#the mess is impervious to cleaning spells

[blackberrysummerblog]

Somewhat More than Six Sentence Sunday!

Thanks so much for the tags this morning, @nightimedreamersworld and @larkral! I really appreciate everyone who’s been tagging me the past couple of weeks—I love seeing what everyone’s been writing and creating!

This is an unasked-for sequel to Monsters Under the Bed, the one and only fic I managed for COC this year 😬. If you read it, you know it ended on a surprisingly high note after Simon blew Baz’s side of the room up, and in this snippet he’s hard at work scrubbing it down. Baz is hard at work ogling him:

Snow’s working on the walls right now—I pointed out that scrubbing the floors only to pour dirty water down onto them again was a fool’s errand, and for once he seems to be listening. He’s been in shockingly high spirits in spite of the mess and destruction. We put in a request with Housing for a new bed, but with the influx of new students, we’re last on the list. (I also suspect that after putting up with our shenanigans for the past seven years, the beleaguered Mrs. Smickley would have Snow and I last on her list regardless.)(This is unfortunately not the first piece of furniture she’s had to replace in our room.) At any rate, I’ve spent the last two nights blissfully curled up in Snow’s bed, surrounded by the scent of him if not his physical presence. Snow has slept on the floor and, to his credit, has made no complaint, although I did notice he seemed a little creaky on the way to the en suite this morning.

He’s going to be the death of me. I always knew he would be, but somehow I’d imagined a more bloody, dramatic end in battle, not the ignominious case of vapors I’m afflicted with every time he stretches up to reach a corner of the ceiling and lets his shirt rise up above his waistband.

I hope everyone’s week is off to a great start! No-pressure tagging: @artsyunderstudy @cutestkilla @prettygoododds @youarenevertooold @valeffelees @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter @orange-peony @hushed-chorus @theotherhufflepuff @ionlydrinkhotwater @ivelovedhimthroughworse @iamamythologicalcreature @ic3-que3n @nausikaaa @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @bazzybelle @fatalfangirl @ileadacharmedlife @facewithoutheart @that-disabled-princess @thewholelemon @j-nipper-95 @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @imagineacoolusername @martsonmars @letraspal @palimpsessed @raenestee @stitchyqueer @rimeswithpurple @stardustasincocaine @captain-aralias @alexalexinii @wellbelesbian @supercutedinosaurs @aceumbrellaheroes @whogaveyoupermission @onepintobean @c0nsumemy5oul

[icylook]

I will see you again

Pairing: Leon x Leri (MC)

Rating: Mature; Word count: 1655; Read on AO3

Tags: Spoilers for the AMR demo; Not canon compliant - Leon and Leri (MC) started their relationship half a year before the final battle; Established Relationship; Angst and Fluff; Hurt/Comfort; Feels; Implied Smut

A Mage Reborn demo 👑 ✨ @mage-parivir

The sound of his footsteps echoes in the hall, torches illuminating the space. All the guards he passes by either nod their heads at him or don’t react at all to his presence, avoiding eye contact. He pays them no mind, answering the subtle greetings with a small tilt of his chin now and then. There are two guards at the door Leri goes for. They shift slightly when he nears but don’t stop him when he knocks lightly, muted murmur of conversation behind wooden door disrupted with strong “Come in”.

He doesn’t hesitate stepping in, leaving the door open so the one talking with Leon would have a clear message of his intentions - your time with the Prince is over, now leave. Especially when the person is Ante, standing in the middle of the sitting room. Light armor on, all in black and the scowl on her face is like a lightning - there and gone - when she sees him.

“Your Highness, please reconsider-” 

“No. And it’s final.” Leon’s stern expression clears when he turns to look at him. “Took you long enough. I thought you'd gone missing.”

Leri ignores Ante, as they agreed all this time ago in the clearing during the rebellion. She was doing her job, observing him closely from the shadows. He was doing his job, making sure they all came out of the mess alive. They had a mutual agreement of not stepping on each other's toes if possible. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t rile her up now and then with his behaviour.

“Saine got a tip about lemon muffins in kitchens. I had to check.”

Green eyes brighten in a hopeful spark. “Did you bring me some?”  

“Should I?” Leri asks playfully, twisting his wrist in a lazy display of magic, summoning one of his pocket dimensions with a small crystal attached to his ring. The enchantment appears in wisps of purplish smoke, revealing a pastry in pristine condition sitting on his palm. When Leon reaches for it, he steps back with a tut. 

“Where are your manners, Your Highness?” His smirk widens when Leon’s confusion slips with a flash of want when he purposely lowers his voice and adds, “Say please.” 

Leon opens his mouth to response when someone clears their throat. Pointedly. Leri glances at Ante staring daggers at him, before her eyes meet Leon’s. 

The tips of his ears redden a little. “Thank you, Ante. Dismissed.” Ante’s back straightens so impossibly fast when she salutes him, Leri is silently amazed it doesn’t crack. 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Leri dips his head at her with one word goodbye. “Spymaster.”

“Royal retainer.” 

The corners of his lips curl upward at the spite veiled in her carefully neutral tone. She looks at him for a few long seconds, her gaze piercing. Only when he doesn’t falter in his amusement she marches past him, mindful of leaving space so as not to touch him.

“Let me guess, she wanted you to approve sending people after me.” He says after the door closes with a click. Leon’s by him now, gentle fingers seizing the wrist with muffin holding hand. His other hand rests on the belt over Leri’s hip, steering him to lean on Leon’s side. He smiles at his not so sneaky attempt at getting the pastry via distraction. He humors Leon into thinking that it’s working, tilting his head closer to his neck to get a whiff of his clean scent. Rich and comforting.

Leon hums in affirmation. 

“She’ll probably do it anyway.” Leri murmurs. 

“No she won’t.” Leon prepares to take a bite of the pastry, hand carefully holding his own in place. Leri watches as Leon closes his eyes, savouring the cream with bits of sour fruit. Mesmerized by the up close view of pink tongue chasing the taste as he swallows a bite. Half a muffin is gone in a blink and he huffs a laugh.

“I guess some of them were right.” Leon’s brow goes up in silent question. “The Sun Prince is eating straight from my palm.”

He smiles widely before he leans in. “I guess he does.” Their lips meet, softly and slowly. Hints of sweetness sneak into the kiss, mingling with the taste of the pastry Leon just devoured. Leri closes his eyes, nuzzling into the palm that cups his cheek when they part. The roughness of Leon’s skin on his face is a reminder of what they went through. Every callous and scar on his hands is a memento he wants to cherish as long as Leon lets him. He tilts his head to the side until his mouth brushes the middle of Leon’s hand, golden eyes holding intense green.

“You really depart tomorrow.”

Leri nods.

“Anything I can do to convince you to postpone that until the coronation?” Leon’s smile is endearingly sheepish, like he clearly knows the answer but still tries anyway. His brave, stubborn man. 

Guilt twists in his gut. He wants to tell him. Tried to, many times, testing the boundaries of the spell. Choking on words even before his thoughts formulated properly into them, the invisible collar tightening with unnatural force. Its ominous weight sitting at his throat, a reminder of the time wasting away like sand in an hourglass. Grain by grain, closer to their end. 

Once, alone in his chambers, he took it too far when attempting to speak of what he knew, of the great danger hovering over the kingdom. The collar throttled him until he lost his breath, on the brink of consciousness. He fell to the floor, blinking through the tears, black spots dancing in his vision with whispers of blood frantically pounding in his head. Clawing at his neck, curled on the cold stone. Desperate for air as his lungs burned painfully without it. The spell is simply impervious and any knowledge about it is buried in the ruins of the place he hopes to find other answers to. He doesn’t want to, but he has to go. It’s the only way for salvation, for him and for his Sun. For the kingdom.

He can’t tell him that. 

So he crushes their mouths together again, swallowing Leon’s surprised noise. Pushing and taking, until he answers him back with the same urgency. Just like the first time ages ago - the kiss as an answer to the question he couldn’t find the right words for. But as the first clumsy kiss felt like giddiness and relief, this one is full of desperation and need. Leri wants to get closer, needs to get closer and he clings to Leon when they blindly stumble through the door to the next room. Clothes thrown without much thought to the floor, marking their hurried way to the bed.

Leon lets himself be pushed onto his back, Leri crawling over him. He runs his hands through the long ashy strands of Leri’s hair, sighing when their lips meet. 

They don’t leave the bed until much later.

/////

Leri’s standing near the high window overlooking palace gardens in Leon’s bedroom. Now barely seen because of the night’s darkness.

“I wish you’d stay.”

Leon is only a bit taller than Leri, loose trousers low on his hips. He can openly admire the expanse of his uncovered skin and the marks he left on his body because Leri stole his shirt. And it’s the only thing he’s wearing at the moment. 

With arms wrapped around him, the height difference is nonexisting. It’s easy to meet his gaze when he leans back to peer at his face. His eyes meet emeralds, full of warmth and longing. Leri’s fingers gently trace the pale line of a small scar hidden with the hair at Leon’s temple. Evidence of one of too many close calls during the war. 

“Leon.” I wish to stay too. I don’t want to let you go, not after everything. 

“I will see you again.” The words taste like lies, spilling easily like ones. But they hold the truth, one he wants to believe in. Something hot pokes at the back of his eyes so suddenly, he quickly covers it with exaggerated sniff. 

“Besides, I can’t let any of those stuffy nobles take away my rightful position, can I?” His smile feels a little bit too wide. A little bit too forced but he holds it on, just to see the sadness clear from Leon’s expression.

“So I should hold it open for you then?”

“Hold and defend it. Because I’ll be back for it.”

Leon snorts a laugh, hiding it in Leri’s hair. “I feel like it’ll be a battle worse than everything else so far.” He shifts his hands on him, resting them at the small of his back. 

“I expect compensation.” Leon adds playfully, murmuring the words on the skin of Leri’s forehead. His lips feel like a brand when he presses a long kiss to it and Leri has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep his tears at bay. The tenderness of the gesture digs up the storm of emotions he desperately tries to shut down. A prick of sorrow grips at his throat unexpectedly and he can’t hide the shaky exhale in time before Leon notices.

Because Leon does notice, his body stiffening when Leri starts shaking in his arms.

“What’s wrong-” He doesn’t let him finish, doesn’t want Leon to see him like this. Not now, not when the dread starts to rear its ugly head again to cloud his mind. But he doesn’t hide, because it’s useless with Leon. Even if he wants to. So he leans back, his sight a little blurry. His smile’s wet around the corners but it’s more real.

“I will see you again.”

Leon’s lips part, any words stuck to his tongue. Then his face brightens with a smile of his own, eyes shining with unshed tears. 

“I know. I’ll be waiting.”

And Leri will do everything to keep his promise.

Everything.

[jamescolton]

It's here! Void Knight, the third and final book in the Null Saga, is now available in both paperback and Kindle editions! Here’s an excerpt from one of the opening chapters:

The eldyr generator hummed to life, and Rysa was bathed in welcome light. The glow was cold, unnatural, nothing like the sun she so sorely missed, but anything was better than the oppressive darkness.

The luminators revealed a ruined street choked with debris. Cobblestones were shattered or missing entirely. Buildings had crumbled and slid into the crater. Rysa identified bits of Dolls. “Let’s get started,” she said. “If you find any remains, the nearest burning pile is in the north square.”

Around her, rebels and soldiers began moving the rubble. Rysa reminded herself that there was no difference between the two groups anymore. The loyalist soldiers had been quick to defect once the Yndspawn were taken care of. Now they were all just Yvyrhausters. All working to clean up the mess that was Nauthrind.

The workers gathered the debris in a pile. Dolls helped with the heavier chunks of blasted masonry. Rysa shifted a piece of stone, and her breath caught. A small sleeve poked out from the rubble at her feet. Rysa took a moment to steel herself before clearing away the rest of the wood, stone, and dust.

Just an empty jacket. Rysa heaved a sigh of relief as she tossed the tattered garment into the pile, then she looked at her hand. There was a sticky red spot where she’d touched the cloth.

Feeling sick, Rysa staggered to the other side of the street and sat down on a fallen beam. The Yndspawn had done this. They’d called down the Ynd on their own city, not caring who was caught in the destruction. She wiped her hand off on her trousers and let her head hang between her knees. So many dead. And to think she’d served in the army that helped it happen.

No. She’d been forced into a tiny office where she could barely do anything. And once the Yndspawn took over, she’d done everything she could to resist. Don’t shoulder the guilt for this, Rysa. Make it better.

Yet, as she looked back up at the ruins of Nauthrind, she felt powerless to do anything. More than a week since the fighting had stopped, and the city didn’t look any different. They moved debris from one spot to another, only to reveal hollowed out shells that had once been homes. The surviving citizens emerged, some helping with the cleanup, others wandering the streets in a daze. They were all starved and pale. Frightened.

And the darkness. It hadn’t gone away like Atra had promised it would. It hovered over the city, a storm cloud no wind could banish.

Don’t start doubting her now. Rysa thought. No one could have predicted what would happen after the battle.

She felt the darkness pressing in. Over the past few days, it had gotten worse. Firelight was almost useless now. Only the high-powered luminators—banks of them mounted on towers of scaffolding to maximize their effect—provided any relief. Relief, scoffed Rysa. They only show us what’s left. How much we lost.

A deep, echoing crack permeated the air. Rysa barely acknowledged it, except to note that it was louder than the last one. That was another thing that had started after the battle: those noises. They seemed to come from the north, where the darkness was impenetrable. Some speculated it was thunder, and speculation was all they had. No one sent to investigate had yet returned.

“Ma’am, are you all right?”

Rysa looked up at the worker who stood before her. “Yeah. The gloom is just getting to me. Think we can make the luminators any brighter?”

“We can try,” the man said. “They’re pretty close to full capacity as it is, though.”

She held out a hand, and the worker helped her to her feet. As she stood, a bell began tolling the hour. Rysa couldn’t see it because of the thick, never-ending night, but Nauthrind’s clock tower in the north square was the tallest structure left now that the observation tower was destroyed. The sound was supposed to restore some sense of life to the city. Rysa hoped it was having more of an effect on the citizens than it was on her.

All right. Back to work.

She counted the bell strokes as she shifted debris. …Three…four…five— She stopped in the middle of carrying a larger stone to the pile. That couldn’t be right. It wasn’t that late. Couldn’t be.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

A few of the other workers had noticed as well. They stopped and looked in the direction of the clock tower.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

A scream snaked out of the darkness beyond the luminators’ reach.

Needles pricked the inside of Rysa’s stomach, and every hair on her body stood on end, pulling away from that awful sound. No. It can’t be. We beat them!

“It’s coming from the north square,” someone said. A few of the soldiers still wore weapons, which they now gripped apprehensively.

Rysa pushed down the nauseating fear in her throat and said, “Then let’s get over there. Saving this city cost us too much to let them take it back!”

As she and the other workers ran, Rysa thought, How did they survive? We killed so many. And now Atra’s gone, what can we do—

Rysa burst into the north square. A huge fire occupied the center, incinerating the bodies of Nauthrind’s dead. The square was ringed with luminators, and above it all rose the clock tower, tolling again and again. Spellfire made the air sizzle, weaving between streaks and pillars and maddening forms of black. Black was everywhere, looming overhead, wrapping around. A low, grinding roar made Rysa’s ears ache beneath the ringing of the bell, but she didn’t have time to wonder where it was coming from. Yndspawn swarmed the square, but like no Yndspawn she’d ever seen.

Gone were the flapping, tattered cloaks, the ravaged flesh, and even the sewn-shut eyes. These figures were shadow made solid. A dozen of them melted away, only to rise up again on the southern edge of the square where they consumed the soldiers who were firing on them. Another Yndspawn climbed atop the burning pile of bodies, seemingly impervious to the flames. He barked orders and spewed jets of dark energy from his mouth.

Rysa drew her spell projector and fired at the Yndspawn. Her aim was true. The magic burst against the Yndspawn’s chest, polychromatic energy splashing against an onyx surface. Cracks appeared, but in the glow of the firelight Rysa watched them vanish. The Yndspawn still stood, completely unharmed.

He turned his black face in her direction.

“Giratvik,” she breathed. Then she dove aside as a spray of dark magic rushed toward her.

She hit the cobblestones and rolled. Behind her, several soldiers who hadn’t been as quick went down, their bodies pierced by a hundred eldritch shards. Rysa rose to a kneeling position and took another shot at the Yndspawn, this time catching him in the shoulder. The blast’s impact caused him to twist around, but that was all. The ebony skin remained unmarked.

The Yndspawn hurled another counter spell at her, then bellowed to his followers, “Kill the light!”

Rysa scrambled behind a chunk of debris. Why isn’t it working? she thought. Maybe energy can’t hurt them. That’s why he can stand in the fire. She broke cover and picked up a sword from a fallen soldier. She charged across the square toward an Yndspawn that was pouring all his power into one of the eldyr generators running the luminators. Rysa came up behind him and swung with all her might.

The blade clanged against the Yndspawn’s skin, sending painful vibrations up Rysa’s arms. Her elbows ached from the impact, and the sword rebounded, its edge chipped.

The Yndspawn spun on her, claws like obsidian knives slicing through her forearm. The cuts weren’t deep, but Rysa staggered back. The Yndspawn began to dematerialize, then the eldyr generator he’d been attacking exploded.

The blast sent both the Yndspawn and Rysa flying. Rysa skidded across the stones, scraping her cheek. When she finally came to a halt, the Yndspawn was nowhere to be seen, and the light in the square had dimmed. One of the luminator banks overhead had gone dark.

“Ma’am,” said a soldier, helping Rysa to her feet, “we need to pull out. We can’t kill these things.” The words were barely out of his mouth when a black tendril snapped through the air, vaporizing the soldier’s head. Rysa shrieked and tore free of the dead man’s grip. Around her, people ran and screamed. Yndspawn flooded the square, most of them tearing apart the eldyr generators. One of the luminator banks tipped over. It crashed against the clock tower, and in the flicker of its dying light Rysa saw the bell, still rocking in its belfry, tolling one baleful note after another, as a bloody corpse clung to the rope.

More explosions erupted around the square. One by one, the luminators vanished, and Rysa was carried along in a current of panicked Yvyrhausters. She passed a Doll that stood its ground, spell projector blazing against the oncoming Yndspawn. There was a mad pelting like heavy rain against a metal roof, and the Doll collapsed, its armor riddled with holes. A soldier behind Rysa screamed, then his voice gave way to the buzz of Yndspawn magic. The gong of the bell chased them, still counting up the infinite hours.

Or counting down, Rysa thought.

The last feeble glow of the luminators went out, and the low rumble that had eaten away at Rysa’s ears the whole time rose to prominence. Stone ground against stone. A great breath, like that of the sky itself, gasped. The bell at last fell silent.

Rysa didn’t look back to see what had happened. All she knew was that Nauthrind was dark, the Yndspawn were chasing, and the ground was shaking beneath her feet. Despairing cries echoed, and not just from the soldiers that fled alongside her. Every cross street they passed channeled the sound of fighting from other parts of the city.

They reached the southern edge of Nauthrind, where dozens of luminators cast their glow over the cleanup effort’s base of operations. A worker met Rysa. “What’s going on?” he asked. “What’s that noise?”

“Run!” Rysa shouted. “Leave the luminators on and run!”

The shrill edge to her voice quelled any further questions. Alarm spread through the base. Workers tripped over themselves in their hurry to escape. The tremors Rysa had felt earlier intensified, as did the screams from behind. Cries for help, desperate, piercing, as if by sheer force of voice they could stave off the doom that closed around them.

Rysa led the flight from the city, leaving the ruined buildings behind. They ran into the wind, which seemed to fight them every step of the way, trying to force them back northward. Only when she could no longer feel the tremors beneath her feet did Rysa pause long enough to look back.

The base’s luminators lit the southernmost buildings, but little else. Rysa could see other patches of light here and there, but those winked out as she watched. The base was the last to go. Just before it did, plunging the city into darkness, Rysa saw the buildings collapsing, falling away, becoming dust. Then—

Silence. No more screams, no more ominous rumbles. Just the eternal, black emptiness of the north, and the ever-present wind drawing them toward it.

In the quiet, Rysa’s head invented noise. The pound of her blood through her ears became the soft ghost of the clock tower bell, counting down, down, down…

Get it at Amazon.com: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B098M4YG7L/

[inkribbon796]

Where the Crossroads Meet Ch 4

Summary: As the new town settles, friends are made, and power is transferred hands.

<= FIRST

<= PREVIOUS

Chapter 4: Organization

It took hours before the town, which was now big enough to be a metropolis with the new additions to, was calmed enough for people to regain some semblance of order.

Within the next few weeks gangs and mafia syndicates would fall, some to infighting, others to the larger crime groups in the new city, like Dark’s.

The group of superheroes were crammed into Mark, Daniel, Wade, and Bob’s apartment. Mostly because the Sides still couldn’t find where their apartment had wound up, and Jack didn’t want Anti eavesdropping on the conversation.

Logan adjusted his visor, already taking notes. “Well, seeing as Gainesville is currently stuck in?”

“Egoton,” Silver answered confidently.

“Athlone,” Jackieboy Man corrected.

“We’re in fookin’ Brighton,” Bro Average gestured to the city right outside the window.

“In any case,” Logan cleared his throat. “Our various rogues have joined forces. Even if it isn’t in the way we expected them to. For now, until our cities return to their natural position on the globe, we should join forces.”

Marvin was sitting on the couch with Roman, Marvin was just filing his nails as Roman was trying to smooth out some of the chips in his nails with angry grumbling. “Far as I’m concerned,” Marvin commented as Roman frowned at the magician’s perfect-looking nails, “if Jay says yer on the level, nothing I can do ‘bout it.”

J.J was taking a nap in a chair, leaning against Marvin’s side of the couch. His mustache was twitching in his sleep.

“How do you keep them so pristine?” Roman commented with a jealous huff.

“There’s a spell fer that,” Marvin goaded with a very cat-like grin. “If yeh can manage it.”

“Of course I can,” Roman scoffed with a huge smile, scooting closer to the magician, who was already conjuring up a spell book seemingly from thin air.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to be even more impossible to deal with,” Logic scolded.

“Come on, Lo,” Patton smiled. “It’s always good to make new friends.”

“Yeah, Lo,” Marvin smiled, thumbing through his spell book “We’re friends.”

Logan scowled at him.

“Is there a spell that can let me light my sword on fire?” Roman asked.

Marvin’s smile became sharper, a grin that became even more Cheshire-like when he saw Logan’s disapproving scowl. “Yeah, I got just the thin’.”

Jackieboy nudged Silver, nudging his head to the door, “Hey, can I talk with you?”

“Uh,” Mark uncrossed his arms, looking around the room. “Sure.”

“Won’t be long,” Jack promised.

Silver followed him out, just going into the hallway of the apartment, Silver looking around and seeing that it was empty before the two rushed to the roof, where seeing two masked heroes wouldn’t be immediately linked to anyone living in the building.

“So how long yeh an’ yer friends been doin’ this?” Jackie asked.

“Couple ‘a months,” Mark answered. “What about you?”

“Same,” Jackie. “So the pink an’ black ensemble, what’s the deal with them?”

“Dark’s a mob boss from Hell who has my whole city in his back pocket,” Silver explained. “Whoever he can’t bend to his will, he kills. We’ve been making some headway with him,making people less afraid of him and breaking down parts of his network but the fucker just doesn’t die, he doesn’t ever really seem to get all that tired either.”

“Reminds me ‘a Anti,” Jackie told him, “bastard just straight up possessed me one day an’ hasn’t left us alone since. Just has two modes: gets bored and kills someone, or is bothering us so he can kill someone.”

“Just ordinary chaos seems nice,” Silver commented. “Just once I’d like to not deal with Dark’s contacts and their vile day jobs.”

“Well Anti’s a piece ‘a shite too,” Jack chuckled. “Welcome ta the circus, what about the bar shop quartet-looking guy? He got another act ‘sides being mad and gun happy?”

“That’s pretty much it, he can also teleport, is impervious to bullets and can’t remember what he did last week unless Dark’s involved,” Silver warned.

“He an’ Anti are gonna be great friends,” Jackie groaned, the two of them talking on the rooftop for a bit before joining the others.

Dark finally opened a portal into the Manor, his aura happily as it returned to his familiar home. He followed Wil’s aura out to the back patio where Wil was sitting, without pants, on one of the patio chairs trying to drink a martini . . . and failing.

“You have two hands,” Dark told him sharply, “use them.”

“Darkling,” Wil smiled excitedly, summoning up a glass of scotch on the rock and holding it up. “Join me, you look like you’ve had a hard day, my sweet licorice.”

Dark’s glare became scathing, but still took the glass, “No thanks to you, my entire network was split up over several miles. Do you know the amount of people I had to get killed today thanks to you?”

“I’m sure they deserved it,” Wil smiled, waving his hand and more Scotch appeared.

Using his aura, Dark dragged another patio chair over with and angry, metallic screech. He sat down, glaring at Dark, taking a couple long sips.

“I could help you,” Wil offered openly.

Dark let out a noise in-between a huff and a scoff, “You’ve done more than enough.”

“Oh,” Wilford set his martini down. “How silly of me, I almost forgot.”

“What a shame,” Dark groaned.

With that same huge smile that Dark knew he couldn’t stay mad at, Dark set his own glass down. He patiently knit his fingers in his lap and just waited as Wil pulled out an ornate box out of thin air and Dark just stared at it, seeing the magic and aura billowing off of it, Dark could almost feel like it was trying to speak and talk but not in any normal or audible language.

Wilford held it out and Dark took it, turning it over. A smile slowly spread across his face. “Where did you find this?”

“Oh goody, you like it,” Wil clapped. “I found it at the bank.”

“Really?” Dark hummed as he pulled the top off and looked inside to see just a bottomless pit of magic. Carefully, Dark reached his aura in and he could feel . . . something, but couldn’t pull it out. So he reached in with his hand and pulled out a black pocket ledger. Dark sent the box to his safe.

Wil was oddly quiet as Dark looked through the booklet, it had his entire schedule on it, and Dark couldn’t deny the whispering it was trying to communicate to him, even if he couldn’t hear it.

“So,” Wil trailed off. “Am I still in trouble?”

Sliding the ledger into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, then he stood and grabbed his glass again. “Nonsense,” Dark smiled and kissed Wil. “You’re free to go, sweetheart, just don’t mess with the banks again. I hate the clean up.”

Wilford was beaming with happiness, standing up and flexing his suspenders, “I live to please, Darkling.”

“Do you?” Dark smiled, as he opened up a portal into his main office. “Sometimes I think you just like making me angry.”

“Well it’s hardly my fault that you’re so damn cute when your angry,” Wil defended good naturedly.

“Well,” Dark was starting to flip through the ledger, it had his whole week scheduled out, even events that he’d thought were hazy or impossible before his city had changed. “You best keep me from getting adorable then.”

“Never,” Wilford smiled and leaned down to kiss Dark, the Entity returning the kiss as the new town began to slowly reach a new normal around them.

[rip-in-peace-eraserhead]

All This for a Cat Nap?

Pairing: Erasermic

AU: Fantasy/cat cafe

Summary: Aizawa Shouta owns and runs his own cat cafe which is paired up with a local shelter to get some of the cats adopted. On his lunch breaks, he uses his hidden shapeshifting powers to join the cats in the main room for a short nap. This backfires when he gets cursed by a witch for something he didn't do. Now stuck as a cat, he needs help to get out of this mess. Maybe that nice blond guy will be just what he needs.

For @gegeru within the @bnhasecretsanta2019. Have a happy holidays and a happy New Year.

Ao3 Link

Read under the cut.

This couldn’t be happening. 

Shouta hissed as the young employee reached for him again, This time he swiped at her hand with his claws, causing her to jerk back, yelping as she struggled to stay on the step ladder she had climbed while trying to reach him. 

With her having retreated for the moment, he bolted out of the cubby he had squeezed into and climbed another level to the tracks running along the upper walls. The thick carpeting under his paws along with the traction his claws gave him, he had enough maneuverability to make it to the other side of the room before she could even look for him again. 

Stupid customer. Stupid employee. Stupid witch making stupid assumptions. Stupid everything!

A new voice joined in with the assistant’s worried fretting. This one a bit lower pitched and calmer. Human words don’t translate perfectly to shifters who are in animal form so it was hard to make out. It must have been the guitar guy. He’s the very generous yet extremely infuriating guy who had decided that Shouta would make a good house pet. 

If Shouta were an actual cat instead of a shifter stuck as a cat, it would be insanely nice for guitar guy to offer to socialize an angry and partially feral cat after he paid for the cat. But Shouta isn’t a normal cat and now the guy’s offer is seriously hindering Shouta’s chance to just chill out at the cafe until the curse wears off.

With a moment to breathe, Shouta could consider his options. 

One: He could wait out this curse in the main room for weeks without interacting with a single human and hope that the curse doesn’t wear off in the middle of a busy day (leaving him buck-naked in a cat-cafe). And then pretend nothing happened when everyone asks. ‘Where the fuck have you been?’

Except that was unrealistic. The employees only put food out during the day and the other cats wouldn’t leave enough food for him if he waits. Also, he had no idea what curse he was under, so he might have to explain why he was gone for possibly months

Two: Hide under guitar guy’s couch, escape when he goes to work, find someone to turn him back, get back to his own apartment, and act like nothing happened. Then pretend not to feel guilty when he sees the missing cat posters all over town.

It was shitty, but the best option he has at the moment. Guitar-guy would still have Mochi to keep him company and if he really wanted a second cat, he could come back and adopt one.

He didn’t get the chance to consider a third option before another cat climbed up onto the other end of his perch. Happy to have found him, Mochi made a light trilling noise before mashing her face against his and starting to fervently clean his cheek. 

Being so preoccupied with the friendly tabby, he didn’t notice the hand reaching up behind him until it had a hold of his scruff. He yowled in protest but was pinned against a leather-clad chest  (impervious to wild claw swipes) and dropped into a pet tote. 

Mochi, now worried by Shouta’s protests, started to jump down the levels to reach him but was also scooped up by guitar guy who was apparently the one to use his leather jacket to knab Shouta without injury. She ended up being the one put into the temporary pet tote that the cafe offered to adopting patrons. 

That leads to another reason this situation sucks so much. The reason why the man had chosen Shouta and Mochi to adopt together was that he had seen Shouta taking a cat nap with Mochi and when Shouta ran away and tried to make himself look unappealing, the man decided to adopt both in hopes that Mochi would help socialize Shouta. He previously had everything worked out to adopt Mochi by herself and Shouta ended up being an accessory piece

Tired and frustrated, Shouta let out the loudest yowl he could muster, cursing that damned witch. So what if he had been lounging around as a cat. Making the assumption that he was a shifter who lived there as a cat just to advantage of the people’s good nature was incredibly rude. As the owner of the cafe, Shouta was the one who worked his ass off to get the place up and running and paired with the local shelter.

But now he was stuck in cat form until he could wait out the effects. 

Still not satisfied with the amount fo venting he’d done so far, he tossed his head back and made the most god-awful yowl/howl/scream he’d ever heard out of a cat’s mouth. Both humans and Mochi jumped at the noise.

Before he could muster up the energy for another, a face appeared through the bars of the cage. Vivid green eyes stared right into Shouta’s newly yellowed ones. The only thing Shouta could think was, “What a stupid mustache.”

“Hey....hey...little dude. It’s gonna be okay. Sorry for spooking ya. I know the carrier is a bit stressful but I’ll let ya out when we get home.”

Shouta ended up too distracted by the fact that he could clearly understand this guy to hear the transaction between the assistant manager and him as he was paying for their fees (and making a new account for Shouta because “His account must have gotten accidentally deleted.”)

It took until Shouta and Mochi were firmly buckled into guitar guy’s car before he said something more to Shouta. 

“I bet having a human just start chatting with you is a bit freaky, huh? I set up a spell so I could talk to Mochi and discuss her being my familiar but you ended up in the mix too. You don’t have to work as a familiar though. I just thought you needed a good home and if you like Mochi, it’d be best for you to come with her.”

Shouta said nothing in return as he began to reevaluate his life choices.

-----

Nemuri shrieked, half in laughter and half in fear, as Shouta, finally in human form, chased her around the tiny apartment wielding a mighty couch pillow. “I’m sorry!” She yelped out between laughs, diving behind the couch to get away. “I swear I thought you were just a hobo shifter mooching off the cafe!”

“I was almost neutered!” Shouta roared, trying to leap after her. Thankfully for Nemuri, he wasn’t used to human proportions just yet and landed on the couch, half sprawled over Hizashi’s lap. Hizashi just squeaked, his blush now reaching his ears as he desperately tried to avoid looking at a completely naked Shouta.

The moment it took Shouta to reboot after landing naked on top of a guy was long enough for Nemuri to make a break for it, sprinting out the door, boots in hand, with a hearty, “Good luck boys!”

With her gone, the fight left Shouta, leaving him with deep-set aches and a deeper regret towards the intense chase right after a painful shift back to human form.  

When Hizashi said nothing as the minutes stretched on, Shouta finally looked up to see him looking up and away in the most awkward attempt to avoid glancing too far down. It was funny for a second before the discomfort turned out to be contagious

Shouta readjusted so that he was sitting up like a normal person. ”Sorry.”

When Hizashi didn’t respond, Shouta awkwardly continued. “Y’know that I’m not mad at you, right? This month was batshit crazy and I’m the one who didn’t mention I’m a shifter. With the only other witch I’ve ever met cursing me within two minutes of meeting me, I was a little nervous.”

Hizashi finally uncovered his eyes, relieved that Shouta had placed the pillow over his privates. ”It’s cool, I guess. I just can’t believe I gushed about how the ‘cat cafe worker’ was to your face.”

“Well, you thought I was just a cat, so…”

They were interrupted by Mochi jumping up onto the couch between them, trilling loudly when no one began to pet her immediately. Shouta promptly took pity on her and scooped her up onto the pillow before beginning to rub at her chin.

“Speaking of being a cat,” Hizashi said, a tentative but sly grin crossing his face. “I’d better get a discount for life at the cafe after all the money I spent trying to make the grumpiest, hungriest, largest, fluffiest maine coon happy.”

Shouta rolled his eyes, trying to hide his amusement. “How about I help you pick out another cat, get them all settled, and wave any of the fees for all of that? If you want more retribution, ask your friend. She’s the one who put us in this situation.”

Hizashi pondered the offer for a bit, overexaggerating his uncertainty until it was obvious Shouta was Done. “Okay fine. But you have full visitation rights over Mochi and don’t you dare miss Christmas or I’m telling her you forgot all about her and she’s going to guilt you to death.”

This time Shouta rolled his eyes for real, shooing Mochi off his lap and standing up with the pillow still protecting his modesty. “I’m going to go raid your closet so I don’t have to do a naked walk of shame. Give me ten minutes and we can pretend this never happened.”

The humor slipped out of Hizashi’s face before he lunged forward. “Wait!”

Shouta stopped and was surprised by the hand grabbing his wrist.

“One more request.”

“Greedy aren’t we-”

“One date.”

Shouta froze, startled by the sudden boldness from Hizashi considering how blushy and embarrassed he was about his He turned fully, still awkwardly holding the pillow up, to try and gage Hizashi’s expression.

“Are you sure? Because I wasn’t acting like a dickish cat just to be mean. I really am grumpy, depressed, messy, and tired all the time.” It sounded self-deprecating even to his own ears but give him a break, he’d been off his depression meds for almost a month by this point.

Hizashi stood up and moved closer, now taking Shouta’s hand in his. “I’ve seen a bit of that when at the cafe and I think you’re selling yourself short. I don’t know if you remember this but you were the one who pointed out Mochi to me when I mentioned adopting a cat. I’ve never seen someone so compassionate and I’d like to see more of you. Please?”

A million excuses ran through Shouta’s mind as he tried to mentally work out how to say ‘I a mess you don’t want to clean up’. Before he could articulate one, he noticed the soft longing in Hizashi’s eyes, brilliant emerald staring directly into Shouta’s soul. 

“Fine but I’m paying..”

[greekceltic]

I doodled this last night for a small blurb I wrote between Jacky and Alf. I’m usually pinging several characters off of each other when I RP. Jacky and Alf were having a rough spell, so I typed up a thing for them to clean up my mess. It’s full of out of context RP references (obviously, Wreck it Ralph does not belong to me, we just use it to spice up our playground). The art is a bit off model? I really think it takes away from Big Alf to make him look too much like his smaller self. I need to add some of the cartoony-ness back to his face. If you're lookin' for RP, join us on discord: discord.gg/RFTe8eY Everyone hangs out in #general. ----- It was the same story, different day. Alf had gone looking for Jacky. He fell easily into his old habits, and took care in them, enjoyed them even. He was weak in resisting that kind of thing, but his motives had changed. He had a plan that amounted to more than just a fuzzy excuse to find something to do, and he was driven by it, as well as a belated admittance by one of Whisk's Crinkles that she had never gotten her truce letter. She didn't know, and that had to be fixed.  It took a little over a week to get his first clue. He made short trips to the terminal every afternoon. On the ninth day he found her scent trail at the Hero's Duty gate and took a hiatus from Jurassic Park to follow it back to the power line. From there it weaved in and out of many places. It took him to a suburban neighborhood down the road from Litwak's Family Fun Center, to a private desktop housing an installation of Guild Wars 2. The hunt would have become hopeless had she not grown overly fond of a snowy community near the starting area, where everyone was as tall, or taller than he was. He found that especially helpful for hiding, and especially confusing for just the same reason. It was like she wasn't watching for him at all.  He spent a full day and a half in local fashion, watching her do busy tasks. Coming and going from market-men to crafts benches, fully immersed in the game's culture. She passed his table many times. She even tripped on his foot and apologized- and never saw him.  He didn't understand. Alf made his move the same night. He bided his time until her inner craftsman was satisfied for the day, and followed her back to a quieter place. She gave him the ideal opportunity when she mosied into a backshed. Its windows were ice blocks and it had a single door. It was small enough that he could have stretched an arm from the front to back wall, and the door was tall but thin. Just half of his body filled it fully. She jumped when she turned, and he tried not to grin.  "Gotcha."  Jacky's face paled. She looked from his head, down to his feet, and saw no more room to wriggle through than a gerbil would find in a wire cage. Gotcha, alright.  "Alf?" He didn't like the way she said it. She didn't sound convinced. She tried to beat him to the breathing spaces between the sloping roof edges and the tops of the walls, but he snatched her down and held her out in a hand.  "EY-Ey! Ain't no need for that." Alf snapped, as softly as old habits would allow, then pointed an unfiled claw in her direction. "You're caught. Nothin' you can do about that. So just be still and listen."  Jacky stilled. There were things she could wriggle out of, but Alf's hand was not one of them. She looked up quizzically and then sagged. Her body language spoke volumes to him. Issac wasn't the only person he had a private language with. What, Alf?  "You shouldn't have taken my shit." Alf started. "You two pissed me off somethin' awful, and I'm not over it." Before she could be rattle back at him, his claw advanced toward her, and then descended to lift her arm by the palm, forcing an awkward hand shake. "That said, we're squared. I'm calling a truce." He waited for her to pick her jaw up off the floor, and then gently lowered her to the ground.  "You know what truce means?"  "Yeah."  "Then why you still makin' that face?"  "I don't understand." She gave him a bewildered look, then stepped back when he knelt at the doorway, even squinted a little. He didn't look like himself. He did, but he didn't. The scruff was new.  "I know you didn't do what they say you did." Alf explained, resting an elbow on his knee and resisting the urge to check over his shoulder for onlookers. He couldn't take his eyes off her, she'd be gone like a flash, truce or not, and he needed this done. "We found the real monster. Killed it, too." He raised a hand when she started to open her mouth. "But you did steal from a bunch of Familiars, and you know what they're like, so don't expect they'll get over it." Jacky returned with a knowing shrug. Que Sera, Sera.  "Does Beel know?" She ventured.  "No. You'll tell him." Alf was happy to leave that to Jacky. She was the priority. Beel seemed impervious to unhappiness and had an ocean of cropmates to get lost in. Jacky was the one that seemed to have gone a thousand miles from home to avoid him, and he took pride in that, he really did, but it was starting to feel like cheap pride. "You better find your dragon bitch friend and send her some reassurance. She was lookin' for you." Alf stood to leave, but stalled before unblocking the doorway. He knelt again, and leaned as if to whisper. It would have been easier had the door been wide enough to fit his snow-dusted shoulders.  "Hey, when you eat blue bread... how long until you're hungry again?" His face read uncertainty.  "Uh." Jacky leaned back, but not too far. "A while. I guess? I mea- Oooooh." Her face got distant. She suddenly knew why he was asking. "I had that thought too." The dark thought. The one about DYING. The one that had made her wonder if she wasn't hungry because she had actually kicked the bucket when she crossed between worlds. "I think it's the bread, cause it took a while for the hunger to go away but after a couple of weeks it... did?"  Alf breathed a sigh of relief.  "Okay." Another sigh. "Okay. Good." Not dead. He stalled again, then opened his mouth for slightly more important business. "I'm sorry." He said weakly. It was followed by a long silence. He evened out his voice for the rest. "You deserved some shit for taking my stuff, but you didn't deserve what you got over something you didn't do." He frowned, and flexed his claws in front of him. Apologies were a strange concept. He decidedly quickly that he didn't like them, but a few words had been repeating back to him.  Caught and dragged.  He didn't want to be that person.

 Jacky resisted the urge to slap her own face, surely she was dreaming, such sensibility would never come out of Alf's bear trap. She raised a hand and when everything else failed her, she plopped it on his head and scritched. That was revenge enough. This was a side of Alf that needed to be re-enforced. The appalled look on his face made it perfect.  "Good boy."