#i’m so sorry ao3 tag i’m probably really clogging you up

[leg0joker]

Dear diary,

It has been 26 minutes since ao3, I try not to refresh too often knowing it will not help. I fear I will not live to see next winter. I’m starting to forget what the kudos button looks like

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // Chapter 1 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Reader (You) Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), descriptions of burning, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. For years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because you feel like something halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t wash the smell of hospital out of clothes, not really. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Scott’s new-found abilities and the murky world they’ve been dragged into is making it pretty damn hard to keep his promise. 

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real and old family skeletons rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive? 

Maybe, the real question is how long will they want to? Chapter Summary: After your annual interrogation with Sheriff Stilinski, you meet his son who turns out to be very handy with jumper cables and incoherent babbling.

A/N: Does this look familiar? It should lmao. I gave into the peer pressure. All the messages and requests were too powerful. Here is a reader version of my ofc season 1 fic. Obviously some things have been removed to get rid of specific names/descriptions, so you want to read the full thing you can read the og version and check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)! For the sake of not clogging tags, I'll probably just do my reader version on tumblr and the full oc lore version on ao3 from now on. xx

Some say the world will end in fire. Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

Before your mother’s death, you would have picked fire. Every single time. 

You never liked the cold; never really had to get used to it growing up in central California—but the crux of your argument, the twisted logic behind it all, was that most burn victims died from suffocation before they felt the flames. A small mercy, really, in the face of unspeakable tragedy. 

In the end, however, statistics were just numbers, your mother didn't die from smoke inhalation, and there was no mercy in burying a parent before you were old enough to have children of your own. Nothing ever ended poetically off the page. Death was just death, and it was always ugly. Someone should really tell that to Robert Frost, you mused, biting at a raw hangnail.

The medical examiner said the actual cause of death was pulmonary edema; at least, that was his best guess based on the state of the body. He didn’t say that she felt everything, her skin peeling back into her flesh, her flesh liquefying into fuel, her joints flexing into contorted pleas until the fire incinerated her last nerve ending. He didn’t have to; you connected those dots all on your own. You’d been twelve at the time, not an imbecile. 

“I’m sorry to drag you through this all again.”

You flitted your eyes away from the flickering lightbulb above Sheriff Stilinski’s head and met his gaze; it was nauseatingly sympathetic. Your responding shrug was a small, little thing—more like a twitch in practice, “Not your fault.” 

Your yearly visits to Sheriff Stilinski’s office were solely your father’s doing, even if no one wanted to admit it to your face. Most mayors would use their political power to get their child out of a police station, not into it, but perhaps he stopped being your dad somewhere between the funeral and now. 

“If you could start—”

“From the beginning,” you smoothed your thumb in small circles over the armrest of your chair, attentively tracing patterns into the polished wood, “I know.” This was, after all, the fourth anniversary of your first interrogation. You’d become somewhat of an expert at being a useless witness. You picked at your uneven cuticles before continuing, “Mom put me to bed around 10:00—which was kind of late for a school night, honestly, but she let me stay up to finish another chapter anyway.” The right corner of your mouth twitched for a brief moment, “Nancy Drew: Password to Larkspur Lane. I told her that forcing someone to go to sleep in the middle of a mystery was specifically forbidden in Geneva Protocol II.” Your mom had been far too indulgent of your lip on most occasions, but that night she didn’t smile at your snarky aside. She let you finish the chapter because she was too tired to argue; you could tell. At the time, you saw it as a victory. Now, it kept you up at night, the drooping lines of your mother’s mouth spilling over the pages of whatever book you were trying to read.

You bit down on your tongue when a stray splinter snagged against the soft pad of your thumb, “Dad was out of town, so it was just the two of us. Mom always put me to bed when Dad was gone; said it was the only way she could get to sleep. Had to make sure my window was locked.” You paused for a long moment: everything went dark after this. Your mother kissed the top of your head, murmured, ‘Love you,’ turned out the light, and then that was it. You woke up in the hospital, and your mom was dead. 

A bead of sweat dripped onto your top lip. The air in the Beacon Hills police station was, without fail, sticky with heat and body odor—and it wasn’t just the oppressive Californian sun. Even in the winter, a person could choke on the stifling warmth. Idly, you wondered if it was a matter of interrogatory tactics or budgetary constraints. 

“And then,” Sheriff Stilinski prompted gently, though you both knew how the story went from here. You had told it to him and a dozen other officials at least a hundred times in the last four years. 

You bit down on your thumbnail and winced when your teeth snagged on the tender nail bed, “And then nothing. I opened my eyes, and a nurse said that you found me on the front lawn.” 

“You don’t remember how you got outside?” 

You shook your head, staring past the Sheriff's shoulder. Large pieces of dust floated through the air, highlighted by the slivers of light trickling through the blinds. Suddenly, you had a newfound appreciation for the lack of fans in the room. 

Sheriff Stilinski cleared his throat and rubbed his hand over his jaw, “You don’t remember saying it was an angel?”

Blinking slowly, you looked at the grim line of the Sheriff’s mouth and gripped your knees tightly, digging your fingers into fragile skin until your wrist cracked, “I should, right? I was twelve. I should remember something—that’s what everyone thinks. That’s what my dad thinks.” Your eyelids fluttered to a tight close, and your voice went so quiet you could barely be heard over the hum of the copier outside the door, “He thinks it was me. That’s why he makes you question me every year.” Copper flooded your mouth as the soft lining of your cheek split under the brunt of your teeth, “He thinks you’ll finally figure out how I did it.” 

You were scared to open your eyes as the silence stretched between the two of you. You’d danced around the subject before, hinted and spun around the heart of it, but you’d never truly discussed how it looked from the outside. Sheriff Stilinski had been kind enough to give you a few different excuses over the years: trauma, head injury, oxygen deprivation, just plain ol’ grief—but whatever caused your temporary amnesia wasn’t so conveniently explained. In fact, currently, you had no explanation at all. When you finally peeked through your lashes, clumped together with frustrated tears, you couldn’t quite figure out what expression the Sheriff was making. He leaned back in his desk chair and frowned, “I’m sure he doesn’t—”

“He does,” you cut him off. Your eyes went flinty, irises darkening to something far more ashen with the resolve of your anger. You never had any trouble reading your father’s face; the disgust was thinly-veiled between the flickers of fear. 

Sheriff Stilinksi leaned forward so that you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. They were kind—more tired than usual, but still kind. They always were. That was one thing you remembered from that day, waking up in the hospital to Sheriff Stilinski’s kind, watery blue eyes, just before the entire world fell apart. His voice was gentle, but firm, when he finally spoke, “I don’t.” 

You nodded numbly and pulled at a fraying string on the hem of your denim skirt until the thread snapped. 

“I mean it, kid. They couldn’t identify the source of the fire. They couldn’t even find an origin point; no twelve-year-old could pull that off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Could anyone?”

Sheriff Stilinski’s brow furrowed, and his mouth screwed up into a crooked line, like he was chewing on his words and deciding if he should swallow them or spit them out. “I wish I had all the answers for you. I really do. Not knowing, it’s worse than any truth.”

You blinked up at him for a moment, once again taken aback by his raw sincerity, and swallowed hard. He wasn’t the one who was supposed to have the answers; he was the one who was supposed to ask the questions. There was one failure in his muggy office, and it wasn’t the Sheriff. “It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Not your fault.”

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone on his desk. “I have to take this, but if you remember something, or if you just need to talk—”

“My dad spends a small fortune on a psychiatrist and a behavioral therapist for that,” you stood up quickly, shouldering your bag. You forced the corners of your mouth into a small smile, tight at the edges like a sheet that had been stretched too thin, “But thank you. For everything.” 

The Sheriff’s gaze darted to a framed photo on his desk. You had seen it before, on one of your many visits to his office. It was of a boy—his son, you assumed—he looked like he was around five or six at the time. He was grinning, wide enough to show off his missing incisors, and his fingers and wrist were stained cotton-candy blue from a melting popsicle. You must’ve been that happy once, right? In the beginning, everyone was unencumbered by the weight of imminent mortality. Maybe that’s what Sheriff Stilinski was thinking, too. He looked away from the photo and gave you a small smile, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

You gave a half-hearted wave before wrapping your fingers around the strap of your backpack and walking to the parking lot. 

Outside, the sky was grim, a mocking reflection of the dour expression on your face. The spite in your eyes hardened when big, fat raindrops splattered against the apples of your cheeks. For a moment, you just stood there, glaring at the rain and cursing the cosmos for their utterly unamusing sense of humor.

A jeep pulled into the parking lot, and the squealing engine startled you back into reality. The search for your car keys was, of course, a considerable endeavor. Nothing could be easy. Not here. Not today. Not ever, you thought. A bit melodramatic maybe, but the weather was certainly ripe for a bit of self-pity.

You stacked your textbooks and binders onto the hood of your sedan, haphazardly throwing your jacket on top of the pile to protect your painstakingly penned Kafka essay from the rain. By the time your fingertips brushed against the cool metal of your car keys, your hair was damp and curling at the ends. 

The momentary relief was short-lived when you pressed the unlock button five times and the accompanying beep didn’t sound, not even once. For an absurdly long minute, all you could do was rest your forehead against the driver’s side window, breathing heavily until condensation gathered next to your mouth and the drizzle speckled dots onto the sleeves of your thin cotton shirt.

“If you’re trying to charge the battery through osmosis, it’d probably be more effective to smash your head against the hood.”

You jumped, and then flinched again when your keys clattered against the ground. You caught a glimpse of the phantom speaker in the side-view mirror; bizarrely, he looked just as surprised as you felt. You turned around, trepidatiously—objects may be closer than they appear n’all—and tried to swallow your rapidly rising heart. 

“Sorry,” the boy pulled the hood of his sweatshirt down and had the decency to look contrite, “big mouth.” He rubbed a hand over his chapped lips. “It’s a real problem. It’s so big, actually, that my foot just slides right in there like…all the time,” he gestured animatedly with a flat hand, a quick sliding motion, like a fish through water.

You blinked at him, slowly, and bent down to reach for your keys, “Might wanna see someone about that. Sounds unsanitary.”

“Eh, it’s hardly the worst thing I’ve put in my mouth,” he said, eyes widening into horrified round circles the second he stopped talking. A faint flush creeped up his neck to his ears, and your heart dropped back into your chest. Slashers and ax murderers didn’t blush. Probably. You hadn’t ever met one, but it seemed like sound logic.

“Choking hazard,” you hummed, leaning back against your car. Your fingers traced a small dent in the door, the cause long forgotten, “It’s definitely still a choking hazard.”

The boy grinned before fixing his expression into something on the cusp of severity, “I’m about 95.7% sure that anything bigger than a fist is completely mouth-safe.” He held up his fist and nodded sharply, “Make that 98.3% sure.”

“98.3?” your brow arched.

“Maybe even 98.9.” 

The buzz of a lamp post hummed above your heads as you stared at each other with little smirks until the quiet made you sink your teeth into your bottom lip and big-mouth drum his fingers against his forearm. 

“So,” his sneakers squeaked against the slick asphalt as he shifted his weight, “you need a jump?”

You pursed your lips and ran your eyes over the front of your car, “I might give osmosis another shot. 30 seconds is hardly a fair trial.”

“Of course,” he hummed, “you gotta be fair.”

“We are in front of a police station.”

“Well,” he scratched his cheek, “it’s not a courthouse.”

“Technicality.” You were slightly horrified when you finally noticed that you were smiling. The sensation felt like it had escaped straight out of the uncanny valley and latched onto your face like a parasite in need of a host. It only took two weeks for muscles to atrophy; years must have completely decimated the fibers in your cheeks. “I guess I could use a jump. If your offer was an offer and not a hypothetical.” 

“Smart choice.” The boy rapped his knuckles against the hood of your car and said, “Steel’s probably pretty low on the permeability scale.”

“As opposed to a skull.”

He snorted and then nodded towards the large lump of books and papers covered by your freshly dampened jean jacket, “You should probably move your stuff. Y’know, ‘cause of the very un-permeable battery.”

“There’s that,” you sighed and started stuffing your things back into your backpack, shaking it violently until your notebook finally slid past your chemistry textbook, “and flunking English isn’t high on my list of things to do this weekend.”

His gaze flickered back and forth, rapidly cataloging every corner and crevice of your face. You tilted your head, brows pinched, and stared back at him with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. His eyes, you noticed, became a peculiar shade of brown in the yellow glow of the setting sun and the fluorescent light of the lamppost. More like honey, you realized, more like honey than irises. Something finally clicked behind them. "You,” he pointed aggressively, “you go to Beacon Hills.”

You pushed his finger away from your face with your own, “Safe bet, considering there’s exactly one option for the next 2,000 square miles.”

“You’re kind of a smartass, you know that,” he muttered. He struggled with the trunk of the jeep parked next to your car, cursing under his breath until he finally wrenched it open with an almost guttural grunt.

Your lips parted briefly, and then you grinned drolly. It was refreshing, not being treated like some fragile little creature who would buckle in the knees—or possibly set something on fire—at the slightest confrontation. “Kind of?”

“Total.” He nodded decisively before sticking his head and torso into the depths of his trunk. “Completely, entirely, and wholly a smartass.” There were various clanging sounds until he re-emerged with a pair of jumper cables, “Never noticed that in class. You don’t really…say anything.”

You bit back the snark poised on the tip of your tongue. When people looked at you, the only thing they saw was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. You were the daughter of the woman who burned to death on Cedar Street; your mom died, and you were there. It seemed like that was all you would ever be in Beacon Hills. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was better to be no one. 

High school had been your chance to slip into social obscurity—more kids, more drama, less discussion of homicide by arson—so you took it, wholeheartedly. You kept to the corners of classrooms, away from extracurriculars, and your mouth resolutely shut. 

“I try to exclusively bring the smart and leave the ass at home,” you finally replied.

The boy’s eyes drifted downwards for a moment, and his voice did a funny, squeaky thing when he said, “I should give that a go sometime.”

“10/10 would recommend. No one bugs you—and teachers never throw erasers at your face.”

“So you do remember me,” he grinned a little and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt before unlatching the jeep’s hood and propping it open.

Slanting your head, you watched his profile. There were moles scattered across his cheek and neck, and his angular jaw clenched as he struggled with the knotted cords in his willowy fingers. “Vaguely,” you said faintly. It was coming back to you in pieces. That was life after twelve for you: bits and pieces. Everything was made up of the disquieting moments when you surfaced from the haze and into the present. It should’ve felt like a lungful of air, but it didn’t. It always felt like choking. 

He wiped his grease-smudged hand on his jeans and then extended it towards you, “Stiles.”

You took his hand, despite the strange formality, and shook it—mainly because of the black streaks staining his pants. “Y/N.”

His fingers twitched a few times when he connected the clamp to the coordinating battery terminal, and your eyes widened. You held your breath in your sternum until you registered that he hadn’t been electrocuted. He was just naturally tweaky, you concluded. It was either that, or he had jumped one-too-many engines in the last 24 hours…unless it was hidden option C, and he was actually tweaking. Unlikely, given he was on his way into a building teeming with cops, but far stranger things had happened in Beacon Hills.  

You sighed a little as you listened to the rain patter against the asphalt and the roof of your car, rubbing your palms over your arms until the goosebumps prickling along your biceps receded into your skin. Stiles looked back at you again, and his mouth wormed its way into a little frown. His head disappeared into his trunk, and after a moment a lumpy maroon mass hurtled towards your face. You caught it before it could smack into your nose, and you clutched at the soft material until you realized that the projectile missile was actually just a sweatshirt. 

Stiles was staring at you when you looked up from your hands. A small, unsure…something squirmed over his face, and you felt a little stupid, just standing there, hoodie limp in your arms. It happened a lot—more than it should after so many years. The invisible quicksand materialized in the strangest, most insignificant moments. You blinked, completely brainless, at simple questions, stared aimlessly into your closet until your second alarm startled you into snatching the first shirt you came across—clasped at a stranger’s hoodie until the rainwater pooled on your lashes dripped into your eyes.

Robotically, you thrust your arms through the sleeves and tugged it over your head, “Thanks.” The sweet scent of grass clung to the fabric, and there was something earthier underneath it, something like evergreen. You smiled slightly, combing your baby hairs behind your ears, “I guess I forgive you for attempting to blind me in the process.”

Stiles’s shoulders unwound as he scoffed, “That was an excellent throw. First-line material, honestly.”

You looked at him and tilted your head, eyebrows crawling towards your hairline, and Stiles sighed loudly, “Okay, so I’m not an ‘athlete’ or whatever—but I’m working on it. You’ll see—you’ll all see.”

You hummed softly, unconvinced but grateful enough to not comment further. Another bout of silence fell between you, but it wasn’t so restless this time—even after Stiles torpedoed his body through his passenger seat. He fought with his keys for a while until the correct one slid into the ignition. 

The jeep’s engine hummed pleasantly in the background as you let out a soft sigh, dropping your head back against your car window. The rain had stopped somewhere between trying to unlock your car and now, but you couldn’t quite recall when. The chill wasn’t so bad, you realized, without your foul mood casting a shadow over your head.

Stiles landed back on his feet and leaned against the jeep. You could feel his gaze on you again. A tickling sensation trailed down your spine as you fiddled with your keychain. You took a step backwards and bit your bottom lip, “I should probably try start my car…y’know, before you throw something else at my face.’”

He nodded, taking a step towards his jeep, “Solid plan. A tire iron was next.”

You slid into your car and stared at the steering wheel, forgetting to laugh at his joke. You wrapped your fingers around 10 and 2 and silently called upon every deity you’d ever heard of to end your suffering. Stiles seemed nice enough, but you seriously doubted your smalltalk capabilities were up-to ‘ride home’ standards. Perhaps, you should revisit your resounding dedication to atheism, you thought, as the engine sputtered in protest a few times and then came back to life. 

Stiles flashed two thumbs up through the window. The smile on his face was positively goofy, but his dismount from the jeep was somehow even goofier. He stumbled over his large feet a few times before regaining stability. You bit back a smile when he shot you another thumbs up, this time through the dash as he removed the jumper cables from your car’s battery.

He wiped his hands off on his jeans again; at this point, you were convinced that they were beyond saving, but Stiles didn’t seem concerned. He tapped against your window before stepping around the open door, “You should probably let it run for a while. Take the scenic route home; enjoy all the Beacon Hills hotspots open past 8:00 pm on a weeknight. I personally recommend the Rite Aid or Walmart.”

You snorted, “Maybe I’ll swing by the Preserve. I hear the woods are especially beautiful in the foreboding darkness.”

“Don’t.” Serious was an odd look on Stiles’s face. You decided that you much preferred the goofy grin. “Don’t go anywhere near the Preserve. It’s officially cordoned off—totally locked down, quarantine-zone-central. Something about flesh-eating, parasitic plant life.”

“As completely real and unobtrusive as that sounds,” you drawled, “don’t worry about it. Literally every single person in town knows about the body they found in the woods.” It was bound to happen, small town and all—and ‘woman dies in deadly animal attack’ was the most interesting thing that had happened in Beacon Hills since the intersection got a Target two years ago. “I’ve seen every installment of Friday the 13th and The Blair Witch Project. If I’m going to be murdered, I refuse to also be humiliated by a cliché C.O.D.” 

The manic expression on his face softened to a relieved smile and then again to a little smirk, “So what’s a certified fresh murder, then? Not that I doubt the depths of human depravity, but I think society killed off originality a few centuries ago.”

You thought back to a house fire with no origin, accelerant, or discernible cause. Apparently, not. “You know what they say,” you sighed, “life finds a way.”

Stiles tilted his head, “And death.”

“And death,” you agreed, staring at a small chip in your windshield. The cracks had just begun to spiderweb out from the pit. 

Stiles looked like he wanted to say something, and he looked so much like the Sheriff with his face twisted around thoughtful contemplation that you couldn’t believe it had taken you this long to make the connection. The boy in the photo had grown up. How unfortunate for him. Stiles swallowed whatever it was that was lingering on his tongue and shut your door. He leaned his elbow against the window frame and cocked his hand in a stiff little wave, “Seeya at school. I’ll bring something fun for target practice—maybe grapes. You like grapes? Don’t answer that—I’ll surprise you.”

You put your car in drive once Stiles was safely a few feet from the wheels and gave him a dry smile, “The anticipation is killing me.”

What a scary place to be, you thought as you watched Stiles disappear in your rearview mirror. Anticipation. Hope. Life. You were chronically good at surviving; cockroached your way out of every horrible thing life squashed you with. Lately, all you could do was cling to your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin, until you were barely more than roadkill. A walking carcass was a far cry from living, but death would not stop for you, so you stopped looking for him. You kept treading water, took your pills, stopped existing—you were a lot like Schrödinger’s cat that way: too stubborn to live, too stubborn to die. You didn’t know what to do if someone unsealed the box and forced you to choose. That was the trouble with possibility; it required far too much uncertainty.

Your dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when you finally pulled into your circle driveway. It was a rare sight; your dead battery had disrupted your usual routine. You were supposed to be safely tucked away in your room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if you were feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time your dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way you could function in the same space. 

He used to stare at you from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way you knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, you thought. You loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. You wondered what he saw when he looked at you now. You wondered, and you desperately didn’t want to find out.  

You shouldered your backpack and made sure your car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. You could hear the buzz of the microwave as you toed off your sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Your dad loved their al pomodoro. 

You tried to make yourself as small as possible as you skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to your ears and grip tight around the strap of your backpack. Your dad’s back was to you; you could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once you reached the island. 

“Did…” your dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?” 

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at you. You stared at the back of his head and sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. Look at me. Your brows pinched, and your back molars ground together. Look at me. 

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” you shoved your hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that you forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time. 

“That’s not what I—” your dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.” 

“Oh,” you shifted your weight onto your other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Your dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but you supposed it was the closest you’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud. 

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.” 

You nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. You’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when your dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe you could if he would look at you.

[euphoricfilter]

About DTIK (sorry that I was late reading your reply), I think it's really good. Not sure about tumblr cuz it's not as convenient as ao3 in terms of searching and filtering fics. I checked your fic on ao3; maybe change your rating though cuz you put general audience with a smut tag😅. One of the good things about ao3 is the hits really, you can see how many people have clicked your fic. I find your TBAH and DTIK really unique because.. really, not many people write about those. 9 tails and 4 arms demon. And I think that many people post their fics on ao3 because you can just go crazy and write bizzare fics and most readers know that, especially with the extra warning if there's below 18 reader. I know I'm all talk cuz I don't reblog fics on tumblr, but I love to leave kudos and bookmarks to good fics on ao3. I'm sorry, reblogging just kinda takes effort (I don't like disorganization with the tags and I like to stay anonymous here); ao3 is kind of just one two clicks away. I hope you still enjoy writing it, because even if it's not on high demand, if you like it, I think you can finish it. I'm sorry if I cross the line. I just really wish you want to continue it

you’re okay my lovely!!

oh yeah, DTIK was the first fic i ever posted on ao3 so the tags and all that are probably wrong because i didn’t know how to use it LMAO

maybe if i ever repost DTIK id keep it on ao3, i guess it did okay on tumblr, but i find that readers on here mostly don’t like super long fics, or i just didn’t brand it right or maybe something else. tumblr is still a mystery i’ve not figured out quite yet

a lot of people said the same things about TBAH and DTIK when they were only 2 fics on this page 🫡 i used to be so happy having exclusively unique fics too :(( that would have been so fun if that had become my trademark as a writer but i guess it wasn’t meant to be

hmm maybe exclusively on ao3 is the way to go then, i used to read most of my fics from ao3 so i’m familiar with how easy the system is, and maybe then lack of interaction on tumblr won’t weigh me down and kinda make me push the series to the side

i’ve talked about this with someone before on here about his disorganized storing fics are. especially because reblogs help a lot, but then it kinda clogs your page up and likes are useless because now i just have fics i like laying in the depths of my liked tab and i doubt they’ll ever see the light of day again 🥲 i think i go through a crisis every other month at this point, wanting to just re-start my whole blog because it feels like a huge mess and i never know how to fix it.

honestly, the only reason i started posting on tumblr was because of the inbox. it felt like having the anon feature gave people like me, who don’t like being perceived a chance to communicate and i thought, if i posted on here then at least some people might come in my inbox and that would be cute and then we can vibe. everything else about this app is kinda shitty

you’re not crossing the line at all!! i think if anything you’ve helped me out!! i truly do love that series more than anything i’ve ever written, it’s just the lack of enthusiasm from other people kinda made me feel like i shouldn’t waste other peoples time by writing it, like why would they wanna see that on their dashboard, you know???

i said in the last ask, but i have part of the first chapter already rewritten, and obviously the rest of the series isn’t gonna be hard to catch up with in terms of rewriting, i’m not changing the plot. just adapting the style slightly

ahhh you know i used to be so excited for people to finally read the ending because i just knew that if people were invested in the series and they read the final chapter they’d be like ???? oh 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

thank you for lighting the spark of inspiration for me, and thank you for loving the series 🫂 it means the world to me that you like it and want to know what happens next 💞 i don’t think i’ve abandoned it quite yet and i’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long for any sort of update

[starjunco]

I posted 176 times in 2022

38 posts created (22%)

138 posts reblogged (78%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@garbria

@awlwren-writes

@whumpwriterforlife

@annaoi

@calling4glaives

I tagged 171 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#garbria - 34 posts

#ffxv - 29 posts

#awlwren - 25 posts

#kingsglaive - 23 posts

#whumpcember2022 - 19 posts

#nyxweek2022 - 18 posts

#whumpwriterforlife - 16 posts

#nyx ulric - 14 posts

#ask game - 9 posts

#cor leonis - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 107 characters

#time to go day dream about galahdian liquors that the glaives may or may not be making in their off time...

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

It's a three-for-one drabble deal today, so I'm going to put them under a line to help not clog anyone's feed. We have...

Day 24: Anticipation -- Libertus Ostium, Tredd Furia, Pelna Khara, Crowe Altius, Nyx Ulric, Glauca

Day 25: “Shouldn’t You Be Happy?" -- Prompto Argentum, Noctis Lucis Caelum -- Parental fighting

Day 26: Free Falling -- Nyx Ulric -- Heights, explosions

*******

Day 24: Anticipation (Ao3)

“What do you mean ‘explode’?!” Libertus yelled over the comm.

“That’s what ‘engine overload’ means!” Tredd yelled back. “Explode!”

“This hunk of metal is too big to just fall from the sky,” Pelna said. “There has to be life pods -- shuttles -- drop ships -- something! Just give me a second…”

“60 seconds! Get away from the back of the--” Tredd’s line shrieked and died. Not a second later an explosion shook the ship -- not the big one, not yet, but it had to be starting.

“Fuck fuck fuck…okay, emergency pods! Third and sixth levels, either side!” Pelna instructed.

“Probably not happening, got a problem,” Nyx said, his comm half static.

“What kind of ‘problem’?!” Crowe demanded.

“I’ll catch up, don’t worry,” Nyx said.

He clicked off the comm. Before him, in the center a hold full of empty daemon cages, stood the armored figure of Glauca.

*******

Day 25: “Shouldn’t You Be Happy?" (Ao3)

Hey, this gala is boring. Wanna play Knight’s Tale?

Prompto stared at the bright phone from under the blankets of his bed.

Not right now, sorry. Not really in the mood.

He had told them he was tired, that he should just head to bed. Him leaving hadn’t solved the problem though.

It’s Solstice, shouldn’t you be happy?

A cabinet door slammed shut downstairs. Voices raised again, bickering back and forth.

Of course I’m happy. Got lots of cool stuff.

Prompto made himself smile, trying to convince himself. There was a loud crash downstairs then someone opened the outside door. The car started up a minute later.

“Who wouldn’t be?” He turned the phone off and tried to actually sleep.

See the full post

15 notes - Posted December 26, 2022

#4

Day 21: Alt 4: Accidental Injury (Ao3)

Nyx had learned that the best time to train was after the majority of the Crownguard — and the remaining Royal Guard — had gone home for the day. Late, when the Citadel was closed to all but the most urgent business, the cleaning crews, and the unlucky that pulled the night and swing shifts.

There was talk about giving the Glaive their own facility — one of the old renovated ones — but for now, Nyx made due with sneaking around the training rooms after hours.

He did take a fair amount of joy in tearing apart the Crownsguard’s fancy bags though — all leather and logo as they were. If he occasionally pictured an exceptionally arrogant guard in place of the logo, that was no one’s business but his own.

Nyx flashed from one part of the circle to the other, adjusting to the pendulum-like movements of the bag so he always attacked its ‘flank.’ He kept both his and its momentum up until he was almost out of breath. He didn’t hear the door until it slammed closed.

Startled, Nyx followed through with his kick and spun to face the door. His jaw dropped when he saw who stood there in all his Immortal glory.

And dressed in just a t-shirt and sweatpants.

Did he have the room booked? Nyx couldn’t remember anything on the—Gods was he breaking some rule? Of all the people to catch and berate him it had to be the most—

The Marshal’s eyebrows knit and he looked past Nyx. “Watch—”

Nyx spun and saw the bag right before it hit him square in the face.

He didn’t hear the ‘out.’

15 notes - Posted December 21, 2022

#3

Day 3: Storm (Ao3)

No one called 'ceasefire' like Ramuh.

Within hours the Resistance shifted from mounting its latest offensive to prepping half the island for possibly the worst storm in decades. When Cor proposed volunteer Crownsguard and Hunters reinforce the islands, he hadn’t accounted for rain delays.

“Is that everyone?” Cor asked his liaison.

“That’s supposed to be here, yeah,” Nyx confirmed.

If Cor didn’t know better, he’d assume the Galahdans were throwing a party: a couple who were tuning thin, guitar-like instruments were joined by another pair with instruments somewhere between horns and flutes; a group of children were folding and tearing paper to thread for streamers while an old lady told them stories; a group of women produced boxes and ceramic pots full of food that they were warming up in the stone ovens that occupied one corner of the large cavern; and Cor had seen kegs amidst the supplies.

“Hurricanes happen every year,” Nyx explained. “Why should life stop? There's food we only make during a storm -- you’ll love it.”

Cor was curious, if cautious, but dinner was instantly swept from his mind as a man ran in from the main entrance. He yelled in Galen, and Cor looked to Nyx who was frowning deeply.

“There's Nifs at the door -- scientists and infantry.”

Cor motioned to his people. “We’ll take care of them.”

Nyx cringed and held up a hand. “It’s not that simple. We have laws -- you don’t spurn Ramuh, especially during a storm.”

16 notes - Posted December 3, 2022

#2

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Crowe Altius & Libertus Ostium & Nyx Ulric, Nyx Ulric & Selena Ulric, Nyx Ulric & Nyx Ulric's Mother, Cor Leonis & Nyx Ulric, Clarus Amicitia & Weskham Armaugh & Cor Leonis & Regis Lucis Caelum Characters: Nyx Ulric, Selena Ulric, Nyx Ulric's Mother, Cor Leonis, Regis Lucis Caelum, Weskham Armaugh, Clarus Amicitia Additional Tags: non-canon timeline, messenger au, Nyx and Cor Are About the Same Age, Events in Galahd Happened Earlier, Canon-Typical Violence, Tags May Change, NyxWeek2022, Galahdan Holiday, Shifter, Storm - Freeform, Coeurls, Messenger!Nyx Summary:

As tensions rise on Galahd, Nyx looks for ways to fulfill his calling as one of its guardians. Just when he thought the Nifs were bad enough, a bunch of Lucians show up. Are they friends as they claim or foes as the memories of his divine half would suggest?

18 notes - Posted March 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cor Leonis/Nyx Ulric, Libertus Ostium & Nyx Ulric Characters: Nyx Ulric, Cor Leonis, Libertus Ostium, Pelna Khara Additional Tags: Shifter AU, Warzone, but mostly light-hearted and funny, Happy Ending, nyx is a good kitty, kitty!Nyx Summary:

Nyx has the ability to turn into a cat, and he does this best to use this to his advantage.

Or in which kitty!Nyx goes scouting, makes a delivery, and cheers up a couple kids.

23 notes - Posted February 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[sxltedcxramel]

Lover’s Quarrel

c!techno x gn!reader

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

: ̗̀➛ Summary:  You and Technoblade have been friends for decades, always by each other’s side you two faught alongside each other. That was once in a lifetime, and should never happen again. Unfortunately life doesn’t play out that way and you happen to need him one more time... or maybe they’ll be a change in plans?

: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 1515

: ̗̀➛ Chapters: 1/1

: ̗̀➛ Tag(s): No beta reader we die like ghostbur, c!techno, gn!reader, immortal reader x immortal techno, angel!reader, god!techno, angst, friends to enemies to friends, complicated ik

: ̗̀➛ Warnings: slight cursing, mentions of torture and death

: ̗̀➛ Taglist: Here

: ̗̀➛ Link(s): Ao3

: ̗̀➛ Notes: *screams into oblivion* one this is all platonic I didn’t specify 😓 two I barely survived the writers drought (no friken inspiration) but I bring to you my first c!dsmp x reader fic (please be kind I tried-) basically this taks place in really old times and not modern considering how its writter like I just finished reading shakesphere although the idea came while listening to classical music so that it how you will. Also this isn’t edited so my bad if theres mistakes-

The room was dimly lit with candles and the r oaring fire that burned passionately at the fireplace. White tiles were plastered with gold diamonds, the shade almost as if it was antique jewelry, Old but could tell an amazing story. The colour completing the beige-coloured room

You waited patiently, cross-legged glaring at the clock that ticked every second or so. 10 minutes you thought to yourself while you grind your teeth. That man seemed to be early only when it was for his own convenience, how distasteful.

Just as you finished that thought you saw the dark oak wood door being pushed open. A man walks in, he wears a white loosely fitted blouse, with bishop sleeves which was decorated with frilly fabrics. Along with death-black dress pants that were worn up to the waist. His face where his mask usually is is replaced with glasses and the man's delicate bubblegum pink hair is loosely braided and thrown on the right side of his shoulder.

“Your late” you glare crossing your arms

He let out a sigh “Well pardon me for taking a while to get ready, It's almost like you didn’t come here unannounced” he spoke sarcastically.

He walked over to the glass tray and picked up a small glass cup with a gold ring around it and poured himself a drink. He eyes you “Would you care for a drink y/n?”

“I don’t drink”

He shrugs “Suit yourself”

“Technoblade, I didn't come here for idle chatter.”

He arched his eyebrow slightly “Oh?” Techno placed his cup down “Pray do tell, what exactly did you come here for?” You watched him walk to the other side of the room as he said that.

“I-“ you could even finish before being rudely interrupted by a rustling noise. You watched as your patience grew thinner by the minute he took out a black vinyl disc and placed it on a wooden box making sure the oin was adjusted well. A soft tune of the piano came out of the music player.

“Would you care for a dance?” He holds out his hand, you stare at it contemplating whether you should grab his hands, you really shouldn't, you didn’t want to play his games, you wanted what you came for, but then again it would harm a dance. Or course your brain chose the latter considering how you delicately placed your hand in his letting him place his hand on your waist the the other on your shoulder. He lead the way,(just like he always does)

“Apologies for interrupting music helps me think.” He spoke as he spun you around the floor “They calm the voices” . You knew all about the voices, how much they love to chant and clog his brain with different variations of thoughts, perks of being his ex-partner you suppose. But you watched as he hid a smirk, you guess he’s just telling only half the truth. You roll your eyes

“You can finish”

“Wouldn’t you mean start idiot” you snap

“Meh”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, his inability to ever grasp the mood of the situation was flawless. It seemed as if he never cared about the other person's feelings, unless you were the god of death you were out of luck for a serious conversation. You’ve dealt with that for decades

You could remember once in a lifetime the two of you were partners, fast and precise that's how the job went. The blood god and the angel of destruction are an amazing duo. You remember when the two of you used to watch as people begged on their knees for their life or perhaps a mercy kill. Watching as your foes tried to retreat to their bases only for their pitiful lives to end in such a disgraceful manner. At the end of the day the two of you stood in the battlefield side by side knowing the world could shake in fear knowing you two were alive

And you loved it like that desire to make people fear you brought giddiness to your body and enlightened your world. You wanted one thing and it was to get revenge.

Revenge on all who did you wrong from your youth up, and now you were strong enough to bring it tenfold.

Everything was fine, It wasn’t until one day the two of you had sat down for a cup of tea like you usually did on Thursday evenings. He told you he wanted to retire, he was done with the killings and the torture.

He was finally putting down the title ‘Blood god’

At first you thought it was a joke but then you saw his eyes and they were as serious as he could ever be, anger rose up in you unable to process the statement.

How could he leave you like this, he promised to be by your side when no one else would.

A liar that's would your made him out to be

A slap to the cheek was all you left him that day

Now here you were decades later, hand in hand dancing to the sounds of the instruments harmonizing becoming one just the way you two were.

He spun you around gracefully on the tiled floor, there's something about dancing in an empty room that makes you feel weird inside. What was this feeling? Him making you feel weak in the knees, perhaps it was the fact the last time you did this it was when you two were young and reckless. He always seemed to know how to brighten your life,even to the point the friendship you two had was envied amongst the other gods.

He twirled you across the room dipping you slightly “Cat caught your tongue”

You rolled your eyes “As if”

You saw outside the glass panes, the sky was painted a blood orange mixed with lavender purples and hints of blue. The sun slowly sets,bringing the nightfall.

You chuckle to yourself, how romantic of the sky to show such a sight for people who would die before dating each other.

You turn your gaze to the god “I need you one last time” you say cutting to the chase

Technoblade glared at you “I already told you I’m retired, don’t be so stubborn”

“I’m not, your being selfish putting your needs before anyone else's”

He snorts “Isn’t that what you're doing y/n? Or am I reading the situation wrong?” He says sarcastically “Plus I thought you made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with me, or was that slap something you did on impulse and you couldn’t face me after?”

You grind your teeth “It was not, and why are you making it seem like you're the victim? You're the one who wanted to leave me!” You snapped

He took his hands away from you and pinched the bridge of his nose “See, this is why we cannot have a conversation. You always jump to conclusions” he growls

“I do not!”

“You do! I never intended to leave your side, only retiring. Is it so bad I wanted to stop killing and do something better with my life, and here I thought you’d be happy with it.”

You stared at him shocked, “I..”

Was he right? You were known to act on impulse which did cause problems in the long run but he’d be there to be by your side every time. But yet, you couldn’t fathom the thought of him leaving his life behind to start a new one. Why? You weren’t sure.

Techno sighed “You act so tough when actually you're broken inside. The thing is you weren’t mad at me for retirement, you were mad that things were changing. You're scared of change because you don’t know where you’ll fall between it all.”

The piano falls into a soft handsomely rhythm

The violinist quietly drag their bows delicately

You cast your eyes aside, you couldn’t argue with the truth. You swallow hard fighting back the tears. You couldn’t fathom the amount of times you’ve been in the wrong or how much you’ve hurt him

Stupid

Stupidstupidstu-

A hand is placed on you head

“You think too much, stop that”

“I’m sorry”

“For overthinking or for being impulsive” he questions

“Both” you whisper keeping your eyes on the floor

“And?”

You huffed “You were right about everything”

He grinned showing his pearly whites “I’m sorry what was that? I couldn’t hear you?”

You laughed slightly making your worries go away for the time being “You asshole, get your head out of the skies as if I’m repeating that again”

He chuckles shrugging “Worth a try”

“So, let's get something straight. I’ll help you one last time then I’m forcing you to retire. Seriously you have no say so.” He eyes you “You probably need therapy too jeez”

“Fuck You I’m perfectly fine”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night” he responds ushering you out the room

“Bold of you to assume I sleep”

“Bruhh”

Taglist: @ttakinou @angstyx

[funky-boat-zone]

can this be a “pilot episode” if it’s a fic—

(the first fic for my salty’s lighthouse au is finally done! enjoy (or don’t). also it’s not going on ao3 because there’s no tag for this show and i don’t wanna clog the tugs tag.)

It was 6:30 in the morning, with the sun just starting to cast its light over Snugboat Harbor. All twelve tugs (plus Grampus) waited in front of Captain Star’s window for their orders. No one knew what they were waiting for besides the fact that Star had specifically asked the Zero Fleet to wait at her window instead of his.

Ten Cents yawned. “Why’d Captain bring the Zeroes here instead of just waiting for Zero to come to work?”

“What, do you have a problem with us staying at your dock?” Zorran snapped, Zug glancing apologetically at Ten Cents on his behalf.

Ten Cents sputtered in irritation. “No, of course not! Sheesh, are you sure you’re not the one with a prob—“

“Have some respect! If she called all of us over, it must be something serious!” Top Hat protested.

“D’ya think somebody sunk?” ZB tactlessly wondered aloud to Zak, earning him a few horrified looks from his fellow tugs.

“Well if the Coast Guard’s not here, it probably wasn’t someone that important.” Zak replied, only to spot Zorran glaring at him. “… What?”

“Shh, here she comes!” Hercules ordered, which promptly stopped the boats’ chatter.. for the time being, anyway.

Sure enough, a blue and white-striped megaphone popped out of the window. “Star Fleet, Zeroes, Boomer’s owner wants to know if Snugboat Harbor has the right kind of jobs for him and he’s coming to assist you all with work today! Whether or not he decides to stay, I expect you all to be on your best behavior!” With that, she returned to her office, closing the window on the way and leaving the tugs to talk amongst themselves until Boomer inevitably arrived.

Ten Cents groaned. “Oh no, what’d we do?”

“What do ya mean?” Zip asked.

“He’s jinxed! Cursed! No reasonable captain would make their tugs work with Boomer unless it was some kind of punishment!” Big Stack cried.

Ten Cents’ sighed. “I remember when he wanted to ‘help us out’ with a liner.”

“How’d that go?” Sunshine asked, although she quickly realized her mistake when she saw how Ten Cents’ face fell. “… Too soon?”

“Lighten up everyone, it’s not like he means to bring bad luck.” Warrior chided.

“And it’s not like Sunshine means to run bow-first into other tugs because she can’t take two seconds to look where she’s going, what’s your point?” Zorran argued, ignoring Sunshine’s cry of “Hey!” from across the jetty.

“Can’t we at least try to be nice to him?” Sunshine suggested. “Who knows? Maybe his luck will turn if we stop acting like everything he does is bad luck, just saying.”

The dead silence from both fleets indicated that they weren’t feeling inclined to take her suggestion.

—

Roughly an hour later, ZB spotted a tug in an orange worker’s cap and matching livery entering the harbor. What stood out to him the most was the tape and bandages covering the vessel, no doubt covering the cracks, dents, and holes from his countless accidents. “Must be Boomer.” He thought aloud to himself, pulling his barges out of the way so he could pass by. From how far away the other tug was, there was almost no way Boomer would actually hit the barges, but better safe than sorry, right?

Almost as soon as the tug in the orange cap was out of sight, ZB heard Zero cry “Watch the dock, watch the dock— I said *watch the dock!*”, which was in turn followed by a loud thunk and Zero lamenting the damage to his newly-repaired dock.

“Yep, has to be Boomer.” ZB corrected himself.

—

Much to the dismay of everyone, including the captains, Boomer’s first job for the day involved helping Warrior and Big Stack transport explosives. Both fleets were ordered to give them plenty of room, which they gladly did, excessively so: Not just because it was captain’s orders, but because no one wanted to be hit with flying shrapnel in case this job went wrong.

“C’mon, I’m pretty sure we don’t need to give them that much room.” Hercules sighed, noticing how both fleets were stationed almost a liner’s length apart from each other. Despite his reassurance, no one made a move to get closer.

“Well, I may end up in a museum someday, but that day will not be today and my exhibit will not be one on shipwrecks!” Top Hat argued, earning a few eye-rolls from the rest of his fleet.

“Really, you guys need to stop assuming the worst of him! He’s not even the one towing the explosives, there’s no possible way he could—!“ Hercules was interrupted by an explosion, followed quickly by Big Stack proclaiming “I’m okay!” in the distance. He looked to his horrified fleet. “O-Okay, that was just a fluke! Besides, it doesn’t sound like all the barges exploded—!” As if on cue, there was another explosion.. And another. And another. Warrior, Big Stack, and Boomer met up with their fleet and were thankfully all still afloat and intact, albeit covered in soot and understandably shaken.

“… Did you manage to save any of the barges?” Top Hat squeaked out, looking at the smoke rapidly rising in the distance.

“Some of them! Well, I don’t know how much good they’ll be, since they’re.. kinda-sorta—well, very much on fire now.” Boomer stammered. “But we tried!” Almost immediately after Boomer stopped speaking, there was a bright orange light in the distance, with all the tugs recognizing it as a fire.

Sunshine winced as her fleet scattered and passed her to find the Fire Chief. Ten Cents sighed.

At the very least, the blaze was only the second worst fire he’d ever seen in port.

—

“Who needs the Star Fleet? Zero’s been looking for another tug anyway.” Zorran noted as Boomer and the rest of the Zero Fleet prepared to pull down a group of old buildings. “Now, all you have to do is secure your line to these buildings, sound your whistle to make sure everyone gets clear, and pull them down.” There’s no possible way Boomer could mess this up, it’s so easy that even Zip and Zug can do it!

Boomer did as he was instructed, sounding his whistle as soon as he got his line on the building’s superstructure. The rest of the Zero Fleet stayed back, shut their eyes, and waited for the sound of the building to come down.

… And waited. And waited.

“I’m not hearing any…” Zug stammered to try and find the right word before settling for just poorly imitating the sound of a building falling down. “Y’know, any of that.”

“Zorran?” Boomer called. “It’s— Uh, the building’s not coming down!”

“… What?” Zorran asked incredulously.

“I think I made myself pretty clear, I’ve been—“ Boomer stopped to catch his breath, “I’ve been at it for at least a few minutes and it hasn’t budged.”

Zorran steamed over to where Boomer was struggling, wondering how he could fail such a simple task. “Move over and let me see that!”

ZB cringed as soon as he saw his boss head toward Boomer. “D’ya think the building’s gonna collapse if he—“

Zak quickly wrapped his line around ZB’s towbitts, making sure he stayed put. “Nah, let Zorran figure that out for himself.” He said. ZB stayed out, failing to notice the smirk on Zak’s face.

Zorran approached the building, having pushed Boomer out of the way. “I don’t see any reason why it hasn’t fallen yet—OH NO!” Shrapnel and dust flew everywhere as the building finally collapsed as the Zeroes had hoped.. right on top of Zorran, who sunk to the bottom with a terrified yelp.

Once the dust cleared, the rest of the Zero Fleet hesitantly steamed over to check if Zorran was okay. Thankfully, he wasn’t fully sunk, since the water near the abandoned buildings was too shallow to let that happen. In fact, he seemed relatively fine for a tug who’d just had a small building collapse on top of him.

“You—“ ZB coughed, “You okay?” he asked nervously, turning carefully to avoid hitting the debris in the water and coughing from the still-lingering dust.

Zorran just shook his wheelhouse resignedly, his eyes unfocused. “At this rate, those kids will go blind if they keep talking to that lighthouse.” He muttered.

The Zeroes exchanged a nervous glance with each other.

“I’ll get him to Lucky’s.” Zak sighed.

—

Zorran returned from Lucky’s good as new, although he looked just as irritated as usual. With the Zero Fleet done with their jobs for the day, he planned to meet up with them near a set of old docks, hoping the Star Fleet wouldn’t come by. “So, who do you think is going to be the oh-so-lucky fleet who gets stuck with Boomer?”

“Probably the Star Fleet, I’m calling it now.” Zak said. “They’ll take anything! I mean, look at Grampus! What’s Captain Star gonna do with a submarine, make him check the docks for barnacles?”

“Hey, he could check boats for barnacles too!”

“Not my point, Zug.”

“Sorry.”

—

Unbeknownst to the Zeroes, the Star Fleet were having a near-identical argument at their own dock.

“I don’t wanna say I don’t want him around—“ Sunshine began.

“I do.” Top Hat said snootily, causing the rest of the Stars at the dock to glare at him.

Sunshine ignored Top Hat and went on. “—But Captain just got Grampus, and I didn’t hear her talking about buying another tug.”

“Ah, so Zero wants him, then.” Big Stack sighed. “Never thought I’d say this, but I feel bad for the Zero fleet.”

—

Both the Stars and the Zeroes apparently had the same idea, because Warrior, Big Stack, and Zorran all found themselves gathered in front of the Star Dock in hopes that they’d get Captain Star to change her mind.

“What’s the problem, Star Fleet.. and Zorran?”

“Well, it’s not that we don’t like Boomer..” Warrior began, only for his brother to cut him off.

“We just hate working with him! I keep telling you, every time someone works with him, they end up crashing, sinking, or getting set on fire! Unless you put something into place to keep this from happening, he can work alone!”

Zorran cut in. “Or at least get someone more expendable to—“

“Zorran!” Both brothers snapped, prompting the Zero Fleet’s leader to shut up.

Captain Star sighed. “I guess now’s a good time to tell you that Boomer likely won’t be working with either of your fleets. Zero and I have thought it over and talked it out, and he doesn’t need a new harbor tug and the Star Fleet has plenty of tugs as is.”

“… Oh.” Big Stack and Warrior responded awkwardly. As much as they didn’t like working with Boomer, it wasn’t as if they wanted to drive him out of the harbor.

“Yes!” Zorran cheered quietly, though not quietly enough to keep Warrior from hearing him and shooting him a disapproving glance.

Captain Star ignored the tugs’ reactions and continued. “Star Fleet, I’d like you to say goodbye to him once you’re all done with work. Snugboat Harbor wasn’t the right fit for him, but let’s wish him luck.”

“Aye aye!” The Star Fleeters agreed before leaving to help the rest of their fleet finish work for the day. Zorran just turned around, headed for his own dock, and prepared to go to sleep.

—

The sun was just beginning to fall as the Stars and the Zeroes gathered to say goodbye to Boomer. The Zeroes arrived twenty minutes late, because Zorran refused to leave his dock and it took the rest of his fleet to drag him to the meeting spot.

“Goodbye Boomer! We wish you the best of luck!” Sunshine cheered.

The Zero Fleet looked to Zorran, only to realize he was falling asleep where he was floating. Hoping Boomer wouldn’t notice, ZB bumped his leader, jolting him awake.

“Uh— what she said!” Zorran shouted as his fleet sighed disappointedly behind him.

Thankfully, Boomer took no notice. “Thanks guys! I’ll be sure to write or visit or something once I find my new job!” He shouted before sailing off toward the horizon.. But not before accidentally sinking a buoy on his way out.

“Should we tell—“ Otis wondered aloud before Hercules cut him off.

“Nah, Captain doesn’t have to know.” Hercules said, wanting to just enjoy the moment.

But once Boomer passed under Snugboat Harbor’s bridge, a small piece of infrastructure came loose and crashed down onto his bow. While it wasn’t enough to collapse the bridge, it was certainly enough for Boomer to notice as he yelped in pain.

The Star Fleet froze in horror, wondering if they should go and help before Boomer’s voice broke the silence. “I’m okay!”

Realizing the rest of his fleet was staring at him with an expression that could best be described as “We told you so”, Hercules sighed and turned around to head to his dock. “I know, I know, I’ll go tell Captain.”

[probably-voldemort]

i’m just curious, because we all know that darling is the NUMBER 1 clurphy fic, but whilst we’re waiting, do you have any fic recs for us clurphy fans waiting to get our fix? like maybe ur friends have written some one shots n u wanna promote them i just MISS CLURPHY I NEEEEEED SEROTONIN love u hope you’re doing well i’m so sorry your semester is so bad :(

To be entirely fair to my semester, it has mostly been decent, but I’ve officially reached the point of the semester where I’m just really done with everything and don’t want to do anything anymore and also half the assignments I have left don’t make any sense which is fun.  But thank you!

And on the note of Clurphy fic recs...

So to be entirely honest, I really haven’t read much that wasn’t a textbook in a while, so for this I’ll mostly just be going through the list on AO3 and seeing what’s happening there and probably won’t have actually read most of these recs yet.

ALSO

Shout out to Clurphy for officially hitting 200 fics on AO3 apparently!!

You go Clurphy!

200 fics is way too many for a single fic rec obviously, so we’ll mostly be going with the most recent fics in order of when they’ve been posted.

Throwing the rec list under a read more so it doesn’t clog up anyone’s dash

Cold Blooded - Rated T - A Twilight fic that I am obsessed with.  Technically I’m like 99% sure it’ll be Bellarke endgame but Murphy is Edward and I love it

In the Daylight - Rated T - Haven’t read it yet but Clarke wants a baby and Murphy volunteers to provide the rest of the supplies needed to make that baby

We Carry With The Friends We Made - Not Rated - A zombie/post apocalyptic fic.  I read the first chapter when it was posted and it was really good.  Didn’t realize it’d been updated so I’ll have to check it out at some point!

beautiful flowers - Rated G - Season 1 post-Murphy’s-banishment AU.  Haven’t read it yet but just based on that description I dig it.

and left the secret at the grave - Rated T - Shameless self promotion lol.  I wrote this one for troped and it features being snowed in at an inn where a murder (and other crimes??) have been committed so if that’s your jam check it out.  Also check out my moodboard and reblog it if you want

Say You’ll Remember Me - Rated M - Titanic AU which looks fantastic

The Rise of Weird Holidays Series - Rated E - Clarke and Murphy are friends with benefits but only on holidays so they start celebrating weird holidays so they can hook up more often

Of Parenting and Accidental TikTok Fame - Rated G - Murphy and Clarke have a baby and Murphy gets accidentally TikTok famous while being a stay at home dad

Comeback Kids - Rated M - Absolutely HEARTBREAKING fic where Clarke and Bellamy were in love but then Bellamy dies and Murphy was Bellamy’s BFF who Clarke didn’t really like but then they fall in love.  Only one chapter so far but it made me cry so much omg

Yuletide Carols and Chaos - Not Rated - Looks like a modern exes to lovers with a Christmas theme which sounds high key fantastic

put your faith in the devil and the deep blue sea - Rated M - More shameless self promotion.  Clarke goes back in time to save the world from ending and Murphy accidentally also goes back in time.  They also hate each other, get super powers, and get stuck in a time loop.  Also check out my moodboard and reblog it if you want

It’s Alright, It’s Okay - Rated M - Another time loop but this time it’s canonverse and Clarke made it to the Ark post season 4

Start The New Year Off Right - Rated T - New Years Kiss fic

toxic like you (lively like me) - Rated G - Clarke and Murphy were in isolation together in the Sky Box and fell in love

Two Is Better Than One - Not Rated - Clarke and Murphy have surprise twins

Remember That Night - Rated M - Clarke and Murphy hook up on Valentine’s Day and catch feelings

to anchor within you, sealed in waves - Rated T - Pirates of the Caribbean AU which like YES

Piece Me Back Together - Rated T - Definitely Maybe AU also featuring Murven and Memori (it’s been a bit since I watched the movie so idk who’s endgame but even if endgame isn’t Clurphy it’s still a great plot and so is the part of this fic I read a while back)

Titles Are Over-Rated - Rated T - Modern high school AU, looks like hurt comfort

And that is my fic rec!!  Please don’t be discouraged if a fic has less of a personal comment than another.  I’ve been in zoom classes all day and I just don’t have the brain power to put any more effort into this than I already did.

Also go check out the Clurphy tag on AO3 because there are a heck ton that aren’t on this rec that are probably also definitely good.

I’ve also posted some non-Clurphy fics on my blog for troped if you want to check those out

And now I’ve probably taken a long enough break from homework and should probably get back at it

[spohkh]

miracle on cornelia street [dean/castiel]

so BASICALLY sarah @adanceinasnowglobe and i were talking about what everyone would be up to post-series -- yknow, like, now that theyre all safe and healthy n everythings cool and destiel is officially together. yknow. as happened in canon -- and we were like so obviously destiel get a house, and thats kind of the basis of this verse so !! this is the foundational fic for what i HOPE will be a series of fun lil day-in-the-life drabbles, from both me and sarah!! 

ehehehe :-) enjoy!

read on AO3

The house is a quaint thing, sitting low and snug under a pair of shady oak trees in a quiet suburb just outside of downtown Lawrence. Its brickwork face is weathered—definitely in need of a good power wash—and the roof is just as worn. The bottom step to the porch slants unevenly, and the porch itself has cracks in the concrete. There are chips in the paint on the window frames, the iron porch railing is rusting, and who knows when the gutters were last given a proper cleaning.

There’s a lot of work to be done, but standing there in the small front lawn, Dean Winchester can’t say if he’s ever seen anyplace else so perfect as the house at 3767 Cornelia Street. Dean’s house—his home. His home with Cas.

“Can you believe it?” he quietly says to Miracle, who has been sitting patiently by Dean’s leg. Miracle tilts her head and wags her tail. Dean looks back up at the house. “Yeah, me neither.”

The sound of a familiar car rumbling up the road snaps Dean out of his reverie. He rubs a knuckle at his eye and clears his throat and tries to look like he hadn’t been standing in his front yard about to cry while talking to his dog, christ.

The car rolls to a stop on the curb just in front of the house. The driver’s side door opens, and Sam slowly unfolds his ridiculous limbs as he gets out. It’s always a wonder how he can fit himself into a car at all. Sam gives a dorky little wave as he ambles over to where Dean is standing.

Dean peers behind Sam, trying to see into the car. “What, no Eileen?”

“Hello to you, too. Dick,” he replies snarkily. “She’s wrapping up a work thing. She’ll come over when she’s done.”

Dean sucks his teeth in disappointment. “Ah, well. Guess you can go home then.” Sam shoves at his shoulder. Dean just laughs and pulls Sam in for a proper hello hug.

“Why are you standing out here, anyway?” Sam asks when they part.

“Can’t a man just hang out in his own front yard? Accompanied by a dashing canine companion?” He leans down to pat Miracle on the head.

“I guess…” Sam looks down at Miracle. When she tips her head up and gazes back at him, Sam snorts.

“What?”

“Miracle on Cornelia Street,” Sam says with mirth.

Dean squints at him. “What?” he repeats, now more incredulous.

“You know—like Miracle on 34th Street. But we’re on Cornelia, so.” He nods down at the dog. “Miracle on Cornelia Street.”

“Dude.” Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’s goofy grin and starts walking up the path to the house, Miracle trotting behind him. “Shut up and come inside already.”

Sam follows after him, pausing just inside the threshold as he spots something on the doorframe. “Oh, classy,” he says, throwing a sardonic look to where D.W. and C.W. are scratched into the wood.

“Just wait,” Dean jokes with a toothy smile, “when I got the time I’m gonna draw a little heart around it.” He was joking, but now that he said it, he kind of wanted to.

Cas looks up from the stove when they walk into the dining room. He’s wearing one of Dean’s old AC/DC tees, the logo all but worn away from being washed so many times. He’s usually in some ratty tee or other when lounging around these days. But in honor of Sam’s visit today (Cas’ words) and to seem a little more dressy short of donning his usual button-downs (Dean’s private opinion), he’s also wearing the cable-knit cardigan Sam got him as a gift last Christmas. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam leans against the counter that separates the dining and kitchen areas, craning his giraffe neck to catch a glimpse at the stove. “Hey, Cas! What’cha cooking?”

“Nothing. Dean made it. I was just watching the pot so it didn’t boil over.” He locks eyes with Dean, his intent stare very clearly communicating I did not touch the chili I added nothing I did not touch the dial I was just watching it like you asked so don’t even start.

Dean just smiles as he walks past the counter and steps into Cas’ space. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, and busses Cas on the cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies warmly. He’s gazing up at Dean with those summer afternoon blue eyes, standing in one of Dean’s shirts and that dorky cardigan, and Dean starts to get full of that feeling from out in the front yard again. If they were alone, Dean would probably say something recklessly sappy like I am so stupid in love with you.

As it is, Dean clears his throat and turns back to Sam, slinging an arm around Cas’ shoulders, and says, “He did the salad.”

Cas sneaks him a knowing look before, thankfully, putting his attention on Sam without commenting on Dean’s hasty redirection. “I did the salad,” Cas agrees blithely, and places the salad bowl on the counter for Sam to see, seeming pleased with himself.

Sam looks between the two of them, an amused tilt to his eyebrow that Dean implicitly distrusts. He’s definitely thinking mocking thoughts about the two of them. But he just quirks a smile and says, “It looks great.” Shrewd little diplomat.

Cas shifts to the side to see past Sam’s shoulder. Sam glances behind himself before shooting Cas a confused look.

“She’s still at work,” Dean tells Cas, guessing who he’s looking for. “Sadly.”

“What, am I not good enough?”

“Of course you are,” Cas promises earnestly, just as Dean says, “Well…”

Sam’s opening his mouth to retort, probably something absolutely scathing, when his phone chimes. He pulls it out of his pocket, a smile spreading over his face. “Speak of the devil,” he says, then tips his head with a grimace, “as it were. That was Eileen. She’ll be here soon, so I’m gonna go wash up.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall—“

“Dude, I know where it is. I did help you guys move in.”

Dean spreads his hands in assent. “Fine, christ, I swear never to be a good host to you in my home ever again. Go ahead and go take your dump now.”

“I’m not gonna—ohmygodnevermind.” He turns on his heel and huffs down the hall, Miracle trotting after him, the tags on her collar clinking together jauntily.

Dean reaches past Cas to turn the burner off, then lands his hand on Cas’ hip. “Have I told you today how cute you are in that sweater?”

“Yes.” Cas brings his hands up to cradle Dean’s face. “Four times.”

“Make it five.” Dean kisses him. He pulls Cas into a hug, pressing his face against Castiel’s shoulder. They sway into each other. After a warm moment, Dean says in a low voice, “The first family dinner in our house.”

Cas hums a soft, contented sound in agreement. “The first of many,” he responds, just as quiet. Dean squeezes him tighter. He knows they’re both thinking about Jack and Claire, their bedrooms sitting empty and waiting for whenever they can find the time to visit—and Kaia and Alex and Jody with Claire, if they can, and Charlie and her girlfriend, and Bobby, and all the other wayward extensions of their sprawling family caught out in the wind. Their house isn’t big enough to host everyone, but with Sam and Eileen up the block and the bunker just a few miles out, there’s plenty of room to put up people who come out their way. Dean has the hope that 3767 Cornelia Street becomes a common pitstop for folks—a suburban Roadhouse, a tidier (much tidier) Singer Salvage.

Dean presses a kiss against Cas’ neck, and Cas breathes a sweet little sigh that pushes all thoughts about future dinners right out the window. Fuck, this dinner could go out the window, for all he cares. He kisses a little higher up, right under Cas’ jawline, before pulling back to catch Castiel’s darkened gaze. “How ‘bout we ditch the nag and go have a private party of our own?”

“Dean, no. I worked really hard on that salad.” He sounds perfectly serious, but the playful glint in his eye gives him away. Dean snorts, mumbling oh, forgive me, Chef Cas as he leans in again.

Just as they kiss, Sam walks back in. “Hey, I think something’s wrong with your sink–- oh, sorry.”

“Huh?” Dean reluctantly pulls away as Sam clears his throat, looking sheepish. “What’s wrong with what, Sammy?”

“Uh, with your bathroom.”

“The bathroom? Oh, what, you clogged the toilet?”

“Wha— N—  I DID NOT SHIT IN YOUR BATHROOM.”

“Then how did the toilet get messed up?”

“It’s the SINK, the SINK—”

“You took a shit in the sink?”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dean…”

“What? He started it.”

“Started WHAT?”

Dean snaps his fingers. “The end of the world.”

“Oh! My god!”

“I guess technically, yeah, since god is our kid...” He turns to Cas. “Weird, weird lives we lead.”

Cas just shakes his head, clearly exasperated. Sam has given up on speaking completely and has fallen back on making a gesture like he’s one second away from grabbing Dean by the throat.

“I was there for all twelve years of it,” Sam says to Cas, “and I still can’t believe you stayed with this guy.”

“Well,” Cas muses serenely, “you’ve been here a lot longer than me.”

Sam grimaces when Dean throws him his best shit-eating grin. Nothing like his two favorite people bonding over how much of a pain he is.

The sound of the front door opening distracts them, and then a voice calls, “Knock knock! The life of the party has arrived!”

“Eileen!” Sam exclaims happily. Miracle takes off down the hall, Sam hot on her heels.

Dean chuckles at Sam’s unabashed excitement, then gives Castiel another peck on the cheek before moving away from him. “Can you put everything out on the table? I’ll go check out the bathroom sitch real quick.”

Cas catches his hand as he starts to leave, softly saying his name. When Dean looks back at him, Cas smiles and says, “I love you.”

Dean wonders if maybe three time’s the charm and he should just give in to what his body wants him to do. If a man has a right to stand around and cry messily anywhere in his own home, surely the kitchen would be the place to do it. The kitchen, after all, is the heart of any house.

But Dean doesn’t. He indulges in a little sniffle, Cas’ eyes glimmering with knowing in the soft light. Dean brings Cas’ hand to his mouth and kisses the neat gold band around his finger, and he kisses each peaked knuckle, and he turns Cas’ hand over and kisses his palm and his wrist. Then he lets go and puts his own hand against Cas’ cheek, and says his recklessly sappy thing: “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

And the glowing feeling inside him doesn’t settle, only grows brighter.

Whatever’s wrong with the sink will be just one more thing to a long list of shit to deal with. Their house needs work, no denying. But Dean knows they’ve got plenty of time.

[leg0joker]

Dear diary,

It has been 35 minutes without ao3 I’m having withdrawals, though the ao3 team is working on it, it still feels hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel

I send forth my provisions to the ao3 team as to speed the recovery, I am not long for this world

[snowdice]

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 16]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-8 and what I have of Chapter 9 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

Alright. Let’s do this for a couple of hours! :) Also... gosh I need to edit this when school calms down. I’m already on chapter 9 and only chapters 1 and 2 have been edited... When I have time to actually edit, AO3 will be like 0_0.

Chapter 3

Janus and Remus both appeared at the same moment a couple of feet apart in what looked like the inside of a garden shed. There was already a man waiting for them a few feet away. “Sup babes,” Remy said, just like he always did. The T-Agent looked their costumes up and down and whistled. “Now that,” he said, “almost makes me want to be one of you time jockeys.”

“They wouldn’t let me have a gun or a canister of moonshine,” Remus pouted.

Remy snorted. “Sorry, babes, but that makes my job a lot easier. If I’ve gotta fish you outta the 1920s criminal justice system, I’d rather it not be because you shot someone on accident ‘cause you don’t know how to use the safety.”

 Remus groaned dramatically. “Everyone is lame.”

Remy just shook his head. “Meet back here when you’ve got the necklace,” he said. “Don’t make a move until after 11:05pm and before 11:17. That’s your window.”

“We know,” Janus said. “See you then.”

“Have fun at the party boys,” Remy said and then lowered his shades to look at Remus, “but not too much fun.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Remus, already towing Janus out of the garden shed. The way had been specifically cleared for them, so they met no other people before they’d rounded the house the party was taking place and had gotten onto the driveway in front of the house.

 Without missing a beat, they strolled up to the front of the house, just as a car pulled into the end of the driveway. Janus rang the doorbell, and a few moments later, a man who was clearly the butler answered the door. They handed over their invitation, and the man immediately let them in.

The party had already started when they slipped into the medium sized ballroom that had been decked out in streamers and other decorations. Janus’s nose immediately wanted to scrunch as the smell of sweat from all the dancing already going on as well as the too strong perfume meant to cover that stench wafted over him. It was by far not the worst smelling time period, but he was pretty sure some people still weren’t aware deodorant had been recently invented.

 He checked his time piece which had been disguised as a fancy wristwatch for this trip. “Okay,” he said. “We have about two hours before we need to make our move. We should…”

Remus’s attention was already being dragged away by a young man who seemed to be providing guests with food. “I’m going to go ‘mingle’,” he said, winking.

“No!” Janus hissed. “Re- Richard! No!”

Yet, he was already disappearing into the horde of stinky bodies, likely to go scandalize a bunch of rich folks, and leaving Janus alone. Janus mumbled a curse under his breath that he was sure no one around him would understand even if they could make it out.

 Unsure what to do with himself, he wandered over towards where the live musicians were playing jazz music, being sure to keep out of the way of the dancers. He was edging around the makeshift dancefloor, when one of said dancers must have misstepped and knocked into another one. The second man stumbled right towards Janus, arms pinwheeling. Janus reached out on instinct to catch the man as he fell.

There was a moment where the two of them just stared at each other, surprise evident on the other man’s face. He was wearing a mask that just covered the area around his eyes and the top of his nose, revealing a smattering of freckles across his cheeks that Janus imagined extended to his nose.

 The mask was a light blue velvet with a flower stuck on the side near his right ear, and a trail of curled golden ribbon bobbed down around his chin. The party continued on around them, a blur of movement and sound.

“Are you alright?” Janus asked.

The man blinked up at him and then tilted his head slightly to the side as though confused, before a smile slowly grew on his face. “Oh, I’m fine Dove.”

“Dove?” Janus asked.

He giggled. “You have dove feathers on your mask,” he explained, reaching up a hand to touch one. His finger brushed the tip of Janus’s ear, “and I don’t know what else I am supposed to call you.”

 “My name is Lee,” he automatically lied.

“Is it?” he asked, sounding amused. “Doesn’t seem to fit you well. I like Dove better.”

“Oh?” asked Janus. “And what’s your name so I can not call you that?”

The man chuckled. “Call me Pat.”

“Hello Pat,” Janus said.

“I thought you didn’t want to call me by my name.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Hmmm,” Pat said, finger tracing idly across Janus’s forearm which was when Janus realized with a start that he was still holding the man in his arms. He quickly went to release him, which Pat allowed with clear amusement.

 Yet, instead of completely stepping away, Pat grabbed Janus’s arm. “What are you doing all the way over here by the way?” he asked. “Don’t you want to dance.”

“Oh,” Janus hesitated. “I don’t really dance.” Or at least not in the way the people around him were. He’d had basic training for this style, but it had been a while and he was a bit rusty.

“Everyone dances Dove,” Pat claimed. “At least if they know the steps and have the right partner.”

“But I don’t know the steps,” Janus said with an eyebrow raise.

He hummed. “Well, I know the dance pretty well by this point,” Pat said. “Why don’t I teach you how it goes.”

 He was agreeing with the soft beseeching tone before he even realized it. Pat pulled him into the middle of the throng of people. He seemed to think, bopping his head to the music playing for a moment, before looking back at Janus. “Heard of James Johnson?”

Janus inclined his head.

“Well, have you heard his new song? Because there’s a dance that goes with it.”

He took a few steps away from Janus and started to dance. Despite his claim to know the steps, he wasn’t particularly good, but he made up for any loss of rhythm with pure enthusiasm.

 Janus found himself smiling at the man, and after a few moments, joined in with the dance. Despite his lack of practice, he ended up having a better natural rhythm than Pat. Pat didn’t seem to mind that he was being outperformed, however. On the contrary, he giggled at himself the couple of times he stumbled.

When he fell into Janus’s arms for the second time that night, Janus decided he’d probably had enough dancing for the moment and pulled him off to the side to get something to drink and cool down a bit.

He watched the man take a snack and some punch from one of servers and thank him happily before turning back to Janus. Pat was easily able to keep Janus’s attention as they chatted. He was bubbly and soft, and Janus found himself enchanted as they talked.

 He was explaining the steps of a different dance, a couples one. “Knowing how to perform the tango will entrance any girl you want,” Pat said, something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. “Assuming you’re that type of fella.”

“As opposed to what?” Janus asked.

Pat leaned in a bit closer. Not too much, but enough that he was definitely in Janus’s space. “A different type of fella,” he said simply, before smiling and leaning back.

Janus let out a shaky exhale and took a sip of punch. He glanced over at Pat. “Tell me about yourself, Pat,” he said.

Pat hummed in contemplation. “Well, I went to France recently.”

 “You did?”

“Oui, c'était amusant, mais j'ai eu des ennuis”

“What kind of trouble?” Janus asked curiously.

“Oh, the kind with a pretty boy and crepes that were way too sweet. Anyway,” he continued. “Other than that, I mostly help out my friend. He’s an inventor.”

“And how do you help him.”

He shrugged, “Running errands mostly, and making sure he gets enough sleep, because otherwise he gets distracted and forgets. And you?”

“I’m a banker,” he said, remembering his cover, but felt compelled to add, “but I like to travel as well.”

“You do look the type?”

“And how is that?”

   Pat shrugged. “I can always tell a wandering spirt from the masses, and you are easy to spot.” Pat looked at him then with a secret smile on his face, and Janus felt suddenly known, like the man in front of him had known him for years even though they’d only just met. Looking at him then, he wanted suddenly for that to be fact and not a flight of fancy.

He was brought firmly back to reality in the next moment. “Lee,” a pointed and familiar voice said. Janus’s head snapped up to see Remus, staring at him. He tapped his wrist. Janus glanced at his own wrist: 10:58pm. He just barely managed not to curse.

 “I,” he said looking up at Pat. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“That’s okay,” Pat said easily. “It is getting rather late.”

“Yes,” Janus agreed. “Well… goodbye.”

Pat, titled his head, a half smile on his face. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Janus nodded, and turned away from him towards Remus. He didn’t look back as they excited the ballroom. They snuck into a small side closet for coats that wasn’t being used as it was summer.

“So,” Remus said when the door closed behind them.

“Don’t,” warned Janus.

“I’m not one to judge,” Remus said.

“Shut up.” He glanced at his watch. It was 11:02. “We’ll go in 5.”

 “I have to give it to you. He was very cute.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

Remus just laughed joyfully, and Janus did his best to halt the blood rushing to his cheeks.

At 11:07, well into their window, they slipped back out of the closet, and towards the stairs as the party raged on.

Despite how Remus usually never shut up, he was able to be quiet when it counted. They snuck to the master bedroom of the home’s owners in silence. The door was already wide open by the time they got there, and Janus didn’t think anything of it. At least, he didn’t until they entered the bedroom, and there was someone already there.

 He turned from the dresser he’d been standing in front of to face them, sending Janus the same smile he had down in the ballroom. Janus and Remus both froze. “Sorry, sweetie,” Pat said. “Were you here for this too?” he held up the necklace they’d been sent for. He closed his fist around the charm made out of time travel tech.

“What?” Janus said.

Pat giggled and winked. “Unfortunately, I need it a bit more than you at the moment. So, I’m gonna have to go.” Janus stepped forward, not really sure what he was intending to do, but Pat just smiled. “See you some other time, my Turtle Dove.” With a snap of his fingers and loud crack, he disappeared. The mask he’d been wearing fluttered to the ground.

  Arc I: Finding Cinderella

Chapter 4

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away, the mask.

Which was why he ended up getting arrested.

 Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

 “Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

 “Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

 He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

 “I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to cultural outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

 “Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you and asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

 “But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

 After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

 He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

 He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen he’d gestured to sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.”

 Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

 “It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

 “I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet. I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

 Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

 Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

 Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite the fact that it was late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. So, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

 The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time.

 Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you hear and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question!” he called back to Remus.

 “It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

 “My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could go always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

 “Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

 He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

 Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.”

 He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

 The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

 He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

 “I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

 “I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

 Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

 She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

 “We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

 “Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

 He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness.

 In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

 Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

 As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

 They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

 After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

 “Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

 They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

 Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

 “Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

 “Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

 Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

 “Oh,” Patton said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

 “Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

10264

“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

 “He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

 He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

 “Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

 As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

 Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

 Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

 “Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

11594

Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

 “Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

 “There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

 Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

 “Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

 “You are the worst partner,” Janus hissed. “When I’m right you owe me 10 loafs of your fresh bread.”

“Branching out from poptarts?” Remus asked.

Janus shook his head. He still wasn’t happy about the state of things, but he could feel himself cooling down a bit.

Khalid came out of the integration room after a few minutes, leaving Pat with Remy. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He got under my skin,” Janus said.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “For now, we’re letting him go and then going back to looking for the bomb like we’re meant to be.”

 “Fine,” Janus relented. “Just do me the favor of tagging him before he leaves. Just that. I beg of you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “If it will calm you down.”

He nodded.

“Then, let’s go,” she said. When they met back up with Remy and Pat, he saw Khalid make the subtle gesture that would tag Pat like they would have for the Millennium Birds. Pat sent him what could pass as a sweet smile if Janus didn’t know better. Then, they walked him outside, leaving Remy on clean-up duty for the make-shift security office.

“So, I’m free to go?” Pat asked. His bemused expression edged far too much on the side of amused verses confused for Janus’s taste.

 “You are,” Khalid said. “Have fun at the festivities.”

His hands went flapping about. “Oh, you too!” he said. “Well, I guess you’re working, but you can have fun anyway, I’m sure.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said.

He gave her a blinding smile and reached forward to shake her hand enthusiastically. Janus rolled his eyes and looked up at the heavens. “It was nice to meet you!” he said, “and you too, Remus!” He turned to meet Janus’s eyes. “Macy Misa.”

Janus pressed his lips together.

Then, Pat turned and walked away.

“Well, now that we’re done with that,” Khalid said, turning to them. “We have only a few more hours before midnight and we really need to find the time bomb.

 “Oh,” Pat called. He’d paused a few yards away and turned back to them. “Thanks for letting me go so easily by the way,” he said, “and just in the Nick,” he winked, “of time too.” Janus narrowed his eyes at him. He smiled back. “Wrist check,” he said holding up his arm to show off the timepiece there. Khalid immediately looked down at her own wrist just to see that the one timepiece that could move through the time lock was no longer there. Pat made a gesture and disappeared.

All three of them stared at the spot he’d been for a long moment.

Janus was the one to speak first. “I want. The yellow. To be erased. From my record.”

 Chapter 9

Khalid immediately called everyone back to base.

“What happened?” asked Fred when he and Lena arrived. The tech people were already scrambling to get through to the TPI and get the time lock broken from the outside.

“Remus, Remy, and Khalid got played by Pat or whatever his name is. It certainly isn’t Nick. He was just setting up a joke,” Janus told him.

“Stop being smug,” Remy said. “It’s not a good look for you.”

“Pat is…?” Lena asked.

“They guy who fucked me over in 1923,” Janus said, “and is currently in the middle of fucking us all over because he stole the pin timepiece, and by extrapolation, probably the time bomb too.”

 “It will be fine,” said Khalid, “because what he doesn’t know is that timepiece has a tracker on it. Wherever and whenever he went, we’ll have his coordinates.”

“Speaking of,” one of the techies said. “It’s about to break. You might want to hold onto something.” Janus grabbed for a support beam next to him as the techie put a device on the ground in the center of the base. It blinked once, twice, and on the third blink the ground rumbled. There were sounds of panicked yelps outside. The fail safe for the time lock was not nearly as gentle as ending it correctly.

 Everything settled after a few moments, and they all straightened themselves out. Janus’s timepiece buzzed to indicate it was now functioning normally. Khalid had returned her usual timepiece to her wrist and now used it to open a display they could all see. “The pin timepiece’s closest time/space coordinates are…” she trailed off. “Right outside?” She frowned. “That’s strange. Why would he still be here?” She turned to march outside, following the coordinates to a trash can. She pulled the pin timepiece out and stared at it. “Fuck,” she said.

“What just happened?” Remy asked.

“He ticked us,” Janus said. “Again.”

 “He was stuck in the time lock,” Khalid said. “That’s why he got our attention. He couldn’t leave with the time bomb unless he had the pin timepiece or we broke the time lock. Apparently, he’s smart enough to know that if he took the pin timepiece away from here, we’d probably be able to find him, but he knew we’d break the lock as soon as the pin went missing. So, he must have stashed his own timepiece and went back in time within the time lock to grab it while we were distracted with the past version of him. As soon as the time lock went down, I imagine he left.”

 “Probably with the time bomb,” Janus said.

“Probably with the time bomb,” she confirmed.

And everyone knew the only thing worse than a time bomb was a time bomb you didn’t know the location of.

They evacuated after that, of course, and time locked the location once they were out just in case they were wrong, but midnight 3000 struck without thousands of people dying in Brazil, so the time bomb had defiantly been removed from then.

The, they initiated a time travel lockdown for all nonessentials, not willing to let random history students get caught up in an explosion if Pat decided to set the thing off somewhere.

 Then, it was a matter of figuring out everything they could about ‘Pat.’ First, they checked the tracker data as Khalid had tagged him with one of the Millennium Bird trackers. It wouldn’t work outside of the zone they’d set up that day, but the record would show his behavior during the time lock after he’d escaped with the pin timepiece.

There had been many little green dots on the map that day as Fred and Lena had actually been doing the job they’d set out to do, but most of those were running around in the south. There had been one green dot, however, that appeared suddenly in the game area about 10 minutes before the time bomb had been stolen.

 They could see Janus’s yellow dot almost brush his when he’d been chasing the earlier Pat down, around when he’d lost him briefly. The earlier Pat must have all but handed it off to his future self.

“He doubled back,” Remus commented when they watched the recorded data. It was a ballsy move and one that most people balked at, because there were inherent dangers any time you interacted with yourself from a different point in the timestream. It was ripe for paradoxes. It made everyone at the agency even more worried, because if he was willing to risk that, then what else was he willing to do?

[one-with-the-floor]

Tuesday Morning Rush

Day 1 of @ineffablehusbandsweek!

Today’s meet cute features extremely competent Aziraphale, extremely sleep deprived Crowley, and poor Newt having no idea what’s going on. Also on AO3 right here!

“Anthony!”

Aziraphale set the paper cup on the serving counter and turned back to the kettle screaming at him. It was nine a.m. on a Tuesday, and everyone in London wanted their morning caffeine fix. Michael was handling the ordering station like the pro she was, and Uriel was making good use of their patented “hurry up and leave” look to keep the shop’s limited seating in rotation, but that left Aziraphale to man the coffee making on his own.

Not that he really minded it. He liked his job. It was quiet, sort of. No matter how loud the shop got, he’d learned to tune it out and go about his business behind the counter. Get an order, check off all the steps to make the drink, pop the cup up on the counter and shout the name on the cup. It didn’t take much thought anymore. He could run a Tuesday rush in his sleep by now.

“Er, excuse me? Sorry?” Aziraphale turned away from the milk steamer and nearly ran into a boy in an impressively stained apron. ‘Newt,’ his name tag read. Aziraphale wondered if that was the result of a prank someone was playing on the poor boy or just a name even less fortunate than his own.

“You’re the new lad, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked. He always thought it was important to be polite, regardless of how many people were crowding the shop.

“I am, yeah, just started today. I’m meant to be barista…ing?”

Aziraphale looked Newt up and down. Besides the apron stains, his shirt buttons were askew, his hair was already escaping his cap, and there were no less than six plasters on his fingers and hands. Aziraphale glanced at the line of waiting customers. He looked back at Newt. “Right. Well, if you could just stand there, by the espresso machine—”

“Here?”

“That’s the steamer dear boy—no, no, that’ll do fine, just stand right there.” Aziraphale assessed his new co-worker, now standing squished between the back counter and the wall. “Perfect.”  A kettle started screaming, and Aziraphale threw himself back into his coffee making, darting around the little work space with ease.

“Tracy!” he called as he plopped the next drink on the counter. A boisterous shop regular in an orange wig bustled forward, and Aziraphale waved as she took her drink. Then he stopped, and frowned at the other cup still sat on the counter. He read the name on it. “Anthony!” he shouted again. Probably the man just hadn’t heard him the first time. It had gotten quite loud.

Aziraphale scanned the room. No one came forward to claim the cup. “Oh, dear,” he tsked. Some poor soul must’ve gotten pinned at the back of the crowd, or stuck on a distracting phone call. He glanced at Newt, still standing nervously in his assigned corner. “Mind your ears.”

“Huh?”

“Your ears, dear, cover them.”

Looking even more terrified than before, Newt did as he was told. Aziraphale took a deep, strong breath.

“ANTHONY!” The chatter of the shop hushed while Aziraphale’s shout rang through the room. He’d enjoyed theater in high school. Still had the booming stage voice to prove it. The noise picked up again a moment later, but Aziraphale noticed a tad smugly that a man in a soft grey beanie sitting in the back corner had startled and stumbled to his feet. He walked sheepishly up to the counter, smothering a yawn.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No trouble,” Aziraphale said as he pushed the cup toward its owner. Anthony looked up, and Aziraphale saw deep circles under his eyes and a furrow down his brow. “Are you quite alright?”

Anthony tried to smile, but was defeated by another yawn. “Yeah, great, perfect. Totally fine, me.” He reached for his coffee and missed, jambing his fingers into the counter.

“Are… are you sure?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nope,” he popped. “But I gotta get to work, so. Y’know.”

Aziraphale did. He was an early bird by nature, but the early mornings and lack of sleep hit him sometimes, too. “Here,” he offered, handing over the cup. “Drink that up, take a nap if you can sneak one, and I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

Anthony took the cup. He was staring at Aziraphale. “...thanks,” he said. “Been, uh. Been a rough week, I guess.”

Aziraphale was just about to commiserate when Anthony reached up to scratch his neck and knocked his beanie off kilter. He pulled the hat off, and suddenly there was a cascade of fire red curls tumbling down his back. Aziraphale stared. His mouth may have been open. He wasn’t sure, and couldn’t seem to care. The whole thing had seemed to be in slow motion, like something out of a movie.

Anthony was quick to bundle his hair back into a knot and tuck it into his hat again, snapping Aziraphale out of his head. But he couldn’t seem to leave the counter, despite the alarms and timers starting to go off behind him. He couldn’t make himself look away from Anthony’s face, his cheekbones, his beautiful golden-hazel eyes, made even brighter by the shadows under them, the little curve of his lips, the—grimace?

Anthony was taking a second sip of his coffee, a look of pain on his face. Aziraphale’s heart plummeted. “Sorry,” he said hurriedly, half reaching for the cup. “Is it wrong? I must’ve messed up the order, I’m so sorry, I promise this doesn’t happen—well, it, it does, it happened to you, but it won’t happen again I promise pleasedon’tnotcomebackI’msorry.”

Anthony blinked at him. Aziraphale could practically see the sleep clogged gears in his mind trying to parse what he’d said before he gave up with a shake of his head. “No, sorry, ‘s my fault. Could I… sorry, ‘s there any chance I could have just a little bit of milk in this?”

Aziraphale’s face went hot. “Yes,” he said quickly, snatching the cup away from Anthony so fast the man was left blinking at his empty hand. “I really am so sorry, your order said black coffee so that’s what I made, there must’ve been a mistake at the register or in the system—”

“Er. No, actually.” Anthony said sheepishly. He scratched the back of his neck again, and Aziraphale found himself slightly disappointed when his hat stayed in place. “I, um. I did order black coffee. Just. I don’t actually like it.”

“Oh! Oh,” Aziraphale said. The panic in his chest started to ease, replaced by a much more welcome feeling of amusement. He passed Anthony’s no-longer-black coffee back to him. “Have a reputation to uphold?” he teased.

To his delight, Anthony smiled. “That and a debilitating need to avoid long interactions with cashiers.” Aziraphale laughed. The tips of Anthony’s ears went red, but he looked pleased. Aziraphale wondered what that blush might look like with his hair hanging loose around his face.

Then the timer on the kettle right next to him went off, and they both jumped. Aziraphale glanced at the growing list of incoming orders, and Anthony checked the time on his phone. “I gotta run,” Anthony said, sounding disappointed in a way that went right to Aziraphale’s heart.

“I need to get back to work, too. But, um. I’ll see you another time?”

Anthony grinned. “Yeah. Think I might become a regular customer here.”

“Oh?”

“Well, y’know. They’ve got great service.”

Aziraphale thought he might start floating off the ground, he felt so giddy. Then Anthony tried to take another sip of coffee and very nearly missed his mouth entirely. “Oh, dear. Here.” Aziraphale passed him a large fistful of napkins.

Anthony blinked at them for a moment before his sleep deprived brain figured out where it was again. “Right,” he said. “Thanks. No more all-nighters, I’m getting too old for this.” He snapped open a pair of sunglasses and jammed the napkins into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said again, and flashed Aziraphale an exhausted but grateful smile before he took off. Aziraphale watched him go, wide eyed as he pushed through the crowd, wincing as he nearly tripped over air on his way out the door. The wind outside pulled a stray lock of red hair out of his hat as he turned down the sidewalk, and Aziraphale watched it bounce next to his ear until Anthony was out of sight.

“Oh, dear,” he said to himself. The man was pretty. The man was really pretty, and polite, and really rather sweet. Aziraphale was already thinking about whether he’d be back tomorrow. How many coffee orders was it considered appropriate to wait before writing one’s number on the cup?

“Er,” a voice said behind him. “Sorry, is there something I should be doing?”

Aziraphale blinked and snapped back into action. “No!” he said cheerfully. “No, my dear Newt, you are doing wonderfully just there. You keep doing as you are, and I’ll handle this.” He popped a cup out of the rack and swung it towards the coffee makers with ease, slapping on his work smile and getting back to business.

He didn’t stop thinking about him, though. It was ridiculous, falling into a crush so fast, but the heart would do as it would. Aziraphale let out a happy wiggle when he remembered he was working the same shift the next day. If he was lucky, he’d get a chance for a real conversation with Anthony tomorrow. Until then, he would make the coffee, and boil the tea, and reassure Newt that he was perfectly fine standing just there, really, just hold on till things slowed down a bit, and daydream about fire red hair as he worked.

[thecassadilla]

Change of Pace - Chapter 2

Pairing: Kristanna

Chapter 2 on AO3 

Chapter 1

Word Count: 3,332

Summary: With her sister’s blessing, Anna takes a step back from her royal duties and finds herself working for a ski resort nestled in the mountains. A chance encounter with the resort’s maintenance technician leads them down an unexpected path, as they must work together to plan the resort’s annual ball - and maybe fall in love in the process.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! Sorry to leave you all with a cliffhanger last week! This chapter picks up on the same day but from a different perspective ;). I’m thinking I’m gonna update on Tuesdays every week if that’s cool? Or should I try to update more often? Also, if you celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you enjoy the holiday safely! Sorry for all the asterisked words - tumblr likes to censor and remove posts from tags if they have “bad” words in them, but the uncensored version is on AO3. Enjoy!!!

There were very fews words that Kristoff Bjorgman would use to describe his life; miserable, mundane, ordinary. From the minute he woke up in the morning until the minute he went to bed at night, he wished he were someone or somewhere else.

Nobody stayed in Valley of the Living Rock - often shortened to Valley - if they could help it. The main draw to the area was Valley Ski Resort, which was nestled in the mountains. For decades, the town flourished during the winter months, but suffered as warm weather drew near due to the resort’s influence. Most of the people who stayed in town year round lived above their means, as it was difficult to find and keep work when the money practically dried up in the summertime. That all changed when the resort began to expand - adding amenities such as a pool, archery, horseback riding, and a multitude of events that attracted people during the hottest months of the year.

After the resort expanded, the local government decided to put money into the town itself, enticing visitors to venture away from the resort during their visits and see what the town had to offer. Tourists began to appreciate Valley itself as a picturesque, quaint town they could visit during their stay at the resort, and money began to pour into the local economy. Deciding to take full advantage, the decision was made for the main street to be transformed to a “Winter Wonderland,” with the storefronts adorning themselves with string lights, wreaths, and pine garland in the colder months. Business boomed and as the years went on, more and more people came to visit.

For Kristoff, life in Valley was bleak. Abandoned at birth, it was difficult to navigate the foster system as a small, generally “unwanted” child. He was bounced around a lot in his early years before becoming one of the lucky few who managed to find a family willing and able to foster him until adulthood. But people talked, and in small towns like his, that gossip traveled fast. By the time he made it to high school, he had hardly any friends. The only good thing that had ever happened to him - aside from his family - was his ex-girlfriend, Joslyn. She moved to Valley in their senior year of high school, and was as much of an outcast as he was. They became fast friends and eventually started a relationship. She stuck around for a few years and attended the local community college while they dated, but like everyone else who had the opportunity, she eventually moved on. The breakup was amicable and he admittedly missed her from time to time, but also understood that where she was going was bigger and better than what Valley - and he - had to offer. 

As a junior in high school, he’d managed to snag a job at Valley Ski Resort as a janitor, and then after he graduated, he took courses in plumbing, electricity, and heating, ventilation, and air conditioning in order to be promoted to a maintenance technician. It was a year round job with sh*tty pay, but it put food on the table and he had to take whatever he could get. On the bright side, it was a step up from cleaning bathrooms and mopping floors. There was no escaping Valley, for a person like him.

He didn’t mind the work at all, but there were few words to describe how much he loathed the hotel. The people who visited were willing to spend a fortune on the amenities, but were generally unkempt behind closed doors. He could think of several occasions where he’d nearly slipped on a used c*ndom after being called to a guest room for maintenance, or how frequently the pipes would clog because people were determined to flush non-flushable items. 

But still, he went to work everyday, and waited to go home. He did what he had to do and he hated every second of it. The only advantage of working at the resort was the employee ski pass that came along with it. He frequently spent his weekends navigating the slopes and had worked his way up to expert-level. Coasting down the side of a mountain was freeing. For those few hours, he could put aside the monotonous life that he lived and could focus on what was right in front of him. 

On this particular day, he had a sinking feeling about heading into work. He just knew that something bad was going to happen - he could feel it in his chest. He debated calling out, but because he couldn’t afford to miss a day without pay, he had to go in, bad feeling or not. The feeling only got worse as he climbed out of his car and stared at the main building in front of him.

The interior of the resort was in desperate need of an upgrade; faded, worn-out gray carpet covered the floors of the lobby area, and old-school style wood paneling laced the walls. The guest rooms in the central building remained the least expensive as a result of this, and as part of the resort’s expansion process, dozens of stand-alone cabins were built on the property. Difficult to maintain, but guests were willing to pour money into spending a week in a luxury cabin with the same amenities as a hotel but with the added benefit of a home-y feel. 

He walked in through the employee entrance, which happened to be situated right next to the lobby area but was only accessible from the outside. Down a long stretch of hall and then to the left sat the maintenance office. One of the perks of the job was that he didn’t have to wear coveralls like he did when he was a janitor; just dark-colored jeans, a company-provided shirt with the hotel’s name stitched onto the front, and work boots. He dropped his jacket in his locker, grabbed one of the work cell phones so that the front desk could reach if he was needed for a repair or other issue, and walked into the main office, where his boss, Andrew, was scrolling through his email.

“Hey, man,” he said.

The other man glanced back for a second before returning to his work. “Hey, Kristoff.”

“What’s on the agenda today?”

“Nothing crazy,” Andrew responded. “A couple of rooms complained of low water pressure, so we’ll have to check that out. It’s probably calcium buildup that’s clogging the showerheads, or a clog, or something. But aside from that, it seems like it’s going to be a pretty normal day.”

He heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank god.”

He didn’t mind working with Andrew; he was quiet and kept to himself, which Kristoff appreciated. It was easier to work with someone who didn’t waste half the day with gossip or other nonsense. Having a job was about getting work done, after all.

Andrew had a list of the rooms that had been experiencing the low water pressure from the front desk complaints, so when he finished answering his emails, they set off to figure out what exactly was happening and why it was happening. “I bet another pipe froze again.”

“This hotel is so old, do they even realize that the pipes probably have to be replaced?”

“They know, they just won’t listen,” Andrew said, shaking his head. “This is going to be a losing battle for the rest of eternity.”

Just as they made it to the first floor of guest rooms, a call came over on Andrew’s work phone. They stopped in the middle of the hallway so he could pick it up. 

“Hello, this is Andrew from maintenance,” he answered, scrunching his face up in concentration. “They said the water smelled bad? Did they say if it was a weird color or anything?...okay, we’ll look into it. Thanks.”

“Another water complaint?” Kristoff asked, once Andrew had hung up the phone.

“Yeah, something weird is going on today.”

“Probably a frozen pipe, like you said.”

They knocked on the door of the first guest on their list, and a woman answered. “Are you the maintenance guys?”

“We are ma’am. The front desk told us that your water pressure is low, do you mind if we come in and take a look?”

The woman shook her head. “I didn’t say low water pressure. I said no water pressure - as in, there’s no water, at all.”

The two men exchanged a worried glance before Andrew spoke up again. “Do you mind if we have a look?”

The woman didn’t answer, but stepped out of the way so they could walk into the room. They went into the bathroom, and attempted to turn the faucets to no avail. 

The woman was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Well?”

“We’re trying to figure out what’s going on, ma’am. We’re going to check in with a few more guests and the front desk will get back to you.” 

“I’m taking my family skiing, and all I have to say is that the water better be working when I get back or someone will be getting an earful from me. I did not spend all of this money to wind up in a room with no water!”

They nodded in an attempt to placate her and as soon as they made it back into the hallway, she slammed the door in their faces. 

“God, I hate this place,” Kristoff muttered.

“I don’t understand how people on vacation can be so f*cking miserable. Management will make sure they get a more expensive room on the house if there’s nothing we can do about it, so I don’t really see the point of throwing a fit.”

“I know. It’s kind of disgusting how entitled some of these people are. I understand the frustration, but don’t yell at the people who are trying to figure out what the problem is.” Kristoff shook his head. “Let’s go to the next one.”

The routine seemed to repeat itself; the rooms were occupied by extremely angry guests who were experiencing a myriad of plumbing issues - either little or no water pressure, foul smelling water, or rust-colored water.

“Something big is going on here. Bigger than just a frozen pipe,” Andrew deduced, after visiting several guests’ rooms and being called a few more times by the front desk. “I can’t figure out what it is though.”

“Do you think a pipe burst somewhere?” he suggested.

Andrew shrugged. “I can’t imagine where. There are guests in basically every area of this hotel and no one has called about a leaking ceiling. Unless it was something in the basement.”

“We should go check.”

The two men scrambled to the basement, but as cold and neglected as it was, there were no signs of water damage anywhere. Just a lot of dust and noise from the systems that were housed down there.

“I’m stumped,” Andrew admitted, throwing his hands in the air.

“It has to be somewhere in the building. None of the other buildings or lodges have complained about issues with their water, right?”

The other man skimmed the list in his hands. “Nope, just this one.”

“Are there any places that guests and employees normally wouldn’t go during the day? The lobby’s fine, the children’s center is fine...wait, what about the ballroom?” Kristoff snapped his fingers.

“Oh sh*t, we should check the ballroom,” Andrew agreed. “No one goes in there unless they’re having some kind of an event.”

“I bet that’s where we’re going to find our problem.”

They raced back up to the first floor and passed the front desk to the corner of the hotel that housed the ballroom. Andrew searched through his massive ring of keys before locating the one that unlocked the doors. 

“Holy f*ck,” Kristoff gasped, his eyes widening at the site in front of him. 

The entire room was destroyed. The ceilings had caved as a result of the massive amount of water that had pooled from the burst pipe. Nearly everything in the room had been destroyed from either the water damage or from the impact of the broken pieces of ceiling landing on it. The walls were moist, and there was a considerable amount of water remaining on the floor. 

“How the hell did no one hear this?!” Andrew bellowed.

“This...is bad,” Kristoff said, shaking his head. “This is thousands of dollars worth of damage.”

“I need to get Bonnie on the phone,” Andrew said suddenly, walking away from the scene.

Kristoff continued to stare in the meantime; the room was significantly damaged. First and foremost, the pipes would have to be replaced - immediately. They were already going to be spending a large amount of money for the repairs, and they definitely couldn’t afford to lose the income that guests would bring in by occupying the rooms in that building. They’d have to drain the water that pooled on the floor, rip out the carpet and gut the walls, throw away all of the destroyed tables and chairs. 

When Andrew came back a few minutes later, he was not happy. “Bonnie is on her way and she’s having a cow.”

“Can you blame her? This is a nightmare.”

“I need to see if I can get any of the other guys in today. They’re going to be p*ssed.”

“I’m here and I’m p*ssed,” Kristoff scoffed. “I knew I should’ve called out today.”

“Good thing you didn’t because I would’ve had to haul your a*s in anyway.”

“Yeah, right. Zach calls out once a week and no one ever does anything about it. The rest of us are forced to pick up his slack all the time - if I called out once, it wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Trust me, Zach isn’t going to be employed here for much longer.”

Bonnie finally arrived a moment later with a panicked look on her face and interrupted their conversation. “What the h*ll happened?”

“See for yourself, boss,” Andrew answered, motioning to the entrance to the ballroom.

Bonnie peered inside before staggering back and raising her hands to her face. “Oh my god.”

“The damage is severe, Bonnie. The repairs are going to be time-consuming, and you’ll have to postpone any events that they were planning on holding here,” Andrew spoke up. “Most importantly, the guests in this building have to be relocated until we can replace the pipes.”

Bonnie nodded, and for the first time that Kristoff had ever observed, she was totally speechless. In all his years of working around her, he’d never seen her so quiet.

“I’m working on getting my other guys in here,” Andrew continued. “This is not going to be an easy fix.”

“Alright,” she said, before pointing at Kristoff. “You go tell the front desk to start working on getting the guests out of this building and then come back here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes once his back was turned; this was not his job. He wasn’t an errand boy. But because he wasn’t trying to lose his job, he begrudgingly followed her instructions. Once he arrived in the lobby, approached the first person he saw at the front desk, a brunette woman with thick black eyeliner who he recognized from high school.

“Hey, you need to -”

She raised a finger, but didn’t look in his direction. “Hold on, I’m helping my guest.”

“This is important.”

“Sir, you should get in line.”

He glanced over at the line - which was long, because it was checkout time, of course - before interrupting again. “I have orders from Bonnie -”

That seemed to catch her attention. “Let me get my manager out here.” 

“Thanks.”

A few moments later, the manager appeared from a door behind the front desk. “How can I help you?”

“I work in maintenance,” Kristoff explained. “Bonnie needed me to tell you that guests can’t stay in this building for a couple of days. A pipe burst and there won’t be any water in most, if not all, of the rooms.”

The manager's eyes widened. “O-okay. What about the restrooms on this floor? Or the restaurants and the bakery?”

“We’re not sure what the situation is with those areas of the hotel.”

She nodded. “Okay, well keep me posted. There are a lot of places on this floor that require the use of water.”

“Has anyone called to complain from any of those places?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, we’ll keep our fingers crossed that they’re unaffected, but I’m sure Bonnie will be in touch soon.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her a slight nod before turning around and walking back towards the ballroom; for the first time that day, someone had actually been appreciative and not downright condescending about the situation. He was just glad that she didn’t rip him a new one like all of the guests had earlier. 

“Good, you’re back,” Bonnie said once he finally made it back to the ballroom.

“Any updates?”

“I just made contact with the people in the event planning office,” Bonnie explained. “They’re coming down now. I need you to wait out here for them, so you could tell them about the damage. The annual ball is in three months and this was their venue.”

“I should probably start clearing stuff out of there,” he insisted, hoping to remind her that he was not her personal secretary or a professional bearer of bad news. “We can’t start gutting it out until the water is drained and all of the damaged furniture is removed.”

“You need to stay right here,” Bonnie said snidely, placing a hand on his shoulder before walking away.

“Is she serious?” he wondered aloud, his mouth agape. He really was her errand boy, wasn’t he?

“Hey man, Scott and Dan are both on their way in now,” Andrew said, approaching from inside the ballroom. “Liam and Eli are outside doing snow removal. I’m trying to get in touch with a couple of the other guys, but some of them have to be in for the overnight shift. Management has to take pictures of the damage for insurance reasons before we can touch anything, but we should be able to start getting rid of the furniture later today.”

“I have to wait here and break the bad news to the event planners,” he responded bitterly. “Because I’m not the maintenance guy today, I’m her errand boy.”

Andrew shook his head. “She’s really pushing her luck. She should be the one to tell them since we warned her that the pipes would need to be replaced a long time ago and she brushed it off.”

“You know, I had a gut feeling that today would suck. Wish that I could’ve been wrong.” 

“Should’ve checked the calendar, man. It’s Friday the thirteenth.”

He scoffed. “I’m not superstitious.”

Andrew shrugged before taking a few steps backwards. “I’m just saying.”

As soon as Andrew’s back was turned, he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. It was quite the coincidence that this had all gone down on a day historically known for the bad luck it brought. He reminded himself that he didn’t believe in that stuff; this was a real life situation that had only happened because of sheer negligence from Bonnie and the other people who ran the hotel. If they had just listened from the start and had replaced the pipes when Andrew recommended they should, they wouldn’t even be in this mess. He didn’t necessarily believe in curses either, but at this point, he was convinced he’d done something wrong in life that warranted this misery. 

Until he spotted a gorgeous redhead he didn’t recognize being dragged in his direction by the half-a-head shorter lady he knew from around the hotel, and he was suddenly aware of a new sensation different from the misery and dread he was used to - a hopeful fluttering in the pit of his stomach.  

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 2 (Mafia AU)

Summary: In the aftermath of...well, spoilers, Rus is dealing with everything the best that he can. 

More MafiaAU for the win!

Notes: Because I am clearly incapable of actually writing a one-shot.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Chapter 1

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

Considering that having their shop destroyed was one of the more upsetting events in Rus's life, it was kinda insulting how bored the officer who was taking his statement looked. When they’d come in, guns blazing, it’d honestly been scarier than the whole event that caused all this and for a second, Rus was honestly afraid they were gonna shoot him.

His apron with its embroidered rose on the front panel finally seemed to clue them in that he was supposed to be here and he’d gotten out unscathed. Now that it was clear there was no one to arrest, both officers seemed more irritated than helpful. Rus wasn't entirely sure this guy was even writing any notes and wasn't instead scribbling a picture of Pikachu or something. The Pokémon would probably have been a better detective to show up.

Then again, Rus wasn't really much help. There wasn’t much for him to tell them about the shooter and he wasn’t sure exactly why, but he kept his description of Edge deliberately vague. Wasn’t like they could catch him in a lie, the only video camera they had was a plastic fake, more hopeful deterrence than anything useful.

Not that the police cared, anyway; violence against Monsters was common, especially outside of the Monster neighborhoods, or as the Human locals quaintly called it, the dust bowl.

"Brother!" Rus jerked at the sound of Blue's voice, turning to see him pushing through the front door. His steps slowed as he took in the floral carnage, his expression turning to one of aghast horror.

“hey, bro.” Rus said meekly, cringing. He’d only had a chance to send Blue a quick text before the officers came rolling in. His hasty ‘store got shot up, i’m fine, need to come in’ probably hadn’t been very reassuring. “looks bad i know, but we’ll get it cleaned up—“

Before he could finish, Blue marched right over to Rus, paying no mind to the glass crunching underfoot as he yanked him down by his apron front into a hug, sniffling out, "Thank the angel you’re all right.”

"bro, seriously!" The complaint that Blue was embarrassing him clogged in his throat. Not like the cops were paying any attention, anyway.

"This is why we have insurance, Rus," Blue whispered fiercely against the side of his skull. "You are irreplaceable."

"Speaking of insurance, here's the police report number for it," the bored-looking cop said, holding out a card. "If you want a paper copy, you can come down to the station in a coupla days."

"Thank you, officer," Blue said, finally letting go of Rus to take it. Probably only Rus picked up on his faint distaste. There were few Monsters without at least one bad run-in with the local PD at one time or another and Blue had the parking tickets to prove it.

The officers all shuffled their way out the door and left them there to deal with the remnants of Blue’s shop on their own.

Blue turned in a circle, taking in the damages again with a bracing sigh, standing up straight with squared shoulders as he said brightly, “Well! Let’s get sweeping, shall we, and you can tell me what exactly happened?”

Brooms in hand, they got to work, but truthfully, Rus didn’t have much more to tell Blue than he had the police. He’d been helping a customer when someone started firing into the shop and Rus hadn’t caught so much of a glimpse as to who. His attention had been on the rose, on Edge, and the only thing he’d seen was the wreckage of the aftermath. With the police, he hadn’t outright said it, but he’d heavily implied the customer was a Human to keep them from going out to look for Edge. To Blue, he admitted it was a Monster he’d been serving, one that he didn’t know, and the consensus from all was that it was a hate crime against Monsters, yawn, same old, same old, moving on.

Weird as it was, even with his brother Rus was strangely reluctant to talk too much about Edge. Blue didn’t usually come into the shop until the afternoon, too busy tending to the little patch of their garden in the backyard, coaxing them daily into new blooms for Rus to bring in. So he’d never been here when Edge came in before and maybe it was stupid, but Rus wanted to keep that little secret to himself.

Besides, it wasn’t like it mattered. He wasn’t gonna see his mysterious, dangerous stranger again outside of his refreshed daydreams. Even now a new mental script was getting its final touches and maybe this time when the shooting was over, Edge would scoop him up into his arms, carry him out of the shop and their kiss would be—

“Knock knock, anybody home?"

The voice floated in from the very broken front door that Blue was trying to decide how to board up until it could be repaired.

“I’m terribly sorry, we’re closed right now,” Blue bustled over. “There was a small incident, but we’ll be opening our doors again soon!”

He stepped back in surprise as a large Monster in paint-spattered coveralls shuffled inside. He was one of the Mole clan, his small eyes almost squinted shut against the bright sunshine coming in through the broken windows.

“Yeah, we know,” the Mole grunted. “An incident.” He leaned down to hold out a beefy hand that Blue hesitantly shook, “Name’s Murphy. We’re here to get working on it.”

“Oh, but,” Blue sputtered, “I’m sorry, I haven’t even contacted our insurance.”

Murphy pushed his baseball cap back, his broad, whiskered face placid. "Already paid for.”

“Paid for…? By whom?”

“Bossman.” Was all Murphy said, then a louder shout, “Get your asses in here, let’s get to work!”

From outside came a burly Bear Monster and another Mole, both carrying equipment. Blue stumbled back to stand with Rus, both of them watching with mirrored dumbfounded expressions as the three of them started on the broken windows. Well, Rus wasn't quite as dumbfounded; he had an inkling who their mysterious benefactor was and his name rhymed with pledge and ledge and sexy as hell.

They worked with brisk efficiency and by the time rush hour traffic outside was easing, the windows were replaced and a fresh decal declaring the store ‘The Flower Shop Around The Corner’ was affixed to it. Where or how they’d gotten it all so quickly, Rus couldn’t fathom, and Blue was as flabbergasted as he. All the broken planters and glass were swept away and although the store was painfully empty, all it needed was a fresh set of lovely arrangements and they would be back in business.

“New coolers will be delivered by tomorrow morning,” Murphy grunted, swiping at his brow with a rumpled bandanna. The other two were gathering up their equipment to carry it back out their brand-new door. “You got anything that needs an emergency loaner for tonight?”

“No,” Blue told him. His bewilderment was still obvious. “We’ve already put everything that could be recovered into the coolers in the back.”

Murphy nodded. “Good. This here is your invoice and some documentation of the damages.” He handed Blue a printout and an envelope stuffed with photographs that they’d been snapping along the way, quickly printed at the pharmacy across the street. “You give those pictures to your insurance along with that and you take the money they offer, you hear me?”

“Oh, but you said it was paid for?” Blue said uncertainly. “I’m not sure who would but…if it’s paid for, surely the insurance needn’t cover anything?”

A surprisingly wolfish grin for a Mole spread over Murphy’s face, showing off his prominent front teeth. “Paid for, yep, that it is. You pay your insurance on time?”

“Well, of course I do!”

“Never late?” Murphy prodded, “Hand over your hard-earned cash to ‘em to keep your little shop safe? Then you give them that and you take the money, you get me?”

“I think so,” Blue said slowly. He glanced at Rus who only shrugged. Any money from their insurance would be a welcome boon for the loans they were still paying.

“Don’t forget to add up what all your little daisies were worth, too.” With that, Murphy turned around and shuffled back out of their lives as quickly as he’d come into it. Rus and Blue watched him go, then turned to look at each other and the sense of a shrug was heavy in the air.

“Well! That was certainly…” Blue trailed off and shook his head. “Let’s go home, Papy, and get some dinner, shall we?”

“Dinner sounds great, bro,” Rus said honestly. His soul felt like it was gonna start gnawing on the inside of his rib cage.

“Wonderful! I was thinking of trying a new recipe from that book I got at the librarby…library,” Blue corrected, “I have most of the ingredients, I’ll only have to make a few substitutions.”

That gnawing hunger turned tail into something closer to a whimper and Rus tried not to let it show on his face. His big brother tried so hard when it came to the household stuff. Their tiny home was pristine, the old shabby wallpaper peeled away and replaced with sunny yellow paint, the curtains hemmed by hand and the garden, the most important feature of their carefully chosen property, was laid out in ruler-straight lines, each bloom coaxed to its fullest potential. That it was all hidden behind a tall fence with plenty of protection spells on it didn’t matter, it was lovely to see for them, all of it, and it was theirs.

Cooking, however, was where Blue’s endless enthusiasm hadn’t managed yet to make a dent. Rus still shuddered to remember the time he’d substituted ranch dressing for yogurt under the theory they were both white-ish. Might’ve worked better if he hadn’t been making banana muffins at the time.

Rus was almost ashamed of his relief as Blue went on, “…but I may have to leave that for tomorrow, it is getting late. How do you feel about sandwiches?”

“sandwiches are fine,” Rus said, trying not to sound too enthused. “peanut butter and extra honey?”

“You’ve had a long day, brother,” Blue told him. He leaned against Rus’s leg, his head at hip-level, and smiled crookedly up at him, “I’ll let you put the honey on yourself.”

“deal!” Rus laughed and he followed Blue out the door where their brass bell rang anew, pausing only to set the alarm as they headed for the van.

~~*~~

That night, Rus thought he might have bad dreams from what had happened. Turned out, his psyche was pretty unfazed by all that action. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and he only woke to his alarm the next morning.

Last night, he and Blue came up with a plan over their sandwich dinners. He’d head in and get some basket arrangements started for any deliveries that came in from their website the night before. Blue would come out later in the van with fresh flowers and they’d finish the baskets together so that Blue could get working on the deliveries and Rus could unload the rest of the stock.

Rus showered and dressed in record time, heading out with only a little muzziness still lingering. His backpack was leaning next to the door and not where he’d slung it into a chair the night before and a quick peek found a bagged lunch ready for him. Another sandwich, he saw with relief, apple slices and a few carefully wrapped slices of cheese.

He’d left his stripes behind a while ago, but Blue hadn’t managed to dump all his big brother protectiveness yet, and if it was annoying sometimes, that irritation never included a tasty lunch.

At the bus stop, Rus kept his hoodie pulled up over his skull, keeping back from the Humans milling around the bench seat while he snuck a cigarette. Hopefully the smell would be mostly gone by the time Blue came into the shop and if it wasn’t, that’s why some clever Human invented Febreze.

A shame that most Humans weren’t clever enough to realize Monsters weren’t any kind of threat to them. Or maybe it was a lack of kindness that had the other riders sending glares at Rus as he settled into his usual seat at the front of the bus. Not all of the drivers were as distrusting as their passengers and this guy was one of the nicer ones, he’d offered Rus a nod as he tapped his bus pass. Sitting by the front where the driver could possibly intercede if anyone got riled up was safer and if they didn’t, Rus always knew a shortcut for a quick exit. He preferred not to use them in front of the Humans, but hey, in case of emergency, break minds, right?

His stop wasn’t too far away. Blue wanted the store in the Human shopping district to get more business, but not so far away it would be difficult for him to go back and forth from the garden. Rus hopped easily down the bus steps at the stop, his long legs carrying him quickly away from the crowd of Humans behind him. They wouldn’t be opening up until noon today to give Blue some time to drum up the inventory, so he had a few extra minutes. Maybe he’d stop up the street for a coffee, the scones were always fresh at that shop and—

He didn’t see the two burly Monsters coming up on him until they were both right beside him, squashing him in-between their large bodies. A faint sting registered at his cervical vertebrae, like an insect bite although Rus didn’t know any insects on the surface that could penetrate bone. He rubbed the spot automatically, trying to step away from the two Monsters, complaining, “hey, look out!”

Only they weren’t impatient commuters trying to push past him. They were guiding him along with painful grips, Dog Monsters, Rus realized, each dressed in a black suit and wearing sunglasses even though the sun was barely past the horizon. One of them growled out, "Boss wants to have a chat."

Rus’s ‘who the fuck’ never made it past a thought. A long gleaming black car pulled up directly next to them and before he could protest, he was shoved through an open door directly into the backseat.

He scrambled to sit up, his soul pounding, and he could feel the car pulling away from the curb the second the door slammed shut. Teleporting from a moving vehicle was risky but no more than staying in an unknown car after a random kidnapping, Rus figured. He concentrated, focusing his mental exit on their shop and…nothing.

He tried again, a sour taste rising at the back of his mouth. His magic was right there and yet somehow out of reach, what in the name of fuck was going on?

“you can go ahead and quit that,” came from the seat across from him, “i wanted to make sure we’d have a chance to chat before you toddled away. just a little concoction that suppresses your magic, it’ll wear off soon enough.”

“who are you?” Rus blurted. He couldn't see a face, there were glaringly bright lights shining from the ceiling directly at him, blinding him. All he caught was a fleeting flash of gold and a glimpse of three burning red eyes. Automatically, he thought of Edge but no, that voice was nothing like the smooth death-by-chocolate one that filled his recent daydreams. This voice was rough with damage, a harsh croak coming from the darkness.

The car was probably the nicest Rus had ever been in. Leather seats buttery-soft, the wheels gliding along the road effortlessly. A dark glass shield kept the driver from sight and there was probably a mini-fridge back here somewhere with bottles of Evian water ready to be mixed with an aged whiskey to cut the peaty smokiness. He might’ve even enjoyed the ride if that expensive interior wasn’t also filled with an aura of menacing and foul smoke, and Rus realized that third light was no eye, but a lit cigar burning.

“who i am don’t really matter.” A fresh rush of that cigar smell filled the air on an exhale and Rus held back a cough. “your name is papyrus. not very creative, pretty common name for a skeleton. you and your bro live over in the projects in the swap neighborhood. last year you two got a permit to open shop out with the humies.”

“that hardly seems fair, you know an awful lot about me,” Rus said warily.

“well, see, i been awful curious to see you,” that unseen person chuckled, “see, i checked into it and your little shop ain’t paid any protection money. normal cut is ten percent but, eh, out here with all this extra business, i’d say twenty’s more’n fair. and yet, not a nickel nor dime’s made it my way.”

“prot-we don’t need protection!” Rus sputtered.

“no?” A cloud of exhaled smoke on a chuckle filled the small space. “tell that to your little shop.” The seat creaked as the other Monster leaned forward, still showing nothing more than crimson eyes through the glare of lights. “you wanna tell me what your relationship is with edge?"

"how did you know—" Rus broke off. Well, that put the kibosh on outright denial, didn't it. “we don't have any sort of relationship. he shops at my store sometimes.” Impulsively, Rus added, “i don't think he'll be back again.”

"no? no kind of relationship, you ain’t on our list, but he threw together some boys to come fix up your place right quick. hm. interestin’.” He drew out the word like warm, bitter molasses, “in-ter-rest-in."

"i think he was being nice…who are you?" Rus burst out again. The little threads of his panic were starting to weave together and soon he’d be covered in a jittery blanket of fear. "and where are you taking me?"

That question was ignored. "huh, but you ain’t bad on the eyes. bet you’re even better on your back.” That rough voice lowered into a horrifying purr, “mighta offered you protection for free too, if you was part of the bargain. whatcha say, pretty? care to make it a double?”

Rus scooted into the furthest corner of the car, unable to swallow back his growing fear. He’d never felt so helpless, not even yesterday with the gunfire and glass raining down on them and where the comforting presence of his magic should be was only buzzing numbness, blocked away from him, he couldn’t, he couldn’t! "don’t touch me!”

That thin cry was less warning than a plea and around a rough chuckle Rus heard the hiss of a cigar being crushed out in an ashtray. "wouldn’t dream of it, precious.” Those eyes flicked to one of the tinted windows. "don't worry, we're almost at your stop.”

The car rolled smoothly to a halt without the wheezy squeal of the brakes their van always groaned out. One of the doors was almost ripped open, making Rus cringe from the sudden brilliance of the morning sunshine, and a hulking figure looming through the door only made him flinch back more. It took him a moment for recognition to hit, almost the same second the figure spoke.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing," Edge snarled.

"just havin' a little chat,” All light humor and absurdly teasing admonishment, that shifted like a whiplash to stinging fury, “which wouldna been necessary if you were doing your job right!"

Edge inhaled sharply through his nasal aperture, his teeth grinding together so hard Rus half-expected him to spit out a mouthful of dust. Instead, he turned to Rus and said curtly, "Get out of the car."

Rus scrambled for the opened door, half-expecting to be brutally yanked back inside. His would-be kidnapper didn’t make a move and Edge stepped back enough to let him get outside where he almost fell to the sidewalk, leaning against the pole of a street sign as he panted raggedly.

He resisted the urge to grab hold of Edge and cling to him like yesterday. That would be bad, right? Yeah, probably bad right now.

Edge only glared into the car, reaching in with one long arm. Instead of screaming or the sounds of blows there was only a rustle and Rus blinked in surprise as Edge pulled out his backpack, struck by incongruousness of the spongebob decal and the rattling anime pins against his expensive suit.

Edge viciously slammed the door shut and the car pulled away, blending back into traffic and gone as if it had never been there.

“thanks,” Rus laughed nervously, “my hero.”

He grunted in surprise and stumbled back a step as his backpack was abruptly thrust into his arms with a curt, “Go home.”

“but—" Rus gaped up at him, astonished. After all that, getting snagged off the street like some kind of heist movie, his shop getting shot up the day before, all Edge had for him was go home? Not damn well likely, “hold on a minute! i want some answers, here!”

“What you want doesn’t matter!” Edge snapped. His crimson eye lights blazed, his huge bulk looming over Rus, all of it a little too similar to the blank-faced asshole in the car and Rus swallowed back the renewed rush of fear. “What’s important is what I want, which is nothing! I don’t want your name, I don’t want your ridiculous flowers, I don’t want anything from you! Go home, go back to your little shop and your little life, and be grateful for it!”

Edge turned on his heel and stalked away, his expensive leather shoes strangely quiet on the sidewalk and Rus watched him go mutely, until he turned a corner and was out of sight.

He only realized he was crying when a drop of wetness landed on his hand where he was still clutching his backpack.

Impatiently, Rus wiped the tears away on his sleeve. Whatever, Edge obviously saved him from whoever that asshole was, Rus didn’t really have a right to complain that the rescue was a little less prince charming this time, did he?

Yeah, well, he was still gonna, even if it was only in his own head.

The day was warming up and Rus set his backpack down and stripped off his sweatshirt to stuff it inside, leaving him in his shirtsleeves and his work apron. If he had to use his sweatshirt as a quick Kleenex, well, he only better make sure he did the laundry this week.

A quick look around showed familiar buildings. He wasn’t far from the shop, Rus realized. They must’ve been driving around in circles. The coffee place with the scones he was craving was less than half a block away and Rus headed over because he damn well deserved it now. He kept his skull down and didn’t complain about the ‘Monsters Only’ line. Plenty of places still didn’t allow Monsters at all.

The barista refused to touch his travel mug, instead shoving his drink at him in a paper cup. She didn’t bother to even watch Rus drop his change in the tip jar. Once he was back outside, Rus poured the coffee into it himself, tossing the empty cup into the trash. One bite of his scone proved to be chokingly dry, probably leftover from yesterday. It followed the paper cup into the trash and Rus sighed as he started trudging his way to the shop.

Who would have guessed he could actually have a shittier day than yesterday?

At least car asshole’s prediction felt like it was coming true, that numbness where his magic should be was startling to tingle uncomfortably, his soul all one prickling itch. Probably soon it’d be back to normal. For now, it was time to get to work and maybe for today, he’d give the daydreams a rest.

The storefront at least still looked fine. Rus fished out his keys at almost the same moment a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, forcing him to turn. Rus sighed impatiently, “come on, guys, i don’t have time for this—"

The blow caught him off guard, pain blossoming across his face. Warm wetness ran over his mouth and Rus touched it with dazed, trembling fingers, staring uncomprehendingly at the redness on them.

That’s marrow, he realized numbly, droplets pattering down to stain his clean apron, they’d hit him but why—a second blow struck and the plastic mug tumbled from his hand, clattering on the pavement and splattered hot coffee across his shoes as Rus collapsed into darkness.

~~*~~

tbc

Go to chapter 3!

[angelofthequeers]

Not a Good Look: Chapter 6

@thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @lady-charinette @elmokingkong tagged as requested :)

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7 | AO3 link

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

I thought I slipped a line in the last chapter but I apparently totally flaked, so to clarify: Alya was in fact recording invisibly.

“Okay, remember the plan,” Ladybug says, pacing her room in front of Alya and Nino. “Alya, you need to get video proof of Hawkmoth. Do that and you’ll have everything you need for the Ladyblog. Nino, you have to get the Peacock – and you can’t let Nathalie get to it first, or we’ll have a sentimonster to deal with! The goal is to get in and out, understood? No drawn-out battles!”

She’s keenly aware that this is the nth time she’s rehashed the plan for Alya and Nino but considering the ladybugs that are jittering around in her stomach and getting clogged in her throat, she’s sure she could be forgiven. Alya and Nino nod, clad in the Tiger’s magenta and the Dragon’s red, black, and gold respectively.

“Understood, Ladybug,” Alya says gravely.

“And you need temporary names,” Ladybug says. “I know that you don’t want to grow attached to your new transformations, but I can’t call you Alya and Nino when we’re in there.”

“Just go with Tigresse and Redfang then, dude,” says Nino – Redfang – after a moment of silent conversation with his girlfriend. “Quick and simple. Trixx and Longg are cool but I can’t wait to be Carapace again. No offence, dude.”

Trixx just shrugs from where he’s perched on Ladybug’s shoulder, next to the fox necklace around Ladybug’s neck. “It’s okay. I miss my kit. Orange suits her way better than magenta.”

“Yeah,” Tigresse says. “Roaar’s cool but she’s no Trixx.”

“Tigresse and Redfang. Right.” Ladybug swipes open her yo-yo and dials the Horse, and she’s greeted with Kagami’s brown-masked face after only two rings. “We’re ready. Are you sure you can open a portal remotely, or do you need to come here?”

“I’m sure,” Kagami says. “I’d rather not leave in case my mother comes to check in on me. But I’ll have my phone with me, so you can call me even when I transform back. Give me a moment.” She places her horseshoe down on her bed, giving Ladybug a fuzzy view of her ceiling, and slides to her feet. After a few seconds, there’s a faint, “Voyage!” and a crackling blue portal opens in front of Ladybug, showing Adrien leaping out of his bed and calling on his Chat Noir transformation as soon as it appears.

“Right.” Ladybug squares her shoulders, ignores her fluttering stomach, and walks straight through the portal, followed by Tigresse and Redfang. Chat Noir envelops her in a quick hug as soon as her spotted feet land on his shiny wooden floor, and she takes a moment to bury her face in the crook of his neck and inhale the scent of sweat and musky earth, just like whenever she’s hugged Adrien; thank god for Miraculous identity magic, because otherwise she’d feel like the world’s biggest dumdum for not figuring out that her crush was her superhero partner, considering how…intense her feelings for him have gotten in the past.

“Thanks for letting me be the one to sting him,” Chat Noir says with a twisted little grin once Ladybug’s stepped back and handed him the Bee comb. Pollen appears in a flash of golden light and bows to Chat Noir as he slides the comb into his messy hair.

“At your service, my king,” Pollen says.

“Still as stuffy as always, honeybun,” Trixx teases. Pollen shoots him a glare that’s somehow regal and dignified despite its venom.

“I’m not your king,” Chat Noir says. “This is a one-off. Actually, I don’t even know who your new holder’ll be. Kagami, maybe, if she’s not too attached to Longg?”

“She would make a good Bee,” Ladybug agrees. “But we don’t have time for that. Where is everyone else in the house?”

“My bodyguard’s in his room,” Chat Noir says immediately. “I took a risk and, um…told him who I am. He agreed he wouldn’t get in our way, so he won’t come running no matter how much sound we make, but that means he also won’t be able to help us. Considering that he’s got, like, ten figurines of me, I’d hope he’d be on our side,” he adds under his breath. Ladybug snorts.

“Yeah, okay, I doubt he’ll betray us,” she says. She wants to be annoyed that Chat Noir had just up and told someone his identity, but he’s her partner and if he says he can trust someone enough to keep the secret, well, she has to trust him enough to let him handle it. “And the others?”

“Nathalie’s in her office and Fa – Hawkmoth’s retired for the night. I hoped Nathalie would go home but, well…she’s been spending more and more time here since Heroes’ Day. Now I know it’s because she’s Mayura and she and Hawkmoth have this weird thing going on.”

“Ugh, gross.” Tigresse wrinkles her nose, which only makes her look adorable considering that it’s underneath the black feline nose of her magenta mask. Chat Noir, meanwhile, looks like he’s trying to fight back a gag. Had he seen something during one of his Aspik cycles? “I don’t even want to know what supervillains get up to. You ready, babe?”

“Of course.” Redfang gives her a quick kiss and then crosses over to Adrien’s light switch and hisses, “Thunder Dragon!” Once he’s turned into a bolt of electricity, he zips into the light switch and the crackling that accompanies his elemental transformation fades with him.

“Let’s do this, kitty cat.” Ladybug clasps her hands. “Tikki, Trixx, unify!”

“Plagg, Pollen, unify!” Chat Noir echoes. His new merged outfit is pretty much identical to his Chat Noir outfit, only with a black-striped yellow belly, gloves, and boots, a yellow and black tail that now looks a lot like a long stinger, black strands in his golden hair, and a trompo around his waist rather than a lyre. Ladyfox’s suit, on the other hand, has turned as orange as the Fox, while a white patch has formed on her belly, her arms and legs are black up to her elbows and knees, she has a wide fox tail around her waist under her yo-yo, and her black spots remain.

“Well, kitty, you look pawsitively bee-autiful,” Ladyfox purrs. Abeille Noir’s cheeks flush red.

“You’re one to talk, foxy bug,” he shoots back. Tigresse clears her throat.

“Can we get on with this before I throw up?” she says. “Because now that I know that you two are my best friends, I don’t know whether to cheer you on or force you to stop.”

“Fine, fine,” Abeille Noir grumbles. “I’ll remember this next time you’re making out with Nino. Let’s go.”

Thankfully, unlike Multimouse and Aspik’s failed adventure, there’s no one out in the halls this time; considering that it’s pretty much midnight, Ladyfox hadn’t really been expecting anyone, but overconfidence has never served anybody well, so it’s better to be wary in cases like this. Tigresse summons her invisibility with a whisper before they set off through the dark maze of hallways, deep into a wing of the mansion where Ladyfox has never gone before. Abeille Noir probably hasn’t been here too often either, if the growing apprehension on his face as they plunge deeper into the depths of the mansion is any indication.

“Hey.” Ladyfox grabs his yellow-gloved hand. “It’ll be okay. You’ve got me and Tigresse right here with you.”

Abeille Noir swallows and shoots her a small grin before pausing in front of a door and closing his eyes. With a deep breath, he opens them and reaches out to grasp the doorknob, then turns it and pushes the door open ever so slowly, pausing frequently to avoid any squeaking. Ladyfox probably has about ten panic attacks in the time it takes for Abeille Noir to get the door fully open, but there’s thankfully no sound of alarm from within the room, so they seem to be undetected…for now.

Also, thankfully, Gabriel Agreste is wearing clothes. He doesn’t seem the type to sleep in the nude or at least shirtless but, well, considering that he’s ninety-nine percent certainly Hawkmoth and he’s definitely been plotting to get her akumatised and sell Adrien off to Lila, there’s a lot that Ladyfox doesn’t know about him. And sure enough, once they’re close enough that they can touch him – not that they would if they could help it – there’s a small oval brooch on his nightshirt, gleaming in the sliver of moonlight streaming through the closed curtains. Abeille Noir sucks in a deep breath that thankfully doesn’t wake Gabriel. Now they just have to get the brooch off and then they’ll be home free; they can only hope that Gabriel doesn’t expect anyone to come into his room at midnight and steal his magic jewellery, especially not a team of superheroes.

But when Gabriel suddenly awakens and clamps his hand around Ladyfox’s wrist right as she’s got a grip on the brooch, she can’t help but let out a small squeal and almost crash backwards into Tigresse and Abeille Noir, who also give twin shrieks. Ladyfox tries to back away, but Gabriel has all the leverage once he’s straightened up and grabbed her by the throat, and he forces her down onto the dishevelled blankets with wild eyes.

“You really thought I wouldn’t order my kwami to wake me at the first sign of danger?” Gabriel growls. “Nooroo, dark wings rise!” Now it’s Hawkmoth who’s got her pinned to the bed, grasping furiously for her earrings…but then he suddenly freezes and turns into nothing but dead weight that Ladyfox quickly kicks off her.

“Are you okay, milady?” Abeille Noir says frantically as a trembling Ladyfox snatches the brooch off Hawkmoth’s shirt. He turns back into Gabriel Agreste in a flash of purple light, accompanied by a purple kwami with butterfly wings who lets out a gasp and shoots for Abeille Noir, burying themselves in his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I should’ve Venomed him sooner instead of panicking –”

“It’s okay, kitty. Really.” Ladyfox lets him tug her in for a tight hug. “We all panicked. I hadn’t even expected that he’d get Nooroo to warn him if someone tried to take the brooch. Tigresse, you can stop filming.”

“Oh, thank you, Master Adrien!” Nooroo cries into Abeille Noir’s suit. Abeille Noir’s hands instinctively rise to cover the tiny butterfly kwami. “I’m so sorry – I never wanted to do any of what I’ve done, and I didn’t want to warn him, but he ordered me to do so, and now I’ve scared Ladybug –”

“Nooroo, it’s fine. Really,” Ladyfox says soothingly. “It was just a fright. And you couldn’t help doing what you were told.”

“Wait, how do you know who I am?” Abeille Noir pulls Nooroo away and cups him gently. “You’ve known all this time?”

“Of course,” Nooroo says. “I was ordered to hide my presence from everyone except for Master Gabriel and Nathalie but Plagg wasn’t under any such instructions. It wasn’t hard for me to detect him, even if I was forbidden from giving him any sign that I was there.”

“And you didn’t tell Hawkmoth?” Abeille Noir says. “I didn’t think you could disobey him.”

“I didn’t disobey him,” Nooroo says with a shaky little shrug. “But he never directly asked if I knew you were Chat Noir. He’s asked for my thoughts and he even said that he suspected you of being Chat Noir but so long as he didn’t give me a direct order, I didn’t have to tell him.”

“Okay, as sweet as this all is,” says Tigresse, “I’m gonna time out soon and that Venom won’t last forever.”

“Right. Right.” Ladyfox tucks the Butterfly Miraculous into her yo-yo and Nooroo vanishes with it. “Let’s just hope that Redfang got the Peacock.”

They fall into the post-adrenaline trap of taking much less care on their way back to Adrien’s room, not bothering to keep the sounds of their footsteps and breathing down, so it’s no wonder that around the corner from Adrien’s room, they’re forced to skid to a halt and hold their breaths to avoid being detected by Nathalie, whose heels clack against the expensive floor as she makes her way down the hall.

“Adrien? I thought I heard something.” She raps on Adrien’s door and frowns when there’s no answer. “Adrien?”

“Do something, milady!” Abeille Noir hisses in Ladyfox’s ear. She immediately unslings her flute and frowns, waiting for Nathalie to knock on the door again so that she can play her flute and summon her Mirage without being heard. A moment later, there’s a massive crash somewhere else in the mansion, and Nathalie takes off running immediately in the opposite direction. Huh. She may be evil but Ladyfox can’t help but envy her ability to run in heels like that.

“Nice thinking, Ladybug!” Tigresse says as they dart for Adrien’s room and shove the door shut behind them. Nino’s on his feet next to the white couch, his eyes wide, with Longg hovering next to him.

“You’re okay!” he says. “I heard the crash and I thought – shit, I thought you guys got caught –”

“It’d take more than an old, crusty white man to take us down, babe,” Tigresse grins and lets her transformation fade before kissing Nino. “You got the Peacock?”

In response, Nino holds out a pin that’s shaped like a peacock tail. “You gotta make her shut up!” he says. “I can’t take any more of it!”

“Any more of what?” Abeille Noir says. “Pollen, divide. Claws in.”

In response, a small blue thing comes whizzing from Adrien’s bathroom and careens around the room, squealing. “Woohoo!” it cries. “A midnight heist! Oh, the drama! The betrayal of father and son!”

“For the last time, Duusu, shut the hell up!” Nino hisses. “You’re gonna get us caught!”

Duusu just giggles and zooms over to bop Plagg on the nose. “Plagg! It’s been so long! You’re it!” she trills and darts away. Plagg facepalms.

“Don’t worry, she’s always been like that,” he says. “Tikki reckons I’m an angel compared to her.”

“Yeah, I can see why,” Adrien says, his eyes glued on Duusu and her mad flight. Ladyfox just sighs.

“Trixx, divide. Spots off. You’ll be okay, Adrien?”

Adrien nods. “I’ll just pretend that I heard a crashing sound that woke me up and my bodyguard told me to stay in my room. He’ll back me up. But you guys should go before we push our luck. And I…” He runs a hand through his messy golden hair. “I need to process the fact that I really am living in the same house as Hawkmoth.”

Marinette grimaces. “I promise we’ll all meet up tomorrow and sort through this together,” she says. “We’ll skip school if we have to. Now that Hawkmoth’s defeated, I think I’ll be okay telling my parents who I am if it means I can be there to have your back.”

“Same here, dude,” Nino says. “No way we’re gonna let you deal with it alone. I just texted Kagami, so she should have the portal ready right –” A crackling blue portal opens right in front of them. “– now.”

Adrien gives Marinette a quick hug and then steps back with a twisted mouth. “See you tomorrow, bugaboo,” he says, sliding the Bee comb out of his hand and handing it to her. “You too, Alya and Nino. And…thanks. For everything. For having my back. For not turning on me because I’m related to Hawkmoth. I’ll text Kagami and thank her too.”

“Of course,” Alya says with a small smile. “You’re our best friend. See you tomorrow, sunshine boy.”

With one last smile and wave, Marinette ducks through the portal and lands back into her room, followed by Alya and Nino. While Alya calls Kagami to fill her in on the mission, Marinette fetches the Miracle Box and opens it up so that she can deposit the Fox, Bee, Peacock and Butterfly where they belong, followed by the Dragon and Tiger when Nino passes them to her. Is the Peacock still broken? It hadn’t malfunctioned at all when they’d touched it, but she’s not sure what knowledge Hawkmoth had wrangled out of Master Fu during that dreadful day, or even if it malfunctions in its disguised form. Maybe he’d fixed it. Maybe it’s still broken. She’ll just have to wait and ask Nooroo and Duusu after a good night’s sleep.

“Well, we’d better get going,” Alya says once she’s hung up, hugging Marinette. “We’ll spin some tale to Lila about losing track of time and making out and stuff. She’ll eat it up, especially after the interview she gave us today. And we’ll tell our parents that we were on some secret mission for Ladybug, so they don’t get mad at us for ditching the kids and being out so late. They don’t need the details, at least till I’ve posted on the Ladyblog.”

“Thanks for everything, Alya,” Marinette says into Alya’s hair. “You too, Nino.”

Nino joins the hug and slaps Marinette on the back. “What are best friends for, dude?” he says. “No one fucks with my bro and gets away with it.”

Once Alya and Nino are gone, Marinette climbs up the ladder to her bed and faceplants onto her pillow, not even bothering to change into her pyjamas. Then she proceeds to scream for the next half hour, reassured with the knowledge that it’s muffled and won’t be heard by her parents, so that she’s not an emotional mess when she transforms and heads to the police station. No way is she leaving her kitty in that house for longer than necessary, nor is she giving Gabriel and Nathalie the chance to weasel out of being caught and punished for everything they’ve done to Paris, even if it means that she has to sacrifice her sleep for that night. But with Hawkmoth and Mayura defeated, hopefully it’s the last time she’ll have to lose sleep.

[casper-writes-stuff]

The Black Cat Part Three

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23247103/chapters/55664587

I’m so sorry this took so long to post! And work on honestly. But here it is!!! Part three of my fic trade with @rose-gold-roman !!

And because this part feels barren, I’m gonna do something I don’t usually do on this blog because I don’t like clogging these posts up with it.

The taglist!

General Taglist: @acanvasofabillionsuns, @emo-disaster, @greenninjagal-blog, @jungle321jungle, @sleepy-sides, @gattonero17, @izzynuggets, @another-sandersidesblog, @nonbinary-royaltea, @strawberryjellystuff, @hickory-dickory-doc-k, @remusownsmyuwus, @logic-with-a-pinch-of-deceit, @demidork84, @gr3ml1n-loser, @main-chive, @kiribakuandcats, 

TBC Taglist: @daring-elm

The cat was outside his window when Patton got to his room, letting out a loud mew to be let inside as soon as it spotted him.

“Oh! Well there you are little kitty! I was missing you,” he said softly, opening his window despite his better judgement.

Being allergic to cats was never fun as an animal lover, but it looked like it was going to rain and Patton didn’t wanna let the cat get wet.

It hopped onto his desk, and then over to his bed settled nearby. Patton smiled softly as he closed the window, then took off his backpack and set it on his desk chair, pushing it just enough for the chair to spin slowly.

“I met the strangest person today, kitty. He seemed quiet, but he was nice enough to walk me home,” he started talking, moving towards his dresser so he could pull out a sports bra.

The cat meowed, and Patton looked over his shoulder to give it a small smile.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t trust strangers. Especially in a town like Salida, but he didn’t seem bad, ya know? Just… troubled.”

As he spoke, Patton pulled off his shirt and looked at his worn, skin-toned binder with a small sigh.

“I’ve worn this too long again today, kitty. I was having so much fun with Roman and Logan at the library I totally forgot I was wearing it.”

Patton huffed a small laugh when the cat meowed in response, then started pulling off his binder. With the tight fabric off, Patton took a deep breath and winced at the way it felt like his ribs were stretching.

He carefully buried his binder under his bras, and then pulled on the sports bra followed by the shirt he’d been wearing all day (not quite ready to put on his pajamas) and sighed a breath of relief.

Turning back to his bed, Patton giggled at seeing the cat facing the wall, like it hadn’t wanted to see him undress.

“You’re so respectful, kitty. I should name you something so I’m not calling you kitty all the time,” he commented, walking towards his bed and sitting nearby the animal, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall.

There was a weight on his lap, and though Patton knew he should push the kitty off and go take his allergy medicine, he couldn’t bring himself to.

So instead he started stroking his hand over the soft fur, smiling when a gentle purr kicked up.

“Okay, kitty names. What about… Fuzzykins?”

The purring stopped, and Patton looked down at the cat to see it giving him what could only be classified as a glare.

Laughing, Patton kept petting the cat.

“Okay, Fuzzykins is out. I’ll pick something more name like then. Let’s see. Black kitty, different colored eyes, incredibly intelligent… What about Salem? Like the talking cat on Sabrina the Teenage Witch?”

The purring got louder, and Patton grinned, lightly scratching Salem under his chin.

“Salem it is then. Did you know Roman came into school this morning talking silly about Salida being a Young Adult novel plot town?” he asked, sighing softly as Salem made a ‘mrrp’ sound at him.

Gosh he loved cats, he just hoped his allergies didn’t kick him too hard in the butt when they did kick in.

“Yeah. He insists that if anything weird happens it’s gonna kickstart life endangering romance and paranormal happenings. I didn’t tell him about you, I kinda figured he’d tell me to try and get you to stop following me, and I don’t really wanna do that. I like having the company when I walk.”

At this point, Patton had shifted until he was laying on his side. Salem was curled up against his chest, purring because he had yet to stop petting him.

“You’re a really sweet kitty, Salem. I wish my sister would let me actually get a pet. But she insists I wouldn’t be able to take care of one. Which is ridiculous! I was the only one who managed to keep the goldfish we got at the fair when we were little alive for two years! I’d be great at taking care of a pet.”

Patton sighed, feeling his face tingle now that he’d finally dropped the smile he’d been wearing most of the day. Tears pricked his eyes, and he buried his face into Salem’s fur.

He was definitely going to regret that later, but the comfort of having Salem cuddling into him was nice and he couldn’t help but relish in it.

“I know I have my friends, but sometimes I still feel really lonely. That’s… that’s pretty dumb isn’t it?” he asked softly, giggling when Salem bumped his head into Patton’s chin.

“Okay, Okay I’ll stop moping. I should get some homework done though-”

Before Patton could get up, Salem bapped his cheek with his paw, meowing at him in protest and he let out a flurry of uncontrollable giggles.

“Alright, five more minutes of cuddling, but I’ve got history and math homework to work on, okay?”

Salem increased his purring and rubbed his cheek against Patton’s face.

Patton sighed softly, resuming his petting and letting Salem nap against him as he stared at the wall opposite of his bed.

Sometimes Patton felt like something was missing. He’d grown up here, and sure he didn’t have his parents anymore but he barely remembered them anyway, it’s been so long since they passed.

And he had Roman and Logan, and they had plans of exploring the world as soon as they could. Patton was happy for them, though sometimes he wondered if leaving was something he wanted to do. Would they even want Patton to tag along if that were the case? Sure, they’ve been friends for years, but what if that was just because of school?

Salem shifted under his hand, and he lifted it until the cat had settled before resuming his petting, not looking at him the whole time as he got lost in his thoughts.

He probably shouldn’t worry about it as much as he did, but when Patton was home it was… difficult for him to ignore the uncertainty of the future and who he might still have when all was said and done.

His heart grew heavy in his chest, and Patton frowned, wiping at his eyes with the hand that hadn’t been petting Salem.

Maybe his allergies were kicking in?

...No, he usually broke out into a rash. He was just sad right now.

The thought made his brows furrow in confusion, and he looked down at Salem after he lifted himself onto his elbow.

“You’re a cat.”

Salem looked at him, and if Patton had to guess he’d be saying you just noticed? If he could talk.

“No, Salem, you’re a cat. And I’m not itchy yet even though we’ve been cuddling for fifteen minutes. I’m allergic to cats, why aren’t I breaking out into a rash?”

Salem seemed to freeze at that, eyes staring at him wide. Patton stared back, then broke out into a grin.

“Are you hypoallergenic? Oh my gosh, that would be so cool? Pretty eyes, sweet personality, and you’re hypoallergenic? You’re like the most perfect kitty ever.”

Salem relaxed back against him, and Patton leaned down to place a little kiss against the kitty’s forehead.

“I hope you continue being my friend, Salem. I’d be sad if I couldn’t talk to you anymore,” he said softly, feeling his eyes get heavy.

He always got so tired when he got sad. Maybe an hour long nap wouldn’t hurt before he got started on his homework?

[lake-arrius-caverns]

Prologue - pt 5

content warnings none explicit for this chapter. mentions/references to death and murder

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

final part of the Prologue AT LAST  onto the actual game after this 👀

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

 —————————————————————————————

As Fahjoth was pushed through the prison’s doors, the first thing to hit him was the scent. The air inside was thick and musty and riddled with damp, almost seeming to clog up his airways and pollute his lungs. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust; coming in from outside, where the skies had been a pale, blank grey, the dingy prison corridors were almost completely dark in comparison. A few small torches hung in brackets, casting weak orange lights upon the rough grey stone walls. Perhaps it was purposely designed to instill a sense of hopelessness in those who were unfortunate enough to be imprisoned here. Or perhaps that was solely as a result of Fahjoth’s current mood. 

First, he and Ribyna were escorted to be processed, giving up their names and details for the records. Fahjoth was relieved that Ribyna seemed to be able to speak for herself now that they were away from the docks, but he was still worried over his twin’s mental state. Then, they were stripped of all their belongings, including the very clothes off their backs, to be replaced with the dirty, ragged sack cloths of their prison shirts and trousers. Neither of them were to be afforded any dignity in the process, but even that wasn’t the worst part. 

The worst, by far, was facing the unknown, in the form of whatever lay ahead of them both. 

Fahjoth wasn’t worried about himself, not really. There was no evidence of him being involved in any particular crime; the worst he could be charged with was public nuisance and affray, if the guards decided that he was involved in the confrontation that had taken place on the docks. The blood still staining his knuckles may have provided enough proof for that to be the case. 

But the biggest cause of his anxiety was Ribyna. Not only had she killed someone, that someone was the Captain of the Imperial Watch himself, and she had done so in full view of all the other guards. There was no denying that she would be facing charges for murder at the very least. 

But to murder such an important figure…

Perhaps they would make allowances, Fahjoth let himself hope as the prison guards now took them down towards the cells. Maybe they would charge her with manslaughter, seeing as the Captain’s death had been an accident. On the other hand, she was still also facing attempted murder for her desperate struggle to stab the staff-wielding cultist. 

Overall, the outlook for his sibling was bleak. Ribyna herself said nothing as they were taken to their respective cells, which were situated directly next to each other. In a way, that was some small comfort. But on the other hand, the fact that they couldn’t see each other left Fahjoth feeling even more distressed. 

The cell that Fahjoth was unceremoniously shoved into was itself no more welcoming than the rest of the prison. As the iron bars slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang, and a mechanical click announced the key turning in the lock, he stood and examined his surroundings. A single candle stood mounted on the wall in a rusty iron bracket, not doing much for the overall light level but valiantly flickering nonetheless. The walls were comprised of the same dull grey stonework, splashed occasionally with patches of moss and streaks of black discolouration where the damp was creeping in. A small wooden table and chair, crooked and riddled with rot, sat in the corner with clay cups and plates sitting haphazardly on top, but apart from that, there was nothing. A narrow opening — not even a window — sat high up in the stone wall, blocked with thick iron bars like those of the cell gate. The hole let no sunlight in, but allowed cold draughts to permeate into the cell, bringing with them a fine drizzle of rain. 

Fahjoth shivered, rubbing his bare arms while fighting the urge to throw up. Everything had gone so wrong, so quickly, and a small part of him wanted to blame himself. The rest of him, however...

He shook these thoughts out of his mind; playing the blame game was of no help to anybody now. Instead, he padded back over to the cell gate, reaching his arm out towards the cell on his right, where he knew they had imprisoned Ribyna. 

“Ribyna?” Fahjoth called, keeping his voice hushed so as to not alert the guards. On receiving no response, he frowned and tried again. 

“Ribyna!”

To his relief, there was a small reply this time. 

“Yeah?”

Thank the gods. “How are you holding up?”

“How d’you think?”

Right, that was a bit of a stupid question, he reasoned. Nonetheless, it hurt to hear his sibling sounding so broken and defeated. “Look, we’ll... we’ll figure it out,” he said softly. With the trembling of his voice Fahjoth wasn’t sure that he sounded convincing enough, but he had to try. “We’ll sort this.”

Ribyna didn’t reply. Fahjoth kept his arm stretched towards her cell, in the hope that she would reach out to him — though he wasn’t sure who needed the comfort more at this point. He knew Ribyna was suffering, and wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around his twin, to tell her that everything would be alright, but he couldn’t. They’d never been forcibly kept apart before and it was nothing short of devastating. As well as the uncertainty surrounding their fates, they were also left to process indescribable grief. 

They had lost Merrick. 

The youngest member of their group and one of the kindest people Fahjoth had ever known. It was a terrible injustice. Fahjoth had been very fond of him himself, but Merrick had been Ribyna’s best friend. Though his own eyes brimmed with tears, Fahjoth couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was feeling. 

He had shunted all thoughts of Cassius out of his mind. On the rare occasion that his boyfriend — now very much an ex — wormed his way to the forefront of his mind, it incited both anger and hurt in equal measure in Fahjoth’s heart. After everything they had been through, how could Cassius have just abandoned him like that? Had he ever even cared for Fahjoth at all? 

Again, he pushed it to the back of his mind, trying not to think about it. What was most important now was what ultimately awaited him and his sibling, and how they were going to deal with it. 

Such an opportunity arose when a guard came patrolling past. The clanking of his iron armour paused as he stopped by Fahjoth’s cell, jerking his head towards him with a frown. 

“Arms in, prisoner.”

“Sorry,” Fahjoth apologised on instinct, drawing his hand back through the bars. “Listen, um... I was wondering if you know what’s going to happen to me and my sibling? They didn’t really... tell us anything...”

Strangely, the guard didn’t decline. But perhaps it wasn’t that shocking; many on the Waterfront joked that Fahjoth possessed somewhat of a silver tongue. 

“Vetharys, isn’t it? Sure, I heard the head jailor talking. You’ll probably get a few years at most.”

“And Ribyna?” Fahjoth pressed, his stomach twisting with anxiety. 

“You mean Little Mr Murder next door?” The guard lowered his voice, though Fahjoth was well aware that Ribyna would probably still be able to hear. “Killing the Watch Captain is no petty crime, you know. If he’s found to be guilty, he’ll probably be looking at the death penalty.” 

Fahjoth froze as his worst fears were all but confirmed. As the guard received no response he simply carried on his way, leaving Fahjoth to reel with horror alone in his cell. 

He had already lost more than he could have ever possibly imagined. 

Was he going to lose Ribyna as well?

Leaning back against the bars of his cell door, Fahjoth desperately reached towards Ribyna’s cell once more with his arm violently shaking. 

“Ribyna?!”

His heart was hammering in his chest and his eyes burned afresh, hoping and praying that Ribyna would respond. Being separated had been torture before, but now... 

“Ribyna...” His voice was a mere croak, barely above a whisper, an anguished plea for her to answer. And she did.

“I’m tired, Fahjoth.” Ribyna’s own voice was hoarse and cracked, and it was only too easy for Fahjoth to know that she was crying. “Leave me alone.”

As silence fell throughout the jail corridor Fahjoth slumped against the wall, his hand dropping limply to the ground. In the quiet that followed he could still hear wheezing sobs coming from the cell next door, despite Ribyna’s best attempts at hiding them. It was then that Fahjoth let his own tears fall, trailing down his cheeks as he finally settled into a wretched, crushing despair.

                                  —————————

How long had it been?

Fahjoth had attempted to keep track of the days at first, but by around the middle of the second year all hope of counting was long gone. Past that it was just a stream of repetition as the days blurred into one. It was long enough that Fahjoth’s hair was beginning to grow white, in any case. Though he had no mirror to see himself with, a silvery strand would occasionally come loose from his head, which was both puzzling and quite frankly depressing. Prison must be ageing me, he mused wryly. 

There was no leaving the cell he had been forced to call home. Food — if the pitiful morsels they were given could even be called that — and water were left at the gate. Sometimes, Fahjoth would be able to chat to the other prisoners, or even the guards. He’d managed to get on first name terms with a few of them now, who reassured him that a charming lad like him ought to be out in no time. The months and years came and went with no sign of this prediction coming to pass, but Fahjoth didn’t care. He didn’t want to go anywhere without Ribyna. 

The guards were mostly reticent, but from the information Fahjoth had managed to glean from their interactions, he deduced that the issue was a complicated one. It seemed that the Imperial council, to whom the issue had been escalated, were having trouble deciding whether Ribyna’s crime amounted to murder or simply manslaughter, which would grant her somewhat of a lighter sentence and the possibility of avoiding capital punishment. But apparently, as one of the guards had whispered to Fahjoth one dark and dismal Loredas afternoon, Rusant’s wealthy and influential family were very angrily lobbying for a public execution, further complicating matters. And then there was the matter of whether Fahjoth himself was an accomplice in the Captain’s murder. Many of the more friendly guards assured him that this wouldn’t be the case, but it seemed that Fahjoth would be in for the long haul as well.  

But, oddly, he didn’t mind. Fahjoth much preferred being close to his twin over being separated any further, even if it meant a dreary existence in the Imperial Prison dungeons. Ribyna herself was mostly quiet; occasionally she and Fahjoth would talk amongst themselves, their fingertips brushing as both reached out of their prison cells towards one another. But she knew as well as Fahjoth did that her future was looking very bleak indeed, and it frequently reflected in her withdrawn and melancholic demeanour. 

Until a day came when everything would change yet again. 

Fahjoth was awoken early one Sun’s Height morning by the inconsiderately loud footsteps of two prison guards, who came marching past his cell at dawn. His cell painted with bright peachy gold streaks by the sunrise, Fahjoth hastened to sit up and hurry over to the cell gate. A change in schedule only meant one thing; either someone new was being admitted, or someone was leaving. As the guards weren’t accompanied by any new prisoner, evidently it was the latter. 

His stomach dropped as he realised that the guards had stopped outside Ribyna’s cell

“Vetharys?” one of the guards asked, consulting a roll of parchment. 

Ribyna’s voice was wary. “Yeah?” 

“Come with us. Emperor’s orders.”

The Emperor himself had got involved?! Fahjoth felt his heart banging as dread overtook him. Was it time already?!

“What’s happening?” he demanded, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. Unfortunately, the guards were unmoved. 

“None of your business, prisoner. Alright, Vetharys, stand back. We’re opening the door.”

There was a shuffling of footsteps and a clanking of metal, but Fahjoth couldn’t see what was happening no matter how hard he pushed himself against the bars of his cell. The next thing he was able to see was Ribyna being pushed out of her cell by one of the guards, her hands tightly bound behind her back as the manacles that adorned all prisoners’ wrists were firmly locked together. 

The guards began to escort Ribyna out, and as she passed Fahjoth’s cell, he felt a shiver run down his spine. As she met his eyes, his sibling looked utterly terrified. 

“Fahjoth!” she whimpered, almost resisting the guards for a moment as Fahjoth reached out towards her, ignoring the tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks again. Ribyna’s own eyes were brimming with tears as she was whisked away by the guards without hesitation. 

“Ribyna-!” Fahjoth cried, continuing to reach out to her even after they had rounded the corner at the end of the corridor and vanished from view, and even after their footsteps receded into silence. 

So that was it, then.

His twin, his best friend, the one person who had been there for him his entire life was heading towards her demise and there was nothing Fahjoth could do about it. 

He howled out in frustration and devastation, slamming his fists against the wall of his cell, but soon his strangled yells dissolved into sobs instead as grief overtook him completely. His legs gave way from beneath him as he collapsed to the floor, his shoulders jerking as he wept without restraint. 

Along with heartbreak for his lost sibling, a horrible emptiness began to take root in his chest. For the first time in his life, Fahjoth was now completely and desperately alone.