#shove some self-sufficiency down his throat for his own good

[cave-monkey]

Tripitaka constantly asking for food, especially in the earlier chapters, reminds me that he was possibly about 18-20 at the beginning of the journey.

A little beyond the true bottomless pit stage, sure, but maybe not quite outside it yet.

[highqueenofelfhame]

rowaelin month day ten

rowaelin month day ten -- single parents. masterlist // buy me a ko-fi // redbubble  

The morning truly couldn’t have been going worse. Aelin had woken up to the nanny telling her she’d come down with the stomach flu. Aelin wasn’t cruel enough to tell the poor girl she had to work through it; instead encouraging her to drink as much water as she could and get some much-needed rest. Evangeline had apologized profusely, but Aelin was having none of it. She reassured her that she could figure it out.

It turned out she couldn’t. Her mother and father both worked sixty hours a week. Aelin knew that her mother would take a day if Aelin called, but she couldn’t bring herself to make the call and disrupt her week. Evie’s father had died in a car crash before she was even born. Everyone who was a viable option worked full-time jobs, leaving her three-year-old in her hands. She could call out, but she had a mountain of a workload that she’d left last night, reassuring herself she would get it done today. Everything she needed was at her office, so working from home was out of the question. All signs were pointing to an impromptu “bring your child to work” day. 

The CEO of the company was a good friend of hers, and Aelin knew that Dorian wouldn’t mind seeing his goddaughter toddling around the office. In fact, she knew that he would eventually steal her away for a snack time at some point so Aelin could get some work done. It would likely be a snack that wasn’t mommy approved, but she would give him a free pass today.

It would be okay, she reassured herself as she struggled to get Evie to cooperate with getting her tiny arms through her yellow long-sleeved shirt. She was mumbling in an indecipherable language as Aelin nodded along, chiming in here and there like she understood every word. The reality was that she only understood a handful of words. One of them was juice, so Aelin made a mental note to make her a full cup of juice for the car ride to the office to keep her happy. 

It didn’t take long to brush her hair into the tiniest pigtails to exist, with two little orange bows holding them in place. By the time she was fully dressed in her fall garb, complete with a tiny gray vest so cute that Aelin wanted to cry, she looked like a baby Gap model. Without a doubt, everyone at the office would be cooing over how precious she looked the second they walked through the door. 

“Where going?” Evie inquired, her little head tilting to the side as Aelin packed her go-bag full of snacks and an outfit change just in case. 

“Momma’s gotta go to work today, baby. You get to come, too. Do you want to see Uncle Dorian?” At the mention of Dorian, Evie’s eyes lit up as a broad smile pushed her chubby cheeks up until her eyes squinted closed. Aelin grinned and kissed her cheeks until she giggled wildly. Thank the gods that Evie was in a good mood today. Some mornings she woke up on the wrong side of the bed, fussy as all get out while Aelin tried to push along their morning. Thankfully today, she was full of smiles and giggles. It would make everything much easier if she cooperated.

After grabbing a sippy cup full of apple juice and shoving the bottle in her bag, making yet another note to put it in the fridge in the break room when she arrived at the office, she swooped Evie into her arms, and they were on their way. 

Upon arriving at the office, Aelin was right. The two receptionists immediately fell in love with Evie’s tiny pigtails and her outfit. They cooed over her bright eyes, twins to Aelin’s own. It took longer than usual to make it to the elevator, where even several men commented on how adorable she was. It brought a smile to her face, but it dropped when she thought of her office neighbor. 

Rowan Whitethorn was the hardass of the office. She was pretty positive that he hated her, and there was nothing she could do to change his mind. They spent their days arguing back and forth about anything and everything. Some days she was sure that he only did it to get a rise out of her. 

Aelin had never seen him smile-- he only scowled. His assistant was constantly rushing around, losing his damn mind trying to meet all of Rowan’s demands in a day. More than once, she’d caught tidbits of his conversations with Aelin’s own assistant, the poor boy begging to swap just for a single day. Aelin could only imagine what Rowan would say about Evie being such a workplace distraction. She was positive there would be complaints about her squeals and giggles that he would hear through the wall. 

There was truly nothing she could do, though. Too much needed to be done at work to take a personal day, and Evie was typically well behaved enough to be occupied until her mom got off work and could pick her up. 

As she made her way down the hall, everyone oohed and ahhed over Evie. Aelin thanked everyone for their compliments, her heart spilling over with joy. Until she saw Rowan in the kitchen while she put away the juice. He was making coffee and, upon noticing Evie in her arms, an emotion she couldn’t quite place flickered over his face. 

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” he said, eyes going from her pigtails down to the boots on her tiny feet. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” She closed the fridge door and left the kitchen, gone as quickly as she had come. When she arrived in her office, she shut the door and put Evie down, watching as she ran straight for the couch and flopped over the side with a giggle bubbling out of her lips. 

The single mother took a few minutes to take Evie’s toys out of her bag, even laying a few puffy snacks out on the table for her to snack on while she played. She went straight for them as quickly as Aelin sprinkled them out of the container. Aelin chuckled as she watched her for a moment, hands on her hips while she decided she was okay to sit at her desk and begin her work. 

Evie was surprisingly self-sufficient while Aelin started her daily tasks. She played with the toys her mother provided and munched on her treats. Aelin heard a lot of babbling and a slew of giggles, a loud squeal pulling her from her work as her door opened. 

Dorian leaned in the doorway, giving her a running start until he followed, darting across the room to scoop Evie into his arms. He spun her in circles with her legs flying behind her. She was laughing in a way that she only did with Dorian. Aelin seldom got that sound to come out of her daughter, but somehow, she wouldn’t change it for anything.

“I heard tales of a little princess fighting dragons in my office,” he said to no one in particular, but Evie seemed to understand that she was the princess. If there was anything that she liked in this world, it was being called a princess. She understood that word more than anything because Aelin read her fairy tales of princesses every night. Tangled was constantly on their TV, only to be replaced by Beauty and the Beast. They utterly enchanted her, and everyone in her life was constantly calling her a princess. She loved it. 

The giggling continued while he tickled her sides and blew raspberries on her belly until the shrieking got so intense he made a face at Aelin and merely brought her into a tight hug as he said, “Sorry. Nanny out today?”

“She’s got a stomach bug. I had no other options; I’m really sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. You know I love any chance I get to see her. I’m not going to penalize you for being a mother, Aelin.” Evie was chomping her teeth near Dorian’s face, causing her best friend to laugh and hold her at arm’s length. “I’ll even take her across the hall for a bit so you can get more done.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she replied, sighing and leaning back in her seat. Aelin really did have so much to do, to the point that she couldn’t even bring herself to tell him he didn’t have to do that. She would take whatever help she could get.

Her door was left open as he took Evie out into the hall, Aelin noticing that they weren’t going in the direction of his office but rather toward the kitchen. Her eyes rolled as she swiveled in her chair to face her computer and really dive into her work, leaning forward and exhaling a deep breath, willing herself to focus. 

Quite a bit of time passed, and she was able to get a considerable amount of work completed. All of her emails had been caught up when Dorian edged into her office and cleared his throat. Aelin looked up, half expecting Evie’s outfit to be ruined by chocolate, but her little ray of sunshine was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is she?” 

“I… may have taken a phone call and looked away for two minutes, and she vanished.”

“What?” Aelin was on her feet in an instant, rushing across her office and out into the hall. “What the fuck do you mean? How long has it been?” 

“Since I lost her and started looking for her? Half an hour. I was scared to tell you.” 

“My daughter has been missing for half an hour, and you’re only just now telling me? What the fuck, Dorian?” She hit his chest rather abrasively as she shoved past him, eyes scanning every room while she ran down the hall. How she was able to do it without toppling over in her heels, she wasn’t sure. All she could feel was the panic from her heart pounding in her chest to the shaking of her hands. The roaring in her ears made everything else sound muffled and distant, like she was standing at the edge of white water rapids. Even with her hands in fists so tight she could feel them shake, nausea building up in her chest. 

“Evie?” She called out, a tremor rising in her throat that caused her voice to sound shaky and weak. Tears were pricking in her ears as she turned to run back to her office. She would call down to security to see if they could scan the cameras, and call reception to see if anyone had carried her out. From there, she would--

Her heart stopped beating when she glanced into Rowan’s office. It was the office directly next to hers, and behind his desk, Rowan held a snoozing Evie. Her little fist was gripping the lapels of his suit jacket, and he seemed relaxed while he flipped through papers with one hand. 

“What are you doing with my daughter?” Aelin asked, stepping into the door. A few tears of relief slipped down her cheeks, and she was quick to wipe them, lest he make an asshole comment about it.

“I told that little shit to let you know I had her,” he murmured, barely glancing up from his papers. “I think that’s the final straw. He genuinely can’t do the most basic of tasks, I--” 

Rowan paused when he looked up from his work. Something soft flashed in his eyes for a split second before he continued, “She was laying on the couch by the kitchen when I found her. She babbled something about Dorian, I think, and when I looked in his office, he was on the phone arguing with someone. You looked busy, and I know you have a lot to do, and when I picked her up, she let out the biggest yawn I’ve ever seen. By the time I’d walked back to my office, she was asleep. I told my assistant to let you know. I’m sorry that he didn’t, and I’m sorry that I didn’t follow up with an e-mail or a phone call. You just seem like you could use the help so you could get work done. I’m sorry.” 

Not only was it the most that Rowan had ever said to her in a single conversation, but it was the kindest she’d seen him be to anyone. He wasn’t complaining about the little bit of drool coming out of the side of Evie’s mouth and soaking into his jacket. He was just holding her like he was so at ease with the situation and truly didn’t mind. 

“You don’t wear a ring, and I’ve never heard you mention a significant other. Divorced?”

“Widowed,” she replied, sitting in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. Again, his face softened as he looked down at Evie. 

“She looks just like you. She’s beautiful.” Ignoring the implications of that comment, Aelin smiled softly.

“Thank you. She is… everything to me.”

“I… I have a daughter, too. Briar. My wife died two years after we were married. Briar is six now, but Evie is… so much less temperamental than B was.” Aelin tried not to let the shock show on her face. Shock that Rowan Whitethorn was a father and shock that they shared a sad history. The curiosity to ask how she had died was strong, but she wouldn’t ask. Sometimes she hated it when people asked how Sam died. It was like opening a wound all over again. 

“Oh, she has her days. Don’t let this fool you,” she laughed, dragging her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t know you had a daughter, either.”

Rowan flipped his computer screen so she could see it, and she was welcomed by a smiling little girl with stunning green eyes and brown ringlet curls. Her heart squeezed at the image, Rowan holding her in his lap and grinning so wide he had dimples. Rowan Whitethorn had dimples. 

“She’s absolutely adorable.”

“She is.” Aelin smiled again, looking down at her hands and twisting the ring on her left finger that her parents had given her when Evie was born. It was her birthstone. 

“You can keep working if you want to. I’ve got her.”

“She’s not bothering you?” There was hesitation evident in her voice as Rowan looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms. He smiled, brushing a few wild strands of hair back against her head.

“Nope,” he said firmly, looking back at Aelin. “Really. You must have a lot to do if you didn’t just call in a personal day. She’s sleeping. It’s okay. I’ll bring her back when she wakes up.”

“I-- okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive.” Aelin chewed on her fingernail for a moment before she nodded and stood, walking across his office and toward her own. Aelin paused in the door, looking over her shoulder at the man with such a harsh reputation around the workplace. This man seemed entirely different, a man that was brushing his thumb against her daughter's side while she slept with his shirt in her tiny fist. He seemed so utterly relaxed while he adjusted their position in his chair to keep working. It was almost out of character, his offer. But she wasn’t going to complain. 

Rowan Whitethorn may have been the hardass of the office, but maybe he had a soft spot after all. @rowaelinscourt​

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (iv)

word count: 4.1k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption

series masterpost: here

a/n: my apologies for the delay!! life got crazy for a bit but i'm back with my two favourite idiot intellectuals

Magdalene stays busy to keep the loneliness at bay.

All of her friends have left Denver, doing whatever it is that hockey players and their partners do in the off-season. She never expected them to stay to keep her company, and would certainly never ask. Besides, they were all so excited to go home and visit family. How could she disrupt their happiness just so she wouldn’t feel so alone? It isn’t her fault that Ryan, Bette, and company aren’t estranged from their families like she is. At twenty-five she should be a little more self sufficient than what she currently is, but Magdalene is working hard at being kinder to herself.

To combat the pervasive loneliness Magdalene spends a lot of time in the heart of downtown Denver. Under normal circumstances she would hate the crowds, but now they comfort her. The swaths of tourists walking the streets and approaching her to take family photos make her feel like a part of something bigger than the pity she finds herself wallowing in often. Barn Owl Books also becomes a frequent retreat when she has downtime, and the owners enjoy when she brings Caligula around. Other patrons adore the white cat and he loves the attention.

One day as she’s leaving work, once again offering to stay late so June doesn’t have to, Magdalene’s phone rings. She contemplates not picking it up, wanting nothing more than to curl into bed with the novel she picked up at Barn Owl the other day, but she knows it must be important. No one ever calls her around this time unless it’s absolutely necessary. Digging the phone out of her pocket, she sees the number of her building superintendent Paul flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Miss Stevenson?” he asks, voice tinged with the toughness that comes with dealing with upset renters on a regular basis.

Magdalene chuckles at the formality, pointing out he hasn’t called her by her last name since she moved in five years ago. “Yeah Paul, it’s me. What’s up?”

There’s the crackle of static on the phone line as the man clears his throat. “So, uh, some bad news.” Magdalene’s stomach twists into an intricate knot. She knows she paid rent on time and can’t think of another reason he’d call her. “A sprinkler main on the floor above yours burst about an hour ago, and it’s pretty bad. Your place definitely got hit the hardest because it’s directly under where the pipe burst. You’re going to have to move out for at least two months while we gut the place and start from scratch. How quickly can you come and get the things that are salvageable from your apartment?”

“Fuck.” This is the worst news Magdalene has ever received. “I can be there in fifteen minutes,” she panics, “But Paul, you’ve gotta go inside and check on my cat. He’s going to be freaking out.”

Paul agrees to visit Caligula after some prodding, and Magdalene drives much faster than she ever has before through the neighbourhood. It’s far from reckless, but she knows that it isn’t the safest course of action. A police officer stops her about three minutes from her final destination but lets Magdalene go after she explains the situation as calmly as possible.

Other tenants affected by the flood are already moving boxes down the stairs when Magdalene pulls up. Everyone is understandably grief stricken, but she can’t find it in herself to console them like she would under normal circumstances. All Magdalene cares about is making sure Caligula is okay. She sprints up the four flights of stairs and doesn’t even break a sweat, adrenaline flooding her veins. Her apartment door is ajar, most likely from Paul entering a few minutes ago, and she flings it open with more force than probably needed. It swings back violently on its hinges and makes a spectacular crash when it hits the wall.

“Caligula?”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Paul sighs. “I can’t get him out of the tub but he’s still breathing. Is he not scared of water?”

Magdalene lets out a breath of relief she didn’t know she was holding in. She treads deeper into the apartment, casually assessing the damage, before reaching the room in question. There, pressed against the far corner of the tub, is the fluffy white cat that Magdalene’s heart beats for most days. Paul is there too, leaning against the sink and shaking his head.

“Thank you,” Magdalene says sincerely. “I’ve got it from here.”

The superintendent exits the unit with a solemn goodbye and heads to the lobby, no doubt going to direct traffic flow and answer questions. It takes a few minutes but Magdalene coaxes the cat out of the tub and into her arms. She holds him tightly and whispers words of praise, knowing it will help to calm them both down. After an uncounted amount of minutes Magdalene moves them into the bedroom, that looks surprisingly intact upon first glance, and changes out of her work clothes and into something more suitable for rummaging around her destroyed home. Caligula climbs up her body and settles gingerly into the hood on her sweatshirt. She starts in the bedroom, and finds that the only thing that’s actually salvageable is the clothes in her closet. Grabbing the suitcase from the top shelf, Magdalene shoves everything inside of it and wheels it into the living room.

She spends the next few hours going through every room in a meticulous manner, desperate to keep relics from her life in Denver. The water did a number on her space and destroyed almost everything. All the furniture is a write-off, and most of her books and records are ruined. Two things that withstood the damage are faux marble busts of Augustus and Marcus Aurelius, which Magdalene packs into one of the boxes Paul dropped off. Everything else fits in three other boxes and they’re tucked into the trunk of her car before the sun sets. Paul insists that the demolition company will get rid of everything else and ensures her she won’t have to pay rent while the construction is going on. It isn’t much of a consultation, considering that Magdalene has no idea where she’ll be staying, but she thanks him anyways as she makes the final trip to her car with Caligula.

Once inside, Magdalene breaks down. She has no idea what to do – no one is in Denver to help her out and she can’t afford to stay in a hotel for however many months this is going to take to fix. Tyson and Bette will be back in just over a month, but Magdalene doesn’t want to bother them or guilt them into coming back early. She cries in the driver’s seat of her car for a while, Caligula on her lap and doing his best to lick up the tears streaming down her cheeks. Not knowing what else to do, she dials Ryan’s number. Though they haven’t been talking as frequently due to the time difference and Magdalene’s insistence he enjoys his time with family, she knows he’ll pick up and listen intently. He’ll also hopefully talk her down from the imaginary ledge she’s found herself on.

He picks up on the second ring. “How’s my favourite girl?” Ryan asks, and Magdalene can hear the smile in his voice. The combination of his voice and the words spoken has her choking on another sob. “Hey, hey, breathe.” Concern is now the primary emotion expressed through the phone line. “Mags, what’s the matter?”

It takes her a few seconds and multiple pads of Caligula’s paws into her stomach for Magdalene to calm down, but she eventually tells Ryan what happened. He listens just as she thought he would, and keeps her breathing steady with his voice. She cries a bit more before running out of tears, but Ryan keeps her focussed on anything but the shitty circumstance she’s found herself victim to – detailing how he skated with Nate earlier in the day and just how many times his teammate kicked his ass. Hearing the mundane story helps more than Magdalene thought it would, and when Ryan asks her where she’s going to stay she responds with a relatively strong voice.

“I’m just going to sleep in my car.”

“Fuck no you aren’t.” The certainty in which Ryan utters the words takes Magdalene by surprise. For someone so far away, he has a lot of opinions on what she should be doing.

She sighs. “There isn’t another option Ry. I can’t afford a hotel for the months my apartment is going to be out of commission and there’s no point in renting another place.”

“Stay with me.”

A series of flabbergasted noises come out of Magdalene’s dropped jaw, but she can’t form any words. Ryan continues, “Think about Caligula. Being cramped in a car isn’t going to be good for him. Or for you. I have an extra bedroom you can call your own for as long as you need. Please Mags.”

Truthfully, it’s the best she’s going to get. Bette and Tyson offered to house a couple of rookies this season, meaning their spare rooms are filled, and there’s no one else she’s close enough with to think about asking. “I don’t want to intrude,” she sighs, but it isn’t a very convincing deflection.

“I want you there,” Ryan insists, “And little boots too.”

It takes them a while to work out the logistics, but Ryan makes a couple of calls and lets the doorman of his building know Magdalene is moving in. He also books a flight for the next day, and ensures her that he’s more than ready to come back to Colorado. They talk for a few more minutes, and in that time she gets directions to her temporary home. Once Ryan hangs up with well wishes and a see-you-soon, Magdalene looks in her rear-view mirror and sets out for a part of Denver she never thought she’d live in.

☼☼☼☼

When Magdalene calls Bette to fill her in on what’s been going on while on the way to pick Ryan up from the airport, the blonde is taken aback by the surplus of information. “Hold on,” she breathes, “Ryan’s coming back to Denver?”

“What part of ‘I’m on my way to the airport to pick up Ryan’ was confusing?” Magdalene laughs.

Her friend doesn’t find the jest funny. “Fuck off.” The comment only increases Magdalene’s laughter, but Bette forges on with the conversation. “Can you recap the events that led to Ryan leaving home nearly three weeks early?”

Magdalene indulges her friend, explaining for what feels like the hundredth time that her apartment was destroyed in a flood and that Ryan offered her his spare bedroom and that he was coming home so she wouldn’t be alone in the unfamiliar environment. Bette listens in silence, and Magdalene imagines she has a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. She’s made quite a few comments about how friendly the two of them seem, but Magdalene does her best to shrug them off. Ryan can just be her friend, a great one even, without Bette projecting her need to have her best friend to have an identical lifestyle to her. Even if she’s right, and Magdalene does want there to be something more between her and Ryan.

“Hold the phone.” Magdalene hears Tyson shout, no doubt getting closer to his girlfriend so he can join in on the conversation. “Gravy’s letting you stay at his place?”

“Yeah…” she trails off, unsure about what wasn’t clear this time.

Tyson hums as though he’s an old-school anthropologist who just made an astute observation about the group they’re studying. “Interesting.”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, he barely lets us hang out at his place,” Tyson explains. “I think I’ve been there maybe twice. So that’s new. Is Caligula staying with you?”

Magdalene is completely confused. “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s my cat.”

“How does Gravy feel about it?”

“What the fuck are you getting at Tys?” Magdalene asks, but there’s a bite to the question. She’s tired of the impromptu interrogation he’s providing. “Because Ryan was excited to have him around. Last night I sent him a video of little boots prancing around the condo like he owned the place and he thought it was hilarious.”

Bette, who had been silent for several minutes, gasps loudly. Tyson laughs, but Magdalene can tell it’s riddled with disbelief. “Mags,” he says gently, though with more than enough teasing laced in, “Gravy isn’t a big pet guy.”

The comment hits Magdalene like a tonne of bricks. What is she supposed to do with that information? There’s only ten more minutes until she gets to the airport, and she needs time to push Tyson’s comment to the back of her brain and collect herself. Magdalene gives a rushed farewell before hanging up the phone and checking her rearview mirror and blindspots. The radio filters back through the car speakers, but she doesn’t hear it, too caught up in what Ryan allowing Caligula to share his space means. There’s little traffic on the off-ramp and before she knows it Magdalene is pulling into a parking space and killing the engine.

She grabs the messily scribbled welcome home banner from the back seat before locking the doors and heading inside to the arrivals section. The inside of the airport looks similar to the empty parking lot – it’s a Tuesday after all. Only a few others wait with her for the plane, and many chat idly amongst themselves. Magdalene stays off to the side in an attempt to not get sucked into a conversation about the upcoming thunderstorm. Passengers slowly trickle through the open door, and Ryan is easy to spot. He towers above everyone and is carrying a rather large bag of hockey equipment. Magdalene smiles at the sight of him, unable to help herself. It’s been nearly a month and a half since she’s seen him and being apart for that long is something she never wants to do again.

“Hi,” she breathes as he approaches, waving awkwardly while she speaks. It’s as though she hasn’t spent countless hours talking with him about every possible topic her mind could dream up.

Ryan doesn’t feel the tension, or if he does he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wraps her in a tight hug that lasts a touch longer than one with just a friend should, especially in public. Magdalene tries hard not to melt into his side but it’s nearly impossible – Ryan has a magnetic pull that tugs on her heartstrings and makes her insides feel fuzzy. Others bustling around the terminal start to give them strange looks, and it’s only then that Ryan clears his throat and untangles his arms from Magdalene’s waist.

He smiles down at the strong-willed brunette with kind eyes and shoulders his bag once more. “Let’s go home.”

☼☼☼☼

It takes a few days to settle into a routine, but once they do it’s glorious. Training camp doesn’t start for another three weeks, so Ryan spends his day doing light workouts and chilling with Caligula while Magdalene is at work. Once she gets home they make dinner and watch West Wing reruns on the cable network Ryan didn’t know he was even paying for. Their lives fit together seamlessly and it surprises Magdalene just how much she missed having a roommate – Bette moved out after their sophomore year of college, and it’s been just her and Caligula ever since. Though the personal space is nice, she likes being able to hear Ryan laugh at the meme she just sent or knocking on his door in the middle of night to ask if he wants ice cream.

Magdalene wakes up one Saturday to complete silence. It’s unsettling considering she hasn’t heard that since adopting her pet – Caligula sleeps next to her head and breathes loud enough that she’ll never have to buy a white noise machine. She notices her door is slightly ajar and hears soft noises coming from the living room. Ryan must be taking a day off, Magdalene notes, because he’s typically out of the house by seven and it’s currently five minutes past eight. She rolls out of bed and stumbles into the ensuite, brushing the tangles out of her hair and washing her face.

Not bothering to change out the pyjama pants and hoodie she stole from Ryan, Magdalene pads into the sunlit living room to see her roommate doing yoga. On a tiny mat beside him is Caligula, stretching his limbs like he’s following along with the tutorial. The sight is adorable, and before she can think twice about it Magdalene is snapping a photo of the two of them and posting it to her Instagram story.

“You trying to whip my cat into shape Graves?” Magdalene teases, weaving around them and plopping onto the couch, bringing her knees to her chin and holding in a yawn.

Ryan laughs, loud and care-free, and Magdalene wishes he could record the sound and play it on loop. “He kept trying to sit underneath me and I didn’t want to hurt him. I read somewhere that if you give a cat something similar to what you’re doing they’ll leave you alone. Guess it really works.”

Her heart constricts in the best way possible. Ryan continues to go above and beyond to make her and Caligula welcome and doesn’t seem to mind they’re the ones invading his space and not the other way around. There’s still twenty minutes left on the YouTube video he’s watching, so Magdalene pushes herself off the expensive leather sectional and into the kitchen. The least she could do is make breakfast. Deciding on pancakes, Magdalene gets to work prepping the batter and warming up the frying pan. She hums absentmindedly to the Joni Mitchell song playing on the small radio she placed in the kitchen window. Music always made cooking more enjoyable for her, and Ryan doesn’t seem to mind the device taking up space.

The island is set and the food ready by the time Ryan slides into his seat, small beads of sweat lingering on his forehead from the workout. Magdalene resists the urge to wipe them away and instead busies herself with placing the right amount of berries on his plate.

“Mags,” Ryan calls softly, pulling her out of her mind and back down to Earth. “That’s more than enough. Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

They eat in silence until Caligula appears, meowing for whatever scraps he can get his hands on. Against Magdalene’s pleas Ryan feeds him a blueberry. The cat sniffs it inquisitively before swallowing it, though it comes up again a few moments later.

“You’re cleaning that one up bud,” she laughs, bending down to make sure Caligula is okay before rinsing her plate in the sink.

“Fuck.”

Ryan does as he’s told and helps Magdalene with the dishes before getting ready to head out for an unofficial team meeting. Camp starts in a few days and Gabe wants to get together and make sure they’re all on the same page before barreling head-first into the season. He promises to pick them up a late lunch of sandwiches from Barn Owl and Magdalene follows him to the door to say goodbye. It feels natural, like they’ve always shared this routine, and she knows that Ryan feels it too because he wraps her in a tight hug before petting Caligula one last time and slipping out the door.

Bette calls soon after he leaves and grills Magdalene on all the details of her new living arrangement. She’s still in Canada, spending a few more days there than Tyson to help his mom and sister finish unpacking their things at the house they recently purchased.

“So, have you kissed him yet?”

The question is asked in such a casual, Bette-like manner that Magdalene barely chokes on her water. “Bee, what the fuck?”

“Oh come off it Mags,” she sighs, “You like him. He likes you. The two of you live together now. It’s only a matter of time before the friendship turns into something more.”

The blonde is right about at least one thing – Magdalene has developed a steady crush on Ryan. She should have known being in such close proximity to him all the time would put her feelings into overdrive. However, she didn’t have another option other than to accept his offer when it was proposed nearly a month ago, so Magdalene is now being forced to deal with the repercussions.

“I have, in fact, not kissed Ryan,” Magdalene huffs. “But I’ve thought about it once or twice.”

A squeal tears from Bette’s throat and she forces her friend to share the details. Magdalene obliges mostly to get her off her back, but it does feel good to talk about it with someone. It’s a very long time since she’s had romantic feelings for anyone, and Magdalene is nearly giddy with excitement over the possibility of new-found love by the time Ryan gets home. She says farewell to Bette and promises to come over as soon as they're both in the same city again.

It’s later than both of them expected, so they decide to forgo lunch and instead cook an early dinner. Ryan wants chicken and Magdalene wants spaghetti, so naturally they compromise on a carbonara without the pork. The radio is cranked to the highest volume as they work, both singing along and in their own little worlds. Magdalene is in charge of cooking the pasta and Ryan sets about making the sauce, and more than once she catches him looking at her while he’s supposed to be stirring the mixture. She can’t be too mad, however, because each time their eyes meet she’s supposed to be doing her job too. Before too much time has passed the meal is ready. It cools on two plates while Caligula is fed and wine is poured – the former done by Magdalene because the cat still isn’t quite comfortable enough with Ryan. Once sitting, they raise their glasses in a silent toast and dig in. The pasta tastes heavenly, and Magdalene makes sure to say so.

“Oh my god this is delicious,” she nearly moans, “You have to make this like every night.”

Ryan laughs and raises his fingers in mock salute. “You got it boss.”

Conversation flows into how they spent their hours apart – Ryan gushing about how good it was to see his teammates again and Magdalene talking about how she caught up with Bette on the phone. She of course left out the part where she confessed feelings for her best friend to her other, more senior best friend. Dinner passes in the blink of an eye and soon the two of them are standing side by side at the sink, elbows knocking occasionally as they do the dishes.

“Want to watch a movie tonight?” Ryan asks nonchalantly. “You said earlier this week you wanted to see Clueless again.”

Magdalene smiles – of course he would remember this offhand comment she made a few days ago about the classic. “That sounds fantastic. Can you finish putting these away? I’m going to pop a couple blankets in the dryer to warm up and see if I can get a nice picture of the sunset for Bette, she mentioned on the phone that she’s missing it.”

“She literally hasn’t changed time zones!”

Laughter tumbles from Magdalene’s lips as she slips out of the kitchen. Two fluffy blankets are pulled from the back of the couch on her way down the hall and tossed into the machine. Grabbing the same sweater of Ryan’s she was wearing earlier in the day from the foot of her bed, Magdalene heads for the balcony door and slips through the glass.

The city is nearly silent. Cars pass under Ryan’s balcony like blips in the night, but they don’t dare touch the peaceful atmosphere radiating from Magdalene. She’s had one of the best nights of her life, just her and Ryan laughing over glasses of wine and the pasta dish they cooked together. It’s all so domestic and charged with stolen glances and soft smiles that Magdalene knows it’s more than two friends living together for a short period of time. There’s been a fundamental shift in their relationship but she doesn’t know how to address it, or if she even wants to despite her looming attraction. Being with Ryan is so easy that she forgets it’s only temporary. Realistically she knows it can’t last forever, but she finds herself hoping each day Paul will call and tell her the rebuild is taking longer than expected.

Ryan calls her inside, informing her the blankets are out of the dryer and the movie she picked out days ago is queued up on the television. Magdalene takes a deep breath and finishes her glass of wine in one gulp. Hopefully he won’t notice when she casually leans in and rests her head on his shoulder halfway through the film.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @samsteel @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlbluesbrat21 @denis-scorianov @danglesnipecelly @c-tangerine @stormingroses @spine-buster (add yourself to the taglist!)

[pluviophile-imagines]

In Your Arms: Shigaraki

In Your Arms: a collection of short fics about cuddling with various characters. Find the masterlist here. This one does double duty as my contribution to another BNHA Sanctuary collab, with fics based around the prompt “[....] is concerned because Y/N isn't sleeping.“ The masterlist for that is here!

You’re being annoying.

Well, that’s not quite accurate. You’re not being annoying, which is annoying. Tomura hadn’t come all the way to your apartment for you to ignore him and focus on studying. He’d come all the way here to ignore you and focus on playing video games, and act irritated by the way you’d slowly drape yourself over him more and more until you’d sit completely in his lap, obscuring his view and forcing him to put down the game in favor of paying attention to you. That’s how it’s supposed to work.

You’re not supposed to be laying sprawled out on your stomach with your textbooks and laptop out in front of you, only just touching him with a single bare foot draped over the back of the bed.

He can’t focus on his game when you’re being so difficult. His character dies again—jumps straight into a pit of lava—and he huffs at the grating death riff that plays over the all too familiar game-over screen. He starts the level again. It’s the sixth time.

When he’d sent you his usual im coming over text, he’d been surprised and slightly offended when you’d responded by telling him you were busy. He hadn’t seen it until he was at your townhouse, though, and your window was open like it always is when you invite him in, so he’d climbed up the trellis and slipped through. You’d greeted him with a tired, distracted murmur and hadn’t addressed him since, aside from pushing yourself down as he took his usual seat at the foot of your bed to nudge his shoulder just barely.

What are you studying for, again? Some big important exam for your hardest class, or so you’d told him. He doesn’t understand why you bother going to university; it’s not as if you’ll be needing a degree when you’re spending the rest of your life at his side. He also knows how much it means to you, though, and despite how he personally feels about higher education he doesn’t want you to fail. You’d be devastated. Beyond that, he does want you to succeed in the things you care about.

Tomura’s character dies again. This time he quits, growling and tossing the controller to the side. He doesn’t even bother turning off the console as he whips about where he’s seated to glare at you over the edge of the bed.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s moved. That in itself makes his annoyance surge; he’s glaring harder as you flip over. When you begin to pull your legs back to sit up he surges forward to grab them and prevent you from moving away from him—carefully, always carefully, pinky fingers raised despite the double-digit gloves he wears to prevent any accidents.

“I told you I was busy,” you huff. “Not my fault you came over anyway.”

“You said you wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I don’t mind it, I like spending time with you even when I have to be working on other things.”

“You’ve been working on other things for six days,” he grumbles. Nearly a week. This is his first time seeing you in nearly a week. It’s a miracle he hasn’t died from lack of attention, and you’re lecturing him on giving you space? His reasons for coming over aren’t even that selfish, damn you and your supernatural ability to make him drop everything to make sure you’re okay.

But he’d been able to tell that you weren’t okay even through the phone. You’re exhausted, and it’s even more obvious now that he’s in your room with a good look at your face.

So Tomura doesn’t let you go back to your work. He tightens his grip on your legs instead (still cautious, constantly cautious, with six digits rather than ten, pinkies and ring fingers raised) and doesn’t wait for you to protest before he yanks you off the bed.

Your yelp is cute. Everything about you is cute, of course, but there’s something he particularly likes about the way your voice is laced with surprised laughter as he snatches you bodily from your place on your bed and drags you down into his lap. It’s clumsy despite (or rather because of) how careful he is with his deadly grip, and you end up turned around with your back along his legs and your feet propped up on the end of the bed.

“How much have you slept since we last hung out?”

You pout, clearly aware that he won’t like the answer.

“Brat,” he rasps, “studying is useless if you pass out during the exam.”

“What’re you gonna do about it, then?”

Well, he can’t let you get away with that. You forget he’s an S-rank villain.

He stands suddenly, arms strong around your torso as he lifts you and throws you back onto your bed. Again, you yelp; but you’re long used to his manhandling by now, and you’ve told him how much you like it, so he knows the shriek is mostly for show. You turn around, making to go back to your notes, and though he’s well aware you’re not actually intending to return to your studying he still lunges faster than you to shove all your supplies off the bed.

“Tomura!” you whine—he can hear that you’re half serious now, and six months ago when all this was still new he might have paused to apologize, but instead he just grabs you again to pull you under the covers with him.

It’s sufficiently distracting. All thoughts of your studies have clearly been dashed from your mind as he rolls over to hold you on top of him, chest-to-chest, thick quilt and soft sheets covering the pair of you.

Tomura can’t help himself as he tucks his head in the crook of your neck, burying his face against your soft skin. It’s always a little overwhelming simply being in your room, but your scent surrounds him now, both from the bed he’s holding you hostage in and you yourself.

It’s warm too, pleasantly so; so often Tomura feels chilled to the bone, but that’s rarely the case when you’re around, always sharing your body heat with him in one way or another.

Your arms move to drape over his shoulders. You prop yourself up slightly, staring down at him as he pulls his head back to look up at you. He’s come to know you well enough to recognize that you’re planning something; he tightens his hold on you, preparing for you to make a getaway attempt, not that you stand a chance to get very far against his strength and reflexes.

“You’re not leaving. We’re sleeping.”

You hum in response, an acquiescence (though he doesn’t loosen his grip, less because he’s afraid you’ll leave now and more simply because he likes the feeling of you in his arms). He holds you like that for a time, listening to or perhaps more feeling the soft rhythmic beat of your heart against his chest and your quiet, steady breath.

One of your hands moves, tracing down the side of his face, thumb reaching across to brush over the scar on his eye and then doing the same further downward to its companion on his lip. Then it drops, finding a permanent resting spot on his chest, heavy palm warming him over his heart.

You lean in. His eyes flutter closed, sight going dark so that he can focus on his other senses—the weight of you on him, the smell of your shampoo, the brief little sound you make in the back of your throat that he’s come to learn means you think he’s being cute.

Your lips land on his scarred eye, featherlight and fleeting, a brush of a kiss. Then they’re just below his mouth, an identical kiss on what you affectionately call his beauty mark. Finally, they press to the corner of his mouth, that other scar (he used to be self conscious of it, frankly, but you don’t even have to tell him just how much you like it, he’s figured that out on his own thanks to how much attention you give the little blemish and your minute reactions every time you get the chance to feel it).

You’re sluggish as you pull back. You’re finally feeling the exhaustion, he can tell. He should really let you sleep, that’s why he’s here and forced you into bed with him in the first place, but he follows your lips anyway.

It’s a sweet kiss, slow and languid but not entirely passionless as his hand slides up your spine to find home on the back of your neck. He can feel you melt into him, letting him take the lead and relinquishing any active part in the process to him. Your heat seeps into him. He doesn’t get tired much, but at times like these your own exhaustion affects him, bidding him to follow you into dreamland—not that he’d ever complain about sleeping with you.

When the pair of you separate, you all but fall onto him, finally letting your heavy eyelids close as you bury your face into his marked neck. You mumble something into the skin there, almost too quiet to hear; a slurred out, “G’night.”

Tomura turns his head into you to press a kiss to your temple as he succumbs to your siren call and joins you in slumber, voice impossibly low so you won’t hear (though he knows you will anyway, perceptive as you are). “Sleep well, player two.”

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales Finale Review: The Last Adventure! or So Long and Thanks for All The Ducks

Hello all you happy people. The day we’ve all simultaneously waited for and dreaded is here. The grand finale to a five year journey.. and for me an almost one year journey of covering season 3 as it came out. It was thanks to this show i’ve been able to make money doing what I love. Without it I never would’ve found my patreon Kev, and I never woul’dve had the solid focus to keep going as long as I have. And I never would’ve had all you lovely people reading my work. Thank you for that. I hope you’ll stick around even though the series is gone, I love you all. But as the sun sets on this series I have one last episode of the season, and the series to cover. I won’t be doing it in my usual recap style due to it’s sheer length and scope, but I promise you if you join me under the cut I will break down eveyrthing I can about this final adventure, it’s huge, awe inspiring twists.. and it’s heartwarming conclusion. It’s everything you could want from a finale short of a Grandma Duck Cameo, and i’ts under the cut with full spoilers. Seriously if you do not want any spoilers TURN BACK NOW. I’m opening with probably the biggest spoiler of the finale. 

I Think She’s A Clone Now You were warned. So.. Webby is Scrooge’s Clone, made by FOWL as part of a decades long scheme to find the papyrus of binding, and raised by Beakly to keep this precious child out of their sinister clutches. I have hundreds of reaction images, several for what the fuck.. none of them seem sufficient.. ALL OF THEM together like some megazord of what the fuck are not sufficient for how much this reveal caught me off guard. It caught ALL of us off guard. I’m sure even those who called it still were suprised that’s the direction it took. I think we all expected her parents died by FOWL, or her parents were FOWl with Pepper being one of them, or anything else. So naturally it took around 14 drafts, and me going the fuck to sleep as I had stayed up to watch the finale and thought I could just smoothly transition into writing the review despite there being a LOTTTTT to unpack.

Even after the recharge though this took a bit of doing... so now i’ve done it... what’d I think? Whelp....

I liked it. I like it the more I think about it. Even the problems I had with it just kinda melted away as I thought about it. I understand if you do not. This twist will not be for everyone, it changes Webby’s character and story entirely, ruins tons of fan theories, and in general is batshit even for a series that in the same finale, turned Manny into a shout out to Gargoyles, complete with Keith “My Body is Ready” David. This series is genuinely batshit and loves it, but this is a LOT to ask dramatically, a lot to rewrite expectation wise and a lot to thinka bout. There’s a reason besides sleep deprevation it took me a whlie to fully grasp how I felt. So if you don’t like it fine, but i’m going to make my best case. 

Starting with something that made me realize I fully like it: It dosen’t invalidate Webby’s charcter. The one little problem I had left was “Well dosen’t Webby having the McDuck bloodline mean she couldn’t be specail if she wasn’t a McDuck? That sure the rest of the cast are specail but you can’t be really important without it?” Honestly.. no. Webby is who she is not because she’s a McDuck.. but because she’s Webby. She got her martial arts and mystery solving skills through Beakly and being raised. She had intate talent sure.. but as we’ve seen with the boys through the whole series, talent has to be honed. Skill has to be earned and learned.  Webby worked hard to research other civilizations, worked hard to hone herself into a deadly fighting machine with her mother’s help, worked hard to be every bit as cool as her idol who turned out to be her biological dad. She earned her badassery, her wisdom and her courage SQUARE. 

And more than that she’s her own person. Her adoptive parent and biological parent are both paranoiacs afraid of betryal, unwilling to trust, and slow to let anyone in. By all accounts Webby should be the same.. but she’s not. Oh sure she has some paranoia and is willing to slit some throats, she was raised by the world’s best spy and is the daughter of the world’s greatest hero, that was never going to be gone entirely. But at her core she just wants to trust people. She just wants to love them and be loved. And.. that’s why her family loves her. Because she’s the kindest, the warmest and the best of them. They love her because she’s Webby and that’s she’s family, they could care less who she’s related to. All it really changes is how Scrooge acts around her and that gives us fans tons to work with. 

It’s also expertly revealed, which helped ease us into it. Webby is just as shocked and confused as we are and is seriously hurt, which makes her vulnerable to the villains. Kate Miccui deserves a goddamn award for voice acting and if their isn’t an award show for that their should be. While she’s been fantastic with Webby all series long this is her finest performance, going from Webby’s usual self, to all the hurt she goes through.. to her quitter moments at the end, calling Scrooge dad and giving out a little noise that makes it clear as Beakly tries to leave, that no.. she’ still her family.. she’s still her mom and she’s not going anywhere. 

As for the concept being a bit ridiculous yes it is.. but so is this universe. This universe is entirely insane in the best fucking way possible: I mean.. look at this final group shot. 

We have an old man whose somehow still alive simply because he was too busy to die, an inventor whose cloned himself multiple times so clones are fesable and is probably a clone himself given how the last finale went, an awkward armored superhero and his biotech filled girlfriend, a small boy robot weapon of discretion who put his head on his brother’s body, a no longer headless manhorse former harbinger of the apocalypse with the silky voice of keith david as one big homage to gargoyles, a lesbian living shadow and her sister, a superhero who based himself on a fictional character and his boyfriend/sidekick who by all accounts should be dead by now, a lesbian military superheroine from the moon, STORKULES COCKBLOCKER OUT OF MYTH, his moong goddes sister, two adopted family stunt pilots, a bunch of super intelligent mice, an odd duck whose kinda sorta dating a giant shrimp, his cousin with super luck powers, my globetrotting boys, an immortal treasure hunter and in the family proper: a former spy turned adopted mom of a clone, a woman who lived on the moon for a good decade, a man who once trapped everyone in what would essentially be the plot of the mcu’s second best work by pure accident, a blue boy whose piloted a plain, captained pirates, and has his own talk show, a green boy whose ran a multi-trillion dollar company, nearly destroyed all of time and space and is under investigation for fraud, and a red boy who has a hulk-esque rage filled embodiment of all his suppressed emotions, whose fondest wish was tall legs, and who can easily take out a giant magica supermachine with some fancy wiring. So the richest duck in the world having a clone daughter, while divisvie and what not.. is far more plausable than we give it credit for. As are her new sisters who Id in’t forget but are part of the whole twist. 

So yeah, I like the twist and my nitpick is more that despite having a full season to set it up.. they saved it for the last episode. Instead of BUILDING on Webby’s desire to know more about her family and having the twins show up earlier.. it’s all shove into the finale. It’s a well done shoving but there’s so much that could be explored with Webby being Scrooge’s daughter, so much that futzes with the regular family dynamics and we don't’ get any of it. Sure it was probably saved for a possible season 4 but they treated this season as the last. Manny being an apocalyptic man horse voiced by the uber sexy keith david, and no I will not stop bringing that up even outside of it’s own section and why yes it is getting it’s own section, is the kind of revelation you can leave for one last episode. “One of the main cast is a clone” really isn’t and that’s disapointing. 

Especially since thinking back to life and times.. Webby IS a lot like Scrooge was before circumstance hardened him. She’s tough, resourceful.. but also has a peppy spirit to her. It adds interesting shades to her character, where she zigs where Scrooge zags, how much of it is her upbringing with Granny versus his with his parents, how much did Beakley play into it. There’s A lot to dig into and given I have most of the series left to review, I will get to dig into it, and there’s a lot to be explored in fanfic so if I wasn’t already planning a massive one before I sure as fuck am now. So it’s not a bad twist nor bad we get to write the future.. but I do wish the crew THEMSELVES had done more with it. Still my bar for “not fucking up the entire show” is pretty low after Star Vs ended with her committing implied genocide to stop a genocide and How I Met Your Mother ended “But the real journey was in how much I want to bang, bang bangity bang I said a bang bang bangity bang your aunt robin now your mother conveniently died”. I can handle “This twist is kind of weird but also really intresting.” If the twist isn’t for you, as I said i get it. This is my opinion. Now for the thing I won’t shut up about. 

I LIVE AGAIN:

Look i’ve made no secret how thirsty I am for Keith David nor how much of a national treasure I rightly believe him to be. He’s one of my faviorite voice actors, with a mind boggling number of awesome rolls, mostly recently as a fowl mouthed coffe cup encouraging a teacher to sabotage his rival teachers breaks on close enough. Even if I didn’t like Gargoyles, which I do, i’d have an entire section talking about that Manny reveal. 

Manny was already objectively one of the best parts of the show, a hilariously weird addition that was also relatable as he just wanted to fit in. I did not know you could make him better. Then they gave him Keith David’s voice and revealed he’s one of the four horseman of the apocalypse, but doesn’t want to end the world he just wants to be a normal dude, AND turned him into a shout out to the last part of the disney afternoon they hadn’t touched, my favorite part of it and a show i’ve been sitting on watching in full for far too long. Motherfucking Gargoyles. 

But given how unique it was for the Disney Afternoon and how much Disney had no desire to ever reference or use the franchise, still no fucking clue as to why they are sitting on money here, I expected it to be sadly but understandably left out. Instead they made Manny into an expy for them, gave him the voice of their leader Goliath, the voice of an angel, and had him say “I LIVE AGAIN” complete with the utterly transcendent theme song. Seriously give it a listen. 

So yeah I couldn’t not mark out at this. Amazing fucking stuff and almost as unexpected as the clone thing and easily my second faviorite part of the fiinale only NARROWLY topped by the curtain call. Which we’ll get to. Keith David took his time getting to this series but they saved the best guest voice for last. Utter tremendous. 

Huey Season?: I”ll save more of this for my breakdown as the season as a whole but yeah while the finale as a whole was good.. I do feel Huey got short changed. He got PLENTY of development this season, and some REALLY good scenes with Bradford.. but ultimately he got overshadowed by the Webby thing. it just never quite felt like Huey got a real resolution to his character arc the way his brothers did. He still got some REALLY good moments, his “Just cough up the information Bentina!” was one of his finest and Danny Pudi did his best. The BUILDUP was good but hte payoff was non existant and easily the weakest part of an otherwise triumphant finale. I feel the final plot was ultimately just a bit too jam packed to really have Huey feel vital to it the way Dewey was to the Della arc and Louie was to his own arc. Both tgot big emotional payoffs in his finale but the most I could gather here was he accepted adventure? I guess. It just really feels off, like I missed the payoff to everything when it’s probably just nonexistent and that bothers me a lot. In a finale that was almost all hit.. this was easily the biggest misstep. I don’t have as much to say here on it.. but that’s because it’s really that simple: they gave Huey’s arc a ton of build up in this last episode and some of his others, really made him into Bradford’s good counterpart.. then just sorta.. forgot it because “oh shit Webby’s scrooge’s daughter kinda need to pull focus here”. Had they given this arc at least one more episode, we might of had time for it. Granted i’m not sure how much they could get away with but we clearly needed at least one more episode and what they chose to jettision, the climax to Huey’s story.. was way more important than they clearly thought and i’m heavily disappointed. 

Bradford’s Big Hole Speaking of payoffs the missing mysteries payoff.. is a mixed bag. I expected all of them to combine some how into some elaborate plan I just wasn’t seeing. In hindsight it does make sense that wasn’t it: Bradford hates overcomplicated schemes, so his would be incredibly simple and require as few moving parts as possible. It still dosen’t stop the fact that the big plan to cap off the entire series built over a season... was to build a giant stygian hole of non existence to throw people into. 

Yes really. Instead of using the Payprus to write them out of existance, if carefully worded or try doing it all at once or anything practical.. Bradford just plans to shove everything he dosen’t want in the world anymore into a hole.  Look i’ts not like it ruins the episode, there’s still tons of tension from him holding Scrooge’s loved ones over his hole and threating to throw them into it’s gaping void. And it’s foiled by a 12 year old just.. shutting it off. Like I get him leaving an off switch on, that’s just common sense.. but why wouldn’t he have a remote or something to turn it back on? one with a password or something to lock it. There’s something inherently underwhelming about as series ending plan that can be summed up “hope no one shuts my unguarded hole. “

The finale does make for it by using the missing mysteries all in VERY clever ways. In fact every episode in the season had some sort of payoff here. It’s what makes up for how baffling the main plan is: every other thing, from the missing mysteries to the guest stars has lead up to this one moment, this one final adventure. Which leads me too

An Hurricane of Payoffs:

So from the top Challenge of the Senior Junior Woodchucks!: Isabella Finch herself ends up being VITAL to the story and to Bradford’s backstory, as does Junior Woodchucking as a whole. Quack Pack!: Gene is the fuel for Blot’s glove.. though he also fucks off right afterwords.. never to be seen again or help out at any point...

Double-O-Duck in You Only Crash Twice!: This was the most unexpected and elevated the episode in hindsight for me as what seemed like a waste of time.. wound up setting up the first part of the finale, and the final battle with Steelbeak, and in clever ways with Steelbeak using the intelliray on himself, Launchpad muttering the map in his sleep via his smart self and Dewey remembering the base layout. 

The Lost Harp of Mervana: Used as a lie detector for that heartbreaking interrogation scene. 

Louie’s Eleven: Introduced Daisy setting up Donald’s plot which i’ll get to. 

Astro BOYD: My baby boy comes back for this episode! He also gets one of the best lines of it “I’m a Head!”. That is the most ralph wiggum the boy has ever been. I’m so proud. 

Rumble For Ragnarok: Okay I was wrong nothing from this one comes back. Still a great episode. Same with the trickening. Both are VERY stellar episodes though, so I give it a pass. You can’t give a nod to EVERYTHING. 

The Phantom and the Sorceress: The Blot and Super Sayian God Super Sayian Lena, as well as Lena’s character development from said episode.  They Put a Moonlander on the Earth!: Launchpad helping Penny realize her purpose.  Forbidden Fountain: Jeeves is un-babied as a trap Let’s Get Dangerous!: Drake and Gosalyn Return, and Solageo’s Circut ends up being vital to the climax.. in the strangest and funnest way to say possible but still. It counts.  Escape from the Impossibin: Beakley’s near breakdown at the idea FOWL has come back. It was already heartbreaking and the first adventure had made it even more so.. but now it’s out and out DEVISTATING. The one thing after her daughter is not only back.. but SHE’S the reason he’s in Scrooge’s life and home and her giving up SHUSH has now left her wide open. 

The Split Sword: Probably the best out of all of these as it ends up directly playing into the climax in an awesome way i’m saving for Bradfords New Gods: Storkules shows up. Okay so that every episode claim bit me on the ass. Also when did these two meet? I mean probably at end of spear of selene but the more important question is WHY DID YOU ROB  ME OF THESE TWO MEETING AT ANY POINT IN THE SERIES. 

The First Adventure: Naturally the Payprus comes back as Does herons needling bradford to stop denying what he is. 

Fight For Castle McDuck: Suprisingly the blessed bagpipes ended up being VITALLY important. And giving us sexiest man alive infinity years running Keith David for an episode.  Last Christmas; Santa Cameo

Beaks in the Shell: Gandra being taken and the Lost Library being setup for this episode. 

Lost Cargo: The Stone of What Was. And Credit where its due what FELT like simply a filler episode with a tantengal connectoin.. ended up probably being one of the most important episodes. Fair play. 

Life and Crimes: Magica turning Bradford into a non sentient bird, like what happened to her brother.... proving once again this episode really REALLY needed as subplot attached to lead into the finale or something. 

Bonus Round: Pilot payoffs by the pound. Seriously Scrooge and Donald’s last lines to each other, the badass return of “I’m a Pilot”, more on that in a minute, and even other smaller call backs like “Keep Getting Up” and webby sucessfully getting some juice to Louie’s pride. All top notch stuff and it really makes the finale FEEL like one with all this coming back full circle. So i’ve hinted at it enough, let’s bring on the bad guy. 

The First Woodchuck

We’ve had some mixed payoffs so let’s get to one that’s just out and out excellent. Bradford Buzzard.. is the best villian the show ever had. Now I will give the caveat that my favorite forever and always will be

You know it, I know it. But Bradford is the best genuine threat of the series, with Marc Evan Jackson perfectly balancing his menace and genuine evil.. with his steadfast believe that he isn’t evil, and his calm, controlled business demeanor. It’s one of the best performances of the show and he deserves all the credit for it and after seeing him in supporting roles for his career, even if his role as Kevin on Brooklyn Nine-Nine is fucking awesome and I’m sad that show is ending, it’s nice to see him step into a big meaty role as the big bad and utterly nail it. 

And the finale.. pays eveyrthing off with him, apart from the plan itself perfectly. Starting off him being revealed as Isabella Finch’s grandson... was  a stroke of genius. I didn’t expect her to come back in play but it gives perfect reason both why he knew about the mysteries.. and why he’s like this. 

Like Scrooge did with his nephews, niece and daughter, Isabella dragged Bradford all around the world seeing the unseen, thinking it was fun. The problem was... Bradford HATED it. He hated every minute of it, like as one post pointed out Rusty Venture from the Venture bros, and felt he should be in school. He wanted a normal life and a normal world and not.. this waking nightmare. So to him, fixing the world, stopping this sort of thing is the only way and that doing so is a good thing. His problem is how he adapted to it.

We see that best in his mirror images, the people he’s in direct contrast with and the show knows it. Starting off with the one he’s not like at all is Scrooge. Part of what makes Bradford perfect is he’s Scrooge’s evil opposiite. The Luthor to His Superman, The Joker to his Batman, the Green Goblin to his Spider-Man, the Iron Monger to his Iron Man, the Sinestro to his Green Lantern. Both come from a long line of adventure but while Scrooge embraces that and loves it, Bradford hates it and wants to destroy it. One is energetic and always ready, the other’s calm, calculated. And one sees what he is.. and the other dosen’t. Simple as that.

But his other mirror’s are more like him, moving onto Huey. Their both woodchucks, both prefer caution and planning, and both want to make some sense of a nonsensical world. Both want to feel safe when they constnatly don’t. One’s prone to panic attack the other’s calm. But what makes Huey the better man... is that he accepts the world is the way he is. It goes all the way back to terror of the terrafirmains. While he was all for adventure he started his doubting things, not beliving things were real.. because the reality that there are some things you just can’t prepare for, just can’t know, and you can’t be always ready.. it shattered him. He nearly let himself die rather than live knowing what’s out there. Webby pulled him out of that, literally and figuratively.. and he never went back. Sure he still tries to have an order to things, still breaks when his structure’s broken.. but it’s gone from a paranoid fear of the unknown and weird to embracing it. To relishing in finding unsolved mysteries and new clues to unlock, to finding new things to explore. He went from seeing this chaotic world as something to run from, to embracing and studying it. To loving it the way it is the way his family loves him for who he is. Bradford.. denies reality belongs the way it is and wants to force it into what HIS idea of it is Superboy Prime Style. The world isn’t waht he thought it should be so he’ll MAKE it that way. Huey grew as a person.. while his arc didn’t have a full payoff.. it still pays off here by showing what he COULD’VE been. had he let his earlier fear and his always present neurosis drive him like Bradford has. Let his big brain make him think he knows what’s better for EVERYONE instead of using it to genuinely help people. Bradford lacks the boys heart and empathy and that’s why he fell. Huey had his family backing him, his best friends coming to get him, and his brothers ultimately rescue him. Bradford.. threw his only true ally down a styigan murder hole. 

Finally.. we have the one that’s not brought up directly.. but is very much there. Donald. While the two don’t interact hardly at all... it’s VERY fitting that Donald is the one Bradford picks to threaten Scrooge with. Like Bradford... Donald grew to hate adventure, he wanted to get as far away from it as possible and took it from his boys for as long as he could. Granted that was in part Bradford’s fault, and that was an INCREDIBLY clever twist: it dosen’t make him entirley responsible or anything that robs the moment of it’s imapct, Della still chose to take it out by herself, she still lied to Donald and she still got lost all by her own decision and impuslviness. But it fits perfectly into it: Bradford’s horrifying smile when Scrooge gets taken away from saving her is even WORSE now with full context, and it still fits that knowing about the project.. he’d want to set it up to screw up Scrooge’s life. I don’t think he sabotaged the rocket or anything, too obvious and something Della would’ve mentioned by now.. but he knew it was unfinished. 

Back to the parallel the diffrence is once again.. change. Donald let go of his hate of scrooge and his past and realized it wasn’t all bad. He let himself grow as a person after a decade of bitterness and anger. But most tellingly and poignantly is Quack Pack... both had a chance to make a world that was safe, normal and what they always wanted. Both out of terror of the danger of this world.  Thing is.. Donald’s was noble. He feared for his kids, his sister, his uncle.. loosing one again and any of them at all. He wanted a normal life to be safe, to hide from that.. but it’s not what THEY wanted or who they are. He accepted that’s not how the world works and how it does.. is still pretty great. And his growth shows: he’s ending the series planning to go off with his girlfriend globetrotting, KNOWING things might not be safe, but diving into adventure, having accepted it as part of him. He even finds some new family and takes in two girls who badly needed a home. He learned to accept things how they are... and Bradford refuses, not beliving in this world as it is and vowing to force it into the way he wants it to be. 

And it’s that inherent selfishness.. that makes Bradford the Cartoon Supervillian he desperatley claims he isn’t. Bradford dosen’t care how many lives it takes, how much worse it makes the world, or how many people he has to stab in the back... the world WILL be “normal”. Bradford cares for no one and nothing except his own ambition. He kills Heron despite her loyality, and his own clones who loyally served him.. simply because their chaos too. No one or nothing else matters, not how they feel, not their right to exist.. only HIS vision. If he wanted to keep the world safe he’d be more of a hero, if still throughly a bastard... but he dosen’t. He wants to make it “normal”. He wants the world the way he thinks it shoudl be and damn anyone else and perfectly represents all the old assholes like him today who refuse to accept something diffrent or against the norm because “that’s how it’s always been”.  Like those real world assholes.. Bradford is wrong. The Duckverse is beauitful how it is in it’s chaos and risk and love. And he just can’t see it because it’s not what he WANTS to see. 

And that’s why I also love the Sword giving him big, black and red classic villianous monster, slowly mutating him as he fights the duck family. Because that’s his inner strength: he may deny he’s a villian but he’s forcing his will on others, refuses to see the world as it is for selfish reasons, and is willing to kill his own friends and allies if it means getting it. He’s the bad guy. And while he denies it to those around him... it’s clear from the fact the sword is working for him that he KNOWS IT, he knows he’s a villian and this is just what he wants but is so up his own ass he can’t SAY it or admit it. And in the end he’s fully beaten by the fact that his forcing his will on everything’s what’s unnatural: While his plan was ingenious, have scrooge sign a contract agreeing never to adventure again, since he’s right Scrooge would solve nonexistance it’s the same reason “launch hulk into space” only resulted in a smarter, more skilled hulk coming back with a space army to get revenge. He just didn’t bank on the inherent rediclousness of the unvierse: family really is the greatest adventure of all.. and the papyrus accepted it. It was the one thing he coudln’t palnf or because he can’t see the woirld how it is.. and that’s why he lost. He was so confident how he saw the world and how he worked was the only way... another way beat him. 

His fate.. was also awesome and endleslly apporirate. Being mocked by the other villians who while less capable aside from Magica, at least admit what they are and what their doing.. and turned into a Vulture for Magica, left to be a mindless lackey in tons of chaotic schemes for the rest of his life. It couldn’t of happened to a nicer jackass. Okay three more sections to go. Let’s go.

Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away, Come Sail Away With Daissssyyyy

Donald’s leaving for a long, romantic adventure with Daisy is the perfect capper to Doanld’s character. Donald started the series hating adventure: blaming it for della being gone, his rough times during it, and wanted to escape it in the boat and keep from loosing his kids to it. He felt like a looser for not having reached his dreams or properly provided for his nephews, when really he did his best and still raised three wonderful kids. A bit overproective, god yes.. but despite his grief and anger he still got through ten years with them on his own merits, hard work and determination. 

As the series went he reconclied with his past, realized Scrooge lost something too and that blaming him soley when it was Della’s choice was just taking his anger out on the one person he had left to take it out on instead of embracing his only family left, accepted Storkules as his friend (JUST his friend), accepted adventure through quack pack realizing that while it may be weird, dangerous and sometimes stressful for him... it’s what his family love doing and they should be who they are instead of who he wants them to be, and finally.. accepted himself by finding Daisy, someone who loves him for who he is, and literally and metaphorically understands him and turned right back around from dumping him to save him from a giant monster she roared at. He’s finally at peace. 

And that’s why leaving. Not forever, He , Daisy, and his girls will be back in a few months or even a month. It’s very clear this is a vacation.. but it’s one  he’s earned.  He’ll always love his boys, his surrogate daughter/cousin, his sister, and his best buddy launchpad. But it’s okay for him to want to form his OWN family, to spend time with his future wife and show her the world. To make his own story for once instead of sharing it. To find his voice. 

I also find it very poetic that a story that started with Donald raising his nephews like their dad.. ends with him adopting two more children. Two kids whose lives had been misrable: rapidly aged in tubes, deemed failures, constantly bellittled by the closest things they have for parents, so desperate for answers they’d kidnap their own sister and betray her trust and do things they know are wrong, And all this.. for nothing as their  Dad kills their mom, bad as she was, and plans to kill them. And Donald’s first thought when given the chance to have a kid free time to himself, with no guilt having earned it? To take these girls in, start his own family, if Daisy’s cool with it mind he thankfully clearly called to talk this over first, and give them their own. Because that’s who Donald is, a good man whose finally earned his happy ending and the life he always wanted.. and accepted who he always was. An adventuerer, a loving fiance.. and  dad. 

The Real Hero: One last one before the bonus round and a quick one. The Launchpad Scene.. was one of the shows best. His arc in this episode of thinking he’s not a hero.. made sense. He’s been plenty heroic.. but his boyfriend is a martial arts and gymnastics savant and one of his three best friends has a giant suit of armor and is a genius. But the payoff made even more: He may not be the strongest, the most skilled or the smartest.. but he has the heart of a hero. He’s always been the kindest, most trusting, most friendly one of the main family, a guy who never gives up, even when he should, never surrenders and loves everybody. And that’s why he’s inspired so many people: Fenton to not give up after his firing and keep going, leading to his path as Gizmoduck. When Drake was lost, his fllm gone and his mentor seemingly dead (In fact skulking around the sewers like an evil ninja turtle), and his future unclear... TOLD HIM he could be Darkwing, that he could become the hero they both ihdolized and the inspiration to kids he wanted to be by his own bootstraps, and he gave Gosalyn faith in darkwing and hope at at time she had none. He also gave those mice their freedom. Not as poignant but you try creating the rescue rangers and see how far you get. I’ve lost a lot of chipmunks and mice that way. 

Launchpad’s last stand makes up for his lack of being in the season during the final  half. Launchpad realizing that despite his quirks he’s just as noble, valuable and wonderful as his families, both of them. And that he is a pilot. Sure he gets the gizmoduck armor.. but the armor isn’t what makes hi ma hero... i’ts being launchpad that makes him a hero. Loving adopted dad, wonderful partner, best friend... and a pilot

Bonus Round:

Okay this is just stray stuff from throughout the episode I didn’t have several paragraphs worth of material on before we get to the final thoughts. But it had so much good I can’t not talk about it. So...

Gyro calling Little Bulb BOYD’s brother. My heart wept. So sweet. As was him fixing his son at the end. BOYD has the two loving families he deserves.. and the brother he deserves.. and the brother he dosen’t deserve who will probably also is skulking around the sewers like an nafarious ninja turtle as the series ends. 

Gosalyn fixing up Darkwing’s outfit for him. Awwww. Adopt that child you coward. Also if they don’t base the reboot on frank’s work here, I will riot. 

“Just cough up the information Bentina!” that was just pure comedy gold especially the sheer fear radiating off him. Also right. 

Manny’s “I can explain” and , once he has silky smooth keith david voice going “Come on man I just want to live my life.” That man is a legend. 

Dewey and Louie just not talking the “you kids stay behind shit” pointing out both their stake in this and how they’ll just go anyway and him proudly accepting it. Given the kids turned the tied of things a lot, good call. 

Dewey and Don Karnage singing their own background music as they air joust. Hell yes. 

Pepper got a promotion! Goodf or her... it’s meaningless now but hey she has a partner in both senses. 

Speaking of pepper she had the best line of the episode “He’s a grown man who has the strength of a baby!”. Only Amy Sedaris could’ve given that delivery just the perfect way she did. 

The Funzo’s opening sequence was dynamite, from how well set up it was as an infilfration, to Webby having learned how to scam free drinks (Louie was so proud), to Lena cheating for her sister at DDR, to Scrooge paying full price.. it was wonderful> The payoff was also great as rather than be mad her special day was used as part of an elabroate spy operation.. she’s giddy. Because of course she is. Two specitic  bits that get their own items

The Cabs came back one last time! It dosen’t effect my now finished retrospective, but after spending all that time with them it was nice to see them for what will probably be the last time for some time. 

The whole scene where Della finds out about the trip. Just all of it. Her casually and accidentally choking daisy TWICE, Fethry, who sadly did not get an episode this season, being the one to blab about it and only realizing it .. after repeating that they told him not to, and Gladstone who not only was casually winning at Skeeball while his cousins both got pissed at it, relateable as hell, but then awkwardly escorting his baby cousin out of the situation. 

“Satstically with Hubert gone one of us should be pancking but WHO I ASK YOU WHO?” As if I needed more evidence they were perfect for each other. 

Lena just.. slumping over after Dewey finally has her drop the cloak. Comedy gold. BOYD scanning her later likewise so. 

The second best line and line read of the episode goes to Louie/Bobby Monihan. “That is not comforting, I do not want to die”. He couldn’t of summed up Louie in one line any better. 

Ludvwig was a national treasure.  Not only did I squeel internally when it turned out he was alive but the explination for it was hilarious as it was batshit, and him just causally revealing Webby’s origin was fucking amazing “Ill give you all a moment ot process” The acomplanying “bless me bagpipes” was also amazing. 

I do wish we found out where FOWL went but it was probably to leave the remains all free to come back as villians of the week. Frank outright said they had a tailspin sequel episode ready to go.

The Webby and June fight was a masterpiece and I REALLY need to do a top 12 fights list someday. 

Lena connecting with the new twins , having pretty much the same background of being created by a villian for shitty reasons. 

“one is silver and the other is “ “Flintheart glomgold!” they should consider a teamup. What’s a little brainwashing between friends?

“We’re sisters’. No you and violet are sisters, Webby is your girlfriend your both just in denial. I only say this because Webby also thinks Della and Penny are just friends and I feel she simply dosen’t know what being gay is or again is in denial. They’ll get there. Plus it feels like Lena just didn’t want to loose her and would say anything which is valid. 

Curtain Call and Final Thoughts:

The Curtain Call was the perfect way to end a spectacular finale. Each bit of it’s a masterpiece, and every character gets one last awesome, heartfelt and hilarous goodbye with the camera and ending how it should: on our five most important characters, in a circle, together, smiling, freefaling into the next adventure. I”d have it no other way and any other series finale credits and last moments will now pale in comparison. 

So the finale as a whole is messy, some bits aren’t resolved as good as they could’ve been, Huey go the shaft, and it REALLY needed another episode leading into it to help take the pressure off. While it needed 90 minutes for the plot it had to tell, it needed more to build up to that and while the season was tight with episodes they BADLY needed one more they didn’t get or even a subplto to help take the load off this episode. 

But even with that... it was an utterly awesome finale on par with other recent standouts like “Let’s Fight to the End”/ “Thank you For Watching the Show” (Both feel like finales to me but in diffrent ways), “The Future” and the whole arc leading up to it, both parts of “Heart” and “Nice While It Lasted” . It was heartstopping, heartrending and heartfelt and ended the show as it should be: with over the top insanity, big reveals, a hell of a final battle.. and a focus on family. It’s not the perfect finale, and I defintely need more ducktales.. but it’s still a classic one and one of the series finest hours.. literally in this case. 

I.. am going to miss this series. I went into it before but it’s thanks to this series I make a living. If you’d like to contribute to that, I have a patreon, patreon.com/popculturebuffet, my next stretch goal is a darkwing duck epsiode a month so  kick in a buck won’t you? and take comissions so if theres an episode from the first two seasons that’s not part of the season 1 arc (I’m almost done there) or Lena’s story (already being paid for that) feel free to shoot me a line to comissoin it for five bucks an episode. 

But more than that it was an excellent well crafted show that took a franchise I love and updated it for a new generation. My nieces love it, I love it, and I will always love it for that. Young or old, this show as phenominal, it was stupdendous.. it was a duckblur. It will remain in my heart for probaly the rest of my life among such shows as Steven Universe, Parks and Recreation, The Venture Bros, Letterkenny, DBZ Abriged, and so many more that have touched my life. It was simply the best. And i’m going to miss it. Thank you for reading this, i’ll see you at another rainbow, if not one quite like this.

Next on this Blog: Duck week continues after this review took two days to complete. Sorry about that. Our heroes head to castle McDuck and Dewey is forced to face the consequences of his actions, while Scrooge yells at his dad , his dad yells at him and his mom is the most precious thing tha’ts ever lived. Also Launchpad in Donald Cosplay. And it won’t stop there as till saturday the rest of the week is all dedicated to Ducktales as I finish up the Della and Lena arcs for season 1 and get started on Lena’s last three episodes. So if you liked some ducktales, stick around. And once again.. thank you. 

[be11atrixthestrange]

The Loft (Chapter 1)

After a bad break-up, Hermione Granger moves into a messy and dysfunctional loft with four single men. What starts as a temporary home until she gets back on her feet becomes so much more, as she learns there's a lot of life - and love - that happens at rock-bottom. 

Inspired by the TV Series ‘New Girl’

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Also on A03 | FFN

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Chapter 1

[Hermione]

"I don't know, Harry," groans Seamus. "She'll change the dynamic too much, don't you think?"

"Who's to say that's a bad thing?" Harry glares at Seamus's dirty feet on the coffee table, propped up on an empty take-out container. "Honestly, we could probably use some more feminine energy in here."

"You're just doing this because Ginny asked." Seamus lets out a laugh, and a smug smirk spreads across his face. "You know, this little favor isn't going to make her sleep with you."

Harry scowls right back. "I'm not trying to get her to sleep with me," he argues, although his reddening cheeks suggest otherwise. "I'm just trying to do the right thing here. Hermione needs a place to live, and we need another roommate anyway."

"So the fact that she's friends with Ginny has nothing to do with it? You're not using Hermione to lure Ginny over here more often?"

Harry's silence is a sufficient answer for Seamus, who scoffs and leans back on the sofa with his hands behind his head.

Hermione resists the urge to clarify that she's not exactly Ginny's friend per se. To Ginny, Hermione's just the broken-hearted mess of a girl she found crying in the office bathroom yesterday, and to Hermione, Ginny's nothing but a well-timed acquaintance who happened to know of a loft with an empty room.

Instead, she clears her throat to remind them of her presence, as they seem to have forgotten. "Boys, I'm sitting right here. If you don't want me to move in, that's fine. Just tell me, and I'll look elsewhere."

"For what it's worth, I like her," chirps Neville quietly from the other end of the sofa. "She seems nice."

Hermione silently thanks Neville with a smile, but apparently for the other two, 'nice' isn't what they're looking for.

"That's the problem, Neville. She's 'nice'," says Seamus, emphasizing the phrase with air quotes. "I want to feel comfortable in my own space, and sometimes, seeing something 'nice' in the morning makes things uncomfortable." He motions to his pants to emphasize his point.

Gross. Is this guy serious? Hermione looks at Seamus in disgust and crosses her arms in front of her chest, hoping to hide anything 'nice' from view. She can already tell that this is not a good fit.

"Dude, really?" chastises Harry. "She's right here, man."

"Seriously," tuts Neville. "Jar."

"Yeah, that's fair," shrugs Seamus.

Hermione watches in shock and horror as Seamus digs into his pocket for a dollar bill before shoving it into a glass container labeled 'douchebag jar'.

No, this definitely isn't going to work out.

"I'll just go," she says, rising to her feet. "Clearly, this isn't a good idea."

The boys erupt in whispers as soon as she turns her back, and a tidal wave of self-consciousness crashes down on her. She scurries toward the door, wishing she had worn something other than her Lululemons. Something less 'nice'.

She'll find another place to live. She has to.

But as she approaches the door, her eyes sting with tears. She's banking on this working out — if she doesn't find a place today her only option is a hotel she can't afford, or another night in her old apartment with Cormac, and she's not sure she can stand to sleep in the same bed as him, or on the same couch she caught him naked with — what was her name? Romilda Something? It doesn't matter. Cormac probably never asked for her last name, and Hermione doesn't need to know either.

It might have to be a hotel, and she can almost hear her wallet whimper at the thought. Her first priority is getting out of this loft before she starts crying.

"Hermione, wait!"

Her hand freezes on the doorknob at Harry's abrupt call.

"What?" she snaps back without turning around. It's too late to hold back her tears — the floodgates have officially opened, and it's not a good time for pleasantries.

"We've just discussed, and we want you to live here," says Seamus, his friendly tone forced.

"Yeah," adds Neville. "We're really looking forward to it."

"So what do you say?" asks Harry.

Her stomach clenches, and for the first time she notices the smell of the apartment — it reeks of forgotten fast food and gym laundry. There's a lumpy, brownish stain in the corner by the door, and Hermione doesn't even want to know what it's from, and right above the stain, a shelf proudly displays a water bong in the shape of a naked woman. An empty picture frame hangs crookedly on the wall, a mediocre effort to hide the sloppy drawing of male genitalia etched in permanent marker. There's a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and the light fixture above her head is held together with duct tape...

Does she want to live here? No.

But is she absolutely, one-hundred-percent desperate? Yes.

On the bright side, Cormac was a total slob before they lived together, and she taught him well. She can teach these boys too, she's sure of it.

She turns around and wipes her eyes, now leaking with tears. "Thank you," she says, her voice breaking into a muffled sob. "I'll go get my stuff in my car."

"Are you crying?" asks Seamus, his eyes wide. "You… you can't do that here. Harry, we made a mistake."

"Seamus, she's welcome to express her feelings if she needs to," says Neville.

"Dude! What are you talking about? You cry all the time!" says Harry, addressing Seamus. "Remember when you fell asleep and missed the Taylor Swift conc—"

"I was crying about something else entirely!" Seamus shouts. "My… my Nana died, okay?"

"Again?" Neville and Harry burst into laughter.

Hermione uses their moment of distraction to escape out the door. Once in the hallway, her tears fall freely, and she wipes them away with her sleeve. She approaches the elevator to begin the two to three trips — tops — to gather the minimal belongings she could stuff into her tiny Prius. She'll have to face Cormac if she wants the rest of her stuff back, but that's a worry for another day.

x

Hermione wakes up with a neckache, likely a result of the lumpy pile of blankets serving as her temporary bed. There are no blinds or curtains on her window yet, and the morning sun sends a direct beam of light into her eyes. She groggily props herself up on her elbows and glances around at the room — her room. It's quite small and the walls are a bit bland, so there's nothing special about it, really. But it does have one thing going for it — she doesn't have to share it with a lying, cheating ex-boyfriend. Thank goodness for that.

Rubbing her throbbing neck, she climbs to her feet. Her dresser is still at Cormac's, so last night she left all of her clothes in a pile on the floor of the closet. She rummages through it and fishes out her robe — something to provide enough coverage to feel comfortable traipsing through the loft to the bathroom that she now shares with three boys. At the thought of running into them, she checks her reflection in the rectangular mirror stuck to the inside of the closet door and runs her fingers through her bushy brown hair — a feeble attempt to defrizz it. She tugs at her robe, which is shorter than she remembers. Not that it matters, she reminds herself. It's not like she's attracted to any of her roommates. There's no reason to look good.

Out of nowhere, the door to her bedroom swings open and slams into the wall with a bang. Hermione jumps and whips around to face her intruder, and her mouth drops open when she meets the equally surprised gaze of a tall, lanky, shirtless, redhead.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" he yells, taking a step back. He glances around the room in confusion, looking like he walked into the wrong apartment.

Hermione's ears tingle with embarrassment and she tightens her robe. "Who are you?" she asks, her voice shaky.

The redhead stares back dumbfounded. "Who am I? Who are you, and why are you in my gym?"

"Your gym? What are you talking about? This is my room!" Only now does Hermione realize he's carrying a set of dumbbells at his side. Her eyes scan for the number on the weights, a strange habit leftover from Cormac's constant bragging about how much he can lift.

Before she can catch the number, her eyes are drawn to something else — his gym shorts are quite tight and revealing, and his torso is sleek and muscular; his abs remind her of the crisp, defined cubes of an ice tray on a blistering summer day.

The heat spreads from her ears to her cheeks.

"Ron! You're back from your trip early," pants Harry as he rushes into her room to join the pair.

The redhead — Ron — turns to Harry and scowls. "Harry James Potter. Who the hell is she?" he asks, nodding in Hermione's direction.

"Ron, this is Hermione Granger," says Harry. "Our new roommate."

Hermione watches the two boys stare at each other and communicate in a language she's not privy to; their expressions flash with silent conversation. She takes a step back to observe and realizes from Ron's unwavering scowl that he was blindsided by Hermione.

"What happened to my home gym?" he whines, avoiding Hermione's gaze. His arms hang by his sides, the dumbbells dragging his shoulders into a slump, which gives him the appearance of a disgruntled toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

Harry clears his throat and stands up straighter. "We've decided that you can work out in your own bedroom from now on," he states diplomatically.

"That's not fair," says Ron, puffing his chest in an apparent challenge to Harry.

Harry shrugs. "Well, as you know, the rent is going up, so we all decided not to let you have two rooms to yourself. And Hermione's cool, your sister vouched for her."

Ahhh, Ginny's brother. Hermione finally connects the familiarity of Ron's flaming red hair.

"But you didn't even ask me!" complains Ron.

"Sorry bro. It was a practical choice."

Hermione shifts in discomfort at Harry's word choice — practical is a descriptor she's heard too many times before, and the sting of her breakup conversation with Cormac comes flooding right back. Romilda whatever-her-last-name is exciting and spontaneous, while Hermione's sensible and safe. As if transported back to her old apartment, she can hear Cormac crooning, 'Don't get me wrong baby, you're a great girl, but I just want to have fun right now...'

Harry must catch the flash of anger on her face and mistake himself as the culprit. "Hermione, I'm so sorry that this pale, speckly moron was your wake-up alarm."

"It's fine," she says, her voice shriller than intended. "It's nice to meet you, Ron. Now would you mind letting me get dressed?"

Ron turns toward her, and, for a moment, Hermione swears his eyes sweep over her body, a rosy tint swarming his cheeks before his expression hardens. She's becoming more appreciative of her too-short robe.

"Well, welcome to the loft, Hermione," says Ron stiffly before turning back to Harry, "If you need me, I'll be working out in my bedroom." Ron brushes past, bumping Harry's shoulder on his way out the door.

Without permission, Hermione's wild imagination conjures up the image of Ron doing just that. His too-tight gym shorts stretch with each squat, revealing his freckled, toned thighs. The same ray of sunlight that woke Hermione illuminates his porcelain skin which glistens with sweat, causing Hermione to crave the cool, refreshing taste of a vanilla ice cream cone…

"Why would I need you?" shouts Harry, interrupting Hermione's headspin.

"I don't know, Harry," comes Ron's muffled voice from the hall. "But if you do, you know where to find me."

She narrows her eyes and clears her throat, catching Harry's attention. "You didn't tell me there were four of you here."

Harry stares intently at the floor. "Right. Technically four is the maximum, so if anyone asks, you're just visiting."

Hermione's jaw drops and her heart starts pounding. She's a rule-follower, she always has been, and the thought of living where she's not supposed to makes her uneasy. "Harry — are you telling me that I'm living here illegally?!"

"It's not illegal," he says, his emphasis on the word concerning, "It's just frowned upon."

"Frowned upon by whom?"

"Our landlord." He waves his hand dismissively, "but he'll never find out."

"Harry—"

"I'll let you get dressed," he interrupts, slipping out of her room and closing the door behind him with a thud.

Hermione groans and turns back to the mirror, suddenly interested in her appearance again. She can see her anxiety etched into her face, the line between her eyebrows a prominent reminder of all that's gone wrong in the last few days.

If anyone asks what she's doing here, she's supposed to lie and say she's visiting. That shouldn't be an issue. She can lie, right?

"You're just visiting," she tells her reflection, and she likes the sound of it. The insinuation that this chaos is only temporary eases her anxiety.

"You're going to love it here," she practices again, pushing away the contradicting image of the trash-filled kitchen, pornographic water bong, and questionable stains on the floor.

"You're definitely not attracted to your roommate," she adds, knowing that somewhere in the loft, the shirtless redhead is working up a sweat, his breath growing heavy, as he throws around dumbbells by his probably-still-unmade bed.

It'll be fine — she can be pretty convincing, after all.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 5

Thomas X Reader

2389

Summary: Police interrogation turns to torture.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

While it was still late summer, hints of fall had begun appearing during the earliest hours of the morning. A crispness in the air that didn’t belong to any other time of year sent thrills through Y/N as she set out to find more work for herself.

If she was to become self sufficient she’d need a continuous flow of requests, which usually came from reputation. The only reason she’d gotten to play the other night was because the host there owed her a favor for getting rid of a clingy lover. Now with that under her belt she wouldn’t have to start at the bottom, but it wasn’t much of a head start.

She hopped from dance hall to dance hall. Without references or a traditional music background Y/N wasn’t having much luck. It wasn’t until the fifth stop that someone recognized her.

“Hey, aren’t you the girl who played the violin yesterday? You know, down at the Garrison?” a tall man asked as he sloshed his beer.

The barkeep raised his eyebrow as Y/N replied, “Yes, that was me.”

The man hiccuped, “Best music I ever heard. And I’ve heard lots of music. My mum used to play clarinet for one of those orchestras. You were better than any of those stiff necks.”

Y/N felt her face go hot but she thanked the man regardless. The barkeep on the other hand eyed the two of them.

“Is this some ploy to garner my sympathies?” he growled, scratching his beard.

“No, sir.” Y/N replied. She had considered it but if she wanted to earn a legal wage she’d have to do it on her own.

He grumbled, “Come by tomorrow. If  the customers like you then, I’ll book you again. I can’t afford every night, but you’re lucky enough getting this out of me.”

“Understood. Any requests?”

“Yeah, wear something saucy.” He winked at her like the lecher he was.

Y/N replied with a tight smile, her hand closing around the brass knuckles in her pockets. With great effort, she wrangled in her anger and left.

She made it down a couple blocks before her internal alarm went off. Something was wrong. The street that had been packed with people a couple moments before was now empty except for a handful of men. 

She froze, head whipping around as she looked for an exit. Residual pain from yesterday made her stiff and she didn’t know the town well enough to slip away unseen, but she had to try. Just as she was about to beeline for a nearby alleyway, filled with crates for cover, the click of a gun stopped her.

“Move one more inch, Ms. Y/L/N, and Thomas Shelby will be tossing pieces of you in the river.” 

Y/N lifted her hands in the air, “Well I knew Thomas had friends here, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

A soft growl answered her, “Cuff her, men!”

The remaining people on the street began to converge on her. It was a practiced formation meant for the thinner streets of Birmingham. Y/N silently cursed as she rolled, bracing herself for the pain. 

Her body hit the ground, but the momentum carried her away. The man with the gun hadn’t expected her to run for it and shot off a round a foot above her head. She kicked at his ankle, using her heel to get the most force she could on that one spot. As he yelped in pain she got on all fours and launched herself towards the alleyway. 

Two men stood between her and escape, but she didn’t stop. Instead of leaning down and tackling them, she leapt onto a crate. The wood had enough give that she was able to propel herself into the air above their heads onto another stack of crates. She gripped the brass knuckles in her pockets and used her height to her advantage.

She swung, keeping her balance as low as possible. Y/N didn’t aim for the jaw like most people did. She aimed for the nearest man’s temple. Bone collapsed beneath her fist. Another shot fired ricocheting off the brick walls. With one man down she descended. The others were closing in, there was nothing left to do but run. So run she did.

Each step was a knife in her back. It nearly stole her breath away but she needed every ounce of oxygen she could squeeze out of her lungs. Footsteps pounded on the stone behind her. The walls closed in as the alley twisted and curved. Soon her shoulders were brushing the brick but the end was in sight. Crowds hustled by oblivious to the chase they were the key to ending.

A great shout came from behind and something hit her from behind. She fell hard, her hands scraping against the sharp stone. Her head cracked against the hard surface causing bright spots to appear in her vision. Her legs were jelly beneath her. Move. Move Goddamn you!

One of her pursuers had hucked his billy club at her in desperation. It had caught her in the knee forcing her to collapse in on herself. Only one man at a time could fit through the alley way at a time. Rough hands closed around her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. Or tried to. She couldn’t stand if she wanted. Y/N’s head lolled back fighting for consciousness. A groan escaped her as they dragged her back into darkness away from the crowd.

〜

She awoke to the sound of a cane clacking against tile. A black hood had been draped over her head to keep her from guessing the location in transit, but since they weren’t moving she assumed they had arrived. Rough rope tied her hands behind her back. It splintered and dug into her skin all at once making any movement uncomfortable. The chair she sat in had no back and wobbled even as she turned her head.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you know I could charge you with assaulting an officer at this point. Throw you in jail and let you rot. But you’ve faced the jury before haven’t you?”

Her hood was ripped off. A bright light was shining down at her causing her eyes to water. She didn’t need to see him to know the guy talking was the same one who’d pulled a gun on her. She gave a soft smile when she heard the cane make contact with the tile once again.

“No, sir.” Y/N’s voice broke. It felt like hours since she’d last spoken a word. Or had anything to drink.

“Sir? That’s such a respectful word from someone who tried to break my ankle.” 

She shrugged, wincing as the rope bit into her wrists. “Well you did pull a gun on me. So I figured fair is fair, Mister…?”

He bent down, his silhouette suddenly a dark mass against the light, “It’s Inspector actually. Inspector Chester Campbell. Matthew on the other hand didn’t have a gun.”

Y/N glanced up, “Matthew?”

“That man whose head you caved in. His name was Matthew,” he growled shoving aside the light.

Now she could get a proper look at him. Y/N felt her stomach drop out from underneath her. This was the man Grace had met at the Opera. Bile rose in Y/N’s throat; now she couldn’t play fast and loose tossing her life to the wind. Now she had to make it out of her and warn Thomas. 

Inspector Campbell leaned in close enough Y/N could smell his breath. “Is that shame I see? Or fear? What a pity. I was hoping you were the cold blooded killer your files said you were.”

Y/N tried to clear her throat, “My file?”

“Your military file. Once I realized what your name was, I had every bit of information I could dug up on you. And believe me I almost had to pay an arm and a leg to do it. Nothing creates red tape like military shame.” he slowly paced the room turning his back to her.

He sure likes to hear himself talk. “Find anything fun?” she goaded.

He raised his eyebrow, “Oh, I bet you’re used to people just being stunned that you were able to join. It was a fun story I’ll admit, but that’s not what caught my eye.”

She heard the noise before she felt it. A billy club made contact with her flesh just to the left of her spine. A thunderous crack resounded throughout the room. The sound that ripped out of her mouth wasn’t human.

 It felt as if someone had slipped a red-hot hook inside her and ripped her insides to shreds. The world went white. She couldn’t stop screaming long enough to breathe. Y/N’s skin was instantly covered in sweat as she shook.

The men around her recoiled. Some even turned green. Yet Inspector Campbell’s face remained smooth as glass as he watched the aftermath of what his men had done.

When she collapsed, doubled over and panting, he reached down and yanked her head back by her hair. Y/N could barely focus on him in the weird lighting. And quite frankly she couldn’t give two shits about how close he was.

“Look up. Look at me. You killed an officer of the law today, so I can’t just let you go. But don’t worry; you’ll make it out of here alive. I mean sure we’ll have to strike a deal first-”

Y/N spat in his face.

He sneered, letting go long enough to wipe away her saliva. Then he backhanded her with a resounding thud. Her head snapped to the side almost causing her chair to wobble dangerously. Inspector Campbell’s voice was soothing as he spoke, “Now disrespect me again and there will have to be real consequences. I want you to tell me everything you know about Thomas Shelby. Judging by the fact that you put all this work to hunt him down three years after your service ended, I’d wager to say you and he have something special.”

Y/N mulled over her options. She was in a room full of people who would face no repercussions for what they did to her. The only thing that stopped them was whatever passed for morals in a torture session. If war had taught her anything it was that good men gave way to monsters when push came to shove.

“What’s left of my platoon lives here, Inspector. The military let them think I was dead, all because of shame. I came here to tell them I was alive.”

“And now that that’s done I suppose you’ll be on your way?”

She shook her head. “Put a down payment on a place. Gotta job lined up that starts soon. I’m here to stay, my good sir, and I’ll say this is one hell of a welcome party.”

Inspector Campbell tapped his cane on the tile, “Did Thomas bring you in to deal with the guns?”

“I would’ve loved to see that seance.”

The Inspector nodded towards whomever stood behind her. His men recoiled before the blow even landed. CRACK. Pain. Blackness.

Y/N started awake sputtering as water as thrown in her face. She was somewhat aware of a clicking noise. It was the Inspector.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought you were a British soldier, the best of the best. Now why is it that you black out from a couple of switches to the back?” His grin caused nausea to twist in Y/N’s gut.

She didn’t answer, only took slow deep breaths. That wasn’t going to be the last time he hit her. They all knew it.

He circled around her, using his cane to lift her shirt. “You were shot in the abdomen correct?”

When she stayed silent he cracked his cane on the tile floor. She flinched before nodding.

“Then why is there no exit wound? Did they remove the bullet through your stomach?” he continued. 

“No.” 

His eyes flashed in the dim light, a triumphant smile on his face, “So it’s still there. Tell me, Ms. Y/L/N, do you think old age will get you first or lead poisoning?”

She rolled her eyes. “My own pride is what’ll get me.”

Inspector Campbell opened a small pocket book. “And why do you say that?”

“Well for starters if this is what you call torture you’re fucking awful at it.” She slowly sat up refusing to huddle in on herself any longer. She could see a man who stood opposite her shake his head. He didn’t want to watch what was about to happen. At least someone here is smart.

“Do enlighten us Miss.”

Y/N cackled. “No. This is a beat down. You have limited time before Thomas notices I’m missing. You need to get me in and out with little to no markings as fast as possible otherwise he’ll know I got nabbed.”

He interrupted. “It’s just information we want.”

“Oh, that ‘information you want’, why haven’t you gone to his other war buddies? The town is thick with them. Oh that’s right, cause they won’t tell you jack shit. Think I’ll just spill the beans because I’m a woman? Fuck you.”

His eyes turned dark, “We can do more to you than beat you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Then he saw it, the wild look he’d only seen in Thomas Shelby until now. A grin split her face as she snarled at him. Her gaze was that of a starving predator that had finally caught sight of food after a long winter.

Her voice was filled with venom as she spat, “Give me a reason to hang your flesh from the good ‘Ol Tower of London.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

Inspector Campbell raised his cane and brought it down across her back so hard it knocked over her chair. Her rage filled scream resounded off the walls as the rest of the men closed in on her. Most of them looked sick even as they beat her with their fists, their clubs, whatever they had that would bring maximum pain. Eventually, they stopped to check and make sure she was still breathing.

[justatiredghost]

Living for the Moment Ch20 A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other? Read More AO3

Klaus paced back and forth, chewing on his nails, feeling sick to his stomach with anxiety. He knew this was a bad idea, of course it was. He should just go. But he couldn’t help but pause when he peaked back around the corner to where Dave was currently waiting for him. He was leaning casually back against the wall, hands in his pocket, with a serene look on his face as he gazed up at the sky, enjoying the sunlight.

He ducked back around the corner, pulling at his own hair in frustration, trying to ignore the fondness welling up inside him. What was he even supposed to do? Go along with Dave and see how things turned out, as if he didn’t already know it would end in disaster?

But it just seemed too cruel to ditch him. Maybe he owed him an explanation. Why couldn’t Dave see that he was too fucked up to care about anyone else? That his very survival was dependent on that selfishness?

“What are you going to do?” Ben asked, sitting on a dumpster, swinging his legs. He was anxious too, he could tell.

“I don’t know,” Klaus snapped. He knew he needed to make up his mind soon, or Dave would just go and he’d miss his chance.

“It’s not fair to take advantage of him,” Ben said. “And being around him might just make him relapse.”

“He seems perfectly fine with that arrangement,” Klaus pointed out. So why was he having so much trouble with this?

His mind kept going back to the one time he actually tried to date someone. It was for selfish reasons, of course it was, but he’d realized very quickly that he hated it. He hated living off of someone else, having them provide for him, to take care of everything. Sure, Klaus was useless, and he took advantage of people all the time, but somehow, this was different.

Klaus wasn’t proud of much, but he was proud of how self-sufficient he was. He didn’t need anyone, he could survive on his own just fine. And as long as he relied only on himself, he couldn’t be abandoned. He couldn’t disappoint someone so much that they finally realized he wasn’t worth all that trouble. And, he was surprised when the thought came to him that he didn’t want to do that to Dave.

“You could always get sober—“ Ben began.

“Not helping,” Klaus snapped. “And it’s pretty low, using this to get me to do what you want.”

“Hey, I had to try,” Ben shrugged, unrepentant.

“You always were a weird one, always talking to yourself.”

Klaus spun around at the voice, his heart sinking. Somehow, Dick had found him.

“This is a really bad time for me,” Klaus said earnestly. “Any chance we can do this later?”

“What do you think?” Dick said, pulling out a switchblade.

So it was going to be like that, then. Usually, it was enough for most dealers to rough him up a bit, maybe make some sort of deal of exchange to placate them, or Klaus could just suck them off or something. But Dick had always been, well, a dick. Klaus hated fighting. He could do it, of course, he’d trained all through his entire childhood. But why do that when running was a perfectly good option?

He kicked up dirt into Dick’s face and ran. When his plan to lose him in the maze of backstreets failed, he changed tactic. Maybe he could lose him in a crowd if he could get to the main street nearby. When he came around the corner, though, he immediately ran into someone, feeling arms grab him and he started to panic, thrashing out.

“Klaus?”

He looked up at the voice to see Diego in his police uniform. Fuck. Somehow, that as even worse than Dick or one of his lackies. Dick came around the corner, then, also running into them. As he staggered back, Diego’s partner grabbed him too, twisting his hand behind his back to disarm him.

“Nice,” Klaus told her.

“You know this guy?” she asked Diego.

“My brother,” Diego said, with more contempt than he thought necessary.

“It’s lovely to see you too,” Klaus said.

“What the hell is going on here?” Diego asked, keeping a hold of the back of his jacket at the neck, clearly ready to strong arm him if he tried to make a break for it.

“Dick, here, just jumped me,” Klaus exclaimed, because for once he hadn’t actually been doing anything wrong.

“I have a name, you know,” Dick said.

“What, is it not Richard?”

“No! It’s Joe!”

“Whoops.”

“Shut up,” Diego sneered. “If we search you both, are we gonna find drugs?”

Both Dick, er, Joe, and Klaus side-eyed each other. They would definitely find drugs.

“Okay, we’re gonna take you both down to the station,” the partner said as she launched into reading them their rights.

“Diego, come on, you gotta let me go,” Klaus begged as he was handcuffed and led over to the patrol car.

“And why would I do a thing like that?” Diego asked, barely looking at him as he guided him inside.

“I gotta go meet up with a— a friend,” Klaus said, practically falling into the back seat, stumbling over his words as he tried to figure out what he was even supposed to call Dave, and if he’d even still want to be his friend if he didn’t make it in time. “Please, he won’t wait forever.”

“Yeah, you’re not going to meet up with your dealer,” Diego rolled his eyes and slammed the door closed.

“For once, it’s not a dealer,” Klaus yelled through the glass, knowing Diego wasn’t even listening to him anymore. He kicked the back of the seat in front of him in frustration. “Fuck.”

-

“Come on,” Klaus groaned, banging his forehead lightly against the bars.

He’d been generally irritating since he got here. Either it would make them want to get rid of him sooner, or start a fight. At least then something would happen. It was better than sitting there with the gnawing feeling of guilt at inadvertently standing Dave up. Again.

“Shut up,” one of the other guys in the cell with him muttered. Fight it was, then.

“All right,” Diego said, appearing around the corner, holding up the key. “I guess you’re free to go. They’re letting you off with a warning, for some reason.”

“Yes!”

One of the other guys in the cell sighed in relief.

“I’m going to be out on the streets tonight,” Diego said, moving closer and keeping his voice low, threatening. “I better not catch you with any dealers. I won’t go easy on you next time.”

“I know you’ll never believe me,” Klaus said, patting Diego’s face, earning him an annoyed look as he shoved his hand away. “But, for once, it really isn’t what you think. In fact, I doubt you’d even be able to guess.”

Diego made a face like he was imagining all sorts of terrible things. “Just get out of here before I change my mind.”

“I didn’t think it was even up to you?” Klaus said, cackling as he dodged away from his angry brother.

-

Klaus wasn’t really sure what he was expecting 6 hours after the meeting time. He sprinted almost the entire way to the alley from the police station, stumbling to a stop when he arrived. It was after dark, now, but it was still easy enough to see that it was completely deserted.

Frustration and disappointment bubbled up and he cursed, kicking over a trash can. Sure, he hadn’t made up his mind if he was even coming here, but the choice had been taken away and now Dave was probably out there, thinking he hated him. Klaus dropped to the ground and leaned back against the wall, scrubbing at his face.

Maybe he could still hunt Dave down, but even if he did, would he even want to talk to him? To him, it would look like he’d sent a clear message that he wasn’t interested in having anything to do with him. Why did the idea of never seeing Dave again suddenly make him feel so frantic? He thought it would be satisfying to have it all over and done with, he could move on and go back to the way things were supposed to be. But suddenly, all he wanted was to see Dave again.

Light from the nearby street lamp reflected off of something on the ground, catching his eye. He wasn’t really sure why he latched onto it, he had no reason to believe it had anything to do with, well, anything. Maybe he just wanted a distraction. With nothing else to do, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled towards it.

“Klaus,” Ben said. He was standing down the alley, looking towards a side street.

Klaus waved a hand at him with a hiss, his attention completely on the ground. He knelt down for a closer look and his breath caught in his throat. Dark drops and smears. Blood? And when he looked back over towards Ben, he saw part of a handprint on the wall leading to that same alleyway he was still staring down.

He wasn’t sure why a cold dread was suddenly settling in his gut. He told himself that there was no reason to believe the blood could belong to anyone he knew, but he still had to force himself to keep moving. As he turned the corner, moving to stand next to Ben, he saw a figure sprawled on the ground, unmoving. And even at this distance, he could recognize the curly hair, even if his face was turned away.

“No, no, no, no, Dave,” Klaus exclaimed, running forward and dropping to the ground on his knees.

He was pretty sure he stopped breathing himself as he rolled Dave over. But Dave gasped out in pain, looking up at him blearily. He was alive. But he was not in good shape at all. He had a split lip, bruises on his cheekbone and forehead, and Klaus was pretty sure he had blood caked in the hair at the back of his head.

“Klaus?” Dave said. “You always did have impressive timing.”

“Damn, what the hell happened to you?” Klaus said, looking him over. He noticed he had a hand clamped over his side, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Nothing, really,” Dave said, waving a hand dismissively, trying to muster up a smile. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Dave, you’re literally bleeding everywhere,” he said. He pulled his jacket off quickly and did what he could to get it under control..

“It’s okay,” Dave said. “You don’t have to—“

“Shut up, it’s not okay,” Klaus snapped. “We need to get you help.”

“I’d rather avoid the hospitals.”

“Normally I’m always the one saying that,” Klaus said. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know if they’ll try again.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Klaus exclaimed. “You know what? Nevermind. We can deal with that after we stop you from dying.”

“You could take him to Diego’s?” Ben suggested.

“Not unless I want to get stabbed too,” Klaus countered, checking Dave for any other major injuries.

“He wouldn’t stab you,” Ben rolled his eyes.

“What?” Dave asked, looking confused, like he wasn’t sure if Klaus was the one acting weird, or if it was his head wound.

“Are we still on good terms with that veterinarian?” Klaus asked. “I can’t remember what happened the last time we all got high together.”

“You stole his pants and left him unconscious in a public park,” Ben said, deadpan.

“Ah. Hilarious, but probably not him, then.”

“You could always go back to the academy,” Ben said.

“Only if I want to get thrown out a window,” Klaus rolled his eyes. What a stupid suggestion.

“Luther wouldn’t do that in front of mom. Right?” Ben said doubtfully. “Besides, what other choice do you have?”

“Fine,” Klaus said with a groan, realizing they really were out of options. He turned back to Dave. “Shit, I think I know a place we can go, but we have to sneak in.”

“What was that about getting thrown out a window?” Dave asked, alarmed. “Maybe the hospital would be safer.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Probably,” Klaus said, helping him sit up.

Klaus hadn’t been home since he’d been thrown out years ago. Honestly, if he never saw his father again, that would be great, but he needed to find Mom if Dave was going to make it through this alive. Surely even that bastard wouldn’t throw them out before he’d been patched up. Well, then again, he wouldn’t put it past him, but they had to at least try. And Dave was fading fast, leaning heavily against him.

“Don’t you die on me,” Klaus muttered as he did his best to support him along. “I don’t need anymore ghosts haunting me.”

The back window was easy enough to jimmy open, he’d been doing it since he was a kid, running off almost every night. As soon as he had it open, he scrambled inside, practically falling on his face as he did so.

“Be more careful,” Ben scolded him, looking around nervously, like he was worried about being caught too..

Klaus hissed at him to be quiet which just made Ben roll his eyes. He turned to the door, unlocking it so Dave wouldn’t have to risk falling through the window too. Klaus kept stealing concerned glances at him, checking to make sure he was still breathing as he slumped against him, which was probably why he almost immediately ran into someone as they headed into the hall.

“Klaus,” Grace exclaimed when she saw him, looking genuinely pleased to see him. “I thought I heard someone moving about in here. It’s so good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Klaus said in relief, ignoring Dave’s look of confusion. “Is Dad home? Luther?”

“No, they’re out on a mission,” she said, completely unconcerned. “But who’s your friend? And can I get you boys some tea?”

“Good,” Klaus said, practically deflating in relief before remembering why they’d come here in the first place. “Actually, Dave here got himself stabbed. Think you can take a look?”

“Of course,” she said, turning to look at Dave properly. “Oh my, what happened to you, my dear? Let’s go get you all patched up, shall we?” She looked concerned at his state, and honestly that made Klaus even more worried.

“Yes ma’am,” Dave said, still confused and probably a little dazed from the blood loss. He looked even more confused still when she took his arm and was able to support him with seemingly no effort at all.

“How bad do you think it is?” Klaus asked.

“I won’t know until I take a look,” she said kindly. “Wait here, won’t you?”

Klaus didn’t want to, but Mom always did insist they wait elsewhere when she had to tend to one of them after a mission so he’d been expecting it. The problem was, he hated waiting. He’d never been a patient person, but this was just too much. He turned away and started pacing anxiously, ignoring Ben’s sympathetic look. He wiped at his sweaty brow, running a trembling hand through his hair before remembering it was still covered in Dave’s blood.

“You look like a crime scene,” Ben said, finally breaking the silence. “You should probably do something about that. If you go back out there looking like that, you’ll probably get arrested.

Klaus caught sight of himself in a mirror and Ben was right, he was covered in blood. Dave’s blood. He went to the nearest bathroom and dunked his entire head under the faucet, not bothering to let it warm up first, and he scrubbed more roughly than was necessary at the blood now matting his hair.

When he was done, he caught sight of the blood smeared across his shirt, and he thought he was going to be sick. He ripped it off and threw it into the sink as well. He rubbed his face against his arm as he washed his hands and arms, trying not to think, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes and the way his throat tightened. Dave was going to be fine. Mom was made for this kind of thing. He had to be fine. That’s when Klaus realized that, even if he wasn’t in his life anymore, even if he never got to see him again, Dave needed to be alive. That was all that mattered.

Shit.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Honey, If You Stay

Enjoy the next installment of my Michael Sanders AU, set sometime between Caught in the Moment and A Father Like That 💜

Also on AO3!

***

Michael has only just put his bedtime reading on irrigation systems on the floor beside his bed and turned in for the night when his phone buzzes loudly on his bedside table. He reaches for it immediately, unplugging the charger so he can pull it closer to his face. He has a single text from Alex, and another comes through as he’s opening it.

Are you awake?

Please tell me you’re awake.

A heavy feeling sinks into Michael’s gut as he reads the words—something doesn’t feel right. He quickly types out his reply.

Yeah, are you okay?

Alex’s reply comes not from his phone, but in the form of a soft knock on his bedroom window. Michael looks over to see Alex standing outside, drenched by the rain that’s been pouring down all night.

Michael leaps from his bed and rushes to the window. He opens it as far as it’ll go and Alex climbs inside. He reaches for Michael immediately, burying his face in Michael’s neck and breathing deep. Michael wraps his arms around him tight without a care for how wet he gets, anxiety buzzing under his skin.

“What happened?” Michael asks him.

Alex just shakes his head and holds on tighter. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Dread fills him even more, but as Alex shivers in his arms, Michael decides to shove that down and focus on warming him up—he knows what happens when humans stand in the rain too long and he doesn’t want Alex to get sick.

“You’re freezing, come on,” Michael says, tugging Alex toward his bedroom door.

Alex lets Michael lead him out of his bedroom and into the bathroom down the hall. He leans listlessly against the sink while Michael turns the shower on, holding his hand under the spray until he feels it reach a good temperature.

When he turns around, he sees Alex watching him with a complicated expression on his face. Now that they’re in the light, Michael can see he’s not wearing any eyeliner like he usually is. He isn’t sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it—Alex is dripping water all over the floor and he still needs to grab him something dry to change into. He just hopes he has a clean pair of underwear for him—he’s been putting off laundry day a little too long.

“Water should be warm enough now,” Michael says as he heads toward the door. “You can leave your wet clothes in the sink, I’ll wash them with mine tomorrow.”

Alex reaches for Michael’s hand as he’s about to leave. He catches him around the wrist, his fingers digging into his skin a little desperately. Michael turns around to look at him and finds Alex’s eyes glassy and wet, his breathing shallow.

Michael backtracks until he’s standing right in front of him again. Alex’s breathing starts to calm when Michael touches him, moving his free hand up to cradle Alex’s cheek delicately in his palm, so Michael leans in to kiss him, soft and sweet, offering him the only comfort he can think to give.

It works, Alex’s grip on his wrist loosening in relief.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Michael tells him when he pulls away. “I’m just gonna get some pajamas and a towel for you.”

Alex visibly swallows before he nods.

Michael presses another gentle kiss to his cheek before he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He sneaks back into his room and grabs his last clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt from his dresser before slipping into the hall to get a couple of fresh towels from the linen closet. When he reenters the bathroom, he finds Alex already in the shower. His clothes are piled in the sink, and his muddy shoes are on the floor near the cabinet.

Michael throws a towel on the floor and uses his foot to haphazardly wipe up the mess before he sets the clothes down on the closed toilet seat cover. He’s just hanging the towel up on the rack by the shower when the curtain pulls back and Michael looks over to see Alex peeking his head out, the color in his cheeks a healthy pink.

“You gonna join me?” Alex asks, and there’s a subtle, flirtatious twist to his lips that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It makes Michael hesitate, but if Alex wants him close right now, he can’t think of a single reason he should deny him.

“Yeah,” Michael answers, reaching back to strip off his shirt. He lets his bottoms pool at his feet before he steps into the shower.

As soon as he’s inside, Alex crowds him against the shower wall. The tile is cool against his back, a dizzying contrast to the heat of Alex’s hands on his hips and the hot water beating down around them. He feels Alex’s lips on his then, and his skin is soft as always, but he’s anything but gentle as he covers Michael’s mouth with harsh, biting kisses.

Michael usually loves it when Alex kisses him like this, loves to feel how much Alex wants him, how desperate he is to have him, but this… this feels different. It feels a little like Alex is trying to disappear inside his mouth, and it sours the pleasure coiling in Michael’s belly.

Alex didn’t stand in the rain for a fun midnight hook up, he reminds himself. Something’s wrong.

“Alex,” Michael gasps, tilting his head to get the space to speak, but Alex doesn’t stop kissing him. The grip on his hips tightens as he moves down Michael’s jaw to his throat. He sinks his teeth into the join of Michael’s neck and shoulder, and under normal circumstances Michael would find that brain-meltingly sexy, but right now it just makes the pit of his stomach drop. “Alex, stop, look at me.”

Alex does, his chest heaving as he wrenches himself away like he’s been burned.

“Shit, I’m—I’m sorry,” he gasps, eyes wide and devastated as he tries to put some distance between them, but Michael doesn’t let him go far, reaching for his waist to pull him back in.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Michael assures him, rubbing his palms against the smooth skin of Alex’s sides. “I’m not mad, it’s just—you’re upset.”

Alex looks away, swallowing hard.

Michael raises his right hand from Alex’s waist to tip his chin up until he can look him in the eye again. “What’s going on?” he asks, voice pitched low and soothing despite how unsettled he feels.

They stare at each other for a long minute, the hot water raining down upon them, before Alex’s eyes fill with tears and his face crumbles. Michael catches him as he pitches forward, his right hand immediately going to the back of Alex’s head while his left loops around his waist to hold Alex securely against him.

“Shh, I’m here, it’s okay,” he whispers in Alex’s ear, rocking him softly as he sobs into his neck. Alex’s hands slide uselessly against Michael’s skin as he tries to grab onto him, his chest shuddering with each breath he takes. Every gasp, every sob, every whimper is amplified in his ears by the acoustics of the shower, and Michael’s heart fucking shatters for him. He’s never seen Alex cry like this before. “You’re gonna be okay, baby, I promise,” he says thickly, his own eyes burning with tears. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Alex doesn’t cry for more than a few minutes, but it’s long enough for the shitty water heater they’ve got to run out of hot water. Michael turns the shower off quickly in those precious few seconds before it turns from tepid to ice cold and reaches for the towel on the rack by the shower.

Michael towels Alex off first, starting with his hair and then moving down his body. Alex leans into him a little as he does it, allowing Michael the freedom to touch him however he needs to to get him dry. The intimacy of it strikes him—Alex is usually relentlessly self-sufficient, and Michael hasn’t been naked with anyone without some form of sex being involved since he was old enough to shower by himself. It feels important somehow, like they’ve reached a milestone, or a turning point maybe. Michael’s heart aches at how much Alex is trusting him right now.

“Go get dressed, okay?” Michael tells him once he’s finished. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Okay,” Alex croaks and steps out of the shower.

Michael gets himself dried off as quick as he can and pulls on the clothes he’d been wearing before.

When they’re both fully clothed, they tip-toe into Michael’s bedroom. Alex climbs into Michael’s bed without a word, his back facing him. Michael slides right up against his back, and pulls the covers over them both. He nuzzles his face into the back of Alex’s neck and secures his arm tightly around his waist.

They’re both quiet for a long time, the only sounds to be heard their breathing and the soft patter of rain against the roof. Michael wants to ask him what happened again, but he doesn’t. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. There’s only one thing Michael needs Alex to know before he loses him to sleep for the night.

“I love you,” Michael whispers, pressing a kiss to the spot behind Alex’s ear. “Whatever’s going on, I love you, and I’m here for you. I’m right here.”

Alex doesn’t respond, but Michael can hear his throat click as he swallows, so he doesn’t think he’s fallen asleep. A moment later, Alex reaches down to entwine their fingers together before bringing their joined hands to rest against his chest, right over his heart.

Michael thinks that’s the end of it, so he drops another kiss to the back of his head and closes his eyes. He’s just on the edge of sleep when he finally hears Alex speak.

“He hates me,” Alex says, so soft Michael barely hears it, but it sends ice shooting through his veins all the same.

Michael doesn’t need to ask who he means. When Alex doesn’t say anything else, he asks, “Did he hit you?”

Michael’s suspected for a while that Alex’s dad beats him, but Alex always shrugs him off whenever he brings it up. He’s never actually seen any marks on him to prove it either, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Michael wasn’t in the foster system for long, but it was long enough for him to learn that there’s plenty of ways to hurt people without leaving any evidence.

Alex huffs a bitter laugh. “He didn’t need to.”

Michael pulls him back against his chest a little more firmly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, not knowing what else he could possibly say to make Alex’s pain disappear.

Alex lifts their joined hands toward his mouth so he can kiss Michael’s fingers and keeps them there. The position is a little awkward for Michael, but he’d rather cut off his own arm than move an inch.

“I just don’t understand,” Alex continues a moment later, his voice sad and frustrated. “Flint can fuck around and get a pat on the back for pulling C’s in every class, but I get one fucking A- and he’s tearing apart my room and making a bonfire out of my posters? Why is nothing I do ever good enough? Why doesn’t—“ Alex cuts himself off abruptly, swallowing the emotion thick in his throat. “Why doesn’t he love me?”

An aching fury unlike anything Michael has ever known rises inside him; he wants to scream, wants to cry at the unjustness of Alex—the beautiful, wonderful boy who has shown him nothing but love and kindness as long as he’s known him—having a father capable of such cruelty that he would make him feel so unloved. Michael’s vision blurs with tears, but it’s not his pain that matters right now, so he bites his bottom lip harshly between his teeth to keep from crying out until he regains his composure enough to answer.

“Because he’s a psychopath who doesn’t even deserve to know you, Alex,” Michael says.

Alex sighs, but otherwise doesn’t react.

“How often does he do stuff like this?” Michael asks, fearing the answer.

“Often enough,” Alex says, and he’s vague enough that Michael gets the feeling this happens far more often than Alex has ever let on.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Michael asks, trying hard not to let it come out like an accusation. He’s relieved when Alex doesn’t take it as one.

“I don’t like thinking about him when I’m with you,” Alex answers.

“What about Liz and Maria? Do they know?”

“A little,” Alex says. “They walk on eggshells around me whenever I say anything, which is really fucking annoying, so I don’t tell them much anymore.”

“So you just deal with it all on your own?” Michael asks, rubbing his thumb against the back of Alex’s hand.

“Yeah,” Alex shrugs. “Always have, I guess. When it gets bad, I just go to the shed behind my house to be alone.”

“But not tonight,” Michael comments.

“No,” he says softly. “Not tonight.”

Michael lets that hang in the air between them for a moment before he asks, “What changed?”

“I, um…” he says, voice wavering. He sniffles when he pauses. “I just needed you, I guess.”

Michael’s chest clenches at Alex’s admission, and he presses a soft kiss to the back of Alex’s neck. He’s about to tell Alex how mutual that need is, but Alex starts to speak again.

“And I didn’t…” he says, his voice soft and hesitant like there’s something he needs to vocalize, but isn’t quite sure how.

“Didn’t what?” Michael prods gently.

“I didn’t feel safe there, with him still in the house,” Alex admits after a brief, pregnant pause and, fuck, Michael wants to cry again.

“You’re safe here,” Michael assures him, a desperate edge to his voice as he draws his arm tighter around him. “You’re safe with me. You’ll always be safe with me, Alex.”

Alex is quiet for a few seconds before Michael hears him sniffle. “I know,” he whispers. “But I’m not always here, am I?”

“You could be,” Michael insists, untangling his fingers from Alex’s to move his hand to his shoulder in an attempt to make him turn around. When he doesn’t budge, Michael slides his right thigh over Alex’s hips and lifts himself over him so he’s lying in the narrow space between Alex and the wall. Alex won’t quite meet his eyes, so he tips his chin up with a gentle touch. “I’m serious, Alex. Don’t go home. Stay here with me.”

It’s dark in his room, but Michael thinks he can make out a wistful expression on Alex’s face as he sighs. Michael waits for his answer with bated breath.

“I can’t do that,” he says finally, shaking his head. Michael tries to fight off the hurt his answer brings, but it’s easier said than done.

“Why not?” Michael asks.

“Because if he finds out where I am—and he will—he’ll hurt you, and I can’t—that’s not an option, no matter how bad things get,” Alex explains. “I can’t risk you like that, Michael. I won’t.”

“And, what, you think I can risk you? You just told me you don’t feel safe in your own home, Alex,” Michael says, his frustration growing. “Why won’t you let me protect you?”

“Because I love you,” Alex says, his voice breaking over the words, “and if he gets his hands on you, I will never forgive myself.”

They stare at each other for a long time, neither one of them willing to back down. Michael understands where Alex is coming from, he does, but the thought of him spending even a single minute somewhere he doesn’t feel safe makes Michael feel like he can’t breathe.

“What if we made a compromise?” Michael asks at last.

“What kind of compromise?” Alex asks warily.

“Forget the shed—you come here if it gets bad,” Michael proposes. “If anyone asks, you’re at Liz’s or Maria’s. You already do that when we’re together anyway, so it’s not like it’s unbelievable.”

Alex doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“I don’t know if—“ Alex starts, but the desperation curdling Michael’s stomach has him interrupting.

“Please, Alex,” Michael begs him. “Let me have this. I need to know you have an exit plan if you need one. I need you to feel safe.”

Alex studies his face as best he can in the dark for a long, terrifying moment.

“Okay,” Alex says at last and Michael feels such a strong rush of relief that he starts to tear up again.

“Thank you,” he says, and a few tears leak from his eyes as he captures Alex’s lips in a kiss. “Thank you.”

Instead of answering with words, Alex rakes his fingers through Michael’s curls and drags him in for another kiss, this one sweet and tender and everything Michael needs right now. It settles him more than he can say, makes him feel safe and warm and loved. He hopes his kisses make Alex feel the same way.

“What about your dad though?” Alex asks when he pulls away, distractedly twirling Michael’s hair between his fingers.

“What about him?” Michael asks.

“Will he be okay with me spending the night?”

“Yeah,” he answers with marginally more confidence than he really feels before he adds, “And, I mean, it’s not like you haven’t spent the night before.”

“Sneaking into your room every once in a while to fool around and then leaving before dawn is not the same thing as a sleepover and you know it, Michael Sanders,” Alex tells him, and he can’t quite see it but he’s sure Alex just rolled his eyes at him.

Michael sighs. He has a point.

“I’ll talk to him to make sure, okay?” Michael promises, reaching out to lay his hand on the side of Alex’s neck.

“Okay,” Alex relents.

Michael snuggles closer and leans in to kiss Alex’s forehead. Alex yawns sleepily as he pulls away and Michael laughs softly under his breath.

“Okay, time for bed,” Michael says, and Alex doesn’t fight him on it.

It takes a little maneuvering, but eventually Michael winds up on his back with Alex’s head resting on his chest and his fingers pressing into Michael’s bare skin where they’ve slid up under his shirt.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs against his collarbone.

“For what?” Michael asks, dropping a kiss onto the top of Alex’s head.

“For being here,” he answers, like it’s a kindness he never expected, and Michael can’t help but kiss him again.

“I’ll always be here for you, Alex,” Michael tells him, feeling the truth of those words as he whispers them into Alex’s hair. “All you need to do is stay.”

[inkribbon796]

The Demons Inside

Summary: With an unexpected lull in their enemies’ activity, the heroes try to go digging for answers.

A/N: Visitation Day.

Things in the base had quieted down. The Suits seemed to be in hiding. A troubling scenario since there seemed to be no cause for it. Sure Spade hadn’t yet retrieved his hand, but he wasn’t actively trying to steal it or the nanites back.

In fact it had been two full days since anyone had seen Spade, the thefts died down but the occasional demon hunter was being killed in the dead of night. But the lull was somehow worse than having the Suits always on the move.

So the heroes took the time to reconvene, making sure to keep a sufficient amount of heroes out in the city because the Suits seemed to know too much about their movements to allow anything less.

“It’s just,” Marvin began another rant over Bing’s phone, Nate was in a meeting room with Bing, Logan, Yancy, King, and J.J. “How do they always know where we fookin’[1] are?”

“Yeah that’s what’s botherin’[2] me too, dude,” Bing said, his eyes narrowing in thought even though his shades were hiding it. “Almost like we got—”

A knock came at the door, despite the fact that the door wasn’t even closed. It was the Host, he walked in, “Might the Host suggest something to assist the heroes?”

“Yeah, shoot,” Bing shrugged, J.J looking at the Host suspiciously as the seer walked in.

The Host cleared his throat, “The heroes are asking information from every side except for the one being targeted by the Suits the most, surely there would be some reason for it?”

“Who, the hunters, they’s[3] hate us?” Yancy reminded.

“For now,” the Host offered, “but the Host would think the heroes would want all the information they could get.”

“I would fookin’[1] love that,” Marvin spoke up. “But I’m bein’ fookin’ blackmailed, ‘memeber?”[4]

“Well, then it is a good thing that Marvin is not here to communicate with them,” the Host reminded smugly, leaning closer to the phone.

Marvin was quiet for a bit, then, “Aww, Host, yer doin’ a fookin’ bang up job ta get inta my good graces, yeh hear?”[5]

“The Host regrets to inform Marvin that he is breaking up and as such will not even hear what the heroes will talk about,” the Host smiled.

“Ahhh, nah, whate’er[6] will I—” Marvin lamented overdramatically before hanging up on his own.

“Well,” the Host smiled at Bing and Nate who smiled back at him. “Now that is he will not be here, the heroes are free to do whatever they want.”

“That’s all well an’ good, but how are we gonna get a hunter ta actually talk wit’ us?”[7] Yancy questioned.

“I know a hunter who will talk first, fight second,” Nate realized, moving back the Host. “Lo, come on, let’s go before the Suits come out of hiding.”

“Right,” Logan got up, making sure he was masked before leaving.

The other heroes went to the garage, mostly because that was becoming the spot where they talked to people in privacy who weren’t part of the Coalition.

Logan and Nate brought a hunter with them who was the only hunter in the city who wasn’t actively trying to kill Nate on sight. Nate introduced them as Taylor.

“We’s[8] met,” Yancy reminded curtly, standing protectively in front of King, the hunter staring at him cautiously. “What made youse wanna bother talkin’ to us now?”[9]

“The Guildmaster might be better than her predecessor but she’s too proud to ask for help,” Taylor sighed. “Believe me, if not for Nate I wouldn’t be here either.”

Nate stiffened before his skin paled and dark purple lines spread down from his eyes. Mare smiled, “If you don’t want to be here, then no one’s stopping you from leaving.”

“Don’t,” Taylor warned Mare. “It’s bad enough he’s letting you hitchhike.”

Shaking his head, Nate snapped, “Mare, don’t be an ass.”

“Oh, I’ll just let you deal with the hunters on your own then,” Mare responded snidely.

“Anyways, I can try and help but I just want to know,” the hunter cut in. “How many demons do you have in here and how many of them actually have regular hosts?”

“Nate and Mare,” Logan pointed to the singer.

“No, I meant the others,” Taylor motioned to Yancy and King.

“Ehh?” Yancy raised an eyebrow.

“You’re two of three adult-looking spawnlings and then there’s the,” the hunter visibly looked sick, “the kid.”

“Look we’s really only demons in name, none ‘a us can possess people,”[10] Yancy shrugged “An’ we’s only became demons ‘cause we’s are a part ‘a Dark an’ Wil’s family.”[11]

“Demons don’t form families,” Taylor scoffed in frustration, as if the heroes just weren’t getting it.

“Well one of them did, and Dark carved up some of his own territory to give them their own,” Nate told them.

“Yes, well,” Taylor began. “It is an abnormally large pact, usually only two or three demons can have an alliance before they fall to infighting. It makes sense he would kick the three of you out.”

King made a scoffing laugh at that, “You clearly don’t know shit about Dark then. He wouldn’t have kicked us out, even if we’d tried to kill him. The three of us left on our own, and given half a chance Dark would drag us back to the Manor kicking and screaming.”

“Demons don’t do that,” the hunter repeated. “That goes against everything that makes a demon in the first place. Even empaths shove their spawnlings out of the nest the first chance they get.”

Yancy glared at them, “Look, if youse ain’t gonna listen ta what we’s gotta say, we’s just gonna go back ta whate’er the fook we were doin’.”[12]

The hunter took a deep breath, clearly not believing him but said, “Fine, fine. Just are you still in your original bodies, or in someone else’s?”

“For better or worse I’m still in my own,” King answered, clearly baffled by the question itself. Yancy answered the same.

“The Host was made from the Author’s fractured mind and is still in the same body,” the Host answered. “The Entity and the Madman’s children that are aligned with the heroes are of no moral concern to the hunters. As for Lunky, their body was made from the ground up to suit them and no other soul has or will be housed in that vessel. No child was sacrificed, so the hunters need not worry about that either.”

The hunter was just studying the Host, clearly looking for any sigh of malice of dishonesty. “Fine,” they forced themself to say. “Fine, we know the most about Spade, obviously.”

At that moment, Mini walked in with the toolbox, and Lunky was following close behind making their little screeching noises, but when the spawnling saw the hunter their demeanor instantly did a one-eighty.

Lunky screeched at them, clinging onto Mini. The little spawnling’s arms stretched out to try and bring King and Yancy closer to them.

“Hey, bud,” King smiled, walking over and Lunky stretched to slip underneath King’s cape to glare at the hunter.

The action got a chuckle out of the animal magnet. “You trying to be big and scary, Junior?”

Lunky screeched at their father in complaint.

“Oh, sorry,” King smiled, “I’ll let you finish. So big and scary, aren’t you?”

“Dark thinks they’re just trying to crave out their own territory,” King explained, seeing the cautious look on the hunter’s face. “I just move around a lot, so they don’t know what they want, but they like the park.”

Bing chuckled as he walked over and took his toolbox from Mini, and stealthily took Lunky and placed him on his own shoulders. The 2-D drawing held onto Bing’s synthetic hair and glowering at the hunter, little growls coming from the small demon. “I just think they’re so social that people are their territory.”

“Maybe,” King smiled, fixing his crown.

The hunter, with every ounce of self control and clenched teeth, turned away from Lunky and King to look at Nate. “Alright we’re almost 100% positive that Spade’s a demon. We’re fairly certain that Hearts and Diamonds aren’t, and if Clubs isn’t a demon he’s really close to turning.”

“You sure?” Nate asked. “He’s violent and he’s sadistic as fuck but he primarily uses tech.”

Taylor looked frustrated, “So, he’s just a particularly smart glitch, apparently if a demon can start a family then a glitch can have a brain and an attention span long enough to help take over a city.”

“That would explain why Anti in particular is always going after Spade,” Logan commented. “As I understand it, demons are naturally territorial.”

They all got to talking, the hunter giving what information they could and eventually when Mini had to get his batteries recharged and his nanites flushed and refreshed, the hunter got ready to leave. Bing set him up in the garage and Lunky guarded over Mini’s drive and chittering at Mini as Bing watched them in amusement.

As the hunter walked out, Yancy followed them. He wasn’t trying to hide or be quiet.

“What do you get from working with King and his spawnling?” The hunter asked.

“Lunk’s my nephew an’[13] Kay’s my brother, that’s all there is ta[14] it,” Yancy started lighting up a cigarette. “King an’ the kid haven’t done a thin’ so let ‘em be.”[15]

Taylor went quiet for a moment, “I’ve been a hunter all my life, it’ll take some time to get over the fact that you’re all demons and demons kill people.”

Yancy took the cigarette out of his mouth to sigh. “Youse wanna go after Ills fer bein’ a thief, Yan fer killing people, or e’en Bim fer bein’ the fookin’ worst ta people, that’s fine. But King’s not that type ‘a person. An’ youse only care about humans so Lunky is none ‘a youse’s business. They’s only feed off demons. Leave ‘em outta it.”[16]

“So long as they don’t hunt humans,” Taylor reluctantly decided. “ I can pretend they’re not demons.”

The ex-convict sighed, “Yeah, that’s the best I can hope fer[17].”

He turned and walked back towards the base, the hunter watched him leave before going their own way. The day started turning to dusk in the sky.

The Host was down in his library, walking back in from talking to the hunter and the other heroes. As he narrated he became aware of another soul in his personal room and his bat appeared in his hand. Wheeling around, the seer swung the bat and his narrations halted when it came into contact with an aura that was almost as strong as his and it absorbed the blow.

The Host saw Diamonds and struggled to force the man’s actual name but his voice was trapped, strangled by the weight of his own narrations.

“The Host demands to know why Diamonds has intruded upon the Host’s space,” the Host demanded furiously.

“You stopped Bing, you stopped his witch hunt,” “J.J” sneered. “You let me have at least another day or two of unsuspected free reign here. Why?”

“The Host doesn’t have a choice,” the seer spat. “The Host needs to win this time, he must.”

“When you win, we win,” Diamonds reminded smugly.

“When . . .” the Host fought to choke out the real name again, “If Clubs wins, the Host loses.”

And with that the Host struck with his bat and his aura against Diamonds, hitting him directly in the face, and it made him whip his head back.

One instant he was standing in the Host’s library and in the next he was back in the elevator, ears ringing painfully and nose bleeding.

“Arghhh,” Diamonds groaned, bringing his hand to his nose and making sure he was still looking like J.J.

He wasn’t, which was an easy fix and came at the right second because the elevator doors opened and Yancy was standing there talking to Bing, and Bing was looking right at him.

“****![18] Jay, little dude are you alright man?” Bing asked in concern.

“Yes,” Diamonds signed with one hand as he tried not to leave any of his blood behind, the alarm not faked in the slightest because he’d almost been caught. “Don’t know why I’m bleeding.”

Bing and Yancy quickly rushed J.J to Iplier who was coming through the base’s front door and he got a quick checkup, and in the chaos the two drops of blood in the elevator were left on the ground, as the elevator doors closed, bringing the elevator back down to the Host.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. fucking

2. bothering

3. they

4. But I’m being fucking blackmailed, remeber?

5. Aww, Host, you’re doing a fucking bang up job to get into my good graces, you hear?

6. whatever

7. That’s all well and good, but how are we going to get a hunter to actually talk with us?

8. we’ve

9. What made you want to bother talking to us now?

10. Look we’re really only demons in name, none of us can possess people

11. And we only became demons because we’re a part of Dark and Wil’s family.

12. Look, if you aren’t going to listen to what we’ve got to say, we’re just going to go back to whatever the fuck we were doing.

13. and

14. to

15. King and the kid haven’t done a thing so let them be.

16. You want to go after Ills fer being a thief, Yan for killing people, or even Bim for being the fucking worst to people, that’s fine. But King’s not that type of person. And you only care about humans so Lunky’s none of your business. They only feed off demons. Leave them out of it.

17. for

18. Shit!

[calligraphist-artemisia]

The Fourth Moon of Kr'vta

For Kidgemas 2020. The prompt for December 27 is “Snow Angels”.

Summary: While Lance tries to convince Allura that they should take a vacation on a snow planet, Keith and Pidge take matters in their own hands and set off without the rest of the paladins.

Also posted on AO3 under the username “kishirokitsune”.

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There was only so long that Pidge was willing to watch Lance's painfully awkward attempts at flirting with Allura while also trying to convince her that a vacation on a planet covered in snow was exactly what they all needed. (Though why Lance “I-hate-the-cold-and-will-bundle-up-in-sweaters-if-the-temperature-drops-below-60” McClain wanted to go play in the snow would remain a mystery that she didn't care enough to solve.) She took a good look around to make sure Coran, Shiro, and Hunk were too preoccupied to pay her any attention and then she tapped Keith on the arm and gestured towards the doors.

It took Keith a few seconds to understand what she was indicating and then he nodded and they left the bridge without anyone noticing. Once the doors shut behind them, he turned to Pidge to ask what she wanted.

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think helped Lance find a planet that's safe enough for us to visit? I figure we may as well enjoy it before Allura fully shuts down Lance's idea.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Keith's face. “You... want to go play in the snow?”

“Yeah, it sounds like fun,” Pidge said with a shrug. “Mom and dad used to take us to a snow lodge on some holidays just to get away from everything. Matt and I always had a blast. If it's not something you're into I understand, but I'm still going to go.”

Keith was quiet for a moment but he didn't hesitate to continue following her. It was as they drew close to the fabrication room and slowed down to open the door, that he softly admitted: “I've never seen snow before.”

Pidge paused long enough to glance his way and give him a smile. “Then we better get you suited up.”

The door slid open before them and Pidge led the way to the fabricator on the far side of the room. A variety of fabric samples were hung around the rest of the walls, all labeled so that someone could fully customize their clothing if they wanted. The only place along those three walls that didn't have fabric was a door leading to the changing rooms. For Pidge it was all familiar; she'd visited the room a number of times to recreate her favorite sweater, as well as to make a variety of shirts that she wore beneath it.

“What is this place?” Keith asked as he looked around.

“Wait, you've never been to the fabrication room?” Pidge asked with a frown. “How have you been wearing the exact same thing this whole time? I thought Shiro was going to show you how to use this!”

Keith shrugged. “I think he was planning to, but I never saw the point. I just use the shower in my room to wash everything at the end of the day and let it dry overnight.”

Pidge made a sound like she wanted to say something, but instead turned away to cover up her grin. It really wasn't a surprise that Keith was so self-sufficient in such an unnecessary way. She found it charming, in its own way.

“We'll talk about that later, but right now we're making you a coat. And a hat and gloves. Maybe some thicker pants,” Pidge mused. “You know, I made fun of Lance when he spent an entire day in here trying to input styles from Earth, but I may have to thank him for doing that, otherwise we'd be running around in the snow in our armor instead. Yes, that's an option. No, we're not doing that.”

“I guess that would ruin the spirit of things,” Keith remarked, sounding as though he was trying not to laugh.

“It would.”

Pidge directed Keith to step up onto a raised platform so the system could scan him for his measurements. Soon after, she made a few quick selections on the screen and the fabrication machine went to work. It wasn't long before there were two bundles of clothing deposited in a chute in-between the screen and the platform where Keith stood.

“Here's yours,” Pidge said, gesturing to the bundle of red-and-black. Her own was noticeably green, and she scooped it up into her arms and set off to the changing room without waiting for Keith.

She took her time stripping out of her sweater, tank top, and shorts, carefully folding each and setting them to the side so she could retrieve them later, until she was standing only in her underwear. There was a brief moment where she admired the way the red looked against her pale skin but that moment quickly passed and she chastised herself for moving so slowly when Keith was undoubtedly waiting for her.

Pidge redressed in her chosen clothing – a white turtleneck and weatherproof gray pants (which had a texture somewhat similar to jeans), over which she wore a simple pea-coat in emerald green. To complete her ensemble were a pair of dark gray boots, as well as white gloves and a knit hat.

When she left the changing room, Keith was waiting for her as he pulled on his own gloves, which were black to match his pants and boots. His coat, which was similar in style to Pidge's but longer, was an attractive shade of red and he wore a scarf and hat that matched. He lifted his head as she approached, his eyes flickering over her form.

“Ready to go?” Pidge asked. “I was thinking we could take the Red Lion, since she's the fastest.”

Keith didn't hesitate to agree and it wasn't long before the pair of them were flying out into space with Pidge giving out the coordinates for Keith to input. To keep the others in the dark for a little while longer (and to buy more time to fully enjoy the snow), they temporarily turned off communication to the Castle of Lions.

“So, where exactly are we going?” Keith asked.

“The fourth moon of Kr'vta,” Pidge replied. “The poles are a whole new scale of subarctic, at least compared to Earth, but around the equator it usually stays just under freezing and it's perfect for snow.”

Kr'vta itself was a massive gaseous planet and was surrounded by several sets of icy rings, not unlike Saturn. Only the two largest moons had names – Kr'x and Kr'tn – and both were slightly larger than Earth and capable of housing life. The third largest moon had a liquid surface too hot for most species to handle. The fourth moon was known for its icy cold temperatures and while there were once several outposts established there, all intel suggested they had been abandoned for more profitable locations.

The Red Lion landed on the surface of the moon without any problem and Pidge and Keith were soon disembarking into the snowy landscape.

Pidge breathed in deeply, enjoying the crisp, fresh air.

It had been so long since she last got to enjoy the snow. Plaht City never saw snow even during the coldest years, so the only time she saw any was during the winters when her family would vacation at a ski resort in the mountains. She had such fond memories of racing Matt to be the first one to make snow angels.

Her eyes lit up and she grabbed Keith's hand, tugging him farther out into the snowy field.

“Pidge, what-?”

“I'm going to show you how to make snow angels!”

She took his silence as agreement.

“The hardest part is standing up without ruining the image once you're done. Matt and I found the best way is to get someone else to help you up. Our parents were always willing to lend a hand, but in this case it'll just be me and you.” Pidge released his hand and took a few steps away. “Do you want to go first?”

“Um, maybe you should? That way I can see how it's done,” Keith said.

Pidge grinned at him as she spread her arms wide and tucked her chin against her chest before letting herself fall backwards. The snow cushioned her fall, the fresh top powder resettling and melting on her face. She giddily moved her arms and legs until she was sure she had the perfect image imprinted into the snow and then she raised her arms. “Lift me up, Keith!”

She could hear snow crunching beneath his feet as she approached and then saw a pair of hands come into view as he carefully grasped hers and began to pull her up and forward. It was when she was halfway up and able to stand on her own that she realized a problem, but it was too late.

Keith overestimated the amount of strength needed to help her up and yanked her fully into his arms, which knocked him off balance and backwards into the snow with Pidge on top of him.

For a few long seconds, they could only lay there.

And then Pidge started to laugh.

Keith snorted and was soon laughing just as hard, both of them lost to mild hysteria over their own silliness.

Pidge lifted herself up, suddenly aware of Keith's arm around her waist, and her breath caught in her throat as she witnessed pure joy light up his face. She couldn't bring herself to get up and ruin the moment, too enraptured by how gorgeous he looked. (And she'd always found Keith attractive, but seeing him so happy made him even more so.)

The moment was eventually broken with the roar of a Lion from overhead and the rush of wind generated from the Blue Lion coming in for a fast landing.

Keith's laughter faded away, but his smile did not. “I think Lance ruined your snow angel.”

“I'm sure I can think of a suitable punishment. Want to help?” Pidge asked as she reluctantly stood. She held out her hand to help Keith, though he didn't need it.

“If it means I can shove snow down his coat? Absolutely.”

Pidge covered her mouth with one gloved hand to cover the giggle that bubbled up. “I think I can arrange that.”

[kidgetrash]

For that fluff prompt thing, I’ll offer 3 (Cuz kidge would be perfect with them) but you don’t have to do all of them 😂 -full hearted laugh -playing tabletop games -height difference

Thank you both for the prompts!  So two for height difference, and I added in the full hearted laugh and tabletop games too!  I wanted to make it D&D/Monsters and Mana, but I couldn’t figure out how to get them to do so alone!  So this is what you got!  It’s completely unedited, it’s almost midnight, I’m in a lot of pain, so I hope it makes sense and that I didn’t make too many typos!  Enjoy!

Monopolising My Heart

‘two, three, four…jeez.  Five.’

‘Hah!’  Pidge pointed at Keith across the table from her.  ‘That’s mine!  And two hotels!  Show me the money, Kogane!’

Keith watched as she threw her head back, laughing so hard he thought she might fall out of her chair, but she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  She put her whole body into it, clutching at her stomach as she clenched her property card in her hand, holding it aloft victoriously.  He waited until she calmed down somewhat, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, glasses pushed up on her forehead, then started counting out his money.  ‘You know, Monopoly is less fun with only two people.’

‘Not my fault Lance had to go to the infirmary after training.’  She quirked him an eyebrow that made him purse his lips.

‘I told you, I didn’t do it on purpose.’  Keith screwed his nose up at the memory of Lance’s nose blossoming with blood following a misplaced elbow.  His misplaced elbow.

‘Eh, no one would blame you if you did.  He was being an ass.’  She shrugged, reaching for his money but he snatched it out of reach.  ‘Hey, you owe me!’

‘I’ll do you a deal.’  Keith smirked as an idea hit him.  ‘If you can reach it, you can have it.’

‘That’s not in the rules!’  Pidge leant over the table as Keith raised the money over his head.

‘It is now.’

‘Gimme!’  Pidge rushed around to his side of the table but he had already stood up, arm still in the air, but that didn’t deter her.  ‘You think that’ll stop me?’  Grabbing hold of his collar, Pidge tried to pull him down but he was easily able to resist.

‘Problem, short stack?’  He grinned as she tried, and failed, to pull his arm down.

‘Shut up, lanky, there is absolutely no reason for you to need to be this tall!’

Keith laughed at her frustrated expression, did her adorableness know no bounds?  ‘What about when you can’t reach the cookies on the top shelf?  You’re all for abusing my height then.’  He turned just slightly out of her reach.

‘I could get those cookies if I wanted to!’  She pushed her foot off the bench he had been sitting on and dragged herself up, wrapping her legs around his torso as she clung onto his bicep.

Keith tried desperately not to show that he was slowly losing to her, not only physically but emotionally, not to mention how her body was pressed so close to his.  That thought alone made him swallow and question how good his self-control.  Pulling herself up further, Keith’s mouth went dry as her chest drew to eye level and he quickly switched the money to his other hand, hoping she would get down.  She didn’t.

Pidge shoved her foot into Keith’s side and launched herself towards his other hand, which threw him off balance.  Stumbling back, Keith fell onto the bench seat with Pidge straddling his chest.  It was only a moment later that she threw herself forward and snatched the money out of his hand.

‘Yes!  I win!’  Pidge laughed as she rocked back to sitting position with both arms raised in victory.  It was only when she looked down and found Keith below her, his cheeks flushed, and in perhaps the most compromising position she had ever found herself in.  ‘Uh, I’m just going to take my winnings and get up now.’  She tried to scramble back and off him but he caught her around the waist and pulled her back until she was flush against him.

‘I’m going to need some kind of receipt for that.’  He said in a low tone that had Pidge swallow hard.

‘You just don’t want to admit that you’re going broke and I won the game.’  She replied, her voice equally as hushed.

‘I’ll take lip service.’  The words were out of Keith’s mouth before he realised and his eyes went wide.

‘You…you would?’  Pidge asked uncertainly, wondering if this was really happening of if she was completely misreading this entire situation.

‘Yeah, I mean, if you don’t mind, that is.’  He half shrugged, wondering if he had slipped up somehow, but was delighted by her reply.

‘I don’t mind, not really at all.  In the slightest.’  Bowing her head she kissed him, planning it to be a simple peck, but the moment their lips touched it was like some switch was thrown inside each of them.  It lasted much longer than either anticipated, their lips caressing one another with gentle movements that had them both tingling.  As the separated Pidge let out a little shuddering sigh as her eyes blinked open and looked down into Keith’s lilac ones.  ‘Is that, uh, receipt sufficient?’  She whispered, thinking perhaps this was just some dare as part of the game that neither of them had planned on.

Keith cleared his throat.  ‘For a receipt, sure.  But I think I need some change.’

Pidge looked at him for a moment before deciding just to go ahead and clarify.  ‘Like literally or you want another kiss?’

‘I wouldn’t say no.  And honestly, this is better than winning Monopoly.’

Pidge laughed.  ‘How would you know, you always lose!’

Keith decided not to answer with words and instead pulled her down to claim her lips again with his own.  Pidge melted into the kiss, the game all but forgotten, the Monopoly money slipping from her fingers as she found a whole new meaning to the phrase the winner takes it all.

[shaydeoffical]

Bright as a Diamond. Shinso Hitoshi x Fem Reader: Chapter Ten

Chapter Summary: Shouta is away fro business, and Shinso and (Y/n) are left alone for the day. In a brilliant idea, (Y/n) convinces Shinso to train to be able to pin him down. Things turn stressful when she gets another cryptic text...and...is that a picture of Shinso on her phone? No way.

Series Summary: When (Y/N)’s co-worker decided to send a picture of her making a diamond to the paper, her life was over. Gemstone based quirks weren’t all that rare, but being able to make a diamond put a target on her back. After years of hiding in the city, it’s time to hide in the countryside with her Uncle Shota Aizawa and his more than ‘roommate’ Hizashi Yamada. With the promise of training her to be self-sufficient, she’s ready to learn.

Author Note: Please enjoy this, also long update lol. We are getting to the good stuff we have been waiting for, in this slow burn.    

Warnings: fihgting, blood, kidnnaping, violence

Last Chapter: Nine

Next Chapter: Eleven 

The Connect

  “HELP!!!” Hizashi screamed, shaking the house down with his quirk. I jumped from the bed, landing on my knees. While crossing the hall, I paused. Instead of running straight into the disaster zone, Hizashi's room, I began pounding on the purple-haired pro hero’s door. While it was hard to hear over the seismic waves cracking the foundation, I knew he couldn't just be asleep. Wiggling the handle, Shinso still didn’t answer but instead emerged from the bathroom in a towel.

  “I think it’s a bug.” I had my ears covered, use to this morning routine. Shinso had been staying over more recently since he started a cover job at a daycare to move in on his target. Though I didn't expect to see him in nothing but a towel. What heathen doesn't have a bathrobe when they stay over as much as he does.

  “Hold tight.” He covered his own ears, grabbing a newspaper and marching into Hizashi’s room. The screaming stopped, and I sighed in relief. Lowering my hands, there was a ringing in my ear, but I could still hear Shinso trying to pry Hizashi off his body.

  Taking a step, I felt my chest move. My eyes widened, and I ran back to my room to sling a bra on. While I was there, I fixed my hair into a ponytail and put slippers on. Of course, I trusted Shinso, but I wasn't that comfy to walk around like that. It was foolish to worry about my looks, but my mother was always so pushy about being decent.

Finally cleaned up, I shuffled into the hall, and Hizashi was still holding Shinso in thanks.

  “You’re so brave,” Hizashi clung to the purple-haired man’s leg, in his full hero suit. Hair slicked to the sky and a mic on his throat. It was a rare treat to see him all decked out.

  “If you stopped deafening all the bugs in this house, maybe they’d run off so you wouldn’t get trapped.” I rested my hand on my hip and leaned down. Shinso laughed, tiring to cover it with a cough. “You teaching today, Hizashi?”

  “Yea, I’m running late, actually.” Hizashi looked at his watch, then popped up from the floor. “You two are in charge today. Remember, Shota is in Housu for work, so it’s up to you two not to get into any trouble.”

  “Of course. Did you pack a lunch?” I dashed to the kitchen, both men following after me. Glancing at the clock, he could spare a few minutes for a meal.

  “No, I’ll figure-“

  “Oh, I can whip something up fast.” I cheered, wanting to return the favor. He was an excellent cook and mother hen. “You cook for me so often, it’s the least I can do.”

  “I’ll be fine, (Y/n), I really got to go.” He moved to grab his voice amp tool kit, and I got to work tossing ingredients together.

  “No, I insist, a sandwich and a bag of chips never took too long. I’m al-“ I shoved mayo and siracha in a bowl with some corn.  

  “He doesn’t want your cooking Kitten,” Shinso mumbled, sipping from an Eraser coffee. cup    

  “That’s so mean,” I nearly stopped working, but I kept tossing things together, adding mayo and ketchup. "You won't deter me, Lint Ball. We don't have room for jealousy in this house."    

  “Honey, I got to-“ I shoved the paper bag in Hizashi’s hand, fixing the zipper on his suit.

  “If it sucks, give it to the strays.” I scratched the back of my neck and gave him a quick kiss on the check. “Have a good day at work.”

  “Thank you." Hizashi pecked a kiss on my forehead. He opened the door then pointed from his eyes to Shinso’s. "Shinso, watch her for me.” Hizashi darted to his car, not bothering to tie his boots up.

  I turned to Shinso, who was now in a Deku shirt and some cotton shorts. “What did you mean no one wants my food?” I raised my brow and got into one of the sparing positions we had practiced last week.

  “It’s not mean, it’s just the truth.” Shinso walked right past me into the kitchen. “What? You’re not going to fight me.” He raised his brow, that damned smirk setting me off.

  “I- I’m going to my room.” I stomped my feet, making a show of my distaste. While I wanted to throw him to the ground, it was way too early in the morning. It definitely has nothing to do with how close we got yesterday while training.  

  Once locked away, I opened my window, and sure enough, Hisoka was resting in the flower bed. Tapping my fingers against the spot where his breath has tickled me, I froze. I had accepted Shinso wasn’t a full-on ass, but moments like this were where I wanted to wring his neck. I knew I was a terrible cook, but I was getting better, I had been practicing while home alone. There's no need to tell me what I know to be true. Everyone want's to be the best cook for their partner and friends. With a little more time, I'd be a prized host like Hizashi.  

  “Damn Lint Ball,” I huffed, raking my fingers through Hisoka’s fur. He couldn’t meow like he used too but had made an almost full recovery. That was the one thing I told mom about when I called last night. She didn’t want to talk for long, but she loved hearing about Hisoka, and my training with Sho.

  Hisoka ran off after a few more pets, bounding into the trees. The little rascal. If you could ignore the bald spots on his body, you'd never know he was so close to death.

Closing my window, I curled back in bed, my tummy growling. Shinso would be done eating soon, and then I could make my own meal. If he wanted to be cruel, he could do it without my company.

  “(Y/n), I’m sorry.” Shinso rasped on my door. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

"Go away," I mumbled, closing my eyes.

"I could have said it better; I know." He added. I could hear him rest against the door, the lock buckling.

  “It shouldn’t have come out at all,” I countered, sitting up and hugging my lemongrass and lavender pillow. The scent had mostly faded, but I still slept better with it.

  “I apologize. What can I do to make it up to you?” I opened the door and caught him off guard.

  “You can train me to pin you,” I kept a straight face as he just nodded. His eyes scanned me up and down, lingering on the pillow still tucked under my arm.

  “That’s a deal, Kitten.” He shook my hand, then held the back of his neck. “I went ahead and made breakfast for us. Will you please, join me?”

  “Of course,” I beamed, shimming around him. That might have been the first time he apologized for a dick move. So it was time to reward good behavior. Plus, after yesterday, I wanted things to work out. I hadn't been able to let loose since before high school. Being silly and extra reminded what being young was supposed to be like. Not hiding away your quirk or worrying about what bystanders think. Just the pursuit of safe and healthy fun.  

  He had prepared fresh rice, a few pieces of salmon, and a fruit trey. Hell, the strawberries were cut into little hearts. “Did you make this to show off you’re better than me?” I accused him, sitting in the middle like I was used too.

  “I just wanted to do something nice. I’m not always trying to tease you.” He fetched us each a glass of water. While he did that, I dished out my plate, trying to act like I wasn't so impressed with the spread. He had cooked for us as a family before, but this was the first time we didn’t eat separately when it was just the two of us.

  “Thank you then,” I kept my superior nature, and took a small bite. The texture was perfect, and the flavor was well rounded. Of course, it was nothing like an iron chef, but he did have skill in the kitchen. “Yes, this is quite adequate.”  

  He choked on his bite and chugged his water. “Just adequate?”

  “It’s delicious Hitoshi, I’m just jerking your chain.” We both giggled, but I froze up.

Chains’. Rattling. Bruised wrists. Swollen ankles. Hitoshi- He was holding my hand across the table. Callused fingers smoothing over my skin, his grip tight. He was strong. Hitoshi was a hero. I was safe with him.

  “Sorry, I just-“ I swallowed the lump in my throat, gripping his hand tighter. "Yea, it's a great meal." Dipping my head, I focused on the music notes on the table cloth.

  “Don’t apologize.” When he removed his hand, I noticed I had made an amethyst. The purple stone had rolled from my palm, resting on the center of the table. He didn’t make a move to touch it, instead, acting as if he didn't see it.

  Horrified, I grasped the gem and squished it in my hand, running the dust to the trash can. “It’s like a laying a golden egg. You never know what to expect from the goose. That doesn’t make sense. Whatever, I just- I totally intended…on not making that.” I acknowledged it, breaking the silence.

  “Is that where all that dust in your room comes from?” Shinso went back to eating like nothing odd had transpired. However, his tone was softer, not quite pity, but enough that I could notice he was feeling out the tension.

  “Hitoshi, my room is not dusty,” I crossed my arms, plopping back down. There was no reason for staying upset, it was over now. The food was getting cold.

  “No. The jars of sand or dust,” he clarified, handing me another piece of fish.

  “Oh, I make a few gems every morning to stay on my game, then I crush them. It feels wrong to just toss them out all the time. No one was supposed to know about that, but I trust you, Lint Ball.” I took a large bite, “now tell me why you were in my room?”

  “No reason.” He calmed up, sipping his water.

  “Liar,” I slammed my water back and quickly finished my meal. “Didn't think I'd be so preceptive? Alright, I’ll let it go for now. But you have to tell me once I pin you down.”

  “Why do you want to pin me so badly?” The impish grin on his face was almost cute. He was about to have a world of hurt.

  “I wanna show you how humiliating it is to be pinned every other breath. I intend to use this knowledge to my full benefit. So prepare for ambushes.” I took my dish to the sink, putting away the leftovers.

  “If you tell me about an ambush, it’s no longer an ambush.” He grinned, finishing off his meal. “Alright, let’s get started.” He put his plates in the sink and knocked his hip into mine. Scouting over, he took over dished. "Go get changed."

  “I’m actually excited about this,” I scurried to my room. I pulled on some capris and an oversized pink tee. It was chilly outside, so I put a long sleeve shirt under it.

  Shinso changed into a black long sleeve shirt and some cargo pants. Somehow he managed to finish the dishes and still changed faster than me. He was waiting by the door, his shoes on already, and he had my shoes pulled out and ready.

Once outside, we squared up in the garden. Before that, I stopped to watch Hisoka bath in the sun, rolling in the grass and pawing at the leaves around him. Shinso took a pic on his phone and then sat it to the side so we could get started.

  “First things first, always be aware of how your body is lined up with mine.” He paused, examining my stance. “Spread your legs a little wider, and put your left leg forward.” He walked around me, resting his hand on my stomach. “Feel the tension in your stomach; you want to use that energy. When you come at me, grab my waist and wrap your legs behind my knees, using your body to take me down.”

  “Um okay,” I nodded, trying to think about how that would work. His hand was so warm on my stomach, the energy doubling there. I wondered about how, with one touch, I could feel more powerful. Shinso was back in position across from me. Bouncing on my heels, I waited for him to strike at me. When he didn't move, I grabbed his waist and just slammed him to the ground. Sitting on his chest, I hovered around his chest.

  “That’s not quite right, but we can work on it.” Shinso tapped my leg. “Bring this up onto my stomach, and bring your other leg out for balance.”

  “Won’t that hurt?” I asked, adjusting myself to barely apply pressure to him.    

  “You want to pin me, right?” he reminded me. “Now, grab both sides of my shirt while crossing your arms.” He was entirely under me now, and when I applied pressure on his shirt, it choked him.

  “Hitoshi, that’s scary.” I let him go and leaned back, trying to find a place to put my hands that wasn't his torso. “Despite popular belief, I don’t want to strangle you.”

  “You need to practice, now you’ve left yourself venerable.” He smirked, gripping my knee, pinning me with a quick flip.

  “Snap.” I gasped, his pelvis was right on mine, my knees in the air on either side of him, his arms around my throat applying zero pressure. "Toshi." I pouted, trying to squirm free.

  “Let's try again.” He grinned, giving me instructions on how to get out of my predicament.

When that done, we moved on. This time Shinso had me sit behind him, and get my legs under his, and put a seatbelt around his chest. It was so toned and tight. Of course, I had fought off every urge to ogle him this morning, but the mystery was killing me.

  “Try applying pressure to my throat.” I did for a few seconds till he made a small noise of discomfort. “Good. Here’s the counter.”

  He pulled my thumb, and I let loose. The leaves helped him slide away from me, then got behind me, locking his arms and legs around mine, balancing me while on his back.  

  “Holy crap,” I laughed, unable to fight against the hold. Then my calf contorted in pain. “Cramp cramp cramp cramp.” He let go, and I jumped up, walking it out. “Shit. Fuck fuck, fuck.” I cursed, limping around in a circle.

  “Hold still,” he stopped me, and bent down to my calf and started to rub the muscle.

  “That hurts,” I collapsed down, his motions stopping long enough for me to stretch out. Rubbing my temple, I twisted my ankle, trying to ease the charlie horse.

  “It’s going to feel better in a few minutes, Kitten.” Hitoshi purred, working his fingers deep into my tissue. “Are you drinking plenty of water.”

  “Probably not. Besides, the USJ was a rough work out.” I wheezed through the throbs of pain. “Hey, it's easing up a bit.”

  “You should listen to me more often.” He hummed, kneading his hands up my thigh, caressing the entire area. His rough fingers were magic tools, ebbing the pain away. My head lulled back, resting it under my arm. Even when the cramp released, I kept quiet. I loved being doted on, and this was so nice.

  I nearly swooned when he started to work on my other leg, but I didn’t say anything. It was healthy, two young people sitting in the leaves sharing a massage… yea, this was fine. Friends did this. Shinso probably knew my other leg was on the verge of cramping, and it was okay. He owed me a few acts of servitude or some shit. I just want the ball of energy in my stomach to relax. This was so nice and normal...

My phone buzzed by my water bottle, and I grasped it, turning on the screen. Thankfully we laned by our stuff, but it wasn't a good message. It was another cryptic picture, a knife resting in an apple, and the letter o. Then another image came, and I froze.

  It was a purple blob... Shinso’s hair. Another picture, it was my thigh, a hand resting on my knee. Next came a pic of me looking at my phone. “Hitoshi…” I handed him my phone, sitting up and scooting closer. I held onto his shirt, trying not to shiver. “What, what do we do?” I whispered, clutching his arm.

  “We go inside.” He stood, both us raising at the same time, his arm locked around my waist. He looked around, keeping me tight to him. We were out in the open and there was no safe side.“When I say run, do it.”

  “Where?” I asked, gripping even harder. My legs felt better, but I was still shaking.

  “Go to the bathroom and lock yourself in. Call Aizawa.” He kept glancing around, then he stopped, narrowing in on the trees by the pond “Now.”

  “Now?” We were just fifty feet from the door, but I couldn’t let go.

  “Yes.” Hitoshi nudged me forward. I froze, looking at him for guidance. "I'll be okay." He assured me. With a deep breath, I sprinted towards the door. All hell broke loose. A few masked people jumped out, and Hitoshi didn't have his scarf. He was in trouble. There were even people near the house.

  I made inside before the creeps could move to block the door. I locked the bolt before anyone could grasp it, and I could feel the handle jiggle. The plan was out the door, and I grabbed Hitoshi’s scarf, peeking outside the window.

  A man popped up and busted through the glass. Switching gears I went to the front door again. Busting it open, the man met me at the threshold, and I slammed hot coal into his face before he registered what happened. Stomping his foot, I broke free running to Shinso.

  “Hitoshi!” His eyes bugged out of his head, I tossed the scarf. He caught it, quickly gaining the upper hand. Relief washed over me, but it was too soon.

  “Got her!” The man I burned, wrapped his arms around me. I stomped his foot again and held coal to his crotch till he dropped.

  Stumbling forward, I ran towards the forest like in practice. “Kitten, wait-“ A basket wove around me and tightened like a Chinese finger trap. I rolled a few times and started to burn my way through fast as possible.

  A man in a black trench coat hovered over me. “Are you sure this is the right girl? She’s making coals.”

  “That’s her boss,” more goons had appeared, and Shinso was swamped with seven different opponents. “The boss said she’s had two quirks, and not to be fooled.”

  “Your Tusuki’s daughter, right child?” The man knew my father’s name, and I knew they meant business. I could hear Shinso struggling behind me, and I just closed my eyes.

  “Please leave him alone. I’ll go with you- “ I was kicked in the stomach. Spitting up, I lost my breath.

  “I said, are you his daughter?” The man wove a trap around my throat, and it got tighter and tighter as I fought it.

  “I-“ What was I supposed to say. I could deny it and be killed outright or be hurt worse. Shinso hadn’t used my name aloud. There was room to- the trap cut off my air, and I shrank in agony. Black spots tugging at my vision. “Yes.” The binding loosened, but it wasn’t enough to breath easy,

  “Wrap her up.” The 'boss' of this group walked away, two goons grabbing my cocoon. They referred to another boss, but this was my problem at the moment.

  “Stop it.” I kept burning the basket with my coals, but the wooden strips kept reforming and wrapping around my hands. “Hitoshi. Hitoshi run!” I begged. The neck wrap closed up, and I gagged on my own saliva. Hitoshi had all but one man down. Damn it. He was so close… he had a chance to run.

 “Daddy, I didn’t mean for them to take me.” I cried into his chest, both of us chained to the wall. They had taken him from the hospital the week before, and now they had me.

  “It’s okay, baby. What do they know?” He nuzzled my neck, his entire body bruised, deflated, and cut from producing so many gems. Even holding me was straining his body.

  “They know, most of it.” I cried. “They said’ they’d kill my friend.”

  “Sometimes, you have to give in to the captors…I wish I had taught you more, sweetie.” He cried small lapis tears.

  “Daddy, I was trained as a hero, and yet I didn’t stand a chance. I don’t know what to do. Should I have fought them?”  

  “No. We just need to survive long enough to go home.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ll get home.”    

  Daddy. He died in that cell, right next to me. Because he didn’t have the strength to survive…I need to keep fighting. I can’t make this easy. Even if I’m passing out, I can still bite. Chomping down on a goons wrist, he screamed, dropping me. The other man lost his grip, and once I was down, I started to roll.

  “Get her.” The boss yelled, but I keep going, with no end in sight. There were no breaks or control, just pure momentum. It was then I noticed the small ledge a few ahead. The binding was getting tight, but I could still shift, but I couldn't stop myself from being air born. If I survived the fall, I'd be lucky to keep my head from busting on a rock.

  “Kitten,” the velvet voice of a hero. A tight scarf wrapping around my ankles. The whirling bouncing motion stopped. Jerked back, I slide a small way forward again, finally still. While I got my bearings, Hitoshi had knocked out both goons. He kneeled beside me, pulling at the brace on my throat—his finger wedging between the tight wood and my skin—desperately clawing at the fibers.  

  “Not so fast. In less you want to watch her be decapitated, you’ll listen.” The boss had the weave move up and over my lips and nose. Then he had a wrap slither around Hitoshi.  

  “Alright, just tell me what you want with her?” Shinso relaxed, stepping back from me. Toshi's binds were still growing around him, but he’d be immobile. He gave me a reassuring nod, and I tried to hid how much I was smothering.

  “Nice try, you think-“ The boss dazed over.

  “Release your quirk.” Hitoshi spat, and the boss did as told. Hitoshi’s bind was first released, then the one of my throat and finally my body.

  “Thank God.” I gasped, undoing the scarf at my feet, rubbing my throat, taking deep breaths. Assessing myself, I kicked the wood away and rubbed my eyes. A twig snapped in the brush. Booking my ass next to Hitoshi, I got to my feet and hid behind him. I peered at the boss over his shoulder; he was glazed over and just standing still. His finger would twitch every now and then, but this was the power of Shinso's quirk.

  “Tell me who sent you.” Hitoshi examined my neck, running his fingers up and down my throat. Keeping his quirk activated and interrogating the man was easy as breathing to him. How he was able to think about my injuries and stay in control was so cool.

  “We were contracted. I don’t know their name.” The man answered.

  “Who all knows of this location?” Hitoshi pushed my disheveled hair out of my face and wiped the dirt from my forehead. My skin had swollen around where the band had been, so he was gentle when cleaning that area.

  “Only my group.” The man’s hand twitched with more force. I gripped Hitoshi’s shirt, and he nodded it was okay.

  “Why didn’t you tell your employer. What was your goal?” Hitoshi grabbed his scarf and began to tie the man. I missed his warmth, the soothing smell that so familiar and yet far away.  

  “I realized the target was the daughter of one of my past projects. Tsuki (L/N), he was able to make precious gemstones. The cilent said she could make diamonds. She was worth more than the money from the job.”

  “I see. How many men did you bring with you?” Hitoshi finished his knot and pushed his hair back.

  “Nine.”

  “Hitoshi.” I jumped in front of him, a smoke bomb bursting on my chest. I curled around it, trying to mask the fog and keep Hitoshi’s vision clear. The heat building under me was unbearable, but it wasn't hurting me. My body was used to hot coals, I just need to focus on something else till this bomb simmer down. Changing gears thought about how my toes were sore and coming to life after being upside down. The sweat pouring down my neck. How hard it was to breathe in the fruity mist.  

  “Show yourself,” Shinso commanded, standing over top of my body. Another smoke bomb was launched. I created a coal tossing it, displacing the bomb in the air, sending it back into the forest. “Nice aim, Kitten.”

  “Only the best,” I wheezed the burning under me finally over. “Nine o’clock.”

  “You mean three,” a man emerged, he was dressed much more… well covered less than his comrades. Smoke was emitting from his body. “So you can brainwash your opponent’s once they answer a question. And you can make pretty little diamonds, and now I see coals. Wow, what a perfect little swan, just waiting to be scooped up by a stern master.”

  “What’s your name?” Shinso asked but was met with radio silence. “You clearly know a bit about our power, care to share what yours is?” Shinso spread his legs, and I crawled from under him. There was a small burst of fog, but nothing too thick.

  “All you villains thinking I’m just a sitting duck.” I wiped the blood from my lip. “But we already took down your boss and your friends. What makes you so special.” I crouched on one knee, one hand to the earth. Focusing.

  “What makes you think he was the ring leader.” The nearly nude man’s butt jiggled as he saluted me. He went on and on about his history as a villain, and I pushed a string of ruby under the earth. There was no reason it would or wouldn’t work, but I had this numb feeling in my hand that said it just might.    

  “Are you going to on all day?” Hitoshi’s scarf was tied up at the moment, and he vulnerable. We both were.

  There. I found where his foot was, and I shot the gem up in a corkscrew, pushing it around and through his calf. “What the hell,” the man screamed, his hand tossing bombs at us. I stopped my gem trap halfway up. Yet I failed to deflect the smoke that fell over us.

  The air quality dropped. “Hitoshi?” I couldn’t see him. “Hitoshi.” I leaned down and breathed through my shirt. There was a shattering snap. Then a shadow looming through the fog. The man reared his foot back and kicked my stomach. Still, I could see his other leg was bleeding and noticeably stiff.

  An emerald rod shot from my wrist, and I caught it. I used the weighted log and smacked it across the man’s face. He stumbled back but pushed more smoke in the area. My vision clouded I was filtering the air with my shirt again, just trying to get my bearings.

  “Kitten?” Hitoshi was coughing in the distance. How'd he get so far away?

  “Here- shit,” I dodged a kick and rolled deeper into the fog.

  “Where are you kids?” Hizashi was home. "BABIES?" Hizashi knew not to use out names, but it was already too late for that.

  “Over here,” I hollered, attracting the villain to my position. This time he kicked my chest, his foot digging into my breast. A gurgled scream left me, and I was putty long enough for him to grab my collar.

  “Heavy bitch.” He groaned, buckling under my weight, trying to get me to my feet.

  “Ass less chaps went out of style years ago,” I murmured, pressing my palm to his butt check, shoving a gem through the muscle and into the earth. He dropped me, but I put my hands down and forced a ruby cork and a sapphire out the other, sewing it in and out of the man’s legs. He screeched at the top of his lungs, shoving more smoke down my throat. Pulling my hair and clawing at my eyes, but I avoided most of his hits.

  “ROCK ON!” Mic’s voice washed out the fog. I covered my ears and rolled away with the airflow. Once his quirk stopped, I got up and saw Hitoshi and Hizashi jogging my way.

  “I did it,” I said, pointing to my jewels holding the man down in pain. “I-“ black spots flooded my vision, and I waivered, stumbling over my feet. “I went plus ultra.” My headache was building; I had survived with a little help.

[sparkie96]

Number 24: “You’re so soft, if I could ever touch the clouds, this is what they’d feel like.” Chreon

Another pained sound escaped the Omega as Leon laid a cool compress against his aching pecs. The pregnant Omega tried his best to sit back and relax, trying to get comfortable on the couch. He was about five or six months pregnant and it was already taking its toll on his physical being. Not that he wasn’t happy with the pregnancy, he just couldn’t wait until the aches and pains part of it was over...and the chubbiness. 

Omegas were usually “squishy” or soft normally due to their anatomy and “childbearing” purposes, but apparently, he gained more during pregnancy.  At least that’s what all the Childcare and Omega Pregnancy books said would happen. And apparently, so were all the aches and pains. Some he was able to relieve with light exercises like light walks and the once a week living room yoga. 

Though he couldn’t do much about the painful pecs and achy belly. And he still felt a bit self-conscious about his “squishiness”. He noticed that his cheeks looked a bit chubbier, as well as his thighs and arms. He felt like he weighed more than the doctor was telling him and frequently thought he was fat. Although everyone said otherwise, saying that, if anything, he looked healthier. It was just his ass that looked a bit bigger, but it wasn’t “massive” like Leon fretted about. 

He did waddle a bit, but Chris reassured him that it was due to his growing belly. 

Speaking of Chris, his mate came in with the bowl of popcorn, sitting next to his mate on the couch, carefully handing Leon a grape soda. The Omega was already picking a movie for them to watch on one of the movie apps they had through their cable provider. Chris held the bowl up and away from his lap so his mate could settle his legs across his lap. 

“How’s your chest?” Chris asked, handing the bowl over to Leon, the Omega accepting it, propping the bowl on top of his belly. 

“Hurts.” Was his curt reply before shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth, “This sucks.” 

Chris gave a sympathetic look, gently rubbing the hand still resting on the belly, “It’ll be over soon. Just a couple more months.” 

“And then more pain when Ollie starts breastfeeding.” Leon replied in a monotone, still looking at the television. 

The Alpha gave a sigh, moving his hand down to rub the clearly grumpy and pained Omega’s belly. The pregnancy hadn’t been easy for Leon. His mood swings were worse than before and he wasn’t really coping with all the “not fun” parts of the pregnancy. He was constantly achy and he felt self-conscious about his body. Most of the time he either didn’t care or even was excited about them having a baby, but his hormones along with his depression, would make him doubt the whole thing and worry about whether or not he would be a good parent. 

Chris would reassure him that he was doing a great job and that he would be an awesome parent, bringing up his experience with Sherry and the short time he cared for Manuela. 

While the movie was playing, Chris massaged Leon’s ankles and then would occasionally rub his belly. He couldn’t help but notice the pained sounds as Leon would flip the compress and alternate it between his aching pecs. The Omega himself didn’t seem too comfortable either. 

Chris took the remote and paused the movie, getting up and moving the coffee table over to the far right side of the living room. At the other’s confused look, Chris informed Leon that he would be right back before going down the hall to the linen closet in the hallway, gathering some things, and then going to their bedroom. Leon only watched curiously, still snacking on the popcorn as he watched Chris flutter in and out of the living room, depositing blankets and pillows on to the living room floor in front of the couch. 

Once he seemed to have enough blankets and pillows, Chris gently handed Leon his BSAA Training Hoodie before going to fix and rearrange the nest of blankets and pillows. Leon set the bowl of popcorn on the cushions next to him before putting the hoodie on. Once he slipped it on over his head, Chris gently grasped his arm and pulled him down to sit in the nest with him. 

Chris sat with his legs wide open, “Sit in front of me.” Chris instructed, “With your back to my chest.” 

Although a bit confused, Leon did as he was told nonetheless, sitting flush against Chris’s front. He held the popcorn bowl in his own lap as Chris started up the movie once more. Leon focused on the screen, but was also partially curious as to what Chris would be doing. A startled yelp left Leon, the Omega jumping as he felt Chris’s hands settle on his sore chest, cupping his pecs. 

Before he could question what Chris was doing, or what he thought he was doing, the Alpha merely shushed him. Large but gentle hands gently massaged his pecs. The Omega made a couple sounds of discomfort, but then eventually relaxed against Chris’s chest, low purrs leaving Leon’s throat. Leon laid back against his mate, his head resting on Chris’s shoulder. 

“Feel good?” Chris asked, gently kissing Leon’s cheek. 

The brunette nodded, eating another handful of popcorn before offering and feeding Chris some. The bigger man leaned forward over his mate’s shoulder, eating the popcorn from Leon’s hand, continuing to massage Leon’s pecs through his shirt. Leon felt sufficiently more relaxed and at ease, not as annoyed or uncomfortable as before. 

“You’re beautiful.” Chris said with a smile, kissing up and down Leon’s neck. 

“I’m chubby.” Leon said, “And I feel achy all the time.” 

Chris scoffed, gently gripping the swollen pecs and then rubbing his mate’s belly, running his hands down until he reached the younger’s thighs, “You’re not chubby. You’re soft.” 

Now it was Leon’s turn to scoff, chuckling and shaking his head in disagreement, but Chris didn’t let him protest. He explained that Leon was chubby, yes, but he was beautiful. And the chubbiness was barely noticeable if he was being completely honest. 

“You’re so soft, that…” Chris had to stop and think of the right words to say, “...if I could ever touch the clouds, this is what they’d feel like.” 

There was a moment of silence between them, nothing but the sound of the television could be heard for a moment. Leon looked back at Chris with furrowed brows, raising a brow. Chris and Leon looked at each other for a moment before Leon smiled, and then began chuckling. Chris couldn’t help but laugh as well. 

“What?” Leon asked, “You hope clouds feel fleshy?” 

The Alpha chuckled, shaking his head, “I was trying to be reassuring and then my brain was like “Soft Clouds would be good, right?”” 

Leon chuckled again, “Well...I’ll take the compliment anyway.” 

Leon relaxed against his mate once more, letting Chris continue to massage his aching pecs while they watched the movie, Leon feeding Chris some popcorn throughout the movie. They both felt comfortable and content inside of the nest. 

[eightlittletalons]

Prompt #9: Lush

Definition of lush 1: growing vigorously, especially with luxuriant foliage 2: opulent, sumptuous 3: (slang) intoxicating liquor : a habitual heavy drinker

My wife: What’s today’s prompt? Lush? You could write something spicy! Me: Haha yeah *proceeds to write about E’andhris making healthy decisions (/s) and drunkenly flirting with the Exarch post-slaying of Amh Araeng’s Lightwarden*

To be fair, it does get a little spicy at the end. On AO3, this will be rated M, for reference. 

The Scions had returned to the Crystarium, the conquering heroes after their latest victory over the Lightwarden in Amh Araeng. Though instead of accompanying his fellows to debrief with the Crystal Exarch and discuss their plans for Kholusia, E’andhris had been sent to bed by Y’shtola like an errant kit. His own mother had doled out similar punishments whenever he’d explored a little too for from home as an actual child. 

He stalked angrily towards the Pendants, feeling frustrated by his lack of control over the Light he carried within him. His pride was likewise scuffed at being treated as though he were fragile by Y’shtola and Ryne, though the concerned look in the young girl’s eyes especially haunted him. He really must be in deep shit this time. Beyond that...Minfilia. 

Seeing his dear, old friend again had ripped open the barely healed wound of losing her to begin with. She’d been among the first of the Scions to make him feel truly welcomed among them. A sister in all but blood, ripped from his grasp thrice over. 

Fuck. He needed a bath and a drink, and he didn’t care in what order they came in. Although...the Wandering Stairs just so happened to be on the way to the Pendants, so technically he wouldn’t be entirely disobeying Y’shtola’s strict orders by making a detour. He swung right, up the stairs, and leaned his elbows against the counter. 

Darlfort took one look at him and gave a sympathetic wince. “You look like shit, lad,” the galdjent said, bending to grab something from beneath the counter. “You’ll be wanting something strong, I’m assuming?” At E’andrhis’ eager nod, Darlfort placed a large bottle down with a clink. The Warrior recognized the label from his early days in Norvrandt, playing delivery boy. 

“Much obliged,” E’andhris replied as cheerfully as he could force. He reached for the liquor, cradling it gingerly in the crook of his arm as he dug into his coin purse. Before he could pull out a single gil, Darlfort snorted and gave the miqo’te a look. Shrugging, E’andhris turned to take his leave. Blast the Crystal Exarch for taking such good care of his special guest that E’andhris couldn’t even pay for his own booze while within the Crystarium’s bounds. 

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

It turned out that E’andhris wasn’t able to enjoy his liquor immediately. He’d returned to Ardbert waiting for him, and then his...condition flared up. He was only glad that he’d managed to get the bottle onto the table before the Light within him bubbled to the surface, bringing him with a cry to his knees. He’d barely registered Ardbert running to his side through the pain. He felt the tingling sensation of the hume’s heavy hand upon his arm and suddenly his vision cleared, and he could draw breath again. The men stared at each other in shock, then Ardbert made a hasty retreat, muttering some nonsense about not being a hero. 

Left alone, it was harder to ignore. The panic. E’andhris uncorked the liquor with his teeth as he undressed and filled the small bathtub with steaming water. He spat the cork somewhere on the floor uncaring of where it ended up. He took a large swig of the drink as he stepped into water hot enough to turn his skin red on contact, and he almost coughed at the harsh burn the alcohol left in its wake. It had been far too long since he last imbibed, clearly. The smell alone made him dizzy. Placing the bottle on the floor beside the tub, he sank into the water up to his ears, holding his breath and counting to ten. 

Soon, he thought, Soon they’d travel to Kholusia and Ryne would be able to pinpoint the precise location of the final Lightwarden. Soon, he’d slay the monstrosity, bringing night back to Norvrandt for good, and then...what? The Exarch had the utmost faith in his ability to hold all of the Light within himself, without issue, though that clearly wasn’t the case. Perhaps he would finally die, having cheated death one too many times. His panic clawed its way from his chest, though E’andhris shoved it back down, chasing it with another large mouthful of liquor. Now was not the time to lose it. 

Taking a third sip, he began to furiously scrub at his skin and scalp. Time to focus on what he could control, such as freeing himself of the sand and grit of Amh Araeng. By the time he was finished, his skin burned from the harsh treatment, but the pain had served its purpose of helping him to center himself. Hauling himself out of the now tepid, filthy water, he glanced at his bed. Absolutely not. 

Instead of retiring to bed like he probably should, he dressed in the himation and sarouel he’d been fond of wearing on the Source, and gently folded the robes he’d received from the Night’s Blessed for later laundering. Slipping into his simple leather shoes, he grabbed the liquor once more and fled from the suite into the cool night air. 

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

The Exarch knocked on the door to E’andhris’ chambers and waited more than a little anxiously. He rubbed absently at his crystallized arm at the prolonged silence, and hoped he wouldn’t have to wake the Warrior. When the Scions had come to meet him in the Ocular without E’andhris in their company, his mood had fallen. With the group leaving for Kholusia soon, he’d hoped to spend more time with the tall miqo’te mage, against his better judgement. 

But when Y’shtola and the newly named Ryne made their entrance with worriedly pensive expressions, his heart caught in his throat. As they explained about the Warrior’s struggle to contain the Light after Storge’s defeat, his alarm rose. Every ilm of his body urged him to end the meeting and run the distance between the tower and E’andhris’ room, to throw himself at his feet, and beg for his forgiveness for putting him through such pain. Instead, he kept his face schooled into polite concern. He made excuse after sickening, riddle of an excuse in the face of their worry for their dear friend. 

After all, he would soon fix this fine mess that he’d created of their lives. 

In the present, his sandaled foot tapped an impatient beat on the tiles of the Pendants’ hallway. He decided to knock a little louder, and waited once more. Still no answer. Pressing gently on the door, the Exarch was surprised when it opened with the softest of creaks. He warily stepped into the dark room, glancing this way and that. The Warrior wasn’t here, though signs of him were. The astringent scent of strong alcohol lingered in the air, mixing with the humidity of a hot bath. The flimsy blue, feathered robes that E’andhris had taken to wearing on the First lay folded on the end of his bed, though his shorts and myriad of accessories lay scattered over the floor. 

So come and gone, the Exarch mused. But where would the mage have gone at this late hour? He made a note to ask the staff to ensure that E’andrhis’ robes were gently washed of the grime from the desert, as he left to search for his wayward Warrior. 

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

A bell and a half had passed, and the Exarch grew more frantic in his searching. Surely, E’andhris wouldn’t be so foolish to leave the city in his state, on his own, in the middle of the night. Surely. Perhaps if he told himself that several more times, he’d believe it. For as long as he’d known the Warrior, he had been headstrong and painfully self-sufficient. Ever one to shoulder others’ burdens without a care for his own. 

It was one of the things that first drew him to the man. A true hero. Now it was the cause of his headache. With a great sigh, the Exarch began to make the ascent up the watchtower - his favorite place in the Crystarium when he wished to just exist. His hope was that he’d be able to somehow spot E’andhris if he had indeed made the trek into Lakeland. If not, then to the Ocular he’d go to scry upon the troublesome mage. However the thought was dismissed as he heard faint...singing? 

The Exarch forced his legs to carry him more quickly to the top and paused, breathless from exertion, when he finally found his Warrior. He sat precariously on the edge of the platform with his legs dangling off into the open air. The hooded man let out another sigh - this time of relief - as his feet carried him hurriedly to E’andhris’ side. 

He reeked of the same scent he’d caught in the Pendants, and his eyes easily found the culprit clutched in the Warrior’s hand. A bottle of the Wandering Stair’s finest, three-fourths of the way finished. “Oh, E’andhris,” he breathed sadly, settling down beside the thoroughly soused hero with a soft grunt of exertion. 

“Exarch!” the other miqo’te cried, throwing his arms wide in an exuberant greeting. Those arms came around him tightly in a friendly embrace, taking the Exarch by surprise. The Warrior was in a good mood, then. 

E’andhris’ strawberry blonde hair was down, damp yet from his bath. In all his time in Norvrandt, the Warrior had kept it pulled back from his face in a charming little ponytail, with silver pins holding back errant strands. Seeing it loose brought back memories of before. It was...distracting. 

He cleared his throat. “What are you doing all the way up here, E’andhris? Are you all right?” he asked, tamping down the urge to reach out and brush a lock of the Warrior’s hair away from his cheek. His hand made an aborted attempt anyway. Instead, he redirected it to pluck the bottle from E’andhris’ hand and placed it far out of reach. 

“I needed some air,” the Warrior replied blandly, his blue and brown eyes settling more than a little unfocused on what little of the Exarch’s face he could see. He flinched when E’andhris’ now empty hand shot out to trace the crystal curled along his cheek in a decidedly intimate caress. “The Light started hurting again.”

The Exarch took a deep, calming breath and gently wrapped his hand around E’andhris’ wrist to pull his touch away - an act that took no small amount of will. “Does it yet pain you or has it passed?” he asked, a traitorous finger caressing against the skin of the Warrior’s soft palm. E’andhris let out a soft gasp and twisted out of his grasp, instead twining their fingers together. That...wasn’t better. 

“’S better now,” E’andhris replied, slurring his words as he scooted closer to lay his head on top of the Exarch’s cowl. He let his breath out in a hiss through his teeth, urging himself to move away from the display of affection. Instead, he leaned against his friend’s side. E’andhris began to purr in delight, and the sound went straight to the Exarch’s loins. 

“Thank goodness for that. I would not wish to see you suffer,” he whispered, damning himself further as he wrapped his spoken arm around E’andhris’ trim waist to hold him closer. He forced himself to give the speech he had intended to present to the Warrior in his chambers. “You must survive this, no matter what.”

The Warrior nodded, clearly only half listening. He nuzzled against the fabric of the hood beneath his cheek, and the Exarch was never happier in that moment that he kept it enchanted to stay in place. “Exarch...” E’andhris breathed, and he leaned in to listen. “When I kill the last Warden, will your work finally be done?”

“Yes, I believe it will,” the Exarch replied after a short pause. He steeled himself to push through the half-truth. “Once the tyranny of Light is ended, the people of the Crystarium will be safe, and the future that must be shall come to pass.”

E’andhris gave a happy hum, bunting against the Exarch in a move so loving that it brought tears to his crimson eyes. “That will be nice. We should do something fun after everything,” the Warrior said, his gaze somewhere between the hooded man’s nose and chin. “There’s those hot springs our in Lakeland. I bet one word from the Crystal Exarch would see them vacated for a private occasion.” His tone was playful, flirtatious even, and each word twisted the knife in the Exarch’s heart further. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he found himself promising. “For now, though, we should get you to your bed.” E’andhris gave a sound of dissent, and the Exarch had to drag him to his feet. The tall miqo’te dissolved into giggles when he realized his legs refused to hold himself up reliably. In spite of himself, a fond smile found its way to the Exarch’s lips. 

“You’re very strong,” E’andhris cooed, as he wrapped an arm around the Exarch’s shoulders in an effort to keep himself upright. They began to make their very slow descent from the top of the tower. The caretaker had to grab hold of E’andhris’ waist firmly with both arms to keep him from listing too far one direction or the other. 

“You’re very drunk, E’andhris,” the Exarch responded with a snort. He started as he felt the Warrior’s thumb tip his head up to face his. His friend was looking at his lips, he realized with alarming clarity. 

“And you’re incredibly pretty. Has anyone ever told you that, o’ Crystal Exarch?”

The Exarch quickened their pace as they reached the ground. He needed to get his inebriated hero to bed, and not in the way his lower half was desiring. He felt a lecherous old man, that he even found E’andhris appealing in such a state. “I may have heard it once or twice in my many years,” he gritted out. He forced himself to ignore E’andhris’ increasingly wandering hands as they made their way towards the Pendants. He only hoped the manager wasn’t there to witness whatever was happening between the two of them. 

The gods must have finally decided to smile upon him for the first time that night, for the lobby was empty when they arrived. E’andhris began to fumble for his key, and the Exarch rolled his saccharine eyes from beneath the gloom of his hood. “There’s no need for that. You left your room unlocked in your grand escape,” he grumped. The Warrior had the decency to look mildly ashamed at that, at least. He dragged the taller man into the room and dumped him on the bed, intending to make a quick getaway, when the mage grabbed his crystal wrist and pulled. 

The Exarch stumbled, thrown off balance, and braced himself on the bed hovering over top of the Warrior who grinned like a lovestruck fool. “You could stay,” he whispered in a tone the Exarch had never thought to hear with his own ears. E’andhris stretched out beneath him in a way that send levin straight to his already hardened cock. Seven hells. 

“No,” he gasped forcefully, scrambling to his feet and putting several fulms between them. He should leave. He should leave right now. Then E’andhris pouted, and the Exarch opened his mouth to comfort him, to his complete horror. “I would not have our first time be one that you forget.” 

He clapped crystal hand over his mouth hard, likely bruising his lip in the process. E’andhris gazed up at him, surprised and obviously equally interested. The Exarch turned and rushed from the room before he could hear whatever witty retort his inspiration could come up with to convince him to set aside his rapidly deteriorating defenses. He could only hope that E’andrhis truly did forget this come morning light. 

[syntaxeme]

One Good Turn ch. 3

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter] | [Next Chapter] Rating: T Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss.

— — – 

Some part of Alastor knew it wasn’t entirely fair to judge a person—or a demon, as the case may be—by the company he keeps. That is, the fact that Valentino chose to associate with that tasteless hack Vox did not necessarily mean that he too was uncultured vermin. It was damning, certainly, but not definitive. This was a moot point, however, as there was already sufficient evidence to prove Valentino was trash, his friendship with Vox notwithstanding.

“It looks like after several months supposedly on the straight and narrow, adult film star and well-known coke whore Angel Dust has finally fallen completely off the wagon!” Katie Killjoy’s aggressively cheerful voice blared from the television set up in the hotel’s lobby, where all the hotel’s residents had gathered for news of their missing compatriot. Alastor could just imagine that vicious smile plastered on her face as she commentated over a video of Angel in a darkened club drinking himself to sickness, Angel doing lines and laughing coldly as a demon at his side passed out, Angel knelt in the darkened interior of a limousine and flipping off paparazzi while Valentino held him close with a ubiquitous grin.

Valentino was a common factor in all these scenarios, in fact, whether pouring liquor down Angel’s throat, handing him off to a…client, or simply watching in amusement while he drowned himself in sin. It had been three weeks, nearly four, since that limo had arrived and whisked Angel back to his old life of leisure and pleasure, and it seemed clear that Valentino was intent on keeping him there. Perhaps all the drugs and alcohol were meant to keep him compliant. And it seemed to be working a treat.

“It just goes to show that every soul here in Hell is here for a reason,” the reporter went on, “and that no misguided attempts at redeeming them will ever bear fruit. Looking at you, Princess Charlotte!”

Charlie’s eyes were locked on the TV, both hands covering her mouth, and Alastor could see tears starting to well in her eyes. Vaggie tried to console her, but she simply shut her eyes tight and dropped her head, withdrawing into herself rather than showing all the pain she must be feeling. That was a smart move, strategic, but not at all aligned with her personality.

“Damn it, Angel was here longer than any of us,” one of the other patrons complained loudly. “If he couldn’t hack it, what chance do the rest of us have?”

“Oh, come now, my good fellow, that’s hardly the spirit of self-improvement we strive for here at the Hazbin,” Alastor crowed, waltzing over to drape his arm over the pessimistic demon’s shoulders. “Have some confidence! Have some fortitude! Why, I assure you no one is more distraught over our dear friend Angel’s defection than I, but I refuse to allow my melancholy to keep me from progressing toward—”

“Alastor, will you just…save it?” Charlie barked, surprising everyone in the room into silence (other than the television, unfortunately). She looked up at him with a tearful snarl, fingers curling into helpless claws. “I know you don’t care about any of this, I know you think of it as a joke, but losing Angel isn’t something to laugh about. He was doing so well. I really thought he…” She took a deep, shuddering breath and shut her eyes. “I feel stupid enough already. You don’t have to rub it in.” She left the room with her head down, and as usual, the others followed her lead, dispersing to their respective rooms and leaving Alastor alone with 666 News’s mocking jingle.

Well. That certainly hadn’t gone to plan. If Charlie thought he was intentionally digging at her for Angel’s unfortunate regression, she was sorely mistaken. Much to his own surprise, he truly was quite bothered by Angel’s absence, either because he disliked the hotel’s naysayers having any further ammunition against them or because none of their other patrons had such a defined and entertaining personality. He also didn’t much care for the knowledge that the very independent and unfettered Angel Dust was evidently being toted about like a marionette, with Valentino holding the strings.

With some reluctance, Vaggie had shared with him the stories Angel had told of his relationship with Val. There was no secret in the fact that Valentino used him for sex and money, no pretense of fair play or equality between them. It was with far more trepidation that Angel admitted exactly how imbalanced in power they were, how insistent Valentino could be on controlling his every move. And if he disobeyed, if he rebelled, if he refused any order, the Overlord wouldn’t hesitate to ‘lay down the law.’ Alastor could only guess, based on how frightened Angel had seemed when they’d last seen each other, exactly what that implied.

He had since done some further research on exactly who Valentino was and what function he served in Hell. How many associates he had. Who might seek revenge if some unfortunate accident were to befall him. That was, of course, how his association with Vox had become clear, which complicated matters a bit more. Slaughtering one Overlord for the sake of bringing Angel back into the fold and restoring his autonomy was one thing; Alastor had killed people for less. Murdering an Overlord to whom Vox had some ostensible connection was another entirely. Was Alastor willing to risk a genuine threat for the sake of this farce, this naïve, hellish sitcom Charlie was staging?

Difficult to say.

…

Later in the evening, while Alastor sat awake in bed contemplating his options, a faint scratching from downstairs caught his ear. It was unlikely any of the others would hear it, but being so attuned to the sounds of his surroundings as he was, it didn’t escape his notice. He sat a few moments longer, wondering if it might be another drunken imp crawling home after a few shots too many. But the sound persisted, a scratch scratch scratch, as if of claws scraping the front door’s flawless enamel.

With a sigh, he slipped through the shadows and down the stairs to open the door, shocked to find a disheveled Angel Dust collapsed on the doorstep. Or maybe ‘disheveled’ was too mild a word. His face was bruised and smudged with blood, his torn clothing even more revealing than usual, his breathing shallow as if every inhale caused him further pain. To be plain, he looked rather like shit. And his condition was utterly fascinating.

“Angel?” Alastor knelt to observe him more closely: his hazy eyes, the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, the way his hand still absently scrabbled toward the door. He almost seemed unaware that he was no longer alone. When Alastor rested a hand on his shoulder, he flinched away.

“No!” he said weakly. “No, I’ll be…I’ll…” He blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision, and the fear on his face faded into confusion. “Alastor?”

“That is my name; don’t wear it out,” Alastor chuckled, unsure of how to approach this situation with anything other than his usual nonchalance. “Are you all right? I’ll be honest: you aren’t looking your best.”

“Yeah, thanks, jackass,” Angel grumbled, struggling to push himself up, all four arms shaking under his slight weight.

“May I ask what happened?” He was terribly curious. It must have something to do with Valentino, but what? It was clear Angel had been beaten, but by whom?

“Doesn’t matter. Just help me get to my room, will ya?”

Alastor remained exactly where he was, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, are you back to stay? Is this a pattern you’re developing, spending some time ‘clean’ before relapsing and leaving us without a word for months or longer? A classic cycle for addicts, I’m told.” If Valentino had truly been holding him against his will, these accusations would hardly be fair, but Alastor got the feeling that wasn’t exactly what had happened.

“Fine, don’t help me then.” Angel managed to force himself to his feet—which were bare—and clung to the door to take one shaking step inside. As he tried to take another, he wavered and collapsed. By reflex, Alastor moved to support him. But Angel surprised him by shoving away, so roughly that he threw himself to the ground.

“Keep your fuckin’ hands off me!” he shouted, leaving the lobby in charged silence thereafter. Despite the unexpected reaction, or maybe because of it, Alastor’s smile widened slightly at the edges. He did enjoy a good surprise, if he was honest, and it was interesting to imagine what might have happened to make Angel of all people averse to being touched. After a moment of stillness, the tension melted from Angel’s body, and he lowered his head slowly. “Sorry. I ain’t had the best luck with men lately.”

Oh, do I fall under that category? “Think nothing of it. Though it’ll be harder to help you upstairs if you don’t want me touching you.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t get fuckin’ handsy,” Angel muttered, holding out one hand and allowing Alastor to take it to help him up.

“I’m sure you know already that I wouldn’t dream of it.” Again, he laughed, helping Angel slowly and cumbersomely across the lobby to enter the elevator.

“Ya know, for once, I appreciate that about you.” Angel had chosen a room at the very top of the hotel on his initial arrival, determined to be as far from the others as possible, citing ‘beauty rest’ and ‘mind your business’ as his reasoning. Regardless of his absence, Niffty had still included the room in her usual cleaning schedule, possibly in the hopes that he would be back. When they reached room 723 and he managed to locate his key, he swung the door open to a room decorated in shades of pink rather like Angel himself. While he stumbled inside to seat himself on the bed and let out a sigh of relief, Alastor lingered in the doorway, his curiosity unsatisfied.

“Where have you been?” he asked, making a conscious effort at sincerity in his tone.

“Ain’t you been watchin’ the news?” Angel scoffed. “I been everywhere. Didn’t even fuckin’ know half the time, Val kept me so—” He stopped himself, wrapping his arms around his lengthy body and staring down at his lap. “I bet Charlie’s pissed.”

“Now, I’m sure you know her better than that.”

“Yeah. But ‘disappointed’ is even worse. I didn’t want…” He shook his head in frustration. “It’s Val. I can’t think straight when he’s around. He gets in your head, y’know?”

“In your head, maybe,” Alastor agreed. “Yes, that’s how it seems.”

“You wanna talk about ‘cycles’? You wanna talk about ‘patterns’? It’s him. It’s always fuckin’ him.” Even with his mouth set in a furious sneer, a tear streaked down his face, and he quickly brushed it away. “He’s been real careful about keepin’ his eye on me this time. Keepin’ me happy or strung-out or shitfaced enough that I can’t argue with him. Guess he slipped up tonight.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alastor stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him, then went to lean against the wall opposite Angel and watch him closely. It almost sounded as if he wanted to talk about what he’d just gone through at Valentino’s hands, and if that was the case, Alastor was happy to listen. “What happened tonight?” he prompted. “If Valentino has made such an effort to keep you under control, how did you come to be back here at the hotel?”

“Luck, maybe? I mean, if you can call it lucky to get the shit kicked outta you,” Angel said with a mirthless laugh. His eyes lingered on Alastor, studying him as if trying to guess what ulterior motives he might have for staying in the room. “I dunno. Val had some business to take care of tonight. The kinda business he doesn’t like me gettin’ involved in. So he…loaned me out to a buddy of his. Vox. He—”

Angel’s tale cut off with a cringe as the usual ambient buzzing about Alastor’s person jumped into a harsh screech of static. His sharp smile stayed fixed as firmly as ever, his eyes wide as he tried to process this new information. He hadn’t realized that Vox was personally involved in all this, but the knowledge muddied his feelings on the entire subject somewhat. Where was all this anger coming from, he wondered? Was it the idea of Vox enjoying anything that he so resented? Was it the concept of Angel Dust being passed around between Overlords without any say in the matter? Maybe it was the thought that he was somehow enabling Vox to take advantage of Angel by not confronting Valentino sooner.

Very difficult to say.

After several seconds of tension, he managed to subdue the scratch and static back to its typical lingering presence. “I’m sorry, please continue,” he said pleasantly. “You’ve been…involved with Vox, then?”

“Sorta.” Angel was still watching him warily, like he expected another sudden outburst at any moment. “You know him?”

“We’re acquainted.” Another brief crackle of static. “We’re of different minds on a few issues. I didn’t know he was a part of Valentino’s business.”

“He’s not exactly. Doesn’t like gettin’ his hands dirty; he just likes to watch,” Angel explained. Yes, that fit the understanding of Vox’s character that Alastor had developed over the years. Always watching, observing, storing information for later use. Parasite. “It’s not like anything was different this time. It’s how he always is. Him and his guys. Usually four or five of ‘em. But I guess he didn’t like Val’s plan to keep me drugged and drunk all the time. What’s the point if I don’t scream, right?” His voice had turned hard, cold, and his clawed fingers dug into the bedspread beneath him.

Realizing that this topic had become an unpleasant one for both of them, Alastor began, “Angel, if you’d rather not—”

“Oh no, you started this,” Angel snapped back, shooting him a glare. “You wanted to know. The least you can do is let me finish.” He was right, of course. Alastor inclined his head and gestured for Angel to go on. “Anyway, those demons that work for him ain’t really the gentle type. And I was comin’ down from like, three different highs at once, so I already felt like garbage before they got their hands on me. Guess I complained one time too many.” He absently reached up to touch the bruise on his cheekbone, wincing slightly at the pressure.

“Once they were done with me, once Vox looked the other way, I snuck out. I got a cab, but I didn’t have any cash on me, so…” He shrugged, leaving it up to Alastor’s imagination as to how he paid for the ride. This may have been the first time he’d seen Angel so blasé toward—even uncomfortable with—the subject of sex. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Don’t worry, Val’s probably gonna send one of his guys to pick me up once he realizes I’m gone, so I won’t be here causin’ trouble for long.”

Alastor pushed off the wall and strode over to the bed to stand in front of Angel. Recalling how badly he had responded to being touched earlier, he made sure to move slowly and carefully as he trailed his fingertips up the edge of Angel’s chin to make him look up. “Is that what you want? To go back to Valentino?”

“Wh-what?” Angel was apparently having difficulty following the turn this conversation had just taken, his face flushed as he stared up at the Radio Demon with wide eyes.

“Do you want to go back to him?” Alastor repeated, absently licking the pad of his thumb to wipe the dried blood away from the corner of Angel’s mouth. Such a waste. Angel started to lean into the touch, but it ended before he could do so. “If and when he sends an escort to retrieve you, do you plan to cooperate?”

“What else am I gonna do?” Shaking his head, leaning back slightly, Angel pointed out, “You don’t know what he’s like, Al. He doesn’t like bein’ told ‘no,’ and he doesn’t like lettin’ go of shit that belongs to him. I ain’t got much choice.”

“Just humor me for a moment and suppose that you do,” Alastor insisted, gesturing airily as he spoke. “Suppose you had the option to either go back to his studio and live a relatively comfortable and indulgent life with few personal freedoms or stay here, focus on your rehabilitation, and work with us to support the hotel’s efforts. Which would you prefer?”

The answer was almost immediate. “If there was a way for me to not be Val’s little fuckin’ boy toy anymore, sure, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

Alastor’s smile widened considerably. “That is exactly what I was hoping to hear. And as co-manager of the hotel, it’s my duty to eliminate any and all obstacles to our patrons’ recovery, is it not? Consider your account with Valentino settled, my friend, and try to get some rest. We’ll be expecting you back in sessions tomorrow.”

“Wait. Wait a minute!” Angel grabbed his wrist as he started to leave, and although he wrenched away from the touch, he did pause. “What’re you sayin’? You’re not gonna go after him, are ya?”

“I plan to have a conversation with him,” Alastor said honestly. “I’m hoping he’s a reasonable fellow and will understand the situation without the need for things to get messy. If he doesn’t, however…” The room darkened slightly, highlighting the glow of his eyes. “I̶ ̢w̸i̷l͡l m͞ak̸e ͘h͜i͏m ͝uǹd҉e̶rst҉an͠d.”

“Don’t.” Angel was visibly unnerved by seeing his cheerful demeanor slip, but it didn’t stop him from protesting. “Seriously. I know you’re supposed to be this big powerful Overlord and all, but Val is no joke. Whatever you think you’re gonna get out of threatening him—”

“Are you trying to protect him?”

“No. I’m tryin’ to protect—” He ran a hand through his hair with an irritated groan. “It’s not worth it. I’m sayin’ if he’s pissed at me, I should be the one dealing with it. I don’t want you or Charlie or anybody here to get hurt cuz of my personal bullshit.” As the words were coming out of his mouth, he seemed to slowly realize what he was saying, just as Alastor did the same.

“Why Angel Dust,” the Radio Demon purred, surprised but delighted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that sounded very much like the virtue of Kindness. Maybe even Humility. You might be closer to redemption than I thought.” What an interesting development!

“Oh, shut the hell up!” Angel hissed, flushing even darker now and grabbing a heart-shaped throw pillow from the bed to toss it at Alastor. “Get outta my room, you dick.”

“Hmm, and just when we were starting to get along.” He dodged another pillow and swept out of the room, stealing one last glance at the blush on Angel’s cheeks before pulling the door shut behind him. As much as he appreciated the sentiment, he planned to ignore the advice not to approach Valentino.

It’s not worth it, Angel had said. I’m not worth it, was what he meant. That was likely another lingering effect of Valentino’s influence, one he would be better off without. Beyond that, Alastor had already said that he would take care of the problem, and he had a firm policy against the breaking of promises.