#i wanna put ten thousand pockets on the coat. and i can just keep wearing it 😳

[starshine-selfships]

Speedrunning cosplay and of course including seb and when I'm done I'm gonna have, , fish coat and fish scarf, ,, bbbbboyfruend cloth es

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Yoo! I’m back in with an 11 Chapter (subject to change) story. This was made for the TWB Fic Flip, unfortunately I wasn’t able to finish the whole thing by the deadline, but chap 1 is out.

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

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

Techno Blade strode into the old gas station on the corner opposite the local mall. He winced at the harsh fluorescent lighting that welcomed him in from the crisp evening air.

He lowered his hood and ran his fingers through his short pink hair. His roots were coming in, he’d need to grab some dye as well tonight. Taking off his backpack, he began placing items in--trying to fit as much as possible: beef jerky, canned peaches, chocolate bars, a couple energy drinks a pack of Tic Tacs, and some box dye from the ends of the isle.

Techno glanced at the cashier. He liked when Tango was on shift; that guy didn’t give a shit about anything and cared more about Clash of Clans than whatever thievery Techno was doing whenever he came by.

“You plan on paying for that stuff?” Tango shouted across the room, still immersed in his game. “You know I don’t get commission if you steal it?”

“Of course!” Techno called back. He snorted to himself, it said a lot about his life that he and the cashier could joke about him stealing from the store. Techno grabbed another bag of beef jerky, slipping it into his steadily filling backpack. He heard the ding of Tango opening the till and the sound of coins splattering on the counter. “For Tommy,” he muttered, reminding himself why he was risking a criminal record.

There was an emergency exit he knew he could use down by the bathrooms. Techno studied the monitor that was supposed to display feeds from the four security cameras, but those were still busted from when those college seniors ransacked the place the week prior. Four different static patterns danced back at him. At least that would make his escape easier, not that Tango couldn’t point him out in a line up.

He grabbed a pack of gummy worms and put them at the top of his bag. “For Tommy to share with his friends.” He smiled to himself. Gosh he was going soft for the kid.

“Get down!” The front door was kicked open with so much force that the previously fractured glass shattered upon impact with the wall. “Hands where I can see them!” a male voice yelled.

Techno didn’t do that, his confrontation response telling him to stay put and out of it rather than submitting. Instead he crouched down and leaned his back against the aisle shelves, peaking out towards the counter. There were two guys pointing guns at Tango; one was ginger, black jacket, medium height, orange bandana peaking over his collar; the other was taller, but he was also less confident in his stance, blond, and he was wearing a purple sweatshirt--one that Techno was certain he had seen a thousand times before.

“Guys guys,” Tango said, trying to placate them. “I’m in the middle of something. Can this wait?”

“No. No it can’t,” he voice said again, clearly put off by Tango’s causal demeanor.

“Really? Cause I gotta get back to my Clan War…” he trailed off.

“Aren’t there more important things than a Clan War right now?” a new voice asked.

A voice that Techno recognized. If he thought the hoodie gave it away then the voice was the nail in the coffin. He let out an involuntary “Why?” before he could stop himself.

All three heads turn to him. “Like I said, in the middle of something; there’s a customer here.” Tango spoke slowly, as if the situation was finally dawning on him.

The ginger turned his gun towards the store. “Show yourself!” he demanded.

“Isn’t this place a little low profile for Las Nevadas?” Techno tried to joke. Eyes darting towards the door, Techno put his hands up. “I’m just shopping.”

“Not you’re not.” Fundy Soot smiled menacingly. “We’re doing a robbery, if you couldn’t tell. Take what you need and scram. Don’t call the cops either.”

“Got it.” Once Fundy turned his attention back to Tango, Techno grabbed a pack of M&Ms and shoved them in his backpack as well. He leaned down to zip it up, before tossing it over his shoulder and snagging a tube of toothpaste on his way out. Sue him, he needed a refill.

Techno carefully stepped over the shattered glass, and made his way out of the building. He regretted leaving Tango to deal with the gang, but sometimes he needed to put himself first. Always. Always put himself first. Techno vaguely wonders if he’s ever actually bought anything from this gas station.

“It’s immoral to steal,” yet another voice from the left side of the door called.

Techno whipped around and took in the man next to him. Techno first took notice of the red fabric folded neatly into a handkerchief pocket: a bandana. “You with those guys?” he asked, taking a step back.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.”

“Then why aren’t you calling this in?”

“Why aren’t you?” the man countered.

Techno gave him a sarcastic look, the sides of his mouth twitching in displeasure. “Because the guy with the gun told me to run, so excuse me.” He pivoted to make his escape.

“Say I said I was with those guys,” he said before Techno could make his escape. “What would you do?”

“I would assume you are Wilbur Soot. Brown trench coats and fluffy hair are the signature look of that guy. Looks like you’re watching over your brother and the new kid.” He shifted uneasily on his feet, ready to bolt. “Las Nevadas, saw the marker, figured it was polite to ask.”

Wilbur nodded, a gleeful smile taking over his face. He held out his hand. “Gimme the bag.”

“I need this.”

“Give it here.”

“Please,” Techno said, taking another step closer to his car. “Why do you need to take my stuff? You have two guys in there with guns.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

Wilbur opened his palm, getting impatient. “I just want the M&Ms, kid.”

Techno glared at him, but he nonetheless opened his bag and handed them to the man. At least he could keep everything else in the bag.

“Thanks.” Wilbur ripped open the packaging and tipped his head back, sliding half of the bag into his mouth.

Techno took a tentative step back and waited a second for Wilbur to wave him off. “Hope Tango’s okay,” he muttered to himself on the brisk, stiff walk back to his car.

He threw the bag into the passenger seat and rested his head against the steering wheel--trying to slow down his beating heart--for thirty seconds before remembering that there was a robbery taking place ten meters from him, and he did not want to deal with the police.

Techno snorted to himself, and turned on the engine. As if he hadn’t gone in there with the express purpose of stealing.

He sighed deeply as he took stock of himself. He didn’t get shot--which was great. He also had a lot more food to add to his stash. His and Tommy’s stash.

Techno groaned out loud. Tommy. The person in the purple sweatshirt was definitely the kid’s friend Purpled and now he was going around robbing gas stations with Las Nevadas. “Why? It could have been anything else, but no: he just had to go and join a gang.” Techno slammed on the gas pedal more than was necessary. Techno parked his car a couple streets away from his foster home. He waited for a few minutes to collect himself. “Eleven thirty,” he read off the car’s dashboard. “Gonna have to use the window.”

He arrived at the house. Through the ground floor window he could see that the lights were on at the back of the house. The house he was in is quite old, and he’d managed to snag a room in the attic with a bay window jutting out the side of the roof. He’d had it for as long as he could remember, in fact the Foster Bitch’s was the only house he’d ever had the displeasure of living in.

Unfortunately, Techno was in the circumstance of having had to do this a hundred times. He hopped up one of the columns holding the overhang above the porch, feet slotting into familiar grooves. Swinging himself up on the shingles and quickly making his way to the concave corner of the building, he used his momentum to push himself up the next two stories. Finding the familiar scruff marks on the window frame, he hoisted himself up to the top of the roof.

Techno looked out at the street below, it was a nice few all things considered. He went to open the window.

Locked.

Right. It had been storming the night before and he forgot to open it in his rush to get to school that morning.

Techno looked up at the sky. It was nice out, and he wasn’t one to be bothered about sleeping in day clothes--better than facing the wrath of the Foster Bitch for entering the house at such a late hour. He’d have to sleep on the side facing the backyard, he remembered what happened last time he slept on the roof.

Techno knocked on the window. Yes, Tommy should be asleep right now, but it didn’t hurt to check. After a minute he knocked once more.

Techno smiled at Tommy through the glass when the kid finally dragged himself out of bed to let his roommate in. The blond stuck out his tongue and opened the window. “Evening Blade,” he whispered. “What brings you back so late?”

“Sleep,” Techno said, slipping into the room. He snorted at the sleepy, unamused look Tommy gave him. “Stuff. Did you eat?”

“No. The other kids got to it first.” Tommy closed the window behind them, leaving the latch unlocked. “Like always.”

Techno hummed and unzipped his bag. He dumped the contents out and started organizing them.

“How did you get that?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Techno dug through the pile and pulled out a pack of beef jerky. He tossed it in the general direction of Tommy’s head. “Leave a slice for me.”

Tommy caught the bag and quickly tore it open. He watched Techno disperse the food around their shared room, taking note where each item would be. “Techno?” he called in a small voice.

“I know, Tommy. I’m careful.”

Tommy’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Techno if you’re caught they’re going to send you away!” he said, still a little distressed. “Then how am I going to survive here?”

“I won’t get caught.” Techno reassured him. “And if I do, I’m not getting sent away. If that was the case I’d have been gone before you even showed up here last year.” Techno hummed; he remembered that party. Some kid he’d never spoken to couldn’t afford to lose their scholarship so little seventh grade Techno had taken the blame for the alcohol serving party held at the house that night. He chuckled as he remembered gaslighting the whole community that it was his idea, not his finest moment, but one he was proud of nonetheless.

Being barred from the dinner buffet for two weeks had been worth the reputation points. Plus, he learnt valuable hoarding skills in that time. The Foster Bitch was fine--all things considered--but she was under the impression that if she put out a bunch of food on the table, everyone would get an equal portion in the mad dash for sustenance.

That wasn't the case. Techno could get food just fine, but Tommy was a gangly fourteen year old with too much height and not enough bulk; it was virtually impossible for him to grab food off the table.

“I’m not going to get caught.” Techno said putting the gummy worms on Tommy’s night stand. He held out his pinky, “I promise. I’m safe.”

“Techno,” Tommy whined, unhappy with the response--ignoring Techno’s hand. “That stash is bigger than normal.”

“I know.”

“Techno.”

“The cashier was busy with something else.”

Tommy’s voice took on a colder tone. “Techno.”

“Tommy.”

“What was the cashier busy with?”

“Stuff.”

Tommy huffed. “It wasn’t a Dream Team thing was it? You shouldn’t be hanging out with them.”

Techno snorted. “I’m older than you. Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to tell you to stop hanging out with the wrong crowd? Dream’s fine. Besides, you hang out with his little brother.”

“Well yeah!” Tommy’s voice got defensive. “But Tubbo’s Tubbo. Dream’s in the news for stealing and shit.” Tommy munched on his jerky angrily, even if he was going to stay oblivious: they both knew that Techno didn’t have the money to pay for this. Tommy dropped the friend’s point and moved to double down on the previous one. “What was the cashier busy with?”

“Stuff. Not Dream. Not death. Just stuff okay?”

“Not death?”

“Not death,” Techno agreed sagely.

“You aren’t going to tell me?”

Techno took off his hoodie and belt, but otherwise didn’t bother with pajamas. “Nope.” He settled into bed and held out his hand for Tommy to pass him the food.

Tommy stared him dead in the eye as he ate the last piece of beef jerky from that particular package. Techno rolled his eyes, but he understood; Tommy had heard that from Techno before: the not explaining where he’d been. He knew not to bother his foster brother, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

The next morning Techno and Tommy didn’t bother going to the kitchen for breakfast. Instead, they ate last night’s stolen granola bars in the comfort of their dingy penthouse suite--attic room--and listened to the thundering feet of the ten other foster’s in the house racing to get some food.

“If you want another, then take another.” It had taken a long time for Techno to teach Tommy that it was safe to take food from his stash; as far as he was concerned it was their stash. Hopefully, Tommy would stop feeling guilty about not asking, although that didn’t seem like it was happening any time soon.

Tommy sent him a half smile and scoffed down another bar. The two of them got ready for school, and were soon in Techno’s car. It was a ten minute drive to the high school, and Tommy sang along with the radio at the top of his lungs. It would be endearing if Techno wasn’t socially exhausted from the extrovert living in his room.

“I’m on top of the world, eh!” Tommy shouted, flipping off their foster siblings waiting at the bus station.

“Tommy.”

“What?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“ I’m on top of the world! ”

Techno kept his smile to himself.

He rolled the car to a stop in the school parking lot. Before Tommy could open the door and vault out, Techno spoke. “Today’s a ‘going to Bad’s after school’ type of day.”

“What? Why?”

“Hanging out with Dream.”

Tommy’s face soured.

“Come on, don't be like that.”

“It’s not that I don’t like Bad. I just don’t like Dream. He’s bad news, and in the news.”

“It’s just an English project. We need to make a PowerPoint on something or other.”

“Okay,” Tommy said stiffly.

“I don’t police your friends. You don’t police mine.”

“Tubbo’s not in the news. Neither is Purpled. And you can’t complain about Ranboo.”

Techno thinks back to last night with the Soot brothers and the new kid in a purple sweatshirt. “Put a pin in Purpled.”

“No!” Tommy looked appalled at the insinuation Techno just made about his friend. “Have some faith. Tubbo and Purpled won’t turn out like their older brothers. Crime isn’t a gene that runs in families!”

Techno smiled sadly. “I hope not. Get out.”

“What do you mean ‘put a pin in Purpled?’” Tommy demanded.

Techno shrugged him off. “Text me if you leave Bad’s, I’ll come pick you up later.”

Tommy harshly pulled at the car door. “Tubbo won’t be like Dream, and Purpled won’t be like Punz.”

“I never said Purpled was a mercenary!”

Tommy got out of the car, slammed the door, and flipped his brother off before marching away.

Techno was so glad that they didn’t share any DNA. Could you imagine that? But just because they were brother’s out of necessity and foster placement didn’t mean he didn’t care about the kid.

[nanoland]

new chapter (lucifer fic)

Ponder on the Narrow House, part 6 

Mazikeen/Eve/Michael  

(Whole thing can be read on AO3.) 

0  

Fuck the next bounty.

After thinking about it for ten seconds, Mazikeen turned them around and started driving straight for Los Angeles.

Eve can talk to him. Not me. He needs to talk to someone, and Eve will do.

Barely half a mile later, Amenadiel dropped out of the sky and landed in the middle of the road, just far enough away for her to bring the car to a screeching halt before it would otherwise have slammed into him like wet clay into a steel wall.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, looking exhausted.

She snorted and pointed skyward. “Yeah. This? Not gonna lie, I was expecting something like this. But I thought it would take, like, at least a month.”

Wincing, Amenadiel said, “No, that’s… that’s a different problem and Chloe’s promised to discuss it with him. Maze, we need you back at Lux. Now.”

“Hi, Amenadiel!” Eve called, waving.

He succeeded in smiling at her without even glancing at Michael, despite his younger brother sitting right at her side, glaring fixedly.

“Why?” demanded Mazikeen, tensely drumming her fingers on the wheel. (Inner voice hissing, Shouldn’t have left him alone, you dumb bitch, you’ve been doing this for centuries and you know what he’s like when you leave him alone for more than five minutes.) “Seriously – what could he possibly need me for? He’s God.”

Sighing, Amenadiel put his wings away. “Mazikeen, we’re all well aware that Lucy often… has difficulty focusing. To put it mildly. There’s a lot more for him to focus on now than ever before. He’s trying to undo climate change. To that end, he started refreezing all the melted ice in the Arctic. But he did it too quickly and, resultantly, there are several hundred trapped ships we need to save and several thousand dead penguins to resurrect and, to be honest, he hasn’t really got the hang of resurrection yet – you remember what Dan looked like for the first few hours after Lucifer brought him back to life…”

“Eurgh. Yeah. Yuck. Totes not the kinda shit you’d wanna see in Happy Feet.”

Michael was snickering.

“Right. And then there are all the changes he’s been making locally,” Amenadiel went on. “The expansion of Lux, the overnight disappearance of all Los Angeles’ firearms, his deciding that the city’s white supremacist population should grow a third ear so they can be easily identified, and, well, it turns out that a lot of Chloe’s colleagues at the police station-…”

“I get it, I get it. Chaos everywhere. As usual. What, exactly, is the problem he wants me to fix?”

Amenadiel exhaled heavily. “The demons. The ones you brought from Hell to help us defeat Michael.”

“Oh, so you do remember I exist,” Michael muttered.

Stonily ignoring him, Amenadiel said, “They’re still on Earth and they’re causing trouble. The one called Dromos, in particular. He’s gathered followers and they’ve surrounded Lux.”

Her brother’s face – his real face, not the human puppet he wore – flashed through her mind’s eye; a memory from when they were unruly children and had raced through Hell together, using the stone pillars that they’d not yet known were cells as an obstacle course. She’d been faster; he, more athletic. Together with a few cousins, they’d made a fearsome team, and not even their meanest older siblings had bullied them.

She folded her arms and looked away. “They’re demons. Lucifer can deal with them. Snap his fingers and turn them into rats or whatever. Make them explode.”

“Mazikeen,” Eve murmured, soft and low, touching her shoulder. “You don’t want that. They’re your family.”

Amenadiel blinked, as though that hadn’t occurred to him. “Er… yes, there’s that. There’s also the fact that Lucifer doesn’t want all of humanity to see him as the type of God who casually annihilates his enemies; a harsh, vindictive God. He wants to be liked. To be loved.”

“Fine. So why don’t you and the other angels sort it out?”

“Come now, Maze. A bunch of angels and a bunch of demons waging war in the midst of a bustling city? Humans will die. But you’re the Queen of Hell now and, by extension, the Queen of Demons. If you command Dromos to stand down, he will. This can all be resolved peacefully.”

Eve’s fingertips were cool against her skin.

Mazikeen looked back at the sky. The cloud letters were starting to dissolve. “What does he want?”

“Who?”

“Dromos. He doesn’t act on instinct. He’s a planner. He wants something.”

Shrugging, Amenadiel said, “He shouted at me about demanding an audience with the king. I didn’t ask for details. I don’t really care. Dromos isn’t someone I’m inclined to listen to at the best of times. The last time the wretch showed his face on Earth, he kidnapped my son.”

“Mmm. Kinda like your sister was gonna do. Kinda like you were gonna do, now that I think about it.”

“Maze!” he gasped, sounding shocked and hurt. “You can’t compared poor Remiel’s misguided actions to-…”

“I’ll do it,” she interrupted. “Take me to Lux. Now.”

“Excuse me? What about us?” snapped Michael.

Mazikeen met Eve’s gentle gaze. “You don’t need to be involved in this. My family drama, it – it’s not pretty.”

“My son killed my son,” said Eve, taking her hand. “My husband loved another woman. I’m used to drama.”

Swallowing, Mazikeen glanced at Michael. “And you, wimp?”

Feigning disinterest – feigning it badly – he said, “You showed up to my last domestic dispute. Guess this’ll make us square.”

“I’ve only got two arms. I can’t carry all of you,” Amenadiel pointed out.

Mazikeen rubbed her chin. “No… but you can carry the car, right?”

0

He didn’t have time for this. There was so much to do.

“World hunger,” he recited as he bounced from one laptop to the next, all twenty-three of them displaying a different article or video by a leading scientific or sociological mind, “wealth inequality, pollution, cancer, droughts, racism, elderly abuse, housing shortages, cruelty to animals…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda patiently, sitting on his best couch with her legs crossed, a cup of coffee and a laptop of her own beside her. “You said you wanted my advice as to how you should manage this whole ‘being God’ business.”

“I do, doctor! Very much. Your input is invaluable. Blast, where did I put that map of Alaska? I’m thinking of making it bigger; slotting it in alongside the Arctic to help stabilise all that new ice.”

“Right. Thanks. So here – here is what I’m suggesting now; slow down. Seriously. Take a breath, step back, and think your next move through.”

He scoffed. “‘Slow down’? Doctor, I need to work at least three times faster if I’m to keep up with everything. There are people suffering everywhere, millions of them! There are sinners in need of punishment! I’m seriously considering asking Chloe to be my Deputy God. I never imagined omnipotence would entail so much paperwork and she’s always been better at that than me.”

Outside the penthouse, many stories below, the chanting grew louder. None of the human police officers, journalists, and gawkers who’d gathered to watch could understand it; it was in Lilim.

Cursing, Lucifer strode to the balcony and shouted down, “For the last time, would you all kindly piss off? I’m trying to fix an entire planet here!”

He heard the elevator open and moaned. “Detective, not now. Please. I’m very sorry I haven’t returned your calls – I swear I’m not avoiding you – it’s just that I’ve got a lot on my plate today and we did already agree to meet for supper at-…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda, sounding terrified.

“Lucifer,” said someone else, sounding irritable.

Now that he was God, rage didn’t turn his eyes red anymore. It turned them gold and blindingly bright, like spotlights. Fists clenched, he turned to see Dromos step into the penthouse, once again clad in the flesh of the late Father Kinley and wearing a leather jacket.

“Nice trick, making all the doors disappear. Finally decided to climb up the side of the building with a sledgehammer and burrow my way through into the elevator shaft,” said the demon, hands in his pockets and concrete dust coating his beard and his bald head. “I want to talk to you, sire.”

Storming across the room while Linda remained frozen, white-faced, on the couch, Lucifer snarled, “You! You have the nerve to come here, to stand before me, after what you did to my nephew?”

He took Dromos by the neck and lifted him off the ground, his wings opening in fury (he had six of them now).

Stoical even as he choked, Dromos said, “I need. To talk. I will leave immediately afterwards.”

“Oh, you’ll leave, alright! You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw you into an active volcano, you accursed traitor!”

Dromos’ stolen skin began to sizzle beneath his fingers. He waited until the demon’s face was wrinkled with pain before throwing him to the floor hard enough to crack the wood and make a crater.

“I will leave,” Dromos gasped, coughing up blood, “when I have spoken.”

“What could you possibly have to say for yourself? Kidnapper. Child-thief.”

Still on the couch, Linda said tremulously, “Lucifer, you’re… you’re hurting him. Stop it. Please.”

“Let us stay!” shouted Dromos, and coughed again before dragging himself up onto his knees. “On Earth. That’s what I came to say. Let your erstwhile subjects stay on Earth if they choose – at least, those who served you in the battle against Michael. Don’t force them to return to Hell. Let them, let us choose where we live, going forward. That’s my request, your Majesty. My only request.”

Lucifer boggled at him. “Is that a joke? Demons? On Earth, indefinitely, unsupervised? Are you out of your tiny mind, Dromos?”

Baring teeth, Dromos said, “Why not? What does it matter to you now? You’ve got everything you could possibly want. Everything anyone could possibly want! All we’re asking is the freedom to come and go as we please.”

“No.”

He spoke the word bluntly, and then he stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. Regaining his composure. “Never. You’re dangerous and untrustworthy. This world is for humans, not you. Good grief, haven’t I got enough to preoccupy my mind, without the added stress of demons rampaging around town?”

“We won’t rampage. We just-…”

“Why are you even coming to me with this? Mazikeen’s the new Queen of Hell. Didn’t you get the memo?”

Dromos wiped blood from his lips. “I don’t know if my sister and I are on speaking terms right now. And she may be Queen, but you’re God; I assumed you would be tasked with such decisions. After all, there’s never been a demon in charge of Hell before. We were told – we were always told – that only angels could rule us. I don’t doubt Mazikeen’s competence, but I…”

He seemed to run out of steam, spreading his hands and finishing weakly, “Lucifer, you’re the king. You’ve been the king for millions of years. For my entire life. Look, if you really don’t want us leaving Hell, then can you at least use your newfound power to improve it? Let us have the things mortals enjoy? Pianos, dogs, blankets, weekends, all that stuff?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? Hell is supposed to be a place of punishment. The ultimate consequence awaiting sinners. I need a carrot and a stick, Dromos. How else am I supposed to convince people to behave if I don’t? Imagine a rapist arriving in Hell and being confronted with demons playing pianos and walking their dogs. Wouldn’t have quite the desired effect, would it?”

Dromos was quiet for a moment, then said without inflection, “Perhaps you could find somewhere else to put rapists. Somewhere other than our home.”

Throwing up his arms, Lucifer said, “More demands! Don’t you see how selfish you’re being? Here I am, doing my best to end all suffering, and you’re complaining about babysitting a few evil-doers – which, might I remind you, is your job. Nay, your very reason for existence. Always has been. Why’re you getting stroppy about it now?”

“I think,” Linda began, taking a tentative step forward before stopping and clearing her throat. “Excuse me. May I interrupt? Um. Okay, so I think that maybe Dromos has a point here, Lucifer.”

“Doctor! This is the creature that stole your baby!”

“Yes, I know. And I’m not saying I forgive him for that, but…”

“I wasn’t going to eat the brat,” Dromos grumbled. “I was going to make him a king.”

“You took him away from his mother!” Lucifer shouted.

“Gentlemen!” said Linda, sharply. “Please! Let’s try to talk this through like adults.”

Overcome with frustration, and only vaguely aware that he’d not been sleeping well lately, Lucifer kicked the nearest chair. “I can’t believe you’re siding with him, doctor.”

“I’m not siding with anyone. I-…”

“You don’t know these people like I do. You didn’t spend millions of years in Hell alongside them. The only demon you’ve ever gotten acquainted with is Maze, and she’s not like the others; even without a soul, she’s learned how to behave like a more-or-less civilised adult, barring the occasional tantrum. But your average, baseline demon has nothing to them besides wrath and cruelty. Lilith made them to be weapons and that’s all they really are. I mean – just imagine, for a moment, how hard it was for me. To go from the Silver City, the most beautiful place ever created, to a lightless nightmare realm full of these bloodthirsty animals. To be surrounded by them, for endless eons, while they nattered mindlessly on and on about how much they love torture and pain and…”  

He trailed off. Linda and Dromos were both looking past him.

To the elevator. Where – oh – Mazikeen was standing.

Where Mazikeen was crying.

No sobs, not like when Dan had died. No expression at all, really. Just open eyes, motionless muscles, and steady tears.

Before Lucifer could say a word, she pressed the button to close the elevator doors.

“Wait!” he yelped, sprinting over to stop them.

He needn’t have bothered. Now that he was God, objects did whatever he told them to do. The doors stilled, half-open.

“That sounded wrong,” he acknowledged, clasping her shoulders in apology. “You completely missed the context. What I was trying to say was-…”

“Don’t touch me.”

It was a phrase he’d heard many times before from mortal lovers to whom he had accidentally revealed his Devil Face. Some of them said it in horror. Some of them, the religious ones, said it in anger.

Mazikeen looked neither horrified nor angry. She looked sick. As though the very sight of him turned her stomach.

Lumbering over, Dromos stepped into the elevator alongside her and pointedly pressed the button again. With no idea what to do or say, Lucifer allowed the machinery to work.

The elevator closed.

“What have I done?” he asked Linda.

0

Nothing I didn’t know.

“Maze?” called Eve, waiting by the car with the others as Mazikeen stepped out of Lux’s front door and into the sunlight.

The door hadn’t been there when they’d arrived. She’d been forced to use Dromos’ route. Lucifer must have decided to put it back. He could do that now. Just decide things. Didn’t need servants, nor followers, nor anyone. Sure didn’t need a ‘more-or-less civilised adult’ whose kin were animals.

“Maze! Wait!”

Mazikeen didn’t know where she was going, only that she was walking very quickly and felt that she’d die if she stopped. She heard Eve’s heels patter on the pavement and heard her say her name a third time, quiet and worried, and that was what stilled her feet.

“What happened?” murmured Eve, cupping her face.

The fifty or so demons who’d been standing around outside Lux when Amenadiel had set the car and its passengers down were still there. Instead of chanting to get their king’s attention, they were now looking at her.

Michael and Amenadiel stood among them, the latter having been trying to convince them to stop blocking traffic.

Which was what she should have been doing. It was what he’d brought her here to do. But she’d been gripped by a sudden, violent need to see Lucifer, to check on him, just quickly, before tending to her siblings. Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard.

Except that wasn’t what I was. Not to him. To him, I was a Rottweiler on a leash.

“Are you alright?” asked Amenadiel, his eyes overflowing with concern.

That was what cracked her.

To him. Not to everyone. Not to Eve, or Amenadiel, or Linda. It’s not that I’m incapable of earning love and respect.

I’m just incapable of earning his.

Her legs gave out. She crumpled against Lux’s outside wall and started to weep properly, loud and bitter.

Eve immediately dropped down beside her, holding her tight. Michael shuffled closer, rubbing his shoulder while his mouth opened and shut, testing out sentences that were never spoken.

Then Dromos was there, kneeling, his face sad and tired.

“We did what we were told,” she said to him in Lilim, through sniffles. “We obeyed. We were loyal. We… we…”

“We are alone, sister,” he replied. “But I think we always were.”

“We obeyed!”

“We obeyed Lilith and she left. We obeyed Lucifer and he left. No one wants us, Mazikeen. It’s just the truth.”

She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I want us.”

Seizing his jacket’s shoulder, she hauled herself to her feet and addressed the crowd, her voice raw: “I want you! You’re my family and I want you! And I swear I will be the queen you deserve, for as long as you’ll have me!”

Her human skin fell away, the left side of her face turning cold, bony, and brittle.

Stepping back to join their siblings, Dromos asked hesitantly, “What would you have us do, then, my queen? What are your orders?”

Hurriedly drying her eyes, she studied them one by one. “Whoever wants to can stay here. But I’m going home. Hell is going to be ours, Dromos. No more damned souls. No more angels. It’s ours now and we’re going to make it into something we can love.”

She turned to face Eve and Michael, her heart pounding. “You’ll come with me, yeah? You’ll stand with me?”

“Always,” said Eve, closing in to kiss her.

“Whatever,” Michael muttered, clearly just relieved that the crying part was over.

Amenadiel sighed, shaking his head gravely. “Mazikeen, are you sure this is what you want? You won’t be able to leave Hell on your own – you’ll need to contact me.”

“Yeah. At least until this one grows his feathers back,” she said, gesturing at Michael. “That’s okay. You’ll always come when I call, right?”

“Of course. You’re my friend, Maze. I’m sorry if I haven’t said that often enough.”

Fuck it. Cringing on the inside, Mazikeen drew Amenadiel into a quick, gruff hug. “You too, idiot.”

[knives-out20]

The One With Chandler’s Boyfriend - Chandler Bing x Male!Reader - FRIENDS - Part 2 - FINALE

Fandom: FRIENDS (1994-2004)

Pairing: Chandler Bing x Male!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers For Season 3 Episode 10, Fluff

Notes:  More Chandler x Male, As Requested! This One’s Shorter Than The First Part, But Who Knows? Maybe More Chandler x Male Readers Will Be Longer In The Future!

"Tell us what happened, Brown Bird Ross" Chandler teased as he sat on a chair in Central Perk, you on his lap and a small, yellow cup in his hand.

Ross groaned as he glanced over at Chandler. “Well, I lost. Some little girl loaned her uniform to her nineteen-year-old sister, who went down to the USS Nimitz and sold over two thousand boxes" he explained.

You chuckled, eyebrows raising. “Smart strategy. Could've done that with me, and let me wear the uniform.”

"Yea, but you'd be too busy with Chandler to even sell cookies" Ross pointed out, having you turn and see Chandler's blushing face.

Rachel walked in, giving Chandler the chance to change the subject. “Hey- Hey, Rachel, how'd the interview go?" He asked.

"Oh, I blew it" Rachel replied, sitting down beside Ross. “I wouldn't have even hired me."

"Oh, come here, sweetie" Ross cooed, wrapping an arm around Rachel and pulling her closer. “Listen, you're gonna go on, like, a thousand different interviews before you get a job.”

You and Chandler scrunched up your faces- not the best thing to say right now, Ross.

Ross paused, "that's not how that was supposed to come out.”

"Y'think?" You teased, smiling proudly when Chandler laughed.

Ross ignored that, rolling his eyes.

"This is just the worst Christmas ever" Phoebe spoke up, then Chandler to Rachel, saying  “Y'know what, Rach? Maybe you should just, y'know, stay here at the coffee house.”

"I can't, it's too late. Terry already hired that girl over there" Rachel told, turning and pointing to some girl near Gunther. “Look at her, she's even got waitress experience, ugh" she covered her eyes with her hand, "last night, she was...teaching everybody how to make napkins into..." no one caught that last word because it came out as a high-pitched moan.

"That word was 'swans'" Ross cleared up, nodding knowingly.

***

You had left the group at Central Perk early, since you had to currently hide in Monica's apartment with her and Joey, among a bunch of dying Christmas tree rejects from Joey's work, which he had collected to surprise Phoebe.

"...Well, seeing that drunk Santa wet himself really perked up my Christmas. I'm just glad my boyfriend left before he could see it" you heard Chandler from the hall.

You turned and shushed Joey and Monica, whispering "they're here" having the two of them nod obediently.

Chandler turned towards Phoebe with a cheeky grin on his face as he opened the door, letting her in first to face the small trees.

She gasped, an excited "oh my god!" Leaving her lips.

Joey, Monica and you jumped out, yelling "Merry Christmas!" With proud smiles on your faces, eyes on Phoebe, looking for any more of a reaction.

Phoebe cheered happily, jumping over to you three and hugging Monica who exclaimed "we saved them!". “You guys!" Phoebe gushed, as Joey and you walked over to Monica and her. “Oh, god, you're the best!"

"It's- like- Night Of The Living Dead Christmas trees" Chandler compared, hands in the pockets of his long, black coat as he walked over to you. “Hey, babe, good job" he cooed, quickly kissing you.

You giggled. “I love Night Of The Living Dead" you smiled, Chandler whispering "I know, handsome" as he pulled away. You grabbed onto each ends of Chandler's long, grey scarf, earning a confused look on his face until you tugged, pulling him closer to kiss you again. You closed your eyes after seeing Chandler's eyebrows jump in surprise, grip on his scarf tightening when you felt his arms go around your waist. When you pulled away, Chandler giggled, dazed, falling back and sitting on the couch. You sat beside him, leaning on his shoulder.

"Yea, this is she" Rachel talked into the phone. “Oh!" She gasped. “You're kidding," Rachel turned, rushing towards the kitchen counter. “Oh, thank you, I love you!" She cried, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Sure, everybody loves a kidder" Chandler raised his eyebrows, Joey and you laughing as you lightly slapped him, mumbling "shut up.”

Rachel was practically sobbing when she ended the call. “I got the job!" She fanned herself, running back over to you guys.

Everyone cheered for her, Chandler and you looking up at her with bright eyes.

"God bless us, everyone" Phoebe clasped her hands together, glancing up at the ceiling.

You scrunched your face up and looked away from Phoebe, earning a small chuckle from Chandler.

***

Back at the coffee house, Chandler sat in the middle of the big sofa, you back on his lap like last time.

"Here we go," Rachel called, "my last cup of coffee.”

With all eyes on her, Ross led the group in humming 'Pomp and Circumstance'

Rachel slowly handed Chandler the black cup she was holding, smiling with a "there you go, enjoy", letting you and the rest of her friends clap.

Once Rachel walked away, Chandler whispered "should I tell her I ordered tea?" Having Ross and you shake your heads with a hard "no.” He nodded timidly, pursing his lips. “You want it, babe?" Chandler asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully as he looked to you.

You shook your head, "no, I don't want her to see and feel bad.”

Chandler smiled softly and nodded, kissing you quickly before he put the cup down on the table.

"Uhm- excuse me, everyone" Rachel cleared her throat, to get the whole coffee house's attention, the group turning to her right away. “Uh, this is my last night working here. And, uh, I just wanted to say, that I made some really good friends here, and uh, it's just time to move on" she explained, Gunther escaping to the back room. “Uh- and no offence to everybody who, uh, still work here, but you have no idea how good it feels to say, that, as of this moment, I will never have to make coffee again!"

You clapped and started cheering, Chandler, being the supportive boyfriend he is, following your lead. 

He raised his eyebrows at your friends, who all started clapping and cheering for Rachel, the whole coffee house doing it, too.

"How much you wanna bet she has to make coffee for whoever the boss of this company is?" You whispered to Chandler, who muttered "oh, so much money that she will", keeping a smile on his face as you kept clapping. You grinned and turned back to Rachel, giving her a double thumbs up before returning to clapping, not seeing that Chandler was still looking at you, with so much love in his eyes.

***

Joey, Chandler, and you crouched in their decorated apartment, awaiting Ross and Sarah, the girl whose leg he broke. You all stood behind one of the recliners, which was covered in tinfoil to look like a chair in a space shuttle."It was really nice of you guys to decorate your apartment like this" you smiled, turning to Joey and Chandler.

Chandler waved a hand, smiling bashfully. “Aw, it was nothing" he giggled, Joey nodding along.

Ross opened the door, revealing the decorated room to Sarah. He revealed Joey, Chandler and you jumping out from behind the shiny recliner, arms spread to present the 'space camp' in all its glory.

"Really, Mr. Geller, you don't have to do this" Sarah told, as she walked in, easy on her crutches.

"Oh, come on, here we go" Ross scoffed, picking Sarah u and carrying her over to the tin foiled recliner, gently setting her down on it. “Stand by for mission countdown!" He instructed.

Chandler had his hands on the head of the recliner, Joey cupping his hands around his mouth to make his voice louder. “Ten, ten...nine, nine...eight, eight, eight-" Chandler lightly slapped Joey over the head for him to stop, Joey huffing at that, a confused look on his face.

You chuckled and lightly shoved Chandler, claiming "okay, blast off!"

With all four pairs of hands on the recliner, you all shook the chair and made vibratory humming noises, Joey and Ross pushing to spin the recliner around. You watched Ross beep and maintain eye contact with Sarah as Joey continued to spin her, Chandler beginning to prance around.

"I'm an alien! I'm an alien!" He claimed in falsetto, having you giggle while you chased him around.

"Oh, no, an asteroid!" Ross gasped, quickly apologizing when the ball he threw hit Joey's head.

You stopped to catch your breath, continuing to watch the man you love run around and claim he's in alien in a high-pitched voice, just to cheer up this Brown Bird. You leaned against the counter and crossed your arms, so much love in your eyes when you looked at Chandler. “Y'know, you're really good with kids" you told, right as he was about to pass by.

Chandler slowed down. “Really?" He asked, smiling softly.

You hummed, nodding."Yea, baby. I never knew that.”

"Huh," Chandler's smile grew as he put his hands on his hips, glancing away in thought. “Y'know, if you're ever...up for it, we could- we could..." the corner of his lip twitched.

"Hey, hey, Chandler," you pushed yourself off the counter, softly putting your hands on his shoulders. “It's okay, I'm not begging for kids here. We're going at your pace, okay?"

Chandler pursed his lips and nodded. “Yea, but...but I want to adopt kids with you. I want you to be able to see how much of a good father I can be" he whispered, cupping your cheek and glancing at your lips. “How much of a good father we could both be" Chandler muttered softly kissing you.

You pulled him closer, not moving when he pulled away from the kiss. “Yea, well, the time'll come when we're both ready enough to have kids, okay? Let's help this one right now.”

Chandler smiled and nodded, taking your hand and turning so that you could both pretend to be aliens.

[for-a-flower]

Grillby’s

           As Frisk entered a dark cave system, his pace slowed as he observed the area.  Walls were moist and stalactites hung from the ceiling.  He spotted that scaled, yellow monster kid again.  He was standing by a waterfall that flowed into a dark abyss to the right of the path.  The young monster noticed Frisk enter the cave and rushed toward him with a big smile.  "Yo!  Are you sneaking out to see her too?" he asked Frisk.

           "Uh . . ."  Frisk glanced to the left.  There was another wooden station here and it was currently occupied by Sans.  Frisk wasn’t sure who the monster kid was talking about but decided to agree anyway.  "Yeah," he said.

           The creature smiled.  "Awesome!  She's the coolest, right?!"

           "Wait . . . are you talking about Undyne?"

           He nodded.  "Yeah!  I wanna be just like her when I grow up!"  The dinosaur creature inched closer to Frisk and whispered something with a nervous look on his face.  "Hey, don't tell my parents I'm here, haha.”

           “I won’t,” said Frisk.

           The monster’s face lit up with a smile again.  “Cool!  Thanks!”  He returned to the ledge along the right of the path and continued to stare into darkness below.  Frisk stepped closer to get a look as well.  It was unclear how far down this drop was.

           As Frisk stood there looking over the shoulder of the young monster, a soft voice whispered in his ear from behind.  “Push him.”  Frisk stepped away from the edge, spinning around to look behind him.  No one was there.  He was sure that wasn’t his imagination.  For a second he had felt a presence, however briefly . . . but a presence nonetheless.  Fear and confusion was setting in again.  Even though he was sure this hadn’t been a reflection of his own thoughts, he had killed Toriel and he hadn’t thought he was capable of that either.  The child backed away from the young monster, trembling.  He backed into the rock wall behind him, nearly bumping a tall blue flower that had grown here.  Heart racing, he lowered his head and covered his face.

           "Hey kid," said a calm voice to the right.  Frisk jumped, lifting his head suddenly.  Sans stood behind his station, smiling back as usual.  Still recovering from the fright of the whisper, Frisk stared at the short skeleton.  "You okay?" said Sans.  Frisk continued to stare.  Sans eyed him carefully then shrugged.  "What?  Haven't you seen a guy with two jobs before?"

           "Uh, no . . . not really," Frisk said.  His voice had escaped shaky and weak.

           Sans glanced away.  "Fortunately, two jobs means twice as many legally-required breaks."  He laughed a little, directing his attention back to Frisk.  "I'm going to Grillby's.  Wanna come?"

           Frisk smirked and nodded.  "Sure.  I'm pretty hungry," he said.

           "Well, if you insist . . . I'll pry myself away from my work."  Sans stood then stepped from behind the stand.

           "But . . . this was your idea,” said Frisk

           Sans shrugged.  "Yeah?"  He motioned Frisk to follow him deeper into the tunnel ahead.  "Over here.  I know a shortcut."  Frisk followed him into the shadows.  It was pitch black but he continued by following the sound of Sans' footsteps.  He heard the sound of a door opening which suddenly revealed the warm light of Grillby's restaurant.  Frisk looked down.  He and Sans were standing only a couple steps inside the front door.  Frisk spun around to look behind them.  The door was closed.  Outside snow fluttered silently by the window.  The human's mouth dropped open.  He glanced back at Sans.  "Fast shortcut, huh?" Sans said.

           "How did you . . ."

           Sans turned around without answering the question.  He walked passed tables as he led Frisk toward a counter at the back.  "Hey, everyone," he said.  The monsters inside looked up from their plates of food.  There were several dogs, a rabbit creature, and something else with a lot of teeth.

           "Hey, Sans!" barked one of the dogs.

           "Hi, Sans," said another.

           "Hiya, Sansy!" the rabbit said.  Sans reached the back shortly before Frisk.  The skeleton glanced at a strange fish creature, who leaned on the left side of the counter.

           The old fish monster greeted him.  "Hey Sans, weren't you just here for breakfast a few minutes ago?"  Frisk kept his distance from this other monster.  There was an odd, fishy smell emanating from his location.

           Sans shook his head.  "Nah, I haven't had breakfast in at least half an hour.  You must be thinking of brunch," he said.  Following this comment, nearly everyone present laughed or chuckled.  Frisk smirked.  Sans glanced at the child, directing his attention toward two empty stools at the counter.  "Here, get comfy."  Frisk and Sans approached the chairs to take a seat.  Frisk’s posture stiffened when the sound of a whoopee cushion was heard beneath him.  He glanced to the right at Sans, eyes narrowed.  The skeleton chuckled.  "Whoops.  Watch where you sit," he said.  "Sometimes weirdos put whoopee cushions on the seats."

           Frisk slipped off the stool and picked up the whoopee cushion.  He tossed it to Sans, who caught it in his left hand.  "Did you just call yourself a weirdo?" Frisk asked as he took a seat again.

           Sans held up a hand.  “Whoa, now.  Who said I put that there?”

           “You’re the only one close enough and it wasn’t there two seconds ago,” Frisk said.  “Also, that’s the same one you shook my hand with earlier.”

           Sans laughed as he slipped the object into a pocket of his coat.  "In that case . . . I guess I did just call myself a weirdo."  Frisk smiled and shook his head.  "Anyway, let's order," said Sans.  He waved at a fire monster in a suit, who stood behind the counter.  "Whaddya want, kid?  Fries or a burger?"

           "A burger sounds good," said Frisk.

           "Hm . . . it does."  Sans glanced at the fire monster.  "Grillby, we'll take a double order of burgers."  Grillby nodded then promptly disappeared through a door at the back to prepare the food.  An awkward silence followed as Sans scratched his head.  Several seconds passed before he said anything more.  "So, uh . . . what do you think of my brother?" said Sans.

           "He's cool.  A very . . . interesting person," said Frisk.

           Sans nodded.  "Glad ya think so.  You'd be cool too if you wore that outfit every day.  He'd only take that thing off if he absolutely had to."  The skeleton shrugged.  "Oh well.  At least he washes it."  He snickered.  "And by that I mean, he wears it in the shower."  Frisk smirked at the thought.  Grillby entered and approached the counter with two plates of food.  "Here comes the grub," said Sans.  Grillby set the burgers in front of them.  Frisk took a moment to observe the food, lifting the top bun of the burger.  It was literally just a bun and meat, no lettuce or cheese, or sauce.  Sans lifted a bottle of ketchup and offered it to the child.  "Want some ketchup?" he asked.

           "Sure."  Frisk took the bottle.

           Sans winked.  "Bone-appetit."

           Frisk tipped the bottle upside down and squeezed.  To his dismay, the cap popped off and ketchup poured uncontrollably onto his food.  Frisk stared as the entire content of the bottle was emptied onto his burger.  He sighed then dropped the empty bottle on the counter.  "That went well," he said.

           "Whoops," said Sans.

           Frisk glanced over.  The skeleton had a nervous sort of look on his face.  Frisk gave an annoyed glare.  "This doesn't have anything to do with you, does it?"

           Sans shrugged.  "Eh, forget about it.  You can have mine."  He scooted his plate closer to Frisk.  "I'm not hungry anyway," he said.

           Frisk accepted the burger.  "Thanks."  He picked it up and took a bite.  It was surprisingly good even without toppings.

           Sans was silent for several seconds more.  Frisk could tell something was bothering him and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out what.  "Anyway," Sans said.  "Cool or not, you have to agree Papyrus tries really hard."

           Frisk nodded and responded with his mouth full.  "He does."

           "Like how he keeps trying to be part of the Royal Guard.  One day, he went to the house of the head of the Royal Guard and begged her to let him be in it."

           Frisk swallowed.  "What happened?"  He took another bite of the burger as he listened to Sans' reply.

           "Of course, she shut the door on him because it was midnight.  But the next day, she woke up and saw him still waiting there.  Seeing his dedication, she decided to give him warrior training.  It's, uh, still a work in progress," said Sans.  He looked away again.  Another awkward pause accompanied the next few minutes while Frisk ate.

           While peering straight ahead, Sans finally broke the silence with a more serious tone of voice.  "Oh yeah.  I wanted to ask you something," he said.  Frisk froze, burger still in his hand.  He felt panic slowly creeping in.  He dreaded to hear what Sans was going to say.  Had he found out about Toriel somehow?  Sans leaned closer to Frisk.  "Have you ever heard of a talking flower?" he asked.

           Frisk was somewhat relieved to hear this question.  He set down the burger and nodded.  "Yes," he said.  "One tried to kill me when I woke up in the underground."

           Sans narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  " . . . yeah.  Anyway . . . I'm talking about the Echo Flower.  They're all over the marsh.  Say something to them, and they'll repeat it over and over."

           "Uh . . . why are you telling me this?"

           "Well, Papyrus told me something interesting the other day.  Sometimes . . . when no one else is around . . . a flower appears and whispers things to him.  Flattery . . . advice . . . encouragement . . . predictions.  Weird, huh?" asked Sans.  Frisk nodded slowly.  "Someone must be using an Echo Flower to play a trick on him.  Keep an eye out, okay?"

           "I will," said Frisk.

           "Thanks."  Frisk reached for his burger again when Sans added something in a much lower and darker tone of voice.  "The little yellow one . . . he can't be trusted."

           Frisk paused to glance at Sans.  "I know."

           "Okay, kid.  Just warning ya," said Sans.  He stood from the chair and stepped back.  "Welp.  That was a long break.  I can't believe I let ya pull me away from work for that long."

           Frisk turned around to face him.  "What?  You wanted to."

           "Oh, by the way.  I'm flat broke.  Can you foot the bill?  It's just ten thousand gold," said Sans.

           Frisk stared.  "No?"

           Sans laughed.  "Just kidding."  He glanced passed Frisk.  "Put it on my tab, Grillby."  Grillby nodded.  Sans started toward the door but paused to look back at Frisk.  "By the way . . . I was going to say something, but I forgot."  Sans winked then stepped out into the snow, shutting the door behind him.  Frisk sighed and continued eating his burger.  He really wanted to know what else Sans had meant to tell him now.  If Sans knew Flowey couldn’t be trusted, maybe he knew more about him than he let on.  It was odd though.  Both Sans and Flowey had said the other couldn’t be trusted.  Surely only one of them was telling the truth . . . right?

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Full Chapter List

[wildroseofarran]

The Accident, Part II || Self Para

He couldn’t sit still. He was tired but sleep wouldn’t come. Hungry and thirsty but unable to stomach anything. Emotional but unable to cry.

He felt like a toy that had been wound too tight, ready to explode at any given moment.

Pete sighed and looked over his shoulder. It was nearing five in the morning, and Stella and Luke were sleeping huddled together on the little couch in their dad’s room. A couple hours ago Pete had covered them with Luke’s suit jacket so they wouldn’t get cold.

He turned back to the battered shell of a man that was his father. After Pete, Sr. had been wheeled into his room, Pete had pulled up a chair next to his bed and hadn’t moved since. If he needed to stretch his legs, he kept his pacing to the perimeter of the bed, just so he could make sure the monitor was still beeping and that his dad’s chest was still rising and falling as he breathed.

Pete sighed again. His dad looked so small and helpless with all those tubes and wires and bandages, so pale and weak. And even after bundling him with an extra blanket and his coat, his hand still felt so cold in Pete’s.

It was like all trace of the man with the warm smile, crinkly eyes, and big, roaring laugh had just…vanished. Like he’d never existed.

And fuck if Pete could keep himself from staring at his dad’s face, trying to look past the cuts and bruises in an effort to reassure himself that he looked like his father and that his father really was his father.

Groaning, Pete got up to pace.

Despite his brother and sister’s reassurances, the doctor’s comment from earlier was still rattling around in his head (along with all the other crap, but that was a whole other can of worms), taunting him, making him wonder and doubt and hate himself for wondering and doubting.

‘Adoptive children rarely have the same blood type as their parents.’ What was that even supposed to mean? It wasn’t like every set of parents in the world had the same exact blood type. It was perfectly within reason that some kids would have their mom’s blood type and some would have their dad’s. He just happened to have his mom’s blood type and Stella happened to have their dad’s, so what? That didn’t mean anything, it was just the luck of the genetic draw. It sure as shit didn’t mean he was adopted.

He looked at Luke and Stella’s sleeping faces. Anyone who didn’t know the three of them would never guess that they were all siblings. Luke looked like their father while he and Stella took after their mother. Again, so what? Not every child looked like a perfect 50/50 blend of their parents. Hell, his nephew Graham didn’t look a thing like Stella except for the color of his hair. He looked entirely like his dad Ryan. That didn’t mean he wasn’t her child. It was just luck of the draw.

Not having the same blood type as his dad didn’t mean jack squat. He probably had his mom’s blood type. And so what if he didn’t look 100% like his dad? It wasn’t like Luke and Stella did, and he knew for a fact that he shared features with both of them. How could that be possible if he wasn’t related to them?

Pete shook his head and sat again, retaking his dad’s hand. “I’m sorry, Pop,” he said softly, giving a small, humorless smile. “Here I am overthinking and worrying over nothing when you’re lying there fighting to stay alive.” He kissed the bruised hand in his. “You hang in there, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine.”

He reached into his pocket with his free hand, checking his phone for messages or voicemails. He, Stella, and Luke had been taking turns all evening trying to get a hold of their mother and still nothing. Her phone was either off or dead, same as their aunt’s, whom their mother was visiting for the week.

Pete frowned. Where the hell were they? Why hadn’t they charged their phones? This was a crisis, Lynnie should either be sleeping with her children or sitting on the opposite side of her husband’s bed.

The phone was put away, another kiss given to Pete, Sr.’s hand. “Don’t worry, Pop. Mom’ll be here soon. Hopefully before you wake up.”

Another hour passed, Pete finally fell asleep, and there was still no sign of Evelyn Graham.

The smell of fresh coffee was already tugging Pete out of a fitful sleep when he was shaken by someone.

“Up and at ‘em, big brother.” Luke’s voice. “I could hear your stomach grumbling from a hundred miles away. Come on, we got food and coffee.”

Pete opened one eye and immediately regretted it, groaning in misery. The sun was shining through the blinds and right into his face. “Christ almighty, make it stop.”

Luke chuckled and went over to close the blinds. “There, it’s safe. You can open your eyes now.”

Pete did, only to groan again when his muscles screamed in protest. Sleeping while slumped over at a ninety-degree angle probably hadn’t been the best idea. “Coffee,” he muttered, rubbing his neck.

Luke handed him a to-go cup from the diner. “Already put sugar in it.”

“Thanks.” Pete drank long and deep, practically feeling the caffeine as it rushed through his system and jumpstarted everything. He blinked at the cup. “You went to the diner? How long have you been up?”

“Ryan went. I’ve only been up for about twenty minutes.”

“Ryan’s here?”

“Only for a bit. Came to bring us breakfast and since Stel was still asleep, he went ahead and took her home. She’ll probably be back later.” Luke gave his brother a once over. “Speaking of sleep, how much of it did you get?”

“Um…what time is it?”

“About eight-thirty.”

“Two hours and change.”

“You should go home, too. Take a nap, shower.”

Pete shook his head and reached for the to-go box with his name written on it. “I only slept because my body was tired.” He opened a package of pepper and sprinkled it over everything. “I didn’t get any rest. And if I’m not gonna rest, might as well not rest here with you and dad and….is mom still not here?”

“Nope,” said Luke, giving a head shake of his own as he took a bite of his breakfast. “Not even a damn text. She gets up early though. Maybe she saw our messages and just decided to get home.”

He frowned at his bacon. “I don’t understand how she had her phone off all night, and Aunt Carol too. What’s the point of taking out the landline and getting a cell phone if you don’t have it on?”

“Aunt Carol still thinks holding an aspirin between your knees keeps you from getting pregnant, don’t ask me to explain how her mind works.”

The brothers were just finishing up their breakfast when their harried, disheveled mother burst into the room. From the look of her, it seemed that Luke’s theory about her leaving Kitty Hawk in a hurry was correct; her hair had been pulled into a quick pony tail and she was wearing jeans and her pajama top under her coat.

“Mom!” they said in unison.

“Oh my god,” she sobbed, hurrying over to her husband’s bed. Pete, Sr. still hadn’t stirred and in morning light, his bruises looked even worse. “Oh, honey. Look at you. I’m so sorry.” She touched a hand gently to his face before turning and giving each of her sons a fierce hug. There were already tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Luke asked as Pete rocked Lynnie back and forth. “We’ve called and texted you ten thousand times and when you didn’t respond we did the same to Aunt Carol! Did you two go on a bender? Did your phones fall into a ditch? What the hell, Ma!”

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” She pulled away from Pete’s embrace, furiously wiping her eyes with her hands. Pete picked up a napkin from the couch and dried her cheeks.

“It was Carol,” she said, giving her son’s hand a grateful pat. “She pulled the whole ‘no cell phones during family time’ bullshit last night when we went to dinner and made me leave it at the house and I forgot to check it before I went to bed. Then this morning I saw the texts and listened to the messages and I…” Her voice trailed off as more tears streamed down her cheeks. “God, what happened? All Stella said was that he’d had an accident.”

Pete and Luke sat their mother down and together they explained all they knew of what had happened to their father; he swerved, lost control of the car, and ended up in the bottom of the river with part of the steering column lodged in his chest.

As they got to the part about having to donate blood during his father’s surgery, Pete’s antsiness over the doctor’s comment—which Luke had chosen to leave out of the story—returned full force. Somehow having his mother here while he wondered about mismatching blood types and genetics made it all worse, made the doubts seem louder.

And that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? He was sitting here looking at a woman who’d told him stories about the day he was born his whole life, with whom he shared several birthmarks and features and even a couple allergies. There was zero reason for him to doubt his parentage and he knew that.

So why wouldn’t that damn comment leave him alone?

“I’m gonna go get some air,” he sighed, getting to his feet.

Two pairs of concerned eyes turned to him. “Is everything okay?” his mom asked.

Pete tried to give her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, Ma, everything’s fine. I slept kind cramped, just wanna stretch for a bit.”

“He did.” Luke squeezed his mother’s hand. “You go ahead, Pete. I’ll stay here with mom and dad.”

“Thanks. I won’t be long.”

Pete did three laps around the first floor. When it did absolutely nothing to quell the storm in his head, he left the hospital and took to the jogging trail that was spread out all over the park next door. With the brisk air hitting him, the oppressive hospital smell finally out of his nostrils, and the beep of monitors replaced by the sound of birds, he was finally able to think.

Only problem—aside from still wanting to run fast and far—was that he didn’t come to any comforting conclusions. Not about his personal life, not about his dad’s accident, and definitely not about the doctor’s godforsaken comment.

Every area of his life was fucking crumbling to pieces around him and the only thing he could do was walk, which he supposed was better than crying a river at every blessed turn but still. The only way to fix everything was…there wasn’t one really. No way to turn back time. No way to undo what had been done and unmake every shitty decision. No way to see if….wait.

Pete came to a stop. “Maybe there is,” he murmured to himself, turning around and jogging back to the hospital. Maybe he couldn’t unfuck Fletcher Goodman and undiablerize Victoria Harrak and uncrash his dad’s car, but he could give himself a little peace of mind in at least one arena of his life.

“Doctor!” He called down the hall. “Hey, Doc, wait! Dr. Barnes!”

His quarry finally stopped and turned around, blinking in surprise as his pursuer caught up to him. “Mr. Graham. Is everything all right? Has something happened with your father?”

Pete shook his head. “No, my dad’s fine. I was just wondering….do you have a minute? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Yes, of course. We can talk in my office.”

“Thank you.” Pete followed Dr. Barnes into one of the elevators and up to his office on the third floor. There were two other desks in the room but for now they were the only ones there.

“Have a seat,” said the doctor, waving Pete into one of the chairs in front of the desk by the window. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Graham?”

He sat. “It’s uh…it’s about the blood I donated to my dad. Or tried to donate.”

Dr. Barnes’ brow furrowed. “All right.”

“When you finished my dad’s surgery you said that my blood type didn’t match his so you couldn’t give it to him.”

“Yes, that’s correct. Your sister was a match and we supplemented her donation with blood from our bank.”

Pete nodded. “Yeah, I remember you said that. You also said that adoptive children don’t often have the same blood type as their adoptive parents.”

“Yes.”

“The thing is, I’m not adopted.”

The furrow in Dr. Barnes’ brow deepened for a moment before his eyes widened and his expression fell into apologetic lines. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graham, I shouldn’t have assumed. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Pete shook his head. “It’s okay, you didn’t, doctor. Really. I was just wondering why you did.”

“Why I assumed you were adopted?”

“Yeah. I mean, not every kid has the same blood type as their dad, right? Some can have the same blood type as their mom?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Dr. Barnes said with a nod. “And blood types are determined in such a way that sometimes, a child can have a different blood type as both their parents. But that wasn’t the reason I assumed you were adopted. You and your father have different blood groups, yes, but you also have a very rare blood type. Your father is O positive and you are B negative. But again, I do apologize, Mr. Graham. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Pete nodded, digesting this information. The doctor confirmed what he’d been telling himself all night but there was still something nagging at him. Some feeling he couldn’t identify. “You tested the blood right?” he asked after a while. “To see our blood types matched?”

“Yes, we have a lab on the premises.”

“….Can you do other kinds of tests?”

“Such as?”

“DNA tests.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Barnes, frowning. “I hope I haven’t made you doubt your parentage, Mr. Graham. I would hate for a careless comment to have upset you to such a degree.”

“It isn’t that, really. This isn’t because of what you said.” As he said the words, Pete realized that he meant them. This wasn’t because of what the doctor had said. This was something else. Something he felt deep down in his gut. “I just…I need to be sure.”

The doctor nodded understandingly. “Well, we have your blood and your father’s but if you want a complete profile, we’re going to need a sample from your mother.”

Pete thought for a moment. He couldn’t very well ask his mother for a blood sample when there was every possibility that this really was him just worrying over nothing. “Does it have to be blood? Because I have this.” He pulled a napkin from his pocket. He’d put it in there after drying his mom’s face. “Her tears are on it.”

“That’ll work just fine. Here.” The doctor reached into a draw and pulled out a plastic bag, putting the napkin inside.

“How long does the test take?” Pete asked.

“A few hours. Since we’ll be doing it right here I should have the results for you by this afternoon.”

Pete took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”

In a few hours his mind would either be quieter, or he’d be adding more shrapnel to the wreckage.

[namjooneh]

you're my weakspot and i'm yours

Prologue: Schenectady

The snow is so deep and thick Sam’s boots squeak through the clean depth of it and his footprints leave a sculptured trail. Pale and lovely under the moonlight, it heaps the embankment where Sam walks and levels the yards to either side, the encompassing white broken only by the black lines of the railway tracks. In Aleut words for snow are infinite, but Sam, warm with company and burgers and beer and new thick padded coat, can remember none of them. Still, it’s parka weather, nanook weather, cold as a witch’s tit and just as harshly, breath stoppingly beautiful.

Beside him, Dean says, “Look up,” his voice hushed and his breath hanging frost in the air, and when Sam does the stars are candles in the night sky and the moon a hunter’s lantern.

His feet are freezing.

“Keep walking,” Dean says, and nudges him forward.

“Cold,” Sam says. He’s not complaining, just saying, and Dean grins back at him in acknowledgment over, up-tilted, one of the beer bottles he’s still carrying.

“Thought you said this was a shortcut,” Dean says, when he’s done with the bottle and wiping off his mouth with the back of his glove.

But Dean is not complaining either. Dean’s loose and relaxed under the bulk of his jacket, his cheeks and nose flushed with cold but his eyes curved narrow at the corners, content. Happy Dean. They’re five hours off a salt and burn, bar happy, beer happy, alone and together in this world of ice and snow. Somewhere in their future there’s a warded motel room and two comfortable beds and thick wool blankets and good coffee and, if they’re lucky, a late night movie marathon heavy on the explosions.

“Cause you were born to be my baby...” Dean hums, and then sings, “...And baby, I was made to be your man...”

Sam, unlikely troubadour, matches his baritone to Dean’s. It’s not the first time, but this time, there’s a rhythm to the words he can’t place, a bass thrum that underscores the sound of their voices.

The rails are singing. It’s a train.

“Dean,” Sam says, not urgently, but Dean is already watching the line where one single night star is moving and brightening.

“Hey Sam,” Dean says, standing still. Standing in the center of the tracks. “D’you wanna... ?”

Safe on the edges of the embankment, Sam says, “No. C’mon.” Unhurried. They have time.

“No?” Dean says. Balanced on the balls of his feet, he’s solid as a linebacker, head up, boots on the tracks, hands held wide. He’s got two bottles of pale ale in one hand and a dead flashlight in the other, and he’s grinning.

“Dean,” Sam says, a little more urgently. The sound of the engine is heavy and dull in his ears, and he can feel the rails vibrate.

“Weather’s fine,” Dean says. “Live a little.”

Dean’s still grinning, as if nineteen thousand tons of freight train out of Saskatoon powering down the line will stop, just because Dean Winchester’s standing on the tracks. The headlight of the coming engine is brighter than the moon, whiting out the night, highlighting the folds of Dean’s coat, his cheekbones and the ruffled spikes of his hair. Light in motion, it sends their elongated shadows dancing across the snow. Night vision interrupted shows Sam images in black and white. Dean the warrior. Dean the invincible.

“Move, okay?” Sam says, raising his voice.

“Aw, Sam,” Dean says, but he doesn’t take his eyes from the train.

Somewhere behind the single, consuming light there’s a driver, and even as Sam tries to see past the glare into the cabin, he can hear the wheels scream as the brakes lock on. Sparks fly into the night, steel straining against steel.

“Fucking move,” Sam shouts, and at last, finally, in a contemptuous lazy pirouette, Dean steps off the tracks. Night behemoth, the train splits them apart seconds later with a rush of wheel-born thunder and snow-cold wind that tugs at Sam’s coat and snaps his bangs over his eyes. Sam on one side of the tracks, Dean on the other.

It’s a freight train, low-slung double stacked containers, and in the moonlight the beast is slow enough for Sam to snatch glimpses of his reckless, careless brother in the spaces between cars. Dean in monochrome, freeze frame, split second shots. Dean laughing. Dean waving. Dean paused waving. Dean looking away. Dean caught halfway through a star-jump, clowning for Sam. Punctuated by passing freight cars, reduced to a cartoon image, he could be as inconsequential as Sam’s own reflection in a funhouse mirror. They’re disconnected, uncoupled. An image in black and white, Dean is a stranger in a landscape Sam doesn’t recognize.

Sam looks.

Dean is Sam’s. Dean is family, with every single nuance of thwarted love and exasperation and hero worship the word entails. When Sam thinks of Dean, it’s not his face Sam knows, it’s the way Dean feels in Sam’s head, an emotional image so intricately entwined with Dean’s body that the two have always seemed inseparable. Dean seen by Sam in relation to Sam alone. Just as if there had never been, never was, a Sam without Dean.

The thought’s untrue. There has been a Sam alone, lost, without a compass in a world he did not understand. And there has been a Dean without Sam. Before Sam was even born, Dean. Dean in hell. Dean with Lisa, trying so very hard to be the man Sam had wanted him to be. Alone.

On the side of a railway embankment in Schenectady, New York, Sam looks at Dean and sees a stranger. Flash frame images, movie star stills. A man Sam does not know, suddenly, crazily, so strange and so very beautiful Sam cannot but want. Lust after, so violently, so quickly, that the heat of it sinks into his bones as if it belongs there. As if Sam’s reliving a realised desire, as if he’s looked at Dean before and felt, not love, but hunger. He should look away. He can’t, hopelessly entangled in Dean’s image. Dean shrugging his scarf up to his chin. Dean frowning. Dean turned away, his shoulders down, his face lowered in profile. Dean starting to walk down the tracks as Sam must, keeping pace, his feet stumbling blindly through snow on gravel. Sam seeing Dean from the outside in, nothing more than a fantasy Sam struggles to ground in what is real: this isn’t, can’t be, a casual moment of lust. Dean is Sam’s brother. Dean is half of Sam’s life.

He still can’t look away.

The train passes, gathering speed. Thirty cars. Forty. Fifty. Snow smacks off a container, missing Sam by inches. The second snowball clips one container and splatters against the next. Sam doesn’t even try. Shocked and aching, he stands still instead, watching, until Dean gives up. The train is endless. Sixty cars. Seventy. It’s still a betrayal when the last car passes and leaves Sam alone on the tracks with this man he no longer knows.

He can see the way it should be. They will gravitate together, he and Dean, walking shoulder to shoulder. Dean will have the remnants of his grin in the corners of his mouth and the curve of his cheeks. Sam will be fondly exasperated. Dean will complain about walking and Sam will cite Dean’s blood alcohol level and the iced up roads. They will tumble into the hotel room stripping off gloves and coats: Dean will give Sam the first shower and when he comes out his boots will be damp but clean, stuffed with newspaper and set side-by-side in front of the heater. Ten minutes later, Dean will come out of the bathroom already wearing his boxer shorts and T-shirt, and he’ll sleep on his belly, snuffling.

It seems unreal. It’s a relationship that doesn’t exist. Dean is the same; it’s Sam who has changed, Sam who has been shocked so far from himself tonight that he can barely put one foot in front of the other. His hands are clenched in his pockets, his heart trip hammers double time, and he’s as hard under his clothes as he can ever remember being. He hadn’t realized, while the train passed, but in the snow-silenced afterward his pulse thuds against the skin of his wrists and in the hollows of his thighs, his cock rubs heavy and damp against his belly with every stride he takes, and he’s light-headed and dizzy.

“Sam?”

“Nothing.”

“Chickenshit.”

“Don’t do that again,” Sam snaps.

He can see Dean’s eyebrows go up from the corner of his eyes, but Sam doesn’t look around. Dean says nothing. Sam balls his hands in his pockets, fingernails pressing into the flesh of his palms, and keeps walking. Snow crunches under his boots and Dean’s, a crackling dissonance, although Dean’s stride matches his and they’re walking in the same direction.

The motel’s cranked up the heating. Warmth prickles in Sam’s fingers and the tip of his nose, pinks Dean’s cheeks and flushes his skin under the unwrapped scarf.

“No shower?”

“Tired,” Sam says, no more than his coat and boots stripped off and those reluctantly. With no such compunction Dean’s down to jeans and T-shirt and threadbare socks, all of them and Dean himself stretched out on his bed with the remote. He’s four feet away and the curve of his hipbone would fit exactly into the palm of Sam’s hand. Sense memory, the feel of softened denim and skin under it shivers through Sam’s fingers. He looks away.

“This okay with you?”

“What?” Not explosions on the screen but souped up cars and city streets. Dean doesn’t usually ask, which means he knows something’s wrong. “Sure,” Sam manages, and is caught all over again by the shadows across Dean’s face, the angular lines of his cheekbones and the softening of his jawline. He knows what the creases at the corner of Dean’s eyes would feel like under his thumbs, and it’s a sensation so real Sam wonders for a moment if he’s actually felt it. He’d thought he remembered everything, when the wall crashed down, but he’s learned not to trust himself. His selves.

For a moment, in a flashback so vivid it could be real, Sam sees, feels, Dean arch up under Sam’s weight. It’s an image shadowed with blood and flame, and the heat of it stings Sam so powerfully he almost gasps. Dean, bruised and bloodied, has never looked at Sam with his eyes wide and his hands clawed on Sam’s shoulders, and Sam’s never even dreamed the brutal, velvet clench of the way Dean’s ass feels around his own cock. It’s a perversion of love so sickeningly arousing Sam bites back a gasp. What he’s seeing is a nightmare straight out of the cage, and he thought he’d seen everything.

It’s not true.

But Dean’s lied before. Dean would lie again, to protect Sam.

In desperate retreat, Sam stretches out a hand and reaches down his laptop, thumbing it open. It’s not the first time he’s tried and got nowhere, but, hands shaking, he types memory loss into Google and hits return. He’s hoping for some explanation of phantom memories, unreal emotions that would explain the shape of his desire, so utterly unwelcome and so familiar. Tracing references and case studies and articles, what he finds instead is a case. It’s the strange tale of a Daniel Robertson. A month prior, Daniel had embarked on his usual New York subway commute from South Ferry to 66th Street a family man, with forty-three years of memories. He’d left it an hour and ten minutes later on a gurney, his mind wiped clean as a newborn’s. Nothing left. No family, no job, no memories. Nothing. It’s a thing odd enough for even the Gotham bloggers to take note.

New York City has never been Winchester territory. Sam bookmarks, files, and moves on. In the morning, there will be coffee, and pancakes, and Sam-and-Dean as they should be, nothing more. Along with Daniel Robertson, New York, and unexplained amnesia on the subway (possibly prescription drug induced, possibly minor demon, to be proven), Sam tries to confine his uncomfortable image of Dean as an object to be desired somewhere at the back of his mind.

But he fails. Over and over again, day after day, Sam fails. Paradoxically, lust sharpens his image of Dean and blurs it: Sam is stupidly conscious of the exact configuration of the curve of Dean’s cheekbone and the hollow between the muscles of his thighs, his stubby fingernails and the uneven bones of his knuckles. Dean’s physical reality is as sharp and painful as a knife to the ribs, and Sam spends half his time looking and the other half looking away. It’s excruciating. Sam can’t let Dean know he’s fucked up again, not by the sound of his voice or the guilty shift of his eyes or the inopportune, haunting arousal, but he can’t not look. It reminds him, shaming and sick, of nothing so much as the focused hero-worship of his childhood.

Everything comes back to Dean. Sam, too. He didn’t leap into the pit to save the world.

Dean notices. Sam’s a heartbeat too late for the punch line, two inches too far away and not sleeping again, and Dean’s watching. All Sam can do is blur the truth: he looks at Dean through glass, flattens his hands against the pane, but he cannot – will not – reach through. He’s alone on this one, it’s his burden to carry. There’s no get out of jail free card for incest.

[calamity-writes]

Kindle My Heart - 02

[ part 1 ] [ x ] [ part 3 ] [ part 4 ] [ part 5 ] [ part 6 ] [ part 7 ]

Rahlen belongs to @picchar <3

Skyhold didn't have an airport of it's own, the scenic town was too nestled in the mountains for that. Instead the nearest flight would bring Rahlen to Redcliffe, where Fenlin now waited at Arrivals. Sitting on a bench, jiggling her legs in place to keep her nerves at bay, Fenlin stared at her phone and wondered what she was doing.

He wasn't going to show up, clearly. Rahlen would have something more important come up and he'd have to stay in Denerim with his family. Sure, he'd sent her a text saying he was about to board, complete with picture of the pink sunrise over the plane, but SOMETHING would come up. Because... of course it would?

Fenlin frowned. She knew that she was being ridiculous, but it just didn't make sense that he'd want to come visit on such short notice. Well, aside from the fact that he had friends in Skyhold like Athim and probably wanted to check out the male skaters in the first competition of the season. Ahhh that made more sense.

Looking up from her phone, Fen scanned the travellers who had started to trickle out into the baggage claim area where she was sitting. The doubts flooded back with a vengeance: she should have worn more make up? Less? Dressed nicer or stayed in the comfortable leggings she'd been wearing earlier? This was just a friend thing, they were just friends. Had she over dressed by putting on makeup at all? No, she'd started wearing it a bit more often since the gala last year.

But-

There he was. He spotted her about the same time she saw him, and he smiled, lifting a hand up as he walked towards her. Standing, Fenlin swallowed the sudden thud in her chest and smiled back, greeting him halfway.

"Maker I had the //best flight," Rahlen said, pulling her into a big hug. Fen sniffed, nose pressed into Rahlen's wool coat. Was... that dog-smell? Why did he smell like dog? "The other guy in my row brought his mabari and her pups so I got to watch puppies sleep all flight."

Fen looked up at him, eyes wide.

Rahlen blinked, looking down at her.

"...what? My mom's always had one, they're big softies."

"I didn't say anything," she said, biting the corner of her lip and trying not to smile. "You just, got all little-kid-cute and I wasn't sure this was the same Rahlen I knew from Denerim."

Rahlen's ears turned a bit pink, and he cleared his throat, giving the hug a last squeeze before letting go of Fen. She joined him as he headed to the luggage carousel, the smile getting wider on her face.

"What?" he muttered, "Pfft, dogs are cute. It makes me wish I had time to have one."

"Well, aren't Mabaris, like, two hundred pound animals that were bred to be wardogs?" She asked, tucking her phone away into her purse. "How are those big softies? My mom's terrified of them."

He lifted his eyebrows and glanced at her, then tilted his head.

"What, really? I guess, your mom's Orlesian, right? She's probably used to smaller dogs, and the fluffy lapdogs?" Rahlen asked, hands tucked into his pockets. "They just need to be handled well, a happy mabari is a mabari who knows what to expect and what's expected of them. Fyr was the best, though. Let me ride her all the time when I was little, Dad thought it was the funniest thing ever. I had to hide the pictures from him or he shows literally everyone who visits their place."

Fen was staring at him now. She made a mental note to seek out-

"I see that look," Rahlen said, mock-narrowing his eyes at her.

"No look," she said, trying to look innocent. "I wasn't looking like anything. Or, uh, at... anything."

"Uh huh," he said.

Fen cleared her throat.

"You want coffee? I'll go get coffee while you wait for your bag," Fen said. She had a sudden and intense need to see those pictures. Sooner or later, she would.

"You forget about those pictures," he called after her, and Fen pretended not to hear him.

**

The drive back into the mountains was shorter than the drive out to Redcliffe, or at least it seemed that way with Rahlen filling her in on the skating world in Denerim and Ferelden. Not that she was that out of the loop between his daily texts and talking with Shae, but it was nice to chat.

"How's your training coming along? You look great," he said. "I mean, you usually do, but muscle tone wise from that selfie that I absolutely never received since someone deleted it from my phone."

Fenlin snorted, trying to cover for the flush of pink along her ears and cheeks. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye she shook her head.

"Such a mistake," she said. "I don't even know why I did that. You probably get ten selfies a day from instagraph models. You did delete it thought...?" she asked, glancing at him.

"Of course, you asked me to," Rahlen said. "And, I mean, I do, but most of those girls send those out all the time to lots of the guys. There's not much to compare with them and you trusting me enough to send a sexy selfie," he said with a grin. "Especially after inviting me to come visit." He sniffed, pretending to be sad. "Here I thought you were ashamed of our time together."

She couldn't help laughing, even through the small twinge of nerves in her belly. He was just being nice, she was sure. She'd seen the girls that threw themselves at the guy skaters. They were gorgeous and always made up just right, and had thousands of followers. Fenlin had awkwardness and an old instgraph account that only ever had pictures of the wilderness on it.

It had started to snow, light flakes drifting back and forth over the road as Fenlin pulled off on the exit to Skyhold. The road was winding, but it was beautiful. She hadn't realised she'd let out a small sigh until Rahlen nodded.

"Right?" He said. "I can see why you like it here. Course, Mister forest Spirit was sad when I said you weren't coming back. At least not for a while."

"Oh, he missed me, huh?" Fen said. "I should bring you out to meet the auroras then," she said with a sly smile. "Course, they only show up if you howl at the stars, and I don't know if Mister Big City Skater Boy knows how to howl."

"You can show me how to howl," Rahlen said, leaning over by her ear. "I know I can make you howl at the stars. You sure you wanna let the spirits see that?"

Fenlin felt the rush of heat up her face and down her neck and... oh.

"I... maybe not," she said, clearing her throat.

"There's a lookout ahead," he said, and she felt his teeth graze her ear. "Why don't you pull over and we can stretch our legs? I mean, if you'd like to."

Fenlin chewed on her lip, then turned on her signal, pulling onto the gravel road that led to the lookout. The laughter against her neck was almost enough to drive her to distraction. Almost.

"There's someone else here," she said, more than a touch grumpily.

The other car had it's four-ways on, and a man got out as they pulled into a parking spot, waving at them.

"Think he's got a flat?" she asked.

"I dunno," Rahlen said, faint trace of a growl in his throat. Good Creators how was she going to survive the rest of the weekend? Swallowing, Fen put the car into park and rolled the window down as the man approached.

"Hey, it's the guy from the plane," Rahlen said, voice losing much of it's edge.

"I was worried no one would stop by," the man said, leaning over to look in the window. "Thank the maker- oh! Mister Theirin, Maker put you on my road today. The breaks have gone dead, Andraste's hand helped me glide until we got here and safely off the road. But the pups are cold, and the next tow is another hour or more away."

Fen chewed her lip, glancing at the back of her car. It was small. They could fit one person, or a giant dog and some puppies. Not both.

"I'll get out, Rahlen you can take Mister ... uh... this guy up to Skyhold, it's not far. Just stay on the road and you get into the town centre," she said, reaching for the keys. Rahlen caught her hand.

"I'm not gonna leave you out in the literal cold for an hour," he said, looking pointedly at her. "But, I don't feel right making you drive a strange man up on your own either."

"Mister Bannwyn, miss, but, I know Mister Theirin's from a good family, met his mam a few times. If you're willing to take Chessie and her pups up to Skyhold and keep them warm, I've got enough layers to keep warm until the tow arrives."

The mabari at his side wagged her hips and let out a huff of breath that spread fog over Fenlin's window.

"You're sure?" she asked. "Well, Rahlen can take the car back down if we don't hear from you. OKay?" It was a bit awkward, but what other choice did they have? She couldn't let the pups freeze while the man waited for a tow.

"Sure as Andraste, Miss."

A few minutes later, Rahlen was holding a pair of potato-like pups in his lap, and there was a massive dog laying down in the back with three more pups tucked carefully against her belly and the back seat. Chessie let out a low whine as Fenlin started the car, but luckily didn't try to bolt or howl as the car pulled out of the lookout lot.

"They're so small," Rahlen was cooning at the potato-sack-pups. Most of them were sleeping, but one in Rahlen's arms had started licking at his hand. "Chessie, you're so wonderful to let me hold your babies."

Chessie let out a low wuff of air, and nudged Rahlen's shoulder with her nose. Checking on her pups, that they were still alright.

Fen couldn't help but smile at the sight of Rahlen and the puppies,  but she was still anxious, driving slowly and carefully so the pups in the back didn't wake up and start climbing around the car's interior.

"Best trip ever," Rahlen said, scratching behind the more active puppy's ears. "Fen, if all the visits to you are this awesome, you might never get rid of me."