#then we’d have a conversation about it and if I went I’d make a damn solid effort to enjoy their enjoyment

[bisexual-nightmare]

The more I go to shows alone the more I think people should also do that thing if they’re able. Seriously. Part of it’s my anxiety, I know, but if I ask someone to go with me to something I spend a lot of energy tuned into them and trying to constantly gauge whether or not they’re enjoying it.

But going alone? Yeah, there’s the initial awkward (I don’t know how to exist in spaces very well, it’s a self worth issue, I’m working on it) but when the show starts - I can be immersed in it. Because I’m not worrying about my seat mate, because there isn’t one.

And it’s so freeing.

the saddest sight in the world is a married couple at a musical and the wife is super excited and happy and the husband looks like he was dragged along and he’s making a big deal about how much he doesn’t want to be there and the wife gets embarrassed or ashamed. this isn’t a funny post, it’s actually heartbreaking and i see it happen at like every other musical i attend.

[marauder-misprint]

Checked box

Sirius Black x Potter!reader

13k words

cw: fluff, little bit of snogging, pinning, hurt/comfort (I guess?)

“Black is snogging Eloise Garner in the corridor,” Mary says as she sits down for breakfast at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

“Bit early for a snog, isn’t it?” you ask, not looking up from your paper.

“I’d say so,” she responds, pouring herself a cup of tea.

“Isn’t that like the third girl this week?” Lily asks.

“Feels like he’s trying to at least snog every girl in our year and then some,” Marlene answers.

The group is silent for a moment as Mary, Marlene and Lily all stare at you.

“Well? Is he?” Lily asks.

“How would I know?”

“Because he is quite literally in your lap every evening?” Marlene replies. “Honestly, if we didn’t know you, we’d say you two were dating. Or at least you’d’ve been the first one he snogged.”

You make a face at that assumption. “My brother’s best friend, believe it or not, does not confide all of his life’s mission to me.”

“You’re probably one of them,” Mary giggles.

“Except I’m basically his sister!”

“Siblings don’t act like that around each other,” Lily says with a smile. 

“James!” you call to your brother who is a few seats down from the group. “Does Sirius like me romantically?”

He looks up from his Quidditch book, eyes wide.

“What? What did he do to you?”

He slams his book down and quickly walks down the table toward the girls. He crouches next to you so he wasn’t towering over you. 

“What did Padfoot do?”

You laugh at your brother. “Nothing, James. But these three,” you gesture to the girls around you, “think I’m on his to-be-snogged list. I’m not, am I?” Your words were teasing, already knowing that you weren't.

“I’ll damn ensure that you’re not,” he growls, shaking his head.

“But there is a list?” Marlene pipes up. Her eyes glitter with intrigue. 

“Not a list, per se… But he does seem to have trouble keeping to one girl for long.”

“And there you have it, folks! No real list and even if there was, I’m not on it.” You turn to look at James who doesn’t seem to be moving from where he crouches behind your shoulder. “Thanks James. You can, uh, go sit down now.”

“Oooh! Speak of the devil!” Mary chirps, looking toward the Great Hall door where Sirius was entering alone. 

“Morning, pumpkin,” Sirius says, ruffling your hair. “Girls.” 

James had waited until Sirius made it to the girls. The boys went down to their usual spots down the table. Once sat, James bursts into hurried whispers that lead to numerous glances being sent in the girls’ direction. 

“How come I can’t call you pumpkin?” Lily pouts. Of all the pet names, pumpkin was your least favorite.

You roll your eyes before answering. “He’ll be reprimanded later for that. Don’t you worry, dearest Lily.”

“Reprimanded in your sex dungeon?” Marlene gasps, a hand over her heart.

You smack her with your paper from across the table. “Don’t you start a rumor like that!”

“I could totally see you having one though!” Marlene insists. 

“What is your dominatrix name?” Lily asks, gently bumping into your shoulder. 

“You are all too horny this morning. I’ll see you in class.”

You quickly gather your things, take one last sip of coffee and leave the hall. The day seems to go on as usual for you. You sat with the girls in most of your classes. You’re glad the conversation of Sirius’ list had been left at breakfast. There are minor differences in the boys during classes. They appeared to have shuffled their seating arrangements, but it doesn’t affect you until History of Magic. You usually sit next to Sirius. Instead, you were sat next to Peter while Sirius sat on the other side of James. Peter wasn’t your favorite of James’ friends but you could tolerate him. 

There was definitely something different about Sirius in the common room after dinner. You usually hung out with her brother and his friends in the evenings. This would often lead to you sitting with Sirius on the couch, one of you draped over the other. Depending on who was sitting and who was lounging, you would play with each other’s hair or do homework or take a brief nap. You liked when Sirius would read you the assigned chapter because you otherwise wouldn’t read it. This evening, however, Sirius sat in an armchair nowhere near you. You frown as you watch him sit down and proceed to avoid your gaze. 

The altered seating arrangement and not sitting with you on the couch continues for the next few days. By Friday evening, it is driving you crazy. You need to know what is going on. You wait until most people have gone to bed before deciding to confront him. Sirius was usually one of the last people up so you knew that waiting it out would be okay. 

“Black, come ‘ere,” you say.

He looks over at you with a confused look on his face. He had been watching the fire, lost in his own thoughts. When he doesn’t move, you pat the couch cushion next to you. Reluctantly, he gets up and move to sit next to you. 

“What’s up, pumpkin?”

“What’s up with you?” you ask, your brows furrowed. “Feels like you’ve been on the other side of the Earth this week.”

He shrugs, looking back towards the fire. “Just following directions.”

“Whose directions?”

“Prongs.”

“And, pray tell, what did that idiot tell you to do?”

“To stay away from you?” he replies, obvious confusion in his voice. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose in mild frustration. “When was this?”

“Uh, earlier this week at breakfast. Made it seem like it was partly at your request?”

You shake your head. “Leave it to James to mess something up. No. He said he would make sure I didn’t end up as another checked box on your list. That would be all him.”

“Another checked box? What list is this?” Sirius asks with a slight chuckle as he looks at you. 

“The list of every girl in our year and then some,” you giggle, slightly relieved that it seems like he doesn’t have such a list. “You know, your apparent mission to kiss every one. And maybe get some.”

He quickly turns back to the fire, hoping to hide the brief look of embarrassment that crosses his face. You see it anyway and feel your face flush slightly. 

“There’s no list. And you certainly wouldn’t be a box on it if it were.”

“Ouch, Black,” you say with semi-fake hurt. “Cut me deep.”

“Please, I would be neutered if I kissed you.”

You laugh. Your laugh is enough to draw Sirius’ gaze away from the fire again. He loves seeing you smile that widely and knowing it was something he said to get you to. 

“Why were you talking about that imaginary list anyways?”

“Mary saw you snogging Eloise and apparently thought I would know if this list existed,” you say with a soft chuckle. 

“And James was a part of this conversation?” he asks in disbelief.

“Well, I called him over when the girls didn’t believe that we aren’t romantically involved, let alone never kissed.”

Sirius shakes his head with a small smile playing on his lips. “And that leads to James declaring that I need to be at least a meter away from you at all times?”

“I asked him two questions. Do you like me romantically and was I on your to-be-snogged list?” You pause. “You know, he never actually answered the first one.”

“That would be because he doesn’t know,” Sirius says, turning his head almost 90 degrees to crack his neck. “You know how much he hates being wrong… So he’s not going to give an answer if he doesn’t know if it’s right.”

“What does that mean?”

“That I don’t discuss everything with Prongs. Although, he never has asked how I feel about you.”

You chuckle and nudge Sirius with your shoulder. “You don’t have to pretend like you might have feelings for me. It’s… fine that you don’t.” The words taste bitter in your mouth, but you try to sound genuine. You would be lying if you said you never imagined things developing between the two of you. 

“Why do you assume I don’t?” Sirius asks, cocking his head as he looks at you intently.

“Why would you be snogging anything that moves in a skirt if you liked me and you’ve never made a move for me?”

“I thought we agreed that Prongs would have me neutered if I kissed you?” He takes a breath. “And maybe knowing that I could very well lose my best friend if I went after the girl I actually like is the reason I go from girl to girl. None of them make me feel like she does.”

“Wait, what?”

“There’s just more than one reason why you can’t be a checked box on this list,” Sirius says, standing up. “Goodnight, pumpkin.”

He places a gentle kiss on top of your head before heading up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories. You stare after him dumbfounded. Has Sirius just essentially told you that he did like you and then leave? 

Despite knowing that he was well out of earshot, you still say, “That’s not my name.”

None of the students remaining in the common room pay you any attention as you sit on the couch alone, talking to yourself now. You slump into the cushions and take over Sirius’ habit of staring into the fire. You understand why he does it. The way that the flames dance and flicker and radiate heat is calming. 

You are distracted all weekend by what Sirius had said. You bury yourself in homework and use it as an excuse to avoid the Quidditch game. It’s Slytherin against Hufflepuff so your absence isn't insulting to James. Despite being tucked away in a distraction-free corner of the library, you make little progress on your homework. Your mind kept wandering back to Sirius and what he had said. You had worked hard to bury all of your feelings for him years ago, assuming it would never happen due to his close friendship with James. Your feelings continued to remain buried as he got closer with you and never hinted that he might like you more than a friend. 

In your dorm, you ignore the comments from Lily and Mary that for someone who spent all weekend in the library, you made such little progress on your assignments, or that they were done extremely poorly. 

On Monday, you really do try to pay attention in class, but it is futile. Even after a weekend of him on your mind, your thoughts keep drifting back to Sirius, who is in most of your classes. Even worse, you come to realize that you have no one to talk to about it so you can only let your mind spin as it had for the past two days. You think you disguise your distraction fairly well in classes until Remus grabs your hand in Potions before you can tip an ingredient into your cauldron.

“Are you trying to blow up the classroom?” he hisses at you. 

You blink at him and then look at what you had been about to pour into your brew. He is right. If you had dumped it in, your cauldron would have blown up and severely damaged those around you. You give Remus a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Remus… Been a bit distracted lately.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You give him a look. “Is it obvious?”

“You didn’t bother to apologize or clean up your spilled inkwell in Transfiguration,” he says with a soft smile. “If Lily hadn’t quickly cleaned it up for you, McGonagall would’ve given you detention.”

“Huh… I’ll have to thank her later…”

“What’s got you so distracted?”

“Nothing too important,” you lie.

“If I’m almost blown up over it, it must be important.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal. I just don’t have anyone to talk to about it so it’s… festering.”

Remus turns back to his own potion.

“Must be quite the topic if you have no one to talk to about it.”

You scrunch your face as you add the correct ingredient to your potion, causing it to turn a pleasant blue color. 

“What does that mean?”

“You have plenty of people who care for you. And if none of us are good enough, you could probably have your pick of first years who would love to listen to your problems.”

You chew at the dead skin of your bottom lip, looking at Remus and knowing he was right.

“Don’t be mad but sometimes I forget that you are also my friend, not just James’. And that you are the most understanding person on this planet.”

He chuckles softly, not trying to draw attention to himself. “Understandable. But what is it that you feel you have no one to talk to about?”

“It’s too public in here,” you say, looking around the room. “It’s something I can’t talk to the girls about because they will all tease me endlessly if I do. And I can’t talk about it with James because we don’t really discuss that kind of stuff often and he overreacts.”

“And Sirius?”

You purse your lips. 

“Oh,” Remus says, suddenly understanding. “Let’s discuss this after class when I’m certain I’ll be in less danger of blowing up.”

Once your potions are turned in to Professor Slughorn, you and Remus leave the classroom together. Lily, Mary and James give you questionable stares as you disappear around the corner. Neither of you say a word until you are more secluded in the grounds of Hogwarts. You walk down towards the Black Lake. Anyone trying to eavesdrop would have a harder time hearing you over the sound of waves. 

“What did Sirius do?” Remus asks, sitting down and resting his back against a tree. 

Mimicking his actions, you answer, “It’s what he said when I confronted him for avoiding me all last week.”

“Wasn’t that at your request?”

“No. James is a liar.”

“Okay?”

“Long story short, Mary, Marlene and Lily…” you start to say before putting your head in your hands and groaning. “Screw that. Does Sirius like me?”

“He lets you touch his hair. Of course he likes you.”

You lift your head to look at Remus. “Does he like me as more than a friend?”

“What did he say to you?”

“I asked first.”

“I can only speak if I know what he told you.”

You sigh heavily and turn your gaze to the lake.

“Something like he’d lose James if he kissed the girl he actually likes and that’s why he’s been kissing every girl who looks his way. And then that there’s more than one reason why I can’t be another checked box on the list of girls he’s kissed.”

Remus puts his hand on your shoulder. 

“Oh, darling…”

“Remus, does he like me?”

“I believe he does.”

You whip your head towards him. “What do you mean, you believe?”

“He’s not known for pouring his heart out. You know that. He’s private with his more personal feelings,” Remus says, choosing his words carefully. “But I have eyes and ears. The way he looks at you, especially when James isn’t looking. The way he acts around you. The way he talks to you, and about you. … And he calls you pumpkin.”

You don’t say anything. You were taking it all in, although you don’t quite understand why him using that pet name held significance. You just want Remus to keep talking. 

“You know about his home life,” he continues. 

You nod. 

“I don’t think I could say all the ways it makes him the way he is. We’ve only heard snippets of it. I think there’s a lot he has walled off. And he has a found family in us. In James specifically. So he’s going to tread lightly around anything that could harm that.”

You bite the inside of your lip. You know you have been let inside some of Sirius’ walls. There were the miscellaneous late nights filled with more vulnerable conversations over the past two years. A particularly horrendous nightmare had brought Sirius to the common room to sit by the dying fire, and you had already been sitting there. You had been unable to sleep with your own anxieties. You snuggled into each other on the couch and talked until Sirius felt okay to go back to sleep. 

Even with that memory in your head, the thing you say is, “So James’ irrationality is why Sirius hasn’t made a move on me?”

“Part of it… but that’s not what you’re taking away from this conversation. There’s more than Prongs in this equation.”

You sigh and rest your chin on your hands. The sun was beginning to set and it reflects beautifully on the lake’s shimmering surface. 

“You’re also in the equation,” Remus reminds you. “Do you like him as more than a friend?”

You can’t help but laugh. 

“Remus John Lupin, I’ve been in love with him since second year.”

The moment you say that, it hits you like a brick wall. The buried emotions all bubble up and you lean back into the tree forcefully. Your head hits the trunk with a soft thud and you groan at the sudden pain. You know that you thought Sirius was cute from the moment you met him but it did take time and a little bit of maturing for you to decide that you liked him in that way. And because he is your brother’s best friend, you kept quiet about it, even to your female friends. Despite playing it off, you were bothered when you heard about him snogging another girl in the corridor. You were bothered when you heard girls giggle about how handsome he was and how they hoped he would give them attention or take them to Hogsmeade. You relish in the fact that out of every one of his friends, he chose to sit next to you in the common room night after night. And you treasured every time he let you see that vulnerable side of him that he kept so well hidden behind his bright smile and boisterous laugh and devil-may-care attitude. 

“If that’s true, why haven’t you made a move?” 

You laugh again, nudging Remus’s shoulder. 

“I thought you were the smart one of the group. He’s James’ best friend. His best friend who has never once shown an inkling of romantic interest in me. Why would I risk that level of embarrassment with someone who is obviously going to be in my life as long as I stay close with James?”

“Do you ever think that maybe he thought the same thing?”

“Rems, I…”

“Love, listen. I can’t tell you what to do. I can’t tell you for certain that he likes you. But I suggest you talk to him. Probably when James isn’t around. And if it comes to it, screw what James thinks. He just cares for you and doesn’t want to see you hurt. You are twins after all.”

You sit in silence for a minute. The crashing waves of the lake fill the air as the sun disappears over the horizon. 

“Rems, thanks for this. But we did miss dinner,” you finally say.

You stand up and hold out a hand to Remus. He takes it with a smile. He grunts as he stands up, like the old man the boys often compare him to.

“You act like we don’t know where the kitchens are…” 

After a quick stop by the kitchens for sandwiches, you enter the common room together. You are greeted by multiple versions of “There you are!” and “I told you they’d be together, I saw them leave Potions together!” It seems as if your disappearance had captured the attention of every sixth year Gryffindor. 

“You missed dinner!” James chides. 

“We grabbed sandwiches,” you say, holding up your almost finished grilled cheese. 

“What were you doing?” His eyes narrow at Remus. 

“Talking?” Remus answers, moving past James to sit by in a chair by the fire. 

You, however, feel frozen with James in front of you and the eyes of many Gryffindors on you. 

“Talking kept you from food?” Marlene asks in disbelief. “Must’ve been some conversation.”

“I’d say it was enlightening,” you say. 

“Did he teach you Lumos?” Peter asks from the couch. 

“Ha,” Remus says dryly. 

“Are you okay?” James asks you in a hushed tone as the non-sixth year Gryffindors slowly turn back to their own conversations. 

“Yes? I just needed to talk to Rem about something private.”

“Something private?” he asks, trying to get more information out of you. “With Moony? Come on, what is going on?”

“Nothing is going on. God forbid a girl talks to her male friends.”

“If nothing is going on, then tell me what you were talking about.”

“You are not privy to my every conversation,” you snap.

“I am a bit when it’s with one of my best mates.”

“Your best mates are also some of my best mates, James. Learn to share.”

Your voices were increasing in volume.

“Do I need to talk to him too?” James asks, placing a hand on your shoulder which you immediately shrug off. 

“No! And I never asked you to talk to Sirius!”

Sirius looks from Remus to you to James at the mention of his name. 

“You asked if you were…”

“I asked for information. That’s all. And you have the audacity to tell him to stay away from me?”

“I’m protecting you.”

“I don’t need protecting,” you spit. “And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be from your friends.” You look over at the boys and then back at James. “If anyone needs protecting from the people you call your best mates, then you need to reevaluate the kind of company you keep.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Let me get hurt.”

You give James one last nasty look before finally being able to move your feet. You disappear into the girls’ dorms. As you walk away, you can feel eyes watching your every move. Apparently if you argue with your brother loudly, the common room is forced to give you all of their attention. Once out of sight, James collapses on the couch, refusing to look at anyone. Lily, Marlene and Mary watch James sit down and then follow you up the stairs. Lily hesitates a moment before knocking on the door to your shared dorm. 

“Lovie?” she called softly as she opened the door a crack. “Potter!”

The door creaks loudly as it opens wider. You had changed out of your uniform and into muggle clothes. You are sitting on your bed, lacing up your heavy boots with a small bag next to you.

“Going somewhere?” Marlene asks. She is the first of the girls to enter the room.

“I need to clear my head.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” Lily asks, trying to keep her voice calm and gentle.

“Heard about some poachers gathering in the forest. And if I can’t find them, I’ll find some trolls or dugbogs or something.”

“And you plan on going alone?”

You shoot the girls a warning look. “Yes. Evans, if you threaten detention, make it for Thursday.”

Lily doesn’t say anything. 

“What did you and Lupin talk about?” Mary inquires, not quite seeing that you aren’t in the mood to talk about that yet. 

“Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter.”

You, having finished lacing your boots, grab you bag and storm out of the dorm. You have to push past Mary who is still standing in the doorway. Your heavy footsteps silence the common room before you finish descending the stairs. Eyes follow you as you leave the common room. Once out of the portrait, the common room roars to life again. 

“So… what the fuck?” Peter asks, looking at his friends.

“She’s pissed off,” Remus says coolly. “And I’d say for decent reason.”

James gives him an annoyed look.

“That time of the month, is it?”

“Peter, no!” Remus chastises. “She’s just figuring stuff out.”

“Care to share with the class?” James asks. 

“I’d prefer to not spend the next two weeks in the hospital wing so I’ll let her tell you when she’s ready.”

“So we’re going to let her go off like that?” Sirius asks, speaking up for the first time since you and Remus came back. 

“Yes,” Remus and James say at the same time. 

“Like she said, she doesn’t need protection,” Remus says, sending a wary glance to James.

---

Remus was mildly surprised that when he woke up, Sirius wasn’t in his bed. He was, however, less surprised when he found Sirius slumped on the couch in the common room. Remus approached him, ready to wake him up, only to find that Sirius was awake. His hair was slightly frizzy and dark bags formed under his eyes. He was still in his disheveled uniform from the day before, having never gone up to their dorm after dinner. 

“Pads?” he says gently. “Were you up all night?”

Sirius looks away from the fire groggily. 

“Huh?” He processes what Remus had asked him. He sits up, his back loudly cracking as he does so. “Yeah. Someone had to wait for Potter to get back.”

“And you didn’t come up when she did?”

Sirius shakes his head before running a hand through his curls.

“She didn’t, Moons. She didn’t come back.”

Remus’ eyes go wide.

“No, surely she came back. You must’ve drifted asleep at some point.”

“She didn’t. I was awake the whole time.”

Remus sits next to his friend, placing a hand on his knee. “Maybe she got back recently and just went straight to breakfast? How ‘bout we go get some, yeah?”

“Let me change,” Sirius mutteres, giving Remus a tired look.

He doesn’t move for a minute. His brain feels too fuzzy and wired at the same time. Convincing his legs to support his weight as he eventually stands up is more of a task than he anticipates. He is quick in getting ready for the day in their dorm. He doesn’t understand how James is still asleep, or how he had slept at all when you weren’t in the castle for all they knew. Sirius ties his hair back and looks at his reflection with his fresh uniform on. Despite his attempts to make himself look presentable, not having slept at all and being filled with worry makes him look exhausted, which is how he felt. He just doesn’t want to show it. He sighs and returns to Remus. 

Sirius watches the Great Hall door as he slowly eats some breakfast. He drinks some coffee that Remus pushed towards him, saying something along the lines of needing caffeine if he was planning on making it through the day. When the girls sit down, they confirm that you hadn't been in their dorm that morning and your bed looked unslept in. Sirius groans. The girls exchange curious looks. 

Palpable concern and worry finally reaches the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors when they are all sat in Charms and you still weren't there. 

“You’re certain that she didn’t come back and just made her bed when she got up?” James asks Marlene.

“Positive. All of her school things were still there. The bed hadn’t been touched.”

“And since when does she make her bed?” Lily asks. 

Halfway through class, you enter the room. All eyes turn to look at you. You have multiple bandages over your body, looking freshly applied. You hand Professor Flitwick a note and take your spot next to Mary. You don’t say anything to all the Gryffindors staring at you. You just open your book to the same page as Mary and turn to look at the professor, hoping he’d continue his lesson where he left off. 

“Where have you been?” Mary whispers, not looking at you.

“Forest. And then hospital wing,” you reply nonchalantly. 

“Did you sleep?”

“No. I’ll be fine,” you assert. “Now shush.”

After Charms ends, the Gryffindors surround you so you can’t slip away to your next class. You avoid making eye contact with any of them as you gather your things and attempt to push through them. 

“Going into the forest at night is one thing,” Lily chides. “Not coming back until halfway through the first lesson of the day is another.”

“Okay, mum,” you say shortly, still trying to push through the group.

“Aren’t you going to explain yourself?” James asks.

You glare at him. “Certainly not to you.”

“You look like you barely came back in one piece!” he exclaims. “I’m shocked Pomfrey let you leave the hospital wing.”

A wicked glint shines in your eyes. “Oh, she didn’t. I just left.”

“Potter!” Mary gasps.

“Macdonald!” you mimic with an eye roll. “If you lot don’t get out of my way, I’ll be late for Ancient Runes and I’m already on thin ice with Raltmole.”

You finally push through the group and leave them in the Charms classroom. They exchange frustrated looks before following you out. They split up for their respective classes, Remus and Lily following you towards the Ancient Runes classroom. 

“Did you find the poachers you were looking for?” Lily asks tentatively once they sit on either side of you. 

You nod. “And then some. The hippogriffs they had weren’t happy to be freed.”

“Did you bow to them?” Remus asks.

“No? Was I supposed to?”

“Yes!” Remus breathes.

You hum and spin your quill in your fingers. “Now I know for next time.”

Professor Raltmole gathers the class’ attention and begins her lecture. Remus takes a ratty piece of parchment from his bookbag and scrawls a short note on it before sliding it across the desk toward you. 

Padfoot waited up for you

You quickly read it, write a response and slide it back.

Is that why he looks like living death?

He didn’t sleep because you were gone

You crumple the paper when you get it back from Remus. You shove it in your pocket, away from Lily’s view. 

“I’ll talk to him later,” you hiss to Remus.

An angry Madam Pomfrey yells at you in front of most of the castle at lunch for sneaking out of the hospital wing when you were clearly still in need of tending to. An excuse of not wanting to miss more class seemed to ward her off, but you feel the nurse’s frustrated gaze on you for the rest of the meal. Mary and Marlene ask you about the poachers you dueled as you walked to your next class. You recount a watered down version of the previous night’s events for them. You make sure that your injuries still make sense but their severity less. The girls are simply impressed and less concerned for their friend. 

You are happy when the second half of the day is more concentrated on schoolwork rather than what you had gotten up to last night. You didn’t want to keep reliving being outnumbered by the poachers and just barely getting out without being too injured. The fear in the hippogriffs’ eyes haunted you. It reminds you that what you did was right, but they had still attacked you after you unlocked their cages. Sitting at dinner, you gently touch the bandage on her face and wince. 

“If it hurts, you probably shouldn’t touch it,” Lily says. “Or go see Pomfrey again. I’m sure she’d love to patch you up more.”

“Going back is admitting defeat,” you say definitively. 

You wouldn’t go back, not even when your bandages need to be replaced. You know that the boys have plenty of bandages in their dorm and you could use some of those. You worried that Pomfrey would handcuff you to a cot and place a charm on it so you couldn’t escape. You were determined to not be held captive to the nurse. 

You fold gravy into your mashed potatoes until they turn a gross shade of pale brown. Your whole body had started to ache during the last lesson of the day. The pain is stronger than your hunger and all you want to do now is sleep. However, you weren’t dumb. Your friends would have cursed you into next week, or at least taken you to Madam Pomfrey, if you hadn’t shown up to dinner. You sigh as the plates in the middle of the table clear and replenish with desserts. Nothing looks appetizing. You force yourself to swallow some of the potatoes so you could claim that you did have some dinner. After a few bites, you resume swirling the soft mush around your plate. 

“Darling, you done?” Marlene asks, standing up across from you. 

You look up, noticing that a fair amount of students had already left the Great Hall. 

“I guess so,” you say. 

You walk back to the Gryffindor Tower in silence. Marlene seems to read your body language, which says you aren’t in the mood to talk anymore. Your face has a hardened look to it with your arms crossed over your chest. After giving the password, Marlene makes sure to hold open the portrait for you so it doesn't close on you. 

You would be lying if you said you didn’t smile a little when you saw Sirius sitting on the couch with no one else. Marlene heads for the girls’ stairs, half expecting you to follow her up. Instead, you make a beeline for the couch and lay down, your head resting in Sirius’ lap.

“Hey Black,” you say, looking up at him.

“Aren’t you exhausted?” he asks, looking down at you. “I think you got as much sleep as I did last night.”

“So Remus says,” you reply. 

Sirius twirls some of your hair around his finger, something he had done hundreds of times before. Only this time, you see it as something more tender, all thanks to what Remus had said the day prior. It sent off butterflies in your stomach.

“Must’ve been some conversation you two had yesterday,” Sirius mumbles. “What else would keep you out so late?”

You scoff. “James being a prat. But it was some conversation. I think I needed to hear it.”

Sirius’ expression softens. 

“What did you need to hear?”

“It was… a reality check.” 

You pause, studying the look on his face. You are vaguely aware of the other people in the common room, but the way Sirius is looking at you could’ve convinced you that you were the only one in the entire castle with those grey eyes. Without saying anything to each other, you feel as if the only things you can hear are your breathing and the muted crackling of the fire not far from you. You reach up and tuck a curl behind his ear, revealing his multiple piercings that he’d gotten over the years. You notice his breathing hitch as your hand gently grazes his face. You smile at him. 

“So between the reality check and Mr. Bitchiness himself, I needed to clear my head.”

Sirius shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

“I think you should find a way to clear your head that doesn’t involve barely coming back in one piece, Potter.”

“I thought you called me pumpkin.”

“I thought you hated being called that.”

“I do, but I let you get away with it.” You gently poke the tip of his nose playfully. Your gaze briefly flicks to his lips before returning to his eyes. “You’re… special.” 

“That doesn’t look like a meter,” James’ voice calls, bringing you back into the noise of the common room. 

You can see your brother standing over the two of you behind the couch. His face isn’t quite murderous, but it was getting there. 

“She’s exhausted and in pain and you come swooping in?” James accuses Sirius. “I thought I told you to give her space.”

You sit up and glare at James, the tenderness of the moment with Sirius evaporated.

“Excuse you,” you say, a disgusted snarl creeping up on your face. “He did no such swooping. And you can’t tell people to stay away from me.”

“I’m your brother! It’s my job to keep people away from you,” he says, giving his friend a sour look. “Especially when I think they have immoral intentions.”

“Have you considered that I’m the one who came to him and not the other way around?” 

“Why would you?”

You blink. “Because he’s my friend?”

“He’s my friend,” James says.

You can’t stop yourself. You slap James across the face. You feel your own face burning and tears beginning to brim in your eyes. 

“I see you didn’t learn anything from last night, you git,” you spit at him. 

You stand up, leaving Sirius alone on the couch. He watches in silence as you turn to leave the common room. You slam the portrait behind you, earning a scolding from the Fat Lady about respect. The common room remains silent as Sirius looks up at James.

“Prongs, I swear, she came to me,” he says. “I was sitting here and she came to me. She walked in with Marlene long after we came back from dinner.”

“Whatever, Pads. Just keep your distance from her, like you said you would.”

Sirius lets his lips form a thin line as he looks away from James and back to the fire. Technically, he had never said he would keep away from you. James had just insisted on it. James sighs heavily, glancing at the portrait hole. He is glad that you didn’t go upstairs to change and grab whatever you would need to go out again, but you leaving in such a fury wasn’t ideal either. He turns and goes back up to their dorm. When Remus sees how upset James is, he immediately goes to check in on Sirius, letting Peter work on calming James down. 

Remus sits on the other side of the couch. Sirius is radiating an energy that said he needed a little bit of space around him. 

“Padfoot,” Remus says, speaking tentatively. “What just happened? Why is Prongs in a huff again?”

“He’s accusing me of trying to defile her when she’s not in her right mind.”

Remus isn’t a fan that Sirius didn’t look at him when he talked. He didn’t want his friend to stay up all night staring into the fire again. 

“Where is she?”

Sirius shrugs. “Slapped Prongs and left.”

Remus raised his eyebrows and leaned toward Sirius. 

“She slapped him?” he asks, trying to hold in some laughter. “Honestly, someone needed to and it’s good it came from her. He’ll forgive her.”

“Do you think he’d forgive me?” Sirius asks, his voice barely audible and eyes still not leaving the flickering flames. 

“Forgive you for what?” Remus asks cautiously. “Did you… defile her?”

Sirius scoffs. “No, Merlin… But… fuck. Nevermind.”

Remus scoots to the middle cushion of the couch. He places a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius looks away from the fire. His cheeks are dusted with a faint blush. 

“Padfoot, be honest with me. How do you feel about her?” 

Remus’ voice is soft. It has a sense of pleading to it, as if begging Sirius to admit something he doesn’t want to, as if begging him to be more vulnerable in the middle of the common room than he has ever been before. Sirius just shakes his head with a frown.

“That doesn’t matter.”

With a harsh sigh, Remus tries again. “Prongs doesn’t matter right now. How do you, Padfoot, Sirius Orion Black, feel about her?”

“Like she is the most precious thing.” He closes his eyes and turns his face toward the fire again. “But Prongs does matter. So how I feel doesn’t. I need his friendship more than I need a relationship.”

Remus gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“Imagine if everything went right though… You and Prongs could legally be brothers.”

Sirius coughs in surprise at his words. Of course, he had thought about it from time to time. James was his brother in practically all ways except literally. You, being alluring as you were, were something different. You weren't a sister to him. What he feels for you isn’t what he would feel for a sister and it is certainly more than anything he has felt for any other girl. 

“Think about it, Pads, yeah?” Remus suggests, giving his shoulder another squeeze. “You think Wormtail has calmed Prongs down enough for it to be safe to go back up there?”

Remus glances toward the stairs. Then he looks back at Sirius, who has opened his eyes but stares absently at the hearth. 

“You said she left the common room? You don’t think she’ll be gone all night again, do you?” Remus questions, his voice having more concern than before. 

“She’ll be back… Although it might be better if I’m not down here when she returns…”

---

You spend the rest of the week avoiding James. You put as many people in between you as possible when you have to be near him. If he tries to talk to you, you either ignore him or speak to him through someone else. It pisses him off. You also take to avoiding the common room, being that he was often there. For once, you find yourself being furious that Remus and Sirius were James’ friends first and yours second.

Marlene sits down in the library at the same table as you, Mary and Lily. You are working on various assignments, books littering the tables. Marlene clears a small section for her to get out her own work. She shoots a wary look toward you.

“Black’s back on his bullshit,” she says, watching you for a reaction that you don’t give her. 

You keep your eyes on your Ancient Runes assignment.

“Who’s he snogging now?” Lily asks. She knows someone has to buy into the bait.

“Charity Burbage.”

“Didn’t realize she was his type…” Mary mutters. “Isn’t she a few years younger?”

“Fourth year, but she’s… mature if you know what I mean,” Marlene answers, giving her own breasts a squeeze.

“Alright, we get your point,” Lily says, cutting her off. “Remember that we’re here to do homework, right?”

You just scoff and keep working. Hearing that Sirius was off snogging a busty fourth year rubbed you the wrong way. You keep thinking back to what Sirius had said and what Remus had told you about him. You think about how Sirius had been the one waiting up for you to come back that night you got into the fight with James. You don’t want to imagine Sirius sucking face with a younger girl, but the image keeps appearing in your mind. It makes your blood boil. 

“Potter, you good?” Mary whispers from across the table.

You look up at Mary and then back down at your paper. There were various splotches of ink where you had been holding your quill and lightly tapping it. You sighed in annoyance. 

“Guess Raltmole is getting subpar work again,” you groan. 

You look over at the assignment sheet again and force a smile. At least you were on the last question. Once you answer it, you could make an excuse to leave. You hurriedly finish and begin putting your stuff away.

“I’ll see you lot later.”

“Going back to the common room?” Lily asks, not looking up from her own assignment. 

“Yeah,” you lie. You had no intention of going back to Gryffindor Tower and risk running into James. 

You make your way up to the astronomy tower. As you climb the stairs, hot tears sting in your eyes and begin to fall. You have never been so glad to find the tower completely empty. You sit down near the edge of the platform. The cold air feels nice as you feel like you are overheating. Your mind is spinning with thoughts of Sirius. You hate that you had admitted to Remus that you had been harboring feelings for Sirius for years and everything you had buried so deep inside of you had been brought back to the surface. You hate that your friends feel the need to bring up whoever they saw Sirius kissing. 

As you look over the horizon, lost in your thoughts, you hear a string of swears from the stairs. You don’t look to see who it was. It isn’t a Gryffindor and that’s all that really matters to you at this moment. When the boy reaches the top of the stairs, he immediately spots you at the edge of the platform. He swears again, having hoped the tower would be empty, but then he notices you shuddering and hears your sniffles. 

“Is this where everyone goes when they’re upset?” Barty Crouch Jr. asks, taking a step towards you, unsure of how you felt about having company. He had wanted to be alone so maybe you did too.

You turn your head to look at him. Your face is flushed and eyes red. Tears streak your face. Barty decides that you look too pitiful to leave alone. He sits down next to you, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the platform and leaning backwards. 

“Misery loves company, doesn’t it?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you.

You smiled softly, although it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Depends on the company you keep.”

“Well, I came up here to be alone.” He kicks his legs in the open air. “But you’re not a Slytherin so I’ll give you a chance.”

“And you’re not a Gryffindor so I won’t ask you to leave.”

He chuckles and gives you a half smile. “Lions and snakes can be too much from time to time.”

“You can say that again. … What’d they do to you?”

“Evan… He’s hiding something from me and it’s not good. He needs to let me in, but it’s hard to convince him when everyone, Black, Snape, Avery, Wilkes, tells me to drop it. God forbid I try to be involved in my boyfriend’s life…” Barty sighs. “Everyone ganged up on me, even Pandora.”

“Didn’t know you and Evan… Rosier?” 

“Yeah, Rosier. We don’t make it a habit to snog in the corridors like the other Black.”

You grimace. The other Black was your issue. 

“What?”

“The other Black…”

Barty’s eyes widen. “You and him? I thought I heard he was…”

“We’re not,” you cut him off. “Which is why I’m up here.”

“I need a distraction from Ev… What’s up with that little blood traitor?”

You glare at Barty. “I’m not going to talk to you if you’re going to be like that.”

“Sorry, habit. What’s the other Black up to?”

You shake your head and adjust so your legs hang over the edge too. You sniffle again and blink away tears that threaten to stream down your face again.

“How am I supposed to know if he likes me if I keep hearing that he’s going into a broom closet with a new girl every other day?”

“You like him?” Barty asks. “Of course you do. Just about every girl has a fantasy about him.”

You scoff. “Every girl… Yeah. That’s part of the problem. He all but told me that I’m the reason he’s snogging every girl in our year. And yours. And then some.”

“You’re the reason?”

“Something like James would kill him if he touched me so he touches everyone else.” You roll your eyes and lean forward into the metal railing. “And then Remus goes off and says he’s fairly certain that Sirius really does like me in the way I like him. And James constantly acting like I need protection from his friends. And every time I think I’ve collected myself and reburied my feelings for Black, Marlene and Mary come around and talk about who they saw him with.” You shake your head. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid.”

“Your stupid problem is better than thinking about mine. I know Ev will be cooled off when I get back and we’ll be fine. Your problem is… more.”

“Do the Slytherins think Sirius has some checklist of every girl he needs to snog before graduation?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Not that I know of, but I’m around Reg a lot and we don’t talk about his brother in front of him unless we have a death wish.” He pauses. “Poor wording because some of us do… We don’t talk about him.”

“Hmm… It’s definitely a topic among Gryffindors. Obviously.”

“He’d never be able to finish it.”

You give him a confused look as you sniffle again. 

“You and that redhead. The one your brother and Snape are obsessed with.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, Lily would never kiss Sirius. Even for a dare. She’d rather do just about anything else.”

“And I call that a success!” Barty says with a smile. “Got the crying girl to laugh.”

“That you did…”

“May regret asking this, but what set you off? Why are you here now? Sounds like you’re just eternally pining.”

“Marlene said she saw Black snogging Burbage.”

“She’s younger than me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Gross.”

“Yeah.” You sigh and feel tears fall again. 

Your mind keeps telling you it was stupid to be jealous over a silly fourth year, but it was unfair. Barty notices you starting to cry again.

“Come here,” he says as he puts his arm around you. 

While he and Evan would fight, he hoped they would never make each cry like this. The girl he had only ever seen as a force to be reckoned with was reduced to a puddle of emotions. You rest your head on Barty’s shoulder. It gives you a little bit of comfort to be hurting with someone else.

---

“She’s where with who?” James yells in their dorm. 

When the girls had returned from the library and asked if you were in their room, they were met with confused stares from the boys. They hadn’t seen you since dinner and they had been in the common room all evening. While the girls shared looks of minor confusion, the boys shared looks of worry. The boys had immediately gone up to their dorm and opened the map. Each scanned a different section, looking for your name.

“She’s in the astronomy tower with Junior,” Peter repeats. 

“Is she trying to get herself killed?”

“You seem far more concerned about her being with Junior than you did with her going off to fight poachers,” Sirius mutters, going to sit on his bed. 

James turns to glare at him.

“What does that mean?”

“Just questioning what, or who, you think counts as dangerous.”

“You damn well know that Junior is dangerous,” James growls. 

“Oh, I do know that, Prongs. But I’m not. I’m not a threat to her.”

“We aren’t talking about this right now, Padfoot. She is actually in danger right now!” 

“Should we be concerned that their names aren’t moving?” Peter asks, still looking at the map. “Neither one has even shifted so they aren’t walking around or nothing.”

The two boys look over at Peter, anger fading from their faces and being replaced with fear and concern. 

“That’s it. I’m going to get her,” James announces, moving for the door before Remus stops him.

“Like hell you are,” he says firmly. “In case you’re more dense than I think you are, you’re not her favorite person right now. I don’t think it’s wise that you go.”

“Then who’s going to go? Can’t really ask Lily to go fetch her without explaining the map.”

“Padfoot, you go see if she’s okay,” Remus decides. “Just… don’t overreact to whatever you’re walking into.”

Sirius doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips out of the door behind Remus, shooting James a gloating face. Once the door is closed, Remus lets James go. 

“Tell me how Padfoot is going to handle that situation better than I would,” James demands. 

“First off, you would walk in and blast Junior off the tower. Don’t act like you wouldn’t. And like I said, she is still angry with you. You going would only make things worse between you two,” Remus starts to explain. “Second, it would’ve been best if I went, but then I’d be leaving you and Padfoot alone and I didn’t feel like returning to a blood bath.”

James frowns, although he could see the logic behind Remus’ actions. He doesn’t need to ask why they didn’t send Peter; he didn’t have what it might take to get you away from Barty if it came to that. 

Sirius’ stomach churns when he sees Barty’s arm around you. You appear to be willingly leaning into his side. You are sitting at the edge of the platform, legs hanging over the edge and resting against the bars. Keeping quiet as he lingers in the doorway, he can hear you having a whispered conversation. You were sniffling. After a few minutes of watching them and feeling sick, Sirius makes his presence known.

“Hey, pumpkin,” he says softly, causing both of them to jump at the sound of his voice. “Everyone’s looking for you.”

Barty glares at Sirius. They had never gotten along, especially with Barty being one of Regulus’ closer friends. 

“Piss off, Black. We’re having a conversation,” he spits, still holding onto you although it was a looser grip. 

You had turned your body and propped one of your legs up on the platform. You wipe your nose and sniffle. Now that you were looking at Sirius, he could see that your eyes were red and puffy from crying. 

“Everyone can piss off, actually,” you say, voice shaky. “They can handle a night without me.”

You let your leg fall back over the edge as you turn back to looking over the horizon. Barty follows suit. Sirius walks closer to you and sits down only a short distance away, resting his back against a pillar. 

“Well, I’m not going back without you. So, carry on. I’ll walk you back when you’re ready.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, not that Sirius saw either. 

“Black, I would’ve thought by now you’d be able to tell when you aren’t wanted,” Barty says, venom dripping from his words. “Get out of here before I make you.”

“Last I checked, she was more my friend than yours,” Sirius replies. 

“Guess you haven’t checked recently.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at Barty as his arm pulls her waist closer to his. 

“Guess fate is being extra cruel tonight,” Barty mutters to you and you nod in agreement. “I’m going to be fine, but are you?”

“Eventually, I assume,” you say. “I just feel defeated, and that doesn’t help.” 

“What did I do?” Sirius asks, knowing that he was what you were referring to.

You and Barty look over at him. 

“The fact that you have to ask…” you sigh with a sniffle. 

“Do you want me to go?” Barty asks.

“Yes,” Sirius answers.

“I wasn’t asking you, Black,” Barty snarls. “Potter? I’m not leaving you with him unless you ask me to.”

Sirius gapes at Barty. The Slytherin seemed genuinely concerned to leave you alone with Sirius, someone you had been alone with many times before. He doesn’t understand why people weren’t trusting him to be around one of his friends. He didn’t think he had done anything to earn that. 

“Stay,” you say.

The one word hits Sirius hard. He feels like he is going to throw up. In what world would you be asking Barty Crouch Jr. to stay? 

“What the hell, love?” Sirius asks. 

You shoot him a hurt look. “Burbage? Really?”

He groans and runs a hand through his hair.

“Is that what this is about? I thought we talked about this.”

You let out a cold and empty laugh. “We talked about this? No. You were just incredibly cryptic about some feelings you may or may not have as you let James run your life.”

“So you get with Crouch?”

You and Barty look at each other and make faces of disgust before slightly pushing away from each other, as if suddenly becoming aware of how close they actually were. 

“We… no. Absolutely not,” you stutter.

“I don’t… I’m taken,” Barty says. 

“He is,” you confirm with a nod.

You scoot back from the ledge, still sitting much closer to Barty than you were to Sirius. Barty does the opposite, leaning further over the railing and slumping like a rag doll. Sirius looks from one to the other. 

“Then what is this?”

“One upset person comforting another?” Barty offers.

“And you’re upset?” Sirius challenges, not quite believing him.

“You don’t seem upset nor are you comforting Potter. So that would leave me being the other upset person. Yes.”

“Whatever. Darling, can we go?”

“No?”

“Hey, come on.”

“No.” 

Barty gives you a wary look. Then he stands up, moving slowly toward the door.

“I’m going… to go. You two… need to talk.”

“Barty, no,” you plead. Your eyes looked ready to cry again. “Please, stay.”

“No, bye bye Barty,” Sirius says, standing up. 

Sirius claps Barty on the shoulder, walks him to the doorway and makes sure he leaves. Then he walks over to you and holds out his hand. 

“Come on, darling. Let’s go.”

You don’t take his hand. You spin where you sit to face away from him. Whenever he moved to be in front of you, you’d spin again. You know you are acting like a stubborn child, but you feel that you’ve earned that. He allows you to act like this for a few minutes before he gest tired of it.

“Pumpkin, come on. If you don’t come with me, I’ll have to go back and James will come get you.”

You make a disgruntled face and finally take Sirius’ hand. 

“What did Junior mean by we need to talk?” Sirius asks as you walk toward the stairs. 

“The Marauders need to get their shit together,” you say, not looking back at him and starting to descend the stairs. 

Sirius follows you, picking up his speed to stay just one step behind you.

“So it’s not just me?”

You stop abruptly. Sirius bumps into you and you have to grab onto the railing to stop yourself from falling.

“Prongs needs to keep himself in check. He needs to stay in his lane. Moony needs to stop getting a girl’s hopes up. You need to go after that one girl you like and stick to her. I’m tired of hearing about a new girl’s tongue down your throat every day.” You pause. You had brought their friend group’s name into it so you had to name everyone. “Wormtail… uh, needs to be less of an idiot. Get him a real sense of humor or something.”

“And you told Junior all of that?”

“Yes.”

You walk the rest of the way back to Gryffindor Tower in silence. Sirius isn’t sure what to say that would make you feel better so he settles on silence. You still sniffled a few times, but they were getting less frequent. You seem to be more furious now than sad, which was something of a win. When you enter the common room, you both keep walking to your individual dorms. You go straight to bed, closing the curtains around so that no one will bother you. Sirius is met with James, Remus and Peter anxiously waiting. 

“Took you damn long enough,” James says as soon as Sirius walks through the doors. “What did that bastard do to her?”

“Gee, no Thanks Padfoot, thanks for getting my sister back safe and sound?” Sirius mocks. His mind is still stuck on what you had said to him about all of them. He sighs. “If what they both said is true, they simply talked. She was crying; he comforted her.”

“What was she crying about?” Peter asks. 

Sirius makes eye contact with Remus. It seems like Remus knew immediately what she was crying about, but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to say it in front of James.

“Coudn’t get it out of her,” he lies. 

---

You follow the girls around Hogsmeade on Saturday. You don’t really care where the group goes and you are able to mostly drown out their conversations. Your brain is empty. It is easier for it to be empty than to think about everything that made you cry the previous night. 

Mary, Lily, Marlene and her girlfriend, Dorcas, carry their own conversations and manage to stick together as a group all day. They don’t seem to notice that you are in your head. They just make sure that you are still tagging along, not left behind anywhere. 

“It’s good to get out of the castle for a good, safe time,” Mary had told you this morning when she insisted that you come instead of rotting in bed all day as you had planned to. 

The group is heading back into Hogsmeade Square from Dogwood and Deathcap when they run into the Marauders in the cemetery. No one questions why they were messing around the tombs. With them, it is better to just accept it and move on with your day. The boys insist that they all go to the Three Broomsticks and end their day with as many butterbeers as they could drink. You, being determined to not talk to any of the boys, pinch the bridge of your nose as the girls enthusiastically agree. Lily hangs back as the boys lead the way to the pub.

“We could probably sneak back to the castle,” Lily mutters to you as you follow the group at a short distance. 

“So you’re delusional,” you reply. “James will most certainly notice you’re gone.” 

“They would notice you’re gone too… Don’t think I haven’t taken note of how quiet you’ve been.”

“I didn’t want to come here in the first place,” you hiss. 

Lily reaches out to grab your hand and interlocked your fingers. “Well, we can suffer through butterbeers together. And then rot in our beds tomorrow.” 

“Lily Evans doesn’t rot,” you snort.

You allow the girl to pull you into the Three Broomsticks after your friends. They somehow managed to push two tables together to accommodate their large group, which is an impressive feat given how busy the pub always was when students visited the village in troves. It doesn’t take long for Madam Rosmerta to get foaming mugs of butterbeer in front of everyone. The group sat divided by gender at the table. You made sure to sit on the same side of the table as James so if you accidentally looked down the table, you had a near impossible chance of making eye contact with him. It helped that he was at the complete opposite end of the table. Although Lily had said you would be suffering through butterbeers together, she is quickly engulfed into an animated conversation with Dorcas, Remus and Peter. Mary and Marlene were listening intently, but didn’t offer much to the conversation. James and Sirius appeared to be in their own world at their end of the table. You were content ignoring everyone’s conversations. 

You slowly sip on your drink, looking around the pub. A handful of Slytherins are sitting at a table in the corner. You somehow manage to catch Barty’s eye and you share a small smile. Next to him sat the blond Evan Rosier and he was throwing back drinks and laughing loudly. You could see what Barty saw in him. There was a certain lightness to him. 

“Mind if I sit here?” a voice asks, bringing your attention to a boy standing at the end of the table with a chair in hand. 

“What?”

You recognize him from classes. Davey Something, Ravenclaw. You never really paid him any attention. 

“Can I sit here? All my friends went back to the castle already.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Davey, right?” you ask, pulling your mug closer to you.

He sits kitty corner to you, despite there being empty space across from you. You assume that he didn’t know that no one was sitting there. 

“That’s my name,” he replies with a smile. 

He glances down the table to the rest of the Gryffindors and Dorcas. None of them seem to notice or care that someone new has joined their table. 

“Anything interesting going on in Gryffindor Tower lately?” Davey asks, returning his gaze to you. “Most interesting thing to happen in Ravenclaw is a fourth year beat a seventh year in Wizards’ Chess.”

You chuckle and take a sip of your butterbeer.

“Oh, there is always something happening in our tower,” you say. “I slapped James. Argued with him in front of the entire common room. Sirius pulled an all-nighter for no reason. He’s also been snogging anything that moves in a skirt.”

Davey’s smile dips slightly. “Been snogging you?”

“No,” you say with an eye roll, before chuckling as you continue. “James banned him from being within a meter of me for that very reason.”

“That what you argued with him about?”

“Part of it. He’s been acting like I can’t handle myself. Like I had a simple chat with Remus and James threw a fit.”

“He got pissy because you were hanging out with his mates?”

“Yes! That’s also why he got slapped. Those were two different days…” You pause as you glance down the table. “And from what I can tell, he’s still on his bullshit.”

“Definitely is bullshit,” Davey agrees. His brilliant blue eyes looked deep into your eyes. “I think the whole castle knows how capable you are at handling yourself.”

“Do I really have a reputation of more than being the female Potter?” you ask, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, darling, you do.”

“Tell me about it.”

You take a drink of your butterbeer, draining it. Rosmerta is quick to bring around another one and one for Davey as well. You hadn’t noticed that he didn’t have a mug in front of him previously. 

“If you didn’t have Sirius or James as your perpetual dueling partners, you’d have trouble finding one in Defense class. You’re.. too good. It’s almost scary.”

You smile widely with a faint blush on your cheeks. You knew you were good at dueling. That’s why you went off to fight poachers when you knew where they were and didn’t bother buying potion ingredients that could be gathered if you ventured a little further than teachers normally approved. You had also been told by many teachers that you were exceptional at dueling, but hearing from a decently cute boy did something to your ego. 

“From what I’ve heard, you’re amazing in every subject. We don’t have many together anymore. But when we were younger, I remember seeing you taunt James whenever you got a better grade than he did… which was pretty often.”

“What’s the point of having a twin if you can’t be better than him,” you laugh. 

“Are you better than him at quidditch?”

You groan at that question. “No…”

“Darn. I was hoping you could make the Gryffindor team better.”

You lightly hit Davey’s shoulder playfully.

“Gryffindor is a damn good team!”

“Your seeker is trash!”

You take a second to think about who your seeker is. 

“Isn’t he a second year? Cut the kid some slack!”

Davey laughs. “But if he’s the best that tried out? I’m doubting the captain’s skills.”

“Too bad that isn’t a James diss. For some reason he wasn’t made captain this year, but he was last year. Quidditch politics baffle me.”

“I’d try to explain them, but I think they differ by house.”

“You’re not on Ravenclaw’s team?”

“I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have friends who are.”

“James likes to make it his entire personality so I’ve become fairly good at tuning it all out. There are better things to focus on.”

“Yeah? What captures your pretty little brain?”

“During the summer and over breaks, I’m a top-tier chef and baker. I honestly don’t know what my parents eat while we’re at school because I literally make every meal when I’m home.”

“You cook? Isn’t that what house elves are for?”

“Not everyone has, or needs, an elf,” you say firmly. “But, like, cooking is good for distracting my brain. Although I could be better in Potions…”

“You’re in N.E.W.T. level Potions. I’m sure you’re fine,” Davey assures you, placing his hand over yours on the table. “What else do you do besides dueling, cooking and looking beautiful?”

You feel yourself blush more. 

“Merlin, this sounds nerdy, but I really do love learning about obscure magic. Haven’t gotten my hands on any good books yet this year because they are usually deep in the Restricted Section and Pince has been watching it like a hawk.”

“Obscure magic? Very Ravenclaw of you.”

You were trying to not look at his hand that was still on yours. His gaze is fixed intently on you. You have all of his attention.

“I plan on either being an Auror or an Unspeakable after school so a deep understanding of magic is important.” 

“Look at you. Big ambitions.”

You look down at your empty mugs. You aren’t entirely sure when either of you had finished your drinks but apparently you had. You cast a quick glance down the table as well. You don’t know why you are relieved that no one was paying attention to you, all completely engulfed in one large conversation now. 

“Want to get out of here?” you ask, looking back to Davey.

He smiles widely at your suggestion. He stands up and pulls out your chair to help you up.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he whispers into your ear. “Lead the way.”

You take Davey’s hand and you head for the door. You make sure to bump into James’ chair. 

“Oops,” you say with a giggle before pulling Davey out of the pub into the autumn evening. 

James and Sirius watch you leave with equal looks of distaste.

“Where’s she going?” Sirius asks.

“Better yet, who the fuck is she with?” James follows up. 

The rest of the table turns to look but the door has already closed behind you. Despite wanting to follow them, Sirius and James return their attention to the group’s discussion about whether the foul smelling liquid from Gobbstones would cover up the smell of Amortentia. They hadn’t discussed the potion in class yet, but they had heard of the powerful love potion. 

You and Davey walk around Hogsmeade, weaving in between buildings. There’s easy conversation between you, nothing too deep or heavy. You can tell by the way he looks at you and lets his touch linger that he’s looking for something more, but conversation feels so platonic. It feels like two acquaintances getting to know each other, which is what it was. You can’t deny that Davey’s attractive, but there’s no draw to him besides a little bit of attention and maybe some revenge aimed at Sirius and James. You find yourself in the garden outside of the village, walking up to the platform that overlooks the Black Lake. The distant glow of Hogsmeade lights it up just right so it feels far more romantic. As you lean over the ledge, you wonder if Sirius’ method of snogging someone else helps you get over them. Looking at Davey, or his lip if you’re being precise, you debate giving it a shot. 

Then there’s a burst of noise that makes both of you jump and look over your shoulders. You can barely see the Three Broomsticks and the herd of people leaving it. It isn’t hard to tell that they are arguing. You can pick out James, Sirius, Lily and Dorcas’ voices. Both of you stare for a moment before looking back at each other. 

“What do you think happened after we left?” he asks. 

You shrug. “Not sure.”

“Don’t be rash!” Lily yells.

“I’m going to kill him!”

“James! Slow down!” Dorcas yells.

“When I find them, I’m going to kill him!” 

“And I’m helping!” Sirius adds.

“Like hell you are,” James resorts.

“There!” Marlene exclaims, her voice sounding more cheerful than the others. 

You turn to look at Davey nervously when you notice that Marlene is pointing in your direction and the group begins running. James and Sirius shrug off Lily and Dorcas’ grips on them as they tried to hold the boys back. The two are in a full on sprint with the rest of the group jogging behind them. It appeared that they came to the conclusion that none of them could outrun them. 

“Gudgeon, step away from her,” James snarls once he reaches the platform. 

Davey raises his eyebrows at your brother. “Why?”

“Because he bloody told you to, you git,” Sirius adds, heaving from running. 

“But why?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn to fully face them. “He came out here with me.”

“And you’re coming back with us,” James says. “Been a long day, time to go home.”

You hum and look at Davey. 

“I think I want to stay out a little longer.”

Davey smiles widely at you and then looks back at James and Sirius. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side.

“You boys heard ‘er. She wants to stay.”

“James,” Lily warns as the rest of the group approaches.

She noticed before you that he had started to reach for his wand. James looks at Lily. 

“Lils, you must-” he starts to say, but then Sirius is ripping Davey’s arm off of you and picking you up to throw you over his shoulder. 

Your yelp of surprise is what cut off James’ excuse to Lily. 

“SIRIUS BLACK, YOU PUT ME DOWN!” you holler, trying to remove yourself from his grip.

“Ready to go?” he simply asks the rest of the group.

“Yeah, I’m good,” James answers, much more calm than he had been moments before. 

Davey watches as Sirius carries you in the direction of the castle, followed by James and the rest of the group. Peter and Remus bring up the rear, shooting him glares for having gone near you. While the girls didn’t seem to approve of how Sirius and James had gone about getting you away from Davey or why they had, they do seem to support getting you back to the castle.

“Sirius, are you going to put me down?” you ask, sounding defeated.

“No.”

“Why’d you leave the group?” Dorcas asks, moving into your line of sight.

“Too loud and hot,” you lie. You weren’t about to say that you were looking for a pretty distraction from the irritation your brother and boy carrying you caused you. 

“Just talk to us next time, yeah? We’ll leave,” James says. “Afterall, you know the buddy system.”

“I had a buddy,” you correct him. “Davey is a just fine buddy.”

“A buddy who just wants to get into your pants,” Marlene sings. 

“Huh?”

“He’s just looking for a quick shag, darling,” Mary clarifies. 

“Which is why we came to your rescue!” Sirius says.

“Rescue or ambush?” you grumble. “Maybe I wanted a quick shag too.”

The rest of the walk back to Hogwarts is quiet. Your ribs have grown sore from being slung over Sirius’ shoulder and your head feels light. At one point, you close your eyes and just listen to the crunching of leaves underfoot. 

“Alright, down you go, pumpkin,” Sirius says as you arrive at the entrance to Hogwarts’ grounds. “Figure you can walk from here.” 

He puts you down gently and all you can do is glare at him. You walk slowly into the grounds and the group takes that as a sign that all is well. 

“Marls, come on. I got something for you in the dungeons,” Dorcas says, grabbing Marlene’s hand and pulling her toward the castle.

The rest of the group follows suit, picking up their pace to get inside the warmth of the castle. You, however, keep your slow pace. You certainly aren’t in the mood to be sitting with them around the fire in the common room after you were literally hauled back. Sirius is the only one who lingers with you. 

“You alright?” he asks quietly, bumping shoulders with you. 

You sigh and look up at him. Damn those grey eyes and how warm they make you feel.

“Just tired of James acting like he controls my life.”

Sirius nods and takes a deep breath. 

“Come with me,” he says and holds out his hand for you to take. 

You hesitate. Your mind is screaming both to take it and to slap it away. How dare he offer his hand to you after being the one to carry you back? But, also, he was offering it to you, giving you the choice to take it. So you do. You take his hand and let him lead you down some stairs to a secluded area near the greenhouses. Light shimmers through their windows, giving the small clearing a subtle glow. 

“I think James would back off you a bit if I stopped listening to him about some things,” Sirius mutters, standing in front of you. A gentle hand tucks some of your hair behind your ear and lingers there for a moment.

He’s looking at you like he did that day on the couch, like you were the only one who existed in all of Hogwarts, in all of the world. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to understand what he was saying. All of your focus was on the hand that softly held your cheek. He takes a step toward you and before you can process anything, his lips are brushing up against yours. It’s soft and gentle and momentary. 

“I think I can tolerate him more if you do that again,” you mumble.

And he does. The second is still soft and gentle, but it lasts longer. It only deepens slightly when he places his other hand on your waist. Sirius is holding you with a featherlight touch like he doesn’t want to break you, but his hand never leaves your cheek. Inside, despite what you just said, he fears that if he lets go, you will disappear and leave him. 

“You could never be a checked box. Because you’re everything,” Sirius whispers.

“Then stop with your stupid list, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"Good, because I think I like this a little too much."

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. i put the blame on me for giving you chance after chance … it’s my mind and my soul versus your pride.

00, PROLOGUE. AND THIS IS JUST THE INTRO.

ju speaks. finished this quicker than expected so thank you to that anon for getting me on it early LOL. find the masterlist link to all parts on my blog. lmk your thoughts! pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. language, angst, toxicity, cheating, etc … general warning!

flashback, april, 2025.

paige: i love you 3:49am

nailea: ?

i love you too

is everything good?

read 4:02am

paige: yeah i’m good baby

missing you ao baD

paige edited a message: missing you

nailea: i’ll see you so soon

i’m sorry i couldn’t make it today

i’m really proud of you

read 4:09am

you’d think by now i’d be numb to it. that i’d learned the script—memorized the lines, the rhythm of it. but as i sit here, scrolling through her saved chats with her, i don’t feel numb. i feel fucking dumb.

it’s not even the months i spent doubting her, the nights i’d start an argument because i just knew she was lying, only for her to stare at me with those wide, innocent eyes and make me feel like the problem. no. it’s knowing that three nights ago, when she texted me after the game, telling me she loved me, that she missed me—that wasn’t real. that was just her guilt talking, a cheap cover-up. because that night, after winning her precious championship, paige found someone else to help her celebrate. and all because i couldn’t be there.

i don’t even have it in me to appreciate the short time she wasn’t doing anything behind my back. we’d had a conversation, a serious one, and it was enough for a bit. but there’s pictures, videos, a few from that night, and i feel sick.

the door opens behind me, and i barely flinch.

“yo, i forgot my—“ my bloodshot eyes meet hers, still holding onto the faintest trace of a smile. she has to notice i’ve been crying. has to see what she’s done.

it’s only been ten minutes. the breakfast spot’s close, maybe two blocks. she must’ve turned around. guilt? instinct? doesn’t matter now.

“nai.”

i glance down at her open phone, and so does she. i can’t see her reaction, but i’m sure it’s anything but pleasant. “oh, i can’t even fucking look at you,” i spit, letting out a breathy laugh as i push myself to stand, heading towards the door.

before i can even take a step, she’s in full defense mode. paige tosses her keys onto the bed with a clatter, closing the door behind her, planting herself firmly in front of it like she’s ready to block my any attempt to walk out. “you’re not leavin,’ bro. hold on.” she furrows her eyebrows, mumbling more to herself as she pulls me away by my arm. quite effortlessly might i add, i couldn’t really fight it.

“move, paige,” i demand. i just want out. want to be anywhere she isn’t.

“nah, we’re gonna talk. sit your ass down.”

“about what?” i laugh, cold and bitter, as i wipe my face again. she’s stupid for thinking i’ll listen to anything she says now, i know that much. “about how you played in my face, yet again? how you kept telling me to trust you when i knew better? or maybe we’ll talk about how the second i wasn’t here, you went right back to her.”

she wasn’t special. she isn’t. i’m sure paige doesn’t even know her middle name. she was just… there. someone to sex her up the way i couldn’t from across the country. it wasn’t like we didn’t see each other every chance we had, but i’ll be damned to let her live a double life. i wish i wasn’t so in deep.

paige steps forward, her hand reaching for mine, eyes softening in some pathetic attempt at damage control. “look, it was one night, alright? it was a mistake, nai, you gotta chill.”

chill.

i yank my hand back. “how many times does one night happen with you, huh?” i squint. “because this isn’t just one mistake, paige. this is you, every time.” the word tastes sour, and i spit it right back at her.

i’m not a doormat. i’m not one of the girls paige bueckers happened to pick up on her way to the top. i was here from the very beginning, and i couldn’t fathom how that wasn’t enough for her. all you could ever want is to grow into love with someone, but paige and i only go backwards, and i don’t think i’m capable of sitting around and letting that happen anymore.

paige’s mouth twists, some shadow of remorse that’s barely visible as she shifts from foot to foot. her hair’s still tousled from last night, strands falling across her forehead, a disheveled mess that somehow makes her look both beautiful and utterly wrecked. it makes my stomach turn—how i’d been unknowingly in the same spot as another girl just a few days ago, her hands roaming through that same hair, leaving their mark where mine should have been.

“let me get it right this time then.” paige’s head tilts back slightly, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that’s almost hypnotic, like she’s daring me to believe her, to give her yet another chance. i hesitate, against all logic, caught up in her. for a second, the anger knots itself up, caught in my throat, tangled in the remnants of whatever feelings she hasn’t managed to destroy.

we just stand there, inches apart, eyes locked, her breath barely steady, mine coming in tight and shallow. her hand lifts again, just slightly, as if she’s about to reach for me again, and i feel that familiar pull—like i’m right on the edge of giving in, of letting her words undo the mess she’s made.

my eyes glance down at her phone in my hand, and i can’t help but think about how sick i am of fucking words.

before i can second-guess myself, my hand jerks forward, and i launch her phone across the room. it skids across the floor, clattering against the wall, and she turns at the sound, head lolling against the door.

paige’s hand slides down her face as she lets out a low, humorless chuckle, her shoulders slumping back. her gaze flicks from her phone again, undamaged but undeniably thrown by an angry girlfriend ex, and then back to me, all narrowed. “you throwin’ my shit now?”

“fetch it. matter fact…” paige’s mouth opens, then closes as she watches me rip her oversized tee off like it’s some dirty rag. the shirt hits her chest and slides down to the floor, and she just stands there, staring at it with her jaw clenched so tight i can practically hear her grinding her teeth. “you can take all your shit back with it. i’m done,” i seethe.

paige looks back up, scoffing. “oh, you’re done?”

i turn on my heel, making my way to my suitcase. paige doesn’t move as i fall to my knees, throwing one of my own shirts over my head. i’m packing my things up frantically, silently, and i can tell it makes her feel unsettled.

“you’re not leaving, nailea.” she doesn’t sound so sure of herself now, and that only makes me move quicker.

i sniffle, even though i’m way past being sad over this. “i’ll stay with az until i can catch a flight. and i’ll ship all your stuff to storrs once i’m back.” i’m declaring my plan out loud, though i’m sure the mounds of her belongings that’ve accumulated in my apartment over the years is the last thing on her mind.

but then she moves, steps around the suitcase, stopping me with a quiet urgency, her fingers reaching toward my face. i pull back instinctively, turning my head, but she follows, her hands slowly cupping my head, steadying me as if i’m the one slipping. “paige, stop.” i mutter, shrugging my shoulders, trying to shake her off. but her fingers tighten, her eyes softer, pleading.

“c’mon…” she whispers. and then, slowly, she sinks down to her knees, meeting me there, her eyes desperately searching mine.

i swallow, hard, stopping my movements. “quit—“

“lemme fix it.” she mumbles, the words laced with something i can’t decipher, something that might’ve been real if it didn’t come too late.

i look up, and for the first time, i see something that almost looks like panic in her eyes. her thumb is focused on tracing the tear streaks on my cheek, and i have to force myself to think about why they’re there in the first place. because of her.

i don’t give her a chance to say another word. “you should’ve thought about that before there was anything to fix,” i say softly.

i turn away, reaching to grip the zipper of my suitcase. the metallic sound rips through the quiet, and it’s the finality of it that makes it feel like the right choice, like i actually just let go.

but with paige, nothing ever stays that simple, that clean.

[multiversefanfics]

Best Friends (Part 2)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: You and Steve are best friends, but your friendship is tested when someone tells you he has feelings for you.

Best Friends (Part 1)

You woke up in your bed, trying to figure out how you got there, what day it was, what time. It was one of those sleeps, that deep sleep where when you wake up and you forget your own damn name. You grabbed your phone and checked the time, 2:30pm!? You jumped out of bed, quickly getting dressed, you were late for training, you texted Bucky letting him know you overslept and that you’ll be in the gym as soon as possible. You ran down the stairs and into the gym where Bucky was already starting his training “I’m so sorry, I overslept.” He smiled and nodded “It’s okay, I just started.” You were a little suspicious, Bucky would normally groan and make some sarcastic comment but he didn’t he smiled at you. You shrugged it off, and started your workout, usually you would listen to music but for some reason Bucky wanted to talk. “You and Steve have been getting pretty cozy lately.” You slowed down the treadmill to a walk “We’re best friends, that’s it.” Bucky chuckled “Steve is my best friend” You rolled your eyes and looked over at him “We can share, and besides so what you know I have a huge crush on him but he doesn’t feel the same way. So I’m trying to move on.” You shrugged your shoulders getting off of the treadmill, moving over to the punching bag, Bucky quickly followed. “All I’m saying is, don’t give up. Us men. We’re a little slow sometimes.” You groaned quietly placing your forehead on the punching bag “Dude, Im here to train not talk about my crush on Steve, so please can you drop it?” Bucky threw his hands up and walked away, you’ve never seen Bucky give up so fast before, it almost makes you think he’s hiding something from you. Bucky is also unpredictable, so this very well could be normal. You finished your workout and went back to your room for a shower.

Later on that day, you, Steve, and Bucky were sitting in the living room talking about a mission Steve was gonna be on, it was mainly them talking you would speak up every once in a while but ultimately you weren't listening, you were in your own little world thinking about the conversation you and Bucky had in the gym. Why was he so worried about your crush on Steve, did Bucky like you? No can't be Bucky is a very outspoken person although very private he would've told you if he liked you. You couldn't shake what he said, I mean men are a little slow but why would Bucky openly admit that. You realized you were zoning out when you felt 2 pair of eyes on you, you looked over and smiled "Sorry I was lost in thought." Steve chuckled and pat your head "It's okay, all I said was I won't be back until Saturday I was hoping we could watch movies when I came back" You nodded your head “Yeah, that sounds great.” He smiled at you then went off to go do something you weren’t really listening, you tried but you still couldn’t wrap your head around how Bucky was acting earlier “Whatcha thinking about over there?” Your head snapped towards Bucky’s direction but you didn’t make eye contact, you looked past him hoping he couldn’t see the gears turning in your head “Oh, I figured I’d get a jump on what movie we’d watch.” Bucky nodded like he didn’t believe you, and how could he, you weren’t very convincing. “You know you can tell me anything right?” You nodded and stood up to leave “I want to talk, I just need to gather my thoughts first.” Bucky nodded and watched you walk away, he wanted to follow but he knew that you’d talk to him when you were ready. You stayed in your room the rest of the day, you were trying to figure out how to ask Bucky if he likes you and if he does, you gotta figure out how to let him down so you two will still be friends, you valued your friendship more than anything in the entire world you would never jeopardize that and you know he wouldn’t either.

You got up and walked back down to the living room hoping Bucky would be there alone, and there he was sitting down with Steve watching a movie “Hey, where was my invite?” You pouted playfully plopping down between them “We’re sorry, doll we thought you were sleeping” doll? Bucky has never called you doll before you were confused but you also felt Steve’s leg tense up beside you, what the hell was going on with them, you rolled your eyes and stood up “Since neither of you smart guys got snacks, I’ll be in the kitchen making popcorn.” You walked over to the kitchen and started making popcorn. “Doll? Are you kidding me Bucky?” Bucky smirked and looked over at Steve “Funny how Friday is your cutoff day and you won’t be back until Saturday.” Steve tensed up again “This isn’t fair I have a mission.” Bucky nodded and looked at you struggling to open the popcorn bag “True, but you also had a day before you mission to tell her.” He slowly turned his head looking back at Steve, who was just staring he knew he should’ve done it already, and if he doesn’t do it tonight, Bucky would. Finally, you came back to them and sat down with a huge bowl of popcorn “So, what are we watching?” You looked between them then back at the screen “Sam suggested Scream, so we thought we’d give it a shot.” You nodded and glued your eyes to the screen, every so often the boys would jump at a scary part to which you would giggle, they fought some pretty scary stuff and they find this movie scary. When the movie was over Bucky suggested another scary movie but Steve wasn’t having it “I’m going to bed, you guys have fun.” You watched as he stood up and walked away “Goodnight, Steve” You turned towards Bucky looking at him “We need to talk.” Bucky looked up at you “Uh oh, I’m in trouble.” You shook your head, giggling a bit. “No no, uh I don’t know how to say this.” He raised his eyebrow “What’s wrong?” You shifted in your seat “I need to know how you feel about me” He furrowed his eyebrows “What do you mean?” You sighed throwing your head back “Do you like me?” He chuckled and nodded “Well, yeah.” You shook your head “No, I mean do you like me like me?” He thought for a second confused, then it hit him and it sent him into a fit of laughter “Oh god, no Y/N don’t get me wrong you’re amazing and very beautiful but you are like a sister to me and our friendship is too valuable to me.” You let out a breath “Thank god, I said the same thing I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship” You smiled wide and leaned over and hugged him, when you pulled back Bucky looked over, you followed his eyeline and there was Steve, he looked upset he didn’t say a word he just walked away. You were confused “What was that about?” You looked over at Bucky who had his head down “Shit, shit” He mumbled under his breath, he got up and ran to Steve’s room, when he got to his door he heard things being thrown around he walked in watching Steve throw his pillows around the room “Steve, calm down.” Steve was now pacing around the room, Bucky knew how much you meant to Steve, but Steve didn’t know that the hug was strictly platonic. “Steve, get a grip.” He stopped pacing and looked at Bucky “Get a grip? What the hell was that down there?!” Bucky put his hands out keeping the distance between them comfortable. “You need to tell her how you feel, she’s getting suspicious and she thought I had a crush on her.” Steve relaxed and sat down on his bed “Bucky, I have never been so nervous in my life. I have to tell her, but I need more time please.” Bucky shook his head “We had a deal, and we’re sticking to it.” Steve threw his head back “Fine. I’ll tell her in the morning.” Bucky nodded and put his hands down “Are you okay?” Steve nodded “I’m sorry for blowing up like that.” Bucky shrugged and chuckled “It’s okay, I understand.”

It was the next morning, and Steve is no where to be found he said he would say goodbye before leaving but it looks like he already left, you saw Bucky walk into the kitchen “Hey, is Steve still sleeping?” Bucky raised an eyebrow “He didn’t say goodbye to you?” You shook your head, you could see in Bucky’s face he was pissed but you didn’t know why, you didn’t question it either, it was better if you didn’t. He walked away and left you there wondering what was going on, why didn’t Steve say goodbye? Was it because he saw you hug Bucky the night before and now thinks that you two are a thing? What is going on?! The next few days seemed to fly by, although Steve was only gone for 2 days you still missed him and couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow night when he comes home, you missed the nightly movie, the cuddles, the snack, his laugh, smile, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles big, his smile was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen and you couldn’t help but blush at the thought of him smiling because of you. Suddenly you were pulled from your thoughts by a knock at your bedroom door, you knew it wasn’t Steve because he has a special knock, yeah corny I know but you loved it. You walked over and opened the door revealing Bucky “Hey what’s up?” Bucky looked like he was up to something but then again when isn’t he. “We gotta talk.” You nodded and stepped aside letting him come in, he didn’t sit down even though there were many comfy chairs just spread out “Steve likes you.” You froze while you were shutting the door “W-What?” You finally looked over at Bucky and he’s staring straight at you “Scratch that, Steve is in love with you.” Your throat got dry and made it hard to swallow “Why are you telling me this?” You couldn’t move, no matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t, Bucky sighed and walked over to stand in front of you. “He was supposed to tell you this morning and yesterday, and for the past year.” Your eyes widen, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Steve loves you, you love him too but you always thought it was one sided. “Okay, okay what do i do?” That’s when Bucky started to smile and that was scary sometimes “Steve actually comes back tonight, so why don’t we put together a little movie night.” You shook your head “No, I gotta do something big. Meet me on the roof in an hour.” He nodded and you both went your separate ways.

You went to the store picking up all the snacks he likes, you got him some flowers, you thought that might’ve been too girly but who doesn’t love getting flowers? You got some LED lights and candles a couple cute stuffed animals, you’ve never done this for anyone before and you were glad it was for Steve, he meant the world to you. You got back to the compound and went straight to the roof, where Bucky was setting up a white sheet and a projector he looked over at you and smiled “You look amazing.” You thanked him and looked around “Bucky this is great” You stood in awe as you watched him finish tacking the sheet to “Yeah, well don’t tell Tony about this he warned me before not to.” You smiled and set up the lights and candles you didn’t light them yet just in case he was late, laying out the comforter and pillows you two will be leaning on, you set up the bowls and put the snacks in them along with the various drinks you got because you couldn’t decide on what to get. You stood back admiring the cute scene in front of you “This is so cute it’s making me sick.” You playfully shoved Bucky’s shoulder rolling your eyes. “Just send Steve up when he gets here, tell him to come up here immediately” Bucky nodded and went downstairs to wait, you looked around smiling “I hope this goes well.” 2 hours went by and you got a text from Bucky saying Steve was on his way up, you hurried and lit all the candles and stood there waiting for him, you tapped your fingertips against the outside of your thighs you could hear him grunting at the top of the stairs before he opened the door “Hey, Bucky said- Woah what’s all this?” You took a deep breath and stared at him smiling wide “I like you too, Steve.” His eyes widened as he dropped his bag “Bucky told you?” You nodded watching him walk towards you “Believe me, Y/N I wanted to tell you I promise it just wasn’t the right time-“ You cut him off by placing your lips against his, Steve had a tendency to ramble on and on apologizing about nothing. Steve finally kissed you back, wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him. The kiss was innocent and sweet yet there was something that laid beneath it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, you wanted Steve in more than just a physical way, you wanted him for everything he is, mind, body, soul, his personality was the thing that struck you as hard as a rock, he was everything you’ve ever dreamt of and more. The two of you pulled back, breathless and happy “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” You smiled up at Steve, then led him to your makeshift bed where you two talked, laughed and watched your favorite movies together.

A/N: I hope you guys like it.

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you guys: @megamindsecretlair @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist - Steve Rogers Masterlist

[kiwiana-writes]

Ooooh please can I ask you about the rockstar!Alex WIP? I cannot explain how INVESTED in that AU, I gobbled up all the snippets of it that you've posted 👀

ABSOLUTELY you can, because I’m also invested in that one 😅

So this fic started out as a tumblr game. The basic idea was “send me an idea for a fake AU and I’ll give you five facts about that AU.” And @tintagel-or-cockleshells sent me “An AU in which Henry and Alex are exes, also Alex is a rockstar who puts a lot of himself into his songwriting. And there’s a happy ending.”

And… here’s the thing. Up to this point, I’d never had a conversation with tintagel one on one. I’d commented on some of her stuff, she’d commented on some of mine, we’d reblog each others WIP snippets on tumblr. We didn’t know each other outside of that. But EVERY DAMN TIME I did games like this, she would ALWAYS come in with something that made me REALLY wanna game fail and actually write whatever it was. She was just impressively tapped in to the sorts of things that make my brain go brrrrrr 😂

The other thing about tintagel is that she’s on, effectively, an opposite timezone to me. So by the time I answered the ask, she was already in bed. I also hit post on the answer and then immediately went into an hour-long meeting…

And came out of said meeting to like 40 notifications and a DEEP sense of confusion until I actually opened them. It popped off, and I absolutely succumbed to the peer pressure. Which meant that by the time tintagel was back online in her morning, this fic had run the full gamut from “this is a fake AU” to “this has a google doc and oh my god I think I’m writing original songs send help”.

At first I thought it would be MOSTLY epistolary, because I was really attached to #3, and then I had a brainwave about how I could make that epistolary, so… now it’s fully epistolary. I’m gonna have to create MULTIPLE new skins for this sucker. As well as like… recording original songs, because I have never made a sensible decision in my life.

And if you think I can’t inflict immense emotional damage via epistolary, I have a lot of Schitt’s Creek pals who would be HAPPY to prepare you for the Suffering ™️😂

[Sleepover weekend!]

[fizzywashere87]

hsjwjdjjw HIM brainrot 💖💖

—————

cont. 19th october (timeskip):

classes ended soon enough, and all of us walked down the stairs to the ground floor.

we stood outside the building, talking and laughing, like always, as we waited for each of them to get picked up by their parents, because they lived farther away.

[h] (our other friend who lives closer) split ways from us soon, as we began walking home.

[s] always drops me home before walking to his house, because he lives close. as we were walking to my house, one of the guys from our school, [m], who my friends thought liked me, was also behind us. he lived in the same apartment as I did, and went to the same prep school too.

he was always kind of weird, though, and definitely did not understand the concept personal space whatsoever. and I did not like him at all.

[s] knew this, and thought [m] was creepy too. so, once we had decided to fake date in front of [m], so he’d leave me alone. but we hadn’t seen him until today.

[s] held my hand suddenly, and kept swinging it.

“you’re gonna break my ball and socket joint!” I yelled, as he swung our arms in circles.

“oh, smartypants! stop studying so much,” he complained at my use of ‘ball and socket joint’ instead of just ‘shoulder’.

[m] caught up with us in a while, and [s] whispered to me, smiling, “he probably saw all that.”

I hope he did.

[m] got into the elevator, and waited for me.

“oh, she’ll come later, you can go. good night,” [s] smiled, and [m] nodded quietly, letting the automatic door close.

as soon as [m] left, we started laughing.

the next elevator was taking too long to come down, so we decided to walk up eight floors to my house.

such a bad idea.

“I should never have stopped going for athletics classes,” I whined.

“how are you already tired? we’re literally still at the 3rd floor!” he laughed.

“shut up!”

he pulled our hands together, lacing his fingers through mine. “you don’t even know how to hold hands,” he rolled his eyes.

“excuse me, I hold hands with [a] (my classmate and girl bsf at school) everyday,” I said. he rolled his eyes again.

“you know that prank? one day i’d propose to you, and you’d think it was a joke, but i’d be serious? and then you’d say ‘yes’ and we’d end up being legally married?” he said, laughing.

“OH! that’s literally the plot of a book I saw on instagram!” I said, and explained a book plot to him.

the whole time our fingers were interlaced, I almost forgot about it.

we reached the eighth floor, and I said, “you should come say hi to my mum. she hasn’t seen you in two weeks. it’s the weekend anyway, come on. you’ll need my parents’ blessings if you wanna get married to me anyway,” I smirked.

“oh, i’m coming, fine, but don’t worry. I already have their blessings,” he smirked back at me. I mumbled a ‘whatever’ and rang my door bell.

the next 20 minutes were spent in conversation between my parents and him about how studies were going, and slowly the topic of the conversation shifted to the latest movies being released.

I could get used to this sight forever, I thought.

—————

(more coming later!!)

gah damn why is she writing this with fanfic terms

LMAO

STOP NOT THE FAKE DAYING

You make me so mad now how can u he like this with him and refuse to confess i hate you

OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG UR ALREADY TALKING ABT MARRIAGE

[tennfan2]

Nice to Meet You (Again)

(Oh hey - it’s my first scene log in… a long damn time! Also, Daisy? Put the card for this away while you read.)

First, a confession: my thing with memory play is that it kind of pisses me off that people are able to do it. I mean, I’m happy for them, but it’s always been kind of elusive for me. As a result, I’ve always had kind of mixed success with it as a hypnotist.

So when my friend Daisy, who I’d been talking with since last summer and doing online trancy things with since the fall, mentioned being sort of curious about it, I was happy to play around. She’s a really good subject - someone who just inherently “gets it” - so I felt pretty good about the possibilities.

So, over a few weeks, we played with some simple things and over time we built a metaphor I really love. The idea is this: our brains are reference libraries, our memories are books, and there sure are a ton of books there, right? Too many to keep up with. So we all have a card catalog we can flip through to find the right one. The books never leave (it’s a reference library, obviously) but if you lose the card that tells you where it is? Then it’s essentially impossible to find.

I learned that Daisy would be arriving to Charmed a day before I’d be able to get there, but since I live nearby, I had an idea. What if I picked her up on Wednesday evening and had her forget I’d done so, giving us two chances to meet for the first time?

I threw out the idea during one of our conversations and it was quite well received. I believe the response was just “HOT. Hot.”

A couple of weeks before Charmed, I had her in trance and walked through the particulars of the plan, and let her know that there was no need to remember that we’d even talked about it. Her (very excellent) brain did the rest and over the ensuing days she knew that we’d discussed… something, but there was no clue as to what.

So there I was, pulling up to the airport on the Wednesday before Charmed, and there she was, waiting on the curb. It had been a long time since I’d had that kind of moment–the one that comes from months of conversation and phone calls and Skype trances and that joy of finally meeting someone who felt like an old friend in the flesh. All joy, all around.

We got into the car and started driving and chatting, but I looked at my GPS and realized I’d totally overestimated the drive from the airport to the hotel. I quickly asked her if I could do a thing, and she agreed; I put her into trance as we drove and reminded her about the plan:

I’d take her to the hotel and get her settled, but as soon as I left, she’d forget how she got there, remembering only a lovely rideshare ride with a very nice driver. She’d know she’d gotten there safely and it would all make good sense in her mind. I also planted some other Easter eggs for the weekend, and helped reinforce some safety suggestions we’d built over the time we’d be playing.

We got to the hotel and she checked in, I went up to her room with her and got her settled, and then headed for home. Friends, it was *audaciously* hard to pry myself away. But I knew the payoff would be worth it.

She actually texted the next afternoon to see when I’d be arriving with my merry band of carmates, who I’d told about my plan, but when we arrived, she was engaged as a demo bottom and eager learner in Wiseguy’s first-day class! It was hilarious because I’d rounded up most of my covid pod for the weekend to watch the big reveal, and they were… slightly impatient as we awaited her getting out of class.

But when she arrived from class? It was pure, unmitigated joy, again. I knew it would be fun to meet her twice for the first time, but I can’t overstate how cool it was.

The look on her face to “finally” meet was so real, so joyful. It was as close as one could get to perfect. I introduced her to my friends, and then leaned in to ask… “is there anything you need to remember?”

Y’all. Y’ALL. It could not have been better. Her eyes rolled up and fluttered for what seemed like a minute, but was probably just a few seconds. Seeing the memories return to her mind in real time was unlike anything I’d ever really experienced. She turned to me, said “... you little shit.” (a term of endearment - take my word for it) and then just collapsed into a squat for… a while.

It was so fun, so exciting, and so incredibly cool to do this, and I’m so grateful to Daisy for letting poke around in her brain (which is a truly excellent co-conspirator in all of this). What a great way to start a great weekend.

[runnning-outof-time]

So I’m a few hours removed from my Oppenheimer viewing experience, and if I had to sum the movie up in three words they’d be: intense, moving, and WOW.

I’ve got a bit more to say about it, but I’ll put it under the cut so as to avoid spoilers:

Ok so first off I want to say that I’m really not the best at film typed analysis…I’m rather just a fan who enjoys movies and then just wants to have chats about them, so I’m not going to be the one to analyze the characters/the aspects shown in the film…instead I’m just going to comment on the elements/parts that stuck with me. I hope that’s alright with y’all - please don’t come for me. With that being said…here we go (sorry for the rambles to come - this turned into a long post y’all):

I loved how it was sequenced and shot - the whole cutting back to Strauss in his hearing and seeing what’s happening there and then focusing on Oppenheimer’s life, and the hearing that he also went through, made the film more exciting to me … it’s like we’d be getting these pieces of information through a formal lense and then we’d get to see it play out how it happened. And then the big reveal of how Strauss was actually related in regards to Oppenheimer was amazingly done as well - it was cool to see the shift in the story once that information was given to the viewer as well.

Speaking of Strauss - RDJ acted his ass off in this film. My mom said that she didn’t even recognize him, and tbh I wouldn’t have either had I not known he was in the film prior to seeing it. He portrayed Strauss in such a clever way…I felt like his intentions behind the great scheme of things really went unknown until the information came out that he was one of the major actors behind Oppenheimer getting his clearances revoked. And like I said, it felt like the whole energy of the film shifted once this knowledge came out and he handled that beautifully.

Cillian was amazing…of course. He really made the role look easy. And I know that’s silly of me to say because we all know that it was the furthest thing from it, but I think that that’s just a testament to how great of an actor Cillian is - he makes these intense rolls just look easy. I compared this performance to Leo in The Revenant in an ask a few days ago and I honestly stand behind that — this movie wouldn’t be half of what it came out to be if there had been any other person in the main role. Cillian carried this movie, and he did it with the utmost grace. My mom and I were talking about it just a bit ago and she brought up the great point that there were only maybe a handful of scenes that he wasn’t in…and in the scenes that he was in, you could really feel the weight of his performance. I’d honestly be shocked if he doesn’t get any nominations for this - I’m not sure if there could be as perfect of a storm as this role was for him.

The ending held the most weight for me, I think … it was so cool to finally see what he and Einstein were actually speaking about at the pond (another amazing choice in structure) and oh boy did that conversation rock me — those words are so true, especially in the scope of history and how people are remembered/legacies play out. It was a stark and honestly perfect ending for the film.

Also another thing that I just couldn’t get out of my mind was how human the movie was. Like it’s so cool to see how people reacted to certain things and it’s one of the most fascinating ways to look at history — take the Trinity Test for example (which by the way…damn. Wow) their initial reaction to it being successful was to cheer because during that time it meant that the US was going to be back on top with the arms race and now hold this power to essentially bring the fighting to an explosive end. But looking back on what came out of that successful test, the mood really isn’t as cheerful and exuberant. Same thing with the rallie after the bombs were dropped — there was much revelation because of how the war turned out and not much care for the carnage that had occurred due to that event happening. It’s not only until the years roll on and history gets written that we start to look at the other viewpoints and how each and every side reacted to/was effected by such events. I think the movie did an excellent job at showing how human people are - how they’re quick to react with their own thoughts and agenda first before considering it all … and I liked how the shift in Oppenheimer’s views became apparent once news of the bomb being dropped came out - it was clear that the real life effects of it were at the forefront in his mind and he was already grappling with it.

One more thing I just have to point out is the ladies in the film - Florence and Emily did amazing at portraying Jean and Kitty!! Even though Flo’s part was small, you really felt the impact of her scenes (even if she was naked in nearly all of them) - you can so clearly see the impact Jean had on Oppenheimer’s life just from those few scenes. And then Emily and her portrayal of Kitty was so well done, espeically in the later scenes, specifically the one where she was being questioned — I was like damn, you go girl!! Their relationship was so, so interesting to see and I think that Cillian and Emily did amazing at showing it. I also just had to think of Lauren ( @emotionalcadaver ) ‘s response to those commenting saying that Kitty had no arc — you’re absolutely right in saying that it’s perfectly fine that she didn’t because she’s a REAL PERSON … this is how this woman lived and reacted to the events she was placed into. She was one of the stand out characters in the movie for me partly because she didn’t show growth…she stayed stagnant and then responded to things thrown at her, much like a real person would.

Welp…I said that I’d ramble on about this - I’m really sorry for having made you read an actual essay, and if you’ve made it this far down, I really commend you for doing so. This was one of the best films I’ve seen in a while (it’s immediately going right up there with The Revenant and 1917) and it’s certainly the first that I’ve written this kind of a response to. I honestly would have been happy with watching another two hours of it, and it really didn’t feel like three hours passed by - that’s how good it was.

I’d love to hear what y’all thought of it if you saw it, and you’re absolutely amazing if you’ve read down this far — thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, I guess.

[itisaterriblelove]

GIVING ELLE SPACE WAS PROBABLY a better idea than spending any one on one time with her. But the fucking truth was that it probably wasn’t Elle who needed the fucking space—the opposite, actually, considering the whole damn fight was about me ditching her for Tyler—it was me. Maybe I just needed to get my head on straight, because it was starting to feel like everything was turning upside down and I was helpless to do anything but watch it spin.

I don’t know what the fuck happened.

Elle and I had always had a dynamic friendship, pretty much since grade school. She’d been one of the weirder kids, and a lot of the others had made fun of her for it. But I’d thought she was fucking fascinating, even then, and not much had changed since.

It was never a sexual thing, not with Elvis. Some people were just too fucking awesome to complicate shit with sex. She was special to me, and I’d never made any qualms about admitting that. Not to her and not to anybody else, either. After years of the same, everybody seemed to understand that about us.

We’d been fine. We’d been perfect. Elle and I had been coasting on a perfectly functional relationship for years. Until recently.

I liked girls. I liked hooking up. I even liked relationships. It was fun to see how two people gelled together and what stupid shit we managed to get bent out of shape about with each other in the process. What shit eventually ended it. But the thing all of my relationships had in common? Yeah… They all fucking ended. Mostly on good terms, but me and the girl were sure as shit not best friends before or after it. And it was okay when those girls came and went. When things changed… As long as the big things stayed the fucking same. And Elvis Hirsche was one of those big things.

Which was why—without ever really talking about it—Elle and I had decided to avoid that whole fucking messy minefield. It had never needed a conversation before.

So why the fuck did I feel like it needed one now?

Maybe it was just me? Maybe I was making a bigger deal where there wasn’t one. I couldn’t be sure. It suddenly felt like I couldn’t be sure of anything where Elle was concerned.

“Gavin?” The sound of my name on her lips let me know that she’d said my name more than once while I lost myself in thought about her. Elle’s impatient face confirmed that assumption. “Am I playing this right? It sounds off?” 

I tried to listen as Elle strummed on my guitar, but all I could hear was the rushing sound of blood in my veins as I watched her bite down on her bottom lip in concentration. And it was mother-fucking distracting, to say the least.

I cleared my throat and forced my eyes away from her cute little body, bent over my guitar on the sofa in my living room. Today’s lesson had been longer than anticipated, and it was all my fault, I knew it.

“Sorry baby, do that one more time for me.” 

I had to clear my head if it was the last thing that I did. There was something off track in me when I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how it felt to wake up with Elle curled up in my arms, with the scent of her hair pressed against my nose.

I liked my girlfriend—a lot. And I didn’t see that changing any time soon. So I really couldn’t understand where the frustration had snuck in from. 

Elle strummed the series of chords again without complaint, effectively pulling me out of myself long enough to concentrate on the music. It was a rare fucking day where music didn’t have my full attention, but apparently I was going a bit against the grain today.

She was right, actually, about something being off. But it wasn’t because she’d done what I showed her wrong. Quickly, I realized my own mistake. I was supposed to be teaching her a new song, but my mind was so off topic that I hadn’t even played it right for her to learn from me.

“It seems like it should go more like this…” She played in a way that better rounded the music, creating a more complete tune with barely a mistake. For a moment I could only sit in stunned silence as I processed what had just happened. It wasn’t like Elle was playing by ear—not exactly—because I was teaching her something that I wrote. And so she’d taken my mistake and fixed it, then somehow managed to make it sound even better without my input.

“Gavin?” She prodded me with her foot, lifting her face from the guitar to stare at me. One of her eyebrows arched and I realized that I had been silent for too long. “Where is your mind today?” 

“I only just taught you those chords last month!” I knew it sounded like a complaint, but I really couldn’t help myself. “Fuck, Elle! Maybe I should stop teaching you, before you become a better guitarist than me.” 

She beamed at me, all the smugness splayed across her expression, and shrugged. “Better watch your back, Gavin Porter.” Elle tapped my guitar gently and shot me a warning look. “I might be taking your spot in the band soon!” 

“Hey, hey!” I cupped my heart in mock-offense. “That’s so fucking rude.” I shook my head at her. “I thought we were starting our own band. What happened to that?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Elle actually wiggled on the sofa with my guitar in her lap, she was so excited by the thought. “I could play the bongos and we could travel in one of those campers.” 

“Now that’s the life.” I laughed at the genuine gleam of excitement in her eyes; it was hard not to take her seriously when she said outrageous things like that. I suspected she actually meant them all.

“We could live off love and a tip jar,” she announced with a sage nod of her head. 

My smile softened as I agreed with her. “Sounds good to me, baby. Sign me up.” 

She shifted, settling my guitar down next to the sofa, propped up against the end table. “What do you think we should name our band? And can I finish my fashion design degree first?” 

Yeah, okay. She was probably fucking serious. I shrugged. “You should definitely finish your degree first. Garrett and Amy would never let me hear the fucking end of it if I ran off with you and didn’t let you finish school. You know, they think I’m a bad influence on you?!”

Elle scoffed. “It’s like your parents have never met my parents before…” She shook her head, but the smile on her face gave away her actual appreciation of my parents’ assessment of our friendship. She snapped her fingers at me in the way people do when someone’s being too slow about something. “Names, bucko!” 

I blinked at her. “Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “You’re better at that stuff than me. You pick.”

She squirmed again, and I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “I’ll have to think about it, then. And you’re not allowed to veto anything that I pick! Since you’re not contributing.” 

“Those are some steep terms, Elle.” I regarded her seriously but she didn’t even flinch. “All right, fine. But no boy band references!” I had to at least have that much assurance. “Non-negotiable.” 

She pouted at me. An honest to god, serious fucking pout that had me nervous all over again. Fuck. Everything. “Non-negotiable, baby.” I repeated, refusing to be swayed. 

I shouldn’t have been surprised when she threw herself in my lap. I mean, fucking honestly. I should have seen it coming, because this was Elle, and this was just the shit that we did. But damn.

I was on the floor, a notebook opened on the coffee table in front of me, and literally at Elle’s feet from where she sat on the sofa. And one second she was there, pouting, and the next she had launched herself onto my lap like it was no big deal.

It shouldn’t have been—it wasn’t always—but it really fucking was.

It wasn’t a sexy thing that she did. I mean, it wasn’t supposed to be… She was in some regular jeans and a hoodie and nothing fucking special, and I had held her in my arms a hundred thousand times. So it should have been run of the mill.

Except it was Elle, all warm and soft, and smelling like vanilla for some fucking reason. And when she wrapped her arms around me, all I could think about was sliding my tongue up the curve of her neck, and it was really fucking me up.

My heart started going a hundred miles an hour, which was just so fucking dumb. But I was a hundred and fucking ten percent sure she tasted better than she smelled, and all I could think about was finding out for sure. 

“I’m sorry we fought last night.” Her breath and her hair tickled along my neck, as I carefully wrapped my arms around her. “It was stupid. I hate fighting with you. I’m sorry I ruined your date.”

I tried to tell my heart to calm the fuck down but it just wouldn’t listen. I breathed, slowly in and slowly out, before even trying to respond to her. “I’m sorry I ditched you, baby. It was my fault.”

It wasn’t.

Elle had been less than gracious about Tyler from the start, and I had been pretending not to notice all along. But shit, I was noticing now.

“What's your problem with Tyler?” Elle shrugged and I felt, more than saw, her shoulders rising with it.

“I don’t know. I don’t have a problem with her?” She tipped her head back so that she could look at me. Which was a horrible fucking thing for her to do, because it just put her face that much closer to mine. If we shifted, I could have her on her back in a few seconds. Out of the hoodie, out of the shirt, just my hands on her skin. My mouth.

It was soft—Elle’s skin—and smooth and tan and taut. She’d probably let me do it, too. I thought she might.

Un-fucking-believable. I couldn’t focus for three seconds.

I swallowed and leaned my head just slightly back. It took a moment for me to get my thoughts back on track, to reorient myself to the topic of conversation. Girlfriend, right. One that Elle did not like. “I think you kind of do, Elle.” My tone wasn’t as light as I expected it to be, because my tone was usually always light. Soft, uncommitted. But at the moment everything was heavy and filled with tension. Even my vocal chords. 

Elle sighed. “I guess I’m just… jealous.” I could see the word was hard for her to push out, and it was even harder for me to hear. It caused a tightness in my chest that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. And I must have looked like something—I don’t fucking know what—but my face was telling Elle something that she apparently did not want to hear. I knew this when she pulled away from me and scooted onto the open space on the floor beside me. She pulled in to herself, drawing her knees up, and rested her chin against them.

I’d been uncomfortable with her right up on me, but I was fucking hating the space that she’d created once she moved.

“I mean… You have someone and I don’t.” She sort of shrugged without looking at me, and her voice had gotten smaller. That tightness in my chest increased, but I couldn’t understand exactly why.

“I think I just need a boyfriend.” At that word—boyfriend—all of my muscles tensed. Like a coiled spring, every part of me clenched together. I was fucking speechless, and breathless too.

For some reason, the idea of Elle needing a boyfriend sucked all of the air out of the room.

“I mean…” she blinked, and her big eyes zeroed back in on my cornered expression. “I spend almost all of my free time with you. And I’m practically graduated college and yet I’m still a virgin! That’s crazy, right?!” 

I couldn’t have answered her if I’d wanted to… Every fucking word in the English language had just erased from my mind.

I must have been quiet for too long, because Elle twisted her body to look at me and arched one eyebrow again. “Gavin?” She prodded my kneecap with her pointer finger. I caught her finger and tugged, encouraging her to come back to me. This time her legs straddled me on either side, and we sat there, face to face for a moment where I really wasn’t sure what I was going to do next.

I settled my hands on her hips and let out the breath that I’d been holding. “Don’t have sex with some asshole just to say you did it, Elle.” There was my voice, and it wasn’t even shaky. It was some kind of fucking miracle. “I would hate that.” The longer I looked at her—this close to my face—the surer I was that I was going to kiss her. Just fuck the consequences, I was practically desperate to feel her lips on my skin. I wasn’t proud of the realization, but I knew for sure that I wanted my tongue in her mouth.

If she moved, if she even breathed hard enough. 

“You should make sure it’s the right asshole, okay?” There was no reason for me to be whispering, except the obvious… That I was still thinking about kissing her, still deciding if I was going to do it. She nodded and it was almost my fucking breaking point.

I could push her hips to my hips, I could slide my hands underneath her shirt. She would definitely let me. I couldn’t even feel my heart, it was beating so fast.

“And you’re not allowed to spend less time with me. I’d miss you too much.” It was meant to be a joke, meant to lighten the mood and create that bit of space I really needed to break this fucking hold she had on me at the moment. But it didn’t work. When I said it, it sounded too much like flirting. And, fuck me, it sort of felt too much like flirting, too. 

“Relax, Gavin,” Elle patted my shoulder reassuringly. She leaned back, so I shifted and she stood. Thank fucking God. She ran her fingers through her hair and rolled her shoulders. “It’s not like I’m going to do the next jerk I go on a blind date with or something. I just mean maybe I should date.” 

She shrugged like it was no big deal, and maybe she was right with that. Maybe it wasn’t. 

But I still felt like something invisible had wrapped me up in a vice-grip and I couldn’t get free.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current. PARTIES: @muertarte & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: metzli and emilio butt heads when they end up going after the same person. it doesn't end as poorly as it could have. CONTENT WARNINGS: head trauma.

The rapid sounds of feet crunched and thumped against the wet earth while tree branches groaned with the weight of a predator. The prey’s heavy breaths wheezed desperately through overworked lungs, and the sound only brought joy to the vampire’s ears. It wasn’t uncommon for them to toy with their meal, especially when it had taken to an atrocity such as forging. Metzli scoffed to themself at the thought, lamenting the dead prospect of attaining a Renoir. 

The man who called himself Henry brought in a lackluster forgery, offending the vampire within seconds. Metzli’s body reacted far quicker than they had anticipated, forcing the pursuit to begin immediately, much to both their delight and chagrin. They preferred to be a little more calculated than that, but they supposed it couldn’t be helped. There was no other option than to go along with it.

The chase was lasting longer than it took them to see through the prey’s facade. Which, to the idiot’s credit, he was determined to sneak a fast one to the best curator in the state. Metzli had to give him some credit for mustering the cajones to try, though. The vampire knew rumors spread quickly about how people like Henry went missing after a failed swindle at Muertarte. Now he was going to be next.

He’d been watching the guy for a while now. Henry — though Emilio had figured out pretty quickly that that wasn’t his real name — had his hand in the door in so many illegal activities that it was almost impressive. At first, the detective had assumed he was a siren, or maybe a spriggan. Now, he wasn’t so sure. 

His latest client was one of many people who’d been swindled by the guy and, if it were just the swindling and the stealing, Emilio wouldn’t have given much of a shit. People stealing from each other rarely blipped on his particular moral radar given the number of times he’d been in a position where he had to steal something himself, and the people who tended to come to him about it typically had enough money to throw around that it was more of an ego blow than anything significant. But ‘Henry’ wasn’t just stealing. His rap sheet was longer than that. And more than a few things on that rap sheet made Emilio figure that, human or not, somebody needed to take the guy out.

Today was planned as a recon mission. Watch the guy on his latest scam, take a few notes, put together whatever version of a ‘plan’ someone like Emilio was capable of coming up with. (Not much of one, Rosa used to say. Em’s plans are just ‘stab here,’ when you really get down to it. She’d always known him better than most.) He wasn’t looking to make contact, but when ‘Henry’ peeled out like the damn house was on fire and nearly took Emilio out in an attempt to shove past him… Well, there was no time like the present, was there? 

“Hey, what’s the rush?” He shoved the man backwards, slamming him against the brick wall. “You know, it’s funny that I’d run into you. I was hoping we’d get the chance to talk.” A knife slipped from his sleeve and into his hand, and he held it up briefly to keep Henry from trying to run. It didn’t seem as effective as it normally might have; the man shoved against the hunter’s grip desperately, unable to break the hold but clearly panicking more than he should have been. Christ, Emilio thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It’s just a fucking knife. What a goddamn baby. 

In any case, it was clear that there’d be no conversation that was anything less than entirely one-sided. He might as well get the killing out of the way so he could move on to the next case. “All right,” he relented. “Guess we won’t talk. Not much good at it, anyway. Prefer the fun part.” He shifted his grip, preparing to drive the blade home.

Metzli’s path was cut short given the new body in their field of vision. The man seemed to know the vampire’s meal, and while that should’ve deterred them, it only made their mouth water. Made their pupils turn into mere points as they widened their eyes with a quiet snarl. No way a silly man was going to take what was rightfully theirs. 

Wasting no time, they positioned themself above the pair, listening for the right moment to drop. Their ears perked at the finiality in the man’s voice, signaling to Metzli that it was the right time to quite literally let go and let gravity do its thing. 

They landed with a dull thud just behind the would-be assassin, granting the vampire the opportunity to reach around, take Henry’s head, and smash it into the wall, rendering him unconscious. With him taken care of, Metzli grabbed the stranger from behind, ready to snap his neck as they allowed him to explain why he was trying to take their rightful kill. It likely wouldn’t do much to deter them, but they were just trying to be polite. 

“Few seconds before I kill and take mine.” They spoke in broken English, still trying to get the hang of such a stupid language. “Speak.” Metzli squeezed even tighter for a moment, slipping their leg between the man’s to get him to his knees. Having only one arm, Metzli had learned they had to level the playing field somehow. 

It crept up on him, that feeling that made every hair on the back of his neck stand up at once. A familiar sensation, one Emilio had come to know well throughout his life. As a kid, his mother made sure it was the kind of thing he’d recognize in an instant, stuck him alone with every undead thing she could find just so he’d never be caught off guard. Something dead was closing in. It was enough to give him pause, for a moment.

He figured he could deal with it when this was taken care of, take out that trash once this one had been finished off. And maybe he should have known better. After all, for Emilio, things so rarely went as planned. In any case, he wasn’t expecting the vampire to attack him first. He should have been. After everything he’d been through, he really should have. 

They moved quickly, slamming Henry’s head against the wall and turning him to dead weight in the hunter’s arms. Emilio scowled as he was grabbed and yanked around, hand shooting into his coat pocket to retrieve a stake that pressed against the vampire’s chest in an instant, leaving the two of them in a standoff. The vampire, with their hand gripping the slayer’s throat, and Emilio, with his stake pressed against their skin but not yet breaking through. 

“Don’t see your name on it.” There was another familiar shiver down his spine at their accent, at the way it curled around words not yet familiar. Similar to his own, a sure sign that they’d probably both be a lot more comfortable doing this in Spanish. Even with the realization, Emilio refused to fall into the comfort of his first language. He was just petty enough to make things harder on himself if it meant he could also make them harder on someone else, too. His bad leg screamed as the vampire tried to force him to his knees but, using enhanced strength that they must not have realized he had just yet, he managed to stay on his feet in spite of it. “There are plenty of other people to kill. Why go through so much trouble for this specific one?” It would be easy to just let them have it. Emilio wanted the man dead, but he didn’t particularly care how it happened. But stubbornness ran through his veins in a way that wouldn’t let him give in to anything undead, even if he wasn’t losing anything in the process. 

The dance was a familiar one, sharp and furious with a speed that only few knew how to sync with. Especially when the parties were never meant to keep pace with one another. It looked to Metzli that the man had experienced his fair share of tangos, moving to the music of danger and chaos. A delicate and unstable crescendo of instruments that usually came in the form of sharp metal and flesh. 

This time though, wood decided to join in on the symphony, and much to Metzli’s dismay, the musician had no intention of putting it down. They squeezed tighter around his neck, snarling at the lack of tact in his demeanor. Figuring him to be a hunter given the obvious, they decided to use their words instead of their teeth. Not the route they truly wanted to take, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, as if they had any other option anyway.

“And your name? Do not see it on him.” Metzli hissed, letting their body sink into the stake ever so slightly without ever changing their expression. There was no pain to be felt since Eloy taught them to numb themself to it. They really should have cared more, if only for their dress shirt. It ripped at the chest, rendering it trash. Oh well, Metzli supposed. They had to deal with trash first anyhow.  

“Attack my business. My kill.” They admitted with a monotone, looking toward the body. “Why you care? Did he do a crime on you?”

The pressure around his throat increased, but Emilio didn’t falter. His glare bore into the vampire, even as the added pressure made breathing a little more difficult. He’d faced far worse than this; strangulation was one of the first things his mother taught him to endure, long before he was old enough to be locked in rooms with the undead and expected to survive the encounters. If anything, this was easier than most of the training that had preceded it. The vampire had only one hand to squeeze his airway shut with. His mother had always used two.

Of course, the vampire wasn’t backing down any more than Emilio was. In a way, he was almost glad for it. With the asshole behind him unconscious, he’d need something to entertain himself, something to keep him from falling back into his thoughts. Figuring out whether or not he wanted to drive this stake home would be a good means of entertainment, he decided. Though, given the way the vampire leaned into the wood, he might not have to make the decision at all. His grip on the stake tightened a little, just in case this was some ploy to get him to release it. He had more in his jacket, of course — his pockets were always weighed down with more weapons than ought to be possible for one man to carry — but it was always best to avoid being taken off guard.

“How do you know? You don’t know my name.” The statement was dry, the kind of thing that might have passed for a joke if the person he’d said it to had had a heartbeat. Tilting his head up slightly, Emilio studied the vampire for a moment. “He’s done a lot worse than attacking businesses. You think you have a right to him because he lost you money? Hurt your pride?”

Of course the hunter was difficult, they were trained to be. And really, Metzli had a little sympathy for the cretins. There were similarities in upbringings. Torture disguised as training, desensitization used as a ploy to create soldiers and mold them to feel nothing even as white-hot pain threatened to pierce through their steeled flesh. It would be easy to acknowledge that, to find some sort of common ground, but as two warriors on opposite sides of the never-ending war, that truth would never come out without crimson staining their skin. Without boring into each other’s eyes as their torture mirrored one another to give them pause, just as it had for the vampire.

For the first time in a while, Metzli’s eyes were reflected back at them, letting some form of emotion creep in ever so slightly. Something in his eyes hovered like a ghost, like anything that returned from the dead. Those only come back for two things. Love or revenge. And the man in front of them wasn’t around for the former.

“Do not need to know name.” They practically tutted with annoyance at having to speak English when the person in front of them had an obvious accent. Metzli chocked it up to his innate need to do nothing for the undead but kill them. It didn’t matter anyway. They’d just speak in their native tongue and let it be one-sided. He could answer in English if he wanted. “Forgers always have more cons and far worse backgrounds, especially when they think they can steal from me. Which he didn’t because I am not an idiot.”

Metzli shoved the hunter away with a kick to his stomach, completely tearing their shirt. They groaned quietly, wishing they had worn a binder, but they were satisfied nonetheless. There was distance between them now, and their kill was just behind them. All they needed to do was pick him up and ignore the nuisance in front of them. “What is it they call it here? Dibs? I have dibs. Now leave.”

In truth, the expression on the vampire’s face was a familiar one. Emilio had seen it in the mirror more often than he’d care to admit. The careful blankness of it, the way they refused to let anything even remotely human shine through. They had more of an excuse for that than he did, all things considered; physically, Emilio was as human as he’d ever been. He just didn’t feel like it anymore. Everything that had ever made him feel like a person had been stripped from him in that massacre, and everything left now served only to remind him of what he’d lost. He wondered if it was easier not having to hear your own heartbeat, not having to fill your lungs with air. They were both dead things walking. Emilio just happened to look it a little less.

“Wouldn’t tell you, anyway.” Odds were, they’d recognize it. And if things were tense now, he couldn’t imagine they’d get any better with his family’s reputation between them. Part of him wanted to say it anyway, wanted to welcome the inevitable fight that would come with it, but he held back. His pride was the only thing that could outweigh his melancholy and as much as he might want to make a martyr of himself, he wasn’t about to let a vampire be the one to end him. 

He clicked his tongue as the vampire continued in Spanish. “Stupid enough to chase him through the streets. Should have taken care of him on the spot. Would have had less competition.” Continuing in English put him on an uneven playing field, he knew. He wasn’t good with English. (Frankly, he wasn’t much better with Spanish — Elena Cortez had never had much interest in teaching her children to speak. A blade didn’t need to know how to carry on a conversation.) But Spanish was the vampire’s preferred language, and Emilio didn’t like the idea of giving them anything they preferred. Forcing his half of the conversation into a language that didn’t fit well in either of their mouths might be inconvenient for him, but it was inconvenient for them, too. That was what mattered. 

The kick wasn’t entirely unexpected, but he grunted as it knocked the wind out of him all the same. The stake remained tight in his grip, ripping the vampire’s shirt as it went backwards with him and his eyes darted down to ensure that it was undamaged enough to avoid needing replacement. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the mark on the vampire’s now-exposed chest. It was a familiar one. His uncle had sketched it out once, pointing to the curves of it carefully. His mother made Emilio and his siblings memorize it, along with others. Eventually, they would have been expected to take action against the clan, as they had others. It was this particular mission, the one to rid Mexico of any vampire clan that kicked up dirt within the country’s borders, that led to Victor’s death. But not this particular clan. This clan, Emilio had learned, was torn apart much later and from the inside. One of the leader’s own lieutenants, for reasons that evidently hadn’t been a power grab given the way the entire group dissipated once the leader was dead. “You’re a long way from home, no? Though I guess you don’t have much of one anymore. Los Sombras del Sur. Trying to stay relevant?” 

A low rumble thrummed in Metzli’s chest, a growl quietly escaping their mouth, dripping with irritation. It didn’t really make a difference that the hunter was from their homeland, but it didn’t help. A hunter was as much of a pest as a rat, though that was insulting to the rodent population. What made a real difference was the fact that he knew exactly what clan Metzli was from. Not exactly surprising, they supposed. They just didn’t want to be associated with a life that took everything from them. Being relevant had nothing to do with it. 

“Had nothing before, have nothing now. You are an idiot if you think being of any sort of relevance was an option in that clan.” Metzli nearly laughed, but all that happened was a smile began to form. As if it was noticeable. “All that mattered was Master Eloy. Killing him myself fixed that. His and the clan’s existence are done. I imagine you would be easy in comparison to an elder, but I have no use in killing you.” 

They kept their eyes trained on the man, watching for any signs of an attack. So much as a twitch, and Metzli would be on the prowl. For the time being though, they unsheathed their knife and plunged it into Henry’s neck in one fluid motion as crimson eyes bore into the darkness. If they couldn’t take the kill with their teeth, they were spiteful enough to do it with a boring and tasteless blade. At the very least, the sound and smell of sweet iron made their throat and muscles tense. A hungry monster was dangerous. Add intelligence in there, and one had a lot of trouble coming their way. To make matters worse, at least for the slayer, the monster in front of him had a well-known name in Mexico’s supernatural ecosystem. 

It was a fair assessment of the clan, though Emilio was surprised they were the one making it. Typically, vampires were more loyal to the clans they’d come up in. It was an irritation at best — it meant you couldn’t take on the leader of any clan without taking on the rest of them, too, meant that you were never fighting a battle with just one person, meant that anyone manipulated or forced into it wound up as collateral damage. His mother would hate that line of thinking, Emilio knew, but he’d seen plenty of supernatural people who weren’t all bad. Even undead ones. They didn’t all deserve to die, even if the vast majority of them did. But clans, and the elders who lead them, had a tendency to force the people under them into submission. 

Some with less efficiency than others, apparently. A faint expression of vague interest crossed his face as they mentioned killing Eloy, and he wondered if it was true or if it was just some attempt at intimidation. It was plausible enough. He knew the leader of Los Sombras del Sur had been killed by a lieutenant, knew that the lieutenant had survived the ordeal, and had no idea where they’d wound up after. He’d been a little too busy losing everything to keep up with the specifics of what anyone else was doing around that time. 

Any begrudging respect he might have had, though, dissipated as the vampire continued, and he rolled his eyes. “If you did do what you’re claiming,” he said, “you ought to know better than to underestimate an opponent. I may not be as easy to kill as you think.” Plenty others had tried, over the years, and Emilio was still standing. Sometimes, he let himself believe that that meant something. 

He watched the knife bury itself in Henry’s neck with a sigh, rolling his eyes again. He didn’t much care who killed the criminal, at the end of the day. A dead man was still dead, no matter who delivered the fatal blow. But it was a little annoying, if only because the vampire was beginning to grate on him. He didn’t tend to hang around the undead for more than a few moments at a time unless he was ‘questioning’ one, and that faint buzz alerting him to their presence got old after a while. “Great,” he said dryly. “You gonna come at me next? Be polite to give me a warning.”It was the vampire’s turn to roll their eyes. Not only was the Spanish one-sided when it didn’t need to be, they hated when the need to repeat themself arose. Speaking held such little value in comparison to actions. People always tended to fluff up their words and misdirect; lie by any means in order to sate their needs. Metzli didn’t care for lying. So much so that they even detested things like diet soda. It was just a drink lying about being soda. Not even mixing blood in it could make it taste good. The very thought made Metzli want to grimace, but they had a more important matter to take care of first. 

“I killed him, and I did not underestimate you. I merely made an assessment. Which, mind you, I would not be surprised if you proved wrong. Hunters are nothing if not persistent.” Metzli licked the knife, barely humming as the taste coated their tongue with a sweet and savory flavor that they could never get tired of. They had no other choice, not really; all thanks to the fateful bite Eloy bestowed upon them. There wasn’t much use crying over it, and it wasn’t like they would at that moment. It had been many decades since they last shed a tear anyhow. 

“I told you already that I had no use killing you. That includes hurting you. I provoked you when I went after my kill, and now he is dead. My job here is done.” Finishing the final remnants of blood on their knife, Metzli sheathed their knife and studied the body on the ground. Maybe it was the wrong call, but they didn’t feel threatened anymore. If the man wanted to make any sort of attack, they were confident they could handle it. “If you won’t tell me your name though, I will at least tell you mine since you are the least annoying hunter I have met.” Metzli turned back to the slayer, “Metzli Bernal. A pleasure...” They bowed at the waist, sighing when they returned to standing upright. “Whatever your name is.”

It was hard to tell when a vampire was being honest. In some ways, Emilio almost envied wardens for that — at least the monsters they hunted couldn’t spin lies to try to tangle them up with. The safe thing to do, his mother would say, was to assume that anything undead was always being dishonest, to trust those with a heartbeat and discount those without one. But Emilio no longer found things to be so clear-cut. After all, Lucio’s heart had been beating strong when he’d sold his family out. Breath in his lungs and warmth on his skin hadn’t stopped that. And this vampire, in this moment, didn’t seem to be lying.

Maybe, a few years ago, Emilio would have been some version of impressed. Killing an elder wasn’t easy, even for a vampire. He never would have admitted to any respect it might have earned them, of course — doing so while his mother was alive, when it might make it back to her, would have been about as smart as sticking a fork in a light socket and ten times as dangerous — but there might have been some there. These days, though… It was hard to feel much beyond the grief and the anger he’d buried himself in. Most days, all he was was sorry. “I’ve been called persistent, sure.” He got the feeling they didn’t mean it as a compliment, but he’d heard far worse insults.

“Oh, most you could do is try. I’m sturdier than I look.” Still, there was something… interesting about it. A vampire stepping back, leaving a hunter be. His mother would have said such a thing was impossible. Of course, his mother would have stuck a blade in his gut for standing here and having a conversation when there was a perfectly good stake in his hand, so it might be best to take her voice in his head with a grain of salt this time. “Emilio,” he replied, making no move to offer anything beyond his first name. “You’re not the most annoying vampire I’ve met, I guess. But I don’t think I’d call you the least, either.” He inclined his head back towards the corpse now sitting against the wall. “I’m not getting rid of that. You killed him, you take care of the body. Anything else’d be shit manners.” 

Surprise nearly painted across Metzli’s features, not expecting the slayer named Emilio to reveal himself. Wasn’t usual for either side to behave so amicably. It was always bite first, ask questions later. Safer that way for each party. Attacking first meant no one could catch you with your guard down. While Metzli’s wasn’t entirely up, they still had a layer of caution in every movement, knowing that any wrong move could prove catastrophic. Until then, they decided to go along with whatever the two were creating. It wasn’t a friendship or alliance, but it was something along the lines of a temporary tolerance. If such a thing were possible in their world. 

With a sigh, they planted their hand on their hip, looking at the body with a shrug. “You’re right. It is  only fair. I will get rid of him. My friend will consume it. Bones and all.” Metzli gestured vaguely to the body, crouching down to assess how bad the cleanup would be. They tutted to themself, a small chastise for letting their pettiness get the better of them. It was a petulant outburst, but they hardly regretted taking something from a slayer. In spite of this, they still had manners. Metzli was no heathen. Not even to a sworn enemy. “No trace back to you, Emilio. No…shit manners here.”

Metzli stood erect again with a bemused hum, looking down at the man with a blank expression. He’d half-complimented a vampire of all things, and that was an alluring act. It deserved some investigation. “Are you a…what do they call it here?” They tapped their chin, trying to find the right term. “Oh. I remember. A coconut? You have the accent but speak no Spanish.” It was more of a taunting jab to get Emilio to speak their tongue, but their face or tone of voice gave no indication of that. Metzli wasn’t a funny person and they didn’t normally partake in jokes because they were never allowed to—never learned to, but they certainly could now, when it benefited them enough. That was the beauty of their hard-earned freedom. 

Their friend. It seemed a surprising confession to make, given everything. Context clues allowed him to guess that their friend was also undead. If ‘friend’ wasn’t a term that mostly meant ‘pet,’ he could assume that whoever it was was also sentient enough to have friends, which made him lean towards zombie. Part of him itched at that, the same way it always did when he got wind of something undead. Some habits, some thought processes were hard to break free from, and Emilio’s upbringing had left such little room for exceptions when it came to the undead. But this vampire had taken care of a problem back in Mexico, and they weren’t attacking him now. If anything, their goals seemed to align somewhat with his — taking out people who needed taking out. He could give them a momentary benefit of the doubt.

He could always kill them later, if he had to. Right now, he meant it about expecting them to get rid of the body. Lugging corpses around wasn’t nearly as easy as it had once been now that he had a bum leg and a body that hadn’t been properly taken care of in years. “I’ll hold you to that. Anybody comes sniffing, I throw your ass under the bus.” Though he wouldn’t let them be arrested. A vampire in a human prison wouldn’t end well for anyone involved, and assisting the police in any way had never been of much interest to Emilio. More likely, if the police came sniffing around, he’d pay off Javier for an alibi and stake the vampire out of spite. 

As they continued, he stiffened a little. The term wasn’t one he knew, but based on context clues, he knew he didn’t like it. The attempt to coerce him into speaking their shared native tongue was a smart one; Emilio had always responded to jabs before thinking over their motivation. “I speak Spanish when I want to,” he said irritably, the words rolling off his tongue in Spanish so much easier than they ever would have come in English. “It’s not my fault my English is better than yours. Maybe you need the practice.” The taunt wasn’t entirely fair, given the fact that his English really wasn’t much better than the vampire’s and certainly wasn’t good, but Emilio tended to respond to perceived insults in kind.

Emilio was a funny guy, it seemed. Hot-headed but somehow calculated all at once. As an older man, an older hunter, Metzli supposed he had to be a decent mixture of the two if he’d lived this long to be considered that. Hunters his age were short on supply thanks to their dangerous occupation. They were indeed sturdy, like many of the people they hunted, but it was often that roles were reversed in an instant in the heat of battle. Whoever falls as prey, loses their life. Emilio was fortunate—or possibly unfortunate given what Metzli knew of families in their line of work—to have never fallen as prey. They wondered if it was that careful humor he held within him. It certainly gave the vampire pause. Enough to not wish to kill him. Yet. 

“Ah, so not a coconut?” Metzli grunted with amusement, taking a seat next to the dead body to scan Emilio a little further. They could hear how elevated his heartbeat was, but it was much better than it was when they first pounced on him. If they didn’t know any better, Metzli would have to guess that his current bps was simply his baseline. Another gift from the job. Had the vampire had a heart, they thought maybe theirs would be the same, possibly even hiccuping with anger at the privileged choice of words. Not that Emilio was privileged by any means. He was just sounding a lot like those kinds of people. America may have sunk its teeth too far in, much to their chagrin. 

“Calm down. You will start sounding like all those Americans who tell us to go back to our homeland.” Emilio responded to jabs, so Metzli gave another, hoping to irritate him into behaving. “I just got here not too long ago. After killing Eloy, they told me to leave Mexico, but they did not exactly make it easy to do so.” They shrugged, rubbing at their shoulder in an attempt to hide their smile. It was nice to speak and hear their native language, even under those circumstances. “I will learn in time. Our people are resilient and determined. What about you though? Why America? This is not your home.”

“No. Not that.” It was strange, speaking to them in Spanish. Emilio might have claimed it was because they were undead, though it wasn’t entirely true. His native tongue felt like something of a double-edged sword, these days. It was the language he’d used to sing his daughter to sleep at night, but it was also the language spoken by the monsters who had killed her. His nephew hadn’t known a word of English, and neither had his murderer. It was the language with which his mother had praised him when he did well, but also the language she’d used to berate him for his every mistake. Both knife and salve, somehow, making wounds and repairing them in the same strike. 

Gritting his teeth in irritation, he waved a hand in Metzli’s direction at the accusation. He’d had the same experience, of course, throughout his time in the States. Strangers hurling insults because of the way his words came out wrong, scoffing at the way he didn’t always understand the things they said. But this kind of teasing was different when it came from someone who shared your heritage. Less a toss off a cliff face, more a playful shove.

Their question, though, gave him pause. Staying in Mexico would have been dangerous for him, to be sure. The vampires who had ripped through his town and killed his family would be chomping at the bit to take out the final member, with even those who hadn’t been a part of the massacre eager to earn the bragging rights that would come with wiping the Cortez line off the map. But that wasn’t why Emilio left. He hadn’t been trying to save himself, hadn’t been looking to spare his own life. It was somehow both simpler and more complicated than that. “I don’t have a home,” he replied, shrugging a shoulder. “Not here or there.” 

“Hm…” Metzli leaned back against the tree, nearly fully relaxing. It was becoming easier to, especially with the developing rose-colored glasses. Coming to a compromise with an enemy had a cathartic element to it. Cemented the idea that monsters could have light behind their eyes, not just motivated by bloodlust. By rage. Quiet and simmering entities that were empty, dark, and full of malevolence. An all-consuming combination that left its host feeling as if their mind was not their own. 

In Metzli’s case, it wasn’t, and they didn’t know Emilio all that well to speak for him and find common ground in that like everything else they had so far. “I see…I do not either.” They finally replied, close to feeling something. Metzli was a bit more inclined to try to relate to someone when they could compare wounds, and the loss on Emilio was evident. They were surprised they even tried, all things considered. Emilio was a hunter—a slayer, but he had paused. This, in turn, compelled the vampire to extend themself to him. Fight against every instinct to tear at his skin.

“You have my condolences.” Eloy had brewed his monsters together himself and made every fledgling his. He controlled the entity in them, and when he felt any semblance of defiance, he disciplined quickly. Took more of their essence and replaced it with that darkness. Metzli thought they’d get themself back when they killed Eloy, but his death left much to be desired. Whoever they were, they were still lost. All that was left was a numb and dark beast, somehow managing to feel the faintest sparks. Of what though, they didn’t know. Perhaps it was that empathy Honey talked so often about. The thing that made her shed tears when Metzli gathered their thoughts enough to speak about how they felt about their experiences coherently. Had to be. It was a humorous idea. A vampire empathizing with a slayer. But Metzli was nothing if not defiant. They’d always encompassed that trait.

Emilio grunted in response to the vampire’s statement, unsure how to feel about it. He wasn’t certain if they were trying to relate to him or simply stating a fact. He wasn’t sure which option would be preferable. Even now, even after having decided that he wouldn’t be killing them in this moment unless they made it a necessity, he wasn’t sure how to feel about having things in common with one of the things he’d been taught to hunt all his life. Elena Cortez had raised her children up with a mentality that forced a strict way of thinking, and while the birth of Emilio’s daughter had broken some of that spell… it was a hard thing to shake in its entirety. 

Perhaps that was why he bristled when Metzli offered their condolences, why every muscle in his body seemed to tense at once. Or, more likely, maybe this was a reaction he would have had from anyone who offered such a thing. Condolences spoke of a grief that Emilio had been desperately trying to replace with anger since the tragedy that birthed it. Accepting them would place him on a ledge he wasn’t sure he could balance for long. “I don’t want condolences. It is what it is.” There was no home to return to, and that was fine. There were no people to miss him, and that was better. That was by design. He’d left Rhett behind for a reason, after all. 

Deciding a change in subject was necessary, Emilio spoke again. “This town, you live here? You said you had a business.” 

The teeth in the slayer’s words didn’t sting, didn’t leave a mark. It was a small nip from a big dog, demanding Metzli to step away from their offer. They could understand, to a degree. Accepting their condolences would not only mean he’d have to concede his teachings on what vampires were to him, but also acknowledge his loss. “Fine. I did not want it either when my town was massacred.” Metzli ran too—had been running since they learned how to shut themself off from the world. It was easier that way. That’s what they told themself. But the reality of it was that the pain was inevitable, came in waves that could make one drown if they didn’t learn how to swim away. And it appeared both Metzli and Emilio were very good swimmers.

“Yes, I live here. I own the art gallery in town. If you hear of forgers going missing in this area, it is likely my doing. Do not care for liars or dishonorable thieves.” One would think there was no such thing as honor in the act of stealing, but Metzli believed there was. Not everyone was dealt an easy hand, and when they were younger themself, they had taken to stealing food. But stealing highly sought after art that was worth thousands, if not millions. Well, that wasn’t exactly just a necessity, was it? That money was used for far more than just living costs and regular daily expenses. There was a bigger operation, and now Metzli knew both sides intimately. Their beliefs are the reason a shipment of crates that took food from the poor went “missing” during one of Eloy’s many missions. Sadly, like Henry, they were caught and promptly punished, leaving them with one less arm.

“I worked hard to get the business started, and idiots like him,” Metzli pointed a thumb at Henry, “Are usually in with more than just forgery. Trafficking, murder, torture…” They tutted as they shook their head, with a grimace painted on their face. “Rather get rid of them.” Pausing for a moment, Metzli tilted their head, growing curious. “And you? Do you live in town as well?”

Metzli’s statement about their town was so familiar that Emilio had to stop himself from flinching at the words. He wondered, for a moment, if they’d recognized him from the start and were only playing with him now, if they knew exactly what he’d lost and were just pretending not to in order to lower his guard. The paranoia that lived in his chest forced a lump into his throat, insisting that this must be the case, that Metzli was toying with him the same way they’d been toying with the dead man in the alley behind them. He shook the thought from his head as best he could, trying to force it from his mind. If Metzli was telling the truth about who they were — and Emilio had no reason to think they weren’t — they had even fewer connections in Mexico than he did. There was hardly any threat of them running off and telling those left over from the massacre in Etla where to find him. And even if they did… That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To face the monsters that tore his family from him head on. To keep going until everyone responsible for that massacre was dust, or to die trying. That was all he was good for now. 

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he nodded curtly. “I won’t offer any condolences. For any of it. I think we both know I would be lying if I did.” Harsh, maybe, but honest. He liked to think they’d appreciate that more than a pretty lie. And they were being honest enough with him, too, admitting to ‘taking care’ of forgers and thieves around town. It wasn’t quite what Emilio did — he tended to focus more on violent criminals than thieves, though many like Henry fell into both categories — but he could understand it nonetheless. Art thieves were rarely people worth mourning. “Hope you’re usually more discreet about it than this,” he said, nodding to Henry’s corpse. There was something almost akin to a lilt in his tone. The undead rarely saw Emilio’s version of a joke unless he dealt it out with a heap of pain on top of it, but the fact that Metzli hadn’t come at him again meant he was a little closer to whatever kind of ‘at ease’ he could manage, these days. 

“Yeah. I was after him for something like that.” He pulled out his phone, flipping clumsily through a few photos in his gallery before turning the screen around to display a photo of a young woman smiling at the camera. “Was looking into him for something else, and her name came up. They found her on a hiking trail in Florida. Didn’t have enough on him to send him away for it, but it was him. Probably came here to get away from it.” He pulled the phone back, locking it and sliding it back into his pocket. “Some things you shouldn’t be allowed to get away from.” He didn’t care much about the client Henry had swindled, though that had been what put him on the man’s trail. If it were only that, Emilio probably would have been a bit more angry about the corpse on the ground, upset that he’d have to find some way to give the client an update that would still allow him to be paid even when he couldn’t tell the client what became of the problem. But there were some things far more important than all that, and this was one of them. Henry got what was coming to him. Henry got off easy. Glancing back up to meet the vampire’s eyes, the hunter shrugged. “For now. Don’t know if I’ll stay.” It wasn’t entirely true. He’d set up a business for himself here, which meant he was staying for the foreseeable future. But he wasn’t in the habit of sharing that sort of thing with undead strangers, even if he’d decided that Metzli wasn’t the worst person around. It was always better to give away too little than too much. 

Metzli grunted with amusement, not usually one to laugh. To do so, a person would have to feel free to do so. “I was feeling a little more fun than usual. The night was quiet enough for it.” Even with Eloy dead, liberation still didn’t feel real. There always seemed to be some sort of shadow looming just over Metzli’s shoulder, waiting to discipline. For them, that freedom came in cautious waves, leaving them anxious for hours, but painting smiles on those who motivated the sound to ring out. They knew freedom came at a cost, and in time, they’d pay less and less. As frustrating as that was. At least Emilio was funny without being overly so. Metzli wouldn’t know how to handle feeling free or at ease thanks to a slayer.

“You are not so bad.” Again, the vampire grunted. Emilio may not have made a joke, but the overt honesty was somehow humorous. A hunter showed a bit of kindness in not lying, a sort of respect toward a vampire. Metzli saw the irony in it, and then they smiled, genuinely. “You speak plain and your humor is dark. I do hope you stay in town if only for jobs like these.” They nudged their head toward Henry, “Human or…” Their hand gestured to themself, “Not. Species doesn’t really matter. Anyone can be worthy of death.”

With a sigh, Metzli looked at their watch and quirked a brow. It had been far longer than they thought, and now they were late to seeing Honey. She’d understand when they showed up with a body, but punctuality was something Metzli favored. “Hm…I must leave, unfortunately. Have to meet my friend. Do you think you could at least take care of the blood? Consider me owing you a favor. You seem like fun to work with anyway.”

It was strange, the fact that this vampire had the same idea as ‘fun’ as Emilio himself. Even now, part of him felt nauseous at the concept, stomach clenching in a way that reminded him of nights full of far too much whiskey without the pleasant numbness that preceded it. It wasn’t as bad as it would have been years ago, when his mother was alive and anything that might pass as rebellion filled him with a dread so heavy his lungs were crushed by the weight of it. Punishment in the Cortez household was always swift and brutal, but it was the disappointment Emilio had always feared more. He’d known, for a long time, that he wasn’t his mother’s favorite child. He’d never quite found a way to be okay with that. 

He shook the thought off as best he could, coming back to himself in time for Metzli’s compliment to nearly send him spiraling right back down. Instead, he managed a quiet grunt that might have been some kind of affirmation. “Most people don’t like my jokes.” Juliana had, up until the point where that budding resentment between them meant she didn’t like much of anything Emilio had to say. Rosa had always laughed at them, but part of him wondered if some of that was just politeness. The only person who’d ever really thought Emilio was funny with any kind of consistency was Flora, and it was difficult to tell how much of that was just a child idolizing her father. “I tend to lean more towards the not. But… Humans can be just as bad. Worse, sometimes.” He still resented Lucio far more than he resented the vampires his uncle had sold them all out to, after all. 

With a sigh, Emilio glanced down at the corpse. The blood spray wasn’t bad, but cleanup had never been his favorite part of the job. It was part of why he preferred to stick to vampires — they had the good manners to turn to dust when you stabbed them. Made cleanup a hell of a lot easier. But a bit of blood was far easier to get rid of than an entire corpse, so the compromise seemed like a fair one. Especially fair, when you factored in the favor Metzli promised they’d owe him. “I’ll be holding you to that. Go, get rid of this. Consider the blood taken care of.” If nothing else, he’d learned the best practices for cleaning up blood through years of dealing with his own staining his clothes and floor. “I’ll be seeing you, Metzli Bernal.” It was either a threat or a promise. Emilio wasn’t quite sure which. 

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

This Dark Thing That Sleeps In Me - a Magnus Archives AU, Chapter Seven

This is a DARK AU; it is not a kid-fic, though Jon is young. Bittersweet ending ahead.

Spoilers for the whole show, though this is very much an alternate universe.

“Have you been to Oliver’s mountain?”

“No. Hey, Marto, how come the Eye didn’t choose this guy?”

“Wish I knew.”

It didn’t feel particularly good to hear that. Jon was beginning to dislike being a mystery.

AO3

Art by @iiiumihottie

Nobody answered Tim.

“So,” Mike said into the silence. “Is it always this exciting in the grand ol’ tower?”

“No, it is not,” said Sasha. “Is everyone all right?”

Some murmurs of assent.

Not from Jon. He knew what he’d been promised. Felt it deep inside, maybe in his soul. Answers. To everything. He kept swallowing, producing saliva as though hungry.

“Jon, are you all right?” said Sasha.

“Is he all right?” huffed Tim. "What about the rest of us?"

“I’m fine,” said Jon, who was still visibly shaking. “Can we go see everything? He said I could see everything.”

“First, let’s… okay. Martin, can you grab him some clothes, since Tim didn’t get the chance? I’ll get him fed and washed.”

“Thanks, Sash,” Martin said, and left.

Mike stayed. No one had expected Mike to stay. 

“Hellooooo?” said Tim, as though Mike had forgotten.

“So what’s the deal with you three?" said Mike. "Is it open, or closed?"

“Not the time, Skyboy,” said Tim. 

“Here,” said Sasha, and handed Jon a plate.

Food. Chicken? Some meat chopped up small and a bunch of vegetables he didn’t recognize and—

He groaned, mouth stuffed. He’d never had anything so good at Amherst’s place.

“Slow down,” said Tim, slowly. “Geez.”

“Who was taking care of you?” says Sasha. 

“No one,” Jon says around another mouthful. “I took care of myself.”

“So you were… what, eating garbage?” said Tim.

“No,” huffed Jon, and scraped his plate clean. “I was trading.”

“Trading what?” said Tim.

Jon shrugged. “Needful things. I’d wash dirty dishes, or organize shelves.”

Tim started laughing. “Are you serious? They’d come downstairs in the morning, be… what, out some bread, or something, and find their kitchen redone?”

Jon slowly went red. “I’m not a thief. I traded. Without… telling anybody. It still counted!”

“Oh, my gods,” said Tim. “I love you. I want one. Hey! Martin! Dibs when you’re done!”

Martin stepped back in. “We are not doing dibs.” He’d changed. Impossibly fast, it seemed, but he was clean, his hair wet and slicked back, and his clothing swapped out for dry things. Gone were the velvety blacks; he’d gone into greens now, with an elaborately embroidered vest and a bright red cravat. “Here.”

Jon took the bundle of clothes.

“Shower,” Sasha pointed.

Jon obediently went to the corner shower to clean up.

He could hear them while he did. The conversation was odd, but… intimate.

“You are so pale,” said Sasha. “Drink.”

“No, I’ve taken too much from you lately already,” Martin said.

“Well, I’m not pale and bloodless yet,” said Tim.

“Guys,” Martin said. “I can’t. I’ve been greedy, and now I’m paying for it.”

There was a pause. Jon had no clue what they were doing over there.

“Nice,” said Martin, breathless after a moment, “but still no.”

“I’m here,” said Mike.

Silence.

“What? My blood works.”

“It does,” said Martin. “Well?”

“It’s up to you,” said Tim. “I mean. Your mouth going on him.”

“I’d return the favor,” said Mike.

"Wow," said Martin. "Right in front of everybody."

"If that's your thing," said Mike.

Martin laughed. "You're hopeless."

“Let me at least test him. Make sure he’s clean,” said Sasha.

“Do whatever,” said Mike. “So you gonna take the kid and gonna explore? I’m staying here.”

“Why?” said Martin. “My friends are… we…”

“I want to get to know them,” said Mike.

“You really know what you’re offering, don't you?” said Martin softly.

“Yeah. I do. I know it’s intimate. I know it’s permanent—we’d be tied. I know what I’m offering.”

“Damn,” said Tim as if impressed, and their voices lowered.

Jon missed the rest. The sensation of hot water was so glorious that nothing else mattered, anyway.

Martin was safe. Martin was… fed. So Jon could do whatever he had to do. Whatever that meant.

Stay focused.

“Sure, past self,” he muttered to the Answers, and hurried.

#

“Hey, Jon, you cleaned up all right.”

Jon smoothed down his weird new clothes. He’d never worn anything like it—blue velvet, a vest, a tie. He needed help with the tie. He did not like the tie. “Thank you. I’ll pay for this, somehow.”

“You don’t have to. Jonah sort of said you had to stay? That means he has to provide for your needs.”

You do not know this man.

He’d rather not think about Jonah. “I want to see everything.”

Martin sighed. “Everything?”

“Everything. He said I could.”

They all looked at each other.

“Please?” Jon added.

“Sure,” said Martin. “Might as well do it right. We’ll start at the bottom of the place and work our way up.”

“Geez, look at that expression,” said Mike. “Hungry as fuck. How are you not Eye?”

Sasha peered at Jon through the lens of her goggles. “He’s Uncertain, as far as I can tell.”

“Wild,” said Mike, clearly not invested. “So what else are you working on? I want to watch.”

“Do you,” said Sasha.

“I want to watch, too,” whined Tim.

“No, you’re coming with me, I decided,” said Martin. “You know everybody, and that’ll make this easier.”

“Aww,” Tim somehow whined harder. "Fine.

“How are you at taking instruction?” Sasha said to Mike.

Mike’s smile was slow. “Why don’t you find out?” 

Martin looked like he’d much rather stay and watch what happened, but that wasn’t on the table. “Come on, Jon,” he sighed. “We might as well get this over with. Follow me.”

Jon did.

#

“Is this anything like what usually happens when the Fingers come for people who weren’t chosen?” said Jon as they headed for yet another set of stairs, then he tripped again. These shoes were strange, heavy; the toes kept catching on things.

Martin caught him by the arm. 

“Sorry,” mumbled Jon.

“Never wore boots like this, hm?”

“Not since I was little,” said Jon.

“Little. Wow,” Tim deadpanned. “Really long time, then, yeah?”

“It was,” said Jon with full sincerity. “And I don’t think the toes were this pointy.”

“No, they wouldn’t be. That style swung in about a year ago, and has yet to make its graceful exit,” said Martin, and led the way down. 

The whole building, Jon decided, was designed to absorb light. He couldn’t think of another reason for it to be made of black or dark brown stone, with sconces spaced far apart, and nearly all windows just too high to be of use. He hadn’t gotten an answer for his first question. “So is this normal?”

“Not even close,” said Tim behind him. 

“What is normal?”

Martin sighs. “They’re taken to Oliver’s mountain. Don’t know what happens after that. They don’t come back.”

“You don’t know?” said Jon. “I mean, they say they’re sacrificed, so I assume they die, but—”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” said Tim, amused.

“I... I’m sorry.”

Martin glanced at him. “You also don’t have to keep apologizing.”

Jon frowned. “I don’t?”

“Definitely not. We’ll let you know if you do something that requires it.”

“Oh.” And Jon blurted it: “I don’t understand the rules here.”

“Nobody does,” said Tim. “And by the time we learn them, it’s time to die, and then we get to be reborn and have to learn them all over again.”

“You don’t remember them?” said Jon, amazed.

“No.” Martin glanced at him. “Jon, nobody remembers.”

Jon started to say, I do.

His past self said, don’t say it.

Jon closed his mouth.

“What?” said Martin.

“The… the walls are really brown.”

“Dibs," said Tim.

“Quit it,” said Martin.

“Why is it so dark?” said Jon.

“Because the Heart feels contemplation of death is best done without distractions. Thus, outside of Jonah’s area, there is no art, there are no carpets, and there’s no real color except for in people’s personal rooms.”

“But his area’s fancy as anything,” Tim muttered.

“Whose else lives here?” Jon tripped again.

Martin exhaled. “There are representatives of all the Other powers here,” he said. “And most of them are new, but there’s… there’s a core of repeats.”

“A core?”

“Some of us, reborn, are always going to end up here,” said Tim. “Me, Sasha—Martin, until he took this out and just doesn’t die anymore, the jerk.”

“Anyway,” said Martin, stopping at an enormous door at the bottom of the stairs. He took out an enormous ring of keys. “It’s the core group, and then the people the Heart picks.”

“Picks?”

“He’s Aligned dually, himself,” said Tim. “He was Eye first, then End. So anyone who’s Aligned dually like he was, he keeps.”

“Is that good?” said Jon.

“Depends,” said Martin. “Sometimes, sure. He gave me eternal life. He helped Tim. He gave Sasha a real purpose.”

“That’s all good, isn’t it?”

“I’m grateful,” said Martin in a tone Jon could not interpret, and unlocked the door.

A weird smell wafted out—a smell Jon knew. “That’s rot.”

“It is. You ready? You wanted to see everything.”

“I do want to see everything,” Jon confirmed, and walked right in.

#

Jon was very surprised to find Jane Prentiss in the basement. He was even more surprised to find her in chains.

She was even more surprised to see him. “Well, fancy meeting you here,” she said.

Jon stared. “Why are you locked up?”

She sighed. “Lost a duel. Did you get our present?”

“I did! Why did you send it?”

“Little spider told us to.” Jane grinned. She didn’t seem particularly bothered by her chains or being stretched prone on the floor. “Wait. Aren’t you past ten?”

Jon flushed. “Nobody wanted me.”

“Huh.” She stared. “What's very weird. Well, we would have taken you.”

“Well. You didn’t.”

“We still could.”

“No?” he said, and stepped back. “I think I’ve had enough Corruption for the rest of my life, thank you.”

“Fair enough.” Jane looked at Tim. “Would you tell Jonah we have learned our lesson?”

“I can’t tell anyone anything, Jane,” said Tim, somehow making it smooth and gracious in spite of the worms squirming all around their feet. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to pay your penalty.”

“We would have won if not for interference.”

“Maybe so,” said Tim, and it’s almost gentle. “But the Heart never cared about cheating, you know? He just cares who wins.”

“Next time,” said Jane. “Next time, we will overwhelm her, and she will smother and writhe as we eat her eyes.”

“Good luck with that!” said Tim, the soul of cheer, and stepped over her legs and moved further in.

Martin moved past quickly, but she spotted him, and she spat. “Filth!”

Jon gawked at her.

“Come on, Jon,” Martin said, hand on his back. “Keep going.”

“Wretch! Pirate! Foul creature not of the grave!” 

Jon followed, eyes wide. “What was that about?”

“Oh, she hates Martin,” said Tim with great pleasure. “The Corruption can’t touch him, you see. Not even after he dies.”

“You won’t rot?” said Jon.

“No. Whatever the Heart did to create me means I will, uh. Collapse into dust, apparently?”

“Wow.” Jon was awed. “How does that work?”

“I don’t know?”

Jon’s eyes grew wider. “And you… you’re all right not knowing?”

“I don’t even know who I’d ask,” said Martin. “Though Sasha is busy trying to figure me out.”

“She’ll figure you out, too, kid,” said Tim, opening another door.

There were more prisoners in here. Some were chained high on the wall, dangling from fetters. Some were, like Jane, on the floor, stretched out as if meant to be stepped on. Two—just two—were in complicated torture devices, one of which stretched its victim into moaning misery, the other piercing its prey with a thousand metal barbs so they could never stop bleeding.

It was… horrible?

And Jon felt like he should feel more bad for them than he did, but he was so damn curious. “Why are they here?”

“Displeased Jonah,” said Martin. “Bad idea to do that.”

Jon could see why. “But what did they do, specifically?”

“You really do want to see everything, don’t you?” said Tim.

“I do. What did that one do?”

“That guy tried to murder someone. Pretty dumb move, if you ask me.”

“What about that one?”

“Attempted to escape. Thought by just traveling far away, they could leave the End’s power, or something. I’m not really clear on it? Something about a flat Earth.”

Jon scoffs. “The Earth isn’t flat. Eratosthenes proved that centuries ago.”

“I’ll take your word on it, little buddy,” said Tim, then looked over his shoulder at Martin and mouthed, “Dibs.”

Martin rolled his eyes.

“What about that one?” Jon pointed.

“Attempted suicide. Belonged to the Dark, so they didn’t appreciate it.”

“Huh. That one?”

“Tried to swap their twin for collection to the Fingers. Didn’t work, of course.”

“So the Fingers do bring people here,” said Jon.

“Nope. They go to the Will. Like I said, nobody ever comes back from that.”

“Where is Oliver’s mountain?”

“Somewhere over the sea.”

“Over the sea? So the Vast is working with the Will.”

“Yep. It’s why Mike’s sort of not in our crew, if you’ll pardon the pun. He always goes to Oliver whenever he’s reborn," said Tim.

“Have you been to Oliver’s mountain?”

“No. Hey, Marto, how come the Eye didn’t choose this guy?”

“Wish I knew.”

It didn’t feel particularly good to hear that. Jon was beginning to dislike being a mystery.

The dungeon didn’t last much longer. Martin led them out and up stairs. Everything smelled so much better, and now, they were in the guts of the place.

Machinery churned; rumbling and mysterious, it chugged, pistoned, steamed, sparked; Jon wanted to know what everything did, but neither Martin nor Tim really knew.

“Hot water?” said Tim.

“Lights,” said Martin.

“But how?” said Jon, and they could not answer him. “There have to be books or something explaining it all!”

“Ask Jonah over dinner,” said Martin.

“Dinner?”

“He wants you attached to my hip,” said Martin. “Well, we have this huge dinner every night. Awkward as fuck, but at least everyone here will know not to eat you.”

“Eat me?”

“You’re wandering around here, affiliated with nothing and no one. You’re not safe, kid,” said Martin.

“Fuck,” said Jon.

For no reason Jon understood, that cracked Tim up.

#

The next several floors belonged to people of the Flesh. The Flesh’s floors had a lot of large people walking around, bulging with muscles, challenging tailors with strange bodies and too many limbs. They smelled kind of bloody, but were nowhere near as gross as where Jon grew up, so he was unfazed.

Tim flirted with everyone they met. That was utterly bizarre, but it was satisfying to watch. Everyone seemed to like him. They cheered up when they saw him—or if they didn’t at first, they did after a moment of talking to him. Jon had seen and heard some wild sexual behavior in his time, hiding in attics and on the street, but this seemed above and beyond. It was friendly, somehow; cheerful. It didn’t seem to mean anything, or require anything in response.

It was just… pleasant. It left people smiling when they walked away (if they had mouths to smile, which they didn’t always, but somehow gave that impression, anyway).

By contrast, very few knew what to do with Martin. He got a lot of nervous looks; not even the really big guys had any interest in challenging him, though his presence made them nervous. Being chosen specially by Jonah seemed to be either a blessing or a curse. Jon wasn’t really sure which.

The wild thing was, unless Tim or Martin pointed Jon out, no one noticed him at all. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected that to change. It still felt bad, but it wasn’t new. 

They climbed more stairs.

The next section belonged to the Hunt, and these floors were a maze, set up so people could chase each other and get caught and bump against dead ends and do it all over again. Jon hated the layout. The people there didn’t see him, either, but they really liked Tim. Jon could see they wanted to chase him. From comments, maybe some of them already had. Tim laughed a lot with the people on that floor. And these people, unlike the Flesh, thought Martin was the bee’s knees. They flirted with him.

In response, Tim got louder and more amusing. In response, Martin got flushed and stammery.

This was becoming genuinely funny to watch.

The Dark’s floors were impossible to see in. Tim talked to somebody; Martin laughed and joked with somebody; Jon stared into the gloom, frustrated beyond belief that he didn’t know what was there. He wanted to go in, to explore. 

“Wait until dinner,” said Martin. “Wait until everyone knows Jonah’s got his eye on you, and then you can explore without an issue, okay?”

“Fine,” Jon, whined, aware he was being bratty, and followed Martin away from it and up the stairs.

That one is dangerous to you , came sort of an answer, though Jon hadn’t asked. Be cautious.

Huh. Well. Maybe. All right. But he wanted to know what was in there. Jon had never not listened to his past self. It seemed unwise to start now.

Each area in this tower was unique; they smelled different, and sounded different. The people there all had complicated relationships with Martin, but everyone liked Tim. Martin was right: It had been a good idea to bring Tim along.

“So,” said Tim, as they reached yet another floor. “Weird question: you weren’t… uh. Drawn to anything we saw, were you?”

“Drawn?”

“We both know the Eye’s gonna mark him as soon as they see him, right?” said Tim.

“We’ll see,” said Martin, and opened a door.

This floor was different, too—ceilings high and rooms wide, all the walls were lined with books, and Jon was heading for them before he could even think to ask.

“So this conundrum is about to be solved,” said Tim.

Martin shook his head. “Doubt it.”

“Look at all these books!” said Jon, reaching, then stopped. “Can I?”

“May,” said Martin. “Jonah’s a stickler for that shit.”

“May I?”

“Ask her.”

Jon looked to find a young woman staring at him. “May I read your books?” he said.

“What the hell is this?” she said, and looked at Martin. “Why can’t I see him clearly?”

“She can see him! What the hell!” said Tim, throwing his hands in the air.

“He’s… Uncertain?” said Martin.

“He’s too old,” said the woman.

“Well, he still is. Um. Do you want him?”

“I’m not done seeing everything,” Jon said, frowning at Martin. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Martin looked aghast. “No, Jon! I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’m trying to protect you.”

The woman stared. Jon shuddered. Her eyes reminded him of Jonah’s, though not with the same weight. “This is very strange,” she said.

“Right?” said Tim.

“I can’t see him clearly,” said the woman again with dire suspicion.

Jon twisted a little. “Nobody can. May I read some books?”

“Martin,” said the woman evenly. “Explain now, or I will react with prejudice.”

“Geez, drink some camomile,” said Tim. “Gertrude, this is Jon—Jonah’s guest. Jon, Gertrude.”

Gertrude stared. She looked like a knife, Jon thought—sharp, polished, dangerous. “Sure. Read whatever you want.”

Whew. Happy to step away from her, Jon grabbed the first book he didn't know.

“What do you see when you look at him?” said Martin.

“It’s like an illusion,” she said, which made little sense. “What is he?”

“Don’t know.”

“I don’t like it. The Eye can’t see him, Martin. He’s invisible to the Eye.”

Martin stared. “Invisible to the Eye? Invisible? ”

“Invisible.”

“But that can’t—he’s clearly been accessing it! I don’t…”

“He’s accessing something, but the Eye can’t see him. Get this thing out of my space.”

Back to them, Jon hunched. “I’m not hurting anything,” he muttered.

“I don’t want him here. I don’t understand him.”

“Oh, come on, now, Gertie,” soothed Tim. “He’s not doing any harm.”

“Out.”

“What if I distracted you for a bit? Took you dancing. Listened to you ramble on about orbital patterns, or whatever.”

“Tim,” said Gertrude evenly. “I will not warn you again.”

“Shit,” Martin muttered. “Sorry, Jon. We have to go.”

“But…” Jon stared around himself at all the books. “Jonah said I could!”

“He hasn’t said it to me,” Gertrude snapped.

Jon felt like he was going to cry. New books! So many! Right here!

“He will at dinner,” said Martin. “I promise you’ll be able to come back.”

“If he does, then I will have to let you in,” said Gertrude. “Until then, leave.”

“Sorry,” Jon whispered, and held out the book. 

Gertrude scowled. “You can keep it.”

“Really?” said Jon, eyes enormous.

Martin took his shoulder and directed him back to the stairs. “Come on. She wants to be a cranky old woman, she can be a cranky old woman.”

“Offer’s still on for dancing and orbital patterns!” Tim called over his shoulder.

“I think I got so used to people not seeing me that I forgot they don’t like me,” Jon said.

They walked for a moment. “I like you,” said Martin.

“Maybe you do,” said Jon.

“I do,” said Martin. “And the people who don’t are assholes.”

“Assholes,” Tim agreed.

Jon wanted to believe them. He couldn’t, quite. There were too many of them.

“One more area of Others, then we’ll get to the utility areas—kitchen, weapons training, all that," said Tim.

“Weapons training?”

“Jonah likes duels,” said Martin with a shrug.

“The Heart of the End likes a lot of things that aren’t the End,” Jon said.

"Dibs," said Tim.

“Shhh,” said Martin.

Tim leaned in. “You are right,” he said. “The running joke is he serves the End so faithfully so he can avoid it himself and keep indulging, but don’t say that. You’ll piss him off.”

“I swear, that woman,” said Martin, changing the subject back.

“Well, she’s got months left,” said Tim. “I don’t blame her.”

“She’s twenty-nine?” said Jon.

“Yep. The End comes for us all—except this dapper gent, of course.” He elbowed Martin.

“You’re close to thirty?” said Jon.

“Got a year and a half left,” said Tim. “So far, the only one whose life has been extended is Marto over here.”

“Oh.” Jon swallowed. “You don’t seem… unhappy about it?”

“Why would I be unhappy about it?” said Tim.

“I mean… so many others seem to be upset.”

Tim shrugged. “My future’s set, you know? I’ll be reborn somewhere, Jonah will find me, and bring me here. That’s what happens.”

For reasons he didn’t know, Jon glanced at Martin.

That was grief. On Martin’s face was grief.

Jon couldn’t engage with it. “How does he find you?”

“He can see all of us. Any of us,” said Tim.

“Except me,” Jon pointed out.

“That’s… well, he can see you face-to-face, so you’re not a ghost,” said Martin.

“Wh… did you think I was a ghost?” Jon blurted, feeling for no reason he knew like his past self was laughing at him.

“I considered it?” said Martin, and opened a door.

#

The final Other floor opened to a room of white webbing.

Martin sighed. “Annabelle, for the love of fuck.”

Tim gawked. Then he laughed. “What the hell? This isn’t the augury. What’s all this?”

“I have no idea. She’s filled the regular living quarters now, for some reason,” said Martin.

“Come in, children,” came a voice from who knew where.

“Annabelle,” moaned Martin.

“Yeah,” said Tim. “Um. You need help with this one?”

“No, it’s fine, you can wait outside. I swear, she’s worse with the drama than Jonah,” said Martin, and headed right inside.

Jon saw no reason not to follow.

The door slammed shut behind them, and Jon jumped. “Tim’s really not coming?”

“He can’t flirt with her,” says Martin, “and she unnerves him, so he’ll stay outside.”

“Oh.”

“It’s all right. She won’t hurt you.”

“You have to allow me a little pageantry,” said a woman’s voice, and its owner stepped out of the web as if materializing.

Jon stared. He shook his head and stared again.

She was a spider, but she wasn’t. She was a woman, but she wasn’t.

She smiled.

Martin looked back and forth. “You okay, kid? You’re pale.”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Thank you for bringing him to me,” said Annabelle. “Now, we can begin.”

“Begin?” said Martin. “What do you—”

And without warning, webbing moved all by itself, wrapping around Martin’s wrists and arms and waist, and lifting him off the ground.

Jon gasped.

“Pageantry,” said the woman again. “Hello, Jon. My name is Annabelle. We need to talk.”

chapter eight

[jayarrarr]

Jen’s Dating Chronicles: Installment the Seventh

I'm breaking a number of rules with this post. Broken rule the first is that I told myself when I started this series that I would only write installments about people once the "relationship" was over or had run its course, and that is most certainly not the case here. Broken rule the second is that I told myself with installment the sixth that I was done and I wasn't going to write any more of these, yet here we are. Broken rule the third is that I never give identifying details about any of the people I talk about in these posts, but said strict anonymity seems a bit past the point here, and especially given broken rule the first, and more especially given that the person I'm about to tell y'all about was once a member of the Tumblr Writing Community, such as it was way back in the day, and that makes anonymity seem silly and pointless, even more especially given that I have posted pics of myself with this person on this very blog. Three. That's three broken rules. Three is a number. So yeah. Sometimes there are people just sort of hanging out in the background of your life. That's not to say that you never talk to them, or that you don't consider them to be friends of a fashion, or that you've never shared any deep or thought-provoking or emotional content with each other—we read each other's writing, for fuck's sake. But things don't click until they do. We didn't meet on an app, at least not a dating app, and not unless you consider Tumblr a dating app (some of us do, tho, it seems—I've had more actual relationships through Tumblr than through Tinder or Bumble or any of the others that purport to shove people's faces in your face so you can find someone to play mate with). And we weren't strangers, not really, even though we'd never met in person. We started chatting about writing one day and that conversation became a conversation about something else that became a conversation about something else again and so on and that conversation has never really stopped since June 21 when it started. So maybe that explains why, on the first of July, we were on the phone and I jokingly intimated when we were six hours into what would become an all-night phone conversation, that rarest of breeds, that if I'd gotten in the car when we first started talking I'd be halfway to him by then. And we kinda laughed about it and it was kinda funny but also kinda not funny because it planted a seed in my mind and that seed grew immediately and had to be harvested pretty damn quick and that's when I said, "I'm driving to Houston tomorrow." And then I passed out on the phone. This is the sort of thing that happens when you're on the phone all night. And then I woke up at 11 a.m. and my first thought was, "Did I really just say I was driving to Houston tomorrow?" And after I'd determined that wasn't some sort of fever dream, I commenced to trying to talk myself out of driving 12 hours and I just couldn't come up with enough reasons not to. I really couldn't come up with any reasons not to, apart from the "driving 12 hours" part, because I don't know about you but that doesn't exactly sound like the best time. Although, if I'm honest, I was less concerned with the driving down and more concerned with the driving back. If things went well, the driving back would be bittersweet. If things didn't go well, the driving back would be annoying. Neither bittersweet nor annoying are pleasant. So basically there's no way that the driving back would be a good time, even if the driving there wasn't the best. And yet. So off I went on Sunday, and you know what? The drive wasn't all that bad. At some moments, it was even really fucking cool. Was it the best? Eh. And then I got here and ever since I got here everything has been amazing. Sometimes there are people just sort of hanging out in the background of your life. And then, one day, they move into the foreground and everything clicks and the world comes into focus like things are just a little brighter and a little sharper than you ever noticed them being before. But before I left I assured everyone I talked to about this venture that there was no way in hell my fucking ass was moving to fucking Houston. I'm allowed to be wrong. So that's where I'm at right now. Falling in love and moving to Houston. One thing I didn't see happening any time soon, the other thing I didn't see happening ever. But ain't that the beauty of it? Take a fucking risk sometimes just to see what happens. It might suck, but it might also be something grand.

And just in case you’re wondering what happened to the guy from Installment the Sixth—he lied to me. Don’t lie to me.

© 2023 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

[romantic-reveries]

Just had a guy tell me he’s falling in love with me and like—is this what they mean by fuck around and find out?

It’s all so annoyingly serendipitous. He’s been weirdly good for me on the heels of B. He’s so verbally validating and affectionate. He’s this weird culmination of manifestations—I’d been wanting someone to fool around with who would dirty talk me straight out of my mind, and boom, there he was. It literally makes me feel drunk, and the orgasms? My god.

With B, we’d stay on the phone until we decided we were gonna sleep, and I would sometimes wish we could stay on the phone until we fell asleep—all night. Maybe wake up together. This one asked me to do that only a few days in. Something I’ve wanted—not specifically with B, but I did think about it with him—was one day with a partner, to read to each other. Read poetry or a book or something. And when B and I decided to have a two-person book club, I thought ‘maybe’. This one asked me if I wanted him to read to me within the first few nights, and recently, asked me to read to him. And he recited a poem to me from memory.

But he’s not what I would want for a relationship. Even if I weren’t still hung up on B, this one is so… emotionally tumultuous. I’ve worked so damn hard to heal and be better. I need a partner who is stable. I can’t fix someone, and I don’t want to have to. I deserve someone who has already done the fixing themselves. And this one tries—I have to give him that. He said part of what attracts him to me is that I’m so emotionally stable and level, which is… weirdly validating, but again, like a really weird fucking mirror of the situation with B. Like the other side of a coin, and now I’m the healthy one, observing myself in someone else’s body.

I went from wanting someone stable to being that to someone else. And this guy, he lives three hours further from me than B did, and yet he’s saying the drive is no big deal—that if we met, if we ended up dating, he’d come to me, or he’d come pick me up and bring me to stay with him for a week (which would be a 20 hour drive, all told, here and back twice.) That feels like an insane ask. Which, he just flew to Europe a few months ago to meet a girl he started dating online, so yeah, I guess—what’s five hours to him?

It’s just—so weirdly paralleled it’s fucking mind-boggling. And he reminds me a lot of me. A more unhealed version of me, with worse mood swings than I ever had, but the same struggles nonetheless. He even mentioned how he wants someone emotionally stable, which “maybe makes him sound like an asshole”, and maybe isn’t fair since he “has issues too” and I’ll be damned if that isn’t exactly what I’ve been thinking for myself lately. I even said as much to someone, that maybe it was unfair of me to feel that way since I have issues too, but I’ve worked so hard to heal.

And then I was talking with my grandma last night before bed, and I mentioned, realizing how much this guy likes me and I don’t feel insecure or anything except for the occasional moment when I suddenly feel very attached, how it’s all a perspective game based on old emotional patterns (unworthiness, mostly) that’s breeding those feelings of insecurity. It’s not about the other person, it’s about me. How I was drowning in it with B because I liked him so much it made me insecure and irrational. How I suddenly realized how much of what happened was kind of my fault for getting so in my head. Anyway, when I mentioned this guy having feelings for me, she said something to the effect of not wanting to lead him on, and I said I wasn’t, he knew how I felt, I’ve been very upfront, he’s even said he doesn’t know what he wants, etc etc.

Just to get on the phone with him and him drop that on me. The timing was uncanny.

I can’t help but feel like this was supposed to happen like this. Like I needed to learn from it, and I am.

I even had an insane epiphany about B after that conversation last night. I feel this sense of pattern more keenly than I ever have. I’ve often felt like a metaphorical ping pong ball, disorganized and bouncing all over the place. This is the first time it’s felt so methodical. Like there’s a method to this madness called life.

I realized with B, that while I thought I was being “realistic” about things in trying to keep myself safe, I actually was just running scared. I was feeling rejected and I wanted to cut things off before he could, because I felt so sure that he would. I didn’t feel good enough for him partly because I liked him so much (which always makes me insecure because it’s sort of putting someone on a pedestal), but also because he was so stable and put-together that it didn’t make sense to me for him to want me. I was afraid that if he changed his mind, having all of these great qualities that I admired, and knowing me probably better than anyone bar my grandma, that it would reaffirm that I wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t about him—it was about me. I’m accountable for my own feelings. But I made them his problem, and I assumed the worst of him based on past experiences with other people and that was excruciatingly unfair of me.

And I feel so light, realizing that. Because I haven’t really quite been able to flesh it out ‘til now. I knew I reacted how I did out of fear and because I didn’t feel good enough. But I couldn’t quite parse it out to that level and really understand it, and I do now, and it’s liberating and wonderful to know.

[automatismoateo]

Off My Chest: I Hate Christianity. Heres why. via /r/atheism

Off My Chest: I Hate Christianity. Here’s why. To be fair, I find all religions awful. Even Buddhism which gets a pass in our culture has some seriously disgusting beliefs (tldr kids with cancer deserve it). Yet Christianity seems to be the only religion in the USA which increasingly affects my day to day life. From my healthcare to where my tax dollars go. I grew up in this nonsense. I went through conversion therapy. Just learning about evolution in school was met with massive protests. Heck, I was even kidnapped by a church as a kid while being forced to hear the gospel. As I got older, I really wanted to get involved more in charity only to learn that most of the tax free churches basically did none. They’d get money to help with homelessness then didn’t. They’d get money for addiction programs and didn’t do anything except a “pray the addiction away program.” At one point I proposed a cooperative business to restore citizens with criminal records and I was told “it’s better to keep them materially poor so they can be spiritually rich.” This church (Xenos Christian Fellowship) later received a $1 million PPP loan which was also forgiven. What really separated me from the Christian church was doubt. Even at 5 years old I was filled with doubt. I’d be told to read some book and I did, but was always left wanting. I studied theology for I could enter church leadership and we’d talk about the more scary parts of the Bible: Old Testament genocide and infanticide. Now we’d write off genocide as the murdered having deserved it, but infants? What did they do? Well there’s two answers: god can do what we want (but this also implies he’s a dick sending a lot of people to hell) or the more accepted answer: those kids were killed before the age of responsibility and thus got a pretty nice gift. Of course when 2016 rolled around and my church backed Trump because he would undo roe v wade, I had to ask: why? Wouldn’t it make more sense for abortion to keep happening to spare those lives? Hell we should be rounding kids now! Just as you’d put a suffering animal out of its misery, we could save multitudes from eternal damnation. The big problem with doubt in the Christian church is that at a certain point they make it a character issue: this doubt isn’t legitimate because you’ve been deceived by satan. Nevermind gods hands off attitude when being deceived by the second most intelligent creature around… it’s an escape hatch for religious leaders without answers. My question had me speaking with so many religious leaders and they couldn’t use the “deceived” logic. The calculus is self-evident. They’d just say “look you have to believe! What else is there?” Nothing. And that’s okay. I hate having given so much of my life to this religion, I go to therapy and it helps. However, none of this made me hate Christianity. It gives people comfort. You do you boo! Hell I’m not consumed with hate when they get loans that are forgiven. But over the last decade I’ve built a wonderful life for myself that doesn’t involve Christianity, but day by day that’s encroached upon arbitrarily. My healthcare. My freedom of speech and thought. There’s double standards in almost every aspect of my life. You can take my money and get your tax breaks, but let me have my damn autonomy. Haven’t you had enough? I hate Christianity. Truly. And I hate the idiotic Christians I have to encounter day to day. And it’s not because Satan corrupted me You really are just that insufferable. We could just leave each other alone, but here we are. Submitted April 02, 2024 at 08:42PM by TheKimulator (From Reddit https://ift.tt/X26aycl)

[hannahsmusings]

*~ new plot. again. ~*

*I had to be dreaming, I had to be in one of those hyper realistic dreams where you’re not sure if you’re awake or asleep, I just had to be* *I just got done with office hours with my advisor, we were discussing the tutoring program that I was part of that I loved for the most part, except now, now I wanted to do literally anything else with my time except being part of this tutoring program* *she had just given me my new tutoree since it was a month into term and I nearly told her ‘no’ straight up when she told me my new tutoree’s name, Anthony Clayton* *it was a name I hadn’t heard in four years but a name I used to hear every single day, it was the name of my childhood best friend, the person I spent every day with from the age of 3 up until we were 17 when he got super cool and really good at sports and I went the exact opposite way* *I was trying my best to do some breathing exercises on my way to my dorm; I knew he went to this school, we applied to this school together when we were 16, me staying up until 5am with him, helping him write his admission essay, neither of us wanting to be separated, we both got in and we were so damn happy back then when we were under the delusion that we’d be friends forever and ever and ever* *now we were two perfect strangers, we didn’t even follow one another on social media, we ran in two different circles and luckily this university was so huge that we never crossed paths - I was on course for med school, studying to be a physical therapist, where he was studying something but more so probably focused on going pro, he always  was such a great athlete, being 'all brawn and no brains’ according to himself* *I had felt safe here until now when I was faced with the reality that I’d be spending 2 to 3 days a week with my ex-best friend, in a quiet library, just us, for an hour* *I couldn’t lie that a jolt of sadness had rushed through me when my advisor said that he was already so far behind and failing, and this class was just one of many, but if he didn’t get at least a C he would be held back and not allowed to graduate, this being a core class that he needed and it wasn’t his first time taking it* *I remembered all the late nights I spent with him while he struggled through schoolwork, him always taking longer than others when reading a simple paragraph in a book, having a difficult time with sentence structure when writing a paper, I hated knowing that those issues had followed him here, wondering if he had accepted any other help throughout the years, assuming not since he was in this predicament now, the thought of him just shrugging off schoolwork making my blood boil just slightly* *I walk back to my dorm, saying hi to my roommates before heading into my single bedroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, letting out a heavy sigh, not sure how I was supposed to prepare to seeing Anthony Clayton in the flesh tomorrow for the first time in four years*

__________________________________________________

*after class I’d gone to the gym, needing to burn off some frustration after the conversation with my lecturer, him somehow managing to make me feel more stupid than I already felt, forcing me to enrol in the student tutoring program in order to get my grades up, hating to admit to anyone I was struggling and needed help but I had no choice, I couldn’t fail this class and lose my scholarship, I needed to keep my grades up to have any chance of becoming pro, hockey having been integral to my personality since I was a young teen, not sure who I’d be without it* *I wasn’t ready to tell some stranger about my struggles with reading and writing, hating to call it dyslexia as that made me feel so stupid, the idea of having to struggle in front of someone made me frustrated all over again* *I work up a sweat, finally feeling better as I head back to my dorm, heading to my bedroom and throwing my stuff onto the bed as I begin to undress to shower as my phone buzzes, seeing it was an email from my professor with the tutor pairings, groaning and opening it up as I look for my name* *my eyes widen as my gaze locks onto a name, a name so familiar it stuns me for a moment, sitting down on my bed with my shirt half off as I re-read your name once more* Huh. *mumbles, grinning as I read ‘Renee Coppola’ over again, so confused as I knew you went to the same university as we’d applied together all those years ago but we’d lost touch, you seeming to have drifted off and focused on academics and we’d just parted ways, wondering whether this was you or just another girl with the same name, chuckling a little at how the universe worked in mysterious ways and suddenly not feeling so bad about this whole tutoring thing, knowing you’d had plenty experience when we were kids and I struggled, figuring this would be a nice way to get back in to touch as we’d been best friends, joined at the hip and I didn’t know what had happened, wanting to be at that point again* *scrolls through the email and see’s it had arranged meetings with the tutors for tomorrow, grinning to myself as I allow myself to think over all those happy moments from when we were kids, you and your home being such a safe space for me and I’d had moments of missing you over the years but I just figured this was what you’d wanted and we’d grown out of each other* 

[dycefic]

Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it.  They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!