#he came out a bit wonky since this was drawn by memory but lets just ignore that 😅

[janedoeaart]

recently discovered the lackadaisy pilot :)

[eroticintestines]

OH CRap I forgot to add that I wanted the Tick HC to be an x reader, I'm very sorry about that :' ) could the reader be gender neutral-? :0

That's okay!! I've never written for Tick before, so I hope this isn't too bad! Also, of course, all of my stories are gender neutral in general!

(Thank you for your nice message btw!!)

💣🖤( 𝐓��𝐂𝐊 )🖤💣

-Yet another ray of sunshine. He really chases the clouds away with his silly little noises and permanent grin.

-Since he can't communicate any anyway else but with random robot noises, his confessions are a bit wonky, and he has to show affection in different ways.

-But that's just his speciality! He always figures out just how to tell you he absolutely adores you.

-With that being said, the day he confessed was more of a mere accident. Well, a lucky accident.

-Pam is the one who designs all the robots in Brawltown(except Darryl, that guy just showed up out of nowhere),and let's Jessie decorate them if she wants to.

-So of course Jessie was feeling really creative one day, but she chose the completely wrong day; Valentines.

-She caught Tick staring at you multiple times that day by accident. She was just walking around town, looking at all the lovely decorations and couples holding hands, when she stumbled on the little robot staring at you from around the corner.

-You were really caught up in your tea and your conversation with Penny, so you didnt notice him all the way from the cafe.

-The poor little robot looked almost sad, he really felt as if you had no interest in him at all.

-Jessie being the genious she is, noticed it immediately, and decided to make a plan. She invited Tick over for a movie, but she demanded to see some of Tick's bombs.

-Tick proudly fired a single bomb out of his canon, handing it over to Jessie and making sure it doesnt explode. She took it in her hand and pulled out her paint and brushes.

-Tick watched with great curiosity as she painted a single heart on it, putting it on the shelf next to her and saying "Just for memories!". She winked at him with a huge grin.

-When the movie was over, Tick left and Jessie was once again left alone. She quickly took out a paper and a pen and wrote down a love letter. To whom, you ask? To you, of course!

-She made sure to sign Tick under it with as many colours as she could, drawing some hearts around the words for a better effect. She took the bomb Tick gave her with her, making sure nobody saw the redhead sneaking over to your house and ringing the doorbell. She left the gift at your doorstep and bolted to her hiding spot.

-When you opened the door you were confused. You saw the gift and it took you about 15 seconds to realise that it was a bomb. Of course you got scared, thinking it was going to explode, but when you didnt hear any sort of ticking, you calmed down.

-You recognised that it was Tick's bomb. You smiled softly, looking at the heart drawn on it. When you opened the letter and read it, you couldn't help but feel bashful.

-The letter just about complimented everything about you, and it nearly made you tear up. You knew Tick didnt write this himself, but it still meant a hell of a lot that his signature was at the bottom of it.

-You left your house with the same grin you had at the beginning, searching for the little love struck robot. When you found him, he was having a 'conversation' with Gene. They apparenlty understood eachother.

-You approached him, patting his head lightly to gain his attention. He looked up at you, his eyes suddenly sparking. You kneeled down to him and pressed a soft kiss on the top of his head. "I'm not sure who helped you confess, but I'm glad they did," you told him.

-Tick looked at the letter and bomb in your hand, suddenly realising what happened. He hid his head in his body, smoke coming out of him. You chuckled softly, patting his shoulder. "Hey, buddy, I like you too you know."

-He made sure to pay Jessie a visit that day.

-He was a shy boy when you confessed, but after you two got into a relationship, he finally came out of his shell. You gave him confidence to be what he wanted to be. He was always seen as some stupid little machine, but after he found someone who loved him the way you do, he knew he was worth loving.

-He likes to sneak into your lap and sleep there like a cat. He also purrs! It's a secret trait of his that only you know. So go along, pet him!

-He doesn't need to sleep like any other robots, so he usually stays up when you sleep. That can lead to a lot of 'accidents'. You make sure to lock the kitchen whenever you sleep.

-There's a lot of trust in your relationship. He's a fragile little guy, so he values the fact you trust him with things that could possibly send him to Pam's office.

-Even though you can't help but worry he might hurt himself one day. You protect him in matches all the time. It only took you one good look at Bull absolutely demolishing Tick in a duo to make sure you're always by his side.

-He loves animals! His favourite are hamsters. The apartment you share with him is filled with hamsters.

-He tends to accidentally shoot his bombs out of his canon when he gets too excited, but thankfully they rarely go off.

-You took up knitting at some point and made him a scarf, since he always wears one. He was really glad about it.

-Like I mentioned, he shows affection with his action rather than words. He hugs your legs out of the blue, wants you to pick him up, brings you various items from his adventures with Darryl, Penny and Poco, practically demands Jessie to paint your name on his canons...He's practically melting when you compliment him on his commitment.

🐁🐁🐁

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 41: The Dementor

Regulus had never considered the rocking motion of the train any comfort. In fact it made him sick to his stomach, this bit of transportation was as good as the embodiment of every expectation he'd ever had put on him in his life. Now he was trapped in a compartment with a list of people he'd never have asked for, and the book chose to fall onto his head.

He rubbed the spot and glared up at the luggage compartment where he was unsurprised to see Hedwig snoozing in her cage next to a very battered briefcase with a tag hanging off the edge, but he was distracted from making out the handwriting by the cat carrier still sealed shut. Crookshanks was obviously still inside, he could see his squashed orange face trying to peer down below. Regulus briefly wondered why Scabbers wasn't present up there as well, but perhaps if he'd remained on Ron's person he wouldn't be present?

The pets were the lucky ones, remaining up there while a thick layer of tension sat on all the seats. The Marauders were clearly no happier than the other three to be forced back into such a small space, Evans had made quick work of checking the compartment door to make this otherwise. Nothing came of it, so Regulus was left in the awkward position of sitting across from his brother next to the window with two groups of people on each side. One thought his brother a cold-blooded murder in this future, the others insisting otherwise. He kept waiting for someone to demand he pick a side.

Yet no one had. Sirius hadn't asked him what he really thought of this, nor had his fellow purebloods in Longbottom and Smith turned to him and tried to say their point on the matter to him. This time, he was really left to make a decision. He tried to imagine what his mother would say about this, stand by the purebloods side and defend such accusations, or would Sirius being who he was would not get such a reprieve from their mother. It seemed like an honest toss. Then he remembered his mother didn't always know what's best anyways, she'd been wrong about the Dark Lord and who knew what else. So maybe, for once, he should come to his own conclusion without an outside voice.

He licked his lips with nerves and instead began flipping through to the new slot of empty pages for now. As always words materialized at the new chapter, entitled The Dementor. For a moment he was sure that one lone word would break the heavy silence around him, nobody could disagree those scourges of the Earth could mean anything good to come. Rain continued to lash upon the windows outside, the train rocked violently and kept trucking on no matter the gale force winds making it all so much worse, and the luggage above creaking was still the only accompaniment noise, until, "hope the food trolley still comes around," Pettigrew said into the awkward silence.

Regulus chuckled with agreement to that at least, glancing around to see every one of them making some indication of agreement as he began.

James was grateful Harry didn't get the chance to repeat any of this to his friends while the Weasley family was scrambling to pack for the train. He didn't need any of the vilifying comments against Sirius repeated, least of all the ones concerning Harry. It was all ridiculous to the extreme and he hoped something changed soon other than having to hear of this horrid news.

He'd really been hoping nothing of interest would take place, for once, but Harry didn't even get a chance to hop aboard the train before Arthur Weasley was pulling him aside and laying it all on even worse. Even if some You-Know-Who supporting murderer was after Harry, which wasn't Sirius!, who on Earth was crazy enough to think his son would go looking for him? It somehow even made less sense than putting Sirius' name into the mix, and he wouldn't have thought that possible moments ago.

Remus was already exhausted by the constant glares being shared across the small space. Squashed between Sirius and James, he was getting the majority of them. It's not as if he wasn't used to such looks, their group wasn't exactly popular when they were the reason a whole corridor was ducking for cover. Not to mention Evans seemed to have made it her personal mission to glare at them as many times as was humanly possible and beyond. It felt different now though, that they didn't have a corridor to exit from, a class to get to, something else to occupy their time in between constantly having to put on a face for others.

Time was a wonky mess, and it had been since all this started. He was sagging back in his seat in a dead exhaustion, eyes heavy lidded and ready to take a long and restless sleep from a full moon he hadn't run. He could feel it in his bones though, that it should have happened, and this had been going on for, days? It was impossible to tell.

Regulus' voice was calm enough though as Harry began looking about the train for a place to sit, and he was quite warm. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lolled off to sleep, and Sirius' shoulder just so happened to be rather comfortable... "Professor R. J. Lupin."

Said man snapped out of his seat as if he'd been electrocuted, suddenly wired and quite alive, chest heaving as he looked from Regulus to his friends and back as if waiting for someone to scream, 'gotcha.'

None did. His three friends were looking at him like he was a ghost, the other four had their faces scrunched up in a variety of expressions stating incredulity this news existed.

"Well, there goes our idea the rest of us are dead," Sirius spoke, his voice barely heard in the howling wind.

"I, I don't understand!" He choked out, gazing up at the luggage rack where it still sat, plain as day. Fingers trembling so hard he could barely grasp the handle, surely his shaking hand would make the weather beaten suitcase come apart before he found the latch.

"Obvious ain't it," Evans muttered, her eyes now narrowed even farther with mistrust.

She was ignored, finally Peter took pity on him and reached over to release the contents. Maybe it was some insane coincidence with some other man's initials, but that idea was ruined as Remus couldn't keep his fumbling hold and everything fell to the floor.

There were a few different sets of patched robes that were several sizes too large that covered most of the foot room now, a bar of chocolate that had landed half under Frank's seat, and a few bathroom belongings that could have fairly belonged to anyone.

Then there were the rest of the things peeking out that only the Marauders could have known to associate with their friend. One of those articles of clothing was an old threadbare cardigan all four of them had taken turns wearing so many times, none even knew who the original owner was. Several books were dog eared with messy scribbles in Moony's handwriting all over varying Dark beasts of the world, bits of parchment on a mound of subjects all bound together as if waiting for notes to properly be taken, and on the bottom inside of the suitcase was a crudely hand drawn circle.

All four of their eyes were drawn to it, lost in the memory of choosing something so simple yet personal to them to put on every bit of luggage they owned. A full moon, a letter in each of their chosen names, something with no ending or beginning and was simply meant to last forever.

"Moony," Sirius broke into his frozen mind, but the expression on his face left him clueless what was coming next. "Congratulations on making something of your life, at least one of us did."

That smile was fake, the jesting tone was forced, but Sirius was making an effort not to let the others see the pit twisting him up inside at the idea now being presented before them. That their friend was alive and well, and a teacher of all things, while Merlin knew what was going on with Sirius.

Regulus just snorted and muttered about the odds as he continued, but the Marauders couldn't bring themselves to pay attention to anything else he said. The kids dissolved into talking of Hogsmeade and all sorts of things, even Sirius again, but they were pretty fixated on this new bit of information and had no way to get it out of their system.

What had Remus been doing all this time if not spending every day with the Marauders? What was this future like if Sirius had really been in Azkaban this whole time and Prongs long dead. What about Wormtail, had he just moved on with his life as well? Did the two even keep in contact? The idea seemed ludicrous to question now, but all four of them were suddenly faced with the very real idea none had ever questioned before now, what was really in store for them?

Alice watched with curiosity, and even some worry, as the more that was exposed this year the quieter the Marauders got. It wasn't natural. Not once in the years she'd been in their vicinity had they ever been any such thing even close to this. Even if they weren't laughing obnoxiously, shouting to each other about all their jokes, or whispering in the corridors, these pale wide eyed faces looked alien.

When Regulus mentioned Harry's birthday Sneakoscope going off and the silence persisted in here, she got up curiously and located Harry's trunk above her head. She had to rummage for a few moments before finding a nasty pair of yellow socks the little top was indeed inside of, but even as she held it out for inspection it wasn't going off now.

"Wonder what's got it in a twist round them then?" Frank happily picked apart this new puzzle, hearing nothing but the younger Black reading this whole time was starting to get eerie.

"Maybe Lupin's not really sleeping, he's faking it," Lily pointed out, still with a heavy look at him where he'd slowly sunk back into his seat, now sitting on the very edge though and looking paler than usual, which was really saying something.

"That's Professor Lupin to you now!" Potter tried to correct with his usual boasting and cocky grin, but even as Lily watched something seemed off about it. He seemed stiff, his eyes out of focus instead of trying to catch hers. She found that unnerving, and then with a horrid self reflection, she realized she felt bad for him. James Potter! She really couldn't help it though, no matter how hard she tried to shove the feeling away. The poor teen had learned that he was to die, where his kid would be relocated, and now two of his three friends had some pretty shoddy things going on in their future lives all in a matter of days. It was a lot for anyone to take in.

For a moment Lily thought the deep lurch had come from inside her, but then she nearly fell out of her seat as the train did come to a screeching halt.

Regulus fumbled with the book and only just managed to keep hold of it, words stumbling a bit as he got to the same part. He shivered in trepidation, for what he didn't understand, until he shivered again and realized it wasn't just some feeling. It was true, bone deep cold, the windows were icing over and he could see his breath.

"Wha-what's going on!?" Pettigrew demanded, his voice shrill as he recoiled from the door, wand already drawn.

The others had already done the same, even as the answer was presented. A dementor was aboard, and it had its sights on Harry.

The youngest Black was reading in an outright panic, flying through words to try and get this chapter over with before they were forced to experience anything similar. Sadly even after he got past the part of Lupin in the book banishing the creature, they remained in the black void. Regulus could feel his chest rattling, his mind was buzzing painfully as whispers from his past began cluttering to the forefront and he could barely concentrate on the words in front of him.

He wanted his dad to put a big, warm hand on his shoulder and tell him his plan. He wanted his mum to tell him what there was to do and how to solve this. More than anything he wanted Sirius to wrap an arm around him, like he hadn't done since before before that Gryffindor nonsense began. He wanted his big brother to promise their parents weren't really mad at Regulus and he would handle everything. He couldn't grasp that feeling, that emotion, just kept stumbling along through Harry's bizarre recount of a woman screaming, Malfoy being his usual petty self, and finally as he felt his soul rattling in his chest as if it could sense the monster beyond that door, they were in the castle and McGonagall was looking into the incident.

His eyes flinched without his permission, to the door and back to the words in a panic as he kept waiting for it to happen. Smith was beside him shaking in her seat, a silent scream trying to pass her lips. Sirius was still across from him, his hand clutching his chest and mouthing something unintelligible, the horror on his face unmatched. He checked again, and just beyond the window pane he saw a tall, dark, cloaked figure with grotesque, misshapen looking digits reaching for the handle.

In one last desperate breath, he declared Hagrid and Lupin being made Professors, then Harry finally getting safely into his own dorm, and finally they were out.

[i-write-and-therefore-i-am]

One Monstrous Miracle (Part Three)

Wazzup? I have been hit with the inspiration bug and I felt drawn to work on this story while I have all this fun isolation time. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before but I have this story all mapped out, so don’t be afraid of it being abandoned. I’m gonna finish this baby if it’s the last thing I do! As always, I’m self-conscious of this chapter, especially with characterization but please do let me know how you feel about it! I had fun writing it, and I hope you have fun reading it! (Forgive any mistakes you see, I am only babey).

Previous-Next-First

Pairing: Aziraphale/Human

Summary: More barging in, some tenderness, some threatening. All in a day’s work.

Warnings: This got SIGNIFICANTLY longer than other parts, so forgive me. There’s more cursing, but I think I’m just gonna have to resign myself to the fact that this is who I am now.

Word Count: 2,889

Men are stupid. It is a lesson that every person that considered themselves attracted to men learns at some point in their life, and it was a lesson that you had apparently forgotten. You had let yourself get pulled in by the promise of exquisite, centuries-old books and now you were paying for it.

You had assumed post-breakup position: laying across your sofa in your old, but still very fluffy pyjamas, a carton of ice cream on your lap with the sound of crap telly playing in the background. You weren’t even paying attention to what was happening on screen, but you knew that the alternative was to sit in silence until it was time for work, and you didn’t know how much of that you could take.

You couldn’t understand what exactly your problem was. Aziraphale hadn’t really done anything wrong, had he? He had been the perfect gentleman from the moment you had met him and yet something in you felt…betrayed. The thought of how angry Aziraphale had gotten, the crashing sound that had come from his sitting room window, the memory of the rage in his eyes frightened you. This man who had lovingly repaired priceless works of literature, who had patiently sat and enthusiastically listened to you rant about all the things that had happened to you over the course of the day, who had somehow remembered every single one of your favourite dishes and had cooked them all himself just because he had wanted to had transformed in front of your eyes. He’d become something terrible and dangerous, and that was your problem. The switch had been too much for you, and your fear had turned into hurt.

It was ridiculous, really. You knew that it was, but that didn’t stop you from avoiding the familiar little bookshop from then on. Partly out of residual confusion and dismay at what had happened, but mostly out of an overwhelming sense shame at how poorly you had dealt with the situation. You’d run away sobbing as though Aziraphale had hit you, when all he had done was defend you fiercely to someone who seemed to be an important figure in his life. No, you wouldn’t be stepping foot near the shop anytime soon if you had anything to do about it.

Unfortunately for you, you had a great less “anything” to do with it than you thought you had.

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It had been another long day. You enjoyed your new promotion and you were eternally grateful that you had gotten it in the first place, but it came with a truckload of new responsibilities that left you singularly exhausted on the bus ride home that evening. In your efforts to avoid Aziraphale at all costs, you had recently taken to riding the bus again, much to your wallet’s chagrin. Again, the foolishness of your actions was not lost on you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to grow up.

The bus came to a stop and you followed the stream of tourists out onto the pavement. You felt almost like you were in a daze, mechanically turning and walking towards your apartment. Your eyes seemed to see through everything, out of focus and not really paying attention to what was going on around you. Distantly, you noticed that the air had begun to smell faintly of vanilla, like the nearby bakery was baking a wedding cake. In your tired state, you had forgotten that that particular bakery would have been closed long before you had even stepped foot on the bus earlier. Your neighbourhood was not a particularly dangerous one, but it was never smart for a young person to be out so close to dark without being at least somewhat aware of their surroundings. Though you couldn’t have known this, every potential mugger, or killer, or other type of criminal suddenly remembered something urgent that needed tending to on the other side of the city. Speeding motorists found their gas petals to be a tad bit wonky, keeping their vehicles moving along at well under the speed limits. Streetlamps that had long been neglected by the council clicked on, lighting your way home. Just for shits and giggles, for no reason at all (except for one very good reason that you were not at all privy to and were unlikely to be in your lifetime), you lifted your head and turned to look across the street.

Your heart skipped a beat. It was him! It had to be. He was standing in the middle of a group of people, none of them particularly interesting in anyway, so his shockingly white curls and light brown coat stood out like a sore thumb. Your heart beat wildly in your chest. It had been so long since you had seen the man, and the ache you felt as you tried to get a better view of him was almost too much to bear. Unbidden, your arm began to raise itself and his name flew to the tip of your tongue, but before you knew it, he was gone.

You thought about the incident all the way to your building and up the stairs to your flat. You had half a mind to call Aziraphale and demand to know why he was hanging about on Dean Street not ten minutes ago, and where the hell had he gone between the two seconds it had taken you to decide to call out to him and the moment you’d realised he was no longer there. You decided, thankfully, that you probably weren’t going to come at it from the right angle, especially not over the phone, and that you’d be better off continuing as you were. You put your keys and purse down and hung up your coat, thinking about dinner but unable to keep the memory of Aziraphale’s kind smile out of your mind.

You cooked yourself some pasta, not in the mood for a proper meal. You loved cooking, you really did, but it didn’t seem to have the same… ‘umph!’ to it that it had before this whole fiasco with Aziraphale. You had turned on the television so that you could have a bit of background noise while you worked and let yourself focus on the familiar rituals of boiling and straining and stirring. Before long, you had a plate of your favourite pasta along side a glass (a rather full one, mind you,) of your favourite wine. All was well.

Your serenity was interrupted by loud pounding at your door, as if someone were trying to knock the whole bloody thing down. You jumped, nearly spilling your wine all over your face, but you saved yourself at the last minute. Furiously (gingerly) putting the glass down on your kitchen table, you stood up from your chair, intending on giving whoever was on the other side of that door a piece of your mind. Apparently, you weren’t moving quite fast enough for them, because they knocked again, and you swore you could hear the hinges give a little and the force they were being put under. You stomped over to the door, unlocked it, wrenched it open to find—

“What the fuck?” It was Aziraphale’s angry friend. He stood right outside your door, smirking at you like the little shit he probably was. Your brain paused, hit rewind, and started again. You remembered the incident in Aziraphale’s living room and you tensed, preparing yourself for a deluge of indeterminate nonsense about you being mortal? And that somehow being a problem? He was just as unnerving as he had been when you had first seen him, still swaying, still upending the Universe. The real question of the hour was—

“How do you know where I live?!” You screeched, attempting to shut the door in his face, only to be met with his arm. He smirked and advanced on you, forcing you to walk backwards into your own flat. You looked around desperately and saw a hardcover textbook that you had been using to refresh some technique for work. You grabbed it and pointed it towards him, trying to look threatening. The man reached his hand out and you backed away.

“Don’t! Don’t come any closer!” Crowley stopped moving forward, but he didn’t look the least bothered by your performance. He chuckled, leaning against the door frame.

“Well I was going to introduce myself, but it seems you remember me. Let’s put a name to the face, shall we? My name is Crowley and I understand that I may be…how do you say, fit a f? I am sorry, love but you aren’t quite my type.” He finished by making a show of looking you up and down, which only fuelled your annoyance.

“Answer my question! How do you know where I live? Why are you even here?!”

“I’m afraid that was two questions, which one—”

“ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTIONS!” You demanded. Crowley frowned behind his pitch-black sunglasses (which he wore inside, hours after the sun had set) and seemed to grow more serious.

“I—that’s not how I was supposed to start this. Force of habit, you know, it gets the best of us all.” You didn’t respond, waiting for this strange man who had barged into your life on two separate occasions and had brought you nothing but irritation to explain himself.

“See it’s…I…you are—” He stopped, annoyed with the difficulty he was having. You were annoyed that he was still in your flat. “Aziraphale isn’t well.”

Your heart stopped. What? How could that be? You had just seen him! What was wrong? Was he dying? What if—

“He misses you, love. He won’t admit it but he does. He feels awful about what happened and that you were scared or whatever and ran away and he’s been wanting to call you for weeks but he’s too scared to. He’s not himself, Y/N.” This was not what you were expecting to hear. Aziraphale missed you? He’d been thinking about you? You basked in this knowledge for a couple of seconds before your mind stuck on something.

“How do you know my name?” There hadn’t been time for introductions when he had interrupted you and Aziraphale, and you definitely hadn’t said it since he’d interrupted you now.

“Angel talks about you all the time. It’d be grand not to know your name but noooo. Everything is always “Y/N that” and “Y/N this”. “Isn’t Y/N perfect Crowley?”” He’d pitched his voice higher to indicate he was mocking Aziraphale, but you had barely noticed. This was getting to be a bit too much for you to handle. Did Aziraphale…could he actually…did he feel the same way about you that you did about him? Was it even possible? Crowley must’ve seen your confusion on you face because he softened a little.

“Look. Come back to the shop. At least just talk to him, tell him you’re not angry anymore. You’re not angry anymore, right?” He waited for you to respond. You realised that no, you weren’t angry. You missed him sorely, and if you could have him back in your life, even if everything that Crowley had told you was false, it would be more than enough to just be friends again. You shook your head. Crowley grinned at you.

“Brilliant. So, go to the shop, do whatever you two do, and I won’t have to hear about “lovely Y/N” anymore. It’s win-win-win for everyone.” He turned to leave but stopped, sighed heavily, and turned back around. “Uhm. While I’m here, uh. Aziraphale wanted me to…you know…” He cut himself off. He seemed to do that a lot for a man who had no qualms about breaking down doors and interrupting other people.

“You know how people say things that they don’t mean?” He asked, looking up at a water spot on your ceiling. You nodded. He looked down and nodded too, his lips twitching in a smile. “Good. See ya around, love!” And with that he left, the door closing behind him on his way out. You imagined that whatever had just happened was as close to an apology as you were going to get from the strange man--if that was actually what he was trying to do.

You stood and stared at the door for a good while before dropping the book on the ground and sitting heavily onto your sofa. There was so much to think about now, and your mind was absolutely buzzing. You decided that tonight was a very good night to finish off that brand-new bottle you had just bought yesterday.

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Your palms were sweaty. Your knees were trembling slightly, but that wasn’t as bad as sweaty palms. He would feel your sweat and be disgusted and kick you out of his shop before any of your nasty oily sweat got on any of his precious books. Or, replied the competent part of your brain, you could wipe your hands on your jeans and open the damned door already. Your stomach twisted as you raised your hand and pushed on the handle and walked through the doorway.

You were greeted with the sweet sound of bells. The smell of old books and wax and something that Aziraphale carried around with him washed over you, relaxing your shoulders and planting a stupidly stupid smile on your face. You were totally in love with this man, but his bookshop came a close second. You wandered around at first, partly interested in the books and partly biding time until you had to deal with the Aziraphale in the room. It wasn’t difficult to lose yourself in all of the old volumes, and you were so particularly engrossed in one that you were completely oblivious to the man behind you on the stairs.

Aziraphale was beside himself. He had been up in his apartment brewing some tea when the sound of the front door drew him out to the shop. He’d come down the stairs, expecting to find some customer that he would have to fight tooth and nail to keep from buying one of his books but instead he’d found you. After the way you had left, in tears and clearly terrified, he had not dared to hope that he’d see you again. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He couldn’t help himself from watching over you as you walked home, performing the self-same miracle that had kept you safe last night (however, he was  not responsible for you looking up at him, that was something else entirely and it had spooked him something fierce). That was all he had allowed himself to do, baring himself from calling you or visiting you, thinking that if you were so frightened of him, you would not appreciate him initiating contact before you were ready.

He ached for you. He thought of you every day; of your smile, your eyes, your intelligence, your passion for his books and your genuine desire to understand him. Over the time you were apart, he’d come to realise how much he cared for you and how much it hurt to not have you in his life. He watched, unwilling to break your concentration as you ran your fingers reverently along the books, mouthing their titles silently. You were beautiful, even with your hair in the messy bun you preferred on days you didn’t have to dress up for work, in ripped jeans and an old sweater. He couldn’t just stare at you all day, so he forced himself to break his trance and clear his throat.

Predictably, you jumped, hitting your hand on the thick wood of the bookcase. You cursed loudly, bringing your hurting hand to your chest. Panicked, Aziraphale rushed down the stairs and to your side, already reaching for your hand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear, please forgive me! I didn’t mean to startle you, I just…Oh I feel awful!” You let him take your hand in both of his, everything you had meant to say before stepping into the shop floating away as you watched Aziraphale fuss over your hand. You smiled softly at him.

“It’s okay, Azi.” His head shot up and he stared, wide eyed in wonder. You had been the only person to call him that, and he admittedly missed the sound of it while you weren’t with him. You covered his hands with your other one, squeezing gently. “It’s okay.”

He could scarcely think. Or breathe, or do anything but blink at you like the besotted fool he was. You were here, in front of him, touching him, speaking to him, looking at him like that, like perhaps you had missed him just as much as he had missed you. Out of instinct, out of an urge that had plagued him these long months that he had known you, he slowly lifted your bruising hand up to his lips, giving you plenty of time to pull away, to leave him and never set eyes on him again. When you did none of those things, he pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to your knuckles, and then another on the angry red spot that had hit the case. Your breath shuddered in your chest, and you could do nothing but stand there.

Conversations would be had, nothing to personal, nothing close to admitting whatever it was between you, but you didn’t need that. There was an understanding that life without the other person was not worth the trouble. All was truly well.

Tag List:

@chelsdub​, @a-hoe-for-vanya​, @lordbeezyprinceofhell​, @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen​, @beetlebway​, @dreamerkim​, @petalduck​

(Let me know if you want to be added. If you’ve asked before and you aren’t tagged, it means tumblr didn’t let me tag you for whatever reason, so ask me again! If you don’t want to be tagged anymore, also let me know!)

[thattimdrakeguy]

I was actually pleasantly surprised by this moment with Tim. I wasn’t expecting him to be portrayed to be the one that tries to help Bruce out directly, but it brought back memories of Tim’s origin a bit with that one.

Actually pulled my heart strings a bit.

The Robin costume, the Robin title, helping Bruce a bit, he’s drawn a bit wonky by the artists even in ‘the moment’, but Tom King has me pleasantly surprised, even the way he talks is more boyish which is a littler surprise but one I appreciate because for a while there every writer just made him be the generic serious robotic one.

This crossover was actually ... well I won’t say good because parts of it are just too bizarre and I don’t actually know the full story, even the page after this was just freaking weird, but to see the characters come together and having it feel more natural and having them play to the roles they were build up on just feels really satisfying.

It went above my expectations, which is low, but this is the first time in a super long time I actually felt like a Bat-Family team-up came off rather natural, like this is who they are. No forced cutesy jokes, or fandom tropes from the writer pandering. Just the characters being the characters, and I love that. I appreciate things like that.

I already crapped on the idea of how bad this could be, but honestly I’m just pretty glad to get what I can get, and I’m a fan of how Tim was portrayed, he felt like ... Tim, and after reading Robin War in which Tom King also wrote, I’m a little shocked about it. I was expecting him to be the jerk one because of it.

We even got a Young Justice cameo! Which I absolutely love and brings the universe more closer together, and gives Young Justice some more publicity which it kind of needs since it’s been on it’s own for a while now.

Like overall Tim’s appearance and role in this issue can be best described as a pleasant surprise.

Also since this takes place after Young Justice gets back home. It implies Tim gets to keep being Robin! Which I’m in love with and I hope so much that it’s true and not just going to be a massive plot hole.

.

Lets just ignore this part below though. That was weird, and horrid, and awful, and never should’ve happened. Why DC, editorial plus Tom King, ever thought this was a good idea I have no idea. They set up something nice ignoring the Bruce parts that I skipped in full honesty. Then they had to blast this out.

I hate this part. Poor Timmy. Poor Bruce for being written this way too.

[larryfanfiction]

Merman Fics

💧Purer Than The Water (like we were) by FeelsForBreakfast (33k) 

Louis is a merman and Harry is a boy. The lake is a good place to fall in love.

"Louis wants the boy to wade deeper, deep enough that Louis can go under and wrap his fingers around his ankles for just a moment. Pull him under. Just touch skin, for a second."

💧with your love we could breathe underwater by luminescents (28k) @peterpansflight

Harry’s brow furrows, a look of confusion spreading over his face. “But I am real. I exist, see,” he says, raising a hand out of the water and wiggling his fingers at Louis.

Louis finds himself relaxing a bit. Harry seems harmless really. And he’s quite cute, for something that’s not supposed to exist. If Louis is indeed having a hallucination right now, at least it’s a cute one.

AU where Harry is a mermaid, Louis is a human, and they both discover a lot more than they anticipated.

💧at least as deep as the pacific ocean (i wanna be yours) by writtensoul (9k) 

louis is the very entitled prince of the seven seas!! harry is a goofy sailor boy!!! a lot of hijinks ensue involving slippery mermaid tails and happy fun little sea creatures!!

💧Take Me Under the Blue by objectlesson (19k) @horsegirlharry

Louis hasn’t even seen his legs yet. He doesn’t know how they work or how long they’ll be. Maybe they won’t suit the rest of Harry at all, and he’ll have to grow into them or something. It doesn’t matter; Louis has loved Harry for a year with scales, so he can’t imagine wonky legs putting a damper on his attraction.

He supposes he’ll just have to find out. In the meantime, he wonders how the fuck he got here, in his squelching wellies about to save the love of his life from the sea and take him to bed and bang him for the very first time.

It’s sort of a long story.

💧Coax the Cold by MediaWhore (86k) @mediawhorefics

England, 1897. 

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

💧Don't Let the Tide Come and Take Me by kiwikero (28k) @icanhazzalou

The aquarium in the lobby has been there as long as Louis can remember, and so has the merman inside. That is, until the day Louis loses his job and decides to set the creature free.

They set off on a road trip to the sea, learning to communicate more and more each day. Their destination is LA, but the closer they get and the more Louis gets to know the merman, the more he dreads having to say goodbye.

Or, the one where Louis decides to set a merman free and ends up finding his own freedom along the way.

💧Sirène by iwillpaintasongforlou (4k) @canonlarry

Harry stumbles across a strange and beautiful creature -merman Prince Louis of Sirène- as he walks along the beach one night. When a bit of magic Louis had never dared to believe in has him trading in fins and scales for real human legs, Harry takes it upon himself to show him exactly how this new human body works. (Louis is a merman who turns into a human and Harry takes him home and takes him to bed.)

💧The Importance of Body Language by zimriya (11k) @zimriya

Harry really has no idea how he’s going to get out of this one. After the little incident with the fishing wire, he’d been told that under no circumstances was he to visit the surface of the water, as he is the heir to the throne and his safety is essential to the continued existence of their underwater society. Or something. Harry loves his mum, but there’s really only so much talk of royal duty a prince can take before he does something drastic. Like purposefully disobey her strict instructions to stay under the sea for the rest of his natural life, and instead swim too close to a human ship and get himself spotted by none other than the unfairly attractive Prince Louis Tomlinson, for example.

Needless to say, Harry is fucked. A Little Mermaid AU. Sort of.

💧 If the Surface Begs You Home by QuickedWeen (17k) @becomeawendybird

Harry is a mermaid from the underwater kingdom of Mercadia who is a little too fascinated by life above the surface. He’s kicked out of his home after he winds up pregnant, and has to figure out how to make his way in the world. Louis is the darling of the small neighbouring seaside village who came home after university to take over their local library, and can’t seem to stay away from the mysterious pregnant mermaid his friends introduce him to.

💧The Song of a Siren by sarahbear (22k) @leedsloubear

Harry loved beautiful things. Ever since his youth, the boy had been drawn to items that he thought were marvellous. Whether it be the shiny broach his mother wore to mass on Sunday or the robin that often sang in the morning, Harry admired them all. Though the thing Harry found most beautiful had always been the sea.

At the young age of sixteen, the boy left his family and joined a crew to sail the ocean. After many years, Harry finally attained his own ship and became captain. The year was 1720 when Captain Styles and his crew of twenty men set sail from an English port to travel the world in search of the most beautiful treasures they could find.

(Or the one where Harry is the captain of a pirate ship and Louis is a siren who learned new tricks.)

💧 Drowning In Your Eyes by smittenwithlouis (45k) @smittenwithlouis

“Capt’n Styles, are you certain of this? They be attracted to man-made light.” “What is? Sharks?” The young blonde asks in terror. “Worse than sharks, lad. There’ll be flesh eating mermaids upon us in minutes, mark my words!” Paul huffs as he continues to wave the bright lantern in front of him, “And Captain Styles here, has us bait!” Or: The Pirates of the Caribbean inspired au where Harry is a fierce pirate who holds the heart of a beautiful merman.

💧 You Can Make Me Whole Again by embro (11k) @harryventura 

Harry loudly announced “Speaking of turning negatives into positives and making the most of a dire situation, I was thinking I’m going to try having a proper swim after work tonight. See what mermaid me has got. Want to come watch?”

“Umm – I don’t know. It’s still a bit freaky for me. And I feel guilty every time we talk about it, I don’t know what seeing it is going to do.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Quit being so bloody selfish. All you have to do is look at it, I’ve got to live it.”

Or the one where Harry loves Louis, Louis’ not exactly interested, and all hope is lost when Harry grows a fish tail one day. Typical.

💧 my head’s under water (but I’m breathing fine) by infinitelymint (13k) @infinitelymint

Harry’s a merman, Louis is a prince. Sometimes happiness can be found at the bottom of the sea.

💧 to the light by fondleeds (13k) @fondleeds

“Hey,” Louis kicks his leg out at him, misses by a mile, but Harry’s cheeks still glow at it, all close-mouthed smile and dimples. “It’s Christmas. I refuse to let you be lonesome and dejected on Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” Harry says, matter-of-fact, like he knew that before Louis told him about it that first week of December, when the lights had started appearing and Harry had risen out of the water with such wonder and dreaminess in his eyes, the last dustings of snow caught in his wet lashes.

“It’s the Christmas season,” Louis responds. Harry rolls his eyes at him.

AU. Harry is a mermaid lost at sea and Louis is a boy determined to make his first Christmas a memorable one.

💧 Poor, Unfortunate Soul by UpAllNight (20k)

Louis, drunk and confused, falls off the side of the cruise ship. Harry, who had been following some dolphins who had been following the cruise ship, rescues him and takes him to a small island until help arrives (as it always does, because Louis is not the first drunk to fall off a boat). But until then, it’s just Harry and Louis.

Or, and Harry is a very handsome, shy merman. Who might have a thing for humans. And Louis, apparently, has a thing for mermen.

💧 To Embroider Your Waist With Corals by smittenwithlouis (100k) @smittenwithlouis

The first thing he notices is the light cyan wings and the humanoid body with bird like feet, clearly a harpy, a child one at that. Harry thinks the best thing to do is to grab him and pull him above water as quickly as possible, so air can make it into its struggling lungs. That was his plan, until he made eye contact with it for a split second and that’s all it took for a flood of emotions to hit him like a sailfish.

Or: All harpy Louis has known is the sky, all merprince Harry has known is the sea, except when they’re together.

💧 I Know All Your Colors by someonethatsfunny (34k) @someonethatsfunny

The one where Louis is a mermaid and Harry meets him as a five year old boy. What happens when you meet a merboy at the tender age of five, but no one believes you? Will you listen to your parents and other adults who all tell you that you’ve imagined him or will you hold onto the memory of him for a lifetime, never willing to let him go? What if you can’t let him go because you’re pretty sure you were destined to meet and to be a part of one another’s lives? Maybe it’s down to fate.

Other Masterposts

[soyforramen]

Fall AU - In a world where Jason never died and Riverdale never fell into chaos, Jughead and Betty come across a palm-reading who will change their perspectives on life and bring them closer than they ever were before, or ever wanted to be. 

Cross posted on AO3.

xxxxx

Jughead was irritated and out of place once more.  Only this time it wasn’t at school. No, today he was irritable at Riverdale’s traditional Fall Faire, a place full of screaming school children, carts filled with aromatic foods he couldn’t afford, and rides guaranteed to make a PI lawyer salivate.  With his dark clothes and scowl he was the rain on the otherwise brightly colored parade around him.

Archie elbowed him, dropping kettle corn on the ground.  “Cheer up, Jug. At least we’re not in math.”

Reggie ran through them, almost knocking Jughead down, as he and Moose threw around a stuffed Tweety bird the football players had collectively won for Midge.  (They’d been trying for a stuffed animal for their own girlfriends, but Moose being Moose had gotten his way in the end.)

“I’d rather be in math than here,” Jughead muttered.  He grabbed a handful of kettle corn from Archie, saving it from it’s miserable fate on the leaf littered ground.  “At least there I can get a nap in.”

“Hey boys,” Veronica called to them from the booth they were passing.  Archie’s head whipped around, a goofy grin on his face at the sound of her voice.

“Down boy, the succubus isn’t going anywhere,” Jughead said.  

Archie ignored him and went to Veronica, a moth to the proverbial flame.  Having nothing better to do, Jughead followed Archie over to the construction paper covered booth.  The sign on top proclaimed ‘Kissing Booth: Help send the Vixens to Finals!’. Crude cut outs were strewn across the booth.  Jughead figured they were supposed to be lips, but to him they looked like slugs locked in a battle to the death. Then again, that’s also what he imagined kissing to be like.

Veronica perched on a stool behind the booth, dressed in orange and brown plaids for the season.  She grinned at him, a new little grin she’d perfected in the Hampton’s over the summer. It screamed ‘I don’t care enough to tell anyone all your secrets, but we both know that I know them.’  “Care to buy a kiss, Juggie? Or would you rather wait until Betty comes along for the second shift?”

Archie’s brows furrowed as he glanced between Veronica and Jughead.  “You and Betty are -

“There is no Betty and I,” Jughead said flatly.  In lieu of blushing (a Jones was never soft enough to blush) he glared at the dark-haired vixen.  

Veronica’s grin slipped into a sly smile.  “C’mon Juggie, I’ve seen the way you look at her.  Isn’t there something nice you can say about her?”

He narrowed his eyes and glanced behind him to make sure the blonde in question wasn’t walking up behind him.  One didn’t hover around Veronica Lodge’s inner circle without becoming wise to her machinations. “There’s lots of nice things I could say about Betty.  And Archie and Ethel and Toni. And there’s lots of things I could say about you.”

Veronica’s smile settled back into her usual Cheshire smile.  “You flatter me,” she shot back with a flutter of her eyelashes.  “Now, Archie, about that kiss?” Archie smoothed his hair and tugged at his jacket.  “One ticket, one kiss,” she reminded him.

Archie held out a ticket and Veronica slipped it somewhere under the counter.  She presented her cheek, and Archie gave it a quick peck.

“Aren’t you supposed to kiss him?” Jughead asked.

“If that’s the way it worked we’d all get mono, Creature from the Bowels of Hot Topic,” Cheryl said as she came to take her turn at the kissing booth.  “Now shoo, you’re in the way of paying customers.”

Jughead looked around and found no one else near the booth.  He was tempted to stand around to irritate Cheryl further, but it was soon apparent that the Kissing Booth would quickly become the Cat Fight booth if Cheryl kept asking Archie if he’d like a kiss on the house.  He saw the dark look in Veronica’s eye and knew from experience it was best to let his old pal Archie figure out his own female troubles.

As Jughead walked away, his eyes landed on a bright orange ticket laying on the dirt in front of him.  He picked it up and looked around. The closest Faire attendee was over at the duck fishing pond, and no one appeared to be looking for a spare ticket.  His civic duty attempted, Jughead curled his fingers around the ticket. The last time he’d had a ticket at the Fall Faire was in elementary school, when life was happier and simpler.  

Jughead shook that thought off.  After all, it was a faire to celebrate the bounty of the harvest, a time to eat, drink, and be merry.  With this ticket he’d be able to accomplish one of those things. He spent the next ten minutes wandering through the booths as he tried to decide what he wanted to spend his one ticket on.  The smell of kettle corn was tempting, but he’d already eaten most of Archie’s and he had a taste for something different. Something sweeter.

He wandered through the fairgrounds, watching people mill about in groups and making mental notes about how they moved and spoke on the off chance he might remember the next time he was struck by the writing bug.  If he was ever struck by the writing bug again.

It wasn’t until he spotted the caramel apple stand tucked away on the edge of the festivities that he knew what the ticket was meant for.  The gloomy fall clouds above him opened to allow a bit of sunshine to fall on the apple stand. The bright reds and browns of the sign were a neon sign to his hungry stomach.  Drawn like a jock to a cheerleader, a nerd to Gryphons & Gargoyles, Jughead made a beeline towards the stand. As he drew closer he could make out a dancing apple, eerily happy despite the large bite that had been taken out of it.  The words ‘1 Apple = 1 Ticket were written on the side. A happy coincidence indeed.

The fate of his ticket, though, wasn’t so easily sorted.  As he passed by the line of booths, a voice called out to him, crooked with age and rough with experience.

“Palm reading.  Know your true self.”

Jughead barely spared a glance at the old woman and her threadbare tent.  But that small gesture proved to be his undoing. He’d broken the number one rule of all fairs and carnivals: never make eye contact with people trying to take your hard-earned money.  

“You there.  Boy with the hat.  You look like you need some guidance in this world.”  

He stopped and squinted to get a good a good look at the woman standing in the tent’s shadow.  She was an old crone, or dressed as one, complete with the crooked back and wonky eye. He’d always held a healthy suspicion of adults, particularly of those who sold the type of things no one really needed, and this woman was the most suspicious on the fairgrounds.  The woman squinted back, waiting for his response. There was an unspoken social contract to these types of things. Once you’d acknowledged someone’s existence there was an expectation that you’d respond. It was a social contract Jughead despised, and it was the one he most often broke.

So instead of responding, he continued his trek towards the apple booth, his mouth already salivating at the memory of the sharp crispness of the apple mixing with the sticky sweet caramel.  His back teeth were sticking together in anticipation as he stepped in line.

“They say to write what you know, but if you don’t know yourself, what can you write?” The old woman’s voice held a note of amusement.  

His stomach told him the old women was only trying to get one more ticket, one more payout.  His inner voice, the one Toni called his super-ego, was intrigued by her promises. He’d been stuck on his novel for weeks, chasing down red-herrings into dead-ends of his own creation.  The investigation by the noir detective Monica Posh had long since fizzled into nothing more than another tragic accident. At this rate, the murder of the town’s Golden Boy would never be solved.

For what might be the first time in his life, Jughead listened to something other than his stomach.  It was an event that Fangs might even label ‘Growth’. Only Fangs would make sure it was accompanied by at least three memes and four gifs.  

Against his own nature, Jughead walked to the front of the tent.  In the coming days, he’d wonder why he’d ever gone over to the old woman.  He didn’t recall leaving the line, didn’t recall walking towards the woman.  It was almost as if some supernatural draw had pulled him to this place and to this woman.  

“I don’t believe in this kind of thing,” Jughead said.

The woman laughed.  “You’d be surprised how many people tell me that.  Come, come.” She beckoned him inside with a finger crooked with arthritis.

Jughead followed her inside and found it just as bare as the outside.  The only light came from a weak Coleman lantern set on the corner of a table. A faint smell of lavender hung in the air.  Jughead took a seat at the card table, the woman already seated on the side. They sat there, looking at one another, until the woman barked, “Hand.”

Too startled to do anything else, Jughead put his hand on the table.  The woman took his hand and peered at it. Her face came close enough to his hand he could have reached out and touched her cheek.

“Mmm,” the woman intoned.  

Jughead quashed his desire to crane his neck to look at his own hand.  He’d had it since birth and it was a pretty good hand, even if the fingers were long enough to get caught in the occasional door.  The old woman seemed to disagree.

“You are independent.  You follow your brain and ignore all matters of the heart,” she said.  The woman clicked her tongue. “Too independent, it seems. You are suspicious of everyone around you, and that makes you miss everything important in life.”

The way she said it reminded Jughead of his father haggling over ‘used’ parts at Mustang’s auto shop.  ‘Never buy at a mark-up,’ his father would tell them on the way over. ‘If you hem and haw a little, if you make them feel like their parts are inferior, that’s how you get a deal.’  At this moment, Jughead felt as if he were a mostly-new carburetor with all of it’s dents and dings on display.

“Your love life,” the old woman croaked, “is very sad.  Tragic!”

This was what he’d spent a ticket for?  Commentary he received every day, entirely unsolicited, from Reggie Mantle? The only ticket he had, the ticket that could have gotten him a candied apple, sure to last at least until they had to board the buses home.  And he’s wasted it on this?

“I want a refund,” he said in a flat tone.

The old woman looked up at him, and in the same flat tone, said “No refunds.”  She pointed over his shoulder and he turned to find a sign above the tent flap that said in bright red letters, “No Refunds, No Exceptions.”  She yanked his hand closer and peered at it in the dim light.

“You live in your head.  That’s what this line here means.”  She jabbed at the line under his fingers and he winced.  “Live in the moment. Learn to listen with your heart, boy.”

“And if I don’t?” he challenged.

The woman threw up her hands.  “Fine. Be a miserable old man by the time you're twenty-three.  But don’t come complaining to me when things drastically change for you.”

Jughead stared at her.  “Aren’t you supposed to tell me how to avoid that?  That next week the stars will align and things will look up if I only I wear pink?”

“I’m not a fortune cookie.  I read palms. Palms only show me who you are.  What you were raised to be.”

He scoffed, disappointed with her response.  He knew he was acting the petulant child, refused a toy he didn’t want in the first place only to throw a fit when it was taken away.

“Fine.  Thanks, I guess,” he muttered.  He stood and walked out of the tent.  It wasn’t until he’d rounded the corner that he realized the woman had never asked for his ticket.  In a surge of happiness, he checked his jacket pocket where he’d put it for safe-keeping. He came up empty.  Checking all the other pockets, he came up empty again.

With a scowl, he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and stalked off to find Archie. 

On the other side of the fair, Betty just finished her turn at the kissing both.  Today had been a big blow to her ego, especially when she saw how many tickets Veronica and Cheryl had received.

“At least you didn’t have to kiss Creepy Chris,” Toni said in her own attempt at consolation.

Betty stared at the toes of her shoes. “I hid behind the booth every time he came by.

Toni stored and sat on the stool to take her turn.  “I wouldn’t worry about it. The only reason Cheryl and Veronica got any tickets is because they’re the biggest flirts in school and bullied every boy into stopping by.”

Betty knew this was true, but it didn’t help the sting of knowing that once again she was in second place.  She glanced to where Archie stood, Veronica on one arm, Cheryl on the other. Both vied for his attention between preening and sniping at each other. 

Toni put a hand on Betty’s arm.  “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Her smile was pained and pitiful.  Betty was used to that kind of pity.  After all, Betty had pined for Archie for years, always desperate to catch a minute of his time.  When they were younger, it was a game to see if she could finally pull Archie’s attention away from the other girls in town.  But as they grew up, and Betty grew into real feelings for him, she didn’t want to play the game any longer. She wanted to be the only one.

So she left Archie to the girls who weren’t so careless with their hearts, the girls who knew how to be a hear tbreaker.  And Betty tried to move on.

“I don’t know if it helps any, but I don’t think either of them want him.”  She leaned on her arms and openly watched the pair bicker.

“Oh?  Why’s that?”

Toni pointed to Cheryl, then to Veronica.  “See how all their attention is focused on each other?  The only time they focus on Archie is when the other one has lost interest.  They’ve been like this all the time I’ve known them.”

It was only a year ago that Southside High had closed and reintegrated with Riverdale, bringing with it Toni and Fangs and Jughead, but Toni was right. She had always been an avid people watcher, able to draw information about a person after two minutes that Betty hadn’t been able to figure out in a lifetime. 

Betty watched her best friend and cousin snap at each other through a different lens.  Their bodies were facing each other, not Archie, and they didn’t allow the poor boy to get more than a few words in.

“Maybe they should talk about it?”  she said thoughtfully.

Toni snorted.  “They’re both so in denial I doubt they’d let you get two words out.”  Realizing Betty was content to stand around, Toni gave her a gentle push.  “Go on, enjoy the rest of the fair. I think I can hold down the fort for the next hour.”

“Thanks, Toni.  Hope you have better luck than I did,” Betty said with a genuine smile.

Toni winked.  “I do have the advantage.  You only wanted to play with half the potential customers.”  She slipped a hand into the mason jar Ginger had brought for the tickets and pulled out three.  “Go have fun for me.”

“I can’t take those.”  Betty shook her head and back up.  “They’re for -”

Toni grabbed her wrist and put the tickets in her hand.  “For the new uniforms Cheryl’s been salivating over all year.  We both know the Vixens will never make it to finals. Think of it as hazard pay for having to kiss so many frogs.  And for staying up all night to make this booth happen.”

She hadn’t stayed up all night.  But Toni had a point. Betty had been the only one to show up yesterday, and she’d spent hours cutting out the letters and lips.  And it wasn’t her fault her mother refused to send her with any money for the fair. (It was a surprise Alice had even left her go after hearing that the Vixens were doing a kissing booth as a fundraiser.)

The kettle corn did look really good.  And if she still felt bad about it later she could always pay the cost of the tickets at the next fundraiser.

“Thanks, Toni.”  Betty placed the tickets in the front pocket of her purse.

“Bring me back some funnel cake, Cooper,” Toni said as Betty walked away.

Having the tickets was a minor thrill, a small rebellion against the iron-grip of societal expectations her mother had hammered into her head growing up.  This was the sort of thing that would keep her up at night, that would wind her stomach into a Gordian knot not even Alka Seltzer could cure. But she was hungry and the idea of funnel cake smelled too good to pass up. 

With her step lightened by her reasoning, Betty wandered through the Faire.  Most people, if asked, would say Betty Cooper was a spring girl, the kind who loved the budding flowers and baby animals, the promises of a new beginning wrapped in May showers.  But those who knew her, knew that she had always been a fall girl. There was something about the cooler air, the cozy sweaters, the hot chocolate. Her day was brightened by carved pumpkins and changing leaves.  It made her feel alive to be surrounded by so much color and activity. Fall meant the return of school and her friends, the return of football games and pep rallies, the return of another year in Riverdale.

“Such a beautiful smile,” a woman’s voice said to her right.  “I’m sure your palm is just as lovely.”

Confused, Betty turned to find a young woman with chestnut curls and deep grey eyes smiling at her.  “Palm reading. Only one ticket,” the woman told her.

Betty paused.  It had always been something she’d want to try, along with tarot readings and crystal balls. It was the type of thing her mother always warned her about.  Snake-oil salesmen and con-men who made their money by preying on people’s insecurities. Rationally Betty knew it only meant what you wanted it to mean, but the idea of doing something her mother would hate intrigued her, so Betty followed the palm reader into the tent.

Inside, the walls were draped with thick maroon cloth trimmed with gold.  The decor matched the palm reader’s outfit. Fairy lights illuminated the tent, and a diffuser in the corner threw the comforting scent of lavender into the air. 

The palm reader held out her hand to one of the cushions littering the ground, and Betty choose a deep purple pillow.  She held out her hand and the woman took it.

“Do you see this line here?” the palm reader asked after a few minutes.  “Do you see how long it is?”

Betty peered at her hand and nodded.  It ran the width of her hand. “Does that mean something?”

“You overthink.  And this line here, where that breaks?  It means you put others’ needs in front of your own.  You should learn how to say no every now and then.”

The woman hummed, and Betty sat up a bit straighter.  She craned her neck, trying to figure out what it was that had caught the woman’s eye.  “What? What is it?”

“Here.”  The palm reader pointed to a gap in one of the lines that crossed Betty’s palm.  “It is very odd. Do you see how it jumps? How the lines break between your second and first finger?  That means that an important love has passed through your life, from childhood until now. That break means that the love has left your life.  It is not longer the center of it. But,” the woman peered closer. There was a dramatic pause that that pulled a shiver of tension down Betty’s spine.  “Here. Something important will happen to you, much sooner than you think. Something life changing.”

Betty took in a deep breath.  The woman probably told every client the same thing, but to Betty it felt real.  She’d been waiting for important and life-changing for a while. “Do you have any advice for when it happens?”

The woman smiled.  “Think with your heart.  Don’t let your anxiety and fear get the better of you.  And put yourself first.”

Betty thanked her and handed over the ticket.  A grin stretched her face as she walked out into the cool fall air.  When she turned around to get her bearings, the tent was dark and the woman was nowhere to be found. \  As odd as that was, Riverdale had long since been a place of oddity, and the encounter didn’t sound out too her. 

With the other two tickets, Betty bought two funnel cakes and returned to the booth to keep Toni company.

To both Betty and Jughead, the palm reading was nothing more than a carnival game, another sentence in the novel of their lives.  Nothing was amiss that day, nothing had changed. They both went to sleep in their respective beds, the fair already forgotten.

[birdiethebibliophile]

{fic} That Old Sweet Feeling (part 18)

Fandom:  The Adventure Zone:  Commitment Rating:  M Chapter Warnings:  None Relationship:  Nadiya Jones/Mary Word Count:  1,494

Here on AO3. Read the rest: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Tagging @someone-called-f1nch, @voidfishkid, @mellowstarscape, and @jumpboy-rembrandt!

Not sure how I feel this chapter, but here it is. Look forward to next week, when we get another reunion.

Chapter Summary:   Flanagan takes a compliment. Addison tries their best. Nadiya thinks about science.

__________________

“I’m going to die,” Remy moaned. “This is it. This is how I go.”

“It’s just curry,” Flanagan said, embarrassed. “Pretty easy.”

“You don’t understand,” Remy said, pointing his fork at Flanagan. “We haven’t eaten anything not from a convenience store or a sewer in, like, a week. This is so much better than sewer granola.”

“They were power bars,” Nadiya grumbled, “and the sewer was clean.” She couldn’t complain too much, though; she was already on her second helping, and Kardala was on her fourth.

“Geez, you guys have really been through the wringer, huh?” Addison said sympathetically.

“Little bit,” Remy agreed. “Oh, hey, man, by the way, sorry about knocking you out back at the ‘Berg. I really didn’t mean to. Glad you got out okay.”

“Oh, yeah, no worries,” Addison said, waving a hand. “I couldn’t, uh, couldn’t stop channeling, so it’s probably good you knocked me out like that. Flanagan took care of me, it was all fine. I mean, honestly, she was the one who –” They broke off.

“It’s fine.” Flanagan sighed. “All three of our powers were sometimes a little… wonky, right from the beginning. I mean, with Mary, obviously, it was a totally different story, but when they were all activated together? Not great. That’s why Addison couldn’t stop channeling, and I couldn’t stop… amplifying? Generating? I dunno. Anyways, when you broke the current, it messed me up a little.” She took another bite of the curry and spoke around it. “Just weird… like, I go non-verbal sometimes. Well. More often than I used to,” she corrected.

“Dang. I’m sorry,” Remy said, his face falling.

“It’s okay,” Flanagan said. “You had to. Mary probably would’ve died, or she would’ve finished channeling and shut down all the electronics, and that would’ve been bad. This is, like, the best of all possible worlds, really. You guys are in way worse shape.”

Remy looked at Nadiya and Kardala. “Yeah, okay,” he admitted. “We’re not doing great. And we don’t know what we’re doing.” He absentmindedly rubbed one hand over his still-bandaged wrist.

“You guys done?” Addison collected plates. “I’ll take care of these.”

“I’ll help,” Nadiya said abruptly, standing up. “If that’s okay.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Addison said with a shrug, leading the way into the kitchen. Once they both inside, they turned to Nadiya. “You really wanted to help with the dishes?”

Nadiya wilted slightly. Caught in the act. “I want to know anything you can think of about Mary Sage,” she said. “To help us find her. And –” She stopped. “Yeah. You and Flanagan knew her best, right?”

Addison frowned as they started filling the sink with soapy water. “I guess. I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be telling you much you don’t already know. She’s… pretty closed-off. Sarcastic. Resentful, I guess. Didn’t talk to us much.”

“I know all that,” Nadiya pressed, taking the dish Addison handed her and drying it.

“She thought everyone was out to get her,” Addison said after a moment, hands stilling in the water. “Everyone. I knew the, uh, the bare bones of her backstory. With her parents getting arrested and everything. She thinks everyone’s in on it. She even thought Flanagan and I were, and it only got worse after she got the stimplants. She made a run for it, right afterwards. They tried to, uh, sedate her, but it didn’t work. She stole a skimmer and just… ran.” They resume washing. “None of us could really get through to her at that point. She wouldn’t even listen.”

“Fuck.” Nadiya takes the next dish and dries it methodically. “So, hypothetically speaking… if we came across information that said that there was a giant conspiracy under all this and that everyone was out to get her…”

“No wonder she ran,” Addison finished. “It would be her worst fears come true, I think. It seems like she trusted you guys a bit, but after something like that, I bet she felt like she couldn’t trust anyone.”

“She could’ve trusted me,” Nadiya said. “Us. She could’ve trusted us.”

“I know,” Addison said. “And she probably knows it too, deep down. But if she ran off like that, she wasn’t thinking straight.”

Nadiya thought about Mary Sage’s breakdown in the sewers, her quoting the Bible. Saying I’m scared.

Burying her head in Nadiya’s lap.

“It’s not your fault she doesn’t trust you,” Addison said. “Whatever you’re thinking. It wasn’t –”

“I know that,” Nadiya said sharply.

“I’m just saying –”

“Well, don’t.” Nadiya balled up the dish towel and threw it onto the counter. “Don’t just say when you don’t know.” She stalked into the other room, grabbed her bag from where she’d left it on a chair. “Is there anywhere in this house I can get some goddamn privacy?” she snapped.

Flanagan looked over from the table. “There’s a bedroom down that way,” she said, pointing down the hall. “But –”

“Look, I just need a fucking minute to myself, if you don’t mind,” Nadiya said, and without waiting for a response, walked through the door indicated, closing it behind her a little more loudly than she probably should have.

It was a nice room, she guessed. Homier than Jamie’s entire place seemed – somehow, Addison and Flanagan had found knickknacks to put on the dresser, a few pictures to hang on the wall. The comforter, if a bit dusty, was a clean and only slightly faded blue. Nadiya sat down on it, the mattress creaking under her.

God, that felt good.

Nadiya let her face drop into her hands, fingernails digging into the sides of her head. Slowly, the ringing in her ears started to die down. She let out a breath and straightened up again. She still had a headache, though, so she unzipped her bag, digging around in it for ibuprofen.

Instead, what her hand closed around was a small picture frame.

Nadiya very nearly shoved the frame deeper into her bag, but after a second of hesitation, pulled it out.

She didn’t even know why she’d stuck it in her bag. It wasn’t like it held a bunch of amazing memories.

It wasn’t like she even remembered when her parents were together like that.

Her mother was wearing her hijab in the picture. Her father was wearing his glasses, like he’d just gotten up from reading over a journal article. He probably had, and then gone back to it right after they’d snapped the picture.

Don’t get attached, Nadiya, she heard her father say. We’ll be moving on sooner or later. People, places, they come and go. The only thing that isn’t transient is science – and even then, you can’t always rely on it. Well, he was pretty fucking accurate on that point. Jobs, apartments… people, came and went. Mary Sage, transient, leaving the minute she got freaked out. There was no predicting it, no preparing for it.

It was like quantum mechanics, Nadiya thought. Since quantum mechanics was based on probability, there was intrinsic randomness in everything related to it. The laws of physics themselves were random. A biochemical roll of the dice spiraling towards entropy at every moment.

Remy’s mom, Nadiya thought, was probably full of shit. Bonds like the ones she’d described weren’t random enough for a universe like this. In a world where bonds existed, she wouldn’t be on the run from a cult run by a would-be dictator. She wouldn’t be crying into a coworker’s shoulder because her own fucking mother didn’t bother being around, or even in the same country. She wouldn’t be wondering if her father even knew she was missing.

Fuck both of them. It wasn’t like she cared.

Abruptly annoyed, Nadiya shoved the photo back into her bag and zipped it closed.

“Nadiya?” There was a soft knock at the door. Addison. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Nadiya said with a shrug, and the door creaked open, letting Addison in. They looked nervous. “What?”

“I’ve got, uh, an idea of how to find Mary,” they said.

Instantly, Nadiya was razor-focused. “What? How?”

“Well, Remy was explaining the bond thing,” Addison said, “and I thought… maybe that could help. Flanagan and I can mark off some places that seem like Mary’d go, and we can drive around and see if we can feel the pull.” They paused. “You know what I mean by the pull, right?”

“Yeah. I… figured that out. How do we even know she’s around here, though?”

Addison shrugged. “We don’t. We just have to trust, I guess. Trust that she was… drawn to us and to you guys. What else can we do?”

Nadiya clenched her hands into fists. Nothing. There was nothing else they could do. She had to trust – trust Mary Sage, Remy’s mom, Addison and Flanagan. All the transient people who were going to disappear sooner or later.

“Nadiya?”

“Okay,” Nadiya said. “Fine. Okay.” She swallowed hard. “What else can we do.”

[cupcakemolotov]

Random Snippet #22: Dancing On the Line

Found this sitting in my WIP folder, from the last AU Week. I don’t remember why I didn’t finish it then, but here you go! (The timeline is probably all kinds of wonky, but whatever.) Set shortly after the night Caroline almost dies from Klaus’ biting her.

A strange bit of hurt/comfort. Casual mentions of murder.

Caroline ran.

Her sleepy Saturday morning had erupted with blood and her mother’s screams. Liz’ shouting hadn’t been of pain, but warning, and Caroline had done as her mother had ordered. Her right side was on fire, and her bare feet protested sharply at each quick impact, but she kept going.

It’d been a concern, once they’d started to think through their grief that Bill hadn’t kept it quiet that his daughter had been turned. Liz had sat her down with grim eyes, warned Caroline softly that some of her father’s friends would never see her as anything but a monster.

“You saw Steven’s face.”

Caroline swallowed and nodded, spoon moving listlessly through her rapidly congealing cereal. “Yeah. I did.”

Liz looked away for a long moment. “I told Steven it wasn’t your doing, but I don’t know how convinced he was that you are safe. Odds are, he’ll hold his tongue, but I don’t know if Bill was quiet about why he was visiting.”

“He was helping Tyler to gain control over his change,” Caroline said tonelessly.

“Sounds about right,” Liz said wearily. “You’re father was obsessed with control. I need you to promise me, honey, that if I ever tell you to run, you go. No questions asked, no argument. You run.”

Wary, Caroline looked at her mother. “Mom…”

Blue eyes steely, Liz sipped her coffee. “These people that your father ran with, they aren’t the reasonable sort. They won’t hurt me, but they’d stake you without thought. You run, Caroline, when I tell you too.”

Out her window and over the fence, the sudden white-hot pain in her side followed by an explosion of sound told her she’d been lucky to escape. They’d flanked the house, had expected Liz to warn her.

Dodging around a tree, she screamed in surprise and pain as she slammed into something solid. They both should have gone down with the impact, but a solid arm wrapped around her hips, and she sucked in a breath as her nose brushed against warm skin.

Klaus.

Relief was quickly followed by unease. She hadn’t spoken to Klaus since the night she’d nearly died. The burn of his bite was a painful memory, the sharpness of betrayal when Tyler left her with Klaus without a second glance still stung.

She’d been left to die with a monster.

“Out for a morning run, sweetheart?”

For all that his words could be construed as teasing, the tenseness of his muscles and the rasp in his words told a different story. She pushed against his chest and ignored the pinprick of wistfulness as he released her. Klaus was many, many things, but despite his words to her, he’d proven safe would never be one of them.

“What are you doing here?” Caroline demanded.

He continued to stare behind her with narrowed eyes, his attention caught by something she couldn’t hear. “I enjoy mornings and I heard someone running. I thought I’d investigate.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it with a snap as she realized he was right. She’d ran further than she’d realized. Caroline cursed, and took a quick step away. She needed to head to the boarding house, check the blood supply and figure out how to contact her mom.

Klaus finally looked away from what had held his attention, gaze dark as he took in her bloody nightwear. Caroline was thankful she’d worn a dark tank top and shorts, even if it was apparent she wasn’t wearing a bra. But their was nothing sexual in his perusal, just a growing violence as his gaze lingered on her side.

“You’re still bleeding.”

Caroline lowered her chin and cursed “Dammit. Vervained buckshot is such a bitch.”

Klaus caught her hand before she could move to tug her shirt up. Her eyes flashed to his, and her heart lurched at the dangerous glint behind his eyes as he watched her, pulse skittering at the memory of the last time he’d worn that expression. Stubborn, chin angling up, she glared at him.

“Let go.”

“When,” he asked, voice a blade. “Did you learn that particular tidbit? Alaric didn’t shoot you.”

Caroline tugged at his hold. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

Klaus’ expression turned inscrutable. His voice had lost none of its edge when he spoke again. “Who is hunting you?”

“Also, none of your business. My life is none of your concern, Klaus.”

“Be careful, Caroline.”

She bared her teeth. “Why, you going to bite me again?”

Her pulse kicked at the yellow that ringed his gaze, but sudden shouting jerked her head around. Before she could pick a direction to flash, her feet left the ground and the world blurred. Caroline held herself stiff, and when they came to a stop, her mouth ran bone dry at the sight of Klaus’ home.

He set her down, and she set her jaw as he stepped around her. Klaus opened the door, pausing to glance back where she was standing awkwardly on the porch. “You can run along to the boarding house if you’d like. I’m sure you can find blood, what you need to deal your wounds. If you’re careful, the hunters won’t pick up your trail from here and once they step foot on my property, they won’t be leaving.”

She curled her fingers into fists, nails pressing into her palms, and he arched a brow at her mutinous face. His eyes softened, voice lowering.

“Or you can come inside and let me assist you. Your choice, Caroline.”

Caroline hesitated, torn. The last time she’d dug out buckshot on her own, it’d hurt like a bitch. Doing it left handed would be worse. Stefan and Damon were missing, and Klaus had ensured Tyler was long gone, again.

She didn’t want his help. But she hadn’t fought so hard for her life to let her pride ruin it now. Klaus waited her out, silent and outwardly unconcerned. Only the yellow in his eyes and the grip on the door gave him away. Taking a deep breath, Caroline stepped forward and paused next to him. Lifting her gaze, she met his squarely, jaw set.

“To be clear, I’m not any less pissed at you.”

A ghost of a smile, dangerous for all that it merely hinted at his dimples. “I’d hardly expect anything less.”

She didn’t flinch, although she wanted too. Tyler hadn’t understand why she was pissed. He’d been hurt by her cold facade and angry words. It’d had sat like lead in her stomach, that he’d returned to Hayley, but she’d refused to bend. It was one thing to swallow her pride and to fight for her life. It was to be abandoned to her fate, to fight alone.

Tyler had done what he thought was best.

Part of her despised him for it.

“You need blood,” he said behind her as she walked into the sitting room.

“Only if it’s in a bag,” she replied firmly. She didn’t expect that low noise of agreement or for his footsteps to lead away from her. Caroline sat gingerly on the couch, didn’t care if she bled on his furniture. The rug she’d laid on while dying was gone, and her toes curled against the cool wood.

She felt a little naked, in her sleep shorts and tank, feet bare and stinging as they healed. Gingerly, she lifted the ruined side of her shirt and carefully wiped at the seeping wounds, lips pressed tightly together.

Footsteps caught her attention, and Klaus stepped back inside. One hand held a blood bag, and the other a dark towel and what might have been tweezers. He handed her the former as he crouched at her hip.

“If you’re lucky, the blood will push the rest of the shot out.”

She took the bag with a nod, heart fluttering as she read B-Positive across the front. Determinedly not thinking of how or why, she forced herself to only think of blood. It wasn’t hard. She didn’t bother with her usual neat habits, her wound leaving her hungry. Eyes sliding shut, she ate in gulps until the bag was dry, lowering it once she’d finished.

She opened her eyes, tongue swiping out to catch the last of the blood, and stilled as her gaze collide with Klaus’. He sat motionless, skin drawn taut across the lines of his cheekbones. But it was the hybrid gold of his eyes, burning with a desire she didn’t know how to comprehend.

Then Klaus blinked, and she sucked in a breath, forcing her vampire back down. Flushed from blood and an aching awareness, she hissed when he moved her shirt to get a look at her wound. The rumbling noise he made in response helped neither of her reactions. Neither did the careful way his fingers glided across her skin.

“It looks like I’ll have to dig a few out after all. Unless you’d like to try a bite from me.”

Her nails cut into her palm at his casual offer. Klaus watched her from beneath his lashes, and she glared at him. Setting her teeth, she turned her face away. “It’s fine.”

She kept her eyes firmly on the ceiling as he shifted around. The metal was cold against her skin, and she sucked in a breath as he inserted the tweezers. Klaus was quick, but it burned anyway.

“Tell me about the hunters.”

Caroline dug her fingers into her thigh. “Why?”

“I occasionally enjoy knowing the people I kill.”

She hissed out a breath as the first piece of shot was dropped onto the floor. It looked like it was made of wood instead of steel or lead, and she licked her lips. “I don’t know them. But they might have known my dad. My mom’s still with them.”

“How many?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

A moment of silence and two more pieces of shot joined the first. Her eyes watered, and the smell of her blood was heavy in the air.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “There aren’t enough.” Her breath hitched at the implied violence. His thumb brushed across her wounds, and he made a low noise. “One more, sweetheart.”

Taking his warning for what it was, she squeezed her eyes shut. This one hurt, and she bit down on her knuckles to hold in her cry. When Klaus finished, he wiped at her skin as she shuddered. The blood had helped, and the worst of it disappeared in a matter of moments.

“You’ll need another blood bag.”

“I can get one later,” Caroline said stubbornly, hips shifting away from as him. Her gaze reluctantly returned to his just as he lifted his bloody fingers to his mouth and licked them clean. Her lips parted, heart slamming into her throat.

“Why?” He questioned mildly. “I have what you need.”

She licked her lips, tried not to shudder at the way he watched her. “Why do you have blood bags?”

Klaus stood without answering, head tilted. “What bargain will we need to strike, for you stay here while I deal with this?”

She pushed to her feet, eyes flashing. “My mom…”

Fingers that still smelled of her blood pressed lightly against her lips and Caroline jerked back. Klaus followed her, and his other hand reached into his back pocket to offer her his phone. “Call your mother. Assure yourself that she is fine.”

She paused, fingers hovering over his cell. “Why? What do you get from this?”

An arch of his brows. “Perhaps I’m attempting to make amends.”

“I doubt that.”

His smile was amused, and he pressed his phone into her hand. “Noted. There is blood in the kitchen, and you are welcome to make yourself comfortable in any of the rooms. I’m sure we can find you a new top.”

Caroline stepped back into his space, eyes narrowed. He didn’t flinch from her perusal, his body remaining relaxed. “If my mom doesn’t answer, you can’t keep me here.”

“I won’t,” he said. “But if she does, will you stay?”

She glared at him, before lowering her eyes to the phone and rapidily typing out her mom’s cell number. If that didn’t work she’d try the house and then the station. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about what any of this meant, not now.

The phone started to ring, and she took a slow breath. “Fine. But this doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Her mom’s voice came over the line just before it clicked over to her voicemail, and she squeezed her eyes shut in relief. When she opened them, Klaus was watching her with eyes that saw too much. His lips curved as his head tilted and he stepped away.

Even over the sound of her mother’s demands that she not come home, that she stay safe, she heard his promise as Klaus left.

“I know where to start now, sweetheart. You’ll be home by dinner.”

Taking a deep breath, stomach a knotted mess, she determinedly headed for the kitchen to find that blood as she assured Liz that she was safe. She would see what kind of bathrooms he had in this place, do her best to ignore that she’d almost died here. And maybe she hadn’t forgiven him, but if he kept her mom safe, she’d think about it.