#the bottom crack is meant to mimic glasses

[lycorisicecream]

My main sona, I realized that theming my sonas around my @ was a stupid idea so I made something that I felt would truly represent me

[redrobbingabank]

Syndicate Foster AU Chapter One

No one knew much about Philza Minecraft. Ranboo was pretty sure that that was because Philza Minecraft wanted it that way, and what Philza Minecraft wanted, he got. 

Not in a bad way. The man was a good one, an oxymoron in the world of rich people Ranboo saw on the news when he bothered to watch it. He didn’t come up often––that’s what happens when you choose not to be known––but Ranboo had yet to see him wrapped up in any sort of scandal.

The list of unknowns about Philza was long to anyone outside his circle, and for Ranboo, it had just gotten longer. As he sat in the chair outside the social worker’s office, purple backpack hugged close in his lap, he couldn’t get the question out of his mind: Why in the world would some billionaire choose to foster a teenager?

Fostering anyone was enough of a question. Fostering a sixteen year old, only two years away from ageing out, was downright baffling.

Ranboo picked at a hangnail. It didn’t matter how he turned it over in his head. It just didn’t make sense. The whole thing felt far too weird, and not nearly real enough.

He looked past his worn out sneakers to the hallway around him. The linoleum floor was peeling where it met the wall, and the wall’s paint wasn’t faring much better. Everything was the same shade of grey, like snow when it turned into slush. Through the confused haze filling his mind, Ranboo hoped Philza’s house had some sort of color.

The door opening next to him made Ranboo jump. His social worker stepped out first, followed by Philza. Ranboo shot to his feet, swinging his backpack over his shoulder.

Philza smiled at him. “You ready to go, mate?” He was shorter than Ranboo. Ranboo did not like being taller than Philza Minecraft.

He nodded silently. Philza had a manilla folder in his hand. Ranboo’s file, holding everything the system needed him to know about the kid he was fostering. Ranboo had never actually gone through it himself. He’d never had a reason to, but now, knowing someone else had seen it, he was curious. What did it say? Did it list his problems? If it did, was his insomnia one of them?

His social worker smiled at him. “You’re all set, Ranboo,” she said. “I hope you have a good experience.” The last part was quiet, meant for Ranboo alone. There was no reason to plant doubt in Philza’s head about his parenting skills.

Ranboo felt his throat closing up. He’d never been around Ms. Parks much, past the times she handled his movements between houses, but she was still the most constant figure in his life. “Thanks, Ms. Parks,” he said tightly. 

Philza gestured towards the elevator. Time to leave again, to go blindly to a new home with no idea how long it would last. Tightening his grip on the backpack’s strap, Ranboo led the way in and pressed the button for the ground floor. They were quiet on the way down, on the walk through the lobby, out the doors, and to the black limousine waiting out front. Philza gestured for Ranboo to get in first, then sat down across from him.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he asked, nodding at the backpack.

Ranboo, who’d become a little transfixed by the striped green bucket hat Philza hadn’t taken off since… ever, actuall, now that he thought about it, scrambled to answer. “I––uh––yeah.” He glanced down at the bag self-consciously. Was it not enough? Was he supposed to have more?

Philza didn’t look mad at him. He just smiled and said, “We’ll go get you some more stuff soon, then.” 

Ranboo froze. “Oh, you don’t need to do that, Mr. Minecraft, it’s fine, really. I don’t need anything else––”

Philza held up a hand, and Ranboo fell silent. “First, you can just call me Phil, mate. Second, I want to. We need to get you a uniform for school too, and a laptop, I bet.”

A laptop? A uniform? Ranboo was starting to wish they’d told him what being fostered by Philza Minecraft would involve. “I’m sorry… a school uniform? Why do I need a uniform?” Panic started climbing in his throat. He’d assumed that he’d just be going to the same school he’d attended for the past few years.

Apparently, Phil planned differently. “You’re going to go to Kinoko High School,” he explained. “It’s where Techno and Niki go to school. Speaking of, are you ready to meet them? Do you have any questions?”

Technoblade and Niki Nihachu, Phil’s two adopted children. No one knew where they’d come from. The two were unrelated, but shared the same shockingly pink hair and hatred for the media. Unfortunately for Ranboo, that hatred cut off his mental profile there. Everything else on the internet about the two was speculation and rumors. Actually… 

“Is it true that Niki punched a reporter once?” he asked tentatively.

He’d been worried Phil would get defensive. It wasn’t really his business, after all, what the Minecraft children did. But, much to his surprise, Phil laughed. “It is,” he said. “But the reporter had it coming. She’s really very nice when you get to know her, as long as you’re not a dick.”

Naturally, Ranboo immediately began going through everything he’d ever done to see if he’d committed some terrible atrocity that had slipped through the cracks in his memory. He was tempted to ask what exactly the reporter had done, just to compare it to his life, but decided to leave it alone for the day, and offered a weak chuckle of his own to match Phil’s.

“Techno’s a good kid too, of course,” Phil added. “Just… they’re both a bit quiet. They’ll probably give you plenty of space.”

“Oh.” Ranboo bobbed his head, hoping it would suffice as a reaction. It was actually a relief to hear that he wouldn’t be expected to integrate into the role of sibling immediately. The day was already making him tired, and the feeling only intensified as he looked ahead to his arrival at the house. House? He suddenly realized he didn’t know where Phil lived.

“Where are we driving?” he asked, looking out the window. It was all the same buildings he knew, rising above eye level into the sky. Secretly, he hoped for a house somewhere a little away from the city. A big backyard sounded cool. And a dog. A dog would be nice.

Alas, it wasn’t meant  to be. “Pog Tower,” Phil said. “We’ve got the penthouse at the top.” The route they’d been driving towards the center of the city suddenly made sense.

“Oh,” Ranboo said, and sank a little farther into the seat cushions. Not that he wasn’t grateful. It would be better than the monotones of the group home, at least. Maybe they had a cat, or a fish. It would be great.

His time to convince himself of that dwindled even faster as the limo pulled into the semicircle drive in front of the tower. Big plants lined the sidewalk and stairs, flowy green leaves going all the way to the big revolving glass doors. Ranboo had the sudden feeling that his stomach had dropped into hell and left the rest of him behind.

His legs felt like nerveless attachments as he got out of the car, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder. Phil walked around the car and stopped next to him. He glanced at Ranboo. “Ready?”

Considering how much he felt like an ant right now, Ranboo was getting very scared of how much time he was going to spend at the top of this building. What if he fell out a window? How long would it take him to hit the ground and become a grease spot?

“Yeah,” he said, and cringed. His voice had gone up an octave.

Phil gave him a sympathetic look. “Let’s go, then,” he said kindly, and led the way inside.

The lobby was even nicer than the entrance. The floor was all marble tile, spanning what had to be at least half the bottom floor of the tower. A receptionist sat at a kiosk-desk-thing in the center of the room. It had a top made of smooth black glass. Behind her, an elevator with gold-looking doors taller than Ranboo was centered in the wall.

Phil walked past the receptionist with a smile and a nod, which she returned. On his way past, Ranboo tried to mimic the greeting, but it ended up as an awkward ducking of his head. The receptionist smiled anyway. She was paid to do that.

Just that small screw up made the trip to the elevator feel like an eternity. It was an astronomical relief when the doors shut, Phil leaning forward to insert a key into the slot beside the switchboard and press the button that would take them to the top floor. 

“You don’t need to talk to anyone if you don’t want to, when you’re coming in,” he told him when he straightened back up, slipping the key back into his suit pocket. 

“Oh. Cool.” In Ranboo’s head, he sighed loudly. It was probably just him, but he felt like living on the tower was going to take a lot more social interaction than he was used to.

The elevator ascended fast enough to give Ranboo the free-fall sensation of a roller coaster before slowing down and stopping with a pleasant ding!. Ranboo had time to exhale once more before the doors were sliding open, and he was greeted by a living room bigger than the cafeteria at the group home, currently occupied by two teenagers arguing over a binder on the glass coffee table. At the elevator’s chime, they abruptly cut off. The girl slammed the binder shut, and they both turned to face him.

Niki Nihachu and Technoblade looked as similar as they were different. Niki came up to Techno’s shoulder. She had on a black sweater and jeans, pink hair falling loose around her shoulders. Her build was that of a distance runner’s. Ranboo vaguely remembered some old photo posted of her at a track meet.

Technoblade had a pair of thin-framed glasses and grey sweats. His braided hair was long enough that when he’d spun around, it whipped over his shoulder. Dark bags hung under his eyes, though they were sharp and analytical as he looked at Ranboo. The crumpled Monster cans next to him offered an explanation.

No one spoke for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, Phil waved. “Hey guys, this is Ranboo.” Ranboo felt a piece of his soul shrivel up and die.

Techno and Niki looked at Phil. They looked at Ranboo, then looked at each other. Then, the two lifted their hands and gave him a perfectly synchronized wave. Were they sure they weren’t twins? “Hey, Ranboo,” Niki said.

“Um. Hi. Did you guys practice that?” Ranboo asked nervously, clutching the backpack’s strap tighter. 

“Yeah,” Techno said, grinning. Ranboo felt slightly less scared. “We thought it was funny.”

Ranboo bobbed his head wordlessly. What could he say? If he’d been watching and not scared out of his mind, he’d agree. 

“Guys, maybe avoid the pretending to be psychically connected for a few days,” Phil said.

“This happens often?” Ranboo squeaked.

Niki shrugged. “Pretty much, yeah.”

The pair hadn’t moved from in front of the coffee table, both in positions that prevented Ranboo from looking at the binder they’d been fighting over. He glanced between the two, but their faces betrayed nothing except for calm friendliness.

“Well,” Phil interrupted the silence, stepping to the side, “Your room is upstairs. I can show you where it is, and you can hang out up there or down here until dinner. It’s whatever you want, really.”

Thank god, an opportunity to hide. Ranboo almost led the way to the stairs, but stopped himself. “Sure,” he said. Then to Techno and Niki, “It was nice meeting you.” Was that okay to say to new siblings? It was probably stupid.

Niki grinned. It was a sharp expression on her face. “Nice to meet you too.” She and Techno watched Phil and Ranboo until they were at the top of the stairs, then turned back to the binder and started arguing again in whispers. Ranboo resisted the urge to glance back. 

At the top of the stairs, Phil led him down a short hallway and stopped at the second door on the left. “Since we weren’t sure what you like, we left it mostly plain,” he said. “We can decorate it and stuff soon, though.”

“I’m sure it’s great how it is,” Ranboo said.

“Nah, it’s boring. I want you to like it.” Phil stuck his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, we’ll be around. If you want to hang out or need anything, just come tell one of us. You can do whatever until dinner. I’ll send Techno up when it’s ready.”

“Awesome.” Ranboo gave him one last smile and waited in the center of the room until Phil left, closing the door behind him. He sighed. Dear god, that was exhausting. Maybe he’d actually be able to sleep tonight.

There wasn’t much to do on his own. Ranboo set his bag down on the dresser and tossed the sets of clothing inside without much care how they landed. Then, he launched himself onto the bed and just… kind of laid there.

He wasn’t even sure what to think about. The house? How big it was? How it actually seemed kind of like a home, and not some rich person’s museum-slash-autobiography? Whatever Niki and Techno were arguing about? They definitely didn’t want either Ranboo or Phil to know what it was.

Ranboo closed his eyes. Purple spots floated behind his eyelids. Sometimes, he liked to try to watch the patterns, but it usually ended with feeling like he was free falling through the void.

A knock on the door jolted Ranboo out of sleep. “Yeah? Uh, come in?” he called.

The door creaked open just enough for him to see one of Techno’s eyes. “Dinner,” he said.

“Oh. Awesome.” Had it really been that long? Ranboo wasn’t really hungry; he’d actually rather go back to sleep, or whatever had made the time pass like that, but he stood up anyway. “I’ll be down in a second.”

“Awesome.” Ranboo thought he saw Techno flash him a thumbs up, but then the guy was gone, muffled steps walking down the carpeted hallway to the stairs.

Ranboo stretched his arms over his head and groaned quietly. Dinner. He could do that. He could do that, and then he could go back to sleep and be done with people for the day. Slowly, he shuffled over to the door. Just eat dinner and sleep.

Phil made dinner. Ranboo wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t expecting that, but it was probably related to his general impression of rich people. He cringed a little at how clearly wrong he was, at least about this family. Especially because Phil had made mac and cheese.

It was freaking good mac and cheese too, he thought as he ate, carefully watching the others to make sure he wasn’t eating the wrong way. So far, he was doing well.

The four of them sat at a big table in the kitchen. Niki and Techno sat next to each other across from Ranboo, who was alone next to an empty chair. When he first saw it, he thought maybe it was Phil’s, but then Phil had taken the seat at the head of the table. Through the entire meal, Ranboo’s gaze was drawn to the chair and the question if someone was missing from their group. 

“So, Ranboo,” Niki said casually, like they’d been friends for a while and this wasn’t the first conversation she’d ever initiated with him. Ranboo looked up and put down his fork to make sure she knew he was listening. “You start school the day after tomorrow, right?”

Ranboo glanced at Phil for confirmation before nodding. “Yeah.” He was actually doing his best not to think about it. Everytime he did, his heart sped up unpleasantly and his knee started bouncing and a lot of thoughts he didn’t have space for crowded his mind. He was eternally grateful for Sunday tomorrow, giving him a bit of a reprieve before he was thrown into it.

“I thought we’d go shopping tomorrow.” Phil joined the conversation with such ease that Ranboo almost stared. “We need to get you your uniform and some supplies. I also thought a new backpack would be nice. But if you want to stick with the one you’ve got, that works, too,” he added quickly.

Ranboo thought of the seam starting to rip on one of the straps. “No, a new bag would be awesome.”

“Great. It’s settled. Techno, Niki, do you two want to come?”

The two shared a glance and nodded. 

“Alright. We’ll go to the mall at ten tomorrow, I think. Does that sound good, Ranboo?” Phil asked. Everyone was suddenly watching him. Ranboo nodded quickly, if only to make them stop.

“Did you get your schedule yet?” Techno asked, looking at his plate instead of Ranboo.

“No.” Was he supposed to have one?

“We’ll get it tomorrow with your other things,” Phil told him.

“Oh. Okay.”

When dinner was finished, Techno and Niki were the first to get up. “We have homework,” were their parting words, and then they were out the door with a surprising lack of sound. The silence held until their doors closed a few moments later.

Phil set down his fork and turned his attention to Ranboo. “I’m gonna head off too, mate. The office called, and they want me to head in for a few hours tonight. Unless you need me to stay?”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Ranboo rushed out. Time alone would be good. He always found it easier to breathe when there were less people in the house.

“If you’re sure,” Phil said, standing. “Techno and Niki will help if you need anything, and my numbers are on the coffee table. You should probably put them in your phone anyway.”

Ranboo imagined the battered old model he had upstairs. The corner was bashed in from being dropped a few too many times, and the 5 button was fickle. He cringed a little at the thought of showing it to Phil.

“Will do,” was all he said. Then Phil, too, left, and Ranboo was alone in a kitchen in a new house with no real idea what he should do, except that he wanted to leave Niki and Techno alone.

With that in mind, he went to bed. Or, not exactly. He went to sit in bed with his legs crossed, hunched over his journal as he wrote everything that had happened that day down. It had been a long time since he’d lost a day, but that did nothing to remove the fear that at some point, he would.

A strange bang sometime later made Ranboo jump. He checked the digital clock on his nightstand: 1:15 am.

The noise reminded him of a window being shut, and for a brief moment, panic flashed through him like lightning. What if someone had broken in?

But that was impossible. They were at the top of freaking Pog Tower. Just to reassure himself, Ranboo got up and looked out his own window. The distance from himself to the ground made him close the curtains. Yep, no one would be scaling the building. He was fine. He was safe. 

Ranboo looked at the journal, still open on his bed. The moment when he’d gone from writing to staring blankly at the pages was a mystery. He sighed, closed the journal, and put it back in its place at the bottom of his backpack. He had to go shopping tomorrow… well, technically, today. Sleep would be a really great idea.

Not that saying it would make it happen. 

Nevertheless, Ranboo climbed into bed. This time, he got under the covers and made his eyes stay closed. The suggestions ran through his head: count, tell yourself a story, take deep breaths. None of it ever worked.

Sometimes, Ranboo really wished it did.

[hwangsies]

zephyr (teaser)

(n) a gentle breeze

pairing: seo changbin x female reader

genre: rebound to fwb to lovers? lmaoo, also college!au and undergroundrappers!3racha

warnings: angst, mentions of abuse,infidelity & heartbreak, alcohol consumption, fluff, minsung on the side, smut (tba)

wc: 5k+ (not sure yet how much exactly)

coming soon <3 (comment or send me an ask if you want to be added to the taglist)

-

Changbin follows your eyes and huffs when the both of you see chan and your roommate sucking at each others faces again.

After a few seconds they stop and giggle before standing up to go somewhere.

“where are they going?” you huff, taking the tiniest sip from the throat burning liquid in your glass.

“I guess they want some alone time” he chuckles, lifting the arm close to you on the headreast to take off the cap he’s still wearing.

You flinch when his forearm brushes your shoulder, changbin halts his movements.

“are you scared of me?” he asks slowly, furrowing his brows, cap still in hand.

“no- no” you shake your head, chuckling “I- its just been a while since I’ve gone out and I don’t know” you shrug “I feel a little lost”

“hm” changbin cocks his brow at your words, running one hand through his dark brown locks.

You divert your eyes from his bulging bicep back to his face quickly when he speaks again.

“any reason why?” he leans back again.

“oh, just a shitty ex and a shitty breakup” you shrug “I’m gonna spare you the details”

“aw, no please, tell me he had a small cock and everything, now im invested” he jokes.

You tsk at him and push his arm playfully, feigning annoyance.

“that still doesn’t answer my question as to why you jumped like that when my arm touched you” changbin raises his brows expectantly.

You open your mouth to speak but-

“we’ll go get some more to drink” minho interrupts you at which changbin nods.

“so?” he asks again, once minho and jisung leave.

“did that ex hit you? give me his address I’ll beat him up for you” changbin deadpans.

“no” you shake your head after taking another sip “he didn’t” you huff incredulously.

“its just- “

“just what?” he grins “i’m bad company?”

“no- stop” you snicker, his brows raising as he tilts his head expectantly.

“you just look kinda intimidating okay?” you blurt out, finally.

His eyes widen before he falls into a boyish laughter, which you cant help but join.

“me?” he points at himself before laughing again, the image you had made up in your mind about him cracking.

“yea!” you raise your brows “when you look like this” you furrow your brows and lightly squint your eyes to mimic his resting bitch face.

“what the-” he splutters laughingly.

“stoop, don’t laugh” you hold onto his forearm, still giggling yourself.

He calms himself, subconsciously scooting closer to you in the now empty booth.

“maybe intimidating wasn’t the right word” you snicker, looking down.

“I think the word you were looking for was: sexy, hot or mysterious, maybe handsome-” he quips, grinning to himself when you start laughing again.

“no, no, I know what I meant” you joke back, just now noticing how close he is, his knee touching yours as his whole torso is turned to you.

“so none of my suggestions are accurate?” he cheekily raises one brow at which you scoff playfully.

“maybe one or two” you see his eyes jump to your lips.

The air suddenly feels thick around you with tension, changbins tongue darting out to wet his plump bottom lip while his eyes are still locked on yours.

You breathe in before the two of you lock eyes again "so…are you gonna kiss me, or just stare?"

-

(gif is not mine)

[morphituu]

Milagro

Chapter 22: Rehearsals 

Ch: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 

“Maaaama, mi amore- say mama,” Callie encouraged, her shirt clasped in Leo’s hold and a wide smile clamped around a melting teething chewy. The round, golden eyes locked on Callie still glimmered with unshed tears after waking from a nap following a sharp tooth breaking through his gums, but now his short legs kicked excitedly when she squealed like he after some numbing gel was lathered across his swollen pads.

“Oh my osito,” she sang, giggling when his staticky voice spiked into an excited shriek after she laid him across her chest. With any luck he'd catch the last of his afternoon nap and not completely derail his schedule the night before they left him. With one hand rhythmically patting his bottom in tune with a gentle song she hummed, the nails of her other dragged down his thick stripe of sandy colored locks, thick and tangled as hers always was.

Leo’s sleepy growls wound down to soft grunts, his little mouth pursing when he sucked on his tongue.

Her bottom lip quivered. To think she'd go four days without kissing this face or hearing his voice almost made her call off their already brief honeymoon despite desperately needing the break, not to mention the alone time she so craved from her husband to be. Quickies were fun in the moment, but when she'd have to walk right back out and balance Leo on her hip and a stack of laundry and dishes in the other arm, the yearn for a quiet, post-sex cuddle session resounded loudly in her bones.

“You know we’ll be back, right Leonardo? You won't even notice us you'll have so much fun with abuela y abuelo,” she smiled, recalling all of the toys Oleg had gone out to purchase in preparation for his grandson's extended visit, excitedly sending pictures to Nick every time he found something new.

Callie giggled, her eyes drifting up. She gasped softly, looking down at Leo. “Guess who's back?”

Her door swung open and Leo’s head craned back to find Nick placing their contribution to the dinner at her feet, a smile spreading across his gummy face immediately.

“What's with those sad eyes?” Nick pouted, reaching for Leo.

“His tooth broke through,” she handed him over, their son rubbing his tired eyes against Nick’s chest after being leaned into the crook of his beefy arm. Nick groaned, rubbing Leo’s back.

“I feel bad we're taking off right when this starts,”

“Me too,” Callie sighed, pushing her messy hair back from her face. “I keep rethinking it,”

Nick’s head lifted with a pout. “You don't wanna go anymore then?”

She exhaled loudly, shaking her head. “I really wanna go but I don't think the guilt will go away so I just gotta suck it up and deal with it,”

“We’ll only be a few hours away,” he reassured, a comforting squeeze left on her knee before he carried Leo to the backseat. Nick wiggled his face between Leo’s round cheek and shoulder to elicit bubbly giggles, his affections unyielding even after his son was safely strapped in his seat again, not until Callie reminded him that they were needed elsewhere.

A final squish of his cheeks, and Nick was off to the drivers seat again.

“Let’s do this,” he chimed, the dark clubmasters hiding the excited glint in his yellow eyes.

The weather was ideal for the windows to stay down, a soft breeze drifting through the cab that neither worried about overwhelming Leo as long as the traffic stayed this slow, but neither minded that, either. Nothing- not even that Callie’s dress had been delivered with a rip in the seam, could dampen their moods that day.

For weeks, more notably the sleepless nights they'd planned this and endless trial and error from music to food to seating, keeping enough excitement alive until their day came, and through rejections from churches that deemed their union unholy to now having a backyard wedding at his parents that a shocking number of family wasn't arriving to, they were here, the day before their wedding, and Callie couldn't shake the warmth that had held in her cheeks all day.

The butterflies fluttered about her stomach, bubbling in her throat when she tried to speak. As usual he held her hand while they drove, but now more than ever he toyed with her singular ring that would soon have it’s pair. When they stood in line to pick up Leo’s fitted outfit, he brought her decorated hand up to his lips to kiss shamelessly before the humans that rolled their eyes in disgust, further stirring the churning excitement before she leaned into his side to hide her blush.

Callie’s head landed against his arm rested over the center console, his big hand landing on her leg. Nick kissed her head while he drove, his thumb tracing the supple skin of her freckled thigh.

Callie grinned then. “I hope this song plays tomorrow,” she noted the raunchy beat bumping softly through the speakers.

Nick snorted. “Someone's uncle is gonna grind on someone's aunt,”

She giggled harmoniously, her face rotating in to hide against his bicep. Nick egged her on, the dirty comments flushing her cheeks and leaving her breathless as they drove leisurely along the backroads. At red lights he made it a point to steal kisses, his hand leaving the steering wheel to hold her jaw when a taste of her tongue became too tempting to refuse. They were honked at a few times, but Nick blew them off, telling his pretty fiancée “this is why we should've put the cans on the truck today”.

Their bantering settled enough to let silence pass between them, listening to Leo babble against his crinkly blanket or exclaim when he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

“Did Ward tell you what you guys are doing tonight?” she asked, pulling her hair over her shoulder when it whipped before her face.

“He won’t even give me a hint,” Nick huffed, endlessly worried they’d end up at a strip bar. “What about Rosie?”

“Just a girls night at her house,” she shrugged, hiding her excitement. A night to kick back with her feet up and gossip? With unproblematic people? It’s fucking paradise, she’d clarified to Nick when he was confused as to why bachelorette parties weren’t rambunctious like the mens. “I’m not drinking until the reception though,”

“Is it the Orkish champagne?”

She moaned, her eyes closing as saliva pooled in her mouth. “Forget the food, just hand me another glass of it when mine is empty,”

“One glass will have you on your ass, mama,” he reminded, peeking at her from over his clubmasters.

“Good thing my husband will be there to carry me away from the judging eyes of the public,” she said, her chin balancing on his shoulder as he pulled into his parents' driveway. The street was lined with their guests, the chatter from the backyard heard over their engine.

“Only because my wife is the fairest in all of LA,”

She pouted. “Just LA?”

“Who even matters outside of LA?” he asked.

“You’re right.” She leaned in for a quick kiss.

The pair went about gathering Leo from his seat and his numerous bags they’d store tonight in preparation for the following day, including a bouncer and swing. He was excited as ever when Callie lifted him from behind the buckles, the teething toy in his grasp. It took only three months for Leo to reach a girth that Callie could carry on her hip like a six month old, his head unwaveringly steady and held upright as he learned the world around him. Their pediatrician warned he’d fly through milestones faster than they could record, so when Leo started angrily gnawing on their hands and crying through the night, it took them some time to figure out he was simply teething when they’d normally not expect it until later. Moments were cherished with greater excitement after they realized how quickly Leo was growing, and how brief this baby stage would be.

It wasn’t until they’d at last received the results of his genetics test were they able to find some peace of mind knowing when he’d hit a year, this rapid aging would slow drastically.

Being seventy-six percent Orc meant doctors felt confident leaning towards the likelihood that Leo’s growth would match that of a full-blooded one, but the moments remained bittersweet for the parents. In the blink of an eye Leo went from being a wiggling newborn to a hefty calf able to sit up on his own and mimic their mouths when they spoke to him.

His yellow eyes tracked and narrow in on objects he wanted, his colored hands able to pick items, and Nick’s ear was always on the menu of items he loved to gnaw on.

At the call of his name he’d turn his head, and a smile would grace his lips when it was either of his parents. Callie would walk from corner to corner with him between her feet, his grasp tight around her fingers and his feet dragging less everyday he built up the muscles of his strong legs. When he’d be done from such an exerting exercise, a frown up at Callie would signal his reluctance to waddle any farther.

The pouts and angry chuffs were Nick’s favorite. He’d gnaw Leo’s thighs and roll him side to side just to see his little face snarl, a sharp cry rattling in his throat before he’d clamp onto Nick’s arm. Now that the sharp fangs were coming in, he found instigating a fight with his vicious little boy wasn’t in his best interest. It had only taken a few times for Leo to learn if he laid over his dad’s head, he was further defenseless, including those ears.

“Ah!” Leo exclaimed, reaching over Callie’s shoulder towards Nick. “Ahh!” he cracked again, looking at Callie.

“He’s comin’, don’t worry,” she assured, his chuff tickling her ear.

The door was cracked open upon walking up to it, and inside the furniture was already being moved around to create more space to linger around in.

“Late to her own rehearsal!” came Oleg’s booming voice, strutting in false intimidation from the hallway, but his angry scowl melted into a wide smile once Leo recognized him and reached.

“Is everyone here?”

“The booze went quickly,” he teased, walking toward the back of the house with Leo excitedly squealing in his grandpa’s arms.

“That’s what happens when you get Orcs and Mexicans together,” Nick commented, grunting his way in with all the bags slung across his arms and shoulders.

“They didn’t drink the champagne, did they?” Callie frantically asked, following Oleg and leaving Nick to topple over with Leo’s luggage.

Nick and Ward both sipped their beers alongside Matuk and Sergey, the summer sun having been unbearable until Dinara silenced the mens whining and dished out the cold drinks. But the sun still kept glaring down at them even as it drew near sunset, their shirts sticking to their skin and hunger growing. Dura had been the only one to be blessed with a chair at the front, her belly near bursting as her due date approached.

“Pay attention,” Dura hissed at Sergey, fanning her face with her sun hat.

“All I do is stand here-” he hissed back, silencing when Ward elbowed him.

“Can you shut the fuck up she’s about to come down,” Ward growled, jabbing his hand in the direction of the house.

“We’ve done this eight times, why do we need to be quiet?”

“He’s right, there’s no point,” Nick answered loudly, sipping his beer.

Ward glared at him in disbelief. “At your own rehearsal?”

“Look, they’re talking,” he pointed to Callie’s mom who sat beside Dyani and Joaquin, Leo and his mother coming to join them once she’d finished walking down the mock isle.

“Okay music, yada yada everyone stands, then Callie,” Dinara called, tip-toeing around the line of bridesmaids to stand beside Nick at the front.

It was just the rehearsal, and there was nothing to match how spectacular and dreamy it would be the following day, but Nick still smiled watching her walk down like that, a glowing smile on her face and hanging onto her father's arm. Nick tossed a kiss to her before she was even there, tipping his bottle back over his lips to hide a nervous smile when she winked at him.

For the eighth time, Nick shook Diego’s hand and accompanied Callie back to their spot at the front, his actions growing clumsier with every round.

“Pre-gaming?” she asked, smiling at Nick’s loose nod. She was sure his eyes were half-lidded behind his sunglasses.

“Okay dearly beloved and all that, they exchange vows, beads, rings and kiss,” Dinara recited from the front with Leo still in her arms, wiggling towards Nick when he made faces at him. He stopped only to peck Callie sweetly, snatching his son from his mother's arms. “And we’re done,”

There was a collective sigh of approval from everyone placed about in the wide yard, all of which were starved for the cool drinks and savory dinner laid out under the shade of the patio.

Sergey stumbled to Dura’s side and only laughed when she scolded him for already drinking himself into a cloud, but Callie was there to loop her arm around the expectant mother’s and assist in her waddle across the yard. Nick and Ward picked Sergey back up, leaving hard slaps on his back while they teased him over being a lightweight.

“I hope Morn feels better by tomorrow,” Callie pouted, feeling her friend's absence.

“She kicks shit fast, she’ll be good,” Ward answered. It was useless denying they’d become quite cozy with one another, especially when Nick had stopped by unexpectedly to find her wandering around Daryl’s house in his shirt. It was a sensitive topic, but Callie thought it sweet how lovingly he spoke of Morn when she wasn’t around. There was always the hint of a longing sigh somewhere in his words, a hardened pout pushing his mustache up.

“Was it a stomach bug? Daryl wasn’t feeling too good either,” Rosie noted, following her ear into their conversation.

“Was Dejza sick too?”

“Yeah I think that’s where she got the bug from. Grandparents wanted to see her,” Ward explained, finding a spot beside Nick once they all came up to the table. Leo perched on Nick’s thigh, reaching over to tap Callie’s arm so she’d talk to him as the others found their seats. The chatter of Callie and Nick’s chosen family was lively among their friends, the last minute preparations or concerns rising into question and then settling quickly. Food was passed through mouths as fast as the words, the plates filling just to empty minutes later for seconds and thirds. The men of Nick’s bachelor party were ordered to lay off the beer and instead fill up on food before their night of celebration and farewell, waving off their disapproving groans and wails.

By the time they were all dug into their meals, Leo was drifting in Nick’s arms with a bottle balanced on his chest, at last catching a nap to soothe away the throbbing in his gums they’d managed to mostly keep at bay all day with the chaos swarming around them.

When Leo spat out the bottle and rubbed his face, Nick took a final bite of the crispy pork ribs to lean back in his chair and cradle his son closer to his chest, a wide palm patting his bottom. Soft chuffs were the last of Leo’s attempts at consciousness before Nick’s purring did him in, his big eyes finally sliding shut.

Nick was lost staring at his son when Ward suddenly came into view, his ear almost close enough to press against his shoulder.

Ward snapped up, mild disbelief coloring his expressions. “Are you… vibrating?”

Callie laughed out loud, covering her mouth filled with food.

“Does Morn not purr?” Nick asked, Ward leaning away from him.

“P-purring? Y’all… purr?” he looked up hesitantly at the other Orcs around him who were unphased by his discovery.

“Does Morn really not?”

“No! I think I’d know if I heard somethin’ like that!” Ward exclaimed, returning to his meal with a shudder.

“I bet she does n’ it just puts you to sleep,” Sergey added, talking around a corn on the cob.

Daryl looked back to Nick. “Sophia always told me she reminded her of a cat and I thought it was cuz of the ears n’ shit,”

The table chuckled at that, their laughter heightening when Daryl again leaned into Nick’s chest to listen to the rumbles, even placing a hand flat on him to make sure it wasn’t some elaborate prank. The fervent manner in which everyone devoured the food calmed into small pickings here and there and the low rumble of chatter filling the backyard, everyone in their separate conversations or stories until Dinara pulled Nick's attention away from Callie and Rosie who spoke so fast, it only sounded like clicking.

“Ukmall, you’ll need to be here before eight to get Leo,” she informed, and his brows furrowed.

“So early?” he groaned, having fully expected a few hours to sleep off a hangover.

“Callie needs to get her hair done. The fumes are bad for him,” she scolded, and he looked back to his bride.

“You’re changing your hair?” he questioned with big eyes.

“Just a little bit,” she smiled, internally screaming. She’d come to this decision to alter her hair after talking herself out of going entirely blonde despite her curiosity for years pulling her the other direction, but now she wondered if he’d even notice.

“I guess I can get him,” he griped, leaning down to kiss Leo when Callie and his mother sucked their teeth in discontent.

“What time are people arriving?” Callie asked around Nick.

“Three, so we have a lot to do and a lot of cooking before people start showing up. That being said,” she grunted, standing at the head of the table with her glass of sweet tea raised. “I’d like to propose a toast and a thanks,”

Everyone hushed, reaching for their variety of drinks to hold up.

“We want to extend our thanks to Callie’s family who have graciously accepted us in, not to mention our son who came with a reputation,” she gestured at Nick, the table chuckling. “To everyone who’s helped and put up with my screaming,” she admitted to bashfully. “To my son, who I knew would be the father his own raised him to be, and now the husband I always knew he could be,” she smiled lovingly at Nick, his own grin goofy and adoring. Callie rubbed his arm, squeezing his wrist affectionately.

“And to Callie,” she cleared her throat, raising her glass. Callie’s smile dropped when she looked up, her anxiousness kicking into high gear. “It’s because of you my son smiled again, and it’s with your help he’s shown that beautiful baby in his arms such love. You weren’t only a gift in his life, but ours too, and no matter the paths you both might take from here on out, you’ll always have a place in our family. Cheeruk, mausan daughavas. Lat've bleukukun avhiuk famipak.” She finalized, her glass raised and Oleg following suit.

“I’d like to also say something,” Diego stood creakily, his age at last catching up to him after decades of back breaking work. He smoothed his hand down his church shirt, lifting his glass. “Mija, you haven’t always had the best of luck when it came to men, and to be honest I would’ve pulled my hair out if you had brought home another white boy,” he chuckled, the table following suit as Callie hid her face in despair. “But now I can rest easier at night knowing you have a man I would’ve hand-picked for you specially,” he tipped his head at Nick, the orc nodding once in return even though he was inwardly elated.

“I’m sorry the ones you were told growing up were your family didn’t make it here, but it’s their loss, cariña. If they can’t grow as much as you, let them leave. You’ve always been better than them. Nick,” he turned, startling his daughter’s groom.

“Thank you. You’re the standard I raised my daughters to expect, so thank you for taking care of her and Leonardo. I only want forever for you two.” He finished, his free hand resting on Luciana’s shoulder as she looked on at her daughter with watery eyes.

“I second that!” Rosie declared, Santi’s glass following his sister only to spill across the table's surface and onto her plate.

Her cheeks were hidden in her palms when they toasted, Dinara’s words whispered in translation into her ear by Nick after drinking to their parents speeches. He kissed her flushed cheek, promising the sincerity of her words. Her eyes wandered while Nick adored her secretly, watching their parents take turns hugging and speaking with smiles plastered across their faces. It helped ease some of the burns she’d been dealt when her family started RSVPing just to say they wouldn’t attend, and she wondered how much of it was because of Leo and how much was because of their choice to marry. Either way, she knew now who to keep up with.

The couple was dragged from their steamy bubble of secret kisses and whispers when Ward elbowed Nick insistently until he turned, motioning his head toward the door, but his hairless brows drew together.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, noting Ward’s lighter complexion.

He shook his head, waving his hand. “Drank too much,”

“They took our drinks-”

“Man let’s go!”

Nick turned back to Callie, a loose smile curling her lips.

“Is it time?” she asked, and he nodded, leaning in for another lengthy kiss. “If I get a call from Jake that one of his girls is shaking their asses in your face I’m gonna make sure you can’t make anymore babies,” she warned quietly, trying not to laugh when he gagged.

“I hid a nanny cam in the house so if I see a male stripper shoving his junk in your face I’m gonna throw you in the ocean,” Nick cracked back.

“I can’t swim!” she giggled, trying to frown.

“Yeah, you’ve been warned,” he kissed her before she could respond. “I love you, have a good night and be safe,”

“You be good,” she reminded, pursing her lips for another kiss before he lowered Leo into her arms and smooched him goodbye. “No tequila,”

He sucked air through his teeth, pointing at her. “I can’t promise that,” and he was off, following the others into the house after kissing his mom on the head. They grew rowdy once separated from their lovers except Matuk who was as stoic as ever, and they could be heard causing a commotion all the way to the cars until they were off.

“Ten bucks says they don’t make it past midnight,” Rosie announced.

“Make it twenty,” Oleg raised his beer, his bright smile tightening when Dinara elbowed him in the side before making her way over to Callie as the rest of their guests found separate conversations to delve into.

“Callie, I’d like to show you something we picked up today,” she said under her breath, tugging on her elbow.

“Oh?” she piped, tapping Rosie’s shoulder so she could deposit her hefty son into her arms. Rosie doted over him lovingly, endless kisses pressed into his cheeks as he was roused from his nap, but that would be her problem, now. By the time Leo was awake and gnawing angrily into his tia’s cheeks in retaliation, Dinara had led Callie into her room where the bed was lined with pressed and covered clothing, some decorations and linens hung over the small bench at the end. Callie wandered, her hands gravitating towards the colorful flowers protected in plastic boxes.

“Here, look,” Dinara called from the desk at the corner of the room.

The small lamp was flipped on when Callie was at her side, watching as she lifted the lid from a silver box carefully, but upon removing the satin material protecting whatever was underneath, her hands moved even more gingerly than before until a shining, silver plate looked up at them. Orkish letters were carved deep into its face, but the polished grooves were clean, elegant.

“Marriage Armor, it’s called. The bride wears the plate with her new name upon her back and the groom wears the bride's zodiac on his shoulders and chest,” she explained, a smaller pouch that she had in the top drawer of the desk emptying into Callie’s palm. The charms were attached to thin, dainty chains, and carved from a deep, grey metal shaped into bull heads.

Callie smiled, studying their details. “Nick will wear these?”

“Mhm. You’ll both wear the bracelets that are exchanged, but those are kept for the day of. Right now we need to get this on you to make sure it fits,” she explained, opening the pouch so Callie could deposit the charms back inside.

The ‘armor’ had length to it she at first couldn’t see between the satin covers. Her own sparkling chains braided across the shoulders as one long, jeweled piece ran the length of her back, stretching from the plate that spelled Jakoby. When Dinara had it balanced on her shoulders so she could clasp it at her front, she saw where the chains came together into the shape of the Taurus symbol. With delicacy she touched the pieces on her shoulders and at the center of her chest while it was adjusted at her back, her smile beaming. It was heavy- this was definitely some special mineral, for she’d never seen one of such weight be polished finely enough to catch even the smallest glimmer of these dim lights.

“Tomorrow you’ll glow during that sunset,” Dinara smiled, tugging the chains at either side of her shoulders. “Poor Nick will be so blindsided we might have to give his men a heads up,”

They giggled, Callie’s smile wavering when Dinara held her hands tightly, staring at her with glossy eyes. “These plates are traditional. A male’s mother hands them down to his bride if she approves, so these should have come from my own mother in law, but they didn’t,”

Callie’s smile fell. “What?”

“Oleg’s mother hates me. She wanted her boy to have the smiling, waxy wife who pops babies out like rats. So I had these made the day before we were married, and I wore them in front of her,” she grinned.

“Reclaimed the name?” Callie smirked.

Dinara nodded. “It’s a good name despite the reputation that came with it when you met my son,”

Callie only hugged her, their arms tightly wound one another in that moment. “Thank you,” she said, giving her a last squeeze before they both wiped their cheeks of any stray tears.

“Well it fits,” she giggled before the two got her out of the intricate chains and back into the sleek box.

“Come on then,” the orc sniffled, turning the light off. “Let’s finish the night.”

↠

Nick’s hand still hadn’t come down from shielding his eyes, but as long as Ward was emptying his dinner and three beers onto Sergey’s lawn, he wasn’t going to even bother glancing at him. His excitement had drained the entire two hours it took to get here, it’s gradual drip starting as soon as they’d left his parents.

“I’m fine, I just drank too fast,” were the kind of things Ward kept saying to excuse his deteriorating, sweating form, but Nick knew he’d heard him heaving into the toilet after calling Morn to ask exactly what she’d come down with. Still, he insisted he was fine the entire duration it took him to shower and change before they headed to Sergey’s next, but by the time they’d gotten in the car, Sergey was starting to look worse for wear, too.

As soon as the car had come to a stop, both of them were falling out, one running into the house and the other making it to the lawn before he lost his composure. Now, Nick was alone in this filthy mess after Matuk had ditched them, but Nick hadn’t expected him to go, really. Bachelor parties didn’t seem like his thing even though there was nothing to celebrate anymore.

“Juh- just gimme a min-” Ward choked, retching loudly.

“For three months I’ve dealt with puke almost daily,” Nick explained calmly, his eyes still hidden.

Daryl coughed.

“You’ve been hyping me up for this for weeks,”

Ward nodded, spit hanging off his bottom lip. “I’no,”

Nick dropped his hand and sighed when thirty seconds had passed- the longest yet- without him heaving, and he couldn't help laugh a little. Ward wasn’t the kind of person to ever show vulnerability even when he was hurt, so seeing him hunched over and whimpering meant taking a few photos should’ve been his top priority, but Nick showed mercy on his friend while the other was lost somewhere in his house likely calling Dura to cry.

“C’mon,” Nick groaned, lifting Ward’s limp body off the ground.

“I need t’go to Morn's,” he grunted, walking unsteadily beside him.

“She can come get you after I drop you off,” Nick used his lighter voice, clearing his throat when he realized what he was doing. “Sit down,”

Ward instead flopped into the backseat, exclaiming when his head smacked the door panel. He continued to wail when Nick used his foot to push his feet in, flinching at how loudly he protested.

“Jesus now I know why Sherri was such a bitch,” Nick mumbled, closing the door before Ward could scream at him. “Stay there,” he knocked against the window, turning towards the house. “Let me go check the other child…”

What started as Nick’s bachelor party he had looked forward to for weeks, had turned into a mini-pandemic between the parties involved- thank god they left his parents house when they did- and had resulted in Nick getting one giant man baby into bed with clean clothes after he was found on his bathroom floor, and cleaning the puke out of Ward’s car when he voided even more of himself while waiting. It hadn’t come without a cold scolding from Nick, demanding to know why he couldn’t have opened the door beside his head if he had enough power to sit up and spray everywhere, but Ward stopped listening when the words became languages he didn’t know.

He hollered and gagged the entire way back to driving Daryl home, bursting from the car as soon as he was parked, but that only meant helping clean this one up too.

After nearly three hours of scrubbing, and gagging, and screaming, Nick sat on Ward’s porch waiting for his Uber, a cold beer in hand. No amount of air freshener or borrowed cologne would mask the raw stench of vomit under his nails and on his clothes. He’d likely throw these away- his nose was too keen to allow back into his closet. Too bad; he really liked this shirt.

Night had at last crept over LA, leaving only a soft orange glow where the sun had slipped from. The night was humid, but cool, and the woven chair he sat in wasn’t half bad.

He looked at his phone, tracking the driver who was coming down the street.

He’d made the move multiple times to message Callie, but he couldn’t bring himself to halt her night, either. If she hadn’t messaged him about anything, that meant no sickness had befallen them either, right? Maybe they’d been lucky to avoid catching it from Daryl. He texted his mom at least, warning of a stomach bug floating around and to keep a closer eye on Leo.

A compact little sedan rolled up, and Nick groaned. Now he had to squeeze into that.

What am I even gonna do all night… he pondered, walking towards the car. He chuckled. Sleep.

Nick slipped in the open door, closing it noisily behind himself before spinning the bolt shut. His palm popped up just as he smacked his inner arm, his keys flying onto the counter and sliding noisily across its surface.

Never, not even after his most grueling days at the academy or after an even more grueling workout did he ever desire a shower and sleep like this moment, kicking his shoes off excitedly.

“Nick?”

He froze, his head half in the cabinets looking for something to take with him. Nick leaned out of the kitchen entry, his ears twitching. Was that…?

“Cal?” he called back warily.

“Maybe,” she called back, and he was off towards the bedroom he hadn’t even noticed had been shut.

The TV was mumbling lowly with her favorite show, but she wasn’t on the bed like he expected. Instead, sitting on the carpet on a folded blanket surrounded by her phone and wires that made up her headphones and charger with a pre-roll between her fingers, he found her sitting beside the cracked sliding glass door so the smoke could wisp out into the night.

Her eyes were just as wide as his, the pair speechless.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, almost afraid to move. Where’s Leo?

“What are you doing here?” she returned, knowing he’d seen the joint in her hold.

“Ward and Sergey-”

“Got sick?” she interrupted, her mouth tightening. He nodded, snorting.

“The girls too?”

She nodded, relaxing a little bit. “I thought you were off already doing the bachelor party thing so I just came home… and left Leo with your parents,”

“Yeah I didn’t call them either,” he confided softly, licking his bottom lip.

“So…” she looked around. Why was this so awkward!?

Nick watched her, leaned back on his hands after pulling a fresh shirt over his scrubbed skin. His head lolled to the side, watching her at last let out the insane breath she’d pulled in. The smoke from this one smelled foul compared to the scented trails from a cartridge, but he wouldn’t speak out against it.

By the time he’d come out of the shower, she had gone through half its length and her eyes were already falling shut. Eight months of sobriety brought her tolerances way down, but this was also the first time in months he hadn’t seen her chewing her inner lips or bouncing her knee. What a wonderful remedy this was, but the stigma attached to it would always leave Nick hesitant.

“That wine is gonna knock you out tomorrow,” he mumbled, grinning when she swatted sleepily at his foot.

“I thought we already agreed you’d catch me,” she reminded, twisting the butt in the ashtray before looking at him.

“Only if I can get really shit faced in San Diego,” he whined, and she laughed.

“Duh, me too,”

He smiled, watching her fidget around on the blanket and fix her hair hanging around her shoulders. She looked down at the ring on her hand, smiling adoringly at its face then clutching her palm to her chest. Soft humming came from her, a soft sway back and forth starting.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, knowing she’d fallen into her dreamy haze.

Callie shrugged, looking up at him. Those balmy eyes were glowing, her cheeks flushing. “I can’t believe we’re getting married tomorrow. It feels like it’s taken decades to get here but it’s only been… pfft three years? And now we have our baby?” she pouted, holding her own face.

“Wow,” Nick mumbled, smiling at her in amusement.

“I shouldn’t have left him there, I need to call your parents-”

“Cal,” he called, catching her frantic eyes. “He’s fine. Take a breath,”

She paused before nodding, sighing instead of taking an appropriate breath.

“I wanna be on whatever planet you’re on,” his words nudged her away from that guilt, a little smile lifting his spirits when he worried about her mental state. Sometimes the break-through anxiety was sneaky.

Her brow perked up, her smile growing devious.

“I can’t,” he reiterated.

“You can,”

“I can’t,”

“It would be out of your system in two days. We’ll be back way after that,” she too reminded him of the miraculous gift that was an Orcs metabolism, but Nick was a faithful worker and had his own, brittling views on the earth-made herb she relied on. “You didn’t get enough that first time,”

“It tastes like ass,” he defended, growing weary when Callie sashayed towards him with the ashtray and lighter pinned under her palm. “It makes my lips dry,”

“I’m not stopping until I hear ‘no’,” she clarified, sitting between his spread legs stretched across the floor and lighting the end of the blunt.

Still, Nick remained silent, watching her suck in her own small hit until the embers were crackling at the end. “I won’t make you do it if you don’t want to,” she told him, sensing his hesitation. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. If he liked the buzz from drinking, he was sure he’d like the buzz from smoking, but his encounters in the past not to mention the particular one that had left him in a room full of laughing people during a bad trip left bitter emotions.

But he trusted Callie when reminding him she’d never do such a thing, and she trusted her when she said, “You’ll like it,”

“And I’ve seen how jittery you’ve been,” she noted, patting the hand that had moved to rest on her thigh when he sat forward.

“Who wouldn’t be?” he asked, pinching the shrinking joint between his fingers when she passed it. Then she sat back on her bottom, crossing her legs.

“It’s your decision, baby. I want you to have a good time but not if you’re uncomfortable,” she told him, knowing even in her bombed state that despite Nick accepting this more over the years and his own curiosity growing, pressuring someone wasn’t how you did it.

He rolled it a little bit between his fingers, glancing at her with his critical, yellow eyes.

Ugh, he’s so yummy-

“How long do I hold my breath?” his voice disrupted her thoughts.

“As long as you can,”

Nick sighed, looking at it one last time. “Fuck it, why not,”

Callie’s eyes widened every second he kept inhaling, caught between warning him and possibly making him panic or letting him get one huge drag in instead of coughing through a bunch of little ones, but by the time she decided, he was done. Silent, holding his breath, his eyes already watering when he handed it back.

Without looking she snuffed it out, waiting. “Nick?”

He exhaled loudly, a cloud of smoke blowing around her that she swatted towards the cracked door. The coughing started before he even finished his breath, the next one bubbling up his throat before the previous one finished. His throat and nose burned, and he could’ve sworn he felt his trachea vibrating with every ragged cough.

“Cough as hard as you can, it helps,” she coached, rubbing his back when he rolled onto his stomach to smother his teary eyed face in the carpet.

The ferocity of the coughing rang down his arms, his head throbbing when he managed to sit back up, but with the calming of his body came… warmth.

Nick cleared his throat over and over, wiping the back of his hands across his eyes, but the warmth surrounding his head was making it hard to keep his eyes open. They felt like they could fall into a slumber at any moment, but his mind was as wakeful as ever. He glanced down at his body; why did he feel so… floaty? He cleared his throat again of its scratch while rocking side to side, tensing his arms. Upon lifting his hand, he found he still had full coordination.

He snorted, coughing a little.

“Are you okay?” His head snapped around, finding Callie staring at him in suspense. “How do you feel?”

He inhaled. “I feel like there’s cotton in m’head,” he mumbled, an eye closing. “Like fuzzy cotton,”

She repressed giggles. “But are you okay?”

He nodded loosely, looking around their cluttered room. “It’s like being drunk but sober,”

“I’ve never been able to explain it that well,” Callie grieved, her arms throwing up into the air. “Are you gonna be one of those insightful people when you’re stoned?”

Nick blinked, his eyes reflecting when Callie snapped a photo of him. “Who?” he asked.

“Oh my god.” Callie mumbled.

“Damn,” Nick exclaimed under his breath, his face twisted in horror.

“I know,” Callie nodded, her knee draped over his thigh.

“Could you imagine…?

“No. It’s bad enough we have dragons,” she said against his chest. Every blink felt like eternity.

“Imagine if they did that,” Nick pictured, his body shuddering under hers. “What’s this movie called?”

“Princess Mononoke,”

He scoffed; no way he was remembering that. Nick took a final bite of their ordered dinner, chewing slowly as he stretched to rest the bowl on his nightstand. Maybe this would finally calm his voracious appetite, but as long as Callie kept opening that bag of Doritos, he was hopeless.

“I’m gonna gain thirty pounds by tomorrow,” he mumbled into her hair, the both of them chuckling.

“I never lost my thirty,” she pouted comically, stuffing another chip into her mouth.

“Damn, what that mouth do?” he teased around a yawn.

“Yo mama,” she mumbled, giggling when he snorted.

Silence lulled between the two snuggled and surrounded by snacks in the bed, both of their minds lost somewhere in the clouds as they re-watched various Netflix series.

He thought he’d heard her slip in and out of sleep earlier, but truth be told, he could’ve been listening to himself breathe. There had been a few times his reddened eyes snapped open to be in the middle of a completely different episode, but mentioning it would be admitting he was falling asleep which he continued to adamantly deny. With a blind reach, he retrieved his phone from the nightstand.

Just a little past midnight, but way too late. He was enjoying this too much, though. Nick was only selfish in the sense that sometimes he just wanted to snuggle right up to Callie and feel her body against his. The last time they’d had a moment like this without Leo in the way was at the beginning of her pregnancy, and laying like this only made him realize how long ago that was.

“We should be in bed,” Nick mumbled, rubbing his eye.

“We are in bed,” she laughed, sliding her cheek up to look at him.

“You know what I mean. Big day tomorrow,” he looked down at her, reaching to move some of her hair from her cheek so he could better see those big eyes that always sparkled.

“Everytime I think about it I get so nervous,” she whispered.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. It feels like that first time I met you at Santa Monica. I stress ate like seven funnel cakes. I was so anxious,” she admitted shyly.

“I changed a bunch of times. Couldn’t decide on anything,”

“Oh you did good, sir,” she winced, biting her bottom lip. “You could’ve drowned in my panties,”

“I would’ve if your sister hadn’t’ve interrupted,” he grumbled, forever bitter.

“Oh hush, it was a sign we would be together forever,”

“How so?” he questioned, twisting in her direction a little.

“I would’ve never called a guy back if that happened with anyone else, but you were so perfect that I swallowed the embarrassment and saved my horniness for another day,”

Nick smiled, a big goofy one. “Shut up,”

“Shut me up then,” she came back with, fast as a whip.

His eyes dropped to her lips, lingering before coming back to her eyes. “Isn’t that bad luck?”

“It was bad luck when we both ended up home,” she whispered, the weight of her hand once on his chest now coming to stretch across his meat.

That was enough convincing for Nick.

Callie was a little slower getting over him, but her heated kisses kept him concentrated on what they both wanted. When she was in her spot sitting in his lap, he could better taste her tongue after pulling her chest flush against his, his strong hands quickly continuing to her round ass he pulled back and forth over his growing dick. A steadying hand against his chest meant he could leave her skin that was marked red where he grabbed, her hips resuming the motions.

With his bottom lip pinched between his teeth, he easily pulled her loose sleeping shorts aside, revealing her plump pussy lips.

He could already feel how warm she was through his sweats, shortening his breaths in anticipation.

“You’re so hot,” he admired, looking up in time for her hair to fan around them when leaning down to kiss him. Strong, sinewy arms wrapped tightly around her waist, grounding himself to the angel that squirmed in his hold deliciously. Silently, inwardly, he thanked those who had blessed him with such a girl, promising to worship more as soon as he was done with this.

A firm tug on the ends of her shirt had it flying past her fingertips, thrown to the floor.

Callie gripped the railing to the headboard when he pulled her chest into his open mouth, a long lick gliding over a hardened nipple that had goosebumps fire up her arms. She snickered when he smacked his lips a few times, moving onto the other side. An old technique had her limp in his hold, her thighs tightening at his sides. He encouraged her hips to keep moving, his cock desperate for attention, but her mind was only a pool of melted pleasure at that point.

A hard gasp fell from her wet lips when he graced her clit with tight circles, hanging off of his neck to look down at his hand flat against her lower stomach as his thumb massaged her into a trance. Gradually her eyes fell shut, hair sticking to her cheeks while she panted softly.

His loose smile made her rock into his touch. “You want it already, don’t you?” he asked quietly, his voice vibrating with growls; Callie could only nod. He pecked her sloppily. “Get naked,”

Callie stumbled off into the center of the bed to kick off her shorts and socks, moving onto the food and remotes and phones that were now being swept onto the floor without a care.

Nick’s shirt and sweats had already been tossed off, but now as he rummaged through the drawer of his bedside table, his excitement was plummeting. Here was the box, but…

“We’re out of condoms,” he announced, looking back at her sat naked at the center of the bed on her knees with her dishevelled hair a mess around her shoulders. It only added to the tragedy of the situation.

“So?” she asked, her fingers drumming against her thighs.

Nick stood straight, his head cocking.

Since she’d been cleared for sex there hadn’t been a session they forgot to use protection, no matter how it dampened the sensation. He’d done it for her, for he wasn’t the one who’d be carrying anymore surprise babies, although it was the memory of her sweet, bare pussy around his unsheathed cock that helped bring him to an end, now. He’d wanted to ask her, even just for one quick slide in, but Nick had always assumed this was the new norm until either of them were snipped.

“Are you- really?” he asked.

“I hate them, Nick. I’m so over using them,” she exhaled, her shoulders drooping. “I’ve been trying to be good but if I have to ride your dick one more time with a balloon over it-”

She yelped, her legs pulled from under her ass and Nick finding his spot between her flailed knees when she realized what happened.

The mood shifted again, and suddenly they were in perfect sync.

Her knees drew upwards when the top of his thighs pressed under her bottom, his hand finding its place at the bend of her leg that was closest to her chest.

She made it up onto an elbow when he spit at his tip pressed against her entrance, her hand hovering against his belly.

“I’ll go slow,” he soothed, meeting her eyes. The first time they’d reunited in bed, his excitement resulted in hurting her, and from that came the need to remind him to be gentle, even this far down the road. A guilt he’d always carry, but he’d work on fixing it.

It didn’t burn this time his head popped in, his thick shaft following until she was filled to his base. Her shoulders fell back with a loud sigh while his eyes slammed shut, pressing to her as tightly as he could. He’d dived into a pool of ecstasy, sending strong shivers up and down his spine as he basked in her heat.

The stinging tug of a condom was at last absent, and there was only Nick’s velvet skin gliding against hers, creating the friction she so wildly desired.

“Baby,” she called, holding the hand at her leg when he stared down at where they were joined. His dilated eyes landed on hers, a low snarl curling his lips when he withdrew only to slip back in.

Her head rolled back in time with her eyes, a loud moan rumbling under the hand that slid up his chest when he rested forward on his hands, her knee hooked around his chiseled arm. He’d draw out until her heat was kissing his head, just so he could feel that delicious pressure before pushing back in. Nick leaned into one hand so he could touch her, dragging his rough hands up and down her body that gravitated towards his caresses. When her pussy bucked into his thrust, a surprised moan came from him, an eager thrust bouncing her.

A low, rumbling growl moved into her when he yanked her hips up in line with his, his nostrils flaring as he scented them together like this.

“Do it,” she smiled, her feet planted into the sheets behind him.

Their eyes locked during the time he adjusted his feet beneath himself, his breaths deep and loud. A few leisure bucks were her warmup, and then came that smirk. She bowed until she balanced on her shoulder blades, his grunts and chuffs nothing compared to the singing made in his name during his fucking. He was a force driven purely by instinct; the need to fill his girl again, to lay claim to what would officially be his that day.

The slapping of their bodies coming together drowned out the TV beside them, Callie’s resounding cries piled atop his raucous moans as he shoved his way into her body again and again, her juices covering them as he pounded that spot hidden deep between her tightening walls.

Her ass was dropped from his hold so he could lean forward for a kiss, her mind spinning when he rolled her on top of him.

With a flip of her head to move her hair off her sticky back, Callie sat straight, her fingertips guiding him back in as her knees slid out until she was sitting flat on him, flinching when his tip found the back of her pussy.

God, she was so small in his hands when he held her cinched waist; if he stuck his thumbs out, they could touch.

A deep moan rang in his chest when she snapped her hips back and forth, her sweet cunt massaging his entire length. When a dip of her center was particularly low, she’d gasp, holding her stomach where it felt he was poking, but a wide smile always followed those overpowering shocks of spine curling bliss.

Nick held steadfast to her hips, guilty in keeping her flat against himself so there was the added friction on his head.

“Oh fuck,” he drawled, his hand landing back into the sheets.

“Nick-” she gasped, her hand flying to his chest. “I’m-”

His last burst of energy was used flipping them again so she was spread below him, his hands hooking under her knees to push back into the bedding beside her ribs.

There was no more words as he poked his way back in, pistoning into her with such power her toes curled, her arms falling limp above her head when her climax came crashing around her. In an instant, she was stiff as a board, her legs strong enough to fight past his hold and stretch straight in tight trembles at his sides as he continued. When she could catch her breath, she shouted, a deep flush blooming across her cheeks and chest. Nick watched with a proud smile as she convulsed under him, her silent mumbles barely words as she came down from her high.

Her limp thighs shook mightily in his hold when he pushed them apart, their bodies touching in a paused moment so he could adore her with soft kisses.

She was still breathless as he brushed his lips across her jaw, her soft throat pulsing with the blood racing through her. Her pussy throbbed dully around him compared to the fist like hold he barely made it through moments ago.

A soft whisper in his ear brought the tempo back up, but Nick wanted to stay like this.

A beauty such as her was only admired best this close, and even though she’d found her climax, she whimpered below him, holding his face as he fucked her sweetly. Her ankles locked behind him, a heady groan to follow before he dropped his face beside hers.

“Should I cum on your stomach?” he panted, his thrusts weakening as the pleasure peaked.

“Inside me,” she kissed into his cheek, tightening the hold with her legs. “Cum inside me baby,”

The hand lost in her hair gripped her roots, a loud hiss coming from between her teeth when his entire body tightened and jerked against her flushed cunt. The screaming engine of Nick’s orgasm overtook him like a wave would at the beach, ringing from every end of his body and back to his center that spilled into his ecstatically beautiful bride to be. He grunted with every thick stream of semen forced into the space they both snuggly occupied, slowly stilling until they were both a heaving pile of sweaty parts and cloudy minds.

He worried he’d crush her the longer he laid over her, but the soft gliding of her hands up and down his back were too good to pass up. He exhaled, his face buried between the mattress and her head. “Fuck,”

Callie giggled, her cheek leaning into his so he’d force himself up to look at her. The urgency was gone in their kisses, but now he could feel how sleepy she was.

“Ready?” he asked against her mouth, only moving when she nodded. Her thighs trembled when he dragged out of her, bringing a thick stream of the nectar he’d left behind.

“Oh I can feel that,” she grimaced, sitting up on her elbows warily. It wasn’t clear at that point if it was the weed or sex that had left her feeling like her head was vacant.

“You should see it,” he smirked, his cocky pride coming through. “How many siblings did you want Leo to have?”

“Ha,” she shouted. “Good luck getting me pregnant ever again. My body said one and done,” she grunted sitting up, scurrying off to the bathroom after Nick had hoisted her up. He didn’t answer, and wouldn’t. Callie adored the idea of having a big family, but the night the topic came up when Leo was two months old, it only ended in her confiding in Nick that she felt she’d never be so lucky again. She wasn’t wrong in saying her body would likely fight off pregnancy for years, maybe endlessly if they ever tried again. Where it once happened so effortlessly, the time following to get where they were now had left them both a little… doubtful.

Nick yanked the blanket off their bed, tossing it beside the door so he could flop into the cool sheets of the mattress after turning off the lights and TV. His arms were already open when she came wobbling back in, her naked body collapsing into his. They rolled and wiggled until they found their spots, her head tucked under his chin and their legs tangled.

“We broke like four traditions,” she mumbled through a closed jaw.

“Thinking about it, I don’t think it applies to us,” he yawned; the sleepiness was at last getting to him. She looked up at him curiously.

“Our whole relationship is taboo. Curses don’t apply to morally incorrect choices,” he explained, laughing when she did.

“Yeah I guess you’re right,” she settled, her soft smile lingering when he rubbed her arm. The soft breeze from their ceiling fan moved her loose hair around his arm, tickling his skin, but the gentle strokes across his chest from her was lulling him into sleep.

“You’re not gonna bail on me tomorrow, right?” she asked suddenly, and his eyes opened.

He leaned away from her so he could better see her face when she looked up. “Why would you ask that?”

“I had to ask, my mind wouldn’t let me put it to rest,” she sighed. “I’m sorry,”

“Hey,” he pulled her chin up, holding her face. “I’ve been trying to get you to marry me for years, remember?”

She giggled, nodding. “What if right when I said yes you were like ‘fuck, she said yes, what do I do now?’”

“Oh my god that brain of yours,” he sighed, laying back down to pull her tight against his chest. “I’ll prove it to you when I’m waiting at the altar,”

“Promise?” she asked, her big eyes already closed. He pushed some hair aside, her lids fluttering a moment.

“Always.”

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

did i plant a seed in this chapter? are those church bells in the distance? honeymoon in san diego where they have the best tacos HWHAT?

only 3 chapters left! ;_; thanks for reading, my loves! ❤

[kiranatrix]

Names and Distant Things

Collaboration by @kiranatrix​ (fic) and @ikathemadhatter​ (art)

Characters: Beyond Birthday & L Lawliet

Rating: mild T for a dash of angst and a stolen kiss

For @wammyweek [Secret crush and/or Secrets]

Beyond always knew when L was planning to visit Wammy’s House because a padlock would appear on the second refrigerator in the kitchen (not that the kids were supposed to be rummaging in either of them). A day or so later, a green Aston Martin would roll up the long, oak-lined driveway in the dead of night, headlights off and practically invisible. Not to Beyond, though; his strange eyes had always seen more than others could, even when he didn’t want to see it. Names and distant things; an antique car in the darkness or the date someone will die.

He hadn’t made the connection at first, that the padlock and the car were because of L and not one of the other guests they occasionally received. They would have professors or groundskeepers interviewing for positions, people making various deliveries of food and supplies for the school, repair crews for the old church whose old plaster was in a perpetual state of falling down. Wammy’s House was always full of activity and new faces weren’t uncommon. It wasn’t until he’d accidentally caught sight of a young man he didn’t know about opening up a door in the bare wall that he definitely didn’t know about, that things clicked. The name hovering above black mussed hair and too-bright eyes was L Lawliet, and it then disappeared into the wall with its owner.

It was a revelation, a lightning strike-- that L himself had been secretly visiting the school, staying out of sight by using secret passages none of them had ever noticed before. After that, Beyond had made it his mission to find out how to open that secret door. He knew to keep his mouth shut, and not just because he’d been out of bed and sneaking around Wammy’s at 4 am. L’s pale face and angular features, his stance and posture, how he moved-- Beyond filed it away in his mind with exquisite, rehearsed detail, and told no one but the mirror. It reflected back an ever-improving version painted on the imperfect canvas of his body, as if perhaps if he became L, he too could open that door.

Beyond loved nothing so much as a sneaky puzzle, but sneaking was the easy part. Because although he could make out the faint, well-hidden outline in the wood paneling, he saw no keyhole or any other mechanism to open it. The mystery stumped and plagued him, and many more frustrating months passed before he got another opportunity to watch the door open. In the in-between time, Beyond scoured the library for schematics of Wammy’s House, but those he found had nothing detailing any secret passages. Of course Mr. Wammy wouldn’t be so careless.

It was nearly a year before the padlock on the refrigerator appeared again, and it made Beyond so giddy he could hardly focus on his work that day. He’ll be here soon and I have to make an impression! Beyond wasn’t sure if it was possible to fall in love with a mystery, but that was the nearest thing he could describe his feelings about L as. The students had been told story after story about L’s cases and thinking but next to nothing about the man himself. It made Beyond feel privileged to be in possession of L’s real name and face, like they had a connection despite L not knowing about it. Something about L belonged to him and him alone, and that was like a treasure in his otherwise depressing and anxious days in this place.

The next night, Beyond hid behind a bureau that was close but not too close to the secret door; he didn’t know if L would use it again but he was willing to sit here all night for just the chance. He got lucky, which was rare enough for him. Around 3:15 am, Beyond heard the soft padding of bare feet, and peeked out as much as he dared to verify. It’s HIM! L! He held his breath as L rapidly tapped a spot on the paneling three times and slipped into the passage after the door creaked open. Ah...so that’s how it’s done.

Beyond dashed forward as soon as L was inside and counted to 100 before tapping the same spot L had. He grinned as the door opened a crack, enough for him to wedge his black-painted nails into and pry open. The inside was softly illuminated by electric wall sconces and he followed the twisting narrow passage, up some spiraling stairs, until he emerged in what he guessed was the converted attic of the chapel. Across the dark room and framed by the soft, flickering blue light of a dozen monitors, was L. He was crouched in a tall-backed desk chair, facing away from the doorway and rapidly clacking on his keyboard.

Beyond snuck forward silently, step by step getting closer. His heart was hammering and all the words he’d rehearsed in the mirror to prepare himself for this ever happening had flown from his head and out the stained-glass windows.

“I know you’re there.” L continued to type with one hand as he picked up a cookie from a plate on his desk and nibbled it. “Just introduce yourself already.”

Beyond slid into the shadows, hissing a curse before saying, “I’m, uh...one of the kids who lives here. Beyond.” One of your successors. Do you know about me?

L mumbled, deadpan, “Your boots are very noisy, Beyond.” He stuffed the rest of the cookie in his mouth and swung his chair around. He knew who Beyond Birthday was, mostly by reputation as a troublemaker and from his high test scores meriting him a place in the line of successorship. “If you’re going to sneak around, go barefoot.” He wiggled his toes perched on the edge of the chair and focused on a dark corner when he heard a soft giggle emanating form there. “Mind telling me how you got in here?”

“Followed you.” Beyond was paying extremely close attention to L’s voice, modulating his own to match its pitch and timbre. Softly, “I wanted to meet you.”

L’s eyes widened-- it was almost as if he’d heard his own voice, but the implication surprised him more. Has he guessed who I am? He slowly unfolded from his chair and slouched to the center of the room, now able to see a vague outline of a young man in the shadows. “Come into the light and meet me then.”

Beyond’s heart fluttered as he slowly stepped from the shadows, eyes meeting L’s nervously. He’d spent hours perfecting his makeup to mimic L’s facial features, flat-ironing and then styling his black hair to the similar mussed chaos of L’s. This was his best work yet, but still only a prototype. He only just now noticed that L had no eyebrows, and the details of his clothes had been obscured in the darkness before. I’ll improve.

L stayed silent as he circled Beyond, pressing a thumb against his bottom lip as he took it all in. Other than the clothes, it was almost like looking in a mirror. He came to a stop again in front of Beyond and breathed out, “That’s quite remarkable.”

He’s impressed. Beyond briefly smirked to himself before assuming L’s same posture and inquisitive expression, pressing his thumb to his lip, tilting his head and widening his eyes. In a mimicry of L’s voice, “You think so?”

“Mmmhmm.” L’s mouth twisted as he tried not to smile, unsure if he was disturbed or flattered by this mimicry. His ego being what it was, he leaned more towards flattered and would give some rare praise in return. “You have a talent for disguises.” With an edge. Drily, “And for rooting people out who’d rather stay anonymous. You shouldn’t be here.”

Beyond’s confidence wavered, eyes narrowing as he continued to parrot L’s every movement. But he had something he wanted to say and wouldn’t leave until he had. “I want harder work. More interesting cases.” He could see the spark of interest in L’s eyes and imprinted that the man appreciated initiative, directness.

“And what makes you think Wammy isn’t giving you cases that already challenge your abilities?” L took a step closer, bringing their faces quite close. What kind of puzzle are you? “In any event, the education of the students here is his concern, not mine.” Almost eighteen. He remembered from reading Beyond’s file that they were almost the same age. It was alarming and attractive, that sneaking in here to sate curiosity was something he too might do.

“I am your concern.” Beyond’s voice changed back to his own, and nearly a growl as his frustration bled through. “Aren’t I meant to succeed you one day?”

L smiled behind his finger. “That’s assuming I intend to die. I don’t.” And if I push, will you push back?

“No one lives forever.” Beyond’s gaze flickered above L’s head momentarily before meeting the man’s eyes again. No, you won’t even live to old age. “Not even you.”

L’s breathing sped slightly as he whispered, half-hoping and half-dreading, “And who am I?” There was no way Beyond could really know, even Wammy didn’t know. Hell, L barely remembered. He grasped Beyond’s chin and turned his face when the man tried to look away. “Who?!”

They stood there staring at one another, the authentic and the copy, the original and the backup. Beyond knew he shouldn’t say it, speak it. That doing so would give something away best kept quiet, might give L a thread to follow to the secret room inside himself where so many open graves had been dug. L’s touch made him tremble all over and he jerked his chin away from L’s grasp. “You’re L.”

“That’s only a good guess.”

Beyond’s lip curled at the challenge. No. He couldn’t help but say, “L Lawliet,” before pressing a kiss to L’s astounded face and fleeing the room, running as fast as he could out of Wammy’s. I kissed L! He didn’t bother being quiet as he flew down the hall and flung open the front doors, grinning as he sprinted down the oak-lined drive to the cliffs by the sea. He couldn’t stop giggling as he pulled off his boots and hurled them into the ocean far below, one and then the other. He yelled down to the rocks, “Better to go barefoot!,” and collapsed on the pebbly ground to look up at the stars. 

The sea crashed against the rocks like a predictable laugh track, on his side for now, and the stars flashed like smiles. “I stumped him.” I hooked him. He’d see that padlock again, that green Aston Martin. He’d see L and be oh-so-apologetic for his terrible manners. 

The template would improve. The draft would become perfect.

[starkerhowlter]

Daddy Stark’s Surprise

Ship: starker Rating: Explicit Contains: DD/LB, Feminization, biting, Consensual Power play, light Choking, slut-naming, namecalling, degradation, begging, praise-kink, Mirror Sex, Daddy Kink, dom/sub... probably more. Words: 2953 Summary: What Should Peter do to make this Valentine's Day better and different than others? How can he make this one unique?

Read it on AO3

A/N: Oh, my Gods! I'm posting my first smut fic.... By far, this is not my first smut fic I have ever written. Instead, this is the first time I have posted it!!! Woohoo!!! I hope you love it as much as I do! Also, this is sort of a companion fic to this fic, but it can be read alone!

Thank you so so soooooo much to my beta, @plueschpop​! Be sure to go and give her ALL the love for her help in bringing this fic to life.

Peter looks at the outfit laying on the bed, excitedly. He checks his phone again, waiting for the text from Tony that says he's home. Instead, he gets a notification from J.A.R.V.I.S. that Tony wants to see him in the living area.

"There he is!" Peter smiles at the man, waiting to see what's in store. "Happy Valentine's day, princess."

Peter's face brightens when he sees the Spider-bear holding a bouquet of roses on the couch. He picks the stuffed toy up and hugs it to his chest, and then hugs Tony, "Thank you, Tony, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!" The billionaire laughs and kisses his boyfriend's forehead,

"I'm not done with you yet, Peter. I have some other surprises for you."

The boy tilts his head, curiously, innocently. "What do you mean?"

"I have a few other surprises for you tonight, baby." Tony purrs, "Starting with this." He pulls a box out of his jacket pocket, slipping it into the 21-year-old's hands.

"Wha--" Peter opens the box, accidentally dropping the lid in surprise, "How did you--"

Tony smiles as the boy removes the necklace from the box, and looks at the charm. The little heart gem, brown like his eyes, sits with a tiny golden crown over it. The heart around the little gem meets at the crown reads "Peter" on one side and "Tony" on the other. It's perfect. He smiles as he shows Nat, Wanda, and Carol. All three coo and giggle with him. Thor wraps an arm around Tony's shoulders,  commenting on how the gift was a magnificent choice.

Peter drops the necklace into Tony's hand, smiling shyly. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing, I just want you to help me put it on." Peter smiles and turns around.

Tony smiles at the boy's face and places the charm just beneath his collar bone and connects the clasp behind his head. The boy shivers at the feeling of his nails brushing his spine, and squeaks at the kiss pressed to the base of his head.

"I'm gonna go see what Bucky's doing up there..." He murmurs, "Meet you upstairs soon, princess?"

"U-Uhm... No!" His voice cracks, as it does when he panics, "I'll come and get you!"

Tony laughs, somewhere deep in his throat, and releases the boy, "Alright..." he draws out the 'i' sound, and then walks in the opposite direction of the team and his young boyfriend.

___

Once inside of their shared apartment, Peter looks at the lingerie he has laying on the bed. It all feels like too much, but he knows that his daddy will love it. The idea that Tony may tear the boyshorts sends tingles up his spine. With a deep breath, Peter begins stripping. First his T-shirt, then his jeans, and then his boxers. Carefully, he folds his clothes and places them in the hamper. "Mr Stark is going to love this."

He starts with the Miniskirt-boyshorts combo. Carefully sliding the lacey material up his thighs, making sure everything is covered enough to be teasing. Next, he rolls the little white fishnets up his legs, settling the band at his midthigh. It looks perfect. The bralette comes next. Tony hasn't ever seen him in one before, but he had tested the theory with photos from lingerie magazines left around their house. He always makes sure to leave them open on the men in the outfits, being sure that there is an emphasis on which one Peter likes. He has also varied the choices. From more masculine picks, like boxers and a tight tee, to more feminine picks like the outfit he's wearing now. Peter always notices that Tony lingers more when they're feminine selections than he does when they are masculine.

Silently, he hopes that Tony wouldn't realize the fact that the outfit doesn't fit right. His thighs have grown since he started working out for Spiderman. His hips have widened naturally, causing the rest of his body to change shape too. Clearly, this piece was meant for a female user, but he vows to keep it on, no matter the fact that the band at the base of the bralette touches his abs slightly higher than it does on the model. He will be okay. "Tony's gonna love it," he tells his reflection, making sure everything is perfect.

"Hey, Fri?" "Yes, Peter?"

"Can you turn on the reference photos I had you save earlier?"

"Sure, Peter." She lights up his mirror with all of the files that Peter had saved. Every photo of the pink eyeshadows, brown eyeliners and lipglosses lay against the mirror. He sighs, trying to mimic the photos of the models and coverboys. He fusses over it until his eyes look perfect. Pink eyeshadow, a little brown eyeliner and just enough lipgloss to make his lips look soft. Before leaving the room, he grabs a sheer black robe.

"Do I look too feminine?" he asks his reflection before walking out of the apartment. It was risky, sure. He could get caught, he could get kicked out, a lot of things could happen...

----

"Sir, everything is ready for you~" Peter calls, leaning against the wall, thin fingers playing with his new necklace.

Upon noticing that Bucky is sitting there as well, he yelps and wraps the black robe around his midriff, "Oh, sorry, Mr Barnes, sir! I didn't realize you were here!"

"It's okay, Peter. Also, remember how I told you to call me Bucky?" Bucky smiles, trying hard to look away.

"Right, sorry" Peter smiles at Tony's laugh, waiting for him to reason with him.

After what feels like forever Tony rises, patting Bucky's knee, "Right, I've gotta go take care of... that... Ahem... Don't stay up here pouting for too long, okay?" Bucky shrugs, causing Peter to smile sympathetically at him. He turns though when Tony begins heading towards him.

'Finally,' Peter thinks as Tony presses his thin body to the wall.

The inventor kisses him, "Did you see how hard of a time you were giving Barnes? He couldn't take his eyes off you. For a reason." Peter blushes, his cheeks dark pink as he hides his face in Tony's neck. "Aww, baby's shy~"

"Shush!!" He tries to sink inside the sheer material wrapped around his body. "Can we... Can we go upstairs, please?"

Tony laughs darkly, "Why, worried he'll hear your pretty noises, princess?" No matter how much Tony expected it, the nod Peter replies with catches him off guard, "What if he wants to?"

"Will you two go away!" Bucky laughs.

Tony laughs, chasing the young scientist down the hall, "Go. Go Go!" In the elevator, Tony nearly dies laughing, pushing the button repeatedly. "I swear, both of our lives flashed before my eyes right then."

"Oh yeah?" Peter smirks, "Are you scared, sir?"

"Of what? Do you think I'm scared of Barnes? No. Not anymore. I have no reason to be. He's dating one of my best friends!" Tony smiles sliding his arm around the younger's waist before leading him out of the elevator and into their apartment.

The moment that Peter's back hits the closed door, he knows the answer to his earlier suspicions. Tony won't stop staring at him, as though trying to decide just how he wants to take the boy apart. "So," Peter finally breaks the silence, "I'm guessing you like your surprise?"

Tony laughs breathlessly, "What gave you that impression?"

"Oh, I don't know, could it be the fact that you are looking at me like you want to eat me? Maybe the way you can't stop eye-fucking me? Or maybe it's the fact that you're --" Peter grabs Tony through his skinny jeans, "hard for me right now, Mr Stark." The younger takes his glossy bottom lip between his teeth, chewing the side seductively. "Fuck..." He whispers, hoping the other doesn't catch it. Tony's cock always felt so good in his hand. Heavy, hard, perfect.

"What was that, Petey?" He presses the spiderboy's body harder against the door, causing his grip to release, and his head to fall back. "I forget how fucking needy you get for me. So wanton just from touching my hardon through my jeans? That's a new level of easy." Peter shivers, a fruitless attempt at getting some sort of friction.

"Daddy..." He whines, trying to get his attention, but failing.

"You know, I could tell you were nervous to show me this, Princess. Were you worried I wouldn't like it?" He runs his hand down the young scientist's chest, teasing his nipples through the thin bralette, "Worried that I would think you look bad?" His hand continues its journey downwards, to the band of the micromini, "Were you worried that I would cast you out?" Peter nods silently, feeling called out. "Well, I wouldn't dream of it, Peter. You look amazing! I can't get past how delectable you look right now. This skirt looks perfect on you."

"Show me?" Peter asks, offhandedly. At that moment, Tony has never been more thankful for the wall of mirrors in their room. The inventor takes Peter's hand, pulling him down the hallway. "Where are we going?"

"You asked me to show you, baby." He replies when they enter the bedroom. "And I plan to stick to my word." Tony intertwines their fingers, pressing his hand to the back of Peter's. He takes his now open palms and places them on the mirror's glass surface. Afterwards, he taps the toe of his shoe against Peter's ankle softly, causing him to spread his feet. Streaks-be-damned, because nothing looks better than Peter does right now. The young Queens boy looks amazing, head down, hands spread on the mirror, and legs far enough apart that it causes him to stick his ass out to keep his balance, the small charm that marks Tony's ownership dangles between himself and his reflection. "Now, little spider," Tony growls in his ear, "look at yourself."

Peter raises his head and catches sight of their reflection. The whimper that tears from his throat sounds wrecked, needy. "W-woah." His flushed cheeks tint pink as his chest rises and falls, clearly turned on. Peter casts his glance down to his microskirt and catches sight of the precum already smearing across his lower stomach.

"Look how fucking needy you are, baby. Already desperate for my hands on your body?"

"Yes, Mr Stark."

"Where would you like them?" He asks, "Here?" Tony places his hands on the boy's waist as he begins kissing his neck from behind, licking the chain lightly.

"Yes, Mr Stark," Peter repeats, knowing what it does to the other man. He doesn't know when, but his eyes slip shut. About the same time, his breathing speeds up, causing his heart to pound.

"A-a-ah, Peter. I want you to keep eye contact with yourself. Watch your face as I take you apart."

"Okay, Daddy."

"Such a good boy, aren't you?" Tony asks as he sinks his teeth into the side of Peter's neck, leaving a perfectly angry ring of teeth divots behind.  A shiver wracks Peter's body. "Oh, you liked that? You like when daddy sinks his teeth into your neck, marking you as his?" The boy nods, pushing his ass back into Tony's crotch. "Fuck, Peter, don't."

"Don't what, sir?" Peter feigns innocence, "Do this?" he presses back again, grinding his ass harder. "Does that turn you on?" his voice sounds mocking, as though he's trying to feel bad for him, but it's more fun to laugh, "Pity, you look so pretty like that."

"Where's that confidence coming from, Peter?" Tony asks as his fingers trace over the younger's throat, touching the bite mark he'd previously made. His other hand continues its venture down Peter's body, pressing in some places and scratching in others. At his mid-thigh, Tony stops. "These are the best part of this whole look, baby boy." He snaps the band of the fishnets against Peter's thigh, causing him to gasp.

"Mr Stark, please!" He begs, pressing again, trying to get the dom to crack. "I just need you to... Please!" His voice cracks as he begs, the comments coming out ragged.

"God, Princess, I haven't even gotten you undressed and you're already whimpering for me. May I take this off, baby?" He asks, snapping the back band of the bralette. Peter squeaks, arching towards the mirror, nodding. Tony smiles, satisfied with the response, "Off." With the single statement, Peter's scrambling to get the fabric off of his body. "Skirt too." Peter follows orders, stripping in front of the mirror, maintaining eye contact with Tony's reflection. "Fuck, baby. We may have to do the mirror thing another day."

"What's wrong, daddy? Struggling to keep your cool just because your baby stripped?" Peter smirks, grinding back. Tony's nails drag across his abdomen, leaving thin red tracks in their place. "Please, daddy."

"Please. Please what?" Tony struggles out, "What do you want? Wanna show off for me? Or do you want daddy to get you off while you watch yourself? Hm? Because after we do that, I plan to fucking rail you into the bed," He growls.

"All of it, please daddy! Whatever you want, just wanna cum for you!" He whines, all of his snarkiness melting away. "Please, I wanna be good for you! Please, please, please!"

"How's this?" Tony walks the two backwards, before sinking to the floor. "C'mon, little boy, sit down with me." Peter nods, sitting with his back to Tony's chest, leaning against him. Tony leans back against the bed, sliding his hand back between the other's legs.

"C-can you take your shirt off, daddy?" Peter murmurs, already beyond wrecked.

"What?" He asks, leaning his head over the boy's shoulder.

"C-can you take off your shirt, daddy, please?" He asks again, trying to raise his voice.

Tony chuckles, "Sure, little one." the inventor strips off the AC/DC Tee he'd been working in, smiling at how quickly Peter leans back against him.

"Like feeling you everywhere." He murmurs, nestling back against Tony's scarred chest. Tony smiles, kissing his neck and shoulder. His mechanic's fingers creep along Peter's inner thigh, appreciating how he shivers, how his hips jump when Tony's fingers finally touch his dick. "Pretty baby boy. Look at yourself." Peter picks his head up off of Tony's shoulder, opening his eyes, staring at himself in the mirror just a few meters from them. "God, baby."

Tony slides his hand down the other's shaft, playing with the vein, and the underside of the tip. "Play with my nipples, daddy, please!" Peter begs, arching up when his other hand slides up to pinch at his little pink nubs. The younger whimpers helplessly, watching his cock twitch and his chest wrack with each little shiver. "Please, more!" Tony drops the boy's dick, moving his fingers down past his balls ghosting them just underneath, pressing on his perineum. He gasps, moaning.

"Can you get the lube for me, baby? Out of the drawer right there?" Peter nods wordlessly, reaching up to the drawer, whimpering at the loss of Tony's warmth. "Thank you." He murmurs, taking the bottle. "Come sit back against me, Peter. It's time I give you your rightful attention."

After a bit of scuffling and whining, Peter's got fingers back on his nipple and thighs. "Please, just... I need your fingers, daddy."

"You have them. Just not where you want them. Isn't that right, baby?" Peter nods, trying to move his hips. He attempts to work his hands downwards, hoping that at least one will end up on his hole.

"What's the jerking for, baby? Is there something you want?"

"Y-your fingers."

"Clearly but where?" Tony growls, popping open the lube and squirting some on his fingers.

"Here!" Peter grabs his wrist, dragging his lubed fingers down to his core, trying to get the point across.

"Aw, are you wanting daddy to finger you?"

"Yes, please, Mr Stark!" He begs, trying to push the fingers inside of himself.

"Alright. First things first, this" He grabs Peter's hip and pulls him back against him, "has got to stop. You may be a slut, but you /are not/ a whore. Quit. Fucking. Acting. Like. It." Tony pushes his forefinger into his asshole, causing Peter to melt against him. "What's your safeword, baby?" Tony asks, working the finger in.

"I-it's red." He gasps, pressing down onto Tony's finger, "M-More!" Tony presses a second finger to his hole, pushing it into the fluttering ring carefully. "Such a good boy for me." Peter whimpers at the praise, silently begging for a third finger. Tony grants the wish, pushing a third finger alongside the other two. "I--'m close, sir!" Peter begs, "Please, let me cum!"

"Why should I? You look so good like this."

"Please! I can't wait any longer!" he whimpers, little broken mewls slip from his mouth as precum pools at the head of his cock. "Daddy!" he gasps, trying to plead with Tony's reflection.

"Look at yourself, Baby. Watch daddy's little slut in the mirror. Watch how he falls apart, crying my name. I wanna watch you beg, princess."

"Please, daddy?" He tries, knowing good and well that it's not enough, "I'll be so good for you!"

"More."

"Please, daddy! Please! Please! Please!" Peter whimpers, jutting his hips up into the air, hoping for some sort of release. "Please, Mr Stark, it feels so good!"

"Fuck, Peter," Tony growls, biting at his neck. "Cum for me. But do not break eye contact. "

With a final broken whimper, Peter releases. "Thank you, daddy!" He presses against the man's hands, whining at the overstimulation, "Thank you, daddy."

"Don't thank me yet, princess. Now, it's time for your real present."

[221castiel]

Let it Snow - Chapter One

Master Post // AO3

1 year later

December 1st,

24 days until Christmas 

The engine was cut, and for a moment Dean’s eyes stayed locked on the house he parked outside of. It was one floor, with white paneled walls, and a brown roof that was now covered in bright snow. Without even going inside he already knew what it was like, he’d long ago memorized the set up. Every hall, every room,  every doorway, the colours of the walls, and the material that made the floor, the way the ceiling was just that little to low when you took the staircase to the unfinished basement. He knew every chip in the paint, and every scratch on wood. 

He knew the house, yet staring at it, through the falling snowflakes, only brought dread. A deep unease that came every Friday night when he walked up the stairs to pick Jack up, and every Sunday evening when he walked back up them to drop Jack off. 

Dread. 

Discomfort.

Pain.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked up the front steps and felt ease. 

“Dad?”

“Yah kid?” Dean hummed. His eyes still rested on the house to his left, more specifically the Christmas tree that glowed in the window, contrasting against the evening sky, and falling snow.

When no reply came Dean turned finally looked away from the window and instead to the back seat where Jack was sat. A wide grin was spread across the child's face, while his arms were wrapped around the teddy bear that sat in his lap.

“How about,” Jack finally began in his usual high voice, “I can stay with you again!” 

“Yah,” Dean replied, “Next weekend.”

“No now!”

Dean gave a shake of his head, something that only made Jack’s smile drop into a pout. “But, we can watch the who movie!” Jack cried, causing Dean to raise an eyebrow.

“The who movie?”

“Yah with the mean green man, and the baby puppy,” Jack babbled. “And the man sneaks into the houses, and takes Christmas!” 

“The grinch?”

“Yah!”

Dean couldn’t help the small tug of his lips, as he turned away from Jack, and instead faced forward, eyes on the front window of Baby, and the thin layer of snow already covered the glass. “We’ll watch it next weekend,” Dean said as he pulled out the keys, shoving them into his jacket pocket before he undid his seat belt. 

“Tonight!”

“Jack-“ 

“Please!” 

Dean glanced to the rear view mirror, getting a glimpse of Jack's pleading expression, a mix of puppy dog eyes, and a puckered out bottom lip. 

For a moment he considered doing as Jack wanted, turning the engine back on, and driving back to his apartment, where they could spend the night watching movies and eating junk food. Fall asleep on the couch then make pancakes for breakfast. Just one more night that Dean could spend with Jack, one more night where his apartment would be filled by giggles and stories instead of the heavy silence that usually weighed throughout it.

Dean wanted so badly to do as Jack asked though no matter how much he wanted he knew he couldn’t and instead pushed open his door. A low crunching coming as he stepped out of the car and into the snow, the noise continuing with each step he took, from his door and to Jack’s. 

“You gonna walk yourself?” Dean asked as he pulled open Jack’s door, leaning down so he could peer into the backseat of the car, where Jack was still sitting, somehow more pouty than before.

“No?”

Jack didn’t respond, instead crossing his arms over his chest, head twisting to look the other way.

“Come on kid, I’m freezin’ my ass off.”

As Jack once again didn’t respond, Dean exhaled breath coming out in a cloud around him. He leant into the car, unbuckling Jack’s seat belt before he took the child into his arms, Jacks own arms immediately wrapping around his neck, squeezing tightly. 

With one arm holding Jack to his chest Dean stood, using his other to close the door, before he turned back to the house, breath immediately hitching in his throat. His grip around Jack tightening as he took his first step forward.

A second soon following.

It never got easier, walking along the path, up to what once had been his home. Though now it seemed harder then ever, each step more forced then the last, as Jack’s face stayed buried in his shoulder, and arms around his neck. 

It wasn’t until he’d made it up the front porch, and had knocked on the door that he let out even somewhat of an even breath. 

He forced himself to take another breath as he herd movement behind the door, and then with his heart leaping to his throat, the door was pulled open. 

“Hello Dean,” 

“Cas,” Dean greeted. His voice steadier than he expected with his heart racing, hammering frantically in his chest. His eyes lingered on Cas’s for a moment before darting down his body, then once again to his eyes. He looked good, tired but good, his blue eyes seeming more vibrant against the blue long sleeve he wore, a blue long sleeve that was one of the few shirts he owned which showed off his build; hugging his shoulders and waist.

His dark hair was its usual mess, and the thought of leaning forward and attempting to fix it crossed Dean’s mind. Run his fingers through the dark strands, then trail them down the side of the Cas’s face, lean in for a slow kiss, movements that were once automatic. Done most mornings when they were still too tired to wake up, or on late nights when they were together on the couch.

With that thought still lingering on Dean’s mind, stabbing at his heart, he cleared his throat.

“Hey,” Dean hummed this time to Jack, gaze dropping to his son. “you gonna say hi?” 

He raised his free hand to Jack’s hair brushing his fingers through the strands that were now stuck together with small snowflakes, though Jack stayed silent. The only indication that he had even heard Dean was the small movement he made, burying his face further into Dean’s shoulder, and grip tightening around Dean’s neck.

“Come on kid,” Dean pestered. “Don’t be stormy.”

When it became clear Jack wasn’t going to reply Dean looked back up to Cas, forcing a smile across his own face that the other didn’t mimic. Instead Cas continued to stare, his gaze harsh, and lips pressed in a tight line. 

Whether it was meant to be that way, or if he was simply being Cas, Dean wasn’t sure, though either way he could feel his stomach tug. His lips suddenly incredibly chapped no matter how many times he licked at them and throat dry, the words he’d been wanting to say suddenly stuck.

He’d been practising throughout the drive, the reasonings of why he should get Jack for Christmas, yet now, they all seemed blurred. A mix of thoughts that didn’t make much sense even to him.

“Dean-“ 

“Are busy?” Dean asked before could he dwell on his thoughts any longer. “Or could we talk?” 

Cas tilted his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing together. “About?”

“Christmas.”

For a moment Cas didn’t rely, his lips staying pressed in a tight line, before they slowly parted. “I have a few minutes.” 

After bringing Jack, who still only gave Dean mopey looks, to his bedroom, Dean made his way through the house. Down the hallway, and into the kitchen where he took a seat at the kitchen table.

He didn’t look to other as Cas placed a mug in front of him then took a seat at the other side, Dean didn’t think he could. He didn’t think he could see those blue eyes he knew so well. The darker shades that would be visible, overlapping the lighter, so powerful, so electric, it put even the ocean to shame. He couldn’t look and so instead Dean glanced to the kitchen, gaze darting across the room he knew well.

It was set up exactly as he remembered it, though now decorated for the holidays, with fake holly lining the cabinet tops, while the kitchen towels and placements had been replaced with Christmas themed ones. Everything about it was incredibly warm, with candles glowing through the dim lighting, and the lingering smell of baking.  

Warm.

Welcoming. 

Home. 

That thought passed Dean’s mind for less than a second before a soft meow got his attention and his gaze dropped from the kitchen and to the floor, where Atticus walked past his feet and towards Cas. 

“You still have that fuckin’ thing?” Dean asked as he finally looked to the other. 

“His name is Atticus Finch.”

“More like Assicus.” Dean mumbled as Cas lifted the cat onto his lap.

For a moment Cas didn’t reply, his gaze on the cat in his lap one hand brushing through Atticus's calico fur while his other rested around his cup of tea, leaving the room to sit in a heavy  silence. Each breath that parted Dean’s lips seemed too loud, seeming to echo off the walls, bouncing back.

Everything was too loud, his breathing, Atticus’s purring, the ticking clocking, his own thoughts. 

He knew what he wanted- had to say, and he was sure Cas already knew what he was going to say, yet the words seemed stuck, even as his lips slowly parted. 

One breath, he let himself exhale once before speaking. 

“You had him for Easter,” Dean barely whispered. His heart seemed to stop as Cas finally looked up, the pain clear in his eyes for a moment, though just as quickly as it was there, it was gone. “And his birthday.”

“So you want him?”

“Want him?” Dean asked almost breathlessly, words coming out more exhausted then he’d expected- almost empty. “Why the hell wouldn’t I want him.”

Cas didn’t reply and instead he pressed his lips into a tight line, gaze dropping to his cup. 

There was nothing else to say and Dean knew that no argument Cas could make that would explain why he should get Jack, and no joke Dean could crack that would ease the tense atmosphere. Something that had suddenly settled around them, thick and heavy, squeezing out any air that had once filled Dean’s lungs. 

“You can have him next year.”

Once again Cas didn’t reply, only giving the smallest nod in response, and leaving Dean with no way to respond. 

He didn’t want Jack- or atleast in this way. He wanted Christmas, he wanted the way too early mornings, and soft smiles that would tug across Cas’s lips, he wanted the gifts and crackling fire. Everything he’d learned to love, everything he hadn’t spent enough time appreciating. He wanted Christmas not the expression that now sat across Cas’s face, underlined with pain, as he stared down to Atticus.  

Dean let his own gaze rest on the other for a moment, across his wide eyes, and locked jaw, looking until his heart hurt too much and his gaze dropped to something easier to look at. Castiel’s hand which still rested around his mug.  

From under the rolled up sleeves of Cas’s sweater Dean could just see the wings that tattooed his skin, the tips of feathers done in a dark ink. He didn't need to see the rest to know each line, each feather and detail. To know the way the dark ink made Cas's tanned skin seem to glow, to know how the feathers had been engraved along his shoulder blades and down his arms to just below his elbows, or the way Jack's name had been done cursivly in one of the feathers.

Dean knew every inch of that tattoo, and part of him wondered how long he'd know every inch of that tattoo.

How long he'd know every inch of the other's body.

How long he'd know every shade of blue that danced through his irises. 

How long he'd remember the way Cas's hands would glide his body.  

How long it would take before he could look to Castiel, and not feel the heartache of everything he'd lost.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Closet

Natalie awoke.

Her eyes fluttered open, trying to listen to what was being whispered to her. Through the drunkenness of sleep and the haze of broken dreams, she strained to hear the words, but failed to comprehend their language.

The soup of broken thoughts coalesced into coherence. She remembered: she lived alone.

She shot up into a sitting position on her bed. The whispers felt like they reached her ears from everywhere and nowhere at once. They sliced through her mind, sharp and leaving razor-thin cuts in her thoughts. Fear bled from those invisible wounds, causing her heartbeat to wildly race.

Her closet’s door stood open. Natalie stared in disbelief as blue light poured out of it. Not the warm yellow light that could come from the small light bulb hanging inside there, but something much brighter. Colder. The light itself refused to maintain consistency, for it sparkled like a body of water was reflecting it, ever-flowing and shifting.

When she awoke again, thin slivers of light poured in through the cracks in her blinds. It was morning and time to go to work. She visited the closet and peered inside, finding what she should have expected to find—her clothing, and shoes, and boxes.

No strange lights, nothing out of the ordinary.

No whispers.

She went about her day, dismissing it as something ephemeral. She wondered if she had simply dreamt it all. During work, Natalie caught herself searching the internet on her phone. Some part of her feared that anybody could discover her strange search history.

Nothing turned up on this new house she had bought and moved into a few months ago. The move had been stressful, but nothing about it had been unusual. Not until now.

During another break, she wound up on sites and online threads regarding descriptions and discussions of sleep paralysis and night terrors. Weariness weighed her down all day—as if she had barely slept the night before.

In a moment of silence and solitude, waiting for the elevator to open in front of her, she remembered that bright light. Scintillating, dancing. Luring her.

The soft chime of the elevator broke her out of her trance as its doors opened before her. She rode it down to the parking garage and left to go home. On the drive across town, she distracted herself with music and chatter from the radio, as well as flipping through messages on her phone while she waited at red lights.

Natalie crashed into bed early that night. While brushing her teeth, her thoughts circled towards the strange—dream? Nightmare? She could not say. She expected another such event that night, and the exhaustion allowed her to drift into sleep in what felt like an instant.

She awoke one time and stumbled in the dark for a nightly bathroom visit and then awoke again the morning, feeling fully rested. The day passed and some tricky challenges on her current work project distracted her too much for her to occupy her thoughts with the strange experience.

The more days passed, the more distant it grew. The more surreal it became to imagine it, the more the memory blurred. Such thoughts shrank until over a week had passed.

The closet door opened. It took her several moments to gather her thoughts, leaving her confused and disoriented. She blinked, sitting up in her bed and realizing that over a week had passed. Nine days without such incident.

One of the whispers she heard sounded so clear that she could almost spell it out, though she found it impossible to comprehend.

Dune-Akeer.

Tendrils of forbidden knowledge snaked through her thoughts and wrapped themselves around the memories from a week ago. The whispers continued, dancing at the edge of her perception like soft white noise.

The light shone from her closet; bright blue and ominous and sparkling as brightly as ever. As alien as the whispered words, echoing in her head.

This was no sleep paralysis—she knew that much. She untangled herself from the sheets on her bed and felt everything. The soft carpet underneath her bare feet; the cold hardwood floor. The nightly air kept cool by air conditioning, sweeping over exposed skin. And the closet with its strange light—it drew nearer with each timid step that she took towards it.

Her hand, outstretched, trembled, but not with fear. It shook with anticipation.

Natalie’s destiny awaited beyond that door. The light beckoned her.

With it standing ajar, she saw something through the crack. A silhouette stood out against the blinding brightness. An eye peered back at her, pitch black like a doe’s and glistening and curious.

The door slammed shut and Natalie gasped. The light disappeared with it. Nothing shined, not even a hint of it emerging from the cracks at the seams of the closet door’s frame. The whispers had gone silent and would not return.

She swallowed and felt a pit forming in her stomach. Natalie shivered with the sensation of goosebumps forming on her arms and the back of her neck.

She had to know what this all meant. This was no dream.

No hallucination.

Every inhibition died that moment. Unyielding curiosity took root in her. A thirst for knowledge took the shape of a knife in her mind, thrusting outwards. Matching that motion, she grabbed the closet door and ripped it open.

Darkness had taken the bright light’s place and softened the outlines of everything inside the closet. There was nothing unnatural in there but clothing hanging from hangers on the bar. Several pairs of shoes and boots on the floor. Boxes up top.

She yanked the light cord and the light bulb’s soft glow flickered on into existence, illuminating the walk-in closet’s interior.

The goosebumps settled and any lingering sense of fear crumbled away. The pit in her stomach remained, because she had to know. She had to get to the bottom of this. Natalie refused to believe she was losing her mind.

Rifling through the objects in her closet, the sound of hangers clattering and boxes rattling fully shook her awake. None of this had the quality of dreams, every last bit of it felt so real. She could taste the dust on her tongue and realized that her job had not left her any time or energy to do any cleaning since she had moved in here.

With a violent motion, she spread the hanging clothes apart.

On the brink of giving up and going back to bed with the uneasy feeling stuck in her stomach, she spotted something unusual after all. What appeared to be a wooden surface in the back of the closet was, in truth, a wallpaper made to mimic the texture of polished wood.

She would never have noticed this, had it not been for the top right corner of this faux-wooden wallpaper peeling away at the edges.

Her fingers dug in and tore at it. Natalie tugged and scratched and ripped and scraped it away. Much of the wallpaper proved to be persistent, glued well to the closet’s back wall, but she managed to remove the top third of it.

The pit in her stomach grew and a bitter taste spread in Natalie’s mouth as she struggled to understand what she was looking at. It had to be the top third of an arrangement of symbols, placed in the shape of a circle. They reminded her of old Norse runes, but to her knowledge looked nothing like them.

A sharp pain spread throughout her skull, shooting from one temple to the other. She cringed at the headache overcoming her senses while she tried to study the symbols or make any sense of them. It quickly got so unbearable that she fetched her phone from the dresser nearby and used the device to take a photo of the symbols.

Time and experiences melted into rote motions as she downed some painkillers and a whole glass of water against the headache. She found herself loitering around for the next hour, aimlessly pacing through her darkened home and then browsing the internet for answers. But she found none and—when she realized with horror how few hours of sleep she would get that night before getting up to work again tomorrow—eventually returned to bed to continue sleeping.

She would experience this again and figure it all out eventually—she hoped.

When she awoke the next morning, she remembered nothing else to have transpired but felt like she had slept in an uncomfortable position, aching all over.

Work colleagues who saw her that day asked if everything was alright. A look into the mirror revealed thick dark rings underneath her eyes. She assured her colleagues that she was fine, albeit having slept poorly. “Dreamt something funny and now I feel like I was hit by a truck,” she joked. She knew deep down that she could not tell anybody about her experiences. Checking into a mental institution was just a few disturbing sentences away, she feared.

Natalie tried everything to gather evidence over the next days. She set up her phone to film videos of the closet during the night to see if she was missing anything when she slept, but to no avail. Then she repeated the same experiments by setting up the camera in the closet.

Still nothing.

Days passed and she spent every free second conducting research. She made some calls to the Realtor who had sold her the place to learn more about the house’s previous owners, but got nothing out of it. Natalie joked to her about the place possibly being haunted and giving her nightmares, which prompted a long and awkward silence on the phone call. This struck her as odd, but nothing came of it, and the Realtor’s nervous laugh preceded her saying that nobody had died on the premises of this house.

The symbols or runes or whatever they were didn’t match anything that Natalie could find in online searches or even in frantic hunts through library books.

Days turned into weeks without any results or anything else happening. One morning, she woke up having dreamt about the light shining from her closet, but that’s all it was—a dream. In the hours of footage she had been gathering and filling external hard disks with, she sifted through everything three times to ensure that the light had not returned that same night.

It must have been a full month since she had started researching the history of her home, the symbols in the closet, and eventually even scouring weird message boards filled with conspiracy theorists who shared related experiences. Not once did she find anything remotely similar outside of one account from a person obviously suffering from schizophrenia.

It was around then that Natalie realized with growing frustration that she had become obsessed. Though she feared the consequences, she started contemplating the option of seeing a therapist about this.

She began to question her sanity again, and she especially began to question if what she believed to have experienced was real at all.

Yet there it was—at the back of her closet in her bedroom—she had peeled away all the wallpaper and revealed the full circle of symbols. It was impossible for her to tell if they were occult or alien. They might as well have been both.

One morning, she had finally worked up the courage to call up a therapist. But before she could during a break at work, she got a call from her Realtor, Sally.

Natalie hesitated to take the call. She just froze, staring at the display and her Realtor’s name on it, “Sally Summers.” Natalie tapped it and took the call, likely only seconds before Sally would have given up on the call.

The pit in her stomach returned. Her innards knotted and a weird tingle danced and pirouetted down Natalie’s spine as she heard her Realtor out.

Sally admitted that she had done some digging, and found out that the owner before the last one—from nearly thirty years ago—was some sort of kook. His family had died in an accident and he was incarcerated for manslaughter, though the two were not necessarily related. The newspaper articles were somewhat vague, but she had pieced together that this was the man who had lived here before the previous owners, long before she had even picked up working in real estate.

Babbling and making excuses, Sally assured Natalie that she would have disclosed such information if she had known and promised that had not been the case until now. Natalie believed her—there was a subtle melody of desperation riding along in the Realtor’s voice.

Just as she was about to hang up, eager to conduct her own research into the matter, Sally interrupted Natalie and surprised her deeply. The fearful tone in her voice made more sense when she offered her to contact a psychic she knew.

Natalie politely declined the offer, telling Sally that she didn’t believe in such things. She assured her Realtor that there was nothing to worry about and thanked her for her candor before hanging up.

She knew now again she couldn’t share anything of what she was experiencing.

This was not knowledge that you share.

Still, the light refused to return. In that time, Natalie found out that the mysterious incarcerated owner had died in a correctional facility over twenty years ago. She stopped investigating this matter—for dead men tell no tales.

Right when she had accepted that the light would never return again, she awoke to it. The night hung deep with its darkness draping over everything, and the bright blue light created a sharp contrast in her bedroom.

Losing no time, Natalie climbed out of bed and approached it.

Her heart pounded like a giant drum, causing her whole body to thrum. The throbbing extended all the way into her digits, which she was acutely aware of as she reached out and touched the closet door.

It opened by itself before her fingertips ever reached it, but she embraced it and clutched the edge of the door with growing determination. She had to know what awaited her on the other side.

She pulled it open.

With the closet door opened wide, the whole bedroom was bathed in the bright light, as was she.

But all Natalie had eyes for was the world beyond this portal. It looked nothing like Earth. Plants with jagged leaves that looked as sharp as razors and with bright blue lights shining from their stems, casting the eerie blue glow that emanated and engulfed her. Rock formations that curved into looming stone spirals. And that silhouette of a figure again. Mere steps away.

Limbs far too long to look natural. Too freakish to be human. It turned and stared back at her through pitch-black eyes. It tilted its long and angular head and studied Natalie. She studied it back.

She stepped through the closet and into this world.

The closet door slammed shut behind her and Natalie was never seen again.

—Submitted by Wratts

[urlocalkpoptrash]

Barely Human| Kim Namjoon.

Kim Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst.

Warning: None?

Concept: Worn out and frustrated, namjoon finds himself trusting a bartender he just met, getting himself into a little bit of a pickle.

A/N: This took me so long to write, and I’m proud of it. I will add the ‘read more’ option when I get on my laptop later.

- - - -

“I’ll take another shot,” Namjoon tossed his glass across the bar, the single bartender catching it in the curve of his hand.

“Rough night?” The man asked, lifting a brow.

“Hah, you could say that,” He grumbled, rubbing his face.

It was the last night in America. They had been on a press tour, discussing their upcoming album, and how it tied into the rest of their concept. It had been amazing with all the place they had gotten to see, and the American ARMY’s that they would have never met, if it hadn’t been for the publicity they were trying to get. He was beyond grateful, but the fatigue of barely sleeping, and constantly writing for their new album, he was unbelievably irritable and overly tired.

He was almost always level headed, and was usually the one to keep everyone in line. He was the leader after all, that was his job, and he did it well, a real overachiever. So, when he exploded tonight on yoongi, of all people, he knew he had to get out and get some air, or in this case, some whiskey. It was stupid, really, he left the hotel without any security or telling anyone where he was going to go. His phone was blowing up, mostly calls and texts from the other members, but the worst of them being from the managers. He knew he would be in a world of hurt when he got back, but right now, he couldn’t care less.

It was his third shot, and his sorrows still sat at the bottom of the glass, tempting him to drown them with the only warmth he could find. He was so deep in his own self deprecation that he hadn’t even heard the front door open, but he did feel the gush of cold that swirled around the lonely bar room, greeting his turned back with chills. He didn’t bother to turn around, it was probably best that no one saw him anyways.

He felt like hours had passed while he had his head down. He could hear a faint female voice coming from behind the bar, and the male bartender was saying his goodbyes to her, thanking her for coming in on such short notice. Joon finally sat up, his eyes fighting to crack open. The lighting was dim, but the alcohol had already started to fill up his eyes, blurring his vision.

“Hey there, stanger,” you said softly, walking across the back of the bar, a towel dragging over the used wood, and water rings from drinks left too long, “I thought we might have lost you to the daniels,” you grabbed his empty glass, dropping it in the sink.

“Hey,” he dragged out the word, as if it were more than a four letter word.

“Hey to you too,” you laughed softly, walking over to the taps. You poured him some water, and a small amount of ice.

“What if I wasn’t done drinking?” He tried to straighten his back, as if he was attempting to prove his sobriety.

“I’ve done this job for long enough to know when someone has had enough,” You set down his water, leaning over the counter to cup your chin in your hand, resting your elbow against the rag you left out.

“You don’t know me,” he challenged, leaning the same way you did, trying to mimic your actions, hoping to annoy you a little.

He was taken back when laughter fluttered from your chest. His eyes widened slightly, now leaning in so he could be a little closer to you. His vision had finally started to come back, and he could really see your face. You were gorgeous, and it wasn’t something that was lost on you. He could tell you knew you were attractive, but you never used it as an advantage. You tried to downplay the way your face expanded when you smiled, or the way your eyes almost closed when you laughed. You wore your emotions so clearly on your face, a raw human being, unafraid to unapologetically be yourself.

“So, sorrow boy. What are you trying to numb?” You asked, nudging the water towards him.

He took the hint that you wanted him to actually drink it, and in his crusade to get you to like him, he took a sip of the water. He looked up to you, his lips tugging to one side, morphing into a lopsided smile. He tried to clear his throat, not that anything was stuck, except for his words.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you started to pull away, dragging the cloth away, but Namjoon was quick to grab your wrist. It was a gentle, but urgent gesture.

“Oh shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that,” he immediately started to apologize, and never once trying to justify his actions, but was truly apologetic.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his ears that had been peeking from the messy brunette tendrils started to turn a shade of red. Your heart melted in your chest a little, he was completely appalled at what he had done.

“Hey,” You reached over, patting the top of his hand, “It’s okay. I know what you meant, you don’t have to be sorry.”

He looked at you, an unknown emotion washed over his face for a moment, but as quickly as it came, it faded. He took a deep breath, and nodded, his hair shaking from the motion.

“Do you really want to know why I’m here?” He inquired, unsure of your motives.

“If I didn’t want to know, I promise you, I wouldn’t have asked,” you settled back into your resting position. You prodded him on with questioning eyes.

He nibbles on the inside of his cheek, contemplating whether or not he should tell you. It wasn’t like he’d ever see you again after tonight, and what would be the harm in finally being able to talk about what’s going on in his life.

“I work in the music industry,” he admitted - believing you had not idea who he was, because why else would you actually treat him like just another person, “and the group I’m apart of has been doing a lot of press, while finishing up an album. Not only that, but I’m the person everyone goes to. I don’t mind it, I do love my members, they’re like brothers, but we’re all getting worn out. Everything we do is always being watched, whether it’s our vacations being broadcasted, or us doing live streams for the fans. I can’t even go out to get coffee in the morning without a full security team, because our fans can be… unpredictable at times. I feel like I’m living in a cage, watching the world around me go by. I don’t know who I am outside of the personified version of myself that I try to sell to everyone,” He exhaled loudly, as if a physical weight had been brought off his shoulders.

“It sounds like you have everything,” you said, watching him immediately deflate, thinking you didn’t understand what he was trying to explain, “but, you’re not really living. You’re not enjoying life, because you’re running on low all the time. Your mind and body never has time to adjust,” you have all but climbed over the bar and sat in his lap, you two were close enough to each other that you swore he could feel your breath against his cheeks.

“I feel like I’m a robot on autopilot. Most days, I feel barely human,” his eyes fell, looking at the bottom of his water, rolling the glass between his palms.

You didn’t know this boy, you didn’t know his life or to what extent his problems branched, but for tonight, you wanted to erase them. You pulled away from the conversation, NamJoon’s head snapped up, the fear in his eyes was evident. He was afraid he had scared you off, or that you didn’t actually care for his problems.

“Come on. I’m closing up early, I want to take you somewhere,” you began the closing ritual, but made it as quick as possible.

You put the money from the till into the safe, which was in the back office. You went down the line, turning off all the lines that led to the taps. You could feel his gaze on your back as you moved about, switching off the lights.

“What if someone tries to come in?” He asked, a little bit of worry dripping from his question.

“Ah, yes. The busy hours between 2am and 4am,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder.

He caught your eyes immediately, that same goofy lopsided smile had founds its way back on to his lips. You bit the inside of your cheek, turning away to finish up what you had been doing. What had you been doing? You had completely lost track of what you were in the process of, he really made your mind go blank.

“Let’s go,” you closed the register with your hips as you walked by, the small door to the back of the bar swinging behind you.

Joon stepped off his stool, keeping a firm hold on the metal that separated him and the bar. You giggled to yourself, usually you found drunk guys to be rather annoying, but he was sweet, and clumsy. You took a step towards him, offering him your hand. He stared at it for a moment, as if your fingers had transformed into man eating snakes.

“I don’t have cooties, I swear,” grabbing his hand anyways, pulling him out of the door, the chairs taking a rather tipsy beating as his feet stumbled over themselves, crashing into the furniture.

“First of all, we’ve got to get some food in you, and sober you up.”

He didn’t disagree, partly because he was starving, but mostly because he was afraid this was all a drunken dream, and that he was bound to wake up at any moment.

“How did you find this place? Especially since it seems that you’re extremely recognizable,” you wrapped his arm around your shoulders, letting him lean some of his weight on you. You hadn’t truly realized his height until now, which somehow made this so much more adorable.

“I just started walking, honestly. There is something freeing about getting out of a place that has four walls,” he lean his cheek on the top of your head.

“And sometimes you need those four walls to protect you,” you reached up, gently wrapping your hand around his fingers, which were dangling over your shoulder.

“It sounds like you may have the same kind of mind as me,” he paused for a moment, “And I’m sorry for that,” you could hear the sadness rounding out the corners of his slowly sobering speech.

The rest of the walk down the street to the only hotdog stand open, was quietly, except for the soft pitter patter of both your feet tapping against the pavement. He never moved his head, but his fingers played with yours, absentmindedly. The man standing with the cart smiled towards the both of you.

“Hungry love birds tonight?” He chirped, getting some buns ready for your order.

Namjoon went to open his mouth, but you nudged him, and he quickly closed his lips, burying his nose in your hair. His shyness was starting to make another appearance.

“Two dogs, fully loaded, and two water bottles,” you reached into your pocket, pulling out some money that had been through the wash too many times, and it smelled of detergent.

You two exchanged money and hotdogs, while Namjoon walked slowly over to the bench. You watched from your spot, making sure he didn’t stumble over his intoxicated limbs. He plopped down, with a loud push of air leaving his chest. You walked over to him, two water bottles under your arms, and the hot dogs in your hands. You sat beside him, sliding close, so that both your legs touched. He took a water and hot dog, leaving one of your arms free.

“Thank you,” He said between hurried bites.

“Man, you really were hungry,” you laughed, taking a sip of your water.

He looked down to hide his shy smile, “Yeah… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t eat so fast,” he slowed down his bites.

“You don’t have to apologize, you’ve done nothing wrong,” you patted his knee.

“Has anyone ever told you how comforting you are?” He asked, after taking a sip of water.

Now it was your turn to blush, “A couple times, but it’s hard to believe, only because believing good things about yourself is much harder than it should be,” you shrugged, crumpling up the little paper that was holding your hotdog.

“I know exactly what you mean.” He grabbed both of your trash and stood up, clearly gaining some of balance back.

“Thank you,” you said softly, watching him walk. His long legs striding across the sidewalk.

You stood up when he walked back over to you, and he reached out, draping his arm around your shoulder, but this time it was just to have you a little closer to him. You looked up at him, catching his profile. His long neck, meeting the angular curve of his jaw. You were mesmerized by him, feeling as if you were the one who had drank all that Jack Daniels. You hadn’t even noticed that there was a group of girls following pretty far behind you, but joon had. He picked up his pace a little, turning his head to look down at you.

“There are some girls following us, and I can’t have them seeing your face, I don’t want you caught up in my life,” He was serious, and you really just started to realize how well known this guy may be.

“How fast can you run?” You asked without moving your head to look at him.

“I mean… not that fast,” he admitted, which would have been slightly endearing if it weren’t for the gaggle of girls following you.

“I’m going to need you to run as fast as you can, and don’t let go of my hand, got it?”

He nodded, wordlessly agreeing to your plan. In all honesty, you could have been working with them. You could trap him in a corner or hurt him somehow. He didn’t know you, and here he was trusting you. This brought a whole new meaning to blind trust. He dropped his arm from around your shoulders, and you found his fingers, tangling them with yours. You glanced over at him, and he was already looking at you. You couldn’t help the smile that snuck onto your lips.

“Go!” You yelled, taking off with him slightly behind you.

You could hear the girls behind you taking off as well, which pushed your legs faster. Namjoon was following behind you, but tugged on him, and with great effort he picked up his speed. You turned down a street, heading into a suburban area, houses that all looked the same. You could feel him losing momentum around the third block, but you needed one more block from him.

“We’re almost there,” you called back at him, and he groaned, but kept his pace.

The girls were gaining on you, so you had to make a detour, running in between the fences of peoples houses, pulling joon around the trees. You could see the high school just in your view. There was always a broken gate around the back. Unfortunately, for joon it was an extra minute of running. He was panting behind you, and you could also feel your legs giving out. The gate was so close, you reached around little door, opening it from the inside. You shoved it open, yanking joon into the courtyard with you.

“Namjoon! Namjoon!” The girls called out, and if their words were whips, he shuddered away from his own name.

Once you two made it towards the auditorium, you started pushing on all the doors till you found one that was open. You grabbed the front of his shirt, stumbling into one of the locker rooms. You forced the door closed, latching the lock just in time to hear the smack of multiple hands hitting the metal door. You hunched over next to him, both of your breathing heavily.

“Holy shit,” Namjoon had started to laugh between deep breathes.

You looked over at him, and the laughter that was sitting in your chest trickled out slowly. Soon, both of your were laughing hysterically. You both had just out ran a group of fangirls, and broke into a high school. Neither of you could believe what this night was stacking up to be. After a few minutes of falling into each other with giggles, you finally caught your breath, standing up straight.

“This has got to be the boys lockers room,” You crinkled your nose, the stench of unwashed jock straps and sweaty socks filled the air.

“I think you might be right about that. We need to get out of here,” he turned towards the door, but you whipped around, grabbing his hand.

“Wait!” You pulled on him, which made him turn on his heels to look at you.

“What? They should be gone,” his eyebrows sinking to the middle of his forehead.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” you tugged on him, and he followed you. He was starting to think he would follow you anywhere.

“One time you’re going to tell me to follow you, and you’re going to lead me to my death,” he laughed softly, watching you from behind.

You turned your head to look back at him, and in that moment he knew he never wanted to forget your face. He took a mental image of you, and how beautiful you looked under the dim fluorescent lights above the two of you. He’d never forget the way you looked at him, the way you made him feel fully human.

“As long as you hold my hand, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you,” you swore, and you meant it.

His breath caught in his chest, and without a second thought, he knew he’d do anything to keep you safe. You were a stranger to him, he didn’t know your name, he didn’t know your story, or if you were a sister, a girlfriend, a best friend. He didn’t know you, but he wanted to spend a lifetime figuring it out. The echo of a door opening brought him back to reality. He looked around and he was in what looked like a swimming area.

“I used to come here a lot when I was younger. My friends and I would get drunk on really shitty vodka and break in for a swim,” you started to pull off your shirt, tossing it on the ground.

Joon opened his mouth to speak, but choked on his words, coughing. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen a girl take her top off, but you were so nonchalant about it, like you two had been best friends for years, and you were comfortable with him. You lifted a brow, gesturing towards his shirt.

“Do you swim fully clothed?” You asked, cocking a brow up.

He swallowed and started to remove his shirt, while you stripped from your jeans, wiggling your hips. He quickly looked away, his cheeks blazing a deep shade of red. You tossed your head back and laughed.

“You’re so cute,” you walked towards the pool, “but cute won’t get you a kiss,” you looked back at him, diving into the pool.

Suddenly, he felt a fire blaze in his stomach. He practically ripped his pants off, stumbling as the bottom of his jeans clung to his ankles.

“Oh come on,” he cursed, flailing his leg around wildly.

He was finally free of the grip his pants had on him. He almost sprinted to the pool, jumping in haphazardly, his body making a small wave that washed over you. You laughed loudly, as he swam over to you, but you couldn’t let him win that easy. You dove under water, swimming between his legs, popping up behind him.

“Darn, so so close,” you splashed him as he turned around.

“That’s it!” He lurched forward, causing you to squeal.

He captured you in his arm, wrapping his limbs around your waist, but the water lubricated your skin, making it easy for you wiggle free by dunking his head down. You tried your hardest to swim away from him, but his fingers attached to your ankle, pulling you back to him.

“No! No! I’m sorry!” You tried to beg for your freedom, but he got you, and he wasn’t letting you go.

He finally had you pressed against his chest, and this time you didn’t fight him. Instead, you wrapped your legs around him, hanging your arms around the back of his neck. He leaned forward, and for a split second you thought he was going to kiss you, but he placed his forehead against yours.

You both sat in silence, just the sound of water splashing the edge of the pool, and your gentle breathing. He had closed his eyes, but you didn’t dare do the same. You weren’t ready to miss a second of his face. The water had taken off any makeup he might have been wearing and his bare skin was showing. It was the prettiest color of tan you’d ever seen, just enough of a sun kissed glow to make his skin look perfect. You could see the small freckle under his lip, and you had the strongest urge to kiss it.

“You’re looking at me,” he whispered without opening his eyes.

“I don’t want to forget anything about you,” you replied in a hushed voice.

In a flash, his cheeks bloomed into a beautiful hue of pink. You’d been able to see him blush before, but now it was so much more intense, you were so close to him now. His lashes fluttered before he opened his eyes, looking at you.

“The sun's coming up… we should get you back to your group,” you brushed the tip of your nose over his.

“You’re right, even if I don’t want you to be,” he sighed, swallowing back the leftover words that he wanted to say, but never would.

After both of you got dressed, soaking your clothes from the wet undergarments you were both wearing, you had started to walk back the way you came. The sun was painting a masterpiece of orange and reds, you swore that if heaven was real, this is what it would look like. You walked hand in hand, joon swinging your arms lightly. You could see the bar getting closer, and you knew this was coming to an end.

“I wish the sun would never rise,” he confessed, stopping in front of the bar.

You smiled sadly, the corner of your lips never fully reaching your eyes. You placed both your hands on his cheeks, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

“You spend too many hours in the night, you need to take a walk in the sun,” you watched as he placed his hand over yours, leaning his cheek into your palm.

“You do the same,” he turned his head to press his lips into your hand, “can I ask you one thing?” He said, barely loud enough for you to hear, “what’s your na—“

He was cut off by your finger over his lips, you shook your head, “Let’s not do that. If you know my name, than it’ll make it harder.”

He looked at you for a moment, searching your eyes. He didn’t want to say goodbye, he didn’t want this to end, but his plane was leaving in just a few hour and his members were losing their mind, not knowing where he was.

“If you ever find yourself back here, you know where to find me,” you glance at the bar, and smile.

You lean into your toes, and he brings his head down slightly, dropping it lower. You press your lips into his forehead, and he hugs you tightly from around the waist. You can’t bare to stay that way, because you’re starting to wonder what would happen if you didn’t let go, so you had too.

“Goodbye, sorrow boy,” you whispered.

“Goodbye, beautiful girl,” he caressed your cheek, before turning away.

He started to walk away, but when he got to the end of the street, he turned around to see you one last time.

You were already gone.

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Careless, Rumors, & Ruined Missions {oneshot}

Masterlist

Bucky Barnes X OFC Reader

Warnings: LEMONS!

Summary: Bucky is on a mission in a night club of sorts where he spots the reader who he knows is there on a mission of her own. They have a past, because of HYDRA.

A/N: It's noting original, no real plot, just smut thanks to the inspiration from a few NEFFEX songs. I wanted to give you a smutty one shot to tie you over to the next part of The Needs of the Many comes out next week. I got behind and hope this satisfies your, needs.

Words: +2,500

“Barnes, what is your position,” came Steve’s voice over the comm, always the worrier. The flickering lights on the DJ stage where giving him a headache. The songs playing had a good beat but not what he was hoping to put up with tonight. Sitting with his back against the bar, the brunet soldier raised the rock glass as if signaling the bartender for another round but knew Steve seen from the balcony.

Not bothering to look up in the blonds direction, Bucky turned around on the bar stool, away from the lights to face the back of the bar. Looking for arms dealers wasn’t his idea of a good time. Agitated gaze falling on the male bartender who came forward to pour him a glass full of whiskey before leaving the brunet to watch the target in the bar mirror. That was when his gaze fell on the thick framed woman in a black cocktail dress moving behind the target, a middle-aged man with a scar over his eye, her hands trailing over his expensive suit clad shoulders.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t forget her, not her look or the way she moved, elegant and calculated for a larger structured woman. Hair laying lose and curled, taller than an average woman; God what an intoxicating lover. Reaper was her code name, just like his was Winter, neither knew their real names back then, just aliases. Bucky knew Reaper worked for herself, HYDRA losing grip on her a year before he broke free.

Watching her reflection in the mirror, black vibranium tightened around the glass, hearing it crack in the Nano flesh covered hand he quickly released it; only to tighten it again when the target touched her hand, taking it in his own to kiss it. Stormy blue meeting bright green in the mirror, hand tightening more before slamming the glass on the bar. Watching her gaze flick to the door leading to bathrooms in another part of the facility. Releasing the glass, Bucky turned to follow her path, noting she had already made it to the door leading into a hallway that preceded to the bathrooms and disappeared as it swung shut.

Reaper needed to be quick. Clearly remembering how, needy, Winter could be. It made the woman curious if he remembered anything at all; this, James Barnes they now called him. Making her way through the crowd to push open the door leading back to the restrooms, relieved she was out of the open. Loathing the open back cocktail dress she had on, -hating to play a ‘needy’ woman in order to work a job, that wasn’t her-, but maybe it was a good thing she did. It appeared her target was also Winter’s as well as the other Avengers she had spotted.

Slipping into the bathroom to note it was only 5 stalls, -thankfully empty-, the entire restroom nicely lit and clad in gold. Clean, which was a surprise like the heated hand snaking around her waist and matching body pulling flush to her back. The door to the room never closing until now, clanking in its casing and a metallic sound echoed as if a latch caught. The door didn’t have its own latch, so she knew he done something. Keen hearing catching the chattering comm before feeling the heated body shift against her back and turn it off while glancing over her shoulder into lust blown steel blue.

“Good evening Winter,” she breathed out, flesh covered metal hand snaking it's way around her throat to pull her head back to strong shoulder. It was a standard greeting the two used. Slowly Bucky moved her to the sink counter to face the mirror, the edge of it biting into plump hips.

“Good evening Reaper,” came his husky voice hot across her ear, the arm wrapped around thick middle creeping down, heated hand finding the hem of thin dress. Fisting the hem to hear the stitches strain. Heated curvaceous body pressing back into him and the bulge in his jeans, the thump of the music out in the club reverberating around them as she twisted her hips against his to the beat.

“A tease as always,” he hushed, pulling the hem up higher to discover she wore no panties, fingers ghosting warm soft flesh at the top of readied slit. The feel of nylon straps wrapped around thick thighs reminded him she wasn’t just any woman. The straps belonging to holsters that held several small daggers, another on the other leg possibly containing a pistol; holsters and straps meant to mimic panties and garter. This made him smirk, nipping at the soft flesh of her neck as he dipped to it.

“Just for you,” she echoed looping bare, heated arms over his bowed neck, nimble fingers wrapping in auburn hair as his own slowly teased through readied slit. The fleshed metal hand massaging her throat making her shiver, especially when teeth nipped at the flesh below her ear. Reaper rutted plump ass back onto painfully hard cock that strained at the confines of his pants and earning a grunt.

The dress slipping up over bare, plump ass the moment she moved hard against him, calloused fingers dipping to heated core, making it clench around nothing as slicked fingers glided back to circle delicate nub. Nothing but stuttering breath around them as she released one hand from his hair to snake between them, palming throbbing cock that pulsed. Bucky’s own breath stuttering in her ear the moment her hand found the button of the jeans, but the hand wrapped around her throat moved quick to bend her over the counter. The hand that had been between her thighs leaving to quickly undo his pants.

Reaching out to steady on the counter, she knew what was coming and smiled wickedly at his reflection. The feel of him lining up with drenched hole only to slam balls deep in one move had her gasping out to the room. Metal hand gripping the plump flesh of her hip to bruise it instantly while the other snaked its way back to aching clit. The soldier leaning his own heated body over hers, pressing her into the counter. Eyes fluttering closed at the feel of sloppy kisses along exposed shoulders the instant her hair fell away from them.

The soldier casually rocked his hips against hers, slicking himself in already soaking cunt. The drag of his cock making raspy moans fall from dry lips, not going unnoticed as he watched her reflection lick over them. This was quickly becoming a thing both had missed. The music changing beat around them but drowning out the lewd noises hanging heavy in the heated room. The bite of the counter a thing forgotten as the feel of his cock drowned senses in pleasure.

Reaper opened her eyes as she felt his left hand leave her hip and he straightened. The soldier picking up the pace to pound into clenching cunt while watching his reflection bite his bottom lip, making her clinch tighter around his girth. The feel of his hand gathering lose locks to wrap it in his fist had her arching her back before Winter pulled her flush to his chest, the other hand moving from her clit, slipping to the back side of thick thigh to lift it for better access.

She remembered him being this strong but not this needy as he lifted her by the thigh he held, barely leaving her a foot hold with the other leg. Left hand moving back to her throat as he kissed and nipped at her neck, sweat soaked locks still wrapped in the appendage. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto her own drenched flesh. The downfall of the two of them running hot. Releasing the bit of  leverage the tips of her fingers had on the counter in order to wrap them around the forearm as it moved over her shoulder so she could have some control.

The snap of his hips against hers had her crying out to the room and clenching tight. “Fuck,” she grated out to the room. Taken by surprise as the thigh he held fell, spinning her to face him, placing plump ass on the counter and thrusting back into clenching core to chase his high. Bracing on the counter, Reaper smirked as he wrapped his hands around thick thighs to thrust harder. The feel of his flesh against throbbing clit made her whimper out to the room.

Glancing between them to watch his cock fucking in and out of her at a furious pace. Jolting the instant heated hand wrapped around soft throat to make her look up into lust blown orbs. Leaning up best she could, Bucky pulled her close, leaning down to meet her the rest of the way, to smash their lips together. The taste of copper flooding their keen senses but not stopping the kiss. Tongues tangling for dominance, while both swallowed each other’s moans, Reaper moving ample hips in time with his.

Quickly Bucky released puffy lips to meet lustful gaze. He was close which meant so was she. Bucky, Winter, whom ever he was loved to watch Reaper come undone, longed to drink in the moaning wreck the curvaceous woman had become. Thrusting harder, feeling ample hips rut faster against him, he could feel sinful cunt tighten as his cock began to swell. Bucky couldn’t stop the smirk pulling his lips up in a sadistic smile as she came undone around him, thick thighs shaking, driving him over the edge as he thrust one last time to halt and spill deep in pulsing cunt.

Reaper’s eyes fluttered closed as Winter fell into her for another kiss, flesh arm snaking around thick waist to pull her from the counter to shaking feet. Spent cock sliding free as neither broke the kiss that deepened quickly. Combined arousal coating thick thighs as Bucky reached down to grab plump, bare ass, rutting against her, making it known he was ready once again, hard manhood pressing against fleshy belly. Carefully, Reaper wrapped a calloused hand around it, feeling it pulse as her grip tightened and caught the needy noise erupt from the back of his throat for her to swallow down.

“I’ll find you,” she rasped out as they released, Bucky’s hands falling to her side to find the hem of the dress. Taking a step back, her hand released him, manhood twitching at the loss, but pulling the dress down for her. Calloused hands smoothing the fabric while holding her gaze noting the flush look of her cheeks, drinking in every moment and loving it.

Stepping back to prop on the counter, Reaper watched him tuck himself back in his pants. The soldier giving her a smile, a thing Winter would have never done. The feel of his seed leaking down ample thighs made a shiver run her spine at the thoughts of how it got there, returning the smile darkly. He moved different and she loved it. Stepping forward, placing lithe fingers into the pockets of his jeans to pull flush and gaze at him seductively.

“I like this new you,” the woman breathed, pecking his lips before stepping away to the door, realizing the lock he had placed on it was activated by handprint only. It appeared to be Stark tech.

A heated body pressed against her back, in turn pressing ample curves into the smooth wood of the door, metal hand possessively wrapping soft throat again. Carefully, Bucky pulled her head back to his shoulder and seized puffy lips. Keeping his lips to hers, flesh hand removing the lock while the kiss deepened, tongues caressing as Reaper ground plump ass back into stiff cock. A growl erupted from the back of his throat; a thing Winter always did when she teased.

“Тебе не следует дразнить, котенок,” (you shouldn’t tease, kitten) Winter, not Barnes growled down her throat.

“Вот ты где,” (there you are) she responded back, pressing curvaceous body back into his, the hand on her throat massaging as she felt him shift around to place the lock back into a pocket. The soldiers flesh hand going to the door handle to open it as he pulled her back. Keeping Reaper flush to his chest as the door opened to an irate red head he knew all too well and had a feeling the woman pulled flush to him did as well.

“Finally! I’ve been out here about to piss on myself,” Natasha snapped at the two, pushing them to the side as Bucky reached up with his free hand to cut the comm back on but kept her held flush with the other, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Later,” she breathed, reaching up to the hand on her throat for it to release and walking away from him. Purposefully, Reaper strutted just to hear his heartrate pick up at the way her hips swayed before stepping through the door and back into the club.

“Barnes! Heads up! He’s on the move with that woman,” Steve’s voice snarled in his ear. “I know you cut off the comm, now’s not the time for a booty call jerk!”

“Don’t get your panties in a knot punk,” he snipped back with a smirk as he heard Natasha come out of the bathroom and walking next to him.

“Same old Reaper, she can ruin you with a glance,” Natasha laughed as Bucky ignored the berating in his ear to look at her with his smirk. Placing his hand into his pocket to feel a piece of paper but left it there.

“Now what would make you think that,” he laughed, opening the door out to the club for her.

“You kidding me Barnes,” the red head chuckled , stepping past the soldier with a smirk. “I know you two, she’s the only one that could bring the Winter soldier to his knees with a glance.”

“Mmm,” he hummed as he looked out to note Reaper was with the target once more, seen how she moved and looked over at him then to the others in the room.

Bucky knew she wasn’t ignorant of the situation. Watching her close as she placed her knee on the couch next to the target and leaning down as if to kiss him, but he seen her thumb press to the side of the man’s neck as she moved in. A thing he didn’t get to experience as he fell limp to the couch. Chaos erupting as his guard tried to pounce on the wickedly grinning woman, but she was quick. Reaper doing the dirty work for them as the team made for the target to find him still breathing, but the ex-asset nowhere in sight.

Bucky placed his hand in the pocket with the note as he kept his distance and stayed out of the panicking dancers that were thankfully beginning to thin out. Happy birthday Winter, it read in her scribbled handwriting, making him smirk at the flourish of an actual name scribbled in a heart.

“Damn,” he laughed as he watched Steve hurry towards him, slipping the card back into his pocket. At least he had a name to call her other than Reaper. Y/N, that was a fit for her and was well worth the ass chewing Steve was preparing to give.

Tags open! And re-blogs are ALWAYS welcomed!

Tags: @dark-night-sky-99  @gramaeryebard  @reallyheckinggay  @jovanna-shewolf  @andiyholly  @katstablook   @nickyl316h   @aslandia726 @moonfaery @furstinnajoelle   @itsbqueenthings @lookwhatyoumademequeue@whovianwookie86-captainxev@jazzieomega @tomhardy41 @drakonwild

[virmillion]

Ibytm - T minus 58 seconds

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3

Words: 2,594

Aside from the one confrontation post-petticoat ukulele conspiracy, Logan still hasn’t talked with Cadmium. Really, truly talked to the guy. Tagging along on his tours doesn’t count. Granted, a fair amount of his Tuesdays and Thursdays are occupied with thoughts of Cadmium, but Logan does still have a life outside of him. It comes with no small amount of annoyance that this other life involves dealing with unsolvable problems at his internship.

“I heard there’s no real answer,” Cassidy says. She stabs her pen in the air, writing imaginary equations and scowling at the empty space.

“I heard they had this problem, like, years ago,” Joy says. Logan steeples his fingers under his chin with his elbows propped on his knees, watching Joy spin circles on her chair with her nose pointed at the ceiling. “I bet they already know the answer, and any intern that can’t crack it gets kicked to the curb.”

“Somehow, I feel like excessive alliteration isn’t the answer, Joy,” Micah calls from the water jug. His perspective might seem more valuable if his cheek weren’t flattened against the top of the machine in an utterly pitiful display of boredom.

“Oh, and I bet you already figured it out, huh, smart guy?” Joy’s retort also seems less valuable, as it comes at the same moment that she smacks her ankle into the leg of her desk, her spinning cut short. Logan is getting the sinking feeling that he chose the wrong scientific field.

“Maybe we’re looking at it from the wrong angle. Does someone want to read it again, and we all think of it with clean slates?” Logan glances around the room, hoping that his non-contribution will be sufficient. “Or, hey, Alex, have you got an idea? You haven’t said too much yet.”

Alex’s shock of dyed yellow hair jolts as they lift their eyes to peer over the top of the computer. “Can I get you a handkerchief, or did you dodge the splashback when you threw me under the bus just now?”

“ I’ll read it, you bunch of babies,” Cassidy sighs. “Okay. Riddle me this, folks. Thought experiments for the modern era.”

“Lay off the Mcelroy references and finish the question,” Micah grumbles.

Cassidy wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue before continuing. “The ship of Theseus proposes that a ship leaves a location and has every single part of itself periodically replaced before reaching a second location. The question is whether the ship to arrive is a different ship than the one to depart. Bear this in mind while assuming all cultural divides and disparities—cultural, political, scientific, or otherwise—are held in an impenetrable stasis that has no effect on the contents of the riddle, and conclusively solve the following. Jeez, talk about a run-on sentence.

“NASA launches a rocket to Neptune, and the only passenger is the child of a Russian and an American, where the parents were born on Earth and the child on Mars. The inhabited rocket was built half of parts from NASA and half of parts from Roscosmos. It contains enough parts to make an entirely new rocket, all of which were created on the moon. Allowing adequate suspensions of disbelief in favor of the passenger’s ability to build the new rocket and touch down on Neptune alive, which flag should be placed on Neptune as the first to arrive: That of Mars, the Moon, Earth, America, or Russia?”

“Does the moon even have its own flag?” Micah muses.

Joy slams the side of her fist on her desk hard enough to rattle the pens scattered across the floor. “This is such a stupid question. It barely even has anything to do with space!”

“It is about non-mathematical rocket science,” Alex points out.

“You could take the exact same problem and change a few key words to make it about a fish being flushed down a toilet,” Logan counters, “and nothing would change.”

“Is the fish dead?” Micah asks. “Because now you’re introducing aquatic zombies to the equation.”

“No aquatic zombies!” Joy and Alex shout in unison. Logan joins in the cry with a muttered mimic of his own, and even Cassidy looks quite done with Micah, who traces his finger along the side of the water tank before patting the top.

“Aquatic zombies,” he whispers forlornly. Logan isn’t entirely sure how Micah managed to weasel his way into an internship here, but he stopped questioning it a long time ago.

“It’s the moon, isn’t it?” Cassidy tries. This brings about a chaotic storm of argued disagreements through which Logan couldn’t possibly begin to sort.

“But the passenger was born on Mars, so it’s the Martian flag.”

“But their parents were of Earth, do we know where the passenger was conceived? Earthling parents mean it can’t be Mars’ flag.”

“Oh, like the Opportunity rover would plant a flag on Neptune.”

“Rip in pieces, Oppy.”

“Well, wouldn’t it be the country of origin of the mom, since she’s the one that had to carry the passenger to term?”

“That’s sexist, and we don’t know which parent is which.”

“It’s heretonormative, anyway.”

“You mean cisnormative.”

“I know what I meant to mean.”

“Unless you meant both. Trans father for the win.”

“Trans father, transformer, illuminati?”

“Does Earth even have a flag?”

“Where was the passenger raised? That might change the answer.”

The door opposite the stairs slams open as another intern with dirty blond hair and a beanie stumbles in looking particularly disheveled—well, more so than usual, at least.

“The passenger opened a wormhole immediately after being born, and raised themself on Neptune,” Logan deadpans. “Roman, if you haven’t got any good news, I swear to—”

“They cancelled the level eight project,” the man at the door says. Were it not for the bright gold name embroidered along the breast pocket of his shirt—Roman—Logan might believe him to be a random guy from off the street. “They figured out the missing sections—without our input, obviously—and decided the clearance rate was excessive. Basically, they said a toddler with a functioning search engine could crack it, so we should stop wasting our time.”

“Has the toddler ever been to Neptune?” Logan asks dryly. A hollow chorus of laughs ricochets around the room, quieted only by the click of the hour hand on the only analog clock hung on the wall. It must’ve been ages since Logan souped up the old thing to announce clockins, breaks, and clockouts.

“For the next hour,” Joy declares, “Neptune does not exist.”

“Seconded,” the other interns agree, putting their respective monitors to sleep and shuffling for the break room.

Roman lags behind to enter after Logan, prodding the small of his back and tilting his head toward the computers. He clears his throat meaningfully. Logan sighs, casting one last doleful look into the breakroom before joining Roman out on the floor again.

“They did want me to give you this,” Roman murmurs, “but keep it cazh.”

“Nothing is less ‘cazh’ than you shortening the word ‘casual’ like that,” Logan says, nonchalantly stretching an arm over his head. On the downswing, he takes the item from Roman’s hand and threads it between his fingers.

“I think I got the same deal, but don’t mention it, yeah?” Roman steps into the breakroom first, allowing Logan a moment to dawdle and inspect his acquisition. A flat disc, about the size of a well-used roll of scotch tape, with the NASA logo on both sides. Logan pinches the edges beside the first and last letter experimentally, and a USB plug pops out from the bottom of the logo. He pinches again, and it slides away. It looks for all the world like an overly expensive keychain one might find in a cheap museum. Logan shrugs, pockets it, and joins the others in the breakroom.

Only Roman appears to be in any semblance of a good mood—then again, he got clearance to visit the upper offices while everyone else pondered that stupid riddle. After teasing Roman about how he was probably about to get The Talk (the firing talk, that is) from the higher ups, it only took the rest of the floor about five minutes to give up on individual glory and try to solve the problem together. Obviously, it didn’t help.

“We could send someone for coffee,” Cassidy says. At least, Logan thinks that’s what she said. Her voice is a little muffled, what with how her face is pressed against the table.

“And get yelled at for prioritizing caffeine over the crappy cloud juice we’ve already got here?” Alex replies, tracing their finger over the glass front of the vending machine. Its only products are bottled water and expired heath candy bars. Four bucks a pop. “I’d rather dehydrate than take that kind of reprimanding.”

“I am literally going to commit multiple federal and moral crimes if I don’t get some real bean juice in my system in the next hour,” Joy grumbles. A true testament to her name.

Micah, apparently having moved on from the destruction of his aquatic zombie idea, springs to his feet from where he was sprawled across the floor. “We could use Logan’s app!”

This might be a good time to mention that, in padding his resume to apply for this extended internship, Logan made a brief foray into coding, which resulted in an app he dubbed ‘fetch quest.’ Basically a personalized coffee order service, more specialized than door dash, where instead of ordering food straight to your location, you put out a request for coffees—usually from Starbucks, Tim Hortons, Biggby, the like—to be delivered by the colloquially nicknamed fetch kids. Upon getting their coffee, the buyer reimburses the fetch kid for the coffee, as well as an obligatory tip so the fetch kid can turn a quick buck.

To tell the truth, Logan was genuinely too lazy to walk to the campus cafeteria for a coffee while working on homework, and paid his roommate five dollars to do it for him. (He paid in nickels, by the way.) So lazy was Logan, in fact, that he made an app to avoid ever dealing with the inconvenience again.

“I’m down for that,” Cassidy mumbles. “Who’s got the app? Seems kinda rude to do six separate orders, y’know, like ordering a different personal pizza from different locations and having them arrive at the same time, then fight to the death for the right to deliver their pizza first, so they miss the thirty minute limit and no one gets paid.”

“Okay, so Cassidy gets a decaf,” Alex says, swiping around on their phone. “Everyone just getting their usuals? Same as the last fetch quest?” Grunts of agreement are their only answer—aside from Roman, who peers over Alex’s shoulder to design an obscenely personalized drink.

“Pitch in a five dollar tip for the barista,” Logan calls. “I’ll cover it.” Roman perks up at that as Alex taps the appropriate button on their phone. Before he can ask, Logan nods, saying, “I’ll spot you the six dollars.”

“It’s actually closer to seven,” Roman admits, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I got a dairy substitute, don’t sue me. I’m broke, anyway, so it wouldn’t help if you won the suit.”

“This is a paid internship,” Joy points out.

Roman looks aghast. “You guys are getting paid?” It’s unclear whether he’s kidding.

“Order placed and transaction pending,” Alex announces, “so start up the charitable donation pool to my wallet.” Roman initiates the process, pulling the beanie off his head and carrying it around the room for everyone to toss their bills in. He can only manage a weak smile when Logan tosses in double what he ought to.

“Wait, Logan,” Micah says, “you didn’t get anything last time.”

“Shoot, yeah, what can I get you? No one’s picked it up yet,” Alex says, pulling the wads of bills from Roman’s hat.

“Just do a fetch kid’s delight, I guess. Price limit five.” Roman darts across the room to grab the proffered bill from Logan, attempting (and spectacularly failing) to parkour over the chair on his way back. The rickety plastic flies out from underneath him and his chin smacks the carpet as he goes down. Before anyone thinks about moving to help, he jumps to his feet and dusts off his knees, pretending as if nothing happened.

“It’s been accepted,” Alex announces.

“Maybe the trick is to work out whether the rocket, being from the moon, is the first to land, or if it has to be a life form in order to count for reaching Neptune first,” Joy suggests. Cassidy lifts her head to respond, thinks better of it, and drops her face back onto the table.

“That’s only assuming you give the rocket living rights to plant the flag,” Micah says.

“Did you guys consider the ramifications of the nationalities of each parent?” Roman asks.

“Yes,” everyone else groans in unison. Even Logan says it, now thoroughly annoyed by how much inconvenience Roman was able to skip in favor of retrieving a little flashdrive.

“Do we need to take into account the heritage of the parents?” Cassidy tries.

“It wasn’t included in the information backing up the question, and we’re only supposed to get an answer based on what we concretely know already,” Alex replies.

“We don’t concretely know already which flag they plant,” Logan offers, “so maybe the answer is that we aren’t supposed to have one.”

“That’s exactly what someone who knows the answer would say,” Joy mutters. This manner of conversation continues for another fifteen minutes or so, until someone knocks on the door at the top of the stairs.

“Liquid inspiration!” Roman shouts, vaulting over the empty chairs on his sprint for the door. As he swings it open to reveal a very familiar silhouette, Alex clicks a few times on their phone, finalizing the transaction upon receival.

Apart from the grey and red plaid scarf wrapped around his neck, Cadmium looks like he walked straight out of one of his own tours, down to the maroon cardigan and black skinny jeans. “Fetch quest fulfillment for Ally-oopsy-olly—”

“Yep, yes, that’s me,” Alex interrupts quickly, not letting him finish saying the username. They take a couple of the cups from Cadmium, stepping aside to let Joy and Micah help with the rest. Cadmium makes eye contact with Logan for a split second, inclines his chin, and turns to leave. He pulls out his phone, the screen angled enough for Logan to see the fetch quest home screen loading in more requests.

“Wait, we didn’t tip you,” Logan calls, surging past the other interns to catch up.

“Yeah, we did,” Alex says, “I put in your five, and I have my account set for an auto-gratuity of twenty—”

“Shut up , Alex,” Logan hisses over his shoulder. He turns to Cadmium, who looks somewhere between amused and bewildered. If he landed on Neptune, which emotion would touch down first? “Here y’are. Thanks.” Logan allows the last word to linger in the air, implying an unvoiced request for a name as he passes Cadmium a ten.

Cadmium glances from his phone—now proudly displaying a cheerful reimbursement and tip breakdown message—to the bill and back to his phone. He nods slowly, taking the ten and heading down the stairs. Logan blinks, watching him go.

“Wow,” Roman says, coming closer to rest his elbow on Logan’s shoulder. “You’ve got it bad, my guy.”

“Oh, shove off.”

[kaepop-trash]

Ideologies

Rated: M for Smut, Angst.

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader xYuta

Summary: The story of secrets, deceit and greed. Three characters with unlikely alliances and one common goal; power. Jaehyun is stuck between his own thirst for power and his need for the one thing that could take away everything. Yuta has ambition growing from an unlikely alliance and convinces himself to do anything to protect it. Between both of them is her, ambitious but with one weakness, she does all it takes for Jaehyun, even if it’s putting herself aside. But how long can she hold up her own fragile games?

(A/N): This is the timeline in case you missed it or need a remainder. Also the anon who wanted to know what Jaehyun wanted to ask in this, here’s your foreshadow.

November, 2020

It was the year Jaehyun got elected for his first term. She hadn't seen him in months; she didn't know how she felt about it; So she decided that getting a promotion this year would be her one goal.

“I don't have time for Pro Bono. Mr. Long.” She sat back at the edge of her desk, her cordial voice only a cause of the position the man in front of her held.

“We're seriously backlogging on pro bono (Y/N), if I put one good lawyer on this. One win will keep us off scrutiny, I hope you understand.” He said, extending the file in his hand.

She understood. (Y/N) knew that she was Mr. Jung's associate to keep at hand for important tasks. Nobody gave her work— nobody wanted to rattle the authority. Of course, except one with an equal bit of it. Mr. Jung's partner had a habit of reminding his professional better half that they were in fact equals: this time his weapon of choice just had to be her.

It was a dreadful five in the morning when she sat in the diner in the less glamorous part of Philadelphia. She ordered a coffee out of sheer politeness.

(Y/N) regretted trying to give away this case the moment the door opened. A young girl of what the case file mentioned as 18 walked in, glancing around till their gazes met. She stumbled towards her a little uncomfortably. (Y/N) got up unhesitant, pulling the seat of the booth back to let the girl fit. When she made space she stood back, noticing how her usual small structure seemed to cower over the young face that looked up at her, her heels were the culprit. She stepped back and waited for her to be seated before occupying her previous spot.

“You don't look like you belong here.” The girl spoke, a soft innocent voice still untouched by experience. (Y/N) allowed herself to laugh.

“I'm afraid I must admit that I haven't had the pleasure of visiting this part of town before.” She sat back with a shrug and the girl scoffed.

“Yeah, I guess people like you have ideas about this place.” The girl sat back, crossing her arms in front of her to mimic her posture. (Y/N) furrowed her brows.

“I only recently moved back to town you see, I've been all over the place before. Plus my house was up in the hills.” She smiled, like she was explaining to a child.

“There are ranches up in the hills lady. There's a house up there that keeps a poor horse inside the stable all day to just die.” She said with a little indignation. (Y/N) ears flared at the words, but she decided to set the thought aside for the work needed to be dealt with. She rummaged through her bag picked out the audio recorder, clicking it on and placing it in full view of the girl.

“Do you know why I'm here?” She asked and the girl seemed to curl back in.

Great, she thought.

“Yeah. Mom said you're going to help me with this. That some guy once hit Uncle John's scooter so he owed him a favour and that I should be grateful and not go around being snooty like I usually am.” She spoke in one flow, (Y/N) was amazed at her child-like habits.

“The guy who did this is serving time right?” She inquired, the girl seemed to flinch like the thought burned her; (Y/N) sat back and bit her lip.

“Would you like to eat something? Your mom told me on the phone that you love waffles, so do I. How about we get a plate each?” She asked, tilted her head down to try to meet her lowered gaze. Her cheeks turned red, but she looked up and nodded. (Y/N) sighed in relief, asking her to order for her.

(Y/N) was amused at the thoroughness of the girl's order, she seemed to have come here often and let the man know exactly how to make a perfect waffle to show to the stranger. (Y/N) wondered if it was because she mentioned having the best waffles in Belgium.

She chewed her lip a little, the hesitant glances and angry eyes she saw was something she understood. But in a passing bitter thought she relinquished, she would never be as good as Jaehyun as talking in a way that moved people: she just understood.

As the thought passed, she sat up— conviction in her eyes.

“Lily, that is your name right?” She asked and the girl nodded, eyes wide at the sudden confronting tone. (Y/N) looked up at the man who took their order, arriving with two plates, placing it between them. (Y/N) thought she saw him asses her with his eyes, she wondered if she imagined it.

“I was just hoping that I could get an understanding from your side.” Her voice was awkward.

“Understanding?” Lily scoffed, her eyes rimming a little red. “He asked me to go buy him a bag of beef jerky from the convenience store: I had to buy tampons for my mother. He said his joints ached from the cold so I did it because I wanted to be a good person— I had fight with my sister and showed her secret diary to my mom; she was definitely crushing on swim team captain but he does like drugs or whatever. I thought if I helped him God would forgive me because my mom's changing my sister’s school now. I got him the jerky but he had moved his car, I didn't think much of it then: figured he was eager to leave, but he took it further away from people. When I took it to him he opened the door on the other side instead of cracking down the window. When I leaned in he pulled me in and shoved me in the back seat. He drove away so fast I couldn't understand what was going on before he stopped at some corner and crawled back: his knees seemed fine. He put his hand on my mouth and it smelled like jerky, he was eating it before. I bit into his palm but he kept saying that he knew I wanted this and I was being prissy because he was old. He said no one would ever do me like him. He freaked out when he saw blood on my dress: it was white— I shouldn't have worn it that day: it was new and I wanted to wear it to school, mom said I should wait but I wondered: I'd just quickly go to the store.” (Y/N) saw tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

“I screamed that God would punish him and he said that God didn't listen to deflowered whores like me. I knew him, so I said: Mr. Paul I don't know where you're leaving me. He looked at me with the cruelest eyes I've ever seen, I saw him at church every Sunday; he's the bishop's, well, dad.” She laughed humorlessly.

“He picked me up and dropped me at the bus station; I hadn't realised when he managed to drive out of town. I remember standing in the bathroom thinking: my mother would kill me if she found out. So I washed up and called my friend and went to her place— I told her and both of us cried and we were so scared that we burned that dress, I cried because I really thought that dress could be my favourite if I had it longer. They told me in court later that I made a mistake, that I shouldn't have done that.” She sat back, seemingly reminded of something as she looked down.

“Of course it didn't matter in a few months, I had living breathing evidence in me sucking me dry.” She seemed to curb her thoughts looking up with guilty eyes and an unsuspecting smile

“But we are all god's children. But I enjoyed the look on the bishop's face when he found out, he worked so hard to protect that man and he couldn't even pull out— that's what he said, I didn't know what that meant till later: but in that moment I felt like it all finally meant something. Then they send me to a fake abortion clinic. So I want to sue the church, Lady: they quite literally fucked me and then fucked me over— I hope you can forgive my language— But I also want to make sure that any girl who was left on the bench of a bus station in a torn bloody dress at 3am doesn't have to face that humiliation over and over for nine months every time they see themselves in a mirror.” She sat back, her hands shaking as she grasped her now rattling cutlery, she sniffed a little and the rim of her eyes seemed redder.

(Y/N) was at a loss, she seemed to feel the anger, hurt and confusion radiating off this young girl in waves and it seemed to suffocate her. Instead she let herself breathe it in, understanding this in a way that made her realise that maybe she was the person meant to do this.

“Lily. I know it seems like I might not understand. I also get why your mother doesn't want you to do this. I'm being honest, I didn't see it either, till I saw you. I am grateful because I feel that I've only met two people as firm in their beliefs, and you are the second one. I can't imagine how you must have felt. They made you kept coming back, weeks after weeks. They gave you hope that you'd be able to leave this darkness in the past. And then they betrayed you.” Her eyes traced down to Lily's nursing belly, sorrow evident in them.

“I cannot imagine how brave you must be. You're going to give birth to the child of the man who violated you and you decided to fight so other girls don't have to.” She felt the bottom of her vision blur a little, “You're a child.” A tear fell through and she cursed herself internally, she was supposed to be impassive about this, as her lawyer.

“I'll do everything in my power to make sure you win.”

She sat in the bar in the heart of Washington the same way she sat at the hearing for her writ, helplessly. She stared down her empty glass and wondered if she could smash it against her forehead, but it would definitely ruin her hairline. She had texted him an hour ago, she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, he probably didn't check his phone till after work hours. Still a part of her thought of the days when one text meant a call back. She blamed herself for indulging in such fruitless journeys of the mind. She looked up and saw a man across the bar watching her hopefully, she wondered if she'd indulge in that instead; instead she turned to the bartender.

She refused to make conversation even when the man came and sat beside her with an empty seat in between them, his hopeful eyes came with him— maybe she could indulge. Her phone vibrated against the counter, she asked for the cheque before looking. When she looked, she got up.

“It's already paid for ma'am.” The bartender said, when she frowned he looked away with a shrug.

“I insist.” The man finally spoke and she didn't have the time, still she fumbled and yet again he interrupted.

“A new face is rare around here these days. It's definitely necessary, consider it a warm welcome.” He lifted his glass to her, not fazed as she got up, ready to leave.

“I'm not staying.” She laughed a little condescendingly at his assumption.

“That's what they all say.” He cut her off again, she bit her lip but his smile was convincing: she only walked away.

Sitting across from him after so long, she was quite irritated that her first thought was that he looked tired. She formed her second carefully, he choose this life— he could live with a few eye bags, even his current pitiful ones.

“What do I owe this pleasure to (Y/N)?” He got straight to the point, she almost smiled. Instead she handed him the file.

“Those are transcripts from a client's testimony.” She pointed at the file and he looked at her with knitted brows instead.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He asked, looking down at it, refusing to touch it.

“I came to D.C. to speak to the supreme court bench, over a writ I filed last month.” She explained and he sat back, amused irritation sparked at the corner of his guarded gaze.

“I almost thought you came to see me.” His voice was spiteful; she didn't address it.

“They took it into consideration.” She continued.

“So then you have it.” He stretched, his posture seemingly closed, “What do you need me for?” He yawned and stretched a little more, before retracting back into his chair, staring at her with leisurely eyes.

“I'm here because,” she spoke through gritted teeth, frustration somewhat evident in her tone. “I know how this works, the Supreme Court won't discuss a matter till it's a national debate, everybody only cares about approval ratings down here.” She said with exasperation.

“And you want me to shake this thing into relevance?” He pushed the file with his index finger, her nostrils flared; she leveled her voice before she spoke.

“Congress is in session two months from now. Bring this up, once the networks pick this up people will care.” She sounded desperate in a way that made him actually look down at the file meaningfully this time.

“Why do you care about this so much?” He asked, his voice softer, more curious.

“She's a child Jaehyun,” Her back shivered at the utterance of his name— something she thought she had come past, she sat back with her back against the chair. “She doesn't deserve what happened and I know I have an opportunity to do something, so I came here despite whatever is or isn't between us. I want you to respect that Jaehyun, I want to be pitiful and say that if you can't care for a girl who was promised a way out and instead got used in some people's sick way to feel superior to the rest of us sinful people. She doesn't want to kill a beating heart Jaehyun, she just wants to make sure other people aren't deceived like her.” She sat back, knowing when to stop before her eyes betrayed her. She sniffed and turned to him with defeated eyes.

“I'm saying that I've done everything I can and if this isn't enough for you then you could just–” She sighed, looking away. Wondering if she would get up and walk around maybe her tears wouldn't fall.

“You could just do it for me.” She stayed in her spot, turning her eyes back to him again. Jaehyun decided to pick up the file this time.

She watched his face as he read what she heard with her own ears, in a small way she wondered if Jaehyun had lost his conviction to change the world. Looking at him now, she realised that this city wasn't strong enough to change that about him. She knew no one else could do this.

“Have you eaten anything?” She looked up from her phone at his question, his eyes waiting expectantly for an answer.

“Not since the flight no, I was with the clerks all day. They aren't exactly hospitable I learned.” Her sentence came out long and clamoured, Jaehyun watched her with those eyes that stripped her down; she looked away.

“I'd order food but there's ramen here.” He bend down, rummaging through a bottom drawer. She found the idea of Jung Jaehyun keeping cup noodles in a drawer in Capitol Hill absolutely the most unexpected experience, and that in itself made it so essentially him.

“I bet you still eat them like you did in law school. Mom says father makes you work like a slave.” He glanced up; his eyes visible as she heard the sound of keys and an unhinging lock, before he placed two cups on his desk. He smiled in the straight lipped way he did when he was pleased with himself, her lips tugged; somehow that made her snap out of it.

“I should go.” She said packing her things, “I have a flight at 6. I should be at the airport in four hours.” She glanced at her watch, his face fell for a moment before he sat up.

“I'll drop you. Just eat for now, it's midnight. You won't eat till breakfast then.” He chastised and she was a little too caught off guard by the situation to be too assertive. She would have said yes, had she not realised with a startling halt just how badly she wanted to.

“I'll eat at the airport. There are plenty of fine restaurants.” She already got up and made her way to the door, the panic that set in her when she heard his footsteps was unprompted but it made her legs shake as she tried to pick up her pace; his office was big and his strides were longer. When he grabbed her by the waist, her back was against his chest so soon that her body curled from the feeling.

“Why can't you just—” He spoke, grunting when she struggled to escape, he wrapped his other arm around her stomach. Jung Jaehyun had the eyes that burned with the conviction of Sisyphus, it was almost be shameful to say unless one saw it themselves. She kicked and thrashed multiple times but she knew that his grip was one of conviction: they were going uphill again.

“Stop moving. (Y/N), (Y/N)!” His voice was stronger.

“Let me go Jaehyun, I'm not going to whore myself out to you anymore.” Her voice cracked with emotion, when his arms loosened she thought she'd finally done it; she finally made him hate her. Instead her face spun and her back met the wall of his office. She wondered if she should have come when the office when it was full of activity, she wondered if it would make a difference.

“You were the love of my fucking life you heartless bitch!” He shoved her harmlessly but his knuckles dug into her diaphragm; she winced, she wasn't sure which caused the reaction. Jaehyun's chest was pressed flat against her, one hand on her leg and the other arm holding her captive around her neck.

“You made me believe I could have it. And then you handed him the stone yourself. You shattered my glass house and now you show up out of nowhere demanding favours.” He lifted her up, he made sure they were meeting eyes and he made sure she had to wrap her legs around him if she wanted balance.

“What makes you think you can walk in here with one text message then? If you think you're just some whore I'm going to sleep with. How dare you insult the realest thing I've ever felt in my life. Not even you have that right.” His breath fell on her neck in laboured pauses, she slowly listened to his words as her protests died. She hated how the hurt and betrayal that radiated off him didn't outdo his genuine emotion, she wanted to go back to the time she believed he was just incapable of the very things that currently settled into the deep crevices of his sunken eyes; she wanted to push the hair out of face and remind him to drink some water before he sleeps. Instead she let the silence marinate as she watched him; she wished she could mask her indignation in this, give them a longer moment of silent peace like this that made their delusions grow. But her throat opened and her voice cracked.

“You were supposed to tell your father. Three years Jaehyun, I spend all of Law School in your bed.” She hit her bag in his hand helplessly on his chest: once, twice, till she was weeping and her shaking figure didn't allow her to keep up her assault— he didn't move the entire time

When she didn't have the energy to be angry anymore her voice held persistence. Her hair stuck to the beads of sweat on her face and she groaned when he pushed her hair away, “You blame me because the man who gave me a future asked me to do him a favour he considered as essential. I couldn't say no, he thought he was looking out for your best interests.” She scoffed, ignoring the way his hand hesitated to hold her wrist, in her exhaustion she let him, turning her gaze up to the ceiling.

“He didn't even know about us Jaehyun. You can hate everybody as much you want. You fucked up, and now neither of us will ever be happy.” She looked down at him, “We were given a house of glass because we don't deserve much else, we broke other perfectly stable ones. We didn't even deserve that Jaehyun, now it's gone. Maybe it was meant to.” She sighed and he pulled back to her again, voice shaking: conviction, she noted.

“No, You're lying to yourself. You aren't just someone I can let go, you aren't meant to be.” His voice was a mix of a submissive pleading and aggressive belief— he was a hurricane.

“Please just. Let me go, it's been almost two years. I can sleep without you, I'll make it. I know you're better at this, so just help me.” Her head dropped, “Make it easier for me Jaehyun.” She weeped mercilessly, wondering why she thought she could even try to hold on to this pathetic piece of pride in front of him: he was the only person who made her physically react and he knew it like he knew her.

“I just want to.” His voice was low, afflicted. He brushed his fingers against her jaw; she closed her eyes, his lips followed next with a dip of his head, “I just want to make it better.” He mumbled against the skin of her neck and she wanted to believe him.

“I want none of these things to not matter. I want to be people who do stupid shit like elope or get pregnant and hate each other by the time they're fifty.” He licked his lips against the skin of her jugular and she felt it in a dangerous lick of her stomach.

“You don't know how mad it makes me that you make me want to be fucking mediocre.” He paused, his palm connected to the wall, passing a deep vibration inside it: against her back.

“But it's not fair (Y/N).” His voice was a mumble deep behind her ear this time, his hand was already at the elastic of her underwear, she unceremoniously lifted her hips off the wall.

“You and I can't be mediocre can we? Because people like that girl need us to care.” His lips touched the base of her hairline, making all of the hairs stand uncomfortably in unison, he continued.

“But I need you.” He mumbled too close to her ear, his kiss under her ear was to distract her, he knew her weakest spot and used it to his advantage a plenty; this time she decided to duck her head away from him.

“I can't be that for you. And if you really meant all of this, you wouldn't try to extort me for this.” She tried again, one day she'd say the right thing and watch the hatred grow in his eyes, today he gave her a look akin to being slapped across the face. But she knew it was more over being caught than being misunderstood. The clock behind his back read one am, she put her head against the wall again, she was really dreadfully tired; she wanted to stay in this silence she just wanted him to let her breathe.

“Jaehyun.” Her voice was vanquished, she had never felt so tired. She hoped he would just understand, she didn't want to speak anymore— it only made things worse. He let go, she had decided that she would go the moment he did that; instead she let her back fully rest on the wall and her legs shook in a way that made her put a hand on his shoulder, it also made him stay close. To anyone else, standing and watching each other for so long would feel strange, to them it felt like a privilege.

“I can't stand anymore.” She sighed, pushing the hand on his shoulder and he let himself be shoved aside. Her legs wobbled visibly but she braved the distance and sat on his chair, her fingers caressed it with a sense of pride.

“I hope you remember the part I played in your acquisition of this chair.” She looked up at him, he walked up and leaned on the desk in front of her, watching her with patience, “Your campaign manager was old and he couldn't hold a thought for an entire business day. You know I shaped your entire campaign.” She stated and Jaehyun nodded thoughtfully.

“Is this a collection then?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, staring down at her.

“No it's an opportunity. I want you to remember that I'd never ask you to do something that wouldn't be beneficial to your goals. You can punish me for the rest of my life, don't let the girl suffer because of that.” She said with deductive reasoning and he huffed.

“You didn't have to reduce it to the numbers.” He groaned.

“It's all about the approval ratings isn't it?” She scoffed, it was the superior tone of her voice that made something in him snap. When he leaned down to meet her gaze, she was expecting itt. But him lifting her up and putting her on the table like she was a substance without mass, left her unguarded.

“You know what your problem is baby?��� His voice was low and taunting and dripping with anger, “You think this game works, where you say something to make me hate you and you assume something to try and hate me.” When she tried to look away his gaze followed her, Jaehyun was a polite guy but he had the anger of the gods themselves rolling under the surface of his ice-white skin. He grabbed her chin and forced her to look: he wanted to see her eyes, he searched deep in them; his fingers dug deep into her jae till it stung.

“Is it that you think it will help?” He watched her eyes, they gave her an affirmative answer, he laughed bitterly.

“Don't you see?” He asked, recognising her confused glance, he sneered.

“I already despise you with resolution.” His face was so close to her, her jaw felt sore from his force.

“Save yourself the trouble (Y/N), otherwise one day you'll realise that you'd rather hate me then love anybody else and you'll never recover.” His finger traced down her neck, yet again he said words with the gravity of mountains while he tried his best to distract her with lust.

“I don't know what I've done to deserve your hate.” She didn't wanted them to stop talking, she needed something to remind her of the world, it was so easy to forget with his hands so close to her skin, “Because I didn't take a job on your team? Just so you had a fuck doll?” His nails were blunt, they still stung against her thigh, his retaliation.

“Is it that I'm just using you for your body then?” He tilted his head, she didn't answer; both of them knew it wasn't true. His wandering hand shoved her legs open impatiently and he ungracefully shoved his hand inside her underwear, she bit her lip and her hand dropped down to his wrist.

“Does that not feel good (Y/N)?” He asked with a sort of detached voice he only got at the extent of his anger; maybe he was right, maybe he did hate her. She didn't answer, his finger went from rubbing her clit to being two inside her; so quick and rough she mewled. When her head dropped down he moved closer and let her put it on his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his neck, she moaned into his ear. He pulled his fingers out all the way before shoving it in with a lewd pop of air.

“How do you feel?” His own voice was laboured.

Alive, she wanted to tell him. He made her feel like she wasn't tangible till he touched her, that she was invisible till his eyes found her. He made her feel alive.

“Jaehyun.” She whimpered into his neck and he seemed to have gotten an answer for himself, pulling away too quickly and sitting back in his chair.

“Come here.” He grabbed her arm as he sat down, she was no one to refuse. She slipped off the desk, knees pushing down the cushion on the sides of his seat, he looked up at her for a moment, if this was real it felt like an illusion, if it was an illusion he wanted to remember what she looked like in this moment. He slid his hands up her shaking legs and pulled her even closer.

“No one can keep you away from me. It's only about the right way.” His confession seemed like an important one, she wanted him to remove his stroking hands on her thigh, she wanted to hear his words— she wanted to believe him.

“Top drawer.” His voice was quick and merciless, her stomach turned and heat pooled in its depths; he swivelled forward and her back met with the table, inches from being crushed, he seemed confident as he sat back. She pulled the drawer open and threw a foil packet at his face.

“You must be needed them if they're in your top drawer.” The sharp tone in her voice drove him wild.

“They had a planned parenthood workshop in a school nearby, I had to go.” He explained like he was being gracious.

“I didn't ask Jaehyun, it was simply an observation.” She pushed him back into his chair, he picked up the packet on his lap.

When she turned to push the drawer back in place, she realised that she pulled the old thing too hard, without proper mechanics it fit in a bad angle and she groaned.

“If you don't fix that I won't be able to stop thinking about it.” Jaehyun stated and she scoffed softly.

“I know.” She mumbled, shaking her head at the situation. As she sat in the most obscure angle and tried to fix the drawer in a table older than her life, she wanted to laugh. But her eyes caught a box at the very back corner, suddenly her heart clamoured. She stopped her struggles making Jaehyun look up and tighten his hands on her thigh. Her fingers shook as she lifted the box out.

“(Y/N) put that back inside.” He sat up so quick that she had to lean against the desk; his voice was too nervous.

“Is this for her?” Her voice didn't hold any accusation, but she hung her head low.

He had an engagement ring.

“What?” He asked feeling a little knocked out of his senses. He pushed his hair back as his head seemed to spin from being overwhelmed.

“Keep it back.” His voice was weak, desperate. She looked up with sad eyes and he bit the inside of his cheek.

“It's beautiful Jaehyun.” Her voice was small as she looked at the rock, four carats and the sharp princess cut made it sparkle under the ceiling lights, it was beautiful. She closed the box back and put it where it was previously.

“It's yours.” Jaehyun said a little softly; she cracked a sad smile.

“I can't believe you'd say such a dreadful lie just to get laid.” Her voice wasn't laced with malice. He grabbed her hair and pulled her to his face.

“Do you remember that night (Y/N)?” The way he said her name was scary.

“I took you to dinner. It was our night, but you left.” He frowned, distracted by his own memories, “You left and you went to choose a different person for me. You left, before I could say anything.” His fingers slipped from their grip in her hair and fell down to her back, he slowly wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck, his lips brushing against her forehead more as a result of proximity than a deliberate attempt, “If you only waited five more minutes.” His voice wavered.

“We were watching the news the week before that, it was a week to our last contract law class and we were watching the presidential debate.” He smiled, so close to her that she had to be rather harshly reminded that Jaehyun was nothing short of otherworldly in every aspect, she herself just happened to be pitifully human.

“I almost said it then, but I couldn't get the words out. I knew you needed something solid. It's yours (Y/N).” His nose brushed her temples, her eyes; their lips met for the briefest moment, he pecked it twice and she thought in that moment, she'd say the world's most dangerous words herself. His hand cupped her cheek, he kissed the corner of her mouth, looking up into her eyes once.

“If you don't believe me take it to the showroom, ask.” His voice was pleading, she didn't want to say that she believed him from the first word. He heard the sound of the drawer finally close and she connected their lips first. The way he kissed back she wasn't sure how she'd stop her lips from swelling, she was sure the skin of her thighs were littered with the marks of his finger digging into the flesh— he always seemed to leave her physically marked with the war in her mind. She sat back so suddenly that the chair pushed away with a jerk, she got out swiftly before he stopped the chair with his legs.

“I can't.” She pushed the hair out of her face with the eyes of someone waking up from sleep.

“I can't do this, not after that.” She pointed at the drawer, when he got up she stepped back

“No!” It was aggressive, it was a real refusal. Jaehyun stopped in his path.

“I mean it Jaehyun, I can't think right now. So much just happened, even if you hate me. Don't be so cruel, I can't do it.” She stepped back again, there was a deep sorrow in his eyes but he didn't move. She hesitated once, before giving him one nod and turning away.

By the time she arrived home an email from staff let her know that Jaehyun was drafting a bill for the agenda.

[tser]

Do you think some sort of dry clay component could/should be added to leopard gecko substrate? I was researching soil content in iraq and found someone's college thesis, and it said that it contains a top layer rich in calcium and magnesium with humus, but is comprised overall in order of most to least of clay, limestone, siltstone, and some other stuff

Many people use that! If you use quality decomposed granite, a small portion of it will be clay (granite that has been weathered to a very small particle size). Other people use Excavator Clay or other clay as an ingredient.

However, in an enclosure, we can’t use a bioactive substrate that is extremely high in clay, as it would create drainage issues in the small space. Clay soil is dense, since the particle size is so small, and becomes very heavy and packed. When moistened and then dried it becomes very solid. Water will not filter through it. 

In the wild, when it rains heavily in a clay-rich desert area, there are flash floods. Water flows along the top of the clay soil rather than through it.

Clay also holds a great deal of moisture in it for a long time when insulated from the heat by substrate above it. In the wild, this is great, because the surface of the substrate (looser and humus-y) will allow the water to drain through and become dry, while the clay underneath stays moist (and cooler) long, long after the rains have stopped. This allows animals to self-regulate their humidity needs by burrowing or using other animal’s burrows to reach that moister layer. Not only do reptiles take advantage of this, but so do mammals. Check out kangaroos!

However, in the arid vivarium, that’s not possible. Our substrate isn’t nearly deep enough to provide this natural gradient (and most have a solid bottom underneath), so we create artificial ones, by using humidity-holding substrates in pockets that we can moisten. If we attempted to mimic the actual desert substrate in miniature (”in shallow”), it would rot the roots of our succulents, and create a waterlogged, too-humid environment for the desert species. 

Instead, in our small space, we need to use a quick-draining substrate so that water doesn’t pool. We do that by using larger particle size mineral ingredients in organic material. That includes decomposed granite, large particle calcined clay (non-absorbent fired clay pebbles), sand, volcanic rock, and so on. 

However, a low proportion of clay is definitely a possible part of an arid bioactive substrate. Before you use your mixture in your enclosure, you should wet it and then let it dry, checking for drainage, that it doesn’t get dusty, that it holds burrows, and that it doesn’t pack when dried out. Proportions can be adjusted, and then the substrate can be checked again.

For those who don’t want to go bioactive, and don’t like the look of tile or paper towel, Excavator Clay is a safe and easy substrate choice that has a pretty neat look. As leopard geckos come from an area with packed clay soil, particularly rocky areas within its range, it’s a good choice.

It is actually meant as a solid substrate. You moisten it, sculpt it in the enclosure, and then let it dry, which creates a hard, solid substrate. (Reptiles should not be added to the enclosure until it is completely dry.) This demonstrates how solid clay will become! It can be re-moistened to re-sculpt or remove it. Burrows and hides can be formed directly into the clay, and decor elements can be built in (like rocks, wood, and fake plants emerging from the clay).

Because it is a solid, thick substrate, UTHs can’t be used under the enclosure. The substrate -- or even the glass -- can crack. Some people use tile over the UTH and Excavator Clay in the rest of the enclosure. Otherwise, you can use overhead heating, like an RHP or CHE.

Maintenance includes cleaning up poop and urates, which can mostly be swept off the hard clay. In many cases, however, urates will soak into the Excavator Clay so parts may need to be replaced often, unless it is possible to build in or include a non-absorbent surface where the leopard gecko poops every time (such as a Lizard Loo, rock, or tile). Some leopard geckos poop only in corners, so this is possible.

In addition, the substrate should be checked to make sure no parts are becoming dusty or crumbling. 

Also, any humid pockets in the Excavator Clay (such as borrows to be used as a humid hide) need to be lined with a waterproof material, as the substrate will break down if it gets wet.

And my usual warning, because silicosis is no joke -- be careful handling any dusty mineral material, including dry clay, and when using it with a reptile. Silicosis is damage to the lungs from inhaling silica particles, and it is accumulative, meaning breathe a little now and a little later, the damage keeps happening. There is no cure, and only supportive treatments. 

[skia-oura]

Orange Lilies, 8/12?

A/N: I wrote 11k in 48 hours. Please be prepared to read this in several sittings or not move for an hour or two. I apologize for its length.

Prologue // Previous // Next

Ao3 ff.net-->refuses to accept my copy and paste as non-coded text.

Enjoy!

Chapter 7: Lloyd Remnit is the Victim of a Break and Enter and Subsequent Theft

           It takes several days of ever-heightening tensions to find Lloyd Remnit. In the interim, Torako shouts at Dipper twice to quit hovering (she wants to shout more), Dipper stubbornly refuses to answer any summons (the third time one comes through, he makes a disgruntled expression and mumbles something about an answering machine, whatever that is), and they have a harrowing experience at a Twin Souls convention in South-Central Canada because of a thief. Torako might have enjoyed Dipper’s shock and subsequent revulsion at a graphic Mizcor fanfic reading in room D27, but she was a little busy. Not only was she trying to hunt down the little shit that stole her phone and all the evidence on it, but her period was also square on day two. Yes, she had a MagixTampon in. Yes, she had extras. Also yes, stress fucked her period pain up to astronomical levels, and the cramping was making everything ten times worse than usual.

           Honestly, there were only a few things that saved the convention from being razed to the ground between Torako’s pain-enhanced irritation and Dipper’s Twin Souls related disgust. They were that one, Torako managed to corner the thief between a rarepair merch stall and somebody selling fanart just safe enough to be shown to the public and just raunchy enough to make Dipper squirm, two, Dipper remained stubbornly attached to her hip and was therefore unable to wreak havoc on the convention-goers, and three, the thief apologized in a small, tremulous voice before offering Torako all his money, please, just don’t hurt me I didn’t realize you were this intense. Torako showed mercy. Torako only took half—and she only took it because the thief had wasted time that she could have spent finding Bentley. Even half wasn’t an insignificant amount of cash.

           In the end, however, Dipper managed to find Lloyd Remnit’s residence, and they blipped just outside the walls before continuing on.

           “I still think you should have taken all that dude’s cash,” Dipper said in a (recently) rare display of emotion beyond guilt, protectiveness, or rage. His footsteps were purposefully heavy as they walked up the long gravel drive to Windfall Manor proper. There hadn’t even been a gate, but even with Dipper running interference the hum of the wards they passed through had set Torako’s teeth to vibrating. Rich people, Torako thought.

           “Does this guy even need this much land? This much grass?” Torako said instead of answering Dipper’s question. It was moot point anyways. Torako looked out at the wide, hilly lawn surrounding them, exquisitely cultivated ornamental gardens dotting the landscape here and there. She hadn’t seen so much useless grass in one place in her life. The gardens didn’t even look like they had any fruit- or vegetable-bearing plants in them. It was, quite frankly, insane.

           Dipper did his shrug thing. “Grass was pretty normal a millennia or so ago.”

           “Weird,” Torako mumbled. She stared at a bush shaped like a narwhal as they passed. She half-suspected that it wasn’t even real. “This is a really weird dude.”

           Dipper hummed. They then walked in relative silence, the crunch and rasping squeal of stone against stone the only sound. There was no birdsong, no rustling grass, just clear skies up above and a suspiciously perfect hill just ahead. When Torako took a deep breath in through her nose, she could only just smell wet earth and crisp grass, like a ghost of the real thing. Except, you know, less belligerent and murderous than a ghost. She hoped. Murderous grass was uncommon but not impossible, and she’d already had the dubious pleasure of such an encounter. She wasn’t exactly looking for another one.

           At the crest of the hill, Torako hefted her bag up on her back. It was heavier, after a pit-stop at the grocery store for a bunch of goodies. She’d even picked up a box of Moffios before putting it back. She wanted Bentley to yell at her about sufficient nutrients and the folly of eating something literally made of sugar. And there, on that hill, Torako stared at the mansion for the first time, and felt her heart swell with hope.

           And also vague disbelief. Windfall Manor was located down the other side of the hill and a few meters out from the bottom of the slope. It was one of the most ostentatious buildings she’d ever seen. Bits and pieces of what had to be rooms but weren’t shaped in any way like rooms were floating above the main structure, all elegant curves and impossible spires. There were no stairs, anywhere. So either the floaty bits were yet more ornamentation, or the entire house was connected by a localized teleportation system, which would be completely and utterly ridiculous. It would also be in line with what Torako had seen so far, and so she steeled herself for more extravagance. The walls were a beautiful creamy color that faded in and out of opalescence, and the edges and corners were gilded, shining—gorgeous, but enough that Torako could cry in frustration. The moment the thought struck her, Torako had a bad feeling about the situation.

           “What a piece of work,” Torako said into the still air. Beside her, Dipper was forgetting to breathe convincingly. Oh well, it probably wouldn’t matter much longer.

           “Bentley hasn’t pissed off any rich people, has he?” Dipper asked. Torako raised her eyebrows in his direction and told herself that Mr. Self-Laceration wouldn’t blame Bentley.

           “Sure it’s not you?”

           “Me?” Dipper gestured at the house. “I’m not the owner of that thing, as glorious as the spellwork and as handsome as the mathematical precision is.”

            “No, idiot,” Torako said, frowning. “I mean, have you made any rich enemies that would target Ben in order to hurt you, seeing as you’re kind of hard to hurt yourself?”

           Dipper tilted his head and looked up at the sky. “Not that I remember. You?”

           Torako scowled. They were still standing up on top of the damn hill, having a stupid conversation about inconsequential things and her uterus was set on trying to mimic the pain of being torn apart. She was, perhaps, a little sharper than she meant to be. “Geez, I dunno,  targeting him and then citing you as one of the reasons for kidnapping seems like a pretty good indicator that I’m at fault here. Clearly.”

           Dipper drew in on himself, shoulders up and arms in. He turned away slightly. Torako felt both guilt and a kind of ugly triumph burn through her. She put her hand on his shoulder. She took a deep breath, and tried to focus on what was important.

           “Let’s just…get Bentley.” Torako squinted at Windfall Manor. “I think this place looks promising. Enough money to have enough space to hold somebody, and definitely enough money to do whatever it is to dampen your connection to Ben.”

           “Maybe,” Dipper said. He waited for her to step forward, her hand trailing down and off his arm, before he followed. Torako didn’t know if she felt more like a mob boss or an unwitting mother duck.

           “Do we have a plan for this, anyways?” She asked a couple minutes later, just an arm’s length from the front door. The glass set into the front was frosted, but was also animated to swirl in aesthetically pleasing patterns at random. The door jam was adorned with gilded scrollwork, which in turn were inset with tiny runes and wards. Some of them were actually augmented with literal gemstones, which explained the thrum tugging on the edges of her ears, settling into her fingerbones. Torako whistled. She was looking forward to smashing this dude’s face in and then dragging Bentley out before suing the rich shit for all the money she could give to charity. And also invest in therapy for Bentley, because she’d be damned if a cent of his money went to fix things that he wasn’t even remotely responsible for.

           “A plan?” Dipper came in closer and peered at the runes and wards. He didn’t touch her, didn’t drape all over her like she was his and he was hers. “I was just thinking find Ben and crush this place into dust.”

           Torako tilted her head and grinned a little. It felt plastic on her face. Her eyes ached. “Sounds good to me. Want a pack of gunny bears in exchange for shutting down the Manor defenses?”

           “It’s a deal,” Dipper said. They shook hands. A moment later, there was a harsh crack, the smell of burned ozone, and the gild had melted over splintered gemstones into a mess of dripping gold. It was somehow still elegant. Torako hated it.

           The door, now unshackled by layers of what had to be intricate spellwork, drifted open. Torako reached out, pushed it in, and she and Dipper stepped into Windfall Manor. When she held out her hand, Mizar’s Cultbasher was deposited in it, heavy and comfortable in her grasp. It slid down until the end of it, the hilt of it, pressed into the edge of her palm and pinky finger, grounding her.

           The door closed behind them. Dipper kept his feet on the ground, but that was probably because he liked how his steps echoed in the large reception room around them. Torako looked up and around; the ceiling was like that of a giant greenhouse’s, glass set against glass impossibly smooth. The floor was tile, patterned in giant floral swirls of color. It was cracked, in places, runes and wards and deployment circles cut into unsalvageable bits. Torako swung the bat up to rest against her shoulder.

           It was quiet.

           “Any sign of Ben?” she asked, surveying the empty room around them. It looked like on the end of the far room there was a chair like a throne, but it was empty. There were walls all around, walls of glass. No hallways. No way out except for the way they came in, and they weren’t leaving empty-handed.

           “No,” Dipper said, a tightness in his voice. It sounded like he was on the verge of trembling, but from what Torako couldn’t guess.

           “What about the other one? Lloyd?”

           Dipper didn’t answer immediately. The silence had a cant of unsureness, a measure of disbelief and a dash of exhaustion.

           “Dipper?” Torako turned to look at him. He had risen up, shedding the remains of his human form until he couldn’t be taken for anything but supernatural.

           He avoided her gaze. “I’ll take you to him,” he said, and held out his hand.

           Torako narrowed her eyes, swung the bat off her shoulder. “What price?”

           “Just a small candy bar.” Dipper was quiet. The hair rose up on the back of her neck. Something was wrong, this wasn’t guilt-quiet, this was a dread-quiet.

           “Dipper,” Torako asked, “what’s wrong?”

           “Nothing—” Dipper glanced at her and met her eyes for a second before looking away like she was the one who inspired instinctual fear. “Bentley’s gone, that’s all. Let’s—just get me the candy bar, and I’ll take you to—to Lloyd. Remnit. Him.”

           Torako didn’t want to give the candy bar up until she found out what was wrong with Dipper. The room seemed to yawn around them, the space wide enough to swallow, wide enough to take the mere half-meter between them and twist it into an abyss. The false sunlight peering through was almost oppressive, the sparkling of the split tiles below vicious, like teeth, and Torako was hit with the sudden realization that they needed to fix whatever was between them, without Bentley there to cover up the divide and make it all better. But that was the thing, she thought to herself. Bentley wasn’t there. Bentley had been taken from them.

           Torako stuck out her hand. “Deal,” she said.

           Dipper shook it without ceremony. There was no flash of blue flames. He didn’t smile, roughish and dangerous in the corners or between the press of his teeth. Instead, there was the familiar sensation of being tugged somewhere, and suddenly they were in a bedroom.

           It was dark. The curtains, heavy and thick and embroidered with giant moths, were drawn over one entire wall. She could just barely see the outside light hemmed in on the floor below what had to be windows. Torako walked over to them, traced the exquisite workmanship, the painstakingly stitched forms soft ridges under her fingertips. She looked back at Dipper, who was staring at the bed and the figure under the covers. They were snoring, just slightly. Dipper’s shoulders were slumped, but she couldn’t quite make out his features in the dimness, just the golden glow of his eyes.

           She set the nailbat down, clenched the heavy curtain in her fists, got a feel for the fabric and the heft. “Dipper,” she said, quiet. The relative smallness of the room, the darkness, dampened the sound into something comfortable. Dipper turned his head to look at her.

She tilted her head, held her swathes of curtain up a little. Light billowed stronger onto the ground below, carpeted, spotted with burned magic.

           “Okay,” Dipper said.

           Torako took a deep breath. She closed her eyes, centered herself. Bentley, she told herself, and then she pulled the curtains back as hard as she could.

           Sunlight shone in like a sound, like the sudden blare of a trumpet or the screech of bow against strings, harsh against the preceding silence. The curtains slid, silent, across an invisible track of magical technology. Torako squinted her eyes a little against the invading light, and looked out the window, across the land surrounding them.

           It all seemed so small, from so far up.

           A few moments later, Torako heard the man in the bed groan a little. She turned around, bent down, picked up her nailbat and stood, back to the window. It would disconcert, possibly even frighten, Mr. Remnit. Dipper made no such move, but he was a demon, which was kind of intimidating enough.

           “What the…” the man groaned. He waved a hand at the light coming in. “Wals, I gave you the day off so I could sleep as much as I wanted all day, goddammit.”

           Torako glanced at Dipper. Dipper was still staring at the man, at Lloyd, like he’d broken his favorite toy and then kicked a puppy or two. Alright, then, no help coming from that corner, so Torako opened her mouth and said, “Well, that explains why the place was so gosh darned empty! And why you’re still asleep at four in the afternoon. You’re wasting daylight!”

           God, she was turning into her dad.

           The figure on the bed didn’t move for a long moment. Then he snuggled back down into the blankets and pillows, grumbling something about awful dreams.

           Torako closed her eyes. Then, she opened them and looked up like the ceiling held answers, but no, there were just—lots of images of coquettish, nearly-naked people of all species and gender. One of them winked at her. She felt herself flush, and looked back at the bed. Torako was hit with the sudden thought that maybe, possibly, this man was naked under the covers.

           Torako steeled herself. She had endured horrors few others had, had seen dismembered corpses that still gave her nightmares, had come home to an empty apartment and evidence of kidnapping. She could handle one naked man.

           “Sorry, buddy,” she said. “This isn’t a dream. Isn’t even a nightmare. Out of luck there. Yo, Dip, do you mind making our friend here a bit more aware of the situation he’s in?”

           Dipper stared at her. She pantomimed pulling the sheets off. He stared at her longer, then looked back at the sheets, at the figure stubbornly underneath them, and then lifted his eyebrows in what was clearly a, he might be naked under there, do you really actually want me to do that? gesture.

           She pressed her lips together and nodded once, short. It was her best attempt at a nonverbal no, I really don’t, but this is probably the best.

           Dipper slowly reached his hand out and curled his fingers into the folds of the sheets. He looked back at her, almost pleading. She tilted her head at him and held up a free hand, because what else could they do?

           Wide-eyed, Dipper pressed his lips together. He tugged the sheet once, sharp, but not hard enough to dislodge it. Before Torako could do more than wonder why exactly he was being so weird about it, he opened his mouth and spoke. “I don’t think you want to know what we’re going to do if you don’t get up.”

           Lloyd Remnit shifted in bed, turning around enough to get a glimpse of Dipper. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He definitely wasn’t wearing a shirt. Torako looked just enough to get an idea of physique; arms a little toned, but mostly old muscle and normal levels of fat for his age. He was a bit aged, Torako thought, but more like uncle than grandfather. Then he leaned back against the headboard, all casual, and smirked down at Dipper.

           “Well, aren’t you a treat?” Lloyd Remnit said. He looked Dipper up and down. Dipper stepped back a little, clearly unnerved by this turn of events. Torako felt a well of anger at Remnit and stepped forward to put herself between Dipper—who clearly knew something she didn’t and was made uncomfortable by it—and the man they’d come to interrogate. That was working well.

           The moment she did that, though, Remnit burst into action, slapping a hand against the closest bedpost. It lit up for a split second before cracking further, green sparks flying out to die, harmless, mid-air. Remnit stared at the bedpost. Torako smiled as she finished blocking Remnit’s view of Dipper.

           “Yeah, we took care of that,” she said, affecting nonchalance and confidence. Even though the room was small, everything in here was clearly quality that would take a decent chunk out of her parents’ paychecks, even before donating a great deal of it to charity. “Any more questions?”

           Remnit squinted at her. “Could you get out of the way? I’d at least like some eye candy to look at.”

           Torako’s smile thinned. She made sure to heft her bat up again, so that Remnit clearly saw what exactly was in store for him if he didn’t stop with his shit. “I’m not eye candy enough for you?” she asked.

           “He’s more my taste,” Remnit said.

           Dipper put a hand on her shoulder. She raised her eyebrows at Remnit, even though she was really raising them at Dipper. There was a moment of silence from him, and then Dipper said, “It’s okay, Ra. If he wants eye candy, I’ll give him eye candy.”

           Torako obliged, and stepped out of the way. Dipper strode past her, got closer to Remnit, and sat on the bed. Remnit seemed a bit taken aback by this gesture.

           Then Dipper held up a hand, and Remnit recoiled, screaming. Sweets poured onto the bed. Torako connected the dots and had to swallow hard at the mental image that came forward.

           “What the fuck!” Remnit screamed, on the other side of the bed. “What the fuck??”

           “You don’t have to eat it,” Dipper said, quiet. “You just said you wanted to look, right? So here it is.”

           “What the fuck are you?? Why are you here, holy fuck!”

           Torako shifted so that she could tackle Remnit if need be. He might try to run. They weren’t going to let him. She would break his arm before letting him go. There was a wardrobe half in the way, but it would slow him down just enough to help her catch him easier.

           “We’re here for an important friend of ours,” Dipper said. There was an undercurrent to his voice that had Remnit paling. “And last thing we found pointed to you.”

           “In case you need reminding,” Torako said, an easy smile back on her face, “it has to do with a fridge you commissioned. Could transport live bodies?”

           Remnit’s dark eyes, somewhat familiar, flickered between the two of them. “I have…hypothetical knowledge of that,” he whispered, then wet his lips. “What’s…in it for me?”

           Torako laughed a little. “What do you think is in it for you?”

           “You should probably answer wisely,” Dipper said, eyes clear, still on the bed. Anyone who didn’t know him wouldn’t see how wrong he was arranging himself into something casual, unaffected.

           “I…” Remnit said. “I…didn’t get to where I am now by settling.”

           Torako smirked, but she was watching Remnit’s hands. They were twitching in a way that seemed half-controlled. She thought about the level of magic set into the house, how much everything relied on it.

           “Dipdop,” she said.

           “I know,” he said. “He won’t do anything.”

           Remnit’s movements faltered. “What?”

           “He won’t want to tell us anything either,” Dipper said. He shifted. “If he’s anything like the man I once knew…is this about family, Lloyd?”

           “I haven’t met you before,” Remnit said. He took a step back, back against the tall, ornate wardrobe Torako had noticed earlier. It was very clean, light glinting off it like the wood was alive. Torako’s smile felt frozen to her face.

           “Not that you remember,” Dipper said. “And I guess that makes all the difference, doesn’t it? I’m not family, somebody else is. The somebody who has Bentley.”

           “What are you even on about?” Remnit snapped. He slapped his hand against the wardrobe, transferred whatever spell he’d been crafting between his fingers into the wood. It crackled, distorted, then shot at both Torako and Dipper. Torako tucked into a smooth roll and slammed the nailbat into the wood hard enough to punch holes, the enchantments on the bat combating with the enchanted wardrobe.

           Dipper had tessered right up against Remnit, who sucked in a quick breath and stilled. Torako stood, watched.

           “Bentley,” Dipper said, “is my family. You were once, Stan. But that was lifetimes ago, so I can’t blame you for not being now, right?”

           “Dipdop,” Torako said.

           “What the fuck?” Remnit whispered.

           “Except I will blame you,” Dipper said. He set his hand against Remnit’s forehead. “Your loyalty has been given to the wr̢ò͏n͏̢g̨҉ person this time, Stan. Tell me where m̘ͦͥ͆ͯ̀y̳̩̘͉̑̉̄̀̇ͨͦ ̡̈͊̚s̬̹̗͎̲͂̈́ì̥̩ͅst͇̙͙̝͓e̝̹̟̹̮̯͒̒ͧ̇̈́r̴̗̝̖̭̫͌̒̚ ̧͓͈̠̯ͦ̅́ͤ̑̆ͦi͓̞͕̮͉̳̫͡s̡̩̪̰̋̌ͧ̏.”

           Torako’s smile slid off her face. She stepped forward.

           “I don’t know,” Remnit said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           “Who did you commission the stasis fridge for?” Dipper crooned. “I will give you what you desire most if you just tell me who you commissioned that stasis fridge for.”

           Torako took another step. “Dipper, stop. You’re getting out of hand. Dipper, stop.”

           Remnit paused. Then, he laughed, hard and long, startling Dipper enough that he pulled away just a little, just enough for something in the air to loosen and for Torako to breathe a little easier.

           “Nothing,” Remnit said, “is more important than family.”

           Dipper didn’t even breathe. He canted his head back towards Torako. “I agree,” he said. Torako read the question in the quirk of his pointed ear, in the set of his hand on his hip. She pursed her lips.

           “There’s no other way?” she asked.

           “Stan is stubborn,” Dipper said. “I admired that, once.”

           Torako readjusted the grip on her nailbat. “A bag of Octopods and a bag of Chocolate Chicken Waffle Chips?”

           “And a lock of hair,” Dipper said.

           Remnit had lost some of the courage he’d pulled together only moments before. It had, Torako thought, evidently fled in the pieces he’d finally put together. “No,” he said. “My wards, they’re too strong.”

           “And a lock of my hair,” Torako said, “in return for the knowledge of who took Bentley, and where they live.”

           “Who are you?” Remnit hissed. He held up a hand, desperate energy crackling in it, and shoved it into Dipper. Dipper looked down at it, then grinned at Remnit.

           “Ḓ̸̥̯̈ͣ͌ͪ̇̏̎͢e̸̥͕̼̎̂͂ͤa̶̡̼̰͉͓ͭ̽̉ͤ̊ͭͅl̀̈̍̋͡͏̥̙͖̤̻̬͍̠ͅ,” he said, blue flaring high, and set his hands on Remnit’s head like he was going to pluck the strings of a harp, delicate but firm.

           Remnit didn’t scream. He let out a hitched sob. Dipper withdrew something from Remnit’s mind, and then flung it out. A heartbeat, two, and then Torako knew.

           Torako stared at Remnit. He was collapsed on the ground, a puppet with cut strings, a man whose base morals had been violated. Torako remembered Bentley, kneeling at his father’s funeral, accepting orange lilies with shaking hands. She remembered dark, flat eyes. Something dark and horrible and scared welled up in the pit of her chest, nearly choking her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to kill Remnit.

           “How dare you,” Torako told Remnit, voice shaking. “How fucking dare you hide behind family to justify their actions. You fucking supported them! What the actual fuck?”

           “You took it from me,” Remnit whispered to his hands. “You took it from me.”

           “And your nibling took my partner from me!” Torako screamed.

           “Torako?” Dipper asked.

           Torako lifted the nailbat. Her hand hurt from how tight she was gripping it. She wanted to drive Mizar’s Cultbasher into Remnit’s skull, over and over. How dare he. How dare he.

           Bentley was more important.

           “Dipper,” Torako said. She dropped the bat, stared at Remnit, heartbeat roaring in her ears. “I will give you another bag of candy, one in my bag, to make sure he can’t warn anybody about what’s coming for them. He can’t tell anybody we were here. He can’t tell anybody we’re coming. He can’t tell anybody what was done to him. He can’t let anybody know that they’re in danger.”

           “I mean, okay, but Torako?”

           “Do we have a deal or not, Alcor?” Torako snarled. Remnit flinched at Alcor’s name, started crying.

           Dipper was silent for several rapid heartbeats, then he said, “Deal.” Torako’s backpack lightened again, and Dipper put his hand on Remnit’s head again. Blue flames flared, then died, and Remnit curled over, hiding his face in his hands.

           “Let’s get out of here,” Torako said, after a long moment. She felt vindicated, and terrible, and angry and scared because Bentley had told them he was Mizar.

           “Torako, who was it?” Dipper caught her arm, talons digging in just a little. Torako looked into his eyes. Her body was light, carried on a wave of turbulent emotion.

           “Once we get out,” Torako said, and no sooner had she spoken were they on the lawn by the wardstones, right at the beginning of the gravel path. The sky was still, there was no birdsong, and the grass under their feet was artificial at best. Everything was wide and open and wrong.

           “Tell me,” Dipper said. She couldn’t stall any longer.

           “Dr. Fantino,” Torako said. “Their name is Vallian. They gave Bentley orange lilies at Philip’s funeral.”

           Dipper froze, eyes wide in horror. The air was suddenly like syrup, pressing down on her shoulders and leaving her slow, heavy. “The one that Bentley…”

           “Cursed.” Torako gripped Dipper’s hand with everything she had. She laughed a little at a sudden thought, high and on the hysterical side. “Bentley really did piss off somebody rich, I guess.”

           Dipper snarled. The air around him turned dark, almost misty. Everything around them seemed like it was moving, but Torako felt nothing. His wings curled and grew into a shroud around them, at once shielding and suffocating. “I̢̛͉̳̓̓ͯ̔ ̵̶̷͙͉͔͈̱̫͚̑̀̏̐̌ͫ͒ͅw̷̝̜̜͙̯̻ͧ̇̑̍͌ͅi̶̸̗̲̿͆l̵̖̻͈͈̙͙̱͉͑ͤ̽ͤ͑̇̔͢l̹̤̥̼̼ͦͦ̾̉͜ ̞̬͇̥̖̻̖̓̊̾̓͌̑̿̃͝d̸̶̮͍̠͇̂ͥe̛̝̻̖̰̥͕̓͌̍ͤs̛͕̭̟̔͗ť̬͔͍̍̽ͩ̌́̚͜r͋͂̀̊͏͏͙͈̥o͔̪̥̲̠̎͛ͧ͢ȳ͍ ̯͇͇̗̱̘̭͈̻́ͮ̊̌̊̇̒́͝ḩ̤̠̘̮̳̠̞̐ͭͩͤ͡i̴̼ͯͩ̈́͐ͣ̋m̪̫̠͑̓ͩ͊́͆ͥͩ̇͘͟,” Dipper said. “I̤̣̭̹̻̾̽̓͊͋̍̏̈́’̺͈̪̲̪̖̘͂̿̈̔͞l̞͇͈͔̩̩̙͙̗̊̋ͧ̚͘l̢̧̰̾̀ͩ̓ͭͭ͋͘—̛̬͕̗͍͇̲̜̫ͬͪ̇̐̾͘ͅ”

           Torako’s phone chimed, the chime from Lata’s parents. It cut through the syrup around her; the last she’d heard from Lata’s parents hadn’t exactly been positive news. Her heart in her throat, she pulled it out, navigated to messages. She choked, her fear rising above her anger. Bentley was important, but Lata was—Lata was a baby.

           “Dipper,” she said. “Lata’s missing. Lata’s—we have to find Lata.”

           Dipper let out a noise that was more squealing tires and thunder than human, tugged her close, and they left Windfall Manor more abruptly than they’d arrived.            

           Bentley had lost track of time.

           He also lost track of what it’s like to actually chew or ingest food orally; all of the nutrients his body requires have been supplied to him so far by a NutriPatch, even though those are really only supposed to be used short term. He should know, he visited Torako in the hospital and got that lecture from the nurse on Torako’s behalf. That had been a little uncomfortable. Maybe not as uncomfortable as the saline drip embedded in his arm—that was sure to leave a scar and he was high-key avoiding those thoughts—but certainly not fun.

           Bentley had also lost track of what it’s like to move more than five steps at a time. He was always strapped down to the bed when people come in to check his vitals, take DNA samples for some awful reason that he would freak out over if he thought about it, so he didn’t. He also was reduced to dragging around his IV drip with him, because there was some sort of non-tamper seal on the drip and he hadn’t managed to get his hands on anything that would allow him to sigil it off. He wanted to save the last-resort of using his own blood as a medium until he had a clearer chance to escape.

           What Bentley had gained, had slowly been gaining, was energy.

           Not quickly. No, residual, fragmented nightmares kept him from actually getting the sleep he needed to make a decent recovery. At the same time, he also wasn’t being actively sucked of energy in order to fuel his own nightmares and keep him locked in a mirror hellscape funland of his own imagining, so, the pros were outweighing the cons at the moment. Bentley was going to take whatever the fuck he could get.

           Which, he thought as he sat in a corner in the dark, pale hospital gown pooling around him, wasn’t exactly a lot.

           He pressed his chin to the valley between his knees, looked out to where he knew the vase of orange lilies sat in a protective alcove. For somebody who professed not to ascribe to acting based on illogical emotion, Bentley thought, Dr. Fantino was really, almost hilariously petty. It made him really angry.

           Even after what felt like at least a week of knowing the lilies were there, they made Bentley want to cry. The slight against his father had been turned into something worse, something to taunt and goad Bentley with rather than an honest, if despicable, act. Dr. Fantino, Bentley knew, was using Philip to get under Bentley’s skin, and it was working. When he wasn’t too exhausted to feel, or too stressed and sad to think, Bentley was constantly furious. Dr. Fantino being absent whenever Bentley was awake only fanned the flames higher; they had the gall to kidnap him, subject him to torture that was sure to set him back years’ worth of therapy, and then? They didn’t even? Interact? With him?

           Bentley hugged himself tight, digging his hands into his legs. He was losing weight. His hair was uncomfortably long. His nails were kept trimmed and soft, but they would be longer than he was used to if they hadn’t been. Bentley was losing time.

           He closed his eyes, started to doze in the corner. He woke an indeterminable amount of time later, feeling space closing in around him, crushing him, welding his throat shut and unable to make a single sound.

           Bentley yelled at the walls to make himself feel better until nothing came out but a raspy, whistley noise. Then he couldn’t make noise with his throat, and it was awful, but drumming his fingers on the floor helped, standing and moving just because he could helped. When he was able to think again, Bentley set his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes.

He lifted his hand, one finger outstretched, and began to trace the shape of sigils into the wall. “Fire,” he said in a whisper, tracing fire and then breaking it. “Water. Earth. Lightning. Air. Connection,” and so on, creating and detonating in his mind’s eye. Every so often, he traced Alcor’s circle into the wall. Said please. Waited long moments in which he knew nothing would happen, but hoped anyways, before moving on to more complicated, more powerful, more theoretically dangerous things. Bentley wondered, absently, why Dipper hadn’t come yet.

  Then, the lights came on and they gassed the room to knock him out. He drooped down the side of the wall, throat sore, and watched the blurry images of the nurses come in to bundle him back into bed. He was harmless. His limbs didn’t move. They showed no fear.

Bentley was losing time, but there was nothing he could do but bide it.

           Lata was in Australia. Lata was safe. Lata was happily playing with a very tired woman Torako’s never met, who Lata apparently has and who Lata had also successfully conned into letting her visit. The woman did not yet know this. Lata had whispered it gleefully in Torako’s ear because Torako was the Fun One, right before Dipper had pulled Torako abruptly aside to demand they destroy everything Fantino held dear.

           Torako had to convince Dipper that that did not mean it was time to lambast Fantino’s house, under her breath and doing her best not to let the woman whose house they were in know that, you know, she had let a demon inside.

           “It’s home,” Torako hissed to Dipper. “Yeah it’s where he lives too, but you’ll go overboard and cause another international incident, beyond the mysterious glass found in the middle of the desert. Yes, I saw that article, you didn’t hide it nearly well enough.”

           “Bentley could be there,” Dipper hissed back, his face inhuman because he wasn’t looking at the Australian woman—Torako thought her name was Tom, or Tam, or something. “We need to get Bentley and make that man pay.”

           “We don’t even know if Ben’s in the house,” Torako said.

           “We don’t even know that he isn’t,” Dipper retorted. Their faces were close in order to facilitate better hearing at lower decibels, and also in order to increase the intensity of their glaring at each other.

           “Whatchu doing?” Lata asked, flopping over Torako’s back. Torako tipped forward at the unexpected weight. Her face smooshed into Dipper’s, her nose almost jamming into his eye.

           “This is a private conversation,” Dipper said, tense but trying not to make Lata cry. Torako braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed herself back upright. Lata giggled.

           “This’s private property, and it’s seven fucking thirty in the fucking morning,” the Australian Woman Tom Slash Tam said.  “You got something to say, say it loud’n clear.”

           Dipper and Torako exchanged a look. Torako turned to face Tom Slash Tam, and said in the flattest tone she could manage, “Lata did not tell you that their parents had no idea they were going to Australia.”

           Tom Slash Tam stared. “What.”

           “I got a text, just earlier today—” which was not a lie, just a very misleading turn of phrase “—in a panic about where Lata had disappeared off to. I need to let them know where they are. Dipper thinks we should return immediately. I think you need to be told what’s up.” That was a lie. They hadn’t even discussed it.

           Tom Slash Tam gaze shifted to the limpet on Torako’s back. They had their face pressed into the back of Torako’s neck. “Lata,” Tom Slash Tam said.

           Lata whined and squeezed Torako’s neck tighter. Torako choked a little and tapped Lata’s crossed arms furiously.

           Tom Slash Tam crouched down lower. “Lata,” she said, voice low. “Did you lie to me?”

           Lata whined again and kicked their feet against Torako’s butt. Torako pried their arms from around her neck and breathed a little easier, but didn’t move to make Lata face the other woman.

           “Lata,” Dipper said. Torako glanced at him. His eyes were white and brown again, which was disconcerting every time she saw them like that. “Answer Tommy, please.”

           Lata said something into Torako’s neck.

           “Speak up, please,” Torako said.

           “I said I don’t feel they right now, I feel she,” Lata said, directly into Torako’s ear.

           Tommy nodded. “That’s fine, thank you for telling us. But Lata, did you lie to me about coming over?”

           Lata paused. “No,” she said in a bald-faced lie.

           Torako raised her eyebrows at Tommy. Tommy raised hers right back. They shared the look that adults do when kids decide to be more difficult than the situation calls for, and then Tommy pressed on.

           “Then did…Torako, was it? Right, Torako. Then did Torako lie?”

           Lata paused again. Torako knew that she was going to be thrown under the bus as last-minute sacrifice when Lata said, “Yes.”

           “So,” Tommy drawled, “you didn’t actually try to pull the wool over my eyes by fabricating—making up—several messages saying that yes, they’d be glad to let you come see me, yes they were happy to’ve meet me and make sure I wasn’t some sort of creep after their kid and I made a real good impression, can you take our kid in a couple days?”

           Torako did not point out that the whole situation was unrealistic. She honestly didn’t understand how Tommy could have been fooled by a five year old.

           “Yes,” Lata said. She dug her hands into Torako’s shoulders, and Torako hissed in discomfort. “I’m only five.”

           Tommy narrowed her eyes at Torako. Torako sighed, pulled out her phone, and navigated to the message in question. Tommy took the phone, read the message, and sighed back at Torako. “I’m a fuckwit,” Tommy said, before pulling out her own phone to call Lata’s parents and walking a few steps away.

           Lata leaned into Torako and whispered, loudly, “You sold me out!”

           Torako looked, unimpressed, at Dipper. At the look on his face, her expression faltered. “Dipper?” she asked.

           “Are you done?” Dipper asked. He’d sunk his fingers into the floor, curved and rigid in ways human hands were never meant to be. Torako’s heart sunk, and she felt Lata scrunch down more behind Torako’s back. “Lata is fine. Lata is safe. We should be finding Bentley.”

           Torako narrowed her eyes. “We’re not going to the CalFed.”

           “It’s our only clue,” Dipper hissed.

           “And they will know you’re there,” Torako said, straightening up. Lata slid off her. “Because you will have no chill while you’re there, and then they’ll find out that I’m involved, and we’ll never be let back into the country.”

           Dipper snarled. His eyes flashed black and gold before they turned back to brown and white. “You’re worried about being let back in to the country?”

           “My family lives there,” Torako snarled right back, nastiness blooming in her. “We are not putting them in danger.”

           “They won’t be in danger.”

           “Tell that to the glass in the Sahara Desert,” Torako said. She leaned forward and bared her teeth. Dipper bared his right back, sharp like sharks’ and wide enough to clamp around her throat. Torako didn’t back down.

           “Do you even lo̕v̡e Bentley?” Dipper sneered, and it was like he’d stabbed her in the heart. “You’re messing around here and he’s in the hands of an egotistical shit who knows who he is and if you l̸o̸v͠ed̢ ̡ him, you’d go s̛͝͡av̵͡è̀͘ ̵h̵̵̡im͢.”

           Torako moved through shock, to hurt, to grief and then back to anger fast enough that if it had been turns on a roller coaster, she’d have suffered whiplash. She surged forward, pushing her face up into Dipper’s and grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “Who was the fuckhead who ran off and wasn’t there for Bentley in the first fucking place?” she said, voice low, deep like it was coming from her chest.

           Dipper’s face twisted in guilt and fury. His eyes flicked from her eyes down to just below her chin. She lifted it, exuding as much I’d like to see you try as she could. Deep down, underneath her hurt and anger, something was screaming at her to back down, to get away and to stop threat-posturing in front of something that could crush her without a second thought.

           “What the fuck is going on here?”

           Torako blinked. She remembered, suddenly, where they were, who they were with. She realized, a split second after remembering, that Dipper’s face was sporting some decidedly unhuman features, and she tugged Dipper in closer so that Tommy couldn’t see. Torako looked up at Tommy.

           “We’re…fighting,” she said.

           Lata was standing next to Tommy. Her eyes looked suspiciously shiny, and Torako watched as she tugged on Tommy’s well-worn shirt. “They said Uncle Ben is gone, and they gotta find him.”

           Tommy crossed her arms. “I think you need to explain what batshit fuckery is going on. Not on the floor. We paid for the fucking couches, and so you’re going to use them and be civilized about it, not like a couple of pixies fighting over a scrap of magic in the local tarot reader’s dumpbin. “

           Dipper stood. Torako knew that he hadn’t put his human guise back on by how Tommy inhaled sharply and took a step back, herding Lata behind herself.

           “We don’t have time,” Dipper said. There was a buzz against Torako’s skin, like a cacophony of cicadas pressing into her. She took a deep breath. “Bentley isn’t safe, he is o͘u҉rs, he is m̧i̸͟n͏e̵̴, and he n͢͏̸e̷̴̕e̴͟͢ḑ̸͏s͟͞͠ ͜t̶҉o͜͠ ́b͝ȩ ͝s̛̛͜av͡͏ȩ͢͞d̡̛͟.”

           Tommy looked between the two of them, eyes narrowed. Torako stood up, angling herself between Tommy and Dipper. She didn’t know which one of them she was supposed to end up stopping, if it came to blows.

           “Dipper,” Torako said. “I told you, going to Fantino’s house isn’t going to help anything.”

           Dipper dug his hand into her arm (again, what was with him and her arm lately) and spun her around. Something inside her strained at the manhandling. “Y̴̡o̶̵̢u͜ ́k̨ņow̢͘ ̷͡no͜t͡h́͝i̶n͞g of where he is,” he said, static peppering his voice and burrowing beneath her skin. The tone, the words, made that strained something snap, and Torako stood tall. “You are m̢͟͟͠͠o̡̡͜r̷̴̶̀͟ţa҉́͏̛ĺ̵̶͢ ̢̢̀͢͞  and you can’t b̴́e̵̢gin͠͠ t͠͞҉o͢ ̕u̢̕n̶d̡̢͢e̡r҉̴s̢t̴̢͞a̴n͏͟d͡ ̷͏w̶h̀͡a̢̕t̡ ͞it’̴̧͟s̡ l̴í̵͝k̕é—”

           “I love him too,” Torako said, pushing right back, grabbing his arm right back and squeezing tight, curling her fingers as much into claws as she could. He had melted back into his suit, void-black and snow-white and intimidating as all fuck to people who didn’t know him, which was most of the planet and more. She knew him, though. She wasn’t fucking intimidated by his fancy-ass suit or his impossible fabric or even his goddamn teeth. Torako stared him down, using her height to her advantage. If he wanted to float and be taller that way, he’d have to shove her face out of the way. “I love him, I told you I love him more than I love myself—”

           “Ć̷ĺ̴ęa̵̸͜r̡͢͞l̸y ỳo̧̕͘u͢ ͜d̴̛o҉̧n’̷͘t̛̕͟,̷͘͠ ̢b̡̛ȩc̷̡a̶̡u͝s̶͠e ̀y̷͡ou̸̕ ҉a̵r̵͟e̵ǹ̵̡’̷̧t̢͜͢ ̴͡ w̴͡í̴̡͝l̶͡ĺ̵͜͡҉i̕҉n̕g̢̀͡҉ t̸͠ơ̴͠—͟͞”

           “I do, you absolute fuckface, and you also don’t know where he is, that’s the whole fucking reason he’s still not safe—”

           Somebody was crying, but Torako didn’t care because Dipper needed to be shut down and also kicked a little, probably.

           “I kn̶ow͏ m̸ore t́han y̧ou, y̵ou̧ w͝oul̸d ̶kn̡o͢w ͢nothi͠ng ҉i̷f̸ it ̵w̵eren’t̢—͝”

           “And neither would you, because you left, you left and went off to have a fucking pity party instead of being with us—”

           “HEY!”

           Torako, without looking, snapped over her shoulder, “Shut up and stay out of it.”

           Dipper hiss-snarled from around her shoulder. His wings had come out, sharp and wicked and shadow. Torako drew herself up even further and pushed down on his arm.

           “Stop l̛̀͠ò̡̧͝o̷̷̧͘͞m̴̴i҉̨̛n̸̢͠͞͏g͠҉̵̕,” Dipper growled.

           “Stop hurting me,” Torako growled right back.

           “Jus̶t̡ ͟imagi͡ne wh̴at͞ Bȩntl̵ȩy’s ́g̛oinģ thro̷ug̴h͘,̡” Dipper said, “bec͞au̷se y͏o̢u ̧woưl̷d͞n’͠t ͘l̷e͠t̢ m͏e̛ ͏ t͏e̴a̛r ̢͞t̸͞h͏̸a҉t̶̷̨ p͢e͘r҉s̷̷on͠’̧̀s̴ ҉h̸͜o̢m͟e̡͠͠ ̷͝͡a̕͜p̸á̢͏r̸̡͡t̴҉ ̵̧t̕͞ǫ͝ ̵́́fín̨͟d̀ ͟͝hìm̕͠͏.̧”

           “Just imagine what Bentley would feel,” Torako said right back, “when he found out you decimated the place he grew up because you weren’t thinking straight.”

           “J̛́u͜s͜t̡ i̴͝m͢a҉g̸͝i͢͢ńe͏̧,” Dipper started, but never finished because suddenly there was a deluge of icy water being splashed on them. Torako shrieked. Dipper jumped up in the air and stayed there, blinking the water out of his eyes. Torako wiped soaking hair from out of her face and tried to process what had just happened.

           “You get to clean that up, by the way,” Tommy said. Torako looked over, finally, and Tommy was holding Lata in one arm so that Lata could press her face into Tommy’s chest. There was a bucket in her other hand. “Towels’re in the bathroom. Get your arses dry and mop the floor up and then come sit on the damned couch. Stop making the kid cry.”

           Torako, dripping water, exchanged a guilty glance with Dipper. Dipper caught her eye, and looked away.

           Yeah. Torako nodded, fight gone, and turned around to go get some towels. If she took a while coming back, and if her eyes were a little red when she finally emerged, then nobody would say anything.

           Dipper curled up on one end of the couch. Torako was curled up on the other, a towel around her shoulders. There was as much space as possible between them.

           Dipper hated and needed it all at once.

           Across from them, on a ratty armchair that looked as though it was held up only by layers and layers of threadbare spells, Tommy nursed something slightly alcoholic and stared them down. Crackles of amber irritation lanced through her aura. She’d sent Lata to another room to play with their dog. Dipper hadn’t even noticed the dog, coming in, too caught up in Fantino, and Bentley, and the all-encompassing need to save and fix.

           “So,” Tommy said, finally. “I’ve got a fuckin demon in my house.”

           Dipper scrunched his shoulders and crossed his arms. He looked away at the bookshelf, which held an eclectic collection of physical books, datapads, storage drives and also various animal skulls.

           “Which one is he?” Tommy asked. Dipper hunched over more and noted one book was about astrophysics. More specifically, he realized, the mingling of magic with astrophysics, and postulation as to whether or not there was a limit to how far magic extended from Earth, and if it was an Earth-only phenomenon or one that extended throughout the entire universe, or something inbetween.

           “Alcor,” Torako said, quiet and not quite like herself. Dipper wondered if she’d ever been herself, since Bentley had been taken. He’d been too wrapped up in himself to notice.

           “Of course,” Tommy drawled. “Of fucking course. I threw water on one of the most powerful known entities in the universe.”

           Dipper thought of the glimpses of his future, aching loneliness and power enough to burn whatever he touched. He didn’t like thinking about that, so he started thinking about magic and astrophysics again, while half-paying attention to the conversation going on in the same room.

           “It happens,” Torako said.

           “And you!” Tommy said, louder. “You were going nose to nose with that overpowered soulsucker, what the fuck are you?”

           “His…friend? Partner?” Torako paused. “I’m human, if that’s what you’re asking.”

           Dipper switched his attention to the couch under his hand. He started to trace the weave with his claws, dulling their edges so that he didn’t snap the threads on accident.

           “You arse-tipped dick-waffling crazy shit,” Tommy said. “And there’s…another one of you, right? The one that’s missing?”

           Guilt and grief and anger gripped Dipper so tight he forgot himself, punching a hole into the couch. Seized by terror, he checked that connection between himself and Mizar again—still dampened, still there, butterfly-wingbeat-weak against his senses.

           “My couch,” Tommy said.

           “Sorry,” Dipper said. He glanced over at Tommy, aura a confusing mix of colors, and then away. “Sorry.”

           “Yeah,” Torako said. “Bentley. Um. It’s a long story.”

           “That’s fine,” Tommy said. “Give me the important shit.”

           “Um. I guess. Bentley got kidnapped, about five days ago? I can’t remember exactly. I was useless the first day, and after that things have gone so—so fast. We finally found out who took him, today, and we know why, but we don’t—we don’t agree on what to do next.”

           “Shit,” Tommy said. “And you’ve only had each other for company for five days?”

           Torako laughed. Dipper concentrated on curling in on himself as much as he could at the bitterness there. “Yeah. We—we’re kind of a mess, aren’t we?”

           “Fuckin understandable, though,” Tommy said. She paused. “Is it normal for him, to, uh, do that?”

           Torako shifted. She huffed a little, but when she spoke there was a bit of a smile in her voice. “Dipper, your tween is showing.”

           Dipper looked back at her. She seemed a little larger than before, and with an aura dulled with emotional exhaustion it meant that he’d shrunk again. Dipper put his face in his hands.

           “I take that as a yes.” Tommy was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, drink held loosely in one hand. “Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen, though.”

           The front door opened. A voice floated in, strong and upbeat. “Darling, you called just a bit ago? Is everything all right?”

           Dipper stared at Tommy over the tips of his claws. Tommy took a long, languid sip of her drink before answering. “In the living room, Filara! We’ve got some…disastrously interesting guests. Lata’s in the bedroom with Fuzzles.”

           “That’s right,” Torako said, a little faintly. “You have a wife.”

           “I do,” Tommy said, a kind of proud, self-satisfied grin on her face.

           “She…going to be okay with this?”

           “Well, she might be able to help you. She knows a bit of everything. Smart woman, my Filz.” Tommy’s grin took on a shit-eating cant. “Also the reaction’ll be balls hilarious.”

           Dipper groaned. Pathetic. All-powerful demon and Acacia’s troublemaking nature always made him quail.

           “What’s that about your balls?” Filara asked. Dipper looked at Filara, and then kept looking, because that was Lionel and what was Lionel doing married to Acacia?

           “Our guests might have a couple of questions for you,” Tommy said. She gestured to the both of them, sad and huddled on the couch, like she was unveiling some great and wonderful monument to the world.

           “Oh, I’m happy to answer…” Filara looked from Torako to Dipper and trailed off. She stared. Dipper stared back, still lost in the mental gymnastics of but this is my dad but that is my niece but this is my dad and my niece married???? and only distantly aware of the fact that he looked like a prepubescent non-human in an impossible suit.

           There was a beat of silence born of mutual surprise.

           “Uh,” Filara said. “Darling?”

           Tommy took another sip of her drink. Out of the corner of his eye, Dipper could see smug pinpricks of orange-lilac in her aura. “Yes, Filz?”

           “Ignoring the gorgeous woman on our couch,” Filara said, “there’s…a thirteen-year-old on our couch?”

           Torako made a gurgling noise. Dipper was almost impressed. Most people pegged him for ten or eleven. Nobody overshot his age (even if it was just barely) in this form.

           “Kind of,” Tommy said.

           “And he’s…they’re…she’s…not…human?”

           “That’s speciesist. Wow Filz. I expected better of you.”

           Torako kind of half-raised her hand. “He’s a demon.”

           “Yes, a demon. Thank you, gorgeous woman whose name I don’t know.” Filara took a half step forward as Torako gurgled again, and shifted her corrective lenses. He almost hadn’t seen them. “Darling, why is there a demon on our couch?”

           Tommy hummed. “Ask him.”

           Filara took a deep breath, then turned to face Dipper more squarely. “Why are you on our couch?”

           Dipper gestured at Tommy, and every answer except for, “She told me to” escaped his mind in that moment.

           Torako supplemented the information. “I got a text from Lata’s parents. They didn’t know she’d come here, though I think they know now, and they know where the bill for the ticket to get here came from.”

           “Ah.” Filara said. She waved her hand, and a rocking chair appeared from nowhere to settle in next to Tommy’s threadbare monstrosity. Dipper recognized the echo of Lionel’s taste in furniture in the cushions, firm but not flat. “That explains a little more, but not enough. Start from the beginning?”

           Dipper opened his mouth.

           “Not you,” Filara said, and proceeded to point at Torako. Tommy took another smug sip of her alcohol. There was lemon in it. Dipper bet that it was something Torako would like. “You. Mr. Demon seems a little useless information-wise, and no offense but I’m not sure I would trust him. Also,” she said, glancing back at Dipper, “can I get a name so I don’t call you Mr. Demon? It seems a little odd to, especially when you’re being so quiet and polite and not actively bartering for my soul or my left arm.”

           “I’m Tyrone,” said Dipper.

           “He’s Alcor,” said Tommy a heartbeat later.

           Filara settled back in her chair with an air of confusion and also mistrust. She looked at Torako.

           “He’s both,” Torako said. “I call him by a nickname. You’d know him as Alcor.”

           “Cool,” Filara said. “Cool cool cool, I’m just going to ignore that he’s Alcor in my sitting room. Please tell me why you’re here and what’s on your mind, Ms. Gorgeous.”

           Torako gurgled again. Then she obliged.

           “…and then we got into a big fight in front of Lata and your wife,” Torako said before taking a sip of the drink that Filara had insisted on getting for her. Lata had come out at some point, and was clinging to the Hangars’ beagle mix between Torako and Dipper. She was also asleep, so everybody was trying to be as calm as possible. Aside from a couple of tense moments, mostly because Dipper said something snide and Torako said something snide back, they had succeeded.

           “She threw water on us,” Dipper said. “It was effective.”

           Filara hummed. She seemed less concerned with the fact that Dipper was in the room and more preoccupied with what Torako had said. “And you said that Alcor said that he couldn’t feel Bentley very well?”

           Torako nodded. “He can explain it better than I can, obviously.”

           “Explain, please.” Filara pulled a stylus and pad out of what seemed to be thin air. Tommy had long since gone to the kitchen to make food. It was lunchtime. They had been in this house for hours. Torako was very, very hungry.

           “So, it’s like he’s in another dimension,” Dipper said. “Except nobody should be able to do that? So it has to be a pocket dimension, but it doesn’t feel like a pocket dimension. It’s like, there’s more layers between us, muffling everything. I should be able to feel how he feels, but instead it’s hard enough to tell that he’s still alive.”

           “A little creepy, but all right.” Filara jotted down notes, appraised them. “And you said the kidnapper has access to significant funds?”

           “Yes,” Torako said.

           “And also used cutting-edge technology to use a sophisticated but also very traceable way to transport Bentley while in forced stasis slash nightmares?”

           “Also yes.” Torako took a swig of alcohol, closed her eyes at the sharp burn of liquor and citrus. It grounded her. Torako did not necessarily want to become an alcoholic, but by everything good was it helping. She had needed this.

           She also, desperately, needed some of whatever was cooking in the kitchen, because it smelled absolutely wonderful.

           “Interesting.” Filara continued taking notes, switching from her right to her left in order to gesture at the bookcase Dipper had been staring at earlier in sullen silence. A couple books and a datapad floated over to her. One title was in a language Torako couldn’t read, and the other was made up of such outdated terminology that Torako could barely understand it was about warding theory.

           “Is it okay to be here, though?” Torako asked. “You came back from somewhere really early in the morning.”

           Filara flapped her hand at Torako. “It’s fine, that contract was paying me pennies for the work they wanted anyways. I only took it because I was bored. I’ll find another short-term job soon enough.”

           “Isn’t the Australian job market kind of bad right now?” Dipper asked. He was leaning back, a little more gangly and teenager than he had been earlier.

           “That’s why I can’t find anything not short-term,” Filara said. “Also why I decided I’d throw my net wide instead of deep, so to speak. More variety of possible jobs. I let Tommy specialize.”

           “Park management?”

           “With endorsements in both mundane and supernatural creature handling,” Filara muttered. She flipped the warding book open to the back, indexed whatever she was looking to find, and then started turning back to the relevant page. “Specifications which are archaic and vestigial leftovers of an age shocked by the sudden appearance of unprecedented species, both sentient and not, but whatever they want, I guess.”

           Torako saw Dipper perk up at the nerdspeak. “I agree,” Dipper said. “It’s literally been over two thousand years since the Transcendence. Why, with the evolution of language, do such—currently—arbitrary classifications exist?  It would make far more sense to align everything on a scale of sentience alone. The laws of science have changed so much, and possibilities have altered to an extent that nullifies the importance of separating non-sentient and originally non-magical creatures from non-sentient and originally magical creatures.”

           “True,” Filara said. “Okapi were once seen as utterly mundane until scientists observed the emergence of magical traits conducive to predator and sustenance detection…”

           Torako tuned them out, looked down at the drink in her shaking hand. She swirled it a little, then watched the tumbler continue to tremble, ever so slightly. Torako admitted to herself, under the safe umbrella of being momentarily ignored, that she was tired. She was stressed, and scared. And she had begun taking it out on Dipper. And maybe, just maybe, Dipper was the same, and he’d started taking it out on her.

           He was unstable without Bentley, even though they kept stressing to him that he had to be stable without Ben. Though, Torako thought, a wry smile on her lips, maybe she wasn’t so different. She felt pretty unstable herself.

           They were going to be lucky to get out of it all in one piece. They were all definitely going to need therapy, group and individual. Torako wanted to laugh and cry, but there was a dull edge to her emotions that pressed the urge down into something less overwhelming. Where were they going to find a therapist that would take them seriously and not report things like Bentley being a reincarnation of Mizar, or Dipper being Alcor, or Torako breaking and entering and bartering for demonic force as a tool to suppress and punish people outside the court of law? Dipper and she had discussed it, back when Bentley had first been taken. Dipper had promised that he’d take care of it, but…somehow, that seemed like a really bad idea. Would it be better than no therapy? Worse?

           Torako didn’t know. She swirled her drink again, then took another swig of it.

           “Torako?”

           She looked up. Filara had a manic gleam in her eyes, which shone a faint purple. Probably from magic exposure. “We figured something out, maybe.”

           “It seems pretty possible,” Dipper said.

           “Lay it on me,” Torako said, and leaned forward.

           “So, this is highly theoretical stuff, and I’m definitely not a specialist in any practical sense so I don’t know how possible it is,” Filara said, drumming her manicured fingers on her knees in excitement. “But because extradimensional travel, like to legitimate other dimensions, is impossible by human means and, Alcor assures me, highly improbable even by demonic means, there’s only an infinitesimally, insignificantly small chance that Bentley has been spirited away to another dimension. Which means that to fit the parameters of ‘not being in this world proper,’ Bentley has to be in a pocket dimension. Which, in and of itself, is not sufficient, because Alcor can sense Mizar through those, right?”

           Dipper nodded vigorously.  

           “Have to wonder how your kidnapper knew how to counteract that, but no matter. Might just be plain paranoia, which is healthy to have when kidnapping a Mizar attached to a very very powerful demon. Anyways!” Filara flicked up a screen and began to draw a quick sketch. It wasn’t very artistic. “so you have the pocket dimension, with Bentley in it, with Alcor here, and there’s extra stuff inbetween. It has to stop demons from entering. More than that, it has to stop a very strong, the strongest, demon from even sensing through it. Which is hard. It’s like, you have a window, so you can’t pass through the window, but you can see through it and sometimes even hear through it, right?”

           “I get that,” Torako said. She set her drink on her left knee. “So something that would stop that would be, like…sigils, right?”

           Filara blinked, stopped mid-drawing of a window with a person looking out of it. “Actually, yes, maybe? But there aren’t too many people who use sigils to that kind of degree, and they might be a little too finicky to mesh with a pocket dimension the way this kind of near-airtight technology requires. As it is, the pocket dimension is probably a bit destabilized by this. The theory is old, but incredibly difficult to actually execute. So if you’re looking for something reliable…”

           Torako snapped her fingers as she connected the dots. She grinned. “Wards.”

           “Right. Runes don’t pack enough punch and can get a little frisky, but wards are solid. They’re dependable. Reliable. They’re like a middle-aged rottweiler.” Filara drew a stick dog on the screen between them, then put a smiley face on it. “Loyal, and forgiving, but also capable of turning nasty if you poke it enough with the right stick, which is why this is still theory. Maybe. It might be real if Alcor’s unable to sense Bentley.”

           Torako’s stomach turned and her good mood evaporated nearly as quickly as it had come on. Dipper was quiet, which could mean several things. She hoped he wasn’t going to sink into a brooding spiral again. “Which means Bentley’s stuck in something potentially unstable.”

           “Unfortunately, yes.” Filara pinched the screen back into nonexistence. “And because Alcor is as powerful as he is, even the ward alone might not be enough. There’s possibly another element, which would destabilize it even further. Bentley could be younger when he comes out. He could have grown extra limbs. Maybe he knows more languages than he knew going in. Maybe he loses the ability to write, but gains the ability to telepathically communicate. Everything we know about unstable pocket dimensions comes from a long time ago when they were new and unrefined, and when you add magic to magic, weird things happen.”

           Torako closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. So we need—we need a good wardist. Who knows their stuff, and is connected to the warding professional world, and it can’t be Meung-soo because I hate her and also I don’t trust her to know enough after being kept in the dark about her own nephew. Fuck.”

           Next to her, Lata slept on, curled around Fuzzles the beagle. Torako wished she was five and the world was uncomplicated again. She’d also settle for a long nap, at this point.

           “I’m sorry,” Filara said, quietly. “The downside of casting your net wide, is, well, you don’t really know the super serious pros very well. Especially ones who don’t thinktank, and do stuff instead. I can’t help you there.”

           Dipper straightened up. He looked solidly in the realm of his 20s now. That was both a promising and frankly miraculous sign, considering the situation was ‘Bentley trapped in an unstable affront against the laws of dimensional boundaries’ and his reaction to Bentley’s situation before this particular calamity. Torako was unable to wrap her head around how his brain worked, sometimes. “I do.”

           Torako couldn’t even muster the energy to raise her eyebrows at him. “You do.”

           “Yes.” He nodded, and stood. “Soos’s reincarnation’s mom is a wardist. She told me.”

           “Who?” Torako asked. She couldn’t remember a Soos. Then she registered the word ‘reincarnation’ attached to Soos, and not knowing made more sense. Except, “When did you meet Soos’s reincarnation?”

           “Last week,” Dipper said. “She gave me ice cream in exchange for homework. It was a nice deal. But, Soos’s reincarnation’s mom. She can help us. Definitely.”

           Torako narrowed her eyes in confusion. “But…does she know you’re you?”

           Dipper reached over Lata and grabbed Torako’s hand. She swore as she fought to keep her alcohol right-way up. “If she doesn’t now, then she absolutely will in about five seconds!”

           “Wait, wait, where are they, Dipper?” Torako asked, but it was too late—she felt the tug across her body, and they were elsewhere.

           Filara stared at the place Torako and Alcor had once been.

           “Darling,” she called, after a few moments.

           “Yes?” Tommy yelled back.

           “Our guests left with a towel and a tumbler of your lemon cocktail,” she said. She tilted her head at Lata and Fuzzles, and added, “Also, they left sans child.”

           There was a clang. Tommy appeared moments later at the entrance to the sitting room, staring at the empty spots on the couch, then at the backpack still on the floor.

           “Dipshits,” Tommy said. She sighed. “I’ll call Lata’s parents and update them on the situation, then.”

           “Thank you, darling,” Filara said. She stood, and stretched, and then stepped over to give Tommy a kiss on the cheek. “I appreciate it.”

           Tommy grinned, kissed her back on the cheek. “Always, dear heart.”

           On the couch, Lata shifted next to Fuzzles, but kept sleeping.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I just saw 3x03 and I wondered if you could tell a story about what would happen if Frank did agree to a divorce when Claire first suggested it.

I have something that might fit here - MBD

Her words echoed in his ears as he crept across the quiet grounds trying desperately to calm the ever present pounding of his heart. Jamie had tried to concoct a myriad of different ways to get himself out of this mess, but he could think of nothing convincing.

“Come to my room…”

The words haunted him all the way up the winding path from the stables, and his quarters, up to the large manor that hovered over him. The french doors with the long panes of glass sat to the left of the prominent side block of the house and Jamie shimmied through, opening the door only a little and sliding through, making as little noise as possible in his bid not to be caught creeping into the house at such an hour.

He didn’t want to bed Geneva, but nor did he wish to be caught loitering around Helwater in the dead of night with no honourable explanation as to his presence in the main house.

The stairs, thankfully, were lined with carpet meaning his boots didn’t click against the floor. Candles were still flickering through the house, making it easy to wander along the length corridors. He’d been here before so he knew where Lady Geneva spent her evenings and, as he approached the large oak door, Jamie’s wame flip-flopped.

He felt physically sick, his gut gurgling uncomfortably as he pressed his hand against the cold handle. Taking one deep breath, he pushed it open, the creek seeming extraordinarily loud in such a quiet corridor. Still nobody seemed to stir, or to come investigating, so he pressed onwards, eager to get this over with as quickly as possible. He could not put his family in danger…again. He wouldn’t.

Jamie was surprised as he entered the room. The place seemed devoid of life. He’d expected to find Geneva on the bed waiting for him, but the sheets lay undisturbed.

“Milady?” He called, the sound of the dull thud of his heart beating in his ears, making his words almost impossible to hear. If she wasn’t here, what would he do?

“Jamie,” a familiar English voice whispered, her shaky tone causing his heart to stop dead in his chest, “you came…”

No.

It couldn’t be.

Jamie held his breath. Reaching a wobbly hand out, he moved towards the voice, his feet barely carrying him forwards.

She stood in the shadows, her back to him, her shift almost see through in the candlelight.

“Aye,” he returned, finally, his voice working…just.

He still couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeing. In fact he was certain he was dreaming and any minute he would awaken to Geneva and her cold, blue eyes.

From the side he could see the corners of blue eyes that didn’t hold such contempt. Large aqua irises that held the glint of love he’d often thought about. He had prayed her safe, wished often that he could beckon her back somehow and even searched that desolate moor for her in the hopes that she was the white witch Kerr had been rambling about.

Yet here she was, restored right before his eyes.

The shock brought him to his knees and his vision blurred as he tried to stay conscious. He managed, just, long enough to see her turn swiftly and take him in her arms.

“Claire,” he stuttered, burying his head against her neck as she grasped him to her breast.

“Yes, Jamie. It’s me. I’m here,” she soothed, rubbing his back gently as she kissed along the top of his forehead carefully. “I wanted to come to you so badly, but with Brianna…” Stopping suddenly, Jamie realised that Claire could only be talking about one thing. Their child. The one he’d forced her to leave to save..

His daughter.

“S-she…lives?” He replied, his breath fanning over Claire’s collarbone as he pulled his head up to look directly into her eyes, his vision clear now.

“Yes, she does,” Claire said, her voice alight with joy. “And she’s here, so I couldn’t just wander up to Helwater and claim you as mine. Not with your parole still firmly in place. I had to be more discrete. Geneva,” she continued, her fingers tracing patterns over the thin material of his shirt. It tickled, a pleasant sensation that had him curling closer to Claire in his half-conscious state. “She offered to help me, us.”

“Jesus, Mary and Bride,” Jamie cursed, realising that her ploy to get him to her rooms hadn’t involved a drunken Hal divulging his secrets at all.

“Is she here,” he perked up, “Brianna?”

The way he said her name set Claire’s heart fluttering. The slight rolling of the ‘r’ and the elongation of the ‘e’ made it sound immediately more Scottish.

“Geneva has her entertained, but she said she would bring her up soon. Just to give us some time alone, you and I.”

“Dhia! I can meet her? What is she like? Does she bare any of yer features, Claire? Or mine?”

Claire laughed, a wonderful girlish giggle that warmed Jamie inside out.

“She looks like you, Jamie. A lot like you.”

Smiling, he bent forward and kissed her neck, his warm lips hovering over her pale skin as he breathed in every inch of her. His wife. His rock. She’d come for him, as Kerr had said. She had found him….finally.

The subtle creek of the door made Jamie twitch against Claire, his eyes catching the distinct flash of red as a small figure darted through the crack, heading straight for them.

“Mama,” the girl whispered, making Jamie squint in the dimly lit room. He couldn’t see her properly as to be able to distinguish her features, but the blue of her eyes shone in the candlelight and it felt as if the breath had been stolen from his lungs. Sitting up, he moved away from Claire to let the lass up.

Brianna, seeing the braw Scot huddled close to her mother, dipped her chin in shyness. Her cheeks heated, but the night hid her embarrassment and coyness as she slunk closer to Claire, wrapping her smalls arms around her mother’s waist as she tried to semi-hide herself from view.

“It’s alright, darling,” Claire soothed, letting one arm drop from Jamie to reach behind her and hold her daughter close, “did Geneva send you up?”

Brianna nodded, her long curls brushing against the back of Claire’s neck as Claire shifted a little to the side, giving Jamie a clear view of the small lassie. “Y-yes, she said I should come now, that you wouldn’t mind.”

“Never,” Jamie breathed, his eyes wide and unblinking as he reached one shaky hand out towards his daughter. Glancing back to Claire, he licked his bottom lip, cocking his head to the side as a million questions exploded in his head. Seeing them together. His wife and his child, right before his eyes, brought to the fore certain lines enquiry that he simply couldn’t wait to have answered.

Brianna kept a firm eye on Jamie, her long red lashes shimmering with moisture as she tried to mimic Jamie’s movements, taking him in from head to toe as she watched him do the same.

“How, mo nighean?” He whispered, finally, choosing the simplest question first. “How did ye come to be here?”

“I found you!” Bree jumped in, her excitement palpable, blatantly she couldn’t contain herself. It was endearing and Jamie grinned, his teeth glinting in the darkness as he looked lovingly over at his wee daughter. It made his heart jump a little to know that she was still young enough that he might have some input in her upbringing...now.

“She did,” Claire replied, proudly. “Frank, he agreed to a divorce when we discovered that our re-joining wasn’t going to be...sustainable.” Claire dipped her head, her shame at not being able to fully commit to her first husband causing her stomach to twist. She *had* loved Frank, and she hadn’t wanted it to end as it had.

“They fought a lot,” Bree added, an underlying sorrow to her tone, “about me.”

“Yes,” Claire added sadly, “we did. Frank wanted custody, and he won…”

Jamie balked, his fingers twitching at the idea of Randall taking his daughter away from Claire but he fought to remain calm. They were here, with him not Frank, he reminded himself, his temper calming a little.

“It’s alright, mama,” Bree comforted, burying her head in Claire’s neck in camaraderie with her mother.

“It is, Bree, now it is.”

“What happened, Claire?” Jamie asked, his interest piquing as Claire and Bree glanced to one another, seemingly communicating without words.

“I went with daddy,” Bree answered, her chin quivering a little as her eyes glazed with the memory of it. It hurt Jamie to hear her call Frank ‘daddy’, but then again he had been that for her, as he had meant when he’d sent Claire back through the stones. “I wanted to...at first. I was happy.” Surreptitiously she gripped Claire’s waist, inferring that the same did not apply now. “But then I found some papers…” Flopping against her mother, fatigue coating her face, Bree took a deep breath and snuggled between Claire and Jamie. Clearly she’d shared as much as she was able under the current circumstances.

“Frank had found you, Jamie,” Claire continued, the combined warmth of Jamie and Bree together in one place lending her all the strength she needed to continue, “he had been talking to our friend, Reverend Wakefield, back in Inverness and he’d detailed your journey from Culloden back to Lallybroch and then on to Ardusmuir. The Reverend had written to update Frank, telling him that you were here, at Helwater and Brianna inadvertently found the letters documenting it.”

“Dhia,” Jamie exclaimed, sliding closer still to his small family. “It mentioned that I was yer father then, Brianna?” Jamie asked, certain that it must have given that it had upset her so.

“Yes,” Bree whispered, her wee hand finding Jamie’s as she kept her eyes closed. She was on the cusp of sleep but was fighting hard to stay awake long enough to hear Claire finish the story. “He knew you’d survived, almost the whole time that I’d been alive. He lied to me, and to mama.”

Claire swallowed, her head dipping to kiss to the top of Bree’s head. “We’d agreed, Bree, remember? That we’d raise you. I know he lied, but he was trying to protect us too--”

“He still kept it from us, mama,” Bree interrupted, the anger clear in her voice. Jamie recognised the stubborn set of her words. She was clearly a Fraser. He smiled despite himself and rubbed Bree’s warm fingers.

“So ye sought me out and came back?” Jamie pushed on, trying to calm the distemper that had arisen in his clearly sleepy daughter.

“I was a mess after the court hearing. I worked but that was all. When I came home after a long shift to find Bree curled up on the sofa with the papers clutched tightly between her fingers and tears staining her cheeks I knew that she needed closure. I knew that she needed to come here and see you to learn about who she was as well as learning who you are.”

“Christ I’m glad, sassenach,” Jamie muttered, gathering Brianna in his arms and motioning Claire towards the rather large, neatly made bed. Along the way he blew out the few remaining candles, bringing the room fully black to allow some manner of rest. It had been a long evening and dawn would be upon them before he knew it. He wanted nothing more than to sleep now, his women safely cocooned beneath the luxurious sheets.

Following exhaustedly, Claire kept her hand secured in the back of Jamie’s shirt, her other wrapped around Bree’s free hand as they all slunk over to the grand four poster bed. Jamie slid in first, Brianna swaddled gingerly against his chest. Claire let go of them briefly, just until Jamie was bundled cosily beneath the sheets. Scooching in beside them, she allowed Jamie to slip around her waist, bringing her arms around Bree as she settled her chest against Brianna’s back.

“For all I hate the man for what he put ye through, Claire,” Jamie sighed, his eyes catching Claire’s as they gazed sleepily across as one another over Bree’s bright red hair as she slept soundly between them, “I canna help but be grateful that he was as careless as to leave those notes out for Brianna to find. Wi’out that I would still be here wish ye back to life.”

“I love you, Jamie Fraser,” Claire whispered, the cloaked darkness easing little by little as her eyes grew accustomed to it. “Since I found out you’d lived through Culloden I haven’t stopped thanking God for bringing you back to me. I j-just couldn’t live without you and Brianna in my life.”

“I ken, Claire,” Jamie returned, “all too well. I wanted to die that day and a lot of the days that followed. But ye understand it, aye? Why I was meant to live. Why you were meant to find me...again?”

“God yes,” Claire sighed rapidly, her words almost blurring together as her fingers clenched tightly at the bunched fabric of Jamie’s breeks where they rested on his hips. “I always will, Jamie…”

“...until our lives shall be done,” Jamie finished, their eyes closing simultaneously as they drifted calmly to sleep, their chests rising and falling, the three of them all in time with one another as slumber claimed them.

Outside the wind blew, gusting over the desolate land before dissipating leaving a serene harmony floating around Helwater and the dozing Frasers as they lay in each other's arms, safely locked away from the world beyond.

[justavengeit]

i wrote some tony-being-deaged-to-IM-era but i didn’t get very far with it but check it

Tony wakes up not knowing where he is. This is unfortunately not an unfamiliar sensation, although he's pretty sure he and his handlers - his team - had mostly trained him out of this. He hasn't lapsed in a year and a half now, always finding his way back to Happy or Pepper so they can make sure he gets home safely.

He already knows he's not home. The sheets aren't right. The weight of the mattress. The temperature of the room and the way it smells, clean, blank, impersonal. Tony's not huge on having particular scents in his home. Scents are dangerous. They key into the emotional parts of the brain that connect strongly to memory.

There's only so much drinking he can do to forget before it starts to damage his body permanently.

It doesn't feel like he's been drinking, though, which begs the question of what the hell he's doing away from home. Tony cautiously pries his eyes open and takes in the room. It's transparently a recovery room, soft and pale and comfortable. No windows, but the lamps are casting a gentle frequency that mimics natural light. A clock on the wall. No monitors. An IV stand hooked into his arm.

His chest aches heavily, and before trying to sit up, Tony cranes his head and looks down. He's been dressed patient scrubs. His shirt opens at a diagonal in the front, meant to fall open like a maternity gown, held shut with velcro. Although he can already see the protrusion, he fumbles it open to see that the Arc Reactor has been taped over, gauze held around the seal. It's spotted red with blood and it's stiff with plasma. Peeling the tape back, he checks one more time - sees that this is a good reactor, still bright and vibrant. It doesn't appear to be tampered with.

(mobile readers: beware of cut)

Getting upright is awful. Tony still tries to sit upright out of habit and gets two inches before the pain cuts through his chest and everything compresses. His insides thump weirdly, and a crushing sense of doom sweeps through him - his heart being compressed by the casing. Falling back, he takes a few moments to catch his breath, nervously eyeing the door. No visible monitoring equipment, but Tony knew how little that mattered when he installed JARVIS in his house. He pulls the IV carefully, fairly certain it was feeding him nothing but saline. His head isn't fuzzy and his mouth isn't unnaturally dry.

This time, Tony carefully leverages himself into something of a sideways plank position, slinging his legs out of the bed and getting upright. There's no unusual muscle trembling, no weird weakness in his limbs like he's been unconscious and still for a long time.

It's at this point that he realizes that he can't remember what he was doing before this. Pausing with one hand still braced on the bed, Tony takes a moment to try to remember - anything. He can't remember what he had for breakfast last. He can't remember what the last paper that Pepper had him sign was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Pepper. It was like trying to remember specific tiny details from a year ago.

The pressure of the casing against his heart makes Tony painfully aware of the speed at which it's beating. God, he was going to have to design a better, less invasive case - well, if the palladium didn't kill him first. That was always a possibility. Tony is just too damned good at what he does, so when he designs a weapon to kill people, the best anyone is able to do so far, himself included, is extend his expiration date.

But until then, Tony Stark will be damned if he lets the Arc Reactor fall into the wrong hands.

Straightening, he ignores the way the tape he'd pulled loose fails, the bloody gauze hanging out of the open shirt. Making it to the hallway is only a bit chancy - his stomach feels empty, but not enough to really count as being starved. More like barely enough gruel to handle pounding metal for hours over several days.

He's not going to be kicking anyone's ass, though - not without the Iron Man suit. Tony pauses carefully at the door, and when he hears silence, cracks it open and peeks out, ducking back in. When nothing happens - no shouts, no alarms, and he doesn't recall seeing anything more sinister than an empty hallway decorated in the same soft, comforting hues of his room, Tony looks again. Then he steps out of the room on the rubber bottomed socks, and carefully closes the door behind him with barely a click.

Cutting a look up and down the hallway, he makes his way toward the double doors at the end of the hallway to the left. There are a few huge windows that lead into dimmed and darkened ICU rooms, and a surgery theater. Despite it's unused and unprepared state, Tony pauses, shutting his eyes tightly and grasping at the Arc Reactor. He taps it gently, reminding himself that it's there. The tiny impacts sting both more and less than the standard level of aching it does, like tonguing an empty gap in his mouth where a tooth used to be. Only, you know. Ribs.

It's only when he nears the double doors that Tony hears quiet voices. Some kind of argument is going on - not the threatening or mean kind, but the sort when people are searching for a solution and no one can agree what counts as one. He doesn't recognize any of the voices, but - they're English. American. Which, really, means absolutely nothing. The man that had kept trying to kill him for a year was American. Trusted. Loved.

Banking on the fact that he's not drugged, nor restrained, Tony carefully puts his hands to the doors and pushes.

At least half of the people notice him immediately, none of them the ones arguing the loudest. Tony feels caught and penned under their eyes, their sudden, sharp attention. No one seems alarmed to see him, so that's. You know. Something. He steps into the lobby. This is clearly a private facility. Despite the surgery theater and the ICU behind him, there's no nurses' station for anyone to check in at, and at a guess, Tony doesn't think any of these people standing around being stressed about - whatever - have medical doctorates.

They are all, to a one, astoundingly good looking though. Perhaps some kind of alternate universe of crime fighting models have kidnapped him.

"It's polite to ask people before you kidnap them into a harem," Tony points out, because he's incredibly into consent and it's just his luck that the one time interdimensional harems kidnap him, they don't care about it.

"Tony," one of the men says, "you shouldn't be up." He's wearing glasses, and he has curly hair that's going salt-and-pepper, and he has very nervous, self-contained body language. He takes one step toward Tony.

Only the one. Tony absolutely doesn't mean to, but he takes an equal step backwards and bumps into the closed doors. His heart continues to pound unpleasantly in his chest. He can feel it through his entire skeleton. Everyone goes a little quiet and stares at him, and that's. Not. That's not great. Tony really doesn't like being stared at by a room full of very athletic, very on edge people, who look like they're well studied in violence. He presses his shoulder blades into the door, and casually slips a little sideways.

"Well, I was feeling better," Tony says. There's a tight, painstakingly light edge to it. His eyes skirt over them. There's not a single person he he could take one-on-one without the suit. Maybe even with it. Obadiah certainly schooled him when he'd thought he'd be able to take on more than the mundane terrorist. "So I thought I'd take a stroll around and check things out." He favors all of them with his best kissing-up-to-the-press smile.

For some reason, it just seems to really weird these people out. The guy who'd taken a step to him says, "Oh, no," very soft, smiling with incredible dismay. Taking off his glasses, he shuffles a few steps clear of everyone else, polishing them and looking one word away from a hysterical giggle. The tall, blond beefcake he'd been arguing with looks at Tony like he's somehow defective, which - you know. Fuck him.

"Tony," another one says. He's standing off a bit separate from the others and has looked oddly bereft this entire time - until now, when he's suddenly sharpened up and watching Tony narrowly. Tony notices that he has an arm that's made out of metal. So that's terrifying. "Do you recognize any of us?"

That's a really fucking odd question, or would be - but it means they're expecting him to recognize them. Tony, conveniently, has already determined he's lost a lot of time, somehow. At least a year's worth. "You know," Tony says glibly, "you do have one of those faces."

The man with the metal arm doesn't bother responding, looking to the graying man in glasses and the tall beefcake. Honestly, they're all kind of beefcakes, for all that Nervous Glasses Guy has been doing his best to make himself small and unnoticed. "What's Rhodes' ETA?"

The red headed woman standing to the other side of Blond Beefcake and Nervous Glasses Guy finally looks away from Tony. "He's in a meeting and unlikely to be out for a few hours, still."

"Update him. He'll want to get his ass down here," Metal Arm says.

Would he really, Tony wonders. He hasn't been a great friend to Rhodey lately. The past few years at least. His drinking had gotten especially bad - and then after the sudden turn around that he did about the weapons. That hadn't made Rhodey's life pleasant. Tony knows all levels of the brass had been after Rhodey to change Tony's mind. And now this whole vigilante superhero thing. That doesn't sit well with Rhodey, either. Dealing with - whatever this situation is, kidnapping or just Tony being amnesia, right after dealing with the brass is - that's a little much, probably. They've been. Drifting apart.

Which is. You know. Fine. Tony's expiration date is unnervingly close. He doesn't want it to hurt Rhodey or Pepper more than it strictly has to.

"The rest of you," Metal Arm says, making a military-sharp gesture. "Clear out."

Blond Beefcake shifts uncomfortably. "You know we can't do that, Buck," he says. "Amnesia or not, you don't know what he's capable of." Alright, so hotstuff is also a giant asshole. Tony is at least a little bit flattered by the fact that Beefcake acknowledges that Tony is dangerous, but all this talking about him like he's not in the room is - actually giving Tony plenty of time to navigate toward the painting and the small table that houses a potted plant and something attached to a power cord.

Metal Arm - Buck - looks at the only man in the room larger than him like he's something small and dirty and pathetic. "You think I don't know how to handle a dangerous amnesiac?"

Beefcake clearly thinks this is unfair and undeserved. "I didn't say that," he says, and dropping his voice further into an undertone, he says, "think rationally about this. Please. You're letting your feelings get in the way of your judgment."

"Steve, I'm gonna sock you in your goddamned nose if you don't shut up and clear out."

Red, who has been watching Tony this entire time, gives him an arch look. Tony supposes a potted plant is a rather pathetic weapon. On the other hand, even if she sees it coming, she'll have to dodge it if he throws it. He winks at her, indication that he knows she knows that he knows that she knows. Red looks decidedly unimpressed.

"Okay," she says and turns to face Beefcake Steve. "Actually, I agree with Bucky. Come on, Steve. We'll leave Bucky and Bruce with him until Rhodes gets here." She reaches out, laying her hand on Beefcake Steve's arm just so, urging him to give ground.

"Um," Nervous Glasses Guy says, shifting and navigating out of the others' way as they moved. "I'm not sure that's a good idea? Sm - small lobby. Soft. Breakable humans."

"I'm sure you'll have to go through Bucky first," Red says dryly.

"I take protection detail seriously, Doc," Bucky of the Metal Arm agrees. "I have seven escape plans. Only three will work with the Hulk, but I'm very fast and very hard to kill."

"Right," Bruce says with a thin, unhappy smile.

They're all very thoughtful and confusing and cute, Tony thinks, as he casually locates the device mostly tucked behind the plant that connects to the power cord. If he's very lucky, he can rip it right out of the cute little - sound emitter? - that it's connected to. He won't bank on Bucky's metal arm being very conductive, but it does sound like it runs at least a little bit on power. It probably won't be a fun time if Tony connects him to the building's power supply.

Going back through the double doors is a last resort. He can't be entirely sure that there's a fire exit that way, since this is a private facility. If these goons have any intelligence at all, they know that you can only give Tony Stark one exit, and then you'd better guard it and die trying, because that's the kind of effort he's putting into getting out.

He watches as Red and Steve leave, taking the cute guy with the smart facial hair with them, down the wide hallway and the sliding glass doors that Tony figures make some kind of airlock. Wide enough for a gurney and a team of nurses, he notices.

"Um," Bruce says, "I am - my name is Doctor Bruce Banner." He finally finishes toying with his glasses and slides them back on his face. They're either a very low prescription or a prop, Tony notices. "You might want to, um." He gestures at Tony.

No, at Tony's chest. Tony glances down and notes that the gauze is still hanging half off the reactor. Ripping it off, he sticks the crumpled, bloodstained gauze into his pocket, his other hand quickly pressing the flap of the shirt to the velcro that would hold it shut and hide most of the Arc reactor. Then -

"Wait, Banner?" Tony cocks his head. "That's familiar. Why's that familiar?" He studies Bruce narrowly, but there's nothing about his face or his posture or mannerism that are in the least bit familiar. "I don't know you. I know Bruce Banner. I think I know Bruce Banner." He shifts and tilts his head the other way. "What do you do? For a living. When you're not kidnapping billionaires, I mean."

"Uh - what. What year is it for you?" Bruce asks. He looks a little pleased, though.

That doesn't answer Tony's question at all, and he's run into too many assholes in the Arms Dealing world to think that it's necessarily a good thing that people like their name being recognized. On the other hand, Tony now discovers that he doesn't know what year it is. Again, he just vaguely knows that he's lost time.

"It's some time after oh-eight," Tony says, sharp and sarcastic. "Now do you want to tell me why I recognize your name?"

"The year is kind of twenty-eighteen," Bucky says wryly. It's a lot more polite and patient than he'd been with Beefcake Steve, but Beefcake Steve had implied he's somehow emotionally invested in the situation. "Why you would have recognized the name kind of depends on how much you know that's happened."

"Point," Tony acknowledges, and then: "Two thousand eighteen?" He stares at the two of them because - well, he's pretty sure he's maybe six months to a year out from the whole Iron Man reveal. Not. A whole decade later.

That's distressing enough on it's own that he doesn't worry about it much when Bucky suddenly moves, fetching a chair from the other side of the room. He sets it in the middle of the lobby, which is closer to Tony than the others had been, and gives it a shove that sends it sliding closer to Tony.

It takes Tony a precious moment to realize what the chair is for, that it's not a warning or a threat. While Bucky retreats back to Bruce's side, Tony reaches out and grabs the back of the chair for a moment to steady himself.

"That's," he says, and raises a shaking hand to rub over his face, down his jaw and his neck. He blinks at the two of them, looking cautious and concerned - Bucky's actually giving him doe-eyes, what the fuck, like he's seen this kind of reaction before or something - and finally gingerly moves around the chair to drop into it. "What," Tony says with a mouth numb with shock. "Did we finally figure out human-safe cryogenics or something?"

"Um." Bruce glances at the man standing next to him. "No. Not quite."

"Alright," Tony says, blinking rapidly, "Not cryogenics. What then? Some kind of suspended animation? It can't be a coma, I feel too good to have been in a coma, I don’t have any muscular atrophy. You shut my entire body down somehow, Doc." He smiles widely, with all his teeth, and angry. He's not actually sure he believes any of this - that he's actually in 2018, that these people know him, that he knows them, that they aren't just after the Arc Reactor.

"You have it backwards, Tony," Bucky says. "Although I get why you'd think that. You didn't come forward. You've gone backwards."

It's not enough to cool the hot pops going off in his chest, like a chemical in his heart is heating and it's just fractions of a degree away from explosion. "Sorry, what?"

"Um, well," Bruce says. "Tony. You've been - ah, regressed in age. Physically and mentally. Apparently."

Okay - "What?"