#mild swearing tw

[pinkythebluefrog]

[aealzx]

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Prologue | AO3

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Fighting humans was something Danielle was admittedly not too familiar with until being brought to Gotham. There had been other criminals that she’d had to chase off, police that she’d had to politely incapacitate so she and the others could escape, and even the unfortunate passerby that she usually overshadowed to lead them away from their hideout. But for all of those she’d always pulled her punches, knowing that she could do way too much damage and even kill the humans if she hit them with her full strength. Ghosts just tended to be more resilient than living people. Which meant she also couldn’t use any of her ectoplasm based abilities against them most of the time either. Both because of the damage it would do to the humans, and because she didn’t have a good way to recharge quickly. She didn’t need to end up as another comatose team member for the others to take care of.

Facing off against Deathstroke ended up breaking all of Danielle’s beliefs about fighting humans.

While Danielle still couldn’t use too much ectoplasm, she quickly realized she didn’t have to pull her punches. Jason was the first to technically engage Deathstroke, pulling out both pistols and firing mercilessly at the hulking man as he charged towards them. Yet for some unfathomable reason Deathstroke seemed impervious to the gunfire, the only bullets that might have hit him being slashed away with a blade like some ridiculous samurai cartoon. Jason ended up emptying both clips in his guns before Deathstroke reached them, and by that point Dick ran forward to block him while Jason reloaded. Instead of opening fire on Deathstroke again though, he holstered the pistols for now in exchange for his combat knife, not wanting to risk hitting Dick or Danielle in the crossfire.

Dick was definitely familiar with Deathstroke’s attacks, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him to fight the professional killer. Hits were heavy, and the combination of swordplay and martial arts was deadly to even trained combatants. He found he was glad Jason had insisted on staying, for while Jason had a much smaller blade he and Dick were so familiar with each other’s fighting style that it was easy for Jason to sneak in and target Deathstroke’s weak points, or take the heat away from Dick for a moment. It was something that Danielle found difficult to join in on, and her first attempt to punch Deathstroke proved unexpectedly useless since she held back as much as she usually did against living people. All it served to do was bring her in range for Deathstroke to immediately target her instead, his blade swishing over her head as she ducked with a slight yelp.

“Go join the others,” Jason ordered after watching Danielle make a useless attempt to help and almost get beheaded instead, getting Deathstroke’s attention by slicing at his blind side.

“I can fight!” Danielle protested, giving another test punch with more force behind it, only to have Deathstroke catch her hand. She felt his muscles strain under the impact of her punch this time, his hand pushing her off to the side just in case she broke his resistance. But as he kept ahold of her fist she just phased through his hand to pull back.

“Then stop holding back. He can take all you’ve got,” Dick directed, having been one of the ones who had initially taken Danielle down during the rescue capture mission. He knew she could hit hard. Stephanie and Damian had to help, and they only caught her because of Damian using sedatives.

With the others chatting between themselves, Deathstroke chimed in with a calm comment. “Make this easy on yourselves boys. This time I’m not here for you, so leave the girl and you won’t get hurt.” It should have already been obvious that his target was Danielle and the others of her team, for he all but ignored Dick and Jason when they weren’t in his face.

“Did you honestly think we’d even consider that option?” Jason demanded, quick to snatch his gun out of its holster and start firing again when Deathstroke caught Dick off guard enough to bodily kick him skidding several meters away.

“No,” Deathstroke admitted, leaving back to dodge the bullets for a moment. “But it was worth a shot.” He sounded almost bored, blocking the bullets with his blade once more before getting accustomed enough with Jason’s firing pattern to charge forward again.

As Jason lurched back, half blocking the slash with his knife but still getting cut in the shoulder, Danielle swooped in with a whirling kick to Deathstroke’s chest, phasing through Jason to get the best angle. There was enough force this time that Deathstroke grunted from the impact, getting launched backwards to tumble twice before righting himself and skidding on his feet.

“Nice!” Jason complimented, caught just a little off guard at the more Superman-like display of strength. 

“Your fault if he dies,” Danielle shot back, already very uncomfortable with how different this fight was compared to others. She didn’t want to kill anyone, but if it happened because of self defense she’d have to learn how to come to terms with it. As long as this guy didn’t just turn into another ghost like Skulker. That seemed like a nightmare in the making.

“Great. I’d thank you if you managed that,” Jason returned, readying himself for another round.

“No killing,” Dick countered, reaching them again and taking his position near Jason.

“Kill him. Don’t kill him. You guys should work on your mutual goals,” Danielle scoffed, following as the two of them rushed Deathstroke this time.

It really was unfair that the old man was able to keep up with all three of them. Danielle hadn’t fought Jason before, but Dick had been the main one she’d fought before, so she knew he wasn’t a wimp. Yet it seemed the only real hits they were able to get in were the ones that she snuck in between the others’ moves. Back and forth in a broken dance of ill intent, stealing blood when steps faltered or reactions were just a tad too slow. Deathstroke’s blade sliced Dick’s forehead and bicep, and Jason’s forearm and thigh in addition to the previous gash on his shoulder. But in return Jason had gotten two good cuts on Deathstroke’s ribs and arm. That combined with brutal hits from Dick’s escrima sticks and Danielle’s fists made her feel like they had done a near equal amount of damage to each other. Perhaps it would be a duel of endurance in the end.

As the fight dragged on it started to wear on those involved. Danielle was pretty sure Jason had a broken finger, and the cut on Dick’s forehead was bleeding profusely. Deathstroke had learned soon enough that if he got Danielle quick enough she didn’t have time to become intangible, small cuts drawing green blood to add to the red staining the silver of his sword. And if she bled, that meant she could be killed. Even if the injuries stopped bleeding soon after they were made. He’d just have to hit her with something harder then, and for that he strategically created an opening for himself.

By now they had gotten used to him targeting Danielle when she was close enough. So this time Deathstroke made a feint towards Danielle before switching his attack towards Dick’s neck. Luckily Dick’s reflexes were fast enough that he lurched backwards to avoid it, but it still would have left a large gash across his collarbone and chest if Danielle hadn't caught it. And that was the opening Deathstroke was aiming for, his other hand snatching a small pistol loaded with a shotshell from his armory and firing it into Danielle’s chest. The startled half scream from Danielle was cut off by both the shot shell beads, and Deathstroke’s foot kicking her from the air to tumble meters away.

“DANI!” Dick’s shout was accompanied by Jason’s renewed effort to beat Deathstroke unconscious, wordlessly increasing his offense to allow Dick to break away and skid to his knees near Danielle. As Dick’s mind whirled through all the first aid he knew that might help the girl, his hands resting on her back as she coughed, he was surprised to see her start shoving herself upright after a short groan. At first he thought maybe she hadn’t been hit by the shot shell, or it had been a non lethal capsule. But as Danielle shoved herself to her knees and snapped her head up to glare at Deathstroke with a snarl Dick saw the green blood dripping from multiple wounds on her chest and knew it had been a dead on hit. It left him a little stunned as Danielle pushed herself to her feet, spitting a small amount of green blood that she’d coughed into her mouth.

“THAT HURT, BITCH!” Danielle shouted once she was on her feet again, phasing a hand into her chest to pull out a pellet and hurl it to the ground. The comment was unexpected enough that Jason ended up distracted, both by Danielle still talking and the words she’d used, and got brutally elbowed in the side of the head.  As Jason collapsed to the ground, movements uncoordinated because of the blow to the head making his vision spin, Dick threw one of his escrima sticks at Deathstroke and charged forward to protect his brother.

“So that wasn’t enough either,” Deathstroke mused, knocking the airborne escrima stick aside and intrigued by Danielle’s ability to still be moving despite having taken a full round of shot shell ammo. 

“That’s it,” Danielle spat as Deathstroke blocked Dick’s next attack, kicking off the ground and snapping forward once again. This time instead of pulling her fist back for a punch, or otherwise outwardly attacking Deathstroke, she kept going, phasing through Dick and Deathstroke’s weapon and arm, wisping into his chest. Yet neither Dick or Jason noticed her appear on the other side, and neither had time to fully react before Deathstroke was abruptly dropping to one knee and plunging his sword into the top of his other knee.

“..... What the…?” Jason huffed, the screeching tires of the batmobile drowning out the rest of his words while he staggered to his feet, openly staring at Deathstroke’s display of sudden onset of madness.

“How much damage do I have to do to stop this guy?”

The question came from Deathstroke’s mouth, but sounded odd. Dick and Jason paused in disorientation, glancing around for Danielle before Dick made a connection in his head. Jazz had mentioned something about ‘overshadowing’ to Danielle, and some of the reports from the past two months had records of people behaving oddly, suddenly defending the people they were chasing or fighting their allies, and then having no memory of doing so.

“...Dani?” Dick asked, not completely sure, but confident enough to hold his hand out to stop Damian and Bruce from joining the fight. It looked like Damian had Talia on his phone as well, holding the device facing them.

“No, it’s grandma,” Danielle retorted with Deathstroke’s voice, understandably irritable. “Now answer the question,” she demanded, jerking the blade in Deathstroke’s knee slightly.

—---

The silence provided by the batmobile’s soundproof encasing was broken by Damian’s phone ringing as they hurtled down the streets, destined to meet up with Dick and Jason to provide backup if necessary. They all knew Bruce was the one who could best deal with Deathstroke, but if what they said was true and someone had hired the man without Talia’s knowing then Damian figured he might be able to put a stop to the matter without a prolonged battle. As much as he would love to stab Deathstroke in the other eye, that usually led to injuries to his family that were best avoided. Luckily his call was quick to be answered.

“Damian.”

Talia’s greeting was simple, but his name was spoken with more love than Talia bequeathed to anyone else. Other than, perhaps, Bruce. Usually if Talia deemed someone worthy enough to have her answer their call she only commanded them to speak.

“Mother.”

The returned greeting was just as simple, for Damian had learned the habit from her.

“It is rare for you to call,” Talia responded, and Damian could hear the smile in her voice despite the tense situation. They both knew Damian reaching out to her directly was risky. Other children would have weekly calls with their parents while abroad, if not daily. But their situation was much too different to allow for such a consistent opening. “What concerns you?” she asked, knowing he would only call if there was important, but not critical matters at hand.

“We have discovered the League’s most recent contract with Deathstroke,” Damian informed her easily. No need to question if she was aware or not, her response would tell him. “I must insist the contract be terminated, or we risk damaging connections with important contacts…. I imagine this was not of your doing,” he couldn’t help asking if she was responsible.

“What?” Talia’s answer dispelled the sliver of doubt Damian had. Her anger still ran deep towards Deathstroke; there was no one who remained from Ra’s time as head that would ever be willing to affiliate with Deathstroke again. She was quick to recover though, pausing for only a moment to align the facts in her mind, and research the source of the contract leading them to her people. When she spoke again it was with mild confusion only because it was her son she spoke to. “You are not the target, nor are any of yours. Why are you involved?”

“The targets are my wards,” Damian responded simply.

The words caused Talia to pause again, thoughtful as she browsed through the pertinent information on the computer next to her. She didn’t recognize any of the targets, but seeing their listed crimes made her understand what had happened. A delivery to a research team, tasked with potentially amplifying the Lazarus pit’s attributes, intercepted by an unknown group of teenagers. Someone on the research team had stepped out of line and ordered the hit, somehow getting it past the League’s administration without even requesting her authorization. There were several people now on the list to be severely punished, if not terminated. 

Despite the welcomed revelation, the target location of this Team Phantom made Talia pause, questioning Damian’s words. “...You claim they are your wards, yet you keep them isolated from you. Far from your home,” she pointed out, and Damian clenched his jaw. She wasn’t trying to say he was lying, was she? Or did she think he was being manipulated? He wouldn’t put it past his mother to worry for him needlessly.

A quick glance at Bruce to judge his mood, knowing he was listening, and Damian answered after Bruce nodded with some reluctance. “They are to be relocated, but only once they are without assailants. Damaging the manor would be an unnecessary annoyance.”

Talia hummed, a smile tugging her lips as she was now curious about the ones who had charmed her family. But Bruce wasn’t within the view of the camera, and as he slammed on the brakes and the cover of the batmobile slid back Damian hopped out of the car. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but it looked a lot more promising than he’d initially imagined. Deathstroke was kneeling with a blade in his leg and Jason pointing a gun at his head. So Damian showed his mother the state of the assassin as Deathstroke spoke with a voice that was his own, yet words that were not.

“I have the ability to overshadow others, and make them do or say what I want while they’re completely unaware,” Danielle explained through Deathstroke’s voice. “It’s not the most comfortable state, but I can inflict more damage if I need to.” She was responding to a question from Dick, but as Damian approached with the phone held so Talia could see she was the one that responded.

“Then kill him,” she directed simply. “Many would welcome his demise.”

“That’s not how we work,” Damian spoke before Dick or Jason could respond, gaining a faint smile of his own. “Terminate the contract… Please.”

This time it didn’t take long for Talia to sigh in compliance, a fondness saturating her breath. “Very well,” she accepted, “Release him, and I will speak.”

No one moved for a breath, but after Damian nodded once Danielle’s sigh was half with Deathstroke’s voice before becoming her own as she floated out from his form. She stayed close as he grunted in the sudden realization of pain and what his current situation was, but Talia spoke up quickly.

“Slade. In light of recent information your contract will be annulled. You will be compensated half of your payment for your efforts spent as of now, and if you persist you will be hunted by the League of Assassins. You can take my offer, or be killed now. Which is it?”

Her terms were delivered quickly, and while Dick’s face scrunched in mild confusion as to who among them Talia thought would be willing to kill Deathstroke in her place, Jason shifted the pistol in his hand slightly to remind them it was there. And he deliberately ignored the way Bruce’s eyes narrowed at him. Deathstroke was enough of a pain to all of them that no one would miss him. Yet it turned out to be Danielle who tipped the scale.

“Answer fast or I might start ripping organs out. You’ll be surprised how many aren’t strictly necessary,” Danielle added, phasing her hand into Deathstroke’s chest to prove her point. She was testy, but she felt she had a good reason to be. She still had to dig the rest of those bullet shards out of her chest after all.

Deathstroke paused a moment longer, having not quite been swayed by Talia’s words just on principle. But after taking a testing breath and faintly feeling Danielle’s hand in his chest he realized dealing with the half dead girl might end up costing him more than he was willing to pay. So he answered soon enough. “Done. I expect to see the transfer before they’re out of sight.”

“You’ll get it when I deem it so,” Talia responded curtly.

Deathstroke watched the screen for a beat, gauging if he could barter any further before giving in. “I should have known you hadn’t changed your mind.”

“You should thank Damian instead of wasting your words on me,” Talia retorted with a scoff. “If I had my way, you’d already be dead.”

“Hmph. I won’t waste anymore of your time,” Deathstroke huffed. There was no way he was going to even consider thanking the demon child. He should have trusted his mind and not taken this contract in the first place.

“Consider yourself lucky we’re still paying you,” Damian scoffed in return, nodding his head for the others to start moving to the batmobile. “Show your face again near any of the Phantoms, and I’ll reconsider letting you live.”

There was a hesitant moment of the others not being sure if the conversation was done or not, but as Damian started to walk back towards the batmobile, turning the phone to face himself again, they followed suit. Danielle released her hold only when Jason and Dick were a few steps away, all three of them eyeing the man as they moved. Bruce made sure he was the last to follow, keeping himself between his family and Deathstroke.

“I will provide you with a full report tonight, Mother. If that is acceptable,” Damian spoke quietly to Talia once he was far enough away for Deathstroke to be deaf to his words.

“I look forward to it, my son. Be well,” Talia responded, her voice softening again with her expression moments before ending the call.

Two thirds of the way to the car Danielle felt the adrenaline wearing off quickly, causing her to drop lower until she was sagging to the ground on her knees. Her chest hurt, but at least it wasn’t bleeding that much anymore. It should be fine to take the rest of the shot shell pellets out now, so she took a moment to phase herself intangible without affecting the shards. “Ouuuhh, that was tiring,” she muttered, flexing her fingers as the beads clinked on the asphalt and rolled away. At least she was still stable. Now she just had to get back to the others and think of a way to calm them down when she got there. Something she didn’t have to worry too much about, for Dick had paused next to her and as soon as she returned to a tangible state he leaned over to quickly scoop her up. Without a word he picked up his pace to the batmobile, hopping into the backseat with her after Damian took the front.

Jason was walking backwards towards the vehicle, keeping his pistol trained on Deathstroke as the old man held his hands up in surrender, and staying aware of his family and their guest. He wasn’t planning on lowering the gun anytime soon either, but once he bumped against the batmobile Bruce snatched the gun out of his hand. It caused Jason to snap his gaze over to Bruce with a glare hidden behind his mask, but he knew Bruce was more than familiar with the look. And this time Bruce returned it for a moment before subtly nodding towards the car. They both knew the injury to his head had affected Jason more than he was letting on if Bruce had been able to take the gun so easily.

With a soft huff Jason hopped into the backseat with the others, folding his arms and deliberately not looking at Bruce. Luckily it wasn’t too difficult to do so, for Bruce was quick to climb into the driver’s seat and trigger the cover to close.

“Oracle, send support from the Justice League to make sure Deathstroke is properly detained. I don’t want to hear from him again,” Bruce called through the comms once they were all safely inside the vehicle.

“Copy that. I’ve also rerouted Spoiler to Signal and the others. Orphan will follow up to make sure Deathstroke doesn’t leave before the police get there,” Barbara confirmed, extremely pleased the situation was handled exponentially better than expected. “I’ve also asked her to make sure Hood’s bike gets brought home as well.”

It was appreciated, and Jason gained a small smile before texting her his gratitude.

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HHHHRRGGGH I hope I made it convincing enough for Slade to back off * wheezes * I could not find a good reason in my research, so I just tried something. I kept modifying this part like 4 times. =7=;

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[tmntkiseki]

Lesser acknowledged disturbing scenes from TMNT 2003: The fight from "Time Travails" where Raph gets swallowed by a giant cockroach and ends up having to do his best chestburster impression in order to get out of its stomach.

[birinboom]

Post-Apocalyptic Shopkeep Bakugou

This came from me being tired and skimming a prompt for another piece - coffee shop/bookstore au or dystopia au with Bakugou - and my eepy brain turning it into ‘dystopian bookstore Bakugou’. I ended up imagining less of a bookstore per se, and more of a shop from a dystopian/post-apocalyptic game where you’d buy weapon upgrades, treasure maps, etc from an older and incredibly tired Bakugou.

WARNING! This is quite a bit darker than what I usually write, it contains mentions of blood and death (the reader recalling seeing someone being shot). 

Shopkeep Bakugou, linguist reader Post-apocalyptic au, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mild swearing, fluffy ending 🌸 1,205 words

Making the trek across the dried-up seabed was always a challenge, even as civilization slowly expanded, creeping closer and closer to the old shipwreck. You adjusted the piece of fabric you’d tied over your nose and mouth; the dust kicked up with every step was hazardous if inhaled. It would cut your lungs to shreds - or so you’d heard. You didn’t want to take any chances.

Finally you spotted the wreck, tucked into a dip in the ocean floor. As always, you took a short detour to marvel at the bones jutting from the ground close to the wreckage. You always liked to imagine that this giant creature was the one to take down the ship, tearing it to pieces before letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean. Maybe it died from its wounds? Maybe it had cut itself on the metal of the hull and bled to death? Or - much more likely - the creature was a victim of the ocean drying up, completely unrelated to the wreckage. You shrugged, reaching out to touch the sun-bleached bones. It didn’t matter what the truth was. You’d never find out anyway, and the idea of a battle between ship and sea monster was fun. 

Moving on, you started the climb onto the shipwreck, careful to not cut yourself on the rusty metal. Your gaze crept up to the bow of the ship where the name had once been painted. It had bleached enough over the centuries that it was almost invisible, all you could read was ‘MS Ba--’ Maybe that was why he’d picked this place. Far enough from civilization that only serious buyers would make the trek. You had started to think of the wreckage as the ‘MS Bakugou.’ Another thing to amuse yourself with. And amusement was exactly why you’d come.

The air cooled around you as you moved deeper into the wreck. Finally, you reached your destination, a door with the words ‘stay the fuck away!’ painted on it. Ignoring the warning, you began spinning the handle, your labored breath almost drowning out the muted sounds of the latches clicking into place on the opposite side of the door. Then, you heaved the door open, instantly raising your hands as the door clanged against the wall. 

A battle-hardened crimson gaze bore into you over the barrel of a shotgun. You stood still, knowing well that moving before he’d recognized you might cause him to pull the trigger. You’d seen it happen when some idiot decided to attempt to raid the wreck while you’d been present. His rattling breath still haunted your dreams. 

“It’s just me,” you said softly.

“You again?” His voice had a tinge of irritation, but he lowered the gun.

You entered, carefully stepping over the tall threshold, lest you trip like you did on your very first visit.

“What do you want this time?” Bakugou’s voice was tired. You couldn’t remember when his tone had changed from the snark it’d had that first time; when the hard edge had appeared. But you supposed that it happened to everybody over time.

Placing your hands behind your back, you looked around the room, inspecting the shelves.

“You got anything new?”

Bakugou gestured behind him before he picked up an oiled cloth and a rusty handgun receiver. “Bought a couple of crates from a traveler yesterday. Haven’t had a chance to look at them properly yet.”

Slipping behind the counter, you crouched next to the crates, slowly searching through the contents. Despite how irritated Bakugou had sounded when you showed up, it was testament to his trust that he allowed you to be behind him. It had taken years of visits before he’d stopped watching you like a hawk, longer still for him to relax in your presence. Turning your head, you just watched him for a while, watched his broad, scarred shoulders move under his tattered, sleeveless shirt as he cleaned the rusty handgun, gaze focused on the weapon. His movements were fluid with decades of practice. Hypnotizing. 

Bakugou spared you a glance. “Found anything?”

“Not yet,” you replied, eyes snapping back to the crates. 

You heard a soft chuckle but chose to ignore it as your fingertips brushed over something papery. Digging your hands further into the crate, you pulled out a stack of books, their pages yellow with age. 

“Bakugou, look at this!”

He turned, one eyebrow rising when he saw the stack in your hands.

“Heh, only a nerd like you would be so happy over books.”

“I’m a scholar, you old fart!” you retorted.

Bakugou bundled the oiled cloth in his fists, preparing to throw it at you as punishment. His hands sank when you took no notice of him, too busy looking through the books. He had to fight to keep the fond smile off his lips when you looked back up, your eyes shining with glee.

You held a book out to him. “Check this one out!”

Bakugou just looked at you for a moment. “You know I can’t read that old-ass language - what did you call it again, English? People like you pick up the most useless skills.”

You shrugged, looking back at the book. “It’s useful for treasure hunting. And you know my lock-picking skills are excellent.” Tapping the cover, you added, “It’s a book of fairy tales.”

“Keh, children’s drivel,” Bakugou replied. “Sounds like it’ll be right up your alley.”

Ignoring him, you moved on to the next book. “And this one… ‘maps of the contiguous United States.’ Okay, this one is useless.”

Looking through the rest of the books, you deemed everything but the book of fairy tales unworthy. Holding out the book again, you asked, “How much?”

Bakugou scoffed. “You can have it. Can’t sell that shit anyway. Might as well give it to someone who’ll enjoy it.”

You beamed at him. “I’ll read it to the kids at the village in your honor.”

He shrugged, returning to his gun-cleaning. “If you must.”

Settling on the lid of one of the crates, you spent a moment looking at the movement of his shoulders again.

“Why don’t you ever come to the village? It’s safe there, and I’m sure your fighting experience would be appreciated. You don’t have to live by yourself.”

Baugou stopped for a moment, just staring at his hands, fingers flexing. “I don’t get along with people,” he finally said.

“You get along with me…”

“You’re an exception.”

You looked at the book again, fighting to keep the heat from rising in your cheeks from the unexpected compliment. Looking over the faded cover picture of five mice dancing around a cat, you then opened the book to the first tale.

“Want me to read it to you? It’ll let me practice reading for the kids.” 

He shrugged again. “If you want.”

You started reading, pausing on occasion to think of a good translation or to explain some archaic term. During one of these times, you noticed that Bakugou had stopped working. He was leaning on the counter, hands still, eyes soft and unfocused as he listened. 

He frowned, his eyes slipping back into focus. “Why’d you stop?”

“Just thinking.”

You continued reading, a smile blooming on your lips.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks (on and off anon) are always greatly appreciated! If you like, you can check out my other works here. Love, Em 💖

[nando161mando]

[herearedragons]

Homecoming

(3,876 words; Dorian/m!Lavellan; angst, post-Trespasser)

written for a Florence + The Machine prompt from @greypetrel : “Can you protect me from what I want? The lover who let me in, who left me so lost?”

read on AO3

On a summer night, the Pavus estate stands empty.

Not empty of visitors or of the presence of its owner - empty of everyone. There are no guards at the gates or in the garden; no cooks in the kitchen; no servants in the hallways. Its rooms are cold and unlit, illuminated only by moonlight breaking through the large windows and painting bright geometric shapes over surfaces and decorations.

In the study upstairs, one of those shapes falls directly over an armchair with a small wooden table by its side. On the table, a freshly opened bottle of wine; in the chair, the last remaining resident of the estate raises a glass to his lips, appreciating the fine vintage. 

A staff rests balanced on his knees. An artisan dwarven clock with twelve handles ticks away on the wall beside him.

Magister Dorian Pavus drinks his wine, and waits for the man who is supposed to come kill him.

*

“All staff have been escorted off the premises, Magister.”

“Marvelous; thank you, Valeria.”

The captain of his guards regards him with a look that is familiar: respect, alertness - and the slightest hint of suspicion. She is saying, without speaking a single word aloud: you are behaving unusually, and I would like to know whether my job of keeping you alive is about to get harder.

“What are our orders?” she asks.

Unfortunately, she will not like the answer Dorian has for her.

“Go home,” he says. “Forget everything you’ve seen and heard here today.”

If she has an immediate reaction to his words, it doesn’t register on her face. Wait, no - it does, just very subtly; a slight tilt of her head to the side, a twitch of her brow.

She’s saying: excuse me?

“Magister, I beg your pardon, but I’ve been led to understand that someone will attempt to assassinate you tonight.”

Valeria is highly professional. A slight emphasis on the word “assassinate” is all she allows herself as an attempt to communicate extreme incredulity to her employer.

“Exactly - and I want you to be as far away as possible when it happens.” He sees the resistance brewing beneath her composed exterior and adds, quickly, before she has a chance to speak again: “This is an order.”

The resolve drains from her at once; an expression of defiance becomes one of defeat. She will not argue; this is above her station.

“Yes, Magister.”

Her tone, though subdued, is unbearably miserable; he can’t possibly end the conversation on this note.

“Oh, don’t look so grim; you don’t have to shop for a new employer quite yet,” Dorian says. “I can assure you that I have every intention to survive the night - and, when I do, I’d like to have your services still available to me. That last part will be tricky if you are dead; reanimated guards have fallen out of fashion, I’m told.”

Confusion, writ large across her face; the veneer of professionalism broken.

“This is about protecting me ?”

“This is about protecting all of you, if I can help it. You are very skilled, and I would trust you with my life - I do , in fact, trust you with my life, regularly - against any threat but this one. If you are here when he comes, you’ll be in his way, and you will die.”

Her brow furrows. He’s gotten through to her; there was enough gravity in his words to make her realize that his decision to send her away isn’t a foolish whim.

“And yet you will survive… him?”

“I certainly plan to. Now - ”  Dorian raises an eyebrow -  “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Valeria nods shortly and hastily collects herself; their little moment of eye-to-eye sincerity has passed.

“Of course.” She hesitates. “...Have a good evening, Magister.”

The setting sun shines in bright oranges and reds on the back of her armor as she walks away.

*

In the moonlit garden of the estate, there are shadows.

Their presence is subtle and easily overlooked. Their footsteps make no sound; their clothes blend perfectly with the dark greens and grays of the night, hiding them behind pillars and in foliage, in solid blocks of shadow and in the mottled patterns of bright moonlight filtering through leaves.

There are twenty-seven of them, in total. Fifteen serve the Divine, and have traveled to Minrathous in secret from various corners of Thedas. The remaining twelve are Dalish, who have made the long, long trek from Wycome to one of the most dangerous places for their kind - just to be here tonight.

Some of them are on the outer side of the fence. None of them are inside the building. They are scattered across the perimeter, and, when the intruder comes, they will make no attempt to stop him.

They are not a wall keeping him out; they are the iron teeth of the bear trap, waiting to close on him once he has taken the bait.

*

The morning sun reflects off the crystal embedded in his transmitter amulet, each facet polished to perfection. He’d be able to spot his reflection in one of those quite easily, had he tried.

He doesn’t.

“Tonight, then,” Dorian says. “Are you sure?”

A small blue glow ignites inside of the crystal for a fraction of a moment, indicating that his message has been sent properly. Some seconds pass as the other party speaks their response, and then the amulet vibrates with the familiar voice of the Inquisition’s former spymaster - or, as she is more widely known these days, Divine Victoria.

As always, the sound of her speech comes with a pinprick of irritation in  his chest. This is not what this amulet is for, and no, he has not gotten over that gripe after four years of it being used in this way. 

Still, it would be foolish not to use it at all. The ability to instantly communicate between Minrathous and Val Royeaux has granted them an immense advantage in their hunt.

“As usual, we don’t have much evidence when it comes to his intentions - but what we do have shows that it is likely.”

Dorian allows himself a moment to process her words, taking his thumb off the back of the amulet so that it would not record and send the sound of him taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, with only the slightest shudder at the end.

He always knew that this was a possibility; hoped for it, even, on some of the worst (and best) days.

He tries to parse his own feelings. Fear is certainly present, his self-preservation instinct kicking in (good - it’s still working). There is also anxiety - different from fear; the vague tremble of uncertainty rather than a call to action - and something like… excitement. 

Hope, even? 

No. Not hope. He’s made some good progress from the point of denying himself hope for anything at all, but hoping for the best in this particular scenario feels too daunting.

Excitement, however, is something he can definitely work with. He did always love a challenge.

The amulet vibrates in his palm again.

“Is everything alright?”

He puts his thumb back on the warm copper.

“Never mind the pause; I’m still here. Now, what are our plans for tonight?”

*

The Magister finishes his glass of wine and sets it aside. He looks at the bottle for a moment too long, but does not reach for it. 

This was his first and last glass for tonight. It was certainly good, even though he could barely taste it after the first sip; his mind is elsewhere, try as he might to anchor himself in the present.

For a moment, he thinks that he hears footsteps echoing downstairs, but he dismisses the thought. The sentries will not enter the building - and it couldn’t have been him , either.

His hand, idle without the glass, moves to rest on the grip of his staff.

The Magister knows: when he shows up, no one will hear any footsteps.

*

The first of the Dalish arrive soon after Valeria leaves.

Two figures at his front gate; two elven women with scarves on their heads, their faces bare, carrying large baskets. Servants; no one would look twice.

Through the study window, Dorian sees the taller of the two set her basket down and stretch; as she does, her hands form the signal gesture that was described to him. 

He activates the spell inscribed into the wrought iron, and the gates swing open of their own accord, letting the two women inside.

He comes downstairs just as the front door opens. The first thing to cross the threshold is is one the baskets, which look even more enormous up close; the women haul them in and set them down unceremoniously, the shorter of the two slamming the door shut behind her.

Both of them acknowledge him with a brief glance before beginning to furiously wipe their faces with their scarves, removing the thick layer of makeup that was necessary to hide their vallaslin.

“Would you like some water?” he asks.

The taller - and older - woman takes the scarf away from her face, meeting his eyes in earnest for the first time. Hers are brown and warm, just as he remembers; her hair, also a painfully familiar brown, has more grey streaks than it did the last time he’d seen her.

Four years and six months ago.

His last visit to Wycome before he left for Minrathous; the last time he has seen her son.

“Would you like some water” is not, by any means, an adequate greeting for the situation they’re in, but - even after years of imagining their next conversation  - he doesn’t have anything better.

To his own surprise, Dorian realizes that a significant amount of his fear has nothing to do with the impending attempt on his life, and everything to do with meeting her again.

Adria Lavellan smiles - a small, humorous smile; just a quirk of her lips and a slight rise of her eyebrows - and nods.

“Yes, thank you. Both to drink and to wash up.”

Nothing about her tone or demeanor is hostile. She’s friendly, and the attitude she projects suggests that she is genuinely glad to see him again. 

Something in his chest tightens and tightens until it hurts. He tries to say something in response, but finds his mind horrifyingly blank, and his tongue heavy.

He silently nods and walks away.

More elves arrive. Most of them come in pairs; some come in a group of three, or alone. All in the guise of servants.

Many of them carry baskets. Inside - armor, weapons and traps.

The sun disappears below the horizon, the sky painted twilight purple in its absence. 

When he speaks to Adria again, she has donned a set of ironbark armor - her husband’s finest work, no doubt - and is in the process of stringing a longbow.

It’s strange to see her like this. Every time Dorian has met her in the past, she wore dresses and aprons and seemed to prefer the role of hearthkeeper; here, she is in charge of a party of eleven, armed to the teeth.

He starts by complimenting her armor. She thanks him with the same small smile; still unbelievably non-hostile. She compliments his house in turn.

Be it any other person, Dorian would have interpreted her attitude as cleverly disguised contempt - but this is Adria Lavellan ; he knows her, and he knows the son she raised, and she would not lie to him.

He wants to ask her a question.

How - 

No, why - 

Does she - 

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t write to you,” Adria says all of a sudden. “If the Inquisition was still around, they could have gotten my letter to Minrathous - but without them, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She’s throwing him a lifeline, giving him an easy topic for conversation - and, shamefully, he elects to take it.

There is, at least, a question he can ask here.

“…Why would you want to write to me?“

The words come out without his usual flair. Flat. Vulnerable.

Thank the Maker that no one else seems to be listening, for the moment.

She regards him kindly with her warm, brown eyes.

“I lost my parents and my first husband almost at the same time. I remember what it feels like; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’m glad that you held up well.”

“…Well. Yes.” Dorian clears his throat. “I try. I - “ 

This is the perfect place to say something clever, perhaps some witty remark about his father’s demise, but the words do not come. This woman’s presence is equal parts comforting and terrifying to him, and it causes his brain to stop working.

He must do something about this. Now . He absolutely cannot remain a bumbling fool around - around his - around Neilar’s mother.

Dorian takes a deep breath.

“Why are you so calm?” he asks. “Why - “ his voice quivers - “Why are you not furious with me?”

A slight frown appears on her face as she parses his words.

“Well,” she says after a moment’s pause, “Those are two questions, and I’ll answer both. Why am I so calm: I’m not. I’m worried, and scared, and angry, and many other things - but those feelings are for me, not for the world. Sharing them with the world right now won’t help me or my children. And for the second question, I’m not aware of anything I should be furious about.” She tilts her head to the side slightly and perks up her left ear, which is closest to him. “ Have you done something I should be angry about?”

…Yes? No? He has spent countless sleepless nights trying to answer this exact question, and he still has no idea.

Is he to blame for what happened? Should he have postponed his return to Tevinter? Should he have been more thorough with his questions when he spoke to her son through the amulet that is now being held by the Divine?

Should he have dragged him away from that bloody Well by force before he could ever drink?

“I don’t know,” Dorian says.

Adria’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, inspecting him.

Judging?

Then, she nods and turns her attention back to the bow.

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” she says. “Not any more than I blame him. Everything you two did, you did out of love, and it was right; now we must deal with the consequences. I don’t like those consequences, but I don’t think that you could have chosen to do anything differently. If you could, you would have been different people.”

It’s not forgiveness or absolution, but it is something much more precious: acceptance.

*

A creature walks through an empty hall.

Despite the dry summer night, beads of condensation shimmer on the edges of its form. Its movements make no sound, save for a faint dripping noise.

The creature has taken nineteen lives so far. Thirteen throats slit open, bodies found in pools of their own blood; three of them Dalish Keepers, one a First. One a Tevene Magister.

Six more bodies found drowned or strangled, floating face-down in a body of water or inexplicably buried in undisturbed soil. All six served what remained of the Inquisition; all six died on duty.

Thirteen assassinations. Six casualties.

In the Magister’s study, the temperature begins to drop.

*

He was right - there are no footsteps. In fact, there is nothing at all; not even an ominous whisper on the wind, a creaking door or the howling of wolves in the night to herald the intruder’s arrival.

The doorway is empty. Then, Dorian blinks, and it’s not empty anymore.

His only exit out of the study that isn’t a window is blocked by a wraith with glowing eyes the color of veilfire. The dark figure stands unmoving just past the threshold, every detail of it obscured by shadow.

Tonight is the night.

His entire body tenses as fight-or-flight kicks in; he forces himself to relax again, easing back into the chair. He remembers the investigations of previous murders; the target was never struck on sight. There will be a trigger, something that will set off the assault.

Outside, twenty-seven fighters are getting into position.

“You came, then,” Dorian says. His voice does not betray him, thank the Maker; it manages to produce the exact amount of sarcastic aloofness he had hoped for. “And all I needed to do was to get rid of my guards and staff and sit alone in the dark for a couple of hours. Who knew it was that easy?”

The figure steps forward, over the threshold and into the rectangle of moonlight streaming in from behind Dorian’s back. At once, it ceases to be a shadow and becomes a material presence.

A revenant.

His face is pale in the moonlight, the green vallaslin of Ghilan’nain appearing dark grey. Scratches and dirt on every visible part of his skin; grown-out, unkempt hair with leaves and twigs caught in it. Eyes glassy, pupils glowing veilfire green.

When he speaks, his voice is low and rasping, barely familiar - but familiar nonetheless.

A single word.

“Vhenan.”

Fuck. He can’t do this. This is too much - this is wrong - he can’t - 

No. It’s too late now. Either he sees this through, or he dies.

“Amatus,” Dorian states dryly. “Long time no see. Next time you decide to become possessed and disappear forever, maybe leave a note? ‘Dear Dorian, just letting you know that I’ll be away for a while. The ancient spirits I let into my brain have finally claimed my soul and I’m going to spend four and a half years murdering people on their behalf. You were right about everything and I should have listened to you. Love, Neilar.’ ”

It feels good, at least. Sure, he’s just rambling to buy a few more minutes for the people outside - but, while he’s at it, he might as well get some things off his chest.

Now that he’s been forced to work through the fear and the guilt at an incredibly fast pace, all that’s left is anger; quite a hefty amount of it, with the name of this glassy-eyed idiot written on it in giant glowing letters.

“Or how about using the amulet? You know - the magical marvel I invented specifically for the purpose of talking to you? It didn’t cross your mind to maybe mention all the sleepwalking and speaking in tongues that was happening? No! It’s all I’m alright, Dorian , and things are fine, Dorian , and I have to spend a month wondering if the amulet is broken before Leliana calls to tell me that you’re gone - ”

A sharp edge against his throat, clutched in ironbark fingers. Appearing without the warning of sound or motion, like Neilar himself.

The others should be about ready by now, shouldn’t they?

Neilar speaks. Ancient elven.

Dorian understands every word; he’s been doing his homework on everything elven and ancient ever since the disappearance.

“The will of Mythal demands your demise.”

The blade presses deeper - fuck - no, not deep enough to end it. 

It takes all of his willpower not to start casting. Not yet. This isn’t just about saving his own hide; this is about capturing him for good.

The signal. Any second now. Surely - 

*

“...Hold on, just a second - he’s not peeking, right?” Dagna asks, adjusting buckles and leather straps.

“I can’t - he’s covering my eyes!” Neilar protests.

His eyelashes tickle the inside of Dorian’s palms, as if to prove the point.

“Well, good - keep covering them. It’s all wonky and misaligned and you’re not allowed to see it until it sits right.”

Dorian can relate to her fretting. This particular project was, in many ways, a work of passion, and the necessity to finish it as soon as possible only added to the frantic energy of everyone involved. His own part was relatively small; he chimed in at the design stage and provided some arcane support at the tail end of the process, drawing on his necromantic knowledge of animating limbs.

It looks good, though. It should also work well; they’d checked everything a thousand times over. 

Dagna finishes the adjustments and leans back to inspect her work from afar. Satisfied, she nods:

“Alright, let him see it.”

He takes his hands away from Neilar’s eyes and steps aside, making sure that he can see Neilar’s expression as he looks at his new prosthetic.

The look in his eyes is blank, at first, processing what he’s looking at. Then - surprise, curiosity; he leans closer to the artificial arm, inspecting it for details.

“Try holding it up to your face instead,” Dagna suggests.

“But how do I - ”

“Don’t think about it too much! Just do it.”

The arm moves, rising up to eye level and turning, allowing Neilar to look at it from different angles.

Silverite-inlaid ironbark, the metallic parts lovingly engraved with images of vines and halla.

Dorian can see the exact moment when Neilar finds the writing hidden among the designs. His lips move silently as he reads the text.

The same quote in elven, dwarven and Tevene, snaking along the vines:

“Wounded and blinded, I will find my way home.”

A line adapted from the tale of Ghilan’nain, changed ever so slightly to make it into an oath; the same oath Neilar had taken, years ago, upon completing the trial to earn him a place among the clan’s scouts.

Despite the recent revelations from Solas, it seemed appropriate. Dorian doesn’t remember who was the first to float the idea for adding text, but the approving look he received from Taren - Neilar’s father - upon suggesting that particular quote has been firmly burned into his memory.

And yet… This is all fine and good, but the most important question is - 

“It’s… perfect.” Neilar sounds almost puzzled, as if liking their gift is a surprise to him. “I didn’t know what it would look like, but now - I can’t imagine it looking any other way.”

Dorian feels something inside of him deflate with relief. Neilar keeps inspecting the prosthetic, turning it this way and that, then starts playing with it, testing how far the fingers can bend and how quickly he can shift from one gesture to another.

It’s not as good as the real thing, it’s a little slower; Dorian knows that for a fact.

Still, right now Neilar doesn’t seem to mind; after messing with the hand some more, he shifts his attention to Dagna and pulls her into a hug, thanking her. Then, it’s Dorian’s turn.

The hug is tight enough to make his ribs hurt.

For the first time in weeks, it feels as if everything will be alright, after all.

*

A sharp whistle cuts through the silence.

Neilar freezes, both ears perked up. Distracted.

At the sound of the signal, relief floods Dorian's system. He feels the corners of his mouth twist into a smile of their own accord.

“I still love you, for the record,” he says, “But letting you slit my throat is a little too much, don’t you think?”

With a snap of his fingers, the lightning glyph he’d drawn on the floor of the study hours ago detonates.

[neko-naruto]

Compact Confessional

Summary: Mysterion is holding something from the rest of the Freedom Pals. They should respect his privacy, they really should- but they only take it as a challenge.

Warnings: Suggestive themes, privacy breach, betrayal of trust, swearing, feral behavior (in Kite), the authors attempt at humor, heavy guilt, interrogation, it gets worse but then it gets better guys, I promise

Authors Note: hurgh K2, with the additional flavor of kitesterion because I went batshit over the AU to an insane degree. I have no clue when the Ao3 port is dropping. Sorry if some of the colored text, isnt colored. And fair warning, this badboy levels around 10K words, tumblr starts to lag around 7.5K for anyone curious. it is almost 3 AM (do artists ever stay up insanely late to finish big projects and get so sleepy they forget the hotkey for the eraser tool? I wouldn't know, but somewhere along the line I kept trying to write segue way with a Q because I was fucking disoriented) I need to go to sleep right the fuck now

Mysterion is keeping something from the Freedom Pals, he's keeping something from all of them. Maybe if he was willing to talk about it with someone everyone wouldn't find it so intriguing. Maybe then everyone wouldn't want to know what it is that's so fucking important that no one is allowed to know about it.

Super Craig tries to act like it's nothing super big, aware that if everybody paid no mind to it that it might come out faster. Tupperware followed suite with the idea, Wonder Tweek tagging in as well. Other members of their franchise were a lot less… subtle, about their interest in Mysterions secret, whatever it is. The Coon is practically begging him every single day to tell him what it is, Call Girl even joins in. Toolshed is pretty sure the both of them are just making things worse it they want Mysterion to come clean.

Human Kite is the only one that refuses to meddle at all, even Doctor Timothy has tried getting a peek in Mysterions mind. The alien is the only one that sits there and listens to him bitch about how annoying they are. The only one that pauses to look and listen and take in every visual and audible cue because that's what he's known to do since he first landed way back when. It tells him a lot about his teammates if nothing else.

Still.

Mysterion- no, Kenny McCormick is hiding something from his friends. And given the fact that it's barely coming out even when he's in a state of delirium or terribly wounded, it must be something big.

It's starting to piss off Kyle a little bit.

-/-/-/-

"Thanks for letting me hang out for a bit man," Kenny said as he pulled on his orange parka. He opted to leave his bleached cargo shorts and purple everything else in a pile on Kyles bedroom floor. It was easy to do that when the alien offered to wash them, "Chilling with Cartman all the time definitely does not do wonders for ones mental health."

Kyle gives a laugh, the kind that leaves teeth too sharp on full display. "Totally, I swear to fuck that asshole needs therapy," He stills his tail from wagging like he's a little kid, except, when he was a little kid he tied his tail up so it wouldn't be exposed in an all too human world. An extremely uncaring world for anything different then what they know as normalcy.

"He needs so much therapy," Kenny answered with, "See you tomorrow?"

"On our patrol, I'll make sure your suit is washed," Kyle said, throwing an arm to the side, an invitation for a hug. He wouldn't be sad if Kenny didn't take it, but he still can't help the way his heart skips several beats when he gets one. An anchoring tightness enveloping him, squeezing a comfortable amount on his rib cage that would hurt if he was human.

"Thanks Kyle," Kenny said quietly, head propped near Kyles shoulder but not quite tall enough to rest it on top. He pushes himself on his tippy toes to press the top of his head to the bottom of Kyles chin. He takes a dramatic step back and maybe Kyles tail is swaying a little bit with a silky soft comfort residing on his skin. He clasps his hands together, "Tomorrow."

"Yeah man, see you then," Kyle said, the instant he realized his tail was doing the thing he stilled it entirely. He felt a slight singe of cyan embarrassment. Stupid alien anatomy. Giving away how he feels.

Kenny pivots on his heel and gives a wave, "See ya man!" His steps are light and Kyle is watching with maybe a little bit too much intent.

He has zero legal rights to do so, but emotional and psychological rights? He has plenty. The first one being that he might've imprinted on Kenny the second his family landed on earth. He might've latched onto both Mysterion and Kenny like an orphan duckling in his childhood era of existing- so much so that he couldn't help the absolute giddiness when he learned they were the same. Maybe he got a little bit too attached to Kenny compared to everyone else in a human sense. But in an alien sense, in his instinctual sense, he was the perfect amount of attached considering how he thought of Kenny.

The second reason he stared was because Kenny had an undeniably amazing ass. That wasn't just personal opinion either, they held a vote after a particularly odd argument in the Freedom Pals lair. Kenny won by an absolute fucking landslide in the votes and voter fraud having taken place can't be confirmed or denied by anyone.

Except for Doctor Timothy of course.

And if there is a god, Kyle is praying everyday that the human one makes sure that Doctor Timothy doesn't look into the legitimacy of the votes.

Kyle barely drags himself back from his thoughts, he's been told he can get lost in them sometimes. His tail is wagging again, the multicolored diamond-like frills undulate a little bit. He swings the front door shut reluctantly when he can't see Kenny anymore. He tugs off his gloves and tosses them in a pile alongside his hat, letting the splotchy cyan coloration of his skin show. He makes his way up to his bedroom, but he finds his impossibly human little brother standing in his doorway.

"Ike, get out of the way," Kyle said sternly, giving a bit of a growl under his voice. His adoptive brother just quirks a brow in that annoying manner he learned from the humans.

Ike clears his throat, "No."

"Well why not?" Kyle questioned, growl snuffed and replaced with something louder and more resonant, it vibrated in his brothers flesh. It was something that Ike long since lost the ability to be intimidated by.

"When are you gonna stop inviting over your little posse of partners eh?" Ike asked, crossing one arm over the other. His tone was nothing but accusatory, Kyle saw through it.

"Are you jealous?" Came Kyles instant reaction.

"No," Ike responded with far too fast to be true.

"I'll play some video games with you on Thursday," Kyle offered.

Ike moved out of the way, "Enjoy wallowing in your disgusting room bud."

Kyle ignored him with nothing more than an eye roll, he made a point of slamming his door shut. He kicked aside a small heap of whatever, a mix of something or other he'd been intending to clean up. He gently picks up a small stack of comics Kenny had lent him and places them on his desk. Right beside the Mysterion charm. And the Mysterion action figure. And the other pieces of shitty Mysterion merchandise he had bought.

Okay, yeah, maybe he had a little bit too much Mysterion merchandise. He was just trying to put some extra cash into Kenny's pocket for when money is tight around the house. He just wanted to make sure his best friend was living a decent life, it wouldn't be enough to give him the life Kyle knew Kenny deserved, but it would help.

He takes hold of Kennys outfit and empties the contents of the pockets into a small bin. Loose change, granola bar wrappers, pocket knife, lock pick, the usual stuff he carried around for hero duties and then some. Kyle shakes the hood loose of any twigs or leaves and something large enough to clatter as it hits the metal netting of the bin falls out. His pointed ear gives a flick at the noise, he's dropping to the ground and pulling it out in a second.

He's completely enveloped in the mystery of what was hidden in Kennys hood because A: fucking genius hiding spot, and B: this could be what Kenny was hiding. It could be exactly what Kenny was trying so hard to keep under the radar, what he successfully kept hidden from everyone's prying eyes.

He came up with a tape, jet black, scratched plastic and a cracked see through window bit. There are silver markings across the black, seemingly unpredictable and laid out with either sharpie ink or a paint pen. The paper label is coffee stained and reads the date, recorded last month (why it's still on Kennys person is odd). The log number is left blank, presumably stated in the recording.

It was a jackpot and somewhere in the back of Kyles mind he knew he should ignore it. He knew this was shattering every rule in the book and that he'd be shattering his friendship with Kenny, Mysterion and Human Kite would probably stop being a dynamic duo at that.

But, he needed to know.

He absolutely fucking needed to know.

He wouldn't dare speak it too anyone ever, and he'd return it to the hood right afterwards. He wouldn't even tell Kenny that he listened to it, he'd just sleep at night knowing exactly what Kennys secret is. And that would be more than good enough for Kyle, he wouldn't need anything else.

He reaches blindly for his cassette player, the one he's held onto since he was young. One of his earliest earthly possessions, one he still cherished and used every day. He popped out the cassette already inside and gently placed the pilfered audio into it. He eagerly grabs his earbuds before pressing play.

Professor Chaos is pretty fucking sure doing this shit is helping out my mental state or whatever He doesn't know what he's dealing with He doesn't know that he's playing with fire trying to get me to spill my guts on his fancy therapy chair But, here I am, sitting on top of the police station fully decked out in my Mysterion persona just chatting it up with myself again

I already know exactly what the problem here is Chaos, the center of this massive shitfuck that even paid therapy couldn't fix!

I've probably said that a million times in every one of these stupid fucking recordings... shit I forgot to do that log date ha!

Ahem, log three, topic. Whatever comes out of my fucking mouth.

Kyle presses pause hesitantly.

Oh god.

This is an audio diary, just for spilling Kennys guts.

And he's listening to it.

He should stop. He really, truly, should.

But he doesn't.

Instead he presses play.

Where were we? Right, right, just saying whatever shit that comes to my mind . . . I'm pretty sure that Kyle thinks I can't see him stare at me whenever I fucking bend over or walk away I'm not complaining, I'm flattered really But jeez man just say it outright if you think I have a hot ass

The pause button is slammed this time.

Kyles face is burning up because Kenny knew apparently, he knew that Kyle stared at him at every chance he gets. He feels his stomach twist a bit because oh man, he got caught staring and Kenny didn't even mention. The usage of 'you' makes Kyle feel even more called out on the matter.

He could drop out now, maybe that's the secret, that Kenny knows he stares. He could sleep at night saying that's the thing he's keeping hidden.

I can't talk much if you put everything into consideration But still! Human Kite himself staring at my ass . . . That's fucking awesome if I'm being honest I would hope I'm being honest cause who else is gonna listen to the truth aside from this stupid tape

Like, I'm just doing whatever and I can feel it He is staring holes into me, somedays it's like he's hitting me with those fucking laser eyes! That'd be hilarious actually One second I'm loading a dishwasher and the next my ass is on fire because he couldn't help but stare The Coon would be laughing about that till he's dead

So would Toolshed

And Call Girl

And Mosquito

We'd all get a good laugh out of it

Except for Human Kite

I think he would die of embarrassment if he lit my ass on fire It'd be adorable Bright blue face, ears drooping the slightest bit, maybe his tail would do something I don't know He'd probably say sorry a lot All I know is that after I'm done putting out the fire I'd say "it's fine!" And then I'd think about how cute he looks for weeks on end

Fuck he's absolutely amazing in every sense of the word God, I'm supposed to use these to rant about my shitty family Not gush about my partner in heroics . Oh well

He's perfect! I swear on my mothers grave he is everything That grin he gets whenever he's about to blow someone sky high I can see almost all of his fangs when he does it, which are fucking scary by the way But I'll be damned if it isn't a little bit hot to think about He could kill me and I'll love him He could do absolutely anything to me and I'd still want him so fucking much

And!

And, and, and There's this little thing he does whenever he gets happy Where the weird bits on his tail like, shake? They move, his tail also wags But the frills don't move unless he's actually happy He can fake the wag but he can't fake the frills moving

It's so fucking cute and weird and different I love it

Anyways! This is South Parks number one worst superhero coming to you live from the top of the police station!

. . .

Shit I think someone heard me

Kyle is paralyzed as the tape ends, letting every single word soak into his brain. His tail is doing the thing, it's wagging. Every nerve in his body is alight and he feels his stomach twisting into knots. His claws are digging into the plastic of the tape player as he just stares. His eyes end up resting on his desk, his laptop, with all of his external attachments.

There's a rush to his movements as he grabs it and the oddest, most useless, thing he owns. A reverse recorder of sorts, a simple thing he crafted but never thought he'd have a chance to use. He flips open the top and jams the plug into it's socket before sliding the cassette as gently as possible into the gadget. He should not be doing this, he really shouldn't be doing this.

But he can't keep the cassette to keep hold of the audio, he needs too extract it if he ever wants to hear it again. Which is wrong, and bad, and he absolutely needs to stop but he isn't. He's clicking 'extract' and watching that loading bar fill up gratingly slow.

He places down his laptop gently and balls up the fabrics before leaving. There's a twist of wrong in his gut, but he ignores it as he swings open the washing machine door. He knows how fucking wretched this is, that he'll be absolutely ruined if anyone finds out. He won't be able to live down the shame of having anyone catch word that he knows the secret. That he knows what it is that's keeping Kenny wound up so tightly.

He'll just keep his mouth shut.

Real easy.

Real simple.

-/-/-/-

Kyle might be abusing the knowledge he garnered from the tape, maybe a little bit. He might be curling up next Kenny a little bit more than often, hunched under a flowing purple cape like a cougar despite the height difference. Just maybe he's resting his head atop Kenny's a little bit more than usual, purring a little bit louder whenever he comes into contact with Kenny.

He really doesn't care though, maybe there's a twisted sense of catharsis he gets from the knowledge that yes, it's reciprocated, despite doing nothing to change it. Being awkward homies acting like there's nothing going on below the surface is entirely acceptable and everything that he's wanted from Kenny the second his family landed. Definitely. Absolutely. He didn't imprint. He absolutely did not imprint. He killed off that instinct way back in fourth grade.

Right after he met Kenny.

One second too late. And he is one hundred percent sure everyone in his family can see it, even Ike! Except, the little shit will hold it over him if he gets a chance. Taunting and teasing that Kyle imprinted on his best friend instead of literally anyone else. Of course, the asshole knows better what with every member of his family sporting claws made to rend flesh.

"Kyle!"

The Broflovski perks up a bit at his name being called. Stan sits down across from him, sliding his safety glasses off as he does so.

"You good man?" Stan asked, Kyle nodded.

"I'm great, amazing even," Kyle said, he gestured vaguely as he spoke.

Stan stayed silent for a moment.

Kyle heaved a heavy sigh, "I think I fucked up the first day I landed."

"That was years ago, and just now it's affecting you?" Stan asked. He kicked up his feet to rest on the table.

"Yeah, and Kenny's sort of being an ass. He can trust us, he can trust us more than anyone else in this fucking town!" There's an exasperated exhale as he comes down from the near shout, "How come he's not telling us?"

Stan shrugged, "That's his business, if he doesn't want to tell us, just respect that."

"But-"

"Respect it," Stan pressed, "He might fess up to you first if you just give him time."

"I doubt it," Kyle muttered, barely loud enough for Stan to hear. His tail is snaking around his waist tightly. Tight enough he can feel it sting just a bit.

"Dude. Firstly, calm down," Stan said, Kyle glared at him. The ravenette simply gestured to the prehensile appendage squeezing the air from Kyle's lungs. He drops it, "Secondly, you're his best friend. If he's telling anyone it'll be you."

Kyle gave a hesitant nod, "Yeah, that makes sense."

Stan gave him a grin, comforting, grounding. He dropped down his feet and leaned over the table, holding out a hand. Kyle placed his atop Stan's, his hand was larger. Cyan tinted fingertips tapping along an open palm, "It's fine man, he'll tell us soon enough. It's not like he can keep a secret forever."

"No, you're right man. He can't keep a secret from us forever," Kyle said, a small grin on his face as Stan tightened his grip.

"Now stop stressing so much," Stan said, "Go get some calamari or whatever."

-/-/-/-

Kyle finds the next tape in a vent on top of Unplanned Parenthood while he's on a mission. He's quick to slide it into his pocket before Mysterion can notice. He can't just, jeopardize this discovery, he isn't even sure if he can call it a discovery if he's sure of what it is.

A shoulder collides with him and he stumbles just a bit. His arms are quick to push Mysterion right back up again. There's a crack down his lips and he looks to Kyle, "Get your head in the game, Kite!"

A blast of something or other comes straight at them and there's a brief second of hesitation before Mysterion is tossed out of the way and Kyle is ducking. The blonde is easily caught again and placed down, "Gladly," He takes Mysterion's hand, "Show me how?"

There's a smirk, bone chilling to many but it only makes Kyle's stomach flutter. Mysterion tightens his grip briefly, "Let's go then."

He's quick to launch Kyle forward with a running start, the alien tackling down whichever thug is on them now. Claws detract and tear through silver hued gloves as he snarls, easily dwarfing the goon. They're shaking as Kyle bares his fangs, tail thrashing about and body hunched in a predatory stance. Is he snarling? He is, he's proud of it too as he brings himself to be face to face.

He rears back on his knees, clawed hand raised and ready to slash. He goes to tear open their throat, but a grasp at the back of his collar prevents him. It short circuits him a little bit as the fabric of gloves press against cool skin.

"My friend here isn't exactly human," Mysterion said calmly as he released Kyle's costume. He stayed still and glanced up to Mysterion.

There's a shaky nod from the thug.

"Now, you have two options," Mysterion said. His tongue briefly slid between lips to capture the blood seeping from the crack. He circled around the dropped person a bit more, "Number one, you leave. You run to Canada, and never bother us again."

No response.

"Number two, Human Kite kills you. Right here," Mysterion snaps his fingers and as practiced Kyle gnashes his fangs with a growl, "Right now."

"I'll run! I'll leave!" The convict practically screamed.

"Fine, Kite?" Mysterion said. Claws come down atop the goons eye, deep enough to scar and maybe to go blind in one eye. Kyle stands up, red contrasting the cyan of his fingertips, he watches them run and revels in it.

Once they're far off, darting down staircases and running through the streets, does Mysterion take a seat. He drops down on the roof and Kyle takes a seat beside him, frilled tail wrapping around Mysterion's waist. A hand comes to push back the hood and he leans his head on Kyle's shoulder.

"Dude, being a hero is so sucky," Kenny said with a light laugh, "I just wanna get killed sometimes."

Kyle gives a hum.

"I just come back anyways, but we seriously haven't faced anyone actually dangerous in years," Kenny said, gesturing vaguely as he spoke to drive in the point.

"Definitely," Kyle said, Kenny dropped down onto his back. Kyle leans back to meet him in eye contact.

"I miss when this shit was fun," Kenny said, a sigh on his voice as he spoke.

"I think that most of us do," Kyle answered with. His tongue, forked, flickered out for a brief second.

"You're just like a snake man," Kenny said.

Cyan rose to Kyle's face, "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Like, your tongue. It looks like a snakes, forked," Kenny said, he did the spock thing with his hands as if to display forked. He stuck out his tongue at the same time, "It's really fucking cool. You got some scales right? And those weird little ridges on your back? All of those are snake-y things, Kyle."

"Yeah, cause I'm a freakish little dude," Kyle said extravagantly, as if to make his point he gave a set jazz hands, gloves off to expose to smallest bit of cyan webbing. He sticks out his tongue between too sharp teeth, "Absolutely monstrous."

"I'd hardly say 'little' is the word for you, ya six foot monster," Kenny taunted back, "And I love ya for that man."

Kyle barely beats down the intensifying flush on his face, "Well, won't stop me from being at least a little bit snake like. It's more fun to be a weird creature than a human anyways," He drops down and nudges Kenny's shoulder with his head until he sits up and nudges off the silvery cape. A hand rests in a tangle of red curls for a brief moment before the alien curls around Kenny's back.

"You're also very... Cat. Very feline. Very not human," Kenny said, words teasing but loving nonetheless.

He rested his hand on top of Kyle's head, gently sifting through a sea of red. He leaned back on his friends torso a little bit as he brought a second hand to run through Kyle's hair. He shifted around a bit to rest almost on his knees, facing Kyle just a bit more. His side pressed to Kyle's lower rib cage, his hands didn't leave the redheads hair for a second. He slid down his friends face just a bit, callused thumbs briefly brushing over the ever sensitive auricle fins he had. Were they fins? Not quite, just cyan flares at the base of pointed ears.

He let his fingers scritch just past the back of Kyle's ears, resting atop the buzzed patch of hair. Olive green eyes fluttered shut as Kenny just rubbed right there, the sweet spot. He slumps into Kenny's hands, chin resting at the heel of his palm (he can't see the gentle smile on Kenny's face).

The blonde nearly explodes when Kyle starts to purr. It starts soft, but it slowly grows, shaking Kenny down to his core with his side pressed against Kyle's diaphragm. Or his lungs. Or his whatever it is that makes that wonderful rumbling sound giving Kenny enough serotonin to live forever. He already will, but this is making that eternity sound a lot more bearable. Then he hears a thudding- three, soft thumps before it resets and happens again. His tail is wagging, Kyle really likes being scratched behind the ears apparently.

Kenny's pretty sure he's falling asleep with the pads of his finger, despite being rough and scratchy, gently rubbing behind his ears. He lifts his fingers for a second too long and Kyle opens up his eyes, "Why'd you stop?" He sounds groggy and disappointed, he stops purring.

Kenny picks up the motions, "You were falling asleep," He tosses his cape over Kyle's form.

Kyle lazily blinks, one eye, then the other. He shrugs the best he can, "And?"

"Good point," Kenny said on a hum as he twirls a finger through curls, a light tug.

Kyle's tail starts to thud again and he's sure the afterglow of this will never fade.

-/-/-/-

Kyle's feeling a little bit guilty about tuning into this tape.

Not nearly enough to make him stop though.

He drops down on his bed comfortably, he doesn't even bother to put in his earbuds. His parents are out for the weekend, his brother is at Kenny's to hang out with Karen, presumably fishing. He knows that he's bound to get a call from Ike sometime in the night for a ride, for Ike, Karen, and maybe even Kenny if it's really rough. But, he'll have enough time to listen to the entirety of it.

He presses play.

I think shits getting worse I'm not using these things properly I should be using these for literally anything else! I could talk about how much I worry about my sister, or my money problems, or whatever!

But I'm still using these tapes for just a few little things

Mostly talking about Kite Not gonna use his actual name this time cause someone heard me last week I'm pretty sure I ran them out of town For good

Do I feel bad about that?

Absolutely not

Gotta protect a mans privacy, even if that means blood and intimidation Which uh, I swear it didn't involve blood This time at least

Now, log number... nine? I'm pretty sure this is number nine I would go back and check 'em all out again, but I lost one of them No clue where the little fucker went But it's gone

Kyle pauses the tape. There's missing ones- he needs to find it before Kenny does. He can just put it back later, like he'll do with this one after he's done thoroughly listening to it. He put back the last one, slid it back into the hidden pocket and acted like it never happened.

Of course, since then he's always checked the hidden pocket whenever he got a chance to do so. But, he's been unlucky in terms of finding any up until this one which leaves him with the idea that the rest have been planted around town. He shuts off his rampant train of thought- he is not going to try and sleuth out all of the tapes. He still has some respect for Kenny's privacy, he still has some intention to keep their friendship intact, and most importantly, he still has full intention of never acting on any of what he hears in said tapes.

That would give away that he's been listening to them, a risk he can't take. He clicks the button again.

Look, I always knew Kite was a weird one Everyone does The guys alien, so we cut him some slack on human things that go mostly unspoken

Conversational subtext, call frequency, having beer on ice- simple shit

And in turn, we also try to learn a bit about his species culture I don't even know if species is the right word Does that make me racist? Are aliens even a race to be racist against? Could I even discriminate if only... Three, exist on earth?

So many questions, so little time

Of course, there isn't exactly a lot about his kind I doubt there's a lot of his kind His mom keeps making quips about how all of them would come to earth if it was easier to integrate But honestly? If you just got rid of the alien extremities I would not be able to tell that Kite isn't human

Same with his parents The lot of them blend in perfectly Don't know why she stresses so much And even if they didn't, they have a human to vouch for them A bunch of humans actually

There's a brief pause where Kyle let's himself think about that for a moment. He's never had a chance to think about it before. He doesn't really dwell on it for longer than a minute, flipping himself onto his stomach. His tail lazily sways back and forth as he listens/

I think I got off point there

Allow me to relocate and get back to what I was supposed to be talking about

. . .

There is a fucking line, Kite! You stay on your side of the line! You can't just walk over to my side! Just waltz on over like you own the fucking place! And just, act like it's no big deal! You just sit down right next to me. Like. Right next to me, are thighs are fucking pressed against each other and you lean into me! You just, push your head up against my shoulder like a fucking cat until I give you attention

Which I always do I'm weak

And then you start purring, and your tail does a dumb little wag! And I'm sitting there, begging and pleading, that I don't do something dumb You're putty in my fucking hands Asking me to just shower you in attention! I do, I always do- I always sit there and give you attention

Whatever it is you want I'd give it to you I'd do it for you Anything, for you

The voice softens just a bit, lowering itself. He sounded so very, very mad. Not even mad, just agitated. His voice is heady, wrapped into the narrative he's spinning so accurately. Kyle feels his stomach flip at the words droning so deeply into his skull. The notions made his skin tingle, heart pulsating so very fast he wouldn't be shocked if it exploded all at once.

But no! I stay on my side of the line Like a good boy

Because I don't wanna freak him out Or scare him off

I feel like such a fucking perv And I am a bit pervy I am fully aware of the fact that I am known to stare if someone fine is walking by

But.

To stare at Kite? To want Kite?

It definitely caught me off guard

And he isn't human He doesn't get it I touch him I feel like I'm dirtying him Even if it's just a high five! I have too much on mind for this shit

I see that idiot and you know what I wanna to do?

Do you even wanna to know what I want do to him?

Kyle slams the pause button, he can feel his nerves shoot up in shock. His tail has went from lazily thumping back and forth to wagging like that of a dogs. The minute ridges on his back are shaking, just a bit. He may be mildly cold-blooded, but right now he really can't tell.

He looks down at his hands and they're entirely cyan, normally just a little bit at the tips. The hue shoots up his forearms. He can practically hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, the sound bangs back and forth in his skull.

Oh.

Oh he's opened up a massive can of worms with this tape.

He keeps listening

I'd just

.

I would-

.

Fuck man I can't even say it out loud I don't know what I was thinking!

I'm sitting on top of city hall and I was about to go off about how I'd fuck him!

Could I even fuck him? Are the species compatible? Do aliens even have reproductive organs?

They must They totally do How else do they, how do they reproduce? Eggs?

. . . Nasty

But I would fucking worship him I would do whatever he asked me too Even if he's too unversed in human reproduction to ask me too fuck him up I'd still do what he asks me too

You wanna go out at that new pizza place that charges by the minute? Let's go darling

You wanna go check out the newest arcade cabinet? Baby, the cars already running

You want me to get your logo as a tramp stamp? I might not do that one actually . That's a lie I'd do anything for him

. . .

God, I'm such a mess I need real therapy

Kyle has long since buried his face in a pillow to muffle his screams (although they're closer to high pitched squeals) and cover his ears. He feels like he's running a fever, a really, really bad fever. Every square inch of his body is on fire and he can't care much that he's clawing into his pillow, downy soft feathers spilling from gouges.

He's drawing a blank.

A complete and utter blank.

He hears the click signalling it's over and he feels his stomach twist in regret.

It's a lot easier to hide that you know something if said something isn't... that, whole thing that just happened. His ears are ringing a little bit as the words ping around the sides of his head, like a game of Pong. The pillow is still keeping his face covered as he rolls onto his back, then his side, then his front, and his side again, knees pressed flush against the wall. Fuck, he feels like he's sixteen all over again, and that was just three years ago! He's too young to be having moments like this.

He mechanizes his breathing, eyes wide open as he stares at the darkness of the space themed pillow case in front of him. Sheer darkness with the occasional blip of a lighter hue. His tail is still thrashing, whipping back and forth madly, he's sure it would scuff the wall if it hit it.

He has to come down from his safe space eventually. Even if that safe space is merely a pillow pressed to his face.

He tosses aside the pillow and rolls onto his back and just stares at the ceiling.

His entire existence has officially been flipped on it's head.

He hears his cell phone ring and he reaches for it, answering before even checking whose calling. He gives a cracked, "Hello?"

"Dude are you good? You sound like you've just been crying," Came Kenny's voice, concern laid on thick.

Kyle nearly hangs upon the spot but instead he bites his tongue and doesn't say a word.

"Look man, dads being a bit of an ass, and Ike was wondering if you could come pick him up for the umpteenth time," Kenny said. He gave a hum, "Could Karen tag along?"

"Totally man," Kyle answered with as he sat up, trying so hard to still his tail. It swiped back and forth atop the blankets, he felt a little bit wrong about not telling Kenny what he knew right now. But, this is a bad time to do that, any Kyle can lie his way out of it again. He hesitates before adding, "You need an escape too?"

"It'd be nice, but you already sound tired. Did I catch you at a bad time? Were you perhaps 'jacking it', my fine, alien friend?" Kenny asked tauntingly, his smugness was palatable.

Kyle wished he could just say 'yeah' and move on instead of carefully think over his next words. Life would much simpler if his head didn't catch on the usage of 'fine' in referral to himself. His mouth felt dry but he choked out some words anyways. "Dude, what makes you think I even have a dick? I got that weird ass alien biology, don't I?""

There's a laugh on the other side, "Hey man, not all of my shots are gonna be spot on. But really, if you don't want me over I won't come," There's an tenderness to his voice and the contrast to the almost gritty and desperate tone he had on the tape gives Kyle whiplash.

"You can if you want too, but I'll probably pass out pretty fast," Kyle lied. He'd just lay in bed, wide awake, for potentially hours with Kenny on the floor beside him. That's how it usually went at least.

"Going full on feral like you did earlier takes a lot out of you, doesn't it?" Kenny asked.

Silence.

"Silent treatment, did I strike a nerve bud? Regardless, we'll be out front in ten," Kenny said, "I can make you some hot coco if you'd like."

"That'd be nice," Was Kyle's weak response.

-/-/-/-

The night was a lot more tense than either of them wanted it to be.

They usually shared a hug before actually getting into bed and trying to pass out. And if not that then Kyle would subtly demand some time to just, co-exist, in very close proximity to each other. In even more minimal situations, they would just share some words of 'love you bro' and call it a night.

None of that transpired.

"I can just go home man," Kenny offered at the break of two AM.

Kyle rolled over to the edge of his bed, leaning over it just a bit, "It's fine."

"Is something wrong? Cause like, you've just been acting... off, lately," Kenny said gently as he propped himself on his elbows, both resting on his pillow.

"Nothings wrong," Kyle said, he crossed his arms and rested his chin on them, "I am gonna ask my parents some questions when they get back."

"About what?" Kenny asked quietly, as though he were afraid of shattering the night if he spoke too loud. The navy walls cast deep blue across the room, reflecting the moonlight in a comfortable darkness.

Kyle stayed silent.

"Alien stuff?" Kenny asked.

Kyle nodded, "Yeah, alien stuff."

"Fun," Kenny answered with a scoff. He dropped back down again and turned to face Kyle, Kyle's bed frame at least, "But for real, you're just- somethings going on in your head. I can tell."

Kyle shrugged, "It's stupid."

"I won't judge man, you're my best friend," Kenny said. And he said it in such a way that for a brief second Kyle forgot about the tapes entirely.

"How are you supposed to talk to someone about something you don't want too?" Kyle asked, trying to withhold and give equal amounts of information.

Kenny paused, "Work out the words in your head. Practice once or twice, maybe even record it. Figure out what needs to be reworked. Write it out if you must- just get it out of your head."

Kyle nodded.

"Trust me man, the second it's out of your head and off your shoulders, life will be easier," Kenny explained reassuringly, "Even if it's only for a second or two."

"Thanks bro," Kyle said quietly.

"Least I can do," Kenny said.

There's a beat of hesitance, "Love you man."

"Love you too," And then Kenny turns away from him, tugging the blanket up to his shoulders.

-/-/-/-

Kyle's pretty sure that Kenny is onto him at this rate, but, he tries to ignore the terrible slithering sensation that he's been caught.

He just focuses on whatever comes next.

This time it's none other than The Coon himself deciding he needs to bring something up with Kyle. Silence drenches the room in the worst way possible as he sits across from the hybrid. Furred ears are swiveled to face Kyle and it makes him feel impossibly nervous, he knows that Cartman can hear his heartbeat. Can it hear pick up speed when Stan sits down beside him, even more so when Wendy joins.

And then Clyde, Timothy, Jimmy- all on one side of Cartman.

Tweek and Craig sit down on the side with Wendy and Stan, Scott as well.

"We know you figured it out, Kyle," Cartman said calmly, tone frigid in a way that makes Kyle feel paralyzed. The hybrid clasps his hands together in front of himself on the table.

"Figured what out?" Kyle snaps back with, trying his hardest to muster the usual snarkiness he has around Cartman. Bute he fails, miserably at that. He just sounds pathetic, grasping at straws if nothing else.

"Don't play dumb," Wendy said, she sounded sharp. She may be tough as nails, and normally Kyle respects that, admires it even, but when it's directed towards him? He gets why people run from Call Girl.

"Why in the cosmos should I tell the likes of you?" Kyle answered with, feebly trying to defend Kenny's privacy.

A privacy that he had already thoroughly breached and ravaged, alongside the unspoken trust they had. He had wrecked it, ruined it, destroyed it- but he could salvage it from the fact Kenny didn't know that Kyle knew.

"You can trust us, Kyle. We're your best friends," Clyde said. And he was right, he was so right.

Kyle's tail snaked itself around the chair leg, "Really guys, I don't know what you're talking about-"

"His secret, Kyle," Cartman said, "Tell us."

"I," He hesitated, "I can't."

"You've already fucked up your relationship with him enough, Kyle. I got Wendy to do a deep dive on your species, and of the few things she could find, she discovered this," Cartman said. He raised a folder, an awful beige and orange hue, and slid it over to Kyle.

The alien hesitantly took it. It was three pages thick, presumably doubled sided. He opened it and skimmed through the headings, he knew every single trait in and out. He paused at the highlighted one, "You're joking."

"This is serious man," Stan said, "We wouldn't just accuse you of imprinting of Kenny without any basis."

"That's stupid. He's my best friend. That's all, that's our dynamic- the kind of dynamic that rakes in loads of cash," Kyle defended with, hoping that pressing on Cartman's one pressure point would make him let up. He slammed the folder shut and slid it back, "Even if I did imprint on him, it would ruin the franchise and never be reciprocated."

"Then tell us what the secret is, you have nothing to lose, no? Just a friend, they come and go on earth," Cartman said. He was calling Kyle's bluff, did he even realize it? He probably did, or if he didn't, he'd snoop until he did.

"Ask Professor Chaos instead, he knows more," Kyle said, trying so, so hard to deflect. The tension pooling everywhere under his skin was agonizing. He needed an out so bad, he needed an escape so, so fucking bad.

Cartman scoffs, "Already done, he said he was sworn to some oath of secrecy, sent us to you."

Kyle stays silent, forcing eye contact with the sleaze in front of the him. The trash eater himself, scraping tactics from the bottom of the barrel.

"Just tell us, no harm will come from it," Cartman said sternly.

"It'll destroy my friendship with Kenny," Kyle snarled out.

"No new harm will come from it, we all know the damage has been done my friend, it's just yet to be discovered," Cartman said, words cutting into Kyle like a knife.

He bites his tongue, Cartman's right, "Give me a week to collect more information on the subject, then I'll report back with the news."

There's a smug and satisfied grin on Cartman's face as he leans back, "See? That wasn't so hard, was now?"

Kyle stands up and pushes away from the table, "I'm going."

"Don't forget about your patrol with Mysterion tomorrow evening, Kite!" Cartman calls out, head leaned back on his chairs backrest.

Kyle's tail is swaying angrily, "Fuck off."

His fangs are grinding against each other as he storms off, if it weren't for the fact he was in suit he would punt the closest chihuahua like a football. Or do something else just as dumb. Maybe kick a fire hydrant and hope it doesn't dent, or punch a tree. Something to make the tense feeling uncoil, to let himself just relax for one second.

He doesn't deserve that though.

He's been uprooting the very foundations of his friendship with Kenny, all because of some morbid curiosity. And Kenny doesn't even fucking know. Kyle is just getting away with it cause he's being awfully slick with how careful he is to put everything back exactly where he found it.

The worst part is how long it's taken for him to feel genuine guilt about it if nothing else. He's such a fucking snake, biting onto his relationship with Kenny and refusing to let go. Sinking fangs deeper and deeper, searching for more even though it's cannibalizing itself. And the first taste is all that it takes to get someone hooked, shame that the thing he got a taste of was metaphorical guts. Kenny just hasn't realized he's stuck in this ouroboros of a relationship.

Despite that, a really twisted and messed up part of him persists in wondering when he'll find the next tape.

-/-/-/-

He finds the next tape almost a week after the interrogation.

Although, we're using the term 'find' rather loosely here. Instead it sort of, fell directly into his lap. And despite knowing better and not wanting to go any further, he still held onto it and didn't let go.

"Thanks for washing my gear man," Kenny said as he stood at the door, Kyle held the bundle of purple fabrics in hand.

He gave a smile, as convincing as he could manage, "No problem man, least I can do."

"See ya tomorrow bro," Kenny said before pivoting on a heel to leave which struck Kyle as odd. The blonde usually loitered for a little bit, chatted casually about whatevers on his head. But none of that came today.

Still, Kyle closed the door and walked down to the luandry room before shaking out the purple. There was that clatter, plastic against unfinished flooring, it was just concrete at the moment. He tossed in the clothing and flipped on the spin cycle with a bit of lavender scented soap. He slid down the front of the washing machine and stared at the tape.

He shouldn't.

He really shouldn't.

He does.

He grips the tape and slams it into the player and hits the play button before he can further question his actions.

I know you're hearing this, Kyle I don't know how long you've been listening to my diary for But it's you It has to be you

Kyle swears his heart stops dead in its tracks. He barely registers that the grit Kenny forces when he's acting out Mysterion has disappeared. That this is just Kenny now.

Who else would be messing with my tapes They're never just right when you put them back You leave scuff marks on the plastic I can fingerprint things, Kyle

I planted this one And log number twelve The rest though? I don't know how many of those you've heard

I'll admit I never meant for number three to fall into your hands I just thought you'd be kind enough to not listen in

. . . How wrong I was

And it's a real shame too You better not have told the rest of the team, Kyle I will make you regret every single breath you've taken if you have

But, that's only if I can get that intel from the gang Do be warned that Cartman is very easy to persuade It won't take me much longer than ten minutes to make him crack

The rest will go even faster Although, I'd give Wendy much longer Craig? He'll be shattering in seven minutes, tops Tweek? Three, maybe four Stan? He trusts me more than you'd expect, he won't even fight

I hope I was right about you being smart, Kyle

Kyle's blood turns to ice.

He is so fucked.

At least he didn't tell Cartman.

You already know my big secret And you have two options, Kyle

Option one: Meet me at Starks Pond tonight to confirm how you feel about the contents of these logs. I'm probably sitting there right now

Option two: Don't. This horrible relationship limbo can remain just like this, on my end I've been stuck here for years

Look, Kyle, what you've done here You're forcing my hand I don't have any other options

Do what you want

I clearly can't stop you

The tape is flung from the cassette player to the other side of the room, it hits the wall and cracks. A thousand regrets pool in the pit of Kyle's stomach and he wants to vomit. He also wants to curl up in a ball and die. Or live in Cartman's basement instead, those are all good options.

But in the same breath...

He's being given a choice when he was sure this whole thing he had with Kenny would simply implode, collapse in on itself and die. He has one chance to make this better than it is. He'll never be able to make this right, but, he can at least try and reinforce the breaking pieces before it's entirely broken.

He picks himself up off the ground and starts on his way up the stairs. He freezes at the door, is he gonna do this? Is he gonna go out to Starks Pond and talk like he should've far too long ago?

Yeah, yeah he fucking is.

The real question is if he's actually gonna say whats been fueling his co-dependency with Kenny for so long.

He isn't sure if he'll manage to fess up to the stupidest biological function he has. He'll try, he'll make an attempt to explain exactly what's been conspiring inside of his head without him even realizing for so many years. He'll at the very least get out a couple words to explain the dumbest thing he's been roped into by his own genetics and unfortunate timing.

-/-/-/-

The ever-present snow and ice crunches under Kyle's boots, but that's the last thing he's focusing on. His eyes are trained ahead of hi as he walks along the edge of Starks Pond. His tail is still, a very rare occurrence.

When he reaches the edge of the pond that Kenny's standing at he's lost his words. The blonde is just staring at him, looking for tells. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his orange jacket, bright orange, pumpkin orange. Kyle can't focus on anything.

"It worked, you nosy little shit," Kenny said, words weaponized with ease.

"Yeah, it worked," Kyle said. He took a step closer, "I'm sorry," and then another, "For everything really," A third step and Kenny tenses, flinching back just a bit. In turn Kyle steps back.

"For what? Did you tell them?" Kenny asked defensively. He sounded scared more than anything else.

"I know better than that Kenny, they did interrogate me though," Kyle explained stiffly.

Kenny gives a hum, "That gets that problem out of the way."

Kyle nods, "Yeah, that it does."

"So, you listened to three, nine, twelve, and seven, right?" Kenny asked.

"Sorry," Kyle said.

"At least have the decency to dignify me with an answer man, you just fucking ruined me. I had to record that final tape five times before it was good enough to use. I swear to god, normally I'd cut you some slack and now you know why, but not this time," Kenny spat sharply, "So, you listened to those tapes, right?"

"Yep, the four that you listed," Kyle said, his attempt to stay professional just made him sound stiff and disjointed.

This time Kenny faltered before speaking, "And your opinions on them?"

"Positive," Kyle answered with faster than a bullet. His tail flicked as he spoke.

"Anything else?" Kenny asked, desperation heavy on his voice. Thick like molasses.

"I think I imprinted on you- which means something different then it does for the ducks!" Kyle was quick to backtrack on his words, Kenny just looked intrigued, "My species has a 'thats the one' instinct. If we find the right person, it activates, and according to my parents at least, it's usually subliminal. When we landed, I imprinted on you- so, to me, you're the one. And for all I know, unless you die and stay dead, that stupid ass hormonal flux won't go down."

Kenny stayed silent.

"I'm stuck fixating on you until one of us dies, my kind mates for life, and unless I submit myself to experimental science the animal part of my brain is gonna keep screaming that you're mine. Which is kind of annoying, and dumb, and gets in the way- and I didn't even realize it until I found that first tape. I've just been infatuated with you since grade four and I don't know how to make it stop," Kyle spilled, some words meshing together in a blend of syllables. Cyan progressively rose to his face the entire time he spoke. He dropped down to the ground, facing away from Kenny and towards the water, "I'm so fucking sorry Kenny."

Kenny took a few tentative steps closer to where Kyle sat, his tail lay curled around him yet limp on the ground. His ears were drooping a bit and he looked ashamed of himself, a little bit distraught at that. "I'm not gonna disown you, Kyle. That'd just be fucking stupid."

"I didn't mean to ruin your life man, you could've been scoring. God, I probably scared off so many people without even realizing it," Kyle choked out weakly. He pressed his nails into the heel of his palm, "I swear I didn't mean to imprint on you. I swear man- I can try and suppress it."

"It's fine, Kyle," Kenny said as he crouched down beside Kyle. He bumped their shoulders together.

No response.

Okay, that was worrying. It struck a particular chord in the depths of Kenny's chest. One very, very similar to the 'my sister is hurt' chord, which unlocks a specific subset of reactions. Those reactions include:

A: Unbridled violence on whoever caused this B: Giving tried and true advice C: Terrible jokes and playful punches D: Just listening with or without a glass of warm milk

None of those options seem optimal, so Kenny improvises.

"I mean, the whole 'imprint' thing doesn't bother me," Kenny said as he sat down behind Kyle. His knees were bent and he rested his head on Kyle's shoulder.

"Dude I fucking ruined your life," Kyle got out quietly, his tail snapped to punctuate his sentence. It wrapped itself around Kenny's thigh, just above his knee.

"Beg to differ," Kenny said as he slowly raised his hands up. He gently placed them at the base of Kyle's skull, he tensed but didn't move. Kenny slowly rubbed circles in just behind Kyle's ears in the hopes it would calm him down.

Kyle leaned back into Kenny a bit, "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Half of those tapes were me going off about how much I adore you and want you, Kyle. I know you have a brain in there, put it to some use," Kenny said, a small grin on his face as he spoke. He could feel Kyle start to purr, "Just think about it."

Kyle paused for a moment, to just let all of the data sink in. He felt like a total idiot when the conclusion formed in his head, "Oh."

"Yeah," Kenny answered with, "Good thing."

"I'm such a fucking idiot," Kyle said with a laugh on his voice. He squeezed a bit tighter around Kenny's leg, constricting, like a snake, "Can't wait to confirm my families suspicions."

"Do they think we're a thing?" Kenny asked as he combed his fingers through Kyle's hair.

Kyle nodded, "Probably, apparently I've been signalling some very, very vulgar and subtle things to you with my tail for the past six years. I didn't even notice my tail was moving half the time, but it was- mom and dad had to explain that to me which was fun."

"Did you stop?" Kenny asked.

"Naw, definitely not," Kyle answered with smugly, "You never knew anyways."

Kenny gives a hum, "I would say I was giving some vulgar signs myself, but humans don't have a good way to do that discretely."

"I've noticed," Kyle said, "I can read half of you like books with all the tells each of you have."

"Guess Ill have to be even more mysterious so the guys don't catch on," Kenny said as Kyle started to purr, the vibrations rapidly picking up in volume. It felt nice.

"They aren't idiots dude," Kyle said, "They'll catch on soon enough."

"Or we could just walk in there holding hands one day, wait for someone to point it out and go 'yeah we're dating now' and just act like nothing has changed," Kenny said, "Even if we don't go to the movies or eat out at restaurants- that'd be funny."

"We'll see what happens first," Kyle answered with. He holds his breath for a beat, "Love you, Kenny," There's a veritable depth to the words now.

"Love you, Kyle," Kenny answered with the same as he always has, Kyle just never noticed the subtext. He presses a brief kiss to Kyle's forehead.

-/-/-/-

Stan is the first one too notice that Kyle and Kenny are different. A good different though. They're more synced up on the field, better at silent communication, just predicting each other in general. It definitely benefits the team as a whole for the crime-fighting, but whether or not the development is good for the franchise is a whole other story.

He's the first one to ask around about it too.

"Hey Wendy, Kyle and Kenny-"

"Are acting off? I noticed," Wendy said, cutting Stan short with ease. She glanced up from her phone, "I'm already scouring about for details."

"Anything actually come up?" Stan asked.

Wendy shook her head, "Nope, you'd assume that there'd be something; but most searches are coming up dry."

"Worth a shot," Stan said with a sigh.

"You should go ask Craig, he's pretty close to Kenny," Wendy offered up and before she could finish her sentence Stan was looking for Craig.

He was sitting at his desk as usual, cruddy costume and all.

"Craig whats up with Kyle and Kenny?" Stan asked.

And without skipping a beat Craig answered with, "They're homosexuals, Stan."

"What?" Came Stan's dead response, words hollow and in disbelief.

Craig nodded to the aforementioned duo walking in, "Go ask why they're holding hands."

Stan faltered.

"Listen, if you're afraid I'm right you should've asked out Kyle sooner to avoid it," Craig blatantly accused, the words forced the air from Stan's lungs like a sucker punch.

Now aware that Craig is going to keep mentally gut punching him, Stan just heads on off to Kyle and Kenny. They are indeed holding hands, and Kyle's tail is wrapped around Kenny's thigh, just above his knee.

"Look, you two," Stan began with.

"Yeah man, what's up?" Kyle asked, and he's hiding a grin poorly. He's sure that it adds to the confusion Stan is displaying.

Kenny was right.

This is pretty fucking funny.

"How come you guys are holding hands?" Stan asked quietly.

"Kyle imprinted on me," Kenny said bluntly, "We're dating now."

"How long has this been going on for?" Stan asked.

Kyle shrugged, "A month, we were waiting for you guys to notice."

Craig gives a smug, "Told you so!" from his desk.

"Were you guys betting on what was happening?" Kenny asked, an undertone of a snicker to his voice.

"No, even if we did Craig would've won," Stan said spitefully.

Kyle grins a bit, "No need to be sour man, you can still break the news to Cartman, I'm sure it'll be hysterical to see his reaction."

"Dude. Let's go find Cartman," Kenny said eagerly, he was practically vibrating where he stood. Hes grinning that gap tooth grin, "I need to see his reaction right now."

"Wanna tag along?" Kyle asked, holding out a hand to Stan.

He refrained from taking it, "Totally man."

Craig sidles up beside the three of them, "I got a camera to record it."

[a-dog-with-different-paws]

OK IS THIS ANY GOOD?

HELP

[giggly-squiggily]

Hi <3 If mha slots are still open, Dadzawa + lee!Shinsou and 🧡Miss you, please

*sobs* I love Dad!zawa so much! AJejkajkekjrajkr I've gotcha covered, anon! :D

Miss You- "When's the last time you smiled?"

“Damnit!”

Aizawa hummed as he watched Shinsou fall to the ground, tangled in his scarf once more. “That’s enough for the day. We’ll pick this back up tomorrow.”

“I can go again!” Shinsou began, even though his voice was a touch breathless. He sounded as exhausted as he looked.

“You might, but I can’t.” Aizawa shook his head, walking over and gently untangling his student. With a single tug, the capture scarf fell around him like curtains, freeing him completely. “I’m not young anymore- I only have so much stamina per day.”

He figured Shinsou would make one of his usual jabs- poking fun at Aizawa for calling himself old or arguing that he was just being lazy, but instead the kid sat quietly, his expression tense and on the verge of tears. Aizawa furrowed his brow as he squatted beside him. “Hey, kid. What’s up?”

“I just- I don’t think I’m getting it.” Shinsou bowed his head, blinking rapidly as his fists clenched knuckle white. “It’s so frustrating! I had it yesterday- I don’t know why today I suddenly suck!” He threw the grass he gathered up aside in his anger, letting his hand fall into his lap in defeat. “I know, I know- it’s all part of the learning process, and I’ll get better in time, but I just..”

“Yeah.” Aizawa hummed, knowing the feeling all too well. “It’s total shit, huh?”

Shinsou snorted, fighting down a smile at the swear. That gave the older man an idea. “Hey, Hitoshi- when’s the last time you smiled?”

“What? What are you say-Ah!” Shinsou yelped when Aizawa’s fingers wiggled into his side. “Nohohoho, dohoohoohn’t!”

“Don’t what? I’m only sitting here, giving advice like the wizened old man I am.” Aizawa teased, grinning as Shinsou doubled over, shoving at his hand. “Cheer up, kid. Pouting will get you nowhere.”

“Iiihiihiih’m nohohohohot pohooohohohuting! And yoohohoohohu’re nohohohot evehheehehn that ohohohoohhold!” Shinsou argued, giggling helplessly when the hand on his side moved to his back, making him arch and cackle. “Stahhahahap, sthahhahahp!”

“Heh, alright.” Aizawa pulled his hand back, watching Shinsou fall into the grass with a huff. “Feeling better now?”

“Ahehehe..hehehee…befhohohore or ahahafter the tihhihickle atahhahck?” Shinsou huffed. He was tired again, but at least now he was smiling. “I dohoho…thanks, I guess.”

“You guess?” Aizawa raised a brow, jabbing him in the ribs again. Shinsou squeaked.

“Ohohokay oohohhkay, Thank you!” He rushed out, earning a raspy chuckle from his mentor.

“Good. Come on, kid- let’s get out of here before Mic starts yelling.”

Candy Heart Prompts Are Officially CLOSED!

[kingcaspian43]

duolingo,

what the fuck is this?

[sayitaliano]

How to use the idiomatic sentence "Mi sono cadute le palle" in a speech.

Basically you use when you tell somoene else about something disappointing you have been through or someone told you. It could be used also with irony, so to tell this event with a ironic/funny acception (it's nothing too bad anyway, so you can "laugh" about it when you recall it)

For example, let's suppose you had an appointment with someone on a certain day and let's suppose they cancel it because they forgot about another plan or they actually didn't want to come with you (rude, yeah, but eg.). Your first direct reaction would be "Ma non me lo potevi dire prima?" = Couldn't you tell me beforehands?

So when you tell about this to your friend you could say "Dovevamo andare insieme a X (=posto) ma mi ha scritto la notte prima dicendomi che si era dimenticat* di avere un altro impegno/ch enon voleva più venire con me.... Mi sono cadute le palle" = "So we had to go together to X (=place) but they wrote me like the night before to tell me they forgot they had another plan for the next day/they don't want to come anymore... my balls fell."

Another example kinda from irl. Let's suppose you're telling this to your friend again: "Allora ho chiesto questo documento, ma mi hanno detto di andare a ritirarlo dopo 3 settimane. Quando sono andata a ritirarlo, mi hanno detto che dovevo ritirarlo da un'altra parte. Così sono andata là e quando sono arrivata, la guardia all'ingresso mi ha detto che quel giorno era chiuso... mi sono cadute le palle, non hai idea!" = So I asked for this document, but they told me to go come pick it up in 3 weeks. When I went to pick it up, they told me I had to go to another structure. So I went there, and when I arrived, the guard told me that on that day they were closed... my balls fell, you have no idea"

Ofc if you don't actually have balls, you could also add (not mandatory, as it's just an hyperbole you're using): Mi sono cadute le palle anche se non le ho = even if I don't have them. And to add more "fun" right after: Le ho sentite proprio fisicamente staccarsi dal mio corpo. = I really felt them physically break away from my body.

[rattenmann]

Wanna know what’s messed up?!!? Beckett was 18 when he was kidnapped on Christophe’s ship and his mom died. 18!! That’s to damn young!! It was during one year that the worst moments of his life happened. The kid deserved a break at one point, but no, he goes and starts overworking himself at the EITC and shoves away his feelings to do good business!!!

(i reread the book and i recalled that his sister does not die when hes 18, but later)

[theiceemperor]

People, today I present you:

Leonardo "I'm so fucking tired of this BS" Splinterson.

[fangirls-fanfiction]

I just finished up chapter two lol

Story below undercut:

"Will you quit crying?"

The Devil dragged a sobbing Queen Dice into her office, looking her over just to make sure all the fire was completely out. Aside from a small ember on the top of her head, everything seemed to be fine. Though what wasn't fine was Dice's clothes being burnt and smoldered, along with a good portion of her hair burnt much shorter. She was a downright mess.

"I don't know what you were thinking—" The Devil scoffed as she closed the bedroom door behind her. "What were you expecting to happen when you got close to Hellfire?!"

"I— I— "

"Do you have any idea what could've happened if I hadn't gotten there in time? You could've died! Or worse!"

"... W— Worse than dying...?" Queen Dice asked.

"The point is that I told you to stay put!"

"I— I know... I should've listened... I'm sorry..."

"Damn right."

The Devil rolled her eyes, quickly changing the subject. She put the small flame out atop Dice's head, taking care of the rest if the fire.

"Are you alright?" She asked, impatiently.

"I was— I— I was nearly burnt to— To— To smithereens by y— Your Hellfire, do you think I'm— I'm ok?" Queen Dice hiccuped as she spoke through her tears, though still managed to sneak in the snide comments.

"Hey, I don't need the sass." The demon snarled back at her. "Now, let's get you cleaned up."

"What— What am I gonna do?" Dice sniffed, looking down to her ruined dress. "This was one of my m— Mamas favorite dresses..."

"Well, I think you could used a new style anyway. A show woman like you doesn't wear things like..." The Devil gestured to her dress. "That."

"But... B— But I've always worn dresses like these... If— If my mama were to find out I disobeyed her, she would— She— She would— "

Queen Dice was cut of by a loud groan from the Devil.

"For Hellfire's sake, following your parents' rules is so... Boring." The demon rolled her eyes. "What's life without getting to choose things for yourself, huh? For Hell's Sake! You're a grown woman, you don't need your mommy's approval."

Queen Dice thought for a moment, but didn't say anything.

"So what do you want to do? You can wear that stupid dress, or you can try to think for yourself for a change."

Lucifer sighed, noticing her rather unsure expression. "Look, why don't we start with the hair? Hm? Why don't we cut it all at the same length, and if you don't like it, I'll turn it back to normal. Deal?"

"O— Ok..."

"Great, now let me see."

Hesitantly turning around, Queen Dice gave the demon a better look at what she was working with. Though to the demon's horror, it was going to be a rather tough battle.

"I'm going to have to cut a lot off of this to make it even."

"What are you, a hair stylist?" Queen Dice asked.

"When living on this miserable planet for so long, one must have different hobbies." The demon explained nonchalantly.

"Besides stealing souls?"

"Yes, besides stealing souls. Now, hold still."

With a simple wave of her hand, a pair of scissors and a comb appeared in the demon's hands and she got to work. Queen Dice flinched as she cut her hair. The scissors being about level with her shoulders; quite a bit was being cut off indeed. Dice began crying again, obviously trying to keep her emotions at bay but letting a few hiccups slip through.

"I said hold still." The demon tugged on her hair slightly.

"S— Sorry." Queen Dice wiped the tears away.

"Can't you do things right the first time you're asked to?"

"So— Sorry..."

"Stop apologizing."

"S— I mean... Ok..."

Rolling her eyes, the Devil continued. A few minutes later, the demon finished, putting the scissors and comb aside.

"Turn around, let me see."

Dice's curls were much more pronounced with the shorter hair, giving it less weight and more freedom for the locks to curl every which way. The poor girl's hair looked an absolute mess. She'd hate for Dice not to feel confident about her new haircut, especially to prove her point. So she thought up a way to make it look better at its current shoulder length compared to the long length it was.

"Hold still."

She took Dice by a couple of locks of hair in each side of her face, pulling her hair out of her eyes. Those beautiful, emerald green eyes. The demon stared, tilting her head to one side for a moment. She really did look nice with the shorter hair, even with her longer hair Dice was a very attractive lady. A very very attractive lady. Especially her green eyes. They complimented the purplish-pink color to her hair so well, especially with this short hair. A familiar feeling began to grow in the pit of the demon's stomach.

Though, realizing she'd been staring for too long, the demon let go of her hair

"Turn back around for a second."

Doing as she was told again without even a word, the only sound Queen Dice made was a small sniffle as she seemed to be still crying.

Summoning a hair clip, the demon did her best to pull back Dice's hair to keep it out of her face. Satisfied with her work, a mirror appeared, the Devil facing Dice towards it.

"How is that? Do you like it or do you want to change it back?"

Queen Dice stared at her reflection, blinking. She seemed surprised, intrigued even. She stared for so long that the Devil was convinced she hated it.

"Look," The demon sighed. "If you don't like it, you don't have to give me the silent treatment."

"No!" Queen Dice turned around to face her. "I love it. Thank you... Boss."

The Devil's narrow gaze widened slightly, her ember eyes staring at Dice for a moment. That feeling in her gut returned unexpectedly, this time accompanied by a weird sensation in her chest. Though strange, it wasn't a feeling that the demon particularly hated. It felt nice. Scary, but nice. Perhaps it was because— No, it was a simple thing that she'd never experienced before;

She'd never been thanked before. Not that she regularly did nice things but in the occasion that she did, she didn't usually receive very positive feedback. Why, just the other day, some dumb baby had dropped its favorite toy without the mother realizing. Feeling rather kind that day, the Devil decided to return it to its rightful owner... Only to receive a blood curdling scream and a smack across the face from the mother's purse in return. Mortals were just too quick to jump to conclusions when it came to the ruler of Hell.

The demon's neutral expression returned with that thought.

"Whatever." The Devil rolled her eyes as she began to walk away. "Go get yourself cleaned up and come back to my office." She stopped as she opened the door for Dice. "I have a special job for you; if a self-proclaimed, show-woman such as yourself can do it right."

"Wh..." Queen Dice decided to ignore the comment. "What 'special job' do you mean?"

"If you're such a connoisseur of music and dance, then you're going to use that to get me souls. A lot of souls."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Get yourself dressed, you look like you just crawled out of a house fire."

"Ok..." Queen Dice walked out the door, the demon slamming it behind her.

Once she heard Dice's footsteps far enough away, the Devil sighed loudly, slouching back to her desk.

"C'mon, Dev, get ahold of yourself... You can't do this to yourself again..." She told herself as she sat down in her comfy chair behind her desk and leaned her chin on her hand.

"It's never worth it when you're the Devil..."

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

Queen Dice let out a deep breath, knocking on the door of her new Boss' office. Her nerves were a wreck. Especially after a near-death experience, making a deal with the literal Devil, nearly getting burnt alive from Hellfire, and getting this new haircut and style in roughly the same week— She was particularly tense.

Though after wearing this new suit her boss had so generously given to her, she found a new sense of self. All her life, she was just another Dice from that family of hers. But looking in that mirror, her name meant something. It gave her a new found confidence.

But that confidence was quickly lost when she knocked on her Boss' door. What was left slipped through her fingertips when the door opened.

Offering a smile at the demon, Lucifer only seemed to glare at her as she opened the door wider and walked off back to her desk.

"So, Dice," The Queen of Hell started, sitting on her rather comfy-looking chair. "About that job I was talking about?"

"Yes?"

"You're a Dice, right? You've lived your life on the stage. And you've got talent like no other."

"Y— Yes? You know about my family...?"

"Let's just say that I've gotten to know your father pretty well." The demon smirked.

Queen Dice blinked, grimacing at that thought, though not saying anything.

"Not in that way." The Devil frowned, seeming to read the woman's mind. "I mean that he's made quite a few deals with me. Where'd you think he got all his money?"

"Hard work and dedication?"

Old Scratch rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"Anyways, about that job."

"Yes?"

"I want a way to bring in unsuspecting souls. In a town as bland as Inkwell, no one can resist a pretty little lady who dances and sings."

Queen Dice didn't say anything, still she felt the heat rise to her face. Something about her Boss calling her a 'pretty little lady' left her rather speechless and surprisingly flattered.

"A game show. One that no one can lose. Hosted by a pretty doll no one can say no to."

"M— Me?" Queen Dice asked, pointing to herself.

"Yes, you, you blockhead!"

Backing a step away, Dice shut her mouth, nodding.

"A person plays three games— Incredibly easy, anyone, even the most incompetent person can win them— " The Devil continued to explain, standing from her seat. "And after they win, they get to go to the... The..." The demon stopped, seeming to have not thought up the finishing detail.

"The... Mystery... Surprise Room...?" Queen Dice offered on the spot.

"Yes! The Mystery Surprise Room!" Lucifer seemed excited by that idea, putting a smile on Dice's face.

The things that seemed to make the Devil happy were very... Odd. Not everyone was obsessed with getting their hands on every soul in the world. Though seeing that spark of excitement and joy on her Boss' face made Dice want to keep her happy. Please her in any way possible, even if the things that made her happy were very... Unorthodox.

"And do you know what the surprise will be, Dice?" The Devil got closer, her smile turning to a sneer.

"What?"

"That's when I snatch their soul."

"O— Oh..." Dice's gaze fell to the floor.

It felt wrong. So wrong. Just plain evil to lure people in with her charm and talent just for them to get their soul snatched away from them.

"I'm— I'm not so sure if I can— "

"When you work for me, you do as I say. And you do it perfectly. Unless you'd like to know what Hellhounds eat for their breakfast."

"N— No! I'll do it— I'll host the show for you." Queen Dice panicked.

"Good, good... Now you'd better go get some rest. Opening night is tomorrow night." The demon started back to her desk.

"T— Tomorrow?! B— But I can't— How am I supposed to know what to do by tomorrow?! Don't I get a script or— Or— Or something?!"

"You're the show woman, figure it out."

"Buh— But— Boss!"

"But Boss!" The Devil mocked her. "I'm not the one who made the deal. You work for me, you follow my rules."

Queen Dice was close to tears at this point. She hated her Boss. God she hated her. There was no reasoning with her, no matter how batshit insane her standards were, there was no talking her out of it. Still, Dice refused to cry in front of her Boss, she hated to see what would happen if she found Dice crying. No doubt mockery would come soon after. So she held them back, only letting a small, shaken breath slip.

"Yes, Boss." She managed to choke out as she walked out of the office.

The door clicking behind her, a few tears ran down her face. Silently crying, she quickly wiped them away, in fear that a demon or an imp might see her.

Every moment since the beginning of all this, the same question ran through Dice's mind.

Was death really worse than this?

[ask-butterfly-liam]

hey cas hey wes how's it going? also what are your jobs, are they the same as liam's?

Howdy! It’s going good, I’d say!

The jobs we bugs have are kinda self-appointed, but I’d say the one I’ve given myself is basically the same to Liam’s. I help out those who can’t pass on, help out those that really need help through metamorphosis, fun stuff like that!

I involve myself in my job a lot more that Liam and Wes do - especially Wes. He just… kinda watches people. Ain’t like stalking, no. More like… studies them? Maybe? Creeps all the newbies out, sometimes. I swear he’s the reason a lotta the people here are afraid of us, kehahaha!

Thanks, Cassie.

No problem, cricket!

M’doing good.

Cassie explained this earlier, where bugs’ve self-appointed jobs’n the lot. Me, I sit around’n watch. Isn’t my thing to try’n help people - I suck ass at that. Can’t help people If I can’t even help myself, yeah?

I like to call my job “supervising”. Watch people to make sure they’nt get in any trouble here. Patrol every so often, sometimes guide dead couples back together if I’m lucky. The usual.

[cocoafloodsthemetro]

This is why I can't be left alone with paper and anything that leaves a mark