#it has so much potential. and also like. (waves hands wildly in her direction) LOOK AT IT

[maxthesillyy]

im so ill about her (max’s trauma)

[chockfullofsecrets]

"If I'm not careful I'm gonna end up writing content for a character who literally never appears in 141 episodes"

I mean, you are more than welcome to. In fact, we will gratefully encourage this.

you encourage chock? you encourage chock like the author? oh! oh! tk fic for anon! tk fic for anon for Two Thousand Words!

(also, heads up that i am moving next week! have been working on Importance of Timing when i can, but the first chapter probably won't be here for another two weeks at least.)

---

Verin Thelyss, Essek knows, is a seasoned battle commander and strategist.

He’s also in possession of the instinct to tackle people when he’s excited, so Essek is well aware that it’s only those decades of training and experience that have his little brother pausing for the briefest instant as Caleb and Jester teleport him into the hold of the Nein Heroez before he launches himself at Essek in a dead run.

Veth and Caduceus are at their respective homes, Kingsley watching over the ship, but he is far from alone - Yasha and Fjord each have a supportive hand on his shoulder, a silent assurance from the tense minutes waiting for their friends to return from Bazzoxan. They swear in unison and scramble for their weapons as Verin screeches to a halt just shy of shunting Essek straight though the hull and yanks him into a rib-crushing hug.

He burrows into the junction of Essek’s neck and shoulder, made possible only by virtue of the activated floating spell that puts the coiffed swoop of his hair a full inch above Verin’s. “Thank the fucking Light, you’re not actually dead.”

“What the fuck, he’s like a swearing puppy,” Beau hisses. There’s a soft thwap as Fjord gently smacks her across the back of the head.

Essek is feeling out the edges of friendly intimacy, still, stumbling through every brush of fingers and shared look of exasperation, but even he does not need Jester’s frantic gesturing to prompt him to lift his arms and awkwardly wrap them around Verin’s shoulders.

It’s like wrapping a single thread of silk around one of Yasha’s biceps. Clearly he is not built for comforting.

Verin stiffens with a single sharp twitch of his ear against Essek’s collarbone . Essek’s thoughts flail wildly between an expectation of tears or a dagger to his ribs, but his brother just laughs, loud and hearty, and snuggles even further into his personal space. “I see someone’s finally taught you how to hug back - you should have written and told me, this is better news than any number of pages on den politics.”

Essek bristles. “Careful, or I will stop,” he huffs, somewhat more waspishly than he intends to.

Luckily, Verin has proven immune to his moods. “Oh, please don’t,” he insists, voice still crackling with glee. He grins, warm and wide enough that Essek can feel it against the side of his neck. “It just makes doing this that much easier.”

“Doing what,” Essek says reflexively, even as the tiny portion of his brain that he allows to remember his childhood starts to blare an alarm. “Verin-”

It’s far too late to realize that Verin’s hands have somehow been maliciously positioned just along the backs of his ribs.

Jester, standing with Caleb behind Verin, perks up in clear interest as the corners of his mouth start to twitch up. On second thought, Essek thinks he’d have preferred the dagger.

“Verin,” he hisses again, fighting back the anticipatory shiver crawling up his back. “Don’t - don’t you dare-”

It’s about then that Verin’s evil, evil fingers find the edges of his mantle’s arm slits and squeeze him even closer as they stretch to wriggle under his arms.

He snatches his arms back, but it’s too late - a dismayed giggle sneaks from his throat, then another, and then he’s beating helplessly at Verin’s shoulders as he dissolves into high, squeaking laughter.

Every single nerve between his armpits and his ribs squirms in unison - a bubbly, slippery sensation even more potent for how long it’s been since he last felt it. “No,” he shrieks. “I - ahaha! eeheee! - no tickling, no tickling, Verin-”

Jester looks thrilled - she’s bouncing on her toes, babbling something to Caleb that’s inaudible over the rush of his own laughter. Light, the Nein are going to tear him apart for this-

“Yes, tickling,” Verin protests, laughing right along with him. “All the tickling! You let me think you were dead! For months! I thought I was never going to get to watch my poor brother giggle himself to pieces ever again!”

He’s not, because Essek is going to kill him. “That - nahaha, hff, ahaaa! - that was - ha - it’s been decades - stop, stop, there’s people!”

“Yeah, people,” Beau says, loud and smug and far too close behind him. “Hey - Verin, was it? - does hotboi here have a worst spot?”

Oh no. Oh no. Essek squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to focus and does the only thing he can while laughing like an idiot.

With a shaky flick of his wrist, his floating dispels. Verin yelps in surprise as gravity takes Essek straight out of his grip.

The instant his boots hit the deck, Essek twists the rest of the way out of his grip and bolts.

There’s nowhere to go, really - the Nein have a room full of Counterspells, and Verin can run faster than he can, and he’s already tumbling halfway back into laughter in giddy anticipation of being caught. Still, it’s a surprise when he stumbles into a brick wall of leather and biceps that resolves itself into Yasha as she hoists him back into the air.

“Oh, where do you think you’re going?” She sounds admirably innocent given the soft, teasing smile she gives him.

“Noooo,” Essek giggles. Heat gathers in his cheeks as he tries to make himself stop - it doesn’t make sense, he’s not even being tickled anymore, but even the potential for it flutters light and fizzy at the bottom of his lungs. “I - I’m not ticklish anymore, I’m not-”

The Nein and Verin cluster around the two of them, bubbling with various levels of amusement. “Really?” Beau drawls. “It’s cute that you think denying it has a single fucking chance of working.”

The sarcasm helps him center himself, if only a little - he buries his face in Yasha’s arm and sucks in a deep breath that doesn’t do nearly enough to get rid of his blush.

He straightens as best he can while being bear hugged by a barbarian. “I am denying nothing,” he says carefully. Jester is still bouncing next to Beau, fingertips already twitching where they’re curled sweetly on her cheeks around a mischievous beaming smile, and Essek has to look away before the nervous snickers still wobbling on the back of his tongue can worm their way free. “I am well aware that Verin is - incorrigible-”

He hisses the last word in his brother’s direction - again, harsher than he intends, but he is so unused to being soft around him - and fails to contain a shy smile as Verin sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

Jester’s tail waves its way into the edge of his peripheral vision. He jumps and looks over at Fjord instead. “-but I, ah, I would ask for more respect from the rest of you-”

“You really shouldn’t,” Fjord says, grinning boyishly back at him. “I mean, you know us.”

And then, to Fjord’s right - “Essek?”

He’s been avoiding looking at Caleb. It is foolish, perhaps, to think that after all of the incredibly stupid things he knows Essek has done he will decide to judge him for this, but he cannot help the way his shoulders stiffen as he twists a little further to meet the gaze of the last link in their semicircle. “Yes?”

Caleb looks - focused, in an offhanded way, like he’s intent on something happening just slightly out of their current reality. Stunned might be a better word for it. He blinks for a moment before focusing those keen blue eyes somewhere near Essek’s eyebrows. “Ah - did you know that when you laugh, your ears -” He puts his hands up to his own ears and flaps them a little.

Drow do not run particularly warm, but that only makes it easier for Essek to feel the heat absolutely flood back into his face. “I-” he stammers. Nearly a century of politics is nowhere near enough to help him keep a straight face. “I - ah - eeh!-”

Caleb is close enough to reach out and run a questing fingertip over Essek’s left ear - it flicks wildly, trying to dislodge the unexpected tickle, but a surprised squeak still slips out.

There’s a moment of silence before Verin starts to snicker. “Oh, I like your friends,” he says merrily, beaming. “Go on, Light knows he doesn’t let himself laugh enough otherwise.”

“Don’t,” Essek gets out hastily, but Caleb is already reaching out for another go and Yasha’s grip is firm enough that all he can do is squeak again. “Wait - hm, hnn!”

Beau sidles up to Yasha’s side and gives him a self satisfied leer as she reaches out across their little group to pluck the feather from Fjord’s tricorn. “You got him, babe?”

“I do,” Yasha confirms and lets out a little squeak of her own as Beau reaches around her, no doubt squeezing something entirely inappropriate with company present.

“Hot,” Beau smirks, and reaches to flutter the feather over Essek’s right ear. “Aw, does that tickle? Thought you said you weren’t ticklish, man.”

Essek maintains some facsimile of composure for all of two seconds before his face crumples “Nnn - hehehe - eheehe - oh!”

His lungs are surely going to burst, with the way they’re shivering out desperate giggles as he shakes his head frantically between Caleb’s fingers and the teasing feather. He can’t move his arms, so he kicks his legs instead. “Please,” he begs, nearly incomprehensible even to his own ears. “Ah - aha, heeheehee! - tickles-”

Verin leans down and scoops his ankles up with one ridiculously sculpted arm. “Essek, you’re going to put a hole in someone with those boots.”

He looks up, raising his eyebrows teasingly, and Essek’s stomach drops like he’s cast something on it. “Here, I’ll fix that.”

Essek’s eyes, narrowed with laughter, shoot wide open. He doesn’t remember Verin being this evil - but then again, his brother’s never been egged on by five other people determined to render reports of his death more realistic.

“Verin, Verin, no-” he tries, but he’s giggling so hard that he can’t even get the words out. He twists as far away from Caleb and Beau as he can, flailing frantically, but Verin’s grip holds firm.

He pouts dramatically. “What? Is it my fault that my tiny, ticklish wizard brother insists on wearing metal-tipped boots that endanger everyone?”

Essek opens his mouth to reply and promptly dissolves into another frantic peal of laughter as Beau gets bored of his ears and shoves her feather in Caleb’s direction before jabbing a finger between his trapped arm and his chest to get at his armpit. “Your - shihihit, shit, ahahaaa, not there! - your arcanist brother is going to kill you just as soon as I can- hahaha!”

Verin just laughs, unlacing one of his boots and starting to slide it off. “Is that your attempt to convince me not to tickle your feet?”

Jester, practically vibrating, emits a sound that perhaps only weasels can hear. “Oh, that’s so cute! Can I have one of them?”

“One of his feet? Sure.” Verin hands over an ankle, grinning down at Jester. “You, I think you’re my favorite.”

As Essek gasps and struggles and falls further and further into a formless mirth that makes him feel so light he can hardly bear it, there’s a different sensation at his ear. A hazy portion of his brain identifies it as the rough bristle of chin scruff and an amused huff of breath.

“You don’t really want them to stop, do you,” Caleb murmurs. “I will help you, if you do.”

It’s quite unfair, Essek feels, to try and make him explain himself while he’s strung out and dizzy with laughter. He tries anyway, for a syllable or two, but Verin digs in between two of his toes and he ends up just tipping his cheek against Caleb’s and shaking, laughing too hard to make a single sound.

“Alright, then,” Caleb says. “In that case-”

He brandishes the feather with a flourish more suited to somatic casting, swooping it down the length of Essek’s nose before directing it back to his ear.

“Tickle, tickle...”

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part III (x reader)

Summary: Spencer has to face Anita and Sam— and learns a little about reader’s past. Reader and Spencer babysit for Michael and Henry. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, a tiny smidge of hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, drinking/alcohol, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen)

Word count: 4.2k

a/n: This picks up right after the end of the tmsidk epilogue! I also worked two requests in here.

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer stacked the last of the tiny chairs in the center of the room, stepping back and dusting his palms on his trousers. He looked over to see Y/N playing a sort of container tetris with the bins of supplies in her closet. He smiled a little to himself, his head still in the metaphorical clouds with her confession of love. 

She maneuvered the bins to her satisfaction and shut the closet doors, pushing against them to squeeze everything in until the latch clicked. She turned to see him watching her and wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. She gave him a wink and a grin, and he was falling all over again. 

She perched on the corner of her desk with a tired sigh, and he made his way across the room to her. She reached for him as soon as he was within arms length, wrapping her arms around his middle. She snuggled into his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go to dinner to celebrate.”

She laughed and looked up at him. “Celebrate what?”

He shrugged. “You. Summer.” He brought his arms around her shoulders. “Love.”

She smiled and scrunched her nose at him. “You just want me to say it again.”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

Her hands came to rest on his hips, her fingers squeezing lightly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he answered immediately and rather dreamily. 

“Yo, Y/L/N!” 

The call of her name from the hallway startled them both. Anita began to step over the threshold, continuing, “You ready to get absolutely crunk tonight or— oh.” She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes tracking Spencer’s frame. “Dr. Reid.”

Spencer stepped back from Y/N, smiling a little awkwardly at the formality and giving a wave. “Mrs. Lopez. It’s, um— it’s nice to see you again.”

Anita hummed noncommittally, and Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. She turned her attention back to Y/N. “So, are we going out or what?”

Y/N groaned. “Anita, I’m exhausted. Can we keep it low key? Oh!” Her eyes lit up with an idea, and Spencer could already see where this was going. “Spence and I were gonna get dinner to celebrate, um— summer. Call Sam; we’ll all just go together.”

Anita spared a glance in Spencer’s direction before sighing heavily. “Fine. But I’m drinking.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the hallway.

Y/N chuckled. “I swear she’s not actually an alcoholic.” Her eyes landed on Spencer’s face, and she smiled gently. “I know you weren’t expecting a Meet the Friends night, but it’ll be fun.”

“She hates me,” Spencer surmised.

“She does not hate you.” Y/N stood from the desk, pressed a reassuring peck to his lips. “She’s just… protective. That’s all.”

…

Y/N was entirely wrong. Anita Lopez hated him. That was the only explanation for her absolutely icy demeanor. 

They’d met up with her and Sam at a Mexican restaurant in Tenleytown. Sam was wonderfully kind and funny, even apologizing for having “flipped him the bird” the last time she saw him. And it was a good thing Sam was being friendly, because Anita was decidedly… less so. 

Spencer understood completely of course. He’d broken Y/N’s heart. Penelope had been ready to hunt her down at the mere thought of him being hurt. As Y/N’s best friend, Anita had every right to be wary of him. She had every right to hate him. He’d just... hoped that she wouldn’t. 

Thankfully, Y/N and Sam were more than happy to carry the conversation— he and Anita chiming in here and there. He learned that Sam worked as an attorney at a firm specializing in family law. She and Anita had two kids, Riley and Sidney— one in 2nd grade and the other in preschool. 

“Y/N is still Riley’s favorite teacher ever,” Sam told him. “I mean, it helps when she’s also your aunt, I guess.”

“He didn’t get any special treatment,” Y/N insisted. At Sam’s raised eyebrow, she laughed. “Okay, maybe a little special treatment. But you raised a good kid! And I can’t help it that he was the most trustworthy of the bunch.”

“Oh my god, the field trip,” Sam groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. 

“The field trip!” Y/N turned to Spencer. “My group of kiddos from two years ago— they were kind of a tough group.”

“Kind of?” Anita squeaked. “Let me just tell you, I can hear them through the floor. The entire middle school is literally dreading the day they make it upstairs.”

Sam piped in, “I chaperoned on said field trip to the zoo. And I vowed that I will never, ever go on another field trip. Ever.”

“What happened?” Spencer asked incredulously. 

“So many things,” Sam baited. 

Y/N covered her mouth to stifle a cackle, leaning a bit into Spencer’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile, looking around at the three women. Even Anita was chuckling, and she’d barely cracked a smile all evening. 

“Okay, so many things happened,” Y/N started, “but the worst was—”

“The poop!” Sam wheezed. “The poop was the worst part of that day. The smell alone, oh my god.”

Y/N composed herself as best she could, gesturing over the table. “So after this nightmare of a day, we get on the bus, and there’s this— smell.”

“The absolute worst smell you’ve ever smelled, Spencer,” Sam assured. 

“It’s awful. It’s so bad,” Y/N agreed. “And I’m literally going seat to seat, checking to make sure no one has shit themselves.”

“You could not pay me enough,” Anita chimed in. 

“And I get to the seat that is very clearly where the smell is coming from. And I can’t, like— hold my nose, right? I don’t want to embarrass him!” Y/N turned to Spencer with flushed cheeks. “So I ask, ‘Sweetheart, did you have a bathroom accident?’”

Spencer let out a nervous laugh. “Oh no.” 

“But oh, it wasn’t a bathroom accident,” Y/N clarified, waving her hand. “No, no— that would be too easy. This child had somehow managed to obtain copious amounts of poop from one of the zoo animals and packed it into his lunchbox to take home.”

Spencer could feel his jaw drop. “Oh my god.”

“So, he unzips his lunchbox and it’s just— overflowing with shit.” Y/N dropped her head into her hands, overcome with giggles. 

“And don’t forget the worst part: his mom was on the field trip!” Sam lamented, throwing her hands up. “I will never understand.”

Y/N lifted her head with an exasperated grin, and he wasn’t sure if it was the story or the fact that she loved him, but Spencer felt like he could float away into outer space. 

“I told you I had a lot of poop stories,” Y/N reminded him, drawing another round of laughs. As they composed themselves, the waiter came by their table to clear some of their plates and refill their water.

“God, I said we were keeping it low key, and then I drank half a pitcher,” Y/N complained, pushing back from the table. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” 

She gave Spencer a reassuring smile, and he tried not to panic as she stood and left him with Sam and Anita. And because the universe was toying with him, at that exact moment, Sam’s phone began to ring. She pulled it from her pocket with a sigh. 

“Shit— I’ve been waiting on this call all day.” She kissed Anita’s cheek and stood from the table. “So sorry; I’ll just be five minutes, I promise.”

With that, it was just the two of them, staring intently at their water glasses. Spencer was certain he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Anita broke the silence first. 

“You know what’s annoying?”

Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Considering that the issues one might classify as an annoyance vary for each individual person, there are over seven billion potential answers to that question.”

Anita tilted her head with an unimpressed purse of her lips. Spencer hedged, “And I understand now that it was probably rhetorical.”

“I actually kind of like you.” She leaned across the table with an irritated sigh. “I wanted to hate you, but I don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, um— I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re good for her. Smart, humble, kind. Enamored with her, as you should be,” she deadpanned. She dropped her chin into her hand. “Almost as hot as she is.”

He laughed a little at that. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped her hand back to the table. She still didn’t crack a smile, and her gaze bore into him. “I don’t know how much you know about Owen, and she’d probably kill me for saying anything. But he was a real piece of shit.”

This was not the direction he thought this conversation would take. He didn’t know anything about Owen; he’d tried not to think too much about anyone Y/N might have been with before him. 

“It didn’t start out that way.” She drew her brows together. “Well, I don’t know— maybe he was always an asshole, and he was just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “The point is, I didn’t know he was treating her like garbage until it was too late. He was already all…” She gestured wildly around her head. “In her head, telling her lies about herself, fucking her up, isolating her. For years he did that. And then it took her years to get him out of her head. To— unlearn all the lies. To build herself back up.” 

He could see her grinding her teeth, trying to calm down. He was intensely grateful to not be on the receiving end of Anita’s wrath. He was also immensely glad that Y/N had a friend like that. And his blood absolutely boiled at the thought of her ever feeling anything less than adored. 

“You’re a fed or whatever, so I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she continued, “but I would love nothing more than to put that fucker six feet under.” She ran her hand through her hair, and when she continued her voice was the quietest he’d ever heard it. “All that to say, I… I wasn’t there for her when Owen was destroying her from the inside out. And I will never let that happen again.” 

Anita locked eyes with him and her voice was resolved. “I like you, Spencer. And I want to keep it that way. So, just— don’t give me a reason not to.”

She didn’t drop her gaze, and he couldn’t quite think of the appropriate response. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His brain was still fixated on the idea that anyone had ever hurt the loveliest and kindest woman he’d ever met.

“Where’s Sam?” Spencer turned just as Y/N slid back into the chair beside him, a comforting hand coming to rest on his knee. 

“Some bullshit from the office that her idiot partner can’t handle.” Anita raised her eyebrows at Spencer, and he nodded minutely. She shifted her gaze back to Y/N with a grin. “Don’t worry. I didn’t scare him too much.”

…

“Easy.” Spencer steadied Y/N with a hand on her waist as they made the way up the stairs to his apartment. 

“Jesus, I’m so sorry. I just— really can’t drink like I used to.” She clutched a little at the railing, and he held his breath until they were at the top of the stairs. 

He slipped an arm back around her waist as they crossed to his apartment door, fumbling with his keys and fighting back a shiver as she snuggled close and ran her hand low over his tummy. 

“Can’t believe I’m tipsy from a couple margaritas.”

“To be fair, you had four,” he chuckled, turning the key and pushing open the door. 

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “But I used to be able to have a whole pitcher and be totally fine.”

“A pitcher?” Spencer laughed as he locked the door and turned to face her. “I can’t even have one without being completely incapacitated.”

She ran her hands up from his waistband, over his chest, and wrapped them around his neck. “Mmm, so you’re a lightweight.”

“Very much so,” he confirmed, bringing his hands to her hips. 

“Just one more sweet thing to love about you, sugar.” 

He couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face at the endearment, the way that North Carolina dripped syrupy and thick over every syllable. She pulled him down to meet her in a sweet kiss, quickly deepening it as he dug his fingers into the softness of her hips. Her hands wound into his hair, tugging lightly and holding him close. 

He broke away to rest his forehead against hers and catch his breath. She laced their fingers together and leaned on him while she kicked off her shoes. He toed his own off and then allowed her to lead him toward his bedroom. 

She sat him down on the edge of the bed and straddled his lap, bringing her hands up to tangle in his curls once again. 

Before she could lean in for another kiss, he murmured, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” she teased, ghosting her lips over his.

“Ha, ha.” Part of him wanted to bring up Owen, but she was so happy and warm and comfortable in this moment. He didn’t want to ruin this night of celebration. He didn’t want to ruin this day that had been so full of love. They had plenty of time to discuss Owen. 

He wrapped his arms around her middle. “You’ve met Penelope. I’ve met Anita. Now that the school year is over… we could tell Michael.”

She pulled back, and the smile she gave him could only be described as radiant, and he knew he made the right decision. “He’s gonna lose his mind.”

…

A week later, the pair of them were strolling up the sidewalk to the LaMontagne house. Will and JJ were long overdue for a date night, and Spencer had jumped at the opportunity for the two of them to babysit. When they reached the door, Spencer rang the bell and Y/N waited slightly behind him. 

They could hear the joy from behind the door before it even opened, Michael’s high pitched giggle and Will’s booming laugh. Spencer was already leaning down in preparation, and Michael absolutely launched into his arms as soon as the door swung open. Spencer clocked the moment that Michael spotted her, purely because he practically squealed and squirmed right out of Spencer’s grip. 

“I knew it!” Michael cried. 

He wrapped himself around Y/N’s legs and squeezed tightly, and she rubbed a hand over his hair with a bewildered smile. Michael broke away to turn back to Will with a grin. “I told you.”

“You did, buddy.” Will gave Spencer a lopsided smile as Michael tugged Y/N forward by the hand. “Michael had an… inklin’ that uncle Spencer might be friends with Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Not friends, Daddy,” Michael said exasperatedly. “He’s her boyfriend.”

“Oh, excuse me, sorry.” Will held his hands up in apology as he stepped aside to let them all in the door. “Michael had a feelin’ that uncle Spencer might be Ms. Y/L/N’s boyfriend.”

Y/N’s cheeks had turned a very pretty shade of pink. “What— um, what made you think that?” 

Michael waited patiently for her to take off her shoes. “Well firstly, he started picking me up all the time, which was nice but weird. And then he wouldn’t stop asking about you. It was kind of annoying.” Spencer made a choking sound, and Will stifled a laugh. 

“You guys wear the same shoes, and you both love Halloween and tea and reading. I knew you’d like him if he could be a guest reader.” As he led her into the living room, Michael continued, “Oh, and you wore his purple scarf. He doesn’t let anyone wear the purple scarf.”

Spencer vividly remembered that morning— she’d slept over after a midweek date night in April. The temperatures in DC had plummeted overnight, and the outfit she’d brought left her woefully under-dressed for the chilly spring day. He’d wrapped her up in the soft, purple scarf without a second thought. 

She caught his eye with a shrug, and Will tried not to look too smug. Spencer watched her be dragged further into the house, turning to Will with a sheepish smile.

“Well, guess I can’t take all the credit,” Will decided. “Who knew we had a mini matchmaker this whole time?”

Spencer huffed out a laugh as Michael pulled Y/N into the playroom. “This is the best,” Michael sighed. “Now we can play restaurant forever.”

…

Spencer pulled his legs up in the tiny chair, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a moment to watch the scene in front of him unfold. Usually on nights like this, Michael ran him ragged with demands for magic tricks, story time, and playing pretend. Tonight, he’d actually been able to catch up with middle school (middle school!) Henry, because Michael was totally and completely enthralled by Y/N. 

She was helping with the last of the setup for the “restaurant,” organizing Michael’s menus and straightening his clip-on tie. Of course he’d seen her with kids before. But something about being in this playroom— one that he’d spent so many hours in, watching two of his favorite kids grow up— had him feeling warm from head to toe. 

Henry had bounded down the stairs at the news that uncle Spencer was dating his former kindergarten teacher. He hadn’t realized that she’d taught Henry, too, although with the timeline of her teaching career he should have put two and two together. The generally reserved middle schooler had positively beamed when she gasped out, “Gosh, I always forget how tall you’ve gotten!”

And now three of his absolute favorite humans were in one room, and he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Hen!” Michael called. 

Henry turned from his spot in the chair across from Spencer. “What?”

“You’re the chef,” Michael informed him. 

Y/N tilted her head. “I thought I was the chef?”

“No, no, no.” Michael pushed her toward the kid-sized table. “You and uncle Spencer are on a fancy date.”

Henry rolled his eyes playfully and stood from the chair, pulling it out for her like a perfect gentleman. She beamed at him and gave him a wink. “Thank you, sir.”

She dropped lightly into the chair across from Spencer and laughed a little at his folded limbs. “You look very comfortable.” 

He laughed and stretched his legs out straight. “The picture of comfort, really. These chairs were clearly designed with six foot men in mind.”

“I’m sorry I’m so under-dressed for our fancy dinner date,” she teased, dropping her chin into her hand. 

“You look stunning, as always.” He gestured to the messy braid Michael had folded her hair into. “I especially love what you’re doing with your hair.”

She sucked in a dramatic breath, bringing up her hand to pat lightly at her hair. “You’re making me blush, doctor.” She peeked behind her and then lowered her voice. “I’m probably going to cry when I try to brush the rats out.” 

He looked at her sympathetically. “I know the feeling. I think I’ve got a wide tooth comb, and I can help. I’ve gotten pretty good at detangling Michael’s handiwork.”

Before she could respond, Michael made his way to the table, holding a dish towel over his arm. “Good evening, sir, madam.” 

“Good evening,” they chorused, with barely suppressed grins. 

“Compliments of the chef.” Michael held out his hand to reveal two slightly smushed strawberries.

“Oh, wow,” Y/N said, eyes wide and gesturing to Spencer. “Honey, do you want to—”

Spencer waved his hand, eyeing the berries warily. “No, no, please, help yourself.”

Y/N held back a smile and accepted the strawberries, holding them carefully in her hand and turning her attention back to Michael. “Thank you so much. What a wonderful appetizer. Could we hear the specials?”

That helped Michael remember the menus, and he pulled them from his pocket and cleared his throat. He handed them the construction paper menus. “Our specials tonight are roasted octopus and a steak tartar.”

From the kitchen, Henry mumbled, “Tartare.” 

“Tartare. Steak tartare is our special,” Michael corrected. 

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’m that adventurous. Maybe my boyfriend is though,” Y/N told a grinning Michael. “What do you recommend for a picky eater?”

“My favorite is the chicken nuggets.”

“Well then, sign me up. One order of chicken nuggets.” Y/N handed him the menu. 

Spencer was still perusing the menu for Le Chateau LaMontagne. He smiled at Michael’s handwriting, but particularly at the places where he could tell Y/N had helped. “Everything looks delicious,” he finally decided, “but, you know... I think I’m also going to have the nuggets.”

…

When the boys were finally in bed, Spencer and Y/N settled down in the living room to untangle the mess of her hair. She sat on the floor in between his legs as he gently pulled each braid strand free. He smiled at the way she arched up into his touch, shivering when his fingers brushed over her neck. 

“You’re lucky,” he remarked, laying the last braid strand back into its original place. “Michael seems to have gotten a little better at braiding.”

She leaned her head back into his hands. “You detangled the whole thing?”

“Mmhm.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. She brought her hands up to hold him against her, trying to deepen the kiss before laughing at the awkward angle and giving up. 

He sat up as she stood and moved to the couch, snuggling up close to him and tucking herself under his arm. “I’m very lucky,” she agreed. “For many reasons.”

Her hand drifted to rest on his tummy, her fingers immediately tracing little shapes over the fabric of his shirt. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “And tired, too.”

“Hmm?” 

He leaned his cheek against her head. “When you get tired, you, um— you start drawing on my stomach.” 

Her finger paused. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” She shifted to raise her head to look at him, and he shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve just— noticed.”

She smiled a little sleepily. “You know I love all of you. But I— well, I don’t know, really. I just like your tummy.” She gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s just— nice and comfy and perfect for resting on.” 

He covered her hand with his own and leaned forward to press their mouths together. She drew his bottom lip in between her own, sucking a little and then giving it a quick peck before pulling back and stifling a yawn into his chest. “Man, I am tired.” She snuggled back into him and resumed her tummy tracing. “What, um— what else have you noticed?”

He rubbed his hand down her arm and pulled her impossibly closer. “You like to play with my hair.”

“Mmmm, guilty as charged.”

He smiled at the sleep creeping into her voice. “I like it, too.” He ran his fingers up to her shoulder, and then back down to the crook of her arm, soothing her closer to sleep. “Hmmmm. You always have at least one point of contact on my body at all times. It’s usually your hands, but sometimes it’s your head or even your toes— like when you tuck them under my leg.”

“Ugh— I’m sorry. Clingy and putting my feet on you,” she mumbled.

She might have been joking, but Anita’s words were replaying in his head. He couldn’t change what had happened in the past. He couldn’t go back and prevent her from being hurt by someone else. But he could be different in every way. He could be open and honest and vulnerable with her like he’d promised. 

“I’m not sorry. I love all of you,” he murmured, pulling her in closer and repeating her words back to her. 

“Even my feet?” 

He could also show her that there was absolutely nothing that he didn’t love about her. “Especially your feet.”

She huffed a sigh into his chest. “Y’got a foot thing I don’t know about?”

He laughed a little at that. “Only for yours. They’re very cute feet.”

“You’re weird,” she muttered, but she hugged him tighter when she said it.

“You love it.”

Her fingers on his tummy had come to rest comfortably just above his waistband, and he knew she was on the very edge of sleep. “Mmhm. Love you.”

He thought of all the little moments over the past few months.

Doesn’t live up to expectations? Sorry for overstepping. Are we dating? Sorry for being clingy. Sorry for taking so long to tell you. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I love you, too,” he murmured. “So much.”

———

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[enchantedblackrose]

Flesh Wounds & Somedays

Flesh Wounds & Somedays

Jay Halstead/Reader

¡!Warnings: Infant abduction/kidnapping. SIDS. Violence against women. Swearing. Fluffy ending.

Still unedited, hoping to have the nice version up soon. Sorry in advance! Happy New Year's Eve, everyone! Please be safe ❤

Upon exiting the very stereotypical "mom van" you're greeted with harsh Chicago air stinging your face and it instantly makes your eyes water. You hastily blink back the tears though it's fruitless. Instead you pull the knit hat you're wearing further down your head and pull your scarf tighter. You keep the door open, huddling near the inside of the vehicle. Anything to stay warm. You scan the parking lot for any sign of your suspect. Anxiety starts setting in. It doesn't matter how long you've been doing this. The moments leading up to a confrontation always send your stomach plummeting 

"Easy now," Jay, sporting the store employee smock, whispers as he rolls a grocery cart by, indicating to your foot mindlessly tapping against the cement. Immediately you stop. You give him a small smile. He winks in response. You pretend to dig around in your purse, anything to give the impression you're distracted when in reality all your senses are in overdrive. 

Voight's voice barks your last name through your strategically placed com. "Suspect approaching from the east. You know what to do. Everyone else, stand down for now! We don't wanna spook him."

You open the back passenger door before closing the driver's. Your fingers work quickly at unfastening the baby from the seat. You then drape a blanket over the baby for protection against the cruel elements.

It's subtle, but you cannot ignore the feeling you're being watched. The reality is you are. Your whole team is looking out for you. But this is something different entirely, something sinister. You suppress a shudder. Securing the blanket once more, you hoist the baby from the carseat and hold the infant against your chest. With a push of a button, the passenger door slides shut. You fiddle with the keys, making sure the van locks before tossing them in your purse. 

You coo at the little bundle snuggled against your chest. Your steps deliberately appear hurried.

And that's when he emerges from a dark blue conversion van parked one whole row over. You spot him out of the corner of your eye and he is unmistakably walking towards you. But you stick to the plan. Your pace slows just barely, not wanting your target to sense the change. You also don't want to actually reach the store entrance and potentially bring harm to the public even with Al and Ruzek inside.

He suddenly appears in front of you, eyes frantically dart around before resting on you. He's disheveled. clothes are wrinkled and slightly stained. His greasy, unwashed black hair is plastered to his head. He smiles which unnerves you. But you return it anyway. His grin disappears. "Give me that baby. And you won't get hurt...much" He removes his right hand from his coat pocket and you notice the blade he's gripping. That's new, you think to yourself. He's growing desperate. Still, you have to get him to attempt an attack or abduction.

"No!" You pull the baby impossibly closer to you. "Leave or I'm gonna yell for help." The threat is feeble on purpose but still seems to evoke rage inside the man.

He lunges at you. His body weight sends you stumbling but you remain on your feet. He wildly pulls at your arms and at the baby, trying to break your grasp. He swings his left arm and his fist perfectly catches your eye.

"Son of a bitch!" You cry. Your foot slams onto one of his and you use that moment to headbutt him square on his chin. He lets out a primal scream before sticking the blade into your upper thigh and you can't help but yelp in pain. He tugs the baby out of your arms. The blanket drops to the ground.

You watch the changing expressions dance across his ugly face: anger, elation at his success, confusion.

"What the hell?"

It's the opening you need. Your weapon is drawn on him. "That's right, you stupid son of a bitch. The baby's fake. Chicago PD! Get down, face down."

Still in his stupor, he obeys. You kick the blade away just as Antonio and Jay come running from opposite directions. Antonio searches and mirandizes him. You return your gun to its inside waistband holster.

As your adrenaline begins to slow, you feel exactly how much pain you're in. It's evident that your eye has started to swell and there's a throbbing sensation in your thigh. You stagger a bit, but a pair of strong arms steady you. 

He sighs and you look at Jay. "Don't start," you warn. 

"I should have been there. I ended up carrying groceries for this old lady..."  Guilt is written all of his handsome features.

"Did she tip you?" You joke, but he stares at you. "Stop. We knew this might happen. He had to attack me." The rest of the team appears and Jay drops his voice to a whisper.

"Yeah, attack like come at you, not actually harm you." He looks as if he's about to argue more when the sound of tires squealing interrupts.

You flash concern. "He wasn't alone." Your eyes meet those of your colleagues.

Voight breaks the silence. "Antonio, get that piece of garbage out of here.Halstead, get her to Med. The rest of you let's head back." You open your mouth to protest, but Hank won't even let you get a word in. "That leg's gonna need stitches. Now go." He stares at you until you move. Jay lends his support as you gently lean into him. It's not as needed as it is comforting. 

//

You were seen and stitched in no time; the wound to your thigh was mostly superficial. Your swollen eye, which was now bruising, was being iced. You would have left Med sooner if your weirdly overcautious boyfriend hadn't insisted that his own brother see you before checking out. It took Will saying it, but Jay finally seemed to accept you were, in fact, fine.

You want in that interview room more than you've wanted anything in a long time.

"Absolutely not," Voight answers when you ask. "This guy doesn't respect women. I don't need you going in there so he can admire his handiwork." He waves a hand indicating to your black eye you're still icing. Hank returns to the observation window to watch Antonio and Atwater interrogate a very non talkative perp.

You remain in the bullpen with Adam, Jay, Mouse and Alvin to stare at that damn board some more.

Alvin recaps; all of you hoping to discover something, anything at all, that could help solve the case. 

"Here's what we know. 2 or more suspects working to abduct infants. 1 in custody. Greg Jones. Couple of parking tickets, nothing too serious. Attempted three abductions, not including today's, in broad daylight, over the course of two weeks. Only one was he successful, if you call it that, but the infant was later abandoned at Firehouse 51."

You interrupt. "That baby left at 51, was a boy, right?"

Al double checks before answering,  "Yeah."

"The other two attempts were on baby girls," Jay adds, possibly sensing where your mind is going.

You nod. "And today, I had a lavender blanket to cover the doll. One would probably assume it was for a baby girl. Just hold on a sec. Mouse," you holler over to him, knowing he'll pull up what you want faster than anyone. "Check hospital records and obituaries, plesse! Any infant deaths in the last month? Can you look into Jones' social media, too? Girlfriends and such." You've hardly finished the request and Mouse has the information for you. "How many of the babies that died were girls?"

"Two."

"Do you have the mothers' names? Any link to Jones?"

Mouse 's eyes scan the screen in front of him. "Tiffany Young...girlfriend of Jones according to Facebook, lost her baby girl last month."

You nearly hop up from your seat. "Text us her last known." You nod to Jay, asking without words if he's ready. Before you can walk away, Mouse calls your name.

"She was reported missing three days ago." 

The whole team exchanges uneasy glances.

//

In a bizarre turn of events, Tiffany Young had reported herself missing. Jones and Young had been working together to abduct a baby girl with a plan to then flee the state. You and the team discovered that Young was conspiring against Jones going as far as plotting his murder to take place after a successful kidnapping. He would look responsible for her disappearance and his death would appear as a suicide. At least in theory.

It wasn't the best thought out plan, but in these situations they seldom were.

"I still don't understand," said Adam. You were all gathered around a large table at Molly's trying to relax after a long day. Well not all, Antonio made arrangements to see his kids. Al had also rushed off. "Why plan to off Jones?"

"She blames him for their daughter dying." You say taking a sip of your drink. "I read the report, even though it was SIDS, he was the only one there at the time." Everyone is quiet for a moment, presumably lost in their own thoughts.  It takes Herrmann coming around, asking who wants another round for the conversation to resume. 

Thanks to the refills and a few well timed jokes, the mood of the night has drastically shifted to a much happier one. An hour or so goes by when Jay lightly squeezes your knee under the table. You understand the gesture, surprised that he's waited this long to signal his want to leave. Jay hadn't really wanted to go out in the first place. "I'm gonna head out," you tell the group standing  only when you've finished the last of your drink. There's a chorus of goodbyes. As you walk away, you hear Jay excuse himself to use the bathroom. You know he'll leave for your place afterwards. Neither of you know exactly why you keep the fact you're dating from your friends. Maybe the sneaking around is thrilling. Maybe it's just nice having something of your own. Regardless, it's the worst kept secret of the precinct, though no one has any proof and they ultimately leave you alone about it.

You've only changed into a tee shirt when a knock beckons you. You let Jay in. The door has just closed and he's ordered you to take your pants off.

"We need to work on your foreplay," you quip, but Jay's not laughing.

"I'm serious. I need to see again that you're okay."

You sigh, but shimmy out of your jeans. His genuine concern for you was slightly overwhelming in the best way, never having experienced anything like it before. Carefully, you pull back the adhesive bandage exposing your fresh flesh wound, still very bright pink and aggravated. 

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs. 

"It's not your fault," you say, trying to reassure him.

"I hate that you were hurting and I couldn't do anything." He pulls you for a tight embrace while mindful of your thigh. He's completely still for a moment, breathing you in and finding peace in your arms.

Suddenly, he picks you up off your feet. It catches you off guard and you giggle. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer. Instead he takes you to the bathroom and sets you on the counter near the sink. He starts rummaging through your medicine cabinet, pulling out gauze, bandages, and rubbing alcohol. He grabs a clean washcloth from the towel rack.

You raise one eyebrow in question. "I thought I had Detective Halstead, not Doctor."

"Tonight you have both." You bit down on your lip to keep from laughing, but the misconstruction of his words hit him. "That came out wrong. That's not at all what I meant." Laughter escapes from you and Jay joins in, shaking his head and telling you to keep your mind out of the gutter.

"Mm, it's difficult when you're around." You give him a quick peck on the lips.

He turns the warm water on, letting it run for a minute. He tests it, making sure it's not too hot before soaking the wash cloth. He rings it out and looks you in the eyes. "I'm not sure this is going to feel all that great.'

You nod your understanding and Jay very gingerly begins to clean your wound. You talk to keep yourself distracted. "I can't stop thinking about the case. Clearly, they're competent for trial and I'm not justifying what they did, or tried to do. But I can't imagine losing a baby. Just the thought…" Your voice drops off. You wish you could leave work at work, and sometimes you can, but tonight when you're struggling to do so, you feel extra fortunate to have someone who truly understands.

Jay has almost finished cleaning your wound, allowing it time to breathe before covering it with a fresh bandage. "I know," he says. "I kept thinking about if that had been us and our baby, what would stop me from going crazy."

Your heart flutters a little faster, "Our baby?" It's the first time he's ever said anything like this.

He suddenly avoids eye contact with you. "Yeah? I mean someday...down the road if we are still...and that's something we...you want...maybe?" His cheeks are flushed and he glances at you, his green eyes full of hope.

"Jay Halstead," you offer him a big smile, "have you been thinking about our someday?" He nods, giving you a smile of his own. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close to you. One of his hands rests on the countertop, the other lovingly brushes your cheek before you nuzzle into the spot just below his neck. You plant a kiss there. "Tell me more about your plans."

"Well they definitely don't include you getting stabbed again," he pulls away just enough to cover your thigh with the new bandage. A slight pout plays at your lips having not gotten the answer you wanted. Jay, seeing this, chuckles. "C'mon." He lifts you off the counter, carrying to the bedroom. 

Gently, he places you onto the bed. You watch as he kicks off his shoes and strips down to his boxers. He catches you admiring his physique and shoots you a wink. But you pretend to still pout and cross you arms. It causes Jay to shake his head, bemused by you. 

Pulling the covers back, he slides into bed and brings you to his side. He kisses the top of your head, fingers tracing a nonsensical pattern along your arm. "I see lots for us, love. So many ways things could play out, but it's always with you at my side."

"Yeah?" 

"Oh yeah, definitely," and with that Jay launches into different versions of the future he's envisioned. Some are improbable, others imaginative, many seem possible, but all include you, just as he said.

[acciomalfoy]

BETROTHED (DRACO MALFOY X READER)

Summary: To avoid you being betrothed to an old man, Draco comes up with a plan.

—

"Dear Y/n, your mother and I have discussed your coming of age in great depth, and we have decided your betrothal has been delayed far too long. We will begin meeting with potential suitors immediately, as far too many eyes are watching us. We're looking forward to seeing you at Christmas. Best wishes, your Father."

I gasped as I crumpled the letter, shoving it deep into my pocket. How could they do this? I knew I shouldn't have opened anything from them in the Great Hall, but as the tears fell, I only just remembered why. I stood up quickly and walked as fast as I could out of the Hall. As soon as I was out, I broke off running, my loud sobs echoing in the castle. Paintings stared at me as I ran past, their disapproving eyes raking me over.

"How did that one get into Slytherin?" I heard one murmur, a snicker followed. I ran straight around one of the corners, and smacked right into someone.

"L/n?" Godric, why? Malfoy held my wrists in front of me, staring into my blotchy face.

"Let go of me." I sniffed, and tried to pull away. His grip only tightened, but his tone softened.

"L/n. What's wrong? Did someone say something to you?" His voice sounded concerned, but this was Draco Malfoy of all people. Did the boy even know what the word meant?

"M-My parents!" Tears rolled down and down my face. I didn't want to be married to a sixty year old man. I wanted to be free to love who I yearned to, like the Weasley's were.

"What about them? Are they okay?" When I lowered my head, he let go of one of my wrists to lift it.

"They're betrothing me!" I wiped my nose and another round of sobs overtook me. Of course, I knew a girl two years below me who was already married off, but for some reason I never thought it would happen to me. One of my friends was, but Tracy swore he was only twenty. A name like Engleberton doesn't sound like it belongs to a twenty year old.

"I'm sorry, L/n. You know, it does happen to pretty much every Slytherin. Who's it to?" And then we were hugging, in the middle of a corridor. I knew his problems were so much bigger than him, or me, but for some reason he was listening to me. He was caring about what I had to say.

"I don't know. They've only just begun the meetings. My life is over!" He patted my back, and I tried not to cry on him, I really did. But then my nose and my eyes were leaking, me being powerless to stop them.

"How would you feel about being betrothed to someone in Hogwarts." His head leant on mine, and I really didn't know what was happening.

"Pretty much every pureblood is inbred here. I think I'm the only one who isn't. If only Pansy's parents weren't cousins, maybe she wouldn't have that nose." He stepped back, and looked at me.

"I'm not." He murmured, and I almost had to lean forward to hear it. He wasn't inbred? Damn, could've fooled me.

"Listen, Malfoy. I appreciate it, I really do. I used to have a crush on you, back in third year. The thing is, you've changed. You're a slave, and the binding tattoo on your arm is the only thing stopping me from kissing you right now. I really wish we could have worked through it, but there is no way in hell that I will ever, ever have an allegiance to him. I would rather die." When I jerked my arm back, his fingers fell.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really am." I forgot about the reason he was being nice, and remembered I was probably going to be married to a sixty year old. I shed another tear, and walked away from the saviour. If he couldn't save himself, then he couldn't save me.

"Wait!" He shouted after me, and I turned around in surprise.

"What if I changed sides?" His eyes were wild, and mine widened. Was he..?

"Malfoy, you don't have to do that." I looked at him, the impulsive slytherin, and sighed.

"I do. If I want to have you, then I have to. You said so. I'll go owl mother and, well, I'll see." With that, he turned around and walked away, in a similar way to I had. Except he wasn't crying, or even sniffling. He was being a saviour, and he was trying.

When I turned in the opposite direction, I realised what it meant. He was really trying to protect me. I had always assumed Pansy and Malfoy would end up married with little blonde pug babies. I had never seemed to catch his eye, except now, when it mattered most. I reached into my pocket to pull out the crumpled letter, and reread it. Godric, I hoped Draco would help me.

A week had passed when Pansy came barrelling into the Great Hall, a newspaper clutched in her hand. She was waving it about, and I couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Engaged! Can you believe it?" She shrieked as she passed some students. When her eyes caught mine, she raced over.

"When were you going to tell me? Salazar, Y/n! You know I like him! We were always meant to be together. Fuck, this really stings. You're my best friend, how could you do this?" Her eyes started watering, and I snatched the newspaper out of her hand.

"The Malfoys and L/n's exciting news? What the fuck?" I skimmed the front page, and I felt bile rising in my throat.

"Oh my Godric, I'm-I'm going to be sick!" I looked around desperately, but I couldn't see a single thing nearby that I could throw up in.

"L/n!" Malfoy was yelling at me, and as soon as I saw him I couldn't help it. My vomit flew all over him, and I stared at him.

"How could you? You evil bastard!" I shouted at him before shouldering him as I ran past. Fucking cow! How on earth could he do this? Deep down, I already knew what I was going to do. If my betrothed was a death eater, then I would have to talk to Harry. Harry Potter could help me, he would have to help me.

I knew where the Gryffindor common room was, thanks to being study partners with Hermione. Smartest girl I've ever known. I ran up the stairs, swallowing the taste of vomit in my throat. I cast a quick spell, and the scent vanished, as well as my uniform being cleaned up. I knocked desperately on the portrait, and a first year opened it.

"I need Harry." If Harry came, then I knew the other two would. Sure enough, Harry was in the middle, the other two flanking him.

"Y/n! I heard the news! Are you okay?" He was hugging me, and I was reminded of how sweet he was.

"No, I'm not. Malfoy's a death eater, I'm sure you already suspected it. I told him last week I wasn't getting married to him if he was on that side, and he said he would change sides. He hasn't, and I haven't heard anything to show that he is. I need your help to put him on the right path, or I'm going to have to leave Hogwarts. Permanently. I'll be running away if I have to marry a death eater." I said it quickly, but the golden trio caught every word. Hermione's hand went to her mouth, but it was more in horror than surprise.

"We suspected, but we didn't know for sure." Hermione said, looking at me quite sadly.

"We have to go to Dumbledore. He can help us. Draco can join the order-" Harry began.

"No, Harry. For Malfoy to join the order, he has to be one hundred percent loyal. He has to go against everything he's been taught, and the very role he is destined to fill. He has to abandon his family, unless they are willing also. This is incredibly serious. We have to talk to him first." Hermione finished. Harry nodded slowly.

"I'll check the map." He turned around, and I watched his retreating figure as he went up the stairs.

"Thank you guys. You're seriously the best. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." Ron looked uncomfortable, but Hermione smiled back. They gestured for me to come inside, and the portrait closed behind me.

"It would be an incredible advantage to have the Malfoy's on our side. That's practically an unlimited funding, and with their high status they may be the deciding factor in whether other families join us. I only hope we can convince them." Hermione brushed a hair out of her face as Harry came thundering down the stairs.

"He's in Dumbledore's office!" Harry pointed at his name, and I stared. He was doing it. I didn't know why he was trying so hard to help me. I couldn't help but wonder if he had ulterior motives. Malfoy has hardly noticed me, I'm not sure he's uttered a word to me. And now? Now he's going to the ends of the earth for me. I didn't know what to think.

"He must really care for you." Hermione put a hand on my shoulder, and I nodded, swallowing thickly.

"I know it's horrible of me to wonder, but he hasn't shown any interest in me for the five and a half years that we've been at Hogwarts. Surely, if he was doing all this to help me, he would have?" I looked wildly at the three best friends, and they gazed back at me, almost pityingly.

"He has, Y/n. He really has." Ron said. I shook my head.

"He hasn't. He seriously hasn't." Ron laughed, but his heart wasn't in it.

"In first year, I called you Malfoy's girlfriend when he was picking on us. He screamed at me, and then he threatened to snap my wand if I said your name again." Ron looked almost spooked at the memory, and I rolled my eyes.

"That's him being protective of a fellow Slytherin, not him having a crush." Hermione raised her eyebrows, and I raised mine back.

"Fine. I caught him doodling your name and his, with hearts around them." Hermione looked smug, and I laughed.

"Probably drawing crosses through my name." They all sighed.

"D'you remember last time gryffindor versed slytherin? When Malfoy fell off his broom?" Godric, how could I forget? He had an empty look in his eyes, and it scared me.

"Yeah?" I didn't know how on earth they could relate this one to me.

"He was making fun of me, so I told him I had a crush on you. I said something like, after I ask Y/n to celebrate gryffindor winning, we'll see who's laughing. I think that's what I said. He went completely white, even paler than normal. Then a gust of wind came, and it was like he wanted to fall. He let the wind take him." Harry looked at me, and I knew, deep down, he was telling the truth. A knock at the portrait interrupted us. I moved aside, and Hermione opened it. She stared.

"Who is it? Oh, blimey." Ron took a peek, and he didn't like what he saw. I poked my head around to see Malfoy. His eyes caught mine, and I looked away to see his robes were no longer covered in vomit. Good for him.

"Y/n, please come talk to me." My first name sounded foreign on his tongue. I looked at my friends, and despite their hatred for Malfoy, they nodded. I stepped hesitantly, and the portrait closed behind me. He gestured for me to walk with him, so I did.

"I owled my mother last week, like I told you. She didn't reply, and when the newspaper was released this morning I found out, just like everyone else. I know you're not willing to be a slave to Him like the rest of my family, and I agree. I've been given a task by Him, and I don't intend on doing it. I talked to my mother in a firecall this morning, and they are moving into a location known only to them, and the secret keeper, much like Potter's parents. They'll be protected there, and I'm protected here. I'm trying to fix this, Y/n, I really am." It was a lot of information, and he took my hand as he was speaking. The Malfoy's were going into hiding. That alone was massive. Their assets must have been frozen and transferred, so He can't access the funding. I looked at him, and squeezed his hand.

"Thank you, Malfoy. It really does mean a lot. I have to ask you, why are you doing this?" We stopped walking, and he looked down.

"I've had a crush on you since first year, and I've wanted you for three." Godric knew what he meant by 'want'. I kissed him, right there in the middle of the hall, because his nose was dotted in faint freckles, and never before had someone been so determined to help me.

He kissed me back.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 124

Second half of the exhibition!  Mac’s performance here is based on an actual incident that occurred with one of the many actual cats that Mac is based on.

Trigger warnings for blood here.

Thanks go to @baelpenrose for his beta-reading and Arthur, @zommbiebro for Jokul, @books-and-cartoons for GK, @werewolf2578 for Michael and all the other characters you have added to this story, and @charlylimph-blog for her characters. <3 you both!

“Who is competing in the canine rounds?” Coffey asked, steering the topic smoothly. 

“Myself,” Grandma Kim gestured. “Michael and Sparkles, Derek and Machiavelli, for the service round. I believe there are a few more for the security round, but I don’t recall whom.”  From GK, that was basically saying they were so far beneath her notice that she refused to learn their names.

A chime sounded, indicating that the intermission had ended. Arthur, Coffey, and I made our way back into the stands, waving to Simon as he worked his way onto the sidelines. Ivan had initially come down ahead of me and Maverick, but was also packing the floor with the competitors for the upcoming events. As soon as we took our seats, Evania announced the next event - sure enough, it was the service and security animal exhibitions.

Rather than the participants stepping forward, Antoine took the floor after Evan. “Previously, these events were separated and considered the ‘canine’ events.  However, it has been brought to my attention, most ardently, that service and security animals are not limited to canines, even with the limited amount of animals we currently have on the Ark. As such, we are combining the service and security events, and this year there is a non-canine participant.  Due to the nature of the exhibition, I will be personally monitoring from the sidelines in case there is any need for interventions.  Also, as with in the past, please be assured that all participants in these events are volunteers and a med bay is on standby.”

Medbay is on standby? I wondered. I didn’t recall that before, but I also hadn’t paid more attention than was necessary to know how many jerky treats to give Lyric and Sparkles.

First up was our veteran, Lyric the First. The elder stateswoman of Ark companions may have hobbled onto the field, but she went through her paces as a service animal with tidy precision. On top of that, the second the ‘security’ portion started and someone brandished a weapon at GK, all concept of ‘elder’ went out the window and Lyric became 120lbs of teeth and fury, daring the faux-attacker to come within six feet of her charge.

I could feel Coffey shudder beside me, at the same time that I could see Arthur nod with approval.  I couldn’t lie - there was a part of me that remembered this same dog standing over me when Maverick first dropped by unexpectedly, and I was warmed to know that I had been so safe in that moment.

After the applause due such a respected member of the community, Lyric the First was taken off the field, and it was Lyric II’s turn to show how she lived up to the name.  Sure enough, she displayed the same precision in the service animal rounds, but it was clear that she knew this was for show in the security segment.  Rather than the degree of savagery her mother had shown, Lyric II was clearly a little confused by the fake-attack.  She still received her applause and treats, however, while GK was obviously considering how much more training was needed.

Michael and Sparkle were next, and their performance was on-par with Lyric the First. Rather than having Sparkle function as a service animal for Michael, Sam had volunteered. The moment loud noises started to upset Sam, Sparkle nudged him into a prone position and brought his ribbon over.  If someone tried to step to close, she calmly pushed them back. Due to her youth, Michael did step in for the security portion - Sparkle wasn’t trained to decide between security and support yet - and that was where she shined.  Without hesitation, she took a defensive stance at any aggression toward Michael, and really did Lyric the First proud.

And then, the fourth round happened. That was what set the crowd’s eyebrows on end, the round with non-stop chatter throughout.

On the contrary to the rounds with both Lyrics and Sparkle, there was no leash, there were no steps to walk through. Instead, the crowd saw Derek Okafor walk out, carrying a lavender blanket and pillow, with a solid mass of feline ink trailing behind him.  Rather than lead Mac through any actions, Derek set the pillow down, curled up on the floor, and covered himself with the blanket.  In an action I had witnessed on more occasions than I could count, Mac curled his impressive mass on the blanket, just outside of Derek’s elbow.  Directed audio amplified Mac’s purring so everyone could hear it, even in the furthest seats.

Suddenly, the audio in the gym played discordant noises.  Not even waiting for Derek to flinch, Mac darted under the blanket and a lump erupted where Derek’s ear had been.  After a moment, the sound cut off, and instead a bowl of food - one so strong-smelling that I could catch it from my seat - was brought out. Mac poked his nose out and started sneezing convulsively, hissing at the bowl as he moved towards it.

The coup de grace was what came next. Without warning, as soon as the bowl was taken away, someone darted towards Derek from the other side. I could actually feel my soul chuckle for this poor slob as I anticipated what would happen.

Sure enough, Mac became a blur of void and vaulted over Derek, clawing the interloper from elbow to wrist, then from thigh to knee. He hissed and spat, clawing at anything and anyone that came within reach.  Nothing could stop the ball of feline fury until Derek darted out an arm to scoop Mac back under the blanket while the poor volunteer - who looked like they had a bad date with a Cuisinart - was led to the aforementioned med bay.

“I’m not sure they knew they were signing up for this,” I murmured to Maverick and Coffey.

Coffey made a firmly negative gesture. “I assure you that they were aware. That particular volunteer? She has been Machiavelli’s training target for three months now.”

“Why?” I sputtered.

“Some people are afraid of dogs,” Coffey shrugged. Given his clear discomfort watching both Lyrics perform, it made more sense suddenly.  I knew he wasn’t afraid of dogs - he kept treats in his pocket for Lyric and Lyric II, at all times - but we weren’t far enough removed from Earth to make everyone comfortable with the kinds of dogs that worked best as service animals.

A cat, though? I knew from a lifetime of experience that nothing was as persistent or vicious as a cat, when properly motivated.

The audience was respectfully silent until Mac and Derek left the gym, before cheering wildly.  Even from where I was sitting, I could hear people talking about the potential of having a cat once the colony was established.  As a firmly devoted cat owner, I couldn’t even make up an excuse to argue.

Arthur leaned over so I could hear him clearly. “You never told me you have an attack cat.”

“I’ve always had them,” I admitted. “I just didn’t know it wasn’t a normal thing.”

“Mac is a good kitty.”

“The best kitty,” Coffey corrected with a grin. At some point, he had adopted Derek as a younger brother/nephew figure, and by extension doted on Mac to the point of chemical warfare.

“The only kitty,” I pointed out. I would have loved for the Ark to have ship cats, but we had learned - the hard way - that genetic enhancements were necessary for them to thrive in the gravity we were operating under.  It was part of the reason Mac was so large - four years ago, he had actually undergone a heart transplant so his vasculatory system would function in the increased gravity. Where Lyric II and Sparkles had benefited from what Miys learned from the original Lyric, Mac was the original.

The next event was thrown projectiles, so I took the opportunity to go grab some popcorn and sausage-rolls for the last two events. No one in my family was participating in the javelin/spear exhibition, but I knew that Xiomara and Evan would be eyeing these candidates closely for colonial security, so I made a point to pay attention. However, despite my original reason for keeping an eye on the event, I found myself fascinated. Each spear had a different range for accuracy, a different technique for throwing… I found myself filing the information away for later, anticipating a very rousing conversation with our Councillor of Security and her protege. Ivan Thorsson, to nobody’s surprise, excelled.

However, the last event of the exhibition was finally at hand - archery.  Charly had made several attempts to have this event be its own exhibition - the projectiles were not thrown, nor were they combustion - but a sheer lack of participants inevitably led to the sport being included with the ‘non combustion’ weapons exhibition, in the same way the animal companion events were.  On the plus side, participation this Von-year made a strong case for archery being its own event.

Participants were allowed ten arrows, ten targets, and fifteen minutes to fire all arrows. Bows could be any size, but had to be pulled by hand - no crossbows, no hooks to draw. Targets were only 25cm in diameter, and any shots that missed the desired target were counted off, with a double ‘friendly fire’ deduction if the arrow hit an entirely different target.

Even with all the restrictions, there were no less than twelve participants in this event, more than any other.

Maverick was first. While he was exceptionally precise, his Shinto-style did not lend itself well to speed. Next came Tyche, who landed killing hits on every shot, though with far less aplomb than her knife-throwing had shown. Arthur had a similar result - fast and deadly, but less accurate than Maverick - before MIchael Smith took the stage again, to my surprise.

My jaw hit the floor as he pulled just as fast as Tyche and Arthur, with the same accuracy of Maverick. Very few people took part in multiple exhibitions, and to see him do so well in three was a shock.  Nonetheless, he swapped out with the next participant with zero acknowledgement of his performance.

After that, the event continued: several people I did not recognize, before all that was left were Conor and Charly.  Similar to his style of throwing knives, Conor drew ambidextrously and over the shoulder. The connection was crystal clear as you watched his motion - a smooth draw, looped into a pull and release.  The only difference was that, where he would throw a knife, he would draw the arrow.

Next, I expected Charly, but what I saw made my head spin: Simon Rodriguez stepped out of a back room, with a longbow and a quiver full of arrows.  Even more incredibly, he did not stand in front of any specific target, but stood in the center of all ten.  With one deep breath, he started drawing from his waist, firing and drawing, arrow after arrow, in a smooth, mechanical motion.

Every arrow struck the center of the target.

The blood drained from my face as I realised why Tyche had threatened Conor with allowing Simon to use him for target practice…. I had no idea, at the time, that Simon was such an incredible shot. Immediately, I felt guilty.

Before I could apologize to him, Charly and her bow walked out. Speaking now felt like an obscenity, since this was the reason so many people were still here. Sure enough, as soon as the targets were replaced, she displayed a foreign calm as she fired shot after shot.

Ten shots. Ten exact centers. Ten arrowheads protruding from the back of targets by a minimum of two inches.

Twelve seconds total.

The transition between Simon and Charly took place so quickly that I had no idea who the applause was for - the Twelve Second Sorceress, or her clear protege. Either way, the end of the exhibition was explosive, to say the least.

I turned to Conor, ready to apologise for not taking the previous threat as serious at it was, when he said something that made me slap my face and groan.

“Bless it, do you think Simon will show me how to do that?”

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[ao3bronte]

To Live Without Loving (is not really to live)

Also on AO3

Et vivre sans aimer n'est pas proprement vivre. - Molière

“Marinette!”

With a start, Marinette shoves her mobile phone beneath her pillow and grabs the novel beside her, opening it at random, “Oui, Maman?”

“It’s nearly 23:00,” Sabine announces, hoisting the apartment's trapdoor open and peeking inside, “Why are your lights still on?”

Marinette grimaces, “I have to finish this book by tomorrow and I’m still not done!”

Raising an eyebrow, Sabine climbs up the steps and gently pads towards Marinette’s bedside, “You’ve been at it for hours and you’re telling me that you’re still not finished?”

Marinette knows a lost cause when she sees one, “I may have gotten…distracted.”

“Hmm,” Sabine crosses her arms across her chest, “You have ten minutes, then it’s lights out.”

“But Maman…”

“Hush. Your brevet is coming up soon and I expect you to excel, as you always do. You need your sleep.”

Marinette groans, “Oui, Maman.”

“Doux rêves, mon coeur.”

Marinette returns the sentiment and watches as Sabine closes the trapdoor behind her. She listens, holding her breath as her mother’s footsteps carry down the stairs, leading into the bedroom. After a moment or two of quiet chatter, her parent’s bedroom door opens and squeaks shut with a click.

“Finally.” Exhaling, Marinette snatches her vibrating phone out from under her pillow and slides her thumb against it, illuminating the screen. An image of the infamous cabaret Le Chat Noir casts a shadow across her bedroom, “Allo?”

“M’Lady! I thought you had fallen asleep on me.”

Marinette rolls her eyes, “I got distracted.”

“Not distracted enough to leave me hanging, are you?”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Until then, mon amour.”

Quickly, Marinette taps the end call button against her fingertips and slips from beneath her covers, eager to sneak out before it gets too late in the evening. She tugs on a pair of pyjama pants and crawls outside, crossing over to the potted plants hanging from the wrought iron railings enclosing her balcony.

“Ready to go?” Tikki asks, rising from the fronds. Marinette nods and fastens the zip of her sweater before allowing Tikki to merge with her Miraculous, bathing the balcony in scarlet light. Mask safely affixed to her skin, she slips out into the evening breeze and leaps across the rooftops, eventually plopping down onto their favourite meeting spot along the city-spanning river, the Seine.

“Bonsoir, ma chérie!”

Ladybug turns towards the source of the racket as Chat Noir drops onto the quai from above, landing in a crouch beside her. The lattice of the bench she’s sitting on trembles as he digs his claws into the metal, steadying his balance, “Hey Chat. How’s my favourite stray?”

Chat spreads his arms dramatically, “La vie est belle!”

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Ladybug smiles, relaxing against the backrest.

“My day improves exponentially each time I get to see you.”

“Really?” Ladybug is pretty sure that if she rolled her eyes any harder, they might just get stuck there, “It’s been, what, two days since we last crossed paths?”

“An eternity,” Chat replies, holding his hand over his chest, “It wounds me to be so close, and yet so far.”

Ladybug can’t help but snort, “I can’t say that I’ve missed your melodrama.”

“Forgive me M’Lady, but I’ve been forced into reading Molière for the past week and I feel it may be rubbing off on me.”

Ladybug hesitates before responding, having just left L'École des femmes sitting on her duvet not twenty minutes ago, “Let’s just get down to business, shall we?”

Chat smiles and opens his palm to the horizon, “Après vous.”

~

“Chat!”

Ladybug screeches to a halt and uses her momentum to launch herself against the buildings lining the boulevard, pulling a hard 180° turn. She flings her yoyo and it wraps around the base of a satellite dish, sending her flying back to Chat’s location, “Are you okay?!”

He’s lying in the base of a crater, the akuma having body slammed him into the concrete, “Never better!”

Ladybug drags her eyes from Chat’s prone body and focuses on the akuma instead. Its body is huge, not unlike the rock monster they encountered on their very first adventure together. However, this particular akuma is far more calculating and intelligent that she had initially assumed.

“Hey! Bonehead!” Ladybug hollers to distract the monster from squashing Chat again. She can tell from his wheezing that whatever the akuma did to him while she wasn’t looking, he would need a minute or two to recuperate, “Look over here!”

Using her yoyo, Ladybug swings back and forth, drawing the hulking mass of a monster towards her. She reaches the other side of the boulevard and runs down the length of it, leaping off of a bench and vaulting back up into the sky. The akuma lumbers towards her, its hands flailing wildly in her general direction, and Ladybug does all that she can to keep one eye on potential tools for a plan and the other on Chat.

“Alright akuma,” she mutters, “Let’s get this over with.”

Ladybug raises her hand above her head with a flourish, summoning her Lucky Charm. It’s a sledge and it doesn’t take long for her to figure out what to do with it. With the help of her yoyo, a cement truck parked up the way, a tandem bicycle and a clothesline, Ladybug effectively smashes the monster to bits and releases the black akuma hiding inside its abdomen. Ladybug reaches up to capture it, purifying its soul, and releases it to the mercy of the winds.

“Bravo!”

Ladybug is already halfway over when Chat starts pulling himself out of his Chat sized crater. He droops over the chunks of concrete, wincing when the hole corrects itself under Ladybug’s restorative magic, and rolls over onto his back instead.

“Are you alright?”

Chat blinks up at Ladybug, “My Lady, il le faut avouer, l'amour est un grand Maître.”

“Ugh,” she groans, running her gloved hand over her face as her Miraculous begins to beep at her, “If you’re well enough to recite love poems to me, then you’re well enough to get up.”

She offers him her hand and he takes it, brushing himself off as she hauls him up easily, “Excuse me for being well versed in the classics, M’Lady. I am a cultured cat.”

“You have a test tomorrow on Molière, don’t you?”

Caught, Chat glares at her sidelong, “It’s an in-class essay, I’ll have you know.”

“Well, don’t let me Horace you any longer.”

Chat gapes at her suddenly, his eyes wide, “Did you…did you just…?”

“Make a pun? Maybe, maybe not,” she smirks, batting him on the nose, “Now, it’s time to get going. You need your beauty sleep.”

“But—”

“Off with you,” she grins, gesturing at him to leave with a flick of her wrist, “À plus!”

~

It isn’t a particularly long walk to school the next morning, but Marinette spends most of it thinking about her in-class essay. It’s one of the very last assignments that will count towards her brevet at the end of the year; it’s also the third time since the beginning of the semester that Chat has mentioned having to work on a school assignment.

The same school assignment as her.

It’s been niggling at her thoughts for some time now, the fact that Chat may very well be a student in her grade. First, it was the same unit test in maths that had come up in their conversation and between the binomials and trinomials clogging her brain, Marinette hadn’t thought anything of it. But a few months later, it happened again and Chat was waxing poetic about a particular stream of science and the experiment he was completing in class…

...which was the exact same experiment that had blown up in her face that afternoon.

Armed with the sheer determination to ignore any and all comparisons between her life and his, Marinette stuck her head in the proverbial sand and promptly tuned him out whenever school came up in their conversations. That is, until last night.

Marinette tugs at her ponytails and racks her brain for clues. There are only two 3ème classes in Collège Françoise Dupont and she shares her age with only five other blond boys, one of which is shorter than her. There’s the twins in Mlle Mendeleiev’s class, but they both have much bigger noses than Chat. Then there’s Christien, and that would be impossible given his fairly distinctive Belgian accent which leaves the only other option as…

...Adrien Agreste.

She watches him duck into his locker from the other side of the room and wince as he holds his ribs gingerly, grimacing at another one of Nino’s terrible dad jokes. He’s quoting Molière again, favouring his left arm as he waves it around theatrically, making Nino roll his eyes in response.

Oh.

When she sits down, lined paper in hand and essay prompt at the top, she’s never been so sure of something in her life.

She’s going to fail this essay spectacularly.

And, Adrien Agreste is Chat Noir.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH109

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 109: Slaughter Secret Society (XI)

{cw: brief transmisogyny}

"You are in a very dangerous situation," Mrs. Kathleen said to Red while enjoying Ashley's black tea.

Red was still careless. He gave Mrs Kathleen a smile after hearing her words.

Ashley, who stood on the side, was worried. Although it hadn’t been long since he’d become a follower of Slaughter, he’d already seen blood shed in several selection ceremonies. Those candidates had put aside their tasks and become absorbed in dealing with their own kind, and almost every time all would be killed except the final winner. He couldn't help but worry about Red. He had heard that he’d left the Underground Ant City’s branch of the Slaughter Secret Society several years ago, so it was inevitable that he was unfamiliar with the situation in the Slaughter Secret Society now.

"If you’re worried that Lie Yang will suddenly attack me, hehe, I think I’m a little smarter than him." Red pulled out a cigarette for himself, threw another one to Mrs. Kathleen, and then looked straight at Ashley.

Axi went red in the face, bending down to light Red’s cigarette.

From this overlooking point of view, he found for the first time that the intimidation had faded away from Red’s body. He was still indifferent and careless, but under the thick makeup, he seemed to have a delicate face, which was both strange and novel…

Feeling his line of sight, Red raised his face to look at him, and his light brown eyes reflected the scarlet light of the sunset. At close range, this was more terrifying than he was in his succubus state.

Ashley went back to Mrs. Kathleen in a panic and lit her cigarette. Mrs. Kathleen said jealously, "My underling seem to like you very much."

"No, ma’am..." Scared, Ashley hurried to defend himself.

"He's cute, but unfortunately I'm not interested in this kind of soft boy." Red gave a smile as enchanting as a passing cloud, flicked the cigarette butt, and continued, "You didn't come here today just to tell me about Lie Yang."

Being ignored, Ashley stood behind Lady Kathleen. Still, every time Red ignored his existence, it made him feel more silly about his feelings. He would rather choose a man who was useless in bed, or wasn’t concerned with greetings, or was even stingy with kisses. When would he be able to talk and laugh with him like Mrs. Kathleen? Would there really be that day? Ashley, who was eaten by his inferiority complex, watched secretly, and his heart was filled with humble acidity.

"Lie Yang is also very wary of me now because I’ve referred you, but I still have good relationships with a few friends, so I will hear some things. I suggest that you complete the task as soon as possible and bring the target’s body into the field as soon as possible. It’s best if before Lie Yang is ready, I threaten him with my friends and 'force' him to hand over the ring," Mrs. Kathleen said.

"As long as the ring is still in Lie Yang’s hands, he won’t hand it over," Red said coldly and smiled mockingly. "I prefer to bring my prey into the field alive and begin the ceremony by watering the altar with his and Lie Yang’s blood.”

With a hand over his heart, Red spoke with a look of longing and enthusiasm: "Only in this way will my Lord notice me, and see that I’m his most loyal believer!"

Mrs. Kathleen's expression was stiff. Obviously, she was not such a fanatical believer. When she met a fanatical believer, she would feel uncomfortable: "If you insist on this, it will be risky. After all, your prey is a firm hierophant. You might not be able to control him."

"Compared to my Lord, this danger isn’t worth mentioning," Red said, his expression decisive.

"OK..." Mrs. Kathleen's expression could be summarized as: Although I don't quite understand what you crazy believers think, it's good that you’re happy.

Mrs. Kathleen left. Although she couldn’t reach an agreement in this meeting, she was still willing to bet on him. She also inquired about Ning Zhou. Qi Leren vaguely said that he’d formed a relationship with him by approaching him while pretending to be a woman. After all, hierophants of the Holy See resisted same-sex love. Mrs. Kathleen looked at him with surprise and even her subordinate, Ashley, was shocked.

They thought it was a terrible thing to let the world know that you used to change your hat and dress as a woman.

Ning Zhou, who was sitting in the basement with his black bird, must think so, hehe.

　　&&&

The underground cave filled with hot lava was once again opened to the Lord of Slaughter’s believers. This half-field was like a solidified space, with no potential for growth, but it was an excellent shelter that allowed believers to not have to gather in a specific place in the Twilight Township, thus reducing the risk of being caught by the Court.

But today, it was about to fall into enemy hands.

Luo Yishan, standing at the edge of the altar, looked dignified. He didn't expect Red to play his hand so fast. When he was still searching widely for clues about Ning Zhou, Red had already completed the task. Although he hadn’t had enough time to finish the task, it was enough for him to arrange manpower to deal with Red. As long as he killed Red, he was the only candidate. Even if he didn’t not finish the task, the ring in the half-field belonged to him.

On the stone bridge over the rolling magna, holding a chain in hand, Red laughingly came to the altar, and the crowd made way for him spontaneously.

He dragged the man dressed as a Vatican exorcist, but the collar of his shirt was half unbuttoned, revealing large areas of kiss and scratch marks on his clavicle. He looked ahead with empty eyes, wearing a metal collar around his neck and with his hands bound in metal handcuffs, and he walked forward silently and blankly. In this half-field where the heat was like hell, all the places he stepped seemed to be covered with invisible snow and ice.

Red, who showed signs of demonization, looked back lazily, stroked the beautiful abstinent exorcist's face, and winked in Luo Yishan's direction: "The exorcist of the Holy See, I brought him alive. How about it? Don't I have a good style? This fallen pure soul is the best gift to sacrifice for my Lord."

Red eyed Luo Yishan's ring. Luo Yishan immediately felt his line of sight and a wave of anger welled up in my mind. He would never hand over this ring! The manpower had been arranged, as long as he gave the order…

Red suddenly showed a strange smile, and the chain held in his hand loosened and fell to the ground with a crunching sound. He had rushed to Luo Yishan like an arrow, and with a wave of his dagger in the air, he moved like the wind - his cheetah-like speed was too fast and amazing, and he threw him to the ground!

"Start it! Get him!" There was a chilling coolness from his wrist, and the severe pain turned Luo Yishan's command into a scream. The left hand wearing the ring had been cut off by the dagger, and the blood flowed wildly. The defensive shield he used to protect himself was immediately broken, and Red flew out like a bullet. However, he flew too much, and Red fell directly into the rolling magma, turning to ashes in an instant.

Luo Yishan and his men were still stunned by the sudden end of the battle, when an arrow flashing with a silver luster flew like thunder, and the translucent shield was like glass, crashing and breaking under this arrow!

The Vatican exorcist, who had originally been controlled like a marionette under Red’s masterful technique, had opened the shackles on his hands when everyone’s attention had been turned, and Red, who had disappeared into the magma, appeared in front of him again…

-----

Editor’s Notes: I honestly found the end of this chapter super confusing when I first read it, everything happens so fast... Hopefully my editing has made it easier to follow.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[rvmmm21]

. half that, at best .

summary : lying over text will get you far. seulgi considers herself quite the catfish connoisseur, in a sense, acting twice her size to swoon her date. unfortunately, that only works if you don’t live with four -- very determined people -- who’ll stop at nothing to pry the good and honest truth out of you.

small note : not an original idea, my role is messenger, nothing more. just here to fulfil my promise to drag the very... *perceptive*... reaadvelvet (whom you can all thank for this delicious torment) down with me. also wow, first time i’ve written about vibrators and they’re... hard to write for. also dirty talk y i k e s. hands up, who can tell i was running on 2 hours of sleep when i wrote this? i proofread later i sleep now.

[cocky(g!p)seulgi x wenrenejoyri]

tw : dubcon, degredation, humiliation.

...

Yerim cracks the door open and peers into her room. The air is so damp and heavy with perfume her nose crinkles and she has to practically swat at it to clear the soft lavender fog.

“Unnie, I asked Joohyun unnie and she said yes to pizza tonight,” she says, leaning into the doorway and speaking into the direction of the girl sitting on the bed hunched over her phone, texting furiously.

The younger girl speaks again, louder this time. “Yah! Unnie. Are you listening?”

Seulgi shoots up from the bright LED screen and casts her attention on her impatient housemate, who’s now standing before her, open-palmed and waiting. “… ngh, sorr – sorry, Yerimie, wha – huh?”

Yerim rolls her eyes. “Phone. Give it. I know you have coupons.”

“… mm, yeah… just…”

She’s so distracted, it’s annoying, Yerim thinks. Both her and her unnies are starving for some pizza goodness out there and all Seulgi can think about is getting her dick wet with her dumb little date tonight. With a final head shake, she looses the patience she’s never had, reaching down to snatch the device out of Seulgi’s grasp.

“No!” she yelps, a little too much desperation in her tone, “… Minji’s gonna be here soon, I –”

But Yerim’s already scrolling.

“Wow, can you stop texting your stupid tinder date for like one minute? I’m trying to – wait, what?” she pauses to properly read the screen again before throwing her head back in the loudest cackle the other girl has ever heard, “… I’m going to fuck you till you can’t walk anymore?!”

Seulgi knew she was going to be discovered the minute her phone left her hands. She hadn’t had time to close the app before an impatient Yerim had rudely swiped it out of her clutches. Still, it didn’t stop the crippling embarrassment eating away at her from the inside out when she heard all her steamy, filthy exchanges coming off the lips of their mischievous maknae. All lies, of course, but Minji didn’t have to know that. She had already come up with a list of excuses for why she wouldn’t be able to spend the night or why they’d always have to do it ‘next time’. But all that seems to be falling apart before her eyes, now that Yerim’s the one with the power.

“Yah!” she screams, jumping up from her bed and frantically trying to pilfer it from the girl who’s too wildly curious to let go. “Stop! Shut – no! Give – give it back, shush!”

Yerim’s folded over on the floor now, clutching at her sides with how apparently hilarious Seulgi’s sexting is. “Unnie – unnie!” she manages between fits of laughter, “how are you gonna do that when you can’t even… you can’t even last like twenty seconds!”

Before she knows it, the whole house has gathered into her room. Seulgi grits her teeth at how Yerim’s obnoxious cackling lured the other four in. They simply observe for the moment, poorly concealed enjoyment painted on their faces, seconds away from partaking in the ‘fun’ themselves.

Suddenly, they’re interested in something else… and it isn’t how much they can get off of their next pizza order.

“Another one, another one!” Sooyoung’s taken to egging Yerim on, who’s more than beside herself with glee. The youngest wipes a tear from the corner of her eye and gracefully proceeds, doing her best impression of what she assumes Seulgi sounds like all hot and bothered.

A red-faced Seulgi, wishing the ground would just swallow her whole, just buries her face between her knees, having long given up trying to get her phone back. Any attempt she’s made to preserve the shreds of dignity she’s clung onto since this whole episode started is about to be torn from her when Yerim opens her mouth.

“A-And… and I hope you’re ready, cause I can… oh my god, cause I can go for ten hours, baby!”

This triggers an entire wave of laughter, from everyone, this time. Not that it matters to the girl in question. Poor Seulgi can barely hear them over the sound of her own utter horror pulsing heavily in her ears. She can’t even fucking leave because Joohyun and Seungwan are barricading the entrance, arms crossed out in front of them like bodyguards. And they’re wearing those awful grins, too.

Seulgi has to wonder if they’d planned this all along… or if they’ve just been practicing their non-verbal cues during their spare time and conveniently leaving her out. Either way, it’s all she has time to think before they’re pouncing on her, all at once.

God, they’re fast. And she’s helpless.

With Sooyoung and Seungwan on either side of her pinning her under their full bodyweight, she’s left with little to no wriggle room and swiftly depleting sensation in both arms. She can already feel the sweat dripping. Joohyun humming a little tune to herself as she scans her bedroom doesn’t help either. She’s searching for an appropriate tool of ‘quality control’, as she so forebodingly put it.

Finally, in an open drawer, she spots the perfect solution, with its cord dangling out far too invitingly to overlook.

When she hears the flip of a switch and the horribly familiar whirr, Seulgi does her best to crane her neck up, struggling to see past the tangle of limbs draped across her and weighing her down. She knows what it is, and she isn’t keen. “… wh-what… unnie… why have you … what do you –”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Joohyun cuts her off before she has the chance to finish. “Big girls don’t need to know what’s coming at them to be able handle it, do they?”

“Ten hours, huh?” Yerim asks in an incredulous giggle from the corner of her room. “I mean, that’s super impressive, so we just wanna see for ourselves, you know? Right, Seungwan unnie?”

Just like that, Seulgi finds her fragile fate in Seungwan’s hands, and she doesn’t seem nearly as careful with it, almost like she wants to see it shatter. “Mhm,” the smaller girl concurs with a nod before turning down to face the crimson one of the girl below them. “What’s a more realistic time, d’ya think? Five? Five minutes?”

Sooyoung quickly interjects. “Five? Hah!” she scoffs, “I’m not even giving her two. Look at it.”

All eyes laser downwards to the tip of Sooyoung’s finger, where -- to everyone’s delight (and Seulgi’s repulsion) -- there’s a very obvious tent in her jeans. So obvious, in fact, that her arousal is perfectly highlighted through the thick denim that has moulded around it to create a very captivating shape. 

Seulgi opens her mouth like she has any hopes of defending herself, but the potential words break off into a breathy whine when the faint whirring she hears above her directly translates into sheer jolts of pleasure that rip through her body from her crotch. It’s incredibly difficult, but she squints down to see Joohyun holding a purple vibrator between her spread knees, intermittently running it up and down the growing length.

They all watch as it vibrates her to a full erection, helpless and hard and just begging to be taught a lesson.

“Here’s the deal, Seul,” she deadpans. “Since you’re sooo good in bed… since you’re apparently going to fuck Minji till she can’t walk anymore, I think it’s only fair that you prove it, don’t you?”

Oh… there aren’t words that can possibly describe the dread now coursing through Seulgi’s veins at that prospect, despite herself.

“So, yes, I think I agree with Sooyoung. Two minutes. If you last two minutes, we’ll forget this ever happened. And you’re going to last, aren’t you? You’re going to last.”

She hadn’t even noticed Joohyun hadn’t offered the consequences of her failure to hold out. She couldn’t. That was the least of her concerns, for now, anyway. The sensation of being vibed through her trousers was… deafening, to say the least.

You’re going to last, they said. Seulgi chants that in her brain like it’ll make her last longer, like it’ll help her succeed. But… but she’s not sure she can. No, she has to. No matter what, that’s not happening… she can’t – she’s not going to – cum in her trousers.

Oh but it’s getting harder and harder not to want to. Not when Joohyun hasn’t even given her cock a chance to get used to the tingly sensation, going in at the highest setting to begin with. It’s unbearable, even over her jeans… especially over her jeans.

“… uh – uh – nnie…” she’s panting out, screwing her eyes shut to prevent them from going glassy, “… p-please… please don’t… I… it’s… too – too high…”

Joohyun knows she’s referring to the setting, and of course, does anything but what Seulgi wants her to do, which is lower it… or stop. In fact, the younger swears she feels it stronger now, pressed unforgivingly flush against her straining boner, just enticing her to lose her load right into her underwear. Seungwan’s fingers skim over a flushed cheek, cruelly teasing as she wipes Seulgi’s tears with the pad of her thumb.

“But our little Seulgi likes it high, doesn’t she?” she smirks down at hips bucking up into thin air, desperate for some friction other than the intense sparks of electricity zipping through her from the vibrator. “Gosh, baby, you’re so hard you’re poking through your jeans… poor, poor Minji, hm? Don’t you feel sorry for her? I sure do! If she knows she’s been talking to nothing but thorough lack of self-control and a pair of cum-stained jeans this whole time… my, my, what would she think?”

Sooyoung adjusts her weight so she’s leaning to purr into Seulgi’s ear with barely contained amusement. “Should we tell her, unnie? It’s only fair to the customer… we’ve inspected the goods, and uh… they don’t seem to be in ‘working order’.”

There’s a whimper and then a slight shift. Joohyun picks this up.

“Gonna cum, Seul?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“… hgnh – noo…” Seulgi shakes her head vigorously.

However, when the oldest sees chestnut locks gracelessly splayed across the bedsheet, erratic breathing and probably the teariest eyes in the history of teary eyes, she has to laugh. It’s not like she believed her sniffling Seulgi in the first place – not when she can literally feel her cock twitching under her palm, leaking precum by the gallon. Fingers tighten around the trapped boner, and Seulgi lets out a pathetic mewl. “Oh I think you are.”

“I – no – I’m… I’m – ah! No… nooo…”

“Aw, poor baby can’t control herself. Is your little cock all leaky?” Seungwan’s got an arm across her chest to shove her back down whenever she tries to push up, to keep her pinned as the threat of cumming in her jeans stalks closer and closer. “You still have 30 seconds.”

Goddamnit, 30 seconds? The fact she didn’t shoot the moment that godawful vibrator was in her line of sight was no less than a miracle… how the hell is she supposed to last 30 bloody seconds longer? The thought of soiled underwear and wet spots strikes a crawling heat in her cheeks, up her neck and down her arms. A heat that almost overtakes the one between her legs. Almost. It’s built up to an ache so pulsing, she just can’t ignore it. The room is spinning, and she feels dizzy and heated and it hurts… it hurts so good. The way Joohyun has the vibrator meticulously positioned so it teases the sensitive underside of her cock just right almost off-sets how ashamed she is that this is even happening at all.

“… n-not – a – baby,” she stutters, each word punctuated by an involuntary thrust of her hips against that numbing sensation driving her mad. Every upward motion has the zipper line rubbing harshly over her shaft, the thin fabric of her underwear doing little to shield her from the rough stimulation.

“You’re nothing but a baby!” Sooyoung coos, scrunching her face at Seulgi, who can’t even see her clearly through that sheen over her pupils. “Big girls don’t cum in their little panties just from a vibrator.”

“Ten seconds left.”

It’s a voice, but Seulgi’s so dazed she can’t pinpoint whose.

“Poor Minji, she’s gonna be so upset when she finds out our little Seul still makes messes in her underwear!”

“Nine…”

“Seulgi-ah, why did you bother putting make-up on? It’s not like she’s gonna be looking at your face tonight.”

“Eight…”

Searing rivers of tears are streaming down reddened cheeks because of how mean everyone’s being to her. If it weren’t for the raging stiffness threatening to bust through the seam of her jeans, you’d almost think she wasn’t enjoying this.

“Seven…”

She’s practically giving herself whiplash from how much she’s jerking and twisting, trying anything to escape the stares of the four girls looming over her – watching and waiting for the inevitable with ear-to-ear grins.

“Six…”

Just as she thinks she’s actually going to make the full two minutes, Joohyun slides the vibrator up to settle on the head of her cock, so sensitive, so painfully overstimulated –

– that she can’t take anymore.

The teasing, the vibration, the humiliation… god, it’s too much and it’s making her – making her cum.

Her jaw goes slack and she arches up despite the combined weights of Sooyoung and Seungwan holding her down. She reaches her limit with a tiny, broken whimper as warm liquid spills into her underwear, seeping through and soaking the dense fabric of her jeans.

That’s going to be an orgasm to remember. The high is magnificent, if not a little excruciating, and it leaves her a dishevelled, breathless heap of nerves. Oh but… but her date! Oh no, she needs to regain her senses as quickly as she can and she needs to get cleaned up and she needs a new pair of jeans and –

“No, you don’t, Seul,” Joohyun interrupts her frantic thoughts. “Don’t even think of a fresh pair of jeans right now. You’re already running late. She’s gonna be here any minute now.”

She’s too weak to even protest when she feels two strong arms hoist her up and only wobbly knees. When it’s obvious she can’t walk on her own, they resort to physically escorting her out of her room… past the living room… and, oh gosh… right for the door.

She wants to beg, to plead with them not to do this, but she’s outnumbered, and she knows it’s pointless. This is happening whether she wants it to or not.

“It’s okay, little baby,” Seungwan winks, gesturing to the wetness on her jeans, obvious as ever. “At least that’s one thing you can be truthful about.”

She almost sobs when the door shuts in her face, and it only intensifies when she hears the childish giggling behind it. The evening air feels cool against the sweat on her back and absolutely frigid against that spot on her crotch. She barely has time to shiver and collect herself before she’s holding an arm over her eyes to shield them from the blinding pair of headlights that are now in front of her.

Oh god no. She hadn’t been through enough tonight? But this is what she gets for lying.

She has nowhere to go, and she can only pray that she’s doing a good job at hiding her embarrassment from the pretty girl now winding down the window with a cheery, “Hiya! Seulgi?”

[wolfandwild]

My Shadowlands Wish List

Now that we’re getting closer and closer to pre-patch and the inevitable launch of the expansion, I thought I’d rattle off a wish list of things I hope we get to see in Shadowlands, largely from a lore/story perspective. (Or rather, my stupid foot was hurting so badly I couldn’t concentrate on writing my fic properly, so I decided to ramble off some not-so-hot takes, honestly they’re pretty mild in the grand scheme of things). I was in the first alpha wave, so I’ve had a pretty good opportunity to play the game as it is thus far, and I did want to make it clear up front that I’m fully aboard the hype train. Shadowlands is looking like a great expansion for a number of different reasons, and while I do have a few areas of concern, on the whole I am currently feeling very positive. Please also note these are just my random, late-night personal musings - your mileage may vary, and that’s a-okay.  Mild Shadowlands spoilers below the cut.

You Get A Customisation! You Get A Customisation! Everybody Gets A Customisation! This one is pretty much a no-brainer. I don’t necessarily think Blizzard need to have absolutely every possible character customisation ready to go before launch, but I’d like them to continue adding further options over time. I move in a couple of different circles in Warcraft - I’m obviously involved in the writing/lore/character aspect of the game, but I’m also GM of a raiding guild and closely follow the gameplay/competitive side of things too - and customisation is one of those few things that gets everyone excited, regardless of their reason for playing the game. I’m looking forward to seeing a much more vibrant, unique and diverse Azeroth come Shadowlands pre-patch. (Mostly irrelevant side story - when Wrathion returned in the Patch 8.3 cinematics, my Twitter and lore Discords were basically going berserk with excitement, meanwhile there’s a hundred very confused dudes in my raiding guild who don’t read quest text being all, “What the hell is a ‘Wrathion’?”. I live in two different worlds, honestly). Another reason I’m excited about customisation (and I’m probably in a very small minority on this one) is because I actually really dislike allied races, and I think it gives Blizzard an option to add more flavour to character creation in the game without always having to cobble together a new race. I honestly think they should have simply gone for sub-race customisation from the beginning, to avoid having to ass-pull allied races out of nowhere. Using customisation over allied races also makes it far simpler to give something to both factions (e.g. high elves), or to add something for one faction without necessarily having to always add something to the other faction to keep things in balance. Giving an extra hairstyle to humans but not orcs generally isn’t going to cause that much of a fuss, but if one faction were given an allied race and the other wasn’t because there wasn’t a logical racial option, there would be a shitstorm of epic proportions. So you end up in a situation where one faction* gets saddled with a really random, sucky allied race just to be ‘fair’. *The Alliance. It’s the Alliance. Leave Britney Arthas Alone Arthas has never been a personal favourite of mine, but I respect that he has a fantastic story, and that he’s a cornerstone of Warcraft lore. His story is both satisfying and complete, and that’s exactly why they should leave him the hell alone. I don’t mind if he’s visited in flashbacks (like the Bastion cinematic), or if we explore how he affected still living characters (e.g. Jaina, Sylvanas, Bolvar), but I think it would be a mistake to try to make him a central character in the expansion. In contrast, someone like Kael’thas is an excellent choice for an additional arc, because his original story was a bit all over the place and there is still plenty of room for his character development. Arthas doesn’t need it, and I don’t think the minute potential gain is worth the risk of retroactively making the rest of his story worse. On a similar note... Warcraft III Was Released Nearly 20 Years Ago, It’s Time to Move On The Warcraft RTS was a landmark series of games, and was obviously without them we wouldn’t have the World of Warcraft. However, I think the future health of Warcraft’s lore depends on the ability of the writers to grow the story outwards and upwards, not to always default back to the same handful of characters for nostalgia’s sake. While characters like Jaina, and Thrall, and Sylvanas are great, they can’t carry the narrative forever. Shadowlands represents a unique opportunity to build up the next generation of characters and to blow the cosmology of the universe wide open. From what I’ve seen on the alpha/beta, Blizzard are definitely taking a step in this direction, and I’m hoping that’s what we get instead of Patch 9.2 - Oh Look, It’s Thrall Again. On an additionally similar note... Sylvanas Is Crazy, And She Needs To Go Down (I don’t actually think she’s crazy, but one should never miss the opportunity for an Avatar reference). One of my complaints about the recent lore developments in Warcraft its that it’s starting to feel a lot less like the World of Warcraft, and more like the Sylvanas of Warcraft. She’s playing 469D chess; she’s behind everything; she’s the sole driving force of the narrative. I don’t think that works in an MMO that’s meant to tell the story of an entire expanded universe. It makes things feel small. And before I get eaten alive, I want to be clear that I don’t dislike Sylvanas as a character - in fact, I think she’s very compelling and on a night when my foot wasn’t killing me so much I’d be happy to get into an argument as to why she’s actually one of the most consistent and well-written characters in the World of Warcraft. I don’t necessarily think she needs to die, either, but I think it’s time for her narrative to come to a close to make room for other characters in the story, and I don’t think Blizzard are going to get a much better opportunity to give her a satisfying ending than in a death-themed expansion. Justice for Tyrande (Or Vengeance, Whatever Uther Wants to Call It) Tyrande got done dirty in Battle for Azeroth, probably more than any other character. I’m not a massive night elf fangirl by any means, but their entire race was basically used as grist for the mill in Sad Orc Dad’s story, with no next to no narrative follow-up besides a cool cinematic that went absolutely nowhere in game. Outside the game, her character then got subjected to the cacophonous misogynistic crowing of the fanbase that occurs whenever a female character dares to be angry in the World of Warcraft. Much like Jaina, she’s decried for being ‘crazy’ or ‘irrational’ for, you know, being pissed that her people and her homeland were wiped out in an act of wildly disproportional aggression. I don’t know about you guys, but that would tend to make me a wee bit testy, but maybe I’m crazy and irrational too. In any case, I want to see her go off in Shadowlands. Fuck ‘em up, girlfriend. You Get One Villain. If You Drop It, I’m Not Buying You Another One I think most people will agree with me that the two weakest expansions (at least from a narrative perspective) were Warlords of Draenor and Battle for Azeroth. There are a few reasons for this, but for me one of the biggest issues was that they were chop-and-change expansions. Both were advertised and started off with narratives and themes that were wildly different from where they finished up. Warlords was part Iron Horde expansion, part Legion expansion; BFA was part faction war expansion, part Old God expansion... and that’s exactly the problem. Both times, I felt like we got two half-done expansions, instead of one single, cohesive narrative experience.  If you look at expansions like Wrath of the Lich King and Legion, both of which were very well received, a lot of their success hinges on their presentation of a consistent narrative with a clear goal for players within the story. The Lich King, for example, was a consistent and very present villain. He menaced you throughout your entire journey, and so his eventual defeat on top of Icecrown Citadel was meaningful and impactful. Defeating N’Zoth, by contrast, felt pretty hollow, as we hadn’t had enough narrative build up to really care about taking him down. Part of the reason I’m excited for Shadowlands is it looks like we’re getting a nice, focused story development that builds up to a logical and satisfying villain in the Jailer. Why Can’t We Be Friends? Look, I bleed blue. I love the Alliance... but the faction war should not continue to be a driving narrative element in the World of Warcraft. I don’t want the factions to be removed, I think they’re a core part of the Warcraft experience and I’d be pretty sad to have to let them go entirely, but the cycle of hating one another then teaming up in an uneasy alliance in order to defeat a bigger bad, only to go back to being at one another’s throats the next day is... tiresome.

Ideally, the war would have ended after Legion - it was the most logical place to do so, and I think it was a big missed opportunity that they ran with Battle for Azeroth immediately afterwards. Unfortunately, I think this means the Alliance is going to just have to forgive and forget, which doesn’t really make a lot sense at this point given everything that happened in BFA, but for the sake of the overall story, it might be a necessary sacrifice. That said... I Am Once Again Asking for Alliance Narrative Agency I know there are a lot of (valid) complaints to be had about the Horde storyline, but the one thing the Horde has always had over the Alliance is that they actually get to drive the narrative forward. The Alliance are pretty much exclusively reactionary, and in a lot of ways are side characters to the main Horde storyline. I’ve made this argument elsewhere, but it honestly wouldn’t be too hard to remove Anduin’s part in Saurfang’s storyline in Battle for Azeroth and have it turn out more or less exactly the same way... which says a lot about the importance of the Alliance in the overall storyline. In short, the Alliance are secondary players at best, and downright irrelevant at worst. One of my biggest hopes for Shadowlands is that we’ll actually get to see some Alliance narrative agency. To be clear, however, this does not mean a simple rehashing of Horde conflicts with a blue coat of paint. Alliance stories are not Horde stories, and nor should they be. Having an Alliance leader turn into a genocidal despot is not the only way to create conflict or agency in the story - there are plenty of opportunities for character growth, development and conflict on the Alliance side without having to have one of our leaders do a heel turn (e.g. Tyrande as the Night Warrior, Anduin dealing with his experience in the Maw, Jaina confronting the fates of people like Kael’thas and Arthas, Taelia meeting her father, etc.), and I really hope we get to see some of those narrative threads come to fruition. I Want to Mount Everything Add a hundred new mounts. Two hundred. A pot plant with googly eyes, the four hundredth Alliance horse, your mum. I’ll ride anything; I don’t even care. (Please note this is the most important opinion I have).

[ciestessde]

NOT My Hero Academia: Part 1 – Ch.4

“Midoriya!” Iida called out to me on my way out of the school later that same day. He caught up to me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “That was very impressive, keeping up with all of us the way you did.” “Ah! Um… thanks…”

“Expelling someone…” Iida put a hand to his chin, motioning with the finger of his other hand animatedly, “At first, I couldn’t believe our own instructor would do such a thing, but I suppose that’s how it is at the top!”

I didn’t get it. Why…? Why come up to talk to me? It’s not like I knew this “Iida” guy. ‘Maybe… It’s just cause we left at about the same time, so he spotted me in the crowd…?’

“You two!” Uraraka came running up next. “Headed to the station? Wait up!” “Ah, Infinity Girl!” said Iida. She looked surprised by the nickname, “I’m Ochako Uraraka! Um, you’re Tenya Iida and Midoriya… um… Deku! Right!!” “Deku?!” I exclaimed. “Hmm?” She looked confused, “During the test, that Bakugo guy said ‘Damn you, Deku!!’ right?”

Sweating nervously, gesturing wildly, and avoiding eye contact with the too cute girl, I managed to stumble out an explanation, “Um… my real name is Izuku… ‘Deku’ is just Kacchan being a bully…” “A derogatory pet name then?” muttered Iida, clearly bothered by that. “Oh gotcha!! Sorry!!” Uraraka apologized, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. But then, clenching her fist in front of her and smiling brightly, she continued, “But ‘Deku’ well… It just screams, ‘Do your best!!’ I kinda like it. The way it sounds.”

‘Oh, man… Too cute…!’ Judging by how hot my cheeks felt, I was blushing even more deeply now. ‘This changes everything!’

“Deku’s fine!!” Iida tried to talk me out of it, but I ignored him. Because… if even the name “Deku” could become something I could wear proudly… And regardless of the way the other students looked at me, or the way our teachers treated me… If Uraraka could still smile at me cheerfully…

‘I just might like it at this school after all.’

…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I HAVE…!” the students heard a voice call from down the hallway. We all knew that voice. And I knew it better than most… I grimaced slightly, but I couldn’t deny I was still a little excited. ‘He’s here…’ With a gust of wind, All Might was suddenly leaning into the room from the door frame. “... COME THROUGH THE DOOR, LIKE NORMAL!!”

My classmates muttered to themselves and each other, excited and freaking out over the Number One Hero. All Might whistled a tune, marched to the front of the room, turned his back to us and posed exclaiming, “Hero basic training! The class that’ll put you through all sorts of special training to mold you into heroes!!” He faced us again. “No time to dally. Today’s activity is BATTLE TRAINING!!”

From the seat in front of me, I heard Kacchan mutter “battle…” with a grin in his voice.

All Might continued, “And for that… you need these!!” Parts of the wall to our left slid out with a rumble. There were containers inside with numbers on them.

It was our costumes. Specially made for us thanks to U.A.’s uniform subsidy.

Mine was a simple, thin, reinforced body-armor. I hadn’t been able to decide on a design, though, so the company had just given (left?) it a plain black. It had holsters and compartments for all the weapons Master had given me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“As promised…”

I stared, wide-eyed, at the assortment of weapons, armor, and other additions to my costume -- many which I didn’t even recognize. Let alone know how to use! “K-Kurogiri-sensei… This is…” ‘This is too much!!!’

“You’ll start training to use them immediately. But as for what you’ll take to school with you…” Kurogiri-sensei pointed to a selection of four items, “These should be sufficient for most situations.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was an extendable/retractable bo staff, smoke pellets, net-grenades, and a trick-gun. Although, I had a simple grapple-gun, instead of the trick-gun at the moment, since it still needed to be approved. Once it was, though, I could discard the grapple-gun in favor of the trick-gun’s grapple setting. One less thing to carry. The suit covered my entire body, including my head. I could see and breath through the part covering my face, although I wasn’t sure what the material was. All-in-all, it was… not really a look that suited me, in my opinion. But it would do for now.

Until I… actually figured out what look would suit me…

.

When we made it to the training grounds (a faux-city), I was surprised to see an older student next to All Might. Apparently, he was “Mirio Togata,” All Might’s teaching assistant. “Don’t mind me!” he said, waving and smiling at the class, “I’m just here to observe for now.” All Might explained the rules of our “indoor anti-personnel battle training,” and we drew lots to determine the teams.

I ended up teamed with Uraraka (‘Seriously? I can barely say two words to her…! Jeez, where’s that plant when I need it?!’) and, just my luck, facing off against Kacchan (and Iida) in the very first matchup. As All Might was encouraging the two boys to “adopt a villain mindset” and “not hold back,” Kacchan bragged about how “certain his victory” against us was.

Uraraka and I waited outside while the villains prepared for the battle. Strangely, strategizing for a battle, preparing to face unfair odds in order to train… to get stronger… It almost felt like I was back with Kurogiri-sensei and Master.

“So that’s you Deku? Cool costume!! Real practical-looking!” I didn’t answer her, instead staring at the blueprints of the building we were to infiltrate. “...” Uraraka stared at me, at my face that was only just barely visible through my mask. “... Are you worried?” “-hm?” I looked up at her. “No. Why?” If anything, she was the one who looked worried. “It’s just… Bakugo, he’s… the one who bullies you, right?” I lowered the blueprints. “Yeah. We’d better be on guard.”

‘Actually… yeah. Why aren’t I worried? Since…’

“Kacchan may be a jerk, but he’s amazing… He’s stronger than me in almost every way. Iida too. Their quirks…” ‘Are only tools.’

“... We should come up with a strategy!” Uraraka smiled at me, pumped.

‘Kacchan is sure to come straight at me. So…’ I smiled back. “I… have a few ideas, actually.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Back in the monitor room, All Might was distracted. He’d been distracted from the moment he recognized the two boys in his class. Well, he’d known they’d both gotten in, but… with Aizawa’s reputation, he’d expected that green-haired kid to have been expelled already! He was worried. He’d found out when he’d saved Bakugo that the boy had a nasty temper. And his quirk was incredibly strong! And, he might’ve been imagining it, but… there seemed to be a dangerous tension between the two boys.

But… as the teacher, he couldn’t… ‘No. Midoriya is just another student. A quirkless student… but a student. Someone I’m meant to teach and prepare to become a hero. If the kid has made it this far on his own, then he can handle himself.’

… But there was no need to let things get out-of-hand, right?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When we got the signal to start, Uraraka used her zero-gravity on me, and, grabbing her, I I grappled us to the top of the building.

While we couldn’t be certain of where the “villains” were holed up, it was likely to be higher, rather than lower. --“Higher ground is easier to defend,” said Kurogiri-sensei, “This is a natural human instinct, as well as a fact of battle.”--

‘And also,' I thought to myself 'by coming from the top… we just might catch them off-guard.’

A sneak attack wasn’t just our best chance, but, really, our only chance. --“Even when you’re outclassed and outmatched, the element of surprise can even any odds.”-- So it was unfortunate that we were up against someone with enough speed to, potentially, counter that key advantage.

...

I had been right: Kacchan had already headed downstairs to try and attack me directly. But there was only one entrance into the room containing Iida and the weapon.

Uraraka and I tried to circle around and inside through the windows, but Iida spotted us just in time. “Bakugo! They’re up here!” he yelled into his micro transceiver. He rushed at me, since I was closer to the weapon, but Uraraka managed to slap his shoulder as he passed her.

He floated into the air. He’d lost his speed advantage! But before we knew it, we could already hear the sounds of explosions closing in on us. There was no time!

I barely managed to hide myself against the wall containing the door before Kacchan came barreling through it. --I rushed through a portal, only to be grabbed from behind and pinned to the ground. "When entering a new space,” Kurogiri-sensei said, “people will rarely look to the side in those first few seconds.”-- Without even pausing, Kacchan charged at Uraraka, who was about to touch the weapon. But before he could land a blow, I threw one of the net-grenades, and- *ki-ching!* -he found himself trapped in a net!

He tried to blast out of it, but I knew the net was too strong for that. Unfortunately for us, Iida managed to use his recipro burst to reach a wall and-

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

All four of us stood in a line in front of the rest of the class, our masks removed. Kacchan was literally smoking with rage, muttering about a “fluke.”

“Well, I’d say… The V.I.P. of this battle was Iida!!” exclaimed All Might, “I wonder why? Anyone know?!” “I do, All Might-sensei,” said Momo Yaoyorozu, her hand shooting up. “Not only did he capture both heroes, but he stayed focused on his goal and found a counter-strategy when facing an attack from an unforeseen direction.” “Very good, Miss Yaoyorozu!” All Might congratulated her.

But, from next to the teacher, Mirio cut in. “I dunno…” he said, thoughtful. “I think the V.I.P. was Midoriya.”

My gaze (everyone’s, really) shot up from the floor to look at him. My jaw was on the ground in shock. “I mean, the Hero Team shouldn’t have stood a chance of winning, yet Midoriya showed ingenuity in that sneak attack of theirs. It should have guaranteed them victory! They only failed because the Villain Team had a card hidden up their sleeve.”

“... Yes … You’re correct…!” All Might was sweating nervously, “But I’d, um… also add that the Hero Team should have kept their eyes on both opponents, even if they believed them to be immobilized!” Mirio nodded. Still smiling, he turned to us, “Yeah, true. It’s hard to do in the middle of battle. But, as you found out, it’s best to stay aware of all your surroundings!”

All Might quickly got the next match moving after that and, freed from the awkward tension, the other students started crowding around me. “Cool moves, man!” “I wouldn’t have thought to go from outside!” “Where’d you learn to fight like that?!” Even Todoroki stopped to give me a “Well done” before leaving for his own match.

I did my best to laugh off their questions (I couldn’t tell them about Master, after all), and, thankfully, they were distracted when the next match started.

Kacchan was still smoking. But when he saw how quickly Todoroki’s power ended the match- -he stopped.

I noticed the look in his eyes. But when I saw Kacchan leave early… I didn’t feel any desire to go after him.

Really, I didn’t.

I…

Didn’t…

.

… Right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[corishadowfang]

Cut Scenes: Putting Up Posters

Working on editing the current draft for On my Heart, and I’ve come across a chapter that I’m likely going to have to cut, and I am...so sad about it.  A lot of the stuff that’s here is going to be recycled and used in different places throughout the story, but I wanted to put the scene as-is somewhere.  (Disclaimer: The scene itself is currently only lightly-edited.)

The scene itself is under the cut!  (Also, head’s up, this is about...13 pages in Word, so...not a particularly short scene.)

Trigger Warnings: Aiden has a panic attack and a flashback towards the end of the scene.  Please stay safe and don’t read if you think that’s something that might be difficult for you.

           ___________________________________________________

           He stayed a few paces behind Jackie as she walked into the city, trying to ignore the glances she kept sending his way.  This is stupid, he thought bitterly.  I’m not going to do anything bad.  How the hell am I actually supposed to put these things up with her watching me the whole time?  He shot her a frustrated glance.  It’s not like she wants me to get pardoned.

           But he had to do it sometime.  Otherwise, what else was he supposed to do?

           Aiden took a deep breath, free hand slipping into his pocket.  Nothing met his fingers, and he fumbled around a bit, patting his pockets, before cursing quietly and slapping a hand over his face.  Shit, I forgot the tape.

           Kiru tilted his head and trilled quietly.

           Aiden’s hand ran down his cheek.  Okay, okay.  This is—fine.  It’s fine. I just have to—give them out, I guess.

           His eyes darted around the street, pointedly not focusing on Jackie’s back.  “Uh.  Hey!” He tried to wave a person down.

           Jackie stopped, giving him a confused look, before seeming to realize the statement hadn’t been directed to her.  Her eyebrows furrowed.

           Aiden’s cheeks burned. He tried not to look at her.

The man he’d waved down gave him a slightly befuddled look.  “Did you need something?”

           “Uh.”  He shoved the paper into the man’s hands.  “Here.”

           This is not fine.

           The man took it with a slightly confused expression, but Aiden turned on his heel and left, hurrying past Jackie.

           Jackie, to his surprise, didn’t say anything, and he didn’t stop to look at her expression.

           This is stupid.  This is so dumb, they’re going to figure it out, I’m going to get caught, or they’re going to think I’m some weird—I don’t know, criminal sympathizer, even though I’m not, I’m not a criminal, I—

           Kiru tugged on the papers.

           “Wha—Kiru, wait, what are you doing?”

           Kiru pulled one free, in the process causing Aiden to lose his grip.  Some of the papers scattered, and Aiden fumbled to catch them.

           Kiru ignored him, instead taking the poster and running to a passing woman.  She bent, looking slightly confused.

           Aiden ducked his head, cheeks burning.

           Abruptly someone shoved a poster in his face.

           Aiden yelped, tumbling backwards.

           “What is this?” Jackie asked, voice pitching incredulously.

           “A, uh.  A poster?”

           Jackie gave him an exasperated look, then looked at Aiden’s crudely-made poster. “‘Provenance’s Dragon isn’t the monster you think he is.  He acted in self-defense.  He was attacked by a man named Tyson Gable.’”

           “Well, I—he was.”  Aiden looked glumly at the stack of posters.  He wasn’t much of an artist; his attempts at rendering a dragon looked more like blobs (but he supposed that made it less real).  He couldn’t say he was much of a story-teller, either, and had ended up throwing whatever he could think of haphazardly onto the paper (but it was the truth, wasn’t it?).  The posters were obviously created by an amateur, and probably wouldn’t be taken seriously.

           This was dumb.

           Kiru returned and stole another poster, running back down the street.

           Jackie asked, “What exactly are you trying to accomplish here?”

           Aiden struggled not to grind his teeth.  “I don’t know.”

           “You don’t know?”

           Aiden stood, clutching the posters a little tighter.

           “What the hell are you trying to do?  Stir up sympathy?”  Jackie waved the poster at him.  “Did you think these would work?”

           “Not so loud,” he hissed. “Just because you might want to get caught—”

           “I don’t,” she growled, looking like she was a half second away from throttling him.  “I want to get to the bottom of—whatever this is.”  She gestured vaguely at him, and at Kiru, who had returned for another poster. “But I don’t want to babysit you while you’re throwing these half-assed attempts to get out of punishment at people, especially if you might get us caught.”

           Fury burned bitter in Aiden’s throat and chest.  He whipped around, stalking up to someone.

           “Aiden—”

           “Hey,” Aiden said, sounding bolder than he actually felt, “you know Provenance’s Dragon?”

           The man blanched, then looked around wildly, confusion flashing across his face.  “Yes?”

           Aiden shoved a paper towards him.  “Well, there are things you don’t know about his case.”

           Kiru trilled approvingly.

           Aiden tried not to feel self-conscious as the man took the poster.  ‘Half-assed attempts.’  We’ll see.  I’ll show you that I’m not—

           The man’s exasperated sigh broke through his thoughts. “Sure, kid.  I’m sure this is accurate.”

           “Wha—it is!”

           “Sure, sure, and you know more than the police.”  The man gave him a patronizing look.  “We don’t need any more people trying to justify dragons.”

           “I’m not—”

           The man shoved the paper back into his chest.  “Listen, I don’t care if you want to play at social justice, or whatever, but leave me out of it.”

           Aiden gawked as the man left.

           Kiru let out a hiss, then snorted decisively.

           “See?” Jackie said.

           “It’s one person,” Aiden insisted, turning away pointedly.

           Jackie caught his arm.

           “Let go.”

           “If you want to get yourself caught, then be my guest, but I’m not letting you act reckless while I’m still around.”

           Kiru bit her.

           Jackie jerked free, holding her arm tightly to her chest, eyes blown wide.  “And call your Familiar off.”  Her voice went unusually high.

           Aiden muttered, “Like he’d listen,” at which Kiru made a pointed snort.  Aiden took a deep breath and hurried forward, hoping Jackie would keep her distance long enough for him to do something. “Hey,” he said, flagging down another person, “can I talk to you about Provenance’s Dragon?”

           The woman made a disgruntled face.  “I’ve heard enough about that brat on the news.”

           “I-I, I’m not—it’s not really like that, I just—oh, you’re leaving, o-okay.  Uh, hey! Hey you!  I have some information on Provenance’s Dragon.”

           The man said, “That should really go to the police.”

           “It’s, um—it’s not really that kind of—hey, wait!” He turned in a tight circle, trying to catch the eye of someone else.  “Here!”  He shoved the paper into their chest.

           They jumped back, startled, crumpling the paper and walking away.

           “You know,” someone said, startling him, “if you’re interested in Provenance’s Dragon, you’re talking to the wrong crowd.”

           Aiden whipped around.

           A man leaned against a building, watching him with a wry look.

           “I-I’m sorry?”

           “Your average person?  They don’t give a shit about this whole thing.  Well, aside from the whole ‘dragons may attack us’ thing.” The man pushed away from the wall. “But I can tell—you’re a kid who gets it.”

          “I—thank you?”  Aiden blinked, ignoring Kiru as he stood tense on his shoulder.  “Who—who are these people?”

          Someone grabbed his arm roughly, and it took him a moment to realize it was Jackie.  “He’s not interested,” she growled.

          The man lifted his hand.  “Easy, easy, just trying to pass along information.  Kid seemed curious—”

          “We don’t want anything to do with Familiar users.”

          The man barked a laugh.  “Lady, you know that there are tons of Familiar users out there, right?  What, do you put them all under the same label?”

          Jackie tugged him away.  “We’re leaving.”

          “Jackie, wait!”  

          But Jackie was still stronger than him, and she tugged him unceremoniously into an alleyway, whipping him around to face her without letting go of his arm.  “Drop the posters.”

          Aiden tensed.  His grip on them tightened a little.  “No.”

          “Drop them.”

          “N-no!”

          Jackie narrowed her eyes.

          Aiden struggled to meet her glare, steeling himself as best he could, heart thundering.  He managed a few seconds before he lowered his head, his grip on the posters loosening a little.

          Kiru, however, didn’t seem ready to relent; he twisted down Aiden’s arm, chittering angrily in Jackie’s direction.

          This time, Jackie didn’t move, though she did tense a little.  “This is both dangerous and pointless.  You understand that, don’t you?”

          “It’s not.”

          “It’s not?  How is going up to people in the street talking about Provenance’s Dragon, unprovoked, not dangerous?”

          “Y-you know, ‘unprovoked’ makes me sound like—like a criminal, and that’s probably a little harsh for handing out posters.”

          “Like it or not, you are, a criminal, and—why is this thing still growling at me?”

           Kiru’s flames whipped wildly, a low rumble running through his throat.

          “Because he doesn’t like you.”

          Jackie gave him an unimpressed look.  “Familiars can’t form opinions on people.  They can figure out whether someone is a potential threat—which is what I guess it’s responding to.”  Jackie made a face, her grip on Aiden’s arm slackening enough that he could pull it free.  “But they can’t think for themselves.  They’re not really alive.  They’re man-made abominations.”

          Kiru’s growl deepened, and he jumped off Aiden’s arm.

          Aiden rubbed his wrist.  “What’s your problem with Familiars, anyways?”

          Jackie gave him a look that he couldn’t read, one hand twitching towards her leg.  She glanced aside.  “Humans were never meant to use magic,” she began, carefully.  “According to the Old Stories, humans and dragons were created at the beginning of time as balancing forces: one to guard magic, and one to guard creation.  They were meant to shape the world together.  But they fought instead, leading to dragons’ extinction.”

          “Didn’t peg you for the religious type.”

          Jackie turned her stern look back to him.  “And now we think we can use what remains of these creatures we drove to extinction for our own benefit?  Like we didn’t cause the genocide of their species?  How arrogant are we?”

           Aiden’s throat went dry.

           “Familiars should’ve never been created.”  Jackie released a heavy breath, kneeling reluctantly and fiddling with her bag. “I need to—to fix my prosthetic,” she said quietly.  “And then we’re going back.”

           A vague sense of hopelessness washed over Aiden, a heaviness in his chest and a bitter taste in his mouth, his mind turning over Jackie’s words slowly.  That’s not—that wasn’t our fault. Not the fault of anyone living now, anyways.  And—if we didn’t have Familiars, magic would’ve just disappeared entirely, right? Another, more terrifying thought fled through his mind.  If we’d never made Familiars, then I would’ve never met Kiru.

           It wasn’t until then that it dawned on him that his Familiar was still missing.  He whipped around, looking for some flash of blue.  “Kiru?  Kiru!”

           The Familiar didn’t reappear.

           Jackie didn’t seem to be paying attention, slowly detaching her prosthetic, her attention focused on her bag.

           Aiden sidled down the alleyway.  He couldn’t have gone too far, right?  He has to be this way somewhere.

           When he came to the mouth of the alley, he still didn’t see Kiru immediately.  Then blue flashed in the crowd, weaving amongst the people.

           “Hey,” Jackie called, “what are you doing?”

           “Just need to get Kiru,” he answered, ignoring Jackie’s cries of protest as he hurried down the street.

           The Familiar had some distance on him, and had always been faster, leaving Aiden struggling to catch up as he wove through the crowd.  “Kiru!” he shouted, hoping the Familiar would listen and come back.  He didn’t—whether because he didn’t hear or because he didn’t want to, Aiden wasn’t sure.  Aiden picked up the pace, trying to weave his way through the crowd a little better, eyes firmly on the distant speck of blue.

           Kiru slowed after a time, eyes turning to something up ahead.

           Aiden took the chance to close the distance, lunging and catching the Familiar.  “Got you!”

           Kiru yelped, squirming, before seeming to realize who held him, tilting his head backwards.

           Aiden quirked an eyebrow at him.  “What are you doing?”

           The Familiar huffed, then struggled free.  Aiden let him, watching as Kiru moved to get a stick.  The Familiar dragged it through the dirt, occasionally glancing back at something.

           Aiden tilted his head, then moved closer.  The shaky lines in the ground vaguely resembled letters: a squiggly ‘s,’ a lopsided ‘c’, something that vaguely resembled an ‘o.’  “What are you—why are you writing?”

           Kiru dropped the stick with a huff, looking away.

           “Kiru.”

           The Familiar reluctantly returned, phasing into Aiden’s hands.  Vague frustration wormed through Aiden like a faint flame, along with images of Jackie scowling at them, echoes of her words about Familiars ringing through the back of Aiden’s skull.  He blinked several times.  Because of Jackie?  It doesn’t matter what she thinks.  We know better.

           Yeah, but—  More images, this time of reports on Provenance’s Dragon.

           Aiden’s eyebrows furrowed.  I’m not sure I get what you’re trying to say.

           Kiru huffed, the frustration bubbling briefly before it was roughly shoved down.

           Kiru, come on.

           The Familiar didn’t respond.

           Aiden bit back a frustrated sigh.  Be that way, then.  He leaned forward, brushing his fingers through the dirt.  What were you trying to write, anyways?  You’re not normally all that interested in writing.  

           It wasn’t until that moment that he finally glanced upwards.  He stiffened.  White Water High School stood in front of him, quiet for the moment, students and teachers likely still inside.

           Aiden scrambled to his feet and stumbled a few steps away.  Something clenched tightly in his chest.  Oh.  His hands shook.

           Kiru tuned back in briefly, faint curiosity and concern briefly bubbling underneath his frustration.

           Aiden took a couple of measured steps forward, fingers locking around the chain link fence.  He swallowed convulsively.  What period is it?  It’s not even noon yet.  Second period?  Third? I’d be in Math or History, then.

           His fingers tightened, hard enough that faint pain radiated through them.  Did any of them notice when I disappeared?  Did they care?  Did James and the others wonder if something happened because they didn’t show up?  His throat felt too tight, his eyes hot.  If they had—if they’d just come like they said they would—then I would’ve never been on River Road when Tyson was there, and I never would’ve been attacked.  The school blurred.  I should’ve known better.  I shouldn’t have gone.  Stupid, stupid—of course they didn’t actually want to hang out with me, I’m just that crazy kid who talks to his Familiar, they were just humoring me, and now—hell, who’s going to want to be near me know?  No one trusts a dragon.

           “I should’ve just left you,” a voice spat, and for a moment Aiden thought he’d imagined it. He didn’t turn, waiting as Jackie stomped closer.  “You can’t just run off.”  She stopped, and several silent seconds passed.  “Why did you come to a school?”

           “I didn’t.  Kiru did.”  He took a shaky breath.  “It’s my high school.”

           Jackie didn’t respond. Several moments passed before she said, quieter, “We should go.”

           “Y-yeah.  Yeah, I know.”  Reluctantly, he pried his fingers away from the fence.

           “Hey!” someone shouted. “What are you two doing?”

           Jackie and Aiden whipped towards the voice at the same moment.  That was the first time Aiden noticed the police car parked in front of the building—and the officer coming their way.

           Every thought seemed to screech to a halt.  For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, his mind scrambling for purchase on the thoughts that kept sliding by, Kiru shouting warnings that weren’t made of words or images but sensations and emotions that said he needed to go, they needed to do something.

           They’re here because of me, he realized, managing to catch hold of one of the floating thoughts.  They’re here because I used Mach Five, and they need to find me, and now I’m right here in front of them—

           The thought was enough to shake him out of his stupor.  “Jackie,” he said, turning around.

           But Jackie wasn’t there.

           Aiden froze, suddenly uncertain of what to do, his mind screaming, She left me, I knew she didn’t like me, but she was supposed to be watching me, how could she just—

           The frantic thoughts gave the police officer enough time to reach him.  “Shouldn’t you be in class?” the officer asked.  “And where’d your friend go?”  The officer frowned, staring down the street, likely in the direction Jackie had gone.

           Maybe he should chase her, Kiru thought.  She’s clearly the dangerous one.

           Aiden, mouth dry, heart hammering in his ears, couldn’t respond.

           The officer glanced down at him, eyebrows furrowed.

           Aiden tried to shift away.  It’s fine, he thought.  It’s fine. He doesn’t recognize me.  I’m wearing a disguise.  He doesn’t know.

           But is it good enough?  What if he sees right through it?  What if, what if, what if—

           “I’m home schooled,” he blurted, far too late.

           The officer gave him a scrutinizing look.  “Your parents just let you wander around during the day?”

           “I-I don’t have a set schedule.”  

           The officer was still giving him that same look.  Slowly, his attention turned to something lying on the ground.

           Aiden’s gaze followed, and his heart leapt into his throat.  The posters.  He swiped them, trying to clutch them tightly to his chest.

           The officer peeled one away.

           “H-hey!  Give that back.”

           The officer’s expression turned unreadable.

           Aiden held his breath, half-poised to run.

           “What,” the officer asked carefully, “are you doing with this?”

           “I-it’s for a project.”

           “Is it, now.”

           Aiden’s mind scrambled to find a response, but he couldn’t come up with something convincing, his brain screeching to a panicked halt.

           “Kid, you know this is a dangerous criminal, right?  I realize that the idea of turning into a dragon might be appealing, but you can’t just latch onto anyone who does that.”

           Anger forced its way past Aiden’s reservations, and he snapped, “He’s not a criminal!”

           The officer gave him a searching look.

           “I-I mean, wasn’t—there’s more to the story.  Probably. And everyone’s just—making assumptions.”

           The officer watched him a long moment.  “Maybe,” he said slowly, “but Mach Five is still illegal for a reason.  We need to set an example, or else we’ll have chaos.”  He gave the poster another careful look.

           Aiden’s heart stuttered.

           “Where are you even getting this information, anyways?  The Chief’s the one who has the most information on the case, but I don’t think he ever released some of this.”

           Whatever self-control Aiden had fled.  He turned on his heel, sprinting away, barely hearing the startled shout of the officer over the rushing of his own blood.  He hadn’t made it far when someone caught the back of his hood.  He jerked, struggling, trying to free himself from the confines of his jacket.  He’d just started to wiggle free when the officer caught his arm.  The officer mouthed something, eyebrows furrowed, but Aiden couldn’t hear anything over the thundering of his heart.

           He knows.

           He struggled, trying to kick free.

           He’s going to arrest me.

           The officer reached for something in his pocket.

           He knows he knows he knows he knows—

           He reached, desperate, for Kiru’s familiar warmth, and the Familiar answered.  Magic tugged free—

           Keep hold of it.  Guide it where it wants to go.

           —and pulsed towards his chest, bubbling through in a burst.  Blue flames streamed from underneath his shirt, billowing wildly beside his face.

           The officer whipped back towards him, a startled expression crossing his face. Electricity was already crackling along his fingertips.

           Don’t let him.

           Aiden wasn’t sure whether the thought was his or Kiru’s, but he funneled the excess magic into his hand, firing his own burst of electricity, however weak and unfocused, at the officer.

           The officer, on reflex, pulled away, releasing Aiden in the process and summoning a shield.

           Aiden fell back, posters scattering across the ground.  Whatever tenuous hold he’d had on the magic—Mach Stage?—fell apart, the flames disappearing and the strange, tingling, hot-cold feeling in his chest fading.

           Move!

           The voice was undoubtedly Kiru’s, the school and the street turning dark, shifting into a nighttime road beside the river, the officer morphing into the grisly form of Tyson, his own magic flaring unstably along his arms.

           For a moment, Aiden had the inexplicable, overwhelming urge to lunge at him, a guttural voice inside him growling, This is your fault, you did this, you made me—

           Aiden, run!

           But he couldn’t win, he’d end up back in the river, ad this time he might not come back up for air—

           He wasn’t sure where he was.

           He fell, hands skidding across the sidewalk, pinpricks of blood bursting on his palms where they scraped the gravel.  He took several shaky breaths.

           It was daylight. Wasn’t it night a moment ago? Where was Tyson?  Why wasn’t he on River Road?  Wasn’t he just—

           A car rushed by, and Aiden flinched away, scrambling into an alley.  He shoved himself behind a dumpster, head bent beneath his knees, hands lifted to clutch the back of his head, breaths shuddering in his chest as his stomach rolled.  Bile rose in his throat and filled his mouth.  He held it in, breathing sharply through his nose, in and out, swallowing it again and trying not to take great, heaving gulps of air.

           A voice that sounded eerily like his mother’s whispered, Breathe in slowly.

           I can’t.

           You can.  Steady. With me.

           Aiden tried to take a deep breath.  It caught in his throat and rattled against the top of his ribcage.

           Try it again.

           He did, still shaky, still not deep.  On a third attempt he managed to drag a decent amount of air into his lungs.

           Hold it and count to five.

           He scrunched his eyes closed and counted silently.

           Now release, slowly.  Count to five.

           Aiden obeyed.

           Repeat the process.

           He followed the instructions, taking slow, deep breaths until he felt less light-headed and nauseous. He rested his head against his knees, sweat slick against his pant legs.  Thanks.

           Kiru said, That wasn’t me.  His voice sounded oddly strained.

           Oh.  So I’m imaging it.  Good. Great.

           But then a voice—still familiar, but not the one he expected to hear—asked, “Steady?”

           He lifted his head so quickly it spun.

           Jackie crouched in front of him, hovering close by, like she wanted to approach but didn’t quite dare, an odd expression on her face.

           What had happened slowly trickled back to Aiden, and whatever shock he felt, whatever gratitude—had she been the one to talk him out of his panic attack?—fled in the face of the anger that rose in his throat, bubbling out like fire.  “You left.”

           Jackie didn’t deny it, just stared at him with the same unreadable expression.

           “Why?”

           Jackie glanced aside.

           The anger burned his throat, but it felt good, warm, because didn’t he deserve to be angry, after all this?  It wasn’t even my fault! “Oh, what, were you hoping the cop would just take me?  Was he one of your friends?  Real nice of you, glad to know where your loyalties lie.”

           “I didn’t want them to see me.”

           Aiden laughed incredulously.  “What? With a dragon?”  He spat the word, the tears that sprung to his eyes as hot as the words in his throat. “Well, you know what?  I guess that’s fair.  No one else wanted to be seen around me, either, but hey, who’d want to spend time around the crazy kid who talks to his Familiar?”  His fingernails dug into his scalp.  “I guess it’s fine, everyone hates me, anyways, so what’s one more?”

           Jackie turned back to him, expression twisting between discomfort and frustration.  “The hell, kid, you did use Mach Five—”

           “I didn’t ask to be a monster!”

           The words echoed through the alley.  Everything fell silent, save for Aiden’s ragged breathing.  For a moment they stared at each other, Aiden trying desperately to control his breathing again, Jackie studying him with a wary expression.

           Exhaustion swept through Aiden.  His head drooped beneath its own weight, and he planted both hands on it, staring blankly at the ground.

           Kiru sent waves of comfort, and Aiden allowed his own emotions to coil with it.

           Jackie murmured, “We should head back.”

           Aiden nodded, a quick, jerky motion that made his head spin.  He got unsteadily to his feet.  He reached for his hood before remembering he didn’t have his coat anymore, and instead opted for hunching his shoulders, trailing after Jackie as she moved out of the alleyway.

           He wondered if anyone would recognize him.  He almost didn’t care.

           His legs felt like lead. He couldn’t quite get enough breath into his chest.  The city passed in a haze, a not-quite-tense silence between the three of them. Aiden’s emotions ebbed into something more somber, and it left him feeling cold.  “I’m sorry,” he said eventually.

           Jackie didn’t react.

           “Why—why did you come back?”

           It took a few moments before she shrugged.  “We still need you.”

           Of course.  The thought didn’t feel as bitter as it might have before.  His mind wandered, touching briefly on something Kiru had mentioned after his panic attack, the thought briefly swamped by his own frustration.  His eyes drifted to Jackie’s left leg.  “Thank you.  For talking me down from, uh—”

           “It’s fine,” Jackie cut in, her voice carefully controlled.

           Aiden nodded tightly. The tension between them still hadn’t eased; even if Jackie had been willing to help him, things still didn’t feel fine.  I guess this is just the way things are, now.  Is it going to stay like this forever?

           He didn’t have an answer.

 _______________________________________________________________

Tag List: @siarven, @focusdumbass, @paladin-andric, @onedayiwillfind, @muggle-writes, @geth-consensus, @roselinbooks--let me know if anyone wants to be added to/removed from the tag list!

[mcsmmafia]

Round VIII of MC:SM Mafia 🍬

THE 8TH ROUND OF MAFIA

It was cold, it was snowy… and it was an enormous swamp that you got lost in. For days you have been wandering around the wetland, desperately looking for any sorts of food, but to no avail. But then you saw what might just save you from starving to death: A big, light brown mansion in the distance!

You hurried to the stranger’s house – something about it’s shape and size reminded you of something, but you were too hungry to remember what exactly – and considered your options. Eating the old, dirty crust on the outside of the walls? Eww, hell no! You had to get inside and get the good stuff, even if you had to break and enter. Or maybe you could eat and enter?

But to your surprise, the candy cane-bar door was open. You went inside, and it was pitch black, but the smell didn’t lie. THE WALLS WERE GINGERBREAD, THE WINDOWS WERE WOVEN WITH COTTON CANDY, AND YOU WERE HUNGRY!

So you immediately abandoned any common sense and started feasting. Until you suddenly heard a voice behind you –

"Nibble, nibble, gnaw, who is nibbling at my little mansion?"

You turned around to see a red-haired girl grinning gleefully in the twilight of the gaps in the door. Oh wait, you remember this face – it was Cassie, Cassie Rose, the evil witch of the swamps!!! And she was blocking the entrance, she’s probably gonna EAT YOU TOO-

But to your surprise, she pulled out something white and quite delicious smelling. Was that… white pumpkin pie??? Could you actually be in heaven???

And then, she threw it right into your face. Rude!

You tried to rub it off, but it stuck like superglue. How much honey did you use to make it this sticky!?

You were interrupted in your thoughts abruptly when you heard another splash and looked back up to see Cassie having disappeared. Uh-oh.

Knowing that you would starve outside – c’mon, seriously, nobody likes the crust –, you stumbled your way into the next room, where there was light. And more scents of delicate pie. A walking scent – IT’S THE WALKING PIE, EVERYONE, RUUUN!!!

Dear dinner guests, it is time.

To eat.

BEFORE YOU DIE OF DIABETES!

Or possibly also of murder, whatever comes first!

☀ Results of Day 1:

The first thing the guests did was discuss what could and could not be eaten in the mansion. Turns out: Absolutely everything is edible! So they set out to eat everything.

CASSIE asked the guests if they think the witch – or their hips and pancreas, for that matter – would forgive them if they eat the house, in hopes of subtly restraining them, but they ignored her warning.

After the guests had eaten all they could in one day, Stacy told everyone to say something if they saw someone without a pet, as there’s a 50/50 chance that they’re Cassie.

🌑 Results of Night 1:

First things first, Sparklez had to assess what could and could not be eaten in this big mansion, to come to the conclusion… everything. Absolutely everything was edible. He tried his best to tag along in the big feasting, but eventually got nauseous from all the sugar. Oof, he needed some real food, or else his stomach might not forgive him! He was a bit stunned when he realized that CASSIE didn’t have a pet. He tried to talk to her, but she would just outright ignore him… so Sparklez quickly grabbed some healthy salad sandwiches and ran to the entrance hall to avoid potentially being murdered. It was probably for the best…

CASSIE’s beautiful, hand-baked mansion… and they’re eating EVERYTHING, despite her subtle warning… arrrgh!! She’ll have to go and rebake everything NOW, or her guests will eat their way out! After shoving three more tables worth of cake into her all-automatic oven, she decided to utilize the waiting time for some trap-activation. Very efficient she was! She pulled the lever and listened in for the scream – but to her surprise, it wasn’t Sparklez’ – but… Reuben’s!? Uhm-

Oh no. Oooooohhh NO! Harper had a dark, troubled past with candy. Even one bite would… it would make her… NO, THAT COULD NOT HAPPEN!!! So she ran to the living room, hoping that that way, she could survive her own addiction… Too bad everything in the living room was made of candy, too! She knew she would eventually give in if she had to smell the delicious scent of gingerbread any longer, so she opened a window, embraced the cold winter night air and went to sleep right next to it. Better freeze than eat to death!

Oh no, what Stacy said means that they will probably throw Gabriel out sooner or later… so he better has fun while he still can and IMPERSONATE CASSIE! First things first, he would try to follow Jesse… but they wouldn’t stop eating… and then it became dark, and they still wouldn’t stop eating… Maybe Jesse thought they could bore him by doing absolutely nothing, but they had thought wrong! Gabriel kept an close eye on them… even when it became too dark to see, he still stared in their direction while wildly waving around with his wooden sword.

Jesse was so busy eating THE WHOLE MANSION, they didn’t even notice when darkness fell. It was only when they couldn’t see where the cake was anymore that they stopped eating and began to worry about where they were gonna sleep. But they still couldn’t stop thinking about food, so the only room that came to their mind was the kitchen. They went to sleep there… but suddenly, they were awakened by Reuben’s scream. Oh my god, it’s a trap, nO, REUBEN, NOOOOO! 😭 But now was not the time to grief – if they didn’t get a move on and ran to the attic right NOW, Reuben’s death would all be for nothing! However, they soon found Winslow patrolling the hallway between library and dining room, so they had to head to the entrance hall instead.

Stella has always wondered what paint tasted like… and now was her chance to finally find it out! Well… it actually tastes like marzipan! That’s good to know, in case she ever goes hungry again! After nibbling a bit more on some Mona Stella, she eventually grew tired and fell asleep on the couch.

Yeah, yeah, cake is great and all, but what about that delicious pumpkin pie thrown on your face!? How could someone just waste a pumpkin pie like this!? They don’t understand!!! Ah, but anyway, Stacy had a plan about Cassie, so she tried to forget her anger and headed to the library. The first step of her plan was to brew as many swiftness potions as she could. She succeded, and forgot all about her anger in the process, killing two birds with one stone!

Reuben was hit by a trap and died!

☀ Results of Day 2:

After someone apparently has fed cholocate to poor little Reuben, Sparklez cried in disbelief, but then realized that they needed to find out who Reuben’s owner was. A long moment of silence followed, before Stacy rose to speak and claimed that she didn’t have him, asking everyone about their alibis. After Harper and Sparklez answered, Sparzklez stated that they needed to figure out who had a pet and who didn’t. Jesse was the only one who didn’t answer. Nobody lied.

After all of that, Sparklez and CASSIE agreed that it was better to not lock anyone up yet.

🌒 Results of Night 2:

Can slimes die from chocolate consumption? Sparklez kinda doubted it, seeing as they seemed to absorb pretty much everything without a problem. So he didn’t have to worry about Jerry, but wished the other pet owners good luck in their quest to eliminate all cocoa products before heading to the bed chamber. There, he figured that he probably wouldn’t become part of the floor, since Winslow wasn’t around, so he snuggled into the tenderness of candy floss bedding and drifted off to sleep.

How has CASSIE never thought of that – well, Winslow was smart enough to know that he should’nt eat chocolate, but… what if some of their guests tried to feed him!? WHAT IF THEY KILLED HER PET!??! So she was seriously glad when the guests decided to eat up ALL the chocolate in the mansion, and decided to not replenish it. Pheww… now, let’s go back on track and to the living room! Alright, let’s set off that trap and – hopefully – catch Harper! …Was the plan, alright. But she seems to have survived… and not only that, more witnesses have joined CASSIE’s room! Freaking-

Harper could barely stand watching the others eat chocolate. Why didn’t they know, this was so triggering for her – PAMA helped her by hovering in front of her face the whole time, and when the sun began to set, she quickly headed back to the living room to follow the same strategy. Not today, sugar addiction! When she saw CASSIE in her sacred panic room, she lost her nerves. CASSIE could start to eat in front of her, who knows! So she played it safe and ran to the entrance hall. Luckily, the groaning of the zombies was enough to keep her from thinking of candy…

Gabriel didn’t have a pet, so he couldn’t understand this self-sacrifice the others were doing. Eat chocolate until none was left… Chocolate is terrible for your muscles, as everyone knows! But anyway, back to his quest of acting as suspicious as he could – time to stalk Jesse! Gabriel watched them eat all the chocolate – and eventually, they just… sat down, exhausted. They were looking pretty nauseous, too. Okay, maybe staring at Jesse all night was getting a bit boring – and Gabriel felt quite exhausted, too… so he decided to pay the library a visit. However, as he stepped into the hallway, he saw Winslow’s silhouette right in front of him – it made him look really big and scary, okay! So he might or might not have retrieved to the living room… so what! He definitely didn’t have any nightmares of him afterwards, so it was all fine!

Jesse was actually so full from the chocolate, they were sure if they moved one step they would throw up. So they stayed right in place, instead… They waited for the nausea to go away for a bit, then slowly made their way to the bed chamber. However, when they saw Winslow in the hallway, their sickness returned – I mean, look at him, BLEUGH – and they had to run back to the living room, open a window and… well… After that, they slept pretty well though. They felt quite alleviated.

Noo, Lluna, don’t eat those chocolate crumbs – Stella had to distract her somehow, for her own safety- oh, she got it! She’d just needed to send her on a treasure hunt! Let’s follow Gabriel and see if he has any weapon, alright! …But he didn’t move one bit. Well. Whatever, then let’s pinch the sword from Jesse! Go, Lluna – Huh? They’re already gone? Maaan, what a pity. With nothing left to do, Stella gave Lluna a hot cookie massage for the whole night. She really appreciated it.

Stacy was really really worried about Wink, so she brang herself to eat all that chocolate. In the end, she was sure Wink was thankful, but her stomach was less… she couldn’t even move one bit, she was THAT full. Oof… What could help with a serious overdose of chocolate…? – Of course, it had to be a serious overdose of sugar to even out the unhealthy elements in her body! After she chugged down one potion of swiftness, she was ready to scoot in flash speed to the attic, when she suddenly tripped over something in the hallway – oh no, it was Winslow! The kitty very terrifyingly hissed at her, so she meekly made her way back to the living room. There, she seeked out a nice, comfy corner and shut her eye… when suddenly, a mountain of M&Ms dropped down onto her. Ack, HeLp! Somebody, HELP! She tried to scream, but not a single word could escape her mouth as she drowned in the worst sweet imaginable.

Stacy was hit by a trap and died!

☀ Results of Day 3:

Sparklez immediately started by asking where everyone was, and stating that he had his suspicions on Jesse, Gabriel and CASSIE. Gabriel accidentally said library and retracted his statement, which made Sparklez suspicious. Next, Stella and CASSIE answered. Then Harper revealed that Stella was Stella, much to her shock. In return, she said that Harper was Harper. Stella added that Lluna dected a weapon on Jesse last night. 🪓

Sparklez repeated what has been said so far, and Stella asked if they should lock Jesse up. Sparklez agreed, and Stella stated that they felt bad for locking them up on their birthday of all days. 🍰

However, Sparklez was the only one who actually voted, and also volunteered to guard. He continued to ask if anyone had any objection. Nobody (but Jesse) did. Jesse then began to speak by saying that they had their suspicions on Gabriel, since they saw CASSIE, them, Stacy, and Wink in the living room, but Stacy and Wink were gone the next day. Jesse then change their mind to have their bigger sus on CASSIE, since she was in the kitchen the night Reuben died. Stella agreed and stated that CASSIE wasn’t talking as much as well.  

They went on to ask Jesse about their archetype. They said Adventurer.

Sparklez was the last one to speak, repeating his statement.

🌓 Results of Night 3:

Sparklez got so many crafting materials for christmas… wood, wool, iron, flint, it was great! He wanted to go and craft something so badly, but he had to remember his duties and shoved Jesse into the closet. He poked his frustration away on Jesse. Simultaneously, he thought of all the cool things he would soon craft with his new stuff… it kept him occupied, at least, and made the night be over in a flash, almost. Well, almost.

CASSIE didn’t get what she wanted. No. She got a superfine brush for Winslow, an extremely rare elytra, some collars made of diamonds… but not what she needed. Not what she invited them all in here for. Therefore, everyone shall be PUNISHED! …She thought to herself and headed to the library. After a bit of contemplating, she decided to set off traps in the library, gallery and the dining room, and went to sleep afterwards in a thrill of anticipation for who was going to die next. But, alas, the next morning, a suspicous void yawned from her machines…

Harper was too scared for unexpected surprises, so she had PAMA open up all her presents for her. And of course, among some redstone dust, batteries for PAMA from some idiot who didn’t know PAMA obtains its power from ordinary sockets, and a daylight detector, someone had the nerves to gift her a CaNDy BaR. Candy. She couldn’t move, she was that aggravated. She waited until it was too dark to see where PAMA hid the candy, then she followed its beam of light to find her way to the trusty old living room and slept at her usual spot, under the window, almost freezing to death.

Guess what Gabriel got for christmas… coal! Apparently, even pretending to be naughty counts as naughty in this world. Welp. To make things even worse – because why not! – he followed Rush to the kitchen, spreading an as murderous vibe as he could. He stared at Stella the whole night… he saw everything. The envy in her eyes… yes, she must’ve been getting presents all for Lluna this year, and was upset about it. But then, she ate her sorrow away and went to sleep… and in the morning, Lluna bleated a don’t be sad, Gabriel could hear it so clearly. And Stella was super touched by it. Also, Stella snored.

Jesse teared up when they saw what they got for christmas… it was a figurine of Reuben. Someone had made them a little statue of Reuben to remember his sacrifice. It was so beautiful and sad at the same time… They would keep it with them for all times, even when they got shoved into the closet, it was there, in their pockets, the spirit of Reuben… Sparklez was not joking when he said he would poke them all night long… Jesse laughed it away, saying that they were too tired from being sus to everyone to be kept awake, but really, they were busy the whole night anyway, thinking sentimentally about their christmas present…

Stella got so many presents – a brush, some nice, silken blankets, an extra-soft leash, tiny boots for stony grounds… yeah, they were all for Lluna. Every single one of them. Yes, she loved her darling Lluna more than anything else, but she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of her… Lluna noticed that, but only bleated snobbishly. Stella went to the kitchen to comfort eat her diappointment away. After having some good real food, she slept her envy away. And look at that, in the morning, Lluna had snuggled to her side, bleating a don’t be sad about it. It was still kinda cheeky, like she was simultaneously bragging about it, but Stella was touched either way.

☀ Results of Day 4:

Sparklez once again immediately broke the ice by asking what happened last night. Stella confirmed that Lluna didn’t detect weapons on Gabriel in the kitchen. Sparklez then concluded that he probably isn’t Cassie, but Jesse, and that Jesse must be the murderer. But then Stella interposed if they ever cleared CASSIE. Sparklez answered with CASSIE’s whereabouts in the first night, aka the night where Reuben disappeared. CASSIE verified this.

Medi then started to vote for Jesse’s elimination, and Gabriel and CASSIE followed.

Jesse then made the plot-twisting decision to vote themself out to prove that they’re not Cassie. Stella noted that this seemed counterproductive. Nobody changed their mind after this.

Rani got thrown out and died!

The Last Night 🌔

"Ha!", CASSIE laughed and clapped her hands when she arrived in the kitchen, all by herself. Jesse was kind enough to voluntarily starve to death outside, but Winslow could not retrieve the FLINT & STEEL from them, so… t’was time for some traps! And to replenish what the guests had eaten off the mansion, or else they would find an escape – and that was definitely not the plan! 🍰

Meanwhile, Stella was getting nervous. She already had a bad feeling back when Jesse was being accused earlier… and now she had to be extra careful. She decided to make a run for the attic, but was stopped by nasty Winslow appearing in front of her in the hallway between the dining room and the library. She tried to ignore him, but then suddenly, Winslow jumped onto her, extending claws. Stella screamed in terror; luckily, Lluna managed to back-kick Winslow off of her and pull her to flee back to the living room.

Panting, Stella sat down on the couch and thought of where to go instead. But she didn’t sit for too long – as soon she was devoured by the seat giving in and revealing a dark, deep pit underneath it! Stella thought it was the end for her, but the fall wasn’t too deep – and she landed right on a mountain of cookie dough. Oh, yummy~! 🎵

They couldn’t resist nibbling on it, but something was wrong… it was kinda hot in here… and the cookie dough was getting suspiciously hard to bite. Oh shoot, oH SHoOt, Stella was… getting baked alive?!?

She looked back up from where she had fallen; she could barely see the surface, as steam was coming from the ground and beclouding the view. The cookie dough was getting super crispy… "H… HHHel… HH… HHHel… Hel… HELP!", she cried out loud, hoping someone would come and rescue her.

Lluna could not just let this happen – and she knew exactly who was the only one with a metallic weapon left. 🪓

She searched the whole house until she found her, just minding her own baking business. There CASSIE was, and she did NOT know what Lluna had coming for her-

"BAH!" she bloated, causing CASSIE to cringe and look right into her hooves – Lluna hit as hard as she could, making CASSIE stumble and fall backwards.

"Bah! Bah! Bah!", she continued, demanding Stella’s rescue – or else. "Okay, okay, alright, fine, geez-", CASSIE said, adjusting her classes and carefully standing up to enter the secret passage way, with Lluna breathing down her neck.

She pressed some random buttons to buy some time… then suddenly, something jumped up on Lluna – it was of course Winslow, raging for revenge!

Lluna run into reverse and tried to shake him off, but his claws dud deep into her fur and left some bloody scratches. She then rolled around the floor, causing Winslow to leap off and hiss at her. Lluna bloated back, and the both of them continued to fight.

Meanwhile, CASSIE went to observe Stella suffer to death. There she went… and looks like she dropped something shiny-

Lluna suddenly stopped as Winslow bit her in her leg. Something wasn’t right… why was there smoke coming from the kitchen, did CASSIE actually burn some food-?

Then she realized that it was indeed not coming from the kitchen, but from everywhere. Soon, she was cornered by flames, and Winslow jumped out of the window, leaving her to die alone.

And with her, everyone else died too, everyone but CASSIE and her 372,026,931 calico cats. And honestly, the thing she was most glad about was that she finally didn’t have to play the cook anymore. FREEDOM!!! 😼 😼😼😼😼😼😼😼😼

Cassie has won the game! 🍬

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part III (x OC)

Summary: Spencer has to face Anita and Sam— and learns a little about Maggie’s past. Maggie and Spencer babysit for Michael and Henry. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x OC

Category: fluff, a tiny smidge of hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: implied smut, drinking/alcohol, vague mentions of previous emotional/mental abuse (Owen)

Word count: 4.2k

a/n: This picks up right after the end of the tmsidk epilogue! I also worked two requests in here.

Series Masterlist

———

Spencer stacked the last of the tiny chairs in the center of the room, stepping back and dusting his palms on his trousers. He looked over to see Maggie playing a sort of container tetris with the bins of supplies in her closet. He smiled a little to himself, his head still in the metaphorical clouds with her confession of love. 

She maneuvered the bins to her satisfaction and shut the closet doors, pushing against them to squeeze everything in until the latch clicked. She turned to see him watching her and wiped imaginary sweat from her brow. She gave him a wink and a grin, and he was falling all over again. 

She perched on the corner of her desk with a tired sigh, and he made his way across the room to her. She reached for him as soon as he was within arms length, wrapping her arms around his middle. She snuggled into his chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go to dinner to celebrate.”

She laughed and looked up at him. “Celebrate what?”

He shrugged. “You. Summer.” He brought his arms around her shoulders. “Love.”

She smiled and scrunched her nose at him. “You just want me to say it again.”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

Her hands came to rest on his hips, her fingers squeezing lightly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he answered immediately and rather dreamily.

“Yo, Brooksy!” 

The call of her name from the hallway startled them both. Anita began to step over the threshold, continuing, “You ready to get absolutely crunk tonight or— oh.” She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes tracking Spencer’s frame. “Dr. Reid.”

Spencer stepped back from Maggie, smiling a little awkwardly at the formality and giving a wave. “Mrs. Lopez. It’s, um— it’s nice to see you again.”

Anita hummed noncommittally, and Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. She turned her attention back to Maggie. “So, are we going out or what?”

Maggie groaned. “Anita, I’m exhausted. Can we keep it low key? Oh!” Her eyes lit up with an idea, and Spencer could already see where this was going. “Spence and I were gonna get dinner to celebrate, um— summer. Call Sam; we’ll all just go together.”

Anita spared a glance in Spencer’s direction before sighing heavily. “Fine. But I’m drinking.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared back into the hallway.

Maggie chuckled. “I swear she’s not actually an alcoholic.” Her eyes landed on Spencer’s face, and she smiled gently. “I know you weren’t expecting a Meet the Friends night, but it’ll be fun.”

“She hates me,” Spencer surmised.

“She does not hate you.” Maggie stood from the desk, pressed a reassuring peck to his lips. “She’s just… protective. That’s all.”

…

Maggie was entirely wrong. Anita Lopez hated him. That was the only explanation for her absolutely icy demeanor. 

They’d met up with her and Sam at a Mexican restaurant in Tenleytown. Sam was wonderfully kind and funny, even apologizing for having “flipped him the bird” the last time she saw him. And it was a good thing Sam was being friendly, because Anita was decidedly… less so. 

Spencer understood completely of course. He’d broken Maggie’s heart. Penelope had been ready to hunt her down at the mere thought of him being hurt. As Maggie’s best friend, Anita had every right to be wary of him. She had every right to hate him. He’d just... hoped that she wouldn’t. 

Thankfully, Maggie and Sam were more than happy to carry the conversation— he and Anita chiming in here and there. He learned that Sam worked as an attorney at a firm specializing in family law. She and Anita had two kids, Riley and Sidney— one in 2nd grade and the other in preschool. 

“Maggie is still Riley’s favorite teacher ever,” Sam told him. “I mean, it helps when she’s also your aunt, I guess.”

“He didn’t get any special treatment,” Maggie insisted. At Sam’s raised eyebrow, she laughed. “Okay, maybe a little special treatment. But you raised a good kid! And I can’t help it that he was the most trustworthy of the bunch.”

“Oh my god, the field trip,” Sam groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. 

“The field trip!” Maggie turned to Spencer. “My group of kiddos from two years ago— they were kind of a tough group.”

“Kind of?” Anita squeaked. “Let me just tell you, I can hear them through the floor. The entire middle school is literally dreading the day they make it upstairs.”

Sam piped in, “I chaperoned on said field trip to the zoo. And I vowed that I will never, ever go on another field trip. Ever.”

“What happened?” Spencer asked incredulously. 

“So many things,” Sam baited. 

Maggie covered her mouth to stifle a cackle, leaning a bit into Spencer’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile, looking around at the three women. Even Anita was chuckling, and she’d barely cracked a smile all evening. 

“Okay, so many things happened,” Maggie started, “but the worst was—”

“The poop!” Sam wheezed. “The poop was the worst part of that day. The smell alone, oh my god.”

Maggie composed herself as best she could, gesturing over the table. “So after this nightmare of a day, we get on the bus, and there’s this— smell.”

“The absolute worst smell you’ve ever smelled, Spencer,” Sam assured. 

“It’s awful. It’s so bad,” Maggie agreed. “And I’m literally going seat to seat, checking to make sure no one has shit themselves.”

“You could not pay me enough,” Anita chimed in. 

“And I get to the seat that is very clearly where the smell is coming from. And I can’t, like— hold my nose, right? I don’t want to embarrass him!” Maggie turned to Spencer with flushed cheeks. “So I ask, ‘Sweetheart, did you have a bathroom accident?’”

Spencer let out a nervous laugh. “Oh no.” 

“But oh, it wasn’t a bathroom accident,” Maggie clarified, waving her hand. “No, no— that would be too easy. This child had somehow managed to obtain copious amounts of poop from one of the zoo animals and packed it into his lunchbox to take home.”

Spencer could feel his jaw drop. “Oh my god.”

“So, he unzips his lunchbox and it’s just— overflowing with shit.” Maggie dropped her head into her hands, overcome with giggles. 

“And don’t forget the worst part: his mom was on the field trip!” Sam lamented, throwing her hands up. “I will never understand.”

Maggie lifted her head with an exasperated grin, and he wasn’t sure if it was the story or the fact that she loved him, but Spencer felt like he could float away into outer space. 

“I told you I had a lot of poop stories,” Maggie lamented to him, drawing another round of laughs. As they composed themselves, the waiter came by their table to clear some of their plates and refill their water.

“God, I said we were keeping it low key, and then I drank half a pitcher,” Maggie complained, pushing back from the table. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” 

She gave Spencer a reassuring smile, and he tried not to panic as she stood and left him with Sam and Anita. And because the universe was toying with him, at that exact moment, Sam’s phone began to ring. She pulled it from her pocket with a sigh. 

“Shit— I’ve been waiting on this call all day.” She kissed Anita’s cheek and stood from the table. “So sorry; I’ll just be five minutes, I promise.”

With that, it was just the two of them, staring intently at their water glasses. Spencer was certain he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. Anita broke the silence first. 

“You know what’s annoying?”

Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Considering that the issues one might classify as an annoyance vary for each individual person, there are over seven billion potential answers to that question.”

Anita tilted her head with an unimpressed purse of her lips. Spencer hedged, “And I understand now that it was probably rhetorical.”

“I actually kind of like you.” She leaned across the table with an irritated sigh. “I wanted to hate you, but I don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, um— I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re good for her. Smart, humble, kind. Enamored with her, as you should be,” she deadpanned. She dropped her chin into her hand. “Almost as hot as she is.”

He laughed a little at that. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.” She dropped her hand back to the table. She still didn’t crack a smile, and her gaze bore into him. “I don’t know how much you know about Owen, and she’d probably kill me for saying anything. But he was a real piece of shit.”

This was not the direction he thought this conversation would take. He didn’t know anything about Owen; he’d tried not to think too much about anyone Maggie might have been with before him. 

“It didn’t start out that way.” She drew her brows together. “Well, I don’t know— maybe he was always an asshole, and he was just good at hiding it.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “The point is, I didn’t know he was treating her like garbage until it was too late. He was already all…” She gestured wildly around her head. “In her head, telling her lies about herself, fucking her up, isolating her. For years he did that. And then it took her years to get him out of her head. To— unlearn all the lies. To build herself back up.” 

He could see her grinding her teeth, trying to calm down. He was intensely grateful to not be on the receiving end of Anita’s wrath. He was also immensely glad that Maggie had a friend like that. And his blood absolutely boiled at the thought of her ever feeling anything less than adored. 

“You’re a fed or whatever, so I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she continued, “but I would love nothing more than to put that fucker six feet under.” She ran her hand through her hair, and when she continued her voice was the quietest he’d ever heard it. “All that to say, I… I wasn’t there for her when Owen was destroying her from the inside out. And I will never let that happen again.” 

Anita locked eyes with him and her voice was resolved. “I like you, Spencer. And I want to keep it that way. So, just— don’t give me a reason not to.”

She didn’t drop her gaze, and he couldn’t quite think of the appropriate response. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His brain was still fixated on the idea that anyone had ever hurt the loveliest and kindest woman he’d ever met.

 “Where’s Sam?” Spencer turned just as Maggie slid back into the chair beside him, a comforting hand coming to rest on his knee. 

“Some bullshit from the office that her idiot partner can’t handle.” Anita raised her eyebrows at Spencer, and he nodded minutely. She shifted her gaze back to Maggie with a grin. “Don’t worry. I didn’t scare him too much.”

…

“Easy.” Spencer steadied Maggie with a hand on her waist as they made the way up the stairs to his apartment. 

“Jesus, I’m so sorry. I just— really can’t drink like I used to.” She clutched a little at the railing, and he held his breath until they were at the top of the stairs. 

He slipped an arm back around her waist as they crossed to his apartment door, fumbling with his keys and fighting back a shiver as she snuggled close and ran her hand low over his tummy. 

“Can’t believe I’m tipsy from a couple margaritas.”

“To be fair, you had four,” he chuckled, turning the key and pushing open the door. 

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “But I used to be able to have a whole pitcher and be totally fine.”

“A pitcher?” Spencer laughed as he locked the door and turned to face her. “I can’t even have one without being completely incapacitated.”

She ran her hands up from his waistband, over his chest, and wrapped them around his neck. “Mmm, so you’re a lightweight.”

“Very much so,” he confirmed, bringing his hands to her hips. 

“Just one more sweet thing to love about you, sugar.” 

He couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across his face at the endearment, the way that North Carolina dripped syrupy and thick over every syllable. She pulled him down to meet her in a sweet kiss, quickly deepening it as he dug his fingers into the softness of her hips. Her hands wound into his hair, tugging lightly and holding him close. 

He broke away to rest his forehead against hers and catch his breath. She laced their fingers together and leaned on him while she kicked off her shoes. He toed his own off and then allowed her to lead him toward his bedroom. 

She sat him down on the edge of the bed and straddled his lap, bringing her hands up to tangle in his curls once again. 

Before she could lean in for another kiss, he murmured, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” she teased, ghosting her lips over his.

“Ha, ha.” Part of him wanted to bring up Owen, but she was so happy and warm and comfortable in this moment. He didn’t want to ruin this night of celebration. He didn’t want to ruin this day that had been so full of love. They had plenty of time to discuss Owen. 

He wrapped his arms around her middle. “You’ve met Penelope. I’ve met Anita. Now that the school year is over… we could tell Michael.”

She pulled back, and the smile she gave him could only be described as radiant, and he knew he made the right decision. “He’s gonna lose his mind.”

…

A week later, the pair of them were strolling up the sidewalk to the LaMontagne house. Will and JJ were long overdue for a date night, and Spencer had jumped at the opportunity for the two of them to babysit. When they reached the door, Spencer rang the bell and Maggie waited slightly behind him. 

They could hear the joy from behind the door before it even opened, Michael’s high pitched giggle and Will’s booming laugh. Spencer was already leaning down in preparation, and Michael absolutely launched into his arms as soon as the door swung open. Spencer clocked the moment that Michael spotted her, purely because he practically squealed and squirmed right out of Spencer’s grip. 

“I knew it!” Michael cried. 

He wrapped himself around Maggie’s legs and squeezed tightly, and she rubbed a hand over his hair with a bewildered smile. Michael broke away to turn back to Will with a grin. “I told you.”

“You did, buddy.” Will gave Spencer a lopsided smile as Michael tugged Maggie forward by the hand. “Michael had an… inklin’ that uncle Spencer might be friends with Ms. Brooks.”

“Not friends, Daddy,” Michael said exasperatedly. “He’s her boyfriend.”

“Oh, excuse me, sorry.” Will held his hands up in apology as he stepped aside to let them all in the door. “Michael had a feelin’ that uncle Spencer might be Ms. Brooks’ boyfriend.”

Maggie’s cheeks had turned a very pretty shade of pink. “What— um, what made you think that?” 

Michael waited patiently for her to take off her shoes. “Well firstly, he started picking me up all the time, which was nice but weird. And then he wouldn’t stop asking about you. It was kind of annoying.” Spencer made a choking sound, and Will stifled a laugh. 

“You guys wear the same shoes, and you both love Halloween and tea and reading. I knew you’d like him if he could be a guest reader.” As he led her into the living room, Michael continued, “Oh, and you wore his purple scarf. He doesn’t let anyone wear the purple scarf.”

Spencer vividly remembered that morning— she’d slept over after a midweek date night in April. The temperatures in DC had plummeted overnight, and the outfit she’d brought left her woefully under-dressed for the chilly spring day. He’d wrapped her up in the soft, purple scarf without a second thought. 

She caught his eye with a shrug, and Will tried not to look too smug. Spencer watched her be dragged further into the house, turning to Will with a sheepish smile.

“Well, guess I can’t take all the credit,” Will decided. “Who knew we had a mini matchmaker this whole time?”

Spencer huffed out a laugh as Michael pulled Maggie into the playroom. “This is the best,” Michael sighed. “Now we can play restaurant forever.”

…

Spencer pulled his legs up in the tiny chair, resting his elbows on his knees and taking a moment to watch the scene in front of him unfold. Usually on nights like this, Michael ran him ragged with demands for magic tricks, story time, and playing pretend. Tonight, he’d actually been able to catch up with middle school (middle school!) Henry, because Michael was totally and completely enthralled by Maggie. 

She was helping with the last of the setup for the “restaurant,” organizing Michael’s menus and straightening his clip-on tie. Of course he’d seen her with kids before. But something about being in this playroom— one that he’d spent so many hours in, watching two of his favorite kids grow up— had him feeling warm from head to toe. 

Henry had bounded down the stairs at the news that uncle Spencer was dating his former kindergarten teacher. He hadn’t realized that she’d taught Henry, too, although with the timeline of her teaching career he should have put two and two together. The generally reserved middle schooler had positively beamed when she gasped out, “Gosh, I always forget how tall you’ve gotten!”

And now three of his absolute favorite humans were in one room, and he couldn’t stop smiling. 

“Hen!” Michael called. 

Henry turned from his spot in the chair across from Spencer. “What?”

“You’re the chef,” Michael informed him. 

Maggie tilted her head. “I thought I was the chef?”

“No, no, no.” Michael pushed her toward the kid-sized table. “You and uncle Spencer are on a fancy date.”

Henry rolled his eyes playfully and stood from the chair, pulling it out for her like a perfect gentleman. She beamed at him and gave him a wink. “Thank you, sir.”

She dropped lightly into the chair across from Spencer and laughed a little at his folded limbs. “You look very comfortable.” 

He laughed and stretched his legs out straight. “The picture of comfort, really. These chairs were clearly designed with six foot men in mind.”

“I’m sorry I’m so under-dressed for our fancy dinner date,” she teased, dropping her chin into her hand. 

“You look stunning, as always.” He gestured to the messy braid Michael had folded her hair into. “I especially love what you’re doing with your hair.”

She sucked in a dramatic breath, bringing up her hand to pat lightly at her hair. “You’re making me blush, doctor.” She peeked behind her and then lowered her voice. “I’m probably going to cry when I try to brush the rats out.” 

He looked at her sympathetically. “I know the feeling. I think I’ve got a wide tooth comb, and I can help. I’ve gotten pretty good at detangling Michael’s handiwork.”

Before she could respond, Michael made his way to the table, holding a dish towel over his arm. “Good evening, sir, madam.” 

“Good evening,” they chorused, with barely suppressed grins. 

“Compliments of the chef.” Michael held out his hand to reveal two slightly smushed strawberries.

“Oh, wow,” Maggie said, eyes wide and gesturing to Spencer. “Honey, do you want to—”

Spencer waved his hand, eyeing the berries warily. “No, no, please, help yourself.”

Maggie held back a smile and accepted the strawberries, holding them carefully in her hand and turning her attention back to Michael. “Thank you so much. What a wonderful appetizer. Could we hear the specials?”

That helped Michael remember the menus, and he pulled them from his pocket and cleared his throat. He handed them the construction paper menus. “Our specials tonight are roasted octopus and a steak tartar.”

From the kitchen, Henry mumbled, “Tartare.” 

“Tartare. Steak tartare is our special,” Michael corrected. 

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’m that adventurous. Maybe my boyfriend is though,” Maggie told a grinning Michael. “What do you recommend for a picky eater?”

“My favorite is the chicken nuggets.”

“Well then, sign me up. One order of chicken nuggets.” Maggie handed him the menu. 

Spencer was still perusing the menu for Le Chateau LaMontagne. He smiled at Michael’s handwriting, but particularly at the places where he could tell Maggie had helped. “Everything looks delicious,” he finally decided, “but, you know... I think I’m also going to have the nuggets.”

…

When the boys were finally in bed, Spencer and Maggie settled down in the living room to untangle the mess of her hair. She sat on the floor in between his legs as he gently pulled each braid strand free. He smiled at the way she arched up into his touch, shivering when his fingers brushed over her neck. 

“You’re lucky,” he remarked, laying the last braid strand back into its original place. “Michael seems to have gotten a little better at braiding.”

She leaned her head back into his hands. “You detangled the whole thing?”

“Mmhm.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth. She brought her hands up to hold him against her, trying to deepen the kiss before laughing at the awkward angle and giving up. 

He sat up as she stood and moved to the couch, snuggling up close to him and tucking herself under his arm. “I’m very lucky,” she agreed. “For many reasons.”

Her hand drifted to rest on his tummy, her fingers immediately tracing little shapes over the fabric of his shirt. He pressed a kiss into her hair. “And tired, too.”

“Hmm?” 

He leaned his cheek against her head. “When you get tired, you, um— you start drawing on my stomach.” 

Her finger paused. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” She shifted to raise her head to look at him, and he shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’ve just— noticed.”

She smiled a little sleepily. “You know I love all of you. But I— well, I don’t know, really. I just like your tummy.” She gave it a quick squeeze. “It’s just— nice and comfy and perfect for resting on.” 

He covered her hand with his own and leaned forward to press their mouths together. She drew his bottom lip in between her own, sucking a little and then giving it a quick peck before pulling back and stifling a yawn into his chest. “Man, I am tired.” She snuggled back into him and resumed her tummy tracing. “What, um— what else have you noticed?”

He rubbed his hand down her arm and pulled her impossibly closer. “You like to play with my hair.”

“Mmmm, guilty as charged.”

He smiled at the sleep creeping into her voice. “I like it, too.” He ran his fingers up to her shoulder, and then back down to the crook of her arm, soothing her closer to sleep. “Hmmmm. You always have at least one point of contact on my body at all times. It’s usually your hands, but sometimes it’s your head or even your toes— like when you tuck them under my leg.”

“Ugh— I’m sorry. Clingy and putting my feet on you,” she mumbled.

She might have been joking, but Anita’s words were replaying in his head. He couldn’t change what had happened in the past. He couldn’t go back and prevent her from being hurt by someone else. But he could be different in every way. He could be open and honest and vulnerable with her like he’d promised. 

“I’m not sorry. I love all of you,” he murmured, pulling her in closer and repeating her words back to her. 

“Even my feet?” 

He could also show her that there was absolutely nothing that he didn’t love about her. “Especially your feet.”

She huffed a sigh into his chest. “Y’got a foot thing I don’t know about?”

He laughed a little at that. “Only for yours. They’re very cute feet.”

“You’re weird,” she muttered, but she hugged him tighter when she said it.

“You love it.”

Her fingers on his tummy had come to rest comfortably just above his waistband, and he knew she was on the very edge of sleep. “Mmhm. Love you.”

He thought of all the little moments over the past few months.

Doesn’t live up to expectations? Sorry for overstepping. Are we dating? Sorry for being clingy. Sorry for taking so long to tell you. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

“I love you, too,” he murmured. “So much.”

———

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Series tags (x OC): @kyomito​

[undreaming-fanfiction]

A Night to Remember: A Late Visit

Fandom: Cats the musical Rating: T (could potentially go up later) Pairing: multiple in future chapters, Tuggoffelees, Victoria/Plato, Demeter/Munkustrap etc. Category: magical circus AU, slow burn Chapter number: 5 Chapter summary: Quaxo and Victoria are paid a very late visit. 

The previous chapter: One of Us

 It had been past midnight already when Victoria woke Quaxo up by shaking his shoulder, wildly gesticulating towards the door. Fortunately, he hadn't been fully asleep yet - the magician was a heavy sleeper and he found it difficult to focus on anything or anyone after waking up. At first, he couldn't understand what was happening, why Victoria would interrupt those precious few hours of sleep, but then he heard it too - a quiet, but definitely insistent knocking on the door. 

He was seriously considering going back to sleep, but his sister's worried expression chased all the exhaustion and laziness away. Reluctantly, Quaxo crawled from under the blanket. "I'll take care of it," he smiled at her and ruffled her hair. Barefoot and dishevelled, he made his way towards the door.

As soon as he opened it, only partially, to see what was so important that it couldn't wait till morning, a strong hand flung the door wide open and he stammered out a complaint as a familiar figure, much taller than he was, burst inside their small apartment. "Finally, what took you so long?"

Quaxo blinked. And again. This was one crazy dream. "Huh? What do you - how do you even..." But then his tired eyes finally focused on the intruder. "It's you!" he blurted out and pointed an accusatory finger at the tall man. His wild mane of hair and provocative smirk were unmistakable. "You always come to our performances and sit at the back."

"Oooh, flattered that you noticed me," the stranger grinned and assumed a posture that was, even to Quaxo's inexperienced eyes, rather...suggestive. "The name's Tugger," he waved at both siblings.

Victoria's eyes were huge and a little bit too focused on those tight pants, Quaxo realised with a tinge of annoyance. "Quaxo. This is my sister Victoria. So what-!"

But of course, Tugger did not let him finish. He completely ignored Quaxo's unfinished question and flung himself on their kitchen chair, stretching his long legs. "Enchanted," he winked at Victoria. "Look, I'm pretty sure you have a ton of questions and all, but I'm really not in a talking mood, so why don't you two just sit down and wait for my ever so responsible big brother to talk you through it?" His tone was self-assured, as if there was no doubt that they would follow his instructions.

And to Quaxo's disbelief, Victoria actually nodded and sat down with a content smile, made herself comfortable and started swinging her feet back and forth, completely relaxed. Before he could ask her what on earth she was doing, why would she listen to this stranger, a small voice started nagging in his head. 

Maybe he's right, you know. Maybe it would be better to just sit down and wait, after all, you're tired, he probably doesn't want to talk anyway...so why don't you join your sister? It will be much easier...

He found his will weakening and prepared to join Victoria on the bed, when he had another, very simple thought. Why? Why should I? He froze mid-step, torn between the urge to obey, to fulfill Tugger's wish, and something inside him that kept the single word - why. Say it. Why? I don't want to, he invaded our home, our privacy, so why should we abide by is rules? 

I don't want to follow what he says without a single thought, like Victoria did.And just like that, the persuasive voice in his head nagging him to obey was gone.

 Tugger watched in awe and rather comical confusion as Quaxo straightened his spine and frowned, his dark eyes staring daggers. The older man gaped at him as if no one had defied him ever before. "And why should I do that?!" the magician snapped and yanked Victoria towards him, to keep her out of Tugger's reach. "You barge in, act like you are the king or something. Our place, our rules! Now speak, what do you want? And sis..." he turned towards Victoria and gently shook her shoulders. The blank and content look in her eyes frightened him. "Snap out of it!" 

Finally, some recognition crept into her features. B-but...! she threw her hands up defensively. Her gaze went to Tugger and Quaxo, back and forward, as if she could not decide whose instructions to follow. He told me to sit down and wait!

"Yeah, I definitely told her to do that!" Tugger chimed in. "Also lady, don't forget to move your mouth during your telepathy thingy. I mean, I expected it, but anyone else would freak out. But back to the more important thing..." He rose up from the chair and walked towards Quaxo, poking his forehead inquisitively, ignoring the annoyed glare. "How did you do that?"

Quaxo took one step back, dragging confused Victoria behind him. "Do what? If you can't be polite, be at least coherent!" Only then had he realised what Tugger said and felt panic start creeping in. "Wait, what do you mean by- I mean, she definitely speaks normally, so-!"

Tugger snorted and imitated a talking gesture with his hand. "Yeah, cut that crap. I went to your shows, I know what she does. That's fine, I mean, most of us are like that. Have a quirk or two. So again. How did you do it? How did you say no?"

"I didn't say no, I said why!" Quaxo spat out, exasperated. "Why is it such a surprise to you that people don't obey your every single whim?! More importantly, what do you mean most of us?" He was intrigued now, despite having every reason to feel endangered by this stranger. Meanwhile, Victoria gave up on trying to find out the middle ground between the two men and sat on the floor in front of them, causing Quaxo to sigh and run his fingers through the already dishevelled hair. "And whatever you are doing, stop brainwashing my sister!"  

It was Tugger's turn to groan now. While wildly gesturing in her general direction, his eyes never left Quaxo's. "It's not like I do it on purpose! But to appease you... hey, young lady! Get up, will you? And make yourself comfortable...please," he added reluctantly when he saw that the magician's frown did anything but disappear. After Victoria was safely seated on the bed, he crossed his arms on his chest and leaned forward to examine Quaxo more closely. "Curious. You really are a strange one, aren't you? I've seen my share of weirdos, hell, we have twins who share control over each other's body, another pair that keeps talking telepathically because apparently, using your mouth to communicate is way too boring, a girl who can shatter glass with her voice...but you, I've never seen anything similar. What exactly do you do?"

The anger in Quaxo's gaze was replaced by confusion. "What...do I do?" Tugger nodded. "Yeah, what is your power, gift, weirdness, whatever you want to call it? I saw you teleport stuff, well, those kittens. That's how I found out you're one of us, I saw the exact moment the ball of fluff miraculously appeared in your hat, but then...you do other things, don't you? Swap things in different places. Make people do some things you want, perhaps?" 

"I wouldn't go that far." Quaxo felt like he was trapped in a very, very strange dream. Talking about his gift with someone else, and on top of that, a rock star-looking guy he'd just met, that was unimaginable. Or at least, had been. "I can cause small changes in what's happening, but it's nothing about controlling people. More like...chance, I guess? If there is a newspaper in your way, for instance, I can get it in your face with an accidental gust of wind...and similar things."

"Then you would be a great asset to our troupe," said a deeper voice from the doorway. 

Tugger spread his arms in exaggerated relief. "My dearly missed brother arrives at last! Be so kind and take over the talking part of this, yeah?"

Quaxo blinked, looking back and forth between the two men. The newcomer shared some facial features that were similar to Tugger, but looked more solemn and responsible. His hair was darker than his brother's, cooler-toned, and had a few streaks of silver, even though his face was not that old. "Now there's two of you? Oh great." But in spite of himself, he started feeling calmer, less agitated - yet he should be! There were two strange men in their apartment, way past midnight, and yet he did not feel endangered. It made no sense.  

The newcomer pressed his lips into a thin line and turned towards Tugger with a deeply critical gaze. "Take over the talking part? That was the plan, Tugger, before you accidentally - or at least that's how I assume you'll present it - left me in front of a wrong door and ran away to...here. I hope you haven't completely ruined our reputation by now. Has he?" he asked the siblings. 

Not at all! Victoria smiled at the same moment Quaxo mumbled "Pretty close."  

The stranger exhaled and rubbed his temples to calm himself. "Then I hope I'll be able to minimise the damage. My name, or at least what I go by in our troupe, is Munkustrap. You've already met my unruly younger brother, Rum Tum Tugger. From the very little I've heard during my arrival, my brother has already spoken to you about your powers, while also mentioning that you are not the only ones that are...different. We came to visit you as representatives of a certain circus that specialises in hiring of people with unique talents like yours." 

"What he means to say," Tugger interjected, "was that it's a shelter for people like you. Not just an employment." 

The siblings looked at each other questioningly. Um...why would people like us need a shelter? Victoria asked. We can earn enough to get by, as you know. 

Munkustrap's eye twitched when Tugger spoke, but otherwise he remained his composure. "An excellent question, one that was about to be answered a bit later, but obviously, someone here loves to make a mess out of any conversation plan. Allow me to explain - it is not that we think that you need financial aid or something similar. What my brother meant was that most of people with gifts like ours, it can be...difficult to maintain friendships or relationships with others. Mostly because we feel like we have to hide what is so natural for us." He smiled for the first time, and Quaxo found himself being drawn to this man, trusting him. Once again, not very rational, and yet...

"That...might be true," he admitted reluctantly, glancing towards Victoria. 

I can't begin to explain how tiring it is to pretend I speak normally, she nodded, fiddling with her nightgown. It's not that I feel bad about doing what I do, I just...don't want to explain. Or be known for it. 

Munkustrap's smile remained, calming and understanding. "Exactly. You are not alone in this, even though it might have felt like it for a long time. What we do is use our powers to perform, so however extraordinary they are, we can show them to the public, masquerading them as tricks or skills. And, being a circus, we are constantly on the move, so there is no risk of being revealed for who we really are." 

Victoria sniffled and Quaxo knew right then that Munkustrap won her over. Oh. That does sound wonderful! 

"Yeah...it sounds good," he admitted begrudgingly. "Too good, even. But that doesn't explain why you had to come at this hour. You could have easily approached us after our performance tomorrow. Care to explain that?" 

He noticed, with slightly mischievous satisfaction, that the brothers looked at each other uneasily. There was silence for a moment, but then it was Tugger who spoke. "Because I saw you get that note. And before you start making assumptions, it's not because the guy is our competition and we wanted to make sure we get to you two first. It's way worse." 

How do you know that Mr. Macavity contacted us? Victoria asked, disturbed by what she'd just heard. And that he offered us a job?

"Because that's what he always does," Tugger said, and perhaps Quaxo was only imagining it, but wasn't there a bitter undertone to those words? 

Munkustrap quickly interrupted his brother. "That is unfortunately true," he admitted, his smile now gone. "We were originally planning to approach you later this week, but when Tugger saw him sending you that note, we knew we had to act quickly. Macavity isn't our competition, although he spends significant time tracking down those with gifts. But where we offer a home, he only takes." He leaned towards the siblings, his tone quiet and serious. "Macavity, even if you may find it hard to believe, runs a business that seems completely innocent at first. A small favour here and there, nothing major, nothing to worry about. But slowly, inevitably, you start getting deeper and deeper. Eventually, you do something...questionable. And that's what Macavity wants, because then he can hold it over you. Forever."

"But..." Quaxo whispered, "...why us? Why would he be after two club performers? We're nobody." But he knew the answer before it came.  

"Because he knows what you can do. Macavity collects those with special talents for his criminal activities, uses their gifts for his own benefit. And just like us, he is very good at distinguishing tricks from actual unique powers," Munkustrap answered. 

Then we can just refuse his offer! Victoria stepped in, her movements restricted now - she wrapped her arms around her chest, as if the mere description made her feel unsafe. If we don't join him, he can't make us do anything bad.

Tugger chuckled, a dry and unhappy sound. "A few people had that idea already. Didn't go so well for them."

Munkustrap nodded. "Unfortunately, that isn't an option. Macavity doesn't leave anything to chance. If you were to refuse, he would use his influence to make sure that working for him is eventually the only option left for you. He excels at that, I am afraid. But," he quickly added, forcing the smile back on his face, "we have stolen enough of your time already. Please, think about our offer, I'm certain you're very confused and that some of our claims must have sounded rather far-fetched. If you want to meet our troupe before making a decision, you're most welcome to do so. Here is our card." He handed Victoria an old-fashioned card and bowed his head slightly. "We would love to hear from you, no matter how you decide." 

His words prompted Tugger to stretch his back and head towards the door. "Right. It's getting late and all that. Well then, hope to see you both later! And you, magician boy!" He pointed at Quaxo with an attractive grin. "You still owe me an explanation how you resisted my charm. I'm not forgetting that."  

And just like that, they were both gone. Quaxo and Victoria stood in the suddenly too quiet room, speechless.  

I...think I may need to sleep on this before I can think about what just happened. What are they even called... 

"Good question." Quaxo took the card from her hands and turned it around. "Jellicle Circus? What a ridiculous name! Just like Rum Tum Tugger, Munkustrap and....ugh. It's a circus alright!"  

But it sounded really nice! Victoria smiled and, when Quaxo's frown did not disappear, sighed and pushed him towards the bed. That was enough excitement for one evening! Sleep! And we'll talk about it the first thing in the morning. No arguing! she added when Quaxo opened his mouth to protest.  

"...I'm really hoping this all was just a dream, you know," he muttered in a disgruntled voice when she pulled the blanket over him and decisively switched off the light. 

And as he was falling asleep, he felt Victoria's voice in his head. I'm hoping it wasn't.

---

On the pavement outside, Tugger grinned and nudged Munkustrap's shoulder. "That went rather well, eh?"  

The taller man groaned and rolled his eyes. "Please, shut up."

The next chapter: Persuasion

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine the Batkids hanging out at like....the food court of a mall or something, Jason keeping paparazzi at bay with finger guns that manage to be wildly ominous even if the gulping paparazzo have no true idea WHY that particular motion from this particular man has cold beads of sweat breaking out on the backs of their necks. Damian loudly proclaiming he hates everything and everyone even though he only half means it, well at least until Tim asks if he needs them to go get him a booster seat. To which Jason stops long enough to cackle about Tim finally finding someone he can actually literally look down on, it must be like Christmas for him, and meanwhile, Duke idly says to no one in particular that he can never decide if he accidentally got adopted into the Addams family, the Manson family or the Kardashians.

“I would be great at being a Kardashian,” Jason muses.

“Well you’re already 90% ass, so you’ve got that going for you,” Steph chirps brightly.

“Die, but for real this time,” Jason volleys back, equally pleasantly.

“I can’t believe the English major is suggesting I plagiarize him,” Steph says with eyes wide in mock bewilderment. Jason scoffs.

“What English major? In case you’ve forgotten, I never even finished high school, I was busy being de - “

He cuts off as Cass holds out her palm and Dick and Duke both slide ten dollar bills across the table to her, accompanied by groans. Tim jabs a finger at her with a scowl, half rising out of his seat in outrage.

“That doesn’t count, he didn’t even finish saying it!”

“Also, you’re cheating,” Damian adds on hotly, too incensed to notice he’s literally standing in solidarity with his most hated enemy. Though Tim catches it, if the slightly constipated look on his face is anything to go by. “Do you really think us so blind we can’t tell that Brown blatantly set that one up for you?”

“Don’t hate the players, hate the game,” Steph says sagely, as she and Cass split the take.

“What the hell just happened?” Jason asks. No one looks anywhere near the zip code of apologetic.

“Well we definitely didn’t all get together once a majority of us had done the knock knock knocking on death’s door thing ourselves and wound up making a long-standing bet about how long you can go without bringing that up and where the clock restarts each time you do,” Steph says thoughtfully, eyes intent even as she stares off into the distance, like it’s an actual mystery and she’s really trying quite hard to scry out the answer.

“What?” Jason says flatly.

“In my defense, they were doing it long before I came along and they said it was like, a family tradition,” Duke offers.

“I mean, it’s not like we lied,” Tim shrugs. “Besides, it was Cass’ idea and she’s died twice, so it’s allowed.”

Jason redirects his ire on their sister. “Why are you the worst.”

She shrugs. “I died.”

“I used to think having a sister would be cool. I can’t believe you ruined sisters for me.”

“Bite me, little brother,” she says sweetly. His face flames. Detonation imminent.

“I’m older than you!”

“Not if you don’t count the six months you were dead,” she sing-songs. “Besides, Tim’s lying. It was his idea.”

Jason’s head swivels like a turret-mounted missile launcher. Tim chokes on his French fry.

“What the hell! That’s not tr - .” He trails off then, frowning slightly. “Wait, was it? Oh. Right.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, tension on the trigger, but Tim rallies and just shrugs unrepentantly.

“Eh. You’ve tried to kill me like three times. Suck it up.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to try harder,” Jason growls. Tim smiles serenely and takes an extra obnoxious slurp of his milkshake.

“See? You’ve learned something new today. You’re welcome.”

“Why am I not live-tweeting this,” Steph wonders, yanking out her phone and sending digits swiftly flying across its keys. Dick leans over on her left to view her screen.

“Are you tweeting as Batgirl about her fellow vigilantes, or the random blond stranger always seen out with the Waynes but that no one can determine their connection to?”

“First off, I’m the EXOTIC blond stranger, excuse you. Get it right. And second...idk. Either. Both. Does it really matter?”

“Well, it might if you actually do tweet the same content from both accounts and someone somehow manages to spot some kind of connection,” Tim says dryly. Steph scowls without looking up from her phone.

“Stop oppressing my shenanigans with your logic, Timbleton.”

“Timbleton?”

“It’s my new name for you. For it is both pretentious and douchey, as are you.”

Tim glowers. “Sometimes I honestly can’t remember why I went out with you.”

She shrugs. “You were a fifteen year old virgin and I have a killer rack. It wasn’t that deep.”

“Hey, you are still just the exotic blond stranger seen with us all the time, right?” Dick says suddenly, seemingly lost in thought. “Like, B didn’t adopt you since I last saw you or anything.”

“No, and you know you don’t ACTUALLY have to ask me that every time you see me.”

He shrugs. “I mean I kinda do. You are always here, and it is Bruce. It’s not like he ever tells me when he adopts someone new so like, you could be my sister for four years before I even realized it if I didn’t ask.”

“Ooh. A sighting of Dick angst, spotted in the wild. Those are rare,” Jason snickers. Dick just eyes him.

“FYI, I still have footage of a certain Robin, age fourteen, singing Backstreet Boys. And I have Roy on speed dial. Tread lightly, Little Wing.”

“You said you deleted that!”

“I lied. I do that sometimes. I’m terribly problematic.” Dick beams beatifically.

“Why have I not seen this footage?” Steph shrieks.

“Make me an offer,” Dick says as leans back smugly.

She wastes no time, fingers dancing across her keyboard again, and moments later Dick pulls out his own phone and reads her incoming text. One eyebrow arches significantly.

“That’s an offer, alright.” He frowns. “You came up with that quick. I’m either impressed or disturbed.”

Steph shrugs. “I get bored on stakeouts sometimes.”

“You can be dispressed,” Cass pipes up helpfully. Dick nods solemnly.

“An excellent suggestion, Cassandra, thank you. Just for that, I’ll send it to you too.”

“I will stab you,” Jason says dangerously.

“Just think, Jay, if you didn’t try and stab me all the time already, that might actually be incentive not to....oh whoops, finger slipped, just hit send, how terrible, much regret.”

“I feel like there’s supposed to be a life lesson in there somewhere,” Duke murmurs.

“Stay out of this, new kid on the block.”

“Does that make you Marky Mark or like, Donnie?” Tim wonders idly. He shakes his head at himself then, baffled. “Why do I know the names of the New Kids on the Block?”

Stephanie meanwhile is watching her phone with what can only be described as naked glee. It’s muted - she’s never one to share her spoils freely after all - but apparently that is more than good enough for now as far as she’s concerned. Beside her, Cass intently stares at her own screen, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“I will kill you all someday, and when I do the courts will rule it justifiable homicide and I shall be vindicated.”

“Please, Todd. As if I don’t have contingencies in place to ensure you receive my vengeance even from beyond the grave, should I ever perish at your hands.”

Silence falls across the table as they all stare at Damian.

“See, now I’m dispressed,” Tim says. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to take a guided tour of your brain, but then I think why not wait til Halloween and sell tickets too.”

Damian glares at him, but to the surprise of everyone, Tim included, he reacts no further than that. A few seconds later though, Duke bolts upright in his chair across from him, directing his own baleful glare at the smaller boy. Damian just stares at him meaningfully and jerks his head in Tim’s direction. Duke rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Shut your facehole, Drake, you blithering dolt,” Duke says robotically. “Also, you are excessively diminutive for your age and nobody likes you. Allegedly.”

Once more silence reigns supreme.

“Oh fuck, can he possess people now?” Jason asks.

Dick waves them all down, gesturing for quiet before he takes the lead, studying Duke with an intent focus. “I think I speak for all of us here, when I say: no, but seriously, what the actual fuck.”

Cass nods gravely. “What he said.”

Duke shrugs a half-hearted apology. “It’s nothing personal Tim. It’s just that Damian and I have an alliance, and part of the terms are I have to defend his honor, since - and I quote - ‘tt, the very notion I need assistance defending my actual person is laughable, Thomas, don’t be daft.’”

“Wait, we’re doing alliances now?” Steph asks, because of course that would be the part that catches her attention. “I want an alliance. Cass, make an alliance with me.”

“Kay.”

“Whose idea was this alliance, anyway?” Jason asks. Duke just shrugs again, this time defensively.

“Hey don’t look at me, Dick’s the one who apparently thought it was a good idea to introduce Damian to Survivor reruns.”

All eyes turn to the eldest. In a particularly accusatory fashion.

Well, with the exception of Damian, as he has returned to his meal and is quite contentedly dining with a distinct air of smugness about him. (Even more so than usual.)

“What? I couldn’t get him to agree to watching anything else on TV, and then we came across some reruns and I thought it might appeal to him.”

“And you saw no potential drawbacks to him seeing appeal in the basic premise of voting people off the island?” Jason asks skeptically. Dick picks up a fry and studies it with clear deliberation and an equally clear attempt at avoidance. Subtlety, thy name is not Grayson.

“In hindsight, it’s possible mistakes were made.”

“I mean, at least now Dami’s attempts at casting undesirables out of the family are rooted in democracy instead of totalitarianism. That’s progress, right?” Steph asks. Heavy on the uncertainty.

“Right, and I have some beachfront property in Kansas to sell you,” Tim says sardonically.

“Nah, you keep it. I’ll just get it in the divorce when we get back together in ten years, marry, and I abscond with half of your fortune.”

“Wait, what?”

“Shh, just let it happen.”

“Hang on, back to this alliance,” Jason says, turning back to Duke. “So what are you getting out of it?”

“Oh, he has to do my calc homework for the rest of the semester,” Duke replies.

“Duke, you should have just told one of us you needed some help with your homework,” Dick says with an unmistakable note of concern in his voice. Duke shoots him a quizzical look.

“I don’t. I just don’t want to do it.”

“This is why Duke is the most valid,” Steph nods knowingly. Cass nods in agreement.

“Hey, did nobody else notice that in essence, Damian implicitly admitted he needed help protecting his feelings from getting boo-boos,” Tim pipes up oh so casually. The youngest among them narrows his eyes.

“In my spare time, I peruse the occult tomes recommended by Raven and the Zatara brat in search of a ritual that will make it so you never existed in the first place,” he says, matching his tone to Tim’s conversational one. Not deterred in the slightest, Tim just adopts an expression of over the top faux sympathy.

“Sucks you can’t just ask me for help. I already know where one of those is.”

“Dami, no!” Dick speaks up sharply. Their little brother slumps back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything, Grayson,” he sulks. Dick snorts.

“You were absolutely about to jump on top of the table and kick Tim in the face. Don’t even try and pretend I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I was an only child once,” Jason muses. “I should have appreciated it more.”

“But then you couldn’t form an alliance with me, little brother,” Cass points out, equal parts sweetness and wickedness. He hesitates, visibly torn between wanting to protect his vaunted older brother status and agreeing to an alliance with the most feared of them all.

“You’re evil.”

She shrugs but doesn’t contest the point.

“I’ll form an alliance with you, Cass,” Tim says, smirking at Jason.

“No thanks.”

Tim’s mouth falls open and he looks between her and his now cackling older brother. “What the hell? You’ll form an alliance with Steph and Jason but not with me? Why not?”

“I’m chaotic neutral,” their sister explains sunnily, as she steals some more of Dick’s fries.