#i mean only vaguely because of the edibles joke but. still

[timey-fandom-stuff]

a doodle compilation of Kriptid Kris the undead creepypasta tryhard being an unnecessarily edgy dork. they might ALMOST be scary if they had anything rattling around in their goofy skull other than moss and poor impulse control, but... alas. don't do bath bombs, kids.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 9

First

Previous

It was kind of weird how quickly they got acclimated to civilian life.

Sure, Marinette often came out of the day with way too much energy, but they could burn off most of it by sparring. A ten to twenty minute session a day (excluding warm ups and cool downs, which added another thirty minutes or so) was enough to maintain their physiques and get rid of the uncomfortable energy that came with the sudden loss of constant danger in their lives.

(Not that this Gotham wasn’t dangerous, but it was… markedly less so. The Rogues Gallery didn’t exist in this world, what with Batman not existing, so the only thing that they really had to fear was mob activities and the occasional mugging. As long as they kept their noses clean and never stopped to tell a person the time, there was no reason for them to be scared.)

Other than that… it was almost too easy to get used to the new life that they lived.

Marinette woke up first in the mornings for work and would take care of Damian while she got ready. Tim had baby duty for the nine hours a day she was at work and commuting, so it was the least she could do.

And, really, he wasn’t all that difficult now that she was starting to get the hang of the whole baby thing.

Damian was trying to mimic her -- anticipatory socialization, she was pretty sure it was called (Or was it imprinting? Observational learning? Damn it, her psych major was not coming through for her right then). She found it cute and it was completely normal so she was perfectly fine encouraging it: she had gotten him mini versions of all of her makeup brushes.

One time, though, this backfired on her: he had dipped one of the cheap makeup brushes she’d gotten him into her makeup when she wasn’t looking and applied it to his face.

Marinette glanced down -- he had been quiet for too long, never a good thing -- and gasped. “Dami, you can’t whitewash yourself!”

Damian looked up at her, eyes wide with confusion.

She tried not to pout because he might take it wrong. Why must her best jokes always come to her when no one was around to hear?

“Don’t touch the powder stuff, please. It's not for babies, it's for grown ups.”

Damian frowned and looked down at his brush. She gently took it from him and worked at getting the makeup out.

When she gave it back to him he still seemed a little sad.

She sighed and gave him a short hug. “I’m not mad. I promise. It’s just… not your color!”

(The real reason was that makeup is very expensive, but kids don’t really understand money so she needed an excuse.)

Damian was still a little pouty. She didn’t know what to do. Damn. She supposed that served her right. She shouldn't have dared to think that she was getting the hang of having the whole ‘having a baby’ thing.

She sighed and looked down at him for a few moments, thinking. He was sitting in the high chair they kept him in when both of them were too busy to hold him. Usually he would be swinging his legs back and forth like a toddler -- probably because he was a toddler -- but now he was remarkably still, green eyes wide as he looked up at her.

She glanced at the time. Damian had woken her up early that morning, so she had extra time to get ready…

Marinette pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the internet.

… hm. Makeup could be toxic to babies. Good to know.

She grabbed one of her makeup wipes and scrubbed it from his face. She’d make sure to tell Tim so he could look out for any rashes the kid might get.

Then, she pulled out a comb and started brushing the tiny curls on Damian’s head. There wasn’t much, so it was mostly just dragging against his scalp, but the kid seemed pleased so she kept doing that for a few minutes.

At one point, he tried to take the comb from her. She allowed it, figuring he wanted to try and brush his own hair, but then he reached for her.

She leaned down to take him out of the chair, she was mostly done getting ready anyways, but instead he started trying to brush her hair.

… oh.

She felt, strangely, like crying. Her kid -- sorry, this kid -- was just so cute.

… but she didn’t want to mess up her hair...

He made a vague whining sound and she was weak.

She could always fix her hair on the train or something, she supposed.

She hesitantly leaned down so he could brush her hair. “Fuck it? I guess?”

“Fuck it,” Damian said, giving a short nod.

She groaned internally. “I’m actually going to have to stop swearing, aren’t I?”

“Fuck it!” Damian said again, louder this time.

Her lips twitched. “You���re so right, Dami. Who cares about a few little swears?”

“I do,” said Tim, who was apparently standing in the doorway.

She yelped. She probably would have flinched away if Damian hadn’t managed to make a giant knot in her hair in the few seconds that she had let him touch it.

She turned and sent Tim a weak smile. “You’re up early.”

He rolled his eyes. “Please stop teaching him swears.”

“I mean… it’s kind of funny, though.”

“It’s not.”

Marinette groaned overdramatically and turned to look at Damian. “He’s such a stick in the mud, amiright?”

“Sti-in-mu,” Damian said, nodding.

Tim huffed. “I’m starting to think he likes you better.”

“As he should,” Marinette said. She picked up the baby and nuzzled her nose against his. “Who’s a smart baby? You are!”

Damian giggled and tried to nuzzle her back.

~

Tim hummed as he went around the apartment, sweeping the floors. He and Marinette had come to a kind of unspoken agreement: he would do the cleaning, and she would do the cooking. It was only fair, since Tim’s standards for cleanliness were higher than hers and she was the only one out of the three people there that was physically capable of cooking an edible meal.

(Yes, he was aware that he was comparing his cooking skills to that of a baby. It was accurate, okay?)

Damian crawled along after him. He was trying to help, Tim was pretty sure, swatting the floor behind where Tim was cleaning...

Tim smiled. Maybe he should get the kid some fake cleaning supplies like Marinette had done with all of her makeup brushes. Would he like that? Only one way to find out, he supposed. He found the grocery list and wrote it down.

When he turned back to where he had left Damian -- which, he reminded himself, he shouldn’t be doing, because the kid was surprisingly fast when it came to trying to get himself killed -- and found the kid…

Holy shit.

He was walking.

Tim watched with a bright smile as Damian struggled to his feet and took a few steps towards him.

It didn’t last long. Damian had only really managed about three steps before he fell back to his knees and crawled the rest of the way. But…

Tim made a slightly embarrassing squealing noise in the back of his throat and leaned down, scooping the baby up in his arms and hugging him close. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off of his face.

“Look at you! Walking! Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god oh my god!”

Damian was blinked up at him in wide-eyed confusion.

Tim leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the top of the kid’s head and refused to pull back until he had calmed down a little.

He smiled down at his younger brother, who looked delighted at the attention but also very confused as to what was going on.

He looked around until he found Kaalki, who had been on his phone doing… horse things? God things? Who cares?

“Please tell me you took a video of that.”

“Nope. I did get a picture of you kissing his forehead, though.”

Tim huffed a little. “Delete that.”

“Too late. Already sent it to Marinette.”

Even this wasn’t enough to dampen his mood.

And Tim knew that the fact that Damian was walking had almost nothing to do with him, but he was proud, damn it. Or maybe the better way of saying it was that he was happy for the kid? He didn’t know, he had always been terrible with emotions. It was a good emotion, though, that much he was sure of.

He kissed Damian’s forehead again and smiled when the baby giggled at him and reached out, smushing his cheeks in his hands.

“Hello,” Tim struggled to say with the baby hands pressing in on his face.

“Nano,” Damian said.

“Close enough,” he said. “Want to watch some TV to celebrate?”

Damian nodded vigorously. Tim wondered, vaguely, if the kid understood what he was saying or if he just kind of gave answers when he knew that Marinette and Tim were asking him things.

Didn't matter. Tim would put on that one weird show with the talking cat that Damian liked and they could watch that until Marinette got home.

And, when she did, she practically ran over. She didn’t even take off her shoes, a sure sign that she was excited.

Damian looked away from the TV and smiled. “Mar-ree.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped open for a second… and then curled into a bright smile.

“You’re so… cute!” She cooed. “Yes! Hi! Good to see you, Dami!”

Tim pouted, slightly jealous.

She seemed to notice because she stuck her tongue out at him. “You got to see his first steps and I didn’t. I deserve this.”

He disagreed. The pout on his face remained until Damian saw and twisted around in his lap, leaning up and wrapping his arms around his neck in a kind of hug. Because it was kind of hard to stay sad when he was doing that.

He hugged the kid back for a few moments and then drew back, planting a kiss on his nose.

Marinette hesitated.

“Can I… have him for a few minutes? I want to see him walk.”

Tim considered this.

Then he smiled. “Only if I can take a video.”

“I would have made you do it, anyways,” she said.

Tim chuckled softly and handed the baby over so they could take the video.

~

She slipped into the apartment after a long day of work.

Tim was fluffing the pillows, apparently out of apartment to clean.

Damian looked up from the pillow he was hitting at the sound of the door clicking closed, and he seemed to light up. He grabbed Tim’s hand with one hand for his attention and pointed at her excitedly with the other.

“Nano! Yanzur! Mar-ree!”

“Yeah, that’s Mari,” Tim agreed.

Marinette flexed her feet now that they were out of the god-forsaken heels that she had been wearing.

“Hi, Dami. How was your day?” She asked.

Damian didn’t understand the question and certainly didn’t know enough words to respond, but he seemed sated by the acknowledgement of his existence. He slowly slid off of the couch and started his way over to her.

Marinette smiled faintly, amused. She looked over at Tim while she waited for him to get to her.

“So… he told you to look at me, that I get… but what is a ‘Nano’?”

“That’s what he’s calling me now, I think,” Tim said, slightly flushed.

She blinked. “That… isn’t even close to your name.”

“I know,” he said, shrugging helplessly.

Her lips twitched. “Maybe he’s calling you short.”

Tim threw the pillow he had been fluffing at her.

She let it hit her -- it was a pillow, it wasn’t like it would hurt -- and then stuck her tongue out at him. “Don’t blame me! I’m but an innocent bystander in this! He’s the one that did it!”

Damian tugged on the fabric of her shirt. She looked down, a grin still on her face. He made grabby hands and she obliged with ease, picking him up and nuzzling her nose against his.

Then, her eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Tell me, Dami, is Tim short?”

Damian looked between the two of them. Marinette was nodding and Tim was shaking his head vigorously.

“... shor!”

Marinette burst into a fit of giggles while Tim groaned.

“I hate you.”

Her amusement didn’t die down in the slightest. “Oh, if you hate me, then I guess I’m only making food for Dami and I. Hope you didn’t eat all the leftovers for lunch today...”

“Wait, Mari, let’s talk about this --.”

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

[oftenderweapons]

Mold Me New (5) — Kim Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 5.2k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Smut, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe!🥰✨

In this episode: Frog gets to see the final results of her hard work. Taehyung, feeling extremely proud of her, is in the mood for celebation. He invites her for dinner, but eventually the lasagna in the oven is not the only tthing getting hot — and the cheesecake is not the only sweet thing on the menu.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: swearing. mentions of alcohol. smut: making out, grinding, humping, groping (ass, breasts) hair tugging, fingering, very soft overgrown teenagers being inappropriate and horny and tenderly feral on the sofa. Also cramps cause topping ain't easy folks.

A special thank you to @taegularities, my cutest, most adorable, Taehyung stan, The Radiant Rid. I love you, babe. Can't wait to read your next masterpiece 💕

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines. And in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

Enjoy 💜✨

You were falling for Kim Taehyung.

This was by far an undoubtable truth, like the butterflies in your stomach, like the softness of his hair and the plump curve of his lip, like the excruciating, painfully perfect beauty of his face.

He was a gift to humankind, you realised.

You were sure that by now your heart eyes showed in a three-mile radius, and from the way he looked at you in return, you could tell the sentiment was somehow returned.

What made you insecure was his lack of initiative.

You noticed he enjoyed being on the receiving end — which had actually shown a few days before, when he’d fallen asleep in the comfort of your lap, you reading your book while he recovered from the stressful day.

You could still remember the soft golden light coming in through the window, the way his breath got heavy with sleep, his hand laying just an inch above your knee, growing clammy with sweat as he heated up under the blanket. And the feel of his fluffy locks under your fingertips.

He’d looked adorable, a gentle blush on his cheeks, his cherub face relaxing, chubby and plump with the sweet abandon of sleep.

His hands suddenly laid delicately atop yours. “The kiln has cooled up. Would you like to see?” Taehyung asked quietly, trying not to wake you from your reverie too abruptly.

“Oh, yes!” you replied as briefly as possible, hoping he didn’t catch you daydreaming while staring at him with a fond expression.

“Be very careful, they’re hot,” he said, lifting the top of the kiln slowly and letting the remaining hot air come out a bit at a time, without having to feel the heat hit his face.

“Are they going to be good?” you asked curiously. Not all your pieces had made it through bisque firing, and the idea of having something that actually looked like a finished, real work of art was getting you excited. You had been taking lessons for six weeks now and it felt about time to see some results.

“I think I can spot a good one,” he mused as he lifted the lid, bright blue glaze immediately catching your attention.

“Did the bowl survive? The one with the golden swirls? Please, tell me it did, I love it so much!” You felt ready to beg, pray, cry if something had gone wrong.

“It’s on the middle shelf. Be patient, you golden retriever,” he joked, wearing a pair of latex gloves to make sure the temperature was okay without damaging the glaze.

“It was my first to survive bisque, I am invested!” you argued back, peering from over his shoulder, noticing that your vase for Terry had survived.

“Vase accomplished, Frog. You should be excited about that one,” he said, moving it to a shelf. “It means you worked it nicely.”

You shrugged. It was one of your latest pieces, so you weren’t too surprised about it. Still, considering that shaping a vase with consistent walls is a feat in itself, you smirked. “You taught me well.”

“I did,” he replied, lifting a large, low bonsai plate. “Ready to see your bowl, Frog?”

“If anything happened to it, I’m going to kill you.”

Taehyung turned to you, grinning, his nose scrunched in a way that made you sure you would never lift a finger on him.

Your eyes closed: because you were nervous about the bowl, you told yourself — not because you couldn’t stand Taehyung’s expression without pressing your lips to his.

He lifted the shelf from the kiln. He turned to look at you.

He did not resist.

It was like you were waiting for him to kiss you, fist pressed underneath your chin, eyes screwed shut in excitement and fear.

He touched his lips to the apple of your cheek. Your eyes shot open, but the gentleness on his face calmed you. “Congratulations, miss Frog, you have a beautiful blue baby,” he declared in a very medical fashion.

You threw your arms around him, jumping up and down as you giggled hysterically.

“And she cheers for the bowl,” he said, shaking his head in disappointment. “As if she could mess it up after that vase.”

“Screw the damned vase, show me my baby,” you said, going grabby hands to the kiln.

“No, Frog. Wait,” he said, picking up the piece and bringing it to the table, you in tow like a tail-wadding, restless puppy.

“It’s so pretty,” you mused as soon as he set the bowl down. “It’s so sparkly. So glittery. Taehyung, it’s perfect,” you whispered in awe, feeling tears well up in your eyes as you turned to him.

Fondness overwhelmed him as he saw your amused look, so dreamy and happy and satisfied.

It was your baby. Your special creature. Selfishly, he felt like he had contributed to the creation.

For a second he thought that’s what it must feel like to be a father. “Watch over it while I finish the rest,” he said, taking a step away.

You grabbed his wrist.

He turned, waiting for you to explain.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice emotional.

He twisted his arm in your grip until his hand could reach for yours, engulfing it.

And right in that second, he felt he belonged. Somehow crazily, stupidly, innocently, he felt at home. “Anytime, darling.” He rubbed his thumb against your inner wrist before letting you go. He still had half a kiln to unload.

Bowls and mugs came out easily, some of them even presenting unintended variations that would for sure attract buyers. He felt proud.

But most of all, he wanted to go back to your bowl, to you worshipping it like a little miracle, the poor vase sitting unattended on a high shelf, out of harm’s way.

He closed the lid and took the vase, bringing it to you and placing it on the table.

“You did a very good job, Frog,” he complimented you, placing his hand close to yours, hoping to rekindle the affection he had felt only a few minutes ago.

“It’s not like I did it by myself,” you admitted, beaming up at him.

“Stay for dinner,” he blurted out, “Seokjin brought a cheesecake this morning, I still have half of it. And I have his lasagna in the freezer. We could cook it and eat that — I don’t trust myself making anything edible.”

You snickered. “You don't want me to cook?”

He shook his head. “I wanted to… To celebrate.”

You smiled, standing up, his mouth right before your eyes, “What are we celebrating?”

He looked at your lips as they moved. “The vase,” he replied seriously, although the tone of his voice meant a thousand other things.

“Of course,” you conceded. “Let’s go. I’m hungry,” you confessed, grabbing his hand, tugging at his arm.

Taehyung could swear he was floating a foot off the ground out of happiness. He realised he’d been happier than usual lately; he’d been selling more pieces and his part time job was finally giving him some satisfaction.

He felt like he was drifting across the kitchen as he put his phone in a wooden box as an amplifier, playing an old jazz tune as he put the lasagna in the oven.

You sat at the table, watching him move around with a small smile, your head leaning on your palm. You were such a sucker.

“Wine?”

You shook your head. “You’re gonna get me drunk,” you smiled.

He sat at your side, “why not,” he teased, “just vaguely tipsy. I promise I’ll be a gentleman.” He placed a hand on his heart and bowed his head slowly.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” you murmured, looking down before meeting his eyes again.

He licked his lips. “Who is it, then?”

“Me.”

“What about you?” His fingers skimmed the surface of the table, sliding all the way to your elbow and tracing your inner forearm.

A shiver ran down your spine. “I get clingy. And slightly inappropriate,” you chuckled embarrassedly.

“I could never be bothered by that,” he whispered, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “I bet you’d look so adorable.” His hand opted to cup the back of yours before you slipped your hand away, making his palm touch your cheek instead, your face leaning in. “Which would make you absolutely irresistible,” he admitted, nodding fondly at your display of trust.

“Thank you,” you replied to the compliment, feeling your face heat up.

“Let’s lay the table.”

Let’s lay down and make out for three hours and fall asleep under the stars in the back of a pickup.

You gave your brain a second to calm down. “Sure. How can I help you?”

In twenty minutes, the tasty smell of lasagna began drifting in the air, making your mouth water as you and Taehyung talked about his other job — the one that actually paid the bills and brought food on the table. “I just love them, they’re adorable. I managed to practice when my granny used to babysit.”

You pouted, starry eyed as he talked about the children, going on and on about the five year old that always wanted to curl his hair and paint his nails.

Most of all, you loved the idea of him sitting on a baby chair, all curled up, giant hand sprawled on the table while the girl spread lacquer on his pretty nails.

“Your granny babysat?”

“She raised a few of us, yes, and then she was the babysitter for all the kids of the street,” he explained.

“I thought you grew up with your mom?” you said confusedly.

“Yes, we stayed with my mom until we turned four, but then she went back to her job and we started staying with my grandmother. And when I was ten, my mom started dating a good man. He’s one of the greatest people I know, but unfortunately, he was transferred out of state and my mom decided to go with him. I didn’t want to leave and my granny let me stay with her.”

You nodded, taking in more details about him. “Are you happy about the situation with your mom? Do you miss her?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. But I like seeing her happy. She got married and she’s safe. Her husband spoils her, he takes care of her and he’s well off. She won’t need to worry about her health.”

“That’s a good thing,” you nodded, getting startled once the timer rang.

“Thank God,” he muttered, getting an oven glove as you stepped away quickly.

Dinner was a quiet ordeal, with easy chatting and small pauses. Silence was more than welcome as you slipped into the quiet comfort of sharing a meal. It was all so natural, effortless. And the food was delicious, filling your stomach but also pleasing your tastebuds; Seokjin was famous for his culinary skills, but he really outdid himself with the cheesecake, so creamy and perfectly sweet that you asked for a second serving, Taehyung more than happy to comply.

You kept chatting as you helped him clear the table, washing the dishes while he dried them.

“Last one,” you called, rinsing a plate before passing it to him.

You watched him as he diligently dried it, your gaze meeting his in his peripheral.

You tried to find something to say as his stare focused on you, his hands placing down the plate as he fully turned towards you.

“What?” you murmured hesitantly.

“I might do something stupid,” he said, his voice deep and barely audible, his face getting closer to you. “But I haven’t done it in a very long time.” His hand landed on your waist. “Stop me if you find it outright idiotic.”

There was nothing idiotic in the way his mouth looked so inviting from up close, all its curves too inviting for you to stop staring.

The mole on his lower lip teased you in ways that made you want to throw yourself at him. You couldn’t even understand how the attraction worked, you were simply needy, praying for his mouth to finally meet yours.

“Close your eyes,” he breathed out, trying to find courage.

You followed his suggestion, putting yourself out of misery and standing on your tiptoes before leaning in, finally joining your lips with his.

He didn’t even pretend to keep calm, both arms wrapping around your waist as he held you, delivering a string of small pecks with his lips slightly ajar, offering you the soft plumpness of the inner flesh, vaguely humid and hot.

You loved it.

All you could do was exhale, a tiny cry leaving your throat as your vocal cords caught the breath leaving your lungs. Your hands flew to his hair, hiding in him as embarrassment set you aflame.

A low grunt echoed through his chest as he felt you tug the locks at his nape gently, your body pressing harder against him.

He tried to hold you back, not sure he was ready to admit the carnal way his body reacted to you. He wanted to be gentle, delicate, cautious, but the tightness of his trousers around his crotch was anything but.

“Darling, I need a minute,” he mumbled against your lips in an almost tickling motion.

“Just one more,” you replied, your voice so heated and thin.

He tutted. “Let’s not go too fast.”

You stood straighter and chased his mouth as he tried to retreat, your eyelids lowered as you stared at the sweet, tempting mole.

“Just one…” you whispered before sucking his lower lip, licking it with the tip of your tongue.

His hand moved to your tailbone, pressing you closer. Rational thought abandoned him as he pushed his tongue against the seam of your lips, rubbing it against your palate before letting it tangle with yours.

That’s when you noticed the hardness between your legs, his thigh slotted there comfortably as you pressed your hips to it, eliciting a moan from Taehyung.

“Sofa,” you murmured, trying to hold him to you as you walked backwards to the door.

“Wait,” he breathed out, trying to part from you, causing you to whine.

“Don’t go,” you said with a pout. “I need you,” you almost whimpered, touching his nape, his neck, his chest.

“I’ll be there in a second. Don’t go all cute grumpy on me, I just need to grab my phone,” he explained, unglueing your body from his. Reluctantly made your way to the kitchen door, waiting for him before heading to the sitting room, refusing to let him out of your sight anytime soon.

Once he’d pocketed his phone, he turned towards you, his eyes getting dark and lascivious as he studied your frame while you leaned against the door jamb.

He strolled casually towards you, your eyes following his sinewy limbs.

You realised you were eager to see him naked, the thought making you pause mid-breath.

Once he stood in front of you, his arm slipped between your back and the wooden frame of the door, holding you as he leaned down. “Smartest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“Even smarter if you’re gonna do me,” you quipped, biting your lower lip and cringing once you realised you had said it out loud.

He snickered and kissed you, your hips pushing forward to grind against him, his cock too hard and large for you not to notice it. His hand wrapped around your asscheek, helping you grind even harder, his lean, strong fingers squeezing and kneading your flesh deliciously. Carefully walking towards his destination, he helped you navigate the corridor in a slight penumbra, a thin ray of moonlight slashing the floor before he pushed the door open and entered the sitting room. The space was illuminated in a blue-grey light coming from the full moon shining outside the windows.

Haphazardly, you managed to sit down, pulling him with you, making him lose his balance and stumble a little.

“Are you okay?” you asked, worried about the stupefied look on his face.

“Yeah, just thinking how to…” he fixed his stance, wondering if he should pull you on his lap or make you lay down or…

“Come here,” you murmured, kissing the mole on his cheek. “I’ve got so many kisses to give you.”

“They’re all mine,” he cooed, turning adorable for a second.

You melted. “Yes, now come here, don’t make me beg.”

He turned and leaned into you, cupping your jawline and holding you still before he slipped his tongue across your mouth. “You’re too far like this,” he complained, ignoring the fact that your bodies were literally touching shoulder to ankle.

“Wait.” You quickly bent your legs underneath you, thankful for the no-shoes rule in his house as you sat on your heels. “Like this?” you asked as he mirrored the motion almost too rapidly, his body rocking dangerously.

He immediately realised his trousers were tighter like this. He tried to ignore it, his only goal being for his mouth to meet yours, feeling the hot, milky taste of your tongue that still held some memory of the cheesecake. “Come closer,” he breathed, hoping to get some friction, the softness of your breasts against his torso, crying out at how much he missed the stand-up position, allowing the front of his body to adhere to yours with alarming precision.

“Can’t get any closer,” you chuckled desperately. “Can I lay down?”

He nodded, he needed close.

You untucked your legs from beneath you, bending them at each of his sides. “We can go to my room—”

“I like it here,” you replied, tugging him into you, his eyes shooting open once he’d risked falling from the sofa.

You managed to catch him, thankful for the wide cushions of the seats. “Be careful,” you giggled fondly, kissing his brow, his nose, following his moles like fire flights. The whole night felt magical. It felt even more magical once you managed to get his playlist to play again, placing his phone on the ground and enjoying the round fullness of his backside.

“You really have hands made for pottery,” he mused as he kissed your brow, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your chin, the shell of your ear. “I like them there,” he confessed, pushing his pelvis against yours, meeting it mid-thrust and coaxing a whine from your throat and a growl from his.

One of his arms lifted from beside your head. “Can I?” he asked politely, letting it hover just a few inches over your breast.

“Please do,” you replied, leading his hand with yours, his wrist and fingers immediately catching up on how to grab it, squeeze it, roll it in his palm and toy with the nipple.

“Harder? Softer? Just like this?” he checked in, attentive and concerned.

“Just slightly harder,” you panted. “Slower too, please.”

His pace changed immediately, getting you to whine as you completely connected with his touch. The soft, slow massage was making you hyper-aware of every inch of skin, every single part of your breast, every nerve ending and hard edge and soft curve.

“I wanna take off my bra. Can I?” you asked in the heat of the moment.

Taehyung was vaguely confused for a second, so lost in the feel of you that he barely understood the question. “If you want that, I want that,” he replied, his breath laboured.

Quickly, you arched your back, Taehyung’s lips reaching the column of your throat and peppering it with soft pecks. “Do you need help?”

You tutted and moaned as his teeth scraped your skin lightly.

With some gymnastics, you managed to tug the garment out of your shirt, Taehyung moaning at the increased softness underneath his palm. “Goodness, they’re incredible,” he murmured, pressing his face against one, rubbing it as he turned his head side to side.

“Please, keep touching them,” you mumbled, your voice rough with the way you struggled to breathe.

He changed the arm propping him up, switching sides as he started to tease your other breast. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” you managed to confirm before your hands grabbed his ass to push him against you.

He paused for a second.

“I’m getting out of control,” he warned you.

“And?”

“I’m gonna cum in my pants if we keep this up,” he confessed, purring as you nibbled his jaw. “Slow down, please,” he panted, lifting his hips away from you.

“Tae,” you called, breathing heavily, almost begging him.

“I want you a lot, ____, please tell me you do too,” he was almost feverish with need, his brow furrowed, his beautiful eyes glittering in the dark.

“Isn’t it clear?” you asked in return, trying to chase him on his retreat.

He tutted and pushed you down. “I want to hear it.”

“I want you, Taehyung. I need you. I want to see you lose control.” Your mind was gone, far far away, your brain malfunctioning as his curls tickled your upper chest.

“I don’t wanna go all the way,” he murmured, “I just… I just wanna—” he huffed out frustratedly. “I just want to make you feel good. And to feel you close to me.”

You bit your lip. “Maybe—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to make love to you. I really want to. But this is going so fast and I wanna savour every step. Take my time.” He pressed his forehead against your chest. “I just like you so much and I want you to know it means something to me.” He paused and you waited for him. “I don’t want you to think this is just a random thing to me, and I don’t want to be a random thing to you.”

“You’re not.” You cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss on his lips. “We can take our time—”

“You must think I’m a coward,” he murmured, voice filled with self-hatred.

You held him closer, trying to convey all your affection. “No, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe with me. I get you, baby.” You rubbed the tip of his nose with yours. “Let’s take baby steps. We can just mess around. You want to make me feel good, and I you. No need to have sex to go there.”

He nodded. “I wanna keep touching you,” he murmured. “I wanna feel you with my hands.”

You blinked slowly, eager to feel his fingers on you, inside you. “That sounds great, baby,” you encouraged him, watching his shy smile and the gentle blush on his cheeks, out of exertion and shyness.

“Tell me if you need to stop,” he whispered in your ear before kissing the soft spot underneath it, his free hand moving down, from your breast to your stomach, slipping underneath your shirt, moving up against your naked skin.

You gasped once his palm cupped the underside of your bosom.

“Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “Feels very good,” you answered, caressing his hair out of his face, his eyes moving from your chest to your lips to your eyes.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, reaching for your nipple with the pad of his thumb.

“Bless you, yes, baby. So good.” It was natural to trace his mouth with your finger, his lips parting to welcome it into his mouth. Your hips arched up, meeting his thigh to grind against him. You needed more pressure against your clit, your entrance clenching and widening as you felt wetness coat your folds uncomfortably. You refused to pressure him into leading his hand downwards, still you thanked several deities when his gentle fingertips started making their way to your belly button, dipping his digit in to study its shape, feeling all the ridges and tender skin. “It feels so cute,” he said after letting your finger out of his mouth, watching as you brushed it against your neck to dry it up. “I wanna make a little sculpture out of it.” He giggled. “Sorry, that’s so childish.” He shook his head.

“It’s adorable,” you replied, “it’s— Mmh, Tae. Yes.” He managed to scatter your thoughts across the universe once his fingers dipped into your jeans.

“Undo the button please,” he growled, reaching for the wet spot on your panties. “Darling dearest, you’re fucking drenched,” he said, a deep cry giving away just how desperate he was. “Can I get in your panties, precious?”

Mouth gaping, you nodded, an embarrassing mewl echoing across the room as he touched a slightly delicate spot. “That’s too sensitive,” you keened, a strangled purr leaving you once your back arched, his thumb relieving the disturbing pressure and wetness.

As slight friction began to build, Taehyung bit his lip, the vision of you so erotic and calming at the same time. It felt right, oh-so-right, to have you underneath him like that — maybe slightly overdressed, but adorably pliant and needy.

“Want them inside, darling?” he asked you, your head nodding yes quickly, without a shred of doubt. “Here, talk to me, sweetheart. Like this?” he murmured, waiting for your feedback.

“Yes,” was all you managed to utter, his digits hitting your sweet spot without even trying. “Rub there, please, stretch me,” you told him, guiding him as your hips started to roll, his thumb meeting your clit and causing a small whimper to exit your mouth before you clamped your lips around his neck.

“You feel amazing, darling. Soft and so hot and so velvety. You’re so dang slippery, it feels insane.” He kissed your head. “Want to make you cum so fast. I want to keep you up for hours like this, and then kiss you until you fall asleep. You’re spectacular, ____. I can’t take my eyes off you, my precious.”

You felt overwhelmed with the way he pushed his fingers inside you, pressing his long, strong, skilled, digits against your walls, stretching you so impossibly wide that you felt like you could probably fit four fingers in to the knuckles. But you didn’t have time to think much, simply arching your hips up and pushing your jeans and panties to your mid-thighs, trying to give him more space for action.

“Is the angle alright?” he checked in, binding his wrist a little lower, getting better leverage to finger you harder.

“Keep going like this,” you exhaled, your hand moving down, fixing his thumb as he struggled to find the right spot, “let me handle this, focus on the inside, please.”

He nodded and kissed your lips. “Sorry.”

You kissed him again. “No need to apologise— Yeah, right… there…” you said, starting to thrust up in earnest. “Clits are complicated but you’re doing so good inside,” you licked your lips, trying to ease the pain of them drying up with your and his breathing.

He bent down and chased the tip of your tongue as you ran it across your mouth, drinking in your soft hiccups and gasps as you neared your climax, his mouth crashing onto yours as you finally came apart underneath him, his kisses muffling your moans and cries.

Taehyung felt desperate as he slipped another finger inside you, giving you as much fullness as he could offer while you clenched around his digits, actually sobbing once you processed his generous offer.

It took you maybe thirty seconds before you could calm down, taking your fingers off your clit, whispering an “okay, slow down” to Taehyung, who halted the arching and pistoning of his fingers to simply press against your g spot and cup your mound with his palm.

“All good?” he asked, grunting a little as his arm cramped up.

“Yeah, are you?” you murmured back, noticing his wince.

“Cramp,” he huffed, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Want me on top? You’ve strained yourself already as it is,” you scolded him apprehensively.

He shook his head and withdrew his hand from your crotch, cleaning his fingers with lewd, erotic swipes of his tongue. You felt ready to begin all over again. “I need to be on top,” he said, drying his hand against his t-shirt before propping himself up on both elbows before bending down, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I kinda want to grind on you, if you’re okay with it.”

Nodding, you helped your hips up, fixing your clothes back in place but also leaving your zipper and button open. “Clothes on?”

You felt his head move in an affirmative motion, his hips starting to press against you. “I know I must look like a teenager to you.”

“It’s adorable. Makes me feel very young,” you said before chuckling. “It’s been so long since I felt this good with anyone,” you confessed, holding him to your chest, assisting his motions by moving your own pelvis in a wavy pattern. “It’s so comfortable. So familiar and nice,” you whispered in his ear before biting it gently. “You make me feel like I’m not an utter mess in this attraction thing.”

“You’re not a mess. You just feel attraction differently.” He managed to gather his thoughts and words long enough to reply to you. He thought it was important for you to feel that it was okay, that he didn’t mind, that all he cared about was how happy he felt by your side. “You’re hot, you’re smart. And you’re so…” He grunted as he found the perfect angle and pressure, his high rushing towards him. “So magnetic. And good…” Another purr left his mouth as he started humping you in earnest, going so fast you doubted you would survive having him inside you, his torso crashing on you as he hummed and bit the crook of your neck, crotch attached to your thigh as he pushed, harder and harder, his glutes impossibly tight under your palms.

“Yes, baby. I’m here, Tae. It’s all okay, babe.”

“So good,” he rumbled, still hiding against you. “So, so good,” he moaned again, your face tensing in a kind, elated smile.

“Lay on me, baby,” you kissed the crown of his head. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, and it had little to do with the orgasm and the freaky show. You loved his tenderness, his gentle approach, the way he had checked in on you throughout the whole night, wide puppy eyes staring at you in focus and adoration and wonder. And the way he had asked to take it easy, the way you had felt no pressure, no need to search for attraction, but finding it there, in the way his hands felt familiar and welcome and so, so loving, in his face and his smile and his stupid, stupid, ridiculously fluffy hair. There was attraction and even though you had asked yourself why at the beginning, you didn’t dare doubt it now. It was just like oxygen in your blood, like black holes and shooting stars and the moon phases. Undoubtable. Solid. Proven. Undeniable. It had become a main axiom to your existence.

I’m in love with Kim Taehyung.

It was like the world suddenly spinned the other way around. You let the revelation sink in, your hand running up and down Taehyung’s spine.

“You’re safe with me, babe.”

He nodded and nuzzled in closer. “Are you staying?”

“Yes, sweetie. You’ll be sleeping in my arms tonight, baby.”

You felt him smile against your neck before he found a comfortable position and closed his eyes.

Taglist is open

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

[delimeful]

Community Gardens

this is a donation drive commission for @htmlfroggy! based on the prompt: platonic intrulogical g/t & the song ‘community gardens’ by the scary jokes! this is my first time trying a songfic, so i hope its good!

warnings: remus and all the vaguely squicky things he says, illness, misunderstandings, small mentions of body horror

-

Full disclosure, I am a monster A creature of despair, not that that should be a cause for concern If there's one thing I've learned in all my years here It's that despair is less abundant in those who understand How to plant their hearts in community gardens

-

Logan first met his best friend because he was investigating rumors of a human lurking around the border of his forest. 

He had his doubts, of course; ever since he’d personally visited every human settlement on the perimeter of his woods, the ritual sacrifices done to ‘appease the monsters’ had quickly come to a halt, and the amount of angry humans out for vengeance had dropped concurrently. 

When he gently pushed past the boughs of the saplings marking the border, however, there was indeed a human crouched on the ground, seemingly buried up to his elbows in mud. They looked up at Logan’s approach, and the giant was prepared for a number of reactions to his presence. Swearing, screaming, slumping over in a dead faint. 

Plenty had responded to him like this in the past, and plenty more certainly would in the future. It came with being a monstrous giant.

The human offering him a slightly unhinged grin and a mud-slinging wave wasn’t one of the responses he had prepared for.

As such, his reply was uncharacteristically tentative, as though his voice would snap the human out of the peaceable trance they were in. “...Greetings. I am Logan, denizen of this forest. I’m here to inquire into what you’re doing here at the edge of the woods.” 

“Ooh, an interrogation!” The human didn’t stand, craning their neck back at a painful-looking angle to see him properly. “What if I don’t want to say, huh? Are you gonna grind me into bone meal under your heel?”

Logan blinked. The fear that normally would accompany such words was still completely absent. “No. I will not be harming you unless you move to harm those under my protection.”

The human sighed, almost disappointed. “Yeah, I didn’t take you for the type. Oh, well, guess we’re both leaving unsatisfied then.” 

Logan waited a moment longer, and then sighed lowly, before lowering himself to sit amongst his trees. The human cocked an eyebrow, looking as though another inappropriate comment was on the tip of his tongue. 

“If you don’t wish to explain yourself, then I will be supervising your excursions as the guardian of these woods,” Logan announced, sure that his cold gaze would at least give the strange human some pause. 

Of course, because they seemed to delight in proving his assumptions wrong, the human just stared for a moment before a wide, enthusiastic smile spread over his face. 

Logan sighed again, and steadfastly ignored the bright flare of curiosity the human had sparked in him. Most likely, they were simply a thrill-seeker, looking for an adventure like all the epics humans told about interacting with giants. Surely, they’d grow bored soon enough.

-

You'll be fine, you honeycomb Who could ever hurt you? Who could be so cold? You'll be fine, oh honey pie Who could ever hurt you? Who could be so unkind?

-

“Who did it?” 

The half-growl in Remus’ voice was enough that his gaze was immediately drawn away from the Lewisia cotyledon that he had been carefully coaxing root rot from. 

His unruly human acquaintance had apparently gotten closer while he was distracted, abandoning his small plot of freshly-turned soil and haphazard seedlings. It was a break from their typical engagement, where Logan remained in the treeline and Remus remained rooted in his strange, barely-edible ‘vegetable garden’ as they talked. 

“What do you mean?” he replied once he’d processed the strange question. “Is something amiss?” 

“Is your brain made of stone?” Remus shot back sharply, and Logan’s eyebrows drew together automatically at the insult. The human barely seemed to notice, thankfully. “Of course something’s amiss, you’re bleeding out all over the place!” 

He pointed emphatically, and Logan realized what the human was so up in arms about even as he turned to look. On his left side, stretched over his ribs, a long gash was slowly trickling sap-like ichor. The wound had been mostly hidden by his left arm, but in turning to focus on a new plant, he must have accidentally displayed it to the human. “Ah. Do not be alarmed, it’s a shallow wound and will scab over shortly--”

Remus waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t insult me, I know that much from the look of it alone! What I don’t know is: Who. Did. It?” 

Logan frowned briefly. He wasn’t sure why the human wanted to know, but he certainly wasn’t in the habit of denying anyone information. “I wasn’t informed of their name. A Jorōgumo sought sanctuary, which I granted, and approximately half a day later, a human mercenary attempted to breach the forest borders.” 

“And you killed the bastard?” Remus asked expectantly. Logan couldn’t help the minute flinch that traveled through him, the way his face shuttered back to cold neutrality. He’d thought… It didn’t matter. It was his own fault for believing that the man saw him in any other way. 

“No. I warded the forest against them with a bit of their blood. Once they realize the wards are impenetrable, I believe they will move on to an easier bounty.” 

“Not if I get to them first,” Remus replied cheerily, spinning his slightly-rotted wooden trowel in his hand. Logan felt a thrum of alarm at the idea of him getting in an altercation with a mercenary, though he wasn’t sure why. If two outsiders got in a fight, it was technically out of his jurisdiction.

“You most certainly will not attempt to hinder their departure,” he said firmly. “It would be detrimental to all parties involved.” 

Remus visibly pouted, before sighing and throwing the trowel at the ground hard enough to half-bury it. “Fine, Beanstalk, but at least let me—“ 

He stepped forwards, even closer, and Logan stiffened, all-too-aware of how small the human was compared to him. “What are you doing?” 

His voice came out slightly shriller than normal, and Remus jerked to a stop instantly, glancing up at him before turning his head away, something in his expression dropping. 

“I was just… nothing. Forgot for a second,” he muttered, bringing his hand up to inspect his dirt-encrusted nails. He continued before Logan could ask what exactly he’d forgotten that had prompted such a bitter expression. “Anyways, I’m sure you’re tired of babysitting, so I’m heading back. Seeya, Colossus.” 

Logan watched as Remus whistled off-tune as he turned away,  his shoulders drawn just slightly too-tight, and felt as though he’d missed something important.

-

The culmination of man's mistakes came the day The sun ran so hot, it turned the desert to glass If there's something to be learned from all these losers It's that the price that you pay For arrogance and a false sense of immunity Is to face the wrath of a dying star

-

For the next few moon cycles, Remus barely appeared at their-- his makeshift garden, and when he did, he was simultaneously more subdued and twitchier than usual. He almost always left early.

Logan knew, logically, that he should be glad for this development. The human’s basic survival instincts had clearly finally kicked in, and he was distancing himself appropriately from a monster. It was what he’d been expecting from the beginning, and better that it had happened now rather than go on any longer, what with how… worked up he was over it. 

Ridiculous. He sighed through his nose and turned away from the cluster of bleeding Hydnellum he’d found, attempting to force his thoughts away from the human and what his reaction to such a unique-looking mushroom specimen would have been. He needed to focus on his duties as the curator of these woods. 

However, it seemed fate had other ideas, for it was only a few groves later that he was called upon by a Hamrammr, Alda, who had been wearing the form of a large wood grouse for the past few seasons. 

“I have news on your human,” she said, and her tone was urgent enough that Logan forewent reminding her that Remus was not ‘his’ human. “One of my flock saw him dragged into a town jail two days past, and he hasn’t emerged since.” 

Logan attempted to ignore his quickening heartbeat. He couldn’t jump to conclusions. “Which town?”

Alda watched him keenly for a moment. “The populous one to the northeast of our territory. Be careful, Curator. You know the laws of these woods apply to even you.” 

Logan nodded sharply, and then was moving. Once he reached the fields between his woods and the human settlement, he took a deep breath to clear his mind. Barging into the humans’ space like this would hardly be appropriate, seeing as he worked to keep them from doing the very same to him. 

Instead, he folded in on himself like a withering plant, ignoring the painful cracking of wood and bone as he took on a smaller form. A simple glamor to match, and he didn’t receive a second glance as he walked the streets as an average traveler. 

An average traveler could find someone willing to gossip easily enough. And if Remus would fear him less in a reduced form, that was just a completely unintentional bonus.

“Criminals? We don’t have many here, and none with a valuable bounty.” 

“Really? I believed I heard whispers of a recent arrest,” Logan replied, completely truthfully.  

The shopkeep waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, yes, the resident cursebearer was found guilty of conspiring with the beasts of the enchanted wood to try and bring destruction upon our humble town, but as I said, no bounty--” 

“The denizens of the woods are forbidden from attacking nearby towns,” Logan recited automatically, his mind racing. Remus was a cursebearer? The practice of directing all the magical and non-magical curses of a town onto one individual was archaic, barbaric, and… explained a lot about Remus’s behavior, actually. There was a strange pit in his stomach at the thought.

“That’s what the giant told everyone, but how are we to really trust the word of a monster? Besides, the cursebearer was witnessed haunting the edges of the woods, speaking with that very giant!” Logan kept his face carefully neutral as the shopkeep shook his head. “It’s just too suspicious. He could have struck a deal, could already be one of those beasts at this point, and he spent enough time dragging filth through our streets as it is. Good riddance, I say.” 

The shopkeep broke off as he turned away, hiding the crack in his expressionless mask. Logan barely heard the resulting questions as he walked away with sharp steps.

The next morning, the town woke to the sight of half the jail’s roof torn clean off, and one very distinctive prisoner missing. 

-

You'll be fine, you honeycomb Who could ever hurt you? Who could be so cold? You'll be fine, oh honey pie Who could ever hurt you? Who could be so unkind?

-

Logan carefully cradled the human’s limp form in one hand, seated in their usual spot at the edge of the woods. He hadn’t expected to be so obvious in his retrieval of Remus, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, either. 

When he’d successfully infiltrated the jail, he’d been subject to an embarrassing lack of control over his magic at the sight of Remus. The human had been barely-conscious, wrists shackled to the wall of his cell and a sickly pallor to his skin. It looked as though what little he’d been fed had been expunged in fits of sickness. 

Worst of all, he’d managed to focus on Logan’s frozen form after a moment, and a haphazard expression of delight had spread across his face. “Itty bitty Logan,” he slurred feverishly, “man, did I die al’rdy? Good. Missed ya.” 

Logan’s grip on his shapeshift had snapped as though he was a youngling again, and somewhere between caving the ceiling in and rusting the cuffs away, Remus had fallen back to unconsciousness. Even now, as the sun rose, he was uncannily still, only the rasps of each shallow breath proving his life intact. 

“I’m unsure what to do,” Logan confessed, studying Remus’s frame. The human was so small without his usual exuberant gesturing. His wrists oozed where the manacles had been, human flesh scabbing over so much slower than Logan’s would have. “I cannot abide the thought of sending you back to live with people who treat you like that, but to bring you into the woods would bind you to them in a way that could not be undone. Bind you to me in a way that could not be undone. I doubt you’d want that.” 

“Are you… stupid?” 

Logan jolted at the voice, mocking but almost a whisper for how loud it was. “Remus?” 

The human was squinting up at him, and even those few words sent him into a fit of coughing. Logan hurriedly drew morning dew up from the nearest saplings and pressed the liquid to Remus’s lips. 

“Don’t waste energy,” he chided; Remus flipped him off. “I apologize for… handling you while you were unconscious, but we cannot waste time. You are seriously ill, and need treatment. Do you have anyone who can provide it? Cost is no obstacle.” 

Remus snorted audibly, and opened his mouth for a heartbeat before his face pinched in with resulting pain. He shook his head with an eye roll. Logan tried not to feel frustration at his friend’s lackadaisical attitude towards his own health, and failed.

“This is not a joke, Remus! If you don’t get immediate treatment, your only options will be making a contract with my forest, or death.” 

Remus held up a finger.

“First option,” he croaked. “Stone for brains.” 

Logan was rendered speechless for a short moment, his fingers curling up around the human. “Wh— Remus, you can’t give up on human treatment so rashly. A contract will change you. You’d be, for lack of a better term, stuck with me until you made a full recovery and paid back the debt at the very least.”

Remus hacked out something that might have been another insult to Logan’s intelligence, and he held up his pointer finger more emphatically. “First option. We’re— ‘m your friend. Not scared of you, big fucking nerd. That’s my final word… maybe liter’lly.” 

And because he was as dramatic as he was vulgar, Remus chose that moment to let his eyes roll back in his head. 

His heartbeat loud in his ears, Logan took a deep breath, pushed all of his concerns and doubts aside, and stepped into the woods. 

-

The years have been hard on this lonely heart If you wanna know the truth There's no more community gardens So I guess I'll have to settle for you

-

“I don’t get it,” Remus mentioned one afternoon, watching Logan finish the last touches of a seal for a dryad’s lightning wound. “If you didn’t know I was a cursebearer, and you didn’t even end up caring I was a cursebearer anyway, why didn’t you ever let me near you when we hung out?”

Logan pressed the seal into the tree and glanced over at him, sighing with exasperation upon seeing him picking at the turmeric leaves ringed around his healing wrists. At least he couldn’t reach the ones working to repair his lungs.

“You’ll agitate your wounds if you do that,” he chided, reaching over to lift him from the mossy, oversized log he sat on. As always, he hesitated a moment before making contact, and as always, Remus leaned up in advance to greet him, as though being carried in the palm of a giant was not only normal, but also the only form of transportation he’d ever accept. 

“Ooh, sounds fun.” Remus grinned mischievously but did indeed stop uprooting the plants embedded in his skin. He laid himself out flat on his back instead, an arm and a leg dangling over the edges of Logan’s curled hand, uncaring of the cool forest air rushing past him as Logan walked. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”  

“I’m not sure I fully understand it. You’re asking why I didn’t physically interact with you, before, but I believe the answer is obvious.” Logan adjusted his woven sleeve cuff absently. “I simply… found your company enjoyable and didn’t wish to scare you off, I suppose.”

He waited for the typical laughter that came whenever he implied that maybe Remus should be wary around him, since he was by most human definitions, a literal giant monster. It didn’t come. 

Instead, Remus’s face was scrunched up in thought. “So… it was because you wanted to keep being friends. And not because you thought I was gross, or repellant, or better off as juicy blood mulch, or--”

“If anyone wants to mulch you, Remus,” Logan interrupted neatly, “they will have to go through me first.”

“...Not if I get to them first,” Remus responded, a slow grin building on his face. “Since we’re friends and all.” 

“That completely counteracts the point of my protection, but yes,” Logan said, a small smile of his own finding its way onto his face, “we certainly are.” 

[fanficimagery]

Flares

Summary: Imagine keeping a secret from your friends, but when you’re in need of a favor.. that secret you’ve guarded is now out.

Words: 2.9K Warnings: Cancer. The holidays have got me thinking about my mom and I just want to give someone the happy ending my mom never got.

Curled up on the sofa, no amount of TV has been able to distract you. It's been about a month since you've started chemotherapy and as warned your hair has slowly started to fall out. You had bawled earlier that morning when you noticed it, and then tried to distract yourself by binge eating and watching rom-coms. Unfortunately it didn't work.

Sighing, you pick up your iPhone to check the time. It's just after four in the afternoon and without second guessing yourself, you scroll through your contacts until you land on one name in particular. You're not as close to him as you are to others in your friend group, but you do trust him. So after quickly composing a text, you hit send on it and hope for the best.

[Hey, Jeff. When you have a free moment, can we talk?]

Surprisingly it doesn't take long for him to reply.

[I'm actually in neighborhood. Wanna grab a bite to eat?]

[Yeah. That's fine.]

[I'll text you when I'm outside.]

With your stomach in knots, you get up and quickly make yourself decently presentable for the public. You take two edibles that had been prescribed by your doctor when the nausea and anxiety became too much, and pray that you can keep your food down when out with your friend. Jeff soon texts and you quickly pocket some money, your phone, and your keys before leaving out the front door.

Then settling into the front passenger seat of Jeff's vehicle, you flash him a tired grin. "Hey, how's your day been?"

"Boring." As Jeff pulls away from the curb, you buckle yourself in and then try to sit as still as possible. "Had to film an ad for Old Spice, but that was over and done with surprisingly fast. How was your day?"

"Honestly? It's been a shit day," you say, chuckling softly. "It's kind of why I wanted to talk to you."

"Uh oh." He glances between the road and you. "This can't be good."

"You have no idea how right you are." Sighing, you then say, "I'm not sure I want to tell you right now. It's kind of an appetite killer and I already took two edibles."

Jeff frowns. "Edibles? I didn't know you were into that."

"I'm not, but they were prescribed by my doctor."

"Doctor? What the hell is going on, Y/N?"

"I'm sorry." Wringing your hands together nervously, you then meet Jeff's stare after he's pulled off into a gas station parking lot. "I'm sick. I didn't want to tell anyone until I absolutely had to and this morning I realized I was going to have to start because I need to ask you for a favor."

"Y/N," he starts, "the only time someone is prescribed edibles is when-"

"-when someone has cancer. When the chemo becomes too much and the patient can't keep food down."

Jeff's eyes close as he deeply exhales. "Jesus." A moment of silence passes and then, "what's this favor?"

"I need you to shave my head."

"What?"

"During chemo, hair starts falling out anywhere between two to four weeks. It's been a little over five for me and I noticed it falling out this morning."

He gulps. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Your voice wobbles and tears fill your eyes, but you're quick to wipe them away before they fall. "I don't want to go to a stranger for this. This is really personal and I would rather the person shaving my head be someone I trust."

"Then yes. I'll do it." You smile, but you can't help the tears. "Christ, Y/N, come here." Jeff opens his arms for a hug and you unbuckle your seatbelt so you're able to hug him over the center console. "You know you're gonna have to tell everyone. And soon."

"I will. I kind of have an idea of how I want to tell them, but you'd have to agree to it."

Pulling out of the hug, Jeff grins. "Okay then. We'll talk details over dinner because I'm sure you're starting to feel really hungry."

"I am." Jeff chuckles and then starts to drive. On the road to the chosen restaurant , you finally say, "Thanks, Jeff."

"Don't even mention it. I will always be there for my friends." He flashes you that dimpled smile of his and for a moment you feel like you can breathe again.

Letting someone in on this secret of yours feels like a weight has been lifted off your chest.

"So are you gonna tell me why we're doing a special edition of Jeff's Barbershop in my living room?" David wonders.

Zane and Heath are helping Jeff setup, pushing back the furniture and laying down some plastic so hair doesn't get caught in the carpet.

"You'll know soon enough."

"Can you at least let us know whose hair you're cutting?" He then asks.

Jeff sighs. "You'll know soon enough, man." David frowns, and Heath and Zane suddenly look interested in Jeff's vague answers. "Just- no jokes. Alright? This is going to be pretty serious."

"Jesus. What the hell is going on?" Zane nervously chuckles, attempting to cut the tension. It doesn't work.

"Okay. Well who's all coming?" David asks.

"Mariah, Erin, Carly, Y/N, Natalie, Jason, Todd, and Matt. Everyone else couldn't make it, so we'll call them afterward."

"Man," Heath sighs. "I've got a bad feeling about today. If Jeff isn't cracking jokes, something must really be up."

Jeff only shrugs, refusing to say anymore on the matter.

          - X - X - X - X - X -

By the time everyone is gathered at David's and has calmed down from greeting one another, Jeff stands next to the chair in the middle of the room. He picks up the black cape from the seat and holds it in one hand, staring out at everyone. "Ready?"

Everyone then glances around the room, anxious to see who's going to stand, and you almost laugh at their surprised exclamations when you push yourself up to your feet.

"What?!" Erin shouts, smiling. "No way!" She then looks to Jeff. "I thought you didn't cut women's hair? You nearly panicked when I asked you buzz my baby hairs."

"This is a special occasion of sorts. You'll understand soon enough," he says.

Now standing next to Jeff, you stuff your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him for some much needed comfort. "I know you're all probably confused," you start, "but I have something to tell you and I figured I'd tell as many of you as I can in one go because this is kind of hard to say out loud."

Mariah frowns and leans forward. "What's going on, girl?"

You take a deep breath, but it doesn't help. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, even as you try to screw your mouth and nose up to keep them at bay. The tears suddenly have everyone on edge. "I.. I have cancer." The entire group goes silent and those who'd been staring at their phones immediately drop them. "I found out a little over a month ago and have been having chemo sessions for about just as long."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" David wonders.

You shrug. "It was hard to process at first, but then I just got scared that you'd all treat me differently once you found out. And now that my hair is falling out and Jeff kindly accepted to do me a favor, I figured I'd tell you instead of surprising you with my bald noggin'."

Heath and David are the first out of their seats, the two young men sandwiching you in a hug. You laugh, but then your laughter turns into sobs as you cling to them. One by one, the rest of your friends stand to embrace you and whisper words of encouragement.

When they're done, you step back and wipe your eyes. "None of you guys actually have to stay for the cut, but you're more than welcome to. Jeff's gonna film as if he were back at his own place and I'm just going to talk about how I found out about the cancer."

"We're staying," Jason says. "We're gonna be here for you every step of the way."

You finally take a seat in the chair and Jeff wraps the cape around your neck. You gulp down the lump in your throat, inhaling and exhaling loudly to prepare yourself for what's about to come. The sound of the clippers turn on and you close your eyes when you feel the teeth of the clippers at the front of your hairline.

Then almost as if he's unsure, Jeff slowly drags the clippers atop your head. The moment you feel your hair being cut, you can't stop the tears that start to flow once more. This time, however, they're silent.

"So, uh, how did you find out about the cancer?" Jeff asks.

He continues to cut and it takes you a moment to find your voice. "It was stupid, really," you huff. "I was just feeling kind of worn down, but I wasn't sick. So after being utterly exhausted for no apparent reason, I went to the doctor where they drew some blood and found abnormalities in my blood."

"Didn't you lose your mom to cancer?" Natalie asks.

"I did." Shakily smiling, you take a moment to control your warring emotions. "Since my mom had it, the doctors urged me to get checked out early. I refused. And then I refused again when my dad's sister was diagnosed and my chances of having it as well were even higher."

"God," Erin sighs. "I don't think I could not know. I'd have gotten checked out as soon as possible."

"It's easy to say that if you haven't seen anyone go through it," you tell her. "But I watched my mom go through chemo several times and watched her health slowly deteriorate. I didn't want to get as sick as she did. It was horrible. So I came to the conclusion that if I didn't know, then it was okay. It'd take forever to actually show symptoms and I was fine with that."

"But the symptoms showed up early," Zane guesses.

You nod. "They did."

"What- what kind of cancer is it?" Matt asks.

"Breast. Exactly like my mom had, but nowhere as advanced as hers was."

"So that's a good thing. Right?" Todd wonders.

"I mean.." you trail off, shrugging. "My chances are better than hers were, but I'd rather not have cancer to begin with."

Everyone falls silent and the only sound for a few minutes are the buzzing clippers.

You let Jeff move your head this way as he cuts, almost missing his question. "Now that you know, do you wish you'd have gotten checked sooner?"

"Honestly? Yeah. Because if they had caught it sooner, then I wouldn't need chemo," you admit. "So my advice to everyone is, is that even though you hate doctor visits, schedule them for at least every six months. And if your family has a history of cancer, get checked as soon as possible and schedule appointments every three months to make sure nothing pops up suddenly."

"Okay. And we're.. done."

Jeff cleans you off and unlatches the cape from around your neck, but you're frozen in your seat. Your head feels a whole lot lighter and though you asked Jeff for this haircut, you don't want to see it.

"Y/N?" Carly's soft voice pulls you out of your mind.

"I'm okay." You shakily smile. "I just- it's just a lot to take in. Now I know how my mom felt when my brother cut her hair those three times."

Jeff comes around to stop before you, he grabbing your hands and gently pulling you to your feet. "Whatever you need, we're here for you." He wraps his arms around you, tucking you under his chin. "If you want to go to a wig shop, we'll go to a wig shop."

You sniffle, chuckling. "No offense to your fantastic cut, but we're definitely going to a wig shop."

"Hell yes we are, baby," Zane agrees.

The others slowly start to unwind from the serious situation you dropped into their laps, and though there are still tears in their eyes and pity in their expressions, they try to make the best of it.

Plans are made to keep you decently active, your friends wheedle more information out of you about your family's health history, and then before Jeff can leave you follow him outside.

"Hey," you call out, stalling him, the hood of your jacket pulled up and over your head. "I know how annoying some of your viewers are, so if you want I can make an intro or outro for your video to let everyone know the video was my idea and that you didn't make it for the views."

Jeff sheepishly smiles. "You watch my videos?"

"We're friends, aren't we?" You grin. "Of course I watch them. So what do you say?"

"I'd appreciate it. Thanks, Y/N."

"Mhm. And thank you. For everything."

Jeff's dimples make an appearance as he smiles, he nodding before getting in his vehicle to take his leave.

The news of your cancer took every one of the fans by surprise.

Jeff had edited his video as quickly as he could and posted it with your permission. Then as soon as his video was up, you took a couple of selfies and posted them to Instagram with a link to the video that explained everything. The love and support that had quickly followed left you in tears, and feeling quite content with yourself for your decision to no longer keep your illness a secret.

The chemotherapy eventually got the best of you and there were times when you couldn't even get out of bed. It went from your friends constantly checking on you to moving you into David's spare bedroom when they found you struggling to breathe one day from an anxiety attack. You hadn't wanted to become a burden, but everyone was in agreement that they'd feel better if you lived with one of them until treatment was over. And seeing as you lived closest to Natalie and David, it was their home you moved into.

You filmed bits for everyone's vlogs to talk about your journey with cancer and about the progress you'd made while getting treatment. But soon the treatments stopped and you had to endure yet more testing to see if the chemo was doing it's job.

Then a week later, you're getting ready to go visit the doctor for your results.

As you're sliding your feet into a pair of sneakers, David's just getting home.

"Hey, Y/N. Going out?"

"Yeah." Pulling a beanie atop your head, you fix it just right before meeting David's gaze. "Today's the big day. I find out whether or not I can stop chemo for good or have to have another round."

His eyes subtly widen. "Yeah? Can I go?"

"Sure. You mind driving? I'm a bit anxious."

"Not at all. Lets go."

The drive is mostly a relaxed one, David asking about your plans should you get good news. You told him that you'd be moving back into your own apartment and that you were going back to work as soon as possible because your job was still waiting for you.

David then proceeded to assure you that no matter what he and all your friends would be there for you to fall back on should you need it. Of course you knew that, but it was nice to hear it again.

The following wait in the waiting room is quite excruciating and David grips onto your hand as your knee bounces anxiously. Smiling sheepishly, you try to quit the knee bouncing, but it starts back up moments later.

When your name is finally called, you drag David with you into the back room. Hand in hand, you enter the doctor's main office and only have to wait another hand full of minutes. Your doctor's expression is quite unreadable and even David's knee starts to bounce anxiously, but when she beams at you, you break down.

Remission. You are in complete remission.

Your face is in your hands as you sob, David's rubbing your back, and it takes you a moment to calm down. Then when you're finally able to control yourself and glance up, even the doctor is teary-eyed. She tells you that all tests and scans came back clean, but she'd still like to see you every three months to make sure nothing suddenly pops back up. You're more than okay with that and after gathering some paperwork, and standing up to hug your doctor, you and David are soon on your way.

Outside the office building, you and David stare at one another before he opens his arms and you throw yourself at him. He's laughing, you're crying and laughing, and the two of you just hug it out far longer than a hug should last.

"So who are we telling first?" He wonders, grinning.

"Jeff. Definitely Jeff," you say. "He was the first to know I had cancer, so he should the first- well, second now- to know I'm in remission."

"Well alright then. But just so you know, I'm recording their reactions."

You laugh. "Of course you are."

[jjoutermaybanks]

Electric Love || JJ Maybank x Reader

part one part two part three

summary: you’re the newest member of the pogues, a girl living with one foot in the rich life and one foot in the risky life. you fit right in with the crew, especially the charismatic, annoyingly attractive JJ. how will a drunken night of deep conversation and a dreaded summer party change your friendship forever?

word count: 5k

warnings: slight harassment

*not my gif, credit to owner*

PART TWO

You woke up the next morning on a couch.  A familiar couch, you realized, as you ran your fingers along rips and frays you’ve felt hundreds of times before.  Slowly sitting up, your head throbbed with the painful aftermath of last night’s alcoholic endeavors.  With blurry vision and a sore throat, you glanced around the living room of the Chateau, John B.’s rundown house you often found yourself in.

“Morning, princess.”  The voice belonged to JJ, who was behind the couch cooking something in the kitchen.  You craned your neck to spot him, taking in his shirtless torso and relaxed posture.  John B. leaned on the counter beside him, peering doubtfully at whatever JJ was cooking.  It smelled slightly burnt, and you wrinkled your nose.

Groaning, you pressed your hands to your eyes and rubbed away the residual drowsiness there.  “How did I get here?” you grumbled, completely spacing on how you ended up at the Chateau after the beach party.  The last thing you remembered was warming up with JJ after the swim and contemplating your feelings about him.  Everything after that was a total blank.

“You don’t remember?” John B. asked.  “The party was getting boring and most people had left, so we decided to dip.  You were so drunk we knew going home wasn’t an option, so we brought you here.  Kie and Pope are in the other room sleeping still.”

You nodded; this made sense.  You’d told your mom to expect you home late or not at all since you’d probably be sleeping over somewhere.  You only wished you hadn’t blacked out so you could enjoy the rest of the party with your friends.

Getting to your feet, you crossed the room and found a hoodie which you gladly pulled over your freezing upper body.  A crop top and shorts wasn’t the most comfortable outfit to fight a hangover, but this oversized hoodie would definitely help.

As you wandered into the kitchen, JJ turned and smirked at you.  “Wearing my hoodie, huh?  Looks good on you, Y/N.”  You gave him a small smile as you glanced into his pan, frowning at the blob-like mess you saw there.

“This is cooking to you?” you joked, taking in the random ingredients littering the counter.  A bottle of maple syrup was leaking onto the countertop and you swiped a finger across the golden brown liquid, licking your finger happily as the sweetness bloomed on your tongue.  JJ’s gaze lingered on your mouth as you cleaned off the syrup, his hand working to flip whatever was in the pan.

“Yes, in fact, it is,” he fired back, dumping the contents of the pan onto a plate.  “Feel free to enjoy Chef JJ’s world-renowned pancakes.”

Raising your eyebrows, you picked up the “pancake” with your fingers and held it in front of your face, inspecting the lopsided shape and burnt sides.  Your only response was a disbelieving expression which made JJ scoff.

“Come on, I tried.  Besides we didn’t have a waffle-maker, so I had to change my plans.”  He wiped his hands on a towel and threw it over his shoulder, hands on his hips as he pretended to scowl at you.

Tearing a piece off the pancake, you plopped it into your mouth and were surprised at the edible quality.  “You were gonna make me waffles?” you questioned, remembering vaguely how you told him about your dad’s infamous waffles last night.  JJ nodded.

“Yeah, thought it’d be good hangover food.”  His explanation was casual, and you weren’t sure what you expected.  For him to admit he made it just for you, because he wanted to show you how much he cared about you?  That he appreciated you opening up to him?  But you knew JJ, and he wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type.  Waffles were definitely just waffles to him, not symbolic of anything deeper.

Soon enough Kiara and Pope joined you all in the kitchen, and JJ cranked out enough pancakes to feed the whole lot.  It was a real Pogue breakfast, and you spent the morning laughing and chatting with your best friends.  Around noon, Kiara mentioned that she had to leave to meet her parents before the big event tonight.

“What big event?” you asked her.  The only big event you knew about was the beach party last night.

Kiara gave you a puzzled look.  “Don’t you remember?  The Midsummers party?  It’s tonight, and I have a stupid luncheon with my parents and the club committee members before they start getting ready for it.”

When she said the words Midsummers party you remembered exactly what was happening.  Your mother had told you about it weeks ago, in a fit of excitement and nervous giggles.  She’d apparently worked her butt off to get access to the exclusive club, since not being an official Kook made things difficult.  But apparently she’d kissed enough asses and pulled enough strings to score an invite for you, and she’d even gone out and bought special dresses for the occasion.  You’d been dreading it for so long you must have pushed it fully out of your mind, but now you remembered exactly how much you didn’t want to go.

Upon seeing your reaction, Kiara laughed.  “Trust me girl, I’m not excited either.  But you me and Sarah are all going, so we can make it fun.”

“And me,” John B. added with a hint of an embarrassed blush.  He wasn’t used to the perks of dating Sarah Cameron yet.  “I’m going with Sarah as a plus one.”

A lightbulb went off in your mind, and you broke into a grin.  “That’s it!  We can bring Pope and JJ as plus ones!  It’ll definitely make the night more bearable.”  Being surrounded by Kooks for a whole night was never going to be fun, but with the Pogues all there together it would be more than tolerable.

JJ looped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.  “Aw, you want me to go as your date?  I’m touched.”  His sparkling eyes made you roll yours, and you pushed him off lightly.

“As much as I hate to admit it, you make everything better,” you told him, and his smile only widened.  “I think it’s a great idea, what do you guys think?”

Pope looked thrilled at the prospect of accompanying Kiara to a fancy party, and even she had a flush on her cheeks.  “You guys ready to go full Kook?” Kiara challenged, and Pope and JJ both pretended to salute.

“I’m ready, sergeant,” Pope joked.  “Send me into the battle zone.”

Satisfied with the morning’s accomplishments, you stated, “Okay, so let’s all meet up beforehand.  Kie, Sarah and I were gonna go to yours anyway, so should the guys meet us there too?”

“Sure thing.  Make sure to dress nice, you guys,” she said pointedly, directing her stern gaze to Pope, JJ, and John B.  John B. threw his hands up in defense.

“Trust me, Sarah’s had my outfit planned for months.”

Pope and JJ met each other’s gazes and sighed.  “Guess we have to clean up for once, dude,” JJ said gravely.  “It’s a shame I have no idea how to tie a tie, though.”

You rolled your eyes.  “I’ll do it for you, you big baby.”

JJ grinned, shooting you a naughty look.  “Any excuse to have your hands on my neck is a good excuse,” he taunted, and you shoved at his bare chest.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.  I’ve gotta go meet my mom, alright?  Be at Kiara’s 6 o’clock sharp.”  With one last threatening glare, you and Kiara strode out of the Chateau and immediately launched into a conversation about how stupid the party was going to be.

Going home was never something you looked forward to.  Your relationship with your mom was neutral at best, and when things like the Midsummers party came around it only drove a deeper wedge between the two of you.  She was a desperate social climber and you wanted nothing to do with the Kooks, so naturally you didn’t get along.  On top of that was the history with your dad, and you knew your mother had never gotten over him the way you have.

“I’m home,” you called, closing the door to your mid-sized, fairly modest new home.  It wasn’t up to Kook standard, but it was way better than the shacks that JJ and John B. lived in.  It felt weird having a foot in each world, and you often felt like you didn’t fit in anywhere.

Your mother burst out of her room and approached you with a breathless smile.  In her arms was the dress.  She’d bought it for you the second she found out you two were able to attend the party, and to say you weren’t looking forward to wearing it was an understatement.  It wasn’t ugly by any means, but you were a shorts and tee shirt kind of girl, not a prissy dress girl.

“There are heels on your bed,” your mother informed you, handing you the dress like it was a baby.  “Try it on--I made a few alterations.”  You forced a smile, not wanting to upset your mother despite your revulsion to the whole evening.  She was excited, and you didn’t want to put a damper on it.

Closing the door to your room, you examined the cursed dress.  It was the palest of blues, made out a slippery chiffon material that a light breeze would easily blow around your feet.  The neckline was a deep sweetheart and the straps were thin, and holding the dress up against you you saw how the color made you look incredibly tan.

You also noticed you still had JJ’s hoodie on, and smiled in the mirror.  It fell to your mid-thigh, almost like a dress itself, and you imagined what it would be like to wear this to the party instead.  JJ would be knocked dead for sure, and you wished you could see the look on his face when you walked in.  

What am I doing? you thought, your smile falling into a frown.  You had these recurring thoughts about JJ all the time, and you definitely knew he was more than a friend.  So why did you jokingly push him away whenever he made advances on you?  Why didn’t you just let him kiss you like you secretly wanted?

Sighing, you pulled off his sweatshirt and folded it neatly on the bed.  You’d give it back to him at Kiara’s, it would be wrong to keep it.  And you pushed all thoughts of kissing JJ out of your mind too; what you needed now was a friend, and JJ was your very best friend.  Kissing was not something best friends did.

After discarding the rest of your clothes you slipped into the dress, surprised at how light and airy the material was and the way it hugged your body.  You rejoined your mother in the living room and she zipped it up for you, stepping back to get a full view.

“Oh, sweetie,” she exclaimed, tears pricking at her eyes.  “You look beautiful.”

Your face beet red from embarrassment, you mustered a smile and turned once in the dress.  “It’s pretty, Mom,” you replied, saying it more to boost her ego than anything.

“Well, I have splendid taste,” she bragged, and you grit your teeth before disappearing back into your room to take the overly girly dress off.

The day could not go by quick enough, and after waiting for what felt like forever it was finally time to go to Kiara’s.  With your dress and makeup bag in tow, you said a quick goodbye to your mother before departing.  She made you promise to find her at the party so she could “introduce you to some friends”, which really just meant she wanted you to get in the good graces of some stuck-up Kook parents.

Getting ready at Kiara’s was just as much as fun as getting ready at Sarah’s last night.  You had good music to drown out any worries, and the three of you helped with makeup and jewelry as you awaited the guys’ arrival.

“Seriously, getting John B. to even try on dress clothes was nearly impossible,” Sarah pouted.  “I know I’m a Pogue now, but can you blame a girl for loving a little dress up?”

Kiara laughed, shaking her head.  “I just can’t imagine any of those guys in anything but ripped tank tops and board shorts.”

“Five bucks JJ shows up in just that,” you challenged, grinning in the small mirror in front of you as you swiped on some highlight.  Some subtle lip gloss, mascara, and highlight was all you decided to wear.  Kiara had woven flower crowns for the three of you and as you placed it atop your head, your transformation was complete.  You’d gone from full Pogue to full princess, with a crown to boot.  Scowling at your reflection, you stood up and fidgeted with the dress.

“I feel so stupid,” you admitted, wobbling slightly in the heels your mother had bought you.  

“Same here,” Kiara echoed, glaring down at her purple dress and smoothing the silky material over her waist.  Sarah looked like a goddess in her off-the-shoulder white dress, and smiled like she was Miss America or something.

“You both look beyond gorgeous, shut up,” she reprimanded.  “Pope and JJ are going to lose their minds.”

Biting your lip, you suppressed a smile.  Secretly you couldn’t wait to see what JJ thought of how you looked.  Would he hate it since it was so not your style?  Would he think Kiara or Sarah was way prettier and decide to flirt with them instead?  Nerves began twisting in your stomach as 6 o’clock grew closer and closer.

Finally it came, and in burst the trio of boys.  The suit that Sarah had chosen for John B. made him look slick, almost like James Bond.  His hair was just as wild as ever though, and she fretted over the brown locks as he kissed her freshly painted lips.

Pope looked suave as well, saying he had worn his special scholarship outfit.  Someone had already done his tie for him, because he was pulling at his neck and frowning.  Kiara straightened it for him and grinned, seeming to forget her annoyance at the party once Pope arrived.

JJ was the most disheveled of them all, but he managed to pull it off in the sexiest way.  A white button down was haphazardly tucked into black slacks, the sleeves pushed up his forearms.  A matching black vest was thrown over top, and what looked like a floral bow tie was hanging off of his neck, sloppily done by whoever attempted to tie it.  Despite the messiness of his appearance, he looked good.  His hair was pushed off his forehead and his hands were buried inside his pockets, almost like he was nervous.

Then his eyes landed on you, and his jaw practically hit the floor.  You blushed at his obvious ogling, feeling shy as he clearly checked you out.  You suddenly hoped the dress looked pretty and that your makeup wasn’t awful.  Under JJ’s gaze, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

“Wow” was all he managed to say, still stricken with disbelief.  “And I thought you looked hot in my hoodie.”

Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, you smiled and took a few steps towards him.  Your hands went to the bow tie at his throat, and JJ instantly tensed at your close proximity.

“Someone really butchered this poor thing,” you told him, biting your lip as you attempted to retie it in an acceptable way.  JJ inhaled deeply, clearly trying to control himself as your fingers ghosted against his neck.

“Wanted to look good for you, babe,” he murmured into your ear, making heat spread out through your body.  Looking up at him through your lashes, you finished tying the bow and leaned back to examine your handiwork.

“You kind of look like a waiter,” you admitted, and JJ snorted.

“As if the Kooks would trust me with their precious sparkling cider,” he mocked.

You raised one eyebrow, folding your arms.  “You know, you look a lot like a Kook right now,” you chuckled, causing JJ to pretend to freak out and mess up his hair.  

“Never!  I am a Pogue for life,” he swore.  “Although, if being a Kook means I get to see you like this more often, sign me up.”

You looked down at your dress, cocking your head.  “Do I...look better like this?  Better than I do normally?”  For a second you worried that JJ liked you better all dolled up, and once you were natural and comfy again he wouldn’t find you pretty anymore.

Leaning against one forearm on the wall, JJ gave you a genuine smile.  “Of course not.  I love when you’re natural.”

Beaming at his praise, you laced your fingers through his and turned to the group.  “Are we ready to do this thing?” you voiced, feeling a little giddy about the party.  There was no way it wouldn’t be fun with this crowd.

Kiara straightened her flower crown and nodded.  “Ready.”

The party was in full swing when you all arrived.  Classical music drifted out of speakers mounted on the Island Club walls, and fancily dressed adults mingled with flutes of champagne in hand.  You spotted your mother attempting to infiltrate a large group of Kooks, and ducked out of view so she couldn’t see you.

Two familiar figures were striding by, and you scowled upon recognizing Topper and Rafe.  “Didn’t know we hired Pogues as the help,” Rafe mocked, giving JJ a sneering look.  “If I want a refill of my champagne, can I ask you to get it?”

You felt JJ brace beside you, and squeezed his hand slightly to calm him down.  He glanced over at you, and you gave him an encouraging smile.  JJ blowing up and hitting someone was not ideal, so you knew it was your job to keep his temper under control.

The Pogues dispersed as Sara dragged John B. to talk to some of her Kook friends and Kiara was roped into a large group with Pope by her side.  Now it was just you and JJ wandering through the party, and you felt extremely uncomfortable.  Kooks were giving you sidelong glances with steely, judgmental eyes.  They didn’t think you belonged there, and truthfully neither did you.  You weren’t one of them, and having JJ on your arm wasn’t helping your image either.  You weren’t ashamed of him, just very conscious of how it looked to be seen with someone like him.

“Look at that lady’s headpiece,” JJ hissed into your ear, pointing to a woman in a loud red dress and an even louder headpiece.  Sharp golden rods like spears shot out of a circle above her head, making her look like the demon sun or something.  You giggled into your hand, not wanting to alert anyone that you were making fun of guests.  JJ continued pointing out awfully dressed attendees, and you spent the next few minutes gaping at some truly dreadful outfits.

He managed to swipe some champagne and presented you with a glass.  Pretending to curtsy, you accepted the drink and downed it in one quick sip.  JJ whistled, copying your actions and draining his glass.

“Am I gonna have to carry you home again, Y/L/N?” he asked.  “Not that I’m opposed, of course.”

“Shut up,” you retorted.  “Champagne won’t get me drunk.  I don’t think.”

He snorted.  “Yeah sure, whatever you say lightweight.”  You socked his arm and he laughed as he tried to avoid the hits, grabbing your hand to stop you from smacking him.  Closing his fingers around yours, JJ led you through the crowd and onto the makeshift dance floor.  Other couples were slow dancing to the song on the speakers, and JJ placed his hands on your hips when you found a space of your own on the floor.

“Are we seriously slow dancing?” you questioned, looping your arms around his neck and laughing.  “This is so gross.”

“Just sway to the music, Y/N.  Let your body take over.”  He closed his eyes and gripped your waist, causing warmth to seep through the skin where he touched you.  Gazing up at JJ’s face, you imagined what would happen if you actually let your body take over right now.  

Apparently your body wanted to kiss him, because you naturally leaned in close until your lips almost brushed his.  JJ realized what you were doing and fluttered his eyes open, parting his lips to meet yours.  Just when you were about to connect, someone tapped your shoulder and shattered the moment.

Grimacing, you separated from JJ and turned to see your mother frowning at you.  “Y/N,” she scolded.  “You were supposed to find me!  I want you to meet people!”

Holding onto JJ for support, you bit your lip and shrugged.  “Can’t I just stay with my friends?”

“No, I got you into this party to mingle, so that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

Sighing, you disconnected from JJ and cast him a rueful glance.  He gave you a sad smile, regret swimming in his ocean blue eyes.  You wished you could stay with him for the whole night, but your mother began dragging you away and towards a crowd of judgmental Kooks.

For the next half hour you were stuck pretending to engage in a conversation with the most boring people on the planet.  Everything those people said made you want to roll your eyes, but you resisted for your mother’s sake.  Rafe was part of the conversation, and his eyes never left your face the whole time.

After a while when the conversation dwindled, you saw Rafe gesture for you to follow him.  Begrudgingly, you complied.  Anywhere was better than that boring group.  He walked over to a quieter part of the party, where only a few people were around.

“So,” Rafe began, looking at you up and down.  “How are you enjoying the party?”

Your smile was pinched.  You didn’t know how to act around Rafe; making a Kook mad was never a good idea, but acting nice would take all of your effort.  You chose to be humorous, and answered, “It’s wonderful, I haven’t wanted to gouge my eyes out once.”

He gave an odd chuckle at this, making you shift on your feet.  “Midsummers is particularly horrifying because of all the...what do you even call those headpieces?” he wondered, and you chuckled when he pointed to the woman you and JJ had mocked earlier.

“She could probably kill someone with that,” you stated, feeling a little awkward joking around with Rafe.  He definitely wasn’t the kind of guy you’d choose to hang around, but getting on his bad side would only make your life harder.  It was best to play along with him until he got bored and left.

Rafe looked at you closely, and you smiled to ease some of the tension you felt.  “You know, you’re pretty funny.”  You blushed at his compliment, and he continued.�� “I always thought you were too good for those Pogues you hang out with,” 

“Your sister is one of those Pogues,” you pointed out, trying to joke about it.

His expression turned sour at the mention of Sarah.  “My sister is a lost cause ever since John B. manipulated her into loving him.”

You blinked, surprised at the malice in his tone.  Your smile faltered a little but you made sure to keep it up in fear of upsetting him.  When you stayed quiet, Rafe crossed his arms and smirked.  “You on the other hand have potential.”

“Potential?” you asked innocently, and something about your light tone pleased Rafe as he stepped closer to you.

“I think there’s still time to save you from the dark side,” he said lowly, suddenly raising a hand to rest on your cheek.  Before you knew what was happening, he had leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.  You were so shocked you didn’t move at first, merely held your mouth against his as he tried to deepen the kiss.  Lifting a hand to his arm, you tried to push him off but he was stronger than you.

“Don’t fight it, baby,” he murmured against your mouth, grabbing the small of your back to bring you closer to him.  Gagging, you used your other hand to push at his chest until you could tear your mouth away, breathing shakily as you separated.

As you stared incredulously up at Rafe, you spotted a familiar figure a few meters behind him.  JJ stood completely still, his expression full of shock and hurt.  Reacting immediately, you shoved Rafe off and stumbled over to him, grabbing onto JJ’s arm as you stuttered out an explanation.

“He just kissed me, I don’t--”

“It didn’t look like you were trying to stop it,” he snapped, voice cold all of a sudden.  Your eyes widened, watering at his harsh tone.

“I-I swear, I didn’t want to be talking to him, he approached me!”

“So why did I see you smiling and laughing at every word he fucking said?” JJ countered, eyes glinting with fury.  “If you wanted to mack on a Kook, you should’ve just told me.”

Your jaw dropped, and suddenly it became hard to breathe.  “JJ, I...”

“Forget it,” he muttered, pushing his hair out of his face in aggravation.  “If you wanna mack on a Kook, then so can I.”  With this, he stalked away from you and towards a cluster of pretty rich girls.  They burst into giggles when he approached them, probably excited to live out a bad-boy fantasy.  JJ was a natural charmer, and within minutes he had a particularly pretty brunette attached to him.

All of the breath was knocked out of you, and it was hard to stand up.  You didn’t know what hurt more; JJ’s refusal to believe you, his best friend, or how quickly he sidled up to that brunette Kook and was already giving her the eyes he saved for just you.  You felt sick to your stomach, and gripped your arms tightly as you wove through the throng of party-goers, desperate to find another one of your friends.

John B.’s signature tousled hair was spotted standing alone towards the edge of the crowd, sipping champagne and regarding the guests with a disgusted look on his face.  You followed his gaze and saw he was watching Sarah who was chatting up a storm with half a dozen Kook girls that giggled so loudly you could hear them across the room.

“Hey, Y/N,” John B. sighed once you approached.  “I know I’m a terrible boyfriend and should be with Sarah but...I swear to God, I can’t listen to those girls right now.”  He looked to you for approval, almost as if you would’ve disapproved.  But then he caught on to your pained expression, and immediately changed disposition.  “What happened?  Why are you crying?”

You hadn’t realized there were tears staining your cheeks, and as you went to wipe them away a choked sob escaped your lips.  “It’s JJ,” you started, bottom lip trembling as more tears threatened to come.  “He saw Rafe kiss me a-and got mad because he thought I liked it, and then h-he left to go flirt with some stupid Kook girl.”  The words were barely audible over the sound of your crying, but John B. understood you perfectly.

“Wait--Rafe kissed you?  Against your will?”  Anger had seeped into his tone, and you briefly recalled how passionately John B. reacted when his friends were in trouble.

“I-I don’t know, we were talking and I didn’t want to make him angry so I pretended to smile and laugh a-and he just kissed me.  I swear I tried to push him off, but he was so strong it probably looked like I wasn’t trying at all.”  You pressed your fists to your forehead, frustrated with yourself.  “JJ didn’t even listen to me.”

John B.’s face was grave, and he peered around the club trying to spot JJ.  Sure enough, you could both see him clear as day: he had his hands around the brunette, leaning close to her ear and whispering something that caused her to giggle.  Their closeness made you want to throw up, and you forced yourself to look away.

“Rafe is an asshole, and I swear the next time I see him I’ll make him regret ever even speaking to you,” John B. vowed, his serious tone making you laugh morosely.  All you could do was nod as you imagined JJ and that Kook getting closer and closer, maybe even falling in love.  You had to admit, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.  JJ might have said he despised the Kooks, but you knew there was a part of him that was crazy jealous.  He had to scrape by just to live, and with an abusive father thrown on top of it.  If that Kook girl could offer him a safe life of luxury, you knew he’d jump at the chance.

You also knew you could never give him what he needed.  You couldn’t protect him from his father; you could barely sustain a tolerable relationship with your mother.  And as for giving him a better life, you didn’t have that kind of money or resources.  You were the outsider, the painfully average girl that was just lucky enough to become friends with the Pogues.  JJ deserved better than you, and it was time you admit this.

“It’s okay,” you finally declared, half for John B. and half for yourself.  “JJ can do whatever he wants.  He’s not mine.”  This last part was said quietly, and you didn’t even know if John B. heard.  He’s not yours.  It was the cruel truth; as much as your feelings for JJ had grown recently, and as much as you wanted him to just kiss you already, you knew he wasn’t yours to have.  And at this rate, he never would be.

[conaionaru]

Honor and Blood (Ivar the Boneless)

I'll run to you

Synopsis: 

Warnings: Ivar, Silas, toxic family, mentions of murder, angst

Tags:

@xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @didiintheblog​ @lol-haha-joke​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @heavenly1927​ @queenbeeta​ @astridbaby​ @chynagirl13​ @thereareendlessopportunities

P.S. I did some edits of Ivar x Vanya. And I found the perfect song for them (where the title of this chapter comes from) and made an edit of that as well.

I don’t own the gifs. Also, thank you for your support. I really appreciate it. If you want to be tagged please write me<3

When Vanya was a little girl, she dreamt of marrying a noble Prince and becoming his Queen. She imagined a huge castle and her father visiting her as often as possible. Even her mother was proud of her for being a good Christian wife.

Never did she dream of being here, drifting on a boat with a sore shoulder, woozy from mead with her sleeping heathen son in her lap. Why must dreams always be so wrong?

But truth to be told, she loved the life she lived now. Well, not right now, but the last year. Her experience in Kattegat was perfect. Despite his short temper, Ivar was a good man. He loved her unconditionally, protected her, and listened to her. His brothers were kind to her, and she trusted them with her life. Even Sigurd, with who she sometimes butted heads. She had a friend and found a mother in Aslaug and Helga.

She missed them so much. Two days on the water made her want to cry. She cried nowadays more than the babe she gave birth to. He seemed content; he loved watching the ravens fly over their heads and played with her hair when she held him.

How funny it seemed to her that she loved sailing when she came here. Now she yearned to stand on dry land and sleep in a warm bed wrapped in Ivar's arms.

Whenever Vanya didn't think of home, she thought of Silas, especially what she would do to him. She had been meek and peaceful for so long, forgave him everything he did to her. But that changes now; he didn't just hurt her or degrade her. He tried to kill her and her son. His knights murdered an innocent woman. He would pay the blood price for it.  

The raven made a sound and left their usual circling spot. Vanya watched them go and perked up. Land. It meant land was near. She put her child into the nets and rowed towards the direction the birds flew.

Her shoulder screamed in protest, and she felt it reopen as her dress got wet with blood. She ignored it and kept on rowing. She was out of food, and the mead wouldn't last more than two cups. They needed to find water and food.

Ivar laid in his bed, sweat dripping from his forehead, the whites of his eyes blue. His legs hurt too much today; he had to stay in bed but couldn't sleep at all. All he could do was lay there in pain and think of all the ways he will torture Vanya's attacker. He prayed to the Gods that she was still alive. Two days ago, she went missing, and everyone was losing hope.

Aslaug had no visions, and Hoenir was no help. He dragged himself to the Seer yesterday, but all he got was vague answers. "You know the answer, Boneless." He knew Vanya had grown stronger and that she promised to protect their son. But so did he and now, he doesn't know where she is or if she is even alive.

He promised her that no one would ever lay a hand on her again, and he failed. If he ever saw her again, he wouldn't let her out of his sight.

"Drink the tea, Ivar. It will help." Ubbe ordered, walking into the room, looking at the untouched cup on Ivar's bedside. Right next to the tea was the carved figure of Fenrir and Vanya's serpent necklace.

"Did you find her? Anything?" Ivar begged as his brother wiped his damp forehead.

Ubbe shook his head and put the rag down. "A fisherman's boat went missing two days ago. Mother thinks Vanya might have taken it. So we sent some boats out to look for her. But if she drifted out into the open..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence for Ivar to understand. If Vanya drifted away, the storm that was gathering would sink her ship and drown them both. Hoenir saw her drown, what if he was right and she would? No amount of sacrifices would bring her back then. He would be alone again, with Aslaug the only one to love him. Ubbe might love him, but there are moments he must wish his brother wasn't alive.

The times he had to carry him or stay at home because Ivar was in pain. Having to check on his legs and eyes all the time. In everybody's eyes, Ivar was a burden; he was aware of it. Vanya was the only one who didn't care or look down on him. In her eyes, Ivar was perfect despite his shortcomings. Over time, she grew used to his temper and pain. She comforted him, held him, whispered sweet words into his ear as he fell asleep.

She loved him, and he left her alone after she bore him a son. He didn't even get to hold him. His perfect son, who had his eyes and hair. His healthy boy. Ivar hated himself, but he hated the world more.

"How long we have to keep looking? It's been two days now. The corpses must show up soon." Pæga complained, pulling off his boots and sinking his feet into the bowl with water.

Silas glared at the knight and stabbed his dagger into the table. "Boats were sent out to search for her, a fisherman's boat went missing, they think Vanya is in it. If she survived and they find her... My sister saw your faces. She isn't so stupid to fall for a few farmers in your clothes. If you get caught, then it means my death as well." He spat at his knights while Stithulf sat in the corner, sharpening his sword.

"I doubt she is alive. She doesn't strike me as a survivor. Vanya was sent here to wither and die, to brake and suffer. She might have charmed her way around Kattegat. But smiles and gifts aren't going to save her from death. She was hit with an arrow; I saw her sink. All they will find is a dead child in the boat. Vanya is dead, and you are the only possible ruler of Slegia."

Stithulf stood up after his rant and walked towards his King. He lifted the crown from the table and put it on his head. "A crown for a King. The one true King. Vanya will never wear this thing; neither will her children; I made sure of it."

Silas nodded and proudly pushed his chest out. The knight was right; he was the King, and Vanya was dead. First, he dealt with her; next is his mother and her new husband. Then his uncle and Wrosan will be his. The victory was certain.

Vanya hauled herself from the boat and pulled it on land so the tide wouldn't wash it away. Her son stirred in his little bed while Vanya collapsed on the ground, exhausted.

The ravens left them alone, and she had no idea where to go. This part of Kattegat was unfamiliar to her. So as she laid there, she prayed to the Gods to show her a way to get home. But no sign or help came.

So she wrapped herself tighter in her cloak and took her child with her heading west, the other way than she drifted off. She needed to get to a familiar location: the hunting hut, Floki's house, or even the forest before Kattegat.

Vanya walked with her son in her arms, without a pause. She managed to find some berries Helga taught her were edible and a stream of water. After she ate, she fed her son and carried on in her way. Her feet were sore, and her son was becoming too heavy for her weak arms.

Other than wilderness and silence, there was nothing around her. Every tree looked the same, and the shade they gave her made navigating with the sun harder. She shivered as the winds grew colder.

When her son whimpered in her arms, she froze. Her being cold wasn't that bad. But to him, it meant death. So she carefully put him on the ground and took off her cloak and swaddled him in it. Her thinned down frame shook in the cold winds while her son burrowed himself into the new warmth.

Vanya looked down at his little content face and smiled. All of this hardship was worth it if he was healthy and alive. This life she created and carries inside her, that she spent hours bringing into the world. It meant everything to her; it hurt to admit that her mother was right. A mother has no choice but to love her child; only a monster would ignore her own blood like that. But the thing Siflaed was wrong about was that Vanya did love Ivar. Despite everything she heard about him and his people, she grew to love him no, her people. Kattegat was her home now; she was born to live here; she knew it.

And when she returned, she would never leave again; she would remain and raise her son. She would see all the other sons of Ragnar start their own families and see Aslaug grow old. Hold Bjorn's adorable children and gossip with Torvi and Brynja. She would sit on the bench in front of the Great Hall, sewing a dress together, with Ivar by her side with their son in his arms. Vanya would come to visit Helga and Floki more often like she promised she would and try to make Margrethe less afraid of Ivar. He wasn't the monster; everyone made him out to be; her husband had a lonely heart with high walls made of anger.

She remembered the story of Eve and the Devil. The way the serpent tricked Eve into eating the apple and be banished from Eden for it. She also remembered the story one of Siflaed's lovers told her of the Greek goddess Persephone and the pomegranate. How Hades offered the fruit to her, and she stayed with him as his wife.

But Vanya didn't feel like Eve; her husband was no evil serpent leading her on. He was Hades, the god known for his dark demeanor, but a good husband. She wasn't a meek Christian like Eve, Vanya was Persephone. A good heart with love for nature, married to a man of shadowed behavior who everyone feared. But they both held darkness and light, she wasn't just a maiden who plucked blooming flowers, and Ivar wasn't just an angry heathen with a quick tongue. Her tongue was as equally sharp as his and his love as real as hers. They were King and Queen of the Underworld, Prince and Princess of Kattegat.

With determination, Vanya strode on, thankful for the shoes she managed to put on before her escape. Walking barefoot on top of lightly dressed would have meant her death. She could hear an owl hoot somewhere behind her until it flew past her and landed on a branch. "Frigga." She whispered as the bird stared at her with yellow eyes, it's white feathers standing out in the treetops.

"Have you come to take me home, All-Mother? Odin's ravens looked over my son and me on the boat, and now you have come for us. Goddess of mothers and queens, of war, wisdom, and strategy. I beg you, take me home." She begged the hooting white owl that took off and landed on another branch, waiting for the ginger to follow.

Vanya chuckled at the sight and followed after the frequently stopping bird. "This better be Frigga, or I will die. That's your descendant on the line, Odin. Don't let me die, All-father, All-mother."

Everyone stood gathered in the Great Hall in the evening, waiting for what Aslaug had to say. Silas stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by his armed knights. "My brother Ivar was graced with a son three days ago. But his son and wife were ripped away by a murderer, who sneaked into their hut and killed the wet nurse." Bjorn announced watching the faces of everyone present.

Floki and Helga leaned a support beam, both looking grim, while the boatbuilder glared at Silas. Ivar sat next to his mother, with Hoenir standing behind them. Brynja and Margrethe watched the whole ordeal from their place with the other servants and slaves. The other brothers stood behind Bjorn, who towered over the room, reminding all of their father. He carried the same authority even without a crown on his head.

Aslaug lifted her head higher and wrapped his fingers around the armrests of her throne. "The one responsible will answer to the Gods. The more blood they have on their hands, the more dire their demise will be. This person is charged with treason and murder..."

Ubbe left his mother's side while she talked and walked with Floki and Hoenir towards the exits. They barricaded the door while no one was watching. The only way to open them now would be from the outside, where Floki stood watch.

"The return of my daughter in law Vanya is becoming unlikely. A funeral will be held soon to honor her death, Floki has agreed to build a boat to bury her. If she is not found until the ship is done, we shall burn some of her possessions instead."

Stithulf observed the heathens around him; they seemed on edge, ready to pounce at any moment. Of course, Silas was obvious to all this, too distracted by the Queen's speech to notice.

"But, we do know the one responsible for this tragedy." The knights head snapped towards the throne. Everyone grew silent, waiting for Aslaug to continue. "We questioned people and gathered that there is only one possible suspect behind all this. Someone willing to murder a mother and child int heir sleep."

The room was tense as if a war would erupt at any moment. Ivar clenched his jaw before smirking at Silas, who froze in his spot.

"How do you answer these charges... King Silas?" The Saxon's breaths hitched in fear as the knights wrapped their hands around their swords' handles, ready to draw them and kill everyone. But they were outnumbered and locked in with bloodthirsty heathens.

"This is outrageous! I loved my sister. And you are claiming me as a murderer only because you failed to find the real one. My sister is dead because of you!" He roared at the remaining sons of Ragnar and his wife. But they didn't even flinch all the Queen did, was push her shoulders back and raise an eyebrow at his outburst.

"So you claim, but there is no proof. All we saw were spiteful words and tantrums. You bribed farmers to change clothes with your knights; then, you ordered them to kill Vanya and her son. But Margrethe remembered their faces, and it wasn't the faces we see here today." Sigurd called out as the said thrall covered behind Brynja. She confessed this to Sigurd last night, and since then, the Ragnarsson and Aslaug had been plotting.

Silas frowned and shook his head, chuckling. "And do tell me... What would my reason be? Sibling rivalry? Don't be ridiculous. I may not have been overly fond of my sister, I admit. But I wouldn't murder her. And the baby? Son or not, I hold no ill will against either."

"Vanya and her son possessed a threat to you, childless, unfit to rule. But Vanya is loved here, and I am sure she was the same in England. You ordered her death and will die for it. An eye for an eye."  Bjorn threatened as Silas gulped and gave an uneasy smile.

He shrugged and spread his arms wide to show he was unarmed and possessed no threat to them, other than his knights who drew their swords. "Let's spare ourselves these dramatics. Vanya is dead, and I am not the culprit. Let's not have a ghost of a disobedient whore get between our agreement."

Ivar slammed his fist against his chair and glared at the daring King. He would have leaped out of his seat and strangled the bastard if it wasn't for Bjorn, Sigurd, and Hvitserk holding him back. "How dare you?" The Ragnarsson roared his nostrils flaring in rage.

Silas pointed to Ivar's legs with a smirk.  "Your... Affliction. Do you really think the child was yours? My darling sister would do anything to please you as a proper wife should. And giving you a child, even one that's not truly yours. It would please you. Wouldn't it? To think that you are a real man, able to produce an heir." The blonde Christian taunted as everyone glared at what he was suggesting.

"I did you a favor before things escalated, and you would believe other idiotic lies my sister would have fed you to keep herself alive a little longer. I saved you from further embarrassment and grief. Vanya is dead, and there is nothing to change that." He sounded at peace with his oncoming death. Silas knows he and his knights will die, but might as well anger the heathens some more. Die a horrid death and go down in history as a martyr: Saint Silas, The tortured King.

Stithulf, on the other hand, looked distressed, all the whispering he did, all for nothing. All his hard work wasted on a foolish king with a big ego and greedy heart. His chance at fame and ruling, all gone, because of a ginger Princess who just couldn't stay meek and timid like she was meant to be.

The sound of something shattering broke the tense atmosphere. Everyone looked st the redheaded servant that let her jug of water, fall to the floor. "Vanya." She whispered, her face pale and eyes wide. They followed her gaze and gazed at the open door in shock.

"Why do you think I am dead, Brother?" Vanya's voice rasped out as the ginger leaned against the door frame, a shield pierced with many arrows in one hand. Her hair was frizzy, her skin pale, and her eyes sunken in. Her white dress was stained with bloody some on her shoulder, the rest on her lap, from childbirth.

She took a shaky step forward and shifted her arms slightly. Helga runs to her side, and Floki stood behind her in case she fell. The Ragnarssons run to her while Ivar stared at her in shock. Standing up, Aslaug observed the presumably dead Princess in wonder.

"Helga, you need to look after my son. I tried to keep him warm and fed. Please check him."  Vanya pleaded with the blonde woman, letting the shield riddled with arrows fall to the floor. Hidden behind the protection was a bundle of furs and cloak, squirming at the new warm place they entered.

Helga shakily took the babe out of Vanya's trembling embrace to see the child alive and well despite the ordeals he went through. She ushered the child away as Ubbe reached his sister in law, laying a hand on her shoulder to steady her. But she shook it off and slowly advanced towards Silas, who took a few steps towards her as well.

"How? You should be dead." He whispered, still in denial that his plan didn't work.

"I forgave you so much, Silas. So many wounds. I forgave them all, ignored them, and asked my family to ignore them as well. But that ends today. You killed an innocent woman! You tried to kill my son!"

Silas shook his head, refusing to admit defeat against his little sister. His foolish sister, who was born weak and was meant to abide by him. The one who defied him and survived. "You won't hurt me, Vanya. You are weak. Remember your place, and we can forget this. Beg me for forgiveness, and I shall grant it to you. All I want in return is save passage back home. Kill my knights instead."

"You think I will beg? I did nothing to ask forgiveness for! You are a monster, Silas. Just like father and mother said you were. Do you think I will cower before you? Just because you are my brother?" She seethed stalking towards him as Silas drew a dagger and pointed it at her, shaking, fearful of this side of Vanya.

The ginger keeps on advancing, not caring for the weapon pointed at her. The adrenaline running through her veins made her forget what fear feels like at all. All she could see was the man who made her life a living hell and tried to kill her son! "Blessed are the meek, Vanya." He reminded her, hoping that the sentence that their mother used to drill into her head would calm her down, but his sister didn't even blink.

"Yes. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. For theirs is the kingdom of heaven." She spat back a part of the Beatitudes, laughing at his poor attempt at containing her rage. "Do you think the words of Jesus or God will stop me? Do you honestly believe that you will be forgiven? I am past forgiveness and meekness! I want you to pay for my and my son's suffering in blood!"

Silas took a few steps back, his hand shaking like crazy. Vanya was nearly in front of him now, her hand grasped his dagger around the sharp edge, no fear in her eyes. They looked like frozen over fjord's, determination and anger swirling around. She tugged his knife from his grasp and threw it behind her, surprising everyone. Blood dripped from the cut on her palm, trailing down her slender fingers and hitting the floorboards.

"I would burn cities and kingdom's to the ground and make him King of the Ashes if they dared to threaten him!" She screamed at her brother, getting into his face and glaring up at him as he shook in his spot.

"Vanya, please, have mercy. I am your brother. I did it to protect my claim. You must understand. I was born to rule; I deserve to sit on the throne for eternity. Please have mercy." The two siblings stared into each other's eyes, the frozen fjords meeting the tearful sky.

She softly shook her head and softened her angry expression. Ivar crawled towards them, observing the blood-stained dagger and her bleeding hand clenched by her side. "Mercy is a Christian value, and I am not Christian anymore." She hissed backhanding him with her bleeding left hand so hard that he hit the floor.

Silas cradled his aching cheek and stared at Vanya in shock. The ginger glared down at him with disdain obvious in her expression. "That's why I wish you the most painful death instead." She spat at him before two men dragged him away as he cried and cursed at them, begging them to let him go as other Vikings killed his knights when they dared to attack.

Ivar crawled to Vanya's left and took her cold bleeding hand in his, startling her from her trance. She looked down at him tenderly as he looked over her tired body. "I missed you." He whispered, staring up at her with adoration as she returned his tender look, softly smiling.

"I missed you too." Ubbe supported her swaying frame and carried her towards the awaiting healers, thanking the gods for her return, alive and well. Ivar watched her get carried away and spared a glance at the dead bodies of the Saxon knights before he followed his brother and wife.

[hashtagartistlife]

and then there were none

Ichigo Kurosaki, college student, gets roped into a dorm game with a long tradition and finds it a little more than he bargained for. Kuchiki Rukia, college student, has never done anything by halves-- and that includes stupid traditional dorm welcoming games. The r.a.s regret the day they placed her knife in his hands.

There was a tumblr post going around that I can no longer find about a welcoming game at an American college dormitory. The basic idea behind it was that everyone in the dorms get a plastic knife with someone else's name on it, and they had to find that person and 'stab' them with the knife (just a simple touch was counted as valid) to 'murder' them. The 'victim' is then out of the game, and they had to hand over their own plastic knife to their 'murderer'. Whoever is on the 'victim's plastic knife was the new victim for the 'murderer'.

My first instinct upon seeing anything vaguely amusing is always 'make it ichiruki'. So here's the fic about it.

(There's two chapters planned, and please don't ask me when the next chapter will be up, it's not high on my priority list. But it WILL come, some day. I don't make it a habit to abandon fic, even though sometimes it seems like I have. Promise.)

___________________________________________________________

So, college dorms were pretty wild. 

For small-town Karakura boy Kurosaki Ichigo, living in a co-ed dorm at a university in America has been nothing short of an eye-opening experience. There are people walking around barefeet in only a towel. Some girl set off the smoke alarm because she was cooking cup noodles in the bathroom at 2am. He’s pretty sure he’s heard his dormmates having sex through the walls on more than one occasion, and the food served at the cafeteria is only edible about half the time. All in all, it’s a little bemusing, but not at all unpleasant, and by the third week of his move he thinks he’s settling in ok. His room is mostly in order, and he’s made at least passing acquaintances with the people on his floor. His English is improving at a frankly astonishing speed, and classes don’t start till next week. He’s figured out which stall in the bathroom spits out the most reliable hot water, and he really thinks he’s got a good handle on this whole ‘dorm living’ thing—

that is, until he gets back to his dorm room one night to find a plastic knife shoved under his door. 

“The fuck…?” he mutters, trying to figure out if this was an American befriending ritual, or maybe someone was just attempting to threaten him (badly)? Did his room look like a trashcan? Did Chad (he thinks that was his name) from room 209 remember what he said about not having a grasp on American cutlery yet and decide to help him in a subtle way? 

He raps on the door next to his, and a muffled voice yells ‘who is it?’

“It’s Kurosaki from 206,” he replies, and the door cracks open to reveal a single brown eye and a strand of auburn hair. 

“Oh, hi, Kurosaki-kun!” Inoue Orihime from 207 was…. an odd girl. She liked putting parsley in her coffee and read astrophysics textbooks for fun. But Ichigo doesn’t remember her ever being this defensive— she’d always been enthusiastic about greeting people, so the way that she refuses to open her door more than an inch is uncharacteristic of her. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I just got back from the library and there was this knife shoved under my door—”

At this, Inoue screams and slams her door shut; Ichigo is left more than a little bemused. “Inoue? What the hell— it’s only a plastic knife!” 

“I know that, Kurosaki-kun! As if I’m just going to let you win this— but by the way, this is terrible strategy, now I know to avoid you like the plague—”

“Strategy?! Inoue, what the fuck— wait, is this plastic knife meant to mean something? Is this some American etiquette thing? I have no idea what’s going on. Please explain to me what this knife means—”

Inoue opens her door a crack again, and looks at him suspiciously. 

“Wait, so you didn’t hear the murder announcement at breakfast today?” 

“Murder announcement?! Jesus FUCK, who died—”

“Nobody died, Kurosaki-kun, don’t be overdramatic—”

“AS FAR AS MY ENGLISH SKILLS GO, INOUE, MURDER MEANS SOMEBODY DIED—”

“Wow, you really don’t listen to the breakfast announcements at all, do you?” Inoue sounds supremely unimpressed, but at least she opens the door a bit further; except what the hell is she only wearing a towel—?!

“Inoue why the fuck are you only wearing a towel—”

Inoue waves her hand like that’s a negligible detail. “Just got out of the shower, but also murder strategy. You’re immune if you’re naked, and some of the second years recommended this. I’m in this to win, Kurosaki-kun, there’s a whole year’s supply of cup noodles in this for me—”

“Wait, what? Cup noodles?” That got his attention. Anything that scored him a whole year’s supply of free cup noodles was okay in his book. Questionable towel-wearing included. “Now you really gotta explain what’s going on.” 

“I should leave you to rot, one less person to compete against for me.” Inoue purses her lips. “But you were the first one to pour a bucket of water on that fire I started last week, so fine, I’ll let you in on the murder details.” 

“Not a sentence I thought I’d ever hear in my life, but cheers, America,” Ichigo mutters. 

“So basically, murder’s a game that the whole dorm plays every year,” Inoue starts explaining, and Ichigo’s still trying to get over the weirdness of the word murder being used so casually— “and everyone gets these plastic knives with someone’s name written on them, and the idea is you have to stab that person with the knife and ‘’’kill’’’ them. Then you get their knife, and you just keep killing people and collecting knives until you’re the last person left! Hmm, there were a couple of rules, you can’t kill someone in the dining room or their own rooms, and you’re immune if you’re naked, but I think that was it? Anyway. So yeah! That’s what’s going on here!” 

Ichigo squints at his knife in the half-dark of the corridor that, for some reason, has had all its lights screwed out. “Ok, that’s…. Great, I suppose? What happens if I don’t know who the person on my knife is?”

“Then you find out, Kurosaki-kun! This game was ostensibly devised so that we make friends, you know.”

“There are no friends when it comes to a year’s free supply of cup noodles,” Ichigo says, and Inoue claps her hands. 

“Precisely! You’re getting the hang of it now. Ergo, for the next week, I don’t know you, ok? Good luck!” 

Inoue slams her door shut, and Ichigo shuffles back to his room, feeling slightly more enlightened than before. 

But still— 

“Who the hell is Rukia Kuchiki?”

__________________________________________________________

By the second week of Murder, Ichigo’s seen enough naked butts to last him a lifetime. It seems that voluntary nakedness is a vastly preferable fate for many than losing a shot at a year’s supply of free cup noodles, and honestly if that doesn’t sum up the average college student mindset Ichigo doesn’t know what does. (He’d probably be a lot more judgemental about it, though, if he hadn’t spent at least a few hours earnestly contemplating the strategy himself.) 

Thankfully, he and Chad have an alliance of sorts that makes him wearing a towel round the place redundant. He’d enlisted the giant’s help in identifying his would-be target, and after ascertaining that he wasn’t the name on Chad’s knife either (Chad had one Asano Keigo as his victim, Ichigo only knows him as that guy who swallowed a whole tablespoon of cinnamon powder on a dare), the two of them had agreed to watch the other’s back. Chad was set to pull off his first attack tomorrow, but Ichigo still had no clue who or where Rukia Kuchiki was. 

Part of the problem was that the dorm was so friggin’ huge; there were four wings, each with five floors, and each floor had ten rooms. That was 200 potential students he had to parse through to find his victim, and it wasn’t exactly like he could go around asking people if they knew her. Murder had amped hostility on campus up by 300%, and almost nobody stopped for idle chatter anymore.

Whoever had devised this as a way of promoting friendliness and unity on campus was a giant fuckin’ moron. 

“Still no word on Kuchiki?” Chad asks, after another day of paranoia and stalking Asano to make sure the plan goes off without a hitch, and Ichigo shakes his head. 

“Are they even real at this stage? Are we sure I haven’t been given someone who doesn’t exist?” 

“Ghost student?” 

“Fuckin’ potentially? Who the fuck knows with America.”

Chad hides a smile behind his rickety old guitar and starts tuning. “I’ll ask around my bandmates tomorrow, if you’d like.” 

“Naw, s’alright. I don’t want word to get out that I’m looking for them. What kinda giant flashing beacon that says HEY, I’M YOUR POTENTIAL MURDERER, right?” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do.” Because dammit all, Ichigo’s serious about this thing. A whole year’s supply of cup noodles is no joking matter. Speaking of which, he wonders how Inoue is doing with her murders…

_______________________________________________________________

Inoue, as it turns out, is doing swimmingly. While Ichigo has done little more than sit around and twiddle his thumbs, Inoue has already racked up an impressive collection of plastic knives— three, she informs him that night, while cheerfully throwing him a celebratory can of leek soda (Ichigo gingerly sets it down behind her sofa when she's not looking). She was making good headway on her next victim, as well, and if all went according to plan she'd have her fourth knife tomorrow morning—

“But, you know, Kurosaki-kun,” she muses, sipping on her own can of beetroot soda (where did she get these concoctions from!?), “You're awfully cavalier about this whole thing. For all you know, you could be my next victim,but here you are, sitting on my couch. Or do you just not care about cup noodles?”

He snorts. “If you ever got ahold of my knife, I'm pretty sure I'd be dead before we even got to have this conversation.”

“True,” she concedes— credit where credit is due. “So nobody’s popped up to try to kill you yet?”

“Nope,” he replies, popping the p a little. Honestly, that was the only thing making him feel better about his complete inability to murder anyone— the fact that whoever had his knife was having just as much difficulty tracking him down. One week in, and he'd not seen hide nor hair of this Rukia Kuchiki person, and, big dorm or not, her (her? Ichigo assumes it's a girl, though Rukia is very unusual for a Japanese name) elusiveness is getting to be extremely impressive. “But Chad is watching my back for me anyway. I'm covered.”

“Hmm.” Inoue purses her lips. “That's a lot of faith in someone you've only known, for, what, three weeks?”

“Chad is trustworthy,” Ichigo says firmly. He stands and stretches up to the ceiling, stifling a yawn. “And speaking of Chad, I better get to bed. He's ambushing Asano tomorrow, I told him I'd be there for backup.”

Inoue waves. “Good luck to Sado-kun, then. I’m gonna stay up a bit to refine my own dastardly plans.”

He shakes his head and opens the door, peering out into the corridor to make sure the coast was clear. He and Inoue were literally next door neighbours, but you couldn't be too careful these days. “When you win this thing I'm gonna be expecting free noodles from you occasionally. Remember I stopped you from burning down the whole dorms last week.”

“I'll consider it.”

“‘Night, then.”

“Goodnight, Kurosaki-kun. Dream of Rukia Kuchiki tonight!”

“At this stage,” Ichigo mutters, as he slips back into his room, “anything to help me find out who the hell she is.”

_______________________________________________________

Drastic times call for drastic measures. The next morning, after a successful ambush on Asano (Chad is now +1 plastic knife; his new victim is called Yammy Llargo), Ichigo tracks down someone he'd been avoiding ever since his move to America and claps a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey.” 

Arisawa Tatsuki whirls around and body-slams him into the ground. “Who the fuck do you think you— Ichigo?”

He winces. “Hi.”

Tatsuki puts her hands on her hips and does not offer him any help getting up. “Oh, so you're talking to me now?”

“I just said hi, didn't I?”

“You know, you're such a fucking asshole, did it ever occur in your pathetic little brain to apologise—”

“I'm sorry,” Ichigo mutters sullenly. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was also going to college in America, I'm sorry you found out only when you bumped into me at the dorm welcoming party, it's just that we had that whole farewell party for you and we had that touching goodbye and, look it's just awkward that I got a second round admissions letter the very next day, it's like saying bye to a friend and then finding out you're walking the same way to the carpark, ok, it’s embarrassing—”

“Oh my god, you drama queen. Were you ever planning on telling me? Ever? Your best friend since childhood?”

“... I might’ve planned to tell you at the beginning of the next semester by pretending I was on exchange,” he admits. Tatsuki throws her hands up in the air. 

“You were going to avoid me for a whole semester?!”

“Look, I didn't know I’d end up in the same dorm as you, ok? It's a big campus!”

“Un-be-lievable,” she says, turning on a heel and walking away from him. “You know what, keep ignoring me. Don’t hang out around here. I don’t want your incredible loser vibes accidentally rubbing off—” 

“I said sorry, didn’t I? Wait, wait, I had something to ask you!” 

“Sorry doesn’t pay my bills, Ichigo!” 

Ichigo catches up to her and falls into stride. “You don’t even pay bills! You’re on a full scholarship!”

Tatsuki manages a smug smile. “If you’re so jealous, maybe you should have kept up with karate.”

Ichigo grumbles. “Yeah, right, like I had a chance at a physical education scholarship with you in the same dojo.” 

“I’m glad you’re finally acknowledging my superiority—!”

“You beat my ass continuously from when we were six to sixteen, I threw away any pride I had a long damn time ago.” He makes a face at the memory, then shakes his head to refocus. “Anyway, this isn’t why I was here. Listen, have you heard of anyone around here called Rukia Kuchiki—?”

Tatsuki cocks her head to the side at that, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Kuchiki…? Name sounds familiar. Why?”

Ichigo feels his heart speed up in his chest. “What, really? Where did you hear it? Do you know her?” 

And now she was grinning again and— oh, no, Ichigo does not like the look of that smile. “Why do you want to know?” she asks, and the question is laden with suggestion. Ichigo flushes. 

“None of your damn busi— look, it’s not what you think—”

“Aw, my little mama’s boy Ichigo is all grown up, I remember when you used to go crying to your mom for a scraped knee and now you’re chasing after women—” 

“It’s for murder, you absolute pain in the butt! She’s my target!”

Tatsuki bursts out laughing, hearty peals of laughter bouncing off the courtyard walls. “Alright, alright, I get you. I was just teasing, Ichigo, geez. Anyway, the name sounds familiar, but that doesn’t mean I know her. I can’t remember where I’ve heard it before.”

Ichigo deflates as quickly as he’d been riled up. “Are you serious right now—?”

“Hey, you can talk, mister ‘I’m-really-bad-at-remembering-names-and-faces! And yeah, I’m serious. I don’t have a stake in murder anymore. I got killed two days in.”

Ok, that surprises him. He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “What, really? Who the hell did you in?”

“Some girl named Orihime Inoue,” she grumbles, kicking a nearby rock. “Tae-kwon-do black belt, apparently??? She doesn’t even look the type!” 

Ichigo makes a noise of sympathy and understanding. He should have guessed.

“Anyway, now I’m roped into helping her. So I don’t think I’d be able to tell you about Rukia Kuchiki, even if I’d known any more about her. Victims who are murdered have to help their murderer, and all.”

Ichigo frowns. “Wait, those are the rules?”

“That’s what Inoue said.” 

“............ I am about 95% sure that those were not part of murder rules.”

There’s a short silence between the two as they process this.

“...... scary girl,” Tatsuki finally says, in a grudgingly admiring tone.

“I’ll say.” 

The two of them stop their brisk walk in front of a huge pair of doors emblazoned with the words GYM, and Tatsuki waves him off. “Anyway, I gotta go train now. Any further questions before I go?”

Ichigo thinks a bit. “Yeah, why drama queen? Since I’m a guy, shouldn’t it be drama king?”

“Do I look like a linguist? You always scored better than I did at this stupid language. Take it up with whoever your hero was, Willy Shakealot or something?”

“Shakespeare,” he says sharply. “And Shakespeare wasn’t a linguist. In fact, I’m pretty sure linguists really hate him. He made up a lot of weird words and shit.”

“He did? Huh. Didn’t know you were allowed to do that.” 

“You’re not, Shakespeare just gave zero fucks.” Ichigo shrugs and takes a half-step back, raising his hand in a goodbye salute. “Why else do you think he was my hero?”

Tatsuki rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You’re still a loser.” 

“And you’re a bitch. Let me know if you remember anything about Kuchiki.”

“Only if we get to go halves on the cup noodles.” 

“I’ll think about it.”

“Then I’ll think about it, too.” 

That was probably the best he was going to get out of her. “Later, then.”

“If you can bear the embarrassment of us meeting again despite already having said goodbye, then sure.”

Ichigo shakes his head and lets her have that parting riposte. He hadn’t won a single match, verbal or physical, against Tatsuki since they’d been in diapers; he figures, what with the way his luck was going lately, that he wasn’t about to start now. 

__________________________________________________________

Just as Ichigo walks away, a tiny girl brushes past him on her way to the gym. Her black hair falls short and sleek, tickling her jawline and the nape of her neck, and the clean scent of cucumber and mint follows in her wake. She jostles him a little, bumping into his elbow, but Ichigo hardly notices the slight press of her body against his, small and light as she is. She mutters a hasty apology, and disappears into the building before he can formulate a reply. 

Ichigo shrugs and goes on his merry way. 

_______________________________________________________

The third week of murder brings about a calamitous change in the game as Ichigo knows it, due to several factors:

Orihime Inoue kills not one, not two, but three people in quick succession;

Someone finally stages an attack on him, but runs away without having completed the deed, and

Chad dies.

Not literally, of course, but Ichigo has to admit, the figurative loss still hits him pretty damn hard. Chad takes it as stoically as ever, with a shrug and twitch of his eyebrow, and goes back to working on music for his band. 

“Does anything faze you?” Ichigo wonders, after Chad hands his knife over to Inoue (because of course it was Inoue who took him out. Of course). 

“Puppies.”

“Fair enough.” 

“Kittens, too.” 

“... Right.”

“And birds. And rabbits. And small children—”

“So basically, you’re a sucker for anything cute?”

Chad shrugs again, which Ichigo takes as a yes. He crumples up his soda can and lobs it into the bin. 

“You were attacked today, too. Aren’t you worried?”

Ichigo considers it. “A bit, yeah. Sucks that you got taken out of the game. But you can still watch my back when you can, right? I’ll go halves on the noodles with you.” 

Chad nods. “When I can. I might be busier with my band soon, though.” 

“Understandable. I’ll try and keep myself alive in the meantime. At least I know who’s aiming for me, now. Neru? Nel?”

“Neliel Tu Odelschwancke.” 

Ichigo stares. “How the hell do you remember that?”

“She’s in my music theory class. And she has green hair. She’s not hard to miss.”

“Well, good. Should make it easier to see her coming.”

Chad smiles. “Your hair isn’t exactly hard to miss, either.” 

“Aw, shut up. I take back what I said about the noodles.” 

They sit in companionable silence for a while, the sounds of Chad tuning his guitar the only thing between them. Eventually, Chad breaks the ice. 

“And Kuchiki?”

Ichigo huffs a dry laugh. “No fuckin’ clue who or where she is. I’ve even been asking around, now that a lot of people have been dropped from the game by dying. But nobody seems to know who she is, even though everyone says her name sounds familiar. It’s driving me up the goddamn wall.”

“When I first heard the name, I thought that too.”

“What, that it sounds like a name that’s going to drive me up the wall?”

“No, that it sounds familiar.”

At this point, Ichigo is more tired than exasperated. “Yeah, s’what everyone says. Whatever. I’ll either find her or I won’t, right? No point getting annoyed over it. Better just focus on staying alive, because I swear to god if I die before finding out who she is I’ll be pissed.”

“You better hope,” Chad says gravely, “that Inoue doesn’t get her hands on your knife, then.” 

“You, me, and the entire dorm population, mate.” 

________________________________________________________

Ichigo drops by Inoue’s room that evening, just to check he isn’t next on her list. He’s lucky— he’s not. But some poor fucker by the name of Uryuu Ishida is.

“I waited outside his room all day and he didn’t even exit once!” Inoue’s saying, brandishing the knife with his name on it like a conductor directing Beethoven’s Ninth. “What kind of— of social recluse does that?!”

“Damn,” Ichigo replies, ignoring the fact that he did exactly that for days on end during the summer holidays, rereading The Compleat Works of Shakespeare in English and Japanese. “Sounds like a loser.”

“Apparently he’s like— the dorm cryptid,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Nobody’s— nobody’s really seen him in the flesh. They’re not sure he even exists. They think he’s second-year pre-med and that he was valedictorian of his grade last year, but nobody knows for sure.”

“Inoue, how did you manage to find out all this in the span of a day?” 

She looks at him like he’s insane. “I, uh, talked to people?”

“I talk to people too! But nobody knows who Rukia Kuchiki is. Nobody. Zilch. Zip. Nada. At this point I’m about 98% sure she doesn’t actually exist.”

Inoue sighs pityingly. “Kurosaki-kun, you’ve been talking to students, haven’t you?”

Ichigo’s confused. “Who else would I talk to?”

Inoue just puts a finger to her lips. “Can’t tell you. Trade secret. But really, Kurosaki-kun. There are much easier ways of going about this game, you know.” 

“Fat lot of good that’s going to do me, when you won’t tell me,” he grumbles. He takes another look at the name on her knife— Uryuu Ishida, may he rest in peace— and thanks his lucky stars that it isn’t him on there. “Anyway, I better be off. Good luck with the new guy. Not that you’ll need it.” 

“Good luck with Rukia Kuchiki, because you’ll definitely need it.” 

Hell, did everyone make a secret pact today to take the mickey out of him? Ichigo’s too tired to argue, so he just leaves Inoue to her planning and calls it a night. Maybe he’ll have better luck tomorrow.

____________________________________________________________

It takes Ichigo a few seconds to remember who she is, he’s been so tired lately. 

Green hair, he thinks, absentmindedly, before he remembers his conversation with Chad yesterday and yelps, scooting back a few metres. 

“You— Neliel?”

“That’s me!” His would-be murderer is bright and vivacious, and way too perky for this hour of the morning. Aside from the curious green hair, she’s also got a scar between her eyes and a reddish— birthmark? Tattoo? Ichigo doesn’t know— across the bridge of her nose. “Morning, Ichigo!”

Ichigo’s already halfway across the courtyard by the time she stops him. “Wait! Wait! I’m not here to kill you this morning!”

“Yeah right!” he yells back. “I’m not dying before I find out who the hell Rukia Kuchiki is! Try another morning!” 

“You idiot, I’m already dead! Check the morning lists if you don’t believe me!”

Ichigo stops and whips out his smartphone. “You stay right there,” he says, glaring, and Neliel complies, holding her hands up in a gesture of surrender. He scrolls through the dorm noticeboard, and, sure enough, there is her name: one of the last people to be murdered last night. 

“See? I don’t lie,” she says, reproachful, and Ichigo shoves his phone back into his pocket and approaches her cautiously. 

“What do you want?” 

Neliel shrugs. “I just thought I’d warn you about your new potential murderer? Thought that might be good manners, and all. Normally I wouldn’t bother, but, well. Your new murderer’s…… yeah.”

“My new murderer’s… what?” 

She looks intensely uncomfortable at this. “He’s. Well. He’s…. He’s not a friend, per se, but I’ve known him since we were little and I feel a bit responsible for him— uh, he’s a bit rough sometimes, but he won’t actually kill you. I think. Look, just keep your eyes peeled, ok? Anyway, enough of this depressing talk in the morning. Who’s Rukia Kuchiki? Why are you so keen on meeting her?”

Wow, that was so transparent a topic change that Ichigo’s almost impressed. “No, no, go back to my murderer, what were you saying about him?”

“— so, Rukia Kuchiki, huh, cool name, sounds kinda familiar, wonder where I’ve heard it before—”

“Neliel. You were talking about my new murderer and actual murder in the same breath. This does not give me a lot of reassurance, you feel?”

“—no, wait, actually, Rukia Kuchiki,” she mutters, her brow furrowing. Then her expression clears, and she looks up at him with a bright smile. “Oh! You don’t possibly mean Dia—”

And just as that happens, the lockdown alarms go off. 

_______________________________________________________

The loudspeaker in the middle of the courtyard bursts into life with a crackle of static. 

“Attention all residents. This is not a drill. Please make your way to the nearest lockdown location in an orderly fashion. Attention all residents…”

By the second round of the announcement, both of them manage to unfreeze; Neliel curses and starts to turn away, but Ichigo grabs onto her wrist. 

“Oh shit— I have to go find Donddochakka and Pesche—”

“Wait— Rukia. What were you about to say about Rukia?”

She shakes his restraining hand off with ease. “I’ll tell you later! I have to go find my friends!” 

“No, goddammit! Tell me now! It won’t take you that long!” Ichigo yells, but she’s already disappeared into the throng of people. Ichigo kicks a nearby rock and consults his phone to find his nearest lockdown location— the gym, apparently. He joins the crowd moving slowly in that direction, mind still grappling with Neliel’s last words.

Rukia Kuchiki? Oh! You don’t possibly mean Dia-

Dia? Who the hell was Dia?

But he’d have to deal with that later; he walks into the gym and spots Tatsuki, waving at him from a corner with Inoue. He makes his way towards them. 

“—n’t believe that he still won’t come out of his room, who does he think he is— there are safety regulations in place—” Inoue is saying, fingers curled around the knife that still says Uryuu Ishida. Tatsuki attempts to placate her with a long-suffering expression. 

“Maybe he’d already left before you came— hi, Ichigo.”

“Hello, Kurosaki-kun! And ridiculous— I was there at 6 a.m. in the morning. What sort of self-respecting college student wakes up before then?”

“6 a.m.?! Orihime, that’s. That’s stalking—”

“Stalking’s not stalking if it’s done in the name of free cup noodles—” 

“Stalking is always stalking! God, whatever, we’re continuing this another time. Anyway, Ichigo, did you hear? Some nutjob got onto campus with an actual knife.” 

Ichigo flinches. “What? Jesus. I hope Chad’s ok. Where’d you hear that from?”

“From the r.a. over there.” Tatsuki points with a chin, and indeed, several r.a.s are in deep discussion, all of them with a serious look on their face. “They’re gonna make an announcement about it soon. Apparently it’s a scrawny dude, black hair in a ponytail, wearing a dirty white hoodie and jeans. There’s police cars arriving, shit’s crazy.” 

“I’ll say.” At least it was a knife and not a gun, Ichigo thinks, toying idly with his own plastic knife. He halfheartedly scans the crowd, looking for any unfamiliar faces— surprisingly, he finds that he knows most of them already, by sight if not by name. He wonders if any of them are Rukia Kuchiki, and finds himself hoping that, wherever she was, she was somewhere safe. 

It’d be a bit of a downer if she was actually murdered before he managed to get around to it. 

The gym doors open again to let some of the stragglers in, and Ichigo allows his attention to be turned by the motely crew that walk in: a tall, thin man who is built rather like a stick insect, a hulking guy who looks about as wide as he’s tall, and a smaller, scrawny dude who is wearing nothing but a towel as a fundoshi around his waist (goddammit, Ichigo thought that tactic had died out by the first week). And, almost buried by the mass of bodies around her, a head full of green hair. 

Ichigo blinks, and then he starts pushing through the crowd to get to her. 

“Hey. HEY! NELIEL! WE GOTTA CONTINUE OUR CONVERSATION FROM EARLIER!”

Neliel looks up in his direction, and frantically starts mouthing no at him. Ichigo doesn’t give a shit. He’s going to find out who Rukia Kuchiki is, and he’s going to find out now.

“Don’t give me that crap! You said you’d tell me later! Well, it’s later now, so out with it—”

“No, I swear to god, Ichigo, not now—”

“Ichigo?” The stick insect dude suddenly looks viciously interested, and Neliel claps a hand over her mouth. “As in, Ichigo Kurosaki?”

Neliel shakes her head. Ichigo glares at stick insect dude. 

“If I am, who the fuck are you?”

Nel buries her face in her hands, and stick insect dude smiles— and shit, can people even smile that wide? Ichigo feels a chill run down his spine. 

“Your death,” stick insect dude says, and he lunges. 

Scrawny dude, black hair in a ponytail, wearing a dirty white hoodie and jeans.

Ichigo sees the glint of a knife held in his hands, and suddenly realises he’s going to die—

“No!”

That is, until a short, black-haired blur shoots out from the crowd and jumps in front of the knife meant for him. 

It sinks in to the hilt, and Ichigo watches the girl’s eyes widen in shock with a horror that robs him of his own voice. 

________________________________________________________

Both girl and assailant crumple to the ground, and Ichigo’s frantic with worry; he reaches the girl first, hoists her up onto his lap, expecting blood. She was so small; what the hell was she thinking, jumping out in front of him?! She coughs, great big hacking things that he wouldn’t expect from someone her size, and Ichigo holds her around her shoulders, worried out of his mind. 

“Are you ok? Hold on— where did he stab you? Are you bleeding—”

In response, the girl wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and lunges at the felled assailant. 

“You missed, you cowardly shitstain, I don’t know what you’re doing on a campus but you’re going to rot in jail for this—” 

“Young lady—! Enough! Back away and let the cops deal with this—”

“Nnoitra! I told you to leave that stupid knife behind, you idiot—”

“Ow! OW! Don’t just fucking watch, Nel, get this crazy woman off me, what the fuck—” 

“ENOUGH!” The r.a.’s have made their way over by now, and manage to separate the two brawling figures; stick insect dude is being held back by Nel and her two other friends, while the girl is being restrained by an r.a. Ichigo sits on the floor between them, feeling like he just missed something. 

“Wait, hang on, what’s— what just happened— didn’t you get stabbed?” he asks the girl, who is looking very un-stabbed. She glares at stick insect dude. 

“He missed,” she spits, and stick insect dude howls in indignation. 

“I did not miss!” he hisses, and throws a crumpled plastic knife onto the ground. “I had him! I would have had him straight in the gut if it hadn’t been for you jumping in for your boyfriend!!! The fuck, dude! This is sabotage! What have you got against me winning cup noodles?!”

Ichigo stares at the plastic knife bearing his name, crushed like an empty aluminium drink can, and slowly starts piecing the incident together. 

“Wait— so you're—”

“And now I've lost the element of surprise. You scrawny little bitch,” Nnoitra snaps, and Ichigo thinks, a little wildly, that he had no business going around calling anyone else scrawny. He eyes the limp black hair and dirty white hoodie of his assailant and attempts to make sense of the chaos around him. 

“You’re— you had my knife—?”

Nnoitra rolls his eyes. “What, can’t you see? You impaired or some shit?” 

“Oh my god, Nnoitra,” Neliel groans. “Can you keep your big fat mouth shut for half a second—”

“Oh,” comes a small sound from the black-haired girl, and Ichigo turns to see her slowly flushing crimson. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Nnoitra mocks, before Neliel smacks him in the head. “Ow! Nel, you bitch, she is clearly the one in the wrong here, would you knock it off—”

“Well, what the hell was I supposed to think?!” the girl demands, now completely red but with an indignant expression on her face. “You matched the description for the armed intruder perfectly! Not to mention, who plays Murder like they're actually trying to kill someone?!”

“This is why I was trying to warn you,” Nel says to Ichigo in an exasperated aside. “And those are just his last set of clean clothes.”

There's a short silence as everyone digests her words, Ichigo and the girl both eyeing Nnoitra’s hoodie like they seriously doubted Nel’s definition of ‘clean’.

The girl clears her throat and speaks for all of them. “Gross.”

Nnoitra flings himself against Nel’s restraint. “You bitch, I'll fucking cut you up—”

“Enough!” an adult finally makes their way onto the scene, and everyone looks at the harried professor with varying levels of relief. The girl, in particular, lights up at the sight of him. 

“Professor Ukitake—!”

“What’s going on here?” he asks in a tired sort of way, and the r.a.s hasten to answer him. 

“A minor altercation— you know our dorm tradition, Murder—”

“Ah, that damn game,” he mutters, looking extremely distracted. His gaze sweeps over all of them, assessing the situation. “Nobody’s actually hurt, then?”

“No sir,” the girl answers, prompt. The professor nods at her, before turning to the r.a.s for the full story. By now, the police have made it into the evacuation area as well; the three parties convene for a minute or two, discussing the details in hushed voices, before they all turn to Nnoitra and Nel.

“In any case, Mr. Gilga,” Professor Ukitake says apologetically, “although it may be coincidental, it is true that you fit the description for the armed intruder rather perfectly, I’m afraid. The police would like you to accompany them to the station, just for a little while, until the intruder situation is solved. If that’s ok with you—?” 

“Wha— the hell it is! I was just tryna murder Kurosaki over there—” 

The professor winces. “Mr. Gilga….. That’s really not helping your cause there.” 

“Oh, c’mon, it’s just a game—” 

“I told you,” Nel interrupts witheringly. “I told you to leave your damn knife behind, didn’t I? Just go with the officers for now, Nnoitra. It’s just til they catch the real intruder, and quite frankly, I don’t trust you around Ichigo right now.” 

“Don’t be a sore loser, Nel, just because I murdered you last night—” 

Two policemen place a hand each on Nnoitra’s shoulders and escort him out, Nnoitra complaining the whole time but not daring to retaliate. Nel shakes her head and makes an apologetic face in the direction of the smaller girl. “God, I told him… sorry about all this, Di. I might go with him just to make sure he doesn’t get himself arrested… you really alright? Not hurt anywhere?” 

“Who do you think I am?” the girl scoffs. “I’m fine. Never did understand why you’re friends with him, though.”

Nel grimaces. “Yeah, sometimes I wonder that, too. Anyway, I’ll see you later at the gym, we can talk about this then.” 

“Tell your stick insect friend not to lunge at people with knives in the future, whether they’re plastic or not.” 

“Will do. Bye!” with another apologetic half-wave, Neliel and her two other friends take off after Nnoitra. Ichigo, still feeling somewhat bemused by the proceedings, finally turns and manages to get a good look at his…. saviour(?), for lack of a better word. 

She’s short. That’s his first impression, the fact that she is so goddamn short and good lord, she might actually, literally be just half his size, if the way the top of her head only comes up to his chest is any indication. Aside from the height (or lack thereof), she seems fairly nondescript: short black bob, black leggings and a t-shirt with a flannel tied around her waist. She notices him staring and holds out a hand. 

“Diana. We could have met in less embarrassing circumstances, but I guess as first meetings go ‘jumped in front of a knife for you’ isn’t a bad start. You alright?” 

Ichigo takes the proffered hand and is promptly surprised by the firmness of her grip. “Fine. I feel like I should be the one asking you, though. You're the one that got stabbed.”

Diana rolls her eyes. “Please. As if anything wielded by a guy that skinny would ever be able to hurt me.” She grins, all teeth, and whoa, Ichigo may have to reconsider that first assessment of her. He’s suddenly flustered, red dusting the skin over his cheekbones as he tries to come up with a response. She has the bluest eyes he's ever seen. 

Thankfully, the professor from earlier spares him. “Miss Kuchiki!” he calls, and Diana turns— he wants to have a few words with her, it seems, and she gestures to him that she'd be over soon. She turns back to Ichigo to say goodbye. 

“Well, take care, I guess I'll see you around--"

Something clicks in his brain like lightning, and he catches her by the wrist. 

“Wait. Kuchiki—? Like, Kuchiki as in Byakuya Kuchiki Kuchiki? Kuchiki as in the Kuchiki Wing in the Main Library Kuchiki? As in one of the shareholders of our university Kuchiki? That Kuchiki?”

“Shut up, fool, not so loud—!” She snatches her wrist back and looks around worriedly, though by now people’s attentions have moved on from them. She answers him in a resigned tone. “Yes, that Kuchiki. He’s my brother. It's not something I like to advertise.” 

Ichigo’s mind is teeming like a nest of ants. “Why— no, never mind that question. Diana’s not a Japanese name, though--"

“It's my English name, obviously,” she snaps. “If you wanted my full name it is Rukia Kuchiki. Why are you so interested in my name anyway? Shouldn't you at least tell me yours first?”

A slow grin spreads over his face; the kind of grin that Tatsuki had once told him made him look like the supervillain in a bad shounen. He takes a step in closer to her, and Diana— Rukia, irritated, stands her ground. 

His hand slips into his pocket. 

“I'm Ichigo Kurosaki,” he tells her. 

In one fluid motion, he pulls out his own knife and taps her with it on the shoulder. Those blue eyes of hers widen first in disbelief, and then in outrage. 

“You— no. No, you can't possibly— you couldn't!!”

“Nice to meet you, Rukia Kuchiki,” he smirks, flipping the plastic knife over to display her name. 

Rukia closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, like she has a headache coming on. 

Then she opens her eyes, takes a deep breath, and socks him in the face. 

[melodious-madrigals]

Wondertrev prompt: apples

Orchards, to Steve’s eternal bemusement, have become a popular autumn date destination.

“Why would I take you on a date somewhere that involves work?” he asks, grimacing at his phone, where a listicle of 11 Awesome Autumn Outings! displays Apple Picking at #3. He finds that personally offensive; the farm he grew up on had fruit trees, and they were just as much a nightmare come harvest time as an enjoyable food source.

“It’s cute,” says Diana, who likes the idea, as she’s scrolling through a museum website on her own phone. They’re sitting on the couch, trying to come up with an interesting date for the next afternoon, and Google is letting them down. “Very autumnal, and you get to choose your fruit. People like knowing where their food comes from.”

“I like knowing where my food comes from just fine,” grumbles Steve, “but knowing it came from Jean-Luc’s orchard”—the kind older gentleman who runs their favorite fruit stand at the farmer’s market—“is enough; I don’t also need to know which branch it came from because I twisted my back in the process of reaching too high for it.”

Diana grins into her phone, because she can feel a rant coming.

“Look at this—all pre-picked apples available in our market are washed and polished and inspected for the highest quality. Those poor workers. And I bet they constantly have to be picking the rotting apples off the trees instead of harvesting in one go.”

“Probably,” says Diana.

“And it’s not like the people picking their own apples are really helping with the harvest,” continues Steve, finding his groove. Diana was right; this is about to turn into a full-blown rant. “Because they’re probably not being methodical about it! They’re just taking the nicest apples they can find instead of picking a branch clean.”

Diana hums and once again bites back her amused smile.

“Which is another thing—when did people suddenly decide that ugly fruits and vegetables were inedible? A spot is not the end of the world, but people think they need a shiny, perfect apple just to take a bite.”

It’s not a new frustration of Steve’s, but his continued indignation always makes her go a little soft, as does the fact that he consistently buys the ugliest produce at the market on purpose. (That he cares about needless food waste is attractive, okay? Sue her.)

“Well, the way I see it, we have two options.”

Please, continue, the tilt of his head tells her.

“We can find the branch with the ugliest apples and pick them all,” says Diana, “or—and I know this is a radical idea—we could just simply not take”—she glances at the listicle on his phone—“FizzPop’s advice and plan a date elsewhere instead.”

She feels him go slack next to her. “Yeah, I guess that is an option.”

“Here,” she says, handing him her phone. “I forgot that this exhibit opened last weekend. We can ditch the autumn theme and go here instead.”

Steve looks at it absently and nods. “I’ll buy you a pumpkin spice latte on the way there.”

Diana wrinkles her nose. “You most certainly will not. But I can buy you one.”

That manages to make Steve grin.

(The next morning, they make it to Jean-Luc’s stand for their seasonal produce—including apples—instead. “No orchards,” chirps Steve, as he cheerfully finds the apples with the most calloused and spotty skin. When Diana hands him a gnarled apple she found at the bottom of the bushel basket and echoes, “No orchards,” he positively beams, and it’s a grin that stays on his face through his pumpkin spice latte and the temporary exhibition.)

***

No orchards becomes something of a running joke. They laugh about it as the trend grows, and friends—most notably, Barry, who chatters excitedly at about a mile a minute—start referencing apple orchard dates. No orchards, repeats Steve, every time it comes up, and Diana just smiles bemusedly because she’s got nothing against orchards, not the way Steve does. It’s a joke that dies down once it’s no longer autumn, but it’s certainly not forgotten.

In fact, it becomes relevant again in the spring.

It’s early May, and they’re in the car, on their way to a date location that Steve has been surprisingly tight-lipped about.

"Where are we going?" asks Diana outright, by the time they’re twenty minutes outside of the city, but Steve just shakes his head and keeps driving.

They end up in the middle of the countryside, at a farm that Diana thinks sounds vaguely familiar but can’t quite place.

“Come on,” says Steve, pulling a basket out of the back of the car, and grabbing Diana’s hand with his free one. And then he’s tugging her up a path and over the crest of a hill—

—and into a sea of pink and white buds.

They’re surrounded by neat rows of trees in full bloom, the wafting perfume of apple blossoms sugary sweet and the thrum of honeybees a soft symphony from the moment they enter the orchard.

It’s beautiful and peaceful, so far removed from the busy streets of the city and the stress of both of her jobs that it may as well be another planet.

“You brought me to an orchard,” Diana says softly. It took her a second to string it all together, because she (rightfully) associates orchards with autumn.

“You like orchards,” replies Steve with a shrug.

“I do.” You don’t is unspoken.

“They’re hard to dislike when they look like this,” Steve admits, gesturing to the blooms engulfing them and smiling at the lazy bumblebee doing a little dance in front of Diana’s face, trying to figure out if her bright lipstick is edible.

The grin that breaks out on Diana’s is uncontainable. “Thank you.” 

She may miss the soft way Steve looks at her as they walk a little deeper into the trees, but the sentiment is not lost on her, not when this is the date he put together for them. Eventually, they come to a halt, spread out the picnic blanket Steve brought and unpack the basket, full of simple favorites.

“I forget sometimes how quiet the world can be, when you let it,” she whispers later, when they’re laying on their backs, thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder, staring up into the canopy of flowers above them.

“It’s been a long time since I was used to stillness,” says Steve, “but this is peaceful.”

She glances at him teasingly. “So, does this mean you’ve officially rethought the no orchards policy?”

“Oh, no, not a chance.”

Diana’s laughter echoes through the trees, and if she happens to lean in and kiss him—well, only the bees are watching.

[darling-i-read-it]

Padawans

Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: cuss words

Author’s Note: It’s here! I told you I wouldn’t forget about you love :) Sorry it took a moment, I was just so pooped yesterday. I hope you like it!

Requested: by anon, padawan! obi wan kenobi x padawan! reader where qui gon sets them up (despite the rules 🥴) because he sees how in love obi wan is big fluff. please? i love ur writing sm 🥺

Summary: the request!

Genre: fluff

(not my gif)

You and Obi-Wan sat beside each other at the fanciest dinner you had ever been to. You followed your master everywhere, as did Obi-Wan. However, your Master was on a long running mission and you had been tasked to stay under Qui-Gon’s surveillance with training. That was fine with you. Obi-Wan and you had been friends since your early padawan days. You were as close as you could be, hanging out with each other in your free time and training together when you had to find a partner to spar with.

The dinner was with a bunch of other Jedi, people you knew and people you didn’t. Qui-Gon was on the other side of Obi-Wan, talking with some higher ups that you didn’t feel like you could mingle with if you tried. You and Obi-Wan were talking quietly about random training things, making fun of the padawans you hadn’t seen before. There was supposed to be some big training announcement tonight but you were pretty sure that they had already talked to the Masters about it. You weren’t listening, poking at the fancy food and cracking jokes with your friend. One of the other padawans sat beside you, a girl named Ski that you knew vaguely well.

“So you guys do know about the whole Jedi’s can’t marry thing right?” she teased, pointing a fork at you. You rolled your eyes, taking a harsh bite of the food. It tasted very bland. You reminded yourself to grab something edible with Obi-Wan when you left.

“You do know about the whole Jedi’s have to know how to fight thing right?” you snapped, raising an eyebrow at her. It was all in good fun but you could tell you had hit a nerve. Ski was more of a lover than a fighter. She should just be glad she wasn’t a sith. Obi-Wan hit your arm lightly and you jumped, shrugging and swallowed the food.

“Play nice,” he chastised. You pointed your fork at him.

“I am playing nice!” you exclaimed.

Qui-Gon had stopped talking to the higher ups, instead opting to watch you and Obi-Wan interact. He had known both of you since you were children, barely able to grasp the Jedi ways. You and his padawan had always been closer than the other children. He just thought that it was because you were bound to be closer friends than anyone he knew but as he watched the two of you hit your teenage years he understood. Without even realizing it, the two of you had grown up in love without being able to stop it. No one had caught it until it was too late. Qui-Gon was sure that you knew that you loved Obi-Wan and that Obi-Wan knew he loved you. But you didn’t know that the other was also in love. Qui-Gon was the only person who was close enough to both of you to be able to concretely pick it up although many of the padawans had teased you about how close you were.

Qui-Gon was a firm believer of the Jedi ways and the rules that went along with being such a higher power and wielder of the force. But he also knew you both in too deep to stop. If Qui-Gon died before seeing the two of you finally admit your feelings he would be very sad. Because he knew at some point in your adult lives you were going to have to tell the other or it would eat you both away.

You were still young but there was no climbing out of the hole you had both created for yourselves.

So he had a plan. He had a plan to make sure he lived to see his padawan be truly happy. Not stop himself when you came back from a mission, not halt before hugging you like Obi-Wan wanted.

Qui-Gon turned to his coworkers.

“I have to make sure these two get their work down before an ungodly hour,” Qui-Gon said with a joking smile. You turned to your best friends master and saw that he was getting up to leave. You were thankful.

“You mean we get to go get real food?” you hissed to Obi-Wan. His lips upturned in an agreeing smile.

“Thank the Maker,” he whispered back. The two of you waved goodbye and followed Qui-Gon out of the room. He said nothing as he made a careful walk down to one of the small eating places in the large Jedi building before taking you both back to your chambers.

“Did you enjoy the ‘dinner’?” he asked. You and Obi-Wan snickered.

“You call that food?” you joked. Qui-Gon rolled his eyes.

“Here. The two of you eat, put it on my tab I have more credits than the both of you.” Obi-Wan and you exchanged a look.

“You aren’t staying?” Obi-Wan inquired. Qui-Gon turned to you both, sizing you up to see if you were going to understand what he was about to say. Finally he spoke, his voice firm.

“You know the Jedi can never marry. You are both aware of it. Yet you still look at each other like the world would fall apart if the other disappeared,” he said sternly. You wouldn’t dare look at your friend as a blush came on your face, both of you growing flustered.

“Qui-”

“Ah ah ah. Listen to everything. I’m going to leave you here alone. If Y/N isn’t in her chambers in the morning I’ll assume she had an early waking. Please, just talk about it.”

“You don’t mind...it?” Obi-Wan’s voice was barely above a whisper. His master simply smiled and gave you both a nod before walking away. You and Obi-Wan exchanged a look. You had never talked about your feelings but where aware it was there. You got take out wordlessly and retreated to his chambers. You ate on his bed, staring at each other, giggling.

“Did your master tell us to fuck?” you whispered childlessly. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Something along those lines. I suppose they’re tired of the tension.” You shrugged, throwing your plate on the table.

“Can I ask you something?” you started. He nodded, putting his plate away too.

“Go ahead love.”

“Can we please just kiss?” you whispered. Obi-Wan was flustered for a moment and then he moved forward, leaving a small peck on your lips. He pulled away just a bit and then forward again, your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer to you.

Qui-Gon could feel something in the force move and he smiled.

Something had gone right.

Ewan: @daphne-fandom-writing , @satanslov3r @records-and-stardust @broodybats

Obi-Wan: @starwarsprequelfangirl @fic-e-veryone

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Thursday Nights

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23867521

MasterPost

Relationships: Intruality, mentioned platonic DRLAMP

Warnings: Cursing, horror movies, brief descriptions of gore, brief mentions of self-deprecating thoughts, food mention.

everyone is sympathetic as always!

Word count: 1,164

Sunday nights were movie nights, when six sides gathered together in the living room to debate what they were going to watch and eat absurd amounts of popcorn and cookies. At least, it started that way. Then, Roman and Logan had begun their Monday Night Disney & Dish, during which the two would loudly complain their way through various Disney classics. Virgil and Patton had designated Tuesdays for bingeing old animated flicks and semi-ironically watching all the Barbie movies together. Eventually, The Mindscape was filled with the sounds of various, totally separate movie marathons every night of the week, with any combination of between two to four sides.

Above all of these little hang-outs, Remus’ favorite, favorite nights were Thursdays. It was also the newest movie night configuration, given that this would be the second time ever that it was hosted. With Deceit and Roman watching theater bootlegs in the Common room, Virgil and Logan bingeing nature documentaries in the latter’s bedroom, that only left Remus and Patton to find something to do. That they did.

They’d only been dating for three weeks, but to the former Dark side it felt like much longer. That was just the nature of both of them, he guessed- given that they were very touchy-feely from the start of their friendship. But as easy and right as it all felt, sometimes Remus couldn’t help but look over at his boyfriend and wonder how the fuck? 

Self-consciousness was new to him. Yeah, he still made overtly sexual jokes and comments, he still rambled about gore and true crime and whatever else happened across his mind, his art was still all smut and violence, but it was different. Remus had never really cared about what the other sides thought before, because they never really cared about him (except Dee-Dee, of course), so it was a perfect system! But no, he had to go and get feelings and everybody there’s no coming back from that.

Remus shook his head- right, movie night, that was the pressing issue. He was sitting on the remarkably soft loveseat in Patton's room, staring up at the side in question standing in front of him with a bowl of popcorn under either arm (one of which was decidedly less edible, in the traditional sense). He wore an expectant smile… right! A question, he'd asked a question! 

"Eh- say again? I spaced out."

Patton laughed and sat beside Remus, setting the snacks on his little coffee table.

"I was just wondering what you chose for us to watch this week, Silly."

"Oh! Right!" Oh. Right, "about that- maybe you should just pick again." 

Morality shot him a confused look, which he mimicked instinctively. 

“What do you mean? It’s your turn to pick,” he reminded, passing the remote to Remus. He responded by scrunching up his nose.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Patty-cake.”

Patton twisted in his seat to look at Remus, arms folded. 

“I know we have different tastes, but it’s nothing I can’t handle! We shouldn’t always do what I wanna do, I don’t want you getting bored.”

I’m never bored with you- ‘Different’ is an understatement- I don’t want to scare you- I just want you to keep me around- You won’t like it- don't ask me about me- And other such phrases thrummed through his head. Patton looked at him knowingly, leaning into his side.

“It’s okay. Even if it’s something scary, I don’t mind,” he reassured, “After all, I won’t get too scared, because you're here with me!”

Remus wasn’t gonna cry, nope! No crying during movie night for non-movie related reasons! Instead, he wrapped an arm around Patton’s waist- eliciting an adorable giggle from the trait- and pretended that that sentence didn’t explode his heart out of his chest (figuratively, but wouldn’t that look cool?)

“Alright, I’ve got one. It’s gory, but it’s got a happy ending and all that sappy romantic stuff you like.” Remus was queuing up one of his favorite horror-comedies, Tucker and Dale vs. Evil. Patton just responded with a sweet, encouraging smile.

They were halfway through the movie when Patton yelped loudly and pressed one side of his face into Remus' shoulder. He peeked through his fingers at the teenager on the screen, as they'd just been impaled through the stomach.

“Wait a minute,” he said, peering more clearly at the film. Remus paused the movie.

“We can watch something else if it's too upsetting, babe.”

“No, it's not that, I was just wondering if that would work that way. If somebody ran into a stick really fast, would it go all the way through them like that? Wouldn't it be too blunt?”

Remus' face split into a wide, excited grin. 

“I’m so glad you asked…” 

The Duke was absolutely absorbed in this scene, but his immersion was completely broken when he felt Patton laughing against his shoulder. At first, he was sure he’d mistaken the sound for some kind of gasp. The lead girl had sat the protagonist and murderous, axe-wielding antagonist down at a table and was convincing them to have tea together, so of course it was a hilarious scene, but hilarious to Patton?

But then it happened again, as a minor character's face was (humorously) shredded by a weed-whacker. Unmistakably, Patton "Morality" Sanders snorted loudly, giggling at the darkly comedic scene. Remus pulled back just slightly to stare at his boyfriend, his expression a cross of shock, pride, and awe. 

“What?” Patton asked after his giggles subsided, “it’s funny.”

“You’re amazing. I can’t believe this.”

Patton flushed, cuddling back into Remus' side and hiding his face in the trait's chest.

“You don’t know everything about me, Lovebug.”

As the leading girl and guy kissed in a surprisingly cute display for a hetero couple, the credits began to roll. By this point, the slightly more real and much less heterosexual couple had gradually slid down the loveseat and were lying across it, with Remus’ head on the arm rest and Patton’s head on his chest, their legs tangled together. 

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Patton mumbled sleepily.

“I knew you’d think so,” Remus hadn’t been paying attention to the movie for a while now, focusing instead on carding his fingers through his boyfriend's curly hair (careful of his claws, as always). After a silence, he muttered under his breath. 

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

Remus shrugged, gesturing vaguely to the television with his unoccupied hand. Patton hummed.

“It’s easy to like that stuff when I love you.”

No matter how many times he said it, The Duke never got tired of hearing it. He craned his head down to press an uncharacteristically soft kiss to Morality's lips. His eyes were shining as he eventually pulled back.

“I love you, too.” 

Patton let his head drop onto Remus' collar once more, smiling widely. As the trait continued to doze off in his arms, Remus found that he was just a little more sure of himself. 

@shrimp-crockpot

[sass-and-suspenders]

Merlot & Mistletoe

GIF from big-brass-ego-deactivated201812

Pairing: Dr. Frederick Chilton x Reader

Author’s Note: Just some holiday fluff staring everyone’s favourite peacock

Frederick swirled his wine as he surveyed the room. As much as he loathed BSHCI’s annual Christmas party, he had to admit that the venue looked superb: white Christmas lights were strung about the room casting a warm glow, tasteful red and white floral arrangements adorned every table, and an impeccably decorated Christmas tree, one of the largest he’d ever seen, stood in the center of the room. From his position near the bar, Frederick spied a bunch of mistletoe hanging above the main doorway.

His mood quickly soured when his attention turned from the décor to his coworkers. All around him, his colleagues and their partners were enjoying themselves, which only seemed to amplify his own loneliness. Abandoned at his table while everyone else was mingling, Frederick began to list every insufferable thing about work holiday parties: forced small talk with coworkers whom he despised, barely edible food, overly loud Christmas music (and, god forbid, Christmas karaoke). Taking a sip of his drink, he added ‘wine only a step above grape juice mixed with antifreeze’ to his list.

And then he spotted you in the crowd and acknowledged that work parties did have some advantages.

In your bright red dress, Frederick was surprised he didn’t notice you sooner. You were surrounded by a group of people, talking animatedly with a large smile on your face. While he was too far away to make out what you were saying, he could hear faint sounds of laughter from the group.

You had started at BSHCI two months ago, filling-in for a psychiatrist on maternity leave. On your second day, you literally ran into Frederick, scattering the contents of the patient folders you were carrying across the hallway. It was during your stammered apology, as he helped you pick up papers, that Frederick first felt the butterflies in his stomach that always materialized whenever he saw you.

You turned your head, sensing someone’s eyes on you; realizing it was Frederick, you flashed him a smile. However, Frederick remained rooted in his seat, not daring to go over and say hello. Memories of the last time he mustered up the courage to speak to you flooded his mind. He had been a bundle of nerves, stumbling over his words and even calling you by the wrong name. You had laughed off his faux pas, telling him not to worry and then jokingly called him by the wrong name. That was perhaps what Frederick loved most about you: your kindness. Unlike everyone else in the hospital, you never mocked him. Come to think of it, Frederick couldn’t recall you ever saying a bad word about anyone.

In his seat, Frederick imagined what life would be like if only he were a little bolder. How he would be at your side, his arm wrapped around your waist; how he would proudly introduce you to everyone as his girlfriend; how you would go home with him at the end of the night; how he would find your red dress on his bedroom floor in the morning.

And then the thought hit him that you might already be seeing someone. You’d never mentioned anyone before, but Frederick still found himself anxiously turning his attention to the people around you, checking to see if they worked at the hospital or if there was someone unfamiliar who could be your date. A sense of relief washed over him when he didn’t find anyone, but it quickly dissipated when he observed one of the hospital’s board members lay a hand on your arm. Frederick bitterly noted that it was the youngest (and, according to the nurses, the handsomest) member of the board; the one with the pretentious name, the one who always parked his expensive cars haphazardly across multiple parking spaces, the one who was on the board due to his family’s connections and barely bothered to do any actual work.

His heart sank further as he watched the board member lean down to whisper something in your ear. While Frederick could hardly blame the man for flirting with you, he still found himself silently willing the massive Christmas tree to fall directly on Chauncey or Nigel or whatever his pompous name was.

It was in the midst of this death by Christmas tree fantasy, which now included the tree taking out several additional colleagues who Frederick found particularly unpleasant, that he noticed the nurse.

She wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, but Frederick had worked with enough criminals to notice the subtleties of human behaviour. Like, for instance, how the nurse’s wine glass was precariously full or how her gaze, which was focused on you, contained a predatory glint.

While Frederick was quick to piece together the nurse’s intention, he had no time to warn you. He could only sit and helplessly watch the scene unfold: the nurse pretended to trip, spilling her glass of red wine all over your dress. Frederick could tell you didn’t believe it was an accident (even from where he was sitting, he knew that the nurse would never win an Oscar), but you didn’t make a scene. Instead, you graciously accepted her fake apology before excusing yourself to go clean up.

With a mix of excitement and panic, Frederick realized that your path to the washroom would take you right past his table. His pulse quickened as you approached, the pounding of his heart drowning out all external noise. You were frowning slightly, head bent down, as you assessed the damage to your dress.

“Club soda!” Frederick exclaimed, the primitive part of his brain taking over, as you reached his table. He hated how his voice sounded an octave higher than usual.

You paused, turning to face him with a look of confusion. Frederick mentally berated himself; only two words into the conversation and he’d already managed to embarrass himself.

Clearing his throat, he started again. “Club soda will prevent the stain from setting. There’s some at the bar. I, uh, could go get it for you. If you want, that is.”

“That would be great -thanks!” You smiled brightly at him, and Frederick was sure he would develop heart palpitations from how quickly his heart was beating. “Meet me near the washroom?”

Frederick eagerly nodded, earning another smile from you. He knew it was irrational, but part of him hoped that, if he saved your dress, you’d start to see him in a different light, that maybe you would start to feel butterflies, too.

The instant you left, Frederick rushed to the bar, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. He feared that someone would swoop in and help you while he was away, causing him to lose his chance with you. When he found you, though, you were alone, blotting the wine on your dress with flimsy paper towels.

“Hey,” you greeted when you spotted Frederick lingering in the doorway. His arms were laden with bottles of club soda, making you wonder if there were any left at the bar. 

“Apologies for taking so long,” Frederick said stepping into the washroom, even though it had only been a few minutes since you last saw him. “I went to get some hand towels as well.”

“You’re amazing!” you beamed, helping him place the items on the bathroom counter. “I’ve had no luck with these paper towels –I think they’re actually making me look worse.” You gestured to a large splotch of wine on your dress.

“You look like a work of art,” he murmured as he studied you in your dress under the pretense of examining the stain. When he looked up at you, there was an unreadable expression on your face.

“I mean,” Frederick started to backtrack, realizing that he had voiced these thoughts aloud. “Your dress -it looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.”

He vaguely gestured to your dress as he prayed for the ground to swallow him up.

“Wine Whirlwind, 2019. Merlot on velvet,” You chuckled, drawing Frederick out of his embarrassment.

“Ah, yes, one of Pollock’s later works. I believe the MoMa is interested in acquiring it,” Frederick added, causing you to laugh harder. A feeling of pride shot through him when you laughed at his joke.

When the laughter died down, you and Frederick were left awkwardly staring at each other. Frederick fiddled with his signet ring, unsure if he was overstaying his welcome.

“So,” you said softly, touching the back of your neck and nodding towards the club soda. “Is there a trick I should know or…?”

“No trick,” Frederick shook his head. “You just pour it on the stain and allow it to sit for a few minutes.”

“Okay,” you paused for a moment before voicing the next thing on your mind. “There’s some wine on the back of my dress that I can’t quite reach -would you mind helping?”

You swept your hair away, revealing the dark red spot near your shoulder, as well as your neck. Frederick audibly swallowed. He envisioned himself placing kisses along the nape of your neck before unzipping your dress and letting it pool on the floor.

“Frederick?” You prompted, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Y-yes, that’s fine,” Frederick choked out, closing the distance between you.

As he carefully poured club soda on the stain, Frederick attempted to push the images of you and your alluring red dress out of his mind. He knew that his infatuation with you was one-sided, that he was only getting his hopes up with these daydreams.

“Did you know,” he began, trying to turn his thoughts to a more monotonous topic but nearly losing his train of thought when he caught a whiff of your perfume. “It’s a misconception that sprinkling salt on wine stains will remove them. Red wine contains tannins, and sodium chloride actually sets those types of stains.”

“Hm, I had no idea,” you answered, your eyes downcast and lips pursed as you focused on the giant splotch of wine near the hem of your dress. “It’s a good thing you’re here -a few people told me to use salt.”

“I’m glad my experience is useful. My experience with chemistry, that is. I don’t know all of this because I constantly spill wine on myself. I’m perfectly capable of drinking from a glass,” Frederick babbled. He hated how being around you seemed to turn his brain into mush.

“Well, however you came to know about it, I’m grateful,” you said, catching his gaze in the mirror, a faint smile on your lips.

Frederick felt his cheeks redden as he muttered something incoherent in response.

The two of you worked in silence for the next few minutes, with Frederick stealing glances at you. He couldn’t help but smile at your pursed lips as you concentrated on tackling the stains. He’d noticed a similar expression on your face whenever you dealt with complicated cases.

When the work was done, you turned to him. “Thank you again for helping me, Frederick,” you grinned, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“O-of course,” he faltered, feeling the familiar flutter in his stomach intensify as your hand touched his.

“I should probably go home…My dress needs to dry and, honestly, I just want to change into my pajamas and watch TV.”

“Right,” Frederick said, trying not to sound disappointed. He wasn’t delusional enough to believe that the night would have ended with you declaring your love for him, but he thought you would at least offer to dance with him out of pity. “Allow me walk you out.”

You nodded, taking his hand as you exited the washroom. Frederick tried not to read too much into the gesture, instead focusing on the way your hand seemed to fit perfectly in his. His small moment of happiness was soon interrupted; as you were heading out, the nurse was coming in from a smoke.

“Oh, I hope you’re not going home! Is it because your dress is ruined?” The nurse asked, barely attempting to conceal her glee.

Frederick gained a small sense of satisfaction at the fact that the pompous board member had abandoned her and was chatting up someone else.

“Thank you for your concern, but my dress is fine. Frederick ended up saving the day,” you coolly replied.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Frederick directed to the nurse. While you were fine taking the high road, he certainly was not. “I was glancing through my patient files and noticed that your notes are a mess. I’ll need you to re-write them.”

“But Dr. Chilton-”

“And while you’re at it, you can also upload the files into the new online system. I’ll need it done by Monday morning, 9am sharp.” Frederick stared her down, ready to add more tedious tasks if she complained.

The nurse simply nodded, albeit with a large scowl on her face, before she left to rejoin the party. He was sure she muttered a few choice words about him under her breath as she stomped off.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” you glanced up at him, your hand still intertwined with his.

“She was being malicious. She intentionally spilled that glass of wine on you because she was envious of the attention you were getting. I’m not going to let her get away without repercussions. Besides,” he added, lightening the tone lest you find out his feelings for you and reject him. “Who says I did it for you? Maybe, I was avenging the wine she wasted.”

“Please, we both know it wasn’t for the wine -it was basically burgundy-coloured antifreeze,” you warmly smiled before your expression turned more serious. “You know, it’s amazing how you can notice some things and yet be completely oblivious to others.”

“I’m not oblivious,” Frederick scoffed.

“Oh, no, you are. Example number one: you’re standing under the mistletoe,” you smirked, pointing towards the ceiling.

Frederick glanced upwards, finding the bundle of mistletoe he’d noticed at the start of the evening directly above him. He felt his palms become sweaty and he was grateful that his facial hair would partially hide the redness creeping up his neck and cheeks.

“You don’t have to kiss me,” Frederick quickly remarked. “It’s fake anyway, so it wouldn’t be bad luck. I don’t expect-”

“Example number two,” you interrupted before leaning in and placing a chaste kiss on his lips. Frederick barely registered what had happened before you were speaking again. “I’ve had a crush on you since we met.”

For once in his life, Frederick didn’t make a situation worse by rambling. Instead, he pulled you close and kissed you with all of the desire that built up over the last two months. With your lips on his, Frederick could hardly remember why he hated work parties.

In fact, he was looking forward to the next one.

Tag list: @madpanda75 @obsessionprofessional @madkingcrowley​ @im-like-reallythirsty @burningg-red @nikkijmorgan​ @misssirenlove​  @zoeykaytesmom @mommakat32​​

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Livestream Chat Log: Hello, Dolly!

Chat log from a couple of weeks ago: Valera casually jailbreaks Alastor and Sir Pentious out of Hell to take them to Broadway in the living world.

Alastor

((Somebody Patiently Preparing Tiny Food is the exact sort of bullshit on alastor's secret Kinds Of ASMR That I Watch list))

Valera

[[ good because that's what their pre-game theatre experience. everyone has to sit on val's bed and watch videos

Alastor

well if the pregame show is videos of tiny food cooking then Alastor is gonna just. Sit on Val's bed. and 100% zone out over these tiny food videos

he is Extremely Vulnerable to asmr

Sir Pentious

If they're all on the bed, then they're all getting wrapped up in Pentious. That's the rule.

Valera

Well damn, if she's getting wrapped in Pentious then Pentious is getting wrapped in HER. Not Alastor though, that would be invasive.

Sir Pentious

"ISss IT A HOUSE OF GIANTS OR IS EVERYTHING SMALL? WHAT IS THIS ASMR's STORY?"

Valera

"It's tiny food cooking ASMR. You just watch people make tiny edible things."

Alastor

"He's cooking for a doll house." He's gonna. Like. Pull Sir Pent's tail onto his lap.

ASMR means Alastor is 90% hypnotized but not too hypnotized to claim The Tail

Sir Pentious

The eyes are gonna look at you Alastor. He is looking. Sir Pentious tilts his head to the side, "BUT WHY??? THE DOLLsss CANNOT HAVE IT, AND CERTAINLY, EATING IT WOULD TAKE SSUCH A SHORT TIME."

Alastor

Gonna take him a minute to process the question. "... Pleasure of making it, I think."

Sir Pentious

Penny turns his head like. Upsidedown backwards to look at Alastor. He's long he can do this, "OH, SSSSO, THIS IS MORE OF AN ENDEAVOR OF 'THEY SAID I COULDN'T AND SO I DID IT'???" He rights himself, "IN THAT CASE, I CAN TOTALLY GET BEHIND IT! ONE MORE!!"

Valera

"Alright."

"Just say when you see one you like."

Alastor

Video's over, Alastor's blinking like he just came out of a trance. "More or less, yes!" Blink. "... When did you get here?"

Sir Pentious

" "

Valera

"He.. He wrapped around you."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious blinks at him, "I-- IS THAT A MINIATURE RESTAURANT"

Valera

"Yes."

Alastor

"... So he did!"

Valera

"That is the weirdest pepper shaker. Lets find a better one."

Sir Pentious

"OH, I SSUPPOSE THIS ISN'T REALLY ASMR ANYMORE. THE MUSIC IS NOT OFF PUTTING, AT ANY RATE."

Alastor

Regards this mini KFC video SUSPICIOUSLY. "Oh, fast food."

"The sound design wasn't very good in that one, anyway."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious moves himself so that he's leaning on his elbow and looking at Alastor. Hi.

Valera

"The pancakes will do, this channel doesn't put obnoxious music over their videos."

Alastor

Too late, new video has started with Good Sound, he's once again lost to the world.

Valera

Val can move herself out of the way if need be?

Sir Pentious

NO!!!

Valera

She's gonna wriggle to get out of the way. She is giving them room. It's happening.

Sir Pentious

Pentious looks vaguely alarmed!!!! "WHERE ARE YOU GOING???"

Nothing like Pentious Volume during ASMR videos.

Valera

"Out of the way? You're moving around, I figured you needed some room."

"Ah, another or should we go?"

Alastor

Alastor's ears twitch a little at Pentious Volume but they also twitch at every single little click and scrape sound in the video so that's not saying a lot re: his alertness to his environment

Sir Pentious

Pentious looks at Alastor, then slithers off the bed, "I AM READY WHENEVER YOU ARE, MY DEAR."

Alastor

Oh he's awake again. "Whenever everybody else is ready to go! I suppose with time travel there's no urgency to arrive on time, is there?"

Valera

"There certainly isn't. This was all a con, I tricked you both into sitting around quietly." Well. Relatively quietly.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious stands... well. Poises. He is ready to be off, though he suspects that they were going to be transformed in some way, his hands are placed neatly behind him as he waits, "I HAVE NEVER BEEN TRANSFORMED BEFORE, OUTSIDE OF MY ARRIVAL IN HELL. LET'S SEE WHAT YOU HAVE FOR ME, VALERA."

Alastor

"Oh, are you going to be handling disguises, then?" Alastor had been prepared to handle his own, but he's kind of curious what Valera can do—is it going to end up being how he looked in life or is she just going to make something up?

Valera

"I am! Pentious and I can hardly show up looking like we do, and.. Well. You'd have an easier time blending in, but I think people would stare." A chuckle, and Val hops off the bed to come stand before Pentious. Her hands reach up to grab his shoulders, and.. In a sort of rippling, like the air got hot around them, he suddenly changes into Pentious ala Life, being supported by a fish holding his tiny human frame up.

Sir Pentious

Much alike to the conversation shared by Alastor and Pentious before, it would be easier to describe a Cobra first, and then say what was different. Pale as death, with bags under his eyes and quite the skinny frame--he's no longer towering over Valera, but at a neat and tidy 6'1". Long black hair that hangs down his mid-back, a grey and black pinstripe suit--the eye on his chest now replaced by a pendant. He was still wearing the bowtie he was given by Alastor. His eyes seemed to retain their eerie Hellish hue, but it looked more bloodshot than demonlike--even his hat was disguised! He wants to admire himself, but instead he's met with a /groan/, and finds himself slumping against Valera's much taller body, his legs totally giving out under him. Oh, this was very alarming.

Alastor

He automatically steps forward, reaching out to try to support Sir Pentious but stopping short of touching him. "You all right?" Oh, now that's a full transformation! And based on Sir Pentious's reaction, it seems to be material, not just an illusion pasted on top. (Either that, or it's just very uncomfortable.) Alastor's going to have to learn that trick.

Valera

Valera purrs, running her claws through Pentious' hair in comforting strokes. Second time this week her chest has become a cushion for a black haired human! A further conjuring, and she carefully lowers Penny into a wheelchair, blanket tucked over his lower half. And now, to approach Alastor with magic intent...

Sir Pentious

It is an incredibly strange thing to not have any feeling in one's lower body, but especially so when one used to have a different limb there ENTIRELY. He jerks his body to the left, and then remembers he actually has hips. Oh, NO! This is MUCH WORSE than he'd considered,... Sir Pentious is just going to sit in this wheelchair with a distant look in his eyes, considering the fact he is heavily vulnerable. Around people he likes, around people he likes, around people he likes... He's alright, Alastor, just shaken by the change. He hasn't had a human body, or even a humanoid body, in almost a century and a half.

Alastor

Alastor watches Sir Pentious for a moment, concerned—he seems sort of out of it—but maybe that's just the whole "no longer has a tail" thing. Alastor will let him be for a moment.

He turns to Valera, flicks a hand over one ear like he's brushing down his hair, and jokes "Just a little off the top, barber."

Valera

She snorts. "Do you want a shave with that? No no, let me surprise you. I know just the style." One hand reaches out, hesitantly, and with an abundance of signalling, to take Alastor's digits in her own cool, smooth grasp. Her other hand comes to lay on top. A gentle squeeze, another rippling, and Alastor is replaced by.. Well. Whatever he was in life, allegedly. It's a glamour based off memory.

Alastor

Oh he's being surprised. Eesh. Oh he's being touched now? EESH.

From his perspective, nothing has changed. Looking at his hands—well, same gloves, same sleeves. It takes him a moment to realize the world sounds a little different with his ears now on the side of his head—oh he hates that—and another moment longer to discover with his tongue that he's got molars again. Huh. He summons up his microphone cane. "Well, how do I look?"

It glances him up and down. "Like a geek."

"Thanks."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious is still in his own world--but it isn't until Alastor speaks and he DOESN'T SOUND LIKE A RADIO, does the Inventor turn his head to look--he has to mind his neck, it's no longer able to turn backwards. .... Oh, and he can't help the smile on his face, "WHY LOOK AT YOU! I'D ALMOST RESPECT YOU!" GEE, SUCH AFFECTION! But the tone of his voice is currently in banter... Penny has to steer his wheelchair so that he can face Alastor properly.

Valera

She drops his hand as quickly as possible, stepping back to admire her work. Yeah, that's a geek. Oh! Yes, her turn now. She changes herself in a fancy little twirl, no dramatic ripples needed. Valera? A giant fish? Nonsense, she's an endearing little 5'4" wavy haired platinum blonde with sweet brown eyes. A Very Nice Young Lady by All Accounts, modestly dressed for a showing of a new stage production. The same look she'd use for meeting someone's mother. Now back to fussing over Pentious. "How's the wheelchair? Do I need to make adjustments?"

Alastor

Alastor's a lot more mobile at the moment, he repositions himself so Sir Pentious doesn't have to do as much moving around to face him. "Only almost? Glad we haven't gone TOO far, then." He smirks down at Sir Pentious. "And look at YOU. Why, if I didn't know you, I wouldn't immediately notice you're the embodiment of evil itself."

Well, look at the three of them. Alastor has gone from the shortest to the tallest and that's even with losing—he uses his cane to guesstimate—nearly a foot and a half of height.

Sir Pentious

He can't help but laugh at that--no offense taken. Sir Pentious leans on his gloved palm, chuckling as he pats the blanket covering his legs. ... Legs. Very weird to think about, "YES, WELL, IT IS ALWAYS THE ONES YOU DON'T EXPECT, ISN'T IT?" He's still very loud. That might just be a Him thing. He turns his head to face his beloved, and look at how his pupils widen, just a touch. Oh, he is Looking at her. "Valera???" OH!! MY! GOD! He's taken, indeed. And then immediately he's looking away, clearing his throat, "It is satisfactory, I do not feel uncomfortable, mind you I can barely tell I have anything below my waist, it is entirely new sensations."

Valera

What a reaction! Watch it, Pentious, you've got her blushing. In retaliation, she dips down to plant a kiss on his cheek, giggling in place of her usual purr. "Glad to hear it! Now, I already set the box up for us ahead of time, so unless anyone has objections, I can take us straight there!"

Alastor

"It's always the ones with the most innocent-looking smiles, isn't it?" Speaking of, he probably shouldn't be SMILING, should he? That'll look weird in New York. (It looks weird in Hell too, but like, it's kind of his thing.) He'll have to... consider that.

He steps back to give the two of them their moment until Valera addresses them. "Ready whenever you are!"

Sir Pentious

"YES, THAT SOUNDS ALRIGHT TO ME." He clears his throat again, trying to dab any potential lipstick off of his cheek with a handkerchief. He is so pale that bright red or really any color would be all too noticeable. "LET US BE OFF, THEN."

Valera

Don't worry, Pentious. Valera waited until AFTER planting one on you to put her lipstick on. A moment while she checks her makeup.... Okay. "Alright! Lets be off then. One last thing. Both of you still have your physical strength and powers, just to be on the safe side. New York City can be a nasty place." Alright. Warnings done, now she takes Pentious by the hand, Alastor by the cuff of his sleeve (apologetically), and shunts the lot of them off to their prebooked box.

Alastor

He still has his WHAT? In the MORTAL realm? He's pretty sure the mortal realm cancels those abilities out—or maybe it was just having a mortal body, he hasn't exactly had a chance to experiment. Hopefully he won't need to find out.

Well, he's immediately leaning over their box's railing to see what New York City Of The 1960s looks like. From his current vantage point... New York City looks rather like the inside of a theater. Imagine that.

Sir Pentious

Pentious is never, EVER going to get used to that sudden teleportation. It makes him dizzy--as most things do. Good to know that he'd still have his strength, although most of that was in his tail. Now he's wondering if he has a mysterious ghost appendage. Hmm. His seat in the box is nonexistent, meaning it would be perfect for a wheelchair. How accomodating. Penny moves a little closer to the railing so he can peer down as well, a wide smile on his face. "AFTER THIS PERFORMANCE, I SHOULD LIKE TO SEE THE WORLD OUTSIDE--I'VE NEVER BEEN TO NEW YORK MYSELF."

Valera

She moves further into the box, taking a peek into the theatre. Yes, JUST the right view. It was worth shelling out all the money for this. Though while she's here... Pentious having hair is such a novel concept. She is going to Touch It. "Oh of course my love! This is the Earth you hail from, you know! You should see what's changed since you've last been around!" Ohoho, she thinks she's SO funny.

Alastor

Alastor beams at Sir Pentious. "I haven't been here in, oh... well, based on the current time, probably about forty years, give or take!" God, his voice sounds so WEIRD. "I oughta take you two to all the hottest spots and find out whether they're still hot!" As well as find out whether they were wheelchair accessible. Not a concern he'd had last time he was in town.

Sir Pentious

Look at all of these smilers. He flinches when he can feel his hair touched--it doesn't FLOOMP like a hood anymore, just moves as hair should. Long and shiny, beautiful hair. So well kept, he must have brushed it very often. And he did. For hours, if necessary. Sir Pent leaned back against his seat, finding it tiring to try to use his upperbody for leaning forward alone! "MY EARTH, BUT YOUR HOT SPOTS? NYA HA HA!" He still says that, "IT SHOULD BE A TREAT. I LOOK FORWARD TO IT! PERHAPS I'LL ENJOY A 'JAZZ LOUNGE'?"

Valera

Well, let it not be said that this isn't Pentious, weird laughter and all. Valera takes a seat, adjusting her dress as she readies herself. "By all means, Alastor. Wow us! Show us your old haunts. And yes, a jazz lounge. I want to see Pentious listen to jazz music."

Alastor

Oh he kinda wants to touch Sir Pentious's hair too. He'll just. watch.

He tried to remember when they'd started being called "lounges" instead of "clubs," couldn't, and decided the difference wasn't that important. "Sure—if I can figure out where they're hiding jazz these days!" And if he could figure out where all three of them could sit together without anyone stirring up a brouhaha at the sight. What was segregation in the 60s in NYC like? Probably better than the 20s, but he hadn't kept up with mortal realm politics after death. "Maybe we can pick up a secondhand trumpet somewhere and I can squeeze onto the stage, show you two what I can REALLY do."

Sir Pentious

He's probably not okay with being touched by Alastor just yet, but, give him time to settle down. He's reached for his fiance's hand, lacing fingers with her as he waits for the show to begin, "HA HA HA! YOU WOULD INTERRUPT THE SHOW HERE? OF COURSE YOU WOULD."

"OH, I WAS DEAD. HA!"

Alastor

"I meant at a jazz club! They tend to take that sort of thing more lightly than Broadway."

Valera

"Dead and.. what's the phrase? Raising Hell, my love."

Sir Pentious

"MmmmHmmmm."

Alastor

Sits by Sir Pentious. "But only a couple years dead! It's practically contemporary to you!"

Sir Pentious

"OH IT IS."

Alastor

Oh even the characters walking around are being being musical about it, Alastor's already charmed. :)

Valera

"I bet they'd let Alastor on the stage for this production as an extra."

Sir Pentious

"YOU KNOW, THEY JUST M--" Oh singing!

Valera

"I like her outfit."

Alastor

"And here's our star!" 8)

Valera

"She's pretty! Wish my matchmaker had been so charming."

Sir Pentious

He's trying to speak quietly, but he's still Pentious, "OH! She is really in your style, Valera."

Alastor

"... You met through a matchmaker?"

Sir Pentious

"HM??? OH, NO, NOT VALERA AND I."

"A woman like HER was rare in London. Perhaps in Paris."

Alastor

Well that raises more questions about why Valera was getting matchmade elsewhere.

Valera

"I was briefly engaged to a childhood friend! All Veci of fine breeding see a matchmaker when they reach adulthood."

"I was too busy for marriage though, so I just hired him to work for me instead."

Sir Pentious

Pentious is just idly nodding. This sound about right for himself, too. Well, except that part. HA!

"THIS MUSIC feels very much like your STYLE, Alastor!"

Alastor

"Really! Lucky I'm not Veci then. Although I doubt I would have been considered 'of fine breeding' anyway."

Sir Pentious

Snort.

Alastor

The brightest smile. "You know, it IS my style."

Valera

Snrk

"It's jaunty! But I'm sure your breeding was perfectly fine, my good fellow."

"This guy sucks."

Alastor

Snorts at "impractical seven-foot-tall nincompoop." He's gonna remember that the next time he needs to drag himself.

Valera

PRACTICALLY UNINTENTIONAL... Pffffffffff

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious is GIGGLING!

Alastor

"I wouldn't mind tossing out a great-grandparent or two, but aside from that I think it isn't bad."

Oh good they're having a good time already. Alastor just... llleans a little closer toward Sir Pentious's seat.

Sir Pentious

"IT'S TRUE. NYA HA HA!!"

Valera

"Oh, what a lofty title!"

Alastor

"Those two remind me of your eggs. They've got that air of... golly-gee-whiz about them."

Sir Pentious

The closer one leans to him, the more noticeable it is the little sounds he makes idly. Humming, but spotty. Audible swallowing, the like.

Valera

Nudges Penny with an elbow

Sir Pentious

"YOU KNOW, I WAS JUST THINKING THE SAME THING. HE REMINDS ME OF ME A LITTLE!"

Valera

"I was thinking the same!"

Sir Pentious

He's so glad his eggs aren't here.

Valera

"Though you ask me to do that nonsense and I'm liable to flip you like a pancake."

Alastor

"If I remember correctly, there's a rather sly reprise of this one later."

Valera

"Pentious. Saying it now, you're in charge of the plumbing."

Sir Pentious

"OH, EXCELLENT! And Valera, if I should get a stable, I'll let you know, HEE HEE HEE!"

Alastor

Right now Alastor's identifying with that long-suffering horse in the middle patiently enduring all these men singing about heterosexuality.

Sir Pentious

HE'S LAUGHING, COVERING HIS FACE. Why does this remind him of himself and Valera.

Valera

Snrk snrk.. "Alastor, was there a reason you suggested this show?"

"She's even less subtle than I am!"

Alastor

"Because the two of you like The Mikado! All the matchmaking comedy, dancing around arbitrary social rules to try to hook up a bunch of little pairs—I thought you'd appreciate this plot too."

Sir Pentious

He turns and smiles at Alastor! "Well chosen, I am having a good time, Alastor! You know me too well."

Alastor

He's beaming just about wide enough to split his face in half. "I try."

Is Alastor leaning a little bit closer? He is.

Valera

Hum... A tap at her chin as she squints at the actress. "I may have to steal this look. The lace is impeccable."

Sir Pentious

"You really Ought to, but you'd never catch me in a Bowler."

Alastor

"The costumes here are even better than the production I saw."

Sir Pentious

"IN HER UNDER--WAHA HAHA!!!"

Valera

"A card for every occasion!"

Alastor

Glances thoughtfully at Sir Pentious's hat. "... Can your hat still shapeshift like this? Or is it locked into one shape while we're disguised?"

Sir Pentious

He leans on his hand, smiling at Alastor. And he gestures up at his hat. The eye opens up, looking down at Alastor and shining a light on him, before it returns to being a normal hat!

Alastor

Oho! Alastor winks at the hat.

Sir Pentious

"OH, THAT'S GOING TO CATCH--"

Valera

"My goodness!"

Sir Pentious

"YES, my eggs indeed."

Valera

"Best not to let them near the matches, then."

Alastor

"Do you think they'd blow up your ship for a day off? I've always thought them more... slavishly devoted than that."

Sir Pentious

"THEY WOULDN'T BLOW IT UP FOR A DAY OFF. THEY WOULD JUST BLOW IT UP, BY ACCIDENT."

"I MADE THEIR LIMBS SHORT ON PURPOSE."

Alastor

"I could see THAT."

Tapping a foot to the music. Tap tap tap.

Valera

Hmmmhmhmm~ There go her fingers, wiggling to the jaunty tune.

Sir Pentious

"AHAHA!"

Alastor

It's a good thing they have a box, because they would be the most obnoxious people in the theater.

Valera

"You know, I've never actually ridden a train come to think of it."

Sir Pentious

They would be, and they'd have fun with it.

"How colorful! If this were set in London, it would be raining all the time."

SNORT,

Valera

Valera hums a few bars from Johanna....

Alastor

"I'm sure she's got a little card in her purse saying 'Clouds dispersed and rain dispelled.'"

Sir Pentious

"Look at her SLEEVES!"

Alastor

ALASTOR BITES HIS LIP valera PLEASE

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious DOES NOT CATCH ON.

Valera

"Quite the abundance of ruffles!"

Sir Pentious

Prrrr. Well he would. So instead he just drums his own throat.

Valera

She reaches... To take Pentious' hand again. Give.

Sir Pentious

And take it she does. Lacing fingers.

Alastor

Alastor is suddenly seized with a desire to wear an absurdly large floofy hat.

Valera

"The hat doesn't seem THAT provocative?"

Sir Pentious

He gestures to Alastor and Valera, and whispers, "You know, I am so glad that we do not have to worry about any 'oh but they BARELY know each other' drivel. That was unbearable before."

Alastor

Glances at. "Hm?"

Valera

"Psh, quite agreed my love."

Sir Pentious

"Oh--a picture show we watched. There was someone who kept going on and on about how everyone in the movie barely knew one another. That was the only comment they made!"

Alastor

"Sounds painfully dull."

Sir Pentious

He covers his face with his hand! Snort.

Valera

"And they hadn't even been in a relationship! Or at least nothing recent. Speaking from a truly outside perspective."

Alastor

This is an absurdly embarrassing example of flirting and it's DELIGHTFULLY amusing.

And that's when the afternoon went from good to great.

Sir Pentious

Pentious POINTS!!! "Look at that dress, Valera!"

Valera

"I'm looking!"

Sir Pentious

"Unshelled."

Valera

"Wow, suspicious!"

"The NAUGHTIEST man in New York City."

Sir Pentious

He puts his face against Alastor's shoulder, SNICKERING.

Alastor

:)

Leans against Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious

He squeezes Valera's hand!!! "This AWKWARDNESSsss!!!" He's not even a snake anymore, but he's still dragging his S's."

Valera

"She's quite good at playing both sides of the field."

Alastor

Chokes back a giggle. Oh, the shenanigans are mounting.

Valera

"Oh no! The expensive peanuts!"

Alastor

"The unshelled ones, no less."

Sir Pentious

"HA!!!"

Alastor

"She choreographs them wonderfully, doesn't she?"

Sir Pentious

"I can guess why you wanted this show even more, Alastor."

"Oh! Are they going to fall on the floor with their enthusiasm--There it is!"

Valera

Snrk!!

"Well! They certainly handled it more gracefully than we did."

Sir Pentious

"CERTAINLY."

"Well, /I/ Was fine!"

Valera

"Were you? You wound up on the floor as often as I did!"

Alastor

... Straightens up a bit as he listens to this. Clearly the two of them are having a moment. Shouldn't lean in.

Sir Pentious

"GRACEFULLY!"

Valera

"So you say, my love!"

"Alastor, you really must try dancing with Pentious. His version of the waltz is ingenious, but damnably difficult to pick up."

Sir Pentious

He leans on his hands, grinning.

"YES, OF COURSE. TRY NOT TO TRIP YOURSELF UP, ALASTOR."

Valera

She's going to plant a peck on the corner of Penny's mouth. Then hand him her handkerchief. For the lipstick.

Alastor

"Why, Sir Pentious, I was told just a few days ago that you DON'T dance. I'd thought at the time it couldn't be true, but who was I to question it?"

Sir Pentious

He puts a few fingers to his pendent, looking offended, "What! Did you hear that from me? I simply CANNOT recall."

Alastor

"Not from you, no." Pointed glance past Sir Pentious toward Valera. What misinformation you've been feeding him.

Sir Pentious

He is dabbing his cheek with his handkerchief.

Valera

She grins! "Well

I'd

never danced with him at that point, I didn't know if he could!"

Sir Pentious

He's closing his eyes, listening.

Valera

"Dear Penny wont be doing any somersaults on stage, certainly."

Sir Pentious

A fool among fools, or a fool alone. He's gonna remember that.

Alastor

Mumble mumble "Hm, if I'd known you didn't know I could've said."

Valera

"Hm? What was that, dear fellow?"

Alastor

... Oh mumbling, he forgot that was a thing he used to be able to do. He's got a volume dial again! He can say things under his breath! Wow!

Sir Pentious

Penny looks RIGHT AT ALASTOR, "SSPEAK UP, ALASTOR, DID YOU SAY SOMETHING?"

Alastor

Ah, he's being paid attention to. "I'd thought the dancing was a difference between universes! That's all."

It's Angel Dust.

Valera

"Did your own Pentious dance?"

Alastor

"He did! Still does, I presume."

Sir Pentious

He's Listening, But He's Also Not Saying Much!

Applause! Applause!

Valera

"Marvelous! Marvelous!"

Alastor

"She has a presence, doesn't she?"

Valera

"She certainly does!"

~~~

INTERMISSION

~~~

Alastor

((i choose to believe that during intermission valera pulled out a phone to watch ASMR on and if they weren't in a box somebody would be leaning over staring at her cell phone like "what scifi star trek bullshit is this))

Valera

[[ LMAO yes

[[ it was watch ASMR on her phone or give in to the urge to sit on Pentious and start brushing his hair more

Sir Pentious

(( HE'D BE GOOGLY EYED

(( just smacking her, "GET OFF OF ME WOMAN WE ARE IN A THEATRE!!"

Valera

[[ SHE'S BEING GOOD!!!

[[ BESIDES THEY'RE IN A BOX SIR

[[ time to let the intermission music play out while everyone gets sorted

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious stretches his arms out.

Valera

Val, hastily putting her phone away.

Alastor

Gets comfortable. "Comfortable" means "already leaning toward Sir Pentious's seat like a paperclip drifting toward a magnet."

Sir Pentious

"Yeees."

Valera

"If I went through life kissing all the time I'd have a MUCH higher body count."

Alastor

"Somehow I managed to make it through my life only doing it twice!"

"And it was two times too many."

Valera

"My condolences!"

Alastor

Oh this is one of Alastor's favorite gags in the show, he hopes this production pulls it off well.

Sir Pentious

He looks over at Alastor and snickers, "DO YOU THINK SHARP TEETH MAKE IT WORSE OR BETTER? NYA HA HA."

Not that any had sharp teeth right now, but he was having a laugh.

Alastor

"Better." ZERO HESITATION.

Sir Pentious

He claps his hands. This is a great song.

Alastor

... Oh, this production left the gag out. What a pity.

Valera

Valera leans back in her seat. "She's certainly fond of earth tones."

Alastor

Leans over! "In the production I saw, they finished the song, danced off stage, and then came back on stage at the restaurant exhausted from the long walk and still trying to breathlessly sing about elegance."

Valera

"Ah, I suppose they decided to skip it. A shame!"

Alastor

And he's disappointed enough they left that out that he's GOTTA TELL THEM BOTH ABOUT THE JOKE

"It is!"

Sir Pentious

"That IS a good joke."

"HA!"

"Is that you, Alastor?"

Alastor

Side-eye. "Which one?"

Valera

Snrk

Sir Pentious

Penny doesn't say much at all, he's grinning from ear to ear.

Alastor

Props his chin in his hand. "I'd love to be in on the joke, but I don't know which character you're accusing me of being."

Valera

"That's how people talk about me in all the fine restaurants. Mostly the appetite though."

"Oh, the pig lady."

Sir Pentious

"She said DON'T TOUCH ME or something."

"It was very funny."

SNORT

Valera

"Now THAT'S service."

Alastor

LEANS AGAINST SIR PENTIOUS'S SHOULDER. "Oh, because I'm not very touchy?"

LAUGHS at the duck being shot mid-restaurant.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious bumps his shoulder right back, grinning like the snake you know him to be! "YES, EXACTLY THAT REASON!"

Valera

"I don't know, he seems pretty touchy to me." Vaguely confused squint???

Alastor

Exaggeratedly leans his head on Sir Pentious's shoulder. "Oh, you know me! Hate being touched. Can't stand it."

Sir Pentious

"Oh, me neither." He waves a hand, bouncing his shoulder and the deer's head atop it, "Dreadful! Can you imagine? Being TOUCHED." He's still got a hand laced with Valera's. Little squeeze.

Alastor

Bounce. He's gonna lean harder.

He's loving the waiters' dancing. The choreography looks even more complicated sideways.

Valera

This.. Might just be a bit she isn't getting? Best not to question it. She's just going to withdraw her hands back to fold neatly in her lap and focus on the show.

Sir Pentious

He notices that and. Turns to look at her. ??? What happened? Why did she pull away? He's not focused on the show now, just watching Valera.

Alastor

At this point Alastor is leaned over so far that his elbow is now on the wheelchair armrest instead of his own.

Valera

Val is VERY DELIBERATELY focused on the show, Pentious could do a somersault next to her and she wouldn't notice.

Sir Pentious

....... Aaand he handles this gracefully. Just kidding. He's Sir Pentious. So he shrugs Alastor off and sits back, arms folded as he scowls at the stage.

Alastor

Aw. Okay, got it, he took advantage of the bit a moment too long. He'll slouch in his own seat.

Sir Pentious

"HA, LOOK AT THAT. SHE OWNS EVERYONE THERE! WHAT A PRESENCE."

Alastor

"WHAT?!"

He's ON HIS FEET and LEANING OVER THE RAILING

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious looks wide eyed at Alastor, "WHAT?"

Alastor

He's doing a very bad job of trying to regulate his volume. "Nobody told me Louis was in this show!"

Valera

"Oh. Is that a problem?"

Alastor

"A PROB—?! He's the GREATEST— He's—!"

Alastor flops back into his seat, gleefully grinning, the happiest fanboy in the theater.

Valera

"One of the most influential figures in Jazz? I know."

"Thought you might like that."

Sir Pentious

He doesn't know, so he doesn't say much, but he is still looking sour faced, even if he is feeling Called Out By Mr Vandergelder.

Alastor

"Well you were RIGHT."

She's talking circles around him, what a performance.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious has a HEADACHE!

Valera

"You were right to suggest this show, Alastor. I always forget what a force Dolly is."

Alastor

"Isn't she, though!"

Valera

"She's quite a gal! Just the sort I'd either be or want to be friends with!"

Alastor

"You might like Rosie. This musical has always reminded me of her."

Valera

"Oh?"

Alastor

... It is beginning to dawn on Alastor that things are not all going well at the next seat over.

Sir Pentious

Oh, just an old man feeling insulted for one reason or another, reading too much into things!

Alastor

Alastor would rather he be enjoying himself during a comedy musical.

Valera

Snrk

Sir Pentious

"HA."

Alastor

Ah, good, he's recovering. Alastor doesn't need to intervene. Turns back to the show.

Valera

Grumble grumble. "Thank the gods I don't have to hear someone bitching that they barely know each other..."

Alastor

... This is a sappy song, Alastor's going to lean over the balcony again and see if he can see Louis in the orchestral pit from this angle.

Sir Pentious

This is probably the kind of song where he should hold Valera's hand, but the thought of it makes him feel frustrated at the moment because he's PRETTY SURE he did something to upset her in the first place, but he doesn't know what.

He wants to hold HANDS but it's not like they can TALK ABOUT IT.

Valera

The TINIEST sigh

Alastor

Okay, he's done trying to see Louis, he's getting back in his seat.

Valera

Snrk

Sir Pentious

"SHE IS THE MOST DIRECTLY INDIRECT WOMAN THERE IS!"

Valera

"She certainly is."

A low whistle! "Damn, get it girl."

Sir Pentious

"RIGHT ON THE STREET!"

You have no room to speak, Mr Picnic.

Valera

"Picnic, my dear."

Alastor

Slow side-eye.

Picnic???

Sir Pentious

HE IS IGNORING YOU!!!

Alastor

"... Well, this is very different from the production I saw."

Valera

"I like her outfit."

Sir Pentious

"COULD BUY A LOT BACK THEN."

Alastor

"They all got arrested after the brawl at the restaurant."

"I think I like that version better."

Sir Pentious

"HA! ARRESTED? THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER!"

Valera

"I can't tell if she's a gold digger or just a socialist."

Sir Pentious

"OH, HAHA!" He wants to cross his legs, and bounce his leg, but ALAS. No response.

Alastor

"They had Dolly staying at her seat at the restaurant while the brawl went on, switched out the set for a court room, but left Dolly at her table with her dinner—there was an extended gag where she noisily ate her dinner while everyone in the court stared at her, waiting for her to finish so they could start the next scene."

Sir Pentious

He SNICKERS, "OH, I'D RATHER LIKE TO SEE THAT."

Valera

"We'll have to see a production that takes itself less seriously, at some point."

Oh! Wiggly fingers.

Sir Pentious

He is glancing at her fingers.

Alastor

"Maybe only the production company in Hell thought up the gags this show didn't have. We can certainly find out!"

Valera

"Hah! Yes, I'd love to see Hell's take on this."

Alastor

Subtly watches this hand drama going on to his side. Nice thing about looking human: no glowing eyes to give away where he's looking when it's dark.

Valera

She glances over at Pentious, then down at her own hand, and back, cocking an eyebrow.

Sir Pentious

He is looking at that wedding outfit with big eyes.

Valera

Offers? Hand?

Alastor

Considers elbowing Sir Pentious and telling him to take it. That'll probably just annoy him.

Considers reaching across Sir Pentious and taking it himself. That'll DEFINITELY annoy him.

Sir Pentious

He unfortunately is distracted by the APPLAUSE!

ROARING APPLAUSE!

Alastor

THAT'S FAIR, so is Alastor. He's leaning over the balcony to see when the spotlights highlight the band in the orchestra for their turn at the applause.

Valera

SIGH! But it's hard to be miffed, the show was more than good enough to warrant such an uproar

Yes yes, applause for the fine musicians.

Sir Pentious

He's so used to his hood floomping out when he's startled, it's weird that it doesn't right now. Hair. He is clapping along.

Alastor

"Well that was a delight! What a show!" Flops back in his seat.

Valera

"A truly excellent performance. I greatly enjoyed myself."

Sir Pentious

"IT WAS BETTER THAN I'D ANTICIPATED, GREATLY."

Valera

"Alastor, why don't you get yourself an autograph from Louis? I know he's signing them tonight."

Alastor

"I'm delighted it met with both of your approval!" Smirks at Sir Pentious. "I think that's approval, anyway."

Starts. "Is he??"

Valera

"Yes! I checked before I brought you here."

Alastor

Hand over heart. "Well, aren't you the most thoughtful alien I've ever met!"

Valera

"Depends! How many aliens have you met, my dear fellow?"

Sir Pentious

"YOU BETTER ACT FAST-- IT ALMOST SOUNDS LIKE THEY'RE GOING TO EAT THE FOOLS DOWN THERE WITH ALL THIS EXCITEMENT."

Alastor

"One. So I guess that makes you the most inconsiderate, too!"

"Oh, you're right. Do pardon me! If I don't find you back here, I'll meet you out on the sidewalk." A farewell nod, and he melts into the shadows.

Valera

Oh good, he's gone. Now she can start staring Pentious down.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pent had about the same idea! He turns to face her, squinting with irritation, "DO YOU MIND TELLING ME WHAT

THAT

WAS ALL ABOUT???"

Valera

"I could ask you the same! What had you so grouchy?"

Sir Pentious

"YOU PULLED YOUR HAND AWAY WHILE I WAS HOLDING IT! AND YOU WOULD NOT LOOK AT ME AFTER!" He scowls, "DO I LOOK DISGUSTING TO YOU OR SOMETHING?"

Valera

"I--" She stops. Squints. "Wait. You think you look disgusting?"

Sir Pentious

His eyes widen, and he GLARES, turning his head away, "DO NOT TRY TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT! WE ARE TALKING ABOUT YOU! AND NO, I AM NOT DISGUSTING! BUT CLEARLY, YOU DID NOT WANT TO

TOUCH

ME, SO YOU HAVE SOME SORT OF PROBLEM WITH MY PRESENCE!"

Valera

"I do not want to stop touching you, Pentious. I can't believe that's a thing I have to say to my fiance. I withdrew because I didn't know how to proceed with the.. bit? You and Alastor were having. It wasn't disgust."

Sir Pentious

Penny's arms fold tighter, and his shoulders raise as he continues to frown. His tail would be flicking irritably, had it been present. "THAT IS NO REASON TO PULL AWAY, AND TO IGNORE ME. I AM NOT

STUPID

, VALERA. I SAW YOU REFUSING TO LOOK AT ME."

Valera

"I promised that I wouldn't ignore you, remember? I was focusing on the show. You know. The stage production we came to see. Did you try to get my attention?"

Sir Pentious

He realizes that she's trying to put the onus on him! When he CLEARLY did nothing wrong--Sir Pentious takes in a deep, GRUMPY breath, exhaling just as grumpy! "PUTTING IT ALL ON ME? SO WHAT IF TWO MEN HAVE A BIT OF A JOKE TOGETHER. IT WAS NOT THAT 'DEEP', YOU COULD HAVE SIMPLY ASKED ME WHAT WAS GOING ON!"

Valera

An irritated little huff!!! "Pentious. I am not angry about you and Alastor having a joke. I want you two to get along. Why did you immediately go straight to that as the source of the problem?"

Sir Pentious

"BECAUSE HE WAS UPON MY ARM, AND YOU LET GO OF ME. I DO NOT KNOW HOW YOU THINK! IT SEEMED THE MOST LIKE CAUSE AND EFFECT!"

Valera

"Then ask? Don't just assume and get mad at me over it?"

Sir Pentious

"/YOU/ COULD HAVE ASKED, TOO!" Eye twitch. "BUT NOW WE ARE HERE, HAVING THIS RIDICULOUS ARGUMENT OVER A NONSENSICAL SITUATION THAT DOES NOT MATTER AT ALL, AND I FEEL AS THOUGH I AM ONCE AGAIN THE SOURCE OF ALL OF YOUR AGONY." Oh, that's some insecurity right there. He shifts, grabbing at the blanket to squeeze the fabric between his fingers.

Valera

Ah. Okay. Alright. Well that wont do. She's just going to bend down to put her face RIGHT in his and put one of her hands over his. "Pentious. If I were in agony as you put it, I'd have said something. Minor anxiety over not understanding a joke is hardly grounds for interrupting an otherwise good time. I moved my hand away because I was distressed, I don't know what else you read into it. But I will be clear. You are my fiance, I love you, and I'm still attracted to you no matter what form you take."

Sir Pentious

He is not Looking. Eye contact is not happening at this moment, but he is listening. At least, his face is inclined towards hers. Pentious is at the very least looking down at her hand, placed on one of his. There's that constant drumming to FIGHT inside of his mind, it makes his throat dry and his heart race with fury. But what sort of fight would this be? Uneven, unsatisfying, and not a very happy day at all. So he just nods his head, though his expression is still strained.

Valera

She glances around, making sure Alastor didn't meander his way back while they were distracted, and she leans in, nose bumping affectionately against Pentious' cheek. "Penny. We both could have asked, neither of us did. I offered my hand again at the end when I finally saw you looking, but you were distracted staring at the wedding. Now hold my hand before Alastor gets back and you clamp up tighter than a rusted hinge."

Sir Pentious

Penny's breath catches in his throat, and now his heart is pounding for a different reason. He's so pale and thin that Valera can likely hear, if not feel, his pulse. Red eyes look towards her, and he rigidly takes her hand, squeezing it tight, a deep breath filling his lungs.

Valera

"Good. Now remember. You're my fiance. I love you. I want to be with you." She pauses, nuzzling his face

more

. "This whole show I've wanted to sit in your lap and play with your hair. Terrible, I know. But I've behaved!"

Sir Pentious

OH. He swallows HARD, staring up at her. "I..." Would not be opposed. NO, YOU DEFINITELY WOULD BE, PENTIOUS. STRAIGHTEN UP, MAN. He coughs, clearing his throat and correcting his posture,, "WELL, THANK YOU FOR REMAINING BEHAVED. YOU'D TRAUMATIZE THAT OLD FOOL WITH BEHAVIOR LIKE THAT."

Valera

"Old fool? Dear, you're older than him by a fair bit, unless my ability to gauge human ages is way off base."

Sir Pentious

LET HIM HAVE THIS, VALERA

Valera

Never.

Alastor

Speaking of the old fool, guess who melts out of the shadows right then! "You know, I didn't actually expect you to wait for me!"

Oh, they're holding hands again. good to know whatever THAT was has been resolved.

Sir Pentious

Pentious' head whips around to look at Alastor, and he PULLS HIS HAND AWAY, as if the sight of them holding each other would allow the Radio Demon to see the EXTREMELY IMPURE THOUGHTS running through Pentious' mind. Also he hurt his neck turning that fast, and is now cradling it.

Valera

Val is all prepared to greet Alastor with a friendly hello, but then Pentious acts like Alastor caught them in bed together and she just. Stares at her beau with the most BAFFLED expression. "Wh..??" Ahem. "Welcome back, Alastor. Did you get your autograph?"

Alastor

... Huh. Oh. HE'S the problem.

"I certainly did!" He waves a record of the song Louis sang with an autograph on the record sleeve; and then offers over a SECOND one. "I thought you two might like a souvenir as well."

Sir Pentious

DON'T LOOK AT HIM, HE CANNOT ESCAPE!!! He cannot hide in his hood like before!!! So he just sits there, red faced. It's so very noticeable with how pale he is.

Alastor

"But don't let me"—make things awkward with his very presence, as per the Radio Demon's usual modus operandi?—"interrupt your conversation! I can wait outside the theater."

Valera

Val gives Pentious a little pat on the shoulder, and stands upright. "No, we were done. Penny's just embarrassed because I'm being terrible and improper. It's my fault. Don't worry about it. And thank you for thinking of us, you're so sweet." Pent is out of commission, so she'll take the record.

Sir Pentious

Don't mind him, he's just screaming inside of his head. Valera may also have to wheel him out of there, since all of his thoughts are on trying to think of aNYTHING ELSE. He's biting on the cuff of his leather glove. Everything is fine, he'll be fine. Having some air would be grand!

Alastor

And Sir Pentious isn't even talking to Alastor now. Yep. Should have waited outside. Duly noted.

Nothing he can do about it now, though. He pulls the curtain of their box open. "Then shall we?"

Valera

So! They! Shall!!!

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 8 [18+]

<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->

Summary: PANIC.

Bess’s face is paper-white, her irises like pin-pricks in her eyes. She stands frozen in the doorway, unable to comprehend what she was utterly unprepared to see upon entry.

“B-Bess?” you stammer stupidly, also barely processing the reality of the situation.

The noise was enough to snap her out of her paralysis, and, like a rabbit freed from a snare, she turns and bolts.

She only makes it a few paces from the door, into the yard, when she staggers to a halt, breathing hard, muscles shaking, her hands clenching into fists. She roars like a lion—a savage, feral battle cry summoning courage she doesn’t have—and charges back into the barn. In one swift motion she crouches, still running, and snatches the pitchfork from the floor.

Brandishing the weapon at the enormous monster pinning you to the wall, she screams, “LET GO OF HER, YOU FREAK!”

She was ready for a fight that she knew she might lose. She wasn’t expecting the horrific brute to just stand there, slack-jawed. She wasn’t expecting you to shriek and throw your arms around your attacker, protecting it.

Her eyes drift down to your legs wrapped around his waist. Your bodies intertwined. Undressed.

Her tight-lipped grimace of fear evolves into a different kind of wide-eyed dread. This wasn’t an attack. Her rescue attempt wasn’t wanted. This was… what the fuck was this?! She drops the pitchfork and runs, and this time she doesn’t come back.

You feel your whole world spinning.

Nothing is real.

You can barely see.

It feels like you’re being strained through a narrow tube, squeezed like an apple in a cider press. You are vaguely aware of some pathetic whimpering noises, which you realize are coming from your throat.

The creature pulls out his flaccid cock from between your legs, and a flood of cum shocks you awake.

“Oh my god, oh god, oh fuck!” you repeat on loop as he sets you down, pacing as soon as your feet hit the floor. “Fuck. Oh my god.” She saw you—she saw you doing that! With your skirts around your waist and—you barely have time to be humiliated (though apparently embarrassment and terror can coexist, evidenced by your burning-hot face) because more importantly she saw him!

The look on her face. She was horrified. Horrified by what you were doing. What did she think was happening? Some kind of satanic ritual? Some dark witchcraft with a demon or evil spirit? That’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? That you were being haunted by dark forces—and now they’ll know it’s true! All those suspicions and rumors confirmed tenfold!

Stupid!

You shouldn’t have been so quick to try to defend him from her—if you played along and acted as if he were attacking you, he could have escaped and you could've…

Could have what? Salvaged your own reputation and destroyed his once and for all? No. Your body moved on instinct anyway. Even rationally knowing she posed no real danger to him, you couldn’t let her threaten him without jumping in the way.

“Maybe she will understand,” the creature suggests. This time he is the voice of reason, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder to stop your pacing and muttering aloud. “The girl is your friend.”

You bark a cynical laugh. “Did it look like she understands? Maybe—maybe—if I could explain, but she’s gone. She—” Oh god. Your parents. She must have run straight to the house and told them what she saw!

You risk a peek outside, and glance up the hill. They aren’t storming down from the house at this very moment.

“They hitched the mule to the cart this morning, to bring jugs of milk to town to sell,” the creature explains. In your panic, you’d forgotten. One blessing on this cursed day.

“Bess must have run home, then. At a full sprint, that means we have about five minutes until the whole town is alerted, and about five minutes after that until they break down the barn door with torches and guns.” Finally you’re starting to think again, to plan. “What do we do?”

He clenches his jaw. He had hoped that your promise could come true. That you might be able to introduce him to others, and this time, with your aid, he would not be driven away. Though it was an accident, perhaps being seen by your friend was an opportunity.

But from experience, he knew you were right. That girl was certain to scream ‘monster’ to the entire town, and the hunter who had just sighted him not an hour before would validate her tale, and would be all too happy to learn where the vile creature was living. Any chance of a cordial introduction was ruined. His greatest concern now was your safety—being discovered as his ally placed you in grave danger of being hurt by a mob intent on killing him.

“We must run.”

“But where? There’s nowhere to go! We can’t just show up in a neighboring town—we’ll have the exact same problem, only worse, because I’ll be a stranger to them too.”

“Before our meeting, I wandered for many months in the wilderness, away from the persecution human eyes. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers were my refuge. The caves of ice were a dwelling to me, and the only one which man does not grudge.”

“Are you joking? We can’t just run away into the woods—I’ll starve! You might be fine, but I…” You’re breathing too fast, too shallow. The edges of your vision start closing in again. He takes your shoulders, enveloping them in his warm hands

“Food will be more plentiful now, berries and edible greens more abundant. Mousserons are growing. I will take care of you, I swear it.”

It isn’t terribly convincing, at least not to your panic-addled mind. You imagine yourself huddled and shivering on a floor of damp leaf litter, unable to feel your fingers. Goosebumps rush down your arms just picturing your freezing state. Feverish. What if you get sick?!

He senses the nightmares swirling before your eyes, and knows his words have done nothing to reassure you. There’s one more card he has yet to play which may yet abate your fear, though he is loath to admit it. “I know a place we may find shelter. Perhaps a home.”

“How? Where?”

“Geneva. Victor Frankenstein.”

Your eyes snap to his. “Your father? But, you despised him. He abandoned you. What makes you think he would help us now?”

“When I was first given the spark of life by his hand, I arose an uncoordinated, senseless mass of flesh. Endowed of all my present hideousness yet lacking any sign of intelligence, I must, in my infancy, truly have been a horror to behold. My creator could never have imagined I would ever find myself a companion so lovely.

“Such negligence on his part is why I hated him. To create a being capable of sensitive thought, who desired only to be loved, and was too ugly ever to be loved. Why must he have made me able to feel such longing!—such intense emotion!—yet deny me the possibility of companionship? For the maddening solitude he abandoned me to, I wished to inflict upon him suffering matching my own.

“Yet now, any reason I held for anger against him is dissipated. You make me happy to have been created. If the sorrow of my creation is the price to be paid for finding you, then I would happily pay it again. Therefore, for your sake, I can put aside resentment to beseech his aid.

“Perhaps his horror will have diminished now that I can petition myself to him rationally, and have a beautiful, charming mate to attest to my character. He is a scientist. He cannot be so prejudiced against me, whom he created, that he would not be moved by our tale.

“If he is not, regardless, I will not be so easily abandoned this time. He owes me a debt, as a father. He must help. He will help.”

A flicker of hope ignites inside you. If you have a destination—a benefactor—towards which you can run, then perhaps you won’t die like a lost lamb separated from the flock. You nod in understanding. Frankenstein may not willingly offer hospitality, but he will be convinced to give it one way or another—and if your daemon is willing to confront his past for your sake, then you must at least be willing to try.

“OK. I can pack all the supplies I’ll need to survive for a few weeks… warm clothing, blankets, food, what coin I have… and we’ll figure it out from there!”

Yes. This could work, this could really work!

Your spirits kick into high gear. “Hurry—we must hurry! How much time have we wasted talking? You are in the most danger if you are seen. I’ll pack a bag and meet you at my hiding spot behind the boulders in five minutes. Go!”

He kisses you quickly on the lips, and you both dash away to your respective tasks.

 ********

 Your feet pound up the creaky wooden staircase to your bedroom. Your home is small and rustic, but built large enough by your ancestors (out of wood from the surrounding forest) that you were afforded your own private room. It was a bedroom meant to be shared by many siblings, but you were the only one to survive past childhood. Heat filtered up to it from the cast-iron stove through loose floorboards, though on the coldest nights you slept in the kitchen.

It is dark for midday. Even after you throw open the shutters, you need to light a tallow candle to locate your belongings, and start shoving them into your pack. The sky outside is overcast with gray, foreboding clouds.

You look around for the last time at all of your needle-pointing hanging from the walls, charcoal drawings of birds and flowers sketched longingly on a winter day, and pages and pages of writing hidden under the mattress, bearing far too much of your heart to be found. It was a room full of yearning to leave, but it was yours. And you were leaving.

You squish the mass of fabrics down to make room for hardtack, carrots, cheese, and a jug of water you intend to steal from the kitchen. Less space is freed up than you hoped. You pull out a blanket that would have only gotten soaked and moldy the first time it rained anyway.

Will this really be enough to survive? It will have to be, you tell yourself as you sling the straps over your shoulders. It’s time to go.

The sound of voices and hoof-beats drift in through the walls. A jolt shoots through your chest. They were too close. If you ran out the door now, they would almost certainly see you. Shit. You weren’t an especially fast runner, you’d never lose whoever it was in a fair race. You pray they’ll head straight down to the barn looking for the creature, who should already be safely waiting at your meeting place. Then, once they’ve passed, you can slip out quietly and disappear into the trees.

The door opens.

Your hope is crushed beneath the threshold.

Is this it? Are you going to die? Is a mob going to pull you, screaming, heels dragging, from your home and burn you as a witch? Your breath catches in your throat, and you try to swallow but find that you can’t. All you can think is, I don’t want to die.

By a strange miracle, your terror is short-lived. There are only a handful of voices, not an angry mob, and two of them are your parents. Maybe they hadn’t heard yet. Maybe your best friend didn’t stir up a riot to hunt you down and kill you. Maybe, somehow, it was going to be OK.

They call your name. “Are you here? Come downstairs, we have a matter of urgent importance to discuss. Immediately.”

Maybe not.

You finally swallow the lump in your throat, and, tucking the bag behind your bedroom door, slowly descend the creaky stairs.

Your mother and father both have their arms crossed, and a different, yet equally stern expression upon their faces. Your father looks as though he could skin you alive and but would be too annoyed by the effort. Your mother looks at you disapprovingly, but with an odd smile threatening to show in the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth—as if she had just won a game you had forced her to play.

As you continue down the stairs, a third person comes into view. A young man with sandy blond hair. Ferdinand. Hairs raise on the back of your neck. What the hell is he doing here? The look on his face is almost the same as your mother’s, except his smile is unrestrained, vicious.

“Hello, darling! Wonderful news. We’re getting married!”

[the-hidden-writer]

A Second Chance: Chapter 4

An Ace Attorney fanfic. Read on both AO3 and FF.net!

Summary: Miles learns the identity of his “dead” mother, and the aftermath of that revelation is a tricky one. Especially when his newfound little sister is trying to turn him into a spirit medium.

AKA Miles is a Fey. Miles also doesn’t really know how to family properly.

[Chapter 1] | [Chapter 2] | [Chapter 3]

Comments make my day! :D

The Great Beverage Debate

It had been one hell of a day. Early in the morning, Maya had made a bet with Phoenix to see if he’d get a new case by noon since he was an “unstoppable famous lawyer hero” now. Or something like that. Point is, they didn’t get any new cases, and Maya won the bet. 

At first, Maya had begged to be fed fancy meals for a week. Phoenix had ended up refusing that one (his funds were slowly dying…) and agreed to clean the office’s floor instead.

He didn’t mind too much. It was oddly therapeutic. 

So when Edgeworth appeared at his door, wearing something other than his prosecutor’s suit for once, he’d been immediately taken off guard. Since his face was already flushed from scrubbing so hard, he’d hoped that he wouldn’t notice him blushing. He thinks he got away with that one.

He never saw the reveal coming. Again, he felt like an idiot for not even suspecting it a bit, but he should've taken the news a bit better. Thinking back, he might've sacred Edgeworth off with the way he reacted.

That luckily didn't happen though, and that's how he'd ended up sitting opposite the man at a small table in a café known as "Sugar & Spice". 

Since Edgeworth had offered to get the drinks, and judging by the way he had begun to sip it almost desperately, Phoenix had a suspicion that he'd ordered tea after all.

They'd walked from Wright & Co. Law Offices, barely talking to one another as he led the way. Phoenix had noticed that Edgeworth looked slightly confused when they passed more local coffee shops, which would have saved half the walking time, but he had his reasons for going the extra distance.

"Mia used to come here a lot." He said, snapping Edgeworth out of his window-gazing trance.

"She'd bring me along often enough but I'd see her in here almost every day." He continued wistfully. He missed her.

Edgeworth took another (more gentle) sip of his cup. "It would make sense." He muttered. "She used to work at Grossberg's, correct? It's probably a habit from then."

Ah, trust Edgeworth to always think one step ahead of him.

Now Phoenix was a bit stuck. When he'd offered to get coffee what felt like ages ago, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. To get to know each other better? To spend some time together? Maybe he was just being polite. It was just… seeing him appear out of nowhere like that…

"You look good." He blurted out suddenly. Edgeworth raised an eyebrow. 

"N-No, I mean," he gestured in the prosecutor's general direction, "It's nice to see you wearing something other than a suit for a change. You look great like that."

And he did. His white shirt surprisingly didn't clash against his pale skin, and his pants complimented it perfectly. And he still managed to look so professional. Honestly, he never understood work casual before now.

"Believe it or not, Wright, but I am a human being as well as a lawyer." Edgeworth said in a dry tone that betrayed how tired he actually was.

"Really?" Phoenix replied sarcastically. "I never would've guessed."

Despite his attempt to lighten the mood, Edgeworth didn't smile. In fact, his frown only deepened.

"You know Maya, don't you?"

The only problem with Miles always being ahead of him, is that Phoenix had no idea where their conversations would go.

"Um, yeah? You know her too, though."

Edgeworth shook his head. "No, I mean… you know her well. You're the living person that's closest to her." He paused, and sighed quietly. "What are her interests? Her favourite foods?"

Those were probably rhetorical questions, but Phoenix felt like it would be too awkward if he didn't answer anyway.

"Well she's way too obsessed with Steel Samurai and will eat literally anything that's edible. But she does pester me for burgers most of the time."

He could've sworn Edgeworth smiled, just for a second, but it disappeared so quickly that it was hard to tell.

"See?" He said, as if proving a point that was obvious to only him. "I should know these things! Being a brother comes with responsibilities, and I've neglected those for what, 19 years?" He groaned in frustration. "I wish this had never happened…"

Phoenix looked at him with determined but soft eyes. "You can't neglect something if you didn't know it existed." He stated firmly. "Don't bring yourself down over something you can't control."

The man just sipped his probably-tea.

“When did you find out?” He asked eventually, once Miles was reaching the end of his… British-beverage.

He just frowned, then let out a small sigh. “It was only yesterday evening, but it feels like a year ago. But no, it still hasn’t settled.”

“You told Gumshoe before me?” Phoenix teased, half-joking.

Edgeworth scoffed. “He’s the one who found out first, believe it or not. I’m…” He paused for a moment, not meeting his rival in the eyes. “I’m rather glad that it was him first.”

“Yeah, he’s good at that sort of thing. Breaking news, I mean.”

“If not for anything else.”

For the first time since leaving the office, both men laughed. Phoenix felt a stab of guilt for making fun of Gumshoe, but if Miles was even slightly happy then he was happy. He was still playing host after all, even if he wasn’t the one paying for the drinks.

"I'm sorry, I'm not the best person to talk to about sibling stuff." He admitted. “I think he has a sister? Gumshoe. You could always talk to him.”

There, he felt a bit better now. He could sleep peacefully.

“N-No, that’s alright.” Miles answered, though still sounding quite unsure. “He’s done enough already.”

“Hey, speaking of Gumshoe…” Phoenix had been meaning to bring this up since the moment it was mentioned, but knew that Edgeworth would be too prickly to answer. Hopefully the definitely-not-coffee had softened him up.

Miles waited for him to continue, but Phoenix noticed that he looked nervous. And he knew when Edgeworth was nervous, from all the time they spent as kids- not to mention in court.

“...he said something about a letter.” He finished, before hastily adding: “It sounded important.” when Miles almost broke his cup in surprise.

“I-It was nothing!” Miles spluttered.

“Yeah, sure.” Phoenix said. “And I guess this is the part where you forget that I have a magic stone that tells me when you’re hiding something?”

Sure enough, ever since Gumshoe’s… dramatic arrival back at the office, a large red psyche-lock had encased itself around Edgeworth. It wasn’t the first (when he’d used his magatama on others, he’d always notice the large number of locks surrounding his friend but never knew how to bring it up), however it was the first time he’d watch one form right before his eyes. Which meant it was purposely being hidden from him specifically, and not one of the many things that Edgeworth bottled inside of him.

He almost felt horrible after he saw the horror flash across Edgeworth’s face in that moment, and his posture suddenly became defensive. 

...Again, he knew too well what that looked like.

“Damned spiritual nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, and you know it.” Phoenix countered before draining the remains of his actual-coffee.

“I mean, you literally used it the other week, didn’t you?”

Edgeworth said nothing, which he took as a confirmation.

“It’s weird, right? Sometimes I wonder if Mia ever used it. I mean, she wore one around her neck, and mine had to be charged for me to be able to use it because I’m not a Fey or anything-”

“Hold on,” Miles interrupted, suddenly alert. “For you to be able to use it?”

Now Phoenix was confused. “Yeah? I think? Pearl taught me how to use it, but even then it kinda took some practise.” He smiled fondly at the memory. “Even now I still have to remind Maya that not everyone was born with spiritual powers, y’know?”

Edgeworth waited.

“Oh, you mean-”

“Just another reason I should have realised the obvious sooner.” Miles said, his tone dripping with exhaustion. “I was shocked when they appeared out of nowhere.” He scoffed. “Thought I was finally going mad.”

The excuse that Edgeworth had been working late came to Phoenix’s mind, and he felt a pang of guilt. The guy had gone through a lot, and had probably not slept, and now he was interrogating him. 

“I’m sorry for asking.” He sighed, trying his best to sound genuine. Because he was.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Said Miles, before putting down his cup and sitting up straight. 

“The letter was in the box that Detective Gumshoe found, along with those photographs. It was addressed to me, and-”

“To you?”

“Don’t interrupt, Wright. Judging by the tone of the letter and some of the specifics mentioned, it seems like it was written by Misty Fey quite soon after DL-6. It was a vaguely detailed account of her expressing her sympathies and telling me the truth about who she was, though by the way it was stored it appears she had no intention of ever sending it.”

That wasn’t what Phoenix had been expecting. Alright, so he didn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but it was not this.

“So…” He said, trying to stop his new grin from spreading, “...no forbidden love letters from your parents? Romeo And Juliet style?”

He regretted that comparison as soon as it came out of his mouth, since he had no doubt that Edgeworth would have read Shakespeare at some point. But fortunately any deeper meaning flew over his head for now, since his frown had gone. Miles still wasn’t smiling, but it was a start.

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you Wright?”

“When’s the last time you called me Phoenix?”

“I’m going to go home.” He said, avoiding the question completely. Or maybe just choosing to ignore it. Probably both.

“Oh, okay. Get some rest.” Was Phoenix’s slightly dejected reply.

“Thanks for the coffee-” 

“Thank you for the co-”

They’d both spoken at the same time. Phoenix felt the heat rushing up the back of his neck as Edgeworth’s eyes widened and he stood up from his chair and turned to leave, obviously quite embarrassed too. 

“HOLD IT!”

...and he turned again to face Phoenix, who had found a sudden determination.

He was going to expose this faker once and for all.

“You think you can fool me that easily, Miles?”

Miles looked dazed.

“Well, I know the truth. You just said ‘Thank you for the coffee’ which is polite, and I appreciate it, but you got the coffee for both of us. You’re a tea person! You’re freakin’ British! The way you sipped at it with the same look on your face, the way you carefully kept your hand on the cup until it was finished so I couldn’t see properly, the way you tried to disguise it with the amount of milk added… you ordered tea. It’s the only explanation. So TAKE THAT!”

Edgeworth was stunned, his face blank as he presumably processed the demise of his deception. 

And then he smiled. Then the smile cracked open, and Edgeworth laughed.

It had been so long since Phoenix had heard him genuinely laugh. Sure, he’d had his fair share of smug/maniacal laughs in court, but this was a soft, dorky-yet-still-classy, laugh. One so rare that Phoenix wished he could record the sound.

And it was perfect.

Once the laughter died down, Miles exhaled. “Guilty. You should really think about becoming a prosecutor, Phoenix.” He said, still smiling, as he turned on his heel and walked away.

Phoenix felt warm inside as he leaned back in his chair and watched him go. He was so happy with his win, that he completely missed exactly what Edgeworth had said to him.

...It was only when he stood up to leave himself did he notice the remains sitting inconspicuously inside of Edgeworth’s cup.

A thick, dark sludge of coffee grounds.

“Motherf-”

[bountybossier]

Burnt Brownies | Bea & Nic

Nothing really bonds two people quite like baking brownies.

With: @beatrice-blaze

Nicodemus wasn’t social media savvy and preferred the old-fashioned tree-killing method of publicizing his services. All throughout the main streets of White Crest, he had stapled sheets of paper with tear-away phone numbers. Every call went to one of his three burner phones. Given the state of the town with its current problems, he hadn’t expected a call for any house maintenance. At all. Not within the first week or so of being there at least. When the phone erupted in the silence of his hotel room, he stared at it. At the fourth ring, he finally answered. After the encounters with lobsters he had subjected himself to, a little wrench work didn’t sound terrible and he told the client he would be there as soon as he could manage it. Within the hour, he stood outside the door of a Beatrice Vural, toolkit paired with a neutral expression. He knocked twice and waited.

There were a lot of things Bea was good at. Fixing up her house was not one of them. See she understood that things broke, but when she had been living at home all she had to do was tell her dad and then it was fixed the next day. Then when she moved into her house she was simply lost when it came to those things. Usually, she called her dad still when things weren’t working, but he was too busy to come over and she was going crazy from the constant sound of the leaky sink. She was still tidying the house when she heard the knocks and she hoped that nothing too strange was left out. If anything was she hoped the handyman would just write it off as White Crest weirdness. She bounded to the door and swung it open with a smile. “Hi! Are you here for the sink?”

His face slid easily into a ‘customer service’ smile. Polite enough but detached from anything beyond business. Nic offered a nod as he hefted the toolkit over his shoulder effortlessly. He preferred bullets and crucifixes, but he could manage with wrenches and screws for the time being. “Yes ma’am, I’m Nic,” he said. He didn’t have to fake the tired in his voice. At least the work would be mind-numbing enough for him to fade into it. Briefly, his gaze flicked from her to the inside of her house. Eccentric. He was starting to realize that eccentric would be a good way to sum up White Crest as a whole. Eccentric and headache-inducing. A hunter’s sense served as both a gift and a curse. A reminder that life balanced itself out in the end. “Is it alright if I come in? ‘Spose I have to check on the sink as it is. What’s been going on with it again?”

“Great! Come on in!” Bea exclaimed as she moved out of his way and motioned him in. She wasn’t used to having people over to help her with things like this unless it was Shiloh or her dad. It was a bit weird, but she decided to just roll with it. “Do you need anything to drink?” She offered, figuring it was the polite thing to do. She led him to her kitchen sink, glaring at it before shifting her gaze to him, though her look was much more pleasant when she looked back at him. “It just keeps leaking. I thought it was just the facet, but it’s underneath too and honestly, the sound is driving me nuts.”

The hunter nearly flinched at her enthusiasm. Instead, Nic offered a curt nod and carried on into the house. At her question, he considered whether it was too early or unprofessional to ask for something heavier than water. He went for it. “Whiskey’s fine,” he said, then to be safe he followed it up. “Or water. I’m easy.” His hunter sense prickled at the back of his neck, but the same as anything else, nothing was certain. His shoulders tensed as he turned the sink on and listened. Yeah, something was definitely wrong with. Something lower. The sink was turned off just as quickly and he knelt down, cracking open the cupboards. Immediately, his eyes became intimate with mold and narrowed. Clicking on a flashlight, he looked at the pipes that ran up and back. Loose pipes with dangling washers. They could have just slid, but it almost looked...deliberate. He glanced at the neat stack of o-rings in the shadowy corner. “Hmm. Got any friends that might like the occasional prank or two?”

That wasn’t the response that Bea expected but she kept her features cool in her pleasant host face. She didn’t want to make the situation weird, though it was odd for him to ask for whiskey. He was there to work on her sink, but she didn’t think his work would suffer too much from a single glass of whiskey. “Okay, great,” She replied before pulling out one of her glasses and then going to her liquor cabinet and pouring him some whiskey. It wasn’t like she drank it that often. She padded over to him, holding the glass of whiskey out for him. “My little sister might, but not usually when it would affect her too. Why? Was someone messing with the sink?”

The whiskey had been a bad joke, but who would Nicodemus be to turn it down? It was easy to smother a laugh as he downed the whiskey in a straight shot. “Oh, uh, thank you kindly.” He grumbled as he returned to looking at the sink with annoyance. Something was there, lingering by the sink pipes, but he couldn’t tell what it was. He could feel it though and he tapped at his bent knee. “Huh, might not be her then,” he said with a wise nod. Not gonna say you’ve got a sink saboteur. Only small child-sized hands could really pull off the shit he was looking at. And he felt their eyes on him, watching him. In a house, pulling off tricks, being a goddamn nuisance...He muttered under his breath. “Goddamn brownies.” He looked back up to the owner of the house. “Alright, this might be a weird request, but...” He sucked in a breath before he spoke again. “Do you have a fuck ton of salt?”

Bea felt like she suddenly understood why he was so cheap compared to other handymen around the neighborhood. She didn’t think the other ones would have asked for the whiskey, much less just downed it in a straight shot. Though, who was she to judge. She busied herself tidying up the kitchen a bit more as he worked, not wanting to seem like she was hovering, which she was, but she didn’t want it to be blatant. Her eyes snapped towards him as he made his request and her face automatically soured. Great, something was in her fucking house again. She quickly pulled a rather large container labeled “NOT KITCHEN SALT” down from a shelf. “So what’s down there?” She asked, her tone much less enthusiastic now.

The hunter wiggled his nose slightly before pinching the bridge of it. How was Nicodemus supposed to explain this to someone who may or may have not known what a brownie was outside of the edible variety? After this, he could go for a fucking edible brownie. He huffed in a sigh and cleared his throat, rubbed at the back of his head. “So you might have a problem,” he started, slow and trying to find the right words to aptly describe it as he went along. “With rodents. Looks like they’re unscrewing the washers and taking the o-rings off. That’s why the sink is doing that.” On purpose and with expert precision. Rats with the hands of people wasn’t a bad description of brownies. He stood up and placed his hands on his hips. The kitchen didn’t have too many entrances and the windowsill could have salt put on it. Fuck, she was going to think he was weird. “I might need to use the--” he paused and glanced at the jar. “Not Kitchen Salt for, uh, extermination means.” He quickly glanced at her and rubbed at his stubbly jaw. “For the rats.”

A smile quirked at the corner of Bea’s mouth. It was nice of him to lie to her about what was actually going on, but she didn’t believe for a second that rats needed that much salt. She debating letting him continue on, but he’d figure out she knew about the supernatural sooner or later into this endeavour. “What is actually down there?” She asked, her voice slightly amused. “I know it’s not rats unscrewing my washers.” Usually, she would have done what she could pretend to be blind to the supernatural world, but this was a situation called for honesty. “Rats don’t usually need salt.”

Nicodemus tipped his head back and released a massive breath. Alright, it felt good to have passed that. He was a shit liar to begin with when it came to critters being where they shouldn’t be. He lightly clapped his hands together. How she knew or what she knew about the things that lived behind the curtain, he didn’t know and didn’t think it was imperative to ask at that very moment. “Thank fuck. Alright, so you’ve got brownies. Ever dealt with them?” He gestured to the salt vaguely. “They’re real picky with houses and like to be real goddamn annoying. Hence the sink shit.” He walked over to one of the openings to the kitchen and measured it with his eyes. “And they can’t beat cheeks over salt lines.” He bit at his bottom lip and grunted. “...I’ll help clean, because it’s gonna get pretty bad in here to get rid of ‘em.”

“Brownies,” Bea exclaimed, with a half laugh. The universe just loved to play massive games with her. Maybe this was her karma for spilling all her sister’s secrets to Alain. “I’ve never had them before, but I’ve heard they’re annoying little things. My aunt had brownies once in her home and the place smelt bad for a week after she tried to get rid of them.” She let out a groan under her breath, “I just cleaned the kitchen.” She took a handful of salt, beginning the ring around the kitchen. “So how do you know about brownies?” She asked, curious.

“Yup, brownies,” Nicodemus echoed with an exasperated look. Naming the shits wasn’t what he was in charge of. Just dealing with them. “They’re awful and they smell once they--Yup, that’s the one,” he held up a finger and shook it; a gesture of agreement. Alright, so she knew about the brownies. A good start. “So they’re about to unleash some hell on your house and it ain’t gonna be pretty, but we can get rid of them for good and at least keep them in the damn kitchen.” He was starting to wonder what had befallen him that he was fighting the most child-sized of creatures just days apart from each other. “Put some salt along the entrances and the window, they can’t really go anywhere.” He drew himself out of hunter mode and peered over at her. “Oh. Right. I deal with pest extermination.” A fine enough explanation. “You? Was it just your aunt?”

“Awful name.” Bea remarked,”Brownies are a good dessert. They don’t deserve to be lumped with these things.” She was going to have fun telling Nellie about the brownies that were found under the kitchen sink. With their family’s fondness of brownies as a food, it was hilarious (and very irritating) that the creatures kept finding them too. “My house has been through so much already,” She said exasperated, to herself. After the whole debacle with Greg, she thought the place would be peaceful for a minute. She put the salt down carefully, trying to make sure there was no way one of the little things couldn’t sneak its way out. She hummed noncommittally. “I know a lot of things.”

“You can say that shit again,” Nicodemus huffed. Any sense of professionalism slipped out the door the minute he muttered goddamn brownies. “Feels like a bad joke, but ain’t that just the way.” He didn’t think he had any iron on him, but when he found some small cast iron washers in his box, he smiled to himself. “That right? I respect that. I know a lot of things too. Comes in handy sometimes.” Not quite brass knuckles and he didn’t expect to get into a slug fest with brownies...But he wouldn’t complain if he did. After watching her place the salt, he nodded and looked at the underbelly of the sink again. With the two of them staring at it, he hoped the brownies were getting worried. He glanced over at Beatrice with a raised brow. “You got a lighter?”

Bea let out an amused puff of air, not quite at the point of actual laughter when there were brownies just mere feet away from them. “Who names them? Half the time they have such funny names I can’t tell if they’re serious or not.” When she grew up learning about the names of different creatures, she had always had thoughts on the naming processes. “Comes in handy a lot in this town,” She muttered under her breath, wondering if she would have brownies if she was just hanging out in Portland. She looked at him for a moment,“Why would I need a lighter?” Of course, fire was always just a snap away for Bea so she had never needed to carry a lighter. She felt bad for people who had to, it seemed like so much work.

“I don’t know, but I’ll see ‘em in court,” Nicodemus muttered as he crouched down and looked into the dark under the sink. “Town’s pretty fucky in its own right, isn’t it?” Somewhere, the brownies were in there and they were watching them. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and ran down his spine. He likened it to a killing intent and if he intended anything, it was to kill the damn things. At her question, he hummed low in his throat thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t think they’ll take kindly to fire if I put it in their face,” he said. He reckoned that the brownies wouldn’t be thrilled with a mini flamethrower burning the hair off their heads. “Gonna try and smoke ‘em out unless you got something else I can use.”

“Let me know when you have your court date, I’ll join in on that.” As Bea watched him, she leaned against the counter. There was no need to crowd his space as he looked for the brownies under the sink. Quite frankly, she wasn’t all that tempted to see them herself, they were ugly little things. She hummed, debating whether or not it was worth blowing her secret. Finally, she came to the conclusion that if it got her house peaceful again, it was worth the risk. Snapping her fingers, a little burst of fire danced over her thumb. “I don’t need a lighter.”

All the brownies needed was a good scare and then Nicodemus would be able to sniff them out. The curse of enhanced senses, truly. He contemplated the mechanics of jerry-rigging a small flamethrower together and sticking it under the sink, but that wouldn’t do. Then he’d have more to do than just fix the sink. The snap and smell of flame drew his attention fast, his head snapping up. Well, that was something he could circle as a possibility for why his head was throbbing. “Well fuck,” he said plainly. Tools jostled as he pulled out a cast-iron knife from the bottom. He figured they were at a point where pulling a knife out wouldn’t be weird. “Yep, you sure as shit don’t. Y’mind waving that under there? I’m sure they probably know what’s coming.”

Bea let out a little laugh when his head snapped around. There was always pleasure in surprising someone with her magic. She knew that it wasn’t the nicest thing to find amusing, but it was just always so funny seeing how different people reacted to her. She squatted down next to Nic, glancing under the sink. It was no shock that she couldn’t see anything lurking. She stuck her hand, still with the flame at her fingers under the sink. Once again, she had to admit she was thankful that her mom forced her to put fire wards around the house. “I’m hoping that knife is for the brownies and not me,” She teased with another laugh.

"We'll see where we're at after the brown--Fuckin' Christ, there it is." The smell hit Nicodemus so damn hard he nearly vomited right there. To hell with his fucking senses, sometimes he felt he'd do better off without them. Her flame-kissed fingers terrified the brownies something fierce because the smell of death and all things awful hit. And then the scurrying started. Small hands and bodies slammed and slapped at them as they took off running. The press of something against his hand had Nic jabbing with the iron knife, a hiss and a sad snarl coming from an invisible as its face suddenly became clear, the blade wedged in deep enough to go through. The hunter frowned. As smart as they were, fear made them stupid. And they ran straight into the salt lines, tiny feet and hands scrabbling at the floor. "Huh. There's the stinky bastards."

There was nothing Bea could do to prepare herself for the smell that the brownies hit her with. “Oh my god!” She yelled as she covered her nose with her other hand. She had heard from her aunt about how disgusting the smell was, but she hadn’t imagined it would smell like this. This was goddamn awful. She hadn’t remembered that they could go invisible until the moment that she was caught stare at the space around her wondering where the heck all of them went. It took her a moment, but eventually she heard where they had gone. She aimed a tiny fireball at the noises, grazing one of the brownies’s side. “I hate that they can just disappear!”

It should have been a strange experience to shiv brownies, and yet, it wasn’t. Life was just a series of weird shit. The smell was bad for her too and Nicodemus was already dreading the clean-up that would follow. They were like skunks in that way. Singed skin alerted him to the presence of some of the invisible shits and he managed to stick one with the iron knife. He damn near prayed that no one walked by. Knife in hand and fireballs flying, they looked fucking nuts. But it was all for a good reason. “They’re the goddamn chihuahuas of the supernatural world,” he grumbled angrily. He grabbed two in one hand and ran them through clean, dropping their bodies. The smell damn near made him retch. The whiskey was a mistake and it started to rear up in him. He pointed at the longest line of salt. “The little feet, the little feet,” he repeated. “Fuckin’ bunched up.”

“They’re worse!” Bea groaned. “At least chihuahuas don’t smell this bad!” She could already imagine how long it was going to take to burn this smell out of her memory. She just hoped that her sisters would be out tonight while everything aired out. She didn’t want to hear them complain about how awful it was. She whipped around to stare at the section he pointed out. Taking a moment to try to aim, another fireball hit its mark. The smell of burnt flesh came through and a brownie suddenly flickered into view as it was too injured to keep up the invisibility.

Well, Nicodemus couldn’t argue that. As more brownies popped into view from her fireball, he cut them down until he couldn’t hear anymore light scampers of feet. He held his stomach as long as he could and tried to swallow down the smell, but their blood didn’t smell any better and shit was crispy. It was fine. It was fine. He smelled worse. He repeated that mantra as he held his nose in the crook of his elbow and breathed in the smell of his laundry detergent. “Think that’s it,” he said as he lowered his arm with a long exhale. “At least it better fuckin’ be.” The carnage of killing brownies looked entirely comical in a way it shouldn’t have and he laughed. Loud. “Well, it’d be pretty shit to charge you after all this…”