#he's so awful im going to put him in a jar and shake him around

[ultradespairboyz]

Yall ever accidentally make the most horrendous OC in terms of actions and personality and all of his links with other ocs are full of misery and pain because he's such a shit and awful person or is that just me

[eldritch-spouse]

Hear me out ok? In the middle of the night u just get rlly needy and horny but u dont have the guts to wake vesper up so u use his belly mouth instead to get off. Idk if im mistaken but i think u mentioned about vesper's belly mouth is awake even in the night?

[Yep, correct! Fem reader.]

TW: Somnophilia; Dubious consent then enthusiastic consent.

It's its own special type of Hell, living with Vesper.

Not because he treats you badly. Quite the contrary, as soon as you started making efforts to accept your new reality, he was the first one to volunteer any sort of help, hoping to make you feel as comfortable here as you did in your home, back on the surface. And, putting aside the volumes of mixed feelings you have regarding all this, it's... Sweet of him to at least care about your comfort.

That's not the problem.

The problem is your ceaseless libido.

Ever since you woke up in this ring, in his mansion, you've been burning up with arousal. You're always some degree of wet, sensitive, mind heading to the gutter far too frequently. You want everything and everyone, you want Vesper's touch on your body at every. Possible. Moment. You want him to slip his fingers and tongue anywhere he can and you want him to pick you up like a fucktoy whenever he pleases- Because it feels like nothing will ever sate you these days.

When you brought these concerns to the King, he was more than thrilled by the knowledge, though also a tad empathetic. It must be jarring, yes, he cooed, but you'll soon come to embrace your own desires. They're your true nature, after all.

It was... A strange conversation. To say the least.

Thankfully, Lust is the last place in the universe where you can be judged for excessive sexual cravings. It isn't the possible judgment of others that stops you from going all in, your own thoughts are what makes you hesitate.

Because, even if Vesper has made it very clear that you're to deliberately seek him out when you're bothered -No matter what he's up to- He can't possibly mean all the time, right?

It's common sense that you're not supposed to wake the Icon of Lust from a dead sleep just so you can have sex. How selfish of you! He's a King, he needs his rest.

But Gods... You're so fucking horny.

You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt. Maybe it's from sleeping in the same bed as him, where his loose fluff spreads sometimes, getting into the sheets, contaminating them. That must be the cause of your misery, in retrospect.

Well... You could get up. Look around, have a drink, return to bed after cooling off and enjoying the view from his lavish home. But you're comfortable.

And his smell... Oh, you inhale the pillow between you two faintly, it's addictive.

You don't want to get up. At all. Leaving this room sounds awful.

The tiniest bit of light creeps in through a gap in the massive curtains of your resting chambers, allowing some of the faint reddish glow of night to slink its way in, highlighting the form of your massive, recently proclaimed husband. Vesper sleeps soundlessly, a hand over his chest, the other, once holding you to his side, now dormant on the sheets, fingers periodically twitching. He sleeps bare, to absolutely no one's surprise. Legs faintly parted, offering a view you admire shamelessly in the dark. You've no doubt he has watched you like this before, so it's more than fair you get to ogle as well.

He's gorgeous. He's hot. So hot. You're married to the hottest thing that ever lived. Gods, he's such a whore.

Another flare of heat travels its way up from your loins. It would be exceptionally easy. All you'd have to do is palm at his exposed slit for a moment or two and he'd pop those treats out for you. All for you. He wouldn't even care, it's probably normal for Vesper-

With a shake of the head, you push said thoughts away as hard as possible. See? Not a moment of rest, all these gross ideas swimming around like they belong, like it's right. You're above something so rude!

But you're not above touching yourself in the same bed.

In your humble defense, you need this. You really need this, or you're going to scream and drag yourself on the ground like a bitch in heat. Panties are swiped aside with great haste, both hands quickly darting for the crux of your fire. It takes literally no effort for you to be able to slide two fingers into yourself, then three, trying to roll your clit in the best angle at the same time. It's clumsy, hurried, and unfortunately, fruitless. Instead of relieving you of this insurmountable heat, all it does is incense you further- Wishing it was more, better, bigger.

Wishing it was Vesper that's fucking your little body the way he pleases.

A whimper almost makes it past your clenched teeth.

Beside you, there's sudden movement. A large tail swatting back and forth -Wagging?- While Vesper's brows furrow and his breathing hastens rhythmically, like he's sniffing. When you halt, mortified, so does his stirring.

Idiot.

What a bright idea. As if the King of Lust wouldn't feel your desire right next to him.

Childish irritation settles in you as you sit on your own stewing arousal, sulking. Until a loud rumble jolts you, that is. After a pause of stunted blinking, you put two and two together.

While the demonlord may be fast asleep, a part of him is clearly active. Gaze falling to Vesper's abdomen, his sizeable second mouth can be seen parted, greedily flicking a fat tongue over sharp chops. It pants, a dopey sort of smile, muscle lolling as it very easily detects some poor horny sap nearby.

Or, maybe it recognizes you already. This certainly isn't your first meeting with Vesper's second mouth.

Amused, getting a couple of nasty ideas, you smile at the organ. " Hello there... " You whisper to it.

It doesn't react too much to the sound of your voice, although gleefully wets its lips and chuffs, waiting. You're sure it'll settle back down given enough time.

It's just a matter of ignoring it.

...

......

Fuck it.

Guilty eyes glance from Vesper's peacefully resting complexion to the shifting mouth beneath, and you gulp, self-control falling victim to rabid want. Again.

Slowly, silently, you wriggle out of your undergarments, keeping your breath in check as you move to straddle Vesper's abdomen. Given the size difference, and he seems to plump in a couple areas, you have a difficult time stretching your legs enough to encompass his waist.

Little does it matter, as you don't even get to sit before that muscle has already slapped itself onto your soaked cunt with a decidedly loud PLAP. Cosmic luck alone prevented you from moaning immediately. Vesper turns his face, then settles once more.

This might have been a bad idea.

The mouth is merciless on you, drool slathered on your tights, ass and belly as it gluttonously slurps at you, making lurid sounds you hope to whatever's out there won't wake the King. Terrible idea or not, it's well worth the trouble, because it's exactly the type of pressure you need to get off.

A sweet sigh makes it past your lips when shaky legs lower, having to brace your palms firmly on each side of the bed when the mouth starts smooching tenderly at your lips. How... Sweet. Cute.

Then, suddenly, it latches on. Literally. Its size allows the organ to wrap around your groin easily, applying an all-encompassing suction delicious enough to have you rolling your eyes and jerking your hips forward, nerve endings frying on a pan. God fuck yes, you didn't know it could do that!

An orgasm approaches fast, likely due to how long you've been waiting for it, building up tension. As sensation makes your lower body jerk and tense, shaky legs press you harder against that hungry maw, almost nicking yourself with bold teeth. It feels wonderful. Delightful.

Even asleep, only Vesper can make you feel this good. It's almost too funny a concept to be true.

Nothing halts the flow of keens and gasps you offer when it pauses its slurping to shove that roving muscle into your pussy, flirting with your entrance a little before feeding you more and more and more of itself, until you're groaning at the fullness. The first experimental undulation it makes is so strong that you legitimately moan out, loud and clear, dropping squarely onto Vesper and holding on for dear life as your jostled with each thrust.

You're sure you're drooling on his belly, though it hardly matters, eyelids fluttering, nonsensical pleas chanted in the dark.

" Oh fuck- Yes- Please please please, I need to come. Fffuck, I need to come... "

You're so close! It's right there, you can't wait to get licked and sucked as you ride it out, it'll be so-

" Mm, why didn't you say so? "

You don't even get to have a moment of shame when realization dawns. Large hands grab onto your hips and screw you onto the demonlord's tongue hard enough to make you see stars, the movement in your walls so frantic that you have no choice but to howl in bliss before a single excuse could flow past your parted lips.

And all you can do is flail and cry in overstimulation when Vesper continues sucking at all the arousal you can offer him.

" My Queen should want for nothing. "

His sickly magenta eyes leer at you from the darkness.

" You will come. "

It's a promise.

[mrskurono]

choso brainrot go brrrrr but here me out ok,,,,, yuji dragging everyone out to the holiday festival to see the pretty light displays ,, it starts to snow and reader grabs choso’s hands for warmth,, overwhelmed by the feeling of your fingers interlocked and the twinkling lights in surrounding him bro just starts crying,,,,,, IDK DUDE i just wanna hold his hand im so soft for him

a/n: I'm sorry but this is the cutest fucking thing I've ever even thought of and now I wanna spoil Choso with his first Christmas ♡

type: headcanons tags: fem!Reader, Christmas themes, fluff character(s): Choso (jjk)

Choso

Perceptive enough to notice things are getting dolled up around him, buildings, businesses and people

But it takes him a moment to finally ask you what they’re putting all these lights and finicky stuff up for

Leave it to little brother Yuji to actually be the hype man for the holidays

Once Yuji gets excited that’s when Choso starts taking an interest more than anything

An awful lot of questions for someone who’s been in a jar for 150+ years but that’s to be expected

And once Choso thinks he has the knowledge of Christmas down, then comes all the things he wants to try

Matching sweaters, decorating, baking, it’s like a bucket list for this man

The best part of it though? 

Going and looking at Christmas lights

Even in a big group together with everyone excited and bubbly to be out at night with the town twinkling, Choso is almost eerily quiet

All his questions about the holiday cease and he’s enthralled by every single set up he sees

Reds, blues, greens, whites, all different colors of Christmas lights against the stark background of snowfall and night sky

He’s quiet throughout the entire sight seeing endeavor 

When you make it to the last place (and in everyone’s mind the grandest light display) is when you get concerned enough to ask Choso if everything’s ok

While Yuji and friends are hyped up over something they saw, Choso is still standing in front of the light display looking up at it

Nothing prepares you for the first trickle of tears that drip off his cheeks

When you panic that he hated it and apologize it’s not like a Hallmark movie

Choso doesn’t even know what Hallmark is lets be real

He shakes his head still looking up at the lights

“I missed this for over a hundred years.”   “My brothers and I missed all this. Just to be left in the dark.”

It’s heartbreaking to remember that sometimes. Where he’s with you now, it’s moments like this that remind you there was a time before him. And without him.

Taking his hands in front of the display and kissing his knuckles softly

You can’t give him back those years he lost or what was done to him

But you can promise to give him more every single year.

Choso laughs unable to stop crying but he knows you mean it.

Making the moment a little more Hallmark themed when you kiss him in the light of the string of multi colored lights

[duckmumbo]

can we get wells AND hels? a 2-for-1??

Anon you are speaking my language right now

Wels

First impression - Wels is the only other hermit who's single-player series i watched before watching their hermitcraft videos, in fact I didn't even know hermitcraft existed when I was watching wels. His Nature's Beauty series is, no joke, the series that got me into modded minecraft in the first place and what really kickstarted me rediscovering how much I love and adore minecraft, so I really have a special place for his content in my heart khgdjfb. also fun fact he is the first streamer I ever watched on twitch, i watched one of his streams when he was working on his base path in s7 (i have just realized how long ago that was girl help im becoming nostalgic)

Impression now - insane. Ok listen I’ve had this in my drafts for a while and that was the only word under this category thing and honestly? Valid. He is a little insane you don’t come up with his s7 plot line if you’re not at least the tiniest bit insane. I want to study him under a microscope I want to put him in a closed ecosystem jar and see how he fares I want to shake him around and see if he’d make a wobble sound or a rattling sound. I think he’d be crunchy. You think he’s in hiding he’s just biding his time putting pen to paper coming up with rhymes we’re the star studded group got together just to crush you-

Favorite moment - when he went to Beef’s cloning machine and when it didn’t seem to work he’s like “aw that’s a bummer. Oh well!” like my dude. You just went in a cloning machine that got struck by lightning and your reaction is just “lol oh well” ???? Iconic

Idea for a story - ok listen. mdbb server gives me intense brainrot over anything and one of the things it gave me brainrot over is the entity being Patrick’s rock from Grian’s s6 starter base and wanting to follow him to s9 since it didn’t get enough screen time and it somehow became friends with Wels when he got left behind in s6. Idk how I’d write it, but I’m obsessed with this au

Random opinion - I wish he had been able to finish Welsmart. It was a great concept and I loved the building it looked amazing, I wish he had had time to actually open it and make diamonds.

Favorite relationship - him and jevin are just. So good

Favorite headcanon - I haven’t seen much of this but bird wels is just so good. I may be very biased though

Hels

First impression - what. why did the cloning machine make evil wels. why did he put wels in a hole. why are they rapping. what’s going on

Impression now - he’s my poor little meow meow but like. in the opposite direction from Evil Xisuma. I’m a helsknight apologist. I can’t believe he lost a rap battle where he said he was gonna kill everyone wels loved I’m never gonna let him live it down what an idiot (affectionate). He’s a force of chaos and he is unstoppable your puny words mean nothing for defeat is impossible

Favorite moment - I just went back and rewatched the episode where Helsknight first appeared and. He stopped in the middle of building the trap and just. Slept the night away. Sir you’re in the middle of leaving a trap for someone you want to kill what are you doing stop sleeping he’s coming back soon

Idea for a story - this literally just came to me but. Wels came back when hels just woke up and he’s like…. “what” and hels is like “GO AWAY IM BUILDING A TRAP FOR YOU” and wels is just like “…..ok I guess” and then they somehow speedrun an enemies to family arc I wanna write this now help

Random opinion - I want more helsknight. I just think he deserves to be utilized in fics just as much as Evil Xisuma. Give me helsknight redemption arcs give me helsknight tragic backstories give me more helsknight

Favorite relationship - does this man ever talk to anyone other than wels. He’s not even friends with wels. Anyways I like to think they end up being like brothers who rarely speak and when they do they usually end up bickering but the second someone insults the other they’re ready to throw hands

Favorite headcanon - ok I’m still watching the helsknight episode as I’m typing this up and why is helsknight just like standing there and occasionally bobbing his head or punching the air during his verse. Like he doesn’t move as much as wels does so headcanon this man has no sense of rhythm. Oh my god he dances like he’s in the Sims.

[uhhhhhhhhhsblogyea]

♤| dragon ball shapeshifter au

storyline rundown

part two

tw: profanity !! a bit of gore and such

the story begins on kakarot's farm! he lives with his parents, bardock and gine, and his brother raditz.

kakarot takes his produce to the market to sell, talking to krillin who is a police officer watching over in case of robbery or stolen goods, with his wife 18 and his daughter marron.

he hangs out there and sells all his produce, making a whopping amount of money to give back to his mother to go towards their farm. so thats what he does.

later that night, raditz barged in through the door, huffing loudly and covered in purple blood. it had a reddish tint. gine and bardock jump to their feet, bardock still in his training gi and gine in her white shirt and some sweatpants. "raditz!? what happened?" bardock exclaimed, gine following up with "why are you covered in... purple blood!?" this caused kakarot to come out of his room in a rush, "h-h-holy s-shit! i didnt kill anyone i swear mom, mom, dad please, i wouldn't do that!" raditz panicked. "s-something tried to attack me! i didnt know what to do so i attacked back!!" he tries to wipe the blood off, it being on his face.

whatever happened, scared raditz enough to make him shake in fear and what seems to be regret despite it being to protect himself.

kakarot however, still was unsure what happened. his father said he would explain in the morning, the situation was too dire for kakarot to get involved - especially with the police.

in town, vegeta covered his bloodied chest, panting as he hid deep in an alleyway. "goddammit," he huffs, slicking his hair back to keep the human bangs out of his face. hes got a huge gash across his chest, thanks to that damned raditz he happened to work with. luckily, he was morphed into some other alien lifeform and not his original shift state. he slowly morphed into a bird, a finch, and flew off to him apartment. he always kept his window cracked just in case this were to happen. just his luck, we wont be able to eat and to heal he needs that energy for food or else hell be out asleep for awhile.

he decides calling off work, so thats what he does. what he doesnt expect is a man with a thick ass fucking tail and slicked back purple hair and red eyes to be reading a book, lounging like a king on his bed. "f... frieza!?" vegeta says, startled.

"ah hello my creation! lovely seeing you here, dont you think?" he throws the book off to the side, getting up and striding over to the bloodied vegeta. "aw looks like you got a paper cut." he jabs a finger into vegetas cut across his chest. vegeta groans in pain, a tentacle whipping around to hit frieza away into a safer distance, but the icejin blocks smoothly with his muscled tail.

from here:

wow!! you found out vegeta is a "creation" of friezas, but what exactly does that mean?

raditz gets taken in for questioning. he gets blamed for a murder that happened on the otherside of town, the law system being dumb sentenced him to 25 years in prision for a murder he didnt do

kakarot is confused, bardock telling him there arent any alien threats and it was a misunderstanding on the jury and judge's parts bc raditz was getting mugged and a murder far away happened at roughly the same time, and they were desperate to throw someone into jail.

this is a lie, to some extent. kakarot believes it, living happily thinking there are no threats

vegeta attacked raditz, needing food. shapeshifters need to eat hearts and lungs of animals as food

raditz is the one who cut him across the chest (thatd why he has a scar on his chest in the ref sheet)

kakarot has to bring crops and milk into a market farther into town sometime in the next week, it being an event ran by capsule corp, a company that produces a lot of housing and vehicles and being in business for 40 years being the anniversary that day.

vegeta is a mechanical manager, wearing fancy clothing that day since its technically a high spot in the ranks for capsule corp.

vegeta likes milk, surprisingly. it helps a lot when recovering damage, especially his species. this is when he meets kakarot

kakarot is running his stand with the crates of crops and glass jars of milk set out on display with their price, krillin with him

vegeta is annoyed he has to speak up to get the seller's attention so he grunts with an "ahem"

kakarot jumps, apologizing and asking what he wants to buy. vegeta gets his milk and some vegetables for someone he knows

"hey, whats with the fancy suit?"

"you dont know who i am?"

"no. should i?"

"i-? im vegeta! im manager of the mechanics in capsule corp!"

"oh. is the job hard?"

they conversate, as kakarot sells his produce happily listening as he was able to get the short man with a temper to talk about his job.

vegeta himself was caught off guard by this action but happily talks

this ends in kakarot running behing the stand's curtain and grabbing his business card so vegeta can have a discount on milk next time he decides to buy

vegeta takes the card walking off

the card has kakarots name and number on the back, a message saying "text me personally if you want extra, i dont mind taking some. you seem cool!"

vegeta is a bit ticked, but pockets the card

over time, vegeta and kakarot talk over text a bit, kakarot delivering him milk like an old time milk delivery boy

turns out he actually used to be one as a kid

turns out hes been into marial arts as well, a long time interest of vegetas

they bond over this, kakarot find himself growing a crush on vegeta

one time kakarot stops buy with a delivery unannounced, not knowing he typed the text but didnt send it. he knocks on vegetas apartment door, but no answer.

he checks to see if its unlocked, and it is so he lets himself in, just wanting to put the delivery on the counter and head out.

he doesnt expect to turn around and see a vegeta with a towel wrapped around his waist, tentacles coming out of his back, green eyes, and sharp ears, teeth, and claws. "K-KAKAROT!? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" he yells, surprised. he doesn't have bangs either

"why do you have tentacles?? why do you look different? why do you have that scar?"

vegeta is caught off guard, not sure if he should push kakarot out or tell him the truth. one way or another he knows the truth will spread, so he carefully debates his options

he tells kakarot the truth, hes a shapeshifter and hes insanely dangerous

kakarot is surprised dangerous aliens exist

he tells vegeta this, and deep down vegeta is mad kakarot is sheltered

little do they know as they conversate and bond, growing closer to each other kakarot finds out vegeta made a vow not to ever get in a relationship no matter how much he envied them, especially a human relationship, a certain someone is watching them and listening in, theyre keeping tabs on vegetas and kakarots feelings

trust issues amirite?

later that night, kakarot says his goodbye heading home, heart pounding. wow!!!! vegeta is... great. very great. kinda cute too, i mean what!?? no!!

kakarot rants to himself aloud in his room, window open to keep himself cool, about vegeta as he debates his feelings. he doesnt care if this seems out of character in his friends terms, all they see from him anyway is a dense fightcrazed guy with a dysfunctional relationship with an ex and his son. he realized vegeta doesnt see him like that, but, what DOES vegeta see him as?

he calls it a night

he wakes up to a "thwap, thwap, thwap" against his wooden floor

he sits up, looking around and seeing a short figure sitting at his desk.

"whos there?"

"ah, youre awake monkey! i have valuable information for you, about your lovely vegeta." the voice is squeaky

"and, who is telling me this?" kakarots interest is piqued, not seeing the mysterious figure as a threat, as of now at least

"oh-hohoho! im dr. cold! but please, call me frieza. doctor cold is my father's name."

"and what do you have to tell me about vegeta?"

"mmm, are you sure you want to know?" he gets up, beginning to pace

"theres a catch isnt there" kakarot realizes, serious

"oh! maybe you arent so dense afterall. yes, there iss monkey. its simple, deliever some of your left over crop to my facility tomorrow, i already left the address on a paper over on that... pitiful little desk of yours." frieza pauses. "vegeta will kill you if you arent careful. hes hungry, and he wants that heart. but... i think the poor creation wants it in more than one way. kill him before he kills you."

frieza hands kakarot a box cutter

"thats the only thing that will kill him. if you dont do it i expect that delivery tomorrow by midnight. if you dont show, and theres no news of him being dead, youll be a brilliant collection to my creations, monkey!" the man laughs in joy, clasping his hands together as his red eyes pierce through kakarot

kakarot reluctantly agrees, unsure how this will play out

PART TWO WILL BE MADE SOON!!!

anyway heres the part 1 of the rundown.

[slashiest-slasher]

😈 poly Billy and Brahms part THREE?? Dat shiz is DELICIOUS.

Sorry this took so long, but heres fucking nearly 4k of mostly porn ( ◜◡＾)っ╰⋃╯(me @ all of you) has some solo brahms, some brahms x billy bj’s, and brahms crying while he fucks you! wow!

readmore cause it’s fucking 4k im not subjecting people to that

In a strange sort of happenstance, things seemingly balancedout in life for you and your boys. Brahms, the brat he is, of course demandedmore and more attention, but what else could you expect from him? And Billy,despite swinging wildly between manic states and lulls of stability, had verylittle to complain about. Or at least you thought he did, it was hard to tellat times.

You could no longer follow the Heelshire’s strict routinethat they had set up. You had already broken quite a few rules, but it reallyhit you in the face when you had to adjust Brahms’ nighttime routine.

Everyone, expectedly, demanded to sleep in your bed,although the bed that Brahms had been slepping in before would be much morefitting. Before Brahms threw a fit and ran away, he would sleep in the masterbedroom and there was little you could do from Billy slipping into your bedafter he had been tucked in.

He tends to cause a ruckus, make unsettling noises, and rubhimself against you in a crude attempt to get you aroused. He moans loudly,jerks himself off regardless of if you join him or not, and spills filth fromhis mouth as he worked his cock over your body. If you let him, he lathes yourbody in kisses, or sucked and moaned around your fingers.

But he never touches you, never crosses the barrier ofpleasuring you until you gave him that look, and say in that low, sultry voiceof your, “C'mere Billy. I want you to be a naughty boy.” And he leaps on thechance to give you what he promised, even though he is usually too shy to do/everything/ he wants.

Throwing Brahms into the mix complicated and simplifiedthings.

Once the three of you become an item (or a situation, as youprefer), Brahms of course moves right into your bed. He demands to be tuckedinto bed and given his goodnight kiss, even if he always ends up kicking offthe covers and wrapping around you the moment you settled yourself in bed. Youhave Brahms on one side, rubbing his face to yours and running his hands alongyour body, and Billy on the others, arms around your waist and face pressedinto your stomach like he didn’t need to breath.

Billy tries to be more courteous at night, taking care ofhimself in the bathroom. But there are nights he crawls into bed and discreetlyworks himself pressed up tight to your body and stuffs his fingers into hismouth to muffle his cries and whines. Brahms huffs and tosses himself to hisother side and presses his hands tight to his ears.

It’s not like you can exactly blame Billy. It isn’t apleasant thing to have such an active and high sex drive and developing suchdeep rooted need to get off before he could even think about sleeping is evenworse. You are working to fix that, but thing are progressing at a snail'space.

Brahms just sees it as more attention Billy is taking awayfrom him.

He thinks he's being so coy when he strips and starts toplay with himself when he knows you will be coming any minute to get him readyfor bed. His nude body is on display for you to view, and he makes sure thathis cock is front and center.

You are focused on the alarm clock in your hands when youwalk in, and don’t immediately see him sprawled on his old bed. “Brahmsy, timefor...” you jerk back when you finally look and see him looking at you withblown eyes, slowly working his cock. His breathing is loud and shaky underneathhis mask. “...bed.”

He says your name, low and grumbling in his chest, watching youintently as you make your way to the side of the bed. Your fingers are hesitantand light when you run them down the side of his masked face, along his jaw,and down his neck. Brahms shakes like a leaf under your touch, pushing up intoyour hand when you let it rest on the crook of his neck.

He says your name again, this time in a desperate whine, andhis strokes become more erratic, smearing his pre-cum that was beading on thetip.

“Brahmsy,” you say, keeping your voice steady. “Go to bed.”You lovingly pet his hair, but you can see the beginnings of irritation on hisface. Before he can growl out your name, you cut him off. “I want you to get up- don’t put your clothes back on. Get up, then go lay down in my bed, and waitfor me until I’m done getting ready. If you’re a good boy, I’ll give you whatyou want."

His breathing had picked up as he listened raptly to eachword coming from your mouth. He almost starts hyperventilating when you leandown and let your lips graze against his ear lobe. "And if you play nicewith Billy, I’ll give you a very special treat.”

You let a hand run down his furry chest before stepping backand running your eyes down his form. When he doesn’t immediately leave, it onlytakes a nod of your head to the door to send him scampering.

Billy’s already in bed, eyes foggy but drowsy. He perks upwhen he sees Brahms come in, but sits up when he sees the state he’s in. Theway oversized t-shirt he wears does absolutely nothing to hide his record-timeerection.

Billy shoves the fingertips of one hand into his mouth,chewing and slobbering on them while Brahms walks up and towers over him. “Wantme to su-suck your f-ffucking juicy cock, pretty Brahmsy?” he says around hisfingers, staring up at him with those big, awful eyes. “I’m going to wrapmuh-my lips around you, a-an-and drink your pretty pink dick up. Let you fuckmy th-throat.” He settles his free hand on Brahms hip, grinning and gigglingaround his fingers.

Brahms doesn’t say anything, but he pushes Billy back ontothe bed and crawls over him, hands on either side of his head. He decides thatBilly isn’t all that bad looking.

He has soft, honey brown hair, pale green eyes, and thispale body hair that barely stands out from his skin. He is bone thin, but youhad been feeding him up and exercising him properly, like you had with Brahmswhen he first came out of the walls. The muscles in his body are becoming moretoned, but covered by a thin layer of fat.

And as much as he loathes to admit it, Billy made him pop uncomfortableboners more often than he would like. Sometimes it makes sense to him, likewhen he would tear off his clothes in a manic fit, or jerking himself off inthe middle of the house.

But there were moments that confuses him, like when Billybashfully let Brahms tie the apron behind him, or when he brushed his hairbehind his ear when handing something to you, or when he was splayed across thebed early in the morning, having finally worn himself out, and the sun stripedhim with golden rays.

He knows not to react or say anything when you walk in,wearing /Brahms'/ pajamas, and sit yourself squarely in an armchair, one legthrown over the armrest.

Billy goes to squeal something, but Brahms reacts quickly byhiking up his shirt, running his hands firmly up his sides. He lets out a high,breathy moan when Brahms circles his nipples with his thumbs. In response,Billy jerks his hips, rubbing his dick along the V of Brahms’ groin.

In a show of surprising strength, Billy wraps his armsaround Brahms’ torso and hold his close, rutting against him. He places aseries of messy kisses to the lips of Brahms’ mask, making the porcelainglisten in the lamp light.

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" Billy yells, jarring andcoarse. His body is a trembling mess, letting out a long, sharp whine."Split me in half with your big fucking cock!"

Brahms jerks back, and hold Billy down the mattress by hiswrists. "You're being naughty," he slips into his childish voice,staring down at Billy's writhing body. "Naughty boys don't get toplay."

"Filthy Billy, filthy nasty Billy," suddenly, hisvoice goes shrill. "Billy! What are you doing to the baby!" His chestis heaving, and he thrashes violently from side to side, trying to loosen hiswrists.

You tense up, and go to jump up. It was oh, so easy forBilly to get too excited, too overwhelmed. Set off by any little thing. "Shhh,you're naughty, not filthy. You're pretty Billy, a very pretty boy."

Billy freezes and looks up with wide, unbelieving eyes."P-pretty?" he asks, voice quiet and soft. "Pretty Brahmsy,th-thinks Billy's pretty?"

"Very. Can I kiss you?" Brahms asks, letting hiswrists go.

Billy nods rapidly, his splaying around his head like ahalo. "K-kiss me, please."

Brahms looks over to you, where you relax down in your seat,before staring back at Billy. He reaches up and removes his mask hesitantly,letting it fall to the carpeted floor. It feels raw and strange, and Brahmswants to duck his head away.

But Billy grabs his cheeks reverently, and drinks in everydetail of Brahms's face before pulling him down.

Brahms tries to keep their kiss deep and slow and burninghot, but Billy can't help but cling tight and make it sloppy, wet, and tooerotic for you to watch.

You're practically swimming in his clothes, so it takes verylittle effort to slide them off.

Brahms hears the click of a lid bottle, and when he glancesover to you out of the corner of his eyes. His breath catches in his throat. Henearly pulls away when he catches your fingers slicked with lubricant, andslipping into yourself. Your face barely changes when they breach your hole,but your eyes are hooded as you watch Brahms and Billy.

Brahms lets his kisses drift away from Billy's mouth. Downhis neck and chest. The laughs Billy makes when his beard brushes against thatsoftened, but still concave, stomach makes his head feel light. Brahms slipsdown between his legs, hoisting them over his shoulders, and kisses the insideof Billy's thighs while he figures out how to tackle the daunting task in frontof him.

It's not like he's ever sucked a dick before. Or had sexwith anyone. Of course, he's jerks himself off, and there was the instance whenhe ran way. You had started holding and touching him in more romantic ways, butnothing ever ventured past over the clothes petting and heady kisses.

His knowledge on straight sex were outdated, but plentifulin the old novels mummy tried hiding from him. But when it came to a man beingwith another man... There was an incident where Malcom had been strong armedinto being a temporary nanny when daddy broke his arm, and he and mummy had tostay in the hospital for a few days.

From the years and years of being the grocery boy, he knewhow to handle things around the house, and Brahms doesn't entirely hatehim. He had made a decent nanny, even if he wasn't warm and loving to the doll.

Brahms had, naturally, riffled through the duffle bag thatwas brought, only taking a pair of dirty boxers and hidden magazine.

A naughty magazine with images of men wrapped aroundeach other, doing such dirty things to each other.

The thought of two men together... It was nothing Brahmsever imagined before and opened up so many doors when he partook in his ownpleasure. He was tempted to trap Malcom, keep him as his own to experimentwith, but he would never do as a proper nanny. Malcom was best as someone whodelivered groceries and took away the trash.

There were some nights, before you, when Brahms was cold andlonely, curled up on himself, that he wished he did so he could have someone tohold against himself. To tell him he was a good boy, and was handsome, and wasloved.

In the particular magazine that he saw a man sucking anotherman's dick. Brahms considered it a plus that unlike you, germs didn't botherhim all too much.

He pokes his tongue out, and gave a tentative lick to theunderside of Billy's dick (which despite his insistence was "big and fat",was an average length and a little on the leaner side).

It is enough to cause Billy to jolt and clasp a hand overhis mouth. It didn't do very much to hide to long, keening shout from rippingout of his throat. It devolved into moans when Brahms closes his lips aroundthe head, pulling Billy's cock into his hot, wet mouth.

Billy's thighs shake and jerk under his hands, while hishands wind tightly in his own hair. He tugs and musses up his already untidyhair while Brahms slowly works his cock. So so so so warm, and Brahms doesn'topen his mouth up wide enough, so whenever his molars graze Billy's sensitiveshaft, his hips jump, and he can't stop the litany of breathless moans fromspilling from his lips.

"Oh, oh, oh oh! Please, please pretty Brahmsy," heonly pauses to take in sharp, gasping breaths, and thrusting hard enough tosend the tip of his dick slipping down Brahm's throat, who gags and groans atthe intrusion. It only eggs Billy on, to fist Brahms' hair and fucking hismouth, his free hand gripping the sheet tightly.

And Brahms, well it stung and made tears well in the cornerof his eyes when Billy uses him like this, too caught up in his own pleasureinduced mania to recognize or care for Brahms' discomfort. But he can see you,three fingers deep, muffling yourself, face flushed, and watching them withsuch focused intent.

And all of that will be his if he can put up with Billybeing a bit rough. Of course, his erection hasn't flagged, and he's smearingpre-cum on the duvet. He doesn't know if it's his favorite, but he consoleshimself that at least he can take some please out of being used. Maybe morethan he is willing to admit.

If Billy was any bigger, it would hurt more, but it's onlythe head of Billy's dick that's forcing its way into his throat.

Well, forcing is a bit too harsh of a word. Brahms had triedhis best to keep his mouth and throat slack when Billy had taken control. Heneeds to be a very, very good boy for you. He needs to stop himself fromthrowing Billy off, not that he wanted to as much anymore, and hold back thetears that threaten to spill down his cheeks from arousing discomfort.

Mummy always disapproved whenever he would cry, no matterthe reason. If he had been scolded, or daddy had spanked him for being naughty,or he had slipped and fallen inside the walls and now his arm was bent at aweird angle. And you had already rolled your eyes and huffed when he would crywhen you were upset with him.

So if you saw him crying now, certainly you would see him asbeing bad, and you would change your mind.

Billy suddenly thrusts up hard, until Brahms’ nose isburrowed into the soft thatch of pubes at the base of his dick. His mouth isopen in a silent scream, but nothing but small, choked sounds come out. Ropeystrands of cum pulse out of his dick and directly down Brahms' throat like whenmummy would force-feed him when he was sick.

And as much as he wants to gag up the warm cum that wasstruggling to settle in his stomach, he wasn't a bad boy. Brahms wants you,badly, and he will do anything for that. Billy sags down and almost melts intothe plush covers and mattress. His eyes flutter shut, but not all the way. Thehand that's in his hair relaxes, and Billy instead uses it to pet the wild messof curls. "You have a wonderful mouth, so, so pink and hot," hegiggled softly and let his hand fall away.

Brahms immediately gets up, and loomed over you. "Iwas good, I played nice. Can I have my reward now?" Even at his fullheight and how demanding he sounds, anxiety crawls through his veins like ants.

"Oh Brahmsy," you gasp when you remove yourfingers. "You were so, so good. A very good boy, and you were so beautifulwith Billy."

A wide grin spreads on his lips when he hears you, and hebounces on his feet, holding his hands behind his back.

"Now go sit down on the edge of the bed for me, andI'll give you your special treat, alright?"

Brahms had never moved faster in his life then he did then,perched and back straight. But it isn't like you were in much of a hurry.

You strut over, wrap your hands around his shoulder, andhold tight when you crawl onto his lap. You can feel his burning member twitchagainst your ass as you slowly grind down on it, relishing in his whimpers andthe desperate look grimacing on his face.

His hands fly to your waist, and pull you down harderagainst him. "Please, I want you so bad," he whines, tuckinghis face next yours. He can't let you see how badly he needs this, although youalready knew as much.

You grab his dick, making his hands squeeze a little bittighter, and line it up with your entrance. "Shhh, don't worry. I'll takecare of your Brahms," you assure in a low voice, slowly sinking down onhim. You had seen his dick dozens of times, you knew how big it was, and yet itstill took you by surprise.

Brahms thrusting up to the hilt as soon as he is in doesn't helpat much. And you want to scold him, but it is such a dizzying rush when hefucks into you like a starving man. He wraps his arms around you, and holds youso close that it is a struggle to pull away to get face to face with him as hefucks you good and deep.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper in awe,ghosting your lips over his. That's also not much of a shocker, but much likehis dick, it also takes you by surprise. Instead of him thrusting too suddenlyhelping, it is his wet eyes and the way he looks at you like he is never goingto see you again.

Brahms lets out a pained sound, and those tears spills downhis face. He goes to hide against your neck, but you cup his cheeks in yourhands. You kiss him, slowly and pouring your heart into it, and Brahms kissedback just as, if not more, intensely.

Though his trusting has stuttered, he still continues on.When you pull away, you stare at him with the sweetest smile he had ever seen."You make me and Billy so, so happy Brahms. I love you so much."

Brahms sobs, loudly, and clutches you tightly against him.He thrusts in a few more time, hard and frantic, letting out little moans frombetween his crying, before going still and filling you with his cum as hebabbles incoherently against your lip. And God, if that doesn't finish you off,you don't know what would have.

Both of you fall back in bed, over a quite content Billy’slegs. Brahms is still holding you and crying, though quieter, and presseskisses to your lips.

You prop yourself up on an elbow, gazing down at him withnothing but love in your eyes, and it only makes the tears come out harder. Youbrush away the tears on the burned side of his face with your thumb. "Ohsweetie, if this was too much for you, you should have told me. We could'vestopped whenever you wanted."

He shakes his head, holding your hand against his cheek, butturns to look away. "I-I-I /wanted/ this, more than anything," hesays quietly, but in his adult voice. "But I don't like it when you lie tome."

"What do you mean?" you ask.

"Loving me. You don't, I know you don't. Not fully. Ifyou love Billy too, how can you love me completely?"

Billy, who had been floating in a state somewhere betweenrest and consciousness, shoots up. "But I love you too, pretty Brahmsy!Both of us loving you makes up for it!"

He cringes when you laugh, but calms down just fine enoughwhen you lean down for a long kiss. "Brahmsy, even though they weren't thebest parents, you still loved both your mom and dad, right? You didn't love oneof the less just because you love the other, right?" When he nods, yougive him another kiss. "It's the same with you and Billy. I love both ofyou, very, very deeply. My love isn't a finite resource."

"Thennn, you have double the love, because I love youtoo," Billy assures, in a higher tone but still his own voice. ThoughBrahms tries to squirm away, Brahms lets him give a kiss. "Because you'reso pretty, and you understand, and I like it when you hold me when I'm being anasty." He rubs his nose against Brahms'.

You smile as you watch them, and get yourself up fromBrahms. You his cum trickles out of you, and as much as that turns you on, youdon't think you could take anymore. "I'm going to go get cleaned up,"leaning over to pick up Brahms' pajamas that you discarded, you can feel himcum leaking out of you and running down your leg.

You clench up and bite your bottom lip at the sensation.Christ, Brahms came /a lot/, more than any other guy you had seen. You swap hispajamas for the tissue he was using to wipe his dick on. "Go get comfy,sweetie."

When you leave, Billy squirms to take up his favoriteposition in the middle of the bed, pulling his shirt down to cover himself.Brahms doesn't bother buttoning up his shirt, instead slips under the coversnext to Billy. He tosses around an idea in his mind for a few moments, beforewrapping himself around Billy like a body pillow.

Billy only freezes up briefly, before aggressively worminghis way closer to Brahms. He lets out a delighted giggle, and slips his handsunder Brahms' shirt and rubs his back. "Warm..." he mutters over andover again, nosing Brahms' furry chest. A large rushing sigh comes out from hismouth as he stops his seemingly unstoppable shivers and sinks into Brahms.

"Kiss?" Brahms asks, struggle not to slip into hischildish voice.

Billy leans his head up, eyes clear and focused and warm ina way Brahms had never seem. He gives Brahms a slow, chaste kiss, beforeburrowing back into his chest again.

He's already lightly snoring by the time you make it back.

You slide in on the opposite side of Billy, but everyone isso close together, Brahms can get his arms around you as well, and press yourforeheads together. You tilt your head slightly to give him another quick kiss."Goodnight Brahmsy," you whisper.

Brahms doesn't say anything, but he squeezes your hand tightly. 

[idkwhatimdoinghere89]

Snow Day

Elliot Alderson x Female reader 2,125 words Warnings: Marijuana use, Alcohol use, Mostly fluff, mild to moderate suggestive sexual situations. ***** Sunday, December 1 My phone buzzed.

"Im on my way"

Elliot lived about 10 mins from my apartment, so it normally wasnt a bad walk except tonight the snow was expected to total about 14" within the city. Snow wasnt my cup of tea but its one of those few things that made Elliot happy. Like a school boy who just learned he didnt have to go to school and would run outside to build a snowman or flop down and make snow angels and just rejoice in the cold flurries that floated around him, the flakes softly landing on the tip of his nose and quickly melting away.

"Okay, see you soon" I quickly typed before setting my phone down on the kitchen counter

I had just gotten home from work and all I could think about was cracking open a bottle of red and snuggling with my boyfriend on the couch under a big fluffy blanket, watching old movies as the snow came down, tommorow being a guaranteed snow day for us and all.

I changed into a warm, ribbed henley shirt and bulky grey sweatpants that im pretty sure belonged to Elliot that I had aquired.

'So much better' I thought to myself. I opened the linen closet in the hallway to retreive the blanket and tossed it into the dryer on high just to fluff and warm it up a little. I went to the bathroom to quickly brush my teeth and check my hair and face. A few minutes later I came out and grabbed a bottle of red from the wine rack on the counter when my phone buzzed.

"Hey, Im here." I grew slightly confused.

"Okay, come on up!" I responded.

"Will you come down and take a walk with me?"

My heart skipped a beat. Elliot was in a rough patch with his mental state, I knew this weather made him happy.. so I obliged. I loved him more than myself so, naturally, I would do anything to make him happy. Just to keep him like this. This was my Elliot.

"Sure just give me a minute, Ill be right down."

I ran to my room and grabbed a pair of jeans and a bulky hoodie and threw them on. I got to the front door and slipped on my boots as I grabbed my beanie and slipped my coat over the hoodie. I despised the cold and snow, but like I said before.. anything for him. I grabbed my keys and headed out to the elevator.

I walked out of the small lobby and saw Elliot standing right on the sidewalk near the edge of the street, hoodie off, face torwards the sky. It was unusual, normally he tries to blend into the concrete or the side of the buildings in this city but tonight his demeanor was so childlike, it made my heart melt. I opened the door and was met with a blast of arctic air that immediatley sent chills thru me. I shivered as I approached him. He turned just as I got to him.

"Hey" he smiled, that warm, happy, content smile that damn near took my breath away.

"What are ya doin out here? Having fun?" I teased with a smile as I leaned in to give him just a quick kiss, PDA not being his favorite thing.

As our lips pressed, he lingered a little bit longer by putting both his hands on my head, cradling my jaw lightly. We kissed lightly for another few seconds before he pulled back, my jaw still cradled, and he smiled once again. I could feel the pure bliss radiating off of him.

This is my Elliot.

He softly grabs my hand as he smiles down at me. And off we go.

We chatted about our weekend, I hadnt seen him in a couple days so I was really looking forward to seeing him tonight and just relaxing together. The snowfall was that very quiet, relaxing, almost eerie snowfall. It was bizzare for the city to be this quiet. Him and I just strolled hand in hand for a few blocks, taking our time, chatting and what not. That was when a gust blew by, stinging my skin. I flinch and squeeze my eyes shut in response.

"Jesus it got 20 degrees colder!" I laughed while in pain

"Aw, come on, lets head back." he said.

By the time we got back to the entrance to the apartment complex it really did feel like it dropped a substantial amount in temperature. We finally got to the front door to my apartment as I entered the code to unlock the door. I audibly shook the cold air from my body and dramatically shivered as we stood by the entryway, flopping our boots off. I headed to the thermostat to up the temperature.

"You are such a baby" Elliot teased me.

"Im sorry, you know I love being warm!" I immediatley responded.

I walked over to the fireplace in the living room, turning it on. It was a fake but it certainly was nice ambiance.

Elliot shrugged off his hoodie and hung it by my coat near the front door. He then promtly took his seat at his spot on the couch. Giving a light stretch, he extended his arms and folded them behind his head, leaning back, just staring blankly at the dark tv. I yanked the hoodie off the threw it over a barstool next to the counter.

"Hmm." I said loud enough to grab his attention.

He looks over at me, snapping out of whatever day dream he was in with the powered down tv.

"Whats wrong?" he asked curiously.

"I know how we can get a little warmer.." I said with a grin.

"Oh yeah? Hows that?" he asked with a slightly devilish grin.

I smiled and headed down the hallway torwards the bathroom. Pulling the shower curtain out of the way I began to run hot water in the tub. I grabbed some lavender bath melts from a glass jar on a shelf, plopping them into the steaming water. I grabbed a lighter from a drawer and lit some candles, illuminating the bathroom.

Before I knew it the tub was nearly full. I turned it off and dimmed the lights and I headed out to the living room where Elliot had seemingly resumed his daydreaming until he heard me and glanced over at me with a content smile on his face, fully knowing my intentions. I said nothing but extended out my hand to him. He softly grabbed it and followed me to the bathroom.

"Go ahead, Ill grab some towels." I said.

He obliged and pulled his shirt off, followed by his pants, and boxer breifs, tossing them in a pile. I grabbed them and threw them in the washer, starting a small express load immediatley. I came back into the bathroom a minute later where he was fully submerged with just his little head poking out from the bubbles.

"Youre too good to me." he said with the same smile that melted me.

"Well its pointless to get clean then put on dirty clothes again, babe." I lightly teased.

"Oh wait!" I said while running to my room. I returned a few seconds later with a freshly packed bowl I had prepped that morning, anticipating Elliots arrival. He hummed in approval at the sight of me holding the bowl. I handed it to him as he reached up, shaking any excess water from his hands. Taking a huge hit, slowly blowing the smoke outward. Setting the bowl on a nearby shelf.

His eyes began to scan my body. Clearly it was my turn to hop in.

I smiled lightly and pulled my shirt from my body, tossing it to the floor. I unhooked my bra and slowly slid it off, exposing my chest. I made eye contact with him as my hands went to my button on my jeans, I tilted my head down a little and my long, dark, tousled hair flopped delicatley just past my cheek, past my collarbone landing on my breast in the worlds most perfect timing. I smiled to him an innocent little grin as I pulled my jeans down along with my underwear. Standing fully and dragging my jeans with my foot to its designated pile. His eyes blinked softly, matching his sweet smile. He never once stared at any particular part of my body, just my face.

"Youre so beautiful." he nearly whispered. I shyly smiled back and slowly eased into the hot water.

A little time goes by as we laugh and joke around, taking turns taking a few hits off the bowl, talking to eachother about absolutley whatever as we faced eachother from opposite ends of the tub. My foot in his hand, as he rubbed it lightly.

"Thank you" he said after a solid minute of blissful silence.

"For what?" I asked curiously.

"For taking a walk with me. I know you dont exactly love the snow." he said.

"I dont mind as long as im with you, El." I said flashing a content smile. "..thanks for warming up with me." I continued.

He responded with another smile. A few minutes later, we decided pruning wasnt a cute look. We both got out and wrapped up immediatley in a couple huge fluffy towels.

"Im gonna throw your stuff in the dryer, in my top drawer theres a pair of breifs you left here a few weeks ago..." He nodded and went to my room.

I dried off completley before wrapping the towel around my body and walked over to switch his clothes. I threw the fluffy blanket on the couch, it was still nice and warm from being in the dryer. He emerged a minute later wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer breifs. I tried but failed miserably to hide my eyes as they scanned his toned chest and stomach. He practically frolicked by me and laid down on the couch, exhaling lightly as his body plopped down.

'Im gonna cuddle that so good tonight.' I thought to myself.

I went to my room and put on what I originally had on before I met him earlier in the tundra that was outside. Along with some thick fuzzy socks.

I came out and stopped to grab a couple glasses from the cabinet, using a corkscrew to open the bottle of wine I had selected earlier.

"You want some, baby?" I glanced over to him as he was staring out the huge window, watching the snow fall. TV still off. He looked so peaceful.

"Sure." he said, barely audible.

I smiled to myself and poured.

I set both glasses down on the coffee table and headed over to the window to get a glance outside. A very noticable amount of snow had fallen since we came up. I was snapped out of my observation when I heard his voice crack ever so subtly.. "come here.."

I looked over to him and was met with bright blue/green eyes. The flicker from the fireplace cast a beautiful reflection. I got lost in them as they were the most blissful Ive ever seen him look. I slowly walked to the couch and laid next to him and snuggled in, pulling the blanket over us. I positioned myself half on top, half off of him inward torwards the back of the couch with my hand resting on his bare chest, and my head nuzzled just under his shoulder. We decided on an old black and white movie.

About half way thru my eyes became heavy from the marijuana/red wine haze when I suddenly felt the heat that was his hand running up and down my back, under my shirt. As he ran his hand back down, it hugged my torso, running along my hip bone.

"Mmm.." I exhaled with a closed mouth. I nudged my head into him, lightly kissing the skin around his pec. I could tell he was awake by his breathing. His right hand gently covered mine that was resting on his chest, squeezing it lightly. I looked up to him to be met with half hooded eyes, as If he was already watching me. I reached over and pressed my lips against his. Reminicent of our kiss earlier, just.. way heavier. Way deeper. It was certainly getting warmer. His hand began to trail up my back once more, only on the downward stroke he reached in a little further. My hand now matching his movements as I softly stroked down his chest, then his stomach...

Our breathing slowed down, but I certainly began to wake up.

[wincore]

nct dream + fantasy creatures (halloween edition)

note: it is here at last im late but i wrote this in a span of a few hours because halloween is my favourite time of the year! happy spooks everyone !!

disclaimer: everything written here is a work of fiction and is not affiliated with any real person whatsoever. the myths have been slightly tweaked to fit the  story therefore they might not align with traditional beliefs.

huli jing!renjun

you gaze in awe at kun’s words

‘really?’ you ask ‘those really exist?’

‘i don’t know about that, but don’t you go looking for them. they might not be kind.’

you nod your head vehemently 

‘of course not.’

lessons are boring in the village but sitting in the garden with kun and hearing his stories always cheers you up

‘...well, if i were to find one, how would i know?’ you ask

there’s a pause before kun laughs

‘a fox’s tail is not so easily hidden’

you puff your cheeks

that doesn’t help

the breeze is light today, the trees in various warm shades and the frogs sing their lullabies

you could stay here on the soft grass forever if you could

it’s calm and perfect here

but then the bell chimes two and you’re off to class again

you breathe in

you’ve heard of the huli jing before but what you didn’t know is the possibility they might be real

you shudder

you’ve heard far more tales than kun has told you about the fox spirits and their gorgeous tails, all nine of them golden

you know how they pose as beautiful people to lure the villagers out and then rip out their hearts and livers and inhale their essence - their hunger insatiable

but kun says they might not all be bad, some swallow the essence from nature, some might even help people

not all of them are bad

you scoff

who would ever believe monsters could be kind?

the story kun told you was about the old man living by the forest 

he said that the man once fell in love with a huli jing himself and was eventually betrayed

yet he still stays by the forest, praying for the safety of his long gone lover

you breathe out

you think you’ve had enough stories of these terrifying creatures

the breeze has turned cold, you notice, as you run back to class

the night is even colder

‘kun?’ you call 

he should have come back an hour ago

you gulp when you stare at the path to the forest beyond the faded red gates of the shrine

you just need to get to the first clearing - that’s where the woodsman’s settlement is

but what you don’t expect

is to find your brother and the woodsman in arms, eyes trained on a figure sitting lazily atop the cottage roof

and then you see the tails

they’re not golden but they glow pure white, lush and grand 

and although the boy they belong to is rather skinny, they give him a weighted look

you can’t hear them speak from behind the tree but they appear to be in disagreement

kun stands by, his face worried while the woodsman raises his axe

you don’t think you’re supposed to be seeing this

there’s a shout then a yell

then the fox is gone

you look around desperately - what if he’s near you, what if he attacks you?

but you see kun making his way towards the village and stumble into a bush to avoid them

you hold your breath till they pass you

you’ll follow them back at a distance - that’s it. you don’t want to get kun worried now

‘and why might you be here?’

you whip around to meet the boy with golden eyes

you let out a yelp, stumbling backwards only to trip over a shrub and onto the ground

he takes a step forward, crouching to meet your eyes

‘leave’

your heart is hammering but you can’t look away

he’s frowning but he looks absolutely ethereal - eyes, nose, lips and of course, his tails

‘i can feel your pulse, you know? i can lower it if you want’ he speaks softly

his voice is surprisingly civilized for a creature born of wild magic

‘i never ask them to be so fascinated with me’ he continues, his voice still low

you feel yourself drawing closer, your heartbeat no longer erratic

his tails are around you

and they’re as soft as they look, you find when one brushes your skin

‘you’re a pretty one’ he whispers 

his mouth is near yours and you can feel him breathe you in as he keeps his arms on either side of you

‘but i don’t play games with prey’

angel of death!jeno

you focus on the horizon beyond the fields

it’s hard to see when the moonlight is the only guide, night curling around your shoulders

the fog is thick, almost as if it’s smoke

you take a sharp breath

then you fire the first arrow

there are no heroes or villains in war - only victors

you’ve seen far too many die here, innocent souls

but death does not care for that

the battle spills over - the cause forgotten

and yet, people die for it

death might not even be that bad. in fact, he’s pretty cute

your eyes meet blue in the midst of battle and you clench your jaw

you don’t think it’s time yet

contrary to what everyone believes, death is not clad in black but in white

his eyes are icy blue and he holds a bow that appears to be made of grey mist

and would you dare say he’s handsome? 

only behind closed doors in hushed whispers, only to him 

but then again, the angels of death look different to all

and to you, he’s an archer

the soldier beside you falls, an axe to his chest and a pale arrow marked above it

has he marked everyone today?

a white arrow flies past you, the sound leaving an echo in your ears

you turn to find the boy - the angel, messenger, whatever he is - standing by the rock jutting out of the ground

he lazily fires his arrows, all of them hitting their marks

his eyes are brighter at night

the sounds around you are discordant

a cleave swings over your head, undoubtedly hitting someone marked

you drop low, inevitably nearing the messenger

‘are we fighting alongside each other now?’ you joke, your eyes keeping track of movement around you

‘i’m only doing my job’ he says quietly

‘why is it that we always meet, jeno?’

you fire three arrows at a charging swordsman

‘you should tell me that’

you chuckle

‘i missed you, if that makes it any better’ you say

he laughs, the sound otherworldly

it’s quiet between the two of you as the night rages on

‘will you mark me today?’

he turns to you, no particular expression on his face

‘will you run again?’

‘i might unless you tempt me.’

he frowns

there’s a silence that makes you lose your words

his hands are red but none of the blood his and you almost get a glimpse of his sharp teeth and hollowed eyes

‘you can run but only for so long till my arrows find you’

he leans closer, his breath chilling over your mouth and eyes ever glowing

‘i will claim you.’

‘i know’ you whisper, finding your voice again

he pulls back smiling, his teeth sharp

‘i hope you remember me the day you do’ you say before he parts, a low hum tuning its way to you in response

the mist curls around his fingers, the fields almost barren now

you’ve flirted with death before - several times actually

perhaps it’s time you stop running from him

witch!haechan

this is not where you’re supposed to be

this is definitely not where you’re supposed to be

you were running from your friends trying to steal your candy but you might have ran a bit too far 

you aren’t familiar with this part of the neighbourhood at all

you walk around aimlessly - how did you even get here?

the place has gone overboard with the halloween decorations - or perhaps no one’s home

the buildings are lifeless, some of the taller ones faded beyond repair

there’s something eerie about this place you can’t quite put your finger on

well till you run into a boy and make him drop all his books

‘ow...’

he glares at you

‘i’m sorry!’ you say, frantically picking his books up

he narrows his eyes at you as he stands up, as if he can’t quite figure you out

‘is that...blood?’

your eyes trail to your knees, strangely bloodied and bruised - perhaps you hit the ground too hard 

but funnily enough, you didn’t feel any pain until now

‘come on, my house is down the corner. i’ll get you some bandages’ he offers

‘oh, thank you...but i should really be getting home...’

‘it’s okay. you can repay me with your candy.’ he grins, his smile boyish and oddly comforting

you raise an eyebrow

‘alright. you can’t have more than one, though.’

‘aren’t you a little too old to be trick-or-treating anyway?’

‘it’s a uni event. aren’t you a little too old to be mooching candy off someone?’

‘there’s no age limit for that’ 

you laugh as he takes the books from you, leading the way down

‘i’m haechan, by the way.’

‘i’m (name).’

as if the neighbourhood couldn’t get any creepier, the mist here seems to glow green and the fireflies twinkle with a certain malice to them

haechan’s apartment, however, seems to have skipped halloween altogether and jumped straight into christmas

the lights are bright and colourful, with an odd fancy mask hanging from the doorframe

when you give him a look, he pouts

‘i don’t like the dark.’

he seems to be living alone, apart from a small black cat which comes hurling at you the moment you enter

‘woah’ haechan yells, removing the cat from you ‘what did jeno feed you? how are you so heavy?’

you laugh as he puts the cat down, bitterness never so apparent in a cat

the next to greet you is a frog, plopping right on the table by which you’re sitting

you gasp at it’s sudden leap, placing a hand over your heart

‘why do you have a frog?!’

‘excuse me? that’s my dad.’ he calls from the washroom

you shake your head

‘i’m kidding’ he adds later, thoughtfully

your eyes inevitably stop over the wonderfully coloured jars

some seem to have trapped light, some various shades of dark liquids and some shine like molten precious stones

‘you have to pay to touch that.’

you turn around to find haechan with bandages and some antiseptic

‘what are these?’

haechan pauses

‘uhm...juice?’

you tap your foot impatiently 

he sighs

‘okay you got me. that’s trapped starlight. had to travel a lot to find that one. oh, these eyeballs are just candy. i hope. aand that’s the crushed tooth of a kraken, that’s an angel’s elixir. ooh! this one’s fairy milkshake. i’ve got a lot of that, wanna try-’

‘what’

‘do you believe in all this?’ he asks

‘what does it matter if i do?’

he grins

‘what do you say about becoming a witch’s apprentice?’

‘are you kidding me right now?’

‘wait. let me care take of this first.’

he takes a colourless gel-like substance, rubbing it over your knee with two fingers

and after a few seconds, it’s like there was never even a wound

‘and now...’ he continues, fighting a smile

he proceeds to take a purple potion, pouring two drops over the floor

a black butterfly emerges, its wings burning as it flies up into its own oblivion

he looks up and finally smiles as if to say ‘see? i’m not lying. i’ve got more where that comes from.’

you stay quiet for a while, processing everything

‘why did you tell me this? aren’t you supposed to keep things like this a secret?’ you cross your arms

‘you look like someone who could stomach the extraordinary.’

he laughs

‘it’s okay if you don’t. i’ll make you forget all of this.’

you rapidly shake your head

‘i’ll be your apprentice!’

haechan tilts his head to the side

‘but don’t forget. everything comes at a cost’

you nod

it can’t be that bad

‘i’ll have to come here every night?’ you shudder

‘don’t worry’ he laughs ‘the ghouls and demons here are all afraid of me.’

you stare at him, petrified before he laughs at your face

‘really! you don’t have to worry about them.’

you shake your head, giving him another look

but you see it over and perhaps a little bit of adventure couldn’t hurt

you look at the boy beside you, his caramel skin and honey eyes hard to not stare at

you almost blush when he meets your eyes

you take the vintage feathered pen he offers, no doubt showing off his collection and sign the contract he presents you, your name glowing amethyst violet

and in your excitement you forget to check the contract, the binding contract

perhaps you will, after a few years

when you notice how everyone around you seems to grow old, never seems to  keep up with your energy

when you see your friends get married and have children yet you can’t seem to bother

when your friends are all wrinkled yet you look just the way you did years ago

perhaps you’ll ask to see the contract and gasp

you should have been more observant

after all, in the end, there’s only the witch and his apprentice

elf!jaemin

you don’t think your pumpkin latte is supposed to glow this way

you look to the server and back to your drink

you don’t think he sees it

he smiles and walks away leaving you to your oddly gold pumpkin latte, reflecting the major part of the sunlight right onto your face

you crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the brewer

it’s difficult when his back is turned to you but he looks so familiar

you take a sharp breath when you see his face

jaemin never told you he worked here

you smile to yourself when he almost spills the coffee over

you’re always smiling when it comes to him

ever since you had seen him on campus, there’s been something about him that wouldn’t let your mind escape him

but it’s not just his face or his starry smile and kind manners or the pointed ears - there’s something about him, something secretive

you don’t believe in fairy tales but he just might be one

it was barely summer when he first talked to you

something about an assignment which you didn’t mind lending him

and you found he’s more than all the girls lining up to see him and the same shining smile he gives everyone

in his jokes, in his laugh and the way he speaks and the way he treats everyone

it’s been a while since you’ve had a friend like this

but today he doesn’t look your away, dark circles under his eyes and a drudging rate of work

you figure you should greet him after work, buy him another cup of his beloved coffee

you take the same subway ride home after all

‘(name)?’

jaemin looks surprised, a little starstruck maybe

he smiles

‘how did you know i work here?’

you giggle

‘well...i didn’t. till you made me a glowing drink.’

jaemin’s ears turn red

‘it was- it was glowing?’

‘yeah! it was all golden and glowy.’

‘uhh..’ his voice breaks and he clears his throat ‘it’s a new ingredient we’re testing!’

‘it tasted just fine though’ you assure him

he scratches the back of his head, smiling wide ‘thanks’

you hope you don’t make it awkward when you blush at the way he smiles at you, or when he holds your hand to keep you from getting lost in the crowds

‘really? jeno? don’t tell me you like him.’

jaemin rolls his eyes

your cheeks feel hot as you try to stammer out an explanation

‘i- i don’t like him. i just- i just thought he was sweet to me last saturday, that’s all.’

‘you went on a date without telling me?’ jaemin huffs

‘it- it wasn’t a date!’

‘whatever’ jaemin pouts ‘i can’t believe you like someone other than me.’

you laugh it off, his smile brighter than the stars as usual

it’s hard to not close your eyes too as he rests his head on your shoulder in the lone train compartment

it’s so peaceful like this

‘(name)? can i tell you something?’

you hum in response

‘never mind’ he says, sitting up straight

he looks at you for a long few seconds, enough to make you blush, before tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear

he stands up all of a sudden

‘wanna dance?’ he says with a grin

‘right here?’ you ask, incredulous

‘what? there’s no one here!’

you return his smile and take his hand as he pulls you up into his arms

there’s no music but you hear songs - humming full of melody and sweet words

he laughs when he sees you trying hard to not step on his feet or the focus on your face till it’s finally gone when you get the hang of it

it’s so peaceful like this

suddenly you don’t know where the train leads

jaemin still smiles

‘i like you, you know that?’ he whispers as he twirls you, hands back on your waist to hold you

the dancing never ends

‘i like you too’ you respond, not knowing why

you can smell the flowers growing around the benches, their vines curled around almost everything

you hear the bees buzzing, looking for nectar

there’s moonlight above you, the silver light making jaemin’s hair glow

he leans in, his lips just brushing yours

‘thank you’ he whispers ‘for being truly kind to me’

it’s almost dawn - you can hear the birds chirping and the moonlight wanes

it’s so peaceful like this

you think if it’s jaemin, forever isn’t so empty

you take a step off the train

and the rest is history

zombie!chenle

‘what the heck is going on?’

 you eye donghyuck and renjun at each other’s throats on the floor

you tap your foot impatiently against the wood

‘(name)! renjun brought a zombie. get him out!’ donghyuck complains

you blink 

‘he what’

‘well, what if he doesn’t want to go away?’ renjun retorts

you gesture for the both of them to stop talking when you feel a presence right behind you

you let out a sound of surprise, falling to the floor to find a boy staring down at you

a stitch runs right across his face, his skin paler than normal; his left eye is oddly translucent and his hair is a dim blonde, and overall he looks rather impish

yet he still looks like a boy nonetheless

he bends, squinting at you and you squeak, your shock getting the best of you

a moment later, the three of them burst into laughter

you frown at them

‘what’s so funny?’

you get up and face the boy

despite his ghoulish features, he still has flesh and he looks like a boy as ever

‘i’m chenle!’ he greets you with a grin ‘hyung brought me here. and... uh... i think i broke your coffee table, i’m really sorry about that’ 

his grin changes to an apologetic frown

you poke his cheek and pull back immediately, distracted

‘oh, your skin’s really soft.’

‘yeah, i used to take care of it a lot.’

there’s a pause

‘wait a minute, you did wha-’ you huff, ‘renjun aren’t you scared to death of ghosts?’

‘ghosts, not zombies’ he crosses his arms

‘ghost or zombie, he’s still annoying’ donghyuck grumbles

you sigh at the two of them

from the looks of it, however, they’ve already befriended the boy

when you turn around, you find chenle busy with the housecat, picking her up and scrutinising her

‘what are you doing?!’ you ask, panicking

‘well, it’s been a while since i’ve seen these’ 

he looks at you with a smile so adorable you lose track of your thoughts for a few moments

you cough, pretending your heart didn’t just stop

‘how long have you been dead?’

‘i don’t know. a while, i guess. ooh, do you have a piano? i’ve missed those!’

you shake your head ‘i don’t think we do.’

‘that’s okay’ he grins, eyes strangely sparkling ‘ooh, do you have a basketball court? or a car? or maybe a coffee shop nearby?’

‘there’s one down the block, i guess’ you tilt your head ‘you’ve really missed life, huh?’

before he can say anything, donghyuck calls from the other room ‘hey bighead! we’re going shoppi- er- to the playgrounds or something!’

chenle laughs, the sound piercingly loud but oddly cheerful

you smile without realizing

you never knew the dead could be so full of life

chenle then turns to you to answer ‘of course i missed this!’

you pinch the bridge of your nose but you continue smiling

there’s something infectious about him...and it’s not the zombie part

then again, your house isn’t exactly a stranger to oddities

‘come with us!’ chenle says, grabbing your attention

‘okay’ you agree

you get back to the living room to get your coat, to find renjun lying on the sofa

you need to know this

you turn to him, narrowing your eyes

‘where in hell did you even get a zombie?’

renjun scratches his head

‘you know that old guy in the robes by the graveyard? the one who carries a staff around like he’s about to summon the dead? well, he actually did that.’

‘renjun, we live in the underworld.’

‘oh, right.’

ghost!jisung

‘please just let me haunt you’

‘no’

‘...okay’

you shake your head and groan

‘jisung! see? this is why you never get anything done? ghosts aren’t supposed to be polite’

the boy in front of you scratches his head, his skin translucent and eyes cast down guiltily

‘okay try your puppy form’ you say

‘that’s not a puppy’ he begins but tones down at your stare

he sighs

the big black dog stares back at you, fur curling into mist and eyes glowing red

he growls quietly before it eventually turns into a snarl, his teeth lethal

you yawn

the dog collapses into mist to reveal jisung once more, a rather pouty expression on his face

‘nothing scares you. that’s why this doesn’t work!’

‘you’re just too cute, jisung’ you frown

he blushes, a strange colour on pale skin

‘but i’m supposed to haunt the town. only the old ladies are scared of me. and i feel bad about that.’

you laugh 

jisung might just be the cutest ghost out there

‘i’m thinking...maybe haunting isn’t my thing.’

‘but you’re a ghost! why else would you be a ghost?’

he places his hand on his chin, concentrating on his thoughts

‘i can’t remember anything about who i was. maybe i’m not vengeful’

‘it took you all that thinking to realize th- actually, never mind. maybe you’re meant to enjoy things life has to offer...after death.’

‘honestly, that sounds like a... total killjoy.’

you stare blankly at him

‘sorry, i ran out of jokes.’

you laugh at his awkward smile, patting him on his head like you do

‘well, what are you supposed to do?’ he asks

‘i don’t know. i just talk to ghosts i guess.’

jisung shrugs, sinking further onto the grass

it’s a beautiful night tonight - every night has been sweet to you and jisung since you first met

this town is no stranger to ghosts and poltergeists

of course, no one but you realizes that

some of the ghosts, you make a friend out of, some, you’d rather avoid

and there’s jisung

you didn’t know what to expect when the ghost of a giant black dog suddenly transformed into a sleeping boy

you aren’t even sure what he is, but life’s been better with him around

he accompanies you to school, listens to you throughout the lunch break, makes snarky comments during class (that you’d rather not have) and tells you all the places to find the prettiest mushrooms

it’s the first time you’ve seen a spirit so attentive

usually they just lament over their lost life, thank you for listening and go back to haunting or whatever engages them till they can finally be at peace

jisung is...a little different

for starters, you can actually touch him without diving too deep into the realm of the dead

it’s like half of him is still alive

but the mist grows strong around him

‘how’d you learn to talk to ghosts?’ jisung asks, quietly

‘well, i almost died. then i realized i can exist in both the realms.’

‘that sounds...awful.’

you laugh

‘it’s not that bad. i found you.’

jisung blushes again, you don’t know how. does he even have blood?

‘hey, what do you think happens after you’re done being a ghost?’ you ask

jisung stops glaring at the frog near the creek to meet your eyes

‘are you trying to scare me?’

you laugh

‘just thinking.’

‘i like it here’ he says ‘i like everything even if i feel less than i used to.’

‘that’s good to know.’

jisung laughs, the sound boyish and full of a certain joy you can’t put together

it should be this way

two best friends enjoying their time in a town that never lives

finding new adventures every day 

listening to new songs and dancing to the wind

getting on doyoung’s nerves together (but doyoung, of course, thinks it’s just you)

confusing jeno at the flower shop or hitting renjun with harmless little stones when he’s not looking

you trying to scare jisung (which is almost always a success when it comes to cockroaches)

jisung always putting a smile on your face with how awkwardly he scratches his head and looks away when you compliment him

it’s as close to a friendship as you can get

but you know the truth

you remember that day everything changed

you remember the boy and his pet dog sailing with you, playing around the docks

you remember the storm and how you almost died

you remember letting the rope go and watching the boy sink to the abyss

you remember despair

you remember feeling numb the week after and more

it’s as clear as day

you look at jisung, his eyes closed and his figure resting on the warm grass

this is your repentance

[bastardnev]

Cheat Day

in which i inexplicably decided to write a fic about mustafa’s cereal-nutella-oreos breakfast combination

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: World Wrestling Entertainment, Professional Wrestling, All Elite Wrestling Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Pac | Adrian Neville Characters: Mustafa Ali, Pac | Adrian Neville Additional Tags: damn i guess i gotta start tagging aew in my nevstafa fics huh, Fluff, Silly, mischief involving nutella and oreos Series: Part 1 of Jess Has Too Many Fics In Her Notes Summary: Neville wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the scene in his kitchen that morning.

(ao3 link)

i ended up making a new tag list bc its been so long since i last posted a nevstafa fic + i didnt wanna tag ppl who might not be interested anymore -- im going off the likes/replies to the post i made abt this yesterday so if you’re not on the list and you wanna be added lemme know !! i’ll add you 🥰

tag list: @sailor-slam-dunk @residentjoth @riveliciousx @lambchopviking @storyranger

Neville wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the scene in his kitchen that morning.

He had heard Mustafa get out of bed earlier, but he figured he was just going to get breakfast started — it was his turn, after all. Technically, he still was, but not at all in the way that Neville anticipated. Rather than finding him cooking the pancakes they’d agreed upon the night before, Neville instead walked in on him preparing a bowl of cereal in a large serving dish he’d placed on the island. This in itself wouldn’t have been so odd (other than his choice of bowl) if he didn’t follow up his milk pouring with a big search around the kitchen. He was rummaging through the cabinets that lined the walls for... for something. Something that Neville couldn't quite figure out, especially since the only thing he could plausibly be looking for was a spoon. What a can of olives had to do with anything, Neville had absolutely no idea.

And so, he choose to ask him about it. “What the hell are you doing?”

Mustafa glanced over at Neville quickly before putting the can back and going right back to his hunt. “Oh, good morning. Where’s your snack stash?”

Neville blinked, confused. “My what?”

“Your snack stash. Y’know, where you keep the snacks?”

“I— I know what a snack stash is, Mustafa.”

“Then where’s yours? I know you have one — everyone does. Fess up.”

What was he trying to do? The fact that he still hadn't given Neville a clear answer was a bit concerning. “What does it matter where my snacks are? Wait, forget about that, aren’t you supposed to be cooking pancakes?”

"Who said anything about me making pancakes?"

"You did. Just last night."

"Ehh, that was just pillow talk."

"You told me about how badly you were craving them when we were eating dinner." Why would they be discussing pancakes during pillow talk, of all things?!

Mustafa scoffed, and he offered no further response other than continuing to push aside the items stacked up on the shelf. "Are you planning on answering my question at all?" Neville crossed his arms. "What are you doing?"

“You'll see!" Mustafa responded when he finally decided to speak again. "I’ve got something even better than pancakes in mind."

Mustafa placing a breakfast food above pancakes was almost enough for Neville to consider the idea that he'd been replaced with an imposter. Almost. “And, that is...?”

“A secret — until you tell me where your snack stash is, of course.”

Neville sighed, rolling his eyes. He knew there was no getting out of this no matter how hard he tried. “Oh for the love of God, it’s the one under the microwave,” he at last confessed.

“The only one I didn’t check!” Mustafa grinned, and he darted over to the appropriate cabinet, digging around excitedly. “Ooh, you’ve got a lot of good stuff in here!”

“No need for the commentary, just take what you need.”

“You’re pretty defensive over your candy, huh?”

“You’ve got the biggest sweet tooth out of anyone I know — how can I not?” Now that he thought about it, seeing as Mustafa now knew where he hid all of his sweets, Neville would probably have to find a new hiding spot once this visit was over...

“Hmm.” Mustafa pouted as he moved a variety pack of mini candy bars aside. “You bought the Oreos I asked for, right?”

“Of course.” Like Neville honestly wasn’t going to do so after Mustafa practically begged him to pick some up when he went on his most recent grocery run.

“You do love me!” The package of cookies in his hands, Mustafa triumphantly brought it over to the island, pulling back the seal.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing now?”

“Patience, Nev! Geez. You can’t rush these things, you know?”

Neville wanted to retort, but the distinctive crunch of Mustafa crushing a fistful of Oreos over the serving dish interrupted him, and all he could do was watch in silent awe (and confusion). Mustafa repeated this process over and over again, unblinking, until he’d gone through one of the sleeves. “There...” He muttered, sealing the pack back up and putting it aside. “Now for the last part...”

Last part? Neville found himself a little afraid to say this out loud. His question received an answer anyway, however, as Mustafa then returned to the cabinet, pulling out the large jar of Nutella that Neville was secretly hoping he wouldn’t notice. (Man goes through jars quicker than I can count.) "Not really much I can work with here..." Mustafa mumbled as he put the lid aside, looking at the jar's contents. "You ate it all on me. Naughty boy."

"I'm... sorry?"

"Better be." Mustafa then went to the silverware drawer and pulled out a big spoon, and before Neville could wrap his mind around what was happening he'd scooped out a healthy amount. "This'll work, though."

"What—"

Neville wasn't able to finish this sentence, as just as he was going to Mustafa let the Nutella drop right on top of his cereal. Neville looked back and forth between the bowl and Mustafa, who appeared to be debating what to do next with his messy spoon. Rather than put it in the sink like Neville assumed he would, however, he shrugged, dipping it into the bowl.

It was right as he was about to put a spoonful of cereal into his mouth that Neville decided to go through with asking his question. "Okay, what the hell?!"

Mustafa paused, spoon hanging in the air. "What?"

"What is this..." Neville gestured towards the bowl, trying to find the right words to describe what he was seeing. "This... concoction?"

"It's... my cheat day breakfast?" Mustafa said this as if it were the most obvious thing ever, like he couldn't understand why Neville so was baffled. "Duh?"

"How did you even come up with this?"

"Easy — I woke up one morning, couldn't decide what I wanted for breakfast, so I just mixed everything I wanted together. It's better than you think it is, really."

Neville pointed to the package of Oreos. "You wanted to eat those for breakfast?"

"You haven't thought about eating cookies for breakfast before? What are you, an amateur?"

"And— And the Nutella, what were you planning on doing with that if you hadn't thought to throw everything together?"

Mustafa didn't respond, instead choosing to avert his gaze. Suspicious, Neville followed up with, "You weren't seriously considering eating it straight from the jar, were you?"

Mustafa made eye contact with Neville again, and neither of them said anything for a solid few seconds. Eventually, though, Mustafa shot Neville a sheepish grin, and the latter brought his hand to his forehead, slowly shaking his head. "Oh, God..." He let out a breath. "All this, yet you still have those abs..."

"I sure do." Mustafa brought the spoon back to the cereal and mixed it up a bit. "Now, maybe instead of pickin' on me you can come give this a try. You might like it."

"I have no use for any of that."

"False — everyone needs this in their lives."

"Not everyone needs something loaded with sugar so early in the morning."

"What are you gonna have instead, then? Egg whites?" Mustafa shuddered at his own suggestion, and he held a spoonful out towards Neville, who leaned away. "You know you want toooo..."

Neville looked at the spoon with a narrowed gaze. He knew damn well that he gave in to Mustafa way too often (something about the look in his eyes, he figured). He'd told himself that he would stop being such a pushover when it came to him, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity for him to stick to his word for once. Mustafa wanted him to try some food combo that he swore was amazing, something that Neville thought was completely ridiculous. He would be lying if he said he found it to be anything but.

...But he would also be lying if he said that he wasn't at least a little curious as to what Mustafa saw in it. Not to mention that he was giving him the dreaded eyes...

Neville said nothing. Instead, he took a few steps closer to Mustafa, allowing him to put the spoon into his mouth. "There we go..." Mustafa took it out a moment later, giving Neville a second to chew and swallow before asking, "It's good, isn't it?"

It was. "It's fucking disgusting."

"Liar, liar..." Mustafa singsonged, and Neville huffed. There was no point in denying it.

"Maybe you're right..."

"Ha! I knew it."

"Why do I always agree to go along with your nonsense..." Neville lamented, and Mustafa chuckled, leaning over to give him a kiss.

"Because you love me," he replied as he pulled away, and Neville struggled to hide the little fond smile that forced its way onto his face.

"...Yes, I do."

[sp4c3-0ddity]

Jumpstart Your Heart

it feels like it’s been a while right?? well, it’s been raining for a few days every week for about a month, so take ~4400 words of post-canon fluff (where Allura lived though it doesn’t really matter tbh). enjoy!! 

Pidge’s car refuses to start.

Fat raindrops steadily pelt her windshield, the lights in the Target parking lot blurring through the streaks of water on the glass. The chill of the winter air fills the interior, her breath misting out in front of her, and when she turns her key in the ignition, all she gets is a stuttering choking sound.

Pidge growls as her forehead falls against the steering wheel. All she wanted from Target was a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of orange juice for tomorrow’s breakfast, but all she got was stranded.

(Well, and the peanut butter and juice; those, along with a bag of cherry-flavored licorice that looked really good on the shelf but tasted awful the instant she tore apart the first strip, lay safely inside a paper grocery bag on the backseat.)

This is fine though! She was a Defender of the Universe - she was in worse situations before launching into space in a blue, lion-shaped weapon of mass destruction. What’s a little car trouble to a Paladin of Voltron?

Pidge drums her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking…she has a jumper cable in the trunk, right? Or, no, she let Hunk borrow it last time he was on Earth and forgot to ask for it back. Maybe another total stranger in the parking lot would have one - and a working car battery - and be willing to help her out? If they need convincing, she can even put on the old gremlin Pidge voice for them.

What drained her battery anyway? It’s not like she has to worry about leaving her headlights turned on when they’re supposed to turn off automatically!

Wait, when was the last time she had the battery changed?

“Quiznak,” Pidge grumbles when she realizes she’s never changed the battery. She spends all day - and sometimes night - designing some of the most advanced ships and weaponry in the universe, but her own damn car still has the battery she bought it with.

She’s going to have to call for help.

Right as the thought crosses her mind, her phone vibrates in her jacket pocket. She fumbles for it with stiff, cold fingers, expecting it to be her mother wondering if she’s home yet (never mind that she moved out of her parents’ house and into her own Garrison-issued apartment almost a year ago) only to be greeted with an alert from the weather service.

A flash flood warning for her county of residence.

“This is fine,” Pidge tells herself despite her heart skipping a beat in alarm. She’s never seen it rain this hard and for so long in this corner of Arizona; is a tsunami of muddy water about to wash across the Target parking lot and sweep her and her traitorous car away while she deliberates?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she mumbles, scowling at her rain-streaked reflection in the window. “Tsunamis occur as a result of earthquakes, and I’m nowhere near the coast.”

But what if the dam on the river—

Pidge unlocks her phone and dials the first number on her “recent calls” list without glancing at the contact name. Her leg shakes, but she can’t tell if it’s from agitation or the shivers occasionally gripping her.

“Pidge!” Lance greets her cheerfully at the other end. “How’s it going? Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, but since when do you—”

“Lance,” she cuts himself off, “do you have a jumper cable?” Usually speaking to him on the phone leaves her a tad breathless and her palms so slick with sweat she risks dropping anything she’s holding - why does a simple phone call feel so intimate anyway? It’s weird; she calls her parents and brother on the phone all the time! - but now urgency steadies her voice.

“Right to the point, huh?” Lance muses with a chuckle. “Where are you?”

“Uh…the Target by the state highway two miles off-base,” Pidge tells him.

Lance laughs and wonders, “The peanut butter at the commissary not good enough for you?”

Her face warms - is she really that predictable? - but she muffles an irritated groan with her sleeve. “The commissary’s not open this late.”

“Yeah, I guess you could’ve just walked there too,” he adds.

“In the rain?” Pidge snorts. “I’m not crazy enough to risk pneumonia like you.”

“Hey, sometimes I like the simple things,” Lance says, “and one of those is walking around in the rain.”

As if on cue, the downpour becomes a torrent, the sky dumping buckets of water on her car where she sits huddling in the driver’s seat. “Oh, really?” Pidge retorts, rolling her eyes. “You’d better not walk here unless you want me to use your quintessence as if it’s a thirteen-volt battery.”

“Please, I know you need another car to jumpstart your battery,” Lance says. “And since you asked so nicely, I’ll even bring you my umbrella since I’m guessing you didn’t bother with yours when you left.”

Pidge slumps in her seat, tugging her hood over her face as if he’s there to witness her embarrassment when she admits, “That would be…nice.”

(Too bad an umbrella won’t keep puddles from soaking into her socks.)

“All right, hang tight, Pidge!” Lance says. “I’m already in my car, so I’ll be there in a bit.”

Huh, so some of the rain she hears is on his end. “I’ll be here,” Pidge mumbles, “waiting for you…as usual.”

“Hey, don’t be like that!” he says over the rumbling of his car’s engine. “Your knight-in-shining-armor - your very own Sir Lancelot - is on his way to rescue you!”

“Great!” Pidge says with false cheer. Sure, Lance is coming to get her, but she’s still stranded in the rain after the weather service broadcast a flash flood warning to her phone. “Just don’t die because you’re talking on your phone while driving in the dark during a storm.”

“If the Galra and a bunch of other crazy aliens couldn’t kill me, this won’t.”

Pidge runs her fingers through her rain-soaked ponytail and grumbles, “It better not, so please put your phone away and concentrate on driving.”

“All right, fine,” Lance says, and she can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “I thought you found the sound of my voice soothing or something…”

Ah, right, she told him that a few nights ago when she made the mistake of calling him after a nightmare kept her from falling back to sleep.

"It's not like I'm about to have a panic attack now," Pidge bites.

"You sure you're okay, Pidge?"

The concern in his voice...startles her; is he worried a tsunami will wash her away too?

Well, she already decided that fear is completely irrational, so she forces a smile onto her face and says, "I'm fine now that I know you're on your way, Lance."

"Uh—" He breaks off with a cough before he falls silent, the only sound coming from her phone the low hum of his car's radio.

"Lance?" Pidge prompts. "Are you—"

"Fine!" Lance exclaims brightly. "Great since my car still has a working battery! I'll be there in ten minutes, so see you, Pidge!"

He hangs up without giving her the chance to reply.

Pidge, not a little confused, stares at her phone's screen until it darkens, her brow furrowed. She's known Lance for the better part of a decade, but his behavior can still be such a mystery to her, especially of late. It’s almost as if he l—

Maybe she should just take the direct approach and ask him if anything's eating at him.

Luckily Lance doesn't leave her with enough time to really puzzle over it. His car's headlights flash obnoxiously - the jerk has his high-beams on! - through her windshield as he pulls into the parking spot in front of hers. A heartbeat later the driver's door swings open and Lance steps out, opening a Sailor Moon umbrella.

(She makes a mental note to ask - or tease - him about it later, and she won't take "It's my niece's" for an answer.)

He raises a hand and waves, his face barely discernible through the water splattered on her windshield, but she opens her door when he rounds his car.

The sound of the rain was muffled with her ensconced insider her car, but now it hammers down, pattering against Lance's umbrella and hitting her face as she turns to him.

"Hope you didn't miss me too much," Lance says, voice louder than usual to make himself heard over the rain.

Pidge raises an eyebrow and points out, "I saw you at work on Thursday." Never mind that something in her chest loosens at the sight of the smile - warmer than this quiznaking miserable weather - curling his lips...

"And yet you were desperate enough to drain your battery just for an excuse to call me for help." Lance's smile morphs into a smirk that has the unfortunate side effect of both irritating and endearing her.

Pidge snorts and mutters, "As if I need an excuse." She presses the button to pop her hood open before turning back to Lance. "Where's the jumper cable?"

Lance jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "In my trunk. Just wanted to make sure you were okay first." His gaze drifts over her, making her skin crawl with heat, but then he assesses, "You look a little cold."

Pidge rubs her arms, his comment reminding her of her trembling. "No k-kidding, so can we hurry up and jumpstart my car?"

"Okay, okay." Lance raises the hand not holding onto his umbrella defensively. "I forgot how bossy you are."

"I'm not bossy!" she retorts, but by then he's already retreated to his car, the rain covering up the sound of her voice.

But not the sound of his feet splashing through puddles.

Pidge sighs. What are the odds Lance knows how to jumpstart a car? Will he know on which terminal the black clamp goes? Will she need to show him?

Lance is a pilot; of course he knows how to do something so simple as jumpstarting a car, especially if he owns a jumper cable! But Pidge should step outside and hover near him...just in case.

Pidge winces the instant water soaks into her shoes - she should've worn boots rather than sneakers - but follows Lance to the front of her car. His umbrella handle is tucked awkwardly under his arm while he works on attaching the clamps of the jumper cable to her car's battery, his brow furrowed rather sweetly in concentration, at least until Pidge takes the umbrella.

He glances up in surprise, turning to her with wide eyes before a slow grin stretches over his lips. "For a tick I thought you were going to make me do this alone."

"Maybe if it wasn't raining," Pidge teases. She raises the umbrella over both their heads, huddling under its poor approximation of shelter.

(Lance is a better source of warmth anyway.)

Lance attaches a red clamp to the positive terminal on her car's battery and the black clamp to something metal. She trails after him to his car but can't help wondering, "You shut the ignition off, right?"

Lance frowns at her. "Can't you see the engine isn't on, Pidge?"

She smiles sheepishly and says, "Yes, now that you point it out."

"Then quit micromanaging me."

She shivers as he attaches the remaining two clamps to his car's battery, rain soaking into her clothes despite her efforts to stay under the umbrella. Her cold fingers loosen around the handle, too stiff to hold on properly, and she can't help a relieved shudder when Lance tells her it's time.

Her engine roars into life, a gleeful laugh escaping her when Lance whoops over the sound of two engines and the rain. "Perfect," she mumbles. "Now to let it charge for a few minutes..."

Her engine shudders and dies.

"What?" Pidge exclaims, her heart jumping into her throat. She smacks the steering wheel - as if that'll do any good - and groans, "No..."

A tapping on her window makes her jump, and she opens her door to Lance, sans Sailor Moon umbrella with his hood pulled over his head. "Didn't last, huh?" he observes regretfully.

Pidge shakes her head, slouching. "I'll have to buy a new battery in the morning," she says, "and..." She bites her lip before wondering, "Can you give me a ride home?"

Lance meets her eyes before he smiles and says, "I'll do you one better. You can spend the night at my place, and in the morning I'll take you to buy the battery before bringing you back here."

Pidge's jaw drops, but when she recovers - though her cheeks still feel hot enough to warm the interior of her car if only all the doors were closed - she says, "Lance, you don't have to do that. I can call my dad tomorrow and—"

"So you'll make me drive twice more in the rain?" Lance says, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow - which, frankly, looks absurd with his hair plastered to his head and water dripping down his face. "And one of those times without you to supervise me and make sure I don't commit some atrocity like texting while driving?"

Pidge throws up her hands and asks, "What are you, a teenager who just got his license?"

"Nope." Lance leans down, close enough to her level she can imagine the warmth of his breath touching her forehead. "Just a concerned friend who wants to do you a favor."

"Do you...owe me something?" Pidge wonders suspiciously.

"Come on, Pidge!" Lance rests his hands on her shoulders and shakes her slightly. "Let's have a sleepover like we used to on the Castle! You'll get warm and dry and be able to fall asleep to the sound of my oh-so-soothing voice if you want"—is he...blushing?—"and I'll even feed you. I might even have some hot chocolate mix and bread for you to slap some of that peanut butter onto if you want."

"But...I need pajamas," Pidge protests, though she knows she's already fighting a losing battle. "And a toothbrush—"

"I have an unused one," Lance says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "and I'll lend you something to sleep in. So...what do you say?"

Pidge's jaw flaps uselessly, taking in his hopeful expression and wondering if she can really make an objective decision about this with her heart hammering - does she really want to spend the night with Lance? - and with his obviously faked guilt trip.

"Fine," Pidge grumbles. Lance grins so brightly, his fist pumping, that she can't help a smile of her own.

But that doesn't stop her from warning him, "On one condition: I am not sharing my peanut butter with you."

Lance's car hydroplanes twice on the way to his apartment complex a few blocks from Garrison premises. Pidge holds tight to her seat belt, her heart bouncing in her chest until tires touch wet asphalt again.

Both times, she turns to Lance and socks his shoulder before saying, "Quit trying to kill us!"

Both times, he screeches in indignation and rubs his shoulder before retorting, "Quit trying to kill me!"

Both times, she retorts, "I barely hit you!"

And both times, he snorts before rolling his eyes and smiling with a fondness that makes her heart skip a beat for a reason that has little to do with fear that he'll skid off a cliff or into an overflowing canal.

"Relax!" Lance says after the second time. "I've got this, Pidge. I've driven in the middle of a hurricane before, so this is nothing."

Pidge crosses her arms. "You do know I have your mom's contact information and I can literally call her to fact check that claim?"

Lance laughs but presses a hand to his chest. "Oh, Pidge, you wound me by not trusting your old war comrade's words." When she continues to stare at him with her lips pressed together, utterly unimpressed, he scratches his ear sheepishly and confesses, "Fine, it was just a dying tropical storm, but come on!" He gestures broadly and adds, "We've been in the middle of space dogfights, so this really is nothing."

Pidge, in the end, can't fight her smile at the reminder - for all the misery that all caused her and her family and her planet - but she turns to the rain-streaked passenger window to hide it. "Just keep both hands on the steering wheel," she mumbles.

"As you wish, my dear Pidge," Lance says almost snidely, and she's pleased when he actually listens.

His apartment is familiar - she's visited many times by day or dry evening to play video games or watch a movie while eating takeout from that bizarre "Earth-alien" fusion place on the corner - but the walk from Lance's assigned parking spot to the door on the second floor deck feels long in the downpour.

Before Pidge can open the passenger door, Lance's hand on her arm freezes her. "Wait," he says. "I'll come around with the umbrella so you don't get too wet."

"You don't have to—" But his door shuts behind him, and Pidge barely sets foot outside - right in a puddle that soaks into her sneakers and the hems of her poor leggings - when he's there to greet her.

"By the way," Pidge says as he raises the umbrella over both their heads and she unthinkingly loops her arm through his, "what's with the Sailor Moon?"

Lance flushes, but he hides it well by reaching around her to grab her grocery bag and shove it into her free arm. "It's my, uh, niece's."

Pidge smirks. "I knew you'd say that."

"Let's just go inside," he grumbles.

They hightail it, running awkwardly standing close together under the umbrella before they give up on it and sprint full tilt, splashing through puddles with raindrops hitting her face and soaking into her hair when her hood flies off her head.

Pidge storms up the stairs ahead of Lance, and when her foot nearly slips out from under her, her breath escaping her in shock, he catches her around the waist. But she doesn't pause to consider the imprint of his touch on her, and by the time he unlocks his door and they pile into the warmth of his apartment, Pidge is shivering too violently to do much more than stand in her soaked clothes and tremble.

Lance shucking off his own wet jacket is enough to get her to move. She tugs hers off, handing it to him to hang on a hook from the shower rod in the bathroom, before kicking off her sneakers and peeling off her disgustingly wet socks and sinking her toes into the warm carpet in front of a vent blasting hot air.

Pidge shudders in relief, squatting in front of it as she combs her fingers through her sodden ponytail. She'll have to do something about all the tangles now too...

Lance clears his throat behind her, and she stands to see him handing her a towel and a set of old clothes. "You can, uh, change in the bathroom. I'll be in...the bedroom...changing my own clothes."

"Right." Pidge watches him retreat, his back to her while she admires the way his soaked shirt clings to his shoulders and shows off how the muscles in his back move.

And then he pauses in his bedroom doorway to glance over his shoulder, his eyes widening when they catch hers.

Heat rushes to her face when he turns back around and stretches his arms over his head with a groan before tugging off his shirt.

Pidge spins on her heel and buries her face in the towel he gave her. Did he do that because she was watching?

"Quiznak," she curses, her voice muffled in fabric.

Despite the chill she just escaped, Pidge splashes cold water onto her face once she's safely ensconced in the privacy of the bathroom. She's just here to spend the night, to accept the favor Lance offered her with no strings attached (for now), to maybe chat and play games with him before she catches a few hours of sleep on his surprisingly comfortable sofa.

No, she won't think about running her fingers through his damp hair or tracing the Blue Lion tattoo that peeks out of his shirt collar or feeling his breath warming her face or press her lips against his like she's wanted to do for years.

No, she won't think about damaging almost a decade of friendship for a kiss he might not want.

(But what if he...does?)

Pidge changes into the clothes Lance provided - an old, baggy t-shirt and a pair of soccer shorts with drawstrings she has to tie very securely - and brushes her teeth with a toothbrush she finds under the sink buried in a stockpile of beauty and hygiene products. She leaves her hair in its ponytail and figures it’ll be one problem to tackle in the morning.

She emerges from the bathroom and heads straight for the kitchen, intent on the snack she craved enough to leave her own apartment to drive to Target in the middle of a dreary winter storm. She locates a bag of bread in the fridge and pops two slices in the toaster before shrugging and helping herself to a Granny Smith apple. She cuts it up and dips the slices directly into the jar of peanut butter.

That’s how Lance finds her, sitting on the kitchen counter munching on apple slices and crunchy peanut butter right as the toaster disgorges her burnt toast.

Pidge offers him the jar. “Want some?”

Lance - looking comfortable in a bathrobe over his pajamas - stands across from her and raises an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t sharing with me.”

“I changed my mind out of the kindness of my heart,” she deadpans before her sarcasm fails and she flashes him a smile. She shakes the jar and nods at the toast. “Hope you don’t mind that it’s a little burnt?”

Lance laughs. “Lucky for you, I don’t.” He takes the slices - wincing and gasping “ah!” when they prove too hot - and drops them into a plate before grabbing a knife.

They share their snack quietly, with Lance leaning against the counter beside her. And when it’s a little too much - when his arm brushing against hers makes goosebumps rise across her skin - Pidge blurts, “Thank you.”

Lance turns to her, his eyes wide. “For…what?”

She bites her lip and stares at a fleck of peanut butter stuck to her middle finger. “For coming to get me in the middle of a storm and letting me spend the night even though I live literally ten minutes away.”

Lance smiles when she dares to glance at him. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t invite you over?”

“A…sane one, maybe.”

He snorts and walks off to wash his hands at the sink. “Good thing I’m crazy about you then.”

“Yes, good—” Pidge stares disbelievingly at the back of his head, her breath catching and heat flooding her and…yes, Lance’s ears are definitely turning red. Maybe she misheard her or just misinterpreted him. He can’t possibly have said what she thinks he did. “What?”

She holds her breath as Lance turns to face her, something intense but…familiar in his gaze, almost trapping her in place. Her heart pounds too quickly as he approaches her, one step at a time, every second dragging yet passing so fast when he stands right in front of her too soon.

“Lance,” she says, and she might’ve hated how breathy it sounds if he didn’t capture her lips in his the instant his name escaped them.

He pulls away too soon, barely giving her the chance to reciprocate, but the heat in his eyes and his body so close to hers and her own swirling thoughts and rising emotion make her slow to react, her tongue tied into knots.

Until Lance wonders in a low voice that sends a shiver up her spine, “What’re you thinking, Pidge?”

“How fitting it is that our first kiss tasted like peanut butter,” Pidge says, because for some reason that’s the first thing that popped into her head.

Lance’s jaw drops - obviously he wasn’t expecting that - but then he chuckles and asks, “Why?”

“Because I love peanut butter.” She rests her hands on his shoulders and tugs him closer until he stands between her knees within easy kissing distance.

She takes advantage of it immediately.

Pidge kisses Lance in the way she almost convinced herself she never would, hungrily, with her lips parted over his and her fingers gripping his robe. One of his hands cradles the back of her head, and the other sits on her knee, his finger only just brushing against the bare skin of her thigh under her borrowed shorts.

Her heart races as she tears away to gasp for breath before finally telling Lance, “But I love you more than peanut butter.”

“Oh, good!” exclaims Lance with a dazzling smile that she matches. But he clears his throat and flashes her a smirk. “I mean…my work here is done. I was starting to worry I’d have to break you two up.”

Pidge rolls her eyes but wraps her arms around his neck and laughs while he embraces her around the waist. She threads her fingers through his hair and listens to the sound of his steady breathing, shoving away the memory of a time she feared she’d never hear it again.

Lance shifts just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Is there any way I can convince you to spend the night more often without sabotaging your car?” When Pidge’s eyes widen, he hurriedly adds, “Not that I did this time!”

Pidge giggles and says, “Maybe.”

His lips brush against hers as he murmurs, “Is ‘I love you too’ a good enough reason?”

Pidge’s chest is so warm she wonders how she almost froze in the rain barely an hour ago. She touches Lance’s cheek and says, “Help me replace my car’s battery. Then we’ll talk.”

[hollymartinswrites]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Domestic, Light Angst, Family Feels, Childhood Trauma, Adoption, Kid Fic, Adopted Children, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Marriage, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Are Parents, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Catholicism, Richie Tozier Has Issues, Extended Tozier Family, Medical Examinations, Stephen King References

Summary:

Eddie and Richie embark on the most terrifying experience of all—parenthood. Or, the author desperately needed a domestic, family fix-it for Richie and Eddie and it turned into a much longer, angstier exploration than I expected.

Chapter VII: Eddie struggles while he and Richie search for answers about their daughter. But perhaps there's light in the darkness.

“This is crazy,” Eddie muttered, straightening and walking away from the desk. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”

“Eds, come on,” Richie implored him, turning away from the open laptop screen where Mike’s face gazed up at him. “This is interesting stuff.”

“Interesting but bullshit.”

“You don’t know that,” Richie insisted.

“No, but I do know our daughter isn’t a fucking science experiment,” Eddie declared, whirling around, his hands waving wildly. “This is real life, not that show on Netflix.”

Richie sighed as Mike hurriedly said, “I’m not saying Tess is that, I’m just saying, we have evidence of children with...with…”

“Powers?” Eddie provided, raising an eyebrow. “Like fucking Superman or something? Come the fuck on.”

“Charlie McGee claimed to start exhibiting pyrokinetic abilities as a toddler,” Mike said, flipping through a stack of papers. “It’s all right here in that Rolling Stone article from 1980.”

“And in the same article, it’s explained that her parents were mentally ill drug addicts and that the ‘explosion’ she caused with her mind was from an anti-government terrorist attack, Mike,” Eddie continued. “It says it right there in the link you sent us. Besides, even if this is true, our daughter isn’t exactly setting things on fire with her mind.”

“No, but I did find something that sounds an awful lot like what Tess is doing,” Mike continued.

“She’s doing nothing but being a kid,” Eddie said, exasperated. He looked at Richie. “I’m done with this. You want to stay up all night talking conspiracy theories and thinking our daughter is something out of The X-Files, go ahead, but I’m not listening to anymore of this.”

“Why not?” Richie begged. “How is any of this any crazier than what we went through?”

Eddie closed his eyes and sighed, a prickling of fear spreading through his body. It had to be crazy, it had to be, because if it wasn’t, then Pennywise wasn’t the worst of what this universe was capable of.

“Here,” Mike said suddenly, “I’m sending you some more links.”

A new email appeared in Richie’s inbox and he quickly opened it, clicking the first link. It was an article from an academic journal.

“The fuck’s this?” Richie mumbled, trying to make sense of the scholarly jargon in the first paragraph.

“There’s a girl out there, well, a teenager, and she has exhibited a lot of the same things Tess has done,” Mike explained. “She’s been studied by several different universities and they all admit, no one has given such accurate results in multiple tests.”

“Tests in what?” Richie asked.

“ESP, telepathy, clairvoyance, even astral projection,” Mike said, sounding terribly excited. “And she’s not the only one. She claims there are others like her out there.”

“That’s it,” Eddie groaned, rubbing at his eyes, “I’m going to bed. You and Mike have fun. I’ll handle the Tooth Fairy tonight since you’re so busy.”

Richie waved his hand distractedly as he squinted at the screen, clearly engrossed with the article. Eddie rolled his eyes, said good night to Mike, and walked out of their home office. He glanced at his watch. It was near midnight. He hadn’t stayed up this late on purpose in a long fucking time.

Quietly, he inched into Lydia’s room and reached into his pocket for his wallet. She was fast asleep, starfished on her bed, and Eddie allowed himself a relieved smile. He glanced at her nightstand, on which sat a piece of paper with the words FOR THE TOOTH FAIRY written on it in crayon with an arrow pointing to said tooth. Eddie was once again grateful he had had the forethought years ago to insist that the Tooth Fairy was too busy to go digging under pillows all night. Quickly, he slipped the dollar bill in the tooth’s place and, just a quickly, crept out of her room and down the hall.

He passed the office, and could hear Richie and Mike talking behind the closed door. His shoulders drooped, and he fought the desire to walk in there and demand Richie stop freaking himself out and come to bed. But Eddie had the sneaking suspicion Richie needed this, even if it was all bullshit.

And it had to be. It was bad enough they lived in a world where an ageless entity from space could terrorize children, erase their memories, and know their deepest fears. Eddie had to draw the line somewhere. Superheroes, magic, whatever, didn’t exist. His daughter was just that; his daughter. A little girl...with just an odd ability that had to have a somewhat rational explanation.

He opened his hand and gazed down at the tooth in his palm. He sighed, went to their closet, and found the leather travel bag. He unzipped it, took out the tiny jar, unscrewed the top and placed the tooth in it. He returned the jar and bag back to the closet. He still found it a somewhat creepy practice to keep their daughter’s baby teeth but Richie had insisted it was totally normal (“Besides, she can make a necklace out of them when she gets older, Eds!”).

Eddie closed the closet door and turned towards the bed. It looked terribly inviting. He was about halfway to collapsing in it when the door creaked open, and a little face peeked through.

“Tess?” he said softly. He headed to the door and opened it fully. “What are you doing up, sweetheart? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice thin.

“What is it?” he asked, crouching down. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Her mouth fell open, and for a split second, Eddie thought she was about to vomit. Instead, she slumped, as if she was a marionette whose strings had just been cut. She remained standing, but her eyes dimmed and her body appeared boneless.

“Tess? Tess, answer me,” Eddie said firmly, gripping her little arms as cold fear gripped his heart. “Tess, sweetheart, look at me. Answer me.”

A great shuddering gasp escaped her and this time, her legs gave out fully. He gathered her into his arms and stood, repeating her name desperately.

“Daddy,” she repeated, slurring slightly and her head lolling, “Papa’s...get ‘im.”

“Tess, baby, just breathe with me and keep your eyes open, okay?” Eddie hurried to the office and kicked open the door. Richie jumped and immediately paled when he saw Tess languid in his arms.

“Oh, God, Tess, Tess,” he gasped, rushing up to his husband and daughter. “Tess, look at me, please, kiddo.” “Get your car keys, and wake Lydia, we’re taking her back to the hospital,” Eddie said, shifting her in his arms.

Tess turned her bleary gaze to Richie. She reached out for him.

“Papa,” she mumbled.

“I’m right here, baby,” Richie said, his voice thick, taking her little face in his shaking hands.

“You…” she shuddered, blinked, and all at once, was their daughter again, her eyes clear and her voice strong. She burst into tears. “You almost flew away!” she wailed, as she all but launched herself out of Eddie’s arms and threw her own around Richie’s neck. Both men stumbled.

“Tess, I…” Richie looked at Eddie over her head, his own eyes wide and frightened. “I’m right here. It’s okay, kiddo, I’m right here. Are you alright? Does your head hurt or something?”

“Don’t fly away,” she begged through tears.

“Hold her,” Eddie said and maneuvered her into Richie’s arms. “I’m starting the car. We’re going to the hospital.”

“What was that?” Richie demanded over Tess’s sobs. “Another seizure?”

“I don’t know what it was,” Eddie said. “But I’m not waiting for another one.”

Pennywise couldn’t have been all-knowing, Eddie realized, because if It had, It would’ve shown Eddie and Richie this—their daughter sedated and lying, helpless and vulnerable, on the table before the yawning mouth of an MRI machine. This was worse than the leper or Paul Bunyan’s grinning razor-sharp teeth; worse than losing your childhood memories—because now, now they were really fucking helpless.

“It’ll take about ten days before we get the results back,” the neurologist explained. “And she’ll definitely be feeling the effects of the sedation afterwards. She should spend the next twenty-four hours resting.”

“Neither of us are working today,” Eddie muttered, clutching the shitty, cold coffee a nurse had given him earlier. He glanced back at Richie, but he was clearly lost inside his own head and not listening. He was sitting in a seat against the wall as they waited for the procedure to finish. Lydia—poor, patient Lydia who had been woken up in the middle of the night and thrilled by the sight of a dollar bill on her night stand, only to be told to put on her shoes, they were going to the hospital—was curled up, asleep in his lap, his jacket around her protectively.

Eddie sighed and rubbed at his forehead. The MRI technician smiled sympathetically at him.

“I know it seems to take forever,” he said, “but we’re nearly done.”

Eddie nodded. He was familiar with the process, having gone through it when the migraines became too much. Myra had insisted on second and third opinions. Eddie clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. The idea of Tess waking up after an MRI only to have Myra, or worse, his mother, waiting for her turned his stomach.

“How can she sleep through all that banging?” Richie muttered suddenly. Eddie remembered that Richie had never even seen an MRI machine until now.

“It’s loud, I know,” the technician said gently, “but between the earplugs and sedation, she doesn’t notice a thing.”

If he had said that to make them feel better, it only did the opposite. Eddie stood and stepped towards Richie, brushing his husband’s hair off his forehead.

“You need a haircut,” he muttered.

Richie glanced up and somehow, smiled.

“That’s the least of what I need right now,” he sighed.

Eddie leaned down and kissed the top of his head, uncaring that the technician was less than three feet away. Richie smiled again and for a moment, Eddie thought that if he could keep Richie smiling, then maybe they could get through this.

Recovery rooms had always been Eddie’s least favorite part of a hospital. He hated the waiting, the fact that you were trapped with other patients, that you had virtually no privacy. But now, he especially hated that they were surrounded by other children and their families, all nervous and on-edge.

Tess was one of the lucky ones. She hadn’t gone through surgery, but the doctor still wanted her to sufficiently recoup from the sedation before she went home. Richie and Eddie were miserable.

Eddie sighed and shifted Lydia, still sleeping, in his arms. Richie had needed a break and also desperately wanted to hold Tess’s hand as she slept. Eddie remembered how despondent he had been when he had woken up after surgery in Derry, only to discover he was the one patient in the recovery room without any visitors waiting for him. It was only later that he discovered the doctors had not allowed a single Loser in, seeing as they were not family and not listed as an emergency contact. Luckily, Mike knew one of the nurses, and when Eddie was transferred back to his own room, they were all there, beaming at him—except for Richie,who still looked terrified, as if certain he was gazing at a mirage.

“She looks so tiny,” Richie suddenly whispered.

Eddie blinked and turned his gaze to his youngest daughter, her little chest rising and falling steadily. He nodded.

“Even tinier than when we first got her,” he agreed.

“She was underweight,” Richie continued, his thumb running over her little hand. “Remember how light she was?”

Eddie nodded again and rested his cheek on the top of Lydia’s head. He closed his eyes and immediately saw Tess in their doorway, hours earlier. He sighed.

“She looked like you,” he whispered. Richie turned towards him, confusion on his face. “During her seizure tonight. She looked like you when you were caught…” he lowered his voice, “when you were in the deadlights.”

Richie swallowed.

“Maybe that’s what she saw,” he replied quietly.

“The deadlights?”

“No, me,” Richie said, reaching with his other hand to stroke Tess’s hair. “She said, don’t fly away. Maybe she saw me in the deadlights, too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie noticed movement. He glanced over, and spotted a nurse hovering across the room, who quickly looked away. Eddie frowned. He doubted the nurse could overhear them, but he felt nervousness form in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he was a fan of Richie’s, but surely no nurse would dare approach him in a recovery room, right?

“Eddie, that girl Mike told us about,” Richie whispered, his eyes wide, “I think you should read what he sent.”

“Rich, not now, please.”

“It sounds like...like this is real. She’s seeings things from before she was born. How is that possible?”

Eddie spotted the nurse again, who was making quite a show of reading a chart a few beds away. Eddie frowned.

“Can we at least wait for the MRI results before we jump to conclusions?” he begged.

Richie followed his gaze and spotted the hovering nurse, too. He swallowed and looked back down at their sleeping daughter.

“Alright, Eds,” he sighed. “Whatever you say.”

The next ten days went by in a blur of family visits and constant check-ins from the Losers. Apparently when a small child gets her brain scanned, it’s all hands on deck. Richie’s parents and sister babysat, brought food, and distracted the girls while Eddie and Richie walked around in a daze, waiting for the results that could potentially change their lives.

Mike Facetimed everyday, never bringing up any of his research, but simply listening. Bill, stuck in Europe with limited wifi on a movie shoot, sent goofy videos and uplifting emails when he could. Bev called multiple times a day and Ben fucking flew in, because he was just that sort of kind-hearted bastard.

“Bev can’t get away from work until Sunday,” he explained gently. The results were due to come in on Friday. “She wanted to be here.”

“It’s fine,” Richie said, faking a smile. “You guys are acting like this is a wedding. We’re just getting a bunch of paperwork telling us what the fuck is going on in our daughter’s brain. No big deal.”

Ben offered one of his patented You’re making jokes about being sad and that’s sad faces and Richie just shrugged.

“We’re glad you’re here,” Eddie admitted softly. “Besides, Lydia’s thrilled.”

“That’s true,” Richie said, “Lyds loves you, Ben. I think she wants you and Bev to adopt her.”

Ben laughed gently and ran a hand through his hair.

“Tess still needs to warm up to me,” he said.

“Tess still needs to warm up to me,” Richie shot back.

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“She adores you, Rich,” he said, brewing another pot of coffee. “She even lets you read to her now.”

“Yeah, Berenstain Bears, not Dr. Seuss,” Richie muttered. “I hate the fucking Berenstain Bears.”

Ben laughed and squeezed Richie’s shoulder affectionately.

“Having kids seems a lot more complicated than I thought,” he admitted.

“Trust me, man, you have no idea,” Richie said, scrubbing his hand over his face.

Friday came in a blink. Ben and Richie’s sister Sarah watched the girls while Richie and Eddie went to get the results. They drove together in tense silence, waited in the waiting room silently, and when they were finally called into the office, still said very little.

Later, Eddie would realize that for something that caused such overwhelming anxiety for so long, it was all very anticlimactic. The results showed nothing in Tess’s brain. Once again, the doctor insisted there was no physical reason for her apparent seizures. It was good news...right?

As they walked out, stunned and exhausted, both men were lost in their own thoughts. Eddie felt weak with relief but he still couldn’t get the image of his daughter in that MRI machine. Time to make another appointment with his therapist, he figured.

By the time he reached the door, he suddenly realized Richie was not beside him. He turned around and spotted Richie down the hall, hurrying after him.

“Where were you?” Eddie asked tiredly.

“Nowhere, nothing,” Richie said quickly. “Let’s go home.”

“Rich?”

“I wanna see the girls,” Richie continued, rushing through the doors.

Eddie sighed and shook his head, following his husband.

“But that’s good news!” Ben exclaimed when they got home. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” Eddie said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, she has nothing physically wrong in her brain so thank God. But we still don’t have clear answers.”

Sarah frowned and shook her head.

“There has to be one,” she insisted. “Did they talk about medication or anything?”

“A bit,” Eddie sighed. “I just...something about it feels wrong. I can’t explain it.”

“What does Richie think?” Ben asked.

“I...I don’t know,” Eddie admitted.

“Where is Richie?” Sarah asked, suddenly looking around her. She peeked into the living room where Lydia was playing with the Wii. “Lyds, did you see where your dad went?”

“I think he’s in Tess’s room,” she answered. “Aunt Sarah, it’s your turn to play. You promised.”

“I know but—”

“Please,” Lydia begged, putting on her best puppy dog eyes.

Sarah sighed but smiled affectionately. “Duty calls,” she said, and walked into the living room.

“I should go check on Richie,” Eddie said tiredly.

“Sure,” Ben said before placing his arm on Eddie’s shoulder. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but is there something else going on? Like, you and Richie don’t seem...yourselves.”

Eddie tried to offer a smile but Ben saw right through it. He looked genuinely concerned and Eddie had to admit, it was nice to have someone else worry, too.

“It’s fine, we’re just...figuring this out,” he admitted softly. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked down the hall and knocked on Tess’s half-opened door. He peeked in. Richie was sitting on her bed with Tess on his knee, speaking quietly to her.

“You two okay?” he asked.

“Eds, come here,” Richie said quickly. “And close the door.”

Eddie did so with a sense of unease. He stepped towards the bed and gazed down at his husband and daughter expectantly. Richie turned back to Tess.

“Now, kiddo, tell Daddy what you told me,” he said gently. “Just the same.”

“Okay,” Tess said, shrugging as she looked up at Eddie. “‘Member when I fell down?”

Eddie huffed a laugh.

“Yes, I definitely remember that, sweetheart,” he said.

“Well,” Tess began, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, “I fell because Papa fell and it hurted.”

“Papa fell?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Yep, he was flying,” she said. She turned back to Richie. “How come you don’t fly at home?”

Richie shook his head.

“Because I can’t really fly,” he admitted.

“But you did in the cave.”

“I wasn’t flying,” Richie explained gently. “I was floating.”

A wave of nausea rolled in Eddie’s stomach.

“Richie, stop this,” he insisted.

“Wait, listen, go on, Tess. Tell Daddy the rest.”

“Daddy saved you,” she said, shrugging. “And then Daddy got hurted. And you was sad but now it’s okay.”

“Yes, it’s all okay now,” Richie agreed, kissing her on her forehead. “Why did Daddy float?”

“‘Cause of the light. Aunt Bev saw it, too,” she answered nonchalantly. “Can I have a snack?”

“Of course you can,” Richie said happily, hugging her tightly before placing her on her feet. “Go on, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Ben are in the kitchen.”

She rushed out. Richie and Eddie stared at one another.

“You can’t deny it, Eds,” Richie said, his voice oddly light. “She sees our past. I don’t know how or why, but she does.”

Eddie swallowed and suddenly realized his hands were shaking. He closed them into fists.

“It?” he whispered.

Richie shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “This is something else. Like something you’re born with.”

“Richie…”

“And earlier, at the hospital, a nurse stopped me,” he said, standing and reaching into his pocket. “He was in the recovery room with us last week. I saw him looking over at us and I thought he was just being a dick but he heard us. He stopped me on our way out today and gave me this.”

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out and handed it to Eddie. Eddie looked down at an unfamiliar name.

“What’s this supposed to be?” he asked.

“He said he used to work with this guy, he has what Tess has,” Richie said excitedly.

“For fuck’s sake,” Eddie sighed. “This could just be a crazy person. That nurse could be a crazy person.”

“His name is in one of the articles Mike sent us,” Richie insisted. “About that girl.”

“And? What are we supposed to do about it?”

“We can reach out to them.”

“No fucking way,” Eddie said, raisng his voice in shock. “You wanna read articles or look up theories on the Internet, fucking fine, but there is no way we are opening ourselves to some fucking lunatics. Especially when it comes to our daughter.”

“I’m not saying we introduce Tess to them, I’m saying we ask some questions.”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie hissed.

“So what do you want to do?” Richie asked angrily. “Wait around until this happens again? Throw some meds at her and hope for the best?”

Eddie threw his hands up and turned away.

“This is crazy, Rich, totally fucking crazy,” he gasped.

“Eds—”

A knock at the door. Ben stuck his head in.

“You guys want lunch or something?” Ben asked gently. “Tess and Lyds are hungry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, taking a deep breath. “We’ll be right there.”

He nodded, gave a penetrating look at his two friends, and left. Richie stood and gazed down at Eddie, his eyes soft. He took Eddie’s face in his hands, caressing his cheekbones with this thumbs.

“We need to figure this out,” he whispered, “and I can’t do it alone.”

Eddie sighed, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. He didn’t see Richie smile but he felt it in his kiss.

Life went back to normal—or as normal as it ever was in the Tozier household. Bev still offered to fly out but there wasn’t any point, so after thanking him profusely and offering to visit soon, Richie and Eddie sent Ben back home to his wife. He looked oddly reluctant to leave, but he hugged his two friends tightly and told them he loved them before his flight. Eddie caught Richie blinking rapidly before turning away.

Sarah still visited often, along with Richie’s mother, but they had their own responsibilities, too. And, as far as the medical world as concerned, Tess was physically fine.

Soon, they had less than a week until the new school year, and the Tozier family was busy. Last minute supplies had to be bought, schedules finalized, Tess reassured constantly about the safety and fun of preschool, and teachers informed about her seizures. The preschool took the information well, and assured them that they had plenty of experience with children with epilepsy. Richie and Eddie considered explaining that Tess did not have that, but let it go. Perhaps it was easier to pretend she had an ordinary diagnosis.

Lydia and Tess’s first days started together and, in an effort to make the preschool drop off as easy and meltdown-free as possible, Richie volunteered to take Tess alone. She’d still freak out but it wouldn’t be as violent if Eddie was there, they figured. Eddie agreed reluctantly. He hated the idea of his daughter breaking down at the front steps of the preschool, but he hated the idea of missing her first day even more.

“I’ll film everything,” Richie promised. “It’s only for half a day, anyway.”

Eddie nodded and finished packing her snacks and blanket. Lydia was practically vibrating with excitement, showing off her back to school outfits and re-organizing her Batman backpack. She was, both men had to admit, better at distracting and empowering Tess than they were. She spent their last day of summer vacation going on and on about the excitement of school, of how much fun she has with her friends and the nice teachers, and when Tess starts kindergarten next year, she’ll just love it.

Tess listened carefully and asked many questions. Lydia, always a fan of being in charge and all-knowing, was in her element. Eddie smiled and felt his heart twist as he watched his two daughters. Perhaps everything will be okay, he thought hopefully.

That night, he and Richie helped the girls wash up, change into their pjs, lay out their first day clothes, and climb into bed. Lydia needed very little encouragement and simply kissed them both good night before asking for her copy of Ramona Quimby, Age 8, and promising not to stay up late reading. They left her room, content in the knowledge that Lydia was quite fearless and adept at rolling with the punches.

In their younger daughter’s room, Richie tucked Tess into her bed, her night light on and her eyes heavy. Eddie brushed her hair from her face and she smiled sleepily.

“You���re going to have a great day tomorrow,” he said gently.

“Yeah, you’re going to have so much fun,” Richie agreed. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Tess yawned.

“Yep,” she said, “a good day.”

“And you’re so smart and brave,” Richie continued. “You’re gonna blow everyone away tomorrow.”

“I know,” Tess replied, rubbing at her eye with the back of her hand. “‘M not scared. ‘M not scared of anything anymore.”

“Good,” Eddie said, impressed. Lydia should become a motivational speaker, he thought briefly. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Nope,” Tess replied. “The nice girl showed me.”

Unease, like a blanket, fell over Richie and Eddie. They glanced at one another, both frozen. Richie licked his lips and swallowed before asking, “What girl?”

“The girl who visited me,” she yawned. “She showed me lots.”

“What did she show you?” Eddie whispered, terrified of the answer.

“Magic,” Tess replied, closing her eyes. “She says I’m magic, too.”

“Tess…”

She smiled as her breathing slowly evened out, and they knew she was falling asleep.

“She says I shine like her,” Tess whispered.

[hoodoo12]

And So It Begins (1/?)

Thanks for all the nice notes about my Orcish writings. I’ve had a few questions about how it all started; here it is. 

SFW. Orc/human, mild violence this chapter. Aesthetic header by the always delightful, too sweet for this world @rixxy8173571m3w1p3! Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Orcs weren’t common in your tiny village, but you saw them occasionally passing by on the road. It’d be a war party of three or four or five, being loud and scaring the chickens and old women before walking on. Rare times they’d stop and drink all the mead Brond had put aside. Nine times out of ten they paid him in gold, so he didn’t complain too much about it.

The only Orc you saw on a more regular basis was never with a group. He never walked the road either; he came through the forest, carrying meat, furs, and leather to sell or trade.

You spent a considerable amount of time in the woods foraging and wondered where he lived. He never seemed to follow the same path twice, and despite his size he moved so stealthily through the underbrush that he didn’t leave much evidence of his passing. With his skills, it was no wonder he was a good hunter.

On a recent excursion into the forest, you hummed tunelessly to yourself as you collected the flowers your mother had sent you for. On your hands and knees, you picked the tiny blossoms and put them into your basket. These particular plants only grew where the sun broke through the canopy overhead, so you had to move from spot to spot to find enough. You also made sure to leave enough flowers at each clump so they could continue to propagate in the future.

Picking your head up, you looked to see where the next patch could be found. It was close enough by that you didn’t want to go through the effort of standing up just to crouch again, so you simply crawled to it. On your way, under a rotting log, you found a few pale, lavender spotted toadstools.

The toadstools themselves weren’t valuable, but they did herald the location of deeper tubers that had medicinal purpose for nausea, so you grinned to yourself and began digging. The loam of the forest floor was soft, and after only a few minutes you found your prize: dark brown tubers that looked like nothing important. Your mother would be pleased with them. Wiping your hair out of your face, you set them deep in your basket, under the blossoms you’d already collected.

Adjusting the basket and shrugging your bow back to a more comfortable spot across your shoulders, you continued to the next patch of flowers that had been your original goal.

There, the process of picking them was automatic. The birdsong that filled the forest was background noise, until suddenly, you realized it was gone. You picked your head up again, suddenly wary, when a loud grunt startled you.

Your first instinct was to duck and stay small. The grunt turned to a bellow, which made you think your decision was the right one, but then you could hear words.

“Fuckin’ no good dirty orc! Gonna be a good day to put you down like the animal you are!”

There was another bellow, followed by the unmistakable sounds of fighting: grunts of pain, weapons clashing, and men--another man, a man who wasn’t the first voice you heard--taunting and shouting encouragement to each other.

“Git ‘im! Git ‘im good!”

“Take that, tusk-face!”

The Orc they were fighting didn’t speak at all. The only noise you heard from the Orc was continued grunts and the occasional growl.

On your hands and knees, you scrambled behind the nearest tree trunk. You wanted no part in a fight. Was the Orc a bandit? Had the men been tracking the Orc, and finally found him? Would you have been attacked, since you hadn’t been paying much attention to your surroundings?

Despite a part of your brain screaming at you to stay still and keep hiding, you couldn’t help carefully peeking around the tree trunk. It wasn’t easy to see everything that was happening, due to the trees, but you caught glimpses of the fight. Two men, swinging swords, dancing forward and back, continuing to taunt the massive Orc caught between them. There was so much movement between the three of them it was hard to tell if any of them had been actually injured yet, or if the Orc had so far managed to hold his own against them.

Flanked, the Orc was trapped between the two men. If he tried to move towards one, the other was on him. If he tried to move backwards in an attempt to keep both of them in his sight, not only did they move with him but the trees hindered him. One of the men rushed forward, swinging his broadsword; the Orc barely had time to block with his mace in a clanging, metal-on-metal cacophony that hurt your ears.

The move was jarring enough to throw the man off balance. Before the Orc could press his advantage, however, he roared and arched his back in obvious pain, grabbing onto a tree to keep on his feet. An arrow hung loosely in his back, high on his shoulder. The Orc grabbed it and yanked it out. Blood flowed from the wound, making his arm red and slick.

Several things dawned on you as you got your first good look at the Orc: first, there was another man somewhere nearby with a bow, and second, you knew this Orc. It was the hunter who came into your village occasionally. He wasn’t a bandit.

The men were.

The Orc dropped to his knee with one hand scrabbling down the tree trunk he’d been holding. Your hands went to your mouth to cover your gasp. He looked beaten, his head hanging, his torso heaving with panting breath. The wound from the projectile wasn’t deep or fatal; the arrow must have been poisoned--

One of the swordsmen walked forward, hefting his broadsword to swing.

“Fuckin’ animal,” he spit, while his companion cried out,

“He’s faking!”

Before the first could process what his comrade had said, the Orc exploded upward, catching him with a large hand by his hide armor high on his chest. His grip and the position of the man’s arms gave him no opportunity to swing his sword. The Orc drove his head into the man’s and instantly the man became a ragdoll. He flopped bonelessly and the Orc dropped him, swinging his mace with a movement that could be described as casual.

The wet crunching noise as he planted it into the man’s skull made you flinch.

The other swordsman gave a wail of anger. The Orc spun to face him. He’d opened a small wound on his forehead when he’d headbutted the man, and blood flowed into his eye, but he ignored it. Snarling wordlessly, he rushed to meet the man who’d attacked him.

Faintly, you could hear a zipping noise and realized the person with a bow was still firing arrows. Because of the tree cover and the fact the Orc and swordsman were moving, none of the arrows met their mark, but if they did, it could be a decisive turn against the Orc in the fight. While he was preoccupied with the man before him with the sword, it wouldn’t take much for the bowsman to move around and get a solid shot on him.

Dragging your eyes away from the noisy, active fight still in front of you, you glanced around to try and locate the person with the bow. In a few moments, you were able to pinpoint about where the arrows seemed to originate from. The archer kept moving, but slowly.

The fight between Orc and man was louder, even if the man had stopped talking. There was the awful sound of metal striking metal, and grunts of exertion. It drew your attention back to it, and you watched the Orc use his superior reach to swing his mace low and shatter the man’s legs. Screaming, the man went down. Before the Orc could deliver a final blow, however, another arrow flew past his ear. He ducked.

More arrows came, and faster. The archer had stopped walking. Those projectiles were bound to hit their mark soon--

Without consciously realizing what your hands were doing, you’d slipped your own small bow off your back. You dug an arrow from the quiver you’d buried at the bottom of your basket, fitted it on the string, and, taking a deep breath, stepped to the side of the tree trunk that had been giving you cover. 

Praying that you weren’t wrong about where you’d last seen the archer, you pulled back the string and let your arrow loose.

A man’s voice cried out in sharp pain.

The arrows stopped.

You ducked behind the tree again, shaking, clutching your bow so hard your fingers hurt. You should get another arrow ready, you should find the small knife you carried to cut stronger plants--it wasn’t much, it wasn’t sharp, but it was better than nothing--you should have run away when you had the chance! You squeezed your eyes shut and wished you had the money to buy or the skill to make an invisibility potion. As neither of those were true, you stayed as still as possible, like a frightened rabbit.

The man the Orc took down was still crying in pain. Another crushing, wet sound brought his sobs to a halt. You heard the Orc push through the underbrush and further away, there was the same definitive sound; he must have made sure the archer was dead too. Then you heard him tromping back, coming closer, closer--

When you dared to open your eyes again, the Orc was glaring down at you. His face and upper arm were covered in blood. He was still breathing heavily from the fight, and his grip on his mace was solid. His nostrils flared, and you didn’t think it was from simply catching his breath. The head of the weapon he held dripped blood slowly, and for some reason, that caught your attention and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. It had to hurt to be hit by a mace. You hoped the pain would only be a second’s worth before you died.

With a huffing breath, the Orc relaxed an iota and wiped his free hand over his face to smear the blood from his eye.

“Thank you,” he said in a deep voice.

You jumped, and cautiously looked up.

“The archer had steel arrows. Do you want them? They’re higher quality than the iron one you used. He had a dagger too.”

It took a moment to wrap your head around what he was saying.

“Um, uh, yes, I suppose . . .”

The Orc looked down at you a moment longer. Blood still oozed from the wound on his head. With another huff, he turned and began walking away, back towards the dead men.

As he did, you snapped out of your stupor and scrambled up.

“Wait, wait!” you called after him.

He paused.

“You’re hurt,” you said, as if he didn’t know. “Was that arrow that hit you poisoned? Your head hasn’t stopped bleeding.”

“Head wounds bleed a long time,” he replied. “And no, the arrow wasn’t poisoned. It nicked me but it’s not too deep. It was a bad shot.”

“Can I . . .” you started. Like your hands readying your bow, you had no clue what your mouth meant to say. Then you steeled yourself to continue. “Can I help you? I saw you pull it out and make a bigger hole in your shoulder. It’ll be hard to clean it by yourself.”

The Orc gave you an appraising look. He looked over his shoulder and flexed it as if to test how injured he actually was. The movement caused fresh blood to stream from the injury again, and he grudgingly agreed.

You smiled, a little, at him. “I saw some comfrey growing. I’ll go get it. There’s a stream that way--I will meet you there.”

He grunted what sounded like an agreement and you hurried off to find the plant you’d passed by earlier. You hadn’t thought to collect it; it grew commonly enough that your mother had a good supply of it. The tinture she made would be most helpful, but you knew enough that a quick poultrice would be useful too. Quickly you found and collected the leaves you needed and rushed back.

The Orc was sitting near the stream. He was taking the time to wash his weapon instead of cleaning his wounds. His blood had started to dry and crust on his skin and his tunic, turning to a darker color as it did.

You went to his side and he startled, a deep growl vibrating in his throat while he brought his mace up. You yelped in surprise and held your hands out.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you!” you babbled.

His eyes held yours but he relaxed. You noticed he didn’t release the mace even as he rested it on the ground.

Catching your breath, you told him that you needed to clean the wound on his shoulder, then you could pack it with comfrey. You had spied some lamb’s ear and collected it too; it would make a passable bandage . You held out all the plant material you’d collected for him to see, and with a hesitant nod, he agreed.

You scooped water from the stream and carefully let it drip over his shoulder. Even though the water was cold, he was stoic. Without a cloth to wipe him, took a bit of time to clean it properly.

You’d never been this close to an Orc before; to your surprise, what you’d been told wasn’t true. He didn’t smell like an animal, just sweat like any other man. The hair on the sides of his head had been shorn close; the hair he’d left long as a topknot had been woven into a thick plait that hung down his back. His skin was green, but not flat and uniform in color. You saw darker freckling and older wounds that had healed into paler scars on his arms. You wondered if the wound he’d given himself on his forehead would be a pale mark eventually, too. This arrow injury, because he yanked it out so roughly, was going to leave a puckered scar when it filled in.

Since you were attending his should and were slightly behind him, you could only see a bit of his face. His jaw was heavy and his tusks jutted out like a boar’s, but there was no mistaking it was humanoid too. His tongue was startling pink when he licked his lips.

You talked as you worked. He didn’t respond much, just huffs and wordless noises. You told him about foraging in the woods, how your mother worried but there was no one else to help her, that you did the best you could for the two of you--

“What of your father?” he asked, interrupting your talk.

You shrugged, even though he didn’t see it. “He’s dead. Been gone a long time, before I could really help out around the house. I can barely remember him. Neither my mother or father’s kin live nearby. Everyone moves to a larger village or town than stay in the village, so we’re on our own.”

He didn’t reply to that.

The wound was finally clean. It was jagged and the edges of his skin were white, but it continued to ooze slowly. That was a good sign, you told him. Quickly you chewed the comfrey leaves to mush and packed the hole with them, then used the soft lamb’s ears’ leaves to cover it. It would do until he could tend to it properly.

The Orc let you gently wash his face too, with a remaining lamb’s ear. You tried hard--and were successful, you thought--to not stare at his tusks. His eyes were dark and watched you intently.

The minor cut he’d opened on his forehead that finally stopped bleeding by the time you’d finished cleaning it.

Nursing care complete, you pressed a clump of unused comfrey leaves into his hand and told him to apply another poultice later, once the first had dried. Bandaging his shoulder properly would help it heal faster too.

He escorted you back passed the three dead men, to where you’d left your basket. Collecting it, you turned to pick your way back home. Something occurred to you, however, and you stopped. “I didn’t learn your name,” you said.

The Orc considered you a moment longer, then replied in a low voice tinged with pride. “I am Grar, of Clan Dushnikh. My Clan is prosperous and fierce and blessed by the hand of Malacath. Our stronghold lies to the south and west of here.”

His answer seemed rather ceremonious and formal. You smiled at the stiffness of it and tossed him your name and where you lived lightly, without the pomp, then left him to head home.

tbc . . .

[turtle-steverogers]

Ralbert for #20 please?

hi i asked for these requests like a week ago and then ignored them til now so yeah

anyway this sucks, sorry.  

warnings: hospitals, implied suicide attempt, scars mentioned

ship: ralbert

word count: idk, a fair amount

-

20.  ...On a scar

“Pull in there.”

Albert frowned, pressing on the brake briefly and putting on his turn signal.

“Into...that train station?” He asked, turning a questioning eye on Race.

“Yes,” Race was staring pointedly out the front windshield, his eyes flickering over the parking lot wildly.  His hands were drawn in close to his body, nimble fingers fiddling anxiously with the buttons on his jacket.  

Albert pursed his lips, easing the car into the train station and cruising around the empty parking lot for a moment before pulling into a space.  

The train station itself was outdoors and held a strange sort of energy, the usually hectic vibe completely absent in the late hours of the night.  It was peaceful and if it weren’t for the events of that afternoon, Albert would have turned on some music and enjoyed the atmosphere.

“I owe you an explanation for earlier,” Race was speaking firmly, as if it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to talk.

Albert swallowed, glancing at him, but Race’s gaze never met his.  He was ashamed.

“If it’s too much…” Albert began.

Race shook his head, “No, I...I should.”

“Okay,” Albert nodded, “Yeah, what happened back there?”

Race took a deep breath, finally looking at him.

That Afternoon

“I think we need to get you to a hospital,” Albert murmured, kneeling in front of Race, who was sitting against a grimy brick wall, heading hanging low between his knees.  Blood was dripping smoothly from his nose and a gash on his temple, where glass could still be seen poking from the wound.

His eyes were screwed shut, pained hums escaping his lips every few seconds.  Apparently, picking fights with random assholes in bars wasn’t a good idea and might end up with one getting hit rather hard in the temple with a bottle, several times in a row.  Race swore he hadn’t blacked out for a couple seconds, because really, he hadn’t, but Albert wasn’t convinced.  Just like he wasn’t convinced that Race didn’t have a concussion.

Race’s state turned from barely conscious to wildly alert in a matter of seconds as his head whipped up at Albert’s words, eyes widening for a moment before scrunching up again.  Albert’s eyebrows furrowed, Race’s sudden change in demeanor sending a shocked pang through his chest- as if warning bells were ringing resolutely.

“No,” Race slurred, resting his head against the wall, “M’fine, Albie.”

“You’re bleeding from several places and probably concussed, I wouldn’t call that fine,” Albert reasoned, grabbing Race’s forearms and hoisting him up, much to Race’s dismay, “C’mon, there’s one a few blocks away.”

Race struggled in his grip, pulling away clumsily.  He opened his eyes completely, fixing Albert with an unsettling look, fear glistening just beneath the surface.

“No, Al, I don’t wanna,” he whined, taking another step back.

Albert frowned, shaking his head, “Race, it’s alright.  I’m sure you’re okay, I just wanna- whoa,” Albert stepped forward to steady Race as he swayed, head lolling for a moment, “Okay, yeah, we’re definitely getting you to a hospital now.”

“Don’t need to,” Race said, “Don’t want to.”

“Well, you don’t have a choice,” Albert said, a certain authority taking over his tone.

Race seemed to weak to fight it any further, and Albert held him upright as he hailed a taxi, knowing they were too far from their own car to walk.  Besides, the parking garage they’d parked in was in the opposite direction from the hospital.  

After a few minutes, a taxi drove up and helped Race in.  Race immediately rested his head against Albert’s shoulder and Albert watched as he covered his ears, no doubt to block out painful noise.  He was definitely concussed.  

When they arrived at the hospital, Albert tapped Race’s chin, reluctantly rousing him.  Race blinked his eyes open and he looked around, confused.

“Where’re we?” He asked as Albert unbuckled him, helping him out of the car.  Race’s head lifted and he winced when he took in the bright sign at the head of the hospital doors.  Immediately, his grip on Albert’s bicep tightened, “No, no, no.  I told you I’m fine,” he rushed out, turning to climb back into the taxi, but whimpering when he discovered it was no longer there.

He turned back to Albert, unadulterated panic in his unfocused eyes, “Please, Albie, don’t make me.”

Albert huffed, “Okay, but- shit,” he swooped forward to catch Race when his knees buckled, “Nope, okay.  I’m once again convinced that this is strictly necessary.”

They made it as far as the waiting room before Race tried to run for it again, fighting as fiercely as he could against Albert’s hold around him.  

“Race, stop,” Albert hissed, wrangling him into one of the crappy chairs and kneeling in front of him, “You need to- Race?”

Race wasn’t looking at him.  Instead, his eyes were transfixed intensely on a spot over Albert’s shoulder.  He was shaking violently, breaths coming out short and strangled and for a moment, Albert entertained the prospect of calling it a day and taking Race to urgent care in the morning.  But one hurried glance at the abrasion on his head cancelled those thoughts.  

“No, no, not again.  I don’t wanna do this again, not here.”  Race was mumbling hysterically to himself, hands finding their way to his forearms.  He gripped them tightly, tears making their way down his cheeks as he began to cry.

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” Albert mumbled, lifting a hand to brush away some stray tears, but quickly withdrawing it when Race jerked away from him violently.

“Higgins?” Albert cursed to himself when the nurse who had checked them in called them back.  Race was in no state to be looked at right now, but he was getting paler by the second.  From pain or panic, Albert didn’t know.

Race looked dazedly from the nurse to Albert, shoulders sagging, “M’gonna throw up,” he mumbled, lurching forward.

“Shit,” Albert bit out, turning to look for a trash can and humming thankfully when the nurse, who had been hovering nearby, handed him a plastic bag.

Albert held it in front of Race, wincing when his sick piled into the bag.  He retched for a few moments, sobbing uncontrollably as he did so.  Albert forced himself to remain neutral, speaking absent-minded comforts to Race as he finished.

“Let’s get him back,” The nurse said, making to help Race up.

Race pulled back, ignoring the nurse and looking at Albert, “Don’t make me,” he gasped, “Please, don’t make me.”

Albert and the nurse exchanged confused glances, a silent question between them.

Albert shrugged, turning back to Race, “Why?  Talk me through it, love.”

Race shook his head, “I- no.  No, just- don’t.”

Albert sighed, refusing to lose this battle, “It’ll be super quick.  In and out, right?”

The nurse nodded, “We just need to make sure there’s no serious damage.”

Race curled further in on himself, “Can we do it out here?” He asked, weakly, “don’t wanna go back.”

The nurse considered for a moment, “Alright.”

Present

“When I was in...tenth grade? Yeah.  When I was in tenth grade, I, uh, fuck,” Race looked to the side, clenching his jaw.  He open and closed his mouth a few times before swearing and turning his body to face Albert.  He kept his eyes down as he tucked one leg underneath him and held out his left arm, palm facing upwards.  He seemed to steel himself for a moment before sucking in a breath and slowly inching his shirt up.  

Albert’s eyes traveled from Race’s face to his arm and he swallowed, the blood draining from his face.  Starting at his wrist and traveling to the middle of Race’s forearm was a long, vertical white line.  The skin was raised, and although the scar itself had faded, the outline was stark and jarring against Race’s smooth skin.  Oh.

Race heaved in a breath, “It didn’t work, obviously,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  Albert watched him intently, waiting for him to continue, “And when it didn’t, of course I had to go to the ER…” he trailed off, lost in thought, “Worst night of my life.  Ever.  Swore to myself as they stitched me up that I’d never fucking go back.”

“Race I…” Albert felt numb, scared, unsure of what to do.  In place of words, he reached down and carefully lifted Race’s arm, pressing his lips to the scar.  

Race held his breath as Albert sat back up, “I’m so sorry you went through something like that and I’m sorry that I put you back there today.”

Race seemed as a loss for words, glistening eyes moving from his arm to Albert.  Albert’s fingers skimmed down to clasp their hands together tightly.

“Today was scary for you, I know,” he said, gently, “But I promise to keep you safe,” he squeezed their hands together, “and if there’s anything I can keep, it’s my word, right?”

Race nodded, squeezing back, “Right.”

-

mmm yeah my writing ain’t the best in this lol

i’ll try and get the other requests that i abandoned done soon

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST:

@bencookisagod

@we-dont-sell-papes@suddenly-im-respecsable

@aw-jus-let-em-try @well-the-kids-do-too@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert@axolotlwhizzy

@andthewoildwillknow@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog@sunshine-e-cigarettes @have-we-got-news-for-you@musical-shitposts@thebroadwayaesthetic

@thomasbeingthomas

@irondad-spiderson-duo

@snakesarenonexistent

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing

@kpop-kk

@mentallytiredgoat

@yxseminx

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen

@stopthe-presses

@elmers-half-a-cup

@and-i-lostmy-shoe

@spot-me50-papes

@honeynutpoptarts

@newsies-ensemble

@bennie-badeend

@auspicioustarantula

@faithmil

@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@bxnesof92

@backgroundnewsies

@sure-as-a-star

@skybert-daherty

@eveningpaper

@malex-13

@albert-eats-cookie-cake

@heart-a-n-o-n

@bitching-newsboys

@orollyitsracetrackhiggins

@joshuaburrageenthusiast

@random-superhero-stuff

@awkwardstranger98

@falling-out-trees-101

@modern-race-owns-airpods

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Pink Bubbles of Impending Romantic Doom

Author: Nimmy_

Year: 2008

Rating: PG

Characters: Naboo, Bollo, Chav Shaman, The Hitcher

Naboo shifted uneasily in the moonlit alleyway, glancing furtively left and right. Bollo’s reassuring presence was tangible just behind him as always, though his nerves still were as taut as stretched cheesewire. This was a shady operation; if he was found out the board would revoke his powers or worse. “What time is it, Bollo?” The tiny shaman rasped in his slightly worried monotone. “Ughh. Quarter to one,” the familiar answered, glancing at an imaginary timepiece. “We’ve been here over an hour! I don’t believe this, where is he?” “Cool ya boots, Naboo – I’s ere, innit?” Naboo’s little heart almost popped right out of his chest as the shady black-market shaman appeared. “About bloody time, where’ve you been? We’ve been waiting ages!” “Aright, chill, yeah? Lost track of time, me an’ Deebo were playin’ Mario Galaxy on ‘is Wii and I was well givin’ im beatin’s!” Naboo’s dark eyes smouldered quietly. “Do you like Mario Galaxy, Naboo?” “I dunno. I haven’t got any computer games,” he paused. “Well actually, Bollo’s got a gameboy. I’m good at Pac man.” Bollo grunted his agreement. “He better than me. I no can get past ghosts.” “Pac man? Dat’s well borin’, you gotta get one of dem Wii fings, dey’re the shit, yeah?” Naboo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, have you got the stuff?” “Yeah, you got money?” the shady shaman looked left and right theatrically. Naboo held aloft a roll of notes that amounted to no less than two thousand Euros. “Now we is talkin’,” the shaman took the notes and tucked the roll down his pants. Naboo grimaced. Next, the shaman produced a blue plastic flask from inside his Adidas shamanic tunic. Naboo’s expression melted from tense anticipation to flat disbelief. “What the hell’s that, you jerkoff? I just paid you two thousand Euros for a Thermos of coffee?” “Chill, yeah! Me mum’s washing out all dem mystical-lookin’ glass bottles, dey all had crusty shit at the bottoms. This is all I ‘ad, bruv. It’ll do, yeah?” he extended the flask to the grouchy little shaman, who snatched it from his grasp, quick as a cobra. “I’ve probably got a spare phial to put it in back at the shop,” Naboo conceded with a mutter. “Yeah, sorted!” the shaman looked to the left for a second, scratching his head through his turban. “When you’ve done that den, yeah, can I ‘ave the flask back Naboo? It’s me dad’s, he does a nightshift at the factory and he’ll kick off if he finds out I’ve nicked it.” Naboo rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll bring it with me next time,” he started to walk away. “Come on, Bollo.” The shifty shaman grinned after him with his shimmering gold face. “Cheers Naboo. Laters.” * Naboo arrived home at the flat unannounced, and heard heavy, running footsteps as he ascended the stairs. “What’s going on?” he called, reaching the top of the staircase to see just a flash of little blue knickers and silver go-go boots disappear behind a hastily slammed-shut door. There were satsumas all over the floor. After an impressively short amount of time, Vince appeared from the same door, fully dressed in a superb outfit that was an inspired amalgamation of New Romantic and Beatnik. “Alright!” he grinned, exuding sunshine and fluffy pink candyfloss. Naboo ignored the breezy greeting. “You making a mess in my flat again?” “No,” Vince said, subtly kicking a satsuma under the settee. At this point Howard emerged from the doorway. “Naboo! How’s it going? Did you get your shaman squash?” Naboo frowned at the jazz maverick. “Shaman juice,” he whipped out the flask and brandished it. Vince grinned, sniggering. “Looks like a flask of Nescafe to me.” “He didn’t have a shamanic magic phial, all right? I’m gonna change it,” he snatched the flask back and marched into the kitchen area on his little legs. “So what’s this one do, Naboo?” Vince asked, following him. “Is it like the one last time, does it give you really mental powers? That last one was genius, despite the episode with the horrible fox with shitty breath.” Naboo unscrewed the flask and began to pour the glittering pink liquid into a beautiful rounded jar of red tinted glass. “Nah, it’s nothing like the last one. This one is a cure for hangovers – just one drop will take away the worst hangover. If you’re off your face on speed, one sip will bring you back down instantly.” “Wow!” Vince laughed. “Good for you shamans then, you’re always getting wasted. You’re well hardcore.” Naboo corked the jar and put it in the fridge. “Well, we’re charged with protecting the world from evil and magical menace. That’s a pretty big responsibility. It’s good for us to let our hair down now and again.” “Now and again? You’re a load of crackheads!” A warning glare from Naboo’s direction quieted Vince. “Right, me and Bollo are going in my room to work on Shaman stuff. Keep it down, will you?” “Yeah yeah.” Howard waited until Naboo’s door was shut before hissing at Vince. “You said he wouldn’t be back tonight!” “Yeah, well I could’ve sworn he said he was staying at Pete’s…” Vince shrugged, averting his gaze. Howard wasn’t placated. “The satsuma game isn’t for anyone else to see, it’s just for you and me at night, when we’re on our own!” “Cool it Howard, he didn’t see anything,” Vince brushed off the admonition, taking Naboo’s potion out of the fridge. “Wow, check this out. It’s all pink and sparkly, like a Flirtini. Genius!” “No, come on, Vince – don’t be touching Naboo’s potions. It’ll only end up in disaster-” “It’s only a glorified high-strength Resolve, Howard – what’s it gonna do, cure your headache? Ooh!” He gestured with his hands in mock-terror. “Even so, little man – you can never be too careful. Even Howard Moon, man of action, shows the proper caution when dealing with substances of unknown origin. Oh yes, there have been some close shaves with a particularly lethal magic cocktail in the past. But there was no need to fear, for Howard Moon was there to set all to rights. They call me the maveri- Vince, what are you doing?” “This stuff’s great, it goes all frothy when you shake it up a bit. You can blow bubbles with it. Genius!” Howard watched in disbelief as Vince dipped the little plastic hoop from his bubble-blower into the potion and blew a couple of large bubbles from it. “Vince! You really don’t listen to anything I say, do you?” “It makes big pink glittery bubbles! Look at ‘em, they’re sparkling like psychedelic Fairy liquid disco balls!” Vince giggled as he danced among the bubbles, revelling in the pinky glitteriness. “What were you on about, Howard?” “Nothing. Truly, nothing,” Howard grumbled and flopped onto the settee. Vince went over to the window and opened it. “Check this out. Shoreditch is gettin’ some of these glitter bubbles!” “Fascinating.” Swishing the little plastic hoop around in the shimmering pink potion, Vince took a huge deep breath and created an explosion of glittery pink bubbles from the window. The wind carried them away in all directions and filled the night sky with tinselly orbs of pink. “That’ll cheer everyone up,” Vince laughed, stepping away from the window. He bounced over to Howard and sat next to him. “Howard?” Silence. “Howard.” “…” “Howard, Howard,” Vince pressed. Howard studied his nails. “Howard, Howard? Howard. Howard. Howard! Howard! Howard? Howard. Howard, Howard!” Howard swung his head around to face Vince to give him a sharp reprimand, only to receive a mouthful (and indeed, a faceful) of pink glitter bubbles. Howard spluttered and cursed as Vince just laughed himself silly and blew more bubbles at Howard, hitting him in the hat and the moustache. “Hohohh, aw Howard. Sorry. I couldn’t help it.” Nothing. “Come on, Howard. Don’t get your y-fronts all twisted. It was just a prank to cheer you up.” Howard just grabbed the potion from Vince, looked at him, then splashed him in the face with the jar. Vince gasped in shock and horror. “Howard, you ballbag, look what you’ve done to me hair!” Howard simply found the cork, plugged the jar and put it back in the fridge before storming off to his room. Vince was fuming. He threw himself towards the nearest mirror to inspect the damage. It had completely soaked, and therefore flattened, the front of his hair. His entire fringe. He wiped the pink glittery wetness from his face with the back of his hand and licked it from his lips. It tasted remarkably like Pink. If each colour had one definitive taste, this is what Pink would taste like. It was rather nice, actually. He continued licking around his mouth and cleaned the smears off the back of his hand with his pink-stained tongue. ** Far away now, the pink bubbles rode the currents of the wind like little men riding magical horses of cheese. The winds tossed them far and wide. One of them passed directly over the house of the shady black-market Shaman. The one with the Gold Face. We don’t know his name, really. Let’s call him Francis. Francis was just mopping the last of the tomato sauce from his plate with a soggy toast soldier when a thought occurred to him. After meeting Naboo, he had just returned his potions to their freshly washed phials, to discover that he had one hangover-cure too many in his stock cupboard. Thinking this just a jammy mistake on his potion-dealer’s part, he’d continued to munch down his spaghetti hoops without concern. But now, as he chewed on the sauce-smeared soldier, he decided he should check his stock. He left his plate for his mum to find and wash, heading to his room. * He looked at each carefully labelled jar, and checked them against his hand-written stock-sheet. “Two bottles of Nympho juice, ‘free bottles of sex-reverse potion, two bottles of owl-beak cream…” There was certainly a theme ongoing in the majority of Francis’ stock, due to the majority of demands. “… one jar of Goff salve, three jars of fut’cha peanuts… shit, where’s me bottle of Lov’ Juice?” Francis searched frantically through the cupboard. It was starting to make sense. He had one extra jar of hangover-cure, and he was missing one bottle of Love Juice. And he’d just sold Naboo what was supposed to be… Francis gulped. “Friggin’ ell.” ** In the faraway reaches of London’s east end… ** “What’s for tea?” “Toad-in-the-hole.” “Toad in the fuckin’ ‘ole? What ‘ave I told ya, boy? I’m fuckin’ lactose intolerant. Cheese plays merry ‘ell wiv my stomach you onion. What ‘appened to that pie you ‘ad in the oven?” “It got burnt!” “You burnt me pie? Then go out and get anuvver one, you slag!” “Yes boss. I’m a cockney, I’m a cockney…” The Hitcher shook his head in disbelief as the door shut behind Stu. “Useless, that boy…” he muttered to himself. “I need a slash.” Stepping out into the cool night air, The Hitcher unzipped his fly and began to relieve himself right there in the garden. Toilets were for nonces. As the yellow stuff arced from him to make a shimmering frothy pool on the moonlit grass, the Hitcher tilted his head skywards with a groan of relief. “Ohhh, that’s good,” his voice quivered. His eyes closed in rapture, he didn’t see the pink bubble zooming towards his face even as he opened his mouth to make yet another exclamation of bliss. “Fuckin’ ell!” he choked, grasping at his throat. “What the fuck was that?” His eyes were streaming from the coughing fit, and he dabbed his powerful peeper with a grubby handkerchief. “Dear oh dear…” he groaned. Regaining his composure, he tucked away his little green man and zipped his trousers back up. “Fuckin’ insects flying into me gob… hmm. Tasted… pink. Extraordinary.” He went back inside, the little puddle of yellow slowly sinking down into the soil.

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 6

DC did it first. Take your grievances to them.

Jason and Sheila e-mail back and forth for about a week before she says that she has Thursday off so if he has Thursday off does he want to meet for lunch again?

Last time wasn’t bad. Not a lot of staring or people or anything. He can…he can probably do it again. And it’s a few days away still, so he has time to psyche himself up or, worst case scenario, fake his death and move to Canada.

And it’s been a week and she hasn’t pulled out the Pity Card on him yet and maybe…maybe this’ll all work out okay. She might never be Mom, because Catherine’s always gonna be Mom, but…but she could be Mother, maybe. He can see that in the distant (or not-so-distant?) future.

But he’s not going to rush into things, that’s what got him here in the first place. Patience, grasshopper.

Thursday rolls around and he hasn’t faked his death and moved to Canada, so he has no choice but to put on jeans and a hoodie and resign himself to a couple of hours, easy, of no sunglasses and no e-book shield.

Sorry, any small children who might come out of this traumatized.

Okay. He brings his Kindle anyway, and his sunglasses for the journey, and sticks to his normal Civilian Weaponry-couple’a knives, one pair of brass knuckles tucked into a hidden pocket in his hoodie. Last thing he needs is for someone to pick up a bullet, match it to the Red Hood’s, and come knocking on his door. His luck is bad enough that’s exactly what would happen.

Besides, it’s noon on a Thursday, and even in Gotham that’s a slow hour. Bank robbers gotta eat, too.

The monorail ride there is literal Hell (three fighting couples, two crying kids and old man with no personal spaaaaace!) and he’s literally gasping for air when he stumbles out of the car. He likes people. Honest. If he legitimately hated them all, he wouldn’t risk his life to help them. But interacting with them…he could do without that, mostly.

Whatever. Whatever. It’s over, he lived, he’s had worse.

(And no, he doesn’t hear faint cackling in his head, and that’s final.)

It’s windy today, the type of wind that buffets people every which way and is determined to keep his hood off his head. He fidgets with the drawstrings until it’ll stay and buries his hands in his pockets. Wind sucks. He can feel pollen and dust and Gotham Grime being blown onto his skin.

“Jason!”

Is he there already?

Sheila…looks a lot more haggard than she did before. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned being horribly busy, doesn’t think she did, and figures that to be fair, he hasn’t mentioned the bruise that goes halfway up his back.

She smiles, her awkward driver’s license smile, and waves. Yeah, she doesn’t…it must’ve been a long week, or maybe a rough drive or something. She looks tired.

“Hi.” He’s not sure what to call her, still. Miss Haywood is too disconnected, Sheila’s too personal, and it’s way, way too soon for Mother. Names are a pain. “I’m not late, am I?” He knows he’s not. “Monorail was packed.”

“So was the subway. Can I…?”

Her arms are half-out and he figures she’s asking for a hug. He can do a hug, as long as it’s a short hug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”

Holy crap, she feels frail. But to be fair, barring Dick’s tackle-hug, everyone’s felt frail since…since. So it could just be him. Hugs are weird now.

(“HUG YOUR DADDY!”)

No. Not today. Everything’s fine.

It’s a sort-of short hug, short enough, anyway, and he wonders, abstractedly, if a day will ever come that he’s used to that sort of thing again. If it even matters whether he does or doesn’t.

It does. Of course it does. And the day will come, in time, and he’ll be better, be normal, be what people want him to be.

Little steps.

* * *

They’ve fallen into a companionable silence and for once Jason’s not jumping whenever someone walks by in a purple sweater or anything when Sheila forces her lips out from between her teeth and says, “I know you were Robin.”

Well. That’s, uh, there’s that out of the way.

“Yeah.” There’s clearly no point in denying it. She probably put it together when Batman came knocking. “For a little while, yeah. I was.” He tastes blood, wonders how long he’s been doing that, and wishes he had gum. Or a mint. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off, I just…old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Oh God, no, no, I didn’t mean-” She takes a drink. Her hands are shaking, she’s shaking and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. “I just. I thought I should probably make it clear that I did know, so you wouldn’t…I know I was absent, but I don’t want…you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me.”

Oh. That’s. He doesn’t know what to say. Bruce, God knows, has the emotional capabilities of a Himalayan Salt Lamp. Thankfully Jason hadn’t been the type to go through crushes every two weeks, or he probably would have been in Hell. He certainly wouldn’t have…it’s not like he would have shut down the conversation, but sharing and caring? That would have been awkward and best not repeated. Alfred was the go-to for that sorta thing.

All right, then. Since they’re dropping sudden bombshells ‘n all…he has to know.

“You worked for Joker.” There. It’s out. He said it.

And now he kinda regrets it-the self-loathing on her face is a pretty good match for his own, and he can’t tell himself it’s anything less than deep, deep wishing to have made better choices.

“I did.” She straightens up, begins tearing apart a piece of bread on her plate. “Briefly. I’m not proud, but he had a line to my mother, knew where she lived, knew her schedule…knew.” She swallows hard. “Knew she had to rubber-band her jam jars because she couldn’t open them otherwise. I panicked. But it was only for a couple of months-pills, he wanted pills, as much as I could get him. And then he just…went away. I don’t know what he did with them.”

Honestly, after everything, he can’t…he doesn’t have the right to say much. And honestly? There was that one guy, who accidentally cut the fucker off in traffic and couldn’t get away from him.

And look at him. The first man he killed, that wasn’t…oh, sure, he probably had it coming, at least a little, but Jason wasn’t thinking about that or considering it like he does now, he just…he wanted to kill Bruce. Because that was right and reason at the time even though he knows it’s insanity now.

No, he can’t say much.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and it’s suddenly easier to look at his hands. “I didn’t…that sounds awful.”

“No.” She tips his chin up and it’s an effort not to pull away and to remember that it’s fingers, warm human fingers, and not the pointy end of a crowbar against his skin. “You deserved to know. It’s only fair.”

Truth be told, it’s a relief to know that she hadn’t…yeah, technically she could’ve…maybe done something different, but she hadn’t wanted to work for him. She wasn’t like the ones he’d christened Dumb and Dumber that…they enjoyed that kinda work.

Lunch is finished in relative silence after that, though, and he’s wondering what’s going to happen now when she rifles through her purse and swears.

“Damn…I meant to grab an old photo album I wanted to show you, with some old family pictures and things.”

Pictures of Willis? Yeah, he’s good. Pictures of other people might be interesting, though.

“Next time?”

“My apartment’s a few blocks over.”

Something feels off. He’s paranoid, he knows he’s paranoid, but something…she’s been shaky and weird all afternoon and he doesn’t…

Calm the fuck down, you freak out when someone window-shops for too long!

“Is everything…is everything okay?”

Or maybe something is wrong-she pulls a napkin over and there’s suddenly a pen in her hand.

“I really do want you to see these pictures, Jason,” she says, but her hand is moving and there’s the ever-so-faint skrit-skrit of pen on paper. “I swear you got my mother’s eyes.”

The napkin slides over to him and he glances down. Her handwriting’s spikey and awful-doctor writing to the bone-but his is no better and he can read it well enough.

An old colleague has been hanging around the hospital lately.

Oh.

That explains a bit.

“Sure.”

Her shoulders drop and she crumples the napkin, nails picking it into shreds.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” she says softly, nearly too soft for him to hear, and he’s quick to shake his head.

“No, no, I don’t mind, I’m glad you…if there’s anything I can do to…”

Shit, she looks like she’s going to start crying and that is indeed PANIC in his throat. Tears are not good.

“You’re a good boy.” Her voice is watery but there are no tears to be seen. Thank Jesus. “I promise next time we have lunch it’ll be normal.”

Oh, good, things haven’t plummeted down to fiery Hell because of all the revelations flying around.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he says, and whoops that’s his ‘all will be well, citizen, never fear!’ voice. But it must work, because the about-to-cry look disappears. “Um. Do you wanna…it looks like it’s gonna rain, should we get going?”

And so they do.

* * *

The wind has picked up and it smells like rain. He’s not looking forward to patrol later.

The wind’s not so bad, though, to stop Sheila from lighting up with a self-depreciating, “I know I’m a doctor and should know better, but I honestly don’t care.”

“I can’t really say anything.” He holds up his own pack and rattles it before pulling one out. It’s not as calming as it usually is and he doesn’t know why.

Eh. It’s been a long day, that’s all. He’s not used to interacting with people on a personal level anymore, which is his own fault and probably not necessarily a good thing.

The first few drops have started to fall when they arrive at her building-big, square, and simplistic. She fishes out her keys while they’re in the elevator (which smells like new car, for some reason).

The hallway is deserted. It’s a little creepy, to be honest-his own building might be crap, but there’s always activity. And then, of course, there was Arkham’s hallways, or what he could hear of them. Noisy. Always noisy. But this? Wayne Manor was silent like this. It unsettled him then and it unsettles him now. Call him a city boy, whatever, but he needs noise.

The brass knuckles and knives in his jacket are warm and comforting and he knows he’s not gonna need ‘em, but they make up for this creepy-ass silence.

Sheila opens the door and motions him inside. It’s dark inside-blackout curtains, probably-but he can hear the rain. It smells like new car in here, too, and he wonders, off-handedly, why-

-it’s not empty. He’s walked into one too many ‘empty’ buildings to be very, very attuned to the sound of somebody breathing. Okay. Be calm, back out and shut the door.

He’s about to do exactly that when the light switch clicks and bathes the whole place in stark white. White walls, white floors, white furniture.

Which only makes Harley Quinn stick out like a sore thumb in all that red and black.

“BAY-BEE!” She could never hope to match Joker’s grin, but she gives it a good go, stretching her makeup. Okay. Change of plans. Get Sheila out of here (and preferably out of the building), deal with Quinn. “It’s been a whiiiiile!”

He takes in the mallet leaning against the couch and the shotgun (are those fuzzy dice? Really?) in her hands and comes to the conclusion that great, she’s riding the crazy train.

But maybe she hasn’t seen Sheila yet. Where’s that goddamn light switch?

He moves, only a little, only to feel the unmistakable press of a gun against his lower back.

“Don’t. Move.”

And the world drops out from under him.

No. No, no, no, she said she quit, it was over, she said they’d let her go, she said-

The door shuts. He twists so he can still see Quinn in his peripheral. Sheila’s face is a blank mask-no tears, no joy, no nothing. Just quiet determination and he doesn’t understand, she said…

“Mom?” The word feels thick and wrong in his mouth, but maybe…maybe she’s brainwashed or hypnotized or something, maybe she doesn’t…isn’t…

“Sorry, kid.” The words are harsh but her tone isn’t. Quinn giggles in the background but she sounds so far away and Sheila’s still pressing a gun against him. “It was you or me, and, well…it had to be you.”

What?

“Aww, come to mama, baby!” Quinn giggles again before straightening up and scowling. “Now.”

His feet drag him forward, sneakers scuffing against the white carpet an’ Heaven’s s’posed ta be white, innit, so why does this feel like Hell and what’s going on she said she said-

For once horrible, desperate second, he wants Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t…yeah, he’d thought, at first, that he’d left him but he knows that he didn’t, he really didn’t, he just…

Bruce wouldn’t have pulled a gun on him, he wouldn’t and God, if he’d just fucking talked to him-

“I did what you wanted, Quinn.” Sheila’s voice is so, so flat and is this all she wanted from the beginning? Is it? “Now call your man.”

Quinn doesn’t even look at her. She’s looking at Jason like she always did-like she’s torn between wanting to rip his head off and wanting to wrap him in a blanket and keep him.

This is his own goddamn fault, he just thought…just once, just once-

“Quinn!” Desperation now, and the gun wobbles against his hoodie as she steps out from behind him. “I did what you said! Call your man!”

Okay. Okay.

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths that taste like that last cigarette outside and says, voice as steady as he can make it, “Let her go, Harley. Leave her alone, I’ll. I’ll do what you want, just. Just let her go.”

“Aww, look at you!” Her pigtails sway and he finds himself oddly hypnotized by the movement. “I knew ya had to be Robin for a reason.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was Robin and that’s all he’ll ever be, the one that fucked up.

“Please, Harley.”

“Nyeh…” She adjusts her grip on the gun, finger dancing near the trigger, and looks down at her knuckles. “Eeny, meanie, miny, moe, catch a Batman by the toe. If he hollers, let ‘im go, eeny…meanie…miny…moe!”

He sees it before she does it, but there’s no time-he’s moved maybe half a centimeter before the gun goes off-

-and Sheila.

Falls.

His ears are ringing. They’re ringing and everything’s so white except her, all blonde and blue and so fucking red because Harley didn’t miss and if he’d been quicker, he should have been-

“Aww, don’t be sad!” Harley’s not alone, of course she’s not. He should have known from the start stupidstupidstupid. “Doncha know what happens to people who know too much?”

Her eyes are open. They’re open and they’re looking at him like this is his fault and it is if he hadn’t…

S’like Joker said, once.

“Good boys know how to lay down and DIE.”

“Mistah J had a spot for ya, baby.” Huh? “But you up an’ left us before it was time! So since it’s his birthday-” The fucker has no birthday he just appeared one day too evil for Hell. “-I thought I’d get my puddin’ somethin’-” She winks. “Real nice.”

And they’re on him.

Harley’s goons are dumb, but they’re also big and they manage to drag him down for a minute before he gets a knife out of his sleeve and drives it into the nearest jaw.

“Andre!” Yeah, Andre ain’t comin’ back from that any time soon. “I thought we taught you manners!”

He reclaims his knife and scrambles back up and okay okay maybe he can get outta this-

WHAM!

Lights out.

[antihero-writings]

Lightning in his Eye (A Jacksepticeye and Victor Frankenstein Crossover for Inktober prompt 30: Jolt) (Full fic)

Fic Title: Lightning in his Eye 

Fic Synopsis: A Jacksepticeye (Schneeplestein)/Victor Frankenstein (2015) fusion-style crossover for Inktober (2018) prompt 30 (Jolt)!

Notes: This was my first jse fic, so I hope I wrote the egos well!! Please go easy on me!!

I’ve been a big fan of Frankenstein for a really long time, and I’d be surprised if there wasn’t some part of that Jack that chose the suffix –stein in Schneep’s name because of Frankenstein. I remembered this scene in the movie Victor Frankenstein where Victor revives this pair of eyes, and I thought the scene would work really well with Schneep and Sam! I originally thought about using Robin as Igor, but I eventually decided JJ would probably work better. Also, I know Sam isn’t supposed to have a gender, but I like to think of them as a ‘he,’ and I thought that worked well for this pic! Also, sorry about the inconsistent grammar/accent, I felt like ‘ee’ didn’t always work, and Schneep’s accent is a bit inconsistent anyways! XD

P.S. This is a repost of an old fic!

Fic:

The eye hangs limp in its covered jar, its lid closed, waiting to be awakened.

The apartment is dimly lit; a fire in its place, candles strewn about, the windows letting in faint light of a bluish hue.

“Follow me! I haf to show you somesing!” the doctor says.

His lab coat swings at his side as he strides into the next room. The newcomer, who is wearing a waistcoat and bowler hat, is at his heels. He strokes his mustache, very expressive in his curiosity, but doesn’t say a word.

They reach the covered jar, and each crouch on either side of it. Beside the jar are other instruments and wires that JJ can only describe as an amusement park for electricity. The doctor leans in close, a certain fire lighting in his blue eyes, his words low:

“I am of ze belief zat death can be made a temporary condition.”

His new assistant crosses his arms and shakes his head.

“Vat?” He leans back, a cocky smile creasing his features, “You sink iit’s imposeeble? No, no, no my friend. Not probable maybe, but when you’re working with ze great Doctor Schneeplestein,” he raises a finger proudly, “you must go for only zee best!”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Life is temporary. Vhy should death be any deeferent?”

He says it like it’s the simplest thing, like life and death are an equation.

“Now, I don’t have time for redeeculous notions like false modesty. Zo, it iz without pride or shame, I declare this an act of—”

Schneeplestein rips the pale curtain off the lonely stage to reveal the jar of green liquid, and the lonely eye within it.

“Genius!” The doctor finishes, like the word is the last note in his show’s final song.

The other man stills, staring. His own eyes flick from the lifeless one to meet those of the doctor.

“I vas looking for applause,” Schneep puts his hands on his hips, looking away and clearing his throat, “but I vill take stunned silence.”

His assistant starts clapping.

“It iz too late now!” he holds up a hand to stop him. “Just…liisten.”

He starts turning some of the dials, preparing the experiment.

“Zis eye is over sree months old.” He explains, “Ze liquid is an electrically conductive jelly of my own device, that serves a double function; to preserve and to…” he pauses, looking up at JJ, “Don’t be getting ahead of yourself liitle Jameseyboy!” He wags a finger in front of him, then turns to the table behind him. “I von’t bore you with all ze technical mumbo-jumbo, you know how it iis,” he waves his hand, “doctor ztuff.”

He pulls a device that looks like a metal fork from a cloth on the table, and holds it up in front of himself—looking at as if he isn’t quite sure how it works either. He then holds it up precariously by one of the handles to show JJ.

“Zee?” he gestures to it with his other hand, “Doctor zings.”

He then proceeds to plug the fork into the liquid, and JJ crouches back down to get a better look at the upcoming experiment.

Schneeplestein begins spinning the wheel beside it, haphazard metal spinning, pumping in an effort to appease its maker, who has an almost maniacal gleam in his eye as he does so—(fear and awe mixing in JJ’s). It sparks lightning, which startles his new assistant, but crackles like the low laugh in the doctor’s throat. Green smoke like the breath of some dragon forms in the jar beside it. He flips the switch and the lightning storm dives in the liquid, sputters and frays, making it smoke and bubble.

The eye awakens. It opens.

It looks around, but cannot move, due to its tail being clamped down.

In a fluid motion the doctor takes a match from the tiny pot beside it and holds the fire up to the eye. It shies away from the light.

“There, do you zee?” A small laugh bubbles in his throat. “He lives.”

The look of awe, concern, and curiosity in Jameson’s eyes shifts to inquisitive at the word ‘he.’

“Vat? You sink I’m just going to call him ‘it’? No no no my friend. I just said hee’s alive, I’m not going to call him ‘iit’ like zome barbarian! You’re working with Doctor Schneeplestein, as I said, you haf to expect the best! In fact, let’s giive him a name! Vat do you sink ve should call him?”

JJ shrugs. Clearly he is out of his depth.

Schneep strokes his beard, leaning back, looking at it.

The eye stares. He has seen this doctor before. Whenever he awakes, he’s always there, and he always has this gleam in his eye. Something like pride but…darker. He isn’t quite sure how he feels about him. He hasn’t seen the other one, but he seems nice enough.

“Sam!” Schneep suddenly exclaims.

JJ jumps slightly.

“Zats vat ve’ll call him! Sam!”

Why? JJ’s expression asks.

“I don’t know! Am I supposed to explain everysing? I am a doctor James—Jack—whatever your name is! I don’t haf to explain everything to you!”

JJ raises an eyebrow.

Schneep turns up his nose and walks out of the room, as if to make a dramatic exit, but which simply seems like he left a question hanging unanswered in the air.

Jameson stays to observe the experiment, marveling at the miracle that has occurred before him.

Sam tries to swim closer, but his tail tugs at the clamp. Without asking the doctor, JJ stands and opens the clamp, releasing him.

Alive. Jameson marvels, watching the eye move freely now, gaining his bearings. How could this eye be alive without a body to be within? How could some lightning and metal create life? It was…beautiful. And terrifying. But Schneep didn’t seem like a bad guy. A little crazy, maybe, but that was a discussion for another time. He had saved his life, after all.

And, he had to admit, Sam was a pretty adorable name.

The eye learns to move in a matter of milliseconds, floating along in a way one might mistake for being happy.

JJ taps the glass.

Sam shies away at first, then, as JJ waves at him, decides to swim closer. For a moment they simply watch each other, two blue eyes meeting one.

Jameson then holds up a finger, telling him to wait, and proceeds to write ‘Sam’ on a spare piece of paper nearby.

Of course, Sam has no idea what the paper says as he holds it up, but the man seems pretty happy about it, pointing to it, then Sam, and beaming.

He may not know what it means, who exactly they are, or who he even is, but he thinks he’s going to like being alive.