#in that…there’s almost a little regret about how whatever he does results in a fairly extensive/destructive blast radius

[age-of-moonknight]

“Dream Evil,” Doctor Strange (Vol. 6/2023), #2

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Pasqual Ferry; Colorist: Matt Hollingsworth; Letterer: Cory Petit

[redsightstories]

Project G Part 2

I fell to the ground, colors flashed behind my eyelids as the pain shot through my entire skull, which caused me to drop my flashlight and the folder, papers scattering everywhere as I hit the floor. I landed facedown, thankful that the floor was carpeted. Groaning, I turned my head so that it was resting on its side, even that simply movement shooting agony through my entire being. Getting hit on the head was never pleasant.

The carpet was beige and rough and more than a little dirty, and I foggily wondered when the last time someone vacuumed was. As I continued my in-depth analysis of the cleaning schedule of the office, I noticed two pairs of legs approach, moving to stand over me.

“What is he doing here? Who is he?” One of the pairs of legs asked in a male voice.

“I don’t know, I don’t know. What do we do?” The other pair asked, this one distinctly feminine. Both of them had a distinct tone of panic in their voices that betrayed that they had not expected me to be here, but the pounding pain that was now rhythmically coming out of the back of my head was making it difficult to concentrate.

“He was at Ruth’s desk; do you think he was telling the truth?” The Feminine voice asked.

“I don’t know, but does it matter? What do with him now, we clearly can’t just let him go.” The masculine one responded. A brief moment of silence passed as the two of them thought about it. I myself was doing some thinking, mostly about the gun that was now sandwiched between me and the floor. Oh yes, I was doing a lot of thinking about that. Unfortunately, my hands were up near my head, and I feared that any sudden movements would result in a quick blow to the head again, this time probably from a kick. It wasen’t worth the risk, at least not yet.

“Do we, you know, kill him?” The woman asked, turning my blood to ice. But I relaxed slowly when I heard the man respond.

“No, you know better than that, that’s not what we do. Besides, think of how upset “She” would be. We need to take him to It, it’s what’s going to end up happening to everyone anyway.” Well, at least they aren’t going to kill me, but I had no idea what “It” or who “She” was, and that was almost as worrying as just being killed, as I was apparently being taken to one of them. They both reached down and grabbed me by my shoulders, hefting me up between them. I let them, keeping myself fairly limp. I was Already starting to recover, and while the pain was still a dull pounding at the back of my head, I felt like I was now able to move around fairly freely.

There was no need for them to know that though. Try to get as much information as possible while giving them as little as you can in return. Be small, be underestimated. I subtly turned my head to try to get a better view of my assailants-come-kidnappers, but the darkness of the room made it near impossible to get anything but the barest of outlines. That was alright though, although this had started off poorly, I was feeling more and more confident. These people were clearly amateurs, they hadn’t even bothered to pat me down, a rookie mistake I would make sure they would come to regret. We were nearing a door now, perhaps to a supply closet or some such, and I decided that would be when I made my move, as one of them was busy opening the door. As we got closer, I spared a glance out a nearby window, intent on seeing if the noise we had been making had attracted any attention.

It seemed as though it hadn’t, but I was once again struck by the stars in the sky and how bright they seemed to be, especially the North Star. It shined down on me, even through the window, far outstripping the other celestial bodies. It was the strangest thing, but it almost felt as though it was trying to warn me of something. How a star warns you, I’m unsure, but nevertheless that was what I felt, and it gave me a sinking feeling that whatever was on the other side of the door we were even now standing in front of, I was really not going to like. The person on my left, the man, reached out to grab the doorknob, and I knew that it was now or never. I suddenly twisted myself as hard as I could, wrenching my arm free of the woman, causing both of them to make noises of surprise. My arm now free, I reached into my jacket and grabbed the revolver, pulling it out and aiming it at the man, who in shock and fear let go of my other arm and staggered backwards. It was now me with my back to the open door, which I spared a glance to see where it led.

There was a dark staircase behind it, leading down into unknown depths, with the meager light of the window barely illuminating the first couple of steps. I quickly moved away from it, keeping both the assailants in front of me and in my line of sight. For a long moment we all stood there, nobody moving, just staring at one another through the gloom, barely able to make out each other’s outlines. I finally opened my mouth, intending to ask them several burning questions, but I never got the chance, as in that moment the woman rushed at me, a wordless cry coming from her mouth.

I quickly jerked my gun to her and fired, the bang filling the room and tearing at my eardrums. If nobody was aware of us before, they were now. The woman plowed into me, but her movement was jerky and uncontrolled, and I had a feeling my shot had landed. But still, despite her wound she grabbed at my arm, trying to get the gun, but I resisted, slamming my elbow into her stomach and causing her to double over. But now the man was here too, trying to restrain me and move me backwards into the staircase. We struggled, but then the woman was back and, while I managed to keep them from grabbing the weapon, their combined strength -even with one injured- was enough to push me back towards the looming portal downwards, its open door waiting like a gaping mouth.

I attempted to jerk free, or maneuver the gun into a more advantageous position, but I was simply overpowered by them and their seemingly maniacal strength. They fought as though they had nothing to lose, even with one injured, and in desperation I fired the gun again trying to angle the shot so that it hit the man’s leg, but I only succeeded at putting a hold in the carpet and making my eardrums ring once more. We were at the top of the staircase now, and they were attempting to push me down it, with me hanging onto the frame of the door with all the strength I could muster.

“Why are you doing this?” I grunted, the words coming out hoarsely as I breathed heavily. They didn’t respond, but instead doubled their efforts on pushing me, as though they didn’t like me asking questions. I saw the man back up for a moment, but before I had a chance to do anything he delivered a sharp kick to my chest, knocking the breath out of me and nearly sending me tumbling. But I knew if I let go, or even tried to maneuver my hand so that it could fire the gun, the woman who was still attempting to pry me off the door frame and push me down would take advantage of that and send me downwards. Another kick, and I cried out in pain as I lost my grip on The Seventh Shot and it went tumbling down the staircase, thankfully not going off. One more and I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold on.

I saw the man winding up and, at the last second, I let go of the frame and grabbed the woman, sending us both down the stairs as the third and final kick connected. We slammed against the stairs, both of us gathering an impressive amount of bruises as we fell all the way down. Finally, we came to a stop at the bottom of the steps, with myself resting on top of the woman as we both groaned in pain. We both slowly started to move, trying to gain our bearings when we heard the door slam shut above us. I looked around, surprised to find that despite how dark it looked from the top, there was actually a lightbulb on down here, it was just the saddest, dimmest light I had ever seen. What little illuminance it produced showed that we were in a basement of some kind, with several shelves of dusty paperwork surrounding us, with the room continuing to stretch off into darkness that the bulb didn’t have a hope of breaching.

However, in our small pool of light I saw my gun lying on the ground a few feet away from where we had landed in a heap, just off to the left of the staircase. I quickly got up, stumbling over to it and grabbing it. Just in time too, as the woman was starting to really stir.

“urhhggg.” she mumbled, looking around. I once again pointed my gun at her, this time keeping my distance. I could see in the light now that she had angry red marks appearing all over her from our tumble down here, mirroring mine, but also a nasty cut on her arm, presumably from when I had shot her earlier. I suppose it just grazed her, but she was tenacious indeed to keep going through the pain, and I would have commended her if she hadn’t been trying to kill me. She sat up now, noticing me and my position over her as her eyes widened. Instinctively she backed away from me, deeper into the basement, but with a shake of my head she stopped. I had some questions for her.

“Who are you? What’s going on here? Why were you two trying so desperately to shove me down here? You better start talking, my patience is thin, and it’s been a really long day.” She didn’t even seem to notice my threat though, as at the mention of the basement she seemed to finally truly acknowledge where we were, causing a look of fear to flash across her face.

“Oh no.” She whispered, panic etching its way into her face. “Oh no, oh no, I can’t be here, I’m not ready!” She started to move towards the staircase, clutching her arm, but I stepped in front of it, causing her to pause.

“What’s going on here, what is this?” I demanded, but even now, in this dire circumstance she gave no answer. Instead, she started to beg.

“Please.” She muttered, as if she was trying to keep her voice low. “Please, just get out of the way, I can’t stay here.” She looked unstable, and her eyes had a strange look to them I couldn’t quite figure out. Suddenly, she shouted up the staircase, seeming to abandon the idea of staying quiet.

“You can’t leave me down here, you bastard! Come help me!” But she got no response from the passage up. She started to shake, as though she was having a breakdown, but I could tell from the way she was eyeing me she was seriously considering rushing me again. However, she seemed to think better of it, probably because for one, she was now injured, two, I was not caught off guard anymore, and three, it hadn’t even worked out particularly well for her the first time. She finally looked at me, really, directly, looked at me for the first time, and started to beg.

“Please.” She repeated. “Please, I’m not ready.” Now I was really at a loss for words.

“What are you talking about? What on earth is going on?” I demand, not lowering my weapon. Things were getting stranger by the minute; no way was I going to let down my guard. Besides, this could still all be some bizarre trick, a way to get me to do exactly that. That was a hard thought to believe though, as she started to cry ugly tears and started walking slowly towards me.

“Look, I’m sorry, I really am, but please, please, let me pass, I’m sorry I hit you, please…” Her voice, already low, trailed off and she stopped moving. We both felt it. Something had changed. It started subtle, at first. It was hard to believe. But there, in that dark, dusty cellar, under a flickering bare bulb, I smelled chocolate. Candy and chocolate and freshly popped popcorn, it was amazing and overwhelming, completely out of nowhere. It was like just out of range of the light, there was a carnival with every known treat and dessert, sitting there waiting to be eaten in the blackness. I had never felt anything like it. It was bizarre, but it reminded me of the first time my mother had taken me to the fair, so many years ago.

I had been amazed at the colorful lights and strange attractions, but the thing that had grabbed me the most was the variety of food. The candied apples, the funnel cake, even the cotton candy. I had to try them all, and try them I did, though I regretted it that night with the worst stomachache I had ever had. But it had been delicious, an explosion of flavor, and even now my mouth was watering thinking about it. I looked over at the woman, barely even able to acknowledge her presence but managing to dimly note that she seemed to be in a similar trance to myself, as she wobbled slightly as a glazed look came down over her eyes. I was about to say something, when I saw it.

There was something coming out of the dark behind her. It moved along the floor, squirming and slithering, leaving a wet trail behind it, glistening in the dim light. At first, I thought it was a snake, but no snake should be so red, so raw, should have teeth on the outside and a mouth that looked like that. It was long, stretching back into the darkness of the basement, impossible to tell where it ended. It was so difficult to think with the sweet smell of candy in the air, but I swear I saw it hesitate, looking between me and the woman, even though it had no eyes with which to look, just smooth flesh where a head should be. But then, perhaps due to instinct or a miracle or even just dumb luck, I took a single step backwards, not even thinking about it, barely even realizing I had done it. But that was enough.

It decided it would take the easier prey, and snapped forward, sinking its round toothy mouth into the woman’s leg. That seemed to finally wake her up and she screamed, a bloodcurdling shriek that filled the small room. She tried to run but the thing kept her anchored with its long, hooked teeth, causing her to stumble and fall down onto her stomach. I gasped and staggered backwards, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe through the thick stench of blood and chocolate. I bumped into the staircase behind me, barely keeping my balance as I tried and failed to tear my eyes away from the sight in front of me.

What was this? This thing, is that what they had been talking about earlier? Had they been planning on giving me to this? The snake-thing pulled, yanking the woman backwards several feet with a horrible ripping noise as her flesh tore, but she grabbed onto one of the nearby shelves, hanging on with all of her strength. It was a twisted mirror of what she had been doing to me, only now she was the one clinging on for her life, and the thing trying to pull her free was no human.

“Do something!” She screamed, but I didn’t move, couldn’t move. It was all too much. And the smell was so overwhelming. The sweetness, the coppery tang of blood and the stink of sweat, and, deep beneath it all, salt. It was so difficult to think. I walked up a step, trying to put distance between me and this nightmare.

“Noooooo.” The woman moaned, seeing me move to leave her behind. She struggled forward, grabbing onto the shelf with her other hand, still desperately fighting for her life. For a moment, it looked as though she might even break free, get the thing off her leg and come up the stairs with me, and then we could flee together into the cool air of the night. But then hands, almost human hands but with too many fingers and red and raw and skinless like the snake-thing shot out of the dark and grabbed onto her lower body. There were four, no five, no maybe four, it was so difficult to tell with the darkness and their movement. They were warped, much too big with forearms and upper arms that had be at least three feet long each. Finally, something inside me snapped and I pointed my revolver into the darkness from which they had come, firing once, twice, three times, and then finally a fourth. It’s in those brief muzzle flashes that I got a glimpse of the full form of the thing.

It was a pillar of flesh, bone, and sinew, coming out of the floor like an obelisk made of meat, raw and dripping with slime. Hands and legs sprouted from it like sick branches of a tree, and bloodshot eyes stared at me from seemingly random points on its body. It rose up and up, nearly brushing the top of the basement with its gargantuan size as it flailed around. At the top of this garish display lay a round mouth, big enough to shovel a horse into it and have extra room, with hundreds of teeth lining all the way around it and all of them pointed downwards. I heard someone screaming, and came to the realization that it was me. And then the flashes were gone, and I was just staring at this poor woman, whose name I didn’t even know, being dragged backwards into the darkness.

She too, had seen what I had seen, and had gone quiet, now the only noises she was making were soft murmurs. I slowly realized that she was whispering one word “Please” over and over, looking up at me desperately. She was being taken to hell, or maybe somewhere even worse, and I knew what she was pleading me to do. I aimed the revolver at her head, and she gave me a slight nod to confirm it. She knew it, I knew it, It was too late to stop this. All I could do was spare her from whatever nightmare this thing had in store for her. So, never taking my eyes off of hers, I pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened.

It was empty. The Seventh Shot had already fired six, there was nothing but a dry click as the hammer fell on an empty cylinder. Both of us were unable to speak for a moment as the whole world seemed to fall silent, and then all hell broke loose. The woman finally lost her grip on the shelf, the hands grabbing her around her neck and face as she was dragged backwards out of my sight, screaming all the way. I couldn’t see what happened next, but I could hear it. It was something I wish I could forget, but I know that for as long as I live, I never will. The scream abruptly cut off as a sound only comparable to a pound of ground beef being shoved into a container too tight for it to fit reached my ears. The squelching and the sloshing noises… why was there sloshing? It was so horribly wet sounding. Unasked for, an image entered my head of a whole raw chicken being dropped onto the kitchen floor by mistake, where it was then immediately attacked by the slobbering family dog. That sweet smell of carnival foods was long gone, replaced by a far too familiar metallic scent. No one, not even the very person who tried to condemn me to the same fate, deserved that.

I vomited then, the hot bile burning my throat as I lost the cup of coffee I had drank so very long ago. Its stench barely made a dent. I had to get out of here. I stumbled up the steps, leaving behind me what might have actually been a glimpse into Hell. But it seemed I wasen’t out of the brimstone yet, because as I neared the top step, stumbling and tripping, I was forced to squint as something started to sting my eyes. Smoke. It seemed the other attacker, the man, was taking no chances. I pushed against the door, but as I suspected it had been jammed shut, I slammed myself against it, knowing it was my only way out. There was no way I was going back down to look for another exit.

I hit it again and again, beginning to cough from the fumes, but I could feel it slowly giving. Finally, I got it open just enough to squeeze through, smoke now pouring into the staircase. There was a small office sofa shoved up against the door, clearly meant to keep me in. The fire raged on the other side of the room, blocking the main entrance.  The smoke was thick here, and I got low to the ground, coughing and wheezing from it. Even from this distance I could feel the heat from the flames.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire. I thought to myself, almost hysterically. But down here I could see something else, just barely making it out through the haze. The folder that I had taken from Ruths cabinet, its papers scattered everywhere. I quickly grabbed as many as I could, stuffing them into my coat. But I knew that this was not all of them, even now I saw one get sucked into the fire and burned, lost forever. There was no time to mourn though, I had to get out, now. I pulled my shirt up over my face to help filter the air, and it helped. A little. I looked around, trying to find something, anything. There, on my left, a bright light, not from the fire, but something else. I had no idea what it was, but it was better than staying here and dying of asphyxiation.

I crawled to its guiding light, a beacon in the dark as its form slowly became clear as I got closer. It was a window, through which a star shined brightly in. It was impossible for a star to shine this bright through all this gloom and smoke, I knew, but in that moment I didn’t much care. It had shown me a way out of here, and for that I was grateful. I heaved myself up to it, only to find that it was the kind of window that didn’t open. I looked around, panicked, but quickly found a small metal office chair. I picked it up and threw it with the remainder of my strength, thankfully shattering the window open on my first try. I took my coat off, quickly swiping the remaining glass shards away that were still attached before tossing it outside, following behind it. I was coughing so bad I was worried I would lose a lung, but the cool night air was soothing on my skin and airpipes.

I didn’t take the time to enjoy it though, as I staggered away from the fire, and that cursed building itself, intent on making distance between it and me. I spared a glance back, seeing smoke now pouring from every hole in the place, but especially so the window I had just broken. I finally made it onto a small patch of grass, stopping there to catch my breath. I glanced up at the sky again, but it seemed to be a normal night, with all of the stars in their proper place. Looking back down, I saw across the street a crowd gathering, mostly composed of women. They must have been from the shelter itself.

It was unfortunate that they were losing this place of safely, but to be honest the only thing I felt at the moment was relief. Thankfully, it seemed nobody had noticed my escape from the building, because if they did, they would have a lot of questions I did not have the answers for. I breathed the night air deeply, relieved to find that it was clear, and did not have the smell of cotton candy, or funnel cake, or smoke, or blood. I got up and started to walk, getting away from that place as I heard the sounds of sirens approching even as I did so. I had a destination in mind.

Several streets away, I found an empty phone booth, maybe even the same one I had used earlier, I don’t know. It didn’t matter, there was someone I needed to call. She was retired, yes, but I knew I had stumbled into something big here, and if anyone could help me, it was her. She had been going through a tough time, I knew that, and I had been trying to give her space, but she was needed. She was only person I knew that could keep a cool head, no matter what, and that was exactly what I needed right now. The phone rang once, twice, and then was finally picked up.

"Hello?” said the person on the other end of the line. It was her voice, and although it sounded tired it still had that underlying hardness to it that made her such a good detective. And to be honest, it was just nice to hear my old partner’s voice again.

“Hello Mary. It’s Joe. I know you’re retired, but things have changed. I need your help.”

A slight pause, and then perhaps the most shocking thing that I had experienced all night happened. I heard her laugh.

“Things have changed? Yeah, I can believe that. Alright, but you are going to have to give me a bit. I need to go to the hospital.” There was no trace of humor in her voice. There almost never was. So I didn’t ask. She would tell me everything in time.

“Sure,” I said. “That’s fine. I know which one you are talking about, the one on the east side of town, right?” She confirmed it, so I continued.

“I’ll meet you there. I have something I need to show you.” I pulled out the papers, some of them slightly charred at the edges. I knew it was incomplete, but it was all I had for now. “I think… I think it’s something big. But first, there’s something I need to do.”

“What?” She asked. I sighed.

“I need to tell a little boy what happened to his mother.”

[reyesmarconi]

João Miguel Francisco Zaga Galhardo alias Frank Zaga. Born in 1970 in  Jackson Heights, Queens, New York, to a freshly established Brazilian mother who worked as a housekeeper, he pretty much modeled himself after the older, meaner boys in his neighborhood in the lack of a proper male figure. Flippant and very friendly, he met Charles when they were in their early twenties in the underground fighting scene. Back then Frank was a bit of a scumbag, a con artist of sorts; he readily participated in the rigging of fights in order to make more money than he would by winning fairly – even if he was very talented. It didn’t much matter if he ended up beaten black and blue, so long as he got paid a lump sum for it.

Things went pretty well until he got involved into different types of scams. By then, his gig was found out, and his best friend and partner in the operation, Tomás Ribeiro, was brutally murdered as a result by the Colombian gang that operated the fighting rings at the time. Frank also had to cough up a considerable amount of money in order to not die as well, leaving him practically destitute.

He was 23 at the time, a year younger than Charles. It was the summer of 1993. The experience rattled him and filled him with inmense regret, and he stopped involving himself in crime altogether. Instead he picked up a string of low paying jobs and a drinking habit.

After half a year of aimlessness, he decided to go to college for an Associate’s Degree in Criminal Justice. Surprising everyone that knew him (he’d always been an underachiever), he also managed to graduate. After training under a private investigator for a couple years, he managed to get his PI license.

Turns out he’s a good fighter, but he’s an even better detective. By his 30s, he’s a bit of a local celebrity, having been responsible for solving the highly-publicized disappearance of 8 year old Arlene Kelly. Other than pretty much the highlight of his career, his regular cases are far more banal, but every so often he will get involved in a case that offers more than meets the eye. It helps that, although he’s a “civilian” now, he’s still fairly well connected and knowleadgable about the crime going on in Queens, and New York City as a whole.

He meets Charles again in 1999. He’s tasked by finding new information regarding the disappearance of Patrick Tessier, a financial manager from Manhattan. Tessier has been dead for like 3 years and there’s been like no leads and no signs that the case is getting solved. Police have bigger things in their plate, so Frank is hired by Tessier’s family as a desperate last ditch effort to get some answers about what happened to him.

He and Charles end up meeting – and recognizing each other – in a bar in Hell’s Kitchen a week after he accepts the case. They talk, they drink, they flirt a little, and Frank ends up dropping Tessier’s name just as an aside. “It’s a lost cause,” he declares. “No body, no witnesses, no suspects. I almost feel bad, taking money from a grieving mother. But she insisted, y'know? Wouldn’t take no from an answer. I told her I’d take a look, but I wouldn’t make no guarantees. If police can’t find a missing rich guy, no one can. S’ how I feel about it, anyway.”

The whole time Charles listened attentively – shrugging and smiling wryly at the right times, Frank didn’t notice anything weird about his behavior. Far as he knew, Charles had always been a quiet, serious type. Even when he smiled, even when he laughed, you could tell he wasn’t an expressive guy.

They end up sleeping together that night. Frank continues to investigate, Charles continues with whatever else he’s doing. But they like each other’s company enough to strike up a friendship.

Eventually Frank does find some interesting things he feels the policemen ignored, or probably chose to ignore as to preserve the dead man’s dignity – guy was a closeted homosexual or at the very least bisexual. Not something Tessier’s mother was very proud of, either, given that she was in blunt denial of the fact – even though Patrick Tessier was a New York bachelor in his thirties with a cushy job and time to spare. He doesn’t know if it had anything to do with his disappearance, but it was interesting nonetheless. After hours digging through his apartment (that the Tessiers still owned), he ended up finding his porn stash, and after some fiddling with the safe, getting well acquaintanced with just what types of “interests” he had.

He was an interesting guy, alright.

Anyway, he doesn’t end up getting anywhere. Whole case is a failure, as he pretty much suspected it’d be, and he tries to only charge for only half the time he spent on the case out of guilt, but Margaret Tessier hears none of it. She pays him and tells him to always keep his son in mind.

So he does. The years past and he still thinks about it. Whenever he’s bored he reviews the case file he built on Patrick and tries to come up with something out of thin air. A new insight or new angle that will help him make sense out of this nothingness. After all, by that point he had built something of a reputation solving impossible cases, and this – despite his own wariness – was a reminder he was still fallible.

In the meantime Charles and Frank grow to be close. Charles even helps him with a few cases. They develop an intimate friendship. Frank gets to hold Cael as a child. He becomes a honorary uncle of sorts.

They’re in their forties by the time Charles confesses what he did to Patrick Tessier.

At first, disbelief. Then, as Charles elaborates, the disbelief gives way to anger, for some reason, and then just demanding to know more.

Charles tells Frank about Tessier’s involvement in many a few deaths, including the death of a close friend of his. All of them sex workers. All of them gay. All of them forgettable deaths in the eyes of the city.

Frank eventually comes to understand it. He never had the full picture, both Patrick and Charles made sure of that; Patrick by being extremely secretive about his relationships, Charles by burying whatever evidence had been left of this side of Tessier’s life.

He comes to understand. With time, he comes to shed whatever empathetic image he had built of Tessier over the years. And he comes to shred his case file.

[freddie-weaselbee]

Capture the Flag//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Warnings: Language, Cedric hate (but like loving hate)

Summary: The big capture the flag game had commenced, and Fred quickly found himself captured and thrown into the other team’s slammer. Little does he know he has a cellmate who’s willing to do whatever it takes to win, even if that means teaming up with a Gryffindor. 

Prompts: Detention/Being Detained with dialogue prompts “oh well fuck me then,” and “half the time I get too embarrassed to say anything”

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Day 6 of @theweasleyslut‘s 2k writing challenge --au where there’s no voldemort so Cedric’s alive and let’s say Umbridge never existed--

Fred had almost gotten away with it. If it weren’t for that meddling Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory and his band of stupid cronies. 

“You’ll pay for this, you hear me?” he yelled out, but the handful of boys dragging his body across the grounds just snickered and ignored him. 

“Oh shut it, Fred,” said Cedric, walking in front of the group. “You got caught. Rooky mistake. Now, you get to face time.”

Fred groaned, letting his shoes scuff in the dirt in hopes of slowing the boys down, or at least annoying them. It was his own fault he had ended up in this situation. He had gotten too reckless, trying to take on a group of Ravenclaws all by himself. He should’ve known it would’ve been a trap. 

The official student Capture the Flag game was a tradition amongst all Seventh Years that took place the spring right before they graduated. It was completely student-run, mostly because if the teachers found out they would shut it all down, but that did mean that the students could be as creative and brutal as they wanted. Fred, pioneer of horrible pranks and traps that attacked the opposing team, was a prime target for capture. 

The gang of opponents that had captured Fred was slowing now, having reached their destination. In front of him, Fred saw Hagrid’s hut now painted yellow and blue, the house colors of team one. Hagrid was nowhere to be seen, but Fred figured he probaby would be fine with the vandalism of his hut as long as they cleaned it up once they were done, and with magic that would be fairly easy. 

“Into the slammer,” one Hufflepuff boy snickered, opening the door and throwing Fred in. “We have one guard watching the hut. Any attempted escapes in which you’re caught result in a one hour penalty from the game, but if you manage to escape without notice--”

“I know the rules,” Fred muttered. “My older brother bloody made them 10 years ago.”

Cedric, who had been standing outside the door, smiled wryly. “See you soon, Weasley. I’ll make sure you’re the first to see us carrying your flag back to our home base.”

Fred mouthed along to what Cedric was saying with a mocking expression plastered to his face. “This isn’t over yet Diggory!”

The other boy just snickered before slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside. Fred raced to one of the windows which had been boarded up for the game. He was able to peak out a hole between two of the boards. Cedric and the other boys were making their way back into the forest, whooping and slapping each other’s backs in celebration. The leader of the group spotted Fred watching them, and before he and his friends disappeared into the trees he cupped his hands over his mouth and called back one more thing. 

“Enjoy some one on one time with the other inmate!”

Fred was confused by what Cedric had just said. Other inmate? What could he possibly…

For the first time, Fred actually looked around the small hut and was surprised to see a girl, clothed in black pants and an emerald green top, headband, and facepaint laying down on the couch, feet thrown over the armrest. “Hello.”

He stepped back for a second, hesitant and fearful. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

You gave him an ‘are-you-stupid’ look before sitting up. “Same as you.”

Fred mentally smacked himself for being so dumb. When deciding which houses were on which teams, the four names were thrown into a hat and then two were pulled out at a time. This year, against the wishes of every single person in both houses, Gryffindor and Slytherin were on the same team, which meant Fred was staring at one of his teammates dressed head to toe in your signature house color. 

Still skeptical, as most Gryffindors were of Slytherins, he sidestepped over to a nearby chair, eyes never leaving you. Your face shone with amusement at his obvious fear, and it only made you all the more confident. Godric how he hated that. 

“I’m not gonna bite, Freddie, you can join me on the couch. It’s much more comfortable than Hagrid’s huge chairs.”

Fred’s face tinted red at the nickname. He couldn’t remember the last time you had spoken to him, much less called him Freddie. It made him slightly uneasy, how comfortable and self-assured you were. It always put him on edge. 

Eventually, after a few moments of silence and pondering, Fred decided that joining you on the couch would be fine. You were teammates after all, and what was the worst you could do to him? He sat down, stretching as far away from you as possible. 

You cocked an eyebrow, scooting closer to him as a test. He flinched away. 

“Bloody hell,” you said, moving back to your original position, “you really are afraid of me aren’t you?”

He didn’t say anything. What could he say? You always made him speechless, for reasons he never understood, heart beating faster whenever you were near. He assumed it was out of fear. You were sorted into the evil house after all. 

“My friends all called it too,” you continued, smiling a dazed smile. “They always said that you would get weird around me, something you never did with anyone else. Am I really that terrifying? Afraid I’m gonna bite you in your sleep?” Your eyes shone as you teased him, and he couldn’t decide if it made him want to relax and talk to you or get the hell out of there immediately. 

You leaned your head toward him again, but this time he didn’t move away. You seemed to study him, looking his face and body up and down as if you were taking mental notes of every part of his person.

“For someone so incredibly loud, you don’t seem to talk much when I’m around.”

“I…” He trailed off, words catching in his throat. 

“Well, that’s gonna have to change if we’re gonna get out of here.” You clapped your hands together and stood up, brushing the dirt off your pants and fixing your ponytail. “What’s the plan, prank man?”

He stared at you dumbfounded, even more so than he was before. You reached out your hands to pull him off the couch and he reluctantly took them, brows still furrowed in confusion. “The plan?”

“There we go, I got ya talking!” You cheered loudly, beaming at your teammate. “And yes, the plan. For how we’re gonna, y’know, get out of here and get the flag and beat all these losers.”

Fred’s throat was suddenly dry. A plan? You expected him to have a plan? What kind? He’d been there for no more than 5 minutes and you were already throwing him back into the game. 

“I...uh, I don’t h-have a plan.” 

You crossed your arms, staring down at him and biting your lip. “Really? You, Fred Weasley, don’t have a plan?”

“Why are you talking to me like we’re friends?” Woah. That came out way harsher than he had wanted it to and he regretted it the moment it left his lips, especially seeing you wince at his blow. You covered it up quickly, face becoming darker with determination. 

“We may not be friends, your words, not mine, but we are teammates. And I don’t know about you, but I like to win, and I’ll be damned if I’m stuck just sitting in here for the rest of the game because you don’t want to be partners with the likes of me. Now are you in, or not?”

He hated how quickly your tone had changed, starting as a warm playful banter and now becoming something hard and defensive. For reasons unknown to him, at that moment he would do anything to see that other side of you again, the poised and bold persona you always made sure everyone saw. But it was never a cocky confident, not how he could be sometimes. Rather, it was just assured. You knew what you wanted and what you were worth and you didn’t let anyone give you shit for anything. He envied you for that quality sometimes. The amount of time and energy he’d put into hiding his insecurities, and here you were being more confident than he could ever pretend to be. 

He realized that you were still waiting for a response. Forgetting his nerves and the butterflies in his stomach that were always there whenever you spoke to him, he sat up straighter and mustered all the charm and confidence he usually carried. “You really think I’d let you win and take all the credit for yourself?”

A smile grew back on your face, one that Fred thought he would give anything to preserve. 

“Alright then Freddie--oh, can I call you Freddie?”

He nodded, shyly at first and then more forceful. “Yeah, but I think this would be more fun with codenames.”

Your eyes grew wide at his suggestion and you started jumping up and down, energy rustling inside you just begging to get out. “Yes!” you almost screamed. “Oh perfect, ok, you can be...Eagle 1. Ooo, I like that. And I’ll be…”

“Why the 1 after it?” Fred asked, interrupting your thoughts. 

“Because it sounds cooler,” you replied immediately. You snapped your fingers. “I’ll be Mantis, like a praying mantis. That’s cool. Ok, sound good?”

“Sounds perfect, Mantis,” he said, holding his hand up for a high five. You had to jump to reach his hand, giggling at the use of the new nickname. 

“Alright, Eagle 1, any observations?”

Fred scanned the room, mind whirling with ideas. His eyes landed on the corner, a brick structure cemented into the wall. “Actually, I think I do have a plan.”

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

“This was a very stupid plan!” 

You had to whisper yell so the guard down below, a Ravenclaw girl, couldn’t hear you. You and Fred were currently on the roof of Hagrid’s hut, holding on for dear life and trying not to make a sound. Somehow, against all known laws of physics and magic alike, you had both climbed up the chimney and had failed to be detected so far. 

“Shh,” Fred said, looking around for a way down without being discovered. 

“What’s the next part of the plan?” you hissed, nearly losing you footing on the steep slant of the rooftop. 

Fred looked down sheepishly, glad it was too dark for you to see his ears grow red in embarrassment. “I didn’t think that far yet.”

His admission almost made you fall off the roof. “Oh, well fuck me then! How are we supposed to get down?”

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking! Just give me a minute.”

The hut was small, meaning that the girl who was walking circles around the bottom would do a full lap in about 30 seconds, and they would be visible in 15 no matter where they dropped down, if they could even make the drop without breaking a limb. Plus, the noise would no doubt alert her, and no matter how fast they ran she had her wand and would stun them before they got more than 10 metres away. You and Fred had your wands confiscated, which made this whole ordeal much harder, if not impossible. So the ground was out of the running. 

Fred turned his head to the sky, wishing he had his broom so he could soar over everyone. Over everyone… That was it! 

“Come here.” He grabbed your hand, yanking you away from the chimney and to the edge of the roof. 

“Freddie, if you push me off of this I swear to Salazar that I will--”

He clamped a hand over your mouth, effectively cutting you off. You glared at him but stopped trying to talk when you saw what he was looking at. A group of people wearing blue and yellow were not too far off, and they were heading your direction. If they got any closer they would most definitely see the two of you up there and you would be screwed. 

“Listen to me,” Fred said, quickly and quietly. “See that big branch over there?” Fred pointed at a thick branch that was extended toward the hut, about a metre away from the edge of the roof. “I’m going to throw you onto that--” your eyes widened in surprise “--and then I’m going to jump onto it as well. From there, we take the high road, climbing from branch to branch to make our escape. Understand?” 

Before you could say anything, shouts rained through the air. 

“Look, up there!”

“On the roof!”

“Oh fuck, it’s Fred and Y/N, they’re escaping!”

Wasting not a single second, Fred grabbed you under the armpits and tossed you with all of his might, sending you screaming through the air. You landed harshly on the branch and scrambled to keep your balance. Spells were blasting through the air, barely missing you. Fred took a few steps back in order to get a running start, but right as he was about to jump his foot slipped. 

He pushed off with all his might, hoping against all hope that he would still make it there. A spell raced by him on his left side. This was it. He was about to get caught, again. 

Then, against all odds, something grabbed him. He looked up to see you, legs wrapped around the branch and struggling to keep your balance, both on your hands grasping onto his with all of your strength. It took him a second to realize that you had caught him, but when he did he swung his other arm up to grab the branch, allowing you to hoist him up. 

“Stop them!” He didn’t have time to thank you or celebrate the victory. Still holding his hand, you shuffled toward the trunk of the tree, 

“Follow me,” you said, letting go and crawling out on another branch. You hopped from tree to tree, always finding another large place to grab onto or walk across. You both went as fast as you could without putting yourself in any danger of falling. After what felt like an eternity, you both failed to hear any more shouts or voices. You must have lost them in the thick forest. 

“I think…” Fred said through panting breaths. “I think it’s ok to go down now.”

You nodded, gesturing for him to descend down the tree first. When your feet finally touched the ground you collapsed in exhaustion, arms and legs sprawled out. Fred soon joined you, his head right next to yours as your breaths slowed and went back to normal. 

“That was fucking incredible,” he finally said. You laughed, coughing a bit as you did so, and turned to face him. 

“It was, wasn’t it.”

“I’m serious!” he said, turning on his side. “You were amazing. I thought I was a goner. How’d you catch me?”

You shrugged. “I’m fueled by fury and spite, and there’s nothing I hate more than a cocky Cedric Diggory.”

He laughed, reaching out to rub a hand up and down your shoulder. “You and me both, love.”

His eyes widened at the accidental nickname but you didn’t seem to mind. You just continued to smile before sitting up, leaning back on the palms of your hands. “Alright, love, what’s the next step?”

Even though you said the name in a teasing manner, it didn’t stop Fred’s heart from fluttering in his chest. He shook his head, telling his stupid thoughts to leave and never come back. There were more important things to deal with. 

“Now, we get the flag. We just need to find out where they hid it.”

He stood up, staring out at the expanse of forest surrounding you both in all directions. If he were Cedric, where would he hide the flag? 

“This might take a while. We’ll have to scour the West side, the East has already been checked, but I supposed we’ll have to double check just in case--”

“It’s in the tree by the Black Lake.”

Fred froze in his tracks. You had said it so casually, as if you were just telling him what day of the week it was. 

“What?”

“The Black Lake,” you repeated nonchalantly. “I followed Roger Davies as he made his rounds and he kept going back to the lake, like an alarming amount of times. And when we were being attacked at the hut, the group was definitely coming from that direction. And one of them had birch leaves all over her clothes, and the only birch tree is the one that is right by the lake. I say, who would climb that tree if not to hide something? It’s not tall enough to be a lookout tree and it’s not thick enough to hide anything or anyone bigger than, say, a flag. It’s gotta be there.”

He stared at you with his mouth hung open, completely dumbfounded. For the umpteenth time that night, you made him speechless. 

“You’re fucking insane,” he finally said, rubbing the back of his neck as he continued to stare at you in surprise. “That’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you said, winking at him. “It’s a gift.”

You reached a hand up to him, asking for him to pull you off the ground. He did so, and you immediately linked both of your arms and started off to your right. He didn’t know how you knew which way the lake was when you were both so deep in the forest, but he decided not to question it. 

The two of you walked in silence for a little bit, you deciding to skip alongside Fred in order to keep up with how fast his long legs carried him. 

“Y’know,” he said, breaking the silence, “you’re a lot more...chipper than I expected you to be. 

Without missing a beat, you rolled your eyes and looked at him. “Why? Cuz I’m an evil Slytherin beant on world domination?” You spoke in an imitation of a dark voice, wiggling your fingers like you would when describing something as spooky. 

“Well, yeah,” Fred admitted, suddenly feeling bad that he had always assumed so much about you that was obviously not true. “You guys don’t have the best reputation, that’s all.”

“Oh and all Gryffindors are superheroes that are meant to save the world?”

“That’s not what I--”

“I know,” you interrupted, “I’m just teasing. I hear it enough anyways that it doesn’t bother me anymore. The people who care will get to know the real me, and those who don’t try just don’t matter.” You shrugged as if it was the simplest thing in the world and Fred wondered how long it must’ve taken for you to be so content with it, how long you must’ve beaten yourself up for something you couldn’t control until you were finally at peace with just being who you were. 

“I want to care,” he said without thinking. “I mean, I want to get to know you. You’re a lot more fun than I expected you to be.”

You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. “And how come you’ve never tried talking to me before? We have gone to school together for, oh I don’t know, 7 years now!”

Although you were just messing around, your words hit hard. He had had classes with you for 7 bloody years and not once had he reached out to you for anything other than when you were assigned together for a project.

“You kind of called it earlier.” He said, making you furrow your brow in confusion. “I was a little bit afraid of you. Well, maybe afraid isn’t the right word. Intimidated, that’s it. You’re just so...I don’t know how to describe it, but you make me feel funny.”

“Funny?” you asked, now more muddled than ever. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t kow,” he repeated. “My heart starts racing and whenever I say things to you my mouth starts to go dry. Hell, half the time I get too embarrassed to say anything! I don’t know if it’s cuz you’re a Slytherin or because you’re absolutely stunning--”

“True true, continue.”

He laughed, leaning in to you as he did so. “And so incredibly humble, it appears.”

“Ah, yes, a trait we both share,” you replied. “It was you who deemed himself the ‘Prankster King’ as well as started the ‘Hogwarts Biggest Hottie’ competition just so you could convince everyone to vote for you, was it not?”

“Yeah, and bloody George won,” Fred grumbled. “We’re identical for fucks sake!”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you beat out George on the attractiveness levels.”

Fred perked up. “So you voted for me then?”

“Actually,” you said, an evil smirk growing on your face, “I voted for Cedric.”

His jaw dropped and you took off running through the forest, crying with laughter as he chased after you. 

“You bloody traitor, I’m the attractive one! Get back here!”

You sprinted through the trees, dodging trunks and ducking beneath branches praying that Fred wouldn’t catch up to you. But before you knew it, you had been tackled to the ground, flipping your body around in the process so you were now pinned beneath Fred, heads facing each other. 

Both of you were still laughing, you wiping tears from your eyes at the chase that had just ensued. 

“Say you were lying,” he demanded. “Say that I’m the most attractive one.”

When you refused, he had to resort to a kind of torture that he only used in the most extreme circumstances. He started tickling you. 

“Ok, ok!” you screamed through your fits of laughter. “You’re the most attractive guy here, I swear it on Salazar himself!”

Finally, his fingers released from your side and you were given a chance to actually breathe. It was then that he realized how close your faces were. Mere centimeters apart. How easy it would be for him to just lean down and capture your lips in his, kissing you with all the breath he had left, letting his hands roam up and down your sides as yours got themselves tangled in his hair. How easy it would be to forget about the whole game and just spend the rest of the night wrapped around each other under the light of the pale moon. He dipped his head down, slowly closing the gap, your voice hitching in your throat as you licked your lips and closed your eyes, their color shining so clearly. 

Fred suddenly sat up. Your eyes. He could see them, and he could see them well. The moonlight was shining just enough to allow him to see the color. Which could only mean…

“We’re here.” Sure enough, Fred had tackled you right at the edge of the forest by the clearing, much brighter than it had been in the forest. You both quickly made to get up, dusting yourselves off and avoiding eye contact as much as possible. 

“Well,” you said, not daring to take your eyes off the birch tree in the distance. “Ready Eagle 1?”

Fred smiled, getting his feet ready to make the fastest sprint of his life. “Ready Mantis. On your mark--”

“No I get to say it! I’m the one who got us here after all,” you argued. 

“Ok but who got us out of the hut?”

“I saved your ass from falling off the damn thing!”

“Well I--”

A branch cracking from behind you broke both of you out of your playful argument. 

Fred looked at you and raised an eyebrow, offering his hand out to you. “Together?”

You took his hand and nodded. “Together.”

Fred squeezed your fingers tightly in his, staring at the target ahead. 

“One..” he said slowly. 

“Two…” you followed, catching a glimpse of a blue and yellow flag at the top of the tree. 

“THREE!” You both sprinted through the clearing, feet carrying you as fast as they could as you raced to your destination. A loud whistle was being blown off to the right and shouts came from the left but you both just ignored them as you kept running. 

A huge body appeared in front of you, almost out of nowhere, wand at the ready. You screamed in surprise and hit the person square in the jaw, sending them stumbling backwards until they tripped and fell back on their ass. 

“Shit, sorry Roger!” you yelled back. Fred swore he could’ve kissed you right then and there. 

You both made it to the base of the tree, not sturdy enough for the both of you. “Give me a boost,” you told Fred. He cupped your foot in his hands and hoisted you up, jumping out of the way just in time to miss a hex coming his direction. Your hands and feet moved as if you were a monkey swinging through vines. You heard grunts and yells from the ground but were too focused on the flag to care. 

With one final push, you grabbed it, yelling triumphantly as you gripped the prize with all your might. All you had to do was get back to your team’s side and victory was yours. 

“Y/N!” You looked down to see Fred standing at the bottom of the tree, two more boys laying on the ground and holding their noses. He must’ve taken them on with no wand and still managed to beat them. Fucking legend. 

“Jump down!”

You were alarmingly high up, something that hadn’t occurred to you until just then. It panicked you to think about jumping. Maybe you could just climb back down? But even as you thought about that you saw more people coming, ready to capture you both again. This was your only chance. 

Clutching the flag with all of your might, you jumped down from the tree, screaming as you free fell through the air. You landed not on the hard ground, but in a pair of strong arms that steadied you and held you bridal style. 

“See, now we’re even. We’ve caught each other.”

“Stop flirting and fucking run Fred!”

He did as told, taking off with you still in his arms, the flag in yours. Even though he was carrying your body his adrenaline still gave him enough energy to run like the wind, just as if not faster than many of the others chasing them. 

Over rocks, through a stream, past so many others who tried to stop him. But he wouldn’t stop. He just kept running and running and running until--

“Fred!” Angelina Johnson and George saw you both in the distance. They grabbed their wands out and hexed those in your pursuit, stopping a Ravenclaw girl just as she was about to hex Fred’s legs. You could see the line you all had drawn shimmering in the distance. More Gryffindors and Slytherins saw the commotion and raced to help, slowing down as many opponents as they could. 

You were 50 metres from the line. 40. 30. 20. 10…

Fred’s legs gave out, a mere 5 metres from the line. Someone had finally hit him with a curse, sending him sprawling out on the ground. You gasped as your body hit the ground, rolling across the grass, closer and closer and--

A firework exploded, then another, and then another. The signifier of victory. You looked up to see what had happened. You were on the ground as well, your right arm laying in front of you with your right wrist and hand over the line. The hand that had been holding the flag. 

“We did it!” You didn’t know who screamed, but whoever started it set a trend of wild cries and yells, whoops of victory and laughter filling the air. Your friends were by your side in a matter of seconds, helping you up and to the other side. 

You stumbled a bit, the reality of what happened finally hitting you. “We won!” You and your friends jumped up and down, hugging each other and screaming as loud as you could. You were bombarded with questions, everyone wondering what happened and how you managed to pull this off. Ignoring them, you looked around for Fred, who was starting to push himself off the ground. 

You dropped the flag and raced over to him, grabbing his arms and putting them on your shoulders to help him balance. 

“This is Mantis calling Eagle 1,” you said, barely audible over the celebration. “We did it. I repeat, we did it.”

Fred looked up, face covered in scratches and bruises, but you guessed you didn’t look much better. “As much as I like the name Eagle 1, I think you should go back to calling me Freddie.”

You laughed, leaning your head into his chest. “Roger that Freddie.”

He removed his hands from you shoulders and moved them to your waist, spinning you around in the air before pulling you into a bone crushing hug. “We fucking did it! Suck it Diggory!”

“Suck it Diggory!” you repeated.

A chorus of ‘suck it Diggory’s reined across the grounds, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike chanting it repeatedly. 

Fred finally lowered you to the ground and rested his forehead against yours. “Go out with me,” he said. “On a date. Go out with me.”

“What, jumping off roofs and out of trees and running for your life through a dark forest doesn’t count as a date already?”

He laughed and closed his eyes, relishing this moment and thinking about how much had happened in just a few hours. “Fine, a second date then. Will you go out with me on a second date?”

You brought your hands up to his mess of hair, twisting a lock in your finger and sending shivers up and down his spine. “Only if you promise that it’ll be even more exciting than the first. Think you can top this?”

“Oh, love, you have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Try me,” you replied, pulling his head down to yours and sealing your lips together in a kiss. 

All of your friends as well as Fred’s just stared in awe, wondering what the hell happened that suddenly you two were snogging in front of everyone. You’d explain everything in due time, what was the rush? And you’d have to make sure to thank Cedric Diggory for locking the two of you up together. How it had changed everything.

Tag List:

@famdomhideout @amourtentiaa

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[happyandticklish]

Sensitive Exploration

Notes: For the anon who requested a Hazbin fic with Angel and Alastor discovering each other’s death spot. Sorry this took so long, I had to get myself back into the mindset of the characters. I hope you enjoy the result!

Summary: Alastor has a tradition of tickling the different members of the hotel, and one day Angel decides to get him back. 

“If you just tell me, this will be over faster you know.”

“F-Fahahahack yohohou!”

Angel Dust often wondered how so often he found himself on the receiving end of Alastor’s so-called “punishments”. It was a tradition he had started a while back, after he had poked Charlie in the side and she had squeaked in response. After Charlie had sheepishly explained her reaction to him, Alastor took it upon himself to fully test the sensitivity of everyone in the hotel, as he found the subject fascinating. Not that he wasn’t aware what tickling was, of course, but it had been a long time since he had encountered the concept in a real way. It became a habit that, whenever anyone in the hotel was feeling down or being particularly grumpy that day, Alastor would tickle them until they either smiled or learned their lesson.

Charlie had been his first target, of course, and by far one of the most willing recipients. Vaggie proved to be a challenge, and Alastor only braved her wrath a couple of times. Husk had protested, but once Alastor discovered that his wings were ticklish he had quickly crumpled under his devilish touch. Nifty was simply not ticklish, a discovery that disappointed both her and Alastor greatly.

That left only Angel Dust. By the time Alastor approached him, Angel had heard and seen the other’s experiences with the radio demon and was a begging mess of giggles before the other had even touched him.

Easily the most ticklish and the most cocky of the group, Angel was the most common recipient of Alastor’s whims of fancy. He could always tell when Alastor meant to tickle him, either by a certain gleam in his eyes or a smile that was slightly more slanted than usual. There was no use protesting, but Angel did so anyway, a nervous excitement bubbling up in his voice each time. Alastor would eventually back off, once he could see the other had had enough, but he made sure to give him the wrecking of a lifetime before then.

Currently, Alastor had tendrils wrapped around all six of Angel’s limbs, pinning each one to the wall. They were inside one of the hotel’s many guest rooms, as most were unused and Alastor had wanted their time to be interrupted. Alastor was currently scribbling fingers under the first pair of armpits, while four more tendrils attacked the rest. Angel was dying, helpless cackles and squeals breaking loose as he attempted to free himself from the other’s impossibly strong grip.

Alastor was on a mission that night. He had noticed while tickling the other residents that there was usually one spot on all of them that appeared far more sensitive than the rest of their body. However, whenever he was tickling Angel he tended to go all out and thus missed each particular reaction. Tonight, however, he planned to find the other’s so-called “death spot” and exploit it for all it was worth.

“Really, it’s only going to be worse if I have to find it myself,” Alastor commented briskly, switching between light scribbles over his armpits and digging in with his thumbs. The constant fluidity of the two methods seemed to be working wonders on the spider demon who was quickly in hysterics.

“I-I’m nohohot fuhuhucking tehehelling yohohou!” Angel spat, the venom torn from his voice as his words were followed by a flood of giggles. “D-Dohoho yohohour wohohorst!”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “My, my. If I’m not mistaken, it almost seems like you want me to tickle you Angel. Is that the case? Hmm? Did I get it right?”

The blush flaming on Angel’s cheeks spoke louder than his words. “Shuhuhut uhuhup!”

“That’s not a denial.”

“Yohohour fahahace ihihisn’t ahaha dehehenial!”

“Clever comeback,” Alastor responded dryly. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll simply find it all on my own.” He inspected the other critically. “Now, as sensitive as your armpits appear to be, I don’t think it’s your worst spot. Do you agree?”

Angel shook his head through his laughter, though it wasn’t clear if he was denying or affirming the statement.

“I wonder… this spot always seemed to cause quite a reaction.” With a snap of his fingers the tentacles tormenting his armpits disappeared. Angel sagged, momentary relief filling him, but in the next instant hands were squeezing his hips and electricity shot up his spine. He let out a startled yelp, his struggling increasing tenfold as he fought to get Alastor away from the area.

“And my efforts reward me.” Alastor smiled smugly, kneading his fingers into the skin. “Could this be the foretold death spot?”

“Sure! Suhuhure, yehehep, dehehefinitely!” Angel agreed, eagerly nodding his head and twisting frantically away from the surge of ticklish sensations. “Juhuhust stahahahap!”

“Sure?” Alastor wrinkled his brow. “Well that’s not very convincing.”

“Yehehes ihit ihihihis, ehehehe, stahahaha—nohoho, ahaha, pfft!”

Alastor absently spidered nails over the skin of hips, trailing down towards his lower stomach, as he considered where else the spot could be. Angel slammed his head back against the wall in frustration, squirming wildly as a cascade of wheezy squeaks escaped him. In a desperate attempt to get him to stop, Angel kicked out one of legs suddenly, trying to push the other back. Unfortunately, his resistance gave Alastor an idea.

“Ah! Right. Thank you for reminding me Angel.” He caught the other’s leg in his grasp, wrapping an arm around his ankle and locking the limb in place. “I completely forget about those knees of yours. So silly of me.”

Angel’s groan at his own self-caused destruction was cut off by a shriek as Alastor squeezed the spot right above his kneecap that had always killed him in the past. Angel burst into cackles, his leg jerking violently in the other’s hold. “No, no, no, no, no, nohohohoho! Ahahahalastor!”

“Yes?”

“Ihihihi—pfft, ahahahaha, ehehe, gahahaha!”

“You must use your words, dear.” He gripped his calf, holding his leg taut and spidering his claws over the undersides of his knees. Angel squeaked, desperation rising in his movements. “I really can’t understand a thing you’re saying.”

Angel was quite possibly going to kill him after this. Or thank him. Or both.

“Well as fun as this spot is,” Alastor said, his touches featherlight and unbearable against Angel Dust’s skin. “I think there’s another place I have declined to include in this exploration. Do you know where it is?”

“D-Dohohon’t yohohou fuhuhuhucking dahahahare!”

“Whatever are you referring to?” Alastor asked innocently, but already his claws were creeping perilously close to the other’s trembling thighs.

“Y-Yohou knohow whahahat!” Angel squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable with nervous excitement. “Ahahahal, I’m whahaharning yahaha—shihiHIHIHIT!”

Angel shrieked, arching back against the wall as fingers prodded and spidered all over his thighs. He tugged desperately at each of his arms, his legs, babbling out incoherent nonsense in a useless attempt to get Alastor to stop.

“Bingo,” Alastor said, smirking.

“Fuhuhuhuck, fuhuhuck, fuhuhuhuhuhUHUHUHUhuhuhuck! StahahAHAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEASE!” Angel was losing his mind. His thighs had always been a kill zone, which was difficult in his line of work. Giggling in the middle of sex was not something most people were accustomed to. Not that he was particularly opposed to the combination of two of his favorite activities, but it was awkward giving out excuses afterwards. Now though, he was free to laugh and squirm all he wanted, which he did, energetically. “Ehehehe, ihihihit fuhuhuHUhucking tihihIHIHIHICKLES!”

“So it does,” Alastor exclaimed. “Astute observation. Well, I guess it’s good that you like it then.”

Angel grit his teeth, desperately wishing he wasn’t giggling like an absolute maniac so he could retain some semblance of dignity. “Yohohohou’re suhuhuhuhuhuch ahahaha dihihihick!”

“Language,” Alastor reminded him, squeezing a spot on his inner thigh that made Angel regret everything he’d ever done. “You wouldn’t want me to keep you like this forever.”

Angel’s eyes bugged out of his head at the thought as he fell into a whole new round of laughter.

As it was, he did not keep him forever but only for a couple more minutes before he finally released him. Angel let out a giggly sigh of relief, shakily supporting himself against the wall.

“That…” he panted, shooting him a glare. “Was completely uncalled for.”

“But Angel,” Alastor crooned in a way that altogether unfair. “How could I possibly resist tickling you when you look so cute laughing and helpless?”

Angel rolled his eyes, blaming the flush on his cheeks from his lack of breath. “Yeah, whatever. How would you like it if I pinned you down and tickled you whenever I felt like it?”

Angel may or may not have imagined the faint pink that tinged Alastor’s cheeks at the question. “Impossible,” he dismissed, waving a hand. “I’m not ticklish.”

“Bullshit,” Angel accused. “Everyone’s ticklish!”

Alastor shrugged. “Not me.”

“Fine then—prove it.”

“Prove it?” Alastor asked, arching an eyebrow. “And just how do you suppose I do that?”

Angel crossed his arms, leaning back confidently. “Let me tickle you.”

An unmistakable shudder made its way down Alastor’s spine at the proposition. In all fairness, even he wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. He hadn’t been tickled since he was still living, and not since he was a little boy at that. He was fairly certain he wasn’t ticklish, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

“Fine,” he said at last, calmly raising his arms above his head as though the position didn’t instantly fill him with a sense of debilitating vulnerability. “Go ahead.”

Angel had not expected the dare to work, and so was unreasonably excited at the scenario they now found themselves in. He stepped forward, placing four hands on his sides, the remaining two hanging limp by his sides and waiting for the right oppurtunity. Without any kind of prologue, Angel started quickly wiggling all twenty of his fingers against his sides and the result was glorious.

Alastor, who had not accounted for the amount of hands set against him, was overwhelmed by how unbelievably wrong he had been. He squeaked, bursting into a round of sudden giggles and attempting to somehow squirm away from the other’s touch while also not pulling his arms down or shoving him off.

“Holy shit,” Angel muttered, delight coloring his words. “You’re ticklish. This is amazing.”

“Ahahahahahaha, wahahahait, Ahahahangel! Ihihit feheheheels weheheheird!” Alastor protested, arms trembling above his head. He had completely forgotten how conflicting tickling felt, having not experienced in such a long time. A fluttery, unbearable sensation, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to rub the feeling away or have it last forever. It was truly a conundrum.

“Of course it feels weird,” Angel agreed, shaking his head incredulously. “It fucking tickles. But you know, I’m starting to feel like I can’t trust you to hold to our agreement. Maybe I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

His remaining arms reached up, securing Alastor’s wrists and pressing them and him back into the far wall. Their positions now reversed, the radio demon’s eyes widened as the true helplessness of his situation set in. Angel set in with a vengeance now, secure in the fact that the other wouldn’t fight back. Squeezing, poking, prodding, scratching, his fingers flew over Alastor’s torso in a manner that was altogether unfair and, of course, unbelievably ticklish.

“Wahahahait, wahahahait, stahahahahap!” Alastor protested, falling into a fit of laughter soon after. As it turned out, he was horridly sensitive everywhere and Angel took quick advantage of this fact.

“Why, Al? Is it bothering you?” Angel poked under his arms, scribbled fingers over his hips, squeezed the tops of his knees, kneaded his thighs, getting revenge on each and every spot that Alastor had tormented him with. Alastor yelped and jumped with each new method, wishing he hadn’t been quite so thorough in his own investigation. “Wow, you really are ticklish everywhere, huh? I can’t help but wonder though,” he said, parroting Alastor’s words from earlier. “Are these really your worst spots?”

“I-Ihihihihi dohohohon’t knohohohow!” Alastor replied honestly, desperately hoping it was because there was no way it could possibly get worse than this. He tugged frantically on his arms, shaking his head side to side in an attempt to somehow cope with the sensations.

The action gave Angel Dust an idea however. Alastor’s hair fell in his face, revealing those ears which had been a subject of fascination for the spider demon for quite some time. He narrowed his eyes, a thought occurring to him suddenly.

Leaving his armpits alone, his hesitantly scratched the soft material, his nails scratching devilishly against the spot where his ears connected to his neck. Alastor squealed, his shoulders coming up protectively as a flood of giggles spilled from his lips.

“A-Ah! Ahahahangel, wahahahait, thihihis ihihis tohohoo muhuhuhuch!” Alastor’s dignity was quickly crumbling. His chin came almost parallel to his chest as he attempted to trap the other’s fingers. “Ihihihi cahahahahan’t, plehehehease!”

“But you’re so cute,” Angel cooed, scratching right behind his ears and prompting a squeak from the other. “And I got to be honest, making you squeal like this is kind of fun.”

“YohohOHOHOHohohou—” Alastor started in angry embarrassment, but before he could get another word out, Angel moved his right hand over to the other ear as well and he broke off into staticky cackles.

“Holy shit man, is that radio static?” Angel exclaimed, fascination getting the better of him. “Does that happen when you laugh too hard?”

“STAHAHAHAP!” Alastor pleaded instead of answering, squeezing his eyes shut. “PleheEHEHEHease, STAHAHAP!”

“That’s adorable! I’m gonna have to do this more often!”

The thought was enough to send Alastor into an entirely new round of helpless laughter, and in a burst of clarity he managed to manipulate his shadows into seizing Angel Dust under the arms and pulling him away from him.

“Woah, hey, easy there,” Angel complained as the tentacles roughly escorted him on the ground. “This is prized real estate here, fellas.”

Alastor sagged against the wall, exhausted. His nerves were overstimulated from the sudden attack and he clutched his sides, trying to rub away any leftover sensation. “That was…”

“Awful?” Angel guessed, clambering to his feet. “Unbearable?”

“Exhilarating,” Alastor corrected, flushing gently. “I never realized how, ah, intense tickling could be. I can see now why you react so strongly each time.”

“Yeah,” Angel grumbled in agreement. “It’s not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.” He paused, paling slightly. “You’re not gonna… uh, you know, do anything to me, are ya? Because you have to know I was just kidding around and I would never—”

“Angel,” Alastor interrupted. “I’m not going to do anything to you.”

“Oh.” Angel frowned. “You’re not?”

“No. In fact, I… I wouldn’t be opposed, necessarily, to a repeat of earlier if the right moment ever came.” Alastor spoke plainly as always, but there was a nervous tilt to his words now. “It is possible that I may have enjoyed parts of it.”

Angel stared at him, sure that he was imagining things. Was the radio demon, the terror of hell, actually admitting to liking being tickled? And revealing this information to him, Angel Dust, no less?

Before he could formulate a response, Alastor was moving past him and down the hall, calling out to Nifty and Husk at the bottom of the stairs about some new idea or renovation he had for the hotel—acting as though he hadn’t just admitted the biggest revelation of Angel’s life seconds before. After a moment, Angel returned to his room as well, though Alastor’s words never left his mind for a second.

Life was much different in the hotel after that.

[sondepoch]

Of Flying Spatulas and Cakes Unbaked (Solomon x Reader)

You're not the best at cooking, though you're willing to try. And then there's Solomon, who seems to be pretty decent on his own, though entirely unwilling to put in more effort than necessary. So when you two have to work together to produce some human dishes for Diavolo's retreat, it's feels fitting that you collide in what can only be described as a chaotic tale of flying spatulas and cakes unbaked.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

You made toast once.

And if burned coffee counts, that's another 'dish' you've 'cooked.'

But you have a feeling neither of those are answers that Barbatos is looking for, so when he asks you what meals you've prepared in the past, you simply respond: "Nothing, basically."

He flashes you an incredulous look, a disbelieving stare heavy with the implication that you're not telling him the truth to get out of work, but there's nothing else you can say.

It's true.

"Hey, it's not my fault," You grumble, crossing your arms. You don't miss Solomon's amused laughter next to you. "Lucifer never told me I'd be cooking a meal for you guys during this retreat."

Barbatos sighs, shaking his head. He instructs Solomon to watch over you very carefully before agreeing to leave the two of you alone. "I'll check in on both of you later. Try not to burn anything."

"What an ass," You tell Solomon when Barbatos is safely out of sight. He's a supernatural demon, so there's still a pretty good chance that he heard you anyway, but you can't really bring yourself to care right now.

"Aw, don't be upset just because he's better at cooking human food than you, a human, are." Solomon flashes you a knowing smirk, and it really takes every ounce of self-control for you to ignore him and begin flipping through a cookbook. There has to be something in here that you can make, right?

You flip to a page about pasta, figuring that it looks simple enough. Step one: Bring a pot of water to a boil. Step two: Add pasta. Step three: Add salt. Step four: Stir until the pasta has reached a state of—holdup, what the fuck does al dente mean?

You curse inwardly, wishing that Lucifer hadn't confiscated your phone when you entered the Devildom. Your D.D.D works fine when it comes to anything related to demons, but all information about the human world is encrypted with a special password that he never shared with you.

Tossing a glance back at Solomon, you bite your lip at the sight.

The sorcerer is leaning back, one leg propped up on the kitchen wall, scrolling through his phone, while his spare hand is held forward in a casting pose. It glows a light purple, and his magic brings the kitchen to life, pots flying around and knives chopping onions, all without the mage having to do a thing.

Stupid magic, you think. How is it fair that he's managed to tap into his magical strength when you can't even cast a spell? You think back to Asmodeus's words from yesterday. Asmo said that I have so much magical potential, too.

"Jealous?" Solomon asks with his usual aggravating smirk. You hadn't even noticed when he'd put his phone away.

"Of course not!" You cross your arms and glance at the page in your cookbook. You might not know what al dente means, but you can boil water.

"Well, good. Human food is meant to be prepared the human way, not the demon way." Solomon walks forward and glances at the page you're looking at. "Pasta? Well, those demon brothers will probably love what you cook regardless of how basic it is."

You flash an angry scowl his way and ignore him, pulling out a pot and filling it with water. You fiddle with the stove, not quite sure what heat setting to set it to. How long is this supposed to take? You furrow your eyebrows and try to remember something from your fifth-grade Home-Ec class, but your memory fails you. Ugh, guess I'll have to sit here and watch the whole time.

It's only while you're glaring at the lack of bubbles in the water that you recall Solomon's words.

"Wait, what do you mean?" You ask, turning to him. "Human food can only be prepared in the human way?"

"You mean you didn't notice?" Solomon puts down his phone, which he had taken back out after your initial reluctance to talk with him. He seems almost surprised that you're even asking him this question, but he opts not to comment on it. Good choice.

"Demons prepare their food differently from humans. Angels, too. For demons, the quality of their food comes from the quality of the ingredients. If you noticed, Barbatos took nearly two hours preparing the ingredients to their optimal stage...but when it came to the cooking, he just cast a spell and let that do the work."

You let out a small "oh" at Solomon's words. That makes sense, you suppose. "What about in the Celestial Realm, then?"

"Heh, for angels, it's all about the purity of your intentions. When Luke was cooking, he spent most of the time getting ready and stabilizing his mental state. Once he was spiritually balanced, his magic did the rest."

"And us?"

"Well, you know the drill. For humans—the normal ones, who don't know magic, that is—our only choice is to do it the hard way. A great chef will be able to produce excellent results even with average ingredients and a tainted soul. It's all about technique." The mage glances at you, giving you another amused smirk. "Something you clearly lack."

Yep. There it is.

There's the Solomon you know.

"Shut up," You grumble, taking out your frustration on the long strands of pasta as you shake them into a bowl. Your curiosity finally overrides your pride, though, and you turn to him with another question. "So then why are you using magic to do everything? Isn't that not the human way?"

"My food will taste like shit." Solomon smiles. "But that's their problem."

"Barbatos will be furious if he finds out," You warn with a smile, smacking him with a spatula that was flying around in the air. But you have to confess, the idea of pissing Barbatos off is pretty appealing. And if Solomon is the one doing the pissing off, that's even better!

But then the strangest thing happens.

The spatula smacks you back.

You flinch, mouth wide open in shock.

"D-d-did that actually just happen?" You murmur in disbelief, eyes locked on the plastic green-and-white utensil as it flies over to a pan to mix some vegetables.

"Yes. Yes, it did." Solomon stifles his laughter.

"Oh that's it, this spatula is going down." You stomp forward, reaching your arm out. You'll snap it in half, use another knife to chop it into tiny little bits, fry said tiny little bits into some god awful dish, and then you'll serve it to a demon with a flame specialty—so that the plastic in the spatula can spend the rest of its miserable life eternally locked in the fiery and churning depths of a demon's stomach.

Or at least, that's what you would do if not for Solomon holding you back.

"Let me go!" You screech, still reaching for the spatula. "I'm going to kill it! I'm going to make it regret its entire existence!"

Solomon sighs, lifting you up by the waist with both hands. In a single fluid motion, he has you facing your pot of water—now boiling—once more. "Geez, of course the spatula will respond like that. It's being controlled by magic. It has a mind of its own."

"Fine," You pout, tossing in handfuls of pasta. It's all a ruse though. The second Solomon leaves the kitchen, that spatula really will get to experience its own special circle of hell. You'll make sure of it. "So, what? If your food tastes inedible and my food is being prepared by me of all people, what will everyone eat tonight?"

Solomon put a finger to his chin, thinking for a second. "I doubt Barbatos will leave us to do everything. You saw that look on his face, he'll be back here any minute to take control. Knowing him, he'll probably be a better chef than you. Not that that's a particularly impressive feat."

"Shut up! At least I'm trying, unlike you. I'd like to see you make anything better with your bare hands, instead of relying on stupid magic spells."

"Is that a challenge?" Solomon asks with a grin. "If so, I accept." He strolls to the other end of the kitchen and begins preparing god knows what, and you can't help but remember that he's not just an all-powerful mage with 72 pacts; he'd also lived as a normal human. And despite his youthful appearance, he's probably been alive considerably longer than you.

Maybe challenging him isn't the best idea?

You bite your lip, staring at the pasta as it swirls around in the water. You poke it with a ladle, wondering if it's reached a state of al dente or not, before sighing and deciding to wing it. If the pasta is a little on the softer side, that won't hurt anyone, right? Yeah, you think. If anyone questions it, I'll just say that this is how we eat it in the human world.

From there on, you find that cooking is less difficult than you'd made it out to be in your head. The hardest part is when you work on the sauce, because you have to remember to keep mixing it so that the bottom doesn't curdle—whatever that means—but otherwise, making the dish goes by with fairly little problems. In fact, when the pasta and sauce are mixed together and placed on a big plate, the dish actually looks appetizing.

"I'm impressed," Solomon mutters when he sees you taking a picture of it for Devilgram. "But my cake will be better."

"Cake?" Your ears perk up at the word. It's been so long since you've had even a slice of human dessert. Lucifer had bought you a small poundcake for some demon holiday, but you'd offered a piece to Beelzebub and Mammon and before you knew it the entire thing was gone without you having taken a single bite.

"Yup," Solomon says, sprinkling flour into the batter. He mixes it slowly and thoroughly, but you can tell that the texture is still a little off. "Ugh, hand me that spoon, will you?"

You glance around and pick up the biggest spoon you can find, assuming that this is the one he's talking about. But when you go to hand it to Solomon, he gives you a strange look.

"MC, this is a measuring cup."

Oh.

The sorcerer sighs, stretching his arm out. You see the telltale purple light radiate off his arm as he quite literally summons the desired spoon to his side, only for you to yank it out of his hands. "Nope. Nu-uh. No can do, sir. This is a human cake we're preparing, so we are going to be doing this the human way."

You pinch a small clump of flour on your hand and spritz it in Solomon's face as a mock punishment for using magic, instantly reverting to helping him mix the batter. Or—again—that's what you would do if not for Solomon obstructing you.

"Hey!" You shriek in protest when he throws a handful of flour on your face in retaliation. "Oh, it's on."

You grab a tube of frosting that Solomon had filled, probably to decorate the cake with, and smear the pink on his chin, laughing when you realize how much it looks like a little beard.

"What's wrong?" You ask victoriously when he sees himself on the reflection of a metal bowl. "Don't like facial hair?"

"Oh, you don't know what you just got yourself into," Solomon mutters with a scowl, pinning both your arms at your side in a hug-like hold from behind while smearing chocolate fondue on your cheeks. As if that isn't enough, he sprinkles flour over your head, letting it fall and stick to the frosting, teasing you by saying it's "like snow."

"Snow, my ass." You struggle free of his grip and sprint to the small station you'd been working at to cook your pasta. Your eyes scan over the countertop before you find what you're looking for. Perfect! You grab the opened carton, turning around throwing the remnants of heavy cream on the boy following you. The look of sheer horror on Solomon's face as the droplets of white splatter over his black shirt makes it so worth it. "Now your shirt matches your hair!" You exclaim, clapping your hands optimistically.

But whatever eagerness you're feeling is squashed by Solomon's low growl as he uses his magic to transport the entire bag of flour into his hands. "No," You murmur, eyes wide with horror. "No, no, no. Solomon, don't—"

But he moves before you can get your next word out, dumping the whole thing on your head. That's right. The whole. Fucking. Bag.

For a second, you're paralyzed in shock. Even your vision seems a little whiter at the edges, particles of flour dusting your eyelashes delicately. Only Solomon's amused laughter is enough to stir you back into action, and once you start moving, nothing can stop you. "You. Asshole! I. Liked. This. Shirt!" You scramble to where he'd left a carton of eggs, throwing one at him in between every word. Most of them miss your target, but two land on him, the first making a satisfying smack as it breaks on his shoulder and the second one cracking right over his forehead, the yolk running into his hair. You'd been aiming for his face, but seeing the white locks twist into yellow is almost better.

"My hair!" Solomon exclaims in utter disbelief, shocked that you went that far. While he stands gaping, though, you've already found your next target: a plastic bottle full of whipped cream. You press down on the head experimentally, squealing in delight when a perfect swirl blossoms on your fingertips. You lick it, savoring the sweetness, before turning to Solomon. "No, MC." He puts up two hands protectively, as if you'll assault him at any given minute. "Don't do it. We can talk about this, nice and slow."

You pause for a second and give the sorcerer a moment of peace, to rejoice and maybe think that you're not going to rub whipped cream all over his face.

And then you pounce.

In a second, he's on the ground, under you, arms pinned to the floor by your legs as they straddle his upper body. He wriggles under your grasp, writhing desperately as the whipped cream approaches his face until the fluffy white substance has all but exploded over his face, hair, neck, and shirt.

You laugh.

But your mirth is short-lived. Solomon stares at you, jaw dropped in disbelief until you shake the bottle, upset to find that you've actually emptied its entire contents on him. And once shock is no longer holding the boy down, he taps into the demonlike strength he's developed in his many years in the Devildom, lurching forward in an instant.

"You—you—" Your words come out in stutters, forced into an unmoving stupor when you realize what Solomon just did. "You bastard!"

"Not so fun when you're on the bottom, is it?" Solomon smirks, no longer at your mercy. The jerk flipped you! "Unless you prefer it that way?" You force your gaze away from his at the innuendo, suddenly remembering that he spends as much time with Asmodeus as you do. Your cheeks burn, feeling hotter than hell itself, as you realize what a compromised position you're in.

"Aw, is little MC embarrassed?" Solomon continues his teasing, and you pick up a clump of flour remaining on the floor from when Solomon literally poured the entire bag's contents over your head, and throw it in his face. The mage temporarily flinches, but he doesn't give you any chance to escape, taking a moment to wipe his face clean of the everything you'd thrown at him over the course of this mini food-fight.

He glances at the ungodly clump of sweetness in his hands.

"No," You murmur when a devilish smile blooms on his face. You bring up your arms to push his chest away as he leans closer, but Solomon grabs the two hands troubling him and pins them above your head. "Stop! Solomon, don't do it!" But your pleas go unheard and in the end, it's your desperate thrashing that saves you, most of the sugary mix being smeared on your neck and jaw instead of your face.

"Asshole," You seethe when he's done.

"Aw, but you look so cute like this." Your eyes widen at the words, and you can instantly feel the heat on your cheeks intensifying. "So cute when you're all flustered."

"Sh-shut up! I'm not!" You turn your head away from Solomon. For the first time, you're thankful for the chocolate fondue that covers your cheeks. If he were to know just how abashed his actions are making you, there's not a single doubt in your mind that it would simply be used as further ammunition to tease you with.

"You're not?" Solomon mutters, that aggravating smirk still on his face. He leans forward, bowing his head down low until his white locks tickle your forehead. "How about now?"

"N-no," You mumble and look away. You're no Lucifer, but you want to keep at least a little of your pride. But it seems that Solomon takes your words as a challenge, and within seconds he's dipped his head even lower and his lips are on yours—sweet, covered in frosting, and soft.

You gasp at the contact, not expecting this of all things...but it's strangely pleasant. And a quiet voice at the back of your mind tells you not to pull away.

But then Solomon leans his head back up and his smile is even more exasperating, so before he can get a single teasing word out you pull your head off the ground and capture his lips once more, leaning back when his mouth curves into a smile. You can't suppress a small grin from forming on your own lips when Solomon's grip around your wrists loosens, still leaving a hand to cage over them but bringing another frosting-covered one to slide into your hair. It makes for a nice pillow between you and the ground.

Your smile widens when you feel Solomon's daring tongue dart at your lips, a flirtatious summon for more. More of the moment, more of this, more of you. And suddenly, it doesn't even matter that the two of you are covered in the ingredients of the cake that will now go unbaked. Because Solomon's lips are on yours and you're both breathless and it's hot and sweet and it feels invigorating.

There's not a doubt in your mind that the two of you would enjoy the moment far more—you eventually do, in the privacy of closed doors��if not for Barbatos's sudden appearance in the doorway.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The demon's gaze doesn't land on you immediately, much to your chagrin. His olive eyes first scan over the kitchen countertop, the ripped-open flour bag, the spilled carton of heavy cream, half-empty tubes of frosting, and the hideous mess of food that covers nearly every inch of the floor. He glances nervously at the oven, which is still on but thankfully devoid of any burning food that might ruin the dinner.

And it's only then that his stare fixates on the two of you: frozen mid-makeout, covered in frosting, whipped cream, and flour. You tense under Solomon, feeling his muscles stiffen in turn, both your eyes locked onto the demon in front of you.

"...I suppose you'll want me to believe that this is part of the cooking process?"

MASTERLIST

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: This was inspired by the fact that Solomon's smile in the game always looked more like a devilish smirk~ I feel like he'd be such a brat x3 one of my all-time favs tho

Comment & Like

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[adarlingsnightmare]

Chuuya Nakahara Yandere Alphabet

Anonymous said:

Sounds good! How about the alphabet for chuuya? :3c 

accidentally posted this to my main blog after writing a huge apology for my lack of posting :/ i keep doing that unfortunately. anyways, ive had a full week exams which is why i havent been posting. im extremely tired and stressed but i will try to get more requests done this week, though i have another week of exams. i do apologise, but itll be over soon. i hope you enjoy anon, this short bastard is one of my favs. <3

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Chuuya would gladly smother you in endless kisses and cuddles, but if you tell him to back off, he'll stick to just having an arm around you (because god forbid he isn't touching you in one way or another). You'll often hear him whispering how much he absolutely adores you when he thinks you're asleep, and when you're visibly awake he'll be showering you in compliments.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Oh, Chuuya will undoubtedly do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if that results in bloody murder. He's in the mafia after all, what's a little blood on his hands, especially in the name of love?

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Chuuya would only mock you if you consistently failed to escape or were getting punished by him. Otherwise, he is generally loving and as romantic as possible. He will always make sure you're eating and sleeping properly, snapping at you if you refuse to eat as he gets awfully worried about you sometimes.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling's will?

No, not really. The only instances where something's against his darlings will is when he's punishing them. Other than that, it's mainly abduction and the lack of freedom to talk to people.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Chuuya confides in his darling, and will show a side of himself that no one else ever sees. He'll ask for advice on work matters and will constantly seek love and reassurance from his darling. While outwardly he may still appear tough and cocky, he's really soft for you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He would be pretty irritated and though he'd never admit it, quite hurt. Why can't you just love him, goddamnit?! He'll try not to hurt you too much, but if you're not backing down he will use force to get you to stop.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Chuuya doesn't enjoy it in the slightest. His love for you isn't some 'game' and seeing you try to escape both infuriates and saddens him. All he truly wants is to be a happy, normal couple so your refusal to love him is not something he enjoys.

Hell: What would be their darling's worst experience with them?

Chuuya isn't always fully aware of how strong he actually is, especially when he uses Corruption and becomes out of control. This can lead to a terrifying situation where you're worried for your life as a monster in your boyfriend's body goes on a rampage and destroys everything around him. It rarely happens, as Chuuya really doesn't want to hurt you, but when it does it's a living nightmare.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Honestly, Chuuya doesn't really know what kind of future he wants for him and his darling, but ideally you two would move to some beautiful island — somewhere in the Caribbean, maybe? — get married, possibly start a family and live out the rest of your days in bliss.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Luckily, Chuuya isn't insanely possessive and doesn't lash out just because you looked at someone else, but he is paranoid. He has to keep you away from other people because, what if they attempt to hurt you? The only instance where he would genuinely become jealous is if Dazai was involved. This is when you'll see his full yandere side come out and it will be extreme: locking you up in highly secure room, restraining you, putting tracking devices in everything you own, anything to ensure your safety. If you were to show an interest in Dazai, whether platonic or even worse, romantic, his paranoia and jealousy would spike up tenfold — essentially guaranteeing you'll never see the light of day again.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Chuuya is generally really loving and calm towards his darling, still messing with them and lovingly calling them an idiot, but always so soft when speaking. However, if you were to be a brat, his rougher, more 'mafia' side would make an appearance— any soft words of reassurance thrown out the window.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

The 'traditional' way: flirting with you, taking you out on fancy dates and gifting you jewellery and flowers. He may seem smooth but he usually has to ask people (Kouyou) or the internet for advice on how to win someone's affections. He's also very observant to what you're interested in, so if you mention preferring movies to fancy dinners, that's where your next date will be.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Yes, but in a good way. Instead of being his 'tough executive' persona, when he's around you, he'll reveal a much sweeter and softer side of himself. He's also surprisingly affectionate, taking every opportunity to be as close to you as possible.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Chuuya doesn't generally plan out punishment, he tends to go into a fit of rage and attack you with whatever is nearest. Usually it results in you being choked, slammed repeatedly against the floor or him almost breaking your ribs with his foot. Once he's calmed down is when he will decide on a proper punishment, such as keeping you restrained to the bed, taking away certain privileges or maybe if you've really done something bad... a more permanent solution will be used.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

As long as his darling was relatively compliant, Chuuya's only real restriction would be the ability to go outside alone without the safety of his watchful eye. Of course, if you betrayed his trust, any hint of freedom you had previously would be stripped away.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Chuuya tries to be patient, he really does, but he's just so hotheaded that he often ends up snapping at his darling whenever they act up in the slightest.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

To put it simply: no. No one else can make Chuuya feel this way, and without his wonderful darling, he feels distanced from the world. It is likely he would continue working for the Port Mafia (unless they were involved in your escape/death), a mere shell of his former self only existing to serve the mafia rather than actually living.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Chuuya would feel a small amount of guilt if he had to kidnap you, but his belief that it's necessary for your protection would overrule the guilt. He would absolutely never let you go, you're like the anchor that keeps him human; he cannot lose you.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Like Dazai, Chuuya feels almost inhuman, like he is a foreigner in someone else's body, yet when he brushed hands with you, he felt something real. This is what drives him to get to know you: the desperation to be human. The more he spends time with you, the more this feeling increases — leading him to be unable to just allow you to leave him. Ironically, he becomes less human the more time he devotes to you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Chuuya really doesn't like seeing you upset, and it hurts his heart having to punish you when you're so upset, but some things are just a necessary evil. If you've done something he considers to be really bad, he will be apathetic to your tears, believing you deserve whatever you're suffering.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Unlike a lot of yanderes, Chuuya does respect your boundaries to a degree, and won't force you to do anything you really protest against (aside from letting you go, of course).

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Chuuya has to leave for work nearly everyday, so if you're smart and able to break locks, you have a fairly good chance of escaping. However, even if you do escape, Chuuya will find you again, and he won't take the betrayal lightly.

Wit's end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Chuuya has a pretty short temper, especially when it comes to the safety of his darling, so if you persistently tried to escape or "put yourself in danger" (interacting with Dazai, refusing food), he may snap. As stated previously, he doesn't enjoy your pain, but sometimes it's necessary to get you to listen.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Despite his sometimes arrogant nature, Chuuya sees his darling as on an entirely separate level to himself. He practically worships you, though he doesn't always like to show it (he's got to keep up his tough guy persona after all) and would gladly do anything you asked. His loyalty to you is even able to override his loyalty to the Port Mafia.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Chuuya would make an effort to woo you, buying you flowers and taking you out on fancy dinners, hoping that you'll end up wanting to be in a relationship with him. He'll vehemently deny being so desperate to be with you, but it's pretty obvious he's hopelessly in love. If you were to continuously reject his advances, he may eventually end up kidnapping you, but only if he thought you were in danger (or that another person was making a move on you).

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

If he did end up breaking you, it wouldn't be intentional. All Chuuya wants is your unconditional love and affection, but he can get desperate if you're not showing it and will make you say how much you love him, even if you have to be put through hell to achieve it.

[leopardos]

João Miguel Francisco Zaga Galhardo alias Frank Zaga. Born in 1970 in  Jackson Heights, Queens, New York, to a freshly established Brazilian mother who worked as a housekeeper, he pretty much modeled himself after the older, meaner boys in his neighborhood in the lack of a proper male figure. Flippant and very friendly, he met Charles when they were in their early twenties in the underground fighting scene. Back then Frank was a bit of a scumbag, a con artist of sorts; he readily participated in the rigging of fights in order to make more money than he would by winning fairly -- even if he was very talented. It didn't much matter if he ended up beaten black and blue, so long as he got paid a lump sum for it. 

Things went pretty well until he got involved into different types of scams. By then, his gig was found out, and his best friend and partner in the operation, Tomás Ribeiro, was brutally murdered as a result by the Colombian gang that operated the fighting rings at the time. Frank also had to cough up a considerable amount of money in order to not die as well, leaving him practically destitute.

He was 23 at the time, a year younger than Charles. It was the summer of 1993. The experience rattled him and filled him with inmense regret, and he stopped involving himself in crime altogether. Instead he picked up a string of low paying jobs and a drinking habit.

After half a year of aimlessness, he decided to go to college for an Associate's Degree in Criminal Justice. Surprising everyone that knew him (he'd always been an underachiever), he also managed to graduate. After training under a private investigator for a couple years, he managed to get his PI license.

Turns out he's a good fighter, but he's an even better detective. By his 30s, he's a bit of a local celebrity, having been responsible for solving the highly-publicized disappearance of 8 year old Arlene Kelly. Other than pretty much the highlight of his career, his regular cases are far more banal, but every so often he will get involved in a case that offers more than meets the eye. It helps that, although he's a "civilian" now, he's still fairly well connected and knowleadgable about the crime going on in Queens, and New York City as a whole.

[everything below is related to his connection to charles, but you can still read it if you’re curious. beware for discussions of homophobia and whorephobia under the cut.]

He meets Charles again in 1999. He's tasked by finding new information regarding the disappearance of Patrick Tessier, a financial manager from Manhattan. Tessier has been dead for like 3 years and there's been like no leads and no signs that the case is getting solved. Police have bigger things in their plate, so Frank is hired by Tessier's family as a desperate last ditch effort to get some answers about what happened to him.

He and Charles end up meeting -- and recognizing each other -- in a bar in Hell's Kitchen a week after he accepts the case. They talk, they drink, they flirt a little, and Frank ends up dropping Tessier's name just as an aside. "It's a lost cause," he declares. "No body, no witnesses, no suspects. I almost feel bad, taking money from a grieving mother. But she insisted, y'know? Wouldn't take no from an answer. I told her I'd take a look, but I wouldn't make no guarantees. If police can't find a missing rich guy, no one can. S' how I feel about it, anyway."

The whole time Charles listened attentively -- shrugging and smiling wryly at the right times, Frank didn't notice anything weird about his behavior. Far as he knew, Charles had always been a quiet, serious type. Even when he smiled, even when he laughed, you could tell he wasn't an expressive guy.

They end up sleeping together that night. Frank continues to investigate, Charles continues with whatever else he's doing. But they like each other's company enough to strike up a friendship.

Eventually Frank does find some interesting things he feels the policemen ignored, or probably chose to ignore as to preserve the dead man's dignity -- guy was a closeted homosexual or at the very least bisexual. Not something Tessier's mother was very proud of, either, given that she was in blunt denial of the fact -- even though Patrick Tessier was a New York bachelor in his thirties with a cushy job and time to spare. He doesn't know if it had anything to do with his disappearance, but it was interesting nonetheless. After hours digging through his apartment (that the Tessiers still owned), he ended up finding his porn stash, and after some fiddling with the safe, getting well acquaintanced with just what types of "interests" he had.

He was an interesting guy, alright.

Anyway, he doesn't end up getting anywhere. Whole case is a failure, as he pretty much suspected it'd be, and he tries to only charge for only half the time he spent on the case out of guilt, but Margaret Tessier hears none of it. She pays him and tells him to always keep his son in mind.

So he does. The years past and he still thinks about it. Whenever he's bored he reviews the case file he built on Patrick and tries to come up with something out of thin air. A new insight or new angle that will help him make sense out of this nothingness. After all, by that point he had built something of a reputation solving impossible cases, and this -- despite his own wariness -- was a reminder he was still fallible.

In the meantime Charles and Frank grow to be close. Charles even helps him with a few cases. They develop an intimate friendship. Frank gets to hold Cael as a child. He becomes a honorary uncle of sorts.

They're in their forties by the time Charles confesses what he did to Patrick Tessier.

At first, disbelief. Then, as Charles elaborates, the disbelief gives way to anger, for some reason, and then just demanding to know more.

Charles tells Frank about Tessier's involvement in many a few deaths, including the death of a close friend of his. All of them sex workers. All of them gay. All of them forgettable deaths in the eyes of the city.

Frank eventually comes to understand it. He never had the full picture, both Patrick and Charles made sure of that; Patrick by being extremely secretive about his relationships, Charles by burying whatever evidence had been left of this side of Tessier's life.

He comes to understand. With time, he comes to shed whatever empathetic image he had built of Tessier over the years. And he comes to shred his case file.

[bittywitches]

Kitty Love (Ethan Dolan Fanfic)

GIF credit *@ethanhes​*

A/N: I wrote this sooo long ago (literally right after the first mini home video came out??) but it didn’t even end up being all that related to the vid in the first place....lol

Basically Ethan and Y/N are childhood bffs and Y/N has never really been away from Ethan for that long before and it starts to cause some ~tension~ when she comes to see how things are going on the van

Anyways, thanks for reading, ly <3

“It seriously should not have taken you that long to get here.” Ethan grinned when he saw Y/N walk into the room. 

“Hey, lay off. I’ve never been here before, it took me a while to figure it out.” She smiled back at him, pulling the straps of her backpack closer to her back. 

“Yea yea.” He stretched his arms out, welcoming her into his embrace. She walked into his arms and gave him a tight squeeze. “I’m so bored. Thank you so much for coming, I’d probably shoot myself by now if you didn’t show up.”

She grabbed his shoulders and looked over them, peering over at the others working on the van. Sawdust floated through the entire room, and there was overall dampness in the air that seems to come with all of the wood material around.

“Gray isn’t letting you do any work, huh?” She stepped back from him and was able to catch Grayson’s attention long enough to give him a quick wave. He smiled and waved back, then went back to sawing more wood pieces.

Ethan groaned. “Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Understandable. You can’t do shit.”

“Wow, okay. Fuck you too.”

She giggled and patted his cheek. “So, road trip, huh? Sounds pretty exciting.”

He grinned. “Yea. It’s gonna be so fun. We finally have the time to put more effort into something cool.” The next few weeks were pretty much booked solid for him, filled with one fun thing after the other. They’d take a Road trip to Jersey where he’d be able to hang out with his family for a bit, and then fly out to Australia. Sure, they were cutting it close, but that was all part of the excitement, right?

“Right. And clearly, you’re putting in TONS of effort.” She patted his chest with both hands, chuckling at him a bit. Her eyes seemed to sparkle a bit whenever she did that like there was some magic in there that came out of her with every smile. Maybe it was just the familiarity of her, but whenever Ethan saw her little dimples it sent a warm feeling throughout his chest. 

Ethan and Y/N had been friends for almost forever, and she came over quite often. They’d met each other back in grade school, and became really close as they got older. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t have moved out to LA if the twins hadn’t decided to in the first place. He was confident enough to say she was his closest friend, after Grayson of course. She was his cozy place he could retreat to whenever he wanted. 

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Are you just here to insult me?”

“Hey, you’re the one who called me!”

“And you somehow are making me regret it.”

“Shut up.” She shoved his chest, and he smiled at her.

“So, how are you doing?”

“You ask me that as if you didn’t see me just yesterday.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying.” He brushed a hand through his hair. “How're classes going n stuff?”

She sighed, rubbing her shoulders, which were peppered with freckles. They matched the ones on her face, and Ethan loved to run his fingers over them, dragging his finger across the freckles like he was connecting the dots to draw a bigger picture. “Alright, I guess. Everything’s been super boring lately. I just work, eat, go over to your house, and sleep.”

“Sounds pretty fun to me,” Ethan remarked.

“Yeah, well maybe you should take my classes for me and I’ll go on your little road trip.”

Ethan groaned, and she giggled. “Sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”

“No no I’m not annoyed.” He rubbed her elbow. “Maybe you SHOULD come with us. That seems like it’d be more interesting than your classes.”

She laughed. “I know you’re not serious because you’d never kick Kyle off the trip.”

“Who said we’d have to kick off Kyle?”

“That bed can not fit four people!”

“Who says? You can just snuggle up real close to me.”

“Hmmm.. while that does sound appealing...” she stepped closer to him then flicked his nose with her finger, making his heart flutter. “you know that’d never work. School and whatnot.” She slumped her shoulders.

“Yea..” Ethan sighed. “Wish you could though. I’m not gonna see you for so long.”

She looked up at him, head tilted, a gentle look in her eye. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” It looked like she was holding back, but she gave that up and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest. Ethan was caught by surprise a bit but loved the feeling of Y/N’s warmth all the same.

“You okay?” He rubbed her back gently, burying his nose into her hair. 

“Yea.” She brought her hands down to rest against his chest, placing her ear next to his heart. “You won’t even be gone that long. Dunno why I feel like I’m gonna miss you so much.”

“E, come over here!” Grayson shouted from the table he was at.

Ethan groaned, annoyed that this was the moment Grayson finally decided he needed his help. “Hey, gimme a sec.” He untangled himself from Y/N, then grabbed her waist, hoisting her up onto the nearest counter. “Be right back.”

“Okayyy.” She dangled her feet, kicking them back and forth as she watched Ethan make his way over to Grayson. Her eyes lingered, as If she was trying to memorize his shape. She was right, he really wouldn’t be gone for that long, but something about not seeing his face every day hit her in a bad way.

Only then did she notice that there was a big white splotch of dust on the back of Ethan’s pants. She giggled, then yelled, “Ethan, when did you start powdering your ass?”

He turned around abruptly, looked down, and smirked as he wiped the dust off of himself. “Eyes up here, honey.”

She sniggered. “All right, hot stuff.”

“You know it!” He yelled when he turned his back to her to keep walking.

She laughed, her eyes following him somewhat wistfully. 

He’s pretty cute, isn’t he? She thought.

Y/N took her bag off her back and set it down next to her on the counter. then brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. She found her eyes kept wandering back to the twins, one in particular. Ethan was wearing a loose sweatshirt and black shorts, and his hair was all ruffled up, a bit of sawdust floating around the top of his head. He had his hands planted on his hips, seeming to look deeply entranced in whatever Grayson was telling him. Y/N giggled, thinking that he probably had no idea what his brother was talking about. She loved Ethan, but his attention was all over the place. He’d never been able to keep his focus on anything for too long.

Except maybe on her.

Ethan wrapped up his conversation with Grayson and started to make his way back to Y/N. she was on her phone, kicking her feet back on forth and they were rhythmically tapping on the side of the counter. Her hair was tied back into a braid, and she was wearing a loose tank top and tights, her sweatshirt wrapped around her waist. She kept fiddling with the hair peeking out over her ear, and Ethan smiled. She seemed to always be fiddling with something, she could never sit still. It was like she could never calm herself down. She always had to be doing something.

Except maybe when with him.

“Hey, sorry about that.” He walked up to the counter. 

“Oh, no problem.” She tucked her phone away into her pocket. “I’m sure you were doing something VERY important.” Her mouth quirked up.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know that this van wouldn’t be able to be built without my input.”

“Oh, yea? What was Gray asking you about?”

“...the colour of the floorboards.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize you were in a position to make such big decisions.”

“Shut up!” He shoved her shoulder, and she laughed. 

“I’m sorry, teasing you is so fun.” She stretched her arms out for him, and Ethan boosted her off of the counter.

“Jesus, there’s so much dust everywhere.” She wiped the dust off her butt and thighs. 

“I mean that’s kinda what happens when you sit on the dusty counter.”

“Which you put me on.”

“Same difference.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that your powdered ass was a result of you sitting around doing nothing while Grayson’s out here doing all the heavy work?”

“Oh my god, I’m done with you.” He walked off to the other side of the workshop and she laughed as she followed alongside him.

“I’m sorry, you make it so easy!”

——

It had been nearly an hour, and both Y/N and Ethan were bored out of their minds. They debated leaving to go hang out elsewhere, maybe go get coffee, but Ethan didn’t want to leave Grayson alone to be making all the decisions on the van. Like he was making any in the first place.

Ethan kept wandering around the room, looking around at what the others were doing, when he finally settled for a few minutes in one corner of the workshop.

“Y/N LOOK WHO I JUST FOUND.”

Y/N’s head perked up from her phone, looking around for Ethan but unable to catch his eye. “What??”

Ethan stepped around the corner, the biggest grin on his face and the cutest little kitten in his arms.

“Oh. My god.” Y/N jumped off the counter and ran up to him with a smile matching Ethan’s. “Oh my GOD he’s so cute!!”

“Right??” Ethan scratches him below the neck, causing the kitten to purr.

“Oh, you sweet little baby.” She ran her hand over his little head, scratching behind his ears. His nose twitched, and Y/N squealed in delight. “You’re a little cutie, aren’t you?” She said in a baby voice, and it felt like Ethan’s heart had doubled in size.

“Since when do you talk like that?”

“Since you started bringing me the cutest kitten ever.”

She was entranced with the little kitten, love, and adoration pouring out of her. God, she was so adorable. Ethan couldn’t help but feel like he wanted that kind of adoration from her. 

“Yes, you’re just the most adorable thing ever.” She babied the cat, and Ethan couldn’t help but grin ear to ear. 

“He’s so cute givehimtome.”

Y/N went to take the kitten from Ethan’s arms, but he pulled back for a moment, deciding he wanted to have some fun with Y/N for a bit.

“Hold on. This cat is precious. You have to be careful you know.”

“I know how to hold a cat!”

“This cat is a BABY. It’s our baby! I can’t be so carefree with my child!”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “He’s not our baby.”

Ethan gasped and cupped a hand over the kitten’s ear left ear. “Don’t you dare talk like that in front of our son!”

“Ethan come oooon I want to play with it too!”

“Our CHILD is not something to be played with, Y/N! He deserves the utmost care and to be fair I don’t think you can do it.”

“How dare you!” She lunged for the kitten but Ethan turned his back to her, holding the cat out of reach. 

“Ethan careful you’re going to drop him!”

Although Y/N didn’t really think he would. To be honest, the cat seemed to be having a fun time, wiggling his tail about as Ethan held it in his arms. 

“I am being careful, unlike you! You are a danger to this precious creature!”

“Ethan PLEASE! I want the fuzzy baby!” She grabbed his arm and tugged, making him turn around to face her. 

“No Y/N, I can’t trust you. You need to calm down.”

“How am I supposed to come down when you won’t let me hold our son??”

Ethan immediately stopped the charade, blinking at Y/N. Y/N, surprised at Ethan’s abrupt stop, looked up at him expectedly with her arms outstretched. “Give him to me.”

He did so right away and watched how Y/N’s expression of annoyance quickly morphed into one of excitement. 

“You called him our son.”

“I did what I had to do so I could hold him.”

“Uhuh. Sure.”

She rolled her eyes once more and turned her back to him. “I’m walking away now.”

“No you’re not, we need to discuss this! What does this mean for our son??”

“Ethan!”

——

Nearing the end of the day, the rest of the boys and Grayson were finishing up their work on the van.

“E, I’m so tired.”

“Mhm.”

Y/N rubbed her eyes and let out a yawn. “Let’s go home.”

“Come on...” he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze. “They’re almost done.”

“That’s what they say.” She groaned and leaned into his chest.

“C'mon. Let’s go.” She grabbed his sweatshirt and started to tug him.

“Y/N...”

“Pleaaaase.” She groaned. “I’m exhausted.”

He was tempted, but he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he left Grayson without saying anything.

“Okay... hold on.”

He shouted over to Gray. “Yo! Y/N’s tired, I’m taking her home!”

Gray shot him a thumbs-up, and Ethan turned back to her. “Alright, let's go.”

“Wait. Go where?”

Ethan blinked at her. “Are you high or something?”

“No!”

“You just asked if we could go home. So now I’m taking you home.”

“My home?”

“Okay, are you seriously alright? Did you breathe in too much sawdust?” He creased his eyebrows.

“Ethan!” 

“YES, your home.”

“No wait, I meant your place. Let’s go to your place.”

Ethan raised her eyebrows at her. “This late?”

“I’ll just sleepover.”

“But you have class tomorrow morning.”

Who cares?

“You can drive me.”

“I don’t think I’ll have time to..”

Seeing her face drop made him change his mind completely.

“Yea. I can do that.”

She grinned and pumped her fists into the air. “Yusss, I’m gonna get cuddles.”

Ethan’s faces flushed, and he rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Nope. You will drown in my cuddles.”

She grabbed his sweatshirt and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her nose almost touching his. Ethan’s jaw had dropped just a tiny bit, not knowing what to do, being so close to her. His face heated up so fast, it felt like Y/N could almost feel it, but she laughed. “Carry me to the car?”

“Oh my god, you lazy ass.” 

“Hmph.” She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, then rested her head on his shoulder. Ethan grabbed her thighs and held her tightly, grinning like a fool.

“What’re you smiling about?” Y/N asked him slyly. 

“Nothin’.” He said, making his way towards the car. 

“Dumbass.” She murmured, smiling into his sweatshirt.

---------

“Open the door, it’s freezing.” Y/N shivered, retreating into the sweatshirt Ethan gave her while in the car. 

“Okay, okay. Hold on.” Ethan’s hands fumbled in the cold, shoving the key into the lock and jiggling it vigorously before the door opened.

Y/n couldn’t help but giggle at his red-tinted ears and nose. She could tell he was cold, but he was trying to hide it. Though not very well, because along with his shivering fingers, him shifting his weight from side to side while searching for the key was a dead giveaway. She felt kind of bad taking his sweatshirt, but she also loved that he was willing to do that for her.

“Okay, it’s open.” He huffed.

“Finally.” Y/N ran into the house, kicking her shoes off at the door. “How can it be this cold in LA?”

“We’ve been spoiled by the heat.” He closed the door behind him, placing his shoes next to hers by the door. “Canada would make us it’s bitch.”

“Honestly, yea.” Y/N grabbed Ethan's hand to drag him to his room, but let out a small gasp. “Jesus, your hands are freezing.” 

“Yea, because somebody stole my sweatshirt.” 

“You gave it to me!” 

“Whatever.”

She grumbled. “Okayyy I’m sorry. I’ll give you extra cuddles while we watch a movie to make up for it.”

“Hey, you have school tomorrow.” His eyes softened and he pulled her into his chest, and she huffed into his T-shirt.

“Whatever.” She mocked him.

“Dude, it’s late.” He looked down at her. “You’re not gonna be able to wake up in the morning.” 

“Yea I will.” She shoved him gently. “We’ll watch it on your laptop, then I can just fall asleep on your bed.” 

“Y/N…”

“Come onnnn.” She tugged on his arm, and he sighed in defeat. 

“Okay! Just let me go make some tea or something.” She nodded, letting his hand go so he could leave for the kitchen. “My laptop is on my bed, just pick a movie, ‘kay?” 

She gave him a thumbs-up, then made her way to his bedroom. She plopped down onto his bed, grabbing the laptop then throwing the covers over her. She sighed, relaxing her shoulders at the familiar environment of Ethan’s bedroom. 

Although...

What am I doing here?

Y/N sighed, slumping down further into the mattress. What was she doing here? She had come over to Ethan’s house at midnight, in hopes of watching a movie with him on a weekday? With school tomorrow? What was she doing?

God, I’m so into him, aren’t I?

She groaned, pulling the covers over her head in defeat. The overwhelming smell of Ethan from the sheets only helped fuel her frustration. She grunted, throwing the sheets off of her, trying to free her nose of the scent. 

“ETHAN!” She yelled for him.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She heard his voice echoing down the hall, followed by his footsteps. He pushed the door open with his side, both of his hands being occupied by two cups of warm tea. He sat himself down on the edge of the bed and handed her one of the cups. “Here.”

She looked at him warily, trying her hardest to take the cup without touching his fingers, which got a weird look from Ethan. She took a sip of the tea.

She groaned.

It was perfect. Exactly how she liked it.

“Oh my god, you suck ass.” She swatted his shoulder in frustration.

“What?” His eyebrows creased. “I swear I did the way you usually do. I soaked the tea bag for exactly three minutes, added the teaspoon of sugar before the milk, and then just one spoon of honey-”

“GOD, I hate you so much.” She shoved him in the shoulder again, groaning as she laid her head back onto the headboard. 

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” Y/N mumbled.

“Are you mad at me or something?”

“No!” she said, flustered.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

“Ethan, NO!” 

“Then what the fuck are you so pissy about?”

“NOTHING, okay?” She set her tea on the side table and pulled the laptop towards her aggressively. “Jesus.”

Ethan tilted his head at her. “Y/N?”

“What do you want?” She looked up at him menacingly.

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Will you just tell me what the matter is?”

“There is no matter to tell you.”

“If you don’t tell me I won’t watch the movie with you.”

“I have nothing to say!”

He took her hand. She almost flinched, his warm hand sending a shock throughout her entire body. She looked at him, and his eyes were concentrated on her. “Tell me.”

She lost herself in a few seconds of bliss, but then yanked her hand away. “Get out of my face.”

He huffed. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to tell me what it is, just tell me if I’m the reason you’re all grumpy.”

Are you kidding?

She groaned. “Ethan… please just watch the movie.” She shimmied over patting the seat next to her.

He shook his head. “Tell me first.”

She sighed. “Okay. fine.” She took a deep breath. “You are the reason.” 

Ethan leaned back, seeming a bit bewildered. “Okay. don’t know what I was expecting you to say, but kind of didn’t want it to be that.” he waited for her to respond, to give him something, anything, but she just awkwardly stared at the laptop screen.

He sat there for a moment, wondering what exactly to say to her. He looked like he really wanted to ask her what this was all about, but he knew he couldn’t. He said that he wouldn’t.

“Okay then.” He got up. “Did you pick a movie?”

Y/N was so lost in her own thoughts, she had practically forgotten about choosing one. “Oh, yea. Sure. Just lemme check.”

“Alright, just let me text Gray real quick, okay?” She nodded. Ethan sat down at his desk chair, swiveling it around so he faced her. He took out his phone and began typing up whatever it was he was going to send to his brother.

Y/N watched him, warily from the bed. She didn’t know what to do. There were so many things going through her head at once. She wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know why she was there. She wanted him to know why she wanted to watch a movie. She wanted him to know how she felt. She wanted him to feel the same way. 

She wanted him. 

“Hey, E.” 

“Mhm?” 

“Look at me.”

He looked up at her skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

She looked at his eyes for a moment, the brown and hazelnut seeming to warm her from the inside. She took in every part of him. His eyes, his nose, his pesky hair that never stayed in one place. His beauty marks and almost non-existent acne scars, his sharp jawline and his stubble. His somehow still tinted ears, his dimples, his soft pink lips.

Huh.

“Kiss me.”

He didn’t react at first, not seeming to follow. Then a quick flash of a smile, thinking it was a joke. But as he realized she was serious, his eyes widened, the colour from his ears now flushing to his face.

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

He moved his mouth, but couldn’t seem to form any words. “I don’t-”

“Ethan kiss me before I change my mind.”

He seemed frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. He didn’t seem to understand the words she had just said. He stared at her, running his eyes over her, landing finally on her lips. He’d tried so hard to keep his eyes away from them, but now he couldn’t help it. They were all he wanted.

She was all he wanted.

He got up, cupped her face with his hands, and pressed his greedy lips to hers. A moan escaped Y/N’s lips, and Ethan smiled against them when he heard that heavenly sound. Her face flushed, feeling the smile on Ethan’s lips, and she pulled away.

“I hate you.”

“I’m sorry. You’re fucking adorable.”

“God, I HATE you!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him again. He leaned forward, pushing her all the way down so she laid down on the bed, and he held himself over her, propping himself up with his arms on either side of her. He deepened the kiss, not able to get enough of the taste of her lips. He pulled back, smiling at her. 

“I thought you were mad at me.”

She glanced away from him. “Well, I was.”

He laughed. “For what?”

“For not taking a hint!” She couldn’t help but giggle.

“It’s not my fault that you’re 90% sarcasm.”

“It’s not my fault that you have such a thick skull.”

“You are so ruining this.”

“Shut up!”

He leaned down once more, kissing her again. She sighed, letting her arms make their way up his arms and back around his neck. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck.

She blushed, hard. “Ethan!!” she pushed him up so they were both sitting upright, sitting as close to each other as possible. 

“Cmon, this is the least I can do for catching on so late.”

She smiled at him, then laid her head against his shoulder. “How about we just watch a movie instead?”

He grinned like a fool. “Sounds amazing.”

[ziracona]

please bless me with all of your dbd headcanons even just a crumb would satisfy me,,,,, lmao. Fr tho ur hcs are godly pls give me all of them especially for og 4 and wraif

Thank you!! I’m glad you like my hot takes!

Let’s see, og4.

Jake grows facial hair pretty easy (that part is just canon). Usually he either lets it grow and ignores it till it gets long, or stays cleanshaven, but the in-between stage is physically painful for everyone else at the campfire bc you wake up and see rugged 2day scruffy woodsman stretch and he sees you staring and goes, “What?” Looking thoroughly unimpressed and Meg sheds a tear and Claudette pretends to not be looking and stares at her journal and Dwight gets heart palpitations it’s just bad for the whole group. When he shaves he’s an edgy dumbass and does it with a sharpened hunk of metal he made into a knife for himself and Dwight saw him shaving once and had to go sit down.

Jake has a soft spot for many of the survivors he’s known longer (honestly at this point, he’s pretty attached to the lot of them though), but especially the ones who work really hard at protecting other survivors. Double points if you’re younger than him. He would kill for Claudette, and take a bullet meant for Quentin, but would not convey this to them at all. Jake puts almost zero effort into making sure people knows he likes them. The people he has a soft spot for especially are also not always the ones he prefers to spend time with. While they’re survivors he spends less time with personally, Jake respects Feng Min for being the snarky little gremlin she is, and Tapp’s dedication to his job even here. Weirdly, while the people he likes often aren’t aware of affection, the ones he respects but isn’t as close to usually are aware of the respect. Jake also thinks he doesn’t like having friends and spending time not alone, but he does.

If asked point blank his thoughts on a survivor he likes, he’d probably just shrug or say, “They contribute to the team,” or “She works hard,” or “He’s fine,” because Jake just be like that. He had a hard time getting close to anyone initially because of how he grew up. Jake’s very guarded. He’s used to people manipulating and using each other, which makes keeping anything vulnerable close to his chest just necessary as he sees it. Boy doesn’t trust easy. Or open up. Ya need a can opener. Boy also does not like getting pushed around. Least favorite killers (aside from Nightmare) are probably Doctor and Ghostface, because he cannot stand being forced to do things or used. He’d rather take a chainsaw to the back than have someone lord power over him. He’s also got a looong memory, so if you fuck him over, he is not the kind to forget and forgive. He is the kind to resent and remember. Not that he never forgives people, but boy would have to really believe whatever happened was regretted and the person wasn’t like that anymore to let something that made him very angry go. He’s quiet angry though. Bide your time and get vengeance kinda angry. Would never let someone push him around. If a killer tried to fuck with him, he’d do everything in his power to kill them.

While Jake is tough and likes to hike just to be out and moving, and enjoys toughing it out, Meg enjoys being outside more as a fun thing than a wildnerness lifestyle thing. She has a lot of energy, and even in the realm, all that adhd can be a bitch. It would be easy to focus on the shitty stuff happening and drown in that, so she likes to keep moving, like she has since she was a kid and started running. Meg loves hard, and if she cares about you, she’ll make sure you know it. Not good at shutting up or realizing if she’s been going on for too long, girl has passion for everything.

Meg talks a big game, but does not have as much confidence as she pretends to have. She has abandonment issues, but they’re less, ‘my dad abandoned me’ and more ‘everyone but my mom, from him to grade school friends, hasn’t stuck around,’ so she does worry about that and coming on too strong, which she is aware she often does, but she can’t get herself to turn down the power settings on herself even when she tries. She’s never been good at making friends, so all of this in the realm is kinda new to her, since no one can leave. Meg would tell almost no one those things about herself. She cares hard though, and will try to distract other people from realm despair any way she can, because it’s what she needs and she assumes what they must need too. And to be fair, she ain’t wrong. Good at cultivating activities and drinks loving her friends juice.

Big goofball. BIG goofball. Also big gay. Well, bi af, but w a pretty strong preference for the ladies. She is simple of heart. Sees a girl, loses ability to think. Bonded with Nea over this problem. High int, low wisdom, big dumbass. Her weaknesses include girls’ eyes, voices, accents, freckles, scars, stomachs, legs, ass, titties, hair, hair dye, laughs, hands, eye contact, and cute accessories. Not great at expressing her feelings when she catches them, but tries hard. Actually pretty good at romancing once she gets into the groove. It’s just getting there she sucks at. Loyal as hell. Will go to bat for her friends and would rather die than betray them.

Meg has a real temper, especially when she feels like something being done to her or someone else is unjust/unfair, and will always try to fix those things even when it’s hopeless. Can and will weaponize her anger extremely effectively. Ridiculous memory for pop culture, shit memory for homework and things she was supposed to be doing. Memelord, but with some class.

Idk if this is because I identified with Claudette really strongly when I first started playing dbd or not, but I have always seen her as Asexual & Panromantic. Attracted to kindness. 

She gets overwhelmed fairly easily, but has been improving that by necessity since arriving in the realm, and can tap into the mom-friend override to fix problems for people who aren’t her. Has a hard time telling when people are teasing her/joking, but everyone knows this so they take it easier on her than each other.

Like Meg, had no friends before this, so it’s exciting and new, and a little scary, but mostly really good. She worries about other people a lot, and doesn’t always know how to help, but she tries. Very relieved Dwight volunteered to be team leader.

Enjoys recording things and studying. Would be fascinated by the Entity’s world if she wasn’t always being killed. Seems small and weak and easy to take down, but she has the strength of will to kill God herself if backed into a corner, especially when fighting for someone she loves. Sweet does not mean she will not fight back, and since being in the realm, and getting over her initial freezing up at the sight of horrifying murderers, she has worked extremely hard to be brave and take an active roll protecting people whenever she can. She is still terrified a lot, but has learned to push through that to help her friends and herself.

Loves animals, including ones a lot of people don’t like (bugs, snakes, rats, etc) and would and has definitely tried to snag a scorpion and a cockroach from trials to study before, and tried to befriend the realm rats now that they exist. Tries to get Jake to show her how to get birds to like you but does know how to ask him right.

Nervous about interpersonal relationships and unsure of herself. Really likes everyone but horrible at telling how other people feel. Feels like she always comes off wrong and can’t put words to things well even when she understands them super well. Does her best 24/7. Incredibly smart and talented. Knowledgeable about her passions. Is always thinking 4th dimensionally and has saved the team many a time by pulling off wild bullshit that makes sense kind of just barely but no one else would have thought of.

Dwight was a loser and kind of a douche growing up, kind of selfish and entitled and weak, but is no longer that person after a few years in the realm. He works hard to make good on his promises to look out for everyone, and cares about them very genuinely. Great at thinking on his feet and sounding like he knows more than he does, wonderful at regulating tasks to people efficiently, and not a bad strategist. 

Being the kind of person now who would not have liked the person he was a few years ago causes a little cognitive dissonance and self-doubt, but he’s trying. Genuinely enjoys hearing about people’s days and interests even when he’s completely lost. 

Not a fan of heights. If the fear of heights was not vastly overpowered by fear of sharp object, he would actively avoid the old ironworks in trials, but alas.

Used to play video games a lot. Thought he was good at them. Was not. Was definitely not.

Self-improvement king. Works hard and is a really decent dude. A very good sport. Used to be an asshole, so now that he’s nice he’s pretty damn forgiving if other people put in the work to improve too (my boy’s no hypocrite). Has mellowed out a lot and is pretty chill and nice but the damn fool will break his own heart by taking things people say the wrong way, or things they mean as a joke literally, if it’s something he thinks is true about himself, and will totally miss context and vocal inflection and just be like, “I know but I’m trying TuT.”

Big gay but in denial and confused

Just at this point really does want people to get to go home and be ok. Loves hearing stories and listening to his friends talk at the campfire because it makes him feel like things might be okay. Get the same result just by being near his friends, especially the other og3 who have been with him forever. If they’re all still there, things have to turn out okay someday. :’ ) Has never really told them that, because he’s supposed to be the leader, and thinks they’d feel less secure if they knew he depends on being able to sleep close to them at night to feel like he’ll be okay himself. Not in a they’d judge me way, but in a I really don’t want to let them down way. He wants them to think he’s got a handle on things even when he really doesn’t.

I was gonna do Philip too but I got this this morning and this post is already ridiculously long TuT, so here you go. Plus one mini Philip one.

Philip feels responsible for the young man he saw his boss kill the day the Entity got him. He knows that he killed scores of people unknowingly for Azarov, and those weigh, but he thinks sometimes late at night that if he could have just saved that one, it might have been enough to make him feel absolved someday for all the other deaths on his head. He remembers his face very well, and how terrified he was, and the moment of confusion and relief, and almost gratefulness when Philip let him go. He thinks over and over that if he’d just talked to him–assumed something was up, and gotten him to be quiet. Seen Azarov in time and stopped him. So many little things, and the young man would have lived. Even if the others were things he was completely blind to, he feels like that one is especially his fault, and that he could have stopped it. That one really haunts him.

[ohscorbus]

I know the fandom largely agrees on Healer!Scorpius but for entertainment value I decided to imagine Healer!Albus and here we are. An AU featuring a bumbling Scorpius ‘deliberately’ finding ways to end up in the hospital wing so he has an excuse to talk to Albus, the boy he’s been crushing on for years but has never worked up the courage to get to know. But now Albus is helping out in the hospital wing for experience and Scorpius sees it as his last chance.

Sounds like a disaster, right? That’s because it is. The flustered Scorpius and amused Albus combination always will be. It starts as an accident. Honestly. He forgot about the vanishing step on the staircase and earned himself a head injury.

“Seven years and I still forget! Can you believe... Is it bleeding? What about inside because I heard that’s bad. You can’t see inside there can you? Or can you? Wait—”

Albus promises to only check for internal bleeding, and that’s because he’s fairly sure whatever else is in Scorpius’s head is bound to come spilling out of his mouth anyway. Maybe he should check for concussion again. Or is Scorpius always like this? He holds Scorpius’s face still and tries not to smile as Scorpius fails to follow his wand light and keeps staring at him instead.

Then there was the potions incident. The few drops that touched his skin weren’t life threatening but the resulting rash really was quite unsightly.

“Yann didn’t put the stopper on properly and of course I'm the lucky individual to use it after him. You should see the state of my notes now, this stuff ate straight from the parchment.”

“But thankfully not your hands?”

“Yes! Because I need them. For things. Lots of things. Like….”

“Writing?”

“Yes! Exactly! Writing. And homework. Which is also writing. Yes. Umm.”

Albus gently holds his wrists as he applies the cooling balm before wrapping them and sending him on his way. He pretends not to watch as Scorpius fumbles with the door handle in his newly dubbed ‘medical mittens’. But as entertaining as it is, a pointed look from Madam Pomfrey has him running over and opening the door for him. It earns him a thank you… and a curtsey. He thinks Scorpius instantly regrets it because he goes so red it almost looks like the rash has spread. This boy.

Thankfully no books were harmed during the next round that Albus gleefully refers to as ‘Scorpius vs. the heaviest book in the library’.

“It was quite a heavy book, I can’t believe someone would leave it lying around so close to the edge. I mean, do they have no respect for books? Or my toes? Is it broken? It is, isn’t it? It’s okay because I brought a book, not that one, a different one, so I have something to do in case I’m here all weekend.”

“You can stay but you know for muggles, a break like this takes 6-8 weeks to mend.”

“...I may need another book.”

“Or I could go fetch Madam Pomfrey and she’ll fix it right now?”

“Oh! That’s up to you. Whatever helps you. I’m okay here. You do your thing.”

Albus gets on with his ‘thing’ and runs through his checklist in his head. The fracture will be an easy heal and so while he waits he fetches the cream for the bruise that’s already forming. His touch to Scorpius’s barefoot is feather light but it’s enough to make him squeak and giggle as his fingertips graze the bottom of his foot. Albus looks up and apologises but his smile probably gives away how little he means it. But hey, at least there doesn’t seem to be any nerve damage. It’s good to check, you know?

Albus humours him through Knarl bites and cauldron burns because he’s cute, but he does eventually catch on and asks him out himself before Scorpius does himself some real damage. Although it only takes a few dates for Albus to realise that maybe all those accidents really were just that. It turns out his boy is a genuine disaster magnet. Luckily Albus is ready for whatever life throws at him... and Scorpius.

[mrae71]

School’s Out

One thing people didn’t know about my father was that he was an awesome story teller.  According to his tales, he lived quite a life.  I’m not sure how much he told was fact or fiction; I call it fiction presented as fact.  I am currently compiling his stories into a book, and here’s one of them:

School’s Out

                Rudy stared eagerly at the clock, watching the seconds, then minutes tick by as the school year came to a close.  The classroom was like a furnace, not only holding in heat, but seeming to also take it in through the open windows.  He waited eagerly as his teacher, Mrs. Winlock, passed out the year-end reports one by one.

              After handing them all out, she sat down at her desk and said those final, long awaited words to her class of fifth, sixth and seventh graders, “thank you class, see you next year!”  With that the children let out a collective whoop as they quickly gathered their things and left the drudgery of books and assignments behind them.  Except Rudy. He sat quietly perplexed; he hadn’t received a home report.

              “Reuben,” Mrs. Winlock said softly, “stay behind please, I’d like to speak with you.”

              Rudy remained in his seat and nodded.  He liked Mrs. Winlock, she was kind and patient. She came from one of the town’s most prominent and wealthy families, living in a huge Victorian home on acres of land.  She even had servants.  He had heard adults saying that her family used to own slaves, but he never dared ask about it.  First, he was eavesdropping on what was supposed to be a conversation between his aunt and his grandmother, a conversation that he was sternly ordered to see himself away from.  And secondly, even at 11, he knew it would be rude to bring up such a delicate matter.

              Mrs. Winlock waited for the room to empty and then approached the child, envelope in hand.  She sat on the desk beside him and began gently, “first, Reuben,” she always addressed him by his proper name, “I wanted to know, would you like to work for me again this summer?”

              Rudy smiled widely, nodding his head.  He had worked for her all last summer, and enjoyed it ever much, tending the gardens, cutting grass, piling wood, mending fences, tending animals, and generally doing anything that needed doing.  He only worked through the week, leaving his weekends free to fish or play ball and she always invited him inside for a tasty lunch.  “Yes, ma’am, I’d like that.”

              The teacher smiled warmly, “good,” she patted his arm, “I can do $5 a week, plus, just like last year, you’re free to take home some of the produce, fruit, etc. that we won’t require, does that suit you?”

              He nodded eagerly, $5 was a full 50 cents over and above his weekly wage the year before, and the work wasn’t all that hard.

              Mrs. Winlock shoved the few greyish-brown strands of hair that hung from her neat bun behind her ear and took a deep breath before handing Rudy his home report.  She wished more than anything that she could rip it up, call it a huge mistake and welcome the boy as a sixth-grade student the coming fall.  But that wasn’t going to happen.  He simply hadn’t achieved the necessary outcomes to warrant promotion.

              It wasn’t for lack of trying.  Not on her part, and not on his.  Sure, Rudy was like most boys, more interested in what was going on outside than what was happening at the front of the classroom, but he was always quiet, attentive enough and eager to please.  The truth was, Mrs. Winlock, even with over 30 years as a teacher, had no idea what the disconnect was.  Rudy wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot.  He wasn’t one of the many children she’d seen in her career that were just simply slower than most to comprehend.  In fact, she found the young lad very quick to pick things up, especially if he were shown it.

              She remembered the time her husband, a fairly feeble man for 54 after having had a fairly severe stroke which left him with limited mobility on his right side, went outside and showed Rudy just how to prune the tomato plants, cutting the shooters to allow the blossoming vines more room to grow.  He only needed one quick lesson, which was more than the teacher could say for herself. In fact, her husband, Ned, forbade her from ever touching the tomato plants after more than once having hacked them half to death.

              She couldn’t put her finger on it, if she could have, she’d have fixed it, but somehow, whatever she was doing in the classroom wasn’t getting through to the bright-eyed child.  It was as if whatever his mind responded to had nothing to do with classroom teaching and while he was able to slide by with marginally acceptable results until now, as the work became more complex, she saw him fall further and further behind.

              She had thought about doing the charitable thing and pushing him through, reasoning that perhaps the confidence boost would propel the boy to work harder but decided against it.  She knew of other teachers who had done so and if she were honest, she had done it a time or two herself, but the circumstances were different. She normally reserved such mercy for those students who had a track record of turning in good performances and then suddenly, usually due to some issue at home, sometimes something as simple as plain old hunger, had fallen behind.  The fact was Rudy was falling further and further behind with every grade and to advance him to the next grade would serve no one, not the class, not herself and not Rudy.  “Please take this home directly,” she said firmly, handing him the envelope, “do not open it, I want your mother to read it first, do you understand?”

              Rudy nodded.  He knew what it said anyway.  The entire year had been a long series of F’s and “please try agains”.  It didn’t take any sort of eminent scholar to see the writing on the schoolhouse wall.  “Yes, ma’am, Mrs. Winlock, I will.”

              The teacher chocked back her tears and turned her head momentarily to compose herself.  She didn’t want Rudy to see her upset.  She didn’t want to upset him.  She cared a great deal for the lad.  In fact, she could readily admit to herself, and to her husband, that he was the favourite of all her students, ever. She imagined had she been able to bear a child, he’d have been much like Rudy, strikingly handsome, tall and wiry, strong as a small ox.  He was hard working and wanted only to please those around him.  He had a surprisingly soft heart that most people didn’t take the time to see.  He seemed to take very well to and to protect the younger children just coming into school and she had caught him more than once cradling or singing to a calf or a lamb in her barn.

She’d spent five years watching him grow and blossom, fight and struggle and she knew about his homelife.  Woodstock wasn’t a big town and talk got around.  She knew the black eyes and bruises he often sported came from the hand of his father after downing more than his share of whiskey.

              She didn’t know Reuben Senior as a younger man but had heard the stories.  He was once just like his son, sweet, tender hearted but with a steel exterior.  He had somehow managed to lie his way into military service in 1916, stating his age as 18 rather than 16 in order to do his part for the country and as the story goes, he came back from the First World War alive, but forever changed.  But that wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back she knew.  He came back more aggressive for sure and made a name for himself as quite a good boxer.  But years later, when young Rudy was just a baby, he and Thea lost a child, baby Grace. Mrs. Winlock was given to understand that the 10-month-old was a perfectly healthy infant until suddenly falling ill and passing away some five or six days later.  It seemed Reuben senior never recovered from the loss and his aggression quickly turned to red hot anger and the occasional drink with the guys turned into binge drinking to the point of blackout.

              Rudy, she knew got the brunt of his father’s aggression and she worried for the child, wondering what this home report would bring.  Sober, he seemed a decent enough sort, she’d spoken to him several times and he was quick witted, but quiet, almost charming.  However, fueled by drink, he often sought his oldest son out and took out his frustrations on him.  It was as though the child, who was in fact, visually, the very picture of his father thirty years prior, represented all the unfulfilled hopes, plans, and dreams he had that never worked out.  What better way to address what you see as your shortcomings than to beat up on your younger self?  Well, except for the fact, he was beating on his son.  She shook her head, trying to make the awful thought disappear, “Reuben, please, promise me, you’ll take this directly to your mother, she begged, sounding a little more desperate than she had intended.

              Rudy agreed and was dismissed.  He walked outside into the late-June heat and found the school yard empty.  He walked toward home, just far enough to get out of sight.  He darted behind a group of trees and opened the envelope. He scanned it furiously, not wanting to be caught.  He skipped over the individual subject reports to get to the bottom line, “I regret to inform that Reuben has not met the necessary requirements to be promoted and will be required to repeat fifth grade.”  His heart sank and he sat down behind the tree and cried, his head in his knees.  He knew it was coming, but he hoped, naively, as children do, that maybe, just maybe, it would all be okay, but there it was in print.  He mourned the defeat, dried his tears and after a few moments, stood up and walked home, knowing exactly what he would do.

              When he arrived home, he saw his mother surrounded by many of his siblings, all basking in her praise.  Of course, Althea was front and centre, basking in her triumph. Having jut turned 13 the month before, she was quickly taking on the bearing of a young woman.  She was slender, curvy and had a pretty face which boys were starting to notice.  However, she had very little time for local boys or their nonsense.  She had plans, plans to become a teacher and later a wife and mother.  She was to spend her summer minding Dr. and Mrs. Baldwin’s eight children and taking in sewing in her free time. She was to be paid $3 a week, but she kept some for herself.  He didn’t understand all the ins and outs of it, but his mother explained that young women needed pocket money for important things, things only women understood.  He imagined it had something to do with dresses or maybe lipstick. She, of course, received glowing marks, and finished top of the seventh-grade class.

              Enid stood right behind her sister, jumping up and down, eagerly awaiting her turn at praise. She was a tiny wisp of a girl, but her personality loomed larger than life.  She did reasonably well this year. Her home reports going forward always read the same, “Enid is capable of exceptional work when she puts her mind to it,” and this year was no exception.  She was a bright girl, there was no doubt, but she had a streak in her, a fierce independence that often bordered on defiance and troubled their mother. The girl was intent on doing things her way.  She wasn’t unruly or disobedient, but had something not often seen in little girls of the time, a sense that she wasn’t supposed to conform to the world, but that in fact it was the other way about, the world should conform to her.  Their grandmother politely called her a “spirited child.”

              Then there was Bobby, he managed to get through second grade unscathed although his teacher opined that “further effort will be required to be successful in coming years.”

              And finally, David, the impish first-grader, complete with a toothless grin.  Sharp as a tack, but inattentive and mischievous.  He was the first to peer out the window at anyone or anything that happened by.  He was also the first first-grader to put a dead frog on Mrs. Mullins’ chair back in October.  He denied it vehemently, but his guilty giggles gave him away.  His older brother Bobby saved him from his father’s beating, claiming responsibility for the prank, something he often did.  In any event, despite his lack of attention and his tendency toward pranks, he got through with better than average grades.

              Rudy lowered his head and when the crowd dispersed, having received an adequate amount of praise, approached his mother, cleared his throat and handed her his home report, “Mrs. Winlock says for you to read this,” his face reddened with shame.  The idea of disappointing his mother killed him.  He knew she worked so hard, especially now, with so many children. There was him, Althea, Enid, Bobby, David, Jimmy, Johnny, and now, baby Francine, just six months old.  She was a pretty baby and from what he could see, fairly well behaved.  She didn’t fuss a lot.  That made eight kids, and he had heard whispers that another may be on the way, but that hadn’t been confirmed.  He kind of hoped not, the house was a tight squeeze as it was, the boys, Bobby, David, Jimmy, and himself, shared one room while the babies, Johnny and Francine shared another.  Althea, who had previously enjoyed the enviable position of having her own room had recently been forced to suffer the indignity of sharing with Enid.  Rudy was sure she hated that, but in true Althea fashion, she accepted the assignment as her duty to the family and said nothing about it.

              Thea turned to her children, still milling about in the living room as Rudy stood beside her, “you all get on outside,” she ordered, “I want to have a talk with Rudy.”

              “But Mama,” Enid whined, “it’s hot.”

              Thea stared hard at the children, her plump brown face set in that way that let them know she meant business, “then go swimming, but scoot, I’ll not tell you a second time.”

              The kids scrambled out the door as their mother told them and Thea turned to her eldest son, “let’s see this, then.”  She knew what was inside.  She gingerly opened the envelope and read it as tear began to stream down her son’s face again.

              Rudy buried his face in her ample bosom, sobbing, “I’m sorry Mama, I’m sorry!”

              She cradled the child gently then took his face in her hands, wiping his tears, “it’s okay, Rudy, I knew it was coming, you’ll just try harder next year.”  She didn’t know why, but she had known for some time that her eldest son struggled with schoolwork.

              Rudy snuffed the snot back from his nose and stood straight, “I’m not going back, ma’am,” he declared, “I’m going to work.”

              Thea looked at the child in disbelief, “you’re 11, what do you think you’ll work at?”

              “I’ll be 12 come January,” he explained, “I’ll do just like Daddy, I’ll join the army, fight in the war, just like him!”

              Fear welled up in his mother.  Thea knew well what war did to her husband and she also knew her son was just impulsive enough to try such a thing, although she also knew he had no chance, even at 12, looking young for his age, of being accepted into any army, it was time for a strong message.  She softly slapped his face with the back of her hand, “you will do no such thing!” she exclaimed, “and I’ll hear no more talk of any army, do you understand?”

              Rudy began to cry again, the slap didn’t hurt physically, she barely touched him.  But his pride hurt desperately.  He nodded in submission, “yes, Mama, I understand.”  Then he added, “but I could continue for a while at Mrs. Winlock’s till after apple season, that’ll take me into October, then I can go work in the woods.” He had it all figured out in his mind and in his young mind, it seemed to be the only reasonable choice.

              Thea softened, “Go on outside and play,” she told him, “I know you’re disappointed, we’ll talk about this nearer the school year, okay?”  She had no intention of allowing him to quit school.

              Rudy agreed, quietly set in his intention never to return to the classroom.

              The summer went quickly and soon it was time to get ready to return to school.  Thea and Reuben took their eldest son aside to see how he was feeling about repeating fifth grade.

              Rudy stood straight and tall, as tall as an 11-year-old could and informed his parents of his intentions, “I’m not going.”

              Thea, now confirmed to be expecting, yet again, shook her head, “Reuben, don’t start,” she warned.

              The child continued, steel-faced in his opposition, “no, Mama, I’m not going back,” he explained, “Mrs. Winlock says I can stay on ‘till at least October, then I got some work with old man Hawthorne lined up, and I also got a bit over at the general store, only a few hours here and there, but it’ll do us.”

              Thea’s heart sank, “Rudy, you’re a boy, you need your schooling.”  She was devastated, it was hard enough in 1941 to be a black man, but to be a black man with next to no education, the thought terrified her.  She always wanted better for her kids.  She wanted them to achieve, to have the opportunities she and their father never had, to be seen as they were, equal members of the human race.

              Reuben Senior spoke up, “woman,” he said, “we both know the boy ain’t much for the books,” he took a big gulp from his mug, “if he don’t wanna go, maybe we shouldn’t make him.”  Another gulp and he turned to his son and poked him hard in the chest, “but if you ain’t in no kinda school,” he warned, “you’re payin’ room and board!”

              The boy agreed, “of course Daddy,” he said breathlessly, “Mama can have all the money, just like always.”  He always turned over his entire weekly earnings to his mother for household expenses, often refusing her pleas that he take something, even a quarter for himself.  He added, expanding in his long-term plan, “anyway, it’s only ‘till I can get into the army and go into the war like you did, Daddy.”

              His father panicked in his whiskey fueled haze as memories of World War 1 trenches came flooding back faster than he could process them.  The gun fire, the filth, the rain and mud, the slop they passed off as food, and to top it off, the way black solders like him were treated like simple cannon fodder, pushed out to the front lines, never recognized for anything more than boots on the ground, it was all more than he could bear.  He didn’t want his son going through that.  Rage filled him, rage at every white superior that called him boy. Rage at every German that shot in his direction.  Rage at the impetuous, unwitting brat in front of him who had no real idea about the harsh realities of the world.  Before he knew it, his hand was up and he smacked the boy, hard, across the face, knocking him across the room and onto his ass, screaming, “shut up, boy, shut up!”

              Thea jumped between them, begging her husband to stop.

              Enraged and seeing nothing but the life his son would have if he chose the military, he shoved his wife out of the way, sending her into the stove.

              Young Rudy rose to his feet staring his father in the face for the first time in his life, cocked back his fist and punched his father in the jaw with all his might.  It was enough to send the man, now in his early forties and suffering more and more from his war wounds, not to mention the whiskey, stumbling.  “Never hit Mama again,” Rudy screamed, “never, or I will knock you out!”

              Thea took a seat, trying not to cry in front of her son.  Reuben Senior composed himself and looked at his son with a hard, critical eye.  He both loved and hated the child now.  He loved his resolve and strength.  He hated his resolve and strength.  He mostly hated that the boy had shown him up.

              Rudy knew nothing would ever be the same. He knew he couldn’t strike his father and expect to live in his home.  He looked at him and said in an apologetic tone, “Daddy, if I can collect my things, I think it’s best I go to Grannie’s.”

              Thea protested, but her husband overruled her, agreeing with his son.  The house was crowded as it was, and it gave him a quick opportunity to save at least a little dignity.  He agreed with the boy and said sharply, “you got 10 minutes and then I’ll kick you out by the ass!”

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Grade Book

Word Count: 1600+ (oneshot) [AO3]

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Characters: Korosensei, Class E (mentioned), the Second Reaper (mentioned)

Summary: When he was a man, the Reaper kept meticulous records of those he killed, as a mark of pride in his own work. Now that he’s Korosensei, what he wants to leave behind for good is a record of pride in his beloved students.

Written for the @assclasszine.

~0~

The Reaper is a methodical man.

It would be a rookie mistake to leave evidence of his work around his apartment, he knows that. Nobody but himself ever comes inside it. Even then, when he vacates his various residencies after some time, he leaves them emptier than they were when he first moved in, in body and soul, and it feels as if no one ever lived in them at all. He is a spirit, a god of slaughter, and the spaces he passes through leave no trace of human presence, only death.

At least, that’s the way it’s supposed to be, according to both his reputation and his own standards for what a legendary assassin is made of. But the Reaper is only human, after all, and he can in fact succumb to the average human compulsions. He’s fairly certain that it’s only humans that feel the need to meticulously list and organize things, the pleasure centers of the brain stimulated when a pattern is found and adhered to. He theorizes that it comes from the desire of a weak species to find some order or control over their lives, which can be ended or thrown into irreparable disarray out of absolutely nowhere.

The Reaper is not weak, and needs no such reassurance. He has very little life to upset in the first place. But he finds the process comforting anyway.

This time around he has been lucky enough to rent an apartment that comes with a desk. When he returns home with his most recent mission completed, he retrieves his blank black binder and a ballpoint pen from his suitcase, and sits down at it. He’s always surprised at how pleasant he finds the mixed scents of looseleaf paper, old wood, and fresh ink.

First he documents the details of the mission, taking it all down in a cipher of his own creation to hide his own location and methods, as well as the names of his employers. He doesn’t assume it to be unbreakable, but he supposes it will give anyone who doesn’t know him quite a job to do in solving it. He feels neither fear or doubt when he sets out to kill. At least, this is what he tells himself. 

This habit used to be for study purposes, back when he was in training himself. He used to have a section for reflecting on the mistakes he’d made, working on ways to do better. He makes no mistakes as a full-fledged killer, and when that section reappears in recent entries it is reserved only for the failings of his apprentice. Now instead he sticks firmly onto the pages identification photos of his targets, front and center, and the photos he takes to give his employers the proof that his job has been completed as ordered.

He writes down biological observations, the initial information on them given him by those employers (as well as whatever connection both share), any specifications they may have given him for the kill, the weapons and methods that he used in bringing about their deaths. He is tempted sometimes to put in the pictures and text clippings from the various newspaper articles about them — even the pitiful scraps that the largely overlooked ones get, in remembrance for average lives — but always decides against it. It isn’t his own personally gathered data, and he’s not some run of the mill serial killer, after all, gathering trophies and memorabilia from a hobby. 

The Reaper is a professional, the best of the best. His work is his life, and it is only fitting that one of his very few indulgences in that life is documenting that exceptional work. Statistics are not all of what makes him the world’s most perfect assassin, of course. People in his circles discuss what does, behind his back in hushed, bitter tones. He has heard many of their conclusions over the years, all of them wrong. The conclusion that he himself has drawn — which certainly lends it credence as the right one — is that his success comes from two things. It’s not only the core of ice that’s long since replaced his heart, allowing him to commit any gruesome task asked of him with the clearest mind and the least regret. It is also the intense devotion to his trade that has replaced any other emotion that might get in his way. He has nothing else, and needs nothing else, except for the death that has always surrounded him.

This book is merely a testament to that. To his work, if not himself. Like the shadowy god for which he’s named himself, when somebody finally takes his life, whoever he is will disappear into the misty night. Unimportant and unacknowledged. Only the work he has left behind will remain. Only the trail of blood stretching endlessly into the horizon.

The Reaper supposes that it is perfectly fitting. Such is the inescapable point of life, isn’t it? 

He writes out the name and time of this latest death, in a top corner, like he assumes a doctor would do. The point of his pencil lingers on the grayish paper, and idly scratches out the vague form of the kill’s broken form on the street.

~0~

Korosensei has very little experience with things like textbooks and strict curricula. So though if asked, he would vigorously deny anything so unprofessional as winging it, that is the majority of what he is doing at first. Karasuma must have his suspicions, of course, but he never says so outright, only gruffly barks him towards the right direction like an irritated sheepdog.

He doesn’t think he’s ever had teammates before, any more than he’s had this many students to train. The small sea of determined young faces looking up at him is unlike anything he’s ever been faced with. They’re certainly on the other side of the universe from the eternal dissonant calm on the face of his apprentice. Where the Second Reaper is ice inside, his children are pure youthful fire: overwhelming, beautiful, and sometimes even terrifying to behold. 

So it is almost second nature to begin recording them. Some part of him mourns the loss of his old scrapbooks, but he supposes that this grade book is a perfectly worthy replacement.

He doesn’t even notice it at first when his books become more than that. More than they have ever been, even at their most thorough.

All the information in his students’ files he meticulously copies down. Personal information and opinions come next, along with lesson plans, weapons data, the tactics they choose and their results. With all of his new appendages, it’s easier and faster than ever before to take down all his thoughts before he loses them. It’s all just logs and facts and records, really, just a whir of necessary information...until it isn’t.

All of a sudden, it’s candid photos instead of yearbook and ID standards, with the bright smiles of his students’ true selves instead of the dull-eyed depression their school life has forced upon them. It’s a diagram of the makings of anti-Sensei bullets, above the top ten best shots in the class. It’s train and plane tickets from their resort trip, bordering the pages of their vacation pictures, and four whole pages of bits and pieces from their festival success. Outstanding test grades are plastered everywhere, from cover to cover. 

Also scattered around are tentacle-drawn sketches (improving with each new attempt, if he does say so himself) of the best aspects of his classroom. He thinks he’s finally captured the wryness of Karma’s smirk, the strangely familiar shape of Kayano’s face, and most intriguing of all, the bright, striking sharpness of Nagisa’s eyes, glowing with killing intent. 

Korosensei fills so many pages that sometimes he forgets that his time and their space is limited. His pencil shakes over the page when it hits him that the date of his inevitable destruction is drawing near. He’ll need to wrap it up, as painful as it is...

Yes, that is exactly what he shall do, he decides, heart leaping a little. His personalized graduation albums are a work of art, but he supposes it couldn’t hurt to leave one more hidden treasure for Class E to find here, after the final bell has rung. So he gathers up all his books from the beginning of the year to now, and sets them all in orderly piles in a box, which he stores safely inside of his desk. 

He almost wants to take them all back out again, and look through them one last time. Maybe adjust some things. But no. No time for that. Besides, his raw and unedited feelings ought to mean the most to them, anyway. They are so very pure of heart and bursting with passion themselves, after all...

Korosensei straightens up and looks out the window at the ravaged moon. He hopes and prays that his children will be the ones to kill him, in the end, before he can destroy them. Those faces of theirs would make for a fine last sight. And he doesn’t want to be the one who snuffs those brilliant lights out, after all, before they’ve even reached their prime. He hopes they will always know how special they are, and how much they are worth, and how deeply his adoration of them runs even when he is gone. 

The Reaper never once told anyone “I love you.” Korosensei isn’t quite sure how to, either. But for his students, he has given it his best try. 

The name of the Reaper is gone, and the trail of blood has run just about dry. And when Korosensei disappears, it is life and love that he will leave behind, for his children to carry with them as they surge forward and thrive.

[imagine-organization-xiii]

Okay but.. Adult Org Members and their S/O planning their wedding? Who’s into it? Who’s excited? Who has no fucking clue what’s going on. Go.

Masterlist 1 - Masterlist 2 - Masterlist 3 - Holiday and Vacation Masterlist

Buy me a coffee here!

Below the cut because this one got pretty long! 

Xemnas

Immediately offers to hire a wedding planner the moment you suggest sitting down and talking with him about the general idea for the wedding. It isn’t as if he thinks you can’t do it yourself - he just doesn’t want you to be overwhelmed. But you insist that you’d rather plan everything yourself, that way you know that everything gets done the way you want it.

Will give his opinion on certain things if you ask for it, but mostly just allows you to do whatever it is you want. He wants you to have the time in your life, so you can pretty much do what you want, within reason, of course.

He asks to handle the guest list and you insist on it - you both want a small and intimate ceremony with just a few of your close friends - or in his case, his acquaintances and co-workers. There’s no need for anything too big, flashy, or gaudy, and you trust him to make some good decisions on who to invite.

The wedding is sweet and sophisticated, sleek whites and pearl tones with vintage lace and a beautiful, three-tiered cake that is practically to die for. He’s impressed that you manage to throw together something so stunning, but he really shouldn’t be surprised. You’re an impressive person and he wouldn’t have asked you to marry him otherwise.

Xigbar

Wedding planning stresses him the fuck out and he seriously has no idea how you can be so patient and do everything yourself without losing your mind. Looking at color patterns and the list of venues and the HUNDREDS OF FLOWERS gives him an immediate headache.

He has a few requests - nothing too brightly colored, not too much lace, and there are certain people that he wants you to neglect to invite - “Xigbar, we can’t just leave out half of the organization members, that isn’t fair to them.” - but overall you pretty much have free reign.

Wedding planning probably gives him hives - there’s just something about the overwhelming madness of the endless lists and “the navy blue and indigo place settings look almost exactly the same, why are you telling me that they’re different colors” and ugh, he trusts you enough to marry you so he’ll happily step aside and let you do your own thing and reassures you that he’ll be standing at the front of the altar on the big day.

Xaldin

Xaldin had already been engaged in a relationship that ended unhappily and he hadn’t really gotten a chance to help plan the wedding before it all went down in flames, so he wasn’t sure about the idea of another one., He loved you and he was sure that you loved him, but there was still a part of him that was worried that it wouldn’t work out like his last relationship did.

That’s why wedding planning is slow. You don’t want to overwhelm him and scare him away - not that he’s easily frightened - but you don’t want him to feel any regrets and you want him to have a say in everything that the two of you plan. The wedding is for both of you, so you want his opinion on arrangements and color schemes and fabrics.

He actually kind of… enjoys it? He especially likes the cake tasting and when the two of you went to go taste test some of the various hors d'oeuvres. He likes being included in things even though he’ll never actually admit it to you.

At first, he’s pretty hesitant to actually give his opinions, like he thinks he might get something wrong or pick something you don’t like. But!!! You make sure to reassure him that he can’t choose anything wrong and that this is supposed to be about celebrating your love, which means that you have to surround yourself with things that make you happy!

He gets pretty relaxed after that conversation and more open to giving his opinion, and it seems like he’s actually looking forward to the wedding. There are still going to be a few jitters and nervousness from him, especially as the big day draws closer, but overall he’s so happy to know that he’s going to be sharing his life with you.

Vexen

Couldn’t give any less of a shit about what you want to do for your wedding. You want him to help you plan it, but you both know that he would be happy with a simple civil ceremony. He knows that you want something meaningful, though, so he lets you do what you want because it makes you happy. Besides, the end result is still going to be the same, so he supposes that it really doesn’t matter.

Gets a little more into it when the big day gets a little closer. He knows that you’re stressed and overwhelmed, but this is supposed to be a fun time for you, so he’ll take the lead if he sees that you’re losing it. He honestly doesn’t mind helping - despite the fact that he doesn’t see the point of the whole thing - but it means a lot that he’s taking some initiative.

Looks at the whole thing fairly clinically, the same way he looks at everything else in life. Organizes your whole calendar, your wedding planning book, etc., before you even have a chance to stop him. He says it’s because it makes more sense his way, and you can’t deny that he’s right. He pretty much takes it upon himself to tweak the whole wedding and you let him because even though he won’t ever admit it, he seems to be enjoying himself.

Lexaeus

You would not believe how excited this man is to plan a wedding with you. He won’t show it in front of anyone else, but he’s so!!! happy!!! And really, it doesn’t matter what kind of wedding you plan - he’s just excited to know that he gets to spend the rest of his life with you.

Does a lot of the heavy lifting and threatening people tbh. You’ll be talking to one of the vendors and Lexaeus will just be behind you scowling and with his arms crossed, looking intimidating to make sure you get fair prices and don’t get scammed. It’s ridiculous, but you can’t deny that it didn’t get you a few discounts.

Super pleased whenever you ask for his help or for his opinion on things. This is a big part of life for both of you and he wants it to mean something - to be filled with things that you both love and enjoy and people that are important to you. You create a ceremony together that is intimate and filled with love, and the anticipation for it grows more and more each day.

Zexion

Zexion makes it clear from the beginning that he doesn’t want anything extravagant. If he had his way then he would be happy with an intimate ceremony at a courthouse just signing a few papers and dinner at a nice restaurant to celebrate, but he knows that you’ve dreamed of this for years, so he concedes to let you do what you want, within reason, of course.

Secretly, though he’d never admit it to anyone (including you), he wants the type of wedding that he reads about in his novels. He never thought he would have a fairytale, happily ever after, but the feeling he gets with you makes it seem like he’s come pretty damn close.

You get his opinion on certain things to make him feel included, but you want the whole experience to be a surprise for him. He may not say what he wants, but you know him, so your wedding is filled with lace and pretty colors and themes from literature that he can immediately recognize. You look almost otherworldly when you walk down the aisle and he loves what you’ve planned for the two of you.

Saix

Saix is a bit of an organization genius, so he takes a front and center position in helping to plan your wedding. He’s better at keeping track of things and he’s the one who reminds you of your various appointments when you get overwhelmed.

He insists that you have the wedding sometime in the evening, preferably outside on a clear night where you can see the moon and the stars in the sky. It leads to an intimate setting that you and your guests enjoy, so you’re happy that you went along with his choice.

He doesn’t appear to be excited, but you’re sure that he feels as much anticipation as you do. He’s eager whenever the two of you sit down and do some serious planning for the wedding and is willing to listen to whatever suggestions you may have as long as you do the same for him.

Kind of bullies the guy who’s baking your cake and the owner of the venue to give you discounts, but you aren’t complaining - this shit is expensive and you’re willing to take whatever you can get when it comes to discounts.

Gets so into the planning that he’s half-tempted to go with you to pick out your dress, but you insist that he’s not allowed to join you. It’s supposed to be a surprise and it’s bad luck for you to see him in your wedding gown, so this would be one thing he’d have to stay away from.

Axel

Another boy who is super excited about both the wedding and being able to spend the rest of his life with you. You make a deal with each other, overall. He gets to handle the reception and you get to handle and plan the actual wedding. It ends up working out perfectly - the wedding is exactly how you pictured! It’s a relaxed ceremony with your loved ones and friends and the reception is fun, upbeat, and leaves everyone exhausted and satisfied.

He’s excited, yes, but… he really has no idea what’s going on when it comes to the actual wedding planning. He can plan a reception - it’s just a party, of course - but the intricacies of planning an actual wedding are lost on him. You start talking about table settings and seating arrangements and his eyes kind of glaze over a bit, so maybe you might have to help a bit with planning the reception if - when - he gets a little too stressed out, but the two of you throw together a wonderful ceremony! Sure, it isn’t the most amazing thing in the world, but it’s more you that way and neither of you can be happier.

Demyx

Demyx is so damn excited, he can’t even express the emotions in words.  Sometimes you think that he’s more excited about planning the wedding than he is about getting married, but that’s okay because it’s supposed to be an exciting time for the both of you!  You’re happy that he’s eager because it means that he’s more than willing to help you with planning.

Demyx ultimately wants a summery wedding, something near the water, like on a beach or a cliff overlooking the ocean. You also let him handle the music, but you have to pull the reins on him for a bit when he puts some ridiculous music into your playlist. Otherwise, you’re happy to let him live out his dream.

You handle almost everything else, but you always make sure to ask his opinion on certain things, like the flowers or the food. He wants to have things that everyone will enjoy, not just the two of you, so he can make sure that your wedding is something that everyone will remember.

Luxord

Luxord pretends he isn’t eager for the wedding day to arrive, but he definitely is. He wouldn’t be helping you with it otherwise. You insist that the whole process would move a lot faster if you had his input, so it comes as no surprise to you when he suddenly starts asking questions and giving his thoughts on certain styles of floral arrangements and hints at his preferences for cakes.

Let’s you pretty much do what you want, but he insists that it at least be somewhat traditional. Vintage and antique are a rampant theme for your wedding, once you reassure him that it won’t be too modern, he seems happy to let you have your dream wedding, which you do!

Marluxia

This man has had his dream wedding planned out since he was eight years old. He knows exactly what he wants and will do whatever he can to get it. He has ideas and expectations so anyone involved in the wedding doesn’t need to worry about you becoming Bridezilla - instead, they need to worry about Marluxia becoming the groom from Hell.

Willing to compromise on a lot of things with you, though, because it’s your wedding just as much as it’s his. You’re so amused that you’re willing to let Marluxia do what he wants and see where it goes, with a few exceptions, of course. He plans a beautiful wedding that takes you by surprise, but you shouldn’t be shocked - Marluxia always had an eye for design.

Has everything planned down to the letter and you need to pray for anyone who accidentally screws up his plans. Everything needs to be perfect and Marluxia will probably set someone on fire if they even screw up the tiniest little detail.

Larxene

You and Larxene handle everything side by side, never making a decision without the approval of the other person. The only thing that you don’t get the other’s approval on are the wedding gowns, but that’s really only because you want it to be a surprise!

Neither of you want a big wedding, so a smaller affair with just a few friends is something that the two of you are really leaning towards. There’s nothing wrong with a smaller ceremony that’s a little more modern. Larxene is worried that she’s keeping you from having your dream wedding, but you have to reassure her that her wants are your wants - and that you need to do these things as a team. Besides, marriage is about compromise, isn’t it?

It turns out that the point is moot, anyway. By the end of the wedding day, the two of you are exhausted and burnt out, so you’re kind of happy that you chose to have a smaller affair. It ended up working out perfectly that way and made sure that neither of you got completely overwhelmed.

[level247-table-tech]

like, i recognize to a lot of people the formality reads as generalized ‘early episode weirdness’, and i won’t pretend to think it was all intentional, but looking back it reads as progression. even knowing that things they share, or that we learn about them in general as they open up, are directed to the audience- made clear even by the camera angle - they are talking to each other in-universe, and i get the sense that they are learning about each other as characters too.

important note toward that point: they know what everyone else does, due to their functions, as well as knowing enough about each other’s specific inputs on various matters to clash about them. but as characters, i would argue they are unfamiliar to each other; they aren’t on a first-name basis and there’s little evidence of them interacting offscreen aside from said clashes. by getting to know each other by character, rather than just by function, they are more able to work together, come into agreement, and work toward a happier, more completely fulfilled thomas.  as a couple extra notes, them being characters is what nondiegetically allows them to speak at all, therefore indirectly what allows them to come to conclusions together.  there’s a neat symmetry in the concept that knowing each other’s characters is what allows them to work through things together more efficiently in-universe also.  a more fulfilled thomas seems like the natural result of his sides being happier, given that they are his aspects, and that’s what all of them are working toward. them knowing and being decent to one another seems conducive to that. self-love, and all, but more on that later.

everyone seems less likely to show up, in earlier episodes, unless their function is pertinent[or they are called upon]. this is where we find one- or two-character installments. less of a group discussion, more just a necessity. in particular i’d argue that any of their appearances to thomas pre-series were more akin to either the example arguments in mind vs. heart[not mvh itself; thomas called them for that talk] or one-on-one discussions in the mode of way too adult[talking about what these represent from a non-imaginary point of view could be interesting, but not on this post]: they show up when they have a stance on whatever’s at hand. this more minimal dynamic holds up in early episodes, and correlating to this theory, the change from that is due to advancement in-universe. though it is pointed out by anxiety in alone on valentine’s day that he can’t just sit things out if he doesn’t want to participate. most likely it’s just because he has feelings about the topic of discussion and does not care to go unheard, but it’s worth noting.

early appearances of all sides[in dilemmatic episodes, that is; generally only anxiety is antagonistic where there’s no particular argument] are more hostile, but early episodes also focus more on reconciling their various areas. again, we can exclude single-character focus episodes[princey is barely in taking on anxiety and he’s called up by thomas. it’s an anxiety episode], but there are more 2-sided arguments in the early episodes. the heart vs. the mind is a good example, with morality and logic talking through their previous arguments, and working toward compromise. that word’s gonna crop up again a lot. of course, one does get the impression that there’s little animosity related to past arguments! but that, i believe, can be chalked up to civility. that, and potentially regret is someone else’s domain, or thomas prefers not to dwell on it. in any case, they come to an understanding that if they work with each other rather than against each other, thomas can come to conclusions more than conflict, which are satisfactory to both parties, and which removes a stressor. the dark side of disney showcases a discussion between two sides who are less inclined to civility in ordinary clashes: princey takes his duty very personally, and anxiety is conflated with his negativity in a way that frames him as antagonistic to others and to thomas. yet this is a more casual discussion, less about conflicts or life events great or small, and more about interpretation. presumably this is just thomas pondering disney plots, on that level of thinking[listen there are three whole layers of reality in this show; i can’t just say diegetic or in-universe. the viewers are real, the sides are imaginary, and character thomas is having thoughts. i don’t know what to call it], and the results of this discussion won’t impact much other than tarnishing disney’s image. it’s just a disembodied ideal based on an external, unrelated body of work. anxiety proceeds to point out flaws in the ideal. many of which are valid points, and princey anticipates anxiety bringing up stockholm syndrome in the context of beauty and the beast, demonstrating that he already recognizes these flaws, and is just more accustomed to not focussing on the negative. different values of the critical. by the end of the episode, though, anxiety also admits that he appreciates disney movies despite their flaws. princey saw the flaws, but didn’t want to dismiss works outright for them; anxiety in truth shared this position but was unwilling to let the praise stand without a critical eye: a valid condition[pretending disney is flawless is setting a bad, bad precedent]. from then on more discussions ensue wherein more sides have opinions to bring to the table, presumably because it works and they have input, up to my negative thinking, wherein morality and princey are tabled, put offscreen. they provide excuses for their absence. already, there is enough precedent for all sides being present to these talks that absence calls for justification, at least in the opinion of thomas[not sure if anyone else was writing by that point? them too]. this is less one of those compromise episodes, and more an early appearance of how applying logic to problems is really effective, but it acknowledges anxiety’s opinions/feelings as being legitimate[in the sense that feeling that way is valid, not that he’s right], and addresses the cognitive distortions that lead to this kind of downward extrapolation. anxiety was wrong, but them working together brought thomas to a place where he had a more realistic projection of the effects of his actions. less relatedly logic admits to appreciating anxiety’s adherence to the formal debate format[for as much as he did so, at least], and says that while he frequently disagrees with anxiety, he isn’t as opposed to him as anxiety seemed to believe. this is a debate between a side with that civility i mentioned, and one without. but anxiety mostly does not express that civility due to that mentioned conflation of him with his negativity, which logic does not engage in as much here; logic points out failures in reasoning without edging in on personal attacks, dismissing anxiety’s arguments due to fallacies, and not because he attributes them simply to anxiety being a negative person[side? you know what i mean]. the result is fairly peaceable. now, keep in mind this talk about anxiety, we’ll focus more on him in a bit.

another angle of progression is in time they actually spend together[not during the course of an episode; i hesitate to just say ‘not counting times where thomas is present’ but you understand. time not occupied by dilemmas, maybe]. as mentioned, there’s little proof they’ve seen each other pre-series outside the occasional argument[also that dollar morality borrowed, but what even was that? it was also with princey, who he seems to have the most in common with], but as end-cards made appearances, we could see the sides spending time together. in an after-the-scenes sort of sense, to be sure, where it feels like they’re sticking around after filming because they somehow have to. at least, that’s the impression i get from the losing my motivation end-card; princey and anxiety probably would not want to spend time together at that point in time. i’ll chalk the ‘necessity’ of that up to the bizarre non-diegetic framing[like, in that scene he calls his agent. i have no idea what they were trying to imply]. at other times, though, it does read more as the sides generally hanging out, such as in mind vs. heart, where it reads more as them spending time together in an unofficial, personal sense[if only because logic has the presence of mind that during any official capacity in which they would spend time together he probably wouldn’t be so loose-tongued as to let that joke slip] and other goofier, more personal moments. it’s hard to place the dark side of disney’s endcard between these possibilities for that reason; they’re goofing around, and it’s not so implausible to believe that they’re sticking around out of preference. aside from end-cards, which take a bit of a turn at the end of the season and fall almost completely into the ‘personal’, ‘unofficial’ setting, there’s more evidence of them spending time together off-camera in later episodes, after the familial progress. offscreen things like anxiety mentioning morality paid him a dollar to make a pun, a flashback from princey of him seemingly in the midst of a casual conversation with at least one other side[the one where he alludes to not being a huge jelly guy], and a bit further back, princey and morality revealing that they’d worked together on the holiday sweaters. furthermore, as less of an offscreen moment and less of an unofficial setting but still worth bringing up: morality’s appearance in losing my motivation. he shows up in costume to match logic’s, to help solve a problem he has no particular stake in[that we and they know of yet]. this can be attributed to a couple factors: he wants to be helpful, and he wants to spend time with logic. potentially that second factor is linked to him already feeling they have bonded from the then-recent mind vs. heart; their shared love of onesie pajamas[and wordplay, much as logic will deny it] causes morality to feel closer to logic, and wanting to spend more quality time. he’s the most sentimental side; it makes sense that morality would be the first to feel more personally attached to the other sides. and even though the events of lmm are problem-solving in an official capacity[by their standards], it’s also said to be playing[dress-up]. spending time together. morality’s sentimentality and attachment to other sides doesn’t end there. that is only the beginning. but further such declarations are less within the realm of quality time and more business hours, so let’s move on to our next focus.

i don’t care to think up a diegetic reason they all started showing up in the first place[the first episode relates directly to the audience with a fine mist of a 4th wall], but anxiety has been present too, since early on in the series. he barely misses out on any discussions, and that’s if you count the initial introduction as a discussion. and he makes good points at times, too. his initial episode is about how to work him down from a heightened state, but in future episodes, he offers legitimate arguments and good points. things like more realistic goals[he says he knows thomas’ limits, a fair assessment], saner plans, emotional insight, honesty that is brutal but ultimately helpful, and reflections on past events. he has issues at times with identifying the reasons behind some feelings, but anxiety is irrational[the feeling, not the character], and we can only guess how much insight he has into that anyway. what we know is that when he identifies problems, he really wants to be heard, and he’s not the best at telling whether problems he’s identified are as legitimate concerns as he’s guessed due to cognitive distortions. these are thoughts thomas has, and anxiety gives voice to. other sides, in the past, have been less willing to help with working through these concerns, and more willing to just shoot down anything he says on the grounds of he said it. and even if he has trouble with which hesitancies are reasonable, he’s worried about them ignoring actual problems if he doesn’t point them out. anxiety wants to be listened to, until he doesn’t. there are a few contributors to that, logic demonstrating his concern as being excessive, disparaging remarks about how unhelpful/relentlessly negative he is hitting home, how successful all their talks have actually been in solving problems, any number of these;very likely a combination. we shall focus on the third: they’ve all been communicating with one another, which has been helping a lot to work through problems. they are identifying problems, and solving them. anxiety feels that things they’ve said about him causing problems are right, and that he isn’t needed/is holding thomas back. but as mentioned, anxiety has been there since nearly the start, appearing just as often as anyone else. he’s been there throughout the developments the others have been making; as they all communicated, he was communicating too, and in fact contributed to the solutions of multiple problems. he’s been there all along as the family came together; he may feel like an outsider, but he’s as much a part of the group as anyone. morality’s card said family. the specific label was a product of sentiment[not inaccurate by any means though], but it was accurate in depicting them as a unit. they do work primarily as a unit from that point on.

now to address more recent events. deceit and the duke have made an appearance, the others[pros: accurate. cons: this is a word i want to use for other purposes, such as that one there], or ‘dark sides’[pros: distinctive. cons: reductive] have been confirmed to be a group. that said, they are only confirmed as a group, not a cohesive unit. who knows to what extent they communicate or operate as a team. there is still ambiguity, however, about whether they are more of a unit than the ‘light sides’[pros: distinctive. cons: exclusive] or famILY[pros: accurate. cons: unhelpfully inclusive, contains capital letters, sentiment-ridden] were before season one. no dark side we have encountered seems like the type to both have and act on the kind of sentimentality that attached morality to his family, but there is much greater evidence of them interacting offscreen before.  yet that evidence shows no signs of particularly positive interactions. anxiety and deceit evidently know each other, but there's little evidence of what their past was actually like, and their interactions now are frigid, to say the least. deceit and the duke had a conversation about transparency, which was heavily paraphrased[i have to assume so at least] and occurred after deceit revealed himself in the first place. that seemed like less of a group decision and more an idea deceit had. furthermore, that idea seemed to be in response to events and actions on the part of the light sides. so who can say if the dark sides ever worked together. but it’s hard to imagine they’d have done so more than the light sides had been.

to be clear, my emphasizing morality as the one who declared them a family out of sentiment should not be read as disagreement with him saying so; i do not seriously believe anyone included in that family disagrees. he is the one who said it first, acted on it first, and initiated more of the social bonding. and referring to sentimentality as a factor should not be read as negative. that’s just what these are being attributed to. it’s a trait he has in spades, more than any other side, that contributes to his decision-making.

i know i said i was going to talk about self-love later, but that’s gonna be another time. besides, i have raw data to collect on that first.

i feel like i write more about the older episodes because they’re easier to parse, and i don’t know why. maybe it’s that they don’t have as many instances of people keeping their goals close to the chest. or it could be that they’re less of a time investment to rewatch. maybe the characters talking more like characters than people makes them speak less straightforwardly. maybe the fact that new episodes are caused by ‘real’[to character thomas] events and less about unprompted introspection is leaving some things to the imagination. maybe they’re trying to leave more to the imagination now! to be fair, imagining is fun. but insight lets me do things like this.

i did a whole separate section on virgil. to be fair, he could use the validation. he’s 100% a part of this family. plus, i’m not opposed to writing about other characters i love to the same extent. 8)

if you have thoughts about this, let me know! if you have questions, be assured i will be more upset if you don’t ask them than if you do.

[evakuality]

This one’s a double episode, mostly because our lovely boys don’t turn up too much in them.  To read the Isak and Matteo version of this series, start with this post, and to read the earlier Even and David ones, start with this one.

So.  Episodes six and seven.  Difficult ones for an analysis of these boys for a number of reasons.  Episode six and seven are obviously mostly wildernesses for us and Even and David.  They are, for the most part, absent from the screen because these episodes are very much focused on Isak and Matteo and their necessary development alone.  Of course, that leaves us in a bit of a bind here.  Neither of these characters will have been static, obviously, during this time but we have little to go on in terms of what they were doing and feeling.

David’s only ‘appearance’ in episode six is the drawing he left for Matteo.  He must have delivered it by hand since it’s totally open when Matteo receives it, so he ran some sort of risk of running into Matteo when he did that.  So some part of him must want to reconnect in person and not just in this weird message.  And it is weird.  ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ ‘maybe in eternity’ and a vampire with a toastie.  There’s a longing there, with the toastie, to want to have what Matteo had openly suggested earlier: cheese toasts again together sometime, and yet the words themselves are pushing him away.  It’s a resigned sort of thing, a need to explain himself at least minimally but still desiring to keep Matteo at arm’s length.  And I mean, this makes sense.  He still has this huge secret that he’s not willing to share with Matteo yet because he’s worried he’ll face a repeat of everything that happened before, only worse.  Because this time, it’s Matteo and he’s someone David feels a real connection to and will be more devastated if he reacts that way.  It’s interesting to wonder what made him reach out like this, though.  There are some risks here for David if he really does want to keep Matteo away as a beautiful ‘might have been’ - the most significant being the possibility of meeting him when he dropped it off.  The other being Matteo’s proven tendency to not sit back when he could just go and talk something out.  David has no way to know how Matteo took his last text, not least because until this moment Matteo has been phone-less.  So he has no way of knowing if this will push Matteo into another attempt at coming to his home.  I can only assume that David, after the time apart, is starting to regret running away and is in the beginning stages of wanting to reconnect enough that he’s willing to tell Matteo about being trans, and willing to take the risk that he will have to face Matteo sometime.  After all, sometime between now (presumably it wasn’t done earlier) and the week later he has written down whatever it is he wanted to tell Matteo about it.  He’s starting slowly to make those preparations to come out.

Even is a little more present, from the opening scene through the awkward meeting in the cafeteria to the drawing he leaves in Isak’s pocket.  His feelings are pretty evident.  He’s observant enough to see how badly Isak is affected by ‘something’ and he can make a fairly shrewd guess at what that something is.  The first scene shows him watching Isak as he walks into the school.  The bravado must be obvious even without the music we get to hear.  Isak is focused, head straight, not looking to either side, and clearly just wants to get through this gauntlet of Emma and Even and to the relative safety of the school building.  Even watches him as his focus is so tight he doesn’t even see the guy walking up to him.  At this point, though, it’s not necessarily obvious to Even what the ‘problem’ is for Isak, and so he does nothing else.  It’s only when he meets Isak in the cafeteria and Isak can’t hold it together that Even really sees just how much strain he’s under.  He’s not stupid, he must know how the text he sent would make Isak feel, and so he’s expecting some sort of cooler response.  But he doesn’t know Isak saw him kissing Sonja, and so he doesn’t know how hard that whole thing hit him.  That meeting in the cafeteria lays Isak’s feeling out all over his face no matter how casual he tries to be.  Even’s feelings are also obvious on his face, but there’s not the same sort of stark anguish that Isak is feeling.  Even’s is quieter and more contained.  His pain is older, for a start (it came in the middle of the last episode, not in multiple blows towards the end like Isak’s), and he’s had Sonja as a support in whatever way that has been.  

What is clear is that he’s missing Isak and wants to reconnect (this is an interesting contrast to David who isn’t as forthright at this point), and is willing to make inroads into a conversation.  He’s the one who approaches Isak with ‘no cardamom?’ and the attempt at a new start just before Isak brushes past him.  It feels like this meeting is what pushes Even back into wanting to pursue Isak.  It’s obvious that Isak’s not going to do much talking in person, so Even turns to something that has worked before: the drawings.  He uses the toastie as a connecting point, both to the time when they shared some together and to the meeting in the cafeteria.  It’s a way to sound out Isak and find out what he wants and how he feels.  Of course, as soon as Isak replies to him, Even must have some small moment of panic and doesn’t answer the text.  While this is frustrating to Isak, and he reads it as Even being a ‘hot and cold’ player, it’s understandable.  Even was hurt by Isak’s words about mentally ill people, and worse he’s worried about how Isak will take it when he knows about Even.  So when Isak shows signs of wanting to connect again, Even pulls away because he’s going to have to address the elephant in the room at some point.  

Of course, as we can tell from the way the reunions happen in episode seven, Even makes a decision to come back to Isak and try to hide his illness from him while David recognises that if he is to reconnect with Matteo he’s going to have to come out.  Even, on reflection, comes up with a plan to hide his illness but David doesn’t have this luxury.  To be with Matteo means having to be open with him.  So, let’s look at how the episodes look for these two boys shall we?  Even first approaches Isak with the next drawing, the one that answers his neglected text.  Interestingly, he doesn’t only draw and entire phone twice, but he also very deliberately writes out ‘miss you’ by hand.  There’s no possibility for this to be a situation where you type something and send it by reflex without thinking and then regret it later.  No.  This specific admission to Isak had to have been done with purpose - he drew it, he walked to the locker with it and he put it in the locker.  There’s no regret here.  Of course, we still don’t have an Even who is willing to try face to face again.  He’s still holding a small distance.  David, by contrast, is still metaphorically running away in the piece he sends to Matteo.  But he’s also making strides in the whole business because this time he’s taking Matteo with him.  They’re both reaching out, but also not reaching out and for both of them it’s not working too well because both Isak and Matteo are not about to let that slide, at least not after they’ve had some coaching from their friends.

For Even, he has obviously been waiting for a message or something from Isak.  The fact that he texted back immediately, and then turns up to Isak’s home so fast, is testament to that.  As much as Isak’s boys are telling him that Even must be trying to just play with him, it’s obvious even now before we know why Even has been so hot and cold that he’s not chill about this at all either.  His extraness is hugely apparent in this scene even before he arrives; he’s making the big gestures again to try to win over his boy again.  It’s obvious that by this time he’s made his decision about what he wants and all he needs is for isak to pick up some of the messages he’s been sending.  Luckily for him, Isak has this group of friends and they talk him into doing exactly what Even needs to see in order to do this one next gesture to win his boy back.  

For David, he doesn’t even bother to ask if they can talk he just makes his way immediately to Matteo’s home.  Unlike Even, I don’t think this is a case of making a big gesture to win the boy.  This is a recognition of how seriously he’s taking Matteo’s words.  That if he doesn’t actually commit he’s about to lose Matteo forever.  Isak’s text (‘call me when you’ve broken up with your girlfriend’) puts a certain condition on the whole thing: Even has to break up before Isak will accept anything more from him.  But this condition comes after a whole lot of preamble.  The drawing was cool etc etc, so there’s more of a connection there.  Matteo sends ‘stop sending drawings if you don’t want to be with me’ - the tone is more uncompromising here.  There’s no ‘cute drawing’ or whatever, it’s straight and to the point (both Jonases would be proud).  While there’s still room for hope for David with the ‘if’ it’s very much an ultimatum.  Isak’s is like the opening of a negotiation: if you do this then we’ll talk and we’ll see where it will go.  Matteo’s is: unless you’re willing to go all-in then you have to stop contacting me.  Obviously the result is the same for both of them as both Even and David (who have both presumably been lurking dramatically around their crushes’ homes) turn up almost immediately to face the music.  For Even, this is a time to consolidate what he’s had with Isak and to do more work to hide his secret.  For David it’s a time to make that final decision.  It’s now or never and he has to come out or lose Matteo.  

Clearly, this results in two very different reunions.  Even and Isak don’t hesitate; they’ve said it all through the slow conversations with the drawings and the texts and so for them it’s more important to reconnect in this very physical way.  Conversation about anything else can come later; all that matters for Even in this moment is making sure they’re both on the same page again so he gives into the reckless passion of it all.  For David, he has to work himself up to what he needs to do.  He needs the embrace because he has a much more difficult job right now than Even does: there’s no giving in to passion for him because he still has a job to do, and it’s a very scary one.  This soft affection and the comfort they both clearly get from this hug is really important in terms of the task David has ahead of him.  I’m not even sure that he knows for sure what he wants to do at this point.  He’s still clearly conflicted in the shot at the end, and how hard it is for him is right there on his face.  What is really clear for both of these boys, though, is how much Isak and Matteo mean to them.  They’re both having to put something scary on the line in order to be with their chosen partner.  Each of them is having to stop running and try to move forward with someone else and that’s a really terrifying thing to have to do.  That Even chooses to deal with it by trying to hide it more, even while he’s not running away anymore, and David has to deal with by facing up to it is irrelevant.  They’re both here in this position because the thought of being without Isak or Matteo isn’t a thought they’re willing to bear.  They’ve both decided the other boy is worth the terror they’re having to face.

Episode eight can be found here