm.”

“It wasn’t.” He pulls her back forcing her eyes to meet his. “You can’t drown yourself in ifs, Jess.” She sighs, knowing that he’s right. “Let me get the glasses and we can talk more ok?” She nods, moving to the couch. He watches her closely, seeing how her shoulders are folded inwards, completely uncharacteristic of the woman who takes so much pride in how she presents herself to the world. He doesn’t know if he’s honored or saddened that she doesn’t feel the need to wear that mask here.

He comes back with the same glasses from the first night, recognition flashes in her eyes and her lip twitches upwards at the memory. He pours them both a drink and she knocks back her first with ease. He schools the frown that threatens to show, instead flipping to a more comfortable topic.

“How are Malcolm and Ainsley?”

“Blissfully unaware. They’re off getting spoiled by their aunt who will dig way too much, but honestly what other option do I have?”

“I could take them for the night.” 

“No, I need-” She catches herself before she lets the words slip. The way she swallows, her eyes holding all the vulnerability of a bird with a broken wing. He knows how the sentence was going to end. I need you.

“Well, the offer stands any time you need. I love having them over. Though Ainsley keeps asking if I’m going to get a cat because I told her about my mother’s cat having kittens.”

“So I can blame you for that.”

“Just a bit.” A hint of a smile plays at her lips again and they fall into the comfortable silence of drinking. After her third, he can see that she’s starting to slump. All composure has been forgotten as the buzz takes over. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

A playful grin pulls at her mouth as she flips her hair, sending a rush of heat to his cheeks. “I’ve hardly been divorced for 2 months and you’re already making a move?” He stammers for a moment. He can’t say in his more shameful moments he hadn’t thought of it. She’s a beautiful woman, and strong as all hell too. But he wouldn’t. He can’t. She tips back her head letting out a loud laugh that doesn’t do any good for the knots forming around his heart. “Oh my god, your face!” She squeals.

“Very funny.” He chuckles. “But I really don’t think you should be alone tonight.” His statement cuts her laugh short. He half expects her to turn somber once again but instead the air feels electric. He stands before either of them can do anything that they’d regret in the morning. “I’ll get you some clothes, you can take my bed tonight.”

“I can’t put you out of your own bed.”

“I insist. Besides, my couches are a lot more comfortable than yours.” She feigns offense but it’s true. He bought his couch solely for the occasions when he falls asleep on them while pouring over case files while hers are solely for appearances. A traitorous voice asks what else she has just for appearances.

“Gil?” He turns, as she catches his wrist. For a moment he wishes that they’d met in a different time. Some time before her world had gone to hell. A time where he could try. She stops his train of thought when she presses a kiss to the corner of his lips. A sad look passes over her eyes, different from her sadness over her destroyed family and broken life. He wonders for a moment if she wishes the same as him. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He says, his voice soft. The tone reserved only for her or her children.

And she smiles.

[pastelpoison88]

How a Dark Aristocats Movie would go down

Y’know, since Disney is already ruining their own movies with live action remakes.

Keeping all the classic/iconic lines in (e.g. Lady scene, Scales & Arpeggios, Everybody Wants to be a Cat, Duchess & Thomas chemistry)

Setting change: revolution (upper vs. lower class)

The gift that Adelaide has in the beginning is from a distant relative (I’m thinking a niece)

Edgar has ties to the lower class effort (idk what to call it)

Adelaide dies somewhere & home is destroyed, that’s why Duchess and the kittens have to go somewhere else

Frou-Frou is stolen or killed, but she never comes back 

Duchess is the first to go (going back to classic Disney fashion, regressive but interesting), bc character growth for the kids and leaving them with a father figure that they never had before so they all just have to trust each other (maybe half way during the story so the audience can become attached to this version of her)

Maybe Thomas is a little shifty but has a soft spot for the kittens and is going to make sure they get to Adelaide’s relatives safely

The cats he hires to help them are the rest of the alley cats that sing Everybody Wants to be a Cat (I know they’re kind of racist in the original but it would be nice if they kept their ethnicities and maybe outcasts from their respective societies, hippie English cat stays the same tho)

They have to practice biting and clawing (remember the scene at the beginning of the film when Duchess says “Aristocrats do not practice biting and clawing and things like that, it’s just horrible.”)

Marie still wants to be a lady though, so O’Malley has a talk with her about that (healthy father-daughter relations blah blah)

I have a feeling Toulouse would be better at fighting bc he mainly works with his paws (he’s the painter) and then Berlioz (the pianist)

Marie dies eventually by stopping a fight (like her line earlier in the movie)

I forgot about the geese so they can just be seen flying away from the conflict

O’Malley dies eventually too, leaving the brothers by themselves

maybe we have a human main character as well, it can be the niece or her husband but they kill Edgar by trapping him in a chest and drowning him for killing Adelaide (I just remembered the goofy lawyer so they could also be related to him, he was slaughtered in his home bc of the revolution)

But back to the cats, one of the brothers die (in my head this was Toulouse and Berlioz was the one left standing) 

The revolution eventually comes to an end, not because someone won but because everyone lost and is dead except for those who couldn’t fight (ordinary men and women, wives of fallen soldiers, injured, children)

Berlioz stumbles back home

Remember the mouse in the beginning? he’s still in the ruins of the house but he’s getting ready to leave

the main human character that killed Edgar walks by and brings Berlioz home to Adelaide’s niece

She names him Berlioz after himself because she was close to her aunt or whatever and her aunt had written about him to her

The niece and her husband have a kid who plays piano as well as another cat (I would call her Princess to match with Duchess)

Berlioz gets with Princess by playing piano for her because they kind of got to know each other and she noticed that he was feeling sad and she wanted to cheer him up by doing something he loves and he plays a darker version of Scales and Arpeggios (to add some cuteness, she tries to sing along but is sort of off-key but corrects herself along the way with his help so his voice is kind of stronger when he jumps in but matches her when she gets it)

screen goes black credits roll

as the credits roll, more voices join in and they get older as the song goes on and the tone gets much lighter (i imagine the voice actors are those of all the animals in the movie but they’re playing new characters at the very end) 

credit song goes out when an older singer coughs and Berlioz opens his eyes (1st person pov shot) to his family surrounding him. He and Princess had kittens of their own, but she’s no longer there (maybe have her singer get old and then drop out entirely before Berlioz goes) so his grown children (and maybe their kits) are surrounding him along with his human family and maybe he’s hallucinating his old friends and family before fading out entirely

or maybe that was just a pause and we have a choir of the whole cast singing as the rest of the credits roll

Possible themes

the effects of war (a classic)

innocence and when it should be lost

idk  

I know theatres aren’t as grand as they used to be and there actually used to be live music in them so a little behind-the-scenes imagine (I’m getting way too into this): The whole cast sings the end credits on stage and the younger members run to the exit to say goodbye to the people who viewed it

And a little after-credits special: the whole cast dancing to Everybody Wants to Be a Cat with re-introductions

[g--r-e--e-n]

The best of cures.

Anime expo: MAX. I may be late because I fell asleep :'C

Pairing: Beelzebub x GN! MC x Belphegor, not necessarily romantic but maybe kind of. May write a more lovey-dovey fluffy piece as a second part if anyone happens to enjoy this humble piece of writing.

Warnings: Mention of a vague sort of unwell feeling, probably because of Solomon's cooking. Spoilers for the whole Belphegor thingy, around lesson 16, I believe. Not too nicely written but I really do try.

A/N: This has been harder than it seemed! Maybe it's just because I didn't sleep nicely, but I wanted to participate in this.

English is not my first language, and this is my first fanfic, so it can feel weird and the characters might be slightly OOC (is that how you young people say it???). I also struggle quite a bit with Internet slang and overall usage of this platform so please, tell me if I did something wrong!

Asphyxiating. Utterly, deeply asphyxiating, which, coming from someone who once died being choked, is not to be overlooked.

Bodies pile against each other, pushing, brushing, bumping. The air seems to get heavier and heavier with every breathing pair of lungs, every beating heart.

Someone's singing on stage something you can't really understand, and it's way to damn loud, almost enough to drown the constant noise produced by a hundred little machines all over the place.

Levi was long gone, too invested into getting new merch to even think twice about the crowd. After all, this was a place were he got to be himself, where people wouldn't judge.

Mammon was, unsurprisingly, spreading chaos all over the place, followed by a very stressed and very tired Lucifer and Satan, who was having too much of a good time seeing his oldest brother struggle against the mass of people while trying not to get Mammon arrested, or probably directly murdered. Sure, he was a powerful demon, but he was also Lucifer's favorite and, under the excuse of "not allowing him to gain us all a bad name", he kept his adorable little brother out of danger, at least this time.

Of course, Asmo, on the other hand, was too busy flirting with cosplayers and praising their skills to even pay attention to your very mortal, very stressed and probably not at its best little head.

But it was fine, because, after all, you had the twins.

More or less. Maybe it was them who had you. Maybe it was Beel who somehow had both of you.

You softly grabbed Belphegor's shirt, who at the same time grabbed his twin's sleeve, forming a very awkard, but oddly comforting little train that ran at unholy speed towards every food booth you can find, as many times in as little time as it's physically possible without leaving you behind. After all, as much as Beel loves his food, you know he loves his family more, and, at this point, it seemed that you somehow are a part of it.

And that feeling must be there for young little Belphie, for when he noticed your pale face he slightly pulled Beel's sleeve, just enough to stop him from continuing ruining more business, perhaps even saving them.

"MC, you don't look too well" Softly said the youngest of all brothers, his soft fingers slowly tracing your cheek, letting go of his twin. His hand slowly and almost lovingly climbed to your forehead, worry clear in his face untill a relieved sigh leaves his lips, before a soft, almost lazy smile is born. "Well, at least it's not fever... Do you need a nap? I'd be happy to help."

You try your best to brush it off with a smile too, not wanting to disturb anyone, but before any words could leave your lips, you felt the world begin to spin around. It's not like you fell, but you did struggle a little, at least enough to get Beelzebub to lay his large hands on your shoulders at a clumsy attempt to help you. He knows for sure he's big and heavy, and now that you, a fragile human, seem to be sick, he seems afraid he could just break you.

"Maybe... Fresh air?" you do your best to speak, slowly coming back to your senses, feeling your guts move around a little too much for your liking. Both Beel and Belphie look at you with clear concern, two identical pairs of eyes fixed not within you, but within your soul.

You do not reek of the heavy, overwhelming and intoxicating sloth, nor of the acute, corrosive and flaming hunger. If a human is well fed and well rested, only sickness could be the answer, right?

They both share a concerned look. Soon, Beel, who does not have as much of a reflexive nature as his brother, is soon leading you two outside, shielding you as much as he can from the crowd, holding you close just in case you feel a bit too weak. Maybe you would complain if his warmth wasn't as alluring, his presence as comforting.

Belphie, on the other hand, lingered back a bit. Seeing you struggling and not being able to help made him feel so uneasy, soon reminded of your human nature, your own volatility. How his dream is just that, a dream. A foolish one.

You barely turn your head back in time for catching a glimpse of the Avatar of Sloth himself rushing (he may not be running, but please still note the huge effort) towards you, who are just crossing the door. Like hell was he giving up just now. He doesn't care what Diavolo says. He doesn't care what God says. He will fall again if it means he can get a happy future with Beel and you. I mean, at some point, you'll have to die. All he has to do is make sure you get here, with him, and to this day tempting you to nap with him had been rather easy.

The breeze is soft but fresh, trees softly dancing with it. Some people come and go, but there's at least a chance for you to actually breathe and sit on the nearest bench, head spinning a tad too much to mourn the loss of Beel's embrace.

"Are you feeling better?" It's Beelzebub who asks this time, kneeling before the bench to look into your eyes, with the face of a sad little puppy trying to cheer its owner. "Maybe you could use some food. What if it's your sugar level? Humans need lots of sugar, right?"

You tried your best to say no, you really did, but he was just too cute to simply refuse him. Poor boy wants to help, so you might as well give him a chance. He could be right, for all that you know. Not like he already made you eat much more than you had planned.

"Well, if y-"

"Food and rest." Belphie slowly nodded, sitting next to you and throwing his arm over your shoulder, a little smile on his lips once again, your voice too weak for him to even notice his interruption. He wasn't usually like this, but not that you could ever know. After all, this smiley Belphie is born every time you are around. "Beel, go get them some sweets. We'll be here."

The young orange-haired demon seemed pretty convinced, a sparkle of concern still alive behind his iris, nodding without a single question to be uttered. Belphegor does know a lot about humans, after all. And he's glad he gets to help.

As soon as his twin is gone, Belphie's eyes carelessly lie upon you, his arm shifting you to rest on his shoulder.

"He's one adorable dork." he softly says, as if he didn't want the trees to know how much he cared for Beelzebub. How much he cared about you. "So you better stay healthy. He already lost you once."

You hesitated a bit. You could be real mean and ask him whose fault it was, but something about the bitterness in his voice told you not to. It's not like you felt strong enough to fight anyone right there and then.

"Don't underestimate me, cowboy.'

You widely smile, letting a half laugh and half sigh go, closing your eyes and softly snuggling up a bit. The action is sweet, yes, but it means more than it might seem to.

For days after the "incident" you could barely let Belphie touch you. You did try your best, mainly because you would rather die again than see Beel sad, but your inner rejection to hid touch was too obvious for Belphie not to notice. It's how any human would've reacted anyway.

But there you were, weak, fragile, ever so much he could kill you with a mere snap of his fingers. Your hear on his shoulder, your hair tickling his nose, your own neck exposed for him to grab once more.

It was a foolish kind of trust that made something inside Belphie want to laugh, yes, but also incredibly warm, enough to openly hug you tight, something strictly reserved for either Beel or his dear pillow.

His hand, somehow a weird, corpse-like sort of cold, lingered softly on your neck, barely touching it at all, caressing slightly your skin and sending shivers down your spine. You seem to find certain relief in his soft touch, for soon you place your hand over his, slightly moving your head almost unconsciously, like a young kitten seeking for love.

"You are a weird human, you know?" A little laugh follows his words. Were your insides not feeling melt already, you sure would've felt it. Belphegor has one of the prettiest of smiles in the whole Devildom and, when you see him laugh, you felt paradoxically enough, in heaven. "I'm glad you're here. Not because of Lilith, not because of anything really, not other than because of you."

You didn't really know if he means those words, seeing how his beheaviour quickly changed, but you decided not to overthink it. Your position was comfortable, Belphegor's heartbeat slowly lulling you... Yet there's something else left.

At times something can be home, back in the human realm. Friends that you left behind.

Others, something can be a demon try as a tree hidden behind a mountain of snacks that barely allowed his bright smile to show behind the almost as bright wrappers.

"Beel, come here..." Belphie's voice sounds almost gravy, barely imprinted in a yawn, as he softly pats the empty space in the bench, his hand leaving your neck tingling softly, a whine almost running away from your mouth. "Don't be too noisy, alright? And try not to get heartburn."

As whiny and bratty as Belphie could sound to any stranger, Beel must find it extremely funny, judging from the way that he softly chuckled and obeyed, quickly handing you a package of your favorite candy that you do your best to hold.

"Here. There's a bunch, so don't worry, alright? Even here, we can try those booths food, so just focus in getting better! Everything else is just perfect." His smile was brighter than the soon, and the way he manged to cuddle both his brother and you while not getting poor Belphie drowning in crumbs seems oddly mesmerizing.

"Just you wait!"

As soon as your words had left you, you were pulled closer by Belpie as his way to hush you and tell you to just eat and nap, which, weirdly enough, helped a little bit.

You woke up pretty late, still cuddling a beautifully asleep Belphie and his twin, very awake, very hungry and very afraid to move. It was his stomach's roar that had brought you to life, and you couldn't help but laugh. Beel, even if confused and distressed, ended up joining, glad to see your strength slowly recovering itself.

When the laugh slowly died, you two were left there, starring fondly at each other, both hunger and illness suddenly yet temporarily forgotten.

It was awkard, yes, but the kind you happened to enjoy. Puppy love kind of awkard. Giggles and scaping gazes. Soft smiles and a warm embrace.

You carefully leaned towards him, careful not to lose your balance, and softly kissed his forehead, staying there, ever so close, for a few seconds before shifting again, Belphie moving in his deep slumber just enough to let you know he misses your warmth, and that, as always, he had some sort of alarm shoved up that made him wake up the moment you decided to get affectionate with anyone.

"Thank you" you whispered softly, eyes slowly shutting so to feel Belphegor's breathing, focusing on the way it mixed with your own, your fingers tracing butterflies over his chest, knowing Beel's attention still lies on you, and finding certain comfort in it. "This is truly being one hell of a year."

Beel's eyes were oozing love as he stated at both, his adored little brother and the lovely human who had stepped in to protect him. Brave, unique. Not that you could tell, of course.

"We're glad" A big smile in his lips and hunger completely banished, he soon went back to cuddling quietly, his comforting warmth soon reaching you, who curled a bit, feeling bumblebees waltzing in your stomach.

Around half an hour later, you were found by Lucifer, who stared at the tangled mess of limbs and empty envelopes with a raised eyebrow. Being fair, he wasn't the first one to be rather surprised by the view, but nobody else had such a tender smirk to their faces. It had been a while since he last saw his beloved little brothers having such a good time.

[tsc-updates]

Tessa Gray Birthday - One Shot

January 28 1879

Tessa came out onto the front steps of the Institute. It was snowing, and she had stupidly left her coat upstairs in her room. She would’ve gone back in, but she didn’t want to be late for this.

She felt a little bad for slipping out of the birthday celebrations. Everyone was having a great time. She would be having a great time as well if she hadn’t been expecting the upcoming event.

Earlier that month she had sent a letter requesting someone’s visit on this specific day. They were already planning to meet later this month, except they had been planning to meet on Blackfriars Bridge. Something purred against her leg. She looked down. Church was sitting pressed against her foot, watching the Institute’s gate very intensely.

She smiled and crouched down. She patted Church’s head, and luckily for her, he allowed. “Waiting for him too, kitten?”

Tessa.

She looked up. Jem was coming up the stairs, no sound of his footsteps on the stone steps. “Jem. Hi. You came.”

Of course, I came. Your message sounded urgent.

She nodded. “It is. Sort of. A little.” She took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous. This is the first time I’ve seen you since…” She stopped there. Neither of them needed a reminder. Church left her feet and started rapidly strolling in circles around Jem, a loud purr all around them. Tessa giggled. “He really missed you, uh?”

Jem didn’t move, not even to scratch Church’s head like he used to. The grey cat became saddened, and just laid at his feet, stomach up, inviting him in. He still didn’t move. Why did you want to see me so urgently?

She looked down at her hands. “I wanted to ask you for a favour.” She rubbed her arms for the air outside was beginning to become extremely cold. “I was wondering, if it’s not too much to ask of course, if you could, maybe, if you want, and it’s not too much to bother…”

Tessa. He interrupted. It’s okay, just ask.

“Would you try to find my father for me?” She asked, a pink tinge invading her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if it was for embarrassment or coldness.

Your father? Didn’t he pass away when you were three?

“Not that one. My biological father. My demon father.” She came closer to him. “Please, Jem. You have more resources than me, and I don’t want them to know.” She pointed a thumb at the Institute door. “They’ve already been through enough because of me.”

Tessa…

“Please. You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

There was no reaction in his face, but his brown eyes were screaming with emotion. I will do it. You can trust me.

She let out a puff of air that came out in a small white cloud. “Thank you.”

You should go inside. It’s cold, and you’re not wearing a coat.

She frowned. “Yes, I should go. They’re probably starting to wonder where I am.” She took Church into her arms. He complained and grumbled, but didn’t hurt her or try to leave her grip. “Goodbye then. I’ll see you in a year.” She started going up the stairs. “Or, you know, when Will sets his plan into motion.” She chuckled.

What plan?

She turned. “Well, Will has started to design a plan to get you to come to the Institute often. He drew it on the wall.” She started laughing. “Technically, it’s more like a schedule.” She gave a pose pretending to be Will and even faked the accent. “Alright, listen up. So on Monday, I’ll fake a broken arm. On Wednesday, Cecily, you will fake food poisoning. And Gabriel, on Friday you’ll have a broken leg.”

You mean fake a broken leg?

“By the way he was saying it, I wouldn’t be surprised if we get to Friday and Gabriel magically has a broken leg.” She laughed. When her laughter died down, she shrugged. “He’s doing it so he can have a reason to call on you constantly.”

It’s not going to work. The Silent Brothers won’t just let it happen.

She gave him a look. “It’s Will. If he wants to see you, he’s going to see you.” He didn’t laugh, but there was amusement in his eyes. “I have to go. Goodbye.”

Goodbye. And Tessa? She didn’t turn. Happy birthday. She smiled and went inside.

As soon as they entered, Church put out his claws and punctured her arm. “Ow!” She dropped him. “Wretched cat.” She sighed. “He couldn’t have saved a fish…” She heard a noise coming her way. Will turned the corner, a wicked smile on his face, and a huge bowl full of water. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“Really long story.” He arched his eyebrows.

She crossed her arms. “Shorten it.”

He looked down at the large bowl. Then he looked up at Tessa again and shrugged. “Gabriel betted me.”

She nodded. “That’s all the information I need.” She moved in front of him to get to the ballroom where they were having the birthday celebrations.

“What were you doing outside?” She froze. She turned to him.

“Just watching the snow.” She said nonchalantly.

“Outside? By yourself? With no coat?” He chuckled. She didn’t answer. Something in her face must have made him realise what happened. He looked at the closed door and sighed. “He didn’t want to come inside?”

She let out a harsh breath. “You know he can’t.” She could see the beginning of tears in his eyes, so she jumped to distract him. “So what did Gabriel betted you on?”

Will looked at her and gave her a sad smile. “He betted me that I can’t take out ten apples from this bowl of water with just my mouth in less than five minutes.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “Five minutes? No way.” She shook her head.

“Want to bet?” He smirked.

“Isn’t that the whole point of you doing this?” She giggled.

He paused. “Yes.” He gave a half-shrug. “But that bet is with Gabriel. We could have a different bet.”

She thought it over. “Alright. How about this? If you can’t take out all ten apples, with just your mouth, in less than five minutes, you will stop suggesting for us to have a bear delivering the rings at our wedding.”

He nodded. “I can accept that. And if I win…” He grinned mischievously. He leaned into her ear and whispered his terms.

She gasped. “William!”

He smiled. “You in or out?”

She raised her chin. “Let’s do it.”

His eyes widened like saucers. “Really?”

She gave him a wicked smile. “Come on, Herondale. Show me what you got.” She moved towards the ballroom.

“God, I love you!” He beamed before following her.

It ended up being a lovely night, now that the nervousness surrounding her meeting with Jem was gone. The high point of the night was watching Will trying to take out the apples and nearly drowning himself in the process. He sprayed everyone with droplets from his soaking hair, that whipped front and back every time he went in and out of the water. The boys were chanting “Go! Go!” and the girls were laughing so hard that Cecily fell out of the chair she was sitting in.

Whether Will accomplished the deed or not, can be answered by the fact that the ring bearer was not a bear, but Sophie.

Tessa was very grateful for the people around her, for providing her with the best birthday she’d ever had, and for being the family she’d always wanted.

[whentommymetalfie]

Breathe again -chapter six

-Sun Tomorrow- 

prologue//one//two//three//four//five//

Chapter Summary: With Tommy’s condition worsening, Alfie decides to try something new. 

Pairing: Alfie/Tommy

Warnings: disordered eating, suicidal ideation, mental instability 

Wordcount: 5300

“Well, the good news are that his feet look alright. I’ve taken the bandages off,” Esther says as she enters the kitchen where Alfie is currently pacing. There’s been quite a lot of that these past few days, pacing, and for some reason he felt the need to do it in a different room today.

“Yeah, well, that’s a small bloody comfort,” he mutters. “What with absolutely everything else is going straight to hell.”

Esther sets the tray down on the kitchen table.

“Give it some time, Sir. He’s obviously been through a lot.”

“Well who hasn’t,” Alfie grunts. “Who fucking hasn’t?” Then he sighs and indicates towards the piece of bread still on the tray. “Still not eating anything, then?” Esther smiles a mild, tilted smile and shrugs.

“Well, he did eat some of the soup. It’s better than nothing.”

Alfie is overwhelmed by an uncomfortable feeling that maybe it’s not better than nothing. Maybe betterwould be to just let Tommy fade away… Seems like the more merciful thing.

No, the truly merciful thing would’ve been to shoot him down at the beach.

He shakes his head to rid it of the thought, because he’s fucking told himself to let that whole thing go, and agonizing over it isn’t helping. Instead he focuses on the practicalities; reminds himself to call Ollie tomorrow and get some intel on Birmingham. See if word’s gotten out that Tommy is missing. Really, he should’ve done it already, but it’s a bit hard to focus on things like that when you have a demanding fucking houseguest that needs babysitting at all hours…

“And you’re sure you don’t want me to stay?” Esther asks and pulls him from the musings.

He waves his hand dismissively. “Your afternoon off is your afternoon off. And I know for a fact that you’ve been looking forward to visiting that sister of yours. We’ll survive a couple of hours on our own”

Esther is still frowning as she unties the knot in the apron and hangs it on a hook by the stove.

“But you have to promise to be gentle with him, Sir.”  

Alfie rolls his eyes. “Fuck, woman, he’s not an abandoned kitten we’ve found in some cardboard box…”

Good analogy that, it may be at odds with the bird one but it somehow feels quite fitting too. Esther is not amused.

“May I remind you, Mister Solomons, that the last time I left you two alone-“

“No, you may not fucking remind me, I get it.” Alfie puts both hands up in a gesture of defeat.

Esther gives him a final, stern look. “All I’m saying is that I better not come home tomorrow and find him beaten all black and blue again.”

Fucking hell, the nerve of this woman…

“You have my bloody word. Now go.”

Esther leaves, but only after another reprimand, some intel on the food situation in the house, and saying yet again that Alfie needs to: ‘be patient with him, poor thing, today isn’t a good day’. And fuck Alfie is moments away from regretting his decision before she’s finally out the door.

After debating with himself for a bit, he reluctantly goes to check on Tommy. On his way to do that,  he passes the living room and sees the blue sky outside the glass doors. It’s been a few days of rain, but now the sky is clear, and the wind is nothing but a gentle breeze. He allows himself to linger and tries to somehow store that peaceful scenery inside himself for what is bound to be yet another frustrating and worrying interaction.

Bracing himself, he opens the door to the guestroom.

The room smells of nightmares and fucking… sadness and sweat. As if the misery is just seeping out of Tommy’s pores. Which isn’t surprising considering he’s spent the past four days in that bed without a proper wash, because baths haven’t exactly been a priority.

But spending all his time in a bed doing nothing but talk to ghosts and being utterly lost in various delusions can’t be doing anything for him.

Alfie thinks of the blue sky outside.

And is suddenly all out of his already lacking patience.

He walks up to the bed.

Tommy is gazing at some spot on the wall, the circles under his eyes dark and his skin ghostly pale. There’s only a tiny sliver of blue visible beneath his eyelids, but it’s enough for Alfie to see that he’s indeed awake. Or whatever you may call this state.

He starts off by shaking him quite roughly.

“Oi, Tommy, you’re getting out of this bed.”

Tommy doesn’t react.

Alfie’s hand flies up on pure instinct, but he stops himself at the last moment, letting it drop back down to his side. Instead he painfully crouches down in Tommy’s line of sight, stares straight at him and grabs onto his shoulder.

“Hey, you’re getting out of this bed and into a bath. It’s non-negotiable.”

Finally, Tommy’s gaze shifts to him.

“A bath?” he repeats, a tiny wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. Good. Not completely beyond reach today, then.

Alfie nods. “Yeah. And then we’re going for a walk. The weather is brilliant and if there’s one thing life has taught me it’s that it’s just not healthy to lie around and give yourself too much time to think about things. And you truly should listen to me because not only am I a God, but I also possess the wisdom of just a very old man-“

Tommy blinks at him.

Ignoring the lack of enthusiasm or just acknowledgement in general, Alfie straightens up, grabs onto his shoulders and pulls him upright. Only when the blankets pool around the impossibly thin waist does he remember that Tommy isn’t wearing any fucking clothes. Which makes him pause. Then he ambles off to the bathroom, grabs a clean towel and throws it at him.

“There’s a tub in here,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom. “And running water. And not that I really fancy the idea of hanging around watching you bathe, I’m also not too keen on finding you fucking floating around in the water, so I’ll be stayiing”

Tommy just looks at him and bloody hell it’s just all around very fucking frustrating dealing with someone who keeps acting like every word you say is a mystery… Alfie points at the towel.

“Go ahead, then. Out of that bed. I can even do you the favour of filling the tub like the fucking saintly man I am. All you need to do is take that towel and get in here.”

He turns and stomps into the bathroom and to the tub, turning the knobs to get the water running. Fuck he really should wait with this until Esther is back tomorrow. Why didn’t he do that? She’s well versed in dealing with this little lunatic by now, and in giving baths. Why on earth would he start on a mission like this on his own?

He pours a glug from a bottle on the edge of the tub into the water and the room fills with some florally scent as bubbles begin forming. Just as he’s about to go back and drag Tommy out of bed by the hair, the door creaks and Tommy appears on the threshold with the towel wrapped around his waist and with that blanket Alfie gave him draped over his shoulders, leaving very little of him uncovered.

He eyes first Alfie and then the bath very dubiously but without any actual glint in his eyes. Just this dull sort of nothingness.

Alfie turns off the water. The bath is just about half full, but that’s going to make it a bit more difficult for Tommy to drown himself in it.

“Get in,” he says and points at it. “I’ll be right outside this door and mind you I’ll be fuckin checking on you.”

Tommy just stares at the bath, but the only option other than physically picking him up and dumping him into it, is to just let him take it at his own pace. And even though that first option is a tempting one, Alfie reckons that would be going too far.

So he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

“Just so we’re clear, I’m right outside. So don’t try anything,” he says and taps a finger against the door for good measure.

Then he listens for any sound of movement. But either Tommy is being awfully quiet or standing stock still. Feels pretty fucking ridiculous to be standing out there, but what’s a man to do?

There’s a bit of quiet splashing and then more silence.

Deciding to give it a minute or so, he goes to fetch the clothes Esther has laid out for Tommy. She did try to insist on going into town and buying him something that would actually fit, but the weather really hasn’t been permitting any long trips like that. And it’s not like anyone is going to see Tommy, so what does it matter if the clothes are a bit big?

Alfie is certain she’ll return tomorrow with clothes anyway.

With the garments draped over his arm he knocks on the bathroom door.

“You okay in there Tommy?”

Silence.

“Know you’re not very fond of the whole… talking bit, but you’ll have to make a noise or I swear I’ll come in there.”

Still nothing.

These days, that’s about all it takes for Alfie’s heart to get stuck in the back of his throat. And he tugs the door open without a second thought.

Tommy is sitting in the tub, knees drawn up to his chest and surrounded by mounds of white bubbles, eyes glassily fastened on the opposite wall.

“What part of ‘make a noise’ do you not understand,” Alfie hisses and dumps the clothes down on top of the marble sink. Tommy blinks and glances at him, flinching as if Alfie just appeared out of thin air. And Alfie takes one of those slow breaths in through his nose that he’s practiced these past few days.

And doesn’t yell at him.

Or slap him over the face.

“You doing okay?”

Tommy nods.

“How about we try to start using words every now and then, eh?” Alfie says and scratches his beard irritably. “Let’s try that again. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Tommy says quietly and hunches his shoulders a bit, shifting ever so slightly to curl up tighter into his already tightly wound ball of limbs. Doesn’t look very comfortable or relaxed at all but that would probably be asking too much.  

“Brilliant. I’ve got some clothes here for you.” Alfie gestures to the pile. “They’ll be too big but that’s just something you’ll have to live with. So if you just do less fucking staring and more getting cleaned up, we can go out for a bit.”

Tommy doesn’t move, save for raking his nails across his shoulder.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“Right, Tommy,” he says. “I know everything is very new and difficult but you do remember how to take a fucking bath don’t you?”  

If the lack of response is anything to go by, clearly no.

The next deep breath comes out as a sigh with perhaps a bit too much frustration in.

“Right, so just clean yourself up a bit. Don’t have to dunk your head in if that’s… if that’s too much right now. Just wash some of that nightmare sweat off.”  

Alfie grabs a stool from the bedroom, sets it down on the middle of the floor and turns his back against Tommy. “And I’ll just sit right here and stare very carefully at this wall to make sure we get some progress here. See, I can hear if you’re actually doing something besides sitting there staring.”

He can somehow feel Tommy’s eyes boring into the back of his neck and he crosses his arms resolutely over his chest.

“Yeah, this is fucking strange, I’m well aware,” he grunts. “But I’ve made the informed decision that you’re in no state to be left alone, or you’ll just sit there until the water turns cold. And I’m not fucking bathing you. As much as all of my previous behaviour contradicts this, I’m not actually a bloody nurse. So you’ll just have to do it yourself, alright?”

Silence for another moment.

Alfie wonders if it’s physically possible for a body to just explode from pent up frustration. Surely that must be a thing?

Then there’s a tell-tale sound of water moving and dripping down a body.

“Should be a sponge there somewhere,” he says and tries to somehow hear if Tommy starts using it.

He gives it a few minutes, during which he thinks very hard about absolutely everything except for how fucking strange it is to be sitting in the same room as a naked Tommy in a bathtub.

When it goes very silent again, he glances over his shoulder to find Tommy looking back at him. His cheeks have gone a bit pink from the heat and his hair is  curling at the ends from the steam. Fucking unacceptable really, that people get to just walk around and look like that. Alfie would like to take it up with someone. And it’s not like he really pays attention to it but he’s not fucking blind is he? Not entirely at least.

He clears his throat.

“You done?”

Tommy nods. He raises both eyebrows and gets another quiet ‘yes’ instead

He puts his hands on his knees and gets to his feet.

“Well then, Tommy, there are just three more tiny steps that I’d like for you to do, and it’d make both our lives just a whole lot easier,” he says. “Get out of the tub, dry yourself off and put some clothes on-“ Tommy’s eyes have gone oddly glazed again and he snaps his fingers in front of him. “Oi, still talking.” Fucking hell. At least Tommy shakes out of the daze and blinks up at him. “So, steps: out of the tub, dry yourself off, put on clothes. Can you do that?”

Tommy’s eyes narrow just the tiniest bit, and Alfie desperately wishes to see some of that old iciness glint in them. Wishes he’d roll them and say something along the lines of ‘I’m not a fucking child’. Maybe get out of the tub stark naked and-

All he gets is another nod.

“Great. I’ll leave the room for this.” He makes his way out the door, telling Tommy over his shoulder: “Mind you I’ll be back in a few minutes and if you’ve managed to somehow injure yourself in that time I swear I can’t be held responsible for my fucking actions. Alright?”

He slams the bathroom door shut and goes to stand by the window to somehow occupy himself with the view.

Fucking hell it’s only been an hour since Esther left and he’s already contemplating murder.

His mood is marginally brightened a few minutes later, when the bathroom door opens and Tommy comes out dressed in his clothes.

It’s quite a sight. They would’ve been too big for him even years back before the extra pounds around Alfie’s stomach but now he’s is absolutely drowning in them. Granted Tommy’s also shrunk down to barely more than skin and bones. He’s had to cinch in the trousers with a belt because a pair of suspenders would’ve just left it all hanging in a lose sort of tent around him, and the shirt hangs off his shoulders, bony wrists barely poking out under the large sleeves.

Alfie finds himself smirking and gets what almost, by these new measures, could be counted as a glare.

“Right, now all we need is a coat.”

He heads for the hallway, Tommy following a few steps behind.

“Alright, I’ve got a few to choose from.” Alfie sifts through the items in the wardrobe positioned right inside the front door. “All of them will be far too fucking big on you but I suppose we’ll go for the one that’s the warmest.”

He pulls the thick coat out and tosses it at Tommy.

It lands on the floor.

“Well, pick it up, I’m not a fucking maid.” He shrugs into a coat he’s picked out for himself.

Tommy does. Even puts it on, too.

He flinches when Alfie barks out a laugh, but it can’t be helped -it’s just such a fucking  sight alright? Tommy looks like a child playing dress-up in their father’s clothes.

Once he’s equipped him with a pair of boots, he opens the front door to let light flood into the hallway.

“There we go, let’s see if getting some sunshine on that face will help, hm?”

With that, he grabs onto the coat sleeve and tugs Tommy towards the door, over the threshold and out into the afternoon sun.

The crisp air fills his lungs as he sets foot on the gravel path leading up to the house and he allows himself a moment to just stand there and enjoy it before saying: “See, this is quite nice, innit?”

Tommy is still on the steps, blinking in the sunlight and looking altogether very dazed and lost.

Alfie grabs the coat sleeve again and tugs him along, only letting go once they’re out the front gate.

The walk starts off pretty rocky to say the least. Tommy reminds him of a new-born foal, every step unsteady and unsure. And after an initial bewildered look at his new surroundings, he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the ground. Alfie ignores it and sets off down the path leading from the house and towards a grassy field. Not down to the sea for now, because that would be… an unnecessary challenge.

“Alright, so maybe you’d like to know a little about this beautiful scenery, hm?” he says as they walk down the path, surrounded by frost painted grass. He gestures towards an patch of greenery in the middle of the field. “Yeah, those, of course, are trees. To the untrained eye they might all look the same but I am well versed in most things and know better-”

Still talking, he leads Tommy through the field, pointing at various objects that just so happen to be mostly trees and bushes. And since he quickly remembers that botany was never his strong suit he makes up a few facts, because there really is no harm in that and at least it keeps Tommy occupied.

Tommy goes along with it, sticking close to his side. He still looks mostly at the ground, fingers picking at the fabric of the too long coat sleeves, but every now and then he’ll glance up and look at what Alfie is pointing at.

He doesn’t walk fast, which isn’t a surprise considering the state of him. And Alfie isn’t fucking cruel, alright, he adjusts his pace accordingly. It’s not like he wants Tommy to end up collapsing somewhere. But he’s sort of expecting it, still. Almost waiting for it with this sick sense of curiosity, wondering for how long he’ll manage to stay on his feet. But even though Tommy clearly struggles just to keep moving at all, he does stay upright.

It’d be stupid to overdo it, though, so finally Alfie stops by a chestnut tree and turns to face him, almost tripping over him because Tommy clearly doesn’t understand the concept of personal space right now.

“You getting tired?” he asks and by some miracle keeps the frustration from his voice.

Tommy isn’t listening, because he’s looking at a shiny chestnut lying nestled among the leaves.

Alfie picks it up and studies it.

“Funny things these… See, I have this very distinct memory of not understanding where they came from, you know, when I was a boy.” He rubs his thumb over the smooth surface. “There was this huge tree- well, in one of the parks, of course, there weren’t any fucking trees around Camden now, was there? Well, I distinctly remember always being surprised when I found these on the ground, because it felt like they’d just sprung out from nowhere, right? Coming from those prickly shells…“

Tommy finally holds his gaze when he looks at him. Eyes blue as the sky.

Alfie grabs his wrist, turns his hand upwards and drops the chestnut down into his palm. It’s followed by instant regret, because what on earth possessed him to do a thing like that? Doesn’t matter, now it’s done and he lets go of the bony wrist as if it’s burning hot to the touch.

Tommy is busy looking down at the chestnut, thank God, because he’s pretty sure he’s fucking blushing.

He clears his throat and starts walking back in direction of the house.

“Alright, suppose we’d better be heading back. It’ll start getting dark soon. And we’re not moving all that fast-“

A moment later he hears Tommy’s footsteps on the path and soon he’s got him there right by his arm again. And he should probably be annoyed because he’s walking so close that Alfie nearly steps on his feet a time or two. Which, yeah, does fucking annoy him make no mistake. But then he feels a hand grasp his coat sleeve. And instead of annoyance flaring up at the gesture, he feels a tug at his heartstrings. Fuck, fuck this is bad…He lets Tommy hold on, because he must be getting tired now, so it’s probably for the best.

Sure enough, by the time he unlocks the front door, Tommy is swaying ever so slightly on his feet, obviously exhausted. But at least the cold air and the bath has given him a tiny bit of colour on his cheeks, which does make him look less like a ghost, so all in all this feels like a successful endeavour.

“Right, I suggest you go sit down,” Alfie says and shrugs out of his coat, waiting to see if Tommy will follow his example or-

Lo and behold, Tommy does in fact pull the coat off, putting it back on one of the hooks.

“Since Esther is away for the night you’ll have to make do with my tea,” Alfie says and heads for the kitchen. “But I do actually know how to make decent tea, because what kind of fucking person doesn’t know how to do that? So why don’t you go sit in the living room for a bit?”

“Not the bed?”

Alfie stops at the question. Tommy has just stepped out of the boots and is standing there on the carpet looking very lost.

“The bed? No. No, I think we’ll avoid that for now. Doesn’t seem to be doing you any good.”

He’s just about to head to the kitchen, but a voice in the back of his mind tells him he’s about to make another one of those less than stellar choices by leaving Tommy to fend for himself there in the hallway. So he turns back, grabs him by the elbow in what he hopes isn’t too much of a rough grip and leads him towards the living room.

“There. Sit,” he says and releases him right by the armchair. “And stay there.”

Tommy’s obedience is mostly eerie, but it does come in handy in times like these, and he promptly sits down. And at least it’s a sign that he’s somewhat lucid, because otherwise he tends to do exactly the opposite of whatever Alfie is telling him.

Once Tommy has curled himself into that tight ball he seems so fond of being in, Alfie goes to make tea. He tells himself it’s because he quite fancies a cup, and then he might as well make one for Tommy as well.

When he returns to the living room, it’s empty. He very nearly throws the tray into the wall on pure instinct as a response, but catches himself at the last moment, setting it down on a table instead. Would of course be a shame on the porcelain. Not to mention his quite extensive collection of books residing on the bookshelf that almost became his target.

“Tommy?” he calls out, but is already moving towards the door. Fuck, if Tommy has gone ahead and wandered out into the sea again Alfie will just fucking leave him there. This is too much to ask of a person…

But the door is locked, the key still in the lock on the inside, and just as he turns to find someplace else to search, he finds Tommy standing there in the doorway with a blanket in his arms.

“Thought I told you to stay put,” Alfie grunts before he can stop himself. Tommy curls back up in the armchair, now with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“I was cold.”

Alfie gestures to the large number of blankets piled up on the other sofa. But then he realises that of course that’s the specialblanket Tommy’s been clutching like a lifeline since Alfie gave it to him.

Right. That explains it.

“Well, there’s tea now,” he says and points unnecessarily to the tray. “I can’t be fucking arsed to force feed you, so I won’t even try. Just drink something, alright?”

After getting a fire going, he can finally sit down with a sigh. He’s moved his armchair a bit to put it closer to Tommy’s. Makes it easier to grab onto him if he tries anything stupid. Which, given his track record, he will.

He picks up his book, sets the glasses on his nose and starts reading, deciding he deserves a moment of respite from all of this.

Meanwhile, Tommy drinks his tea quietly. And things are surprisingly peaceful for a while.

The next time Alfie looks up, he finds Tommy looking at the cover of the book, the empty teacup sitting on the tray.

“It’s a pretty decent book, this,” he says and taps the cover. “Well, I’m just on the second chapter, but it’s Austen, so how bad could it be? And before you say anything I’d like to point out that it’s masterful prose, even though it happens to concern fuckin’… rich folks just strolling around on lawns and sighing a lot.”

Tommy keeps looking at him, and this is longer than he usually pays attention so Alfie continues:  “See in this part, for example, our protagonist’s just having this very long monologue. And I think it’s about to continue on the next page.” He flips to the next page and hums. “Yeah, yeah see, these people really know where it’s at.” Tommy is still looking at him. He clears his throat and starts reading: “The weather’s been dreadfully grey, hasn’t it-“ he glances up at Tommy over the edge of his glasses. “You’ll have to imagine that being a woman’s voice yourself, alright? Because I’m not doing any attempts at that. Well, anyway-” he clears his throat and continues. “Ghastly, I tell you, absolutely ghastly.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tommy set his head against the back of the armchair, still with his eyes fastened on him.

He finishes the passage where the weather is discussed, and decides he might as well finish the whole page because what could the harm be in that? But when the page is over, Tommy is still paying attention, which is such a remarkable fucking thing that he reads another. And another. By the third page, he feels a slight tug at the fabric of his left shirtsleeve. Tommy has grabbed onto it. And of course it’s right there, on the armrest only inches away from Tommy’s chair, and he did spend a good part of his first day in the house clinging to this very shirt, so maybe it’s not such a strange and momentous thing. But it feels very much like both.

So from then on when he’s about to turn to a new page he puts the book down onto his lap so that he can use only his right hand. If holding onto something keeps Tommy from having one-sided conversations with any of the stuffed birds, or scratching himself bloodied, well then it seems like a small sacrifice to make.

But he’ll just finish this chapter, then it’ll have to be enough. He’s got things to do. Can’t be sitting around here all evening. Not that he can remember exactly what those things were, but it’s a matter of principle, really.

Yeah. He’ll just finish this chapter.

But when he gets to the end of that chapter, he finds himself starting the next one. Just because Tommy hasn’t shifted uneasily or said some cryptic shit for over half an hour, which must be some kind of record, truly. And if that makes Alfie feel more at peace than he has in fucking days and if the way he’s curled up against the armrest and pulled Alfie’s arm a bit closer makes him feel some type of way, then that’s no one else’s business is it?

And neither is the fact that when the sun begins setting outside the window, he’s still reading. Truth be told he’s so engulfed by it that he only notices because the low rays shine into his eyes. He places the book on his lap, spine up, and looks out the glass door.

“Now, that’s really, in the grand scheme of things, why you should have a house by the beach, innit, Tommy?” he says and nods towards the view.

Tommy glances out the windows and makes a little affirmative noise. Which feels like a victory. He’s still holding onto the shirtsleeve, and Alfie’s arm has somehow ended up all the way on the armrest of Tommy’s chair. He pretends not to notice. Like it’s just some lose extremity that’s lying there and not at all attached to his body by the shoulder.

He switches on the table lamp and continues reading. It’s rather nice, reading out loud. Strikes him he’s never really done that before. Cited things, sure. He gladly takes every opportunity to use words from people wiser than him, few as they are, especially if it serves to illustrate a point. But he’s never really read out loud before.

When he finishes yet another chapter, it’s quite dark in the room, so he looks over to Tommy to see how he’s dealing with that. Would be unfortunate if there were more of those scratching incidents, is all…

Tommy is asleep; the fingers of his right hand curled loosely into Alfie’s shirt and with the blanket pulled all the way up to his nose. His left hand is resting in his lap, clutching a small object. It takes Alfie a moment to realise that it’s the chestnut.

He blinks. And is annoyed that an almost giddy feeling of relief swells in his chest, because the sight of Tommy finally relaxed, eyes closed, lips slightly parted and with every line on his face smoothed out, has no business making him so happy.

Right. Tommy’s asleep. Means he can get some uninterrupted time to himself to just… exist and not have to worry about him every fucking second.

Well. It won’t hurt, just sitting here for a bit and making sure he stays asleep.

As if on que, Tommy shifts a little and frowns. Lacking better options, Alfie opens up the book and starts reading again, as soft and quiet as he can. Tommy settles down again and he feels himself relaxing back into his armchair.

And if he falls asleep in that very armchair a few hours later with the book on his chest and Tommy still sleeping soundly next to him, well, no one has to know.

[coffeecomicsgalore]

Chasing Feelings

Summary:  An akuma causes the entirety of Paris to be changed into Disney characters.

A/N:  The story stays the same. The alternate universe only happens during the entirety of the akuma battle.

Ao3

Day 6: Disney AU

Adrien groaned to the sound of his alarm. His hand fumbled around the bed in search of the dreaded rings, finally finding it beneath his pillow. Turning off the sound, Adrien covered his eyes with his arm to drown out the light coming in from the windows. Thoughts of the raven-haired girl crossed his mind again. Well, it wasn’t like he stopped thinking about her. He barely slept a wink while his mind replayed the entire day on a loop. The way she smiled, her braveness, the tears, sobs, and giggle. The way she said she liked Adrien put a smile on his face, but the shattered pieces she laid on her balcony thinking he didn’t feel the same way broke him too.  

Adrien didn’t want to think that Marinette was second best. She didn’t deserve that title. She was worth so much more than that. But how was he to feel when he loved Ladybug for so long? It was funny how all of a sudden, Marinette just came in and swept him off his feet like she has. It’s like she had this supernatural power about her that just draws people in.  It wouldn’t be the first time someone fell head over heels for her, he thought. Nathaniel, Nino, Luka... and now me?    

Adrien turned his head and noticed that Plagg was nowhere in sight. “Hey Plagg?” Adrien called out. “Plagg? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I need some advice again.”  

After a few moments of silence, Adrien shot up from his bed. “Pla-” A heaviness was felt from his head. He ran his hand through his hair and realized his messy golden locks were longer than the night before. So long in fact that they trickled down his back, spread across the length of his bed, and fell into a neat pile on the floor. He then noticed his room looked smaller than he remembered, focusing on the stone veneer in the round room. “What the- What is this?!” He yelled. “Plagg! Plagg? Where are you?”  

Adrien climbed out of his bed nervously. He searched around the room, careful not to trip on his freakishly long locks. “What in Disney hell is going on here?” Sitting on the bench that was where the couch would usually sit was a black kitten with green eyes staring intently back at him. “Plagg? Is that you?” The kitten blinked its eyes. “What is going on?”  

Adrien noticed the tv was missing so he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and turned on the news. Nadja Chamack was on the camera looking like fair maiden. “Don’t be amused, it’s just the news. An akuma by the name of Queen Mean has taken over Paris turning everyone and everything into the characters in the Disney realm.” Adrien scowled at the television. Princesses, kings, and queens were walking around. There were animals talking to each other. A few cars had turned into carriages. Buildings have been changed into homes relating to certain time frames. Then he saw a swarm of sweeping brooms cleaning the streets downtown.  

Adrien looked down at his hair and grumbled under his breath. “Great. Now I’m being mocked by an akuma. Rapunzel? Really? Is my life such a mirror to that movie? Why couldn’t I have been Eugene? No. I just had to be Rapunzel...”  

Fear struck him as the news drawled on. “Marinette? Oh no. Marinette! Plagg? What if something happened to her?” He looked down at the kitten and then groaned. “I can’t even change into Chat! What am I going to do?”  

He ran over to the door to find a way to leave and noticed it was locked and barricaded. He picked up his phone again to message Marinette, Nino, and Alya to see if his friends were okay. After a few minutes with no responses, an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach.  

Adrien happened to look up and notice the spotted heroine running on the rooftop across from him. Adrien ran towards the window, tripping over a strand of silky hair in his path. Finally making it to the window, Adrien called out to her. “Ladybug!”  

Ladybug turned and swung her yo-yo to his window. “Adrien? What happened to you? Why is your home a tower?”  

“I don’t know? I woke up and was turned into Rapunzel.”  

Ladybug stifled a laugh, which only made Adrien scowl at her. “Great, now I’m being laughed at.”  

“No. No. I’m sorry. You just look cute with long hair, that’s all.” Ladybug stopped and pressed her lips together as she blushed a color close to her suit. “Sorry.” She squeaked.  

He sensed her uneasiness. “It is kind of funny.” He rubbed his neck as he thought of a way to change the subject. “You must be the epiphany of lady luck if you were able to avoid being changed into a princess.”  

Ladybug tilted her head. “Actually, I was changed, but not into a princess. Luckily, pun intended, I was transformed into a Mulan version of myself.”  

“Of course, she’s your perfect mirror.” Adrien said with one of his model smiles.  

Ladybug could see something was wrong. His smile wasn’t genuine; he looked a weird mix of worry and annoyed. “I want to ask you if you are okay, because I can see that you’re not, but I have to capture this akuma and change everyone back.”  

She caught me. “You’re right, I’m not. I’m worried about my friend, Marinette, and I can’t even leave my room to find her. My door is locked and none of my friends are responding.” Adrien felt as defeated as he looked. He hugged himself as he whispered. “I hope she’s okay.”  

Ladybug smiled at the comment. “She’s fine. I happened to see her when I tried to follow the akuma. She looks like she’s a warrior of some kind so I bet she’s safe from anyone endangering her.”  

Adrien relaxed at her words. “Do you mind getting me out of this tower? I want to check up on my other friends, too.”  

Ladybug nodded and reached out to grab him. He looked at her, then to his cat (When did he get a cat? Ladybug thought), and grabbed him before going back to Ladybug’s outstretched arm.  

Adrien smiled sheepishly. “I don’t go anywhere without him now. He’s my... he’s my companion cat! Yeah. Kind of like companion dogs, but I can’t have a dog, so I got a cat instead. Ha-ha, ha. Ha.”  

Ladybug tilted her head in confusion, shrugged it off, then with a flick of her wrist she whisked the three of them out his window. “Go find your friends. You’re sweet to think of them before yourself. Especially with 21 meters worth of hair trailing you.” She kissed his cheek. “You know, you are just as brave as Chat Noir. Never stop being brave.” She said as she whisked away.  

All of a sudden, a flash of white surrounded him. He was lifted off the ground and a loud crackle could be heard. A moment later, he was dropped back onto the ground with Plagg now floating in front of his face. Adrien got up and noticed his hair was now back to its normal length and the tower had changed back to the mansion.  

“Kissing breaks the spell?” He said as he turned to Plagg. Plagg shrugged his shoulders, not knowing where to go from here besides the obvious. “Doesn’t matter. I need to go find Ladybug. Plagg, claws out!”  

Ladybug scoured the vicinity as she watched the akuma work. She hears the tapping of Chat’s boots as he landed beside her. “Chat. I was worried about you. Did you get turned into an actual cat or something?”  

Chat rolled his eyes. “No, actually I was turned into a handsome prince, thank you very much. But I’m here now. It just took a while because my kwami had changed too. How about you, bugaboo?”  

“I was turned into Mulan. Tikki wasn’t affected since she was hanging out in the miracle box at the time. I was lucky with that. I could still change into Ladybug as soon as she zipped out of it.”  

Adrien sighed. “What have you figured out? I found out how to change someone back to normal.”  

“I figured out that the akuma is in her staff. See? She reminds me of Maleficent.” She furrowed her brows. “How do people change back?”  

“Kissing. Not sure if it’s true loves kiss, or just kissing in general, but I was able to transform back.”  

Ladybug felt a pang of jealousy. Shaking her head from the feeling, she whipped her yo-yo at a building near the akuma. “Come on, Chat. We have an akuma to beat.”  

After a half hour of battle, Marinette walked out of the bakery with a treat bag in her hand. She still looked despondent, still feeling the lingering sadness from yesterday along with the now lingering pang of jealousy. Why does this have to be so hard?  

“Marinette?” A voice called out from the gray sedan pulling up beside her. Adrien opened the door, not waiting for the car to come to a complete stop. “Hey.”  

“Hey,” Marinette said softly. “Grabbing a bite to eat?”  

“No. I actually came to talk to you. Wait, Marinette, what’s wrong? You didn’t get hurt during the akuma did you? Ladybug told me you were fine. I should have tried to find you. I’m so sorry.”  

Marinette looked at him with so much love. She pulled him into a hug, both to help stop his ramblings and just for even thinking of her like this. While it was still confusing, she couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that was building up inside her.  

Adrien returned the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning his cheek on her head. “I’m here for as long as you need me.” They stayed there for a long time until Marinette felt comfortable enough to pull back.  

“Sorry. I just had a rough night. I didn’t sleep very well.”  

“I know the feeling.” Adrien said calmly. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”  

“No. But I’ll be okay eventually.” Adrien stared back at her knowingly. “I know I can come to you, but it’s something I have to figure out myself.”  

Adrien grasped her hand lightly, interlacing his fingers with hers. He waited a moment to see if she would pull back, especially since he now knew how she really felt about him. Adrien smiled when she didn’t pull away and asked if they could talk before school started. She agreed and made their way towards the school, hands still clasped together.  

His mind was clearer now. After the akuma, Adrien raced back home and finished getting ready and finally asked Plagg for advice. While it was all cheese metaphors, Plagg helped him understand his standpoint between the two girls. His fear of Marinette getting hurt by the akuma only contributed to his growing awareness of his love for her. Marinette was not second best. She was not an afterthought. Marinette came into his life and opened up his heart at the very moment he needed her to.  

Ladybug will always be his first love; that will never change or go away. She was the reason he understood what loving someone was. But Marinette gave him the chance to understand what loving someone who loves you back truly meant. She made him understand how to love all the bits and pieces of someone’s life that no one else in the world knows. She understands the power of freedom, the power or kindness, and the power of giving. She’s not afraid to show herself in her own Marinette way. She’s brave and beautiful and everything in between, and wanting to love and understand everything that hasn’t been shared with him yet will be like a treasure that has yet to be found.  

Adrien guided her to the bench and gestured for her to sit. “Do you want to sit?” Marinette nodded her head. As soon as she sat down, she pulled out a croissant and handed one to Adrien. “Is that your breakfast?”  

“I have an extra one in here. Please, take it.” She smiled. Adrien grabbed the croissant and nibbled at the end and she grabbed another for herself. “So, what did you want to talk about?”  

Adrien swallowed hard. “I wanted to apologize for how I acted yesterday. I should have never asked you to do the duet with me.” Marinette stopped eating and slowly laid the croissant down to her lap. Her head lopped down slightly and Adrien could see a tiny tear stroll down her cheek.  

���No, no! Marinette, no. Please don’t cry. That’s not what I meant.” Marinette refused to look up, afraid of what he was going to say next. He let out an exhaustive sigh. “No. What I mean is, I should have never asked you to do the duet with me as friends. I got so flustered yesterday that it came out all wrong.”  

Marinette finally had the courage to look up at him, her eyes red-rimmed from the heat of the unshed tears.  

Adrien pulled Marinette into a side hug, rubbing soothing circles up and down her arm. “What I’m trying to say is, I want to take you out on a proper date. Not one where we just sing and play against the tune of the piano. I want to take you out to dinner, maybe a movie, or walk the Seine or see the sights at the Eiffel Tower, and then maybe we could do the duet. But only if that’s what you want.”  

Marinette looked up at him in both wonder and confusion. “But... what about the other girl? You said you were in love with someone else when you drove me back home from the wax museum.”  

“Yes, I did say that. And that’s because I was in love with someone back then. As a matter of fact, I still do, but I love her as my best friend. You’ve managed to sneak into my heart in ways I never thought possible. You are absolutely beautiful inside and out. You have the heart of a saint, the patience of one too, and you are so caring and sweet. There are so many amazing qualities in you and I want to soak them all in and love every little piece of you for as long as you let me.” Marinette smiled as tears strolled down her face. Adrien grasped her hands and placed tender kisses to each of her knuckles. “So, Marinette? Will you go out with me and be my girlfriend?  

Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her forehead against his. “Yes. I would love to go out with you.”  

And with that, Adrien cupped her cheek and nuzzled his nose against hers, a silent plea to kiss her soft lips. When she smiled, she bit her lip inviting him in. Closing the gap between them, Adrien started with a simple peck, but Marinette drawled it out longer until they were both lost in each other's warmth. The kisses felt like they were alone and far away from the world; the warmth of the sun and the slight breeze that surrounded them assisting in their fantasy getaway. The only thing that brought them back to the small bench on the side of the school building in Paris was the bell alerting them that class was about to begin.  

They pulled away, both smiling, both realizing that this was the right thing for them. They felt safe and warm and loved. There was no confusion, no desolation, and no torn hearts for other people. Just two people melded together at the right moment at the right time.  

“Come on, mon chérie,” Marinette said as she stood up, “or we’ll be late for class.”

[dracoqueen22]

[CR] Rescue Me

Title: Rescue Me Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two, Alternate Reality Characters: Caduceus Clay, Fjord Rating: K+ Warning: Incident of Near-DrowningDescription: Caduceus’ first experience with the ocean is going rather poorly until he’s rescued by a very handsome lifeguard named Fjord.

For FjorClay Week, Day Six, Modern AU There's a certain arrogance one must have to venture into the ocean, Caduceus decides, and apparently, he is far too modest to face the relentless strength of the sea. He coughs, arms flailing, but another wave crashes over him, heavy and unyielding, pushing him below the surface. He can't see, can't hear, and the water burns in his nose, whips around his face, exerts a heavy pressure on his chest. Caduceus kicks his way to the surface, deciding his was an arrogance unfounded, and manages to get his head above water before another wave buries him, and down he goes, into the murk. Sand and seaweed swirl around him. His chest burns. His nose burns. Panic sets in, and he promises the Wildmother -- I'll be more gracious, I'll be more respectful, I'll be more humble, if only you'll save me.

Caduceus flails, another wave splashing down on top of him, the push and pull of the tide turning him in all directions. He has no idea which way it is to the surface. He's always been a passable swimmer. He thought the mild weather, the warm sun, surely he could swim like everyone else.

Arrogance, he thinks, is his downfall. And then there are arms, strong and warm around his torso, towing him toward the sun. They surface with a splash and the blue sky has never been so beautiful. "Hold on, I've got you," says a gruff voice as Caduceus splutters and coughs and clings for dear life to his savior. "Thank you," he gasps, heart racing as he sucks in heavy gulps of salty air. "Thank you so much." He gets a glimpse of a smile, bright gold eyes, green skin, tusks. "No problem. It's my job," says Caduceus' savior, and they start the slow, careful return to shore, Caduceus as weak as a kitten. He certainly feels like one, water-logged and a bit terrified, completely out of his depth, and clinging to the nearest source of stability. But his rescuer -- a half-orc Caduceus surmises -- is a strong swimmer, and he effortlessly brings Caduceus back to shore, back to the shallows, where he can finally get his feet beneath him. He coughs, dragging desperate breaths into lungs which ache, and a throat that burns like fire. He stumbles, knees wobbly, but his savior tucks himself against Caduceus' side, hooks an arm around his waist, and keeps him upright. "Easy does it," the man rumbles. "One step after another. There you go." "Thank you," Caduceus says again, and his rescuer looks up at him with a brilliant smile, and the cutest dimples Caduceus has ever seen. "You're welcome. But really, it's my job. Technically." He tightens his grip and half-guides, half-carries Caduceus to a nearby outcropping of sea rock. Caduceus gratefully sinks down onto it, his knees like jelly, his hair hanging around in his face in stringy clumps, his throat like fire, and his nose burning. He leans forward, his chest aching from the sensation of water in his lungs, trying to find calm. There's a warm hand on his back. "I'm going to get my bag, and then I'll be right back, all right? Just need one second." "Sure," Caduceus says around another wet cough. The warmth vanishes. His savior jogs across the sand and scoops up a bright red bag laying nearby, next to a pair of shoes and a discarded shirt. The half-orc is wearing a bright red pair of shorts, and Caduceus belatedly recognizes it as the standard uniform of a lifeguard. He thought this strip of beach was too secluded to have one. "I'm glad I decided to walk to work today," his savior says when he returns, dropping the bag and immediately rooting through it. He produces a wide towel, which he throws over Caduceus' shoulder. "How's that for luck?" Or fate maybe. Melora looking out for her faithful. "My good luck," Caduceus rasps and pulls the towel tighter around him. "The waves here are stronger than I expected." "Yeah, it's the jetties. They kind of... funnel the waves." His savior illustrates with his hands before he drops them back to his knees, crouching as he is besides Caduceus. "I wouldn't recommend swimming out here alone." Caduceus coughs into his hand. "I won't be making that mistake again." His rescuer roots around in his bag again before producing a thermos, which he offers to Caduceus. "Here. This should help." "What is it?" Caduceus asks, though he's already unscrewing the lid and taking a huge gulp. "Tea," his savior says as the overly sweet liquid flows over Caduceus' tongue. He makes himself swallow it, but yuck. Gross. That isn't tea. It's sugar water with only the vaguest hint of something steeped. Caduceus wrinkles his nose and hands it back. "That's not tea." "It's brewed tea leaves so that means it technically is." His savior chuckles but screws the lid back on and tucks it into his bag. "It's not good, is it?" "Sweet," Caduceus says, and smacks his lips, unsure which taste is worse, that of the salty ocean, or the sickly sweet liquid. "Too sweet. Can't taste the leaves." "Fair." He sticks out a hand. "I'm Fjord by the way." Caduceus clasps their hands together, impressed by the firm grip. Father always says you can tell a man's intentions by the character of his handshake. "Caduceus. Thanks for your kindness." "I mean, it's the least I can do." Fjord scrubs the back of his neck, his green skin turning a ruddy brown. "It's what anyone would do." "Maybe." Caduceus takes in a slow, deep breath that doesn't burn, calm finally settling around him. He's not shivering anymore at least, though he stares out into the ocean with some trepidation. "I should be more respectful of things with more power than me." Fjord rises to sit next to him, stretching out his legs with a soft groan. "That's a general rule." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Why were you swimming out here alone anyway?" "I do most things alone," Caduceus admits. "And I've always wanted to swim in the ocean so I thought it would be fun. And it was." Until he nearly drowned, it was spectacular. "No friends?" Caduceus finally manages to sit up straight, squeezing water out of his hair with the towel. "Few occasions to make them," he says, and gives Fjord a patient smile. "I was not only homeschooled, my family lives in a pretty remote place." Fjord's eyebrows crawl toward his short-cropped hair. "What are you doing here then? Vacation?" "I wanted to try something new." Caduceus twists his hair into a loose bun on the top of his head. He smiles as he hands the towel back to Fjord. "It's a bit damp, sorry." Fjord waves him off. "That's kind of what towels are for." Caduceus chuckles. "Yes, you're right." The sun warms his shoulders, his face, chasing away the stark chill of nearly-drowning. He feels more like himself now. "Anyway, I've taken too much of your time, Mr. Fjord. I'm all right now. I'm sure you have things you need to get to." "Hey now. Do I look like the sort of guy who'd just take off after rescuing someone from a near-death experience?" Fjord asks. He swipes the towel over his own head and body, whisking away the water, before sliding into his shirt, which is a shame honestly. Fjord has a very nice body. "Because, you know, I'm not that kind of guy." "I don't want to keep troubling you," Caduceus says. "Besides, I won't be going into the water anytime soon, so you don't have to worry." Fjord shakes his head. "It's not about that." He stands and plants his hands on his hips. "Also, not going back into the water is a bad idea. You just need to make sure you don't swim alone." Caduceus smiles and offers a soft laugh. "Alone is what I'm used to." "That's kind of sad, Caduceus." Fjord gnaws on his bottom lip, tusk pressing in on the soft flesh, before he snaps his fingers. "I've got an idea. Why don't you come with me?" "... with you?" Caduceus echoes as Fjord stoops to shove the towel back into the bag before zipping it shut and slinging it over his shoulders. "You can meet my friends, hang out with us, swim with other people nearby, that sort of thing." Fjord stands and holds out a hand to Caduceus. "I think Veth's planning on setting up a barbecue, and Beau brought her volleyball net. It'll be fun." "I..." Caduceus hesitates. Calliope told him not to go anywhere with strangers. She'd said it in jest, but it's a real point now. Except Fjord's not a stranger. He'd saved Caduceus' life. He's a good man. Caduceus is sure of it. "Sure." Caduceus takes Fjord's hand and lets the half-orc haul him to his feet. He might have the advantage of height on Fjord, but Fjord is significantly stronger. "I think that sounds nice." Fjord grins at him, and Caduceus' knees go a little weak. He's sure it must be because of his recent near-death experience, and not because Fjord's eyes are as beautiful as a field of goldenrod. "Good." He hooks his hand in the strap of his bag. "My friends are a weird and wild bunch, but I think you'll like them." "From a certain perspective, I'm weird," Caduceus says, and points to his stack of belongings, a little further up the beach. "Let me just get my things and.... uh... you said you were walking, right? I can give you a lift." Fjord falls in step beside him. "I mean, we're all a little weird, aren't we?" Caduceus tips his head back and laughs, nearly miss-stepping in the loose sand if not for Fjord grabbing his elbow to help him keep his balance. "The very best people are," Caduceus says. It's something from a book Clarabelle loves to read, over and over again, and the line has always stayed with him. Fjord smiles up at him. "Yeah, you're gonna fit in with us, just fine." Caduceus can't help but smile back, Fjord's amusement infectious, and his friendliness impossible to resist. Until now, he'd doubted his decision to leave home and try to forge his own path. But now he thinks he's starting to understand the Wildmother's urgings. There's a great big world out there, and people in it. People like Fjord. He's never been glad to nearly-drown in all his life. ****

a/n: Feedback is absolutely welcome! I’d love to know what you thought. I already have ideas brewing for a potential series for this... XD.

[esperanzacboronial]

for the three word prompt, can you do elmer + #20? thank you!

Tempestuous, Rabbit, Hurt

[ Read on Ao3 ]

By the time the clouds rolled in, they were already several miles too far into the middle of nowhere for stopping or turning around to be a sensible option. Maybe that’s the reason Elmer would give if he cared about reason or sense at all, or if anyone in the car with him thought he cared about reason or sense enough to demand any of him. (They did not.) 

The upside to being on a deserted, mountainside dirt road with no civilised life around them was that there was no real risk to his recklessness; there were no other cars on the road, meaning no bystanders would get hurt if they crashed, which meant no one would get upset, which cleared up all concerns in Elmer’s mind. Crashing would be at worst an inconvenience for the immortals among them, and Phil was dispersed very evenly between their two cars, so in any case the odds were in her favour that she would come out of this alive and well. Better to continue on to their destination than to pull over and wait, and put the top priority on the line. The collective happiness of the group was sure to suffer if they were delayed. Elmer could imagine it now: Sylvie would glare, and Nile would stromp about, and Czes would grumble. That wouldn’t do at all.

Rain splattered against the windshield and slicked the road, but Elmer just switched his headlights on and drove straight into the tempest.

The radio, a quiet murmur of chart-topping singles interspersed with light, breezy commentary and a nearby village’s local “news” — never anything important, adopted kittens and lottery winners — cut out every few seconds due to shoddy signal. Elmer still enjoyed the noise. It was a warm, amicable buzz around him. It made him feel like he was sitting in a bar or a coffee shop, surrounded by happy, chattering people and the faint hum of music. He did not need to follow any of it to find it joyful.

(In this way it differed from background chatter in bars and coffee shops, which he would always follow as intently as he could – without eavesdropping, how would he solve the problems people did not ask him to solve?)

Phil was asleep in the back, along with Czes and Phil. In the passenger seat, Sylvie was curled up into her corner with a book and a reading light, trying to drown out the noise Elmer enjoyed so much. The dial was on the lowest notch, but any time a song came on that he was familiar with (and in three-hundred years, he had familiarised himself with an unfortunate sum) Elmer hummed at twice the volume. Phil and Czes slept through it fine, but every few minutes Sylvie would cast him a disparaging glance, foolishly hoping he might be perceptive enough to notice.

Elmer might have been perceptive enough to notice, but he did not show any sign of it if he was. For all his faults, he managed to keep his focus firmly on the road — so firmly, in fact, that when he saw a grey blur dash across it in the glow of the headlights he slammed his foot on the brakes without a second’s hesitation.

The sudden, skidding stop sent Sylvie’s book flying out of her hands. Czes bumped skulls with the Phil on his right, and the two awoke with a start while the Phil on his left, miraculously, continued snoring away.

“Are you trying to kill us?” snapped Sylvie when she regained her composure. 

“What good would that do?” Elmer said, laughing lightly. He had already unfasted his seatbelt with a click, opened the door, and, as he spoke, was climbing out into the torrential rain. Feeling a chill from the wind, Sylvie quickly leant over to shut the door closed as soon as he was out.

Not far behind in another car, Maiza had almost swerved off the road to avoid rear-ending them. Elmer gave he and the others an energetic wave, followed by a thumbs up to indicate that nothing was wrong with the vehicle, followed by no further answers to the numerous other questions they might have had. He ducked in front of the car and began to inspect the ground underneath and around it.

“Ah-ha!” Spotting the thing, fortunately still squirming, he half-dove-half-slipped down to the gravel, mud and snow, to lay on his stomach and dig around under the car. At this point Nile had gotten out to see what the fuss was about, but watching Elmer’s actions was not providing him with any explanation.

— Until he returned to his feet a minute or so later, now cradling a mud-soaked creature in his arms. Or perhaps less cradling, being that this was Elmer, and tender care was not his strong suit. Perhaps more waving wildly in the air.

He spotted Nile through the downpour and yelled over, “Hey ol’ pal, any chance you’ve got some spare bandages?” He strode over to their car, mud-soaked himself. “You must carry them with you, right? ‘Case you unravel?”

No one would be able to say how deeply Nile frowned beneath his mask; no one would be able to say how loudly he sighed beneath the drumming rain. Despite his imperceptible exasperation, he soon confirmed that Elmer’s assumption was correct. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for him to come closer, and he pulled the trunk open.

“Allow me to clarify:” he said. “You risked our safety for a rabbit?”

“That’s right!” Elmer nodded, shaking some water from his hair. He climbed into the back of the car, where a couple of Phil’s vessels were sat staring at him curiously. He turned to show the rabbit off to them, and their stares became ever more curious.

“I saw him dash in front of us and I‌ thought he might’ve gotten scratched up —” From the looks of it, its back leg had been caught under one of the tires; it was bent at an odd angle, and further inspection now that the rain had washed off most of the mud revealed bleeding. It wriggled a bit in Elmer’s hands, but did not seem especially intent on escaping his grasp. He gave the rabbit a gentle pat, and its ear twitched. “Bunnies are such happy little fellas. Didn’t seem right to just leave him without checking.”

“You’ve certainly got a unique sense of right and wrong,” Maiza chuckled from the driver’s seat.‌ “Most people would prioritise the convoy of people over the rabbit, but…”

“Well, sure, even I know that! If we were normal people it’d be different… But none of you were really in danger,” he explained, nonchalant. “I‌ mean, if one of us died, that’s no big deal, but a dead rabbit — like, a dead dead rabbit, that would be really sad, right? That’d definitely ruin the mood of the rest of the trip.‌ I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I say this: we would not have known about the rabbit, dead or alive, hurt or otherwise, had you not stopped the car. I do not see how it would have impeded on our good cheer.” Nile grunted and threw a satchel his way. Elmer caught it with a grin, then rummaged through it to pull out a handful of cloth bandages.

“But, but, hear me out: a living rabbit — that’s not just not sad, that’s got the potential to be a really happy thing, right?” He tore a bandage in half with his teeth and began wrapping it around the rabbit’s leg. He hardly paid attention as he did, chattering on and tending to the wound as though out of mechanical memory. “Who wouldn’t smile at the thought of having an adorable new pet?”

“I say this: the animal belongs in the wild. You would do well to release it after you are finished.”

“Aww, c’mon, look at him,” came his plea. “Tell me you don’t feel so happy you could melt.”

“I will tell you, then: I do not.”

“You’ll warm up to him eventually,” said Elmer dismissively, tying off the excess bandage. After a second he continued: “Anyway, I think we should call him ‘Huey’.”

“You would name this small creature after that scoundrel?”

He hummed in affirmation. “I used to say he was like a dense bunny.”

“May I remind you: he is a known terrorist.”

“He can be both.”‌ He shrugged. “Besides, you never know – what if this little guy is a terrorist, too? Should we interrogate him? Hm?” With this, he turned his attention to the rabbit, squishing his nose against its face so that he could meet it eye-to-eye, and cooing: “Are you a little scoundrel?‌ Are you hatching evil plots, eh?”

Then he practically flung the rabbit in Nile’s face. “What do you think? Are his eyes full of secrets?”

He said nothing for a moment. He stared at the rabbit, then answered reluctantly: “I concede: those are the eyes of an innocent. He is no scoundrel.”

“So we can take him with us?”

“I‌ say this: I am not your keeper,” he said, taking the satchel and tossing it back into the trunk. “Leave me be and do what you will.”

Elmer took this as a win. He thanked Nile for the bandages and hopped out of their car, leaving the space a good bit messier than he found it. 

“Do you think he knows he won’t be able to take a wild rabbit on the plane when we go back home?” Maiza asked, good humour in his voice, as they watched him amble back to the other car with the rabbit tucked beneath his coat.

“It is Elmer. I say this: my worry is that he will be able to.”

Elmer returned to the driver’s seat, dragging in mud and rainwater. He set the rabbit on his lap, and set his slightly-blood-stained hands on the steering wheel. Sylvie looked up from her book. He smiled at her broadly. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but shook her head and said nothing instead.

“I found a bunny,” said Elmer, gesturing with a nod.

“I‌ saw,” she said, returning to her book. 

“Do you like it?“

“I suppose it’s sweet,” she replied, mostly in earnest. “As long as it doesn’t have rabies.”

“If you smile I’ll let you hold him!“ 

“I’ll pass on that one, but I will smile,” she assured him. “If you promise to clean this car before we return it.”

[demauryss]

our love was made for movie screens || 3k words

in which lucas is a petty bitch and eliott swears he’s the master of romance

or, a coffee shop au no one asked for

ao3 

(based on prompt no. 10 from this post)

\\

"Lucas."

He doesn't know how it happens. See, he's a little hungover - just a little. And he's had two cups of tea already. But he still remembers his name, and he definitely remembers the barista calling out just that.

So he really doesn't know how it happens. One moment he's placing his order, sending a text to Arthur, confirming their meet up place. And in the next moment, when he gets to the counter, there's a clear mistake in his name (the scrawl on the cup says 'Louis') and the worst of all, there's a dick drawn next to it.

His feet have rooted to the ground, and there's anger burning inside him. It's freezing outside, but his ears are turning warm. And he's looking - staring - at the barista who just handed him his beverage, mouth agape and eyes wide and looking much like a cartoon.

"What is this?!" He asks - no, spits out. The barista - his apron says 'Eliott' - uninterested in what Lucas has to say, takes a look at his cup, and Lucas swears he sees mirth reflecting in his eyes. He looks up at Lucas again, fixing the cap on his head. Lucas feels irritation singing through his every pore, but he maintains the eye contact with the barista - Eliott.

"What?!" And it's Eliott's nonchalance that has him raging. Frustrated, he turns the side of the cup with the dick on it towards the barista who is looking coolly at Lucas, eyes assessing his every move.

"This...dick and my name! Do you always draw inappropriate stuff on these cups?"

And it's just Lucas's luck that the café, Star-crossed, is particularly empty this day, and there's no line forming behind him. It's just Eliott and him, and it's just his luck that he has to go through this humiliation alone.

Eliott's lip hitch up a fraction, but it's not a smile. It's a condescending movement and Lucas feels it, down to his bones, as Eliott looks down at him. He feels small, but it's Lucas, and he always stands his guard no matter what.

Eliott shifts, resting his weight on the counter separating him and Lucas. Lucas has half a mind of slapping the look off of Eliott's face. "Well, now that you have asked, I only draw what I feel the person is like, you know?"

He what now? Lucas knows he gasps pretty loud, heat rising to his cheeks and heart stumbling a little. A million and one things race through his mind, questions about what he did which Eliott thinks is equivalent to a dick. He swallows harshly, and Eliott looks quite smug. Lucas takes a deep breath, willing his muscles to move.

"Fuck you!" And he leaves, picking up his cup and making a show of slamming some money on the counter, which he knows is too much for what he ordered. He dumps the cup in the trashcan on his way out, feeling his heart beating quite loudly in his chest.

He doesn't look back, and he doesn't see Eliott's surprised face on his way out. And he definitely doesn't feel hurt at this random person's behaviour. And he definitely, definitely doesn't think about this incident all day long.

No, he definitely doesn't.

***

The next day, Lucas has Basile bring him beverage from the god forsaken café. They have a laugh when Basile brings him tea without any milk, knowing Lucas's dislike for the said beverage. Lucas laughs along, half-heartedly. It's a truth he can't argue with, but at least this cup has his name right and there's a clear absence of a dick next to it.

(He drinks the bitter tea in silence, much to the boys' surprise. And he definitely doesn't feel anger - it's not a disguised form of hurt, okay? - when he sees the much too familiar scrawl of words on Basile's cup, and a very beautiful looking flower next to his name. Lucas doesn't.)

***

The next day, and the day after that, Lucas forces himself to go on without his daily dose of caffeine. And when Imane calls him at the end of the weekend, inviting him for some party her brother seems to be throwing on Saturday, it's with a much caffeine-deprived brain, and to Basile's annoyingly appropriate comments about something getting him so worked up, that Lucas agrees.

And it's him who cannot find it in himself to actually elaborate why he seems so off. And maybe it's because he still hasn't admitted to himself that partly the reason has something to do with the incredibly good-looking barista and the dick incident at Star-crossed.

No, if you ask him, he still isn't hung over that day.

But it's how Lucas finds himself in an unknown place that Yann dragged him to, surrounded by unknown people in an unknown setting. Lights strobe across, dimming and brightening and repeating the cycle all over again. It gives him a headache, and he tries to wash it away with the beer he's holding, which proves as effective as a bandage to a bullet hole.

And it's how he loses track of his friends, the last he saw of them when Imane shouted something about meeting his brother and his friends too many minutes ago. Lucas had been busy wasting away in his head then, and now he supposes it's where his very intelligent and brilliant friends have wandered off to - sarcasm very much intended.

In a mix of sweating bodies and loud music and elbows jamming into his ribs, Lucas makes his way to the kitchen. The music dims a little, and it's like getting out of a train station. There's a light headache pulsating in a far corner of his brain, and it's enough to make Lucas call it a night.

And that's how Lucas sees him: tall frame looming over uncoordinated bodies, eyes black and shadowed under the lights glimmering from above, lips curved upwards, softly. Lucas sees him, the barista boy - Eliott - standing in the living room, all the way through the kitchen.

Lucas is way past the surprise which grips his chest. Anger bubbles inside him, and the initial thought of calling it a night is soon replaced by the instinct of picking up a bottle of unknown liquid, unscrewing the cap and drowning half of it in one sip, all the while keeping his eyes on the barista boy. Lucas knows he'll regret his decision tomorrow, considering how much of a lightweight he is. But it's time to be petty, and if Lucas is good at anything, it's being just that: petty.

So he does the next best thing. He keeps his eyes fixed on the barista boy, noticing how his own have grown curios by the time, and fuelled by the bravery the alcohol fills him with, Lucas raises his middle finger, high enough to make sure the barista boy notices it, and flips Eliott off.

If Lucas were sober, he'd never had thought of anything like this, let alone actually flip someone off. But he isn't, so he turns on his back, a door in the kitchen coming to his aid, and leaves.

He remember seeing how the barista boy's eyes dim a little, even though it's pretty dark despite the flickering lights in the living room to see anything clearly. It's a feeling of accomplishment Lucas wants to forever hold in his hands, nurture everyday, and tuck away in the corner of his heart. But it's heart considering how his heart misses a beat thinking of the sadness Eliott's features were gripped with.

So he does the only best thing he knows how to do: blame alcohol for making him see things which have no logic. Because why would someone who drew a dick on his cup and indirectly called him one would be hurt of Lucas actually being one, right?

Right.

***

"You seem a lot dead despite it being only two."

Lucas isn't an early riser. And never on Sundays. But last night, Mika had brought someone home, and thanks to the thin wall which separated his and Mika's room, Lucas had been scarred with voices which will give him nightmares for years to come. And as a result, he'd been up and awake well before ten.

He looks up, in the midst of rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. Mika seems as well as ever. "And you seem...thoroughly fucked."

Mika smiles, unabashedly, clapping Lucas on the back. His head jolts inside his skull, and for a moment, Lucas's whole vision seems distorted.

"Oof, Mika!" Lucas clutches his head in his hands, feeling it might explode. The consequences of his action comes to bite him in his ass. Mika looks at him sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, kitten, for last night, too. Let me make it up to you!"

Lucas feels somewhat suspicious at the suggestion. Mika never apologies, and never asks to make up for something he has done. "How?"

"My shift at Star-crossed starts in ten minutes. I'll buy you those ridiculous drinks you love so much!"

Oh. Lucas feels his throat closing up as embarrassment claws at his chest, making him drown in heat as it rises to his cheek. The events of last night, Lucas's impulsiveness, and the barista boy like a fresh wound in his memory, "When did you start working there?"

"Just two days ago," Mika seems overly excited, "C'mon, you can't say no, or you'll have to listen to me about the dude last night. God, Lucas, he was so thi-"

"Alright, alright!" Lucas cuts him off, picking up his jacket from the back of the sofa. Mika squeals happily, the sound sending shockwaves through Lucas's head. Maybe if he's lucky, the barista boy won't remember him. Maybe if he's lucky, the barista boy won't even be there.

***

Fortunately for Lucas, it's rush hour when they reach Star-crossed. There's a hundred percent less chance than before that barista boy won't see him, if he's still working. Unfortunately for Mika, he gets swallowed up with people's orders. Lucas thinks he forgot about him, when he left Lucas to put on his apron, but then Mika's cutting through the crowd, asking Lucas to wait at a booth which just got empty. Lucas obliges quietly, still wary about Mika's behaviour.

It's been more than fifteen minutes - Lucas isn't obsessively checking the clock, mind you - since that happened. The crowd had grown immense, there's no sign of Mika - or someone else - and when Lucas is pretty sure Mika definitely forgot about him, there's a presence beside him, and a steaming cup sliding on the table in front of him.

Lucas looks up, expecting to see Mika, but there's him, the barista boy, smiling down at him. He feels the familiar scratching in his throat, and his clammy palms. Feels his stomach bubbling with what he assumes is anger.

"Hi," The barista boy is quite smiley for someone who indirectly called him a dick just a few days ago, "Mika asked me to bring you this."

And being petty is a second nature to Lucas, you might have guessed, because that's what he does. He nods, pursing his lips and moving the cup around, "No dicks this time, I see."

And he revels in the surprise which flits across the barista boy's face. Eliott narrows his eyes, and surprising Lucas, comes to sit in front of him in the booth. Lucas doesn't look up, because he's sure he'll do something more petty - like admit how beautiful the barista boy actually is.

"Look, I'm sorry for that day, okay? That was really inappropriate and completely out of line for me. I- I shouldn't have done that."

Lucas stills, meeting Eliott's eyes. They're greener than Lucas thought them to be, and there's sincerity written all over his face, "Then why did you do it?"

Lucas would like to admit a few things: he's over that incident. He really is. He's just enjoying putting Eliott under the spot, and that's completely out of line for him.

Eliott squirms, eyes flirting down momentarily before looking up and fixing Lucas with them, "I was being stupid, Lucas."

Lucas raises his eyebrows, kind of surprised when his name passes Eliott's lips. He has half a mind to tease Eliott more, but the guy looks guilty as it is, and the emotions flitting over his face seem genuine. "That you were."

Eliott's eyes widen, and a playful look crosses his face, "Hey, that was rude!"

Lucas shrugs his shoulder, bringing the cup to his mouth, acting innocent, "Says the guy who drew a penis on my cup."

"So what? You gave me the bird last night too!"

Lucas remembers, the tip of ears feeling warm all of a sudden. His brain tunes out the rest of the world, focusing on Eliott's eyes, and how green they look, "Yes, that was because you were mean to me!"

"And that was because you were so immersed in your phone! I wanted to get your attention."

It's unexpected, and Eliott looks like he wasn't meaning to let that slip out, immediately shutting his mouth and eyes growing wide with horror. It's a miracle Lucas doesn't choke on his tea, because the surprise he feels is capable of anything but. "Say what now?"

"I- uh, I wanted to get the attention of a really cute boy who came to the cafe everyday?" Eliott stammers out, and there's a wine growing inside Lucas's chest. Here he was, thinking that the incredibly good looking guy at the café hates him for some reason. And here is Eliott, touching levels of petty Lucas could never imagine to, just to get his attention.

A really cute guy. Lucas feels his stomach getting caught in knots - good knots - and warmth fills his chest, till he can't help but smile. Eliott doesn't notice, looking everywhere but at him. Lucas can see how red Eliott's cheeks look, and he imagines how it would be like to touch them.

"By drawing a penis on his cup? That's very romantic of you." He'd let go off the hold he currently has on Eliott, but first Lucas has to avenge the humiliation he felt that momentous day.

Eliott looks up, and he sees the look Lucas gives him. It's enough for Eliott to decide that Lucas is, in fact, joking, and he breaks into a smile of one of his own. In retrospect, if he ever gets to such a period in his life, Lucas decides this would be the moment he'd say Eliott's hold around him begins to move from something imaginary to something tangible, and Lucas can feel in all his tissues.

"Sod off!" Eliott exclaims, looking at Lucas with a soft look in his eyes, accompanied by the smile enough to set everything to warmth, "I'm an acclaimed romantic, okay? Just ask Mika, who, by the way, looks like he's going to faint."

Eliott nods his head towards his direction, and sure enough, as Lucas turns his head towards the counter, there's Mika, grinning like a baboon on crack, both of his hands raised in a thumbs-up. For Lucas, Mika looks much too accomplished for something, and as the bells ring in his head, Lucas realizes why Mika had been overly excited and desperate to get Lucas to come with him to this cafe. Mika keeps smiling, mouthing something which Lucas can distinguish as 'Go for it.'

Lucas can't help his own smile, shaking his head at Mika, and turning towards Eliott, who has a pretty soft and adorable look on his face. "Ha, the only thing you're acclaimed as, is being stupid and having terrible plans, you know?"

There's no mocking in his tone. Eliott shakes his head, chuckling a little, before looking up and fixing Lucas with his eyes again. "And you're a dick, you know?"

Lucas smiles, raising his eyebrow. "I think we have already established that."

The laugh that bubbles out of Eliott has Lucas feeling many kind of things; his own voice mixes with Eliott, giving rise to something new. And as he decides he wants to keep feeling like this, Eliott gets up, taking the warmth Lucas was feeling with him, till it nestles in his chest all over again.

Eliott looks down at him, face set in determination, eyes glimmering, and a soft smile grazing his lips, "In that case, I'd like to make it up to you over another cup of tea, what do you say?"

It's like Lucas is getting asked out on a date. It's definitely Eliott asking Lucas out on a date. Butterflies hoard his stomach, and a big grin splits Lucas's face in half. He nods, much too quickly, but Eliott's smiling at him, and fuck, it's doing things to Lucas's heart, and his mind, and for a moment he forgets all sense of reality.

"And I'm sorry for never properly introducing myself," Eliott straightens, holding out his hand over the table - an invitation, and a glint in his eyes Lucas has yet to familiarise himself with, "I'm Eliott."

He doesn't know how it happens. One moment, he's getting caught in Eliott's eyes, his throat drying and airways closing. He's putting his hands over Eliott's. It feels right as Eliott's bigger ones envelope around Lucas's small ones. He feels his lips moving, and Eliott's mouth is breaking in a big grin. It feels like the universe is exploding right where their hands are meeting, and simultaneously, like a bird from the ashes, the warmth which enfolds Lucas in its grip gives him the feeling of buds blooming into flowers, something new arising and descending over the two.

Time seemed suspended in motion, and, in the next moment, as Eliott's laughs pulls at his heart; his hands enclasped in Eliott's pull him away from the café into a street falling into dusk, and as the blue on the sky fades into a magenta and an orange an a pink, giving rise to an imperishable hue; Eliott looks back at him as they run through unknown streets, eyes bright and wide and lips frozen in infinite smiles. And he hears a breathy whisper: between smoke mixing in clouds and their feet padding on the hard gravel and the voices of the world.

"Lucas."

[aria-i-adagio]

Ch 21: There’s Definitely Something Going on Upstairs

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: M

Wordcount: 7400

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A/N: co-written by @ilyarium​

Val pauses at the base of the stairs leading to Lucio's wing and rubs his temples.  Dealing with Valdemar is never pleasant, but at least they had proceeded directly back to the hole they occasionally crawled out from.  Unlikely that they would remain there, but one could hope.  Ghosts though.  Superstition.  The witch must have seen some trick of the light and gotten spooked, and if Devorak was with them, well he was a man of science, but he was also high strung and prone to histrionics.  

But what if she is right?  Besides, perhaps he should survey the wing himself before Nadia renovates it.  He doesn’t really trust anyone’s opinion except his own - and that little enough.  Val backtracks a few steps down the hall, and seizes a candle from a sconce in the wall, before starting up the stairs.  The oh-so-familiar stairs that he'd slunk up more than once in the dead of night, candle clutched in his hand, half hating himself with each step.

After all is said and done, I'm bored again.  Horribly so.  Up here, with the remains of her blood and then Valdemar's visit, it felt like things were finally happening, but now I'm all alone again and . . . they said I'll soon be good to leave these rooms for longer periods of time without losing myself so easily, they promised, but it's not quite time yet.

Steps?  Yes.  Steps indeed.  Heels clicking on marble, so not the horrible little Devorak girl or the witch.  I wouldn’t mind the witch, so much.  Or Jules.  Nor are these steps one of the courtiers, I can feel those by now.  Another part of this deal that I very much regret.  They are a constant faint mumbling in the back of my head, but at least, even Vulgora is only that, small mercies, talking of hunger and rage and worms and, sometimes about the things I know now Valdemar cares for, things that remind me of the horrors of the battlefield, of finding a half-dead comrade and . . . I gave them merciful deaths at least I was that human.  Valdemar would gleefully cut them apart and see how long he can make them last, taint their flesh so much even the crows wouldn't feast on it.

Noddy maybe, in a pair of those nice black riding boots?  No.  Those steps aren’t nearly temperamental enough for her.  Jules would have loved to be under those heels, but always was too afraid to ask.  Gladly would have given him my place.

The hounds greet Valerius at the top, tails wagging.  Unsurprising, he was one the few people that Lucio consistently allowed through.  And it was true that the dogs had been neglected for the past three years.  A wonder that they weren't even more destructive.  He pauses to scratch the pitiful hounds behind their ears, then holds up a candle to the hallway.  The state of disrepair is shocking, far worse than the last time he set foot in the wing.  The portraits along the walls have been shredded, starting from the eyes and working outward.

That smell . . . Smoke and old oak and . . . no, it cannot be. He's dead. He must be dead, embalmed in wine, drowned in old sadness and despair, and I come to greet him like a dog, to see if he is really there, surprised by how much it makes me yearn for . . .  I forgot what it was. I wonder what he'll say when he sees me.

Sees me . . .

You have been here once before, haven't you, Val?  Drunk off your pale ass and bawling your eyes out, and then you gave your honest opinion, said all the things you always wanted to say to me to my portrait, and then you cried some more, and I wasn't strong enough to do anything but watch.  You look like shit when you cry, Val, and I may have cried a little too, or would have if I could, just because you looked so horrible with a face full of snot.

Air brushes past him, a draft with no explanation.  Could the witch actually be right?  No, that’s nonsense.  The dead don't return to haunt the places they lived and died.  No more than the figures on cards could speak to people in dreams.  Neither phenomenon is anything more than the product of too much emotion and too much alcohol.  A mind that he continued to quiet with alcohol, so that he could ignore it going to pieces.  Ignore everything around him going to pieces.

"You look like death," I tell him, because he does, and drag on his silly braid like a naughty schoolboy.  He has such nice hair, and I never understood why he wears it like this instead in the luxurious waves it wants to be.  He looks so gaunt, filled with some underlying sickness, some stupid, undramatic one, that nobody sees coming before it's way too late.

Something tugs on his braid, and he spins on his heels.  Certainly, it's one of the other courtiers - Vulgora probably - playing pranks.  But there’s no peal of uncouth laughter, only a hint of white in the corner of his vision.  Nothing and no one he can see clearly.  It can't be.  Ghosts don’t exist.  But the dogs are circling around, wagging their tails and smiling like they never did for anyone other than Lucio.  (Well, Lucio or Devorak, the dogs always liked the doctor.)  Val holds up his candle and turns once more.  No.  There's no one here.  No one will answer.  Yet.  "Lucio?"  His voice wavers, and he wishes he had brought a bottle with him.  Wine would welcome.

Look at me, I say.

Look at me. Louder.

Look at me! I shout, but those sad pale eyes just stare right through me, and I know he is afraid, and I try to thread my fingers through his, cold and clammy, just to drag him closer to the bedroom, where I am still at my strongest.

Something cool tugs on his wrists.  It's weak, but it's definitely there, pulling him toward the bedroom.  He stumbles forward, caught off balance in his heels, and through the door.  A bust Lucio had commissioned to commemorate some victory or another was shattered across the floor, and true to Valdemar's description the bed was wrecked well beyond being burned.  Valerius had never understood just how the fire damage could have limited itself to the bed - in fact, just the section, Lucio had been laying in - but now ash was scattered about the room and the remains of the bedspread lay tangled in the floor.  Heedless of the ash, both dogs go to the tangled fabric and curl up in it, their silky white bodies pressed tightly together.

Back then, did I ever have the chance to do you in this bed, Val?  Properly.  Like you would have deserved.  Did I ever do you anyway?  That, too, I can't properly remember.  Why are the important things gone, and just the bitter ones stay?  It is not fair.  Once again, it is not, I don't deserve this, because I'm better than that, and you know it, Val, right?  You know it.

"Why did you come here?" I say, and this time, you may have heard it.

"I -"  He heard the voice, asking why he came, but he doesn't want to admit it.  And he doesn't know.  Or rather he can't put into words, not coherent words why he's here.  Because Lucio was beautiful, and maddening, and more intoxicating than wine.  Because he's alone now.  He's been alone, with the wretched court, and now Nadia, who can't quite seem to decide if she despises him or needs him, and the only certain thing is that no one wants him.

I desperately want to touch him, and then I do, because I am Lucio, and who should stop me, and my hand, my claw, looks giant on his chest, and so utterly inhuman, and for the first time in quite a while, something feels wrong, I think that's the word, and I stare down on the frail human in front of me, and he stares up, or stares through me at the picture on the wall, the last one I couldn't bring myself to destroy.

Val’s chest is suddenly, painfully cold.  He reaches a hand to place over it, but there's something there, between his palm and the fabric of his robe.  No explanation.  No matter.  The massive portrait of Lucio on the wall is still intact, somehow, some why, when all the others have been destroyed, and Valerius wants it.  No one else will, certainly not the Countess.  She'll remove it, place it in storage.  Maybe burn it if she's feeling petty.

I focus on his hand on mine, no, in mine, and curse that the witch is not around.  Everything was easier in her presence.  It's almost there, visible, short white fur that's probably coarse, I mean, it looks coarse, hard to tell if you can't touch it, and I think I can feel warmth under it, where it rests on the silky white fabric of Valerius' shirt.

Valerius turns his head slowly, to where there should be someone standing before him.  He thinks he can see something.  Some large shape, pinpricks of red where the eyes should be.  A trick of the light.  The light and the alcohol that is always in his blood now.  Or maybe, just maybe.  "Lucio?"  The name is a whisper leaving his lips.

They’re too far up to be eyes.  Human eyes, at least.  "It's my damn room, Val," somebody says, and he sounds a lot like the dead man.

This . . . this shouldn't be, but . . .  He closes his fingers over his chest and feels, fingers there.  Long, elongated, not quite human.  He loosens his own grip and trails his hand up, along an arm that isn't quite present, to a shoulder, broad and muscular from years of sword practice and then down to a chest that's nearly at the height of his head.

I shiver under the gentle touch.  It has been so long . . .  A sudden surge of desire floods me, and I wish to pull him close and just hold him, and maybe he'd whimper softly like a little kitten, because he craves me and wants me as close as it can possibly be, and . . . is he even into that? It feels like I should know, and I wonder if I ever cared before.  I think I did.  

I could do it.  Right now, I'm here enough to do it, but . . . I don't want to scare him.  Not even more.  He looks like he's seen a ghost already.

Valerius manages to choke his sob before it can leave his throat.  But certainly whoever was standing before heard anyway.  Not Lucio, he tries repeating that mantra.  Just the alcohol messing with his head.  Not Lucio, even if the muscles in the shoulder and the chest feel so familiar.  Too tall.  A spasm of laughter overtakes him.  Lucio did always want to be taller.  Took dieing to achieve that.  The laughter turns to tears.

"Val . . ."  Oh fuck it, I'm no good with that kind of emotion.  No, no, don't be like this, please.  I wrap my arm around him, just to reassure him, but maybe I'm just driving him mad, Gods, help me with hysterical women, c'mon, Consul, calm down, say something vaguely derogatory.  Don't cry again.  Please don't.

The sensation of a heavy arm falls around his back, and he can just hear his name.  Chest heaving from trying to hold back sobs, Valerius stumbles into the ghost that he’s only just admitted is there, stopped short of falling by something in the space that should be taken up by a body.  He's dimly aware of dropping the candle, but this part of the floor is stone tile, and he can't be bothered to worry about it.  Not right now.

"Don't come complaining about your puffy face later, idiot,"  I say and bury my face in his hair - well, as good as that goes, it's more like one of the dogs putting their muzzle against you affectionately.  Didn't they say that only after death you know what people truly thought of you? It's so strange that you of all people are like this.  Pretty sure you hated me more than once.  Probably for good reason.

Val has never understood why the Count's death affected him so much.  Yes, there was the raw horror of the manner of it, but he had been dying by inches for nearly a year by that point.  "You died.  You died and left me to clean up the mess you made.  You left me."  His eyebrows knit together at the thought of how many times he had dismissed the servants with a sneer and an excuse about needing to speak of business, only to curl up at Lucio's side, not able to quite comprehend how someone as powerful, as magnificent as Lucio could be knocked so low.  And no one else gave a damn.  No one besides Devorak, and the man has been so lost in his own grief and guilt that he was nearly useless.  Oh, Val had heard about Julian's little hedgewitch in the city, with her herbs and her books and her pretty eyes.  He'd listened from across the room when the doctor stumbled in drunk and distraught.  Watched as Lucio, in a rare moment of unselfish compassion, soothed the man with soft commands and softer touches, until he was passed out with his head in Lucio's lap, the Count toying with his red hair.  He'd despised himself for the envy he felt.

"You make it sound like I wanted to," I grumble.  The mess had been there before.  It's not like it was my fault alone, or his, just a city on the edge slowly breaking down.  Of course, they'd blame it on me and not on decades of other aristocrats filling their own pockets.  When I came to Vesuvia, it was already a lost battle, and as a mercenary you try to grab as much as you can and run.  I should have left earlier, before my earlier mistakes caught up with me.  That was where I went wrong.

This time, Val is sure that he hears him, and sure that it's Lucio.  The same old deflections.  "I've missed you, you fool."  Because he has.  No amount of reviewing the city's ledgers, watching the deficit drop each month, instead of growing provided consolation.  No number of whores in his bed (always blond now, so trite, so pathetic).  Nothing had satisfied.

"Of course you did, you good-for-nothing piece of senatorial scum."  I smile, and it feels so wrong, because this mouth is not made for it, but for biting and tearing apart.  It took death and the devil to make me sentimental, but here I am.  Want to touch his skin, very much so, but his silly layered robes won't allow easy access.

Val can't decide whether to look up or keep his eyes down.  The ghost doesn't look like Lucio that much is clear, and it's easier to pretend if he doesn’t look directly at him.  Fingers slide into his hair, and Val shivers.  "Don't mess up my hair, Lucio."  It's an old ritual, one that always ends up with his hair in a disastrous state, but he needs to lodge a pro forma protest.

"Don't mess up my hair, Lucio," I mirror his tone and chuckle, "don't cut my clothes from my body just because you're needy, those are new, don't touch me like this in public, we might be seen..."  Yes, yes, now I remember, at least a little.  I like to imagine him blushing him down there in my embrace, and with the words come the memories of his face when I made him forget himself for a few precious moments. "It still feels like silk."

"I put a lot of effort into keeping it that way, thank you very much."  These are all old steps in a dance that Val knows very well.  "And please don't cut off my clothes, I don't care to wear anything that's been moldering in here for years, even just through the hallway."  He'd allowed Lucio that once, entranced by the extravagant wastefulness of it and by the cool dangerous touch of the knife against his skin.

"Still so shy.  You're in luck; it's a little hard to carry a knife like this."  I could probably eat them off his body.  The thought kills my mood.  Having the courtiers see me like this is one thing, but the thought of him setting his pale eyes on me is oddly off putting.  A monster or, worse, a barnyard animal.

"Why did you come here, Val?"  I whisper into his hair.  "To say goodbye?"

Goodbye?  That would be . . .?  Freedom in a way.  He always hated this as much as he loved it, hated how it made him vulnerable, and craved that same state.  But . . . no.  That isn't what he wants.  "I don't know.  I didn't believe what the witch said, not really."

"I hear that Noddy wants to purge these rooms.  Finally get rid of me.  Make them new and shiny with money she doesn't have."  And now I say something Val probably always craved more than anything else I could offer him.  "You may have been right about her all along."

He was the first and only one who dared to raise his voice in doubt when I was head over heels in love.  Mentioning much it would suit Prakra to marry one of their scions into city state that already struggled to maintain its independence.  How she, as the youngest daughter of so many, didn't have big chances to be married off to someone of any real importance, and how she seemed so very interested in the power that she herself would wield.  Meaningful.  Important.  I would not have that around me back then.

"I . . ."  He isn't sure what he thinks of Nadia anymore.  He does appreciate her intelligence.  She might prove a competent ruler in time.  Or perhaps she would flounder and fizzle out as all the others had before her.  Certainly, she had never loved her husband and stood to gain the most from his death - a city state of her own to rule over - the power she had always wanted.  Were it not for the matter of her laying comatose for the past three years, Val might think . . .  But that doesn't matter so much in the present moment.  "I wanted something of yours."

"If you want a part of me, I suggest a broom.  The little witch and the Devoraks made quite a mess.  May have scared them a bit, admittedly, but that reaction was a little over the top."  I'm still not willing to let him go.  For a moment I muse if I like the idea of making love in my own ashes.  Am more shocked about me thinking about 'making love' than anything else.

"Not quite what I had in mind."  Valerius takes a step back and his eyes flick over to the portrait on the wall.  There was no one else who would care, but perhaps Lucio had some reason that he had let that one remain untouched.  Vanity, more likely than not.

"That? My old face?"  That's sweet or strange. I think sweet.

"It's not like you've left me many options."

It may be the only one I left intact here. It is not the only I left intact, and it would be such a shame of letting them go to waste.  "You probably don't intend to hang it anywhere it can be seen, right?" 

Valerius huffs.  "Of course not.  That wouldn't do at all."  He's spent years pruning sentimentality out of his public persona.  He isn't about to begin to allow it through now.  He’ll wrap the portrait and have it sent to his house.  Hang it in his private room, the one he stoops to tidying and dusting himself because he doesn’t care for even his most trusted servants to see it.  

"Because . . . if it's for strictly private use, I might have something better.  If you're interested." I'm giggling.  Almost forgot about them, and that's probably why they are more than shreds of paper scattered across the floor.

In the past, Valerius would have rolled his eyes.  Not from actual distaste but simply to keep up appearances.  Some of that is moderated now within this spell, dream, hallucination, delirium tremens.  Later, he knows, the memory of this moment will be painfully raw; he's never quite learned how to process intimacy, even the mere memory of it.  But for now.  For now he's here.  "Oh Lucio, only you would have a private collection of your own portraits."

"It's not exactly portraits, Val.  I mean, my face is on it, but . . ."  Another giggle.  I'm not quite sure why this makes me so happy, maybe because it feels like being a really naughty boy.  And I haven’t gotten to be that for so long now.  "I'll need your help though with getting to them."

He arches an eyebrow, but without the sneer that usually accompanies it.  Lucio's vanity, his teasing humor - these aren't things he'd thought he'd ever miss.  But he wants to indulge Lucio and, if he is honest, indulge himself.  "Lead on then, you absolute peacock."

"Don't forget about the impressive tail."  I grin and feel my teeth float in the air like the sickle of a yellow moon.  Hope he doesn't look up at this moment.  "This way then."

He snorts in amusement.  Of course, Lucio would turn that into a compliment - always had a talent for things like that.  And for a moment, he forgets that the ghost in front him looks nothing like Lucio.  He can only see the Count's old smirk.

"The bottom right corner of the frame.  There's a mechanism there to open a door.”

Valerius retrieves his candle from the floor, thankful that it hadn't burnt out, and steps across the room, heels clicking against the floor, painfully loud in the silence of Lucio's movement behind him.  He bends over beside the massive portrait and runs a hand along the frame, feeling for anything that stands out.

There it is.  A slightly raised piece of the carving gives underneath his fingers.  He presses down, and the movement triggers a mechanism that swings the painting out from the wall.  The motion is slow enough to allow time to move before being knocked in the head by the heavy frame.  Clever, clever.  He wonders if Nadia designed it.  She had always seemed to prefer her tinkering to actual administration of the city.  Behind the painting, a low door opens on a dark staircase.

He glances back at Lucio, and the ghost gestures for him to go ahead.  He has to duck a bit to pass through the doorway, but once inside the ceilings are high enough that the space isn't claustrophobic.  High ceilings or not, his stomach starts to twist as he descends the stairs.  Too much wine and not enough food, perhaps, but when he pauses and closes his eyes for a second he's hit by a wave of what he can't convince himself is anything other than a lost memory of dashing up the stairs in confusion, panic even, a shout from the top landing, and the roar of a fire catching.

A touch on his shoulder steadies him somewhat.  He takes a deep breath and continues down the stairs.  They turn a corner and open onto a small, but grandly appointed dining room.  The table is set for twenty two, the moldering remains of a feast laid out on it.  His lip twitches up in distaste.  And then, as he steps down from the last stair, setting foot on the floor, he feels some strange force pulling him toward one of the chairs.

Lucio's fingers close around his arm; the sharp claws dig through the layers of fabric, halting his movement. 

"No, no.”  Don’t let the magic that remains here take control of him, please no, just let me have this one thing.  Other side of the room.  There's a door hidden in the paneling."  I'm rather proud of myself about the secret room behind the secret room.  Well, at first I only wanted one, but then I thought to myself  'Why only have one when you can have several?'  The best thing about it was that one of the former rulers must have thought the same thing, and while we were making space, we stumbled into a whole network of hidden passages, some still intact, some broken down or sealed.  It was an adventure, or it would have been if I've had enough time to explore instead of doing count-ing.  There may be some treasures hidden in there yet, or at least some bodies.  Pretty sure at least some bodies, some of the dead ends smell pretty odd.

He finds the second door easily enough.  It's outlined by seams in the paneling that are just a little wider than the others.  It swings open easily to a gentle push.  The room beyond is small, intimate.  Dusty plush furniture is grouped closely together.  When Val lifts his candle, which is growing distressing short, he can make out mirrored sconces on the walls, and he walks the perimeter, lighting each one in turn.

"It's my private place" I say, somewhat proudly.  Hardly anyone knows it exists, and for sure not Noddy.  It was supposed to be for special guests, but in the end, it was mostly Lucio relaxing with Lucio. "Want to sit down for a bit?"

Why not?  Besides, he's spotted a wine rack with several unopened bottles that won't have been destroyed by three years. And while Lucio's palate has never truly developed, it hadn't been atrocious either.  "Mind if I drink?”

"Have I ever?"  I enjoy a man with vices, and when they are so easy to satisfy as those, all the better. I wonder why I haven't come down here earlier.  It feels . . . so full of me.  It's easier to remember here than it was upstairs, and gods, I'd kill for a glass.

That was one of Lucio's good qualities.  He was greedy and ostentatious, and also extremely generous with his friends.  There's a corkscrew convenient and glasses, but they're a lost cause under the layer of dust.  It won't be the first time Valerius has drunk straight from the bottle though in Lucio's presence.  He dusts off a red with his sleeve and takes it back to the seating area with him, sprawling on a sofa without his usual regard for decorum.

"I fear you'll have to open it yourself this time."

"I can manage."  If there's one thing that Valerius knows how to do, it's opening a bottle of wine.  The vintage is better than expected.  It seems like the Count actually listened to his drunken rants about good varietals ever now and then.

I rattle at the drawer below the little table where I stashed the various herbs and powders I used to feel better.  And other things that I didn’t want Noddy to find.  Old habits die hard.  Yes, In here.  "Help yourself, and open this at your leisure."

He takes another drink from the bottle and sets it aside on the table before leaning forward to pull the drawer open.  Lucio’s stash hardly surprises him.  Glass jars with tight stoppers.  An elegantly curved pipe laid across the front of the drawer accompanied by the lamp to heat it.  Valerius arches his eyebrows and removes those.  After all, this night is already a lost cause as far as anything akin to productivity is concerned.

"As a true opium eater, you of course have to be half naked between luxurious layers of fabric.  Something for the artists, and something for me if I can't have anything of the rest."  Yes, this sounds reasonable enough, at least for this moment.  Had I really never brought him down here when I was alive?  Never wrapped him velvet and posed him on this couch with an elegant curved pipe held to his pouting lips?  What a waste if I hadn't!

"And just where do you propose getting this luxurious fabric?"  Another drink of wine.  A deep one, and all the old feelings that Lucio used inspire in him come rushing back.  He undoes the brooch holding his shawl in place, letting it slide over his shoulders.

"Right now I fear I can only offer furs."  I chuckle, even though he can't understand that one.  He can’t quite see me, and that’s well enough.  I don’t want him to see me.  "The drawer.  Feel the leather scroll under all the things?  Take it out."

Another drink.  He needs this.  And needs the wine to keep him from trying to process.  He reaches back into the drawer, shawl slipping further down his shoulders as he does.  A tug on the fabric pulls it off him entirely.  Underneath his fingers, the leather is buttery soft, and he slides it out of the drawer.

"Have another one, and then open it up." I sit down at his side, like I would have if I still had a body, and tug his robe, just a little.

The pillow next to Val sinks down as someone, something takes a place on it.  He still can't quite make out the form that Lucio's ghost has taken.  Tall.  Oh, Lucio would like not needing to worry that his heels were just a bit higher than Nadia's, or Valerius's own.  Another drink.  Red eyes.  But that shouldn't be surprising, not for the spirit of a man who had been fending off death from the plague for as long Lucio had managed.  Is he repeating the same thoughts he had upstairs?  Perhaps he is.  Dreams often work like that.  Patterns.  Repetitions.  His undoes the knot holding the lacings of his robe outer robe together.  Another tug from a not quite seen hand, and it slides off his shoulder.   Val leans over as a cold hand slides down his back.  He flicks the leather portfolio, letting it unroll across the low table.

What he finds are a few drawings lined in black ink, the faint marks of a pencil sketch just barely visible beneath.  Lucio drawn like one of those Prakran girls, naked except for his furs and his boots, in poses that certainly were not made for a public eye.  The last one though is different. A quick sketch of a vulnerable Lucio lounging without his golden arm, a cigarette between his lips, face serious for once, all the grandeur gone.  The artist must have caught him in a break, or in one of the rare dark moments, and the Count had allowed and kept it, even if it was just for this very private place.

These are better than the portrait (which he still might take); these are representations of Lucio himself, not the image of Lucio he cultivated so carefully for presentation to the public.  He runs a finger over the illustration.  "These are . . . beautiful."  That's the only word for them.  And he says it, despite note being so sure that beautiful is the word that Lucio wants to hear it.  Magnificent, perhaps, he would prefer that.  Beautiful sounds too soft, too human, or intimate, yet those are the right words for the sketches.  And he wants them.

"Beautiful?"  I'm surprised by his choice of words.  Would have gone for 'hot" or 'decent fapping material' maybe, but not for that.  I may be blushing, well at least I feel like I should be.  "You can have them if you want.  Better than letting them rot down here."

Val runs his hand over the parchment.  He'll certainly take these.  They're more . . . discrete than a full body, wall sized portrait.  And closer to what he wanted anyway, much closer.  The portrait is Lucio in his public persona.  Still beautiful, but . . . not his.  This, well, this are the Lucio that caught him in some sort of spell.  Some magic.  Something that someone might call love, if that was a word that Valerius allowed himself to use.

I wrap myself around him as he leaves through the artwork.  Jules made them, I think?  I remember I started drawing on his pale skin with his ink and his feather when I grew bored posing, creating the patterns of the people of the south I remember so well.  He whimpered so sweetly whenever the quill scratched too deep, and we continued with it as I buried myself in him.  Wasn't the worst night, not at all.

At first, Valerius is too busy looking to notice the heavy cold that drapes over him. Something that might be a leg over his lap, and another one behind him, and a head heavy on his shoulder.  And then it was there, the sensation of a body wrapped around him. 

Lucio had always always been clingy in private.  Sometimes in public.  All the various substances in his collection, yet physical contact was the drug he had really craved.  Valerius runs one hand over the leg in his lap.  Muscular, yes, and coarse fur, like Lucio’s ghost had decided to haunt the palace in the barbarian finery that he had occasionally worn when he wanted to piss off Nadia.  But less cold than the hand on his chest upstairs had felt, as though something down here is making the ghost more alive.  The wine is making everything hazy, distracting him from just how bizarre a situation he found himself in.  But, he shivered, either from the touch or from the cold, and he wasn’t really sure.  This might call for something stronger.

"You haven't eaten again today, have you?  It can't always be a banquet in my honor. Well, of course it should, but still."  Are you tipsy already, Consul?  Back then, you could outdrink me easily, now you're barely holding together, and...

I stare down at my leg, amazed that I actually feel the warmth of his hand.  This cannot be.  Asra said back in the day that the walls down here were thin, whatever that meant, that's why he insisted on having the ritual where they had it, but this is something else.

"Mmm . . . I had to excuse myself from dinner to deal with a situation.  Your delightful head of research."  He raises his hand to his forehead rubbing at one temple, aching some; although, not nearly as bad as usual post an encounter with Valdemar.  His twists and rummages through the drawer again, lifting each of the jars and examining their contents.

"Searching for something special, Val?"

Clawed fingers dance over his scalp, messing up his braid, of course Lucio is going to mess up his hair - even as a ghost, but it's pleasant enough, easing the ache beginning in his temples.

"What do you think?"  He could swear that the fingers in his hair and the legs wrapped around his are even less chilled as they were just a moment before.

"Probably not an aphrodisiac, mrh?" I chuckle.  Maybe.  Hopefully.  I always liked watching him touch himself with his long, elegant fingers, the despair in his face when he pleaded me to come and join him.  So delicious to have a pretentious patrician begging for me.  All the better when I made him come apart in my arms.  I lick along the shell of his ear - another habit I had forgotten, like teasing his hair from its braid and him from his clothes.

He shivers, feeling the trembling running all the way down his spine.  No way out of this now, even if he could have said that he wanted an escape.  "No . . . what did you call me earlier.  A true opium eater."

"Third one from the right, the silver cap.  You already found the pipe."  It's a black substance in a dark glass, looking innocent enough.  "May I see you like I was allowed to back in the day, my little fawn?"  Warmth and skin, those things I don't have anymore.  Warmth and skin and life.  Such simple cravings.

Fawn.  He'd hated that as much as he loved it, back in the day.  A reference to the colors he favored wearing, a reference to the painfully clear fact that he was prey as far as Lucio was concerned.  The clawed fingers are tugging at the lacings of his lighter robe and his hand goes to them, pulling the gold cords loose, shrugging out of the silk, before retrieving the jar from the drawer.  Sticky poppy resin.  There’s a tiny knife near the jar, convenient to pack it into the pipe without too much of a mess and a tightly stoppered bottle of oil that would fuel the lamp.

I hold my breath. Even if I always prided myself as a connoisseur of nudity in its various stages, it feels a little virginal right now, like it has been lifetimes since anyone . . . well, in a way, it has been, and I've been so very lonely.  Everything about him is still so very slender and elegant, and I trace the curve of his shoulder blade with my claw.

Valerius shivers again, this time not even from the cold, so much as the mere touch.  He lifts the leg off his lap and gets up, ignoring his robe sliding off the sofa and into the floor.  He pauses to step out of his heels and pads across the plush carpet, fumbling for a moment to light the opium lamp with a taper.

I drape myself across the space where he sat, pillows still warm from his body and chuckle darkly when notice I automatically end up in a position that is nothing but revealing.  Nobody can enjoy this view now, but then I don’t think that he can quite see me. 

"What worries you so much, my dearest consul?  You were never so ready and willing to escape like you are now. Aren't things better without me?  Everyone else here seems to think so when Noddy can hear it."

"I'm not running, am I?”  Val pauses, choosing his words carefully.  "This is . . . Disconcerting."  He's had dreams that are something like this, and each time he wakes up shaken and unsure and fumbling for a drink.  Easier to drown his emotions.  

The lamp will take a few minutes to warm up.  He sets it down on the table, fixes the chimney over it, and turns back to where Lucio is pulled - no pushed, because he thinks it's his own desire - toward Lucio.

"Not from me.  From everything else?   A little."  Grin.  I'm running too.  Always was.  Just did it with more style.

"Everything else is a nightmare."  

Lucio's form is still not clear, but he can see enough to recognize that the pose is entirely Lucio, sprawled on his back with one leg hanging off the couch.  Valerius can't help but smile at the familiarity of it.  He rubs the back of his neck, before undoing the clasps down the front of his shirt and letting it fall into the floor.

"Come to daddy."  I pat the pillow before me.  "Changes were never your thing.  How're coping with the old folks coming back?  Devorak?  Asra's little bitch?"

He sinks onto the cushion without his usual grace.  Blame it on the admittedly rattling nature of the events of the last few days.  Is there still something left in that bottle?  Ah, yes, there is.  

"I haven't seen Devorak, and for his sake, I hope I don't.  I'd rather not have to arrest him twice."  Not for something that he didn't do, that he couldn't have done.  Devorak was never a killer.  Madness to have thought that, even in all that confusion.

"I meant the gal with that, not Jules.  Honest mistake to make."  I wrap around like a giant cat.

"The witch, you mean?  She could be worse."  He sinks against the ghost's chest, powerful whatever else might be true of this form.

"Do you trust her, then?"

Claws run gently down his naked back and catch at the waistband of his pants.

"Do I trust anyone?”  And trust the witch to do what?  She'll have her own goals at some point, once she's figured out more.  Goals beyond saving Devorak's skinny ass.  

The sensation on his back isn't quite the same as Lucio's metal hand, but the thin, sharp lines are close enough that he can pretend.  "Please, don't stop."

"The girl likes the good doctor.  She doesn't know it yet, but she does.  Question is only... do you like her too?"  I press down slightly harder.  Is it envy I feel?  That it's all around the magical girl all of a sudden, and not me, that magical girl living my life?  Not quite hard enough to draw blood, and I feel Valerius wince.  Mumble a silent, but honest "Sorry".

"She already knows she likes him.  I think she's liked him from the start of this entire farce with Nadia."  The claws on his back turn over, smooth side soothing over the scratches.  "Do I like her?  As much as I like anyone, I suppose."  He helped her earlier, when he didn't have to, when he didn't expect any gain for himself because of it.

"Do you want her?" A part of me wants to hear a no, and that surprises me as much as anyone. "The last years have been lonely, and I know you enjoy competence in others."  I curl around him a bit more; my head lands on his shoulders.

"No."  Valerius shakes his head.  Lonely or not, he doesn't want her.  As for competence, if that was the primary factor in his attractions, he wouldn't be here.  Or maybe it was all carryover from Luci's indisputable prowess in war.  No matter.  He rolls over and strokes the head on his shoulder, surprised by the coarseness understand his fingers instead of hair that's slightly sticky with too much pomade.

I might be willing to work with . . .  No.  No, I'm not.  Not another deal, especially not with a traitor raised in Asra's stables.  Quietly humming under my breath.  Val's presence calms me.

"You wanted to light up, Consul.  Are you fine dreaming in the presence of a ghastly monstrosity, no matter what it might do to you?"

Ghastly?  That seems strong, even if Valerius thinks he can feel horns.  As for a dream, perhaps this already is one, and unlike most it's one he wants to continue.  Uneasy and uncanny, yes.  But also soothing and intoxicating with the knowledge that someone actually desires his presence.

"I've always trusted you too much.  Why stop now?”  He reaches out and picks up the pipe, holding the bowl above lamp and once it’s heated through, taking a long draw.

"Because you're still sober enough to realize you did.  The monster might ravage you, might tear you apart."  I notice I'm getting hard as I'm saying this. Bad Count. Very bad Count. My claws in his hair again, dragging back his head just a little, just to make a point.

Valerius doesn't fight the pull on his hair.  He's long past that point, past trying to understand the conflicted emotions in him.  Past caring that he shouldn't want to stay in this dissolute dream, and if a monster consumes him, so much the better.  After all, there was always something monstrous about Lucio.  It has been part of the appeal, that reminder of the shadow side of human nature. "I want to stay."

"Do you want me to be the monster in this, my sweet Valerius?  If you want to stay and dream, it is your decision . . ."  For a heartbeat, I'm scared of what this body that is mine and yet is not might do to him, but in the end . . .

"Let me have my dreams, Lucio."  He closes his eyes and turns his head.  "I don't have much else now."

"As you like, my little fawn. As you like."

The body above him is warm now, a little more there, and Lucio is wearing more furs, or at least, that’s what he’s going tell himself.  A cool tongue slides along his jaw, his neck, and he trembles again, now not so much from fear as simple anticipation and pleasure.  Valerius wants to leave it at this thought as he reaches out for the pipe again.

After all, it's only a dream . . .

a/n: chapter title from Nick Cave, ‘Dig, Lazarus, Dig’

Next Chapter

[guardiandae]

Meta/Commentary Part 2: A Little ‘XO’ Wouldn’t Go Amiss

(Spoilers below)

(CONTENT WARNING: mental illness, self harm and suicidal ideation mentions)

So when we left off, Nate and Wade had their first real interaction / moment of demonstrated compassion, even if it’s a rough one. Wade flirts, Nate sucks the rancid blood out of his lungs, then tells Wade to clean up their disgusting kitchen and he’ll actually make Wade a meal.

Which is like. Wow. Exciting. Peak interaction and peak affection from Nate so far. Wade actually makes an effort because a homecooked meal from Mr. Grumpy is the nicest thing he’s ever heard and then he waits and waits for Nate to come back and follow through on his promise and Nate.... totally forgets.

Ooof.

So Wade is left fending for himself, and trying to find a way to make quick cash (because Nate has control of Wade’s finances.. and Nate forgot to feed him. Sob.) So he finds someone who thinks he looks enough like Spider-Man to hire him and then this happens.

"Fuck you, Spiderman, you suck!"

"Yeah? That wasn't what your dad said last night," Wade countered. "Or maybe it was, 'cus I'm Spiderman and I love banging old dudes."

The guy had just given him a withering look. "Dude. Whatever gets you off," he muttered, walking away.

"Wait. It's that easy?" Wade wondered aloud, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed by the lack of a fight. He tried not to think about it too much.

Foreshadowing? Oh hell yeah, foreshadowing. Wade is old enough to remember when it wasn’t okay to just... openly admit anything outside of cisheteronormative standards, and this guy not rising to the bait and just saying ‘whatever’ is kind of whiplash. 

-

Wade felt his brain short out when he saw Nate standing with just a towel around his waist.

(Oh no, he's hot. I mean, we already knew that but now he's like, naked and stuff.)

[Is that even legal?]

"Shut up," Wade said, pressing a hand to his head. They were back. Why were they back???

(Why do you think?)

Yeah. So I feel like Wade’s ‘boxes’ are partly like a way for his subconscious to yell at him about all of the stuff he’s trying to ignore. And some of that is really bad stuff for him, that he shouldn’t listen to, like his self hatred and anxieties and suicidal thoughts. But then there are thoughts like these, like his attraction to Nate, his need to be listened to and shown even the barest scraps of respect/affection/kindness, but he thinks he doesn’t deserve any of that and won’t say it.

Like, when Nate remembers that he fucked up and forgot about his promise to make Wade dinner:

"Well… at least your kitchen is clean," Nate said. "That's a reward in itself."

(A reward in itself? What kind of asshole says that?)

[The kind that throws away Hello Kitty post it notes.]

"Yeah, I'm gonna agree with the little yellow box on this one," Wade said. "Doing a chore isn't a reward in itself. A reward is a reward."

While Wade’s ‘boxes’ are overall really toxic for him in this fic, they can be a good thing! If it weren’t for his boxes, Wade wouldn’t have been able to process through the fact that Nate disappointed him and caused him suffering and tell him that it was kind of shitty and not okay and end up making Nate promise to actually follow through because it was important to him!!

-

"You know there aren't any boxes, right, Wade?" Nate asked him. "They aren't really in your head."

"I know that," Wade said. "But they still won't shut up.”

Foreshadowing. And also, in this moment, imo, it’s basically giving Wade the opportunity to say, yes I know it’s ‘not real’ but it’s still real. Which is like. The biggest mental illness mood. Of course... they’re kind of referring to two different things, once again. Having different conversations. Wade thinks Nate can’t hear half of his conversation, and Nate must think he’s nuts. Of course, SPOILERS, Nate can hear every single thing that Wade is saying, because he’s talking to himself, and the entire time Nate is trying to asses how the fuck to handle what’s going on and how serious this is.

-

"What do you want to watch?" Nate asked, so casually, it took Wade a long moment to realize that Nate was talking to him, and an even longer moment for his brain to short out.

"What…?"

"What do you want to watch?" Nate asked again, as if this was something that they'd ever done before.

(Nate's never watched TV with us. What's happening???)

[Pity. He knows we're losing it.]

The sad thing is, Wade’s inner thoughts aren’t wrong. It takes hearing Wade’s inner thoughts for himself and seeing him struggle and realizing how badly Wade’s been affected just because Nate has ignored him and given him the cold should so many times... to realize that he needs to give Wade a little bit of kindness. But it feels like it’s coming from pity instead of genuine interest  and pity fucking sucks.

"Nate. I know you don't like being around me," Wade said, slowly. "This isn't your problem, so don't worry about it."

and then he locks himself in the bathroom and tries to just drown out the voices until he can fall asleep, in the bathtub, because mood.

Meanwhile, Nate is concerned, but not showing it well because his concern quickly turns back into anger:

"Please, Wade. Listen to me, not them. These things in your head, they aren't real, okay?" Nate tried to reason with him. "I know it feels like what they're saying is true, but I promise you they aren't right. Not about you. Not about us. Come out of there, alright? Come on, Wade. For fuck's sake, I'm trying to talk to you, isn't that what you wanted? Get the fuck out."

After a while of yelling, Nate realized that Wade had gone quiet. He stopped, trying to get a hold of his anger, his… if he was honest… fear. Fear of losing Wade.

He could use telekinesis to force the lock. He could also break the door down, easily.

Nate pressed his hands against the door, listening. On the other side, he heard Wade humming tunelessly to himself. Drowning out the voices. Drowning out Nate.

He curled his fingers against the cheap faux-wood door and tried to will himself to stop. To calm down.

Nate is starting to understand, to take little steps. He knows he’s already starting to slip up right out of the gate and he knows he needs to stop pushing right now or he’ll only push Wade away.

-

Wade had been talking to himself for a long, long time.

And Nate hadn't really spoken to anyone for almost as long.

This is the point where Nate starts to realize that they both have problems to address. Nate’s behavior (withdrawing/isolating, anger, not communicating) isn’t just toxic for himself, which he’d be fine with, but it’s also eroding Wade’s mental health at the foundation. Even when Nate is interested or concerned for Wade, he doesn’t express it in a way that Wade can recognize. Concern looks like disgust because Wade is so used to the latter; smiling at Wade’s jokes/flirting is interpreted as dark and aggressive because they’re both thinking about two different things; he reads Wade’s cute little notes but throws them away because first he thinks Wade is making fun of him and then he either doesn’t know how to react or the reminder of Wade’s concern/affection makes him uncomfortable because from his perspective he’s offered nothing in return. And if he could just communicate how he felt on his end, Wade wouldn’t be left feeling like Nate hated his fucking guts.

The next morning, Wade is still locked in the bathroom, which means Nate is forced to make an effort to communicate with him, because now he realizes that leaving the house while Wade is still potentially in crisis mode could cause Wade to keep spiraling.

He was ready to go out the door, but at the last second it occurred to him that Wade might wake up and see that Nate had left and take it in the worst way possible. When it came to dealing with Wade, you always had to think to yourself, 'What is the worst case scenario?' and then go a couple steps beyond that. If Nate left without leaving a note, he could come back to Wade giving him the cold shoulder, or he could come back to find the entire building burned to ground.

[Went out.]

There. Simple and to the point.

Ah, fuck. Maybe that was too simple. Wade would think he wasn't coming back, because he was a fucking idiot.

[Went out. Be back later.]

That was still a little bit impersonal. Nate didn't want Wade to think he didn't care about his wellbeing.

[Went out. Be back later. Don't off yourself.]

That was better.

But if Wade actually read this note, Nate also didn't want him to think he could hole up in the bathroom again. That shit got old fast.

[Went out. Be back later. Don't off yourself. Or lock yourself in the bathroom again.]

Nate stared at the note, written on a pastel pink background with little cartoon kittens and hearts and flowers and sweets, and felt a mild panic.

[Fucker], he added hastily, and then left before he had time to second-guess himself.

Nate is still very much in I-don’t-even-like-him denial mode, but this process of thought while he’s writing his note? Ooooh. This is art, baby. Nate is actually concerned about how Wade will react if he leaves the message too short, too uncaring. And then has to add a little ‘fucker’ at the end because hello tough guy points, keep those in the millions. Give Wade an inch, he’ll take a mile.

And of course, when Wade gets up and finds the note, his reaction is, This is a love note. And by all rights... it basically is. It’s the first tangible scrap of evidence Nate has given him that he cares about Wade’s well-being at all, and he cherishes the hell out of it.

Which makes it all the more painful when Wade realizes he was careless and threw that scrap of paper, Proof Nate Cares About Me, into the wash with the rest of his clothes and now it’s destroyed.

-

So... a few things happen all at once. Honestly, just one would be enough to make Wade lose it, but sometimes in fiction you have to drive the point home:

1. Nate says he’s leaving.

"With what you have in the bank, you could probably buy yourself a house, Wade," Nate replied.

"You mean us, right?" Wade corrected.

Nate stared at him and then dropped his gaze to pick at his plate. "The X-Men offered me a position," he said. "I could stay at the mansion, if I wanted to. Or I could get a stipend. It'd probably be enough to pay rent somewhere. So I won't have to keep leeching off of you."

Of course, once again, two different conversations are happening. Nate is saying, I got offered this, I don’t have to stay, I don’t have to keep leeching off of you and offering nothing in return because I am hurting you and it’s making me feel like a useless piece of shit. Remember Wade’s finances are paying for everything right now because Nate doesn’t have stable income. The reason why Nate leaves and disappears for hours or days on end is because he’s trying to find work, but also the world needs heroes right now and hero work isn’t always paid.

But from Wade’s POV, of course Nate should stay with him. But the word ‘leech’ makes him remember that Nate doesn’t even like him and Nate doesn’t need him, but Wade is the one who needs Nate and needs attention and affection that Nate is in no way obligated to give him that.

So Wade says, ‘ok,’ essentially. And to him, that’s putting on a brave face and accepting that Nate will move on, of course he will, so he might as well try to be happy for Nate. But from Nate’s perspective, it’s Wade saying, ‘ok, good, get the fuck out’ in the kindest way possible because now there’s no more excuse for their roommate arrangement to keep existing.

2. Wade’s inner voices start acting up badly, because of the first event. He tries to ignore them, tries to sleep, tries to shut down the bad lines of thought with reason and reality but it’s hard to believe when they just. won’t. stop.

(He doesn't want to see you. Period.)

Wade pressed his hands to his face, tried to breathe in slowly.

"Nate and I… are friends," Wade said.

(Who are you trying to convince?)

"We're friends," he repeated to himself, softer. "We're friends."

Then when Wade tries to distract himself with something else, he tries to go finish the laundry and then realizes that he’d left Nate’s ‘love note’ in his pocket and now it’s obliterated.

[It's gone.]

(Wasn't that your entire proof that Nate gave a single solitary fuck about you?)

"No," Wade lied, but lying to himself didn't always work so well. "It was just a piece of paper."

[But there won't be another one.]

"I'll remember it," Wade whispered pressing his hands to his face.

(Will you? Do you even remember it now?)

Not only was that the only physical proof he had that Nate cared, something his mental illness couldn’t convince him isn’t real, but now that Nate said he’s leaving, Wade knows he won’t ever get another one. That was the first and only note Nate ever wrote to him, and Wade was stupid and careless and let it get destroyed almost immediately. And worse, his memory problems are getting worse and he knows this and he knows that without an actual reminder he’s going to forget what the note said and what Nate’s handwriting looks like and how it felt to read that and eventually he’s going to forget that he ever got a note and eventually he’s going to forget Nate, just like he’s going to forget Vanessa because she’s dead and he only has her memories and photographs and if anything happens to those, there’s a real chance he’ll forget her smile and her face and their moments together and her and it’s too terrifying to deal with and it’s all because it’s all his fault and now he’s in a complete mental breakdown.

-

This time, when he dreamed of finding his wife and daughter's burnt bodies, Wade's was there with them. The only people he cared about. People that he'd failed.

Mmmm foreshadowing. For the sequel, I mean. Oh boy.

Wade’s breakdown wakes Nate up, and by that point it’s full blown mental badness for Wade. Nate finds Wade curled up on the floor, arguing with himself, and tells Nate that he just wants to sleep but the voices won’t stop, and he’s desperate now to the point of self injury and asking Nate to use his telekinesis to help Wade blow his brains out or lobotomize himself.

"I can try to help," Nate offered. "If you'll let me."

(Last time he tried something, you puked your lungs out.)

[This is different. This time we'll puke our brains out.]

(Why waste the strength? Nate has guns. Big ones.)

Wade didn't even care anymore. "Do what you gotta do, Nate."

Once again, Nate offers to help. Once again, because Wade has an extreme solution on his mind, he thinks Nate is offering to help in that way, but Nate has no intention of letting Wade harm himself, or letting Wade think that Nate would ever be willing to harm him.

"I'm not going to blow your brains out and neither are you. I'm a telepath, Wade," Nate reminded him. "Reading your mind is difficult, but I can project thoughts too."

This time Nate actually tells Wade what he’s thinking, what he intends to do to help Wade and what he doesn’t intend to do. Wade gets caught up in babbling about what that could possibly mean, what Nate’s thoughts would be, and since Wade can’t snap out of it or give Nate an answer, Nate goes ahead with his plan to help make Wade’s thoughts stop.

Wade started sounding like a broken record again. Nate put it to an end, connecting to Wade's mind with a touch and projecting a static to drown out the voices and give Wade some relief.

They only connected for a brief instant, and then Wade flinched away from the connection, breaking it.

"Sorry," Nate reached out again, but Wade shivered and stayed just out of reach, as if he were afraid of it.

"What was that?”

Wade is still afraid of Nate’s powers being used on him in ways he didn’t expect. It interrupts the darker, suicidal thoughts, but Wade still struggles openly, first expressing his mixed feelings of fear re: Nate touching him, and also his tentative admission that it was nice to be touched. Then, when his train of thought immediately plunges back into ‘I wish I were dead’ territory, Nate makes a point to interrupt once again, but this time not using his powers.

"Wade," Nate said again, trying to bring him back from another spiral of thoughts. He sat down on the couch, holding his hands out to Wade, but not reaching for him. "Come here. Put your head down, okay? I'll make it quieter this time."

"Make my head quieter?" Wade asked, edging closer.

"Yes," Nate promised. "I'll make it go away."

This time, Nate doesn’t force his methods onto Wade. Wade is fully informed of what Nate intends to do to help him, and the choice is left up to him. This time he has a second to process it, stop being afraid of what Nate’s intentions might be, and accept his help (and his touch) on his own terms.

Wade churns through a few more fears, aloud, (his fear that Nate will leave him, like Vanessa left him, and he’ll forget them both) and also his loneliness, the fact that it’s been so long since he felt love/touch/intimacy, he isn’t sure he remembers what it feels like anymore. Then he accepts Nate’s offer, puts his trust in Nate, and lets Nate make his mind go blank.

Meanwhile, Nate has to try to process the raw admission that their fucked up, dysfunctional non-relationship is half of the entire reason why Wade’s mental health has gotten to this point, because he really thought there was no way Wade cared about him or what he thought, and now he has to figure out how to start undoing that damage.

Skin to skin contact is the only real way Nate can use his powers on Wade directly. Otherwise, his mind is too chaotic and slippery to really work with. This is a rule I set in this AU, but it’s a concept lifted from Cable & Deadpool #3:

There’s no indication this is the case, but Wade’s mind is canonically hard to get a grip on for psychics, and after Nate touched his head, he can hear Wade’s thoughts back to him, so they aren’t speaking out loud and alerting the others of Nates’ presence. I always interpreted that as being, Nate had to do a little more to establish a better connection with Wade’s mind. It probably isn’t the case, maybe he just wanted to give Wade a little tap on the noggin, but I liked that concept for this fic. Bonus feels: In the comic, Wade and Nate had been fighting like cats and dogs up until this point. Wade had joined a cult and helped them, Nate had been trying to fight against them, and Wade ended up being doublecrossed. Here, Wade expresses regret, and Nate shows compassion towards Wade... something exceedingly rare for anyone to do, sadly.

In this fic, Nate can’t stay connected to Wade’s mind (at least, not as easily as this) unless he maintains skin contact with Wade somehow. Because I’m gay and I love drama and it’s soft as hell.

-

"I'm here," Nate assured him, rubbing circles onto Wade's skin with his fingertips. Then he realized, to his embarrassment, that he'd been petting Wade the entire time, and quickly stopped.

"Don't -- Don't stop doing that. Please. It's nice," Wade pleaded, jerking a little under Nate's hands.

"Shh," Nate shushed, afraid that Wade would break the connection. "Okay. I won't stop, but don't move. Just relax."

He let his fingers resume their slow movements. Following the flow of scar tissue on Wade's skin. Brushing his thumb over the curve of Wade's ear. He felt Wade relax against him, sinking deeper.

I have nothing to add, I just want you all to see how soft this is.

-

Wade’s POV: 

"When my daughter Hope has bad dreams, I'd help her fall asleep again," Nate said as he continued the light petting. "Take away all of the nightmares."

For some reason, the reminder that Nate was, above all else, a dad , took Wade by surprise. He was a man who had lost everything, who would have moved heaven and earth to get his daughter back, to keep her safe, and he did exactly that. Somewhere in the future, there was a little girl whose dad loved her that much, that fiercely. Wade couldn't relate. His own dad had been all fierce and no love. The kind of man nightmares were made of.

Nate’s POV:

"When my daughter Hope has bad dreams, I'd help her fall asleep again," Nate said, thinking of how many times he'd held her in his arms and done just this. "Take away all of the nightmares."

Even with Wade's permission to connect with his mind, Wade's thoughts were hard to read. They weren't words or even clear images. It was more like only being able to feel an abstract, and Nate caught the edge of one unexpectedly. It looked like misshapen darkness and it smelled like old booze and it was called father. It felt like being hit with fists and the sharp bite of a belt buckle and it tasted like salt-tears-blood, and it was called love.

Nate pushed the memory away as soon as he realized what it was, focusing a little harder to keep it from forming again. "I'm sorry, Wade. I can't change the past for you, but I can try to make things better here and now. Let's think about something else."

Nate shares a piece of himself with Wade, and tells him about his daughter, about how he’s done this similar psychic technique before to help his daughter fall asleep again if she had a bad nightmare. That reminder of Nate being a dad, of Nate using the same method to soothe his daughter’s nightmares on Wade, reminds Wade of his own father, and the abusive memories associated with him.

It’s not only an example of Wade’s train of thought still leading him into places that are harmful for his state of mind, but also where Wade’s POV and Nate’s POV start to be able to meld together, because Nate can somewhat read what Wade is thinking.

Often, I can write scenes where two characters have an interaction but have wildly different interpretations of it, and depending on which character I’m settled on in 3rd person perspective, it’s left up to the reader to pick up on that or reread later and realize, oh wow, now I know the other person reacted like that because their mind was totally elsewhere. In this fic, every single interaction is like that, and it’s split into stark contrast. Wade is earnest in his interactions, and in denial, and masking so much hurt with humor, and he sees Nate as violent, and cold, and uncaring. Nate is still holding onto trauma, and masking his hurt with stoicism, and ignoring Wade because he cannot allow himself to grow attached to anyone in this timeline because he isn’t sure he could emotionally survive that, and from his perspective Wade is lazy and can’t take anything seriously. Neither of them can communicate well, primarily because Nate shut himself off so effectively until he realized that Wade isn’t actually a punching bag that feels nothing, emotionally or otherwise, and he was being an asshole the entire time.

This is where communication starts to be able to begin, and Nate realizes he’s not going to break or lose his edge if he shows Wade kindness and compassion any more than being a good father to his daughter, because love is not a weakness. Caring is not a weakness.

-

Nate creates a dream for Wade - but, if you didn’t pick up on this - the dream is more Wade’s creation than anything. Nate was accustomed to helping Hope make imaginary snowflakes in her mind. Basically, like counting sheep, but more elaborate (but simple enough for a child) and pretty to look at. When Hope’s imagination wandered off to sleep, she would dream of snow hares made of ice, or spring flowers, or sparkling night skies. Remember - Nate is supposed to be guiding this.

But Wade’s imagination immediately goes out of Nate’s simple guidance, and turns into a full blown dreamscape. Not intricate snowflakes, because that’s complicated and boring to Wade’s mind, but an entire realm of rolling hills covered in snow and little trees, and then because Wade thinks, it would be cold and he doesn’t like that, he imagines that he’s inside where it’s warm and cozy and Nate is there, because he doesn’t want to be alone, and they both have matching sweaters and cocoa because that’s fucking nice and his idea of ‘heaven’ and Nate is shook because he remembers something that Wade doesn’t remember anymore-

Nate and Wade had gone drinking, only once. Before they became roommates. It sounded like a decent idea at the time. With an idiot like Wade, Nate had thought it could even be fun, but all of the alcohol just made Nate feel hazy and depressed. With Wade, it was worse. It made him quieter and cleared his mind. But when his mind was finally clear, there was nothing he could see that was good.

Wade had told Nate about seeing Vanessa when he died. He said if heaven existed, that was all he could ever hope for. Just the two of them in a cozy room, nestled on the couch together, forever. But he could never get in, no matter how many times he tried. She kept telling him it wasn't his time. And Wade was starting to worry that he just wasn't good enough to get there.

They didn't drink again.

Wade remembers that they went drinking, once, and that it was a bad time, but he doesn’t remember the exact details. Nate remembers that he’d thought it would be a decent method of escapism - his personal favorite - but instead the alcohol made them both more depressed and their problems harder to cope with, so they unofficially stopped altogether.

So, when Nate finds himself included in Wade’s dreamscape, he realizes that this is basically Wade’s perfect ideal, but he’s convinced he isn’t supposed to be included and he’s just a poor substitution. 

It was everything Wade had ever hoped for, Nate realized. Only, Nate wasn't supposed to be here.

Just the two of them in a cozy room, nestled on the couch together, forever.

But Nate wasn't Vanessa.

And nothing ever lasted forever.

But this wasn't real.

Which meant that, just for a second, Nate could let himself pretend that it was.

Have I mentioned yet how many of these issues will be carried over into the sequel? Because that should be obvious at this point. Nothing is ever easy to resolve all in one go, unless you’re in like, idk, a fanfic or something. Also, more foreshadowing here about Nate’s conflicted feelings, being subconsciously compared to Vanessa’s former role in Wade’s life.

-

One more chapter, time for the POVs to merge and time for no more fantasy power crutchs to help us get through real communication problems and time to make fun of some X-Men too...

[oddsandendsandthings]

Did somebody say Pokémon AU??

I honestly have no clue if this has been done or not. But here' what I'd think a Pokémon AU would look like complete with Pokémon teams.

So for the most part everything follows the show with the added bonus of Pokémon being a thing. The Magnus Institute exists to investigate and catalogue paranormal and supernatural experiences that fall outside the range of regular Pokémon shenanigans. So in the beginning, Jon is an even more cynical ass that chalks everything up to being just typical ghost Pokémon messing with people. But there are greater forces at work that fall outside of even Arceus's range of understanding. And there is more to fear than just Pokémon lurking in the shadows.

Jon: He wasn't like most kids with grand dreams of being a Pokémon master. He was and still is much more content reading a book than training Pokémon. All the ones in his team caught him more than the other way around which is really just par for the course for Jon really. He also can’t be bothered to name any of them.

Absol: It just started following him after the brush with the Leitner and just refused to leave. It tries to warn Jon about bad situations but the man has zero self-preservation instincts. Essentially acts like a beleaguered mom looking after her self destructive toddler.

Rotom: It really just kinda came with the tape recorder.

Unknown: Jon didn't intentionally catch it. The unknown just live in the Archives and made themselves at home in his office until one finally just tapped into a pokeball conveniently left on his desk. It likes helping him find real statements in the Archives and tries to work with its brethren and Absol to warn Jon about incoming dangers. He’s just too buried in statements to see ominous warnings literally floating above his head.

Buneary: It was the first and only Pokemon he ever purposefully caught. It hated him when he caught it and it still hates his guts now but they both refuse to let the other go out of spite. Tim gets a kick about teasing him about it.

Purugly: His first pokemon given to him when his grandma's purugly had kittens. It spends all its time skulking around the archives just doing cat things.

Chandelure: He caught it in the woods as a litwik as a kid and used it as a reading light. He doesn't believe in the stories surrounding them stealing your life force but it definitely does and he’s just too hyped on caffeine to notice.

Martin: I imagine Martin as the breeder type who loves to nurture Pokémon from eggs and just overly spoil his entire team. He of course names all his pokemon after Romantic poets.

Joltik:  Used to belong to Jon before he gave it away after the Leitner incident. He really just kinda threw the ball as far as he could and it hit Martin upside the head. Jon doesn't realize that Martin was that kid or that that Joltik was his and it makes both of them very sad. The only pokemon he hasn’t named since he doesn’t know what Jon named it and it didn’t feel right to change it.

Araquanid: He named it Byron after Lord Byron. Pokémon who, depending on who you ask, either drowns unsuspecting Pokémon or cares for them. Fits Martin to a T if you ask me and he would take pity on a poor, misunderstood spider.

Sylveon: He named it Felicia after Felicia Hemans. He raised it from an egg he found in the backyard. It was also his first Pokemon period that he hid in his room because his mom didn't want any Pokémon in the house. When she did find it she begrudgingly allowed it. She always seemed to dote on it more than she ever did Martin himself...

Klefki: Named it Will after William Wordsworth. This little guy is half the reason Martin is able to get into half the places he does.

Chansey: Named Keats. Another Pokemon raised from an egg, it is just as doting as Martin is to the others in the archives. It is also consequently the most powerful member on his team.

Zorua: Named Percy after Percy Shelley. He initially thought he was catching a volpix when he caught it. He bonded with it over having to hide who he truly is too. It is the overprotective guard dog he deserves that no one realizes how dangerous it truly is.

Tim: his team is comprised of beautiful Pokémon that can absolutely kick anyone's ass at a moments notice. They are all as salty as they are beautiful. He names his pokemon after famous actors and actresses.

Roserade: Named Angelina after Angelina Jolie, it was the first Pokemon he ever caught, the two are a dazzling duo charming anyone that crosses their path.

Yamask: It showed up and started hanging around him after his brother was taken by the Stranger. After that, he knew without a shadow of a doubt his brother was dead. He dotes on it constantly because of it despite how much it creeps others out. He, of course, named it Danny.

Milotic: Named Kiera after Kiera Knightly, he evolved it from a feebas he hatched from an egg. He still treats it like his baby.

Lopunny: It was his first Pokémon. His brother gave it to him as a gift and he took it as a challenge to get it to like him enough to evolve. He named it Audrey after Audrey Hepburn.

Liepard: Its stealthy nature is extremely helpful when scouting locations and doing research for the institute. It also hates Jon as much as Tim does. He named it Jackman after Hugh Jackman.

Diancie: He inherited it from his bro after his passing. Danny found it while exploring an old cave and used to travel everywhere with him. It and Danny are still inseparable. Its name is Mila after Mila Kunis.

Basira: Her team is as practical as she is. They are all extremely powerful and could easily take down the entire league if she wanted to. She just doesn’t want to. Her no-nonsense attitude means she just doesn’t see the point in naming any of her pokemon.

Arcanine: What's a cop without their traditional canine companion? Her arcanine fell in love with Daisy's before they even had a clue they were made for each other and set them up in a very 101 Dalmatian style.

Serperior: Her first pokemon given to her from the local pokemon professor. They share the same unimpressed icy stare.

Mightyena: They are truly cut from the same cloth and is honestly more of her partner than her official partner.

Alolan Ninetails: Her strongest Pokémon and her fiercest protector. It loves playing mind games with people.

Umbreon (evolved during the Raynor incident. It seems especially keen on picking up on paranormal activities making it very useful to have on hand)

Mewtwo (cause if anyone has a legendary Pokémon, it's Basira. She caught it during one of the section cases she took and just didn't tell anyone)

Daisy: She is the “gotta collect them all” type of pokemon hunter. She catches any new pokemon she comes across and sends them to the local professor cause she has to fill that pokedex.

Arcanine: Second verse same as the first with this one of being a staple of being a police officer. It will look for any excuse to burn someone. The only person it likes besides Daisy is Basira and her Arcanine.

Houndoom: Her first pokemon she got as a houndour. She terrorized the neighborhood kids with it and is essential for her hunting down both new pokemon and perps. 

Treevant: She caught it as a phantump after it showed up as she was looking into a cold case. At least if she never was able to file an official report, she at least knew how the case ended.

Sawsbuck: She caught it as a deerling and was the first pokemon she ever caught. What kinda hunter hasn’t caught a deer right?

Espurr: She got it after the whole coffin incident. She just kinda cam across it by chance and felt a kinship with it about having to restrain a flood of overwhelming power it holds.

Lyanroc Midnight form: It is as vicious as she is when in full Hunt mode. 

Melanie: She is the one type kinda trainer and it’s, of course, ghost types. She is determined to prove the paranormal exists outside of ghost type pokemon.

Gengar: It was the Pokémon that started her fascination with ghosts and the first Pokémon she ever had.

Honedge: She found it when looking into that ghost train and couldn’t not catch it. When she’s threatening to stab someone, she uses honedge to do so.

Sableye: Found in an abandoned, haunted mine shaft.

Banette: Cause what kinda ghost hunter doesn’t have a haunted doll?

Gourgeist: She caught it as a pumpkaboo on her very first ghost hunting trip.

Spiritomb: Caught it poking around the wrong place at the wrong time she came across it and had to catch it cause if anyone would have a spiritomb, it would be her. It’s just as bloodthirsty as she is.

Sasha: Do I mean this team was made by Sasha or Not-Sasha? The answer is yes.

Mimikyu: The first pokemon she ever caught. Wait... wasn’t it supposed to be a pikachu?

Ditto: This one just speaks for itself.

Baynette: After she caught it she started reading up on the stories and pores surrounding certain Pokémon that put her on the path of working at the institute.

Gothitelle: It started crying nearly immediately after Sasha started working for the Institute but didn't buy into the wives tale about them predicting their trainer's deaths. It mysteriously disappeared after the Prentis incident.

Claydol: She found it wandering around artifact storage and felt bad for it.

Parasect: Her first pokemon. She really just found it as a paras in her parents' backyard as a kid and begged them to let her keep it. It evolved during the Prentis incident while trying to help her fend off the worms.