#ive put him into this thing that is for stopping animals from scratching themselves

[aymayx]

jail

today has been a horrible day for drawing only shit posts can save me now

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Breakable Heaven (pt. I) - p.l. dubois

As promised, here’s the first part of Breakable Heaven! I’m really excited for this one, there’s so many things I can’t wait for you all to read. This chapter is more setup and background, but I promise it’s all worth it! I’d love it if you reblogged (helps me know people like my work!) or pop into my inbox and let me know what you think! I read all the tags :)

part I part ii part iii part iv

June 4 (thurs)

Laurel clipped her pager back onto her scrubs, leaning over the counter of the nurses’ station. “You ready to go grab lunch?” She had just finished changing the bandages and administering pain medication for a little boy who was recovering from a heart surgery, and was looking forward to getting off her feet for a few minutes. The PICU floor was quiet, only about half of the rooms being filled, and there were no pressing matters that required her attention. If something drastic changed in the next half an hour, she always had her pager. 

Madeline looked up from her chair, where she was finishing up filling in a patient’s chart. “Sounds good,” she said, letting their charge nurse know that they were headed down. Madeline Peltier had been one of the first people to introduce themselves to Laurel when she started; having only been on the unit for two weeks herself, she was still getting a handle on the reins and was more than willing to show Laurel around. 

Madeline was also one of the few on the floor who was just as comfortable in English as she was in French. French had been Laurel’s foreign language through college, but she was made rudely aware upon her move to Montréal that the pronunciation and slang of Canadian French was very different from the Standard French of Madame Anderson’s rural Minnesota classroom. Her grasp of the language was good enough to take the Québec nursing licensure exam — which wasn’t even offered in English — but the spoken dialect was proving much more difficult to pick up. They walked down to the cafeteria, on the second floor, grabbing some sandwiches before swiping their ID badges for the employee discount. 

“I still think they should give us free food,” Madeline said moodily, unscrewing her water bottle and taking a sip. 

Laurel laughed. “When hell freezes over, maybe. Doctor’s lounge usually has some pretty nice stuff set out, or at least that’s what they say. Pity our cards don’t let us in, I’m not above identity theft.” Madeline snorted into her sandwich. 

“What are you doing this weekend?” Madeline asked a few minutes later, starting to peel an orange. 

“Uh, not much?” Laurel said. “Getting my papers together to resign my lease in a few weeks, grocery shopping, but nothing big. It’s been a long few shifts this week and I’m mostly just looking forward to taking it easy. Why?”

“If you’re up to it,” Madeline shrugged, “Patrice and I are going out for dinner Saturday night and we’d love for you to join us.” Patrice was Madeline’s long-time boyfriend, they started dating in university and had been together ever since. 

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Madeline, thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to keep being your third wheel.” 

Madeline let out a conspiratorial grin. Oh no, Laurel thought. This can’t be good. “As it would so happen,” she said, “you wouldn’t be third wheeling. One of Patrice’s friends is back in the city for a few months, and I think you two might hit it off,” she sing-songed. Madeline had been trying to set her up from practically the moment they met; whether it was someone from her gym, one of the critical care fellows, or apparently, her boyfriend’s childhood friend. They were always nice guys, but nothing had ever stuck for more than a date or two. 

---

Twelve hour shifts meant that, at least on work days, there was no way Laurel was going to have the emotional or physical capacity to make herself a real dinner. She’d order in occasionally, but it more common to just pull together something quick like a frozen pizza or grab whatever leftovers she could find in the fridge. Yesterday’s chicken and rice it was, then. Sticking it in the microwave, Laurel opened the door to her balcony, letting Piper out to use the bathroom. Piper was an eight-month-old chocolate lab, the love of her life who she had adopted just after the new year. Laurel had always grown up with dogs; back in Minnesota she had Jackson and Lucy, and she had been missing them more than a little bit since moving to Canada. Piper was incredible. Intelligent, loyal, and so friendly that even her neighbor’s notoriously picky five-year-old son had taken a shine to her. She wolfed down her food, grabbed Piper’s leash and her water bottle, and headed out the door. 

June 5 (fri)

The intricacies of language were hard. And, somehow, learning the intricacies of a language you already knew was even harder. Laurel was trying her damndest to pick up Québecois French as fast as humanly possible, but while she could conjugate l’imparfait in her sleep, the accent and vocabulary were what was really throwing her off. But she intended on making a life in Montréal, and staying as long as she could, so there really wasn’t any option but to hit the books. Immersion worked for some people, and thank God she knew the medical terminology to communicate with her patients and their families, but it wasn’t quite the same when she was struggling through telling the mechanic her car needed an oil change. In a perfect world she’d have someone to help her one-on-one, but she didn’t want to ask Madeline for that big of a favor. And while she made decent money at the hospital — she could afford her own apartment and had a little left over every month to put into savings — it was nowhere near enough to pay for a tutor. So Duolingo, and podcasts, and Youtube lessons it was. 

Letting out a groan, Laurel leaned her head into her hands, shutting her laptop. She wasn’t going to make any progress being this frustrated. She bent down to scratch Piper, whose favorite spot for naps was a blanket right beside Laurel’s desk, between the ears, pulling her leash and collar off of their book by her bedroom door. Piper’s ears perked up, and soon enough she was running around the apartment wagging her tail as fast as it could go, a slightly exasperated but nevertheless laughing Laurel following. She finally managed to clip on her leash; at fifty pounds, Piper still had a little bit of growing left to do, but she had already proven she was more than capable of bending the will of a full-grown and otherwise capable 23-year-old woman. 

She had discovered Parc Saint-François-d’Assise a few weeks after adopting Piper, and had thanked her lucky stars for finding a dog park so close to her apartment. Having a schedule like hers meant that she couldn’t always get her to a weekly training or obedience class — plus, the French that she did know certainly didn’t include ‘heel’ — so the time spent socializing was well-appreciated. It was only a fifteen minute walk, and Piper was good enough on a leash that she only stopped once to bark at a squirrel in one of the many birch trees that lined the street. The park was an acre or two, small enough that she could see all the way across and keep an eye on Piper as she let her off-leash, but big enough that there was more than enough room for all the animals. It wasn’t particularly crowded that Friday; Laurel was confused for a moment before she remembered that most people were busy at 11 AM on a weekday. There were a few families, with kids out for the summer from school, and a man playing in the far corner with his two small dogs, but not much else. 

Laurel leaned down, unclipping the leash from Piper’s collar, and gave the chocolate lab a scratch on the head. “Have fun, girl!” Piper never needed much encouragement, and took off running almost before Laurel had even wrapped up her leash. Rolling her eyes and laughing, she picked up her phone. A text from Allison, one of her only friends in the city aside from Madeline, inviting her out for her birthday next week. Madeline, giving her the address for the restaurant the next night. The Duolingo owl, threatening her with bodily harm if she didn’t log her language progress for the day. She was so engrossed in checking her email that she didn’t hear the shout for her to look out, or the two bulldogs barreling towards her at full speed, until they had knocked her off her feet and she landed straight on her ass. 

“Desolé. Vas-tu bien?” The man asked, holding out a hand and helping her up. Laurel nodded, brushing the dirt off her jeans. 

“Ouais, ouais. Pas de problème, pas de mal. Ils sont chiens, non?” 

He chuckled, patting the smaller of the two bulldogs, which had decided to take a break from accosting passers-by to get petted. “C’est vrai.” They talked for another minute or two before saying goodbye, but she could have sworn it was an hour. 

Walking Piper home half an hour later, Laurel was struck with two realizations. The mystery man — bulldog dad, as she had started calling him in her internal monologue — had very possibly the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, and she’d be cursing herself for the next week for not getting his number. 

June 6 (sat)

Saturday meant Laurel had a day off, but more importantly, Saturday meant she didn’t have to set her alarm for 5:30 and could actually wake up at a semi-normal hour. Her internal clock didn’t wake her up until half past seven; even then, it was Piper’s soft barks that finally got her up, throwing on a pait of shorts, and leading her out to the courtyard down the hallway to use the bathroom before coming back to her apartment and throwing open the fridge doors. No 7 AM shift meant that she mercifully had enough time to make a proper breakfast. On shift days, there never seemed to be enough time to actually sit down and eat, and Laurel usually ended up just having a quick bowl of cereal or some overnight oats and making a protein shake to drink on the drive over. Eggs, bread, yogurt, a peach she had picked up from the farmer’s market. 

After the bread was done toasting and her tea was finished steeping, she gingerly carried the food out to the balcony, placing it on the table as Piper trotted out behind her. Laurel crunched her toast with one hand as she flipped the pages of a book with the other, a Shirley Chisholm biography that Victoria, her best friend from high school, had recommended her. It was almost an hour later when she finally found a good place to stop. As much as she may have liked to just camp out on her balcony all day and blow through the rest of the book, her pantry was crying out for a grocery run and she was running desperately low on ice cream. 

---

The dinner reservation was at 7, and by 6:30 Laurel was almost ready to leave. Her blue skirt fanned out on the couch as she sat killing time on her phone, tapping the floor nervously with the same pair of block heels that she’d worn to her university graduation. The restaurant wasn’t far from her apartment building, so a few minutes later, she decided to go, leaving Piper with a pat on the head and plenty of food in her bowl. Laurel laughed to herself on the way over, her eyes flickering over the skyline as she walked alongside the St. Lawrence River. 

It’s like what she had told Madeline over and over again, every time she tried to set her up on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She wasn’t actively looking for a relationship but wouldn’t be opposed to it. Whatever happens, happens. Biting her lip, Laurel decided that even if she didn’t hit it off with whatever guy Madeline was trying to set her up, even if things go horribly wrong and he’s the exact opposite of what she’s looking for in a partner, she’ll get a free meal and, hopefully, a new friend.

Laurel hadn’t been told much about her blind date, or anything, really. She didn’t even know his name. From what she had been able to figure out, he was from the area but didn’t work in Canada most of the year — so maybe he was in business? All Madeline told her was that he was tall, attractive, and had a dog. Or was it two? She honestly couldn’t remember. She trusted her and Patrice’s judgement, so if he had gotten their stamp of approval, it was good enough for her. She grabbed her phone out of her bag as she neared the restaurant, letting Madeline know she was almost there and asking where to meet her. She told the hostess she was meeting some friends, and Madeline walked around the corner less than a minute later. “Hi, love!” she said, reaching out and wrapping Laurel in a warm hug. “We’re over this way.” Laurel followed her around the corner and past the bar to a four-seater against the wall. She slid into the seat closest to the wall, leaving a space empty. 

“He should be back in a minute, just ran to the bathroom,” Patrice said, nodding towards the vacant seat and referring to her mystery man. A minute passed, Laurel scanning the wine list, before Madeline threw her hand up in greeting. 

“Salut, PL!” When Laurel looked up, she almost dropped her menu.

 “Oh my God!” The stranger — PL’s — eyes widened in recognition. “You’re the bulldog dad!” 

He chuckled, rounding the table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Left, then right. It had taken Laurel a while to get used to; even going to university in Toronto, cheek kissing was practically obsolete, but that changed very quickly upon her move to Montréal. “I am. Pierre-Luc Dubois, good to meet you properly this time.” 

Madeline looked between the two, clearly confused. “You know each other?” 

Laurel shook her head. “Not really, no. His dogs ran into me at the park yesterday when I was there with Piper, we talked for a minute or two.” 

Pierre nodded in affirmation. “So, Piper. The chocolate lab’s yours then?” 

“My pride and joy.” 

June 13 (sun)

 Over the next week and a half, it became more and more common for Laurel to meet up with the group on the weekend, or one of her off days, or really whenever she had spare time. She had learned that Pierre-Luc was a hockey player, Patrice explaining that they had played atom league together growing up and the friendship had somehow stuck. Come to think of it, he had looked a little familiar. The University of Minnesota Duluth was less than an hour drive from her hometown, and besides being the college that the majority of the 50% of college-bound graduates of her high school went to, it also had one of the best hockey programs in the country. So she knew the sport, followed enough to be informed, and had even become a de facto Maple Leafs fan from her time in Toronto. 

Sometimes Madeline and Laurel would bring another friend from the hospital along, sometimes it was just the four of them. Once, a Sunday afternoon coffee meetup turned into just Laurel and Pierre-Luc; Patrice had come down with a bad cold and Madeline was staying behind to look after him. If she was being honest, it was far less awkward than she had anticipated. Pierre had insisted on buying her iced capp, and they had settled in a corner booth, sharing a box of Timbits. 

“Patrice mentioned you’re from the U.S., somewhere in the Midwest?” Pierre asked, sipping his coffee. 

She nodded. “Cloquet, Minnesota,” Laurel sighed, “where there is exactly one hotel, one high school, and life revolves around the mines.” 

Pierre sucked in. “That sounds...interesting,” he said diplomatically. 

Laurel laughed. “It’s okay, you don’t have to mince words. The people are nice, if you think like they do, and the scenery is gorgeous, but…” She gathered her thoughts. “It’s not the place you can really dream big, you know?” He nodded. “Neither of my parents went to college, my mom’s a receptionist at the elementary school and my dad works in the mines. I knew by the time I was in high school that I wanted something more. There was just nothing for me there, and I didn’t ever want to feel as trapped and beaten down as some people I know.” 

Pierre leaned back in his chair. “Do you go back often?” 

“Once a year, maybe twice?” Laurel said, shaking her head. “I’ve only got a few good friends back there, and trust me, they’re much more excited to come to big-city Canada than I would be to go back to a town of 12,000 people.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Conversation between them flowed easily, so easily that before she knew it, two hours had gone by and he had to leave for a skate. As she walked back to the metro, Laurel couldn’t help but shake the feeling that the two hours she had spent with Pierre had felt more like a date than any she’d been on since moving to Montréal a year ago. But it couldn’t have been a date, because it wasn’t supposed to be. Right?

 June 15 (tues)

 It was half past seven on Tuesday, and Laurel was just getting home from work. She loved her job, genuinely, but twelve hour shifts were no joke. Spinning her key ring around her finger, she stopped in the mailroom, unlocking her box and fishing out the stack of envelopes that had accumulated in the two days since she’d last checked. Walking over to the elevators, she held the bundle in one hand as the other punched in her button to the third floor. Laurel flipped through the envelopes as the doors opened. Water bill, bank statement, letter from Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada. Hang on. Laurel stopped at the last envelope, running her finger under the flap as she turned her key in the lock, opening the door with her hip and letting it slam shut behind her. 

She had applied a little over a month ago for her permanent residency card, which she had been assured by everyone she asked would be a relatively easy and painless process. “You’re a nurse, and a good one. I could use ten of you,” her charge nurse had stated. “You went to school here, you have a Canadian degree and a Canadian license. There’s no reason they would cause you any trouble,” Madeline had said. And she had done her due diligence, double-checked every piece of information, checked off every document on the list. Done everything she was supposed to do. So when she unfolded the paper, the words shocked her. 

Denied. Laurel brought her hand shakily up to her mouth as her eyes raced down the letter. No explanation was given, all she was told was that her application had been rejected and she had until September 17, when her work visa expired, to leave the country. The first thing Laurel did was frantically grab her laptop, seeing if there was some way she could apply for a visa extension, but the deadline had passed; she’d have to go back to the consulate in Minneapolis and try to re-apply from there, but her chances weren’t good if she’d already been rejected. The second thing she did was collapse on the floor, Piper nosing herself under her arm, and cry. 

June 16 (wed)

When the group met up for lunch the next day, Madeline noticed something was off about Laurel almost immediately. Normally someone who was hyper-focused on the task at hand, she was stirring her straw around in her glass, nibbling at a piece of bread and answering questions shortly if at all. “What’s up?” she asked carefully, catching Laurel’s eye as she tried to busy herself with straightening her napkin. There wasn’t really a way she could get out of answering that one. 

“I, uh, I got a letter yesterday,” she said. Pierre and Patrice stopped their conversation. All eyes were on her. “From immigration services. They told me,” her eyes pricked with tears, “they told me my PR application was denied, and I only have until the middle of September before I have to leave.” 

“Like, leave the country?” Pierre asked. She nodded. “But can’t you renew your visa or something?” 

“No, I looked into everything.” Laurel said in frustration, shaking her head. “There’s not enough time for it to be processed, I’d have to go back and reapply in the States, and even then the chances aren’t great.” 

Madeline leaned over, wrapping Laurel up in a hug. “Oh, Laur. I’m so sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve this.” 

“It’s just hard,” Laurel started, “knowing that there’s nothing there for me back home. That’s the whole reason why I came to Canada in the first place, to get away. To get out. I’d have to retake all my licensure exams and find a new job and I don’t want to have to start all over when that’s not at all what I planned for. I thought I’d stay. I thought this was going to be my home” 

“I can call my friend who’s a lawyer, see if he’s got any ideas?” Patrice offered. 

Laurel smiled weakly “Thanks, Patrice, but I really don’t think they’d be able to do much. I was on the website for hours, and there’s like two ways I wouldn’t be kicked out of the country. And I don’t think I’m going to be able to give birth by September 17,” she said, letting out a watery laugh. 

“You’d have to marry someone or something to stay,” Madeline said. 

“Yeah, that’s the only other way it was going to happen,” Laurel agreed. “But seeing as how I’m obscenely single, I don’t see that happening…” She trailed off. 

“I’d marry you,” Pierre said suddenly, shrugging. 

Laurel’s head whipped to her side. “You’d what?” 

“I’d marry you. We’re both single, by all accounts you’re an amazing nurse and deserve to stay. We get married, stay ‘together’ for a few years until you get your citizenship, and then tragically inform the citizenship and immigration people that while we tried, it just didn’t work out, and get a divorce. Easy peasy.” 

Laurel almost burst out laughing, the idea was so ridiculous. She almost couldn’t wrap her head around what he was offering to do. He couldn’t be serious. Right? 

---

Laurel slung her arm over her head, body tangled up in bedsheets. According to her phone, it was well past one. She couldn’t sleep. She had tried rain sounds, counting sheep, drinking a cup of chamomile tea, but nothing was working; she just wasn’t able to still her mind. Honestly, she couldn’t stop thinking about lunch earlier. More specifically, what Pierre had said. 

As much of a bad person as it may have made her sound, the more she thought about Pierre’s offer, the more it made sense. He was incredibly attractive, so it wouldn’t be hard to fake a marriage to him for a few years. She really didn’t keep in contact with anyone from back home in Cloquet aside from her family and a few friends from high school, so it’s not like there would really be anyone to blow her cover. And she really, really wanted to stay in Canada. It wasn’t just the scenery, or the general human decency of everyone, or even the universal healthcare that pushed her to stay. She had fallen in love with the people, the city, and didn’t want to go down without a fight. 

Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from her nightstand, pulling up Pierre’s contact. Hey, she texted. Laurel immediately cursed herself as the three dots popped up on his side. Hey? She was going to ask this man to marry her and the best she could come up with was hey? He wrote back immediately. Hey. You’re up late, what’s up? Laurel took a deep breath. How serious were you about offering to marry me? His second response was even faster than the first. As a heart attack.

[lollytea]

What are your opinions about Jungle cubs? I loved that show as a kid!

hi hello!! thank u for humoring me!! i love getting asks about the stuff im currently obsessed with that nobody really cares about, it makes me feel valid! also i dont have well constructed opinions, i just have a very messy, manic head so i just babble all my thoughts. for that i am sorry 

im not gonna say jungle cubs is the best damn cartoon to hit the tv and maybe its just my own biased love speaking when i call it a good show but it means a lot to me personally. it brought me comfort as a little kid, i came back to it as a teen when i was feeling very alone and came back to it again as an adult just cuz of my recent love of baloo and talespin and needing something to keep me upbeat during the quarantine. 

and ive watched quite a few cartoons i loved as a kid that i dont really vibe with anymore. i tried rewatching gummi bears. its not my thing. but jungle cubs is?? really good?? its just so charming to watch. i love the expressive animation, i love the smooth flowing dialogue, i love the playful and naive tone it has of just a bunch of kids being kids, i love the depiction of these characters, i love the performance of the voice actors, i love the layers it adds to the original film. layers that were never intended to be in there in the first place but isnt that just the beauty of interpretation and ones own imagination. 

its such a formulaic concept isnt it. to take a classic show/movie and make its protagonists babies for a spinoff. but i dunno, i always got the feeling that whoever was the backbone of this story actually cared about the characters they were writing and took a sincere approach to it. 

they thought in-depth about how to devolve them from their current personalities in a realistic way and what aspects of themselves are so core to their being that they would have been ingrained since childhood. the cubs feel pretty three-dimensional and considering theyre cash grab spinoff babies, that is an amazing feat.

but also, i love it for the very very very simple reason of its really adorable. bagheera especially. to see such a stoic and levelheaded character in his earliest stage as a child just Hits for me. cub bagheera is clever, hes cautious, hes a little stuck-up, all traits he has in the movie. hes also not the best hunter, doesnt know how to roar yet, is a little cowardly, sorta awkward at times and is often trying to prove that hes the best even though hes aware that he is nowhere near the best.

like its easy to believe the kind of person he grows up to be but at the same time, its really interesting to see the more childish aspects of himself that he eventually matured past. and hes adorable dude! baby bagheera voiced by EG Daily is the sweetest goddamn thing, i love him so much 

also shere khan who is a fuckin doozy. hes very interesting in this too. everything about his attitude is reminiscent of a preteen who says mean things to you on voice chat while playing overwatch but if you tell him you’re gonna call the police on him, he starts panicking. thats shere khan’s vibe, a real edgy little tiger who thinks hes hot shit cuz he probably caught something bigger than a mouse like one time and its gone to his head. 

hes constantly stalking around, subtly bragging about what a natural predator he is. but at the same time, he’s still around?? hes still hanging around with the other cubs cuz hes ALSO a cub and likes to play around with other kids his age. and he fucking loves his friends. the amount of times he’s scared off bigger animals who were about to harm them. and its really sweet cuz they like him too. while his attitude is definitely annoying sometimes, they still consider him their friend and enjoy his company. its just wholesome. 

plus hes also pretty vulnerable as hes a cub. he doesnt stand a chance when they come across a grown animal as a threat. he gets scared just like the rest of them, hes just so arrogant that he never admits it. 

in fact the appeal of the show in general to me, is the vulnerabilities of all the characters that comes with being in their most immature state. they dont know any better when it comes to stuff. this show is real dumbass hours 

EVERYTHING about baloo is just great. he does not change even slightly. he is exactly the same except hes little and his voice hasnt broke yet. his child voice is amazingly fitting also.

i mean i guess one thing that differentiates him is adult baloo had some semblance of a philosophy. he was wise....in a way. baby baloo does not know shit about shit. he does not think. he just vibes, okay?? i love him mwah

i dont have much to say about the others but i DO like this interpretation of them more than their adult selves. it also just feels bittersweet that they grew up to be such dicks. Haithi is lovely, i love that hes just out here TRYING to be a colonel but he lacks the authority that comes with being a grown elephant and he doesnt have the self confidence to command anybody yet. he is simply babey.

 louie is a very cute little dude, i love him and baloo as just an idiot squad. he also has a very good voice

kaa.....i dont trust. on one hand, hes very sweet as a child but on the OTHER HAND he grows up to be the creepiest fucking creation disney has ever put in a movie so that snake will always rub me the wrong way even when im trying to like him. 

also ONE THING thats driving me crazy about this show is like. it has the best depiction of pre-adolescent boys that i have ever seen in a cartoon ever. just the way they behave. theyre sweethearts one minute, extremely mean the next minute, going from building eachother up to lightly bullying eachother, lots of unprovoked play fighting, laughing over dumb shit, rude to strangers for no goddamn reason, theres just a lot. 

it fuckin knocked me back like 15 years cuz it reminded me so much of kids i used to play with. and these arent even human children whose brain development is documented, these are animals, this show had no business being this spot-on.

i dont like season 2. it has a few gems here and there that i get a kick out of. but as a whole, its really disappointing. since the show swapped production companies, they seemed to uproot it completely and start from scratch. and its kinda sad cuz i think they were TRYING to do something poignant when it came to a future narrative but it just didnt land. firstly there was a huge animation downgrade and looking at the two season in comparison is kinda depressing. 

also they redesigned the characters, some looked worse than others. baloo looked fine but i still preferred his og look. bagheera....was the worst. rip bagheera. 

they all underwent a huge personality change. and not in the way that showed subtle maturity, i mean a vapid exaggeration of their original personality. the only characters who were left relatively alone in this regard were baloo and kaa. and i dont mind gradually changing a character since there IS an adult version of them that they should be growing into. but the season 2 depictions are literally the furthest things from their adult selves that its unbelievable.

 another pet peeve is they changed a few of the voice actors and.....i love these season 2 voice actors in other work theyve done. dee bradley baker and cree summer specifically who are both very talented people. but they did not fit these roles in the slightest. (not to mention having cree summer play an APE and suddenly having her do a LOT of monkey noises that the previous va never had to do. im not gonna get into all that BUT hmm.) and if youre gonna recast the characters to make them sound “older” as least make them sound somewhat similar to the jungle book actors, so you can picture them eventually growing into those voices. 

also the tone shifted so much between seasons. the way they tried to make this jungle more of a “society” with shit like talent shows and sports games and celebrities and like fuckin. STOP. theyre animals. just let them be animals. along with that the writing just feels really off and its just. not fun. i dont like it 

and as i mentioned, they WERE trying to do something here. the fact that the cubs didnt hang out with eachother as much and were starting to drift apart is kinda sad and wouldve liked it see it handled a little better. but instead i got season 2, which was stupid. and im 21 and im petty. 

anyway i am very sorry that ended so negatively and im very sorry that rant was completely all over the place i have no sense of proper organization i just wanted to gush about what i love. but on a positive note i love jungle cubs!! its very dear to my heart and makes me very happy and i wish it had gotten more episodes

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Downfall Of Us All: Chapter 14

Downfall of Us All

Chapter 14

AN: I hope everyone is alright, and staying safe. This chapter is full of angst and sadness.

Warnings: Child loss, grief and depression

Grace was busy making the coffee buttercream for Tony's dark chocolate and coffee cake, she'd just finished making the sugar glass Iron Man for him. The chocolate cake was baking in the oven, giving her and Sophie time to get the decorations done. Tony had done so much for them and was trying to help her find Zach. And this was she was keeping herself busy, she knew deep down that her son was dead but a part of her was in denial. She didn't want to believe that her son was dead. She was just hoping for a miracle, Clint came over quietly and she smiled at him as they started writing Iron Man on the cake. "I know it's been two years, I know Zach might be gone but am I stupid for trying to keep faith?" She asked quietly, Clint was silent as he looked at her quietly. "No, I don't think you're stupid. I think it's good that you're open minded, and not giving up," Clint said finally, if he was in Grace's position, he'd never give up. Grace nodded in thanks and watched as Sophie took the cake out of the oven. She then carefully put it down to cool.

With patient twenty-five and patient twenty-seven successfully impregnated, Dr Rodchenko had focused the attention on Darcy Lewis. She'd attempted to escape twice, and Rumlow always had like a fight.

"Miss Lewis, do you really think Miss Potts and Dr Foster want to abort their babies?" He asked calmly, looking at the girl who was tied down to the bed. She had an IV and the Extrimis serum pumping into her veins, she was glaring at him. Rumlow would enjoy her. "They're not babies, they're......things born out of rape!" Darcy screamed enraged, and he narrowed his eyes at the insolent, pathetic girl in front of him. "I had hoped you'd listen Miss Lewis. However, it seems, you are too stubborn to realise the good you will do by carrying the new generation of HYDRA," Rodchenko said disappointed, and nodded at the hidden camera.

Darcy didn't want kids, she never wanted them and the fact that Jane along with Pepper had quickly given up was unbelievable. This was forced impregnating, these bastards were forcing to have babies. She said nothing as Laura entered and calmly injected her with something, she didn't feel anything for a minute. But then a burning sensation was ripping through her, as she saw a handsome man with dark brown hair. His eyes were cruel and looked excited, he strolled over and very firmly gripped her face. "You're not killing our babies, bitch. They're gonna bring down our enemies, and you're not doing a botched abortion." He growled menacingly, cupping her right breasts with his right hand. Darcy whimpered, maybe if she made out she liked his sadistic sexual fantasies, he'd let her go. Hell, she'd bring him the woman he was obsessed about.

"Harder," Darcy whispered. Rumlow quirked an eyebrow at her. "This is new." "I've always enjoyed it," Darcy said flippantly. "I'm just tired of pretending I don't. It's getting old." Rumlow chuckled at that. "You're not playing a game with me, are you little girl?" Ah, Darcy thought. Is that what he likes? "What do you want me to be, handsome? Your little? Your baby girl?" Darcy asked cautiously. Rumlow slid his hand down to the hem of her gown, back up to her breast under it. "Not from you." "From her," Darcy said quietly. "Your blonde girl. What's her name again?" "Grace," he said tightly. "Grace," Darcy said with enthusiasm. "It's a beautiful name. I'm not half the woman she is…" "You're not," Rumlow muttered, his other hand cupping his erection. "I could help you get her back," Darcy teased, pressing her breast further into his hand. "I haven't met her, so they'd never suspect me of anything. Especially if I were a poor rescued, traumatized survivor. Think about it. They'd be so busy trying to take care of me, I could pretty much do what I wanted." His hand stopped moving. She could see in his face he was thinking about what she was saying, considering it. "Yeah, and how would you secure her for me?" "However, you want me to," Darcy went on. "You want her, not me. I get her for you, everyone gets what they want." "Or," Rumlow continued, "I keep her, and you and we have more HYDRA agents. What do you think of that?" "You want a HYDRA agent with my personality traits? I don't think so," Darcy explained. "I don't follow orders. I don't play well with others. How would any child of mine work out for what you guys want." Rumlow's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Because we could brainwash the little bastard into doing what we want if he doesn't comply."

Don't let him rattle you, Darce. Keep your composure. "Did she give you children?" "Yes," Rumlow's movements stopped at that. "It was a boy." "What happened?" Darcy wanted to keep him talking. Talking wasn't rape. Talking wasn’t being impregnated. "She had a son," Rumlow explained. "Named him Zach. Raised him even though she conceived him the same way you will conceive yours. I guess in some perverted way I loved her for that. Fucking S.H.I.E.L.D. took him." Darcy frowned. "What do you mean S.H.I.E.L.D. took him?" Rumlow's laugh was cold. "Fucking Ross came and had him taken away from her. It was cold as shit, especially when they run around calling themselves the good guys." Her heart clenched in her chest. Jesus, what did Ross do? "What happened to him then?" Darcy asked intrigued by the story, she wanted to know what had happened. His expression darkened. "They… You know what? Why am I talking to you? Stupid bitch." Darcy hissed in pain when he backhanded her, putting his strength into it. "I see what you're doing. It won't work. You should be grateful. You're not a Pepper Potts. You're not an astrophysicist. You're nothing. When you get knocked up with my kid from HYDRA, then you have something to be proud of. Until then…" Rumlow hopped up on the bed then, ripping away her clothes and his while Darcy screamed.

She didn't want this, she didn't want to be used as a broodmare for HYDRA, she wanted things to be normal. She blamed Jane for this, not admitting that she'd caused this by hacking into the old Soviet files.

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The team had arrived back from the bakery, after Sophie and Grace had taken cake orders from regular and old customers. One customer had asked if they could do an Avengers themed birthday cake, for her seven-year-old twin boys.

The flavour was a chocolate cake with salted caramel, and chocolate buttercream. They'd just finished the cake for Saturday, and just needed to finish the decorations. Grace smiled at Tom who meowed, and she fed him, before scratching him behind the ears. Lucky, Clint's golden one-eyed Labrador was happily eating his dog food. She smiled at Clint who smiled back, as it was Tony's turn to cook dinner tonight. He was cooking Italian pasta, with beef meatballs and for dessert was tiramisu. Lilia was helping, and she had her dark mahogany hair pulled up into a fishtail plait. She was wearing a black pencil skirt, with a white shirt.

She couldn't help but feel safe here, as she finished the sugar glass pieces, and let them cool overnight. She was now going to take a shower, and then look for information on her son. She wouldn't give up on him.

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"You're absolutely sure it's this place, Mack?" Coulson asked urgently, the man nodded as they overlooked a mass grave that had been discovered. "Positive, we better alert the Avengers, and Miss Drăgoi." May said quietly, overlooking the mass grave that had been located in Siberia, Russia. Diplomatic relations between Russia and America, had softened thanks to the Avengers who had exposed HYDRA agents working in the government. Coulson nodded, and looked at the lifeless body of a blonde-haired young boy, being placed gently into a body bag.

"Sir, two agents from S.H.E.I.L.D wish to speak to all of you." Jarvis announced, Tony frowned but nodded at the AI. He had a bad feeling about this. "Let them in, Jarvis." He said wearily, seeing the others looking wearily at the security footage. The two agents were let in, and Grace looked nervous. Coulson and May entered the room, and the tension in the air thickened. Clint saw Grace looked anxious, and wordlessly held her hand, and she held onto it tightly as Sophie wrapped an arm around her. "What's going on, Coulson?" Natasha asked finally, sensing that something was horribly wrong, and the agent took in a deep breath. He nodded at May, and she pulled out a dark brown teddy bear. Grace stiffened at the sight of the stuffed teddy bear, she could feel her heart pounding away in her chest. This was her son's teddy bear, Zach's favourite stuffed animal. "Where did you find that? That's my son's teddy bear?!" Grace asked fearfully, walking over and Coulson swallowed. "Our agents who were working with the Russian task force on HYDRA, discovered a mass grave in Siberia. I'm so sorry to ask this, but is this your son's teddy bear?" He asked gently. Grace swallowed but felt like she was drowning, she nodded and reached out to touch it. "Yes, it's my son's teddy bear. Where is he?!" She asked desperately, and Coulson took in a deep breath. "There's no easy way for me to say this, Miss Melnychenko Drăgoi. Your son's body was found in the mass grave," He explained quietly, and Grace went numb. Her son was dead....no, he couldn't be dead.

Clint caught Grace up in his arms before she could fall. He watched her crumble, curl in on herself. His heart ached, knowing that pain and knowing that there wasn't a damn thing he could do to fix this for her, to make it better.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Coulson," Steve was in full Cap mode. "Was it really necessary to handle it like this? With no sensitivity to Grace whatsoever?" Coulson looked horrified, being taken to task by his idol. "Sorry Captain. "We'd been tasked by Stark to see what we could find, and we wanted to let you know our findings right away. I guess I didn't…" "No, you didn't," Steve said with a scowl.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Clint had already scooped up a sobbing Grace, Sophie and Bucky on his heels as he steered them out of the living area and back to Clint's own apartment. Sinking down onto the couch with her, he just held onto her. Sophie sank onto her heels next to them, crooning and smoothing her sister's hair while tears ran down her face as well. It had been her nephew. For long moments, the only sounds in the room were the ragged sobs that tore from Grace. Sophie rose, whispering she'd be back, and dragging Bucky from the room behind her.

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

Sophie couldn't breathe she was so upset. Bucky had followed her back to her room, allowing her to shut them in her bedroom so she could be confident Grace couldn't hear. "Doll, are you okay?" Bucky's expression was edged with concern. "Breathe." "I don't feel like I can breathe," she told him, barely holding herself together. "I'm so scared, Bucky." Smoothing his palm over her face, he meant to calm her, get her focused on him. "No one is going to hurt you or Grace. We won't allow it." "I'm not worried about me," Sophie told him, her voice breaking. "It's Grace. I don't know why they took Zach or why they killed him, Bucky. In time, maybe we'll find out why they did this to us. But Grace… We have to watch her, night and day, Bucky. She'll go after them. I know it. I can't lose her. She's all I have." Bucky hadn't expected them to find the boy alive. He hadn't said as much and had hoped by some miracle he was wrong. Now that he'd been found, there were questions to be answered. Somehow it didn't feel him like this was the resolution of something, but the beginning. "We'll be there for Grace," he told them. "We need to talk to Steve and Tony. There's a lot of things I'm wondering here." The pain he read on Sophie's face blended with confusion. "What questions?" "We can't assume anything," he said carefully. "We need to know who killed him and why. And some of the answers aren't going to be easy for you or Grace to hear. This is all connected somehow to Pepper's disappearance, Dr. Foster and Darcy. What happened to Grace. It's all connected. We have to find those answers. We have to stop it." Sophie nodded, trying not to lose her composure. "Okay?" He whispered. Sophie nodded before pressing herself into his arms, seeking comfort.

Bucky held her tightly, feeling her tears stain his shirt but he didn't care about that. What hurt him, was seeing Sophie cry and mourn for her beloved nephew. He kissed her forehead, holding her tightly.

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

Grace didn't blame Coulson, he was only trying to be kind, but her heart felt like it had been ripped out. Her baby boy, her precious boy was dead. She clutched at Clint like he was her lifeline, he held her tightly and she felt like screaming. She felt like going on a murderous rampage and sobbed. What had her son done to deserve this? She could only imagine what those animals had done to Zach, her son must have been so frightened and alone. "He must have been so scared, Clint. And I wasn't there to keep him safe, I'm his mother and I couldn't save him." She sobbed brokenly, Clint held her tightly. "This wasn't your fault, he knew you loved him. Zach knew that you loved him, Grace," Clint said comfortingly, Grace sobbed brokenly and buried her face against where his heart was beating. He rocked her gently, singing an old lullaby that his mother would sing to him when he was upset. She held onto him tightly, as he saw Bucky and Sophie come in. Sophie nodded at him, and held Grace's hand tightly, tears sliding down her face silently. Bucky sat beside her, and his own face was saddened.

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

"What the hell was Zach doing in Siberia? He wasn't dressed for that type of weather." Steve asked horrified, Zach's body was being prepared to be sent back to the states. "I think it's safe to say, that either HYDRA or someone else were experimenting on him and other children. Daisy Johnson is sending us files, and there's a link," Tony said quietly, pulling up the emails between Thaddeus Ross and Senator Ellen Nadeer. "Senator Ellen Nadeer is part of the committee that oversees the Sokovian Accords, she voted in favour of it. But, Coulson's team have linked her to the Watchdogs, Gonzalez and to Ross. She and Gonzalez were the ones that had Zach and four other children arrested and taken away." Tony said grimly, when Jemma entered. "Zach's body will be here in the morning, two Russian agents will be bringing the evidence they found. They found four other bodies, and the families are being notified." She said quietly. "It's all somehow linked to Pepper, Dr Foster, Darcy, Sophie, Natasha and Grace. Something is going on here, Tony." Bruce said gravely, when a red eyed May and Peter entered with Michelle and Ned. "Is it true, Tony?" Peter asked shakily, he'd known Zach since he was a baby. He and Ned would babysit him and play with him.

Steve was worried about Tony at this point. His friend truly looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His dark eyes met Peter's and he nodded. Peter crumbled, and Tony pulled the young man into his arms. "I'm so sorry, kid. I really am." Meeting May's gaze above Peter's head, Tony looked so sad. "Why?" May asked, her voice breaking. "Who would do something to a little boy like that. He was… so sweet. The sweetest little boy since Peter… Why?" "I wish I knew, May," Tony told her. "But we will find out." His gaze swung to Steve who nodded. "We will get to the bottom of this, Ma'am. You can be sure of that." He watched Peter turn to be captured in a group embrace with his friends and May. Tony motioned for Steve to follow him into his office, closing the door as soon as Steve was inside.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Steve waited for the other man to say what he needed to say. "There will be an autopsy done," Tony began. "I want to know exactly what they did to him and why." Steve did as well. "What is Ross doing?" Tony said quietly. "This fascination with both Grace and Sophie has been obvious since the beginning. Am I the only one who thinks that?" Steve shook his head. "It crossed my mind. But we're going to have to move forward carefully, Tony. We can't include everyone on the team in this." "Agreed." Tony stared at the floor for a moment, deep in thought, before looking back up. "Grace. From what you know of her, is she capable of going, vigilante? Would she try to go after them on her own?" "She's a mother, Tony," Steve said carefully. "Of course, she is. It's how to prevent it that I'm trying to work out." "Clint," Tony offered. "He's her mentor. She trusts him. I don't care if we have to handcuff her to Clint, we have to make sure she doesn't get away from us." Steve frowned at that. "What are you so concerned about happening?" Tony's gaze never wavered. "If she goes rogue, Ross has an excuse to put her down or worse…" "Wait," Steve followed that train of thought. "You really think Ross is in this?" "Up to his ass." Tony's jaw locked. "We can't give him an excuse to kill her, or worse, arrest her. If they did whatever they did to her son, what would they do to her? Her sister?" Steve saw his point. Ross would likely go after Sophie too and that Steve wouldn't allow. Bucky was falling for the young woman. Steve knew how this would go. Bucky wouldn't hesitate to go to extremes to keep her safe, to do what he thought he should do for her. Well, hell. "We'll need to keep Bucky and Clint apprised of what's going on," Steve stressed to him. Tony nodded. "We'll need to allow for a funeral service, Tony," Steve continued. "It's going to be hard, but we have to it." Tony nodded again, seemed to not be hearing him. "Do you think… I mean. Pepper…" Tony looked like a man burning alive on the inside. "Is there a chance?" Steve's heart sunk for his friend. "I hope so, Tony. I really do." Tony walked around to his chair behind the desk, sank into it heavily. "She's pregnant, Steve. She's pregnant and didn't want the child. Because it's mine. Or because she didn't want to be tied to me. Will I…" "See him or her?" Steve offered, trying to keep his voice even. It was hard. All of HYDRA's dealings in this arena, tampering with the lives of innocent children, was the worst sort of evil to him. So unforgivable that he wondered how he would keep control if he were to encounter certain scenarios. "The child is valuable to them, Tony," Steve said slowly. "Because it's yours. That give him or her a chance. I'll do whatever I can to help you bring that baby home, Tony. I promise you that." Tony nodded, then his face crumbled. Tony Stark, the Tony Stark, burst into tears causing Steve to rise to his feet. Tony waved him away with a hand. "No, go. I'm sorry…" Steve understood. He closed the door behind him as he went to see out Nat, to get her take on how to proceed here. He'd have to take the lead on this one. He was the only one who wasn't emotionally compromised. He'd get Sam's input too. The only thing he was sure of? He'd put a stop to HYDRA hurting his team.

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tagging list: @jtargaryen18​, @marvelfansworld​, @sapphirescrolls​, @nomadicpixel​, @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @redfoxwritesstuff​, and @my-favourite-fics​, and @kitkatd7​

[whydoesfireburn]

Chapter Four of Why Does Fire Burn? Many Unfortunate Events

Spelling and grammar are Wack. Enjoy!

Akito held his umbrella in one hand, and his little sister's in the other. Harue was holding the flowers for their aunt tightly as she could. The elevator ride was slow. Almost painfully so. When they finally reach the sixth floor, Aki had to try not to bolt out.

     It took him and Harue a minute to find the room, but when they did, he had to stop Harue from running like always. Akito pushed the door open slowly. And there was his aunt. Her eyes were closed, but she was awake- that’s not what bothered him. The bruises on her face and neck, the cuts and burns that littered her under the hospital gown, and the IV in her arm, that’s what bothered him. It made Akito’s stomach churn and eyes water.

    “Auntie Kosuke!” Harue squealed, ripping off her mask, as she cried tears of joy as if nothing was wrong. Their aunt opened her eyes and smiled. She sat up a bit as Harue rushed over and handed her the flowers.

    “We got your favorite!” Harue said happily.

    “I see that,” said Aunt Kosuke. She patted the bed, signaling for Harue to come to join her. Harue all but jumped on the bed and snuggled up to their aunt. Akito stained by the door quietly.

    When Aunt Kosuke saw him, she moved Harue to her lap and patted the bed again. Akito came reluctantly, not wanting to cause his aunt any discomfort. When he sat down, his aunt wrapped her hand around his shoulders and kissed his head.

    “Are you two alright?” she asked.

    “We’re okay!” Harue promised as she began to tell Aunt Kosuke about everything that happened since she was admitted to the hospital. Their aunt smiled through it all.

    “And then when we went to go get your flowers, the lady was closing the shop, but she kept it open, it was really nice, and Nii-chan was very quiet, and, and, and-”

“You should put your mask back on Harue,” Akito said quietly.

    “She’s fine,” Aunt Kosuke said, running a hand thru Akito hair. The nine-year-old looked down at his hands and then to his aunt and then asked, “What happens now?”

    Aunt Kosuke's face fell, and she looked out of the window at the rain.  Then she smiled again and said, “Don’t worry about that Mooncat, I’ll take care of it.”

    Akito wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He just sat quietly and began to count the minutes until he got here.

    XXX

Shoto Yukitomo began to get dressed for class. They were going to an off-campus facility to train today. He had just finished putting on his boot when he walked out and down to the front of the school. He found Yoarashi and went over to him.

    “Oh, man! Rescue training! I’m so freaking pumped!!!” the taller boy yelled out, jumping in the air. Shoto chuckled quietly. Then he looked over at Midoriya, talking to Uraraka. He was in his gym clothes since his hero costume was basically destroyed in his battle with Bakugou.

    “If you like him, just ask him out,” Yoarashi said, thankfully in a quieter tone than usual. Even still, Shoto jumped about a foot in the air.

    “I don't know what you’re talking about, and be quiet,” Shoto hissed. Yoarashi chuckled. “I can’t do either of those things.”

    Just then, Iida began to blow a whistle and started to instruct them onto the bus. Shoto was about to head on when he felt something tug on the bottom of his pants. He turned around to see Gekko looking up at him.

    “Hey,” he said, looking down at the cat. She meowed and threw her paws up to rest on his knees. Shoto leaned down and scratched her head. Then there were more yells from Iida.

    “I have to go,” Shoto said, “I’ll see you later.”

    Gekko didn’t like that and began to meow louder. When Shoto didn’t turn back around, she began to follow him. She stopped at the bus doors and let out one more sad meow before the doors closed.

    XXX

    “You can’t,” Rumi said with her hands on her hips, that smirk of hers planted on her lips.

    “Oh yeah?” Hawks asked, crossing his hands over his chest.

    “Yeah,” she said.

    “Alright then,” he said, “why don’t we place a little bet then, hm?”

    “You are so on,” Rumi said, “What are the stakes?”

    “Loser has to get a tattoo,” Hawks said.

    “Done.”

    XXX

 It was quiet this afternoon in the parlor. Dabi wasn’t doing much, just looking over the bruises he got from fighting with that little weasel of a bitch, Shynah. After Fuyumi and his brother went to bed that night, Dabi had gone out to find Shynah and warned her to stay the fuck away from his sister if she liked her face the way it was. 

    Shynah clapped back, telling him to watch his ass unless he wanted to be found in a river in a body bag. There were some more threats, and before long, the little bitch had decked him in the face. Dabi didn’t fucking care if she was a girl, he was going to beat her. Hard. For scaring his sister, and for coming near them. He wasn’t sure when Quirks got involved, but they were both lucky, neither one of them killed the other. He walked away with a banged-up torso, bloody knuckles, and animal-like scratches on his back. Shynah had only a few minor burns and one ugly black eye that wasn’t going away soon.

    Looking back, Dabi admits it wasn’t the smartest choice he has made. Fuyumi would kill him if she ever found out about it. Which is why he wasn’t going to tell her.

    Speaking of the white-haired she-devil, she was calling him now. He knew it was before even looking at the caller ID because the ring tone was a recording of Fuyumi saying, “I’m calling you,” that he’d recorded to make his ringtone for her. She hated it.

    “What’s up?” he asked, even though he could tell right away that something was very wrong. In the beginning, he couldn’t tell what she was saying. She was talking fast and crying and sobbing. The first words he could understand were “The news, have you seen the news?!”

    “Fuyumi, what the hell is going on?” he tried, but all got was more crying.

    “Shoto,” she said, “Shoto, I-I don’t, I have no i-idea if he’s-”

    “Fuyumi, what about Shoto?” he asked her, trying not to get worked up himself. Then his phone buzzed another call from UA.

    “I’m getting another call, from UA,” he told Fuyumi.

    “Answer it!” she cried. “Answer it right now and tell me the minute you know.”

    “Fuyu-” his phone rang again, and he answered the call.

    “Hello?”

    “Hello, are you Dabi Yukitomo?” a voice asked.

    “Yes,” he said, weakening with fear.

    “I’m a caller for UA. Today your brother Shoto Yukitomo and his class went to an off-campus facility. That facility was attacked by villains. The situation has been maintained; however, we are asking parents and guardians to come and pick up their children.”

    “WHAT?!” Dabi yelled, “How?! How the hell did this happen?! My brother! Is my brother okay?!?” he demanded.

    “Sir,” the voice said calmly, “I’m not allowed to tell you anything. We just ask that you come to the campus to collect your child.”

    “Oh, I’ll come, and I have a few words that I’m going to give to someone,” he then pressed the hang-up button as hard as someone could. Then his anger subsided. Horrible images flashed into his minds. His baby brother, broken, and bloody, and mangled, and dead. The thought made him want to vomit. A part of him said he should have never let Shoto enrolled in UA.

    He shook himself. Now’s not the time. He had to tell Fuyumi what was going on, but she happened to come through the door of the parlor. Tears still fresh on her face. Dabi opened his arms as wide as he could and held her as tight as possible as she rushed to him.

    “O-oh gods,” she sobbed, “T-the news is s-saying that, o-only one of them g-got hurt. Wh-what if-?”

    “It’s not Shoto, Fuyumi,” Dabi swore, “The brats too strong and stubborn to get hurt,” the raven-haired man blinked back his own tears of fear and panic.

    They took a minute to collect themselves, before running to UA faster than anyone had before. There was a swarm of people in front of the gate- news reporters, and other people from the media. Dabi and Fuyumi pushed their way to the front.

    “Family only,” someone in front of the gates said, holding out his hands.

    “We are family!” Fuyumi cried, “Shoto Yukitomo, he’s our younger brother!”

    “ID,” the man said. Dabi yanked his out harshly and shoved it in the man’s face.

“This good enough?” Dabi asked, ready to lose it with everyone. The man looked at Fuyumi, who the fumbled a little to get her ID card out. Once the man saw it, he opened the gates and let them in. Before they could get far, there was another person to stop them. This time a woman, the R-18 Hero Midnight.

She told them that Shoto was fine and in the classroom, with his fellow student, unharmed and waiting to get picked up. Fuyumi looked like she could pass out with relief. Dabi, on the other hand, stayed angry. They ran the whole way to the Class 1-A room.

“If there is a single hair out of place on his head, I will burn this fucking place to the ground!”

XXX

Shoto sat quietly in the corner of the room and waited for someone to come to get him. The USJ had been attacked by villains. The ‘how’ of it all was still unclear, but Shoto didn’t care right now. He was scared during the whole thing, but not as frightened as his classmates were. It was more like he was nervous.

He had handled himself well. Kept out of villains grasp and stayed unharmed. Midoriya, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. He had broken his bones again, trying to help All Might. Shoto would admit it, he was impressed.

Midoriya was more than a smart guy, flashy Quirk, and a cute face. He was selfless and willing to jump in, no matter what. And now he was knocked out in the nurse's office.

Shoto rubbed his eyes, he should have listened to Gekko.

Yoarashi sat next to him. He wasn’t as upbeat and excited as he usually was, though. He was still taking a lot, which was at least something. Everyone at least looked to be okay. He doesn’t know what they were thinking, but he never did. Sometimes he wished he could read minds instead of the Quirk he had.

Shoto ducked his head down. He thought about his siblings. He wanted his brother.

Just then the door banged open, Shoto’s head shot up to see Dabi and Fuyumi standing in the doorway.

“Shoto,” Dabi demanded. Everyone pointed to the teenager in question. Shoto’s body acted before his mind. He rushed over to hug his brother and sister. Fuyumi pulled him as close to her as she could, and then Dabi wrapped his arms around the both of them.

 The room was quiet. Shoto felt a few tears hit the back of his neck. Whether they were Dabi’s or Fuyumi’s, Shoto couldn’t tell, nor did he care. It was a while before either of the two let him go, but when they did, Fuyumi cupped his face.

“Are you okay?” she asked. It was evident in her voice that she was crying. Her face was red, her eyes were a bit puffy, and her glasses needed to be cleared.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“I will be the fucking judge of that,” Dabi said, grabbing Shoto’s face, and began to scan every inch of him he could.

“Dabi,” Shoto said in a voice close to a growl. He had just remembered that his classmates were still there, and he could hear a few of them snickering.

“Shush,” Dabi said, turning Shoto’s head in his hands. It was another minute before Fuyumi told Dabi to stop it, and the Shoto was fine. Dabi sighed and pulled Shoto into another hug. When he was let out, Dabi asked, “You are okay, right?”

“Yes,” Shoto said.

“Good,” Dabi said. The raven-haired man looked around the room to see that the rest of the teenagers in the room were watching them.

“Well, this is awkward,” Dabi said.

“You think?” Shoto asked, annoyed. Fuyumi chuckled and told Shoto to get his stuff. He did, and Shoto waved goodbye to his classmates. He and his siblings were shown back outside. Dabi’s arm was around Shoto’s shoulders, and Fuyumi’s hand rested on his back. 

When they got home, Natsuo was waiting for them. He had jumped over the couch and all but squeezed the daylights out of his baby brother. Shoto let out a tiny groan but didn’t protest.

“Do you have any idea about the heart attack you gave me?” Natsuo asked, not even close to loosening his grip.

“Sorry?” Shoto asked, unsure how to respond. Natsu shook his head and hugged his little brother tighter. Much to the dismay of Shoto’s ribs.

Soon all four of the Yukitomo siblings were hugging; a long time passed before Shoto was able to walk free.

Later that night, Fuyumi made soba because she wasn’t going to say no to Shoto anytime soon. Shoto offered to help, but he was still banned from the kitchen after he tried to make ramen in the coffee pot and broke everything.

Dinner was quieter than usual. No one was sure what to say. At one point, Shoto put his chopstick down and asked very quietly, “Do you want me to stop going to UA? Are any of you okay with me being a hero at all?”

They all looked at him.

“Sho, why would you ask that, kiddo?” Dabi asked. 

Shoto shrugged. “You were all worried and- I don’t. I didn’t think any of you really cared about heroes…”

“Shoto,” Fuyumi said gently, resting her hand on top of his, “Do you wanna be a hero?”

“I think so,” Shoto said, “But-”

“Sho. It doesn’t matter what we think,” Natsuo said, “All that matters is that you’re happy. Then we don’t care. You could be a homeless person who lives under some bridge, an’ as long as you're happy, we’d be fine.”

“Um? Natsu? I would not be fine with that,” Fuyumi said.

“Hush now,” Natsuo said, holding up a finger. Fuyumi hit the back of his head.

“What our brother is trying to say,” Dabi started, “is that we want you to do whatever you wanna do with your life. Whatever that is, Sho, we want you to have it. Yes, we’re gonna worry, but only because that’s our job as your big siblings. Okay?”

Shoto nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” Dabi said. There was quiet.

“Can we watch Frozen after dinner?” Shoto asked, looking up hopefully. 

Dabi sighed. “Only after we watch the Little Mermaid.”

“And Lion King,” Natsuo added.

“Done,” Shoto said.

XXX

“Well, fuck,” Hawks said. He looked at Rumi, who was smirking her ass off. He lost. Now he had to get a fucking tattoo. What the hell?

XXX

Harue hugged her brother tighter. Her daddy and Auntie Kosuke were in Auntie Kosuke’s hospital room yelling, a lot. They were using big people words she didn’t understand. Things like ‘lawsuit and ‘custody’ and ‘visitation rights.’ They kept talking about a trial, and something happening in a few months.

Harue whimpered. She was scared. Auntie kept calling Daddy ‘bastard,’ and Daddy called Auntie something that sounded like bike but started with a ‘d.’ She wasn’t sure with either word meant, but she knew she wasn’t allowed to say either of them. Uncle Iroh was trying to calm them down. They yelled over him.

Nii-chan closed his eyes and was holding back tears. If Nii-chan was crying, it must be okay for Harue to cry too. Nii-chan was her big brother, so that meant he was super strong. And if someone like Nii-chan cried, that said she could too. But Nii-chan wasn’t crying, so Harue didn’t either.

No one seemed to care or want to do anything about grown-ups yelling in the room. Their voices were muffled, so no one but Harue and Nii-chan could hear them.

Harue wonders to herself if there was anyone else who had ever been afraid of their daddy like she was.

XXX

A few days after the whole USJ mess, Dabi was back to work at the tattoo parlor. He had Fall Out Boy blaring and was trying not to lose his fucking mind over the fucking pile of bills he had.

Soon Irresistible came on the speaker, and just as the choir hit, Dabi heard the door open. He jumped at his desk a little, then went out to see who was here.

When he saw who it was, he wasn’t star-struck, per se. It was more, ‘what the fuck are these two doing in my shitty-ass tattoo parlor?’ He wasn’t stupid, he knew what the number three and number six heroes looked like.

Miruko was dressed in combat boots, cut off shorts, a white tank top that said, ‘girls are great’ in black block letters, and there was a red flannel tied around her hips.

Hawks was dressed in converse, a simple white t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and had rings and bracelets on.

The two were bickering back and forth.

“I can’t believe this,” Hawke grumbled with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey, remember, this was all your idea,” Mirko said, a smirk painted on her lips.

“Can I help you two?’ Dabi asked, breaking their conversation up. They turned to look at him. Mirko clapped and rubbed her hands together, “My friend here needs a tattoo,” she said, with a massive smile on her face.

“Well, you’re in luck, because that’s all we do here,” Dabi said. “Have a seat.” Dabi gestured to the couch. The two pros walked over and sat down on the worn-out black sofa.

“Can I get either of you anything?” Dabi asked carefully.

“No, we’re good,” Hawks said. 

Dabi nodded and took his seat in the chair. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Bird brain here thought he could beat me in a race, and now he has to get a tattoo,” the female hero said.

“Well, that’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard from someone in here,” Dabi said. “So, you know what you want?”

Hawks sighed, “No, I haven’t really thought about getting a tattoo.”

“All right, that’s totally fine. I tend to suggest starting small,” Dabi said, “But you can do whatever.”

“Oh, get a big one, I wanna see you cry,” Miruko said.

“Shut up,” the winged hero groaned.

 Dabi cleared his throat and said, “If you want, you can pick something from the books, or we can do something else.”

“Can I just have an artist choice?” Hawks asked, “Honestly, I have no idea what to get.”

“I can do that,” the raven-haired man said, “Wait here. I got something I think you’ll like.”

Dabi came back a few minutes later with a sketchbook. It was opened to a page of a feather, and as it went up, it turned into flames.

“Wow,” Hawks said, taking the books in his hands, “You did this?”

“Yep,” Dabi said. Hawks mulled it over in his head for a minute before nodding. Hawks was going to get it on the back of his shoulder so his wings could hide it. Dabi was almost shocked to find that the man could change the size of his wings.

“Just so you know,” Miruko said to Dabi, “He has very sensitive skin.”

“Oh, my God, Rumi! Shut the fuck up!” Hawks yelled. Dabi chuckled and went to work. As he started on the winged hero’s tattoo, Miruko looked around his shop. She was looking at the pictures over by the door when she asked, “Who this?”

“My siblings,” Dabi said, not looking up from his work, “I got three of them.”

“Oof,” she said.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, “My youngest brother just started UA. Hero Course.”

“Well, we’ll have to keep an eye out for him in the Sports Festival, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” Dabi said. Time went on. Miruko asked more questions, and Dabi readily answered them. At one point, she asked, “What do your parents think of this whole tattoo thing?”

“Well, my mother, bless her, says she happy I’m doing something I love. She says I might have to give her one someday,” Dabi shook his head and smiled at the thought of his mother sitting in his parlor, getting a tattoo. It was crazy.

“And your father?”

“Dead.”

“Oh, sorry.

“Don’t be.”

Every few minutes, Dabi would ask Hawks how he was feeling, and when he wasn’t told to stop or that it hurt, he kept working. When he was done, Hawks sat up and huffed. “Take it easy,” Dabi advised.

 “Does it look good?” Hawks asked.

“Actually, it does,” Miruko said, looking over the tattoo.

“Thank goodness,” he said, carefully putting his shirt back over his head.

“Hey, so, I was thinking,” Miruko said.

“Oh no,” Hawks grumbled.

“Shut up,” she laughed. “I was thinking that I kinda wanna get a tattoo now too. And I’m cool with whatever. Like, I can come back, or I can do it now. It doesn’t matter to me,” she said.

“I can do it right now,” Dabi said, “I’d just need a minute to get everything set up.”

Miruko nodded her head and took a seat in the chair that Hawks had been in a few minutes ago. When Dabi came back, Miruko showed him the tattoo she had picked out. It was of a crescent moon that was simple enough but had some lovely detailing. Miruko had Dabi put it right on her forearm.

While Dabi worked on the female hero, it was Hawks’ turn to ask questions. “How long have you been running this place?”

“Two and-a-half-years,” Dabi said, “Weird question, but how’d you find my shop? I’m just curious.”

“Rumi found your Instagram,” Hawks explained. “We saw your work, and thought it was pretty sweet.”

“Awesome to know that’s working,” Dabi said, “It was my sister’s idea.”

“You got a lot of followers,” Hawks said.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they all come to get stuff done.”

“How much does it take to run this place?” Miruko asked, much calmer than Hawks had been.

“More than you’d think,” Dabi said, sounding annoyed.

“You post all the tattoos you do on your Insta?” Miruko asked.

“Most of them go there and my website, yeah,” Dabi said. “I normally ask my clients if they're okay with it. Not a lot say no.”

“Neat,” Miruko said. It was still a while before the heroine's tattoo was done, but when it was, Miruko inspected it.

“Holy hell,” she said, “This is awesome.”

Dabi chuckled. He led them back to the front of the store and gave them both instructions on how to make sure they didn’t get infections. The two heroes paid and had Dabi take a photo of their new ink.

“Well, thank you for coming,” Dabi said, a little awkwardly.

“Thanks for having us,” Hawks said. Dabi looked at him for a second before clearing his throat and opening the door for the two.

“Thanks again,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Miruko said, stepping out.

“See ya,” Hawks said. Dabi nodded and closed the door. He looked down at his phone. Maybe two pro heroes coming into his parlor could help him more than he’d thought.

XXX

When he and Rumi got far enough away from the tattoo parlor, Hawks said, “Well, that guy was hot.”

[essilt]

Fic: Mnemosyne’s gift (WIP)

Autors: @katerina150 , @essilt Theseus Scamander / Leta Lestrange, Canon Het Relationship, Het, Alternate Universe, Epistolary, Drama, Romance, Family Feels Notes: BC THEY ARE OUR BBS AND JFC WE JUST CAN’T! Notes2: We’re sorry for mistakes, english isn’t our native language. Sum: Fantastic Letters and what are they hiding.

ao3 link

Chapter 4: The Corvus IV Lestrange's cunning plan

It was oddly, but they met again at the ball. Mr. Scamander and Miss Lestrange were invited to the annual Christmas Ball at the Ministry of Magic and, of course, separately.

Theseus led the Auror Department in 1925: the war hero, who was one of the first to go against the emergency legislation of Minister Archer Evermond. He returned from the mainland at the end of 1918, started from scratch under the guidance of Torquill Trevers and literally took off on the career ladder. The position and aura of heroism made his Irish appearance much more attractive in the eyes of the majority of free girls for betrothal, but Theseus was equally formally amiable with all of them. It was rumored that his heart was broken.

Leta Lestrange was a Hogwarts graduate, as well as Theseus. She once was friend to his younger brother Newt - and even for a couple of years she imagined she was in love, or maybe Newt imagined that for himself and for herself. Once she spent the whole summer at the Scamanders: communicated with the whole family and enthusiastically watched the hippogriffs. Theseus had often heard about her before: Leta Lestrange was at the tip of the tongue of a non-talkative Newt. Although the circumstances of the very first meeting could hardly have passed for auspicious, when Newt was expelled from Hogwarts, and his older brother had to push thresholds in the pose of the petitioner. Theseus never thought that he would communicate with this girl seriously. He was almost ten years older, she was from a different social circle. He went to war early, she continued her studies, learning how to do magical sciences as Muggle ones, and this was what later allowed her to work in the ministry, and not her father’s money, as many thought. Of course, they happened to cross at Trevers' department, but hardly all of these meetings could have passed for the renewal of acquaintance.

Theseus went to the reception without much inspiration: on the Christmas eve, Mrs. Scamander (Ma, as her sons called her among themselves) depressed by the blatant celibacy of both, in turn brought down her bad mood for a hopeless future, a lonely old age and other mischief from the day they were born. Newt crawled into himself, as if in a sink, and silently suffered, Theseus languidly dissuaded as just as languidly threatened not to come next Christmas, if these conversations did not stop. But Ma, having read the gossip in the Daily Prophet, where were only notes about beautiful lonely young women, went to storm with the determination of a soldier who had no other maneuvers left and who ignored the threat - especially since they never were performed.

"Do not roll your eyes, Theseus Scamander!" She always called children only by their full name being in anger. “You're worse than brother. You're almost forty. Almost forty, Theseus! Soon you will have no chance! You can expect only a twice-divorced woman or a widow with children from previous marriages!"

"Mom, are you sure that this is a suitable conversation before the ball?"

"This is always a suitable conversation!" She pursed her lips. "Theseus, I can not live forever, who will take care of you twenty years later? You think it'd be your brother who can't even take care of himself?"

Theseus thoughtfully considered a tuxedo.

“Mom, in the name of Merlin, I and Newt live our own lives a long time ago, and if I need a nurse one day — although I hope I won't get to such misery — I will just hire her. Marriage, as far as I know, is not for this."

“Of course not,” she snapped back, catching a subtle subtext. She paused and called on the other side: "Soon I will be too old to raise my grandchildren..."

"Grandchildren are for joy, mom. For everything else, you can hire a nanny."

"What can you know about this!" She let a little tragedy into her voice, and then got angry: "You measure everything with money, Theseus. Gathered all this of Muggles."

“Mom, money is convenient, after all, why not use it,” Theseus shrugged his shoulders, took the fresh issue of the Prophet from the table. "Well, and who do you offer me as a bride? Let's go through the list. The first in it turned eighteen last spring, and I, as you kindly and fairly reminded me, am almost forty..."

Mother snatched the newspaper out of his hands and threw into a corner.

"Don't clown around! You might think that there are no brides outside of this list!" Now the drowning man’s prayer sounded in her tone distinctly: “You had that girl in France... Why not marry her!"

"I am sure there is, but my work does not allow to communicate with them. With that girl, as you call her, there was a relationship that did not include the concept of marriage." He didn’t lift an eyebrow when his mother portrayed something between indignation and embarrassment, and ruthlessly added: “In the name of Merlin, mother, that time there wasn’t any relationship to marriage."

"So, you must work less!"

“And a woman who has worked all her life tells me this,” Theseus could not refrain from an ironic smile.

"It did not stop me from having two children!"

Theseus took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. Poor Newt is probably listening to all this.

"I do not argue." He tried to go on another truce, letting a little sincerity into the conversation: "I just didn’t meet a woman I don’t want to let go. And who'd endure me. No one likes redheads."

“Well, that is, we are to blame with your father, it was us who gave birth to you the redheads,” said Mrs. Scamander’s voice with a harsh note hinting at humility, and Theseus embraced her.

"Do not worry. If Newt and I are lucky, you will have daughters-in-law and grandchildren. You will grumble when they will overrun the house and climb where they don’t ask..."

"I will not live till that moment with such sons!"

Mrs. Scamander said this loudly enough for Newt to hear every word too.

***

Leta Lestrange was preparing to the ball alone. She received strict instructions from her father. Everything about her rebelled at the thought of what these instructions were about, but her tongue did not turn around to say "no". Corvus IV Lestrange had enough of a glance so that all the Leta's rebellious nature, who did not let anyone in Hogwarts descend, would wilt and freeze. The secret, shameful fault, about which it was impossible to make and sound, immobilized her and the overwilling glance smeared Leta at the feet of the father with a thin layer. You want to earn my trust, said this glance, you need my forgiveness, you should try and be a good girl, then I will approve of you - and Leta mentally replied: "Yes, Dad." Her father's authority was still indisputable for her.

She gathered her hair in a neat strict knot and stabbed her with sharp raven feathers. A black silk dress with a train and straps crossed at the back, studded with glass beads and sequins, was put on right on a naked body. Black velvet shoes on a tall thin heels, walking on will be almost an art. Her favorite silver snake with emerald eyes wrapped around her arm, from shoulder to wrist. The jewelry belonged to her mother - in fact, it was the only thing which Leta inherited by her mother.

***

She was late for the official start of the celebration and appeared in the ballroom when the performance had began and the frail ballerina, making the pas in her flying white robe, let go of the shawl into the air - but the performance did not interest Leta, she only looked ahead.

And it was Theseus Scamander ahead. Her Aim. Of course, they were familiar and although they didn’t really communicate for many years, moreover, Theseus was the first after precious animals that Newt could talk about incessantly: he found a thousand and one more reason to be angry with his older brother and to condemn him - and desperately admired him. So Leta, unwittingly, knew about Theseus Scamander much more than it was decently to know a young girl about a man almost ten years older; and since Newt Scamander was her the very best, the most intimate — and the only — friend, she involuntarily took from him an explosive mixture of condemnation and admiration for Theseus. They were even lucky enough to spend the whole pre-war summer together, when Mrs. Scamander invited her younger son's girlfriend to stay with them on holidays. Theseus was tall, scrawny, red-haired, freckled, just like Newt, wore a canvas shirt with rolled up sleeves and pants with suspenders, preferred to tinker with the rod and fishing line without the aid of spells, and he had an unusually ordinary girl. Nothing foreshadowed the hero of Arras, Messina, and Amiens.

Theseus was at the other end of the ballroom and noticed immediately the excitement among the guests and his reason. Silk dress to the floor, flowing gait, dark skin with an olive tinge. Densely dilated eyes with languishing and barely touched lipstick lips. At first it seemed to him that she was looking for someone, then - that it was him with Leta Lestrange met her eyes. Not for long: just a moment or two. He was amazed how lonely she seemed. Theseus did not follow her life intentionally, but he read the issues of the Daily Prophet, where were often published articles about her and all the enviable brides of the wizarding world, including Leta Lestrange, who, even crossing her twenty-five year line, did not lose ground in the top ten. He was even interested, because Leta occupied a considerable place in Newt's life - until the number of her supposed suitors reached ten. Then Theseus just stopped looking through the column about the secular life of the magical community.

She seemed relieved to see an old acquaintance.

They met with their eyes every now and then, until the performance was over, then the crowd separated them. Theseus was distracted by the conversation Minister of Magic Fowley, Leta was pulled aside by familiar witches from pureblood families. It took a good quarter of an hour and a lot of tricks and tiny steps in the direction of the Aim, before Theseus and Leta finally found themselves face to face.

“Oh, Miss Lestrange!” greeted Fowley. "How are you tonight? Do you enjoy the show?"

“This is a wonderful evening, Minister,” Leta gave Fowley a hand for the duty of the kiss and turned her gaze to his companion, nodding in recognition. Theseus tilted his head in response.

“Miss Lestrange, I regret that your father could not attend our Christmas party, but I am glad that you decorated it with your presence. Of course, you are familiar with our heroic Head Auror, Theseus Scamander, but it will not be superfluous to introduce you to each other again. Theseus, this is Leta Lestrange, the daughter of a respected friend of the Ministry."

Leta smiled radiantly.

"My father was very sorry that he could not attend, and asked me to convey to you wishes of well-being and remind you of the return visit, which was previously promised. Mr. Scamander, glad to meet you again," she gave a hand to Theseus.

How tall is he! She forgot. Or maybe in childhood it is natural that everything around is much higher. Leta had to throw her head back to look at Theseus' eyes, but he easily relieved her of the inconvenience, leaned in the old-fashioned way to kiss his hand, and did not raise it to his lips, as almost all men now did, trying to get rid of conventions.

"Mutually, Miss Lestrange."

She was so busy thinking about his height that she didn’t have time to think about his voice. Theseus detained her hand in his not longer than decency required, but Fowley did not allow the conversation to develop.

"Yes, yes, Miss Lestrange, I will definitely return the visit, would you like to accompany me and see our program?"

Leta had no choice but to agree. She wouldn't to refuse the Minister with whom her father was friends, although at that moment she wanted to stay and speak with a completely different person. Theseus was forced to accompany the wife of the Minister, a strict fair-haired lady who set off her bright charismatic husband.

The program of the evening included several more dances and a magician's nice performance, combined with drinks and light snacks. Leta was next to the Minister, realizing that Theseus Scamander was standing behind her. Directly behind. Touch me, she mentally repeated, touch me - until she realized that it was not an order, but a request. She really wanted to know how Theseus Scamander touches a woman, appreciate what is waiting for her, check with her skin whether all this chatter about a broken heart is true - although she already senses: not true... She even shifted her shoulder blades, almost feeling his fingers glide on her back. When white snow, so similar to the real one, began to fall from above and began to turn into flowers right in the air, she turned around and saw an asphodel flower in Theseus’s hands. Strong hint! Guessing how far the Head Auror could be suspected of indecency, Leta turned away as soon as she caught his return glance, and spoke to the Minister about something unimportant.

During the reception, her friends surrounded her again, without giving a minute of peace. Conversations, on-duty smiles, fake wishes of well-being, gossip, invitations to spend the weekend at someone’s estate or in the mountains, or at the springs. “And let's flight to Bulgaria!”, “Yes, yes, it’s very good there now, snow, they say, piled up, you can ski. I like to descend from the springboard "and so on and so forth. Her head ached so much that, after apologizing, Leta moved away, pretending to have a snack. She would not be reproached: the appetizers were excellent, to match the champagne. In the absence of a good cook, the current minister could not be blamed.

“Persephone plucked the asphodel flower, and the firmament of the earth opened up before her, from which the four dark as the night of horses escaped, and the underworld king Hades ruled it..."

She shuddered, turned around - and came under the spell of Theseus Scamander's smile. And, oh Merlin and the Holy God, this growth...

"Sorry, seems to me I've scared you."

"Don't worry, Mr. Scamander, I'm just surprised. Do you like ancient myths and legends? Or do you want to put my vigilance down?" hinting at the most innocuous name, Leta pointed at the flower.

Theseus laughed, and the asphodel disappeared.

“My job is, these myths not to become a reality, Miss Lestrange.”

“I hope that today you are not here to work, Mr. Scamander,” Leta smiled and took a sip of champagne. Her head was spinning slightly.

"No, today I intend to rest. Do you like ancient myths and legends?"

“Some ...” She paused, trying to get at least one suitable memory out of her: “I remembered, in my youth, I was amused by the legend that one hero went down to Hades and unsuccessfully sat down on the wrong chair. We often laughed at this with Newt."

Theseus grinned, apparently realizing what kind of legend it was. Newt once said that his brother in school was also teased by the misadventures of the great Greek hero, not always successfully, which, of course, was reflected in the number of points of his faculty.

Taking a sip of whiskey, Theseus leaned toward Leta a little closer.

“I argue that it was Newt who told you this Athenian gossip, it will be from him. And I'm not at all surprised, considering how my brother likes to laugh."

"How is he?" Leta did not retreat, only elegantly intercepted canapés from a passing by tray.

"He returns from his long journey soon. I think it will linger for a while in our area."

Damn well with his height sits a tuxedo, that's what, Leta thought - or champagne helped her think so. Newt wouldn't ever be dressed like this - noone would ever have a chance to rake him out of his beloved coat.

“Does Newt still love his outlandish animals?” Leta smiled, recalling the scary care of Scamander Jr. about his strange, but in her own way beautiful pets. “Does your mother still breed hippogriffs?”

“Yes, to both questions,” Theseus finally smiled sincerely, making his face completely transformed. Leta did not expect that his smile would make such a strong impression on her. "Newt is collecting material for his book, which he has been writing for many years, and mother is waiting for him to show another brood. And to persuade to find a more rewarding occupation..."

Talking about Newt awakened a cat named Feeling of Guilt from a lethargic sleep, and before she began to sharpen her claws about her soul, Leta changed the subject.

"Mr. Scamander, I spent a wonderful summer in your house, I still remember with tenderness."

In the eyes of Theseus it was clear that these memories are shared.

“You had lovely curls, Miss Lestrange.”

“I hated them,” Leta portrayed disgust, “and with pleasure got rid of them!”

"It does not matter. They were all the same cute."

"You are really pushing me to return them!"

“I never thought that my opinion is so important,” he smiled again, and Leta had to take a sip of champagne, because he had his throat tight.

The snake on her hand raised her head sometimes or took a more comfortable position, so as not to interfere with the freedom of the hostess's gestures. A catchy, massive jewelry, which, perhaps, would have gone as clothes. Not the most decent thought, but war wiped out the tinsel of propriety in the first place.

"Will I survive the bite of your beast, Miss Lestrange?”

She was surprised - hard to say, feigned or sincere - and opened her dark eyes.

"What beast, Mr. Scamander?"

“This one,” Theseus stroked one of the metal rings with which the serpent wrapped Leta’s shoulder with his index finger.

The snake did not move. Leta traced the movement with her gaze.

"Oh!" She slightly raised her hand. “She doesn't bite... unless I ask.”

“Warned is armed,” said Theseus in a philosophical tone. "I will try not to give you a reason."

Between her beautiful full lips flashed dazzling teeth.

“I don’t think I’d let her harm you.”

“You still haven't say whether her bite is deadly, Miss Lestrange.”

"Let the answer remain secret."

“Well,” Theseus spread his hands, “I hope that in the extreme case I won't have time to understand anything!”

"We'll see, Mr. Scamander." - Leta brought the glass of champagne to her lips again, and Theseus felt a sudden — and as clear as day — temptation to kiss her. Snake lifted her head from the hostess's wrist and winked.

Damn French women, Theseus swore to himself, no one else can so cleverly put all these women's tricks into which it is so nice to get caught.

"Is your beast trying to tell me something?"

Leta frowned severely, noticing snake's maneuvers, and she peacefully settled down, becoming just an jewelry again.

“She likes you, Mr. Scamander.”

He thought that this could be a family joke of the year: the snake-bride. Why not, in the end, the Muggle fairy tale about the Frog Prince wanders around.

"Does she have a name?"

Leta drank some more champagne, and Theseus remembered of his whiskey.

"I suggest you come up with it."

“I’m not as good at handling animals as my brother, Miss Lestrange.” He grinned. "I can not guess."

"It's just a name, Mr. Scamander." For a moment, she opened her eyes wide. Then the dark eyelashes sank again, Leta moved to him at a small step and stood up on her toes to quietly add: “You will not do anything terrible if you give it.”

Her smell was so close: an unobtrusive smell, reminiscent of languor, which comes during the summer heat, with a slightly bitter cocoa mixture. There was an eternity between the girl with pretty curls, who was visiting Scamanders' house, and an exquisite young woman at the ministerial Christmas celebration.

Some excitement passed behind their backs; the official part must have come to an end. Leta retreated to a small step. The thought that he wanted her was as clear as the thought of a kiss, but not at all sudden.

Theseus reached out to stroke the snake again.

"I'm lost. Ago? Aminta?"

"Ago," Leta thoughtfully held out “o”. - "I like it."

"And your beast?"

The snake lifted her head, shook her, and winked again, twisting around Leta's wrist.

"She flirts with me, Miss Lestrange?"

“I don’t see anything wrong, Mr. Scamander,” Letha laughed. The official tone has finally turned into a playful one. "I think many women in this ballroom would like to flirt with you."

Theseus spread his hands.

"Today they have no chance against your beast."

"It flatters her..."

Damn French women, Theseus thought again, damn French women, eternal punishment to the British for the Hundred Years War.

"And you?"

They met looks. Leta bit her lower lip - rather instinctively.

“I am a simple woman, Mr. Scamander, of flesh and blood.”

Theseus paused, looking for an answer.

"Is your beast jealous?"

“I didn't notice.”

The conversation became extremely ambiguous, the available reserve of the ability to flirt was exhausted, and in the large ballroom the invisible musicians played the fashionable Muggle Quictime Foxtrot and Charleston, and Theseus leaned old-fashioned to kiss Leta's hand again.

“Then she won't mind if I invite you to dance.”

That was a statement.

"Of course, Mr. Scamander."

"But I warn you that I am not very strong in this."

"Do not worry, I will teach you."

He tried to focus on something less provocative than, damned all the French women, she has no underwear, not even the thinnest bottom shirt, it was enough to put an arm around her waist to realize it. On how small she was: even on heels, Leta barely reached out to the top of his shoulder. On how gentle her fingers, decorated with elegant rings, are golden-brown, soft. On an unusually chiselled jaw line, especially noticeable when Leta slightly tilts her head to the side. On how softly she slips in the dance and imperceptibly guides not the most skilled partner.

On the fact that he did not want to let her go.

His smile made her heart beat faster, and Leta tried not to think about it. As for “not very strong”, Theseus Scamander, perhaps, lied: he did not stepped on her legs, he caught all her unobtrusive clues, and they had never encountered neighboring pairs.

“I've heard you were at the war, Mr. Scamander,” Leta spoke in a surprisingly calm voice, although she had almost been shaking with emotion. "What was it like?"

"I would not like to talk about it now, Miss Lestrange, I do not want to spoil the evening. Let's just say war is not an easy walk."

Someday he will tell her everything. For some reason, Leta had no doubt that this time would come. Or the champagne did not doubt - it does not matter.

“And you have scars?” Typical female curiosity pushed her to such an intimate question.

“Yes, Miss Lestrange, I have scars.”

"Will you show me them?"

Theseus did not answer, squeezed her fingers harder and put it on his shoulder, pressed with his palm. Then pulled her closer. The flashes of the wizarding photographers flickered around, and Leta thought that their pictures would be in all the columns of secular news in the morning, but she didn’t care.

By the end of the first dance, Leta understood that her father’s plan went to dust, as her own. They spoke with Theseus less and less often and over the last quarter of an hour they exchanged well if a dozen phrases. It is strange that after all the talk this evening it was so pleasant to just be silent. The third and fifth dances followed the second dance, the score lost its meaning. One of them will certainly end with the fact that they just cling to each other and will be just stay so close. Is that so easy?

"Can I take you home?" Theseus asked when the evening was almost over.

“Of course, Mr. Scamander,” she smiled, letting him put a mantle on her shoulders. Theseus himself ignored the rules and wore a coat of Muggle cut. They left together and, after passing a sufficient distance to the required point, transgressing near the pompous London house of the Lestrange family, where they always moved into the season.

Her father went away on business to the estate, leaving Leta alone to carry out his plan, which had already become her own.

“Do you want to come in, Mr. Scamander, drink some more whiskey? Father has a Muggle collection." Leta turned to Theseus, who was ready to say goodbye.

“With pleasure, Miss Lestrange.”

In the hall, Theseus helped her to take off her mantle, and left his coat and hat on a hanger. The house was quiet, dark and almost empty. The maids, probably, had already gone to bed, the house elves hid — not surprisingly, it was already past midnight, she noted. There was no dream in one eye. She lit a fire in the fireplace, a gleam played on Theseus' brown hair. He waited. Remembering the excuse that lured him here, Leta gestured to his father's study, opened a cupboard lined with pot-bellied bottles, and glanced absently at them.

"What kind of whiskey do you prefer, Mr. Scamander?"

“Miss Lestrange, I prefer not a whiskey.”

The next question literally hung in the air. Leta froze for a second and walked slowly toward Theseus. He waited, but Leta could not escape from his gaze. She raised her hands, buried her fingers in Theseus' hair, crumpled, ruffled, smeared with briolin's hands.

“I wanted to do this all evening,” she whispered, smiling at his bewilderment, “I dreamed of seeing them free.”

"And I wanted this all the evening," Theseus pulled her to him and kissed her.

Then everything happened instantly. In a split second. They kissed, as long as the air was enough, fumbled with their palms on their clothes impatiently, kissed again. Not here, she whispered, and he nodded automatically, of course, not here, though whom to peep; the thin straps of her dress, studded with glass beads, were the most important threat, because hell-take-it-easier-tear. Leta laughed silently, bared long and even teeth, whispered that the dress was worth a fortune; Theseus, close to despair, was looking for a secret "lightning", loops, buttons, and finally, gritting his teeth, he said - no more than the salary of the Head Auror. Leta laughed again and finally relented, sent his fingers to some intricate clasps, disguised by the same glass and sequins; one movement - and the dress was gone. And under it, indeed, there was only naked Leta, as smooth and soft as silk, which rolled from her as a black wave onto the carpet, and she remained standing - the continuation of this wave, dark, olive, golden, with a neat chest, a clear-cut waist and tough hips. She took her feet out of her shoes, and gracefully descended onto the carpet, as she came down from the platform, and turned out to be unexpectedly even smaller than Theseus thought. The snake flowed down from her hand, curled over the dress peacefully and covered her emerald eyes, Leta stood up on her socks for a new kiss. Her palms stained with bryoline had already spoiled the tuxedo, bow tie, vest and ruthlessly took hold of the shirt; not here, for the sake of Merlin, she repeated, there is bedroom, and Theseus hoarsely demanded: show. The dress and the tuxedo were left lying on the carpet, woven like lovers, Leta found herself in Theseus' hands, prompted the way into his ear: up, to the right, straight, the door, the next door... not the door in that sense... The handle clicked, they burst into the bedroom, dropped something on the way, Leta gasped, and they began to undress again. The shirt went to the floor, Leta took up the satin belt, then the buttons on the pants, brisk experienced fingers fluttered from one to the other...

“By all the rules, Mr. Scamander,” she purred fiercely, and Theseus sealed her mouth with a kiss, interrupting conversations and spurring on actions.

They stumbled in the dark, collapsed on the bed awkwardly, Leta gasped again; pulled Theseus to herself, let out a low, hungry moan when he thrusted into her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, eagerly moved her hips to meet, felt his back from the loins to the shoulder blades, every vertebra and every rib... Her tongue touched his cheek. The rhythm of the movements - towards, away and towards again - became more harmonious and stronger. The groans became a bit less hungry - it seemed so.

***

The snow outside the window poured more, caught the light of the lanterns outside the window, threw a small scattering of reflected light into the windows. Leta threw off the blanket when Theseus tried to cover her. She was not cold at all: burning maternal blood, even diluted by the British aristocratic, glacial, remained hot enough to warm the naked body inside. Darkness hid her, transformed her dark skin into ebony-black; Theseus did not trust his eyes - tactile memory covered many times more. And was more receptive. More precisely. All this time, there were a thin stockings on Leta; by touch they did not differ at all from her skin, it is not surprising that they went unnoticed. One garter dissolved, stocking moved to the middle of the leg. Theseus pulled him down, lay down at the foot of the bed, untied the satin ribbon, and pulled off the second, held his bare foot in his palm, stroked his ankle.

Leta giggled, wiggled her fingers.

“Ticklish,” she explained in a whisper when Theseus looked at her. "Accio wand..."

“No, that doesn't work like that,” he grinned.

"It works!" She made an angry growl. "You hinder me to concentrate!"

"On what?"

Leta did not answer. Her hairstyle was hopelessly ruined, and Theseus idly pulled the rest of the feathers out of the hair. He spread the strands on the pillows, buried his face in it. At the roots, her hair was slightly damp from sweat and smelled of not expensive perfumes or rubbing, they smelled... just as Leta, as she smells, probably after a bath. Or now, in bed.

Her wand swam into the room: a little uncertain, as if it was also blind in the dark. Then it became clear that they did not even bother to close the door when they burst into the bedroom.

“Lumos,” Leta said.

The light was faint, a little golden, warm; everything that Leta touched became warm.

“You agreed to show me your scars, Mr. Scamander.”

He grunted and fell on his back, spread his arms. Leta’s wand absentmindedly levitated in the air, while Leta herself, sitting on her heels and biting her lip with zeal, examined his body.

"Where does this one come from?" She poked at the round scar under the collarbone.

"From Amiens." Theseus stroked her knee, raised his palm higher. This was the best of all in appearance and in touch: an exciting, carved transition from hip to waist, steep, like that of an amphora, a drop from wide to narrow. "This latest bullet went diagonally, pierced a lung ... I was lucky to be right through. I stayed in the hospital for about two months or so, and then I was commissioned."

"Right through? Is the same on the back?"

Theseus nodded. Letha opened her eyes wide. Her initial playfulness diminished.

"And this one?" Her fingers held across a wide long scar, which crossed the right side and stretched under the shoulder blade.

"I do not remember. One of the first operations. She was so-so prepared. We ran out of bullets, and the bayonets and sabers went into action."

“Why didn't you ask the healers to remove?”

"It's not face." Theseus stretched and yawned.

He simplified intentionally the behavior and tone of the terrible thing he was talking about.

Leta bit her lip again. The next scar was under the ribs on the left side: uneven, ugly, as if a hook were being pulled under the skin, which fish were caught. She vaguely guessed that she left such traces.

"And this one?" Her fingers flinch when touched.

“And this one I got during the Hundred-Day Offensive. I ran into a wizard... I had to fight in a more familiar way."

“Did you carry a wand with you in battle?”

"Yeah. Behind the boot, instead of a knife. I even used it once... instead of a knife."

They met looks.

"You killed him?" Leta's voice has changed.

"Yes. Straight in the eye."

Her lips parted, but Leta changed her mind to speak. Looked away.

“Now I understand why you are the Head Auror,” she said slowly.

“Because I can kill with a wand without magic?”

Leta shook her head.

"Because you do not fluctuate."

Instead of answering, he intercepted her neck, pulled her to him. The sharp face of the pagan goddess approached the face of Theseus.

“Nox,” Leta whispered. The light turned off.

Lips, on which there was no trace of lipstick, pressed to his lips, and Theseus realized that it was equally and absolutely not enough for both of them.

***

They fell asleep in the morning and woke up, barely beginning to get light, to make love again in tacit consent. Silent, like a backwater, Leta listened to his ragged breathe, his moans and tried to keep in mind how they sounded, how the muscles tensed, when he rested on his arms, lifting himself, pushing deeper into her; she tried to memorize the relief of his lean, sinewy, bony and heavy body, the location of the scars on his back, dug her nails in it, wanting to leave her marks on him, even if short-lived, and she vowed to herself that she would never have anyone, never, and then the orgasm cleaned all the efforts, all the oaths and all the hooks to which the memories clung.

It became quite light. He had to get dressed, thank her and leave. So do all random lovers, whose names and faces aren't remembered.

Why does she think about random lovers? She should not think about them. For their sake, she never wanted to throw a bathrobe, to go downstairs, to make coffee and to fry toast without any wands...

Is it also random for Theseus? Maybe that's why everything turned out so easily?

Something must have changed in her face, because Theseus smiled, touched her lips with his fingers. The movements were relaxed, as if he didn’t care about the morning and he wasn’t going anywhere.

"I thought you like my brother."

"No, I always liked you."

He laughed, and Leta laughed hastily with him: it can always be said that tears came out of laughter.

"You are a shameless little liar!"

“Okay, okay...” She dried her eyes. “Newt and I kissed once, when we were fifteen, and after that I decided that he was too good to allow him to plunge.”

Theseus raised his eyebrows.

“So I’m not good enough?”

“No, but I thought you were smart enough not to plunge.”

"Double shameless little liar!"

Letha felt that her lips were trembling, and turned away, pulled the blanket to herself. Yes, a liar, the liar, covering all life the most terrible deception. Even her birth was just a result of deception.

Theseus' fingers slid along her back, circling the vertebrae...

"Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, but did not dare to turn to face him.

“I have to repent of something, Mr. Scamander.”

In his silence, bewilderment was most clearly felt.

“I’m not a Muggle the confessor, Miss Lestrange, and I don’t give absolution.” He also changed the tone.

"Anyway, I have to repent." She exhaled. "Everything that happened... there, at the celebration... and here, in this bed... it happened, because my father wanted it so."

She did not turn around, and Theseus was silent. It was silent for a long time. Life passed, then another, the universe ended, and the silence all lasted and lasted.

Finally it stopped with the simplest:

"I do not understand."

She needed to hurry to explain everything, because too much time had already been lost. Otherwise, others will explain.

"He wanted to have influence on the new Head Auror. And this way, this way... this is proven. And now I repent."

At last, she had the courage to look back.

Theseus looked at her without condemnation or contempt - and, as far as she could judge, he was still not going anywhere. Her heart failed.

"I was so bad?"

It was such an unexpected question that Leta’s tears dried out.

"No!"

They exchanged a tense smiles.

"Well, you seduced me. What was the future plan?"

Leta opened her eyes, unable to believe that he took her revelations so calmly, that he simply dropped its as irrelevant. Maybe Theseus did not understand what she just confessed? No, he understood. Almighty Merlin, he interests in her and nothing else? Nothing at all?

"To get into your trust."

“Congratulations,” Theseus said seriously. He sat down, gently took Letu by the shoulders, and peace enveloped her. "You got."

[emmaekay]

KEIYAKU IV for TPTH Vegebul Smutfest

AN: Keiyaku is almost 10,000 words long! Are you okay? Do you need a drink? It’s important to stay hydrated. I’m humbled by the response to K and I’m so glad everyone seems to be enjoying it. Every reblog, like and comment gives me new life and even more reason to continue this! There will be a minimum of 7 parts, one for every prompt of the @tpthvegebulsmutfest

Day 4 – Scorpio

Bulma looked nothing like a Saiyan. That was problem one. In order to get her in a pod and off planet, the pod had to recognize the Saiyan. Each pod was calibrated to an individual Saiyan – for suspended animation terms, for life support sequences, for weight distribution and a million other things. Under ordinary circumstances, Vegeta would have bought a pod off a Saiyan of similar height and weight, and sent Bulma on her way.

But Bulma was not a Saiyan. Could he just grab a pod keyed to an adolescent around her size? Would that be adequate to support her long enough to get her home? Or would he just be sending her off into space with a pod that couldn’t keep her alive?

Queen Pea had yet to declare the day or terms of the antefasting battle, and a week had gone by. Daily Vegeta came up with a new plan, and daily he thought of a thousand reasons it wouldn’t work. He would have to consult someone with more technological expertise than he – but who could be trusted?

For her part, Bulma was going stir-crazy. Vegeta took his father’s tirade to heart, or at least the part where the King had pointed out the fact that any number of Saiyan women who had hoped to catch his hand may well kill Bulma. Challenges were issued frequently and fought bloodily every day in Saiyan society. It wasn’t illegal to kill an opponent who slighted your honor; it wasn’t even frowned upon. Because of this, Bulma was kept on the estate and spent most of her time in Vegeta’s royal residence.

Vegeta had not assumed any of his royal duties – did not take visitors, did not hear peasant pleas, did not adjudicate spats or honor matches. He was supposed to, of course, he was always supposed to. But he never had. The moment he reached the age of independence, Vegeta entered an arena fight and won. He went off planet and fought in every match, fight, tournament and exhibition he could find. He trained on every planet that interested him and made enemies – and a very few allies – on every one of them. He had killed as many people as he had saved, and nearly died a few times. He ran the galaxy wild and neither parent interfered. The King and Queen summoned him regularly, and he responded irregularly. When he was near, when he felt like it, when he missed other Saiyans.

So, mostly, Vegeta just hung around. He trained with Nappa and once or twice with his father, who could still kick the tar out of him. It felt… almost good to lose again. To discover there was still room to improve. To hope that one day, he’d grind his father’s bones beneath his boots. But mostly, he spent his time with Bulma – he learned her history and shared his, he learned her body and shared his. Still, she wouldn’t tell him exactly what she wished for from the Earth’s dragon to wind up nude, in his lap, light years from home.

And he obsessed about ways to get her out of the antefasting battle, or off the planet. He could take her himself, but that would mean exile on pain of death and the loss of his title and the right to assume the throne. That, he couldn’t do. And he couldn’t let Bulma die.

 ******

“You summoned me, Highness?” Daiku stood taller than Nappa and had a shock of hair jutting up at all angles from his head, great black unruly tufts that had never met a brush they couldn’t break. He stood in the doorway of Vegeta’s sitting room, and waited until Vegeta waved him in.

“Daiku. You’ve been off planet many times, you’ve a great many pods that your partners, woman and daughters travel in.”

“Yes, highness?” Daiku frowned. The prince was nearing his 30th year and he would need to choose a fasting partner soon. It couldn’t be that the prince wished for one of his daughters? His oldest would reach the age of independence, soon, but she was barely into her 18th sun cycle. His fasted woman, Beri, worked in Vegeta’s house as the royal dressing woman – she had cared for Vegeta and his guests for some 10 cycles, but surely she was older than he preferred and … and he would not part with Beri for any sum, on any pain. And what about pods?

“I’m in need of a pod, Daiku.”

“Your highness has many pods. Why should you need mine? Why do you ask of my woman and daughters?”

“I need to send a woman off planet. She is smaller than your oldest daughter and … and she is not a Saiyan. The woman is a scientist and feels confident that she can modify a pod that is already set for a woman similar to her size. This has weighed on me greatly and your Beri suggested I come to you and ask to purchase, or to trade for anything in my possession, the pod you have prepared for your oldest daughter’s 19th cycle.”

Daiku sat down at this, and put a hand under his chin. “And your highness isn’t purchasing a pod through the spacefaring authority for a reason.”

“This is… not against the crown, but not something it should approve of either. I have declared this woman as my choice for the fasting and the King and Queen have agreed – “

“But that is a joyous event, Highness! Why would you send her away?” Daiku exclaimed – nothing in this conversation made any sense – the prince had chosen a partner, and the King and Queen had approved! There should be an honorable battle and a great feast.

Vegeta clicked his teeth. Daiku wouldn’t understand until he saw the problem. “BULMA.”

“Can you not shriek at me?” Bulma burst through the door, ready to tear the prince a new one when she saw the giant guest sitting in the chair across from him. “Oh. Uh, hello.”

“Daiku, Bulma. Bulma, Daiku. She is the woman.”

Immediately, Daiku understood a little better what motivated the prince to send her away. She was tiny and while she was pleasing to look upon, she couldn’t stand up to his toddler – let alone a melee of men or women in the antefasting battle. She would die. Daiku scratched under his chin and considered the situation. He himself was the arena battle champion of Vegetasei.

“Come along with me, Bulma,” Daiku said at last. Vegeta rose from his seat, from body sprawled languidly across a couch to standing tall (relatively) with fists balled at his side. “She is not a possession I can trade.”

“Uh, I’m not a fuckin’ possession,” Bulma interjected, “at all. And who the fuck are you? And what the fuck is going on?”

Daiku laughed, a giant, mountain crumbling sound. “Are you certain, highness, that you must send her away? She is small and she is weak, but look at her pride.” He chuckled again, at these children so up in arms for themselves, for each other. “Please calm yourself, Prince Vegeta. I will swear upon my honor never to touch her – not in lust or in anger, so long as you live.”

Vegeta’s body went crashing down to the couch again, sprawled over it in his previous position, as if he had never moved. Evidently, an honor bound promise was a deep commitment and Vegeta was satisfied by it.

“My name is Daiku, Lady Bulma, and my fasted one has told me much about you,” he said, studying her. “She also left out much. The Prince has bade me smuggle you off planet and I have heard that you can modify our technology. I was only inviting you to stay in our home for the time it will take you to modify a pod. I have ascertained,” he continued, “that his Highness wishes this endeavor to remain secret from the crown, and so cannot take place here.”

Vegeta grunted in agreement.

“Vegeta and I have discussed this,” Bulma spat, “at length and I don’t intend to flee! I’m where I’m supposed to be, Vegeta.” She turned to him now, “And you will stop trying to send me away.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “I am staying!”

“You. Will. Die.” Vegeta growled at her, for the fortieth time in the week. “I have told you again and again that you will be killed as certain as you stand before me if you attempt to go through with the antefasting battle. I have told you again and again that I do not wish to see that.” “Then close your fucking eyes.” Bulma stood before him, hands on her hips, one legged jutted out at an angle. Take me to the man I’m destined to be with! Her words to the dragon rang in her head. Bulma believed in fate. Bulma believed in destiny.

“Bulma, I will fold you up and put you in the fucking pod myself.” Vegeta rose again and stepped in her direction. Daiku noticed that the woman did not shrink, did not falter. She leaned into her posture, and stuck her tongue out at him. “Try it.”

Again, Daiku’s laugh split the house, and the tension, in two. Both Vegeta and Bulma glared at him ferociously, which only made him laugh harder.

“My Lord,” he began, wiping a tear from one eye, “would your time be better spent training the woman into a warrior than attempting to send her away? Even if I allowed her to modify one of my pods, she would like as not reprogram it to come back and land directly on this house.” Another bout of furious laughter rocked the furniture, and this time Bulma joined in. She would have done exactly that – if not on the house, on the castle.

Vegeta stared at them both as if they were completely mad, and strode out of the room before the madness caught him, too. He stomped away, lip twitching into an unbidden smile while Daiku and Bulma laughed even harder.

 ****

Daiku collected Beri and left, but not before giving Bulma some parting advice. “Stand your ground. Never sacrifice your pride. Train – you may be stronger than you think.”

Bulma puttered around the grounds, reading some of the books from Vegeta’s library, admiring the flowers in the castle’s garden, until the sun set. She busied herself after dark, making herself new lingerie and attempting to cook in the residence’s kitchen – one endeavor going quite well, the other… not so much. Eventually, the royal chef stepped in and made dinner for Bulma and the prince.

The prince was still sulking in his bedchamber, door locked. He hated being laughed at, and he hated when his plans went awry. Both had happened to him today and he was full of frustration.

“Vegeta?” Bulma’s voice at his door. “Vegeta, dinner.”

He paced to the door and flung it wide, hauling the woman inside. “Dinner? Looks delicious.” He nibbled her neck and Bulma giggled. “Seriously, food’s on the table, come on.” She tried to pull their bodies apart, but he pulled her closer and slid one hand down the back of her pants. “I know you’re mad about earlier, but I wasn’t laughing at you – really, neither was Daiku. I think –“

“I don’t care what you think, and I don’t care what you were laughing at. You’ve wounded my pride. How will you repair it?” He gripped her round ass in one hand, and took her hand in the other, navigating it down into the swelling in his pants.

“Oh, I have an idea.” Bulma smirked and dropped to her knees before him. She kissed his member once through the fabric before tugging it down and releasing him.

“Mm, it’s a good idea…” he muttered as she cupped his balls in one soft hand, licking the base of his shaft, running her wet little tongue around and around him, working her way from the base to the tip, slowly, before engulfing him completely. He groaned and swore as she took all of him into her mouth, running her tongue along the underside and keeping an excruciating pressure on him as she moved her mouth up and down the length.

“Mmm,” Bulma moaned as he began to knead her neck and shoulders with his strong hands before running them through her hair and back again. She worked him, wet mouth and cool, soft hand together, first slowly and then, as he began to tense before his release, more and more quickly. Before the frenzied pace tipped him over the edge, Vegeta bent his knees and scooped her off the floor, dislodging himself from her mouth with the tiniest pop.

He laid her on the bed and laid opposite of her, crooking one leg over her head as she crooked one leg over his. “I’m starving,” he growled before burying his face between her thighs, the fingers of one hand pumping in and out of her as he devoured her sweetness and she resumed her attentions on him. She was dripping wet, like the most delicious over-ripe fruit he had ever tasted. Her hips began to quake underneath him and he could feel her tenderness quivering under his tongue. The sounds she made – he would eat her entirely, the way she carried on and spurred him forward.

Underneath him, Bulma continued licking, sucking, fondling him. She relished the way he groaned, the way she could feel him in her mouth, jumping and throbbing. He was close to the edge and so was she when suddenly he thrust his fingers in deep and sucked hard on her clitoris, and she came in his mouth and around his hand. As she cried out, she pulled him deeper into her mouth and squeezed his shaft with her tongue. He came and she swallowed, still running her tongue on the underside of him and tickling his balls gently as she continued to suck him until he growled and lost his grip on her ass – he threw his head back and rumbled deeply.

Finished, she swiveled around and snuggled against him. “Ready to go have dinner?”

 “No thanks, I just ate,” he chuckled in her ear.

[monster-apartments-au]

Fade (TomTord Backstory for MA AU)

Eddsworld fic, 17610 words, tom/tord + paul/patryk

Chapter 3/3: Aftermath

Ao3 Mirror

Whoever said that love conquers all has clearly never been with a demon before.

(Prequel story for the TomTord relationship in the Monster Apartments AU)

Warning for possibly triggering content, including character death, brief depictions of torture, and body horror (monster transformation)

Humans are fragile. It’s been ingrained in Tord since he was just a small Impling, being reared like a child by his superiors. Don’t bother relying on humans, ‘cause they die on you whenever you seem to need ‘em. It was a joke; the older Demons would laugh and so would he. He didn’t know any better.

But he wasn’t laughing when Tom was lying in the aftermath of the explosion on that big heist months ago. Wasn’t laughing when he held onto his limp, injured body, and certainly wasn’t laughing when he watched the blood pool into his terrified eyes.

He didn’t ever fully realize just how fragile humans were until those moments, when he thought for sure his most precious person was done for: when he realized that he could lose Tom to just a bomb, or a bullet.

Tord wasn’t able to sleep for days. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the blood, hear Tom crying out over the radio- He was pathetic and he knew it. Matt and Patryk threw him pitying gazes while he sat outside Tom’s hospital room, staring in and keeping watch whenever the small, broken human was sleeping. It seemed like if he ever looked away Tom could be dead and it was driving him to exhaustion.

But a conversation with Matthew gave him the spark of hope he needed. It was a little over an hour after Tom had woken up, rambling about the police and tearing out his IVs. Matt had to rush in to sedate the poor man and hook him back up before any real damage to the human was done, and Tord watched on, helpless in the situation.

“Humans,” Tord said later on. “Are far too fragile.” Matt nodded, patting the demon on the back and sighing lowly.

“You’re not wrong. Just wish there was a way to help them,” Tord grunted, so the vampire kept talking to fill the silence. “Maybe ceasing to risk your lives while robbing banks is a good way to stop being in so much danger…?” He tried, but Tord simply grunted again.

“I just don’t know how to actually help him,” Tord muttered, bringing his legs up to his chest. “I’m so exhausted mentally I just… Wanna figure out something for the long term. Even if we stop the heists we’ll still find a way to get into trouble: that’s practically Tom’s middle name.” He sighed tiredly, putting his forehead to his knees in defeat.

Tord felt Matt pat his back once more. “Well, things happen, things change.” Matt muttered, trying to find something to say that would pick Tord’s spirits up.

The demon just raised his hands up in frustration. “Unless there’s some way to change Tom from a human to a-” He stopped himself mid-sentence, mouth agape as he realized the easiest answer to his problem. To Tom’s problem. He stared, big, wide eyes turning directly to the Vampire who sat beside him.

“No,” Matt stated flatly, narrowing his eyes before Tord could even get a word out. “I know what you’re thinking and no. I wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone.” A protest started from the demon but he knew he couldn’t argue this, and he definitely couldn’t turn Tom into a vampire on his own. He supposed he could get Paul or Patryk to turn Tom into a werewolf, but the chances of that working were low, and Weres were still pretty fragile in comparison to vampires and demons.

But Tord couldn’t stop his mind from racing, continuously going back to that train of thought if he let it wander for more than a moment. He knew that changing a human into a monster should be- was possible. He had the resources, the time… He just needed a starting point. It’s a couple days later when Tord’s flipping through a magazine and sees an advertisement for a B-List horror movie. He was about to turn to the next page but his eye lingered on the words. ‘Nuclear’. ‘Mutation’. Tord grinned wildly.

He had found his inspiration.

His hands scrambled through his pockets in search of his phone, and as soon as he had the device he was dialing a number he’d thought he’d forgotten. A gruff voice answered on the other end with a tired, “Hello?” Tord smirked, already doing quick calculations in his head.

It didn’t take long for him to explain his entire plan to Eduardo, an esteemed researcher who specialized in nuclear physics and was, of course, someone who owed Tord a favor. Once he was done elaborating, gasping for breath, the man on the other end laughed. “You’re asking me to do something that’s impossible!!” But despite the incredulousness that was in his voice at the time, Tord could make out the intrigue, and he knew he had his partner for his next biggest project.

For the next few months Tord and Eduardo worked together on the plans, locking themselves away in his lab or Ed’s apartment for days on end while working on all sorts of calculations and serums. Even after Thomas had been discharged, Tord brought his work home and poured over notes, spending many sleepless nights working on every possible variable.

It took weeks for their research to take off, but the two were diligent and eventually ended up with a concoction that should, in theory, work. They encapsulated the ‘medicine’ in small pills that were meant to be ingested along with each meal. Tord held the bottle in his hands and considered the dosage they had planned.

“What’re you so worried for?” Eduardo pestered while filling each pill. “Tom will be fine; we’ve worked the science out loads of times.”

But Tord shook his head. “Worked it out or not, we’ve been unable to test it. We can't use it on any humans,” Tord muttered, rubbing his forehead in thought. “Or animals, for that matter.”

“Don’t want a super-dog?” Eduardo chuckled and the demon just glared, dumbfounded.

In exasperation he asked, “What kind of dryad are you??” But Ed laughed more and Tord sighed. “Anyways, we have to be completely sure that this will work. There’s no room for error. The minute radiation exposure over time, as well as the other components, should be enough to mutate him... As long as I’m careful.”

Tord began to stress but of course his assistant piped up, slapping him on the back encouragingly. “Jeez, don’t worry so much, you’re gonna make the smoke alarm go off.” Eduardo laughed at the fierce look he received.

…

When Tord handed Tom the bottle of pills, the human was confused. “What’s this?” He inspected the jar in his hands, reading the label for the information. Tord shifted anxiously.

The demon scratched at the back of his head. “Some meds you gotta start taking; remember how you were complaining about your eyes hurting a few weeks ago? These should help.”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “You made a medicine for me? All by yourself??” He was wide-eyed and amazed, and Tord, trying to not let the admiration get to his head, gave Tom a small shrug.

“An acquaintance of mine helped me develop it, and it should be just the thing to help your eyes,” Tord pointed out. “It’ll be best for you to start taking it as soon as possible, but big differences might not be noticeable for a few weeks or maybe even months.”

“Something is better than nothing at this point,” Tom sighed in relief, looking up at Tord with an earnest smile. “Thanks, Tord, this means a lot!”

It took some effort but Tord smiled back, staring pointedly at Tom’s nose instead of his happy eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” He murmured and ruffled the shorter man’s hair, walking away with his shoulders a little slumped. He knew it was ultimately for Tom’s own good, but fuck, Tord thought. I’ve got to be the worst boyfriend.

...

It didn’t take long for Tord to notice Tom was changing. It started with minor behavioral changes, then a slight change in sleep schedule and food habits: nothing to Tom’s physical appearance but that was the point. It was supposed to be a secret.

Tord let himself get caught up in research again, in order to stop thinking about what he was doing to the human. He hardly slept, never giving his mind that time to fill him with worry and doubt. Paul had suggested before that something paranormal was running a rival gang, and they sabotaged them, but Tord never really put any faith in the thought. Nevertheless, it was something to put his mind to. He didn’t actually expect he’d find something, and even worse, he never expected it would be someone so bad.

It was fucking Balis.

Tord shivered as a wave of dread and nausea hit him at the sight. Memories of the brutish demon filled his head and in a fit of fear and rage, he flung all of his books to the ground and shouted. He couldn’t deal with that piece of shit again and he couldn’t put anyone he cared about through that literal fucking Hell.

“Tord?” Almost on cue Tom piped up, waking from a dream. Tord felt a pang of guilt at waking his boyfriend but pushed it aside. “‘S wrong, babe?”

The Demon attempted to calm himself down. “Fine,” He assured the human. “‘M fine. Sorry for waking you.” Tom did his best to assure him and comfort him, but Tord wasn’t able to get the images of his past with Balis out of his head for the rest of the night.

…

After that, Tord got careless. He tried to get to Balis before he could get to them, but it was the other way around, and he was snatched up from the family he created for himself. Balis kept him in a big penthouse style meeting room with a bunch of other demons, but all of them were serving him and making his life on Earth comfortable.

While the rest of the demons ran free, so to speak, Tord was bound down by a copper ring nailed to the floor. There was no way he could get out of it without probably killing himself, so he stayed put and dealt with whatever Balis would throw at him.

And Tord meant that quite literally. Despite being trapped to the spot he would constantly chastise the demon that kept him prisoner at every chance he could, even going so far as to spit on his boots whenever he walked by. Every transgression was met with a punishment. Balis’s favorite was throwing salt down on Tord, to cause a searing hot pain on his flesh wherever the salt landed. Occasionally he would also be subjected to religious symbols, holy water, the works.

Despite all the torture, though, Tord remained resolute in his quips and jokes, and he could tell Balis was at his wit’s end. “Why don’t you just shut up?” He’d demanded while Tord was currently writhing in pain but still managing to get jokes in about being salted like a french fry.

“Infuriating, isn’t it?” He panted out in between body spasms. He’d learned how to be an annoying asshole from the best, after all.

Tord wasn’t sure how long he was held there, but he’d have to guess a few days. He managed to see the sun set a few different times, but he slept most of his hours away, trying to conserve what energy he could, so it was hard to tell regardless. The Norwegian tried several times to slyly get out of Balis what he actually wanted with him, but every time he caught on and every time it ended up in the demon walking away or kicking him in the face.

So all he was able to do was bide his time, and try and find an escape route whenever he was left alone, which wasn’t often. He secretly hoped that Tom and the Werewolves were looking for a way to save him, but it wouldn’t be easy and he didn’t want to count on it. Not that he doubted them. He’d never doubt his boys.

When he catches word of them infiltrating the facility, it’s like Christmas morning.

He first hears about it from a little Imp that comes bouncing in the room, screaming its little head off. It used some kind of demonic language and if Tord’s honest he tried to block as much of that out as he could when he ditched, so he could only make out a few words: “Guns” and “Big Death”. It had to be his boys.

Tord did his best not to look giddy and eager from his little spot on the floor, especially when more demons came pouring into the room all followed by Balis, who, despite a straight face, it was easy to tell he was pissed. The demons gathered around the main table in the room, all conversing with one another in hushed tones while they waited for Balis to give out some orders.

“Where are they?” Balis spoke evenly and slowly, sounding out every syllable so everyone could hear. It was clear to see he was pissed, and it took everything in Tord not to smile, because he’s pretty sure Balis would’ve actually killed him. Nobody in the room attempted to answer Balis’s question, and there was a beat of silence before the leader slammed his hand down. An uproar of voices started from all around the table, everyone trying to talk over each other in an effort to figure out where the infiltrators had gone.

In the middle of the conversation one of the demons cried, “The elevator!!” Everyone turned to Balis who angrily barked out some orders, trying to regain his composure. It didn’t take long for everyone to be able to hear the elevator coming up, everyone going into high alert, talking only in hushed tones while they shuffled crates and set up in positions.

Tord ended up hidden from view by most of the crates, but thankfully he was able to see most of the room through a small crack. It felt like an eternity, waiting for the elevator to come to the top floor, but when it did it gave off a small *ding* and everyone silenced, watching the door with wide eyes.

The elevator opened slowly, and it took a lot for Tord to not shout with relief when he saw his boys. “Hey!” Tom shouted. “Release Tord and nobody has to get hurt.”

“Tord?” Balis said, mocking surprise. Tord rolled his eyes as he continued. “And what would a simple human want to do with a runaway whelpling like that? Does he owe you something, or..” He trailed off, as if realizing something. “Oh, I see, you're his pups and his snack, right? You lot can call me Balis, I-”

The gunfire kicked off immediately after Balis said his name and Tord gave a small nod in appreciation. He used the commotion of gunfire, screams, and shouting to cover him looking for a means of escape, seeing if he could pry up the copper ring from the floor with his claws. He worked the entire time on it but he was getting nowhere fast, and the sounds of the fight were starting to die down.

Tord heard someone moving closer to him, so he curled up and feigned sleep, trying to get them to leave him alone so he could get back to work on escaping. The shuffling sound made its way towards the Demon, causing him to tense in case a lesser Whelp decided now is a good time to douse him with salt again. A hand was gently pressed to his face. His eyes snapped open while he hissed, baring his teeth and fangs. As soon as he recognized Tom though, he allowed a wave of relief to wash over him.

“Tom!” He shouted excitedly. “How did you find me??” Tom smiled weakly, shrugging.

“Looked through all your books, found a way to port to you. But, Tord, how can we defeat Balis? He heals from aggression, how can we stop him and save you?”

Tord thought frantically for a moment before gesturing to the copper ring on the floor. “Break the circle, I can’t move until it’s gone. I can stop Balis if I get out.” Or at least, he thought he could. Despite Balis being a bit bigger than him they were evenly matched in a fight as long as he could get up close. He just had to keep a level head.

Tom was sawing away at the copper with his knife and getting through it a good way, but Tord saw the hazy look in his eyes and worried. “Tom, are you alright? You look like you’re wavering, babe.” But right as he said it, Balis was behind the human helping him escape, grabbing him by the hood of his shirt.

“I’ll give you this, Tord: you’ve certainly landed yourself a loyal crew, as well as a stupid one. Why would beings as determined as these try and save a pathetic little whelp like you?” He surely would’ve gone on if Tom hadn’t whirled around and punched the Demon right in his ugly fucking face. Balis roared in pain, snapping Tom’s arm in half and smashing his horns into the human’s head. Tord watched on in horror as Balis threw him to the ground, turning away from Tom as he writhed on the ground.

“Tom!” Tord cried out, trying to soothe his boyfriend in some manner, but as Tom laid there, screeching in pain, Tord noticed he was starting to... change. His eyes moved and settled in the middle of his face, becoming one big black void. The bones underneath his body cracked and shifted and grew, stretching out his skin in a grotesque manner. Spines came up from his back and elbows, and two horns pushed their way out from his forehead. Tom’s body cracking and shifting caused Balis to turn back at him, but right as he did he got a huge purple claw right in his face, pushing him down into the tile.

Balis was lifted up and slammed back down repeatedly by the monstrosity that was now Tom, roaring and screaming the entire time that he beat Balis down. Either the demon was too shocked at the change or he was unable to do anything as Tom threw him into the wall and chased after him, tearing into him with sharp claws.

With renewed vigor Tord snagged the knife that Tom left in the circle and worked away at the copper, finally getting it fractured. Once broken, Tord stood, no longer bound by the copper, and he snuck around to look for his wolves. Sounded like Tom had Balis covered.

They were right around the crates, tired and whimpering, but alive and starting to regain consciousness. He moved to help them both, slowly regaining his own energy by holding them and pulling them to their feet.

“Where’s Tom?” Paul spat out, but when Patryk gestured to the big purple monster that continued to pound Balis into the wall, Paul nodded in understanding.

The three rushed over towards the monster that was mauling the demon on the ground, not quite sure of what to do.

But Paul pointed at the monster. “He’s slowing down!” And he was. Tom’s claws were coming slower and slower as he tired himself out.

“We need to act fast,” Tord hissed, edging himself closer to Tom so he could get at Balis as soon as the beast that was his boyfriend passed out from exhaustion. It didn’t take too long before Tom slumped to the side with a loud *thud*, and Tord took to action quickly.

He dragged the beaten Balis over to where all the torture equipment was and got to work, pulling out chalk to draw a big circle around the demon, then dousing him with salt and holy water. Balis started to come to as the holy water burned him, but Tord was too far along in the ritual for him to do anything other than scream as he was being banished back into Hell. A few words that Tord had forgotten the meaning of later, and Balis was fading out of existence in flashes of light.

There was a beat, before everyone let out a big sigh of relief, glad that the worst of it was finally over.

…

Tom didn’t remember a thing, and Tord was grateful. He needed more time to figure out how to explain the monster thing to him, but until then he’d bide his time, just grateful to be happy again with Tom.

Time passed. Tom’s transformation went along smoothly, and aside from a few close calls of his secret being exposed, nothing went wrong. Sure, there were ups and downs, but that was how Tom and Tord had always been. They’d get through it and everything was good.

Until Matt confronted him again.

“Have you told him yet??” He hissed next door from his apartment one night when Tord was about to leave for a late night walk. He’d been taking more of those, lately. At Matt’s question the demon slowly shook his head, avoiding the vampire’s disapproving gaze. “Tord.”

“I know,”

“This is getting out of hand,” Tord tried to make some sort of protest but Matt pressed on, upset. “You can fucking smell it on him; he’s changing.”

The Norwegian scoffed, opening his mouth to protest. He really didn’t want to hear this now that they were done with all the tests, all the time, all the effort. What happened happened, and they couldn’t change it. Matt grew angrier though, shutting his own door and taking a step towards the demon. “You’re doing this to him, Tord.”

He’s just trying to cut deep, Tord. The demon reminded himself in his head before he could say something he’d regret. “Look, Matt. I know what you’re trying to do, but I don’t give a shit,” He said briskly. “I’m doing what’s best for him; I’m giving him a way to protect himsel-”

But Matt stepped forward again. “Tord, I’m telling you right now that you have no fucking clue what you’re doing. You may be older than me, by a few centuries, but I’m telling you right now, Tord, that you don’t know shit about humans…You haven’t ever been human.”

That set Tord off. Out of frustration he slammed his palm against the wall and leaned close to Matt, whispering out his rage as if he were letting out steam. “Well as a fucking demon, I know the worst of what’s out there. I lived in Hell for two of your fucking lifetimes and I have seen every possible horror you can imagine. I could’ve killed him so many times,” He took a breath but continued scathingly. “And so could you. Any fucking person in this complex could’ve. But I’m helping him, I got him involved in our world and now I'm saving his fucking life. So tell me I’m wrong one more fucking time, Harvest.”

“You don’t know any of this, Tord!” Matt whisper-shouted and raised his hands up in exasperation. “You don’t know if he would’ve died from that stuff! These are all could-be’s and would-happen’s. I can get hurt if I’m exposed to a fucking cross for too long, do you know how many people wear crosses in the hospital?? A lot, but I’m still fucking here, Tord,” Matt was choking back tears and Tord felt a pang of guilt. “All he needed was you to protect him.”

Tord narrowed his eyes. “What about me getting kidnapped, huh? How the fuck do I protect him when I’m the one who needs saving?? I’m constantly a fucking target, and now he is too. So what do I do then?” Matt shrugged angrily at the question. “What do I do then, Matt?!?” A shrug again. “What do I-”

“Look!” Matt cut him off, mad and tired of the bombardment. “I don’t have all the answers! But you can’t keep going on like this. Tom needs to know the truth; for fuck’s sake, Tord, he doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him!!”

Tord groaned in frustration. “Nothing is wrong with him!! He turned out just like how we thought he would, he can protect himself and I’ve-”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “You’ve turned him into a fucking monster.”

Before the demon could retaliate, the sound of the dog yelping from inside the apartment started up. Immediately Tord opened the door poked his head in. “Tom? Is Ham alright?”

Tom nodded and rubbed his head, muttering something about the dog needing to be let out. Tord couldn’t stop himself from being concerned so he asked: “You got another headache, babe?” The human nodded some more.

“Just need some air.” He mumbled, stepping out with the dog and moving down the stair well. Matt settled his hand on Tord’s shoulder, who begrudgingly nodded.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Tord,” Matt promised, sounding just as sad as the demon felt right then. “I just want you to understand: this only gets worse the longer you wait.” The demon understood, he just didn’t want to admit it.

But he sighed, letting a single hot tear fall. “I know.”

...

A little more time passes. Tord promises to tell. He keeps putting it off but he promises himself, over and over, that he’ll make sure Tom knows before anything can happen.

It's his phone's ringtone that wakes Tord up. He grunts out of discomfort, the dog lying on his legs, keeping him pinned. Not minding the insistent buzzing, Tord let's his eyes drift closed again, not wanting to be up yet. Just as Tord feels unconsciousness creeping up on him once more, his phone starts going off again. With a sigh of frustration, Tord sits up, carefully picking up Hamilton to set him on the floor, setting him down on his way to the phone.

Tord picks it up on the third ring. “Hello, this is Tord Luvhart. May I help you.” If it's Paul and Pat calling to see if he wants to hang with them, Tord's going to be pissed.

However, that thought is dashed away when he hears the frantic voice on the other end. “Tord? What the fuck, Tord, are you there? Listen to me; turn on the fucking news!”

“What?” Tord is still in a bit of a daze, having not expected Eduardo’s angry voice on the other end. “Eduardo? Friend, what is the commotion about? What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, Eduardo hangs up. Shrugging, Tord lies back down, figuring it’s nothing. However, just as his eyes slide closed, his apartment door is broken off it’s hinges and thrown to the floor. Tord startles, shifting in a heartbeat with wings unfurled, ready to take flight if need be. Eduardo stands livid in the doorway, looking for the life of him ready to bite Tord’s head off. Tord, again, startles somewhat, hesitating as he tries to keep his shift in check, not knowing whether to attack, run, or unshift. Eduardo doesn’t have time for this, as is made apparent as the dryad storms into the apartment and turns on the tv, not even looking at the screen as he turns and gives Tord his angriest glare possible.

Tord blinks a few times, eyes focused on the television. His blood runs cold.

“And here we are on Durdan Lane as what appears to be a monster straight out of a horror movie reeks havoc on the local community. The authorities have reported that the monster is simply a robot for an upcoming movie, but the locals aren’t convinced,” A reporter on tv, amazingly enough, keeps her composure as a monster in the background is shot at repeatedly, the police struggling to keep the beast at bay. “Due to the potential danger of the situation, we will soon be evacuating the area while the police deactivate the machine. We insist that all passerby and families stay in their homes until the problem is resolved.”

Eduardo shuts off the television set, glowering at Tord with eyes so fierce they could kill a god. “Your boyfriend’s outta control,” He growls, pointing to the window. “We gotta get down there!”

Without waiting for anymore instructions, Tord nods and allows Eduardo to climb onto his back before busting out the window, his wings carrying him to the street below.

…

Tord lands with ease on the sidewalk, his lithe demon body curling slightly as he settles on the ground. Eduardo climbs off at once, struggling to hide his initial nausea from the fall. The demon bites back a snicker, mentally noting that he probably shouldn't take Eduardo flying again anytime soon. The enjoyment dissipates quickly, however, when a roar erupts from nearby. Tord turns, getting a good look at the scene in front of him. Tom’s fully shifted, the large, dragon-like beast gnawing on a nearby car, sinking it’s teeth and claws into the metal. Good; it looks like Tom’s pretty calm at the moment. Save for a few smashed cars and a caved-in road, there doesn’t seem to be any civilian casual-

A crippling sense of dread fills Tord’s insides once he catches sight of a corpse poking out from under a car, the body curled in on itself in self defense. Eduardo, apparently recovered from his nausea, seems to notice it too, looking disturbed. “Aw, fuck, looks like he got somebody,” He mutters, before he pauses, looking more scared than Tord’s ever seen him. “Hold up… is that… Oh God!” He bolts for the body, ignoring Tom entirely.

Tom looks up, blinking as he stares down at Eduardo, curious of the newcomer. Thankfully, the corpse isn’t too close to Tom, so Eduardo doesn’t set Tom into a frenzy when he runs for the body. Gently, Eduardo crouches by the corpse, before ever so carefully rolling it over. Tord pales. It’s Jon. Eduardo hugs the lifeless body to his chest, crying into Jon’s chest with muffled sobs. The scene tugs on Tord’s heartstrings, but not enough to make him try and comfort Eduardo- not when Tom’s still very much a threat. Slowly, Tord stalks towards Tom, gaining the beast’s full attention as he saunters over, wings taut against his back in anticipation, ready to take flight.

There’s a moment of silence, as the two monsters lock eyes. The police and civilians have long since fled, too afraid and outmatched to do much more than hide and pray the monsters go away on their own. Tom lets go of the car, never looking away from Tord as he uses his tail to knock the car away, the car crashing haphazardly into the side of a building. The noise triggers Tord to attack, unable to hold back any longer. While Tom easily outranks Tord in size, weight, and mass, Tord is far more nimble and quick, making it difficult for the one-eyed monster to keep track of him. Tord uses this to his advantage, catching Tom off-guard as he takes off into the air.

Tom tries desperately to get at Tord, roaring and pawing fruitlessly in his direction, yet Tord manages to keep a good distance from the beast’s claws. Suddenly, however, Tom goes onto all fours, clacking his teeth as he tries to do… something. For a split second, Tord thinks he sees smoke coming from Tom’s mouth, but he chalks it up to the smoke coming from himself instead. While Tom’s busy, Tord swoops down and grabs an abandoned motorcycle, flying it up in the air before tossing it at Tom’s head. Tom tries to dodge, but the motorcycle clips one of his horns, causing the monster to grunt at the impact.

The demon tries this a few times, but Tom’s caught onto his little trick, and every time Tord tries to swoop, Tom goes for a swipe. Soon, it’s apparent that Tord can’t get low anymore, as Tom’s gotten enough speed and momentum to almost keep up with him. Tord clacks his jaws together, unsure of what to do. Although he inadvertently created Tom and should know all his powers, he’s still somewhat of an unknown entity. For all Tord knows, Tom could sprout wings and take off after him. It’s terrifying, but Tord has no choice; he has to take him out now or he’s screwed. He can’t afford for this to drag out too long, lest the military get involved.

Making his decision, Tord flies as fast as he can back into his apartment, ignoring the broken glass that cuts into his flesh when he forces himself through the window. He shifts back into his human form, scrambling to the fridge in an attempt to find his emergency tranquilizer gun and it’s ammo. He has no idea how well it’ll work on Tom, but it’s not like he has any better ideas going for him. Meanwhile, he can hear Tom trying desperately to knock the apartment complex over, but unfortunately for him, the building has been enchanted with enough magic to survive a nuke, much less a monster throwing a temper tantrum.

It doesn’t take Tord long to find the darts and his tranq gun, although he feels immense guilt as he loads it. “I’m so sorry, Thomas…” He says under his breath, before positioning himself towards the open window.

Tom’s right outside, trying and failing to stick his clawed hand inside the window. With no other option, Tord fires three clean shots into Tom’s paw. The beast howls, losing it’s grip on the building before collapsing onto the ground outside. Tord rushes to the window ledge, poking his head out to see the aftermath. Tom’s still shifted, but he’s beginning to mellow out, the beast visibly starting to shrink in size. Tord sighs with relief, forming wings on his back before fluttering down to the ground. By the time he lands, Tom’s back in human form, although his clothes are almost all completely shredded, leaving him in nothing but a tattered t-shirt and boxers.

Ever so gently, Tord positions himself to kneel on the ground, Tom’s head in his lap. It takes a few seconds, but Tom soon becomes at least partially conscious. “Wha…” He struggles to speak, voice groggy and tired. “What happened?”

Good. He doesn’t remember a thing. “Easy there, Tom,” Tord keeps his voice low, barely above a whisper. “Just sleep… you’ve had a long day.”

With no energy left in him to argue, Tom falls asleep in Tord’s arms. Tord scoops him up at once, wincing when he sees the damage all around him. The landlord’s gonna be pissed, but fuck it, it’s not like Tom’s the first monster to lose his cool around here. Given a few days and a bit of magical influence, this will all blow over like nothing ever happened. If only the same could be said for Tord and everyone else. Just on time, Eduardo joins Tord in front of the apartment building, holding his own friend in his arms. They share a look, before walking back into the complex together.

…

By the time they make it back upstairs, word has spread of the so-called earthquake outside and of what really happened, resulting in Tord coming home to Paul and Patryk in his living room, looking rather distressed. “Oh, thank God you’re alright,” Paul’s the first to speak, looking like he wants to run and hug Tord, but he holds back. “What happened out there? We heard the earthquakes, and some rumors, but…”

“What? You thought it was nothin’, dumbass? Tord’s boytoy fucking destroyed this whole street!” Eduardo snaps, setting Jon’s body in a chair so he can yell at Paul in peace. “If it weren’t for Tord’s crazy experimenting-”

“-Don’t go putting this all on me,” Tord orders, lying Tom on the couch, though his glare is focused on Eduardo. “You helped me with the serum! You helped me with the radiation research! You’re as much to blame here as me!”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap. I was just in it for the research! It wasn't my plan to turn your boyfriend into a goddamned abomination.” He stops, clenching his fists in pent up rage. “Because of you and that freak, Jon’s dead! You hear me? D-E-A-D: Dead!”

Tord can just feel the smoke pouring out of his ears at the word ‘abomination’. “Do not call him that, you piece of shit,” He hisses lowly, struggling to hold back all of his anger. Right now he just wants to lay down with Tom and rest for a few years, he’s had enough stress to last him a century.

“I’ll call him whatever I want! He killed Jon!” Eduardo shouts, stepping closer to Tord. He puffs his wide chest out and shoves it against Tord’s lithe figure and the demon falters, not willing to deal with any of this right now.

“Eduardo-” But the dryad’s past listening at this point, and he angrily swings at Tord. Before any contact is made though, both Patryk and Paul have him pinned down, snarling in his shocked face.

“Stop!” Tord puts every ounce of his ‘I’m the Boss’ voice into the command, causing Paul and Pat to go stark still, the werewolves hesitating. “That’s enough, boys. Off of him,” As much as he wants to tear into Eduardo, he understands what he’s going through. This isn’t easy for anyone. Slowly, the wolves back down, leaving Eduardo to glower as he picks himself up, dusting himself off. “We need some space for awhile… you should take Jon and go.” The demon looks away, ashamed.

Eduardo bites back a curse, before collecting Jon and making for the door. “This isn’t over, Luvhart,” He threatens, voice hushed. “You and I will settle this.” With that, he storms out of the apartment, slamming the door on his way out.

…

Tom stays unconscious for almost twelve hours, not that Tord’s surprised. First time monster transformations are extremely wearing on the user, and although it’s been several millennia since Tord first shifted forms, he still bears the scars. He wonders, while Tom’s recovering, how long this adjustment period will last. Will Tom learn to control it over time? As frustrating as it is, Tord somehow doubts Tom will be able to without some sort of at least minor medical intervention. Maybe Tord should make a hamper to Tom’s abilities? Perhaps, but that could cause another outburst as soon as the hamper is removed, and Tord can’t risk another incident like this. He sighs, head in his hands as he remembers Jon… God, what’s he going to tell Tom?

Tord jolts when the poor Brit finally comes to, though he can tell Tom won’t be able to stay conscious for long.

“Tord?” Tom’s at least alert enough to talk, so Tord figures that’s a good sign. “Oh God, my head… what the Hell happened?” He sits up, then winces. Tord makes a mental note to get Tom a heating pad for his back soon.

“There was a… car accident. You got hit while crossing the street,” Tord lies. He knows full well that stacking lie on top of lie will only end in pain, but until Tom can handle his transformations, Tord can’t risk putting Tom through that level of guilt. “I was so scared when I heard… I thought for sure that I’d lose you.”

Tom chuckles, giving Tord a half hearted punch to the arm. “If I can survive an explosion and fighting a demon, I’m pretty sure I can survive a freaking car accident,” He pauses, trying to pull his thoughts together. “Was I, uh, with someone? Was it you?”

Goddammit, Tord’s been hoping to avoid this, no matter how fruitless it is. “N-No, Tom. It wasn’t me,” He struggles with the words, before swallowing and steeling himself. “It was… Jon. I’m so sorry, Thomas. The paramedics did all they could, but it was too late.”

Tom swallows, his lip quivering as he tries to keep it together. Not bothering to try talking it out, Tord lies down with Tom on the bed, cuddling the Brit close to try and comfort him. As soon as Tord’s arms are around him, Tom sobs, rolling over to cry into Tord’s chest. The incubi pets Tom’s back in response, beating away his own guilt for lying to Tom. It’ll be better this way, he thinks. At least, until Tom’s ready for the truth. But until then, he’ll settle for comforting his boyfriend until the pain goes away.

…

It’s really late when Tord gets home, the demon feeling drained from a long day’s work. As expected, the landlord has been mildly pissed off at him for the last couple of weeks, causing Tord to have to earn back their trust by doing odd jobs around the complex, whether it be fixing leaky pipes or repairing damages, he’s been taking care of everything. He groans at the memory of today’s job, it having been to clean up after a pixie party on the fourth floor. If Tord ever sees another pixie, he’s gonna grind it down into a spice and season it on some family’s Thanksgiving dinner.

Figuring that Tom’s likely fast asleep by now, Tord’s quiet once he gets to his floor, footsteps unheard as he approaches his apartment’s door. He fishes for his keys, struggling to find the right one, when he hears a muffled conversation from the other side of the door. The demon pauses, feeling uncomfortable. Who’s in his apartment? Forgoing his keys, Tord uses his powers to release the lock and open the door, using a low level spell to keep the door from squeaking. Inside, Tom’s on the couch, staring at the tv in the dark, his eyes unable to look away from the screen.

Tord automatically relaxes, making a move to walk inside and turn on the light, but he stops, recognizing the news story on tv with dread. “-we will soon be evacuating the area while the police deactivate the machine. We insist that all passerby and families stay in their homes until the problem is resolved.”

Slowly, as if sensing Tord’s presence, Tom stares up at him, tears rolling down his face. “It… it wasn’t a car accident,” He mumbles his words, looking shocked and afraid. “That monster… that’s me, isn’t it?”

Tord swallows. He knew that Tom would find out someday, but… he didn’t want it to be like this. “Yes,” He says, swallowing the bile in his throat as he begins to lie through his teeth. “That’s you, but… you couldn’t have known, Thomas. You’ve likely had this power your whole life, never having known it. It’s not uncommon for paranormals to develop their powers later on in life, although you are a particularly late bloomer.” He moves in to hug Tom, to try and make it all better, but Tom’s up in an instant, expression petrified.

“G-Get back!” Tom orders, visibly struggling not to shift as a tidal wave of emotions overtake him, throwing the man into a panic attack. “I’m too dangerous!”

“Oh, Thomas…” Tord tries to keep the worry and panic out of his voice, but it’s hard when Jon’s death is still fresh in his mind. “It’s true that you are rather formidable, but I can help you. I’ve been trying to help you. All those medications? They’re to help you get a grip on your powers. I’ve known since the day we met what you were, and now I’m going to help you through this. It’s going to get better, Tom.”

The words seem to get Tom to calm down a bit, his shift ending before he can change into a monster. Without much encouragement, Tom’s in Tord’s arms, trying hard not to cry as he tries to deal with this new revelation. Tord, in the meantime, feels like the real monster. He’s lying over and over again to Tom to save his own ass, but he honestly believes that lying is better than the harsh truth. It’s better this way… Tord keeps repeating that to himself internally as he hugs Tom close, willing away his guilt as much as he can.

…

Tom keeps to himself for the next few days, preferring the dog’s company over Tord’s. Tord accepts this as well as he can- he starts stressing over it like hell. He can’t help it; he’s scared that Tom could shift again at any moment and there’s jack he can do about it. He’s thought of tying some meds to Hamilton’s collar, but the dog has been glued to Tom’s side since the rampage, so Tord can’t exactly get ahold of him. He’s also considered just breaking into Tom’s room and forcing him to take medication, but there’s too high of a risk that Tom will shift. So Tord’s been forced to bide his time, taking a break from working around the complex to help his boyfriend through all this.

It’s only after a few days of occasionally eavesdropping that Tord starts to hear Tom talking to himself. At first, he chalks it up to Tom talking to Hammy out of boredom or desperation, but that’s soon dashed away when it becomes apparent that someone’s talking back to him, although Tord can’t tell who it is. For all he knows, it could be another resident, but there are only a handful of paranormals in the complex that can teleport/materialize through walls/floors, and none of them have taken an interest in Tom or Tord before, so why should they now? Tord just can’t wrap his head around it.

Deciding that there’s no other way to find out, Tord makes Tom dinner and waits outside the man’s door, listening in.

“Oh, wow!” A somewhat familiar voice exclaims, sounding excited. “You’re really good on guitar! I wish you would play more!”

“I can play another song, if that’s what you want. I don’t know much more though; I’m so out of practice.” Tom almost sounds relaxed when he talks to the unknown entity, but Tord can still hear the hesitance in his tone.

“Aw, that’s okay!” The stranger promises, not even noticing Tom’s discomfort. “You’re so good either way, Tommy! You need to give yourself some more credit!”

“Thanks,” Tom still sounds upset, but he quickly dusts it away. “I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me, man… after all I’ve done to you. I ruined your life.”

Ruined his life? Was this the spirit of a bank heist victim? Tord can’t see how, as most casualties had been done without any other options, and Tord figures no dead cops will be happy with Tom or the other crew members anytime soon. His thoughts are interrupted, however, when the unknown entity responds to Tom. “Oh, you never ruined my life, Tommy. If anything, you made it so much better! Now I get to be a monster too, and it’s all thanks to you! I can’t wait to finally tell Eduardo!”

Eduardo!? Oh god, it can’t be… “You don’t have to lie to me, Jon,” Tom says, voice somber and guilty. “I know what I did, and now I’m paying for it. But I’ll make this up to you somehow; I’ll learn to control my powers and I’ll never hurt you or anyone else again.”

Tord sits down outside Tom’s room, head in his hands as he absorbs the information. Jon’s a ghost? How? Well, his death WAS rather traumatic, but plenty of humans have died of car accidents and not stayed chained in the spirit realm. Did Jon have unfinished business? Sure, he hadn’t been able to live a full life, but plenty of souls die young and move on. And how was he haunting the apartment complex without any inside help? It was extremely difficult for spirits- especially newly deads- to haunt an already magically influenced area, so for Jon to do so was quite impressive. That, or Tom has inadvertently bound Jon’s spirit here through his own guilt.

Actually, that does make a lot of sense, now that Tord thinks about it. Tom may’ve killed Jon, but the two share a bond regardless, and it’s not hard for loved ones or friends to bind their dead friends/significant others to themselves, creating a tether around themselves to keep the dead from leaving. Also, it seems that Jon’s a very willing prisoner, causing him to not become a violent spirit or poltergeist. With this in mind, Tord slowly gets out of earshot of Tom’s bedroom. This is big news! If Eduardo finds out, maybe he’ll finally let Tord off the hook for this mess, and then Tord won’t have to worry about Eduardo spilling the beans to Tom. Sure, he still has a few other residents to worry about, but since when has keeping secrets been hard around here?

Not wasting any time, Tord takes off out of the apartment and downstairs, banging on Eduardo’s apartment door in excitement. After a while, Mark answers the door, looking somber and depressed. “Oh… it’s you,” The zombie mumbles, looking neither mad nor happy to see Tord, just… sad. “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to Eduardo! It’s a miracle!” Tord promises, positively beaming. “Jon’s back!”

That gets Mark’s eyes to widen, the zombie looking horrified, then even happier than Tord. “Jon’s alive!? Where is he!?”

From inside the apartment, Tord hears a tired grunt. “What’s with all the racket? Mark, I told ya, don’t mention him or I swear I’ll-” He stops mid-sentence, spotting Tord in the hallway. “Why you son of a- What’re you doing here? Here to pour salt in the wounds, hotshot?”

Tord pushes past Mark, unafraid of Eduardo’s obvious aggression. “Eduardo! I have excellent news!” He assures, almost hugging Eduardo, but he holds back. He can’t risk getting a punch to the face, after all. He can save the merrymaking for when he tells Eduardo the good news. “Jon is back from the dead! Well… not really. He’s still very much dead. But he hasn’t moved onto the afterlife! He’s not bowling with the angels! Your little friend has abandoned his body to become a spirit, and he’s haunting the building!”

Eduardo just stands there, stunned, before his face twists in rage. “He’s WHAT!?”

“Eh…” Tord’s confused. Why isn’t Eduardo jumping for joy? Shouldn’t he be happy? Maybe he just doesn’t get it- he’s probably been soaking in too many rads lately. “He hasn’t kicked the bucket entirely? Come now, friend, you should be happy that he’s still here! Now there’s no need for a silly little funeral- unless he had loved ones, in which case he most certainly should have one, as to not raise suspicions. But forget all that; your friend is back and very, very happy about it!”

Eduardo only looks more enraged, before he calms down enough to actually speak to Tord. “Silly little funeral? You asshole- we already had it! He’s already been buried! I had to hold his weeping ma the whole time, and you’re tellin’ me to let that all go? To go back to normal?” He advances on Tord, livid in every sense of the word. “How long have you had him? Were you hiding him from me? I swear, I’m gonna-”

“Eduardo, please calm down,” Mark insists, coming to stand between Tord and the dryad. “Judging by Tord’s words, he only just found out! Not all spirits come back right away! And I know things have been hard, especially for you, but with Jon back, you can finally let all this unnecessary anger go.”

“You have no right to say how hard it’s been! You weren’t there! You weren’t home when he left, or home when he died! You don’t GET to tell me how I should feel!” Breathing through clenched teeth, Eduardo calms down from his angry high just a bit, before training his eyes on Tord, neon green tears in the dryad’s eyes. “You know this ain’t fixed, right? Look, Jon’s back, and that’s… I dunno yet. But what I DO know is that Tom’s still a fucking threat, and he’s gonna get somebody else if you don’t do something about it! And if you don’t, I will.”

Tord growls, glaring at Eduardo predatorily. “I won’t let you hurt him…” He threatens, tone deathly calm considering how protective he is of Tom. “Besides, none of this is his fault. You were right; I’m the one to blame here. I’m the one who decided to turn him into a monster. I’m the one who injected him with all those serums. If you want someone to blame, blame me.”

“You… you what?”

Everyone freezes, turning to the open doorway. There stands Tom, with Jon hovering by his side, baby blue and see-through. Jon’s got his hands over his mouth, while Tom just stands there, horrified beyond belief.

Tord pauses, trying to come up with a good excuse for this. “Now, Thomas, that wasn’t what it sounded like…” He lies, but he knows it falls flat. He doesn't even sound convincing to himself.

Tom’s face scrunches up in anger. “You dirty fucking liar.” Tom mutters, before taking off to the complex’s stairwell.

Without a second thought, Tord follows after him.

…

They don’t talk for days.

Or, more accurately, Tom doesn’t talk for days and Tord tries and fails to resolve the problem.

It’s not like there’s much he can say, though. After all, he made himself into a Frankenstein and Tom was the end result; a fucked up monster who never asked for any of this. But instead of fearing and hating his creation, Tord still loves Tom to death, and would give anything to undo this. Really, he’d give anything to undo ALL of this. He almost wishes he’d never met Tom- then Tom would’ve gone on to have a normal boyfriend and normal neighbors and a normal fucking life. But now all of that’s gone. Tom can never escape this Hell, and it’s all Tord’s fault.

Tord spends most of his time at home moping, ignoring phone calls and refusing to leave the apartment. He can’t risk leaving Tom on his own, not when he’s still unable to take proper care of himself. He can’t even focus on research, not when he’s so guilt-ridden and worried for Tom. It feels like it’s been so long since he’s held Tom in his arms, and the lack of regular physical contact is making him unbelievably antsy, the demon beginning to build up tension and anger in his body, almost always staying half-shifted as a result. He knows full-well that this can only end horribly, but whatever- he’s had just about enough bullcrap, and enough is enough. He can’t take anymore of this. He’s settling this, whether Tom’s ready or not.

He stands up from the couch, ready to storm into Tom’s room, but before Tord can go for the hallway, he hears Tom’s door open ever so slightly. Holding back, Tord hides behind the couch, keeping hidden in an attempt to attract Tom out of his room. There’s a pause, in which Tord can hear every slight sound as Tom considers his options. He apparently comes to a conclusion, as the man soon tiptoes out of his bedroom, Hamilton right on his heels. The brunet’s careful to keep quiet as he approaches the kitchen, and Tord follows his example, covering his mouth with his hands until Tom’s got himself inadvertently cornered in the kitchen.

Tord rises slowly, not wanting to give Tom the chance to run for it. “We need to talk, Thomas,” The demon explains, ignoring the way Tom jolts in surprise, the man shivering out of fear of what exactly Tord will do. It absolutely breaks Tord’s heart. “I’m not mad… you have to understand, I never wanted to hurt you. I just… wanted to make you stronger. To keep you safe. But I understand that what I did was wrong, and while it didn’t go quite as planned-”

“Not quite as planned?” Tom repeats Tord’s words, before turning to meet his eyes, his own void-like and harsh, though he still appears somewhat cautious. “You ruined my life,” He corrects, vicious and unforgiving. “You think you can just… manipulate me? Drug me and pretend it’s for my own good? I was plenty strong before, in-case you forgot. I’ve gunned down police by your side, for Christ’s sake! I thought you respected me, but now I see that I’m just a toy to you; a toy you can play with and alter on a whim. One minute we’re like newlyweds, the next, I’m a science experiment.”

“Now hold on,” Tord can’t hide his anger anymore, the aggression in his voice showing, yet it doesn’t cause Tom to back down, to his surprise. “You have no right to say that. I did my best! I was protecting you. I am protecting you! If I left, Eduardo or someone else would kill you!”

“Is that a threat?” Tom snaps, unimpressed by Tord’s anger. “You think you can scare me into being a good little boy? Well guess what, asshole, I ain’t afraid anymore! I’m not gonna let some goat demon tell me what I can and can’t do. You’re so full of crap, Tord!!”

Just as Tord opens his mouth to shout back at Tom, Hamilton let’s out a scared little whimper. At once, both men pause, glancing down at their puppy. “I should go,” Tom bites out, scooping up an abnormally quiet Hamilton into his arms. “I’m gonna crash at Matt’s… don’t you dare follow me.” With that, he storms out, leaving Tord to wonder how in the world he could’ve messed up this fucking bad.

…

Despite trying his hardest not to, Tord falls into a depression. He’s had depression before, but it’s been years since it’s been this bad. Not since before he met Paul and Patryk. Not caring to stay home any longer, Tord goes back to working on people’s apartments, fixing everything he can as a way of distracting his mind from thinking of Tom. ‘He hates you he hates you he hates you he never wants to see you again you really fucked up this time, Tord’- All Tord can do to ignore the endless chanting is work, using his brain for anything but feelings. It’s not until a few days have passed that someone intervenes.

“Oh, leader…” Patryk mutters, his voice sounding far away to Tord’s ears. “What’s happened to you?”

“Whuzat?” Tord’s groggy as he comes to, realizing too late that he’d passed out from exhaustion while fixing someone’s toilet, his knees soaked in water from having slipped into the toilet’s seat. “Pat? What’re you doin’ here?” He asks, mindlessly using his hands to continue working on the toilet.

“Sir, we’re here for an intervention,” Paul deadpans, looking very concerned for his leader. “We’ve been trying to contact you for days, but you’ve failed to respond. As your packmates, it’s our duty to protect and help you.”

“But… I’m a monster… literally,” Tord explains, his voice depressed and hopeless. “There’s no hope for me, boys. You should go help Tom… and that’s an order.”

Paul and Patryk share a look, before, in one swift movement, Patryk scoops up Tord rather effortlessly, visibly cringing in sympathy when the demon leans heavily into the other, starved of physical contact. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re…” Paul hesitates, before shaking it away. “Fuck it. We’re disobeying orders whether you like it or not. And that’s final.” He looks very uncomfortable saying all that, but regardless, Tord’s rather impressed by the display.

“He’s right,” Patryk confirms, able to disobey pack dynamics much easier than Paul, who’s been raised on those beliefs since birth. “Look at yourself, sir. You’re an absolute mess, and Tom already has Matt to help him. Someone needs to help you right now.” With that said, the werewolf carries him out of the bathroom.

They get a few stares going by, but no one questions the werewolves as they take Tord out of the complex and buckle him into the backseat of their minivan. The wolves make careful banter between each other, leaving Tord to mope and scowl in the backseat, feeling like a toddler being driven around by their overbearing parents. However, Tord doesn’t have long to brood, as they soon arrive at their mystery location. Tord blinks in confusion once they park, giving the outside world a curious look through the window. They’re at a public park, but it’s nightfall, meaning there’s no one around, save for a handful of couples and teenagers.

Paul and Patryk immediately pile out of the car, Patryk getting out and stretching while Paul gently pulls Tord out, ignoring the demon’s small hisses and glares. As angry as Tord is with being kidnapped, he’d never dream of laying a hand on Paul or Patryk. Once he’s out of the car, Tord takes a closer look around, seeing that there’s a number of playscapes, jungle gyms, swing sets, and picnic tables in the shadow-covered park. If Tord were a feral demon, he might have at one time considered this place as optimal hunting ground for fresh meat. Yes, with so many careless teenagers and couples around, this would be the perfect time and place for a kill.

Those thoughts are interrupted, however, when Paul grabs his forearm and leads him to a picnic table, sitting him down in front of Patryk before taking a seat beside him. “I hope you like BLTs, boss,” Patryk says, giving Tord a big, encouraging grin. “I tried to make the bacon just how you like it. We even brought a doggy bag with extra in-case you wanted a snack for our walk later!”

Tord just stares at Patryk in confusion, before a BLT sandwich is pushed in front of him, looking to have extra bacon. Just how he likes it. The demon hesitates, not knowing whether he’s hungry or not. However, he soon swallows his anxiety and takes a bite, much to Paul and Pat’s obvious relief. He gets about half the sandwich down before he taps out, but that doesn’t seem to upset the werewolves. They just seem happy that he ate anything at all. The wolves eat quickly, barely fitting in any smalltalk before they’re done, already whisking Tord away before he can run off on them. Tord would be impressed by their resourcefulness to keep him around if he weren’t still struggling to not dissociate.

The only thing that stops Tord from completely leaving the station is Paul's sudden Dutch accent in his ear. “The air is so nice tonight, boss,” Paul murmurs, barely biting back a howl when he sees the moon overhead, not yet full but rather close. Tord gives it a skeptical look; it should be full within a week or so. “I’m glad we have you here… it’s been forever since we’ve been able to spend time with you.”

Tord hesitates on responding, but he can’t resist Paul’s bright-eyed smile. “Yes it… has been a rather long time. I forgot how much I missed this.”

Tord’s words cause Paul to light up, and if Tord wasn’t already head over heels for Tom, he might’ve found Paul’s smile attractive, but such a thought is dashed away when he sees Patryk grinning at Paul with lovestruck eyes. God… they’re so in love. It honestly makes Tord a bit jealous, seeing them like this, but he still smiles, keeping up a steady pace behind the couple while they walk through the forest, the wolves holding hands as they go. The entire time, Paul and Patryk stay in half-shift, pointing out everything to each other while discussing the things they see in excited voices.

Out of nowhere, Tord’s reminded of ‘the good old days’. Of the days before he met Tom, of when it was just Tord, Paul, and Patryk as a gang. He remembers how he’d gag when they kissed or flirted, and how he’d roll his eyes when they held hands in public. It had been so grating to Tord… How had he ever believed that he’d never feel like that for a person someday? It makes Tord feel all the guiltier for ruining his relationship with Tom, and yet… He stares at the couple in front of him, gut twisting as he sees a vision of himself and Tom in their positions, all heartfelt and romantic and together. It fills Tord with… determination.

“Boys, um, can we talk for a moment?” Immediately, both Paul and Pat come to a halt, turning to give Tord their full attention. “I think I have an idea on how to fix this mess, but I can’t do it alone. I need your help. I know I have no right to ask for your assistance- not after all I’ve done- but even if it won’t fix my relationship with Tom, it might just save him from… himself. I can’t let him live like this.”

Without even sharing a look or hesitating, both wolves run to Tord and hug him, filling the demon with warmth as he revels in the physical affection. “We’re with you, Red Leader. Until the very end.” Patryk promises, nuzzling into his packmate’s chest.

Paul nods eagerly in agreement. “We’ll help in any way we can. Just say the word!”

“Oh, boys… what did I do to get such loyal friends such as yourselves?” Tord murmurs, holding back thankful tears, as corny as it is. Back as a whelpling in Hell, there’d been no such things as ‘friends’ or ‘trust’. There had only been your name and rank. Nothing else. It feels amazing to have so much more than that now. “I promise you both, I will fix this mess, and we’ll all be a family again.” He assures, petting both wolves in earnest.

He’ll find a way to fix this. He’ll get Tom back. Even if it takes a thousand years, he’ll find a way. After all, he’s got his boys by his side. Nothing can stop him now.

…

Within a couple of days, Tord absolutely trashes Paul and Pat’s apartment, the living room floor becoming his own Fortress of Solitude, at least to a certain degree. Patryk and Paul occasionally join him, whether it’s to recharge him with physical contact, to supply more books, or to help him with research. Despite their best efforts, however, Tord’s mood swings up and down, unable to find a place to stay while he drowns in his books and papers. He has a basic idea of what he needs to do; create some sort of cure or handicap to help Tom get ahold of his newfound powers. It’s easier said than done.

As much as Tord prides himself in his tinkering and inventing skills, he’s no God- Tom’s serum to make him what he is today took months and months of hard work, but Tord’s working against the clock here. At any given moment, Tom will shift again, and they might not be able to stop him this time. Besides, if that weren’t stressful enough, Tord feels like he’s struggling on all fronts. As closely related as they are, science and magic are hard to use together, and that alone is enough to drag Tord’s research back by months.

“This is impossible,” Tord growls under his breath, chucking his book across the room so that it hits the opposite wall, leaving a dent in the drywood. “No man can solve this!”

“Not to state the obvious, sir, but you aren’t exactly ‘man’. I’m sure you’ll get it sooner or later,” Patryk says, crouching down by Tord to give him an encouraging pat on the back. “All you need is a little time and patience.”

“Which I have neither of,” Tord snaps, before his gaze softens, the demon giving Patryk an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, friend… I don’t mean to take this out on you. I’m just under much pressure. Tom is a loose cannon, and we have no idea when the fuse will be lit.”

“That’s dramatic,” Paul comments from the kitchen, washing the dishes in an attempt to at least keep his kitchen clean. “Why not rest for a minute, leader? You could use the sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep, Paul. I need a solution,” Tord corrects, before picking up another book, this one labeled ‘An Alchemist’s Guide to Unforgivable Crimes Against Nature: Now in Russian’. He hasn’t dug into this book since he first started working on Tom’s initial serum, but perhaps he kept his notes…

Luck seems to favor Tord, as all of his old notes are still there, save for the few sketches he had made of what he THOUGHT Tom would look like. Boy, had he been wrong. Pushing those thoughts aside, Tord rapidly rereads the papers, at times struggling to make out his own sleep-deprived, senseless scribbles. It’s a miracle he even got this to work. There’s not much there, save for a list of ingredients that Tord doesn’t remember making. Did he write this? It’s most certainly his handwriting, but he has no memory of the list. There isn’t even a title. However, Tord soon spots something on the list that makes him pause, eyes going wide in astonishment.

‘In-case of over-exposure, treat the poisoning with direct injection of zeolites to negate the radiation.’

“Eureka!” Tord jumps up in a flash, spooking Paul in the kitchen and accidentally throwing Patryk off of him in the process. “I have it! I can fix this!”

“Wait!” Paul practically stampedes out of the kitchen, looking confused and more than a bit shellshocked. “What’s going on? Do you have the cure already? Sir?” But it’s too late; Tord’s gone before Patryk even hits the ground.

…

He’s not sure what to do with himself, or rather, he’s not sure what to do with his concoction. The demon is in the final stages of creating it when he realizes he still needs to get Tom’s approval.

He can't go back and give it to Tom secretly. No, this time Tom needs to agree to it: give his full consent. He sighs, rubbing his aching head. Like Tom will agree to this after what I've done. He knows that it can work, and given enough time, he’s sure that within a few years, Tom will be happy that Tord did this. Yes, if all goes according to plan, then Tord’s life can finally get back to normal again. Just the thought lights his insides up, but everytime he makes his way to Matt’s apartment, he loses his courage and goes back to his own place.

What if Tom won’t take it? It won’t be that surprising to Tord if that happens, but regardless, he hopes that Tom might listen to reason. ‘Like you should have?’ A voice mocks from an unknown location in Tord’s mind, causing the demon to growl inwardly- ‘It’s your fault you’re in this mess to begin with’. Tord punches his head in anger, successfully pushing back his nagging conscious, although the pain leaves him with an almost unbearable migraine afterwards. This is getting him nowhere. The incubi sighs, giving his feet a thoughtful look. He has to get Tom to drink it- he just has to. It’s the only way to start fixing this mess.

It’s not until Tord’s out the door that he’s again having second thoughts. What if Tom doesn’t answer? Is he even home? All of these worries overflow Tord’s brain while he struggles to beat down his own anxiety, though it’s about as successful as trying to put a forest fire out with half a cup of water. Tord’s halfway through an internal rant when the door to Matt’s apartment swings open, Tom looking like an absolute wreck on the other side. He’s half-shifted, and his face is pale and sickly.

“Hey, Tord,” Tom interrupts the self-deprecating monologue without even his realizing it, voice sounding groggy and tired. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately, if at all. “What’s up?”

Well, he isn’t yelling yet. That’s a good sign. “Can I, um… can I come in?” Tord asks, not feeling very comfortable with talking about this in the hallway.

Tom hesitates, before nodding and stepping aside for the Norwegian. Tord hurries inside, giving the living room a quick onceover. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary, save for Matt’s usual bad taste in furniture, but Tord can’t see any obvious signs of damage. However, Tord feels an uneasiness wash over him. He looks around expectantly, not really sure where he’s looking for. Didn’t Tom take something with him? Something important? Tord paces through the kitchen and hallway, Tom right on his heels, sipping from a canteen of what smells like alcohol. Alcohol? Since when did Tom drink during the daytime?

Just as Tord thinks to ask Tom about it, his eyes land on an empty dog dish on the floor, and it all adds up. “Where’s Hamilton?” He asks, crouching by the couch to look around for the corgi. “Hammy? Pupper? Thomas, have you seen-” The demon cuts off his speech when he sees Tom’s face, his expression blank and depressed.

Tom shrugs, not looking very interested. “Dunno…” He admits, looking around a bit, though he doesn’t seem to think finding Hamilton is very important right now. “Took him for a walk, then I got a headache… the rest is kinda blurry,” He scowls at the floor, appearing angry with himself. “I think he… wanted off the leash. Seemed scared. Didn’t wanna hurt him so I just sorta… let him off the leash.”

Tord stares in horror at Tom, before his gaze softens. “Oh God, Thomas… I’m so sorry,” He whispers, pulling the short Brit into a tight hug, ignoring the contact-high in favor of focusing his attention entirely on comforting his estranged boyfriend. “I should’ve been here, with you, but instead I let my own feelings scare me away. I’m so, so sorry.”

Tom seems partially confused, further confirming Tord’s theory that the poor boy’s drunk as all Hell and beyond. Regardless, he leans into Tord, humming in contentment. “I’ve missed this,” He admits, running one of his hands over Tord’s hoodie, enlarged nails catching occasionally on the fabric. “I’m sorry that I’m a mess.”

“You’re not a mess, Tom. I am. I’m the one who’s done this to you,” Tord says, petting Tom’s hair. “I’ve made your life worse than Hell.”

Tom pauses, pulling back to give Tord a weird look. “... Guess that makes you kind of a jerk, huh?” He states rather unabashedly, the alcohol in his system cutting off his brain-to-mouth filter in favor of just saying whatever’s on his mind.

Tord laughs, tears building up in his eyes until they’re overflowing, dripping onto Tom’s shoulder once he hugs him close again. “Yeah… I guess I kinda am, huh? I’m just a big, horrible jerk.”

Tom softens visibly, before hugging Tord even tighter, secretly pressing a kiss to his chest. “Well, even if you’re a jerk, I still love you.”

That just makes Tord cry a bit harder, momentarily forgetting about the serum. He’ll talk with Tom about it later- for now, he’s perfectly happy with just holding Tom until all this bullcrap fades away.

…

“Hey, you up?”

Tord grunts, giving his waker a grimace. After his earlier breakdown, he crashed on Matt’s couch while Tom took the spare bedroom. After all, he doesn’t want to force himself onto Tom, not while their relationship is still so obviously damaged. Slowly, the incubi sits up, biting his lower lip in pain, a headache making itself known. He must’ve dehydrated himself with all that crying, as embarrassing as that is for him to admit. As if realizing this, his waker walks off momentarily, before returning to his side with a glass of water. Tord takes it gladly, chugging it down in an eager rush.

“You alright?” It takes a second, but Tord quickly recognizes his waker as Tom. What’s he doing here? Shouldn’t he be sleeping?

“I’m fine,” Tord mumbles, voice still tired and craving sleep. He shakes it away though, much more eager to talk with Tom instead. “How about you? Holding up?”

Tom shrugs, taking a seat on the end of the couch, placing Tord’s legs over his lap so that he can sit down better. “I guess I’m alright,” He says, though he doesn’t look convinced. He glances at Tord, trying to figure his words out. “... So what are you doing here, Tord? Finally ready to explain this? ‘Cus let me tell you, I kinda wanna know what kinda fucked up monster I am.”

Tord nods in understanding, secretly reveling in his legs being on Tom’s lap. Sure, Paul and Patryk’s touches have been plenty rejuvenating these last few days, but to be touched by his significant other… it’s almost enough to lull Tord back to sleep, but he resists the urge. “In all honesty, I’m not sure what exactly you are, classification-wise. Yes, many mad scientists have created Frankenstein-like creatures, but nothing like this has happened in recorded history. You could be classified as a kind of changeling, but most changelings have several different forms, therefore I’m not sure-”

“-Not like that,” Tom interrupts, unimpressed by Tord’s response. “I mean, am I safe to even be around? Am I like Balis?”

Tord softens, biting back his urge to shift and nuzzle Tom’s cheek. “Of course you’re safe, Thomas,” He promises, before brightening, all at once remembering why he even came here. “In fact, I‘m working on a new serum in my lab that shoul-!” He starts off excitedly, eager to gain Tom’s favor again.

But Tom immediately reels back, looking very visibly scared and upset. “No. Fuck no. I’m not letting you experiment on me anymore!” He explains, shivering at the idea of it.

It takes every bit of Tord’s self-control to not break down right there. He’s made Tom afraid of him now- dang it dang it dang it- but… he knows that this can help him. That this can save him. He just needs Tom to trust him one more time. “Look, Tom… I’ve been a real piece of shit for the last few months. I’ve made your life so much more complicated. But I know that this can help you. It’ll be like a deterrent- it will lower your radiation levels and keep you from transforming until we can find a way to safely train you in your abilities, or better yet, find a way to cure you. If you have any trust in me left, then please… give this a shot. All I want is to keep you safe, and this is all I’ve got left to do that.”

Tom glances between Tord and the floor, weighing his options with caution. Slowly, Tom nods while bringing his gaze back up to Tord, inky black void meeting bright red. Tord can see the terrified hesitation in Tom’s eyes, but he can also see that deep down, after all this, he trusts him.

“When do we start?” Tom questions, giving Tord a nervous glance.

“I’ll get to work on it right away. I should have a finished chemical solution within the next day. For now, though-” He sits up and hugs Tom as tight as he can, almost going limp as the tension leaves his body. “-I’m just glad you’re finally safe, Thomas.”

Tom rolls his eyes, but still ruffles Tord’s hair, giving the demon a lopsided smirk. “Yeah yeah, quit the waterworks, drama queen,” He orders halfheartedly, running his fingers through Tord’s light brown locks. “... You wanna watch a movie? One with a cheesy ending?” He offers, picking up the remote to the TV off the coffee table.

Tord nods eagerly, smiling in contentment as he leans on Tom. Finally, he can rest peacefully. He can relax after all this worrying. As a result, he’s out cold within the first ten minutes of the movie, yet he never feels Tom leave his side. Not even once.

…

“That’s it?” Tom asks, suspicious of the green liquid. They're still getting back to that complete trust they had before, but right now, Tord’s willing to take what he can get.

Tord nods, kind of proud of the serum he’s made. “It should be a sort of ‘nuclear suppressant’. It should make you less likely to transform at first, but over time, I’m hoping that it will cure you of your, uh… Affliction.”

Tom snorts at Tord’s word choice, but decides to just ask about the serum. “So how does it work, like- Do I just drink it?” The demon gives a small noise in affirmation.

“Drink it and it should reduce your headaches, symptoms, etcetera. If something happens like you’re actually shifting, I have a stronger concoction that is meant to be injected,” He supplies the pen-like injector to Tom. “You can use it on yourself if you’re quick enough, but if not I’ll be keeping one on hand as well, just in case.” Tom nods slowly.

“Lots of fail-safes, huh?”

Tord shrugs sheepishly. “I just doubt myself a lot these days.” The slight change in the human’s facial expression at the words gives off pity, but Tord ignores it, smiling tiredly. “Go on, though, give it a drink, tell me how it is!”

Tom hesitantly takes a sip after sniffing the liquid once more, and pulls a face once he’s done. “It’s certainly not tasty,” He quips, scrunching up his nose. Tord laughs a bit at that, taking the solution back.

“I’ll see if I can improve the taste any. If all else fails I’ll increase the potency and you can just mix it with your drinks.” He pauses though, going over the chemical components in his head. “Probably not alcohol, though.

The human lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “What even is the point, then?” The two share a chuckle and shy smiles.

This can work, Tord thinks.

…

Tom’s on the serum for about four weeks and he reports back every day how he’s been feeling. Tord marks it all down and goes over the data, excited and giddy. It seems to be working; whenever Tom remembers to drink the proper amount of serum he has remarkably less headaches, mood swings, and bouts of intense hunger. He still gets his craving for meat, but Tord expected a few permanent changes, not to mention there was still time for some of the symptoms to fade.

In all honesty, Tord thought it would be impossible to change Tom back to completely human, but the results from his research don’t lie: his boyfriend’s getting better. The news has been uplifting everyone’s spirits, so, in an effort to keep them high Tord surprises Tom with dinner reservations at the local fancy restaurant.

“We normally don’t do ritzy,” Tom manages when Tord tells him the news.

“We can do ritzy.” The demon tries to say but even he knows the statement falls flat. A pause, then, “You have a suit, sweet boy?” The human groans at the nickname.

“I think I do somewhere,” He gets up, scratching his side while he looks around. Tord notices that he almost pats his thigh as if to call the dog, but he hesitates and lets the arm fall to his side. Tord feels a pang of guilt but tries to take his mind off it by helping him look.

After looking around the closet, some (still) unpacked boxes, and anything else that opens, they manage to find a pair of dress pants, a tie, and a pair of nice shoes that all seem to fit Tom, but none of it matches and the tie has a big stain on the front.

“Guess we’ll need to go suit shopping,” Tord mutters, scratching his head.

“Do you have a suit??” Tom demands, trying to feel at least a little better. Tord smirks and snaps his fingers, and in a flash of flame he has a handsome dark suit on, with a bright red tie to match his eyes. The human narrows his eyes and mutters, “You asshole.” Before stomping off to find his wallet.

Things are finally getting back to normal.

…

They go out and find a perfect suit for Tom: it’s a dark grey, just a few shades lighter than Tord’s, and it already fits him perfect. They also find a pair of smiley face cufflinks, which after a few minutes of bickering while trying to decide if it’s even appropriate, they end up buying them. Tord can tell that Tom is already quite fond of them.

The pair visit a few more shops and browse, remarking on anything they can to try and get a laugh out of another. It’s too soon when Tord realizes that their reservations for ‘Ritz Central’ (as Tom has been referring to it for the last few hours) are fast approaching, so they swing back by the apartment to prep and then make their way to the establishment.

Five minutes in and it’s already at a rocky start. It takes them forty minutes to be seated, despite the reservation (there was a mistake in the books or something, Tord was fuming). They finally sit down and Tord tries to make a joke but Tom is straight faced, impassive, unmoved.

Tord thinks he’s going to actually die.

The waiter comes, he’s kind of rude about how their hair is styled and Tord has to bite back an insult in fear of embarrassing Thomas. He takes their orders and shuffles of and the demon sighs.

“Sorry this hasn’t been great so far…” He starts with, trying to make amends, but Tom just shrugs. Tord starts fiddling with his napkin. “At least the mall was fun...?” Another shrug.

“We don’t do ritzy.” Tom states flatly and Tord does his best to not look crestfallen right away.

“Guess not,” He mutters, turning away to avoid showing Tom he’s disappointed.

They sit in silence for a while, Tord floundering to find a way to save the night. He ultimately orders more wine, which seems to make Tom a little happier. It’s the small successes. They drink and do their best to make small talk when they can, sipping during awkward silences. At one point Tord swirls his glass and Tom mimics him, just more exaggerated. It ends up in a wine swirling contest which ends with lots of people staring.

Tom falters, not liking all the faces on him, and Tord frowns deeply. He sends a hot glare at all the prudes who turn their noses up at the pair, but the damage has been done, and Tom’s back to silent and anxious.

The food finally comes, and they start eating the fancy meal. Tom ends up not really liking his, Tord can tell from the expression shift, but still the human chooses not to say anything and he shovels the dissatisfactory food in his mouth.

“Ha, you think a place this fancy would at least know how to cook a steak?” Tord jokes, but apparently it’s the wrong thing to say, because Tom stops mid-chew and throws the demon a look so fierce it should’ve killed him. It kind of does, in a way.

Tord looks down at his plate, deciding he’s not very hungry, and Tom sighs, pushing his food forward. “Maybe we should just get this to go.” And Tord nods sadly. They’re waiting for the waiter to come back with the check when someone next to them gets champaign, and the bottle is so loud it startles everyone in the room, including both Tom and Tord.

Tom jumps so far, though, that he bumps a waiter behind him, who drops a dish of something hot onto a lady’s lap. She starts screaming, the waiter starts apologizing furiously, and worst of all: everyone else starts laughing.

Thomas looks like he’s about to cry.

He sits down, eyes looking directly at his lap and hands stiff at his sides. Tord wants desperately to comfort him, but also not make more of a scene in front of the entire restaurant. He fumbles with the check once the waiter returns, but when he tells Tom they can go, he realizes that the human’s eyes have moved to become one big cyclops eye in the middle of his face.

Without a moment’s hesitation Tord takes off the jacket of his suit and throws it at Tom, who is already starting to stand to catch it. The shifting human pulls it over his head and runs towards the bathroom and the demon follows, pulling out the tiny gun he always keeps around his ankle. He summons his mask just like he did with his suit, and then he gets started evacuating.

“Everyone listen up!” He shouts, unloading a bullet in the ceiling. Everyone gasps at the sight. “I want all you obnoxious fuckers out of here before I tear every one of you apart. Get out of here single file: kids first, then adults. Take what you need, I don’t want your purses or wallets. I just want everyone out of the building NOW!” Tord punctuates the last word with a bullet and people pour out, more confused than terrified.

It seems like Tord doesn’t have a second to think before a spiny, purple monster pushes its way through the brick wall to his right, Kool-Aid Man style.

“Oh yeah,” Tord says under his breath, quickly shifting into his demon form and flapping out of the way when Tom’s huge fist plows its way into the ground, smashing a table in half on its way down. The demon figures his best bet for surviving is to just dodge each hit as he can, rolling or flying out of the way while Tom tires himself out.

Except he doesn’t. The beast is relentless as he slashes and bites at Tord, roaring in fury the entire time. In a fit of anger, Tom grabs a table and hurls it at him when he least expects it, hitting him square in the chest. He hits the wall with a choked out “Oof,” and immediately starts scrambling to move the table as best he can, remembering when Balis got thrown at the wall and Tom tore into his prone figure.

Instead of chasing, though, the monster sucks in a big breath and clacks its sharp teeth together, somehow managing to create a big gout of fire. Tord manages to get free in time, but the spot he was just at is engulfed in flame in a matter of seconds.

“You can breathe FIRE?!?” Tord exclaims, completely unaware of the fact. Monster Tom doesn’t respond but takes advantage of the demons shock to ram him with his huge horns. It was growing obvious that not only was Tom not tiring out, he was getting angrier as the minutes passed. Tord needed to find a way to sedate the monster immediately.

“The serum!” The demon shouts, in a moment of realization. All he had to do was get back to their table and find his jacket. Tom attempts to charge him again, but Tord flies above his head and past him, heading back to where the table they sat down at was. His jacket is nowhere to be found.

Tord smacks his forehead. “I gave it to him when he ran into the bathroom!” He recalls, spreading his wings to take off. Before he propels himself forward, though, Tom comes up from behind, roaring and grasping his right wing, yanking it back with intense force and breaking it like a twig. Tord cries out in pain and Tom shouts in victory, throwing the demon at the far wall.

Tord struggles to stand and shake himself off. Deciding now is probably not a good time for wings, he shifts all the way back to his human form, running as fast as he can to find some cover. Tom spits another fireball at him but luckily he dodges, jumping out of the way and over a table. He rolls for a bit, tucking in his limbs and skidding under another table.

Tom seems to have lost him because the loud roaring is replaced with a contemplative clicking, as well as a series of annoyed tail-slaps. Tord uses this moment to ready himself: he can summon the suit to him just like before, but it would create that flash of fire and Tom would know where he’s at. He needs to do it at the perfect time.

The monster sniffs the air loudly, slowly making its way towards Tord’s hiding spot. The demon readies his fingers, and holds perfectly still. 1… 2...

3!!

As soon as he snaps Tom resumes roaring, furious and beastial. Tord fishes through his pockets as quick as he can, trying desperately to find the injector that will knock Tom out- But the monster is back on him, grasping his entire body with one claw and squeezing down. Tord cries out but manages to pull his arms free, serum held high so he can bring it down hard enough to pierce Tom’s leathery flesh.

“Sorry about this one, babe!” He gasps, plunging the needle into Tom’s skin as hard as he can. Monster Tom howls in pain, dropping Tord immediately. The demon scampers away but stays close, watching Tom slowly and drowsily lie himself down with a *thud*.

Before Tord’s very eyes, Tom shifts back to his normal self, body shrinking and morphing. The transformation back isn’t as grotesque, Tord realizes when he doesn’t hear the bone snapping and shifting into place. It also takes a lot less time, because before he knows it, the small human he’s in love with is lying on the ground, groaning in exhaustion.

The Norwegian advances towards Tom slowly, making his way through the rubble and wreckage of the restaurant. He falls to his knees and inspects the human’s body to see if he’s gotten harmed, but there’s not a single scratch on him.

“Hey,” He says, trying to roust his boyfriend. “We gotta go before the cops get here.” Tom grumbles in response, shifting on the floor so he’s lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. The human refuses to speak, eyes just staring upwards and blinking slowly. Tord looks outside nervously but settles that the police haven’t arrived so they still have time. He lies down beside Tom and looks up with him, worried, tired, and anxious.

They don’t talk for a while. Just stare up at the claw and scorch marks that managed to get all the way up there. For once, Tord can’t even imagine what Tom’s thinking.

It isn’t until police sirens can start to be heard that Tom pipes up. “Tord,” He grumbles out, voice scratchy. The addressed demon turns to look at the human, watching the red and blue lights from the cops flashing across his tired face. Despite how loud the commotion is from outside, Tom’s next words are all Tord hears, and they ring in his head for hours afterwards.

“I think we should break up.”

…

They broke up. After managing to get home unbothered from the police and getting back into comfortable clothes, Tom packed up what he could and left to Matt’s apartment, promising to come back and talk to Tord when he could. He doesn’t take his medicine.

Tord goes through the week dazed, not doing much else other than repeating Tom’s words in his head, over and over again, and then going to bed when he can’t stand to hear it anymore. After a week Tord wakes up to Tom in the apartment, making breakfast for himself.

“Sup,” Tom says cooly. Tord doesn’t say a word, just sits down at the table and waits for the human to keep breaking his heart over scrambled eggs. “Don’t look so hot.” The demon doesn’t even respond and Tom sighs.

“Tord. We can’t keep doing this,” No response again, so he just keeps going. “Every time we’re separate you mope and it’s all you can focus on. How many times is this going to happen before I can just make you forget about me?” Despite the obvious frustration Tom must be feeling, he speaks calmly and evenly, just trying to make Tord understand.

But there’s no forgetting Tom, not after all they’ve been through. They’ve spent the last few years or so together, in every sense of the word. They’v heisted together, lived together, slept and ate together, made decisions together… Though, Tord supposes that he kind of did start making decisions for Tom in the end there. Really, after everything he put Tom through the human should hate him, but he can’t expect Tord to just forget and move on. It just couldn’t happen.

Tord conveys all of this by letting his head drop to the table, and Tom sighs.

“I guess I feel you there,” He mutters, putting two plates of eggs and bacon down before the pair. He sits next to Tord and starts shoveling food in his mouth. Tord manages to take a few bites of the bacon, finding satisfaction and comfort in the crunch as he chews.

“If you can’t forget me then we need to stay together,” Tom says and Tord freezes, shocked. “Not like how we were. We’ll probably never be like that again, but, like it or not, we rely a lot on each other. The money we share is all I have to my name, and it’s impossible for me to get a job now. Not to mention I need you to keep making my meds.” He sighs, obviously having worked all this out in his head and not liking the answer he came up with.

“So I’ll stay.”

It takes a while for Tord to process it all. Tom is staying, but things can’t be like they were. He’s not sure if he’ll be okay with that, in the long run, but he can do his best to put up some walls. After all, they don’t have a choice, like Tom said.

Tord nods, voice cracking out a small, “Okay.” Tom tuts and rubs the demons back slowly. Tord leans into it and sighs, appreciating the comfort.

The human chuckles softly. “Even though I want to so much I can’t hate you,” He sounds defeated but presses on. “I could never hate you, Tord.”

The demon nods, weary and nervous. “And I could never forget you.”

…

Months pass. Tord puts up his walls. He falls back into his old personality, defaulting to snarky and condescending when he can and just plain mean when the first two don’t work. Tom builds his own, too. He’s mostly quiet now, choosing not to speak much to any other denizens of the complex when he doesn’t have to, keeping to himself and drinking the day away. The two carry on like that for a while, and fall into the old pattern of: arguing, refusing to speak to each other, then making up sometime a few days (or even just hours) later. It’s not the healthiest pattern but it’s theirs.

They work through their issues together as much as they can, even if part of the process of ‘working through it’ involves lots of shouting and arguing. They become known as the loudest residents on the fourteenth floor.

“You guys might want to start keeping it down in the future,” Matt says to the pair over lunch one day. He’s been spending more time with them when he can, knowing that they’re less likely to argue when they’ve got company. “I’m looking to get a roommate as soon as possible.”

Both Tom and Tord look surprised. “Rooming isn’t cheap, and not all of us have bank-robbing money,” Matt points out and the other two nod. “I’m thinking about putting an ad out on Craigslist. I won’t be able to enchant it or anything but the charm on the building should be enough to keep non-paranormals away.”

“It’ll be nice to see some new faces here,” Tord remarks, yawning lazily. “Not to mention that you could use some company that isn’t us.” Tom digs a knuckle into the demon’s rib but agrees.

It’s a little later in the evening, when Tord is scrubbing at the dishes from dinner when Tom brings up the idea of new people in the complex. “What kind of person do you think Matt’s new roomie will be?” The demon hums in thought.

“Hard to tell before they get here.” He pauses, putting the dish he’s working on down and turning to look at Tom. “Why do you ask?”

The human shrugs but looks down at the table in thought. “Just curious.” Tord nods in understanding. “I’m sure whoever it is will be good if Matt approves of them. He’s a good judge of character.” Tom nods as well and gets up to grab some ice cream. Tord trusted that whoever Matt found and accepted would be someone they could get along with as well. After all, Matt was always trying to find other people for Tom to get along with so he could get some days out of the house.

Yeah, the new resident would probably be pretty swell.

[overton2015]

2:06 AM

I have begun to realize just how stressed and down right exhausted i have become. Im sad. I don’t take care of myself like i should. I would even say i do the bare minimum just to keep me going. I know i need help, but how can you ask for help when you don’t even know whats going on.

In 2015 i learned how to truly start loving myself. “Everything was beautiful and nothing could hurt.” During this fragile time i met a boy. We began dating about 7-8 months after we met. He was spiritually and emotionally beautiful. We found life in each other. I never thought i would have to worry about my future after that, cause it was him. I thought this to be my only other true love besides my first. We were naively happy. We supported each other and loved each other for who were, and what we were becoming. We met each others friends and families, and feel even more in love with the idea that these were the people we would surround ourselves with. After about 4-5 months of me practically living with him we started talking about moving in together.( My plans before him were to move to Chattanooga,TN and attend Chatt State Comm. College.) We talked it over for a couple weeks, and we both decided Chattanooga was the place for us. To save money he gave up his room in an apartment he shared with 2 of his friends, and we moved in with my mom to save money. This is where things began to get a little less easy for us. As you would imagine once we became distracted with more and more worldly things, we began to loose that spirituality i loved so much. I didn't pay much attention to this, because we weren't having any problems we couldn't fix, and i mean c’mon i loved him. But what i didn't notice, and what should have been my upmost importance was not loosing myself in our problems and our relationship.

He began making remarks like, “oh, who are you wearing that makeup for?,” “why are you getting all dressed up?,” or even “Who do you keep changing your hair for?” ( I have had many different fashion shades in my hair) I did it all to keep his interest and for his validation. One of my biggest insecurities is my body, as it is for most people. When i didn't get the validation i thought i needed i began criticizing myself so much, i almost began to hate myself. Soon things started getting sen worse. He alienated me from my friends, and would give me excuses like they are good people, and they are going to get me into trouble with dumb things. So to appease the arguing i began seeing my friends less and less, and started looking to him for my identity. I was no longer my own person. I didn't have a taste in music, and i would look to his advice for what to wear, yet somehow, this was still not enough.

Even better, i was upfront about a few things before we started dating:

1. I am still friends with all of my exes, because i don't believe that somebody who meant so much to your life should be excluded just because you don't see a forever together.

2. DO NOT CURSE TOWARDS ME IN ANY KIND OF NEGATIVE MANNER. you might as well have layed hands on me

Now, as you can expect he called me a bitch for the first time in a fight. I laid down the law and said if he did it again i would leave him . He did it again. I didn't leave him, but he apologized and cried, so he meant it right? Wrong. He kept doing it and even though i would fight with him about not doing that i didn't stop him. So at this point I'm to busy stressing about money, work, school, amongst other things to notice just how hallow of a shell of a person i had become.

I was taking abuse up and down, left and right, but i loved him? He could always be the way he was and we could always still be just as happy as we were before. I just need to get my act together, i would tell myself.

My mom bought us an i pad, after, she realized wes was always using my laptop for games and i was falling behind on my online courses. Well, as you can probably foresee he took advantage of this thoughtful gift to use it against me.

I was texting a good friend of mine from hs, mind you we had our own set of problems but she was none the less my friend. As everybody at the time did, she told me i should leave him. She didn't go into detail about what he was doing wrong or anything he had done to hurt me. She said she just wants to see me happy and she didn't think i was. I didn't agree with her, but i didn't disagree with her either. We didn't spend much time on this topic, but wes saw it by going through my messages coming in on the i pad. While i couldn't get to my phone this particular saturday, because we work by ourselves, he took it upon himself to message her as if being me. However, he always made the fatal flaw of never sounding like me in his messages. I think he was more obsessed with saying what he had to, rather than actually putting it in my own words. So she caught on pretty quickly that it wasn't me, and it wasn't long before i noticed there messages sent to her that weren't mine. I immediately called wes to tell him how wrong he was for doing that, and he turned it right around on me. He was saying things like, “How could you let your friends talk about me this way,” and i started explaining that no matter what anybody says it all comes down to how i feel about the other person. I even tried to comfort him by saying that it happens with most of my ex’s, but nothing calmed him. It got much, much worse. It went from him texting jamie as me, to him just texting her, to @ing each other on twitter. I was consistantly going back and forth between trying to focus on the store and trying to tame my personal life. They were taking turns showing each other their cows without real scratching. Empty threats and just hurtful words back and forth about each other and anybody they can involve. Since this made its way to social media, a few of my other friends found themselves getting involved for a brief moment as well. Neither side was really looking for a resolution. They were all just looking for entertainment. Nobody did what they did for me, or to help me. When everything stopped, I asked everybody to take down what they had posted because I didn't agree with anybody's actions. Everybody agreed, and did so except wesley and Jamie. They were the only ones to give me grief about deleting their post. At this point i had given up. I only fought with wesley to take down his posts and i just couldn't handle the extra stress from jamie. It was all too much.

I was always the one apologizing, even when it wasn't my fault. He has a mystical way of manipulating the situations we put ourselves in. Im just a nagging bitch, who can't keep my legs closed i guess. Even if consciously i didn't believe what he was saying about me i still absorbed that hate, but i held it internally against myself.

It wasn't just emotional, psychological, and mental abuse. It got physical a few times. Ive been thrown against a wall, dragged in a house over concrete steps, scratching up the entire backs of my calves ( i told my friends and co-workers i was drunk and slipped on the very same stairs). I have had my arm crushed in a cast iron door, and to be honest this is the first time I'm telling anybody, and there is nobody to listen.

We were sitting his animals at his parents one weekend while they were out of town. I don't even remember the fight, but i remember running away from him. I remember anytime he got close to me i couldn't breathe and i just needed to not be in his house or near him. He continued to follow me around the very house he also would let me out of. He took my keys so it didn't do me any good to try and leave his house anyway. At this point I'm physically suffocating, crying so hard i can't see where I'm running. I find a way to lock myself in the bathroom. Alone with me in this bathroom was a pocket knife he would keep with him. I contemplated cutting. Holding the knife on my thigh and gently rubbing it on the skin i was ready to tear to pieces. I paused to look out the window at the sky and saw him. taking pictures of me. yelling, “You’re fucking crazy, you psycho bitch.” He even went as far to send the picture to my phone and save them in my album, just so i could look at them.

Don’t get me wrong i tried to leave a few times but it always ended the same way. He was going to hurt himself or our dog, he had possession of after being kicked out of my moms house. Of course he made many threats, towards me and others, that never held any truth, but there is always that one time he could. So out of fear that he would hurt himself or our dog, i stayed.

this went on for a year.

Finally, i worked up the courage to leave him. It did not go well. We were in the car and i was driving. I was talking to him about on the way to his house where i planned to drop him off and go home. That didn't happen like that. He started playing with the wheel and trying to throw us off the road. I ended up parking in a church parking lot where he proceeded to get out of the car. Now i know with the way he was i should have just left, but he made sure to grab my phone before exiting. He then began going through it, because there could be no there logical reason for me to leave him unless for another person. Atleast, thats how he saw it. He even went as far, after i got out to retrieve my phone, to take the keys out of the ignition. I was tired of running after him so i sat in the car and locked the doors. Well he walked a ways away, but came back. He told me he had thrown my keys in the grass of the front lawn of this church. This wasn't even true. When he refused to look for the keys i got out to do it myself. He then jumped in and started the car acting as if he would leave me there. I got in the car and he drove us to his parents. All along the way he just kept saying I'm not leaving him and we aren't over. Once at his parents i told him i was leaving, which caused yet another scene. This actually promoted his parents to come outside. HIs mom was trying to beth him to let me leave and when he wouldn't listen to her she went and got his father. During this time he got in his car and parked at the end of the driveway so i couldn't leave. His father came to my window and said he would call the cops and i just needed to drive through the yard. I didn't want him to be in such a position with his parents. I even started giving in a little saying i would take him somewhere else, seeing as he didn't want to stay at his parents. I ended up being able to leave that night and go home around 2 AM. This all started at about 6 in the evening.

From this moment out this began to get overwhelming. He showed up at my house and even walked through the door that leads straight to my room. I didm answer when he knocked originally. He was basically squatting on my front porch till i talked to him. He was telling me once again all the things he was going to do to change and make up for all the bad stuff. So to appease his need for communication i gave in and said we could keep contact through texting, but only as i wished. Of course i didn't text back a whole lot and kept my distance as much as possible. Being the manipulator he was, he knew what to say to get me to respond, and i did. When he began being hostile again about my lack of communication i blocked him on all platforms of communication. He didn't give up.

He found a way to contact me. *67. He would call me repeatedly one after the other until i picked up or one of our phones died. I checked my phone one morning and found he had accumulated 380 missed calls in what i thought was 36 hours. He later corrected me to tell me it was 24 not 36.

Of course he knew where i worked and he used that to his advantage. Knowing only one person works on weekend days, he would call from *67 to my work line, knowing i had to pick up each call, and i would repeatedly hang up. it  was easily over 100 phone calls to the work phone alone. Customers were beginning to notice.

After all of this i finally took the advice my friends had been giving me for months. I filed for an order of protection.

wrote this a few days ago