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bykshre · 5 months ago

Text

Sure Thing

charles leclerc x female reader (smau) 2/?

a continuation of WE FOUND LOVE (index)

summary: you and charles were meant to be together even if the media, society and his girlfriend criticized you.

trope: childhood friends to lovers, ferrari driver x head strategist , mean gf (no hate to any of charles' gf's, ex or current.)

a/n: hi hii!! :D charles my amour won in COTA and of course I had to create something out of that. Soo without further todo, i shall introduce to you Sure Thing, part 2 of We found Love! Enjoyyy!! <3

Your thumb hovered over Charles’ Instagram post, reading the simple caption repeatedly, fixating on one specific sentence; "Alex and I have decided to end our relationship".

You felt an unexpected surge of emotions — relief, confusion, excitement.

"This is so sudden", you whispered to yourself though there was no one really beside you.

Alex was heavily popular, APM Monaco made her model for their jewellery, she was signed with influencer management and she even promoted many clothing brands throughout her journey as Charles's girlfriend— she was sort of the IT Wag. However, nobody truly knows what she was, what she did and how she acts when she's away from the monumental stardom and attention she got.

And you opened twitter. Which instantly made you regret your decision.

@F1Gossip:

"BREAKING: Charles Leclerc and Alexandra call it quits! What led to the sudden breakup? Rumors are swirling about Y/N’s involvement… 👀 #F1Drama #CharlesLeclerc"

@AlexandraStans:

"Honestly, good riddance. Alex deserves better than someone who spends all his time with another woman. #TeamAlex #CharlesLeclerc"

@LeclercNation:

"People need to stop blaming Y/N for the breakup. Charles is an adult who made his own decision. #TeamYN #FerrariFamily"

Regardless of whatever you were feeling, you quickly pushed them aside, reminding yourself to not to get sucked into this situation. "Who are you?", you asked yourself, constructing a mental note. You are Charles’ strategist, his friend, and that’s all this was. You did spend hours with him throughout your childhood, of course, you went to school with him, you had sleepovers with the Leclerc brothers, you spent hours in the kitchen with manman gossiping - you were considered the daughter she never had. What have you not done with the Leclercs?

It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.

Frankly, you've no idea how to bring it up, so you kept a promise to not bring it up and you didn’t. You appreciate the week off without any races — it brought you away from everything. You wanted to keep your mind off things and give some time to yourself. And that's exactly what you did.

ursername

time-off 🤍🐻‍❄️🪽��

liked by mlnmarta, charles_leclerc, joristrouche and 2.8M others

lewishamilton enjoy, yn! lets get some almave next time ya?

⤷ ursername omg yes lewsss!! 🍸🍸

charles_leclerc 🩷 see you next week, ynie!

⤷ ursername indeed char 🤍🩷

mlnmarta boubou is missing you, come back soon!! 🤱

⤷ ursername u and me in singapore? it's a definite yes😘😘

alexfanpage look at this homewreker, fucking bitch! 😡😡

⤷ illpresidanto omg get a life!! you so pressed for no reason u ugly bitch

19765K likes

🌟

It was a sunlit afternoon in Monaco, where Marta and Riccardo were celebrating the upcoming arrival of their second child. The garden was decorated with a mix of blue and white balloons, creating a cheerful, celebratory atmosphere. Close friends, family, and little Chiara, who was already running around like a whirlwind, were all present.

You wore a pink dress, your hair tousled on your shoulders, favouring another baby girl while Charles was wearing a blue t-shirt accompanied with a blue bandana — something you haven't seen him wear for the past 2 years. It felt different seeing him wear that bandana, it evoked old memories between the both you. You were brought with a wave of nostalgia where you used to go live with Charles on Twitch racing each other on the sim during the Covid-19 era.

You're a sucker for nostalgia

When you first spot Charles at Marta and Riccardo's gender reveal party, you can't help but pause for a moment. He's standing casually near the edge of the garden, his relaxed posture and easy smile making him the center of attention without even trying. His blue bandana was tied loosely around his head. The way the sunlight catches his hair, tousled from the bandana, adds a soft glow around him. He’s talking to a group of friends, but when his eyes meet yours from across the garden, there's a brief flicker of recognition.

As Chiara ran over to you, her arms outstretched, you quickly scooped the little girl up into your arms — pampering her with your soft kisses. “Hey there, sweetheart!” you cooed, smiling warmly at the giggling toddler. Chiara clung to you, pointing toward the food table, eager to see what was there.

Charles watched the both you from a distance, carrying two glasses of sparkling water. As you looked up at him, you couldn't help but tease, “She’s already stealing the spotlight from you.”

Charles grinned, handing you a glass. “It’s alright, I’ll always be her favorite godparent. She just needs a little time to realize I’m the cool one.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that what you’re telling yourself?”

Charles shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Hey, it’s working. I’m planning to spoil her with all the toys.”

You smirked. “Bribery isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘parenting,’ Charles.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing, “Good thing I’m not a parent yet.”

As the countdown for the big reveal began, everyone gathered in the garden around Marta and Riccardo. You and Charles stood together, chatting quietly about the possible gender.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a girl,” you said, eyes glancing toward Marta. “Marta’s been mentioning how much she wants a sister for Chiara.”

Charles shook his head, his hands on your shoulder. “I think you’re wrong, honey. Riccardo’s been too quiet—he’s definitely preparing for a boy.”

"I'll prove you wrong today, Miss Strategist," he smirked

"You'll never it's definitely a——"

The moment arrived. The large balloon in front of Marta and Riccardo burst, releasing a cascade of blue confetti. Cheers erupted from the crowd, and Chiara clapped her hands in delight as she was handed to Marta.

“It’s a boy!” Riccardo exclaimed, lifting his daughter into the air, his eyes glistening with tears of joy. Marta smiled brightly, holding Chiara close to her chest, both parents absolutely overjoyed.

“I called it,” Charles whispered, nudging you with his elbow.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that. But I guess I’m going to have to learn to spoil a little boy now.”

"And you're proven wrong, y/n," he said while erupting in happiness

"Fuck off Charles!" you said as you roll your eyes

Later in the day, after the excitement had died down, you and Charles found yourselves in a quiet corner of the garden, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. you were holding Chiara, who had fallen asleep in your arms, while Leo lay at Charles' feet, content and relaxed.

“You know, you’re really good with her.”

You glanced up at him, eyes soft. “She’s easy to love.”

Charles watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the calm scene in front of them.

“I think you’d make an amazing parent,” he said, his voice quiet.

You smiled, though you didn’t fully respond to his comment. Instead, you gently brushed Chiara’s hair from her face. “Maybe one day.”

charles_leclerc

team boy!! 🩵🌟

liked by mlnmarta, riccardoberreta, joris_trouche,ursername,landonorris

ursername baby chichi <3

liked by author

mlnmarta mi bebe~

joris_trouche 🩵

alexandrafp no alex and u look like shit!

alexamour wheres that bitch Y/N??

ursername

mon lion et ma petite filleule

liked by charles_leclerc, mlnmarta,oscarpiastri and 3M others

charles_leclerc adorable

lewishamilton soo cute!

mlnmarta my 👶

joris_trouche who took this pic🤭

@FerrariInsider:

"Sources close to the team say Charles and Y/N have been spending more time together since the breakup. Could something more be brewing between them? 👀 #F1Gossip"

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

COTA GRAND-PRIX, AUSTIN, TEXAS.

ursername

story, 4h ago

Looking sharp out there 👀 Let’s keep it smooth this weekend, @ charles_leclerc. 🏎️✨

As Charles arrived at the garage for practice, he seemed relaxed, as if nothing had changed. So, you followed his lead, keeping things as normal as possible. Talking about Alex was the least of your concerns, you were more concerned about how Charles was coping and when you saw him being his usual bubbly and annoying self —you knew this relationship was long to be called off. Then again, this is the Charles Leclerc, the homie hopper, the playboy- you've seen it all. He's messy in relationships and that scares you, so much. Yet, you're treated so differently and you wonder why.

After FP1, Charles and Carlos stroll into their garages to rewind and reflect with the team to consult tyre management, degradation and qualifying strategies.

As Charles unlocked his phone, his thumb instinctively swiped to Instagram to catch up on the latest updates. A burst of laughter escaped him as he saw a story from his head strategist, who had tagged him in it.

“Looking sharp, huh? Not bad for just a practice session.” He said to Y/N who was sitting beside him.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Leclerc. You still have a lot to prove this weekend,” you said sternly,

“A lot to prove? I thought I already impressed the toughest critic on the team.”

“I’m a strategist, Charles. Being impressed is temporary — results are what matter,” you said

“So, if I get results, will you post something even nicer?” he said, giving her his winning smirk

“Win the race, and I’ll think about it.”

🌟 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

As the sprint race ends, Charles strolls into the garage, his helmet tucked under his arm. Y/N is standing by the monitors, reviewing the data.

Charles: “You’re awfully quiet today. Everything okay, strategist?”

Y/N doesn’t look up immediately, keeping her focus on the screen. “Just making sure you’re as sharp as I said you were. No pressure, though.”

Charles smirks, leaning casually against the desk beside her. “I’m starting to think you enjoy putting pressure on me.”

Y/N finally glances at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “If it makes you faster, then maybe I do.”

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N tilts her head. “You’d know if you were. For now, just focus on not going wide into Turn 11 again.”

Charles groans playfully. “That’s never happening again. You’ll see.”

Y/N: “Good. I like being right.”

Scuderia Ferrari HP

@charles_leclerc is working hard tonight with the team 🏎 ❇

liked by ursername,ggiada,mlnmarta,riccardoberreta and 5M others

ursername one of the rarest times i see mr leclerc staying overtime! mind-boggling indeed

⤷ charles_leclerc gosh you are annoying

oscarpiastri the dedication 👨

charles_leclerc y/n's fault!

lewishamilton keep it up bud!

After the debrief and post-practice meetings, you're walking back to your hotel, laptop bag slung over your shoulder. The paddock is quiet now, with only a few people milling about under the warm Austin night sky.

“Hey, strategist.”

She turns to find Charles jogging to catch up with her, still in his Ferrari polo and cap.

“Shouldn’t you be resting? I thought you went back? You’ve got qualifying tomorrow.”

Charles falls into step beside you, hands casually shoved into his pockets. “I could say the same to you. What’s keeping you out so late?”

You shrug. “Notes. Data. Making sure we’re perfect tomorrow.”

“We’re perfect, huh?” He glances at you with a teasing smirk.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t let it go to your head. It’s my job to make sure you don’t mess it up.”

“Ah, so you’re saying you’re the brains, and I’m just the guy driving the car?”

you finally stop walking and turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re finally catching on.”

For a moment, they just look at each other. The playful banter fades into a quiet intensity. Charles’ gaze softens, and Y/N feels her pulse quicken under the weight of his attention.

Charles: “You know, you’re pretty incredible.”

“Charles…” she starts, but he cuts her off with a soft laugh.

“Relax, strategist. Just giving credit where it’s due.”

You shake your head, “Save the charm for the press conferences. You’ll need it when they grill you tomorrow.”

“Right. Gotta stay focused.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. Don’t stay up too late. Wouldn't want my stargirl to get sick.”

You chuckle softly as you walk into your room, catching his eye as he waves from across the hallway, stepping into his room just opposite yours.

RACE DAY

The morning sun was barely filtering through the high windows of the hotel lobby as Charles stood near the entrance, checking his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. His nerves were on edge—not because of the race, but because today felt different.

Just as he was about to check his phone again, he saw you.

You stepped into the lobby, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. The buzz of the hotel faded away. You were wearing a dress unlike any other—simple yet striking. It was a fitted black satin dress, hugging your figure perfectly and stopping just above your knees. The neckline was deep enough to tease but still elegant, and the fabric shimmered under the light as if it were made to capture every glance.

you were unaware of the way you had completely captured his attention, you walked towards him with a confident, almost teasing smile. You could feel the tension in the air, but she wasn’t sure if it was just the race day energy or something more.

“Morning, Charles,” you said, your voice warm

“You… you look…”

Your smile widened, though there was a hint of mischief in your eyes. “Thanks. I wanted to make sure you had something to look forward to after the race.”

Charles chuckled softly, the sound low and almost nervous, his eyes scanning over you once again. The dress clung to your body in all the right ways, and his thoughts were running wild. “You’re distracting me,” he said with a grin, taking a small step toward you.

Charles reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers, the touch sending a shock through his system. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips for a split second before meeting her eyes again.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected this reaction from him. Sure, he was always flirty with you but this past week seemed a little different.

“Shall we?” he asked

“Lead the way,” she said

Charles led you through the hotel lobby, his hand lightly resting on the small of your back as you two walked toward the exit. His touch was soft, almost protective, but you could feel the weight of it. It wasn’t just a gesture—it was more.

When you reached the car, a sleek Ferrari SF90 in all its glory, Charles opened the passenger side door for you.

“After you,” Charles said with a playful grin.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat as she slid into the car, the cool leather of the seat pressing against you as you settled in. You glanced over at Charles as he slid into the driver’s seat, his movements smooth and confident. The way he adjusted the rearview mirror, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel—it all seemed like a quiet dance between you both like everything was aligning.

Charles started the engine, the powerful rumble filling the space between them. He looked over at you, a small smile playing on his lips as they began their journey to the track.

“So,” he began, trying to keep the mood light, “Are you ready for today?”

You leaned back in the seat, gaze wandering to the window for a moment as the city passed by. “I think you’re the one who should be ready for today,” you teased, glancing back at him with a knowing smile. “You’re going to have a lot of eyes on you.”

Charles laughed softly, but there was a nervous edge to it. “That’s nothing new.” He shifted the car smoothly, maneuvering through the streets. “But it’s different when you’re here, you know?” His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. “Having you here makes it… better.”

You weren’t sure if he meant it in the way you wanted to believe, but the sincerity in his voice made you feel something she hadn’t expected.

“It’s always been different,” she said softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“I’ve always been here for you, Charles. I always will be.”

Charles glanced over at you, his expression softening. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.” His hand briefly brushed against yours on the gearshift, sending a jolt through you, and he didn’t pull away. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the world outside the car fading away.

When they arrived at the track, the noise of the race weekend came rushing back.

He looked over at you, his gaze lingering for a moment, his thoughts seemingly racing. Then, with a slow exhale, he opened the door and stepped out, walking around to your side of the car. He opened the door for you, just like before, but this time, it felt different.

As you stepped out of the car, Charles was already there, his hand extending to help steady you, though it wasn’t needed. You didn’t take his hand immediately, but the way he watched you, the way his eyes stayed on you with such intensity, made your heart flutter.

“You look even more stunning in the daylight,” he said, his voice lower now, the playful teasing replaced with something more genuine.

You met his gaze, lips curving into a soft smile. “Thanks, Charles,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper.

formulaone

Charles Leclerc steps into the track alongside his strategist, Y/N today! Charles is starting P4 today - let's see what we'll get with Ferrari, especially with the upcoming title battle with McLaren! Today's going to be interesting.

liked by mlnmarta,joris_trouche, and 4M others

alexandrafp seriously charles it;s only been 2 weeks since you broke up with alex and you're taking y/n around in your car? wtf!

⤷ charlesfp y/n is charles childhood best friend , besides alex was toxic enough that he couldn't spend time with yn!

⤷ ynstrategistupdates frr- yn and charles have always stepped into the track together before this, where is your brains?

⤷ yndefender please what?! charles had ENOUGH with alex past 2 years! stfu and leave the sport if you're only invested in WAGS!

@F1Fanatic

"Okay, but Charles and Y/N arriving together in his Ferrari SF90 and the way he held her hand to help her out of the car??? Gentleman of the year 🥺🔥 #CharlesLeclerc #F1"

@TifosiForever

"Y/N in that dress??? Charles could barely keep his eyes off her. You’re telling me this is just ‘driver and strategist’ behavior? 😏 #Ferrari #COTAGP"

@GrandPrixGossip

"Did anyone else notice how Charles waited for Y/N at the lobby this morning? She’s clearly more than just a strategist to him. 👀 #F1Drama #LeclercNation"

@F1Moments

"The way Charles just casually said ‘I drive better when I know you’re watching’ to Y/N in the garage?? Sir, the cameras are ON. #SlowBurn #CharlesAndYN"

@FerrariInsider

"People are saying Charles and Y/N are just friends, but friends don’t exchange those kinds of looks before a race. 🫣 #F1LoveStory #CharlesLeclerc"

@F1Editz

"Charles Leclerc and Y/N arriving at COTA this morning >>> any romcom scene ever filmed. The chemistry is unreal. 😍 #F1Romance"

@LeclercNation

"If Charles wins today, it’s 100% because Y/N is his good luck charm. Someone check the stats on her presence at his podiums! 🏆❤️ #F1CoupleGoals"

womeninformulaone

Ferrari's Head of Strategy, Ms YN arrives on the COTA paddock alongside Ferrari's Charles Leclerc today. She is wearing a beautiful fitted navy blue dress. Let's see what she pulls off in today's race! 🏎 ❇

liked by carmenmundt,hannahstjohn,ursername,charles_leclerc and 8M others

ynsfp who is this DIVA?

alexfp cunning witch

⤷ charlesfp you should've been banned by now! Why do people like you still exist??

ursername WOW haha featured by this page? I thought this page was just for WAGs, never thought WOMEN in MOTORSPORTS could've been featured.

80K likes

RACE

The track energy was high as the team prepared for the race. Charles stepped into his car after having his debrief with his engineer, Bryan, Fred and of course, you- adjusting his helmet and getting settled in the cockpit. You stood by, watching till the clock hits 12.

Least to say, you were feeling nervous. But when do you not go through a whirlwind of emotions when you see your best-friend driving at 200-300km/h for 2 hours? Formula One is not a just a sport— if not done meticulously it'd be fatal.

Not were you only nervous on that but as a strategist yourself, you are afraid of letting the team down with ridiculous pits and scenarios which scares you. You weren't responsible for what happened at Montreal nor were you responsible for the mishaps this year. But as a woman in motorsports where women are highly downgraded and treated not well — you were determined to make a change in this sport where misogyny has no place and uplift young girls to dominate this world of motorsports.

As you sit on your chair at the pit-wall, you laugh as you remembered your last conversation with Charles making you shake your head.

“I’m going to win today.”

“Confident, are we?”

Charles: “When you’re the one calling the shots, how could I not be?”

There was multiple times where Charles would've said that and not win. So him being overconfident made you remember those moments. However, you always wanted your best-friend, Charles to win every single race if you could. You both grew up dreaming about winning the constructors championship for Ferrari and here you are together working together.

Life is so unexpected and magical.

The Circuit of the Americas roared with excitement as the lights went out, marking the start of the Austin Grand Prix.

As Max and Lando fought aggressively into Turn 1, their cars went wide, forcing both drivers to compromise their exits. This split-second miscalculation opened the door for Charles and Carlos Sainz, who took full advantage. Charles made an audacious dive on the inside, slipping past not just Max and Lando but also gaining a crucial edge over his Ferrari teammate.

Suddenly, Charles found himself in P1 by the end of the first corner, with Carlos right behind him. The commentators were stunned by his opportunistic brilliance:

"Leclerc from P4 to P1! That’s unbelievable! What a move from the Ferrari driver!"

"His race-starts are on point, isn't it?", you ask Fred

"He's definitely perfected it," Fred replied

From that point on, Charles showcased a masterclass in race control. Lap after lap, he extended his lead with precision and consistency. While chaos unfolded behind him, with Max and Lando locked in a fierce battle for P3, Charles focused on maintaining a steady rhythm.

Even the pit stops—often Ferrari’s Achilles’ heel—were flawless. When Charles came in for his stop on Lap 18, the team delivered a lightning-quick turnaround, allowing him to rejoin the track without losing his lead.

"Just keep it steady, Charles. You’re doing an amazing job," his race engineer said over the radio.

"Copy. Let’s bring it home," Charles replied, his voice calm but determined.

As the final lap unfolded, the crowd at COTA erupted in cheers. Charles crossed the finish line with a commanding lead, having led every lap of the race—a feat that underscored his strategic brilliance and racecraft.

"YESSS! Let’s go, ragazzi! What a race!" Charles yelled over the team radio, his joy evident.

As the garage burst into cheers and celebrations, someone nudged your shoulder. “He’s going to be insufferable after this,” one of the engineers teased, and you laughed, shaking her head.

“I think he’s earned it,” you replied softly, unable to hide the affection in your voice

His team congratulated him on a flawless performance, and the commentators lauded his exceptional drive

Leclerc didn’t just win today—he dominated. From P4 to P1 by the first corner and never looked back. This was a perfect race from the Ferrari driver."

Your hands trembled as you lowered the headset, a wide grin spreading across your face. Pride swelled in your chest, almost overwhelming. You clapped along with the team but couldn’t shake the warmth bubbling inside you. This wasn’t just a win for Ferrari. This was a win for him

In Parc Fermé, Charles leaped out of his car, visibly elated. The Ferrari garage was a sea of red, celebrating what was undoubtedly one of their best performances of the season. Charles hugged his team members before making his way to the podium.

You had tears visible flowing down your cheek- they call it the happy tears. Your heart beaming in joy and proud.

You wanted to run out there and hug him, tell him how incredible he was. But instead, you stayed rooted, heart pounding, waiting for him to arrive in Parc Fermé

As the Monegasque driver stood on the top step, the Monegasque national anthem echoed through the Austin sky, marking a moment of triumph for both Charles and Ferrari.

As he made his way to the podium, you stayed back, watching him from the sidelines. Your heart was full, pride immeasurable. You pulled out your phone, snapping a quick photo of him standing on the top step of the podium, champagne in hand, the Monegasque flag behind him.

The camera's were all on you, Ferrari and Charles — capturing the special moment that will last an eternity.

@F1Fans: "Charles Leclerc’s drive today was a masterpiece. Calm, calculated, and utterly dominant. Driver of the day, no question."

@LeclercNation: "From P4 to P1 by Turn 1, and he never gave up the lead. Charles Leclerc is a star! #AustinGP #TeamLeclerc"

@F1Memes: "Max and Lando fighting each other in Turn 1: 'This is fine.' Charles: 'Don’t mind if I do.' #Masterclass"

@FerrariOfficial: "Victory in Austin! Charles Leclerc secures the win with an exceptional performance. A day to remember for Scuderia Ferrari! #ForzaFerrari #CharlesLeclerc"

ursername

story, 5mins ago

What a drive. Proud of you @Charles_Leclerc

When Charles returned to the garage, still beaming, he sought you out immediately.

“Y/N!” he called, his voice cutting through the noise.

You turned, laughing softly at the sight of him—his race suit slightly damp from the champagne, his hair a mess, and his face glowing with happiness.

“That was incredible,” you said as he approached, eyes sparkling with pride. “You didn’t just win—you owned that race.”

He grinned, a little bashful despite the confidence he’d displayed on track. “You think so?”

“Charles,” you said, stepping closer, voice dropping slightly. “I think the whole world knows so. That was a masterclass.”

His grin turned softer, more genuine. “Means a lot coming from you.”

For a moment, there was silence between them, just the buzz of the team celebrating in the background.

“You owe me dinner,” you teased, breaking the tension. “You promised if you won.”

He smirked, his signature charm returning. “Guess I better make it special, then. For someone who’s apparently my lucky charm.”

You rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up her cheeks. “Don’t get used to it, Leclerc.”

“Oh, I’m already used to it.” His tone was playful, but there was something deeper in his gaze, something unspoken.

@F1Updates:"What a dominant win by Charles Leclerc today at the Austin GP. From P4 to P1 by Turn 1 and never looked back. #CharlesLeclerc #AustinGP"

@F1FanGirl:"Did anyone see Y/N’s story? That caption! She’s so proud of him, and honestly, same. #CharlesAndYN"

@GossipGrid:"Y/N spotted in the Ferrari garage during Charles’ win. These two are definitely giving ‘something’s going on’ vibes. 👀 #F1Drama #CharlesLeclerc"

@FerrariOfficial:"Victory is red! 🏆 Congratulations to Charles Leclerc on a flawless drive at COTA. #ForzaFerrari #AustinGP"

charles_leclerc

Another one . The team have done such an incredible job recently and it's paying off, so happy we achieved a 1-2. Thanks to everybody for the massive support too, always special to come back to the US.

liked by ursername,scuderiaferrari,joris_trouche and 10M others

maxvertsappen1 amazing masterclass bro

lewishamilton always amazing to see young generational talents winning��

ursername well done leclerc! 🥇

ursername

merci charles, you proved yourself right, you earned this win with pure talent and crafted art- to more wins!

liked by mlnmarta,charles_leclerc,maxverstappen1,lewishamilton and 6M others

charles_leclerc finally got a good caption huhuu

scuderiaferrari cota will be in the books!

anthoinethrouchet amazing job charles, merci y/n!

@LeclercNation:"THAT race win. THAT walk back. Charles texting someone during the press conference. Coincidence? We think not. #CharlesAndYN "

@F1Gossip:"Y/N was glowing after Charles’ win. And the way he kept looking at her? We need answers, stat. #F1Tea"

You two stepped into the elevator, the hum of the machinery filling the quiet. Charles leaned against the wall, glancing at you.

“You didn’t stick around for the real celebration,” he teased, his voice low.

You smirked, arms crossed. “I figured you’d be too busy soaking up all the glory.”

Charles tilted his head, his lips curving into that signature smirk. “Maybe. Or maybe I was saving it for someone more important.”

Her heart skipped, but you rolled your eyes, playing it cool. “Always the charmer, aren’t you?”

“Only when it works,” he shot back smoothly, the elevator dinging open just in time.

As he stepped out, he glanced back at you with a small grin. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Charles,” you whispered as the doors slid shut.

902 notes · View notes

kabr0ztrousers · 1 month ago

Note

A small satyr gets lost in the woods away from his family and gets found by an orc or a minotaur and they decide to have their way w the lil satyr

Kabr0z Writes Episode 95: Satyr

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CW: size difference; fellatio; cunnilingus; cervical penetration; CNC; excessive cum; consensual, but don't tell him that

A/N: Another in the third person, because let's face it, who doesn't love a cute satyr girl? It'd be a crime to not linger describing her.

As always, if you have any requests please send an ask to add them to the list! I want to do over 360 episodes before the year's end!

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Agda's head hurt. She lay where she had fallen last night, the charred remains of the bonfire on her left, the forest on her right across a swath of trampled turf. She sat up, a wave of hangover-induced nausea coming over her. Nobody was around. Not unusual, the last to wake after a revel was responsible for finding the site for the next one, and nobody liked responsibility like that.

Ugh. Responsibility. Agda's face soured at the word. She stood up and brushed herself off. Hands running over a toned body; small tits and a flat belly transitioning to brown-furred goat legs ending in cloven hooves. Her russet hair hung in a thick plait down her back, dark eyes sparked with energy as a carefree smile once again asserted itself on her face. Find a clearing she hadn't been to in a while, build a bonfire and wait for people to bring her booze. As responsibilities went, it's not terrible.

So she set off, mid-morning sunlight filtering through the trees, making her skin shine like bronze where it caressed her. The forest was teeming with life. Birds flitted from branch to branch, squirrels darted around her cloven hooves. May was always her favourite month, and for good reason. Finding a clearing is the easy part. The woods were never so dense that one couldn't be found for someone searching. Getting enough wood together is a little tougher. If your clearing was used too recently, there's not enough wind-fallen wood or available bramble to scrape together a campfire, let alone the kind of bonfire to call the satyrs to revel. Sure, you could cut branches from trees and get wood that way but it's smoky and unpleasant, and who the hell wants to be lugging a felling axe with them all the time?

No. A couple of miles' walk, to a brand new site. That's what was needed.

Agda hadn't gone three hundred yards when she saw something that made her pause. A hulking mass of fur and sinew. Not a satyr. A minotaur. Agda's grin grew wider. Looks like she could get into a little more mischief than she'd planned.

The brute hadn't noticed her yet. Even from as far away as she was, Agda could see he dwarfed her. She doubted she'd be level with his pecs if they stood side by side. Of course, that only made this more fun. She cast her eyes about. Yes, that's precisely what she's looking for.

*Snap*

Her hoof hit the stick perfectly. She pretended not to notice as the minotaur wheeled around. He sorted when he saw her, bent over, pretending to pick up sticks. He ran to her. Agda started running too darting left and right, making it believable, while being sure not to lose the beast following her. She feigned tripping, landing with her ass 'conveniently' in the air, pointed at the minotaur as he slowed down.

He grabbed her by the hips and hauled her up. One hand holding her while the other prised apart her spreading legs. Agda bit her lip as the minotaur sniffed her cunt, his nose taking in her musk and sweet sweat. He opened his mouth, letting his long, rough tongue roll over Agda's cunt as he held her upside-down. She almost came there and then. As soon as he started licking her, he went straight for her clit. The tongue slid over her most sensitive parts before the tip plunged into her pussy, rubbing at her insides with the same animalistic vigor.

The beast was getting hard, his cock rising, gaining in length and girth with every throb. Agda twisted her body, trying to find the flared tip of his cock with her mouth, while not giving away to the minotaur how much this wasn't his idea. The cock swung up, slapping her wetly in the face a couple of times, hot precum soaking her hair as slick spittle matted her lower half.

At last, she caught it. The tip almost filled her mouth on its own, but she still allowed him to grab the back of her head and force her down onto it. Inch by inch, the minotaur stretched Agda's throat with his cock. Even as she started to roll on to her first orgasm of the day, clenching and bucking into his mouth, his hand stayed on the back of her head, using the long braid of hair as a handle to control her.

His cock pulled out with an audible pop, twice as thick as it was when it went in, and twice as long to boot. The flare pulsed with readiness, eager to be pounded into the goat-girl's eager fuckhole. The minotaur turned her around, pointing her face away from him. One hand supported her belly, the other was still wrapped in her hair, using it as a leash. The flare was almost wide enough to sit on, almost comically thick compared to the tiny satyr trying to spread herself open to take it. Somehow, either through the minotaur pushing down, Agda opening herself up, or the copious amounts of fluid helping it along, the tip popped in. Agda moaned, her legs hanging limp as the minotaur drove himself deep into her. Her hands drew to her clit, trying her best to rub at herself around the hand using her body to stroke a cock the length of her arm.

Over and over the minotaur hit her cervix, every time she'd let out a noise, half of pain from her most sensitive part being ignobly slammed into, half of pleasure, wanting him to hit harder and go deeper. The minotaur growled, a deep rumbling as he tried to force Agda even further down his cock.

He pushed harder with every stroke, forcing himself into her. Agda screamed out in agonised delight as he pushed through, forcing his way through her cervix and into her tender, fertile womb. The minotaur pressed harder, hilting himself in her before adjusting his grip.

His hands were on her hips now. Agda's fingers ran furiously over her clit as she careened towards her next release, then the next, then the next. The minotaur didn't care about the sobbing, moaning satyr impaled on him. He was too focused on using her soft, firm, tender body to fuck himself with to notice her asking him not to stop, to give her more. His thrusts got harder, slower, pushing her down hard and holding her there a little longer each time as his balls tightened up against him.

He came in rivers. The force of the first spurting jet would've made Agda gasp, were she not already a gasping, sobbing wreck. The next was a little weaker, but still dumped a litre of minotaur seed directly into her womb. Over and over, the inside of her body was flooded with hot cum from her would-be rapist. Again and again the minotaur pulled her down a little harder on his thick flare.

Then he pulled out. Lifting Agda like she weighed nothing, watching as his cum flowed out of her and pooled on the floor before dropping the drooling, twitching satyr at his feet. He walked on, cum still dripping in thick ropes from his retracting cock.

Agda rolled onto her back, smiling as she scooped up a handful of fresh cum from her cunt, tasting the salty bitter slime. Minotaurs are her favourite toys

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Got a little carried away with this one, but the idea of the cute satyr tricking the brutish minotaur into having his way with her was too good to resist. Not sure why she needed him to think it was his idea, but it was fun to add that detail

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godhandler · 4 months ago

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meet young adult Toji Zenin from Rent A BF!

just turned 20 (it’s 1995), the legal age of adulthood, and ran away from home the second he could

genuinely very intelligent on top of that heavenly restriction strength

not that he’ll admit it to himself, has very low self esteem (constantly calls himself “a piece of trash” in his head) that he covers with a brusque attitude. he’s physical strong but mentally apathetic to his emotions as a coping mechanism for his c-ptsd

at his worst, he’s unstable and often irrational, quick to anger, deeply insecure of his existence, chip on his shoulder, is sensitive to rejection, volatile emotions

Lives in a ramshackle 1BHK in a Minami-Sinju ghetto. Why try for a better place? he believes that’s the best that he deserves anyway. also he’d rather live freely in poverty than go back to the zenin estate

being an escort has ruined his image of sex and intimacy– it’s a performance he’s got to do again and again regardless of whether he wants to or not. he just zones out, does the deed, and waits for payment. he’s used to it. Sex is business and he’d rather eat his arm than show intimacy/vulnerability.

has a weird thing about sitting on other people’s chairs/couches. he wasn’t allowed to “pollute the furniture” growing up, so even now he’ll just lean against the wall or keep standing until he’s exclusively invited to sit down.

really likes local street food, especially yaki/grilled food– takoyaki, okonimiyaki, yakitori, yakiniku etc. likes a little kick of spice, a couple dabs of green chilli sauce. was given a lot of the accidently burnt food growing up and now he’s got a liking for it, calls it ‘extra crispy’ and ‘the char adds flavour’. prefers savoury over sweet but enjoys those mildly sweet rice cakes. eats fast, usually the first to finish at the table. knows proper table etiquette he just doesn’t care.

likes the idea of falling in love and having a family more than the actual experience of it. deep down, he wants to have a sweet kid who gets everything he didn’t. but rn he’s atleast 5 years away from that realisation

was racist and homophobic due to ignorance, changed his views when he met all sorts of people working in the underbelly of society. shiu hit him when he first said racist stuff against koreans.

brings shoes inside the house.

knows his way around a computer (rare at the time), can operate emails and vidcalls. helpful for his ‘business’. has a motorola phone but doesnt carry it around.

had his beard come in early but its a patchy one. shaves twice a week.

a/n: i had initially planned to make this a pretty dark fic, with a barely-legal toji trapped in a spiral of prostitution, poverty, drugs, mental illness, and murder with a reader who takes advantage of him. but when i actually sat down to write it, i just couldn't. ik he's a fictional character but toji's suffered so much already, i ended up giving him an entirely fluffy series where he is loved and things go right for him for once.

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starlightshadowsworld · 6 months ago

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Tw child abuse

Concept: Atsushi doesn’t leave the Orphanage unscathed (combined with my headcanon that Atsushi’s weakness is fire.)

The Headmasters ire was never not aimed at Atsushi. But on that final day it felt demonic. He ran but two other staff members held him in place.

Through every punch.

Every kick to his frail broken body.

Atsushi thinks he passed out when the hot poker seared his flesh. But all he can recall from that were the sound of his own own screams.

Just as Atsushi thought he was going to die he was tossed out into the freezing night.

He was no stranger to the cold. To the pain that had become his only companion in life. But this was unbearable. Yet he gritted his teeth and crawled away from the closed gates.

His clothes were shredded from age and being torn apart into makeshift bandages. Atsushi didn’t really know how to tend to wounds, especially burns as severe as these.

It’s not like he’d ever been worth wasting medical supplies over.

Hunger was another old friend that joined him on the way. It probably sounded weird that Atsushi was grateful for it. It kept his mind off the scars that scattered across his body.

How they burned no matter how cold he was.

The tiger popped around days later and Atsushi wondered if being eaten would hurt any less.

Atsushi wasn’t really paying attention to the bandaged man’s…Dazai’s words. The cold water felt like both a blessing a curse. He contemplated jumping back in. But the evenings chill would get him if he tried.

Dazai frowned, noticing something amiss but figured it was simply Atsushi’s hunger. And yet that unease didn’t fade once Atsushi had eaten more then a few bowls of chazuke.

The relief at being full was quickly overtaken by the pain. Because now it was front and centre in Atsushi’s mind. He wasn’t listening to Dazai and Kunikida, not really.

He got up to leave and cried out when Kunikida lifted him up. For the action caused his charred shirt to rise up and rub against the burns on his stomach.

Kunikida let him go, concern flashing in his eyes as he wordlessly turned to his partner. Checking that Dazai had seen it too, which he had now.

The little bit of damage they’d manage to see was horrific. The fact Atsushi wasn’t on the ground crying in agony told them, along with the holes in his story that he was gifted.

Because no average person could survive such wounds.

Dazai jumped as the tiger leaped at him. Nullifying the ability but not before making a mental note of the patches of damaged fur.

He caught Atsushi and gently laid him on the ground. Just as Kunikida walked in closely followed by Yosano. Atsushi awoke soon enough, taking the new information about as well as one could.

And then… “Atsushi, are you hurt?” Atsushi not so subtly shrank back at the question. “It’s fine” came the immediate response.

Yosano gave Dazai and Kunikida a look and without a word both got up and left. Standing out by the door just incase.

“You’re not in any trouble.” The disbelief on his face made her both mad and sad. She’d seen to many with such an expression and it never got easier.

From the brief talk with Kunikida she could tell was Atsushi a person that assumed everything was his fault. It was probably why he got hurt to begin with. As some sort of twisted punishment.

She couldn’t wait to show those people something truly twisted.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.” The honesty might’ve been why Atsushi hesitantly rolled up his shirt. Yosano didn’t let her anger show and instead focused on inspect the wounds after gaining Atsushi’s consent.

Her touch was feather light and he slowly began to explain how he got such injuries to begin with. “You didn’t deserve any of that” she hoped one day he’d believe her. For now Yosano was just relieved he’d let her treat his wounds.

Without her gift that is which she wasn’t surprised by but accepted. Atsushi had suffered enough anyway.

Yosano did what she could. Kunikida used his ability to conjure up any equipment she didn’t have on hand. While Dazai sat by Atsushi’s side and regaled him in the most ridiculous tales as he laid in their infirmary.

Atsushi should’ve been admitted to the hospital but with the bounty there was no chance of that happening. He was afraid but he seemed to have done trust in them. Which after all he’d been through was a miracle in enough itself.

His burns were severe and he’d developed a fever but Atsushi would heal. It would take a lot of work, regular check ups and salves but slowly but surely he would heal. Hopefully it wouldn’t just be his injuries.

“So he’s joining us right?” Asked Yosano, stepping out to the main office. It was only the three of them here at this hour. “Yup” said Dazai and though Kunikida looked sceptical he nodded.

“Alright, but we’ll have to post pone the entrance exam and we’ll need to ensure his health is a priority during his time with us” and on Kunikuda rambled because he’d already grown fond over Atsushi.

The other two teased Kunikida as they made a scheduleso that someone would be with Atsushi throughout the night. Checking up on him and making very elaborate revenge plots against his orphanage.

Atsushi was one of theres they just needed to make it official.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #bsd yosano #yosano akiko #injuries #child abuse

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stripedstarsblueflags · 20 days ago

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Put that guy in a situation 53, wings/supernatural features: Sargebon, Vampire!Logan x Phoenix!Alex

Edge Effect

Pairing: Sargebon

Word count: 10.2k

Rating: T (language, vaguely suggestive themes of an ambiguous nature)

GOT A LITTLE CARRIED AWAY OKAY?? on ao3 shortly

Logan always knows when Alex is about to shift.

Not that it’s subtle for everyone else. In the few days before, Alex is volatile, agitated, reactive to the point of being almost unapproachable. He snaps for no reason and speaks so fast he stutters almost every sentence. By the penultimate day, the change manifests in his eyes: they take on a reflective amber shine, the irises going from almost black to the deep orange of catching embers, full of sparking, red-hot energy.

Most people notice these symptoms when they begin– two or three days in advance, the amount of buildup the cycle needs before the phoenix ignites itself. Nobody sees that– Logan doesn’t know where Alex goes during the actual moment of the shift, just that he keeps himself well hidden until it’s over.

Logan might be the only one who knows it’s about to happen before Alex himself, though. He can smell it.

It’s noticeable almost a week in advance, the same way he can smell the heavy metallic grey in the air a week before a rainstorm.

Alex always smells a little like smoke– which makes sense. He’s a creature of fire and ashes first, blood and bones second; the glamours he uses to hide his wings and make them intangible enough to get in the car can’t change that. Most of the time, though, it’s a comforting sort of smoke– autumnal and fragrant, underlying hints of cinnamon or clove, warm and a little bit sharp in the way campfire smoke can be sharp. Logan felt a little addicted to it when he was first getting to know Alex– he’s acclimated now, but the gentle and fuzzy spell the scent had first seemed to put on him hasn’t abated. Sometimes he feels a little too close to Alex– like he’s waiting for himself to succumb to rising heat, to let himself get burned.

In a way, the shifts help with that– infatuation, attraction, whatever it is. They keep Alex from seeming too good to be true.

When the shift is approaching, even before the physical symptoms present, Alex’s scent is the first thing to be affected. It reminds Logan of a forest fire: something warm and playful at first, then the uneasy sensation of losing control, and finally everything soft and sweet burning up at once, charred and unfamiliar.

The smoke is the most pungent the day after, though, when he’s all but carrying the cinders with him. Maybe he really is– Logan’s rarely gotten more than a glimpse of his teammate’s wings, and never right after a shift. Maybe the ash clings to the feathers afterwards, dark and heavy, weighing him down.

Nobody talks to Logan about it; certainly not Alex himself. He doesn’t know if they talk to each other and just leave him out of the conversation, but it would make sense. As the first vampire in Formula 1, he isn’t exactly winning any popularity contests.

So far, Alex and Logan have gotten along just fine without their respective supernatural aspects playing a part. There hasn’t been any agreement or discussion on the matter; just a mutual longing to be able to exist as a person for once and not just an Entity. Logan would rather keep it that way; it feels nice to play at being normal, at being human– for as long as they can, anyway. An unspoken rule that keeps the escapism going for that much longer.

It’s not perfect, but he’ll take it. And he’ll take the quiet intimacy of knowing Alex a little more than he’s supposed to.

It isn’t possible to schedule the shifts, exactly, but there are certain measures that could be taken to push them back– suppressants, ice baths, fever reducers– just long enough to ensure Alex won’t burst into flames halfway through a race weekend. It’s tricky, but manageable, most of the time.

Fucking triple-headers, though…

The three weeks of Austin, Mexico and Vegas nearly culminated in disaster. Logan sensed the change in Alex by the end of the first week, and the symptoms manifested by the time they arrived at the following circuit. All the hyperactivity and short-fuse energy was so much worse with the knowledge that there wouldn’t be a break until after Vegas– Alex would have to hold back the fire by sheer force of will.

By qualifying, he was nearly unrecognizable.

Logan didn’t see him for two days after the race.

But the night before, he’d clocked William’s best ever result at Vegas, and a fastest lap to finish it off. Something about all that just simmering under the surface made him a demon behind the wheel. Heat waves radiated from his hidden wings. A permanent sheen of sweat glowed on his fevered skin. He looked like he was about to collapse, and then he got in the car…

He’d run in second for over nineteen laps before pitting, and finished the race in P4.

Not a podium, but from the cheers in the garage you would’ve thought the team won the whole damn championship. Logan was hiding in his driver’s room, trying to pretend the shame of another DNF (suspension failure that wasn’t even his fault this time) wasn’t slowly killing him inside when he’d heard the uproar.

He’d stumbled out of his room bewildered, panicked, half expecting to emerge into a riot, but it was just the ecstatic cheers of the team rushing out of the garage. A blue surge of adrenaline and pride would meet Alex in parc ferme after the cooldown lap, all beaming smiles and shaking fists, ready to celebrate the culmination of a drive that would surely go down in history.

Logan returned to the garage to wait, away from everybody else. Nobody asked him about it. Since bringing the car back, he’d become little more than an inanimate object, a nuisance in the sight line of the mechanics tasked with taking the tractor apart and seeing what the upteenth issue was– many of them glaring over their shoulder at him, no matter that he’d tried his best. He’d slunk away to his driver’s room after a while, watching the rest of the race on the TV and hoping the cameras wouldn’t pan to a blazing wreck.

Alex wasn’t blazing, but he sure looked like a wreck by the time he’d finished at the weigh station and snuck through the cameras to the garage. His hair was drenched and clinging to his forehead as if he’d poured an entire bottle over himself. The velcro around his ankles and wrists was undone, zipper half open, his hands shaking too badly to undo the race suit any further. His eyes were wild.

The noise, Logan thought.

He pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against and crossed the cluttered space carefully, resisting the urge to lift his hands as if he was approaching a cornered animal. On the way he grabbed a pair of headphones from the wrack on the wall. He kept his tone low and tentative, however, only loud enough to hear over the chaos without adding to the overall roar.

“Hey,” he’d said. Alex met his eyes in one snapping half turn that must’ve hurt his neck; Logan almost stepped away, mouth going draw. Alex’s eyes were bright red, like rings of lava. His teeth were clenched so hard Logan could see the quivering tension all down his neck. He didn’t smell like smoke, he smelled like an electrical fire– black wire and twisted metal, a corrupting ozone haze so powerful one breath nearly knocked him out. Logan had to take a second to compose himself, forcing down the nausea.

“You’re okay, look at me,” he soothed, holding out the headphones. “You’re alright, you did good.” He gestured over his shoulder in the vague direction of their driver’s rooms. “Ice bath?”

Alex snatched the headphones and jammed them over his head, fingers going white around the material until he got it situated. Then he closed his eyes for a bit, chest heaving, hands still clasped firmly around the headphones as if the silence might slip through his fingers. He didn’t unclench his teeth long enough to answer, but he did nod almost frantically. Anything to keep the fire from starting now.

“Okay,” Logan said, forcing his voice to stay calm. He hesitated, then reached out and gave Alex’s wrist a gentle tug. “Come on.”

Alex gasped at the contact like he’d been holding his breath until that moment, but he had followed where he was led.

Logan hasn’t seen Alex at all until he flew back to England.

They both have sim work scheduled the next week, and Logan’s almost afraid for the first day their HQ schedules overlap. He keeps thinking of Alex’s red-hot eyes, the burning heat of his skin in the few seconds of contact when he’d grabbed his wrist, the heat waves rippling from his back and warping the air around him in a nauseating mirage. The way Alex had reacted at Logan’s voice, his touch: as if nothing else could bring him back from the verge of complete immolation.

It probably didn’t mean anything–

It can’t mean anything.

But it was the first time he’d seen Alex so vulnerable, the first time either of them had been exposed to the downsides that came with the other’s species. It’s not like Alex has ever seen Logan when he’s missed one too many feedings, all dripping fangs and frenzied hunger until he got what he needed. Logan is very, very careful to keep it that way. He doesn’t make that mistake often, but Alex of all people doesn’t need to know how bad it can get– how much of a monster he becomes.

Maybe there’s an element of shame in it for Alex, as well, even though his shifts are considerably less stigmatized. Either way, they don’t talk about these things. The averted disaster in Vegas seems to have crossed a line into a space he wasn’t ready for.

But when he first sees Alex, tucked morosely into a corner of the ground floor lounge (only slightly more extravagant than any average workplace canteen) all his apprehension is replaced with concern.

The heat and intensity is gone from his aura, thankfully, but he seems absolutely miserable in a too-big grey sweatshirt and an expression of absolute detachment on his face. Slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, he looks like he’s just suffered some massive blow and hasn’t even begun to recover. His usual restless, self conscious energy is completely subdued, instead replaced by a rigor mortis-level stillness.

They wouldn’t normally sit together– if not for how overpowering the smoke is for Logan, then at least for a mutual paranoid awkwardness. For some reason conversation is always so much easier in the paddock, where the roaring sounds of V6s and machinery render their voices undetectable and meaningless, than in a sterile room with washed-out lighting and endless, incriminating quiet. Also, everything smells like energy and burning fuel on track, so it’s the more soothing traces in the campfire aura that is Alex that really stand out. Outdoors in general always feels more open, more relaxed than whatever can go on behind closed doors.

But on seeing Alex’s dejected state, and recalling his panic in the garage, Logan makes the decision to approach him. He slides into the next chair with a deliberately nonchalant, “‘Sup.”

Alex laughs a little, a hoarse exhale that’s barely more than a cough. “You sound so American when you say that.”

Logan scoffs. “Gee, I wonder why.”

“Sup,” Alex imitates, deliberately pitching his voice low. “Wassup, bro. Wassup with you?”

Logan rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh, but doesn’t try very hard. “I’m sorry I’ve offended your British sensitivities.”

“Logan, no– it’s sensibilities.”

“Sometimes you sound exactly like George, you know that, right?”

Alex laughs, a little more sincerely, then winces. He swallows and shifts in his seat, trying to cover it up, but Logan catches it nonetheless.

“Just wanted to check in,” he says to Alex, softening his voice. “Y’know, after the race. You were fighting pretty hard.”

He doesn’t specify any further– fighting to keep the place, fighting to the oppressive desert heat, fighting the cycle of his own body that demanded the sparks catch immediately.

Alex doesn’t ask him to elaborate. “Yeah. I mean, good result, but… a night to forget, for sure.”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Alex smirks; Logan can tell he’s deliberately holding back laughter this time– not out of rudeness, more like a stilted sort of self-restraint.

“Shift went okay?” Logan asks.

The question shuts both of them up; Logan takes a minute to feel a surge of gratitude that his chalky vampire pallor won’t warm enough to blush, even as his face burns. He’s never asked that question before. The smooth, unbothered air he forced into his voice sounds blatantly artificial– maybe just to himself, because he can feel his own heart racing along with the overthinking, but it makes him cringe nonetheless.

Alex doesn’t look at him, a distracted haze settling over his eyes again. “I mean,” he starts, chewing his lips as he tries to find the right words. “As much as shifts can be, I guess. I’m used to it.”

Logan feels a pang of sympathy. He can’t relate exactly, of course, but he can picture the emotion vividly: the shame and exhaustion that comes with forcing yourself through an inhuman struggle just to get it over with. Coming back into your body with the remnants of the whole ordeal trapped under your skin, unwilling to let you go– pain, heightened sensitivity, ears ringing, heart racing. Feeling, even in the aftermath, like a creature– like a beast dominated by the needs and constructs of its baser form, void of complex thought, only an Entity wearing itself out through the same primitive ritual.

“Glad to get it over with, at least?” Logan prompts, hearing his own wavering hesitation. He asks because that’s how he feels after a feeding– sore and sick and laden with as much self-disgust as blood, but overwhelmingly relieved that the worst of it is behind him, at least for the time being.

“Yeah,” Alex admits after a pause. “That’s the only good part, I guess. The feeling like, I don’t know– like I got it out of my system.”

Logan nods thoughtfully, not really knowing how to respond. The relief he experiences has more to do with getting something into his system, so he definitely doesn’t want to try and bring that up now.

Instead, he tries to keep the focus on Alex. “That’s good to– I mean, good for me to hear. Like, that it didn’t go wrong. You seemed kind of freaked after the race.”

He doesn’t mean it as an insult, but Alex clearly takes it the wrong way. A look of warning flashes in his eyes, but just as quickly fizzles out like a match flame in a cold wind, and he casts his gaze down in strained hurt. It sends a jolt of panic through Logan, rapidly stepping in to overcorrect the perceived degradation: “No, no, not that that’s a bad thing– I mean, I’m the same when I’m hungry, you know, it’s so hard to keep it together– it was just. I don’t know. I was worried.”

Alex closes his eyes meekly. “I’m sorry.”

Logan shakes his head, which is stupid because Alex can’t see him, then gently contradicts. “Don’t be sorry, Alex. You couldn’t help it.”

Alex takes a deep breath, a brief spasm of tension gripping his shoulders for a minute like he wants to push back, then twists back into a slouch. “I didn’t mean to, uh– get like that. Like, let it show.” He clears his throat, abrupt and painful; when he continues his voice is hoarse but refortified. “Anyway.” A little too loudly. He grimaces and finds a softer pitch: “Like I said, I’m used to it. It’s a mess while it’s happening, but the fire can’t catch on anything that’s not me.” He drags his fingers distractedly through his hair, wrist jerking in a sudden spasm. His eyes look hollow and drained, bruiselike shadows eclipsing the sockets, and his jawline is sharp with tension. He still carries the acrid, stinging scent of smoke, but there’s something else underneath– spilled ink and wet paper, something bitterly fragile.

A cold, heavy silence seeps between them.

Finally, unable to stand the growing cavern of unspoken implication between them, Logan breaks.

“Does it hurt?” he asks quietly.

Alex’s eyes shoot up to his, a sudden spark of alertness flashing in his gaze. A flare of something bright and hot threads through the smoky haze for a second.

“Sorry, sorry,” Logan babbles quickly, putting his hands up in part placation, part surrender. “I don’t know if that’s, like, offensive or a stupid question or–“

“No, Logan, it’s okay.” Alex takes a deep breath and the tension leaves his scent, settling back into blackened charcoal. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised. I guess people think it’s offensive, or that I might–“ He swallows and casts his eyes down. “I don’t know. It’s just not something I’ve ever been asked before.”

“Really?” Logan finds that hard to believe; there’s nothing natural about the way Alex is holding himself. There’s tightness in every movement, a grimace on his face with every turn of his head. There’s no way nobody else has noticed. “No one?”

Alex shrugs, then winces. His next sentence is forced steadiness between gritted teeth. “Just hasn’t come up.”

Logan ducks his head, trying to meet Alex’s eyes. “But does it? Hurt, I mean.”

Alex exhales, shuddering, and then the mask drops. His shoulders droop. He lets his head fall forward. His eyes slide closed, and all the weariness washes over his face like murky water.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, it hurts like hell. The first few days after… like, before the regrowth starts– those are always the worst.”

Logan chews his lip. “How long will it hurt for?”

Alex lifts his head. His eyes hold a bewildered tenderness that wasn’t there before. “Why… why are you asking?”

It’s a fair question. Logan doesn’t have wings, there’s no way he could understand. Alex would be better off talking to George– the shapeshifter makes the transition from human to crow look effortless, but Logan knows George still struggles sometimes. He can smell it, after a particularly bad change– the sleek, birch bark scent of the crow that hangs around George’s human form hours afterwards. It hurts, too, though Logan doesn’t think George knows that he knows. Still, George might understand Alex better. Or Lando, or Max, or any of the other winged drivers.

But…. no one else had even asked?

Logan looks away, suddenly unsure. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

Alex laughs humorlessly. “Sucks to be paired with a phoenix, then.” He leans over to catch Logan’s eyes again as if he’s just remembered something. “Is the smoke still bothering you? I mean, I can’t smell it, but vampires…”

”It’s fine,” Logan lies, quickly cutting him off. The smoke around Alex is pungent, completely soaking the much preferable soft firewood and autumn leaves, but Logan’s learned to bear it more quickly than he thought he would.

He just doesn’t like hearing– that word. Vampire, fucking hell. Not even whispered, certainly not spoken aloud by anyone– especially not Alex. Alex is the only teammate he’s ever had who doesn’t treat him like a monster, like some unruly fevered beast hiding behind a facade of humanity. Alex doesn’t say the word aloud, but unlike pretty much everyone else around him, Logan doesn’t think he does it out of stigma or prejudice– more like he knows it bothers Logan, and won’t bang on doors that are closed for a reason. It’s one of the many things about Alex Logan finds himself being drawn to, despite the difference in species, despite the fact that a phoenix and a vampire pairing sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.

“Really, I don’t mind,” he assures Alex. “I just wish there was something I could do to help.”

Alex tilts his head and half-unfolds form his slouch like he wants to say something, then thinks better of it.

“Um… is there something I can do?” Logan tries to keep the eager inflection out of his voice. He doesn’t want to scare Alex away with his desire to be a good friend– he knows better than to be careless with showing affection, because there’s always people who will see him as a threat no matter what he does.

But when Alex looks back at him and their eyes meet, there’s no sign of fear or suspicion in his eyes at all. Only a little bit of pleading, and a whole lot of pain.

“I mean, if you would– well, um. Yeah,” Alex says shakily, words starting to trip over each other again like they do when he’s not focusing. “Yeah, there is, actually. Can you just come closer?”

Logan frowns and hesitates, but Alex looks too exhausted to be doing a bit. He braces his hands against the table and slides the rolling chair closer to Alex’s, close enough that their arms are pressed together.

Alex sighs deeply, eyes sliding closed again. He leans in, drifting closer to Logan, and for a second Logan worries he’s going to fall asleep.

“Woah, uh, hi,” he says, laughing awkwardly to conceal the sudden lightheadedness he feels from this much contact. “What about this is helping, exactly?”

Alex must regain some lucidity, because he starts to squirm as if he’s just realized he’s halfway into a compromising position with his teammate– but he doesn’t pull away. He shakes his head to himself. “Cold,” he mutters. “You’re always cold. Helps. Feels good…”

Logan knows he’s cold. He’s heard it before, he’s seen it before on all the vital scans, but it’s not something he consciously thinks about. He doesn’t touch anybody. They don’t touch him. It doesn’t come up.

Only now Alex is practically about to fall into his lap. “Helps… the burns?” he asks.

“Yeah. Burns on the wings… the feathers.” Alex is starting to drift away again, words going lower and softer around the edges. He’s putting less and less effort into looking like he’s not going to fall asleep on Logan’s shoulder. “Happens every cycle, fucking sick of it…”

Logan studies Alex’s sallow skin, the bags under his eyes, the fresh split in his chapped lips. The brightest person he knows has faded to a lusterless outline within seventy-two hours.

”I’m guessing you’re not sleeping,” Logan says, trying to keep his voice neutral. Some of the other Williams personnel in the lounge are starting to give them quizzical glances; he gives them flat, tight-lipped smiles in return, like: Nothing to see here, thanks for checking in.

Alex shakes his head and huffs out a laugh that’s partially a scoff. “No chance. I have to sit in front of the refrigerator with my wings spread for, like, an hour before I can even think about getting tired.”

Logan laughs too, not unkindly. “That’s a nighttime ritual I haven’t heard before.”

”Probably because nobody’s idea of a relaxing time is sitting on the kitchen floor with your shirt off, wondering how much you’re racking up on someone else’s power bill.”

Logan’s arm is cramping; he wriggles it free from between them and drapes it over the back of Alex’s chair. Alex makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a purr and lets his head drop on Logan’s shoulder.

”I didn’t know I was that cold,” Logan says, just to distract himself from the racy pulses in his chest— phantom echoes of what anxiety felt like when he still had a heartbeat. This close to Alex, the smoky smell is almost overpowering, but now he can detect hints of underlying firewood and cinnamon, of the Alex he knows.

“Phoenixes are more sensitive to temperature,” Alex mumbles. It surprises Logan a little bit, because this kind of openness— clear, detailed, articulated— never happens between them. The pain and exhaustion seem to have taken Alex’s walls down. “Especially after a shift, when everything’s…” His voice drops. “Raw.”

The floating, dissociative quality to Alex’s voice is starting to worry Logan. “Are you going to be okay by practice next week?” he frets.

Alex seems to come back to himself. His eyes slide open, sobered by a dejected self-awareness, and he sits up straight. “Sorry,” he says quietly, then clears his throat. “Ah, sorry, yeah. I’ll be fine. The regrowth phase starts tomorrow, I think, or maybe after— still won’t be at my best, because of the sleep, but by Saturday I’ll–”

“I can help,” Logan blurts out, without a second spared for thought or consideration or wondering what the hell he’s offering.

Alex furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

‘I can help you sleep’? Who says that? Logan has never felt more awkward in his life. Every instinct is shouting at him to back out of it, to retreat, to pretend this strange and spontaneous intimacy between them never happened– but if he takes it back now, wouldn’t that be worse? What if Alex gets the wrong idea and starts to see Logan the way everyone else does– just another predator, waiting for a time to strike?

He has to explain, or at least attempt. “I mean we could just.” Logan waves his hand vaguely at the space between the two of them. “What we did just now. I could just… be near until you fall asleep, I guess.” He cringes with every word. Even to his own ears, he sounds like a creep: insinuating things, trying to invite himself into someone else’s embrace, a badly told lie with poorly concealed motivations.

Fuck it all, he just wants to help.

When Alex doesn’t answer immediately, Logan’s heart sinks. The closest thing he’s ever had to a real friendship– one that’s not defined by the fangs or the silver or the bottles at the back of the fridge– and he’s thrown it away because he doesn’t know how to talk like a normal person.

He’s halfway through standing up when Alex catches onto his wrist.

Logan flinches, but doesn’t pull away. He looks back at Alex, his dark and shining eyes, the awful angle of his shoulders, the smoke, the wavering glamour that barely hides the marred shapes of his wings…

“Yeah,” Alex says. His voice is unbearably broken, unbearably vulnerable. “Yeah, please. I’d like that.”

Logan breathes a sigh of relief, the tight fear in his chest melting away like ice in spring sunlight.

Logan can drive home straight from the factory, while Alex’s hotel for the week is a little farther away. So Logan takes Alex home.

He isn’t sure if he’s endlessly grateful or in agonizing despair that the car ride is less than twenty minutes.

In despair because he needs a lot more time to think of how he’s going to handle what comes next, what he offered. How much exactly does ‘I can help’ entail? What is Alex expecting from him? How can Logan make sure that he doesn’t surpass those expectations? It’d be tough to disappoint Alex, but it’s far better than overstepping a boundary he never understood in the first place. The pure confusion of everything is starting to be a source of regret.

But he’s still grateful for the shortness of the drive, because it ends up being the most awkward length of time he’s ever spent with someone in a captive space. He and Alex aren’t exactly attached at the hip the way other teammate pairings on the grid are– they’re not even particularly close, because closeness requires vulnerability and that’s a step neither of them have taken. But they can talk. They can talk for hours, rambling about anything and everything except what the social admin actually wants them to talk about. They can make inconsequential topics stretch over track walks, pit stop practice, data sessions– it helps with boredom, it helps with anxiety. Inconsequential connection during inconsequential times.

This singular car ride, in comparison, feels more than tense– it feels heavy, like Logan can feel the weight of everything they both aren’t saying aloud like gravity on a particularly banked turn.

He doesn’t remember if he’s ever been able to detect the changes in Alex’s scent this clearly before– every nuance, every fluctuation catching his attention like light flashing on glass. Maybe he’s only focusing now, because they’re about to… whatever it is he promised to do.

Can you just come closer?

He’s driving with the windows rolled down, even though it’s loud, because he didn’t want to be completely immersed in smoke for any length of time. But the farther he gets from the factory, the more Alex’s smell changes: warmer and softer, like the burnt and brittle edges of the shift are starting to crumble away. It feels like something’s being lifted, choking black clouds drifting away from gentle auburn air.

He has no idea what that means for a phoenix– for Alex. He’s not sure he wants to.

He definitely doesn’t want to know what it means that he’s paying this much attention.

It’s better, at least. The drive is incrementally more bearable.

Alex is looking out the window. Logan is not looking at Alex.

He manages to stomach the silence for less than a minute. Any longer trying to remember every single conversation starter he’s ever heard and he might actually forget how to talk.

He turns on the radio.

He isn’t paying any attention to the music, just noting that it’s loud enough to drown out the sound of Alex breathing next to him, when Alex speaks up: “You like this song.”

Logan almost looks over at Alex in the passenger seat, then thinks better of it. He spares a moment to listen; he can’t recognize the song by the first few bars. “Do I?”

“Yeah, just– just wait til the chorus.” Alex half-unfurls from where he’s curled up like a kitten against the door and gestures along with the music until it reaches the right verse:

“Won’t you help me sober up,” Alex sings. “Growing up, it made me numb…”

Logan smiles.

Alex cuts himself off. “I never said I was a good singer.”

“I’m not saying that either.”

”Hey!” Alex reaches out and swats him on the arm, but he’s laughing and uncoordinated. “They played it in the garage the other week, remember? Just like on shuffle. You told them to turn it up, so… yeah.”

Logan remembers that practice. He’s a little surprised that Alex remembers– he was half-gone by that point, twitchy and unfocused, gritting his teeth at sudden flashes of heat only he could feel.

It’s kind of sweet, that he remembered. That it stayed in his mind after, enough to bring it up again now.

Logan snaps himself out of it: “It’s okay, I guess.” Abrupt, noncommittal, closing a door. He has to be normal about this. He has to feel very normal or the next few hours are going to be a struggle.

Alex seems to get the point, curling back into himself for the remainder of the drive.

It’s still better with the music playing.

It’s dark outside by the time they get to Logan’s flat.

Logan turns to Alex the second they both cross the threshold, abruptly self-conscious about his living space. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, it’s perfectly normal. If anything, it’s almost too normal. Sparse and open, with nondescript furniture and nondescript flooring, off-white walls like blank TV screens framing everything in too much space– completely void of personality.

A little depressing, honestly, but he doesn’t have anyone to share it with– filling up the space with photographs, mementos, bits and pieces from childhood homes, splashes of color and memory… for nobody’s enjoyment but his own? The few occasions he’d tried to inlay any sense of his own identity into his living space had seemed both childish and self-destructive. He doesn’t want to miss home– who he used to be, who he thought he would be– any more than he already does.

He’s trying to think of a way to explain this to Alex when he inevitably gets judged for the barrenness of it all, but when Alex walks in, all he does is close his eyes.

Logan stares at him blankly, mouth halfway open on a forgotten sentence. Alex looks like he’s in a trance. His breath evens out, face tipped up. The stiff line of his shoulders dips into an easy slouch, tension finally softening. It’s a mirror image of his reaction this afternoon, when being close to Logan brought him the first sort of relief he’d had after endless nights of pain. Shock and satisfaction, vivid and open in every part of his expression.

It feels a little intimate to watch, honestly. Logan clears his throat– it takes him two tries to make a sound loud enough to startle Alex out of his stupor. “You good, mate?”

Alex flinches, lips pursed around a startled gasp. “Sorry, uh, yeah. I’m good.” He comes back to himself, a deep blush rising to his cheeks, and mumbles, “It’s just so… quiet here. Still.”

”Still what?”

”No, still, like– like cold water. Water when there’s no waves. The surface.”

”Still water,” Logan says flatly, frowning at Alex. If there’s supposed to be a metaphor here, Alex isn’t articulating it very well.

Alex ducks his head and fidgets with the zipper on his jacket. “It’s sort of like when I was with you earlier. I mean next to you.” He’s talking too fast for Logan to process each sentence by itself, his voice hurried and unsteady. He rolls up the cuffs of both sleeves, fussing with invisible differences in the lengths to get them even. He won’t hold eye contact for longer than a second. “Everything else can seem so loud, sometimes, and so close–“ He gestures around his face with his free hand, vague and claw-like. “Like, it feels like everything I’m touching is too much and I can’t even focus because I feel like I don’t have my own space– that’s not a phoenix thing, though, more like a…”

Logan is a bit taken aback by the sudden vulnerability, seemingly from out of nowhere. He feels like he should offer some words of comfort– sympathize with whatever Alex is trying to express– but Alex can’t even complete his thought, so he ends up waiting silently like a statue.

Alex looks back at him finally, eyes pleading and tired, like he’s expecting Logan to finish his sentence and spare them both the suffering of this awkward silence. He might as well have pinned Logan in place.

He can’t take it anymore. Feeling almost half-asleep, heavy too deep in the discomforts of his own body, he turns to the side and gestures down the hallway (stupidly, Alex doesn’t know where the thermostat is). “Cold enough?” he asks.

His voice sounds empty and dead in the space between them.

Alex flinches, then nods, then busies himself with taking off his shoes. A fraction of the anxiety eases out of his voice when he’s looking down, bracing one hand against a wall and lining up each shoe under the counter. “It’s not so much that the air needs to be cold,” he explains, voice finally evening out. “I mean, it helps, but when I’ve got the glamours up it feels– it feels less, I suppose. Like it doesn’t make as much of a difference.”

“Closer contact?” Logan asks, pushing a chair in at a different angle just to have something to do with his hands. He tries to run his fingers through his hair and flinches away from himself– there’s no temperature anywhere in his body. Bloodless fingers, bloodless face, sifting through strands as dry and brittle as wheat stalks. Tactile reminders over every inch of him that he’s not alive, that his voice and his breath and the light in his eyes can only be a barren facsimile of what he takes from the clueless donations of other people. He never notices it– the uncanny reality of his own undeath– unless he’s actually thinking about it. Or unless he’s recently been touching someone alive–

“Or is it like, weight?” he asks, because he needs to keep talking or he’s going to sink into the whirlwind of his own runaway thoughts.

“Both, I guess.” Alex gives up messing with his sleeves and takes off his jacket. His shirt rides up on one side before he gets both the sleeves off, revealing a sliver of his waist, trousers sitting low on his hips…

This brief glance does not affect Logan in any way.

He realizes he’s staring a second too late as Alex pauses with both hands twisted in the hem of his shirt. “Uh. I should probably take off the glamours for this, right? And the shirt?”

“It’s up to you,” Logan replies, then watches Alex’s face fall and realizes his carefully composed apathy is being taken as frustration. “Actually,” he adds hastily. “If you say they’re less– I mean they can feel, less, like the wings can feel less, than maybe you should– I don’t know, if you–“

He isn’t able to get out anything coherent, but Alex nods like he understands and shakes out his wrists. He pulls off his shirt with painstaking slowness, clutching it to his chest, arms folded in like the exposure if physically hurting him. Around his back and shoulders, the light falls in unnatural slips and slivers, faceting the air in the deceptive haze of the glamour. It takes the luster from his skin, sullen shadows making him look thinner than he is. His shadow on the wall behind him is uneven and ragged around the edges.

Logan doesn’t realize he’s staring until Alex looks away hurriedly, shoulders raised like he’s expecting a blow. “I need a little bit of space,” he says quietly.

Logan watches the lamplight shadows shift over Alex’s face, the cast-down dullness in his eyes, and recognizes the shame.

Unhuman, unnatural, unwanted. Entity. The eyes of someone who does not understand the reality of your form and all its constraints, who does not experience it and never will, eyes laying it bare with scrutiny and awe however accidental…

Finally, the tension falls in on itself, and he feels something soft and aching fit subtly in its place. He doesn’t want Alex to be in pain. He doesn’t want him to be ashamed.

He walks toward Alex and extends a hand.

Alex looks around, not having realized he’s backed himself into a corner, then back at Logan.

Logan’s worried he’s going to have to say something– to coax Alex out like a frightened animal– but Alex takes his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He doesn’t flinch, either, not like he did in the garage. Not like almost everyone else does when they touch a vampire.

Alex’s hand in his own is his hot– not enough to hurt, but hotter than a human’s. Or maybe it just seems that way because no one wants to touch Logan for more than a second, and Alex is still holding on.

The quiet between them feels different now. Heavier but not as sharp, not as tumultuous. Eye contact is still intense, but in the way that makes him want to hold it, not look away in fear. He remembers the fire in Alex’s eyes in Vegas, flickering and restrained, writhing beneath the surface of everything human that remained of Alex. He hadn’t wanted to look away then, either, even though it had scared him.

Logan is used to being the one others fear. The one others make eye contact with and find a lifeless, bottomless hunger that he doesn’t even realize he’s revealing until somebody’s eyes skitter away from his, prey-animal expression flashing out at him, panic and fear like bared teeth.

He’s in the exact opposite situation with Alex now. He doesn’t want to look away from the heat, from the riveting and tantalizing life simmering just under the surface of Alex, for even a second. Something about the intense focus with which Alex gazes back (he can’t remember if he’s seen Alex this focused at all, anywhere) tells him that Alex is just as entranced.

It’s scary. It’s irresistible.

He leads Alex into the center of the room, farthest from the walls. “This enough?” he asks. He doesn’t mean to speak as gently as he does. His voice comes out like the last lines of a song, tender and fading.

“Yeah,” Alex nods. He swallows and looks down– eye contact evaporating like turning off a gas stove, all the murmuring heat gone in an instant. Logan blinks a couple times, slightly dazed. “Ready?” he asks.

“I just need to concentrate,” Alex says, almost to himself. He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand.

Logan shifts his weight. “Do you want me to–”

“No.”

Something about Alex changes, and now he has that look in his eyes again– not the redline intensity of a few seconds ago, but the far-off flicker that means he’s not all the way here, lost in smoke and sensation.

He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand, though. His grip is sure, steady, hot.

Alex takes a deep breath and closes his eyes– Logan tries not to feel like he’s losing something.

It’s quieter than Logan might have expected, when Alex finally shakes himself free of the concealing spells and allows his wings to materialize. No flashing lights, no sparks, no fanfare. The air simply twists in on itself, a ripple of vertigo that blurs the scene behind Alex, and then his wings are there.

Logan can’t quite make out what he’s looking at, at first. Folded tightly over Alex’s shoulders, the shapes of the wings are indiscernible, lost in a ragged mass of shadow.

Then he spreads them.

It’s a slow, teeth-gritting process as Alex fights through pain and stiffness. His wings are huge, jet black in the places they’re not mottled red and copper with burn tissue and barely-emerging regrowth. The longest feathers quiver as they separate, and a light dusting of ash falls to the carpet.

It smells like something is burning, and like something has been burnt. The crackling lead up to immolation and the exhausted, hazy comedown, without the fire in the middle. It might soak into the walls. (Do Entity smells behave like that?) It should be an appalling prospect. Should be.

He can hardly be bothered, though, watching the feathers as they shift and settle over the flexing muscles of the wing. The plumage– the unburnt portions of it, anyway– isn’t even all that remarkable. No runes etched into the feathers, no lava-like hologram of heat moving through the shafts. Nothing superfluous or illustrative at all.

But he’s never seen this part of Alex before, and the list of viewers he’s joining was never that long to begin with. It’s vulnerability, raw and stinging and confusing, and it doesn’t settle right in his stomach. He draws his gaze away from the wings; if he stares too long he starts to feel like maybe he owes some sort of vulnerability in return. Which is not a thought that is wise or even safe to pursue.

Logan hasn’t been watching Alex; when he turns back, his breath hitches in his throat. Alex’s face is contorted with effort and pain, teeth bared, brow furrowed. He’s making a noise in the back of his throat not unlike a wounded animal.

”Woah–“ Logan starts.

He doesn’t get a chance to say anything more before Alex reaches out and grabs Logan’s other hand, squeezing both tightly. Logan’s so startled he nearly jumps out of his skin, but the contact seems to ground Alex, let him regain his focus.

Logan squeezes back, even though Alex’s heat and strength is hurting him. He wonders absurdly whether he’ll release his grip only to find patches of burns on his palms, red and blistering to match the wounds on Alex’s wings. The prospect makes his chest feel light and airy, but not with fear– something brighter, charged and high-strung.

Alex finally breathes out and extends his wings to their full span, stretching far enough that his shoulders lift and his back arches. He inhales shakily and lets go of Logan’s hands to scrub his hands over his face; the tingling numbness he leaves behind is like an electric current, deep and thrumming and unpleasant.

”Thank you,” Alex says, dropping his hands to reveal a sheepish expression and wide, apologetic eyes. “It’s weird to spread them out at first, sometimes. Like a really, really long practice session, maybe, just jammed up in one space for so long… not an easy stretch, at first. Sorry if I crushed your fingers.”

”They’re fine,” Logan says automatically without checking, then looks down just to be sure.

Redness blooms across his palms and around the backs of his hands, sunset-warm, almost radiant– almost alive. A small gasp of amazement is drawn from him, sudden and unexpected, and for a second he wants to laugh.

Alex looks up at him, startled. “Oh my god.” He reaches for Logan’s hands tentatively, then jerks back as if he’s the one who’s been burned. He stumbles backward, stammering, “Oh god, Logan, fuck, I’m so sorry, I can– what can I–“

“No, Alex, it’s fine,” Logan assures him. He makes himself look up from his hands (warm warm warm) to give Alex a gentle smile. “I’m not burned, that’s just what happens with heat, sometimes. Or pressure. It sort of… wakes the blood up, I guess.” He cringes at his own inelegant phrasing.

Alex steps back towards him, his wings rustling as they shift with his movement. He gestures uncertainly with his own hands, so Logan raises his palms and splays his fingers for Alex to see. The red is already fading.

”I don’t have a heartbeat,” Logan says to the small space between their hands. It hurts like a confession, like a secret that’s never been told. His voice sounds exactly how he feels: small, worn down, the not-quite shadows under an overcast sky. “I don’t have to breathe, either– I just do it as a habit, or a… compulsion, I guess. But that’s why it reacts that way sometimes– when there’s something warm outside, cause, you know… there’s no warmth in me.”

He means to laugh as he says it, to glaze the broken-glass edges of the truth with something as slick and syrupy as reflective humor, but he doesn’t manage it. He doesn’t have the breath by the end of the sentence, habitual or not.

Alex nods somberly. He drops his hands, inches below Logan’s, as the last of the almost-burns dissolves back into blue and gray.

Logan tucks his hands into fists and then tucks his fists in his pockets, ashamed. His cheeks don’t burn because he’s not blushing. He’s not alive enough to blush. “I’m not warm,” he finishes. He doesn’t mean to. His voice is dripping between the fractures.

The air in front of him shifts– Alex folding his wings behind him. His hair flutters in his eyes briefly, and he looks up.

Alex’s eyes are on Logan’s wrists, tense and pale above where he’s hidden his hands; now he looks up. “I like that about you,” he says.

They end up with Alex sitting cross-legged in the middle of the carpet, extended wings drooping to either side, baring the charred feathers to the air. Logan’s able to get a closer look this time, crouching beside Alex and peering over the wings.

“They’re like… tangled,” he says, staring at the blackened imprints left behind on the wings where the burnt stalks crosshatch over each other. Overlapping feathers meet in uneven, skewed chevrons, the unkempt feathers similar to how Alex’s hair looks right after a race when it’s gone wild under the helmet. Faint patches of orange and gold fluff are caught among the snarls of dead feathers– the first signs of the new plumage that’ll grow in soon, glossy and vivacious. Now the warm colors look like bits of sunset caught in barbed wire.

“That happens,” Alex mumbles, voice strained, tossing his head over his shoulder long enough to nod at Logan before curling back in on himself. “The burned feathers usually fall out on their own, it’s just harder when…” He shuts himself up quickly, tipping his head forward so that his hair hangs in his eyes.

“Harder when what?” Logan presses.

When Alex speaks, it’s low and forceful, an admission of guilt in a room of accusers. “When I have to hold it back,” he says. “Hold it– in, I guess. Hold the fire back.” He furrows his brow after he says it, lips curling around the words like they have an unpleasant aftertaste.

Logan thinks about holding his own hunger back– putting one foot in front of the other, one sentence in front of the other, second after second until he’’s a jittery mess of fake smiles when all he wants to do is… well, get it over with. Get what he needs. Beneath the desperation and the panic and the cavernous, all-consuming hunger, the shame sits in the bottom of his stomach like an anchor. The shame of being owned by instinct, and so obviously failing to pretend like he’s not.

Hold it– in, I guess. Yeah. He doesn’t need to ask Alex to elaborate.

Instead he settles to his knees, close enough to reach out. He tries to focus on the different kinds of hot he can smell– smoke, ash, fire, sparks. When and where each is focused. It’s gone from being suffocating to being just another element of the space around him, like the color of the light or the not-quite-silence of the humming traffic outside. He wants to focus on something outside of his own body because he feels awkward and disjointed, overthinking how normal people are supposed to nonchalantly move until nothing about him feels normal, let alone nonchalant. He ends up sitting behind Alex with his legs crossed, shins just barely pressing against Alex’s lower back. His hands feel stupid and empty by his sides, so close to the rich, gently flowing heat and yet not quite close enough. Even though being close was what he’d offered in the first place… Fuck, I’m terrible at this, he curses himself.

Alex doesn’t say anything as Logan shifts around, just interlaces his fingers in his lap. Now that the focus has shifted back to him, the pain seems to be coming back as well, no longer held at bay with distraction.

Logan draws in a deep breath (because he can, because he wants to) and finally raises one hand, letting it hover over the base of a wing where it juts over Alex’s shoulder blade. He wants to press down– card his fingers through the ash, spread his own gentle cold like rainwater over a barren desert– but he doesn’t. He’s apprehensive. The two of them are shifting in and out of vulnerability like a strobe light, shadowy interludes of privacy between flashes of sudden truths. He doesn’t know where the lines are anymore– the ones he has yet to cross. “Does it still hurt?” he asks. “I mean, I know it hurts, but– is it getting worse?”

Alex shakes his head quickly. “No, no, I’m sorry. Keep– keep it like that.” He rolls his shoulders, his left wing shifting up to meet Logan’s open palm. Logan almost pulls back, startled, but Alex just sighs, eyes sliding closed again. “It’s okay,” he breathes. His words sound like he’s giving Logan permission– his tone sounds like he’s begging.

Logan slides his hand between the feathers, reaching enough so Alex doesn’t have to keep the wing flexed anymore. He can feel the heat so vividly now (melting amber, lighter fluid, the blue-red spark of a match erupting to life)– more than when Alex had held his hands. From the wings themselves emanates a heat that’s simmering and searching, an entirely different energy from the rest of his body’s warmth. It’s a bit like laying a hand on an engine cover after a race– the even surface doing nothing to shield the urgent restlessness of the power underneath. It’s bright and pulsing and alive the way fire can be alive, and Logan feels it flow from his fingertips to his wrist like a heartbeat– like blood.

He doesn’t envy Alex for it, the way he used to envy the rest of the world. The scars and burn tissue twisting over the surface of the wings, shiny in the way flesh shouldn’t be, are impossible to envy. In the back of his head, Logan feels a frustrated kind of bewilderment; he doesn’t understand how Alex’s own body can’t against itself, what ill-thought design leads to this much pain in its own natural cycle, mercilessly recurring. The full regrowth and the rejuvenating, revitalizing end of the cycle will come soon, but is it worth all of this?

He doesn’t envy Alex, but he does feel a certain emptiness, hollow and void in his chest in a way he hasn’t been vulnerable to since he was just Turned– since the bloodlust first manifested.

He envies the heat itself. The life itself.

Without any real awareness or forethought, he reaches to the other wing, settles both hands deep in the feathers. THere are burns, ridged and flushed, under his fingertips.

Alex stops breathing entirely. Logan watches his eyes fly open, glassy and wild all at once, and he takes his hands back.

“No–” Alex tries to say. It comes out as a high-pitched whine in the back of his throat, whimpering and pathetic, and his shoulders shake at his own twisting, wanton voice. But he still thrusts both wings back, chasing Logan, chasing his touch.

“Breathe, then,” Logan commands. His voice is firm because he’s trying to remember to breathe himself, vampire lungs be damned, forcing his body to stay calm so Alex will stay calm, but it ends up low and firm in the back of his throat, deeper than his speaking voice, steadier. Like he really means it. Like he’s telling Alex what to do for the sake of watching him obey.

Well…

He has what Alex wants, doesn’t he? He’s literally holding it over him– an unspoken ultimatum in the palms of his hands, tantalizingly raised, tantalizingly empty.

Alex swallows, his throat hitching.

“Breathe,” Logan says again. “Or we stop.”

Alex lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes again. His next inhale is shaky but measured; Logan knows he must be counting in his head.

He lays his palms over Alex’s wings as Alex lets the tension leave them like uncurling a fist. The intact primaries brush the floor on either side as the wings fall half-open.

There’s still heat in Logan’s palms, in his wrists, in the listless veins of his arms that have forgotten how to hold a pulse. It hurts a little, but it’s also not unpleasant.

Alex takes another deep breath.

Logan dips his head over his shoulder. His jaw grazes the side of Alex’s neck when he speaks. “There you go.”

Alex keens. His fists are clenched, nails digging into his palms; Logan reaches over and swats the back of his hand. “None of that.”

Alex shivers, a rolling motion that has his wings opening further and then releasing, half of an upstroke. A fresh wave of heat warms Logan’s face, zings through the hand still combing through feathers.

Alex unclenches his fists, though.

Logan holds onto his wrists for a second, reassuring, then gets back to work.

Time passes like a dream, intangible and unmeasurable. The evening steps aside and night paints the room in flat blocks of shadow, hints of purple and blue laying claim to the lines and angles that make up the flat until the color goes entirely, and the darkness descends like a heavy quilt.

They’re still touching. Hands to feathers, shins to back– so much empty space left, but Logan doesn’t think he’s ever been closer.

“Can you take off your shirt.”

It isn’t a question. Alex’s voice is low, hazy and rough in the back of his throat, but his tone is unmistakably sure. The pretense of a question is immaterial; it’s a demand.

Logan was entranced in the repetitive task of dusting away the ash between the right secondaries, but now both his hands still. His fingertips are deep between the fibers now, firm and familiar on Alex’s wings, because he’s been here before. There’s a small, shifting flicker of possessiveness stirring in his chest that doesn’t have any place here–

Does it?

It’s dark. They’re not speaking, they haven’t spoken in hours, but they’re still touching. Touching anywhere as the light fades and the minutes shift over until it feels like everywhere. Logan’s hands are warm, deft like flowing water, like circulation. The contact could be in his fingertips or between his knuckles or his palms or his wrists or up his arms entirely. He can’t tell. They’re too close like this, every other sensation winking out one by one in the coming of the night until all he can feel is Alex.

Alex under his hands, Alex in his grasp. Alex who keens and shakes when he presses the hell of his palm against the toughness and tension over the bridge of his wings, because to Alex he’s still cold. I like that about you.

Logan stares at the hand he can’t see, just the vague presumption of the space they would take up if he really wanted to let his eyes adjust. He won’t bother. He still hesitates.

He’s not nervous. They’re close, they’re so close and they’ve been close. They’re breathing the same air. He can taste the warmth between his lips when he inhales, and if he closes his eyes he can pretend that Alex’s warmth is something he’s always had: a warmth and vitality that flows through him with every breath, that doesn’t have to be taken with sharp hunger and sharper teeth.

Like circulation…

He can live like this, with Alex. He can exist in a space of warmth and shadow and smoke and hold liquid heat in his hands and the dead channels of his body can open and course with a gentle light that maybe he didn’t deserve to lose and–

“Logan,” Alex murmurs.

Logan leans back long enough to strip off his shirt. For a minute, the sudden air hitting his back feels cold– a startled elation fills him like a flash of light, so brilliant and powerful for a second he thinks he’s going to pass out. He’s cold. He’s cold because he could feel warmth– because his body was warm– because he can be alive like this, wrapping around Alex, wrapped up in Alex, endlessly warm and rhythmic and close–

Maybe he’s a little drunk on it. Maybe more than a little.

But Alex isn’t any better.

He uncrosses his legs and opens them instead, creating a space for Alex to lean back into– hips nestled together, back to chest, skin to skin.

And–

God.

It’s–

“Fuck,” Alex gasps.

It’s been a few hours and a small eternity, and Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t double-check. Alex isn’t in pain. He doesn’t have to see his face to know that– the feeling in his voice, the wet raggedness to his breathing, the way his wings jerk open on instinct to their full span before curling back easily into Logan’s waiting hands…. He knows.

Alex’s feathers are soft against his chest. He can’t feel the burned stalks, the damaged tissue, the cinders, the pain– he’s watched so much of it unravel between his careful hands. He just feels soft and heat.

Heat that pulses for his still, cold heart. Alive in the way fire is alive. Not his, but not taken, either.

This close, Alex doesn’t smell like anything burning. Or anything that’s been burned.

He smells like auburn and lavender, like the colors of an autumn sunset, like the cinnamon swirls on a woodland breeze. Pure and gentle and sweet, unsharpened by the memory of flames. Maybe who he could have been, in another body. Another life.

Alex lifts his head, letting it drop back against the dip of Logan’s shoulder. Eyes closed, lips still parted, staggered breaths beginning to even.

“Feel so good,” he sighs, voice drifting.

Logan nods absently. He’s losing himself in this, in the colors and the smells and every part of his body that’s wrapped around Alex. More than just feathers and bone, more than the heat… he feels alive. So, so alive.

He was trying not to make any noise about it earlier, to not let his unnecessary breathing hold the tone of his relief, but… he might not be doing a good job anymore. He can’t tell. There’s only Alex.

Alex sounds like he’s forgotten Logan is there. His voice is laden with pleasure, almost obscene.

It doesn’t really matter the full extent of what they are or aren’t doing; he’s right. It is good. It feels more than good, it feels right.

“Yeah,” Logan murmurs. “Me too.”

Alex’s head starts to loll on Logan’s shoulder; Logan leans back a little and guides Alex further into him, one hand straying from the wings to cradle his head briefly. Alex swallows. Logan can feel the muscles of his throat flex beneath his palm. “I got you,” he says.

”I know.”

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monodramatic-cannibal · 7 months ago

Text

Cleaver's ref

Info post about Memento Cadre

more info under the cut

-Uses He/Him

-head canon voice:

-Other than bones and gaster blasters, he has two main abilities with his magic.

The ability to swap two things/peoples places (think of Jjk Todo’s ability “boogie woogie”). He can swap things up to a football field length away from himself. And can swap something every 30 seconds.

And the ability to make things explode providing he has touched the things. The bigger the object is the less time he has in terms of making it explode. So basically an item has a limit to how long it can be detonated e.g. a tennis ball due to being small he can have it explode anywhere between first touching it to around 12 hours later. Whereas something like a car he has anywhere between first touching it to around 5 minutes later.

-Is the one with the least amount of DT, he’s LVL 4. Is a lot more frail than the others too. Tends to try to act more support based rather than being fully in a fight.

-Cleaver’s bags on his hips are full of small items he uses with his explosion magic. Tries to collect items to use with the ability that are going to be the same colours as the underground environments. E.g. paper balls to use in snowdin. Cleaver may also use clear marbles for this as well.

Cleaver will also go out of his way to make things to use with this explosion magic. E.g. a jar full of nails, and then throwing and exploding the jar so nails shoot everywhere.

-The one in the group (besides Omen) who is least likely to attack someone. Doesn’t so much care for the fighting, just wants to help Omen document aus/collect items. So is also the one who causes the least amount of negativity in the group.

If someone doesn’t fight him, he will not fight them, even if he’s commanded to do so, he still will not fight. He may step into a fight to either try to break it up if he feels he can, or if he sees one of the members of Memento Cadre struggling/going to get hurt.

-Nervous most of the time. Due to his au he’s learned to be on edge most of the time. Only really being able to fully relax when back at the base. May have his moments where he seeks others out to help with his nerves.

-Very similar backstory to the og Horror. Except for the fact his bones also got charred when his eye was taken.

The charred bones no matter how much he takes care of them still remain like that and may still hurt half the time.

Often will have Omen help him take care of these burns with ointment, just because it gets taking care of it out the way quicker, and Omen knows what his wounds look like so Omen can tell him if he thinks it’s getting worse.

-Has to be doing stuff with his hands. Is often seen doing wood carving, sewing, origami, fixing things, etc. He made a bracelet for Alloy (Killer). Doing these things helps with his nerves, and also just helps to pass the time.

-Often has Soot (Dust) holding onto him either it be his coat sleeves or the strap on the back of his coat. Doesn’t mind that Soot wants to stick close and will often go out of his way to go over to Soot so Soot can hang onto him.

-Was very iffy with food before joining Memento Cadre. Would basically hate any food put in front of him. It making him ill just staring at it.

He started to learn how to cook from Omen, Omen having forced him to learn at the beginning, but over time he began to enjoy it. Being able to cook his own food helped him to slowly gain a healthier relationship with food, he’s not the best at cooking, but for him it’s the thought that he made it that makes him eat it.

-Him and Alloy are close, him often giving Alloy stuff that he’s made. Knows Alloy needs patience and is willing to give it to him.

-Has a slight superiority complex, though it’s never noticed by anyone, not even himself really. A sort of mindset of ‘I’m the only normal one here. So I’m better than everyone’. This mainly comes out when he mind boss someone around, including Omen. Will often get into small arguments with Omen over things because of this.

-Doesn’t really get DT flares like the others. May feel his bones ‘buzzing’ from what LV/DT he does have, but it never really affects him, is often the one to go tell Omen (Nightmare) when the others appear to be going into a DT flare.

-often may also carry around a cleaver, or some form of large knife, he rarely has to use it, but does carry it just in case someone gets too close and he has to use it.

-Is semi observant, but never cares enough to retain the information. Unless he feels he could use that info for later, then he will write it down.

-Has somewhat bad memory due to his head injury, often will leave him dazed and confused from time to time. Often writes important things down, since he doesn’t want to forget them, writing them down helps him to remember things as well.

The others have enough respect for him to not go through his notes. Except for Alloy, it’s not that Alloy doesn’t respect him but Alloy’s own curiosity and wanting to know what Cleaver sees as important.

Inspos:

-I sort of wanted him to almost look a little bit like a cleaner. (I've been playing a lot of 'viscera cleanup detail'.)

-I thought he'd look good in green, I also feel like he'd blend in slightly with the snowdin forest trees more wearing green. Since he tries to avoid fights, I figure it's best for him. I also feel the duller colours might help him blend in slightly in waterfall too.

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violetwolfraven · 5 months ago

Text

Idk what this is but I have to post it before season 7 comes out and it is rendered officially canon-noncompliant

Time takes a time out.

That’s the best way Soren can think of to describe what it feels like the second after they tell him.

“Corvus was captured by Karim. We don’t know for sure if Karim still has him, but what we can say for certain is that he is missing.

He rode out with Ezran a couple of days…”

Gren keeps talking, explaining the details of the situation, but that’s about the last of it that Soren hears.

The ground is unsteady, and he can feel his heartbeat throbbing in his skull, and his own breathing seems to be the loudest thing in the world.

Corvus is missing. Presumed captured, but could be…

Soren feels so fucking stupid. He didn’t even notice, at first. Corvus is a quiet kind of guy, right? Sort of stealthy. Tracker, spy, advisor—all roles where it’s a good thing for him to fade into the background to everyone except his own friends. And he’s a more than competent fighter. Not seeing him right away doesn’t usually mean anything. Soren was more focused on Ezran. The uncharacteristic quietness, one-word answers to questions trembling with a grief and rage very not like the boy king of Katolis. Soren has seen Ezran upset before, he’s seen him sad, even angry on occasion, but he’s known Ezran almost since he was born and he’s never seen him like this.

He turned to express as much to Corvus, and to ask how he’s doing—Katolis is his home too, his charred, barely standing home—only to realize he wasn’t there. Not just not right next to Soren; not there at all. Janai and Amaya sent a pretty large party to assess the extent of the damage and Corvus wasn’t with them. Corvus wasn’t bound to the Sunfire kingdom by duty like Amaya now was, so that struck Soren as odd. He asked Gren, and…

Soren forces himself to take a deep breath.

He’s Crownguard. He’s been helping the rest of the council set up and run their camp, attend to the wounded, and bury the dead for the last 2 days. He’s in a leadership position and someone has to fill Ezran in on what’s what.

Actually, Callum and Rayla (arrived with Rayla’s dad-sassin around sundown yesterday) seem to be taking care of that, so Soren refocuses on Gren.

“…and when the dust cleared, we captured most of their infantry and commanders,” Gren is reporting, “But Karim and General Miyana escaped. There were a lot of people, a lot of confusion due to how fast the entire thing happened, so it took us a few hours to get an accurate headcount. Corvus never checked in—but we didn’t find him among the handful of casualties, either! He’s most likely still alive. It’s possible we just didn’t look hard enough in the time between the battle and finding out about Katolis. For a battle with so few casualties, we did have quite a few injuries. The infirmary was extremely crowded. We could have easily missed him in there.”

It doesn’t sound like Gren thinks that’s what happened.

Despite having missed a big chunk of story in the middle there, Soren doesn’t think so either.

“Will Karim hurt him?”

Gren hesitates, and Soren feels a little nauseous.

“I don’t… think so. In my limited experience with Karim, he was never particularly sadistic. Vindictive? Sure. Dramatic? Definitely. But the only way I see him hurting Corvus is if he has a particular goal in mind, like if he thinks Corvus knows something that could help his cause. But that’s unlikely. Corvus spent most of the last 2 years in Katolis. Even if he didn’t, I don’t think even Karim knows his next move at this point. This was his third failed plan to overthrow Janai. I’d be surprised if he had another any time soon.”

Soren can think of one.

He can’t say for sure, considering he’s only met Karim a few times, but if Soren thinks if he were banished, desperate, and had no leverage other than one hostage, a known close friend of two different monarchs…

“What about using Corvus to try and control Amaya?” he asks, “Or worse—Ezran?”

Gren’s eyes widen. He glances over at the king, talking to his brother.

The 12-year-old orphan king, who just came home to find his city in ruins.

Ezran has already lost so much. His kingdom was attacked while he just happened to be absent. His friends are injured. His home is nothing but ash and rubble.

If threatened with one of his friends’ pain, he might do something rash. By the look on Gren’s face, he knows it too.

Something in Soren’s chest constricts.

“Does he know Corvus is missing?”

Gren slowly nods, “He knows. Whether he remembers at the moment, with everything else, is a different question.”

Which means it’s in everyone’s best interest for them to find him, before Ezran remembers he has anyone else to worry about. Because if Karim tries to pull something, if he tries to use Corvus to…

Soren feels more alert and present than he has in days. He’s sort of been on automatic mode this whole time, trying not to think too hard about his home being reduced to rubble or his dad… his dad. He’s been going through the motions. Just sit back and let the dragon fly, you know? Soren knows how to protect people. That’s what he’s good at. He doesn’t have to think about it to do it.

He’s always been a protector. Always on the defense. Never considered himself particularly vindictive, never really understood why his father or sister felt the need to take revenge when they get hurt.

But if Karim has hurt Corvus, Soren is going to kill him.

He knows that with startling clarity that makes him think maybe he’s not so different from the rest of his family after all.

It’s just… Corvus is his closest friend. The person whose opinion he looks for the most when proposing a plan. The person he’s always trying to get to laugh. The person he…

“Soren, I…” Gren hesitates, “I don’t know you that well. We’ve never worked together all that closely. But I do know Corvus. He, Amaya, and I have been friends for years, and of the three of us, he is the most introverted. He usually prefers the company of trees or animals to other people. The fact that you’ve managed to get him out of his comfort zone as much as you have with all the adventures he writes us letters about… that’s not insignificant.”

Soren isn’t sure where he’s going with this, “Yeah?”

“I can tell that you care for Corvus very deeply,” Gren says, genuinely, “And if you want to come back to Xadia with me and help search for him, I think Ezran will understand.”

Usually, Soren would agree wholeheartedly. But right now? He’s not sure he wants to leave the kid alone. Or Callum and Rayla, for that matter. Wise as those two act, they’re still kids too. Even if they don’t realize it.

God, when did Callum get that tall? He’s still shorter than Soren, obviously, but he’s taller than Rayla now. When did that happen? Soren doesn’t know how he’s never noticed until now, but—

“I know it’s not a good time for you to be leaving Katolis. But still, it’s not every day your partner gets kidnapped.”

Soren turns his head back to look at Gren so quickly it hurts, “What?”

“I don’t want it to be true,” Gren says solemnly, “He’s my friend. Of course I hope he’s not a hostage. I really hope in the confusion of the battle he just ended up in the woods or something and is maybe injured and waiting for us to come and find him. But I have to admit, Karim still having him does seem like the most likely—“

“No, I mean,” Soren struggles for words, “Corvus is not my partner.”

“Oh!” Gren’s face turns bright red, “I mean, the way it sounded in Corvus’s letters, I just sort of… but I guess he never said—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Did you think we were together this entire time?”

“I… sort of?”

“For how long?”

“I don’t know if I could put a date on when—“

“So a long time then.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Soren is about to say that that’s ridiculous, why would anyone assume he and Corvus are a couple, but…

Looking back he can kind of see it, actually. He can’t speak to whatever Corvus has apparently been writing to Gren and Amaya, but they do spend an awful lot of time together, don’t they?

The other crownguards tend to be a bit more random about who they take shifts with, but Soren does almost always sign up to guard with Corvus. Sure, he does that because Corvus is the only one who doesn’t come to the team-building sleepovers and how else is he supposed to convince him to show up if he doesn’t talk to him a lot? But to an outsider, he can definitely see how that could look like him having a thing for Corvus. And maybe their fighting styles complement each other pretty much perfectly in battle. Maybe that’s part of it, too. And maybe he thinks a lot about trying to get Corvus to play a song on the cello that he can sing along to. Maybe it feels better than any sparring victory every time Soren gets him to open up even a little. Maybe it feels like there’s butterflies in his chest when Corvus reveals something they have in common. Maybe it felt like the butterflies were exploding that one time they hugged in the mushroom forest and oh wow yeah Soren definitely does have a thing for Corvus.

He knows he’s not considered the smartest guy around, but he still feels like he should have noticed this before now. Especially if Gren, who was miles and miles away for the last 2 years and doesn’t know Soren all that well, noticed it before he did.

Oh no. If Gren noticed, that means Corvus definitely did. And he just never said anything? For 2 years? Sure, there’s been a lot going on, but it’s not like they haven’t been alone together, plenty of times, when he could have said something.

Soren adds another reason along with ‘he’s my closest friend and I can’t lose him,’ and ‘if he gets hurt I will go apeshit,’ and ‘if he gets hurt Ezran will go apeshit’ to the list of reasons why he needs to find Corvus and bring him home safety.

“How fast can we get back to Xadia?” he asks, and it comes out in his Leader of the Crownguard, time-to-pull-up-your-big-boy-pants-and-sound-like-you-know-what-you’re-doing voice.

“With Aegis and Embertail not having to match pace with human infantry or carry more than one person each? I’d say three hours, maybe less.”

“Then let’s go. Now.” Something occurs to him, “…make that as soon as I let Opeli know where we’re going.”

Soren might not know exactly what he’s going to do when he finds Corvus. He doesn’t know where to find him or how he’s going to beat a Sun mage in a fight.

But he knows he’s going to do whatever it takes. Nothing and no one is going to stop him from getting to the man he’s pretty sure he already fell halfway in love with while he wasn’t looking.

If Corvus is hurt, Soren swears all the magic in Xadia won’t be enough to save Karim.

#for the record: i wrote the bulk of this back in september #and posted it on dec 16th #for anyone who doesn’t have post dates turned on #the dragon prince #tdp #sorvus #soren tdp #corvus tdp #tdp soren #tdp corvus #tdp gren #violet’s writing

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l0vergirlatheart · 2 years ago

Note

Idk if ur requests are open, but hear me out XD. A creator!reader who descends on Teyvat meets all the Archons and such. Then up and leaves by changing their appearance in order to explore their creation and how it has changed. Every once in a while Creator will make themselves obvious by performing acts only the Creator could. Once they are found out they just up and leave again only to resurface after another Divine act. TLDR: Creator playing cat and mouse with Teyvat

oh my GOD creator is just TORTURING then atp

small ramble because i still have massive writers block [cries] also ignore how late this is pls ok mwamwa thnx

c.w // yan. chars

song : Best Friend - Rex Orange County

SAGAU INCOMING : YAN CHARS.

okay so you decided 'hey man, what if i wasn't worshipped the moment i stepped outside'

so you just said fuck it and shifted

(it's been a while since you've done so, it kind of felt weird and hurt a tiny bit)

walking around teyvat in an odd, different form. completely different hair, height, clothes, you get the gist

the only things you couldnt change however were three things:

your blood (still gold, but you didn't plan on bleeding infront of anyone)

your aura (still comforting, caring, and even alluring)

your voice (why? zero clue.)

escaping the throne room you've oh so sadly been bound to!! having fun while doing it!!

(the only real reason you managed to escape is bc you managed to get the archons out and actually tend to their nations, as per your request order)

messing around while escaping fr!! people passing by wondering why this random person they've never seen is (not very) sneakily running away from the creator's palace/temple

but eventually shrugging it off, albeit reluctantly

messing around in mondstat, playing with the npc children more than you could usually, giving them the time of their life!!

this is where you use your first creator powers >:3

some poor kid scraped his knee real hard on the bridge, let's say timmie (hes so sweet he just wants to defend his birds pls b nice to him!!)

you, being the belovent god you are, use your divine powers to heal him

whether you do it with the hc of having to use your own gold blood or just having special healing powers only creator has, you do it

however, your dumbass mind hadn't thought of the fact that Venti may have been watching this

new outlander person with a mysterious aura

and now he quickly learns its you :0!!

the archons had no clue you could shapeshift!! why wasnt this in the ancient scrolls??? did they just lose the ones that mentioned it???

venti immediately finds some weird wind way to tell the other archons

fucking loud mouth

speaking of which, ei is freaking. out.

she came back to just check on you in your throne room and youre just.

not there??

panics, almost goes to zhongli before she gets venti's message and calms down slightly

atp you've realize you've outed yourself

so after making sure timmie is find you quickly run off into the forest before venti can come after you and smother you (both physically and with questions)

forest reached, new mission : new form needed

this basically keeps happening, and it's a needed breath of fresh air for you

running to liyue looking like a normal person until you magically form a special medicine that was unheard of from your hand for an elder, sickly lady

running from liyue to sumeru and shifting into!! an animal!! a fox!! cat!! tiger!! dog!! bird!! any of the sort!!

only getting outed from sumeru after you accidentally spoke while in animal form and having to go over to inazuma as an unknown, traveling sailor!!

getting outed after that for your extremely familiar aura and voice (inazuma people are scarily observant towards strangers) and eventually getting shoved escorted back to your palace/temple

funny stories to tell

however, the archons wont be leaving your room for quite a while..

oh well, who says you don't have other stunts to pull?

#morgan.died : writes #x reader #genshin impact #requests open #genshin cult au #sagau #sagau x reader #genshin #self aware genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin rambles #rambles #various x reader

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deathlessathanasia · 1 month ago

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Hi! I’ve a question regarding wounding gods. There’re a ton of myths in which we see them getting harmed, sometimes needing someone to tend to their wounds. However I believe they can sort of regenerate, right? Like Prometheus. But also, there’s the castration of Uranus and he didn’t get his penis to grow back. Are there sources for how this works? Is a special weapon required to harm them forever? If one of them gets their arm cut off for example, is it cut out forever? If a god gets a superficial cut does it heal fast? I know it probably varies from source to source, but I’ve been trying to wrap my head around how it might generally work.

We have the examples of Aphrodite, Ares and Hades in Book 5 of the Iliad, all of whom needed to be healed by another god after being stabbed (by Diomedes and Athena) or shot (by Herakles): Aphrodite's wound (presumably because it was more superficial) was taken care of by her mother, but Ares and Hades needed the help of the healer god Paieon who spread soothing herbs/ointments on their wounds. Thetis, too, according to Phylarchos, went to Thessaly and healed in the city Thetideion after Hephaistos wounded her with his hammer. Then there is Zeus during certain accounts (Apollodoros' Library, Nonnos' Dionysiaca) of the Typhonomachy: he loses his sinews and needs someone to bring them back to him in order to heal, but no special healing techniques are mentioned and apparently all that is needed is casually putting them back into place. But perhaps Zeus is just special; he did take an axe to the head like it was nothing after all (and carried a baby into his thigh). Some gods are more „godlike” than others. Anyways, judging by the example of Zeus in the Typhonomachy one assumes that if a god got their arm cut off they would need to attach it back. Who knows though? Maybe a removed body part would in fact regenerate but slowly whereas Zeus needed a fast solution to his problem, but the first interpretation would make sense of the Ouranos situation as well. Interestingly, both Ouranos and Zeus (in Apollodoros' account of the battle with Typhon) were injured with an adamantine sickle.

There are also instances of gods getting wounded without any mention of the healing process, such as Hera when Herakles shot her or Ares when Herakles (again! that guy is such a menace) stabbed him twice according to the (Pseudo-)Hesiodic Shield of Herakles. Maybe Paieon got involved then too, but the wound of Hera is described in an interesting way in Iliad 5: „And Hera too endured, when the powerful son of Amphitryon struck her, down into her right breast, with a three-barbed arrow; then pain that could not be soothed (ἀνήκεστον … ἄλγος) gripped even her.” (trans. Alexander) Could it be that we have an example of an incurrable wound here? In this same passage the pain of Hades when enduring the same ordeal is also emphasised, but in his case it is specified that Paion used analgesics for his injury. Maybe not though. It could simply be meant to draw attention to the great suffering that arrow put her through.

The quickly regenerating liver of Prometheus seems to be an exception. Many people have taken this and the similar tale of Tityos' punishment as evidence that the ancient Greeks were aware of the regenerating property of the liver and it's a really cool idea, but other than these specific stories there is no evidence that they were. If it was common knowledge even as early as Hesiod, then one would expect to find it mentioned in medical texts at least. Maybe the regeneration is part of the punishment. Or maybe divine internal organs are naturally like this (Tityos was not a god though), who knows?

Are special weapons required to harm gods permanently? Maybe. There is the sickle that castrated Ouranos, and there is the thunderbolt that not only left Typhon permanently charred (Aischylos' Prometheus Bound) or on fire (Apollodoros' Library) but according to Zeus himself in Book 8 of the Iliad would inflict such grievous injuries on Hera and Athena that they would not be able to heal even in ten years. Maybe not. In some accounts (Apollodoros' Library, Lucian's On Sacrifice, Valerius Flaccus' Argonautica) Hephaistos' legs are permanently injured as a result of his fall from Olympos but probably he is a unique case since disability plays such a big role in who he is.

#ask #greek gods

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suguwu · 1 year ago

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you don't touch aventurine often.

when you do, though—

you skim your fingers over his skin like shooting stars, soft and fleeting. you trace little patterns against him. maps, he thinks, constellations all your own, forging your path through the star-scape of his skin.

he's used to other people touching him; it's just another currency. they bruise their fingerprints into him, but bruises heal easily.

burns, however, do not.

your touch burns.

it's a supernova thing, flashing hot against his skin. it sizzles all the way down to his bones. chars your fingerprints into the marrow of him.

(he touches where you've touched, afterwards. fits his fingers over where yours once were and presses, as if that could erase you.

it never works.)

you're delicate with him. you hum when you brush your fingers over his pulse point. the melody is almost as soft as your fingertips.

he thinks the notes of it are seared into his skin. you trace them there, sometimes.

(you'd traced your name against his skin once.

he'd stiffened, unable to help himself.

you never did it again.)

it burns, it burns, it burns.

he's used to all sorts of touches, but yours—painfully gentle, painfully sweet—yours might be the one that takes him apart.

and he wants more of it.

#bee chats

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lilies-n-slander · 1 year ago

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Hazbin Hotel would be so much more interesting if charlie’s naïveté and surface-level kindness were treated as the actual flaws they are and didn’t work. Heads up, this kinda just turned into a text wall of charlie neg and ranting so don’t read if you don’t want to see that.

How she currently is, she just doesn’t make that much sense in the setting. I’ve seen ppl say that charlie is a fresh take and contrasts the edginess, but I just don’t see how she is possible. You’re telling me she’s been in hell for 200 yrs but still has this childish and naive personality, is still disgusted by the sinners being cannibalistic, violent, and even just horny, and is so detached from those she calls “her people”? She was born in hell, shouldn’t that make her more used to the sinners’ depravity and not less? She doesn’t seem to have a good grasp on what the sinners want or how they behave. It would make more sense if the show leaned into the toxic positivity white savior nepo baby angle (or rather, actually portrayed it as a *bad* thing) and rather than naïveté, her ignorance was out of self-centeredness and/or lack of true empathy for the other sinners. She would be more interesting as a character too imo.

She looks down on the other sinners (and honestly so does the show?? When she’s showing lucifer around and introduces him to her friends, they’re framed as unappealing as a joke… these are the characters the audience is also supposed to care about.. and many of the bg chars, such as the cannibal town residents, are portrayed as simple-minded brutes), there’s a lot of condescending “….ooookay” type of lines and she constantly has to think of nice ways to frame the clearly negative things she thinks about others. So why does she want to save them so much? The more reasonable explanation is a sense of white savior-ness than actually caring about them.

She’s eager to excuse whatever sir pentious did (which I’m assuming she doesn’t know?) and let him in, despite how he makes the other residents (including her own gf!) uncomfortable. And yes I say excuse, because she never inquires about his past sins or discussed him repenting. It seems to start with sorry, but also end with sorry too. This could’ve been made interesting if she simultaneously looked down on but also excused all sorts of heinous acts. Like val is the most openly manipulative and scummy character, he licks her arm, and yet she’s still apologetic about ruining things (Side note, if she’s genuinely apologetic, then she’s actually an idiot because why is she talking to the boom-mic employee *while they’re filming???*).

She doesn’t know what she’s doing and has no concrete plan but gets incredulous at ppl who don’t blindly trust her. Angel has to leave in ep 4 and she gets SO frustrated over it, like you seriously expect everyone to drop all of their other commitments for you? She has her webster definition notecards for the meeting with heaven and has to improvise and rely on angel being good at the club but she gets mad that lucifer isn’t 100% behind her plan?

Also, trust falls? Really? Then she goes “why isn’t this working? We’ve tried everything!” But on that note, the actual episode portrayal is kinda exactly what I’m going for. Not only do the trust falls not work, charlie says, “I love all of you so much,” pulls her puppy eyes, and only vaggie catches her. It’s surface level and shallow, and does not win anyone else over.

In contrast, vaggie’s attempt at building trust, throwing everyone into a battle, *actually works* (despite vaggie only being in hell for 3 years and being heaven-born, she already knows how things work better than charlie!) and yet charlie talks about it as though it already failed. She says “we work best as a team,” with the underlying message being “I can’t trust you to do things on your own.”

If she was waiting so long to reconnect with lucifer, then why hasn’t she called him in years?? Altho I’m currently rotating lucifer in my brain so I might be a bit biased

“If angels can do whatever and stay in the sky” they can’t?? Your dad is RIGHT there. I. What

She has a power dynamic with every other character except lucifer since she has her demon powers, not to mention she’s giving them a place to stay. When vaggie says she appreciates that charlie doesn’t use her powers, charlie doesn’t say “it wouldn’t be right,” she says it would be too *mean.* But if someone pushes her buttons, who’s to say they wouldn’t slip out (see her flip on a dime after val hits angel. Obv it’s justified in this case, but it shows that she’s willing to use her powers on sinners)? Again, it would be interesting if the show actually leaned into this angle. Imagine if she put on a nice front, never swore, seemed genuinely touching and understanding, but the second someone annoys her she annihilates them and becomes threatening and violent. Then she turns around and is nice again. Too much like alastor? idk

Also, many characters refer to her by calling her lucifer’s daughter, so clearly ppl know that if they cross her they’ll face his wrath by proxy (this also fits in thematically with what lute tells her in the first episode, that she’s exempt from the exterminations bc nepotism privilege). So realistically, everyone else would be a bunch of sucking-up yes-men bc they’re afraid of her. Which they kind of are when push comes to shove?

At first, she doesn’t help at all during the war and lets everyone else fight for her. Doesn’t want to get her hands dirty ig, even though all of this was caused by her in the first place. She only starts fighting at vaggie’s urging.

Like husk points out, every meeting charlie has with the angels makes things worse for all the sinners. Despite lucifer’s warnings that the meeting with heaven won’t work, and against vaggie saying to calm down, charlie basically picks a fight with heaven at the risk of *everyone else EXCEPT HER.*

What were charlie and lilith doing to stop the exterminations before lilith took her 7 year leave? Hell, what was charlie doing during those 7 years? Why does she have 0 connections outside of vaggie, who she only met 3 yrs ago? Why does she have to introduce herself to rosie, rather than her already knowing her name?

Also in ep 7 she says to alastor “I can’t believe how you can do exactly what you told me you would do!” (standing by and watching everyone fail at redemption) almost like she wasn’t paying attention to him at all.

“Why would vaggie hide that she was an exterminator” -> Rosie asks “how did that make you feel?” “It made me mad and doubt if she loves me” like I get it, it was a betrayal, but IS she stupid

Ready For This is charlie manipulating a town of ppl to join the army. Her pitch includes “on the way to the hotel the scenery is nice and you can make friends :3” and “have you ever wanted to die for a cause? Notably I myself am spared from being killed but uh that’s your problem.” Alastor pipes in that you can eat the angels and that’s what actually moves the crowd, because he understands them.

Her perspective on violence and where she chooses to draw the line is really confusing. Why does she care about sinners being violent to each other if they’ll just respawn? She stops alastor from beating up sir pentious at an arbitrary point, but is fine with him eating and presumably killing the gangsters who come after mimzy. (Edit: forgot to point out yet another example, that she was fine with vaggie tossing sir pentious and angel off the balcony but stops her from tossing niffty as well for no reason.) Why is she so apologetic to the angels actively killing sinners but was distraught over vaggie having partaken? Why was she opposed to the CANNIBALS being eager to eat the angels and saying “idk, they seem kinda murder-y” WHAT. What? I’m struggling to even begin to describe how ignorant that is during a WAR. What did she think was going to happen, that she wouldn’t have to fight anyone herself? Why did she stop her dad from killing Adam but doesn’t react strongly to Niffty finishing the job? If it mattered so much to her, the lack of reaction seems strange to me.

Isn’t it just so poetic that her weapon in the war is a shield that she uses exclusively on herself, which she hardly even needs due to her contractual immunity?

Why doesn’t she think to use her powers to build and maintain the hotel? That doesn’t require any violence or domineering. Yet when lucifer comes over it’s run-down and falling apart. Or ask lucifer to help her build it? She was concerned that asking for the meeting with heaven was such a big ask—why not start with this small thing? Father-daughter bonding.

Why does the show end w lucifer + the sinners congratulating her, and in particular, rebuilding the hotel? Hell doesn’t know that sir pentious got redeemed, so from their pov charlie’s idea didn’t work at all.

Can you tell that I’m writing this while I’m rewatching the show?

Aaand that’s that. Her char has always come off to me as somewhat condescending/fake, but I keep finding more and more things to dislike about the way she’s been written. Unfortunate. Honestly tho I might enjoy watching her more if I read her through this lens. You could probably write a similar post for most/all other chars in the show, limited only by the amount of screentime they get lmao

#ps it would have made a bit too much sense for the character fucking named ANGEL to be redeemed at the end of the season #he was the one charlie was making her entire case about in ep 6 #like sir pentious was never brought up #and angel was one of the ogs of the hotel #and had ep 4 #but ig the show thought better of it #rewatching the pilot and angel would’ve been so much more interesting ;u; he’s so one-note now…#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel #meta #charlie morningstar neg #honestly with lucifer as my blorbo I probably shouldn’t be shittalking charlie #he’d annihilate me #sorry man I just want your daughter to have a bit more confidence… yeah that’s it #.txt

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jumpywhumpywriter · 4 months ago

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Villain's Coffee Shop part 48

Warnings: none, really (but if someone thinks I should add a warning or if I missed something, feel free to let me know)

The next day Hero and Villain got cleaned up and treated their own injuries, before sitting in front of the TV to watch the news. The whole fight was caught on a bystander's camera. Both Sidekick and Vigilante had been detained for evaluation and questioning, but apparently Superhero's body had never been found, though it was obvious that he had drowned in the river. Some poor fisherman would likely come upon the body sometime in the next few days to be traumatized by its charred appearance.

But it was finally over. Superhero was gone, and Hero could breathe, knowing he couldn't come find her and use his powers to turn her into a mindless puppet again.

Hero and Villain watched the news until the reporter switched topics, and Villain turned the TV off.

"So what now?" Hero asked. "Where do we go from here?"

"I think you mean where do you go from here," Villain said quietly. "I have... other things that will require my attention in the near future. Which means this is, sadly, where we shall part ways, it seems."

Hero sat bolt upright, giving him a confused glance. "What do you mean?" She snorted. "What could you possibly have to do besides running this coffee shop?"

Villain wouldn't meet her gaze, gently stroking Mocha's fur as the cat purred contentedly next to him. "The deal I made with Supervillain to heal me... I have to make good on that debt."

"Oh? Are you finally ready to tell me exactly what the 'devil's bargain' is you made with him?" Hero arched an eyebrow pointedly.

"I'm not, but... You're going to find out eventually, and it's probably best if you hear it from me." Villain let out a shaky sigh, jaw working. "I will be employed to Supervillain for three months before the deal is off and I will be free to leave. He will use me however he sees fit, whether it be using my superpowers or my skill set. Likely for criminal mischief, knowing him. He's asked me to join him several times in the past given how powerful I am, but I turned him down each time. Until I was badly injured by Superhero, as you know, and had no other choice but to offer what he wanted most in exchange for a healing: my allegiance."

"Villain!" Hero gasped. "Do you have any idea what Supervillain is capable of?! He's one of the most dangerous murderers the Agency has ever tried to stop!"

Villain winced at her tone. "I know. But I was near-dying, and I offered what it took to make me well enough to fight Superhero. The bargain's already made. There's nothing I can do to change it. I sold my soul to Supervillain for three months."

"But Villain... the things he might make you do..." Hero trailed off, face slack with shock.

"I am aware of the price I'll be paying. You don't need to remind me," Villain cut her off with a growl.

"Surely there has to be some sort of loophole or--"

"--There isn't."

"Can't you just, I don't know, not do it? We could work together to take Supervillain down and turn him into the police, and then you wouldn't have to hold your end of the deal."

"That won't work," Villain said flatly, and pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a small tattoo on the side of his neck Hero hadn't seen before, of a skull with crossbones.

"What's that?"

"A blood bargain. Tattooed in Supervillain's blood. He possesses a special tattoo machine crafted by someone with unique superpowers who could give ordinary objects certain powers of their own within strict parameters and rule sets. The machine he has makes any deals permanent until the duration of the deal is over or until it has been fully fulfilled, a tangible link between two people." He covered the tattoo back up with his shirt collar again, averting his gaze to the floor. "If I don't follow through on our agreement... it will slowly make me sick, poison me, and eventually I'll die.”

"WHAT?!?" Hero shrilled. "Why would you make a deal like that??"

"Like I said, because I had no other choice." Villain's lips tightened into a grim line. "It was either work with Supervillain, or risk my injuries making me a cripple for life. With how many broken bones I had, there was no way there wouldn't be any lasting damage. So I made a calculated decision."

"So you're just going to roll over and take whatever Supervillain throws at you without a fight?!" Hero gawked at him in disbelief. "What if he asks you to kill for him?"

Villain closed his eyes with a shudder. "I'll do my best to find loopholes when I can in the way Supervillain gives me orders and how he words things, but aside from that... I have to do what he says. Or the blood bargain will put me in an excruciating amount of pain."

Hero was shocked. No wonder Villain hadn't wanted her knowing what he was offering Supervillain when he came to heal him. Because she would definitely have done anything in her power to stop him from making this awful deal, enslaving himself to one of the worst criminals in the whole city. And for three whole months?? The amount of damage Supervillain could cause in that amount of time was unfathomable.

"Supervillain gave me a two week allowance before I'd be called to duty," Villain continued, "to give me time to deal with Superhero. But now that the threat Superhero posed is gone, I have to start paying off my debt. And I don't want you contacting me during that time, okay? I don't want to be anywhere near Supervillain where he might see you as a liability to eliminate. It's best if we just... go our separate ways and return to the way things were, with me as the lone wolf and you as another normal hero at Agency. I'm sorry.”

“You–You can’t be serious!” Hero sputtered, tripping over her words.

“I am.” Villain’s face was sad and knowing as he got off the couch to stand. “This will likely be the last time you’ll see me for a very, very long time.” He snapped his fingers at his cat, who hopped off the couch to stand next to him.

“I already told Supervillain I’d meet up with him today to discuss the specific terms of my agreement, so I have to get going. Mocha, come.” Villain turned on his heel and trudged toward the door of his coffee shop to leave, but paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time, his face full of genuine sincerity. “I am eternally grateful for all you've done for me, Hero… it just wasn’t enough to save my soul like you hoped.”

And then he was gone, leaving Hero alone in stunned silence.

-------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere else in the city....

Cold. Dark. It was the first two things Superhero became aware of as he came back to consciousness with a moan, eyes cracking open. His whole body blazed with agony, skin burning with phantom fire, and his ears were ringing.

"...Found him washed up on the riverbank..."

"...How..."

"...Not..."

"...News channel..."

Strange voices filtered into Superhero's mind as his hearing slowly came back to him, voices he didn't recognize.

"...Look... think he's... waking up..."

"...Careful..."

A hand on his shoulder made Superhero flinch, ice-cold adrenaline flooding him. Where was he? And more importantly, who was he with?

"Hey... can you hear me? Anybody home?"

Someone was shaking him lightly, and he let out an agonized groan, forcing his eyes to focus on the figure looming over him, barely distinguishable against the black night sky. What stood out to him most, though, were the unnaturally silver eyes staring down at him.

"Ah, there he is. Wasn't sure you were even alive," the stranger laughed. "I know who you are -- your reputation is rather famous."

"Bring him with us," a different voice said close by. "He might prove useful, if his superpowers are as great as everyone says they are."

There were some murmurs of agreement from people Superhero couldn't see through his cloudy vision, before he felt himself being picked up in inhumanly strong arms as if he weighed nothing.

Questions floated around murky thoughts, but exhaustion and pain dragged Superhero's mind back into the dark, and soon he passed out again.

This is officially the end of part 1 of the Villain's Coffee Shop series. But never fear! The characters have come back in this crossover story.

⏪️ Back

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@f1sh-bone @everynameistakencarrots @snaillamp

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 7 months ago

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Fun little Radiodust idea

For Sinsmas, normally something the Hellborn celebrate and not so much Sinners because the passing of eternity could get monotonous or distressing depending on where you landed in the afterlife...

Charlie, who Very Much has always celebrated it, decides that everyone should do a gift exchange!

To avoid everyone rushing out for multiple gifts, she chooses to have people draw names from a hat and made it clear that she would really hope that everyone tried their best to find or make something for their intended giftee that they actually thought the other would like.

'So', she cautions, 'that means nobody goes handing around anything that might be upsetting or tempt people to regress on their progress, or... uh, well...'

'Don't bring anything dead, decaying or dying.' Vaggie finishes, staring right at the oh so innocent Niffty/Alastor combo at the end of a nearby couch. Niffty pouts immediately and crosses her arms, sitting harshly on Alastor's lap.

"Come now Niffty, I am certain you can find a non-bug related item to provide your giftee in this..." the man can barely contain his derisive chuckle, but he clearly makes an attempt here even if only to show 'support' while the King is here. '...oh so charming little activity of dear Charlotte's, hmm? Why, you're a dab hand at sewing, remember? Why not make them a poppet of someone your giftee wants to torture? That could be QUITE the gift!"

"NO! NOPE! Noooooooooooooo not that, uh, please." Charlie interjects, not liking the excited sparkle thrumming through Niffty's eye. It dies immediately, and the little Sinner huffs in a way that pulls at several heartstrings.

"Fine."

"...maybe you can give us a list of ideas, princess?" Husk interjects, uncharacteristically, watching Niffty's fit of pique with a frown. "Avoid things getting..." he waves his hand around the room at various sinners. Explicit? Violent? Bloody? Uncomfortable? It encompasses them all.

"Oh, that's a great i-de-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" Charlie squeal-sings, and Vaggie barely has time to brace before a full song about the dos and don't of gifting is shared to the captive audience. Lucifer excitedly (and Vaggie reluctantly) join in after the first verse, enthusiastic about sharing a fun holiday with the others.

Husker was generally unimpressed, but enjoying the way that everpresent grin drooped on boss's face as he was bombarded by merriment.

"...and that's how to share the joy of Sinsmas!" crashes the final line as confetti seemingly bursts from a number of locations, including mid-air, and coats them all.

Niffty immediately launching around to skewer pieces individually on her needles and gather them into her apron pocket. It has to have some sort of pocket dimension or something in there, or it would be overflowing by now.

"Oh, we made a uh, a mess Char-Char, let me just-..." Lucifer starts, raising his fingers to snap it away, before snarling as they are ensnared in a red tipped hand.

"Majesty, would you mind leaving it this once? It brings her joy to clean up intricate messes." Alastor says, not even attempting to antagonise the King, and it seemed the fact that it was a genuine request, that stopped Lucifer from setting the Sinner on fire.

Angel Dust, half-awake, couldn't help but grin as he saw the slight softening to that sharp grin and those blood-red eyes as they followed Niffty's frenetic movements across the room. He liked the tiny dame, of course, and sometimes it was nice to see that she had others in her corner... can't be easy being so small in a place like Hell.

Not that he ain't dead certain Smiles or Husk would eviscerate anyone who tried something with Niffty, if she didn't tear them apart first. Angel knew that she'd stopped more than a few Exorcists from getting a bead on him in that last extermination. Always someone thinking they could end one last sinner before they died; well, jokes on them, 'cause Angel was still here and Cannibal Town was hostin' a big angel wing bbq soon. So, Hell 1: Heaven 0.

The little dragon thing that followed Charlie everywhere, Razzle he thinks, hovers nearby and hands over a slip of paper. Well, okay then.

Hmmm, fuck... what do you even get the King'a Hell? The man can straight up snap anything he wanted into existence, right? He sizes the guy up, wondering if a coupon for one night with The Angel Dust would be good enough for his Majesty... and then has a momentary moment of panic wondering if he would even be good enough for an ex-angel. Which was stupid because really, he was amazing and could fake it anyway anyone wanted... but, could he compare to the Queen?

Nah, okay, what if he got the guy like... something a little fun and discreet? One of Lust's toys. Angel had connections, after all, and it's not like someone could order the Tentacular Spectacular 4.3 with vibrating actions under 'Lucifer', or to the Palace, without at least one of the succubi getting nosy. Heh, or that Sin guy, Asmodeus...

Using his tertiary eyes to check about the room, it took little deduction to work out who had who.

Husk was drinking out of a bottle but subtly using the motion to side-eye Vaggie, clearly wondering what he could even offer the ex-orcist. The lilac woman looking tense as she gazed over at Niffty, a thousand yard stare building as she imagined the bloody things she might have to provide.

Lucifer looked like he'd won the jackpot, and also like a man on the verge of a panic attack. So, he's just guessing but... the guy probably got Charlie.

The Princess was still smiling but appeared uncertain as she looked at her paper, eyes flickering to Alastor and back to the paper. Alright then, she's stumped but doesn't want to say anything because it might hurt the Strawberry Pimp's feelings. Angel's pretty sure the guy ain't gottem to start with...

Well, no, that wasn't right. More like, Smiles tried real hard to pretend he didn't, but they were there. If the overlord felt like breaking into acting, or Angel's kind of Acting, he might just be a natural given how well he plastered over his real feelings all the time. But when your life depnded on watching for the small tells in your bigger, more powerful opponent or scene partner to work out how to get away without too many bruises... you noticed this sort of shit.

There was a brief moment of considering what the Radio Demon would look like on one of Val's sets, before he physically shook the thought out, perturbed. For one, that was kinda hot... and on the other hand, really disturbing... might save that for later, though.

Anyways, he can't really tell what Al was thinking, he wasn't really looking at anyone specific. Maybe he hadn't bothered to look at his paper yet?

Niffty's sudden burst of near hysterical laughter sent chills up his spine, as she sat on Husk's lap, petting him excitedly. If she wasn't careful, Niffty was going to build up a sharp little shock of static.

In anycase, based on the whole... everything, it was clear that the maid had received the bartender. Good Luck to Husk on that front, because it was going to be freaky whatever she did.

She bounced on Husk's overly-patient leg once more before crawling across the room to climb atop Al's head, whispering directly into his hair tuft... wait, was that an ear? Had Angel not realised those were fuckin' fluffy goddamn ears this whole time?

Unholy shit, they were! The one Niffty giggled into twitched!

That was fuckin' adorable, that's what that was!

"Of course, my deer, as you wish." Alastor grinned, a flash of radio dial eyes as his stitches flared, manifesting a spool of fine green thread for the maid. "I'm certain that whatever you deem necessary will be fine."

Husk suddenly looked exceptionally nervous.

"Alright then, remember, you have the next few days to find or make something for your giftee and we'll hand them out out on Sinsmas. If anyone gets reaaaaaally stuck, let me or Vaggie know, okay? We can brainstorm together!" Charlie enthuses, injecting false cheer through the room.

Vaggie narrows her eye. "And again, nothing fucked up... or fuckable." The last nnit was aimed right at Angel, who good-naturedly rolled his eyes, struck a pose and purred at her.

"Aw baby, you know you want all this... I'll even give ya a discount coupon for Sinsmas, if ya want..."

"I can't. I just... can't." Vaggie growls, storming out. Under that swathe of hair, she's trying so hard not to grin at their banter. Took a whole ass extermination to find their dynamic, but the pair had manged to act like bickering siblings.

As Alastor dissolved into shadows, Lucifer poofed into red sparkles, and Husk sauntered back to the bar with a contemplative expression on his face, Angel approached Charlie.

"Heya toots, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Oh, Angel... are you okay? If you're stuck, I can give you a hand to-..."

"Oh, I'd love ya to-... wait, sorry, that one just came out. The wordplay was Right There, but it's not what I wanted to say." he halts himself, seeing her good natured grin grow strained at the innunedo. "I was gonna say, that I wanted to trade names with you."

"Is there... something wrong with who you got? Oh gosh, I forgot to check if anyone had anybody they didn't feel comfortable gifting! Oh noooooo..." it trails off in a soft moan of self-disgust as the Princess tugs her own hair. Angel immediately puts a stop to that mess by gently untangling her hands and taking them in his own primary pair.

"Nah, it ain't like that. It's just... I worked out who you got, and that you're kinda not sure how to go about gifting the guy, which is fine he's hard to read. But, I pulled your Dad..." he pauses, seeing her brace, "which ain't an innuendo, promise. Although..." he waggles his eyebrows so ludicrously she can't help but burst into laughter.

"Right? So anyways, I think that given how hard the Short King has been trying to show you he cares for ya, then perhaps it might be the best Sinsmas gift of all if maybe you surprised him with something. He fought adam and fixed the hotel, all because he wants to see you happy, Toots, that's the kind of dad any of us here in the pit would've killed for... and let's be real, he's a mess. The guy is the most powerful thing around here and he's terrified to even put a frown on your face," Angel's grin is soft and knowing. "So like I said, maybe you take my slip and I take yours, and you give your old man a big surprise he ain't expecting."

There's a pause as Charlie grabs him for a bone-crunching hug.

"Please don't say the thing you're thinking right now..." Charlie whispers in his ear.

"Oh Charlie," he whispers back, squeezing her tight. "You know I can't help myself. Cause if you say no I'm gonna give him my Big Surprise on Smismas eve... you guys don't do the mistletoe thing do you? Cause I can find some places to hang it that- oof!"

Laughing, the Princess had playfully hurled him across the room onto the sofa. Giggling through an admonishment about Never Saying that about her dad again.

"Okay, okay, stop waggling your eyebrows like that, I can't breathe!" she wheezes, holding out her giftee slip to transfer it to Angel. Looking up at the now furiously waggling eyebrows before losing it again, and having to sit down, turning bright pink with glee.

It makes Angel nostalgic, with a sudden pang, for his twin sister and the hours they'd spent making terrible jokes and puns up just to send the other into fits of laughter. Ending up messy with happy tears as they wheezed for breath.

He glances down to the slip in his hand.

Okay then, Smiles... what can I get you that you ain't got already?

----------

It took a few days of persistent observation to find something he could use. Angel was really starting to think about using a handmade One Night Deluxe Package coupon for his services, before he noticed a few little peculiarities that he might be able to make work.

The most obvious one was that the Radio Demon enjoyed cooking.

It became apparent how many of the more elaborate dinners that the hotel residents had were actually secretly made by Alastor. Or at least, under his direction.

Huh. How hadn't he cottoned on to that little number before? Maybe because he was always crawling through the door at who the fuck knows what hour and heading for the bar, where Husk'd have something set out for him if it was too late for the cat.

Soemtimes it was a shot of something strong, a bottle of water and a sandwich; other times he find a brief note about something in the fridge they'd saved for him. Always felt good to be wanted somewhere, you know?

No matter what Val did to him or had done to Angel, he could at least think about the fact that someone was waiting for him. Someone cared that he came 'home' of an evening... and that, if he needed it, he could have help from almost anyone in the weird fucked up little family at the hotel.

If he yelled, or smashed a glass, someone would be there to check in.

Niffty was always in the walls somewhere, and Spooky Lite (Alastor's Shade) tended to wander around the foyer at night when he was returning, keeping an eye on the place Angel assumed. Husk sometimes fell asleep at the bar waiting on him to get back...

And he knew sometimes Vaggie had to sit on Charlie to stop the bleeding heart of hers from keeping her rigidly upright in a chair in the foyer all night until Angel returned. It was... pretty awesome, really.

Actually, his mind skipped back to Spooky Lite, and he wondered how it was always around about that time. Until the night before when Angel had slipped into his room with the thing following, and then crept back out, to find that Alastor had materialised in the kitchen for some late-night cooking.

Music threading out quietly as dishes were done by overenthusiastic moppets. At one point, he'd seen Niffty come in, stumbling and shaken, only to be picked up wordlessly and curled into one of Alastor's arms as the music lulled her back to sleep. Poppets returning her to her room when he was certain she was deeply settled once more.

There was a pained, pinched expression on the Radio Demon's face as he watched Niffty go. It sent a shock through Angel, and he's not sure how to describe it, not really. Just, an awareness of real emotion, even behind the too-bright smile that never seemed to stop.

If the guy even could drop it, which Angel wasn't so sure given those stitches he'd seen, or maybe Al was just real committed to the bit. But the eyes said more than the mouth ever could.

The next morning, Charlie had found a well-cooked and marinated meal in the fridge with instructions on reheating. Vaggie was loudly sceptical about the origins of the meat, but Husk took a bite and said it was beef (or the closest Hell equivalent) not Sinner.

Vaggie side-eyed Husk for the rest of the day after that one. The bartender shrugging. "You could try it, what's the worst that could happen? We're already in hell."

She'd rolled her eye.

Behind all the dramatics around him, Angel was forming a plan that he hoped might lead to the best possible gift for the picky red Overlord. He had an idea, but... really hoped it wouldn't be seen as trying to scrimp on gifts.

Although, perhaps if the Overlord could scent the amount of fuckin' blood drops this thing was costing him, that alone would be enough of a gift. He swore so frequently while reusing old skills with new limbs, that Husk came in to check on him... and put a pair of ear mufflers on Fat Nuggets.

Hells, he was even taking to doing the needlework between shifts at the studio. What else was there to do when the scenes were hours apart, and Val was busy fucking another ten people in some side room somewhere, after all?

Just hoped it came together in time.

----

Talk about a fucking buzzer beater.

Angel's fingers were stiffer than that time he shot that bukkake gangbang film with those echidna and shark-based sinners. Lotta cocks in that film and Val wanted it all in one take.

He'd needed a scalding shower and several massages to get his hands settled again after that little lot. Vaggie had helpfully hosed him off out front with a minimally disgusted expression on her face, thankfully, that day.

"Happy Sinsmas everyone! Ooooh, I'm so pleased you all went out of your way to find a gift for your giftee!!!!" Charlie beamed, far too cheerful for 5am in the damned morning. However, she had woken them all with enthusiastic song, and well... when Charlie was Up the hotel was Up.

"Yaaay..." croaked a clearly half-awake Vaggie.

"It means so much to me that you're all here with us, celebrating like a real family this Sinsmas! I couldn't do this without you, any of you, so I hope you enjoy this part and then we'll get onto the Sinsmas breakfast, and the games, and watch some movies... or not... you don't have to Al. Promise!" Charlie adds, conceding as rather stilted static plays.

Alastor looks overtired, and clearly unimpressed at the early start to the day. Still, he pulls together some form of charade when the Princess glances at him and nods.

"So, how're we doing this Char-Char?" Lucifer asks, infuriatingly chipper as well. Ah, seems like the morning person power must be genetic... the lucky bastards.

"So, I was thinking we can all hand them out simultaneously to our giftee, so no one is trapped in the spotlight... if that's okay?"

"Sounds good to me." Husk shrugs and hauls himself off the couch, tail flicking as he moves to hand a pair of oddly shaped gifts to Vaggie. "Happy or Merry or whatever Sinsmas, chickadee, this one's for you. "

"Oh, uh, thanks Husk!" Vaggie says, taken aback by the gifts, and for a split second he wonders if exorcists were allowed to get gifts in Heaven, because she looks close to tears.

As Vaggie unwraps her gifts, Niffty tugs at the cat's claws, "Husk, I got you and I made you something! I-... I know I couldn't get anything as fancy as the things the others might have, but I made it special. Promise."

She bundles something into his arms that had been carefully wrapped in what appeared to be salvaged wallpaper from the previous hotel.

"Thanks Niff, appreciate it." Husk rumbles, moving back to the couch and pulling open the package with care and a small amount of trepidation. It very well might explode, after all.

"Oh, Niffty, before you run away, this is for you." Vaggie says, handing over a pretty box in a familiar dusk rose.

Niffty squealed and placed it on the ground, pulling it open with speed to reveal a brand new dress in a scintillating spill of red, white and yellow to match her favourite colours. There's even a petticoat.

"It's made by Overlord Rosie herself... she put a charm on the petticoat that'll keep it from getting any dirt on it, because I know you don't like that." Vaggie explained, not sure how to read the sudden statue Niffty's turned into... and then backing up as the maid begins to vibrate at great speed. She's slammed into by the maid, nearly being taken out at the knees with the force. "Ooof, I take that means you like it?"

"YES YES YES YES YES!"

"Cool, good, nice to know. There's one other thing but now I think about it, it's kind of silly..."

Niffty launches back to the box and reverently lifts out the second item. A feather duster with an extendable handle... made of Vaggie's discarded feathers. She screams in delight and launches over to pepper kiss on Vaggie's cheek, then hurls herself towards a cobweb on the ceiling.

"Nailed it, kid." Husk said, and Charlie's eyes are round and wet where they stare at Vaggie.

Blinking, the Exorcist realises she needs to open her own gifts, turning to do so. With care, she peels back the lavender wrapping to reveal a carefully framed and still covered in golden ichor... knife. An angelic blade, to be exact.

The one that killed Adam. Beside it, a smaller photo of Niffty plunging the dagger into the guy, clearly shot from HD drone footage, likely Voxtech. Her eye goes WIDE as she stares at the cat.

"How did-...? You-...! This is the best thing but how...?" she tries.

"I'd tell you, but I think Al will kill me if I mention what I had to trade for Vox to hand that picture over..." the bartender muttered. Vaggie glances at the Radio Demon, watching his ears twitch.

Angel cringes. Vox has it Down Bad, so whatever it took... was likely personal, like a bowtie or even a pair of panties. The sudden mental image of Al in fancy panties made him snort, and try to pass it off as a dry throat cough. Lucifer snaps him up a glass of water without even appearing to think about it.

"...Husker, if you did what I assume you did, then the idiot box is going to be Insufferable at the next Overlord meeting." Al sighs, dramatically.

"Sure, but on the other hand it's kinda funny when you think about how far he'll go just to pretend he could get your attention, right boss?" Husk counters, pulling out a crisp looking shirt and jacket combo from his own gift. Eyes going wide in surprise.

It was well-tailored, and if you looked at the right angle, there were impossibly small symbols adorning both garments. Sigils, familiar ones, that seemed to spell out some sort of protection...

"Niff, you made these on yer own?" the grizzled bartender huffs, genuinely touched. "That's amazing, is what it is."

"Well, Sir helped a little with some of the symbols, because I can't always get them to line up stright in my head... but we got the charm right!" Niffty said brightly, hovering over his shoulder. She just seemed to Appear in the most unnerving way. "Oooh, open the other bit!"

At first, Husk wasn't sure what he was looking at, until Angel Dust gasped and covered his grin with two hands. "No way."

"Niff, is this... Valnetino's collar fluff? The stuff you snagged at the club?"

"Yep, he was a not good bad boy and I didn't like him. I know you don't like him either, so you can have some of my trophy so we can not like him together!" She trills, delighted.

"Would it sweeten the pot if I told you it ain't grown back yet and he does this weird comb-over shit to hide the bald spot?" Angel Dust adds, not able to hold it in any longer.

Husk barks out a laugh, "Oh that's the best news I've had all day, Legs. Might get this framed, even. Put it over the bar so that nearsighted motherfucker can see it if he ever dares put a foot into this place... without one of us tearing it right off his body, that is."

Vaggie gasps in the background, opening her second gift, more cumbersome than the first. It's an ornate cherry-red picnic basket, with a red and yellow blanket atop, and clearly heavy with cutlery and crockery.

"You need to relax more, Vags... you and Charlie. That thing has a little zap from his Majesty that keeps anything inside at the right temperature, and stops it spoiling. You can go anywhere and it'll keep." Husk shrugs. Those two were wound so tight he was surprised neither had combusted yet... a prod in the right direction, from the friendly bartender, was hopefully the thing to change that.

Vaggie came over and awkwardly put her arms out, before deciding to just go for the hug. He grumbled, but allowed it for a few seconds before pulling back.

"O-Okay, who's next?" Vaggie stammers, turning to find that Lucifer and Charlie were in a world of their own.

Charlie was a sobbing mess of delight as she held a small dragon-duck-winged thing in a little dress. It was like, yet unlike, Razzle and Dazzle... same concept but more... duck. There was no better descriptor than that, really.

"Her name is Ella-Kazam, un-unless you wanted to make it something else... she's still new enough you can change it over." Lucifer shrugged, looking hopeful and awkward, stroking the creature's head as Razzle flew over to meet this new friend.

Not a replacement for Dazzle, never in a million aeons. but, a new friend and possibility.

"No, no she's perfect Dad!" Charlie sobs, rubbing her cheek against Ella-Kazam, and delighting in the squeaky quacks. She startles when the little protector drops a golden item in her palm. "Oh, what's this?"

"It's, um something I was holding onto for you until the right time..." Lucifer adds, wondering if perhaps he should have switched the order of the gifts.

Charlie rights the items, surveying the family crest on the necklace before something goes 'click' very quietly, opening to reveal it is a locket inside. Light rises up and shows a stately photos of the royal family, Charlie as a young child in their midst.

Charlie begins sobbing in delighted earnest, clearly frightening the king. Vaggie intervenes, having gotten quite good at this sort of thing. Alastor's shadow pokes at Lucifer's pocket until the ex-angel recalls that he has a handkerchief in there, which is swiftly offered to Charlie.

It takes several moments to settle the Princess, as she hands over a strangely wrapped thing, half as tall as the king and about the width of KeeKee. It has circus-themed wrapping paper, which he would assume was an insult from anyone else, but Charlie seems to be trembling with anxiety, as desperate for his approval as he was for hers.

The King of Hell cautiously opens the package, eyes widening to discover an ornate musical carousel inside, themed towards those at LuLu World. Small differently coloured and styled ducks took the spaces of the trasitional horses, and when he looked closer... he found himself, Charlie and Lillith were some of the riders.

"Oh Charlie, it's lovely, did you conjure this yourself...?"

"I... I had some help, I had an idea but I couldn't quite get it to do what I was hoping it would, so I asked... for assistance." She evades, pointing to two small toggles on the base of the carousel. "If you wind the key it will play until it's unwound itself, but if you click the yellow switch it will play on its own and-..."

She pauses as a different song begins, this one feels less tangible, and reaches inwards. Everyone in the room is flooded with a sense of overwhelming calm, of tranquility and safety as a pleasant memory is stirred from deep within and replayed against their mind's eye.

"...it will play a tune that brings up good memories, to help you sleep or feel better or... just make you happy." Charlie sighs softly. She then clicks that feature off and presses the Black switch.

Another not-sound fills the air, this one is like a hand reaching out to someone in the ocean, a spool of thread that leads out of a maze, a feeling of being found and drawn out of somewhere deep.

"And this one is to help when you get lost in your head or whatever you want to call it. It's a homing beacon. It took a few days to work out how to make it work, but Al helped me... he twisted some of the radiowaves and made them do... that." Charlie explained. She then paused to ad, "It can read your emotions... the switches are able to turn on by themselves if they sense someone needs it."

"Char-Char, this is amazing, honey. How did I ever make such a wonderful, thoughtful child?" Lucifer smiles, glowing with pride at his daughter, eyes filled with delighted tears. Lucifer gathers his not so little girl up in a big hug, swooping them up in the air and twirling to show his joy.

Alastor hummed in agreement, getting him a side-eye. Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Alright, this once I suppose you can also claim good parenting of 'our' daughter... that's a neat trick with the carousel and I have some questions around how, for later."

Quietly, because nothing he'd done held a candle to that of the other gifts, Angel moves to sit a tad close to Alastor and passes over his small package. Green wrapping paper carefully tied about them, as he'd noticed the sinner's preference for the colour, despite his red attire.

Alastor snaps his fingers and a pink sack landed on his legs, not heavy, but full of something. He flipped open the sack to find a smaller item wrapped atop the area, and decided to look into it first as Alastor carefulyl pulled free the green paper.

Angel's brows creased in confusion when he first looked at the item, it seemed like a choker but not oriented right and, well, a bit large for him...

Side-eying Alastor, the Radio Demon rolled his eyes and let out a low whistle that seemed to summon an unexpected party. Fat Nuggets trotted in happily, and suddenly it clicked for Angel.

"This is for Nuggsy? A collar that matches my choker?" he asks, surprised.

"Yes, and no. The fabric is imbued with a few different charms, my effeminate fellow... you will find that it can adjust size as your little friend grows, shift to match any choker you deign to wear, and..." he pauses, eyes widening at the item he unwrapped. "...and has a location tracking spell in it that can activate by thinking about your hellpig. Did you embroider this yourself?"

"Hmm? Uh, yeah... my fingers sure know about all the times I slipped with the damn needles. Haven't had to embroider since I was alive." Angel laughs, feeling kind of silly now, to gift something so tacky and homemade.

"Well, I must say it is a delightful gift, thank you Angel, I see you spent extra time getting the notes and antlers of the creatures embroidered with such detail. I can always make use of a new apron. Tell me... are you aware that the notes are-..."

"That one fuckin' tune you play when you're cooking at like ass o'clock in the morning when I get back? Yeah. Took me a bit to work it out, then put it down right, but between Charlie and I we got it."

Radio dials flashed, more out of panic than anything. "Ah, you were spying on my cooking hour, hmmm?"

"What? N-... well yeah, I was coming home late anyway, course I was curious who else was up." Angel shrugged. "Besides, that's not the only thing there, keep going."

"Likewise."

Alastor uncovers a thick stack of hand-written notes next.

He automatically discards the Coupon for One Night with Angel Dust, in a dramatic way that was expected of him, but it wasn't incinerated so that was positive. Underneath it, once the excess glitter was carefully brushed off... was pile of painstakingly recreated recipes.

"So, those were things my nonna and my ma liked to make at home. Loved cooking wth them but I think they held back some secrets for only my sister... you know how it is. Thought you might like trying something new when you were doing your cooking thing." Angel adds, not looking, worried he'd made a fool of himself. What kind of gift was a bunch of recipes to a Radio Demon anyway?

"What a remarkably apt and personal gift, Angel... here I was bracing for you to provide something as tall as you and vibrating hard enough to dent the floors. Colour me surprised..." Alastor's light hearted nonsense brushes his tension away as the arachnid begins to laugh.

"You want that sort of thing? I got connections to Ozzie's, through Fizzy, he can get us the tentacular spectacula-..."

A tendril slams about his mouth. "No, thank you, that will be quite enough with such a delightful gift as you have provided. If you are someone intrigued in cooking, I may be persuaded to share some of my own maman's recipes, particularly those for jambalaya. Though if I catch you seasoning with only half-spice, you will be turned INTO appropriately seasoned Jambalaya. Do you understand me?" Alastor grinned, and somehow Angel could tell this was playful banter, and not a threat.

"The spicy stew thing? Fuck yeah I'd love to know how to make that, oh and the powdered doughnuts things. Cherri loves them, and after Pentious died she's been real flat lately..."

"They do not take long, I will show you later in the morning if you are free. After all, your bombastic friend did help in the battle, it is the least we can offer in her time of distress." Alastor says, seemingly distracted by something, as if weighing up the pros and cons of something.

"Oh, do continue."

Angel cautiously opens the sack and pulls out skein after skein of dyed wool, all slight variations of his preferred pinks, with some other basic colour groups in there. He touches it, not daring to believe it but...

"This is sheep demon wool, isn't it?" he chokes, then narrows his eyes.

Alastor laughs, "Willingly given, why she has collected it for some time and twists it into yarn herself before overseeing the dying with several other sinners in her employ. I merely requested to have some for your gift, as I have seen you take an interest in knitting of late."

"When you say 'requested'..."

"Dearest Angel Dust, I assure you that if I had not stopped the woman she would have provided me every skein on the floor and refused payment if I was not firm with her. A persistent sinner, that one."

"Oh? Why's a sinner so generous then? You own her?" Angel tensed, surprised by the wrinkling of Alastor's nose in distaste.

"No, she does have a deal, primarily for protection, and that was at her insistance."

"Wait, sheep demon sinner? Yeah, Ange, don't worry about it. She's been hurling her soul at Alastor in thanks since he stopped... something pretty fucking bad happening at a butcher shop down the bad side of Pentagram city. It don't do business anymore, the boar that owned it went... missing." Husk interjects, side-eying Alastor.

"Hah, and the big bad Radio Demon is what, freaked out by someone throwing themselves at him? Smiles, ya hot, that kind of thing happens you need t'get used to it. S'why I always got a taser in one of my other-other arms, y'know?" He laughed, enjoying how one of those ears twitched down. "I do love the gift though, knitting helps me unwind and I 've never had anything but the fake acrylic stuff that gets weird and itchy after a bit. So, thanks... it's the best gift."

"What about the Other one, boss?" Husk needles, grinning and catching everyone's attention.

Alastor rolls his eyes, and snaps his fingers. "Spoilsport, I was leaving the best until last..."

The bloody, barely shuddering form of Valentino appeared on the rug before them, making Angel's eyes buldge in shock. The moth's wings looked to have been shredded methodically.

Alastor prodded the sack of flesh with his staff. "Well, the good news is that he was conscious enough to hand over this delightful little piece of paper..."

Angel's heart nearly falls out of his throat when his contract appears, sealed with a green band instead of deep pink, falling into his now-trembling hands.

"Tear it up as you wish, I have no need to possess the soul of one of our guests. I merely assumed you'd want to do it in the prescence of the one who trapped you in it, for closure... before I put him in the broadcast."

"How did-...?"

"For the price Vox asked, I negotiated the right to kill his little toy and take at least one of the contracts." Alastor said sharply, clearly not wanting to discuss it further. "Still, it does remove one nuisance..."

"Alastor, this wasn't what I meant..." Charlie sighs, trying to be disappointed but so pleased for Angel at the same time.

"Was this not a thoughtful, personalised gift of something that the giftee might cherish? Ownership of their own soul?" Alastor replied, gentling his approach. "I don't suppose you or your father would like to... have a word about the time he licked your arm?"

"He WHAT?!"

"Dad, it's fine!"

"Angel, do let me know if you would like to join me when I integrate this... creature... into my broadcast. If I dislike the man and his antics, I can only assume your feelings towards him are far stronger and of greater import. I plan to braodcast at 8pm sharp, don't be late and wear something that you aren't attached to, it gets... Messy."

Alastor prods Valentino until the moth looks up, scowling, and then passes out.

Angel's trembling fingers grasp the contract, heart thundering like it was some sort of sick game and he'd wake up any moment, and tears it in two. Immediately, his collar shatters and Valentino twitches in his stupor.

"...okay, I gotta know, what did he do that ticked you off so bad?" Angel asked, elbowing Alastor, who rolled his eyes.

"Numerous things, I always meant to get around to killing him for his treatment of his thralls... and free you, as Charlotte has always hoped to do. However, I believe I have hated the man from our first meeting, he is so exceptionally odious after all."

"Why, he lick your arm too?" Lucifer growls, looking like he was still contemplating immolating the beaten overlord for touching his Charlie.

"Hah no. Well, you could say our first meeting went rather badly as I bite off his tongue... he's still angry about that, but I feel quite justified in the action for you see, it ended up in my mouth without any warning. He's lucky Vox, who we were both accuainted with at the time, asked for mercy... in hindsight, I should have turned him into mincemeat."

Angel scowled as well. "Yeah... the bastard ain't one for consent."

There was a heavy moment marring the day, before Alastor snapped the Overlord away to who knows where and added cheerfully, "Well, no need to concern ourselves about that anymore... he'll be beyond deceased this evening, and I understand there is quite the day of festivities ahead. If everyone has unwrapped their gifts and found them satisfactory?"

Different statements of assent echoed from around the room as people tried on, tested out or played with their gifts. The Radio Demon was about to speak further when he was hugged to within an inch of his afterlife by a very tall arachnid who was half sobbing, half laughing in joy.

"Ya fucking nuts, Smiles, I like that in a man. This was the best Sinsmas gift ever!" He crowed enthusiastically, and the emotion flowed across the others in the room like a tide of joy. He dropepd his voice under the clamour to whisper, "You just keep hold'a that coupon and I'm going to give you the best night ever... even if that amounts to like, a neck massage and talking about baking tips, all the way to breaking the bed and eating sauteed pieces of Valentino. Whatever you want... I feel almost alive again, Smiles."

Patting the spider sinner gently on the arm and being relieved at the release with most bones still intact, Alastor grins. "I'm quite pleased that I seem to have found an acceptable gift. Now, if nobody minds, I think we could all do with some breakfast... I might even be convinced to try some of those deplorable sugary discus you call pancakes little Majesty."

"Why, ran out of juice after banging that television guy?" Lucifer snipes back, playfully.

"Hah, no, he's no challenge. Now, your wife on the other hand..." Alastor fades into shadow with a cackle as Charlie covers her face with her hands, deep breaths taken to fortify her for the rest of the day.

"Oh you fucker-..." The King exhales, throwing his hands up... and begins to laugh. "Get back here and help cook breakfast, deer, or I'm taking sole custody in the divorce."

With a dramatic gasp, Alastor fades back into view. "How dare you! No judge would side with such a scoundrel..."

Rolling their eyes at the back and forth, the hotel residents head for the kitchen to start off Sinsmas with good food, warm bellies and pleasant conversation. With a hint of competitive dadding in there.

Angel carried Fat Nuggets, in her new little collar, to the kitchen with them. His eyes firmly on Alastor's back, the gaze making those fluffy ears twitch as they sought out the observer.

"Hey Nuggsy... I might be going made from post-contract delirium, but I gotta ask... how would you feel about having a new daddy?"

For her part, Nuggsy just snuffled contentedly in his arms and fell asleep.

--------------

The end

Will write it better when its not 3fuckingam

this was meant to be a funny throwaway post and now look at it

I'll have to fix and format it so it makes sense and put it on AO3.

#hazbin hotel #radiodust beginning of #alastor #angel dust #sinsmas themed story #all characters here #hope i chose things they'd like #fat nuggs #phoenixwrites

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