#trying to lean into it will always leave a bit of uncanny valley in the aspect that. what happened was fucked up and she is Not Okay

[eucharistcunningham]

Im obsessed w the came back wrong trope but i am also obsessed w eucharist trying to be the absolute pinnacle of how she had been previously viewed and portrayed and trying to lean so heavy into softness and goodness and innocence

[miraculouscontent]

A Change of Heart (post-”Miraculous New York”)

"Kaalki, divide!"

Ladybug felt Kaalki's light wash over her, the kwami emerging and flying a small distance away. They were up on one of the rooftops in New York, overlooking an interview that was happening on the street.

Kaalki hummed in interest, taking the time to see the tall buildings. "What a grand city." Then, her gaze dropped down and she squinted, adding with distaste, "Quite crowded though."

"There's an interview going on right now. That's why. One of their supervillains was just taken down," Ladybug explained, placing her foot up on the edge of the building and peering down to look at the crowd.

"And, what precisely are we here for?" Kaalki asked, hovering near Ladybug's face to follow her gaze.

"Not what, but who. We’re here to see Eagle," Ladybug answered, pointing at the eagle-themed superheroine being interviewed. The crowd was enthusiastically cheering at just about every answer Eagle was giving, and Ladybug couldn't help smiling at the fact that the person she gave the miraculous to was still doing well.

As the interview came to an end, Eagle's eyes shifted from the interviewer to Ladybug, who had made sure to be where the red-and-black of her suit would stand out; she wasn't exactly the definition of "stealthy," and it worked to her advantage in this case.

Eagle jumped up to the nearest rooftop, then waited for the crowd to disperse before leaping over to where Ladybug was. "Hey, Ladybug! What are you doing here?" Her brows creased in seriousness, and she held her fists up like she was raring for a fight. "Did Hawk Moth come back to New York?"

Ladybug waved dismissively. "No, no, it's nothing like—"

"Pardon me," Kaalki said, making sure she was loud enough to be heard. She puffed her chest out haughtily and gestured to herself with a hoof. "I'm Kaalki, the kwami of migration. Pleased to meet you," she said, her tone forced as to imply that she didn't appreciate being ignored.

"Uh... hi," Eagle greeted flatly, then looked to Ladybug for an explanation.

"Sorry about her. She was my ride." Grabbing Eagle's wrist and leading her to the center of the rooftop, where they were less likely to be seen from the streets, she explained, "Anyway, I came here because I was hoping that I could get your help."

Eagle leaned to the side, curious. "My help? What for?"

"Well..." Ladybug hesitated. "This is going to sound like a weird request, but..."

—————

Eagle crossed her arms in thought, still seemingly absorbing the explanation. "You want me to use Liberation on you? To get rid of your—"

"—romantic attachments," Ladybug cut in stiffly, the word 'crush' and 'love' sounding extremely un-Ladybug-like. She blushed in embarrassment and looked away, bringing a hand up to partly hide her face. "Listen, I know you probably don't get this sort of thing. It's already awkward to talk about it while I'm Ladybug, but—"

"No, I get it," Eagle assured, though her expression was neutral.

Ladybug looked at her in surprise. "You do?"

With a slight roll of her eyes, Eagle replied, "Okay, so I don't get all the love stuff exactly, but Uncanny Valley has her own thing for me to deal with. She always wants to help people; she can't help it. Besides, Liiri says that there's always something stopping people from reaching their full potential. Sometimes it's bad, sometimes it's good, and it's my job to figure out what it is." She glanced Ladybug up and down, as if to gauge something. "You really think it's that bad?"

Ladybug responded with a wince, bad memories already starting to surface.

"Alright, wow," Eagle said, hands raised as she took a step back, the reaction having already convinced her while she herself clearly wanted no details about it. "Are you ready then? You know this is only going to last five minutes, right?"

"Wait—" Ladybug blinked in surprise. "You're really going to help me?"

"Yeah?" Eagle replied. Half-offended, she asked, "Did you really think I wouldn't?"

"No! Sorry!" Ladybug rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "You'd be... surprised, by how bad this stuff usually goes for me."

For a moment, Eagle looked tempted to ask, but shook off the thought just as quickly. Placing her fists to her chest, her gaze went firm, showing that she was ready.

Ladybug stood in place, almost nervous at the prospect of doing this. She was essentially taking out a piece of herself, but it was the only way to test it; the only way to know for sure.

"Liberation!" Eagle called out, spreading her arms as a single light burst out of her.

Ladybug flinched, her fighting instinct kicking in, but she held firm and let the light touch her. For a moment, she was frozen, able to sense Eagle's presence in her mind and even hear her voice. Eagle's voice was calm, but tempting, offering the freedom so desperately desired.

"Ladybug, your love has taken over your life. I release you from it!"

—————

Marinette quickly stashed the glasses in her purse as she checked her phone's timer. She had four minutes and forty-five seconds to do this, and she took a steady breath before stepping out of the alley she'd been hiding in.

As she raced across the street, the fencing students were just filing out out of Françoise Dupont. The moment she saw Kagami and Adrien leaving, she raised a hand, raising her voice so she'd be heard. "Hey, Adrien!"

Adrien and Kagami stopped and glanced her way. Adrien turned to Kagami, saying something and briefly tilting his head in Marinette's direction. Kagami nodded at him in response, and they separated, Kagami heading in one direction and Adrien heading in Marinette's.

At first, Marinette was nervous, her worst case scenario being that Liberation had truly failed or worn off when she de-transformed, or that her feelings were somehow so strong or messed up that even Liberation somehow couldn't help her.

Yet, as Adrien approached, she found that she wasn't shaky at all. Her heart wasn't pounding either. She didn't even feel the slightest bit of awe from his presence.

She was normal. She was okay.

"Hey, Marinette," Adrien greeted with a smile. "Did you need something?"

It took her a moment to answer, still stunned that it'd worked and she'd truly been freed of her crush, even if it was for five minutes. "Oh. No, actually, just..." She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, checking the time, then kept it at her side as she asked genuinely, "How was fencing?"

Adrien looked briefly caught off guard, though whether he was surprised at her acting differently or just the question was anyone's guess. He then brightened, replying excitedly, "It was great! I got paired up with Kagami again, and you know how Mr. D'Argencourt is with fencing, so he..."

The conversation continued as nothing but casual from there, and Marinette almost felt silly at how amazed she was by such a simple thing. It was actually like she was Adrien's friend; like they were on the same page and she could actually hold a conversation with him. He looked and talked the same way he always did, yet she was perfectly fine. Students passed by and maybe tossed them a brief glance, but completely ignored them otherwise because she wasn't acting "weird."

At worst, she was grinning just a little wider out of the pleasant surprise of the whole thing.

When she'd first thought to "liberate" herself of her feelings for Adrien, she was certain she'd be disappointed by it. She honestly thought that she would see Adrien and miss the heart fluttering, the weak knees, and the sheer dreaminess he used to radiate.

But she was wrong. With her crush gone, she could see herself from an outside perspective and reflect without fretting over the things she would've otherwise. Where she thought there'd be disappointment, there was relief that she could actually breathe and not turn into a mess around him. Her mind wasn't clouded with thoughts, and her eyes could drift wherever she wanted without some brainless thought intruding and warning her that she might miss Adrien blinking if she looked away.

She'd needed this. It was nice; more than nice even. Is this how it could be all the time if she truly moved on from him? No more mocking, no more jealousy, no more "crazy Marinette"? It'd be like a celebrity crush that she grew out of; an embarrassing memory of the past and nothing more.

More importantly, she would remember this. She would remember this feeling; the sanity of not being in love with Adrien, or not feeling whatever that emotion was actually called. To say the word "love" seemed so... wrong.

Still mid-discussion with Adrien, Marinette's phone suddenly beeped with a warning message. She turned it in her hand, seeing that she'd properly set the timer earlier to warn her when there was a minute and half left of Liberation.

Adrien leaned over to look at the screen, but jumped when a loud honking noise abruptly sounded off from behind him. Marinette tried not to snicker, but it was difficult; seeing someone else be the jumpy one was quite the experience, and she'd have to remember that too.

Adrien looked over his shoulder at his limo waiting for him, then glanced back at her apologetically. "Sorry, I gotta go. Can we talk later?"

"Oh, sure! Definitely!" Marinette stashed her phone back in her purse, then waved to him. "See you tomorrow!"

"Bye, Marinette!" Adrien exclaimed, waving as he rushed off. "It was fun talking to you!"

"You too!"

Marinette pursed her lips, trying to contain herself as she watched Adrien get into the limo and ride off down the street. She waited until it was out of earshot, then let herself start squealing, even hopping around and doing a twirl for effect.

"M-marinette?!" Tikki called, concerned. "Did it wear off? There's still time—"

"I'm gonna delete all my Adrien pictures!" Marinette exclaimed. "And take down that disaster of a wallpaper!"

"W-wHA—!!" Tikki gaped. "Marinette, when your feelings come back—"

"That's future Marinette's problem! This feels great!" Marinette cheered, having to suppress her excitement just so she could talk. Raising one hand dramatically, she placed the other to her chest, saying to no one in particular, "Oh, what's that? Me, crushing on Adrien? Ew, no way! We're just friends!"

She laughed triumphantly, a bounce in her step that made it seem almost like she were jogging. She crossed the street, reaching for the bakery door's handle and practically singing to herself, "Just friends~ We're just friends~ Me and Ad~ri~en are just good—"

She paused as she opened the door, seeing a familiar mix of blue and black standing at the counter and talking to her parents. At the chime of the bell, all three looked over at her, Luka's smile welcoming and his lips partially coated in white from what seemed to be a powdered donut.

"Hey, Marinette," he greeted. "We were just talking about you."

"Oh, he's such a sweetheart," Sabine cooed. "He came all the way here just to see you."

Luka blushed a light shade of pink at the obvious teasing, Tom jumping in to exclaim, "And he really thought he had to pay us for sweets! I told him, you're friends with our daughter, you better not put a single coin on that counter, young man!"

The three had a laugh together; clearly, they'd been getting along before she came in.

Yet, Marinette's smile fell from her face, a mental 'oh' echoing in her mind.

She hadn't even considered Luka when she'd thought of taking away her crush on Adrien, but it made sense; Eagle had said love, and Marinette wasn't foolish enough to think that she hadn't felt anything romantic for Luka. It only made sense that her crush on him would go too.

But it wasn't the same. The relief didn't follow the lack of feeling. With Luka, there'd always be a little leap in her heart, then a wave of calm washing over her, but neither were there and she couldn't help feeling disappointed.

Luka's smile disappeared as he noticed her expression. He approached, concern written all over his features. "Marinette?"

They were friends at that very moment; that was all the feeling she had on the matter, but she wanted what she'd had before. She remembered his confession at the TV station and yearned for the warmth in her cheeks when he stared at her and told her how much he loved her with words that were entirely his own; words that told her that he loved her as herself and filled her with a confidence she seldom had outside of being Ladybug.

Everything clicked. Her crush on Adrien represented stress, anxiety, and losing herself, but her crush on Luka represented peace, happiness, and being herself.

She missed how she felt about Luka. She didn't miss how she felt about Adrien.

That was all the answer she needed.

Almost on cue, her phone beeped again, this time to signal that Liberation was over. Marinette took in a shaky breath as she felt pleasantly familiar emotions rush through her again, and she welcomed them back like she would an old friend.

Luka's blue eyes gained vibrance and allure, his lips being coated in powdered sugar suddenly became incredibly cute, and she could think of him as no less than the most handsome boy in the world.

"...Sorry," she said breathlessly, waving a hand to assure him that she was alright. "Let's just say I went through a lot of emotions today. I'm happy to see you, really!"

Luka's smile came back, filling her with its warmth. "I'm glad," he said in relief. Then, taking a glance at her purse, which was still letting out a muffled, melodic beeping noise, he asked, "Sorry, do you have to be somewhere?"

"Hm? Oh, no, not really." She took out her phone to shut off the timer, then flashed him the screen before closing the app and storing the phone back in her purse. That done, she paused to consider things, then dared a glance back at him. "Hey... can we walk for a while?"

He blinked, mildly surprised, but nodded. "Sure. Did—" He froze, apparently only now realizing that he had powdered sugar on his lips. He swished his tongue around to lick it off, then started over with, "Did you want to talk about something?"

Smiling almost smugly in response, she felt confident enough to offer him her arm, as if he were a damsel she was leading around. She'd never seen his eyes widen quite so much before, but he also didn't protest, happily taking hold of her arm.

Knowing that her parents would just be giving their looks of approval if she glanced back, she stepped out of the bakery and led Luka towards the park.

"So, it took a little longer than I hoped, but... do you remember when you were talking about me getting clarity?"

[displacedentities]

Night Out

My quickfic for @doodledrawsthings​ Coffee Shop AU! In truth I had this in the books for months and just never got around to finish it ;u; Unfortunately only the muse can decide when it’s time to slap me with enough serotonin to work on this, so I rode the high from recent art and wrapped it up! It’s not as clean as I wanted, but you know what, have it anyway.

-Myst -----

Finally. Another shift in the books.

With a heavy sigh, Luka stretches his back as the clock chimes up on the wall over the glass doors. Deft fingers untie the back before he slips the fabric apron over his head. A light snap of magnets punctuates the white noise of steaming coffee machines, and Luka stuffs his nametag into his pants pocket.

Luka was embarrassed to think about how much of a struggle it was to steady on for the entirety of the workday. Stress ate at him all the time, over so many things. Harriet was priority number one - did he remember to prep her meals for the day? Was she still ok, back in the apartment? Was Professor Popcorn in need of more repairs? Luka would happily handle such a task, of course, but...

He wasn't guaranteed to have thumbs when the evening finally came. There was his time limit to think about.

"Hey Luka?"

Damn, but being cursed was such a pain. Chopping vegetables was a particular bane of his existence. How could he trust himself with a knife like that? Ugh. He hated to make Harriet do it - no child should be wielding a knife before the age of 13, for any reason. He'd just have to MacGyver a solution or something.

"Luka..."

And on top of that, he had the upcoming bills to fret over. Rent was due in a few days, and he'd made a decent amount in tips, but they could not afford to have their upstairs neighbor burst a pipe again. He and Harriet had spent the entire afternoon toweling up their poor carpets to avoid getting mildew. Or worse, bugs. Luka was a fan of bugs, but not in his carpets, or sneaking into the mattress where they could bite his daughter.

"HEY!"

This time, the voice manages to pierce the haze of worry writhing in Luka's brain. Jolting to attention, the auburn-haired adult turns around, blinking owlishly at his colleague, Clover.

The braided redhead is giving him a wan smile, her brows furrowed in worry as she sets down a large bag of coffee beans under the counter.

"You spaced out again, buddy. Did you hear a word I said?" the barista asks, folding her arms over her stained apron.

"Uhh... you said my name," Luka replied, feeling a bit awkward as he chuckles once. "Sorry, I probably missed anything you might have asked me."

"I was asking if you ever go out."

"Ah- what?"

That was unexpected. Go out?

"You know-" Clover holds up her hands to gesture to the world in general, and beyond the coffee shop doors "-out! Like, with friends or anybody?"

Ah.

Luka laughs once, rubbing a hand on one side of his face.

"You mean since I moved into town? Nah, not really. Me and my daughter have only been here a few months - can't say we made many friends just yet."

Nor was that a risk they could take. Who knows how long they could stay here, before he was inevitably found out? One could argue it was a risk just- doing what he was doing now. Trying to hold a job, staying in an apartment; a semi-permanent living situation. They'd been on the road so long, old habits were quite hard to break. And if he was entirely honest with himself, Luka didn't know yet if he felt safe, even six months past the first day he arrived in the rural town of Subcon.

Clover's frown deepens, her arms dropping back to her sides. Her dropped guard betrays her worry, before she tries to play it off with another lighthearted smile and upbeat words.

"Oh come on, it can't have been that long since you've just done something fun for the sake of it. When was the last time you went out with friends and enjoyed yourself?" she asks.

"Why is this important?" Luka asks, his own guard slowly rising. He didn't quite see where she was going with this, but he wasn't sure he'd like it.

Oops- maybe not the most polite way to phrase that, as he sees an awkward flinch on Clover's face. Quick, recover! Luka chuckles once, also trying to lighten the mood.

"You and MJ never really asked me that kind of stuff before. I thought I was hired to serve coffee, not tea."

"We serve both, ya doofus," Clover smirks, rubbing one of her well-muscled arms with the other in a self-conscious gesture. "You should know that, since you've been working here almost four months now. And uh- well, MJ just kind of noticed you always seem very tired whenever you leave work."

Luka smiles back, but it's forced. Careful. Don't give any hints that it's anything serious. Don't be suspicious.

"Oh, that? I uh- I'm not used to the retail scene. I'll probably adapt to it soon."

Clover doesn't seem convinced. Still, her expression is sympathetic, rather than judgmental or suspicious. She leans her back on the counter, looking over Luka's exhausted demeanor and baggy eyes with a skeptical smile.

"I'm sure you will." She rests her hands on the counter. "In the meantime, you should go out for bowling with me and MJ! We were planning this outing for about a week, and maybe you'd wanna come with?"

Luka stops mid-folding of his apron. He turns toward Clover with surprise.

"Bowling? As in- knocking over pins in an alley, bowling?"

Clover rolls her eyes, amused. "No, as in rolling cereal bowls. Yes, that kind of bowling, Luka. It'll be fun! Eat some cheap pizza, knock over pins, watch the uncanny valley animations on the TV screen, the whole shebang. You up for joining us?"

"I uh- I didn't know there was a bowling alley here?" Luka says, his voice pitching up as he gives a sheepish laugh. "I- I don't know..."

Shit.

He could already feel the first touches of his curse starting to well up. A quick glance to his hands- okay, no purple yet. But it was coming.

Luka tucks his hands behind his back just in case.

"I'm not sure, I have Harriet to worry about..." he fumbles, rushing to think of excuses. It hurts his heart a little when he sees the disappointed expression Clover wears.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her tone gentle. "It'll only be a for a couple of hours - I could ask Cookie next door if she'd be willing to handle your daughter for the night. She's a fantastic sitter, and your daughter would have Mu to play with."

Luka opened his mouth, preparing to turn it down- then closed it again, brows furrowed as he chews over the thought.

Only a few hours... hm. His curse's current time limit was somewhere a little short of eight hours, he was sure. As long as he didn't have to pick up a shift at work, he would have most of his day free to spend out of the motel. An outing to a bowling alley couldn't possibly last eight hours, though he'd... never actually gone bowling before.

"I.... don't know... I've never been bowling, I'll just hold you back-"

"Nonsense," Clover says, waving off his excuse immediately. "MJ and I aren't professionals or anything, Luka - it's just for fun! You've never been?? That means you've gotta try it, at least once. Please?"

...mmh. Luka would be lying if he said he wasn't very tempted. But he had so much to worry about! His daughter, his curse... keeping his job, being able to support the two of them. Not to mention, getting used to his slow camaraderie with Clover and MJ. That sort of outing would throw their friendship into first gear.

"It's ok," Clover interrupts his thoughts, standing back up straight as she grabs a rag and finishes wiping down the counter. "You don't have to come, we just thought... you know, it might be fun. You look like you need some serious time to unwind, dude. All we ever see of you is showing up to work, dealing with customers, then you leave. And hey, if you change your mind, the offer's still open."

Luka curls his fingers, foot tapping the floor in small fidget.

"Well, I'm gonna start closing up the back," Clover says, tossing the rag into a laundry bin next to the employee break room. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Wait!"

Clover stops, turning around with the laundry basket.

"What day were you planning to do it?"

What am I thinking?? I can't go on an outing with them!

Unaware of Luka's silent stresses, Clover beams, her smile lighting up once again.

"Saturday! Would that work for you?"

"Mnhg- maybe?" Luka concedes, forcing his own sheepish smile despite his brain screaming No nO this is a bad idea! His mouth continues to run away from him. "Saturday is my errand day - me and Harriet go out for groceries in the morning, and eat out at whatever lunch restaurant she picks. I wouldn't be open until the evening, and Sunday's game day for me and my daughter."

Bad idea, what are you doing?!

"That's perfect!" Clover says, delighted and still not privy to Luka's inner struggle. "If we close the shop at five, we can drive to the bowling alley around 5:30, play a game or two and eat. Should go until about... eight-ish? How's that sound?"

Say no, say NO!

"Sure, sounds fun."

AGH!

"Great!" Clover says, a skip in her step as she lopes off to the back room with the laundry basket. "I'll text MJ to let him know - he's already gone back to his apartment."

"Yeah, I'll uh- I'll text him too," Luka chuckles, scratching behind his head with one hand- and immediately putting a stop to that action, as he feels the points of sharp claws dig at his scalp. Both arms are dropped and tucked behind his back, a big smile on his face. "Gotta give him the full details and everything, haha..."

"No problem- see you!" Clover bids Luka goodbye, waving one hand as she cheerily hauls the laundry bin off into the back.

"Bye!" Luka says, his voice cracking from nerves.

Oh thank god she's gone.

Luka pulls his hands back out into view, and sees the telltale purple staining begin to creep up his flesh. Peck. It was already starting- Clover left just in time. He could already feel the sharp ends of his canines starting to poke into his bottom lip. He didn't have much left of the day in human form- he had to get home right now.

Snatching up his belongings from his locker, stuffing his work apron inside, Luka loops his bag over his shoulder and leaps over the service counter. He missed the rack of sugar packets this time, thankfully, his sneakers squeaking on the tile floor as he bolts out the door. The bell rings as the glass entryway opens and shuts, signaling his departure. Car keys are whipped out of his bag, a slowly deforming finger just managing to push the button to unlock the vehicle as he clambers inside. Just five minutes- he could make five minutes.

The engine of the car roars to life, and Luka zips off out of the employee parking space, trying his best to ignore it as his fingers swell and fuse together, and his eyes reflect golden light in the rear view mirror.

------

MJ's car putters up to outside the bowling alley, fixing his blue-dyed hair with a sigh. Clover, in the passenger seat, drums her hand on the door handle with excitement.

"This is gonna be so much fun," she says, turning to look over her shoulder at the stiff and uncomfortable Luka in the backseat. "I'm so glad you decided to come, Luka- we'll show you the ropes of bowling!"

"Great," the young man says, putting up another shaky smile as his fingers tense around his kneecaps. "Can't wait!"

"That's the spirit," MJ speaks up, giving Luka a quick smile of his own before twisting the key in the ignition. The car's engine dies down, the doors unlocking as MJ shifts the gear into park. "Clover told me you were nervous about hanging out, and that's completely fine by me - if you feel uncomfortable and don't want to stay, just let us know, ok? We'll drive you back to the apartment building, no hesitation."

Luka inhaled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh from the back seat of the car. It felt like his nerves were trying to shake him apart. A glance at his watch-

Was he really going forward with this?

...Yes. He was. As much as Luka worried, Clover had been right. It'd been far too long since he'd taken 'me' time.

Luka puts a hand on the door and pulls the handle, stepping out of the car before he has a chance to psyche himself out.

It's just a couple hours. He still had plenty of time, after his midday outings with Harriet.

Stay calm. You can do this.

The sign above the brick building shines with neon lights, saying 'Pins & Cushions' in bright blue and red. The backdrop is a painting that Luka can swear was painted in the 80s, displaying a bowling ball as it barrels into pins and knocking them askew with a cartoony impact mark.

"Pins & Cushions?" he says aloud, smirking a little bit.

"Kind of silly, right?" MJ speaks up, locking the car behind him with a click. "Sounds more like a sewing parlor than a bowling alley."

"It's because they boasted having cushioned chairs," Clover says, snickering. "You've never been, but most bowling alleys have these awful plastic chairs that hurt to sit on for too long."

"You mean like the chairs in high school?"

Luka's joke earns a quick bark of a laugh from Clover.

"Couched seating areas in a bowling alley was, sadly, a craze that never caught on," MJ says, ascending the concrete steps up to the building. "But this one did, and the place is like forty years old and too stubborn to change, so your butt will thank you later."

When the doors open, Luka is immediately washed with a cocktail of smells he didn't think could- nor should- ever go together. First and foremost is the thick smell of plastic and rubber, followed by the chemical odor of cleaning sprays, and the sizzling smell of burning cheese. Air conditioning blasts them from above as the three young adults enter the bowling alley, the doors sliding shut behind their backs. The sounds hit next - a cacophonous mix of rubber soles squeaking on polished floors, heavy objects falling and rolling, and the clatter of pins falling into the trap at the far end of the establishment.

It was loud, smelled strange, and the carpet looked lifted straight out of an arcade.

Luka was torn between anxiety, and a strange sort of excitement he hadn't felt in a long, long time. This was something new, something unfamiliar- he had hours to enjoy himself, and spend time not worrying about stresses of life. Harriet had a sitter, paid in advance with an alarm for when he would return, and he was out with- friends? Had him accepting this invitation solidified their friendship at this point? ...the thought made a happy butterfly flutter in his stomach.

This would be a great evening, he could feel it.

"Earth to Luka." MJ's amused tone causes Luka to jump. "Something on your mind? You're smiling."

"Oh- uh- nothing," Luka says, scratching behind his head sheepishly. "Just- thanks. For inviting me. I think I really did need this a lot."

"YEAH you do!" Clover thumps him on the back with one hand. "Come on! You have to give your shoes to the clerk so they can give you your bowling shoes."

"Ah, what? I have to take off my shoes on this carpet?" Luka complains, lifting a foot with distaste. "I feel like I'm stepping on twenty-year-old candy."

"It's part of the charm!" Clover sings, already removing one of her sneakers. "It's either this, or slip all over the place on the actual alley floor. You're getting the full bowling experience whether you like it or not, coffee boy."

"Ex-CUSE me!" Luka says with a dramatic gasp, hopping on one foot as he works to remove his own shoes. "I think you will find I'm a coffee man, thank you."

"Coffee twink," Clover counters.

"No, that's MJ."

"HEY! I will call lion's share of the tips for that one," MJ shakes a sneaker at them both in a mock scolding gesture.

"YOU'RE BOTH COFFEE TWINKS," Clover declares to the entire establishment as she fights off her last sneaker, racing for the counter before the others can catch up. "HURRY UP, COFFEE TWINKS, WE NEED TO PICK OUT BOWLING BALLS."

"I have dibs on the galaxy patterned one!" MJ yells after Clover.

Clover gives MJ an evil grin as she takes her bowling shoes and pays the rental fee, tying them before sauntering over to the racks of bowling balls. Her hand hovers over the selection, giving a teasing pause over the bowling ball made with swirled star plastic.

"Don't you dare," MJ hisses from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at Clover as he hands over the money for both his and Luka's rental shoes.

"It's either the tips share, or the bowling ball! You decide!" Clover yells back, drumming her fingers on the coveted starry bowling ball.

"Fiiiiine," MJ says with a dramatic tone, though his smile gives away his mirth. "You know I wasn't going to take the tips anyway, Clo."

"I know~" she says, giggling while she moves on to a different rack of bowling balls. "And you know I wouldn't do that to your poor weak arms, either, Moonie."

Luka finishes tying his rental shoes, thanking MJ before he makes his way down the small stairway to the alleys. It's very bright in this section of the building, with cushioned couches surrounding tables and standing consoles. Metal railings and a chute of some kind were positioned at each alleyway, some with bowling balls sitting idle atop the metal racks.

"So, what now?" Luka asks, the excitement of wading into unknown waters welling in his chest again.

"Pick a bowling ball!" Clover says, gesturing to the racks of heavy plastic spheres. "You'll want a heavy one, but not too heavy for you to lift and throw."

"Go easy on us, Clover." MJ shakes his head as he picks up his favorite starry ball. "Ms. Gun Show and her fourteen-pound bowling ball."

The redhead leans over and scoops up a swirled green bowling ball, hefting it on one arm and pumping it like a weight.

"You might get some guns yourself if you helped me landscape and move sod around my garden, Coffee Twink #1," she says, flexing a bicep.

"I refuse to acknowledge that nickname."

"Sorry, it's our team name now," Clover laughs, "the Coffee Twinks!"

"Hey, I thought our team name was the Comets?!"

"That was before Luka joined the team - now it's a 2-to-1 twink majority, I don't make the rules."

Luka just has his face in his hands, laughing through the whole exchange as he leans on the metal racks.

"You're just as bad as Harriet!" Luka laughs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one hand. "I don't even know where she learned that word - Cookie's daughter, probably?"

"Definitely," MJ says with a thousand yard stare, earning more laughter from Luka. "Go pick a bowling ball, I'll get the console up and running for our game."

Wiping tears from his eyes, chuckling under his breath, Luka turns to the racks and peruses the selection. The bowling balls come in all colors - most are black or dark brown, but there's a rather delightful mix of brighter hues like pink, blue and yellow. Some are marbled, some have glitter in the plastic, and a few very beat-up bowling balls have graphics of cartoon characters that were popular in the 90s. Well-loved by the children who patronize this establishment, he was sure. Harriet would love the Scooby-Doo ball - oh no wait. The one themed after a Pokeball, for sure was her poison of choice. And clearly the pick of the litter for many other children, as it was covered in scratches and dents from decades of use.

Ah- there was one themed after a jack-o-lantern! How fitting. He loops his fingers into the grip holes of the bowling ball, and heaves it off of the rack- only to almost crush his toes as the weight yanks his arms to the floor.

That was- heavier than expected!

"Oooooh, nice pick," Clover says, spinning her own bowling ball in her hands. "You sure you can carry it, though? That's a 10-pounder."

"I'll be fine-" Luka says, grunting as he lifts it back up with both hands this time. "Just- caught me off guard, is all."

"Alright, game's all set," MJ announces from the console.

Above their heads, a large tube television flashes blue before displaying a score board.

A loud k-chunk k-chunk k-chunk of machinery draws Luka's eye toward the other end of the alley. Metal rigging and machinery descend from the covered roof of the pin trap. Resembling a large soda crate, the rig drops an array of ten white bowling pins, before unclamping and ascending back into the darkness of whatever creation of god resided in that ceiling.

"You're up first, Clo," MJ says, waving a hand to indicate she should move forward.

"Watch and learn," Clover throws Luka a smile, the competitive taunt dampened by her genuinely helpful tone. "You want to throw the ball so it rolls like this-"

Stepping forward onto the squeaky, smooth polished wooden platform, Clover lifts her bowling ball to her chest. With a quick inhale, she lopes forward two steps, swinging her arm back with the bowling ball, before reeling it forward on the last stride and underhand throwing it into the aisle. The heavy green bowling ball lands with a tHDD before skidding its way down the oiled track, rolling in a long, smooth line. The swirled green sphere smacks into the bowling pins with a loud tHWAKK!!, sending all but one of the pins flying into the darkness beyond. The ball disappears into the hole, and Clover puts her hands on her hips with a huff.

"Damn, almost got a strike." Clover snaps her fingers, shrugging. The green bowling ball clatters back up the chute. She grips her fingers into the trio of holes again, and goes for another throw.

The bowling ball rolls down the course, straight as an arrow for the last pin. The pin spins off the wooden platform into the darkness, earning a whoop from Clover.

"Nice, got a spare!" Clover declares, throwing her arms up in triumph. She sashays her way back to the couches. "Who's up next?"

"I'm up," MJ says, standing from the console. Looping his fingers into his own starry bowling ball, MJ rolls his shoulders and steps up onto the oiled wooden planks. "I'm going to get the first strike of the day, just wait."

"Sure you will," Clover snickers as MJ winds up.

When he releases the ball, it rolls at very high speed- before curving halfway down the track, the topspin he put on the ball causing it veer off course and land in the gutter.

Face flushed, MJ coughs into his hand, suddenly very invested in fixing his shirt as Clover grins. The galaxy ball returns to the trough, and MJ pointedly picks it up again, winding up for his second throw. The bowling ball rocks down the course, and knocks over about six pins, leaving a corner of the triangle still standing.

"Woo!" Clover cheers, clapping as MJ returns to the seating. She reaches over and nudges Luka on the shoulder. "You're up, Luke! Show us whatchu got!"

Heart in his throat, Luka stands from his seat and steps up.

The bowling ball grins up at him, daring him to chicken out. It was heavy in his hand. Still, he walked up onto the polished floor, feeling the rubber on the bottom of his shoes as it grips the oiled surface.

Fighting the weight of the heavy bowling ball, Luka takes a step forward, swinging his arm back before bringing it back around like a pendulum. The ball hits the track with a heavy thDD as it’s released, sent rolling off down the track. Around the halfway point, it spins off course and lands in the gutter with a clunk.

“Aww,” Clover says, leaning over the chair cushion. “And you had such good posture, too.”

“It’s ok,” MJ speaks up, seeing Luka’s visible embarrassment. “It’s your first time bowling! Nothing to be ashamed of. You have another shot before we rotate players.”

Disappointed, Luka rubs at his arm. Well, that was a less than encouraging performance. But he noticed the angle of the spin on the ball. Maybe he could fix that.

The ball clatters up the chute back into the return trough. Luka picks it up with a huff of breath, holding it to his chest as he does mental calculations. If he turned his wrist at just the right point...

Stepping forward, Luka swings back and releases the ball, putting a top spin on the ball at the last possible moment-

The jack-o-lantern face rockets down the alley, the path straight until the very last second. It curves to hit the front pin from the side, knocking every single pin into the abyss beyond.

"OHHHHH!" Clover and MJ exclaim, clapping with enthusiasm as Luka looks stunned.

"You got a strike!" Clover says, applauding with a big grin. "You were totally pulling our legs about being a newbie to this, huh??"

"I think I just got lucky," Luka tries to play it off, feeling an uncommon shyness as he smiles.

Clover shakes her head, not having it.

"Luck nothing! That was pure talent, and you got a strike, dude!"

"Technically that was a spare, but still a strike in my book," MJ says as he rotates the turn order on the console, giving Luka a smile and a thumbs up.

"Oh let him have it, Moon Moon," Clover laughs as MJ throws her a pout. "Our new boy's got game!"

Luka hunches his shoulders, an awkward smile curling across his cheeks as he walks back over to the couches. Clover jumps to attention and makes her way to the track, picking up her green bowling ball for another round as he sits down.

This was... much more fun than he had expected it to be. The background noise of the bowling alley was surprisingly pleasant. He found he could get used to the dull odor of plastic and cleaner- and honestly, that hot cheese smell from what must be the pizzeria was tempting his stomach. But best of all was the camaraderie he could feel sparking between him, Clover, and MJ. Were they officially friends now? Or had they been already, and he was just- in denial? If Luka was entirely honest with himself, probably the latter. MJ and Clover had been nothing but kind and understanding, to him. His sporadic hours and excuses had done nothing to faze them with regards to their treatment of him at work. They still offered him drinks and invited him on this outing, offering even to pay for his expenses, didn't they?

"Hey Luka!" A call from MJ breaks him out of the small reverie. "You're up, again."

"And after this round, we can hit the arcade! I bet I can out-dance you on DDR, Coffee Twinks," Clover smirks.

"No betting. I know you can."

Maybe- maybe he had nothing to worry about.

---

The evening is going fantastic.

The first bowling game had been a pretty close match between Luka and Clover. Clover had the arm strength to pull off some mean and fast throws, but Luka had developed a system. Figuring out how to spin the bowling ball just the right amount had made up for his noodle arms and less weighty bowling ball. It wasn't long before he figured out how to roll a pretty straight record of spares and strikes, with the occasional 7-10 split. After bowling around, they went into the arcade section, with an entire paper roll of quarters to blow on games. A vicious Ms. Pacman multiplayer match had led to MJ smoking all three of them, and as predicted, Clover out-danced both of the boys on the DDR and Stepmania machines. Luka had to collapse over a nearby chair with exhaustion after his matches. He'd finished off the arcade run with a very lucky pull from a claw machine, winning a black cat plush with big yellow eyes that he was definitely going to enjoy giving to Harriet.

The three of them sat around their table at the bowling console again, laughing over a hot cheese and pepperoni pizza.

"No way, you didn't!" Luka gasps, wheezing for air.

"I did! I punched his goddamn lights out!" Clover laughs, slapping one knee. "The guy was being a huge creep, so I introduced him to my fist."

"I hope you didn't get in trouble with the cops or something for that." Luka tilts his head, giving her an impressed and worried look.

"Can't get in trouble if nobody reports it," MJ chimes in, smirking past his soda cup. "He complained to me, but I had the security tapes AND plausible deniability because I wasn't on the floor. Corporate took our side on this."

"Nobody from the city wants to drive all the way out to podunk Subcon for a random dudebro's complaint." Clover sits back on her cushioned seat, chomping into her pizza happily. "Mmmmm- delicious melty cheese."

Luka chomps into his own pizza, exhaling and blowing on it as it nearly burns his mouth.

"Easy, tiger!" MJ smirks around his own mouthful of pizza.

"I know, it's just so good," Luka says, laughing into his hand as he sips some of his cola. "But in like- the way you know it's not that great? Does that make sense?"

"Night in the Woods taught me the Pizza Scale, and I stick by that," Clover says, crunching through her crust to grab up another slice, washing down the bread with some soda. When she reaches for another piece of the pie, she pauses, and lets out a huff. "Oh, that sucks. I guess they didn't clean the bowling balls that well this time. Gross."

"Hm?" Luka says through a mouthful of pizza.

"Your fingers are all oil-stained from the finger holes on the bowling ball, Luka. Big Al needs to wash the bowling balls properly."

Confused, the law student shifts his attention down.

The ends of his fingertips are discolored with ebony purple.

Luka can feel as his brain zeroes in on the first sign of his impending transformation, and begins to shift into emergency mode as it relays the steps he must take in order to avoid further exposure. He'd gone over this information with himself many times over the past five years. It was ingrained in his mind, what he had to do, the information practically screaming at him. But he can't hear it. His ears are filled with buzzing as reality breaks into the facade he'd slowly built up over the course of hours.

No-

No no no-

His pizza slice drops to the paper plate as he fumbles with his bag, pulling out the cell phone from the liner pocket. Shaking fingers tap the screen with frantic speed, trying to turn the damn thing on-

9:17?

They'd been here nearly four hours?!

He'd spent the morning out with Harriet, doing their grocery shopping and walking around the town's outdoor mall as much needed father-daughter time. Eight hours of being in disguise had long since passed.

His time limit was up.

This couldn't be happening. Yet the numbers stare back at him from the glare of his cell phone screen. They even have the nerve to tick over to 9:18 right before his eyes.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! It wasn't fair!

"Luka, you ok? You're turning pale..."

Clover's question just barely manages to pierce the haze, causing Luka to jolt in his seat. Posture stiff and breath shallow, he lifts his head to meet Clover's questioning eyes. She's staring at him with building concern, her smile becoming a frown of worry.

The tension is palpable in the air as Luka struggles to find words. Finally, he manages to say something.

"It's- it's a quarter past nine-"

"Oh shoot-" Clover says, sitting up abruptly as she grabs her own phone.

MJ checks his watch, wincing. "Oof. Sorry, Luka. I guess we lost track of time passing. I'll apologize to Cookie for the overtime, we can finish this round and go-"

"Don't feel good- going to the bathroom-" Luka wheezes, scrambling to his feet as he scoops all of his belongings into his bag and races past MJ's seat.

"Luka!" Clover yells after him, her heightened concern audible in her voice. "Ok, we'll- we'll start cleaning up! Let us know if you need-!"

Her words are cut off by the slam of the bathroom door. Luka's bowling shoes slip over the slick tile floor, his hands gripping onto the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink to steady himself. He brings his shaking hands up to view in the mirror. The blackening purple skin was spreading up his finger joints, reaching his palms.

No- not now! Why now?

Luka clenches his fists and his jaw, focusing every ounce of his will on making the purple go away. He can almost feel a vein pop on his forehead- if he still had veins, anymore- as he strains to make his unwilling body follow his desires. The purple starts to recede at a caterpillar crawl... but it slows. And the harder he tries, the more he can feel his arms struggle to hold their shape - becoming less solid.

"No- no!" he whimpers, clenching his hands into the sink again. The action splatters small droplets of purple sludge against the porcelain, which vanish moments later as the purple staining once more consumes his fingers - and now his palms. "Stop it! Just- let me be human! Please!"

He lifts his head to the mirror. Despair fills his gut as he sees amber eyes staring back at him in the reflection, and the beginnings of an inner glow fighting to come out from the back of his throat.

Luka lets out a wordless sound of sorrow, lifting an arm to pound one fist against the mirror in vain. The reflection is unfazed in its destitution, tears beginning to gather at the edges of its eyes and mouth set into a sob of clenched teeth. The reflection's canine's lengthen several inches as the eyes stare back, accusingly. The purple was starting to spread up its neck, just poking out the collar of the shirt.

"No..."

This wasn't him. But it had been, years ago. This was SUPPOSED to be him.

He curls his fist, watching as the fingers start losing their shape. Fusing together, becoming single digits and his thumbs vanish back into the purple sludge of the limb.

"I was finally-..." Luka whimpers, "...I finally felt human again."

-bang bang bang-

The sound of a fist knocking on the bathroom door causes Luka to yelp and jump back from the mirror.

"Luka? You ok in there?"

It was MJ.

Peck!

Grabbing his bag, Luka books it into the furthest stall of the bathroom. He slams the metal door behind him, fumbling to lock it with his swelling mitten fingers. Alarm shot through his gut as his shirt felt tight around his torso. Already?? This was faster than usual! Had he really pushed it that much?

"Hey man, are you sick? Clover and I are really concerned. Do you need any help in there?"

"NO! NO I'M GOOD!" Luka yells from the bathroom stall, clapping a two-fingered hand over his mouth as he hears the slight reverb echo to his own voice. Dammit! "I'M JUST- I'LL BE FINE!"

He was not fine, he would most certainly not be fine!

"Luka, you sound croaky." It was Clover this time, probably a short distance behind MJ. "Dude, are you sure? MJ, maybe you should go in and check on him-"

"NO!"

No, the reverb was stronger!

"Luka, I'm coming in."

"MJ it's fine!"

Luka could hear the seams of his shirt starting to stretch and strain. The seconds were ticking by as strings started to pop at the neck.

Shit, shit!

Luka turned left and right, the stall cramped and uncomfortable as the ruff of fur around his neck thickens and threatens to burst his shirt open. He needed a way out!

Aha! A small window, to the outside! Wow, that was probably the worst location for a window. And it was so small-

The door creaked as MJ started to turn the handle.

NO TIME!

Luka makes a dive for the window. His fingers catch on the sill, and he hauls his body up onto the tiny ledge, his head pushing up the glass and emerging out into the open air. Squeezing through the narrow space, he struggles to pull his feet through, kicking off the bowling shoes and hearing them clatter to the tiles below.

The door comes unlatched, and MJ enters the bathroom, looking around with a frown.

Luka was gone. And for some reason, his bowling shoes were abandoned on the questionably cleaned bathroom floor.

Just outside the window, tucked next to the wall of the alleyway outside the bowling alley, Luka is panting with adrenaline. He can feel his chest expand further with each breath, the fur mane around his neck already splitting apart his shirt. His fingers had fully lost their human shape by now, coalescing back into the familiar mitts he hated so much. A reminder that, no, he wasn't human. No matter what those people in the bowling alley thought of him, and what he thought of them in return... no matter how much he wanted to be human, again.

"Luka?"

His entire torso now fully drenched in purple, Luka hangs his head, listening as he fights to strip off the shirt suffocating him.

Footsteps, in the bathroom.

"...Luka? What the-... Clover, he's not here?"

"What?? But he- went into the bathroom! He was just-!"

"His shoes are here..."

"His shoes??"

Luka forces himself to stand, wobbling a bit further away from the window as he focuses all of his efforts on keeping his legs. He can't lose his ability to walk, not in the middle of town!

God dammit... god dammit! Why couldn't he just enjoy his night? Now he was wandering alleyways, half transformed, and MJ and Clover were no doubt worried to hell and back. What could he even say? 'Sorry, had to take a break to wolf out in the bathroom'?

-brrring brrring-

The buzz of the phone in his pants pocket- which was getting tight against his waist, he noticed. Luka quickly extracts the phone before it can be damaged by the fabric.

MJ's caller ID stares back at him from the screen.

The decision to trust these two with his information was biting him in his rapidly purpling behind. He'd been so careful not to slip up, and the ONE TIME he makes a mistake... He had another decision to make. He could not respond, and just be a complete asshole, but he could protect his secret a little safer, for just a little bit longer. Or he could pick up, and... he didn't know. Bullshit something? Would they even believe whatever malarkey he could cook up in seven seconds for bailing out of a bowling alley restroom? God, he was terrible at improvised excuses! He was a lawyer, not an actor! But if he answered the phone call, maybe- maybe he could hold on to that feeling again. The warmth of companionship of peers his age, that he hadn't felt since law school. Since... Vanessa. But he couldn't think about her right now. What mattered was his safety- his daughter's safety.

Peck. He didn't even think about that part. Could he really rip Harriet out of a somewhat stable home life, again? She was just starting to get along with Cookie's daughter, and he didn't want to take that precious first friendship from her.

Luka was only pulled out of the downward spiral by the vibration of the phone, which he only now realized had registered a missed call, and was now on the second call. It was still MJ, the picture of him in his Horizon employee cap still smiling from the bright phone screen.

He had to do something. He could feel his legs protest the form they was struggling to hold.

Survival instinct set in. First, he had to get away from the scene.

Stumbling to his malforming feet, Luka jogs away from the alley, ducking away from the Pins & Cushions and avoiding the bright neon sign on the side of the building.

As he walks, a headache hits, and Luka just knows his face was losing more of his familiar features. Didn't need a mirror to know that he was definitely the shade of a bruised plum, and that his eyes were glowing like gold beacons. The sharp teeth at the edges of his mouth were digging into his bottom lip as he dodges and weaves to avoid line of sight from storefront apartment windows.

The woods were so close by, just a few more blocks.

Faster. He had to run faster. But his legs- were fighting him! Already he could feel his steps become lighter, movement more fluid. It was a struggle to keep a walking stride, rather than just- leap into the air. No way was he going to fly a block from pecking main street.

His phone continues to vibrate, threatening the call to drop.

Right when he reaches the sidewalk, Luka pants for breath, collapsing beside the pole for a street lamp while avoiding the amber spotlight. Taking one last rueful look at his phone, he sighs, and presses the answer button with a doughy purple finger.

"Luka?" MJ's voice patches through. The reception isn't great, but it's sufficient. Maybe that was a lucky break, considering what his voice was going to sound like in a second.

"Hey," Luka answers. Yep. He sounded like a toad that swallowed a brass tube. "Sorry- about that."

"Dude, are you ok?? Where did you go?" MJ spoke so quickly it almost interrupted Luka, concern clear and evident in his voice. "You ran or something and- you left your shoes at the counter, and the cat plush for your daughter. Clover got them for you-"

"It's ok," Luka says, wincing. "I can pick them up tomorrow. I- don't feel well, and I have to go get Harriet."

"Luka, we could have driven you home for that," MJ responds, a hint of hurt and confusion. "You know you can tell us if you're uncomfortable, and want to leave, right?"

"No- this- I was having fun," Luka responds, cupping a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the echo. He had to wrap this up. His voice was getting less natural by the second. He really hoped the poor reception would mask it. "Look- I'm sorry MJ. But I really had to go."

"You're not getting kidnapped or something are you?" Clover's distant voice suddenly patches through in the phone. MJ must have his phone on speaker. "Because if you are, I'll hunt them down! Just yell where the car is taking you!"

"I'm not- look, I'm sorry, but I just had to go, ok?" Luka says. "Harriet needs me."

"I thought you were feeling sick?" Clover says, her worried tone now tinted with... suspicion. "You ran to the bathroom, and we were all worried about you, dude." Her voice becomes just a bit distant, as she turns to speak to MJ, but the phone picks it up. “Actually, did we ever hear anything from Cookie...?”

"No- I am-" Luka can feel his lies crumbling, nearly becoming true as he experiences a sensation similar to his stomach heaving from the anxiety. "Thanks for the wonderful evening, I'll pick up my stuff later- bye!"

"Wait-!!"

-click-

MJ's protest is cut off, and Luka set the phone down on the grass, putting his head in the other hand. That was terrible. But he couldn't back out on it now. He would just have to deal with the consequences of that phone call tomorrow.

Not like having shoes or not bothered him, anyway.

Exhausted and resigned, Luka slides away from the lamp post into the chaparral, and begins rapidly pulling his shirt over his head. No way was he going to lose another shirt, not after the last one. This was his last nice shirt, and he intended to keep it as long as possible!

A quiet gasp jolts him out of his frantic folding.

Luka whips around, shirtless, half de-pantsed, and his body a full shade of deep shadow purple. His golden eyes glow in the reflected street light as he freezes on the spot, making eye contact with another human being across the road. It was the stocky mustachioed man from the coffee shop- the regular who came by and sketched quietly in a corner. Pinstriped suit- which seemed to be the only outfit anyone ever saw him wore- an apron, and grey khaki pants. The thick glasses would make it difficult to tell where he was looking, if the man wasn't standing with his square jaw hanging down at his chest, head angled directly toward Luka. Everyone dismissed him as a paranoiac, a hermit who stopped by for his morning caffeine fix and quiet atmosphere to indulge in his imagination. Rumors flew that he used to work for some sort of tabloid magazine, and was fired- or promoted?- for how crazy his stories were.

Whatever the reason, this man was now standing, groceries dropped to the pavement, and staring at Luka. A very half-naked, absolutely not human-looking Luka.

Face suddenly burning hot with embarrassment and fear, Luka grabs his belt loops and bolts into the trees.

The movement causes the man to only gape more, making a wordless noise of astonishment before the forest breaks their line of sight and Luka retreats into the safety of the woods. Luka just barely remembers to grab his shirt and belt from the bushes. Vanishing entirely from sight, stumbling over debris as his transformation takes full hold of his body, Luka wheezes as his heart beats in his chest. After all that, he was seen! Peck! Did he just ruin everything because he wasn’t paying attention? But- but it was just the local hermit, the resident conspiracy nut. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? This wasn’t as catastrophic as being spotted by a teen with a cell phone open. Surely, this was the safest possible person in town to accidentally spot him mid-transformation. Repercussions would be minimal.

Thank god the man didn't have a camera.

[randomspn]

Just some ideas for the HBO!AU…

Let’s pretend we don’t have to worry about CGI or anything, lol. Also, sorry it’s so long, I’m gonna ramble a bit. 

All monsters are more, well, monstrous. Deformed, terrifying. They would be more like some type of Lovecraftian type of creature than a human form. And if they were passing as human it would appear more uncanny valley, something is off but you can’t say what for sure. Angels would be more like eldritch beings, insanely powerful. Humans are seen as ants for a reason. Like, almost God tier type shit from them. I’ve seen a lot of great ideas that the vessels would just fall apart in the grossest way and the way they behave is so wrong that it's plain terrifying and I completely agree. 

Demons are similar but lean more toward poltergeist type of area. There was someone who said that they would act like manic people, operating on all cylinders and their emotions being at 1000% at all times which I think is perfect. Their power wouldn’t be as infinite as Angels, but it would be strong enough to be the main threat before angels appeared.

I think angels are so much scarier because they were never human. Demons were people before they died, but angels were never people. They’re just walking around in a decaying body doing God’s work, they don’t even really see the point in trying to pretend to be human. I think that just by looking at them you could tell that there is a stark difference when you compare a human vessel to a live, angel-free person. 

Sam was very religious growing up. Dean told him that their mom said that angels were watching over them and he tried to believe it. His abilities appeared while he was young. Telekinesis was always there and it only got stronger as he grew. This alarmed him and he was terrified of becoming what they hunted even as a child. He just wanted to believe he was good, that he belonged, that he was loved so badly he kept the hope that it was the truth into adult life. If it was up there, maybe it could save him.

Later on in the series, the public is well aware of monsters. Technology is far too advanced, people have noticed them. People get scared, paranoid, and violent towards each other. It doesn’t make hunting any easier when people are all getting involved in one way or another. Either from fear, anger, or vengeance. Hunters are treated as criminals/heroes, but are considered murderers one way or another. Hunter’s risk being arrested every time they investigate a strange crime or murder, the police and FBI are well aware that they infiltrate the system with fake badges. They have to start finding new ways to solve the cases.

Castiel is unique in the way that he is one of the only angel’s who is “emotionally” attached to his vessel. Wasting grace on a host that is decaying is pointless and foolish in angel culture. He doesn’t feel guilty about Jimmy at first but he does recognize the impact Castiel had on his family. He does his best to keep Jimmy’s body in good condition rather than swapping out. He thinks it would be rude and wasteful. Humans are interesting to him. He likes them. Getting another host would just destroy another body, another life. It would be for a good cause, sure, but there is always the chance that the vessel couldn’t handle an angel and would explode instantly. Which would create more waste and more mixed feelings for him. 

Despite valuing his host, he damages it frequently. Humans, again, are incredibly fragile. Bones break, flesh peels, nails and teeth fall out. It’s all replaced but it’s not a pretty sight. He really only heals the vessel and repairs his clothes when Sam and Dean get too grossed out by it. 

While Castiel likes humans, is obsessed with them even, he doesn’t feel emotions like a human would nor has any of the same morals, views, or experiences as they would. Human’s lives are of meaning and importance to him and angels are meant to protect and serve them, but if one interferes with the brothers or his mission, smiting is happening. I kind of see it being more gory than spn has it. More guts and flecks of bone everywhere. Monsters and demons would be in for a much worse time. Castiel was a badass soldier and leader for a reason. 

When angels smite people, they can’t return to their bodies if resurrected since it's been completely destroyed on a molecular level.

The boys have on occasion, put coke or meth on toothpicks and sucked on them as a way to stay awake, alert, and energized. John taught them this. They don’t do it often, since they know it could lead to addiction which is expensive and they can’t afford having withdrawal on a hunt. This doesn’t keep them from drinking like fish, though. 

Sam did resort to snorting coke when he couldn’t get any demon blood. After he came back soulless, he dropped it all together since soulless people don’t get tired, don’t need to sleep. 

Sam still has his power’s. If a baby who only had a mouthful of demon could use their abilities as long as they did, he should still have been able to use them after chugging jugs of it before going to the cage. Unless being possessed by an angel cured the demon blood’s hold, I feel like it should still be something he would have. I also feel being a former angel’s host would leave lasting effects as well. Not sure what quite just yet.

Anyway, those are some of my personal ideas. There are all ready so many great ones out there, it’s really great to see. It reminds me of a comic book series I was making a long time ago. Gritty, modern fantasy. 

Love it.

[vegalocity]

10/18 spicynoodles plis

Prompt meme || @deborahsworld

10.A Shy Kiss/18. Holding Hands

Hell yeah time for fluff

--

Okay... first date....Going pretty well so far. The Movie was okay—MK wasn't very big on horror movies even ones as old as this one was, but Red Son was really excited when he saw it was being played for a ‘foreign movies’ night at the movie theater and what, could have have argued against such enthusiasm?—if a bit slow going and atmospheric.

Though after the heroes found the monster frozen and seemingly dead in the abandoned Norwegian outpost, all twisted and malformed, he really hoped his appetite wouldn't be killed by the end of this with even worse when the monsters started actually moving.

And then the monsters actually started moving.

The dog turning into a monster and killing the other dogs hurt the animal lover inside him, and he felt a bit of his latent arachnophobia begin to rear its head when the hairy legs sprouted from its back, and then the actual form the monster, halfway through killing the remaining trapped dogs had sent a chill up his spine and then-

“See how they were able to make the monster look goopy? It's not really very goopy except during the close up shots, because it's an animatronic so it had to be dry most of the time, they got the shine effect by piling liquid latex ontop of the finished paintjob until it started drying while it trailed off of the frame. And that right there? When it took the hurt dog? That was actually filmed in reverse, having the tentacles start out around the dog puppet and then rapidly pull away so when they reversed it it looked like they actually moved and had torque behind the action.”

“Really?”

“Yeah it's really fascinating how they went about effects before computer graphics were refined, everything had to be practical so even if it doesn't look the best, it doesn't hit that uncanny valley that bad CGI makes because even if it doesn't look real it looks real enough.”

It didn't feel quite as disturbing with that rattling around in his head, focusing on how much work must have been done to make the monster move as realistically as possible, how many times they'd practiced and trained in a controlled sound stage and adapting it to the set...

They weren't the only ones in the theater, but it was a mostly empty showing, as was usually the case with foreign films as old as this one. So it wasn't like they were disturbing anyone with Red Son leaning over to whisper interesting details MK would have never even thought to look up to make the overall experience less scary. Red Son seemed aware that he wasn't the biggest horror fan, and was trying to soften the blows the more intense moments would bring by talking through them and bringing back  the reality that it was just a movie they were watching.

“I was alive in this era and I can state with general expertise that computers were certainly not that advanced yet. Computer AI wasn't past that of your average graphing calculator until at least the mid 1990's.”

“They got that sound effect by putting a microphone in a tin trash can and recording the sound of a racecar zooming by and put it in a reverb chamber until it sounded completely unrecognizable”

“Blair is already a Thing at this point, you remember when he was dissecting the Norwegian base's monster? He was using a pencil eraser to point out that era in its chest and then he'd touched the eraser to his lip! And since it started by probably just a small contingent of shed cells it probably took him longer to assimilate than the others.”

“This is actually really cool! The stunt double for Copper that they got for the scene actually was a double amputee! They made fake hands for him out of latex, filled them with fake blood, and styled the chest jaw like a bear trap for that disgusting pulling shot.”

Though... That one didn't work as well... When the long tendril shot from the Thing's stomach and sprouted slider legs and a second head, the extending neck hissing and glaring down at the heroes, he felt his gut turn, even as the heroes took the flamethrower to the monster.

The monster's first head ripped from its body and grew spider legs. And Oh GOD that was disgusting, without thinking he reached for the edge of the armrest to grip as the heroes had to play cat and mouse with a severed, spider head. He'd missed, and his hand clapped down atop of Red Son's and squeezed.

Red Son jolted beside him and MK saw him turn in his direction in his periphery.

“You know if this is freaking you out too much we can leave.”

“No! No, it's okay. You like this movie! You wouldn't know so much about it if you didn't like it!” Besides, he shouldn't be getting so spooked about some kinda gross kinda spidery horror movie from the 1980s, what kind of hero got freaked out at a little practical effects?

He couldn't see Red Son's face very well with only the light of the movie itself to see by, but he made a strange sort of humming noise and slipped his hand out of MK's, moving his arm to put the arm rest up and then slide his hand back into his own.

“Here, that should be more comfortable then.”

And it was. Red Son's factoids and chatter alongside the movie were doing well at cutting the edge off of it again, and it was aided by not just their connected hands, but now by his physical closeness as well.

“I've heard the director had this stylistic rule about after the Things start invading, the idea is that if a character has light reflecting off their eyes they're human, if not they're a Thing.”

“Most people think Palmers was the shadow the dog assimilated back earlier but I think it was Norris, Palmers didn't get turned into a thing until after they go and talk to Blair again I don't think.”

“Actually...I don't think I like that translation very much. Like yeah it's more polite and Gary's a gentleman, but 'I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter tied to this fucking couch' emphasizes the stress of the situation better.”

And then came the time of the final confrontation, MK braced himself, squeezed Red Son's hand in his own. It was indeed gross, and frightful, and the puppetry alone was REALLY good. All those moving parts and there's no way that THAT was an animatronic so it HAD to be a puppet. And wow that was a REALLY good explosion.

...huh...Apparently he could do it too.

The movie ended with what MK felt like was a tentatively optimistic note. The remaining two heroes sharing a drink as the research facility and the monsters it housed burned around them. And you maybe get the feeling the two of them won't survive the cold, but they stopped the monsters and that’s what matters.

Though MK was right to worry over the movie killing his apatite because by the time the lights went up and the credits rolled he found he wasn't very hungry. Which felt ridiculous since he was always in need of quick carbs for Monkie Kid things. But Red Son had lost his own apatite as well apparently and the two of them could do nothing but laugh a bit awkwardly at their date being derailed by a movie being a bit too gross.

So MK pulled him into a nearby park and they went for a walk instead of the restaurant they'd planned for.

“Most people think that Childs is a Thing and I'm tempted to agree, He doesn't have the eye shine but neither does MacReady and we know he's not a Thing, but MacReady's breath is steaming and Childs' doesn't until the very end there, and MacReady wasn't drinking, those were Molotov Cocktails, that was gasoline and Childs just downed it without a thought to taste or smell.”

“So you think the Thing won at the end?”

“I don't know, but they do have one flamethrower left and Childs whether he's a Thing or not just drank gasoline. So MacReady as a person is probably as good as dead.”

“I Dunno, I like the idea that he wasn't a Thing in the end, gives it something not dissimilar to a happy ending, but like, it's not like they hadn't been wrong about who was a Thing before. The dog handler wasn't a Thing but he got shot anyway.”

“That's very true.”

It was about there that MK realized he'd yet to let go of Red Son's hand.

Well... he hadn't pulled away... MK squeezed Red Son's hand in his own, and Red Son—on a tangent about how in the time before CGI they'd made the stylistic title card with use of a fishtank, garbage bag, flash paper and a lot of smoke—squeezed him back.

A few hours and a plate or two of street vendor food when either of their appetites returned later and Red Son had insisted on walking him home. He was staying in a penthouse that his family technically owned but he was the only one who actually knew about it, and he wanted to be a gentleman before he headed back there.

“Well,  I hope you enjoyed yourself a bit. I feel as though I should apologize for choosing such a niche film, mother always said I was the only one who cared about foreign horror movies and just because I find movie effects fascinating especially in a time before technology was as advanced as it is now doesn't mean I should subject others to my incessant yammering.”

he didn't really think Red Son could pull off shy, but he'd folded his arms tightly and was very pointedly NOT looking at him now. And Sure, this felt like a big step, but that playfully self deprecating tone wasn’t gonna fly here. He moved slowly, giving Red Son time to pull away if desired. Placing one hand on Red Son's shoulder, the other on the side of his face to turn his head. He had to get on his tiptoes to make it to his level, but he leaned in-

It was nice. Soft, and Red Son of course ran hotter than an average person so it was warm too. He pulled away just as he felt Red Son start to press back against him. When MK opened his eyes, he noticed Red Son's were still closed for a moment longer before fluttering open.

“I like your incessant yammering.” He had such a cute blush. “it means you're passionate about something.” 

“You... wanna come in? Monkey King gave me this new tea blend I've been meaning to try out.”

--

Prompt meme (I’ll stop when y’all stop sending stuff)

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 9

Read on FF.net

Read on AO3

Astor stood at what had been the entrance to the Yiga Hideout. Along the way, he’d passed piles of debris where there had once been a network of walls built along the canyon of Karusa Valley. The entrance itself, which had once been neatly cut into the rock, was now an angry burning hole. There wasn’t anyone in sight, the hideout was not only destroyed but desolate and abandoned.

The princess’s warning briefly crossed Astor’s thoughts. Astor’s blank expression changed into a haunting sneer, almost smiling in a deranged way.

Well played, Your Highness…. Only a minor setback… Although, I wonder if any of those banana worshiping degenerates are still alive...

Astor vanished and reappeared near his own hideout in the Gerudo Highlands. Some ways off he spotted two familiar silhouettes sitting on the edge of the canyon. Of course, the two most useless members of the Yiga Clan had retreated, the prophet mused.

Still, Astor approached the two apprehensively, knowing he was sure to get an earful.

Kohga and Sooga took notice as the Hylian neared, the two imposing figures being clearly irate as they stood.

“Why didn’t you tell us we’d get walloped? I would expect you to warn us that the Gerudo Chief is going to come trampling into our hideout to attack my men! Why were you conveniently missing today of all days?” Kohga shouted, exasperated.

Astor was smiling inside, where they can’t see it, but maintained a straight face.

Sooga was the one to approach Astor, towering over the much smaller man, and that's when Astor knew he’d overplayed his hand. He tensed as Sooga grabbed him by the collar of his robes and lifted him, Astor’s feet barely making contact with the ground.

“I’m afraid we cannot overlook this failure, ‘seer’.”

“Can’t do it!” Kohga chimed in.

Astor gave Sooga a dismissive smirk, already knowing what to say to retake control of the situation. “Fate decides all… Even this defeat. As you well know, if you decide to turn against me you will make an enemy of Calamity Ganon.”

“You slimy -” Kohga began, but before he could finish his sentence, Sooga’s fist collided with Astor’s face. The seer collapsed to the ground, looking up at Sooga in disbelief.

Kohga cheered, “Yeah! Knock his raggedy ass out! How dare he try to use our devotion to Lord Ganon against us. Thinks he’s chosen or something? You’re not special!”

Sooga leaned down, taking Astor by the collar again. Astor weakly held a hand out in an attempt to defend himself, but it was of little use against a man twice his size. 

“The Yiga Clan has served Lord Ganon for nearly 10,000 years. You can’t turn Calamity Ganon against us, especially if we kill you first.” Sooga slammed Astor’s head against the ground, followed by a swift roundhouse kick in the ribs. 

Astor gasped for air. The wind had been knocked out of him twice. He could barely breathe.

“You deserve whatever Lord Ganon has in store for you in the next realm...” Sooga drew one of his blades at his hip.

The prophet was in too much pain to move, let alone summon his orb.

“C-calamity Ganon... Avenge me…” Astor closed his eyes.

A blinding light consumed the three men and the two Yiga disappeared into puffs of smoke, scrolls featuring the inverted eye raining down in their retreat. Astor shielded himself from the light, lying prostrate on the ground, lacking the strength to rise and a little bit fearful of the presence he could sense was the antithesis of Calamity Ganon.

“Prophet of Doom, your fate is in my hands.” Hylia entreated him gently.

Astor remained very still. She came to stand in front of him, but still, he didn’t look up to meet her gaze. The goddess perceived his confusion and fear of her.

“You’re wondering why I’ve come… I’ve seen your ultimate fate, Prophet of Doom, and I know you will call out to me when confronted with the reality of Calamity Ganon’s betrayal. But it will be too late for you.  And, as proof that my words are true, already you are questioning why the Calamity would allow you to endure such humiliation.”

Astor finally answered the goddess, his voice weak and wavering with defeat. “Calamity Ganon is… going to betray me? That cannot be…” If he had any confidence left after being beaten down so horribly, then her words had ripped that away as well.

Hylia knew he believed her, but his denial and grief were so great. “Your gift of foresight is no match for mine.” The goddess reiterated.

“The grand fate I thought I had was all a lie…? Am I really just a nobody? Put me out of my misery then… I have no desire to continue an existence where I have no purpose.”

“You’re still a young man, Astor. You can still have a meaningful life.”

Astor scoffed trying to hide his tears. “The goddess is apparently dumb and blind. If Calamity Ganon is to betray me, then I have no reason to be...”

Hylia sensed his anger at her. She had revealed a truth he wasn’t ready to confront, but she knew it had to be said if he was to be saved from his terrible fate.

“I wouldn’t spare you just to leave you without a purpose.  I know all about you, Prophet of Doom. You’ve had unfortunate circumstances, but you are not inconsequential. You were a veiled birth. This was a sign of your gift, but it was viewed with suspicion, and you were abandoned. I willed that you be found. You grew up in an orphanage where you went unnoticed. They sent you away at 15 years of age. You managed to make a living with fortune-telling using a Sheikah relic you recovered. People would come to you with all sorts of questions that concerned important matters in their lives, people wanting to know the identity of their soulmate, a look at their unborn child, whatever they wanted to know could be seen in that orb. You were the same age my current descendant is now that you gathered the courage to look upon your own future. But there was nothing. You threw that orb across the room and wept. Your heart darkened and you turned to Calamity Ganon. You suffered much and you wanted to bring Hyrule to its knees. You invested yourself in serving the Calamity with such intensity it greatly diminished your desire for anything else. But, that’s what you wanted. Anything to not have to remember that you’d always be alone. You abandoned me long ago, but… even the princess’s faith in me hangs by a thread.”

Astor tensed at the mention of the princess, knowing the goddess could read him so easily, but there was nothing he could hide from her. It was all kind of amusing to Hylia.

“You… You’re the one that’s been meddling with my visions? Why are you doing this? Why would you bend fate itself to spare me? What’s wrong with you? Go mind that wretched girl who bears your blood and leave me be.”

“I’m helping her by helping you. You have the gift of prophecy, which my current descendant is sadly lacking as my lineage is weakening.”

“I’m well aware…” Astor said irritated. And then, fearful of what the goddess might read his thoughts he lashed out.  “Your lineage can rot… The only intention I have towards that girl is to ensure she never unlocks that awful power.” The prophet said, defensively.

A soft smile crossed the goddess’s lips as she knelt to whisper in his ear, and what she said frightened him so badly he, at last, gathered the strength to raise his voice and try to stand and confront her face to face, but Astor could only lift his head and raise an arm to try to summon his orb. “Hear me, Calamity Ganon, rain down your destruction on this… this…”

Hylia’s blue eyes regarded him with pity. The resemblance to the princess was uncanny, though the goddess’s appearance could only be described as otherworldly and ageless. She began to fade away. “There is no destruction, Astor. There is only…”

The goddess’s voice faded out as Astor finally lost all ability to remain conscious.

[moonchildsaurora]

Before the sun is rising up

✤ knight!Jongho x knight!reader ✤ genre: royal AU // angst, fluff (if you squint) ✤ t/w: sfw, non-descriptive battle fight, sad reacts only, rated PG ✤ count: 1.6k ✤ [ part 1 ] of Lacuna miniseries  

a/n - o m f g it’s finally done. . .well overdue one shot for our precious maknae & the 1st of 8 parts for my new miniseries! Here I was thinking that it’ll be a more condensed piece, but yet again my mind decided to be loud. Perhaps I’ll be able to reign it in a bit more with the others (who am I kidding really tho). I hope I wrote well enough for Jongho’s character, even though it still feels slightly rushed. Thanks to @a-tiny-8iny for insightful convos which gave me the idea of considering the focus around platonic bonds too (which honestly gave me a plotline I was much happier with)! Also @hereisleo @monbae @s1ardusk @barsformars I remember yelling bout this series idea to you guys ages ago and here we are 💙  

It was rare for a champion knight to be able to bask in serenity, especially on the eve of the final battle. The kingdoms of Rivaria and Nethilor have long been at war with one another, what once was a united empire now torn apart from betrayal and greed. There simply wasn’t room for two powers to rule, and so by the time the sun rises tomorrow, only one will be left standing triumphantly. How twisted fate must be, to have childhood friends who had endlessly supported one another since their gruelling training days when they were mere squires only to end up serving royalties of opposite sides.

The cooling night breeze played around with your hair as your legs dangled freely over the cliff’s edge where you sat waiting patiently for him. You leaned back on your arms, hands gently curling into the slightly damp but still soft grass and face tilted up towards the star-lit skies. The moon was out in full tonight, somehow knowing it may be the very last time it could greet you.

Your ears managed to pick up the familiar sound of steady footsteps from behind, without turning around and a grin already forming on your lips.

“And here I thought you’d best me in arriving first for once, Sir Choi” you said, trying to hold back a chuckle.

The sound of metal clinking against another indicated that he had let his sword, Shadowmist, rest against the tree next to your Windsong. Forged by the same swordsmith, intended to be wield together as a complementary pair.

“My deepest apologies, had to use the good ol’ distraction to sneak past the night guards of my own camp.”

“How rebellious of you.”

Jongho gave a playful shove to your shoulder as he sat down next to you, an immediate comforting warmth radiated off him. You noticed that he was in his casual tunic, the soft linen matching your own one. It’s almost a foreign sight to you considering how used you are seeing one another in the heavy metal of armour rather than something more care-free.  

Just as you were about to ask how long he had before his troops would start noticing their own commander’s absence, a bundle was unceremoniously dropped on your lap.

“And pray tell, what is this?”

Your fingers fiddled with the thin leather cord that wrapped around the cloth, managing to unwrap the cover and your eyes crinkled with glee immediately upon seeing the contents inside.

“I made my squire swear not to tell the others that I was stealing extras for my supposed woodland friends,” a dramatic sigh escaped Jongho.

That caused you to burst out laughing, “You mean to say that the great leader of the Nethilorian army secretly befriends little creatures?”

“I always did say that your resemblance to that of a raccoon is uncanny.”

Now it was your turn to shove him, though you had to admit that his cover-up reasons were ridiculously endearing. “I wonder how your squire puts up with you at times, must be confusing for the poor lad.”

“What will it take for you to express your gratitude without mocking my pride?”

“Fortunately for you, I may be more inclined to accept certain incentives at times…” and picking up a Goldhorn biscuit, you held it towards Jongho, “Truce?”

Instead of taking the biscuit with his fingers he proceeded to bite down lightly, stealing it right out of your hold.

“You fiend!”

“Now we can have a truce.”

You purposely wiped your fingers on his tunic, earning a protest from him before tasting one of the sweet treats for yourself. These were the biscuits that you and Jongho used to eat regularly as children, the same honeyed taste bringing back fond memories. A fleeting image of your parents and home came to mind, the echoes of childish laughter and, “Watch where you’re running you two little rascals!”

“Remember that time you chased me with your mother’s rolling pin and it got us in so much trouble?”

You turned to look at Jongho, still to this day you haven’t quite figured out how he always seem to be on the same wavelength as you. Another biscuit was popped into your mouth before you replied, “Only because you not so accidentally spilled the rest of my potato stew.” That particular memory managed to coax a smile out of you, silently apologising to your parents for being the cause of their grey hairs.

A comfortable silence settled, the little fireflies were coming out to dance and the night breeze was still calm as before. From where the both of you sat on the cliff, the view of the valley was magnificent. It was a pleasant surprise that you discovered this hidden spot during the training camp and it became yours and Jongho’s meeting place ever since.

“I’m going to miss this.”

You could feel your heart clenching at his words, knowing full well what he meant. Setting the food down, you shuffled around a bit so you could retrieve something from your pocket. Dangling the two silver chains right in front of Jongho seem to break him out of whatever nostalgia trance he was in.

He blinked owlishly at the pendants, each holding an athesotile gem. You gave his one over and Jongho observed the iridescent glow it had under the moonlight.

“You sure know how to make a man feel special,” said Jongho as he teasingly held a hand over his heart .

“Had it been a confession token, sure. Unfortunately for you it’s only a lucky charm.”

“Trust you to still believe in that old tale,” he chuckled as he looped the pendant around his neck. This particular gem was sought after in the past for supposedly bringing great luck or so it has been old across generations by your elders. You had found these pendants as you were passing through the major town of Millbelle after a successful patrol.

“I’d trust in anything that will bring us hope at this point.”

The breeze picked up a little bit, rustling the trees around as if it became restless at your words. You really hadn’t mean to dampen the mood but reality was starting to sink heavily on your entire being. Anger and fear both seeped in, for being placed in such a predicament – you didn’t even get to bid your family a proper farewell with how fast war was declared. Your hands gripped the pendant tightly as you forced the choked sobs back down, though the corners of your eyes had tears already gathering.

“I’m terrified Jongho. I don’t want either of us to –“

“Hey now, are you forgetting something?” Even if he holds his gaze so strongly, you could still feel the slight trembles in his hands that interlocked with yours as he spoke.

“What do you mean?”

“You remember when I said I’ll be with you till the end?” His thumb caught a stray tear and wiped it gently from your face, “I intend to follow that through.”

A million and one thoughts ran through your head as you looked at him, endlessly thanking the gods above for blessing you with Choi Jongho. Though death lingered over yourselves, knowing that you wouldn’t have to face it alone eased your soul that little bit more.

With a wet laugh you leaned into his touch, “I won’t hold back if you don’t either.”

Jongho stood up from his previous seating spot, pulling you up with him. You watched as he made his way over to the swords and retrieved them both, quickly using the sleeves of your tunic to dry your eyes before Jongho held Windsong out towards you for the taking.

Tilting your head to the side with a silent question that you only got an answer to after Jongho unsheathed Shadowmist. He directed the blade to be pointing at you, no hostility behind the action, just a determined glint in his dark eyes and a solemn nod of his head.

With the moon as a witness, a final oath was made by the crossing of swords.

The thundering of hooves and roars of the cavalries were enough to shake the land, as the Rivarians fearlessly gave their war cry. The grip on your mount’s reins was painfully tight as you stood observing the enemy ranks across the battle field. Dawn was upon you, the rosy hues of red and orange matched the accents on your silver suit of armour. It was a harsh contrast to the striking black and gold that the Nethilorian army wore.

Another war horn sounded, this time from the other side and your jaw clenched with tension as you watched Jongho lead the charge down the hill.

“Leave the Commander to me, cover the flanks and keep your formations in order,” your voice resonated with finality as you addressed your elite guards.

“Archers! At the ready!”

A wave of a flag with a griffin, your kingdom’s emblem, embroidered on it signalled a rain of arrows to be let loose. You couldn’t tell how long you held your breath for as you watch the arrows land around Jongho’s charging form, his soldiers bringing up their sturdy shields as protection. Relief ran through you as the arrows took out the slower foot soldiers around him instead.

Shadowmist was raised high and proud, equally deafening war cries echoed in multitude getting closer and closer to your side. You drew out Windsong and walked your mount towards the front lines.

“We ride…for honour,” the visor of your helmet was flipped down, “…for the safety of our people….for our lives.” You kicked your mount into a gallop with your riders following your lead, raising their spears and swords.

“FOR RIVARIA!”

Ironically everything seemed to slow down as you faced head on towards Jongho. Even the noise have become muffled, all you could focus on was your breathing within the helmet. Your eyes never wavered from his figure and when his mount stormed faster ahead of the rest, you matched his change in pace as well.  

“To thee I swear this oath, only by your blade will…”

As the first ray of light pierced over the horizon, the waking sun was greeted with the resounding clash of two blades; and the mourning for two loyal hearts.  

“…we meet once again at the elysian fields, my dearest friend.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 93 - Campfire Stories Part 3

Okay, final chapter of Campfire stories, then we are back to our regularly scheduled shenanigans.

Chapter 93: Campfire Stories, Part 3

After Tyche’s story, we took a break to get stuff for s’mores - Charly, Conor, and Simon had teamed up on me, swearing a camping trip was incomplete without them. In lieu of the traditional fire, we were heating them with a short-term portable unit, only good for ten minutes, tops. While I wasn’t worried either way, not particularly liking marshmallows, Charly had taken it upon herself to do rather rigorous testing and assured everyone that the desserts would turn out right.

Once everyone who wanted it had sticky fingers, Conor politely swallowed his fourth sugary concoction. “These are too good, you know?”

“No such thing,” Simon argued. “Be as suspicious as you like, but I firmly believe in taking whatever joy we can get out of life and not pointing it out. Hoping God doesn’t notice, if you get my drift.”

I chuckled, while Arthur looked alarmed. “I did not expect that from you, lucky bastard.”

Simon shook his head furiously. “No. I know I wasn’t in the After, but life on its own was unfair and unjust enough before that. When you get those small moments of ecstatic delight - love, a good dinner, a happy dog, a chance to be kind - you just take it, and don’t let the universe know. Life never apologized for being harsh, I’m not going to apologize for any scrap of happiness I could find.”

“But some things can be far too good,” Conor insisted, picking his teeth thoughtfully. “My family always warned against things like that.  The things to be afraid of weren’t the… scarred or damaged ones, but the ones that are flawless. That’s how you spot them, right?”

“Spot whom?” Grey asked, trying to wipe chocolate from their fingers.

“Witches, at least the evil ones. Fae. That sort.” He scrunched his face thoughtfully and leaned back. Tyche arched a brow, and he lunged to point at her. “See? That. You and Sophie arch that brow so much that it’s permanently just a wee bit higher than the other. That makes your face your face. But a face that’s entirely symmetrical? It’s so wrong that even artificial intelligence makes a point to avoid it.”

“Uncanny valley,” I offered, nodding.

He nodded to me. “Exactly. It’s uncanny. Not just in people. I was warned away from perfect circles in nature as a boy. Stones, a patch of grass, any perfect circles.  Fairy circles, they called it.  My parents told me about a girl who lived near where they grew up, didn’t listen about the woods. Said there was a stand of trees in the woods with a clearing in the middle.”

“Conor -” Charly tried to interrupt.

He waved her off. “The clearing wasn’t a normal one, see? It was exactly perfect, ten feet across from tree to tree, even if they never got an accurate count of trees. Da said twelve, Ma said sixteen. Nan swore blue it was ten. But all agreed that clearing was ten feet across, tree to tree.”

“Con…” This time it was Maverick, glancing around furtively.

Still, he kept on. “What made this clearing so memorable, were the trees around it.  Like a snowflake, they were. Closer, but just as even between. Seven feet, precise, no matter who measured it.  Then five.”

“Conor, please,” Charly begged, scooting closer to her partner.  Even Coffee was giving the clearing a serious gaze at this point.

“The worst part, though,” he soldiered on, “was what told them it was clearly either a cursed place or a Mound: the trees themselves.  Any one of them gave a normal person shivers and turned them back if they looked.  The trees, you get, were just as bad as the woods themselves. Completely symmetrical, like a spoked wheel.  And each ring of trees was exactly the same height, taller ones around the clearing.” He huffed a bit before continuing. “And this girl… this girl, you see? She’d been warned out of those woods since she was knee high to her da. But she kept wandering off, after cats and butterflies and a pretty flower here and there…”

Simon and Maverick were scowling at the trees around us at this point, with Maverick scooting closer to me and periodically glancing at Tyche to make sure she’s still there.

“One day, when he was about sixteen, Da says he saw the girl - she was maybe ten - taking off down the path, pretty as you please. At this point, he knew about her: Doreen.  Dreamin’ Doreen. Ten years old, cute as a kitten, and prone to wanderin’ off. So he followed her, makin’ sure she didn’t get in trouble, right?  And at first, she’s just… toddling off, if that’s what you can call it for a ten-year old. Right down the trail, not a step off, dead center.  But then.  Then she just turns, takes a hard left off the trail, between the trees, like she’s following something.

Da was right behind her, only looking away for a second at a time to make sure nothing was coming up on them. After about a half hour of this, he barely registered that the trees were thinner and… odd. Something about the trees bothered him, but he swore he couldn’t figure it out at first. Then, he turned back, and Doreen was gone. No sound, nothing. Just… gone. He started looking for her, thinking she couldn’t have gotten far, but after about five more steps, he saw the clearing.

Even panicked, he knew not to set foot in that clearing.  He screamed and screamed for Doreen - they heard him all the way back in town, came running, and he was still hollering for her. When they started to drag him away, he fought ‘em off until Nan stopped him.

Nan grabbed his arm, pointed to a tree, right on the trunk. Those trees were so… perfect… that the damned bark looked like tile on a pillar, not like real bark. Every piece, just as pretty and even as you please.  The leaves were the same, could be folded in half and look like they were cut instead. Da swore blind that lookin’ up through those branches was like looking through a bike wheel, the branches were so even-spaced. ‘They din’t look like trees, son,’ he always told me. ‘They looked like trees were described to a sculptor who never seen one’.

To the day they died, they swore that place was a faerie ring, that Doreen got taken by the Sidhe. No one ever found any of her, not a hair, not a bone, not even a scrap of her clothes,” he ground out, frustration clear. “Worse, there was never any proof, ever, that a person had ever stepped foot in those woods. Not even DNA testing on something a person plucked and handed to a researcher, with video proving it happened. Never did figure out what happened in there, not to Doreen or anyone else.”

By this point, Tyche was looking suspiciously at the clearing, and that set of alarm bells in my head. “Conor,” she drawled slowly. “You do realize that the clearing we’re in is… really rather round, and ten, maybe eleven feet across?” He just grunted, staring into the light emitter like he had been since the end of his story. “Conor.” Her tone was firm and more emphatic. “You just told that story in a clearing of fourteen trees, ten feet across, with just enough space between the trees outside for tents. Maybe seven feet?”

When he didn’t respond, she scowled at him and stepped close to a tree.  Maverick tried to stop her, but she flung off the arm he reached out. “You shit, these trees… Grey. Can you and Charly come here?” Charly shook her head vigorously, while Grey cautiously stepped over. After a couple minutes, Tyche made a point to stare down Charly, firmly gesturing as politely as possible to stand right here please.

Eventually, all three were looking up at the branches over their heads. Far from her hesitation earlier, Charly marched over to Conor with what I could only describe as ‘intent to kill’.  While I looped an arm around her waist, she flailed with all four limbs at him. “You rat faced walnut! You did this on purpose! Lemme down! Let me at him!!!”

To his credit, he flinched away from the angry ball of woman I was keeping away from him. “Char! It was a joke, I swear!” Peeking around his hands, he still flinched a little. “It was just a prank.”

That last word seemed to deflate her entirely. Suddenly, instead of a brunette bundle of possessed weasel, I had a very calm woman gently patting my elbow. “You can let go now, I won’t hit him.”

Hesitantly, I set her back on her feet.  Glancing back at Coffee, he nodded, so I relinquished my grip on her entirely. She pushed her hair out of her face with both hands and spun to sit beside her partner. My face must have shown my confusion in brilliant technicolor. “It was just a prank,” she clarified. “I got fooled. I’ll figure out a way to get him back,” she waved nonchalantly.

“Without including me or Maverick?” I asked, arms crossed.

“Shoot.” She bit her thumb. “Yeah, I can do that. It’ll just be harder.”

“I doubt it would be harder than a prank three months in the making,” Arthur pointed out, still looking at the trees with suspicion. “Three, right?”

“Four,” Grey corrected, staring impassively at the bark on the tree. “How did you get the bark to grow in a tile pattern?”

Conor rubbed his neck and grinned abashedly. “A razor, when they were still young enough the bark hadn’t split naturally?  It was just a score, to make specific weak points where it would split better. And I stopped when I couldn’t reach anymore.”

With that comment, Coffee surged to his feet and stalked to the closest tree.  After a close inspection and a not-at-all-discrete rub of his hand over the tree bark, he nodded. “I can confirm the bark is much more random above seven feet. The detail is very well done, though.” He glanced back at Conor with an impressed expression. “Four months planning did not go to waste.”

“Thank fuck,” Conor chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at Simon, who was still running a careful hand over one of the trees.

“I didn’t know this was possible,” Simon admitted. “You did this with a razor?”

“Trees split into bark when the outer layer gets so dry and firm that it stops stretching,” Grey explained. Conor pointed at them, choosing to be silent. “Since any substance in nature splits along the weakest point, scoring the young bark with a razor, especially if done repeatedly, would cause the bark to split along the scores.”

A dawning look shot across Simon’s face, echoed by a matching expression on Charly’s. “Conor,” Simon ventured. “These trees were force-grown until they were planted. How often did you score them?”

“Two, three times a day?” he winced. “I didn’t want to damage them, so the cuts were really shallow until the bark started to establish. Just so I could tell where to keep scoring.”

“Do we have co - Oh! Thanks, Mr. Farro!” Charly grinned sunnily at Arthur.

“Just… just Arthur right now, okay?” He carefully capped the thermos of hot chocolate.

“Right, you bet, Mr. Farro.” He winced, but she continued blithely. “I have to admit, four months on a prank is a lot to invest, but it paid off.” A careful sip of her drink, followed by a marshmallow coming from nowhere and dropping in. “You literally cultivated a stand of trees to pull this off. Well done, sir. Very well done.”

<< Prev  Masterlist  Next >>

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 6: Clues in the Dust

((After agreeing to take the case from Google’s anonymous employer, Abe makes a detour to check out the tip about last night’s break in, at the last place he would ever want to go back to.

Link to the previous part, Part 5: Second Opinion.))

Abe fed the Google unit a line about needing to do some research on vampires and this doctor in particular before he started staking out the clinic (the magitek man failing to even crack a smile at that pun, so that was a waste), which turned out to be enough to satisfy him and get him out of the building for now.

Abe only shut the office door once he heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs, and kept watch at the window until he saw Google walk out of the building and continue on his way back to whatever uncanny valley he crawled out of.  

Once he was out of sight, Abe plopped down into his office chair with a sigh and reached out to turn on the desk lamp. The light bulb flickered once or twice before remaining on, which together with the little sunlight that could make its way through the grimy window behind him unfortunately made his office that much easier to see.

His tired eyes drifted to the futon, the mattress still pulled out from where he didn’t bother to push it back in before he left months ago, the blankets a tangled mess that still managed to look appealing right now.

He sighed and took another sip of his coffee, only to be disappointed when he found the cup empty already. Dropping it into the overflowing trash bin, he pulled the muffin Carla gave him out of his pocket and absentmindedly started eating while he looked again at the envelope Google gave him. The picture inside was taken at a strange angle, the man not quite centered and apparently unaware of the photographer as he stood outside of a brick building Abe assumed to be at the address in the envelope. Illuminated by the street lights overhead, the shadows on his face made it difficult to make out any details, but he looked like a slight man, dark hair, matching goatee, glasses.

Nothing screamed dangerous about the doctor, but that was an easy mistake to make with vampires. He would have to be careful around this Schneeplestein until he knew what he was dealing with.

But the doctor, that Google thing and his employer, they could all wait. Abe crumpled up the wrapper from the muffin and threw it away, tucking the envelope and its contents into a random pocket in his coat and grabbing a lighter and a crumpled pack of cigarettes for the road.

He had a house to check out.

---

Abe remembered the drive to Markiplier Manor being longer, but far too soon the massive building came into view, the rusted gates at the end of its drive less open and inviting and more one good breeze away from crashing down. He pulled the car to a stop near the fountain in front of the house and turned the engine off.

He sat there, staring at those walls, those empty windows that stared back at him, until a surge of annoyance at himself pushed him out of the car and as far as the front steps.

Every bird in the area must have already taken off for the south, because there wasn’t so much as a peep to be heard, and aside from a few fallen leaves scraping across the ground, there was no sound until the hunter tried the door.

To his surprise, it wasn’t even locked, although it opened with a creak loud enough he was sure the neighbors down the hill could have heard it. Whoever broke in here last night clearly didn’t have to work hard to get into the place, because a quick look at the lock confirmed it hadn’t been forced, and none of the nearby windows appeared to be broken.

The manor’s reputation had probably done more to keep people out over the years than any lock ever could. Or just the average person’s ability to sense the sheer wrongness about the place, Abe wasn’t sure which.

The hunter stood there at the door, taking one deep breath after the other as though getting ready to dive into the deep end of the swimming pool, before he took the plunge and walked in. A flashlight from his car found the small table in the lobby first, the vase with the wilted remains of not quite preserved flowers, before doing a circuit of the room.

From here, it looked like the furniture was undisturbed, the paintings and statues still in their place, even the heavy layer of dust on the ground showed that whoever passed through here hadn’t gone farther than this room. The footsteps on the black and white tiles were so confused that he couldn’t begin to guess how many people had been here last night, even without the added possibility of some random cops looking in on the possible break in before deciding nothing here was worth the effort.

Abe walked further in, flashlight turned down as he followed the disturbed dust, hoping to find some clue as to who was here and why, only to pause when he heard the crunch of glass underfoot.

He’d noticed the shattered mirror of course, it was kind of hard to miss, but now he crouched down, studying how the light from his flashlight caught the glittering shards of glass. It was strange to see just how far they were spread outward from the empty frame, like something had crashed into it from the other side of the glass. How could someone break it this badly and still leave the frame on the wall? Or had they put it back in its place? Who would go to that kind of trouble?

He started to stand and paused again. Looking down, he could see a strange spot on the floor, on top of the thick layer of dust, and without hesitation he prodded it and sniffed the tip of his finger.

Wax? Candle wax, here?

Another, slower look around the area found several more identical spots of wax, all together forming a circle. In the center of which was chalk, the remains of a strange symbol half rubbed away. It wasn’t a symbol he recognized, but Abe made a picture with his phone and as good a copy as he could manage in his notepad. There was always the chance of finding someone who might have a clue what it meant and why someone would be performing a ritual here, of all places.

Unbidden, the memory of the door upstairs, the key still in its lock and the rope tightly binding it, came to mind and Abe took a long, shuddering breath. One that he regretted, considering the heavy scent of mold and rot, but it almost helped calm him down long enough to look at the stairs, the undisturbed dust the only sign that he needed to prove no one had been up that way in a long time.

Thinking he had found all he could, Abe shone the light around one more time just to be sure only to stop at the sight of the stain on the floor underneath the balcony, the dark spread long faded and barely noticeable against all of the other decay in the house.

Seconds later, Abe lurched out of the house, miraculously not breaking his neck on the unseen front steps as he stumbled his way to the nearest patch of grass. There he doubled over coughing and wheezing until he could blame the tears streaming down his face on the dust, the bad taste in the back of his throat on whatever foul stuff had grown up in that place with no one around.

Eventually, he made it to leaning against the side of his car, staring sightlessly at the trees in the distance for a while until a dark thought in the back of his mind remembered the bottle under the passenger seat. That, along with the cigarettes…well, it didn’t help, but it gave his shaking hands something to do, and after the bullet to the chest he was willing to take anything that even pretended to ease the pain a little.

If just being back here hadn’t had such an effect on him, if he had taken the time to walk around the house like he meant to when he first got here, if Abe had any kind of reason to keep looking around, he might have spotted the tracks in the grass, the clear signs of footsteps leading out to those trees. He might even have found the wolf hair caught on branches or a large paw print left in the soft dirt underneath the trees.

Instead, he sat there in his car, silent and alone, until he remembered why he was here. Google, or at least whoever he worked for, knew something about this place and its connection to the hunter. And he claimed to know how to find Wilford. All Abe had to do was look into a doctor, supposedly.

Like he believed that for a second. But playing along gave him the excuse to find out more about who was trying to pull his strings and why.

And it was the only excuse he needed to stop wasting time here. With a new sense of determination, Abe started his car and backed down the drive, away from the house.

((End of Part 6. Thanks for reading. A little on the shorter side, but I think Abe’s sections are going to start getting longer soon. (Don’t hold me to that, please.)

Link to Part 7: Leaving the Clinic.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy))

[thieves-in-the-palace]

Even more Velvet Stage Palace AU ideas

Hhh sorry for how long this one is, I noticed a plothole that needed fixing and proceeded to get carried the eff away

The reason the rest of the Phantom Thieves find out about Akira’s Palace is because he starts sleeping a lot more than usual, has a harder time getting up in the morning, and starts eating less. Morgana pesters Akira into visiting Takemi in case he might be sick, but Takemi concludes that he’s perfectly healthy. When the issues persist, despite Akira’s claims that he’s alright, Morgana brings it up with the others b/c he’s worried. While they try to figure out what’s going on with their leader, someone (maybe Ryuji) jokingly puts his name into the MetaNav. Everyone’s caught off-guard when it’s a hit.

The Phantom Thieves appear in their normal real-world outfits the entire time, rather than shifting into their Thief outfits at any point (though they still have access to their weapons). Even if they’re identified as a threat in the Palace, real-world Akira still sees them as his friends first and foremost. Morgana does change into his bipedal form, but it has more to do with him being in the Metaverse than him being perceived as an enemy.

The cognitive versions of the Confidants all appear relatively normal/undistorted, but there’s still something a bit…off about them. Think uncanny valley here: they look perfectly human, but their movement are just a little too stiff to be natural, etc. Aside from being sorta fixated on the show and quick to praise Puppet!Akira, their personalities are pretty spot-on.

The non-Thief/non-Velvet Confidants are only semi-aware of Puppeteer!Akira, and don’t really have an opinion of him. Cognitive Igor, Caroline, and Justine are aware of Puppeteer!Akira, and have a generally neutral opinion of him.

The Thief Confidants are aware of Puppeteer!Akira, but they don’t like him, or like talking about him. If/when the Thieves manage to get their cognitive equivalents to talk about Puppeteer!Akira, they won’t have anything good to say about him – he’s creepy, it’s annoying when he messes up the show, it’s frustrating how he’s been taking more breaks recently, etc. This (combined with how easily they compliment Puppet!Akira) is to reflect how Akira feels like his friends only like the act he puts on around them, and not Akira himself.

All the cognitive Confidants refer to Puppet!Akira as “him,” but Puppeteer!Akira refers to Puppet!Akira as “it” instead.

LISTEN I know I said “eff the rules give Akira two Shadows” last time but I gotta change that now for the sake of Plot™. Right from the beginning, Akira’s Treasure is already manifested as Puppet!Akira. There are a few possible explanations for this, but the idea I’m leaning towards the most is that Puppet!Akira isn’t a “true” Shadow. It’s a Treasure that, due to its nature as a fabricated version of Akira made to perform for others, is a little more sentient than usual. As such, Akira would always be aware of its existence, thus leading to it already being manifested by the time the Phantom Thieves enter the Palace. This also leads to them mistakenly believing that Puppet!Akira is Akira’s Shadow at first.

@the-baron-of-burgle​ you brought up in ur ask how part of Puppet!Akira’s performance could include talking to the audience, and I really love that idea?? The Phantom Thieves would have the opportunity to tell him to drop the act, that he doesn’t have to put on an act to be loved, etc. Unfortunately Puppet!Akira doesn’t have enough autonomy to revolt against Puppeteer!Akira like you mentioned, but Puppeteer!Akira does hear the Thieves when they talk to Puppet!Akira. Their responses startle/confuse him enough that the performance is noticeably disrupted. This draws the ire of the cognitive audience, so the show is quickly resumed; afterwards though it’s announced (maybe by Caroline & Justine) that there’s going to be a short break before the next performance. The cognitive Confidants complain again at this, blaming the PT for messing things up, but they don’t become hostile. The enemy Shadows in the audience do attack though, but luckily there aren’t many of them, and the Thieves are able to escape and regroup.

You also brought up cutting Puppet!Akira’s strings and that is EXACTLY what’s gonna happen here baby!! If the Phantom Thieves are able to change Akira’s cognition from the real world, Puppeteer!Akira will cut Puppet!Akira’s strings, rendering it unable to perform. If they wind up having to send Akira a calling card, there will be a boss fight against Puppeteer!Akira – part of this fight will involve cutting Puppet!Akira’s strings themselves.

Although the Phantom Thieves agree to try changing Akira’s cognition from the real world and leave stealing his Treasure as a last resort, they still spend a decent amount of time investigating the Palace and trying to locate a route to the Treasure. To their confusion, all the routes they investigate wind up either being dead ends or leading them back to the main stage, where Puppet!Akira performs.

Puppet!Akira can talk and emote to an extent, but it doesn’t blink or breathe. Its eyes stay relatively emotionless, and are the signature Shadow yellow, though they look much less alive than Puppeteer!Akira’s. It generally doesn’t do much unless it’s actively being controlled.

Puppeteer!Akira can talk, but rarely does so – when he does, his voice is very quiet. His eyes are more emotive than Puppet!Akira’s, even if his main emotion is unfortunately “depression.” He doesn’t like Puppet!Akira very much, but views it as necessary to keep around.

@yiffquius like u mentioned in ur tags, the memories that get played out by the bunraku puppets 100% are altered from how they actually went down. The alterations always reinforce Akira’s perception that he has to keep up the act or else there will be some form of consequence, primarily people abandoning him.

Speaking of the memories, I feel like they ought to expand back to pre-canon, or at minimum to the day of Akira’s arrest – Palaces take a long time to form, after all. However, another way to go about it is to say that the PT don’t see any pre-canon memories for whatever reason. Maybe they feel like it’d be an unnecessary invasion of privacy, or there’s not enough time to watch all of them, etc. Of the memories they see, I think three that would emphasize Akira’s distortion well (and be easy to alter) would be the night of his arrest, his car convo with Sojiro/Sojiro threatening to kick him out if he gets into trouble, and that part of the buffet scene where he’s made leader of the Phantom Thieves.

I kinda want Nameless and Belladonna to have cameo appearances, seeing as they could provide (a limited range of) music for the shows. It’d be kind of a stretch, unfortunately – since they don’t show up in Akira’s Velvet Room, he has no reason to know them, let alone have cognitive versions of them.

[delennsatai]

DMC Gen Week: Day 1

Wounds Deeper than Flesh

Summary: Some introspection about relationships in between/during scenes from the game. Part of @dmcgenweek​

Day 1 Prompt: Injury/Healing

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20010805

“You both need me to defeat Mundus,” Kat whispered through a swollen lip, shifting to keep her weight off the arm she suspected was broken, still pulsing with pain. “And you need each other.”

That’s right, Dante. We do this together, or not at all. And not at all is unacceptable. Vergil couldn’t help letting a smirk creep onto his face, as Dante looked up at him from where he sat, perched on a wooden crate in the safehouse where they’d retreated. The loss of the Order’s HQ—and the whole Order with it—was a setback, to be sure, but ultimately irrelevant. He’d planned for this, years ago. His contingencies had contingencies.

The one thing he didn’t have a contingency for was losing Dante. Kat was right—he wouldn’t be able to finish this if his brother walked away now. They were so close. He couldn’t let that happen. So...what was the one surefire way to keep Dante invested?

Kat, of course. He’d known from the beginning that bringing her in on this would help him catch Dante’s attention, but he hadn’t expected such a swift and forceful attachment. Much as it rankled to realize it took his brother less than a week to secure as much loyalty from her as he’d earned over years, he could use it to his advantage.

In the silence that stretched between them, he retook control of the conversation, extending the hand not resting on the Yamato’s pommel to offer Dante a hand up. Unnecessary, obviously, but the reversal warmed him. They were true equals, now. Nothing could stand in their way. “…she’s right. What’s done is done, let’s put it behind us. Victory is within our grasp.”

“…fine.” Dante clasped his gloved hand and stood, then pointed a finger at him. “But no more stunts like you pulled on the pier.”

“Of course.” He met Dante’s lingering, stubborn gaze with his own cool one, two identical pairs of eyes communicating volumes without words. A conciliatory gesture would appease him, Vergil thought. “Kat’s hurt. We should tend her wounds at least enough to make sure she has the strength to walk us through what she’s learned.”

Dante’s posture relaxed a bit, as he turned toward Kat. “You all right with that?”

Her lips compressed into a thin line, but she nodded, looking a little relieved despite her bold words a few minutes ago. It was time Vergil didn’t think they could really afford, but if it kept Dante on board… “Would you like to do the honors?” he said, directing his brother toward a door on the opposite side of the room. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

“Uh…what, me?” Dante glanced between them. “I don’t know the first thing about first aid. Unless it’s anything like playing doctor.” He flashed Kat a suggestive smirk and Vergil saw her smile despite herself. A stab of irritation lanced through him. Would it kill Dante to take all this seriously for five minutes? This was Vergil’s life’s work hanging in the balance. Their vengeance. Their family. He couldn’t follow the way Dante’s mood seemed to shift like a stray breeze—berating him for doing what was necessary (and, frankly, the only intelligent thing to have done) one minute, then flirting the next. He was distracted, clearly. Vergil would have to remove the distraction.

“Never really had to deal with that kinda thing before,” Dante continued. “Always healed pretty fast on my own.”

“I’ll handle it,” Vergil reassured him. “You should secure the perimeter, keep watch. Make sure no demon collaborators caught our trail.”

Dante’s eyes strayed to the gloves Vergil wore, like an unspoken question, obviously wondering whether they meant he had some kind of medical experience. Of course not; learning to treat injured humans would have been a waste of his time. After all, he healed just as quickly as Dante did. But it was hardly rocket science to apply a few bandages. “You got it,” his twin replied, grabbing his coat from where it hung over a ratty old armchair and shrugging into it as he sauntered out the door.

Vergil went into the bathroom to retrieve the kit from the medicine cabinet, but paused in front of the mirror to consider his reflection. Not so different from looking at Dante, in some ways, but in others... That defiant challenge he so often found looking back at him from his brother’s face felt like an uncanny valley, an expression he wasn’t used to seeing on a face that was otherwise just like his own. He spared a moment to try it on—call it a little experiment, he thought. He lifted his chin, drew his eyebrows low, set his jaw just so. Eerie.

He tucked the little metal box under one arm and left the mirror behind. They may have worn different expressions, but their blood and their history—their purpose—was the same. Dante would see that, when they defeated Mundus and took back the world that should have been theirs all along. He’d be a fool not to.

***

Kat is in no state to do anything. Dante’s words echoed in her mind. But she’d been through worse. The real blow had been hearing the two of them argue; it wasn’t like Vergil to get so heated over someone else’s opinion, and Dante… He still didn’t quite understand the stakes. He hadn’t been living and breathing this resistance the way she and Vergil had, he couldn’t have known all they’d sacrificed to get here. And yet, his worry was for all the people Mundus had hurt in his outburst, for the collateral damage their plan had wrought. For her safety. It was hard to fault him for that. She knew Vergil was right, that killing two birds with one stone had been the best move. But she hadn’t been so out of it that she’d missed Dante taking bullets to protect her out there on the pier, when she was too woozy and weak from pain to protect herself.

Vergil emerging from the bathroom interrupted her train of thought. He looked the same as ever: focused, confident, poised. But she’d heard him raise his voice not five minutes ago, defending himself against criticism. Since when did Vergil give a shit about criticism? “He’s just worried,” she said quietly.

“He shouldn’t be.” Vergil flipped open the kit and got to work, tilting her chin up with a finger to study the cuts and bruises on her face with those ice-blue eyes. “We finally have the upper hand. Mundus is done.”

That’s not what I meant. She tried not to flinch when he started disinfecting the places where her wounds had split the skin. His touch wasn’t rough, but she wouldn’t call it gentle either, and there was something strange in the way wearing gloves in what otherwise might have seemed like a moment of closeness, of kindness, distanced him from her. Had he changed, since they’d found his brother? Dante seemed to bring out a side of Vergil she’d never seen before. More prone to taking risks, and less present whenever his twin was elsewhere. “We’re really here, on the cusp of winning, just like we always planned,” she said. What would he do, she wondered, once it was all over? “Seems like it’s been a long time, doesn’t it?”

“It has been. A very long time.” He lifted her left arm experimentally, and she sucked in a breath through her teeth, wincing. …yeah, that was broken, all right. But a broken arm was a small price to pay for freedom. She would do her part until the job was done, pain be damned. Until humanity was free. “You and Dante seem to be getting along well,” he commented, watching her while he rummaged through the kit for something to use as a makeshift sling.

“I trust him.” She hadn’t meant for the words to come out so simply, so baldly, but she realized in that moment that it really was that simple. She hadn’t had anyone to trust except for Vergil and her other friends in the Order for so long. And before that, hardly anyone at all. She certainly hadn’t told anyone but Vergil about…the nightmares, or how she’d survived them, before she and Dante had opened up to each other in the car.

“Is that all?” Vergil leaned closer to slip the bit of cloth under her arm. With his face so close, she could see herself reflected in the pale blue of his eyes. Battered, exhausted, but determined to see this through. His tone was businesslike, but why was he asking in the first place? Did he think she would get distracted by his brother’s ridiculous flirting?

“No, that’s not all.” She fixed him with a chiding glare. “I trust you, too. And you can both trust me to have your backs.”

The corners of his lips turned up with the hint of a smile, before he stepped around the couch to fasten the two ends of the cloth together behind her neck, forming a sling. She felt the latex of his gloves brush the back of her neck as he loomed over her from behind. It seemed oddly cold. “Yes, you’ve done well,” he said.

Don’t worry, Vergil. I won’t let you down. She slid her feet off the couch and stood, steadying herself on its dingy leather arm for just a moment before carefully making her way over to sit in front of the chalkboard leaning up against a few crates. “Go get Dante. I’ll show you how you can get to Mundus.”

***

Red. Red filled his vision, filled his world. His heartbeat was loud and erratic in his ears, and his own face snarled down at him as his strength left him, pain and numbness fighting for supremacy over his body. But it wasn’t his own face, not really. It was his twin’s. Did Dante really hate him this much? Enough to kill him? Hadn’t they walked through fire together to get here? Hadn’t they saved each other’s lives? Hadn’t he given back everything his brother had lost? Where had it all gone wrong?

The chill of betrayal speared through him more brutally than Rebellion did in that moment. His blood seeped into the ground where he lay—his blood, the blood of Sparda, blood they shared. Did that mean nothing to Dante?

He thought someone spoke, but he couldn’t hear the words. Then, with a sickening lurch, Dante pulled the blade free, leaving him gasping for breath as his power kicked in sluggishly to start closing the gaping, bleeding hole in his chest.

…and then Dante had the nerve, the gall, to offer him a hand up. As though this were a wound he could heal with such a meager olive branch. As though it could ever heal at all. But he took the hand, more because he needed it than anything—and that hurt, too, that need. He’d lost. Again, like he always lost to Dante. In front of Kat, no less.

No, there was no way to repair the real damage Dante had done to his heart today. His flesh might heal, but his soul never would.

[tunafishprincess]

The Roads We Take

Chapter 1: Twenty-Five

(Art by @brothebro, writing by @tunafishprincess ) Sequel to Fallen Too Far. This is rated M for Mature. Proceed with caution. 

She is twenty-five, nearly twenty-six, but she feels sixteen.

Years have passed but high school still feels like yesterday to Claire. How could it not? Ten years: it terrifies her how in such a short period of time the world she knows has disappeared.

All she has left are the remaining people who remember her for who she was, however even that has been distorted by time. They treat her like glass, as though she were some expensive piece of art that could do no wrong. Her hermano, little NotEnrique, looks at her with uncertain eyes; his entire perception of her is created by her family and friends. As if she was some paragon of goodness, a princess trapped by an evil witch; that’s how their parents explained it to him.

But wrong is the very essence of her now. Her parents try to pretend everything is okay, but the emotions that radiates off the medical staff and guards tells her another story.

They are afraid.

And so is she.

The woman in the bathroom mirror is not her, not really. Her hips are too wide, her breasts too full, her face too mature—and that isn’t even the worst of it. The rich dark brown her Papí used to brush for her has vanished, replaced with a white so bright her eyes hurt to look at it for too long.

Ugly dark veins run up her arms and out of her eyes, branding her, as if to forever remind her of the horrors she caused.

She hates it. This is not her body, her hair, her face. Morgana twisted the girl she knew into the woman she did not and she is terrified. So utterly terrified.

After a while, she turns away, too sick with disgust to remain. The white gown they placed her in clings to her body, making her so desperately wish for her old clothes, even if they could no longer fit her. She has changed too much now to go back, and dios mío, she wishes she could go back.

Yet even still, time ticks on.

Claire wants to say she’s better (wants to be better), but she never will be, not after what Morgana has done to her.

Guilt eats at her innards, her soul, her entire being. The deaths she caused weigh heavily. Breathing takes effort, so much so that at times she wonders if she’ll suffocate under its load.

So many ‘if onlys’ pass through her mind, thousands upon thousands each day. Before, she cried, day after day, but now, all that is left is a hollow shell.

And isn’t that what she is now? Morgana destroyed her inside and out, emptied the part of her that made Claire herself in order to make way for the sorceress.

A small part of her wishes for death. She deserves it, especially after what she did to everyone, to her family and friends, to Jim—God, Jim.

If she is the drowning swimmer than he is the life raft she desperately clings onto. How could he look at her so lovingly? She didn’t deserve him, not after what she did. Yet still, he stays at her side, her protector, forever and always.

How pathetic. What a selfish being she has become.

Look at her. Her old self would be repulsed by such desperation.

Claire knows it is wrong to dependent on him so much, but now the feeling is innate. She wonders if that is why Morgana never gave up on Jim, if Claire’s feelings influenced the witch to hold onto that last bit of sanity within the darkness.

Who knows. In the end, Morgana is gone and Claire, well…Claire is here.

She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

The door opens, carefully, as if not to startle her. Claire’s hand clenches the railing she uses to walk between the bathroom and her bed, she tries to smile, even though it feels as plastic as the sheets she sleeps on.

“Toby,” she begins, clearing her throat. “You’re early.”

He approaches her cheerfully, a pip in his step that softens the fake smile on her lips. It reminds her of old times. Even though he has lost weight and aged, she can still see the excited gleam in his eye he got when he had good news. “I couldn’t wait for Jim to get here. The verdict just came back!”

Her brows furrowed.

“Verdict?” She asks.

Immediately, Toby pales. His hands freeze in the air.

The stench of secrecy is thick. Claire can feel the annoyance inside her rising, just below the surface of skin.

“Oh…Oh crap. I forgot,” he admits in a soft voice.

Claire tries to edge forward. “Forgot what?”

Unfortunately, her foot slips on the linoleum, breaking her trek towards the other. Her breath hitches as strong hands catch her. She blinks widely as her boyfriend came into view.

Her eyes flicker over to the open door.

She hadn’t even heard him come in. Another of Jim’s abilities perhaps? It is a surprising discover, especially considering his size.

“What’s going on?” Jim asks, worry in his sharp features. He examines her body like a hawk, lingering at her chest for a moment before returning to her eyes. Blood rushes to her cheeks.

“Claire, are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine,” she stammers out. As if reading her mind, Jim guides her to the bed, his hand encompassing most of her back. It is a comforting warmth. She is saddened when he removes it.

Toby’s mouth twitches. There is so much uncertainty in his stance. It reminds her of her previous question.

Fixing her gaze on her old friend once more, she reiterates, “What’s this about a verdict?”

She watches Jim this time, his expression closed off but the hairs on his neck and forearms rising almost instantaneously. Claire reaches out, settling her palm to his cheek. Softness spreads across his features. He cups her hand with his own, engulfing it in a steady, pulsing heat.

“Well, the good news is we can finally get you love-birds out of this place! I’m thinking beach, or, oh, oh! Maybe the countryside? I don’t know about you guys but I am totes ready for a vaca. Can I hear an amen?” Toby asks.

Claire frowns. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Nothing gets past you huh?” Toby sighs.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim asserts. “We’re safe. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Jim.” She leans forward, so close she can see the detailed texture of his skin. It is a strange mixture of pore and rock, the uncanny but beautiful valley between the two species. “Tell me.”

Jim’s face darkens. His golden pupils dilate, his gaze clouding over with a stormy grimace. Inwardly, she knows it is her fault he is like this now. Claire wonders what it is he is looking at: her or some past memory. Perhaps both.

“You know what happened,” he states.

She nods. Her other hand fists the fabric of her blanket.

“What I did as Morgana’s champion will never be erased. To most of humanity, I’m a monster.”

“But you’re not.” She shakes her head. “Morgana controlled you, manipulated you.”

“Claire, you don’t understand. I had a choice,” Jim stresses, his other hand resting at her knee. Selfishly, she moves closer to the warmth. Out of everything and everyone in the room, Jim is the only one who is warmest.

“What was the verdict about?” She asks again.

It is Toby who speaks up first, “Whether he would continue to carry out the duty of Trollhunter or…” There is a pause, one that feels like an eternity for Claire until he answers, “whether it would get passed to someone else.

Her boyfriend pulls out of her reach, as though on autopilot. Claire wants him to stay, wants to use his warmth once more, but the second he leaves her range it is freezing again.

They were going to kill Jim? The annoyance within transfigures into a freezing tundra of fear.

No. Never. Jim is hers, just as Claire is his. Why would they try and separate them? Didn’t they see how much Claire needs him to live?

“No, no, no, no—” She chanted, her fingers burrowed into her hair. “Why didn’t you two tell me?”

“Relax, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. The verdict went fine. Jim’s still here,” Toby tries to comfort her.

But it’s not. Nothing is fine. Toby isn’t fine, Jim isn’t fine—No one is. The cracks along her hands and arms ache. It is as though a million ants were inching up her body, underneath her skin.

She resists the urge to violently scratch them like she did the first few days. It is why the Doctors make her keep her nails short now.

When she finally regains control of her emotions, Claire brushes him off. “It’s not fine. None of this is fine. You didn’t even tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her heart breaks as Jim presses himself into the corner, as if trying to make himself smaller. Is he terrified of her?

“We were afraid of how you would react,” Toby says, hands up and facing her.

“So what, you’ll just treat me like some porcelain doll the rest of my life, is that it?” Claire snaps. She can’t help it. The emotions within are boiling over.

Toby presses forward. “No, Claire, it’s just, after everything that’s happened—”

“Stop it!”

Her water glass shatters. She doesn’t see how it happens, but she knows in her heart who did it.

Morgana left more than scars on Claire after all.

In the corner of her eye, she notices a long crack has developed in the window that was not there before. Another testament to her emotional state.

To no surprise, Jim has disappeared from the room. Because of her.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, and truly she means it. Everything is her doing.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Toby says, resting a hand on her shoulder. It is warm, but not like Jim’s. It barely heats her at all. “We know you didn’t mean it.”

“I want to be alone,” she whispers.

“You sure, Claire-Bear?” He says, leaning over.

A multitude of emotions pass over her friend’s face. This Toby is more calculative and calm, holding a maturity Claire wishes she could possess. Even when facing her darkest moments, he stands tall. She envies that confidence.

“Go. Talk to Jim. He looks like he needs it more than I do right now,” she suggests.

Toby’s lips smooth into a thin line, but he nods. As he turns towards the door, he looks back.

“I’m just a call away. Anytime, anywhere. Darci too.”

Halfway outside, Claire calls out. “Wait. Toby, be honest with me, what does the verdict really mean?”

And like that, the old vestiges of Toby are gone. The man before her leans on the frame, an age-old look crossing his features.

“The world has changed a lot since you last saw it, Claire. The new world government wants order.”

“They’re going to use him, just like I—Morgana did.”

Toby nodded.

“This is my fault.” How could it not be? She wishes they would just admit it.

“No it’s not,” Toby stresses, halfway back inside. “You’re not—”

“Go,” she commands. No more. Claire can’t stand the way he looks at her.

“But—”

“Go!”

The crack along the window spreads out like a spiderweb. A freezing wind envelops the area, blowing her hair around and pushing the door close with a sharp echoing slam.

The lights flicker, off and on, until she regains control once more.

As the magic disperses, her body loosens, tears running freely. Her arms burn from the use of magic. Everything hurts, but none approach the pain in her chest.

Morgana’s magic flows through her now. And for someone as broken as she, it is no wonder her friends are afraid both for and of her.

She wishes she could go back. She wishes she had fought harder. But wishing doesn’t turn back time. Believe her, she’s tried. Claire glances upwards, back in the bathroom mirror. She is a monster. And that’s all she ever will be.

Chapter 2: Coming soon

[spookysnicket]

ANON: Matchup please? I'm female, bi (male leaning), 5'7, on the slim side. I have long, dark, wavy/curly hair, fair skin, brown eyes. I'm pretty shy - I'm not social in the slightest & I tend to keep to myself. I usually am pretty calm & quiet, but I have occasions where I'm pretty bubbly & I try to be funny. I have a fondness for creepy & cute stuff as well! I struggle wit a few mental illnesses so I'd definitely need someone who's understanding. LMK if you need more - tumblr's limit sucks haha

---

(What you sent is just fine love! If you ever can’t fit everything you’d like, just send in another ask with more info- just remember to mark them with with something so I know they’re both yours! But I hope you enjoy, matchup under the cut!)

I match you with Vincent Sinclair

🖌 Vincent’s a pretty damn big dude, so you being tall yourself is really convenient for him! He likes to give you quick kisses when he’s working by touching the mask’s lips to your forehead. If you listen hard enough, you can hear him make a soft, raspy ‘mwah’ noise when he does it too!

🖌 Your slender frame, long luscious hair, and those warm brown eyes that look at him ever so softly? You’re just like a delicate porcelain doll to Vincent. He always worries about your safety, and you seem especially fragile to him with how shy you are. Despite your rebuttals, he gets extremely protective of you- even around his brothers

🖌 Vincent’s got some.. well, it’s safe to say his hair care routine could use some touch ups- so why not share yours? Your hair always looks so beautiful and angelic to Vincent, so he’s secretly excited when you want to make his like that!

🖌 If you can imagine, the shower is risky game when it comes to his face- so it’s the bathtub for you two. After he gets past the prospect, he’ll find it very calming! The way you gently rake your fingers over his scalp and tangle them through all the knots in his hair feels so good. In the end, he finds the water a bit annoying when it runs into his clothes- but he gets to smell like you- so he’ll rate it 5/5, will wash again

🖌 Don’t worry about socializing- Vincent gets it. Bo has always always the charismatic and extroverted leader of the Sinclair boys, Lester and himself just followed in the shadows. He wouldn’t ever push you to do anything that’d make you uncomfortable!

🖌 Speaking of socializing, as much as he loves you, there’s times where Vincent just needs to be alone- so he gladly gives you that space when you need it as well

🖌 He wants to take care of his brothers and make them happy, and that’s true for you now as well! When he sees that you’re a bit down in the dumps, he’ll gently take his hands and cup your face, pushing up to form a grin. If he’s feeling extra silly, Vinny might even try to make you crack a smile by slow dancing with you!

🖌 Vincent has plenty of creepy, uncanny valley sort of works lying about- but now and then he’ll try his hand at making something that appeals to your cute side! Unfortunately a good majority of those attempts come out as more macabre than anything, but you still seem to like them, right?

🖌 Speaking of making things, Vinny struggles with letting you know how much he loves and appreciates you. He can’t exactly tell you, and even if he could, he'd probably be too shy to get the right words out. His solution? Gifts! In his spare time, Vincent loves to make you adorable animal shaped candles and little wax accessories. He’ll leave them out on your bed because he’s too nervous to give them to you in person- so make sure you give him a quick smooch and a thanks the next time you see him! He’ll know

🖌 Vincent’s been trying to take care of his less than appreciative brothers his whole life. He’s the natural caregiver sort of guy, so he tends to dote on you a lot on the regular. Though he can’t talk, Vinny will do his best in any other way he can to support you when your mental health deteriorates. The gift production ups considerably, and he does his best to get home to you quicker so he can take care of you. Vincent goes full momma bear mode until you assure him multiple times you’re feeling better

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Of Scientific Interest

Summary: Stretch  needs someone who can help him. He gets Sans. ...yay?

Notes: Oh, my spicyhoney fans. I feel that I should apologize for the implied kustard in this. It just worked out that way. Forgive me. I promise there’s still plenty of our boys. Also, mentions of therapy.

Also on AO3

By Any Other Name masterlist

~~*~~

When Monsters had first left the underground, the feeling had almost been indescribable, particularly for the skeletons who’d only been in this universe for a month. Their first sight of the sun came directly on the heels of learning they were never going home again. At the time, Stretch hadn’t been in much of a position to care. That came later, when the nightmares started to ease their hold. 

The first six months or so had been spent in cheap housing provided by the Human government; they had still been negotiating for asylum and while there had certainly been some wariness if not outright fear, Monsters had certain technical advances that had gone a different way during their banishment than humans. Scientists at least knew a good thing when they saw it.

So, for a while, most of them had lived in cheap manufactured homes and even those had been highly sought after. They’d had to set up a sort of lottery and families had moved in as soon as the paint was dry. Monsters had been so eager to see the sun and they’d been willing to live in whatever was offered.

By the time they had an official sanctuary the shine had come off that, but money from their various patents and deals had been rolling in by then. New New Home had been carefully designed, every square inch of the land they’d been granted had been utilized, and every Monster family had been given an opportunity for a new home, no pun intended. Most had taken it.

Red was one of the few who stayed in the Oldtown part of New New home, and seriously, Asgore needed to start letting other people name shit.

Where Sans and Papyrus, as well as Blue and himself, had chosen to live together, Red had stayed behind when Edge moved into his new house.

Stretch wasn’t sure why; at the time, Red had only shrugged and said he needed his space, and Stretch hadn’t been on good enough terms with Edge to ask. Bringing it up now seemed like more like ripping off a band-aid just to satisfy his own curiosity, so Stretch let it be. Whatever issues Edge had with his brother, if he wanted to talk about them, he knew where to go.

Today, though, Stretch needed a favor and he was hoping to catch Red at home; even more hopefully he’d be in a good mood. A text was a no-go. All that would do was give him a heads-up, along with a chance for little bastard to flee, so Stretch figured he’d just stop by. New New Home was small enough that he could shortcut through most of it, anyway, so it wasn’t like he was committing to a hike up Everest or something.

Besides, if Red agreed, they’d be doing enough heavy lifting later.

The contrast of Red’s house to their own was stark. Grass overgrown through a layer of fallen leaves, no flowers or welcome mat to soften it. The only reason he even had curtains was because Edge had left them. Stretch hadn’t been inside in ages, not since Edge had moved out and started hosting their movie nights in what was now their house.

It was, in a word, unwelcoming, which was also a pretty good word to describe Red. Fucked up worked too, but eh, that was two words and the house wasn’t that bad.

There might be regret for visiting, later, and it was probably just as well that Stretch wasn’t prone to nausea. He had a pretty good idea of how disastrous his house would be if he lived alone, and Red wasn’t the type to tolerate a cleaning service in his space.

If there were any crawly critters, he was out of here before they could infest him.

Bracing himself, Stretch knocked firmly on the door and waited. Minutes ticked by into five and he tried again, knocking harder. Another five minutes and he was going to give it third times a charm before going for the fuck it option and asking someone else.

When he reached up to knock, the door swung open, his knuckles connecting with air as a voice grumbled, “keep your fucking shirt on, waddaya want…stretch?”

It wasn’t the voice that clued him in, or the clothes, but looking down into a face that was unmarked by a crack threw him. Stretch blinked down at the other skeleton, in black shorts and a red T-shirt but unmarred by any cracks or damage; white eye lights, their teeth as blunt as his own, and he wondered if he’d finally tipped over into crazy.

“sans?” he asked, doubtfully, but then that was sort of correct no matter who it was, wasn’t it?

The lazy smile cleared things up a little more; Red always kinda smiled like he was about to take a bite out of you, Sans was a little less…sharky.

“what’re you doing here?” Stretch asked, warily. He didn’t add what he was thinking but it was probably written on his face as clearly as a dick in sharpie after a sleepover.  Sans, wearing Red’s clothes, in the late morning? This was a sleepover and whatever dicks had been involved probably hadn’t been the artsy kind.

“considering the side of the door you’re on, shouldn’t i be asking you that?” Sans yawned. “c’mon in, get off the porch.”

He peered around the door and was relieved to see none of his nightmares had popped to life and settled into the living room. There was a dirty dish or two laying around and the floor could use a vacuum, but it wasn’t even as bad as Stretch managed when Edge was out of town. It still felt uneasy walking inside. “i didn’t know you two were together.”

“we’re not,” Sans sounded amused, climbing up on the sofa and sprawling out. He wiggled his bare toes thoughtfully, “red and i aren’t real interested in your version of happily ever after, but we like to have a good time.”

Yeah, Stretch shouldn’t be touching this subject with a forty-nine and a half foot pole. He didn’t want to know about this, not even a little, and his mouth apparently had other ideas on the subject because he blurted out, “you’ll sleep with that asshole and not me? when I asked, you told me no.”

If anything, Sans only looked more amused, since he was also a special kind of asshole. But then, weren’t they all. “aw, you’re plenty fun, sweetheart. you of all people should know better. i turned you down because i could tell you didn’t really want it. just as well, anyway, seems like you like ‘em a little past waist high.” Sans gave him a narrow look, one that sent prickles up Stretch’s spine because that was the look of someone who saw too much, “that was years ago, why’re you bringing that up now? you okay?”

“yeah,” Stretch said sourly. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a lie. “that therapist of yours is all about digging up shit i don’t want to think about and dangling it in front of my brain. trying to get into your shorts qualifies as something i didn’t ever want to think about again, but here we are lingering on it like a fart in an elevator.”

“she does have a way with the gray matter, especially considering we don’t have any,” Sans agreed. “so let’s open a window and let out the stink. what do you want? red’s at the embassy if you need him. probably.”

“nah, i wanted red but you’ll do.

Sans’s grin went a little sharper and it ratcheted the whole uncanny valley resemblance he had to Red up to an uncomfortable level. “good to know we’re interchangeable.”

“yeah, i don’t need to hear anything about you two interchanging,” Stretch scoffed. That required a bare minimum of alcohol to even toe open the door. “what i need is help shortcutting something. the mass is more than i can handle alone.”

“what the fuck are you trying to move?” Sans sounded bored but that was normal. Stretch knew him too well not to see the glint of rising interest. “and why?”

“it’s a surprise for my hubby and if you come with me, i’ll show you.”

“nope.” It was impressive the way Sans managed to pop the ‘p’ without the benefit of lips. “i need to know if this is worth showering for.”

Stretch told him.

“are you shitting me?” Sans shook his head. “can’t be done.”

“yes, it can, i’ve done the equations.”

“the mass of the water…”

“i took it into account, it isn’t an issue,” Stretch said patiently. “you know i’m never wrong.”

Sans sighed. “your math is never wrong, i’ve seen you do equations in your sleep. you, on the other hand…and there’s always a first time for your creepy mental calculator to fuck up.” He hesitated, then warned, “if this doesn’t work, it’s your mess to clean up. you’re the one who wanted to marry the edgelord.”

“deal,” Stretch grinned at him. Not that he’d doubted for a second that Sans would help. He liked stupid experiments as much as Stretch and the only reason he’d gone to Red first was he’d known Sans would agree.

Red wasn’t his brother, was nothing like Blue but…he was a Sans. It was good to check on him from time to time, make sure everything was okay. Knowing that he was boning Sans was a little bit of a relief, if Stretch were honest; at least he wasn’t constantly alone.

Sans stood up with a groan, scratching at his hip where his pelvis was peeking over too-large shorts. “lemme shower and we’ll see what we see.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, unusually serious. “do me a favor in return? don’t mention to the edgelord that i’m boning his brother.”

“i won’t lie, but i won’t bring it up,” Stretch told him, “i don’t have a bone in this fight.”

“good enough,” Sans shrugged. “it’s up to red to mention it if he wants, as far as i’m concerned.”

“yeaaaaah, so, do you think that’s more along the lines of a snowball’s chance in hell or leaning more towards hell freezing over?”

Sans grinned and held his hand out for a fist bump. “i think i’m too tired to come up with a pun to go with that, but i do know red would be chilly about me doing a big reveal.” He started making his way towards the stairs. “have a seat, don’t smoke in the house.”

Stretch eyed the sofa, “have you two fucked there?”

“not recently,” Sans called down, “can you say the same about yours?”

“i can say mine is scotch-guarded,” Stretch grumbled, and gingerly sat on the edge of the cushion to wait.

 ~~*~~

 Edge was the planner, he loved his spreadsheets and pie charts, whatever the hell he used. Stretch was more of a fly by the seat of his pants kinda guy and hoped he didn’t end up bare-assed by the end.

In this case, Stretch wasn’t ashamed to say he cheated. He’d turned on the tracking app on Edge’s phone and kept an eye on it until he was almost home. Then he darted downstairs to the basement and stripped, readying himself for what was to come.

He didn’t have to wait long. Barely, he could hear the front door open and close. Only a few minutes later there were boots on the stairs and Edge calling down. “I have to say, I appreciate your tactics more than I would breadcrumbs. Thank you for leaving the flowers whole rather than scattering the petals.”

“hey, romance ain’t dead but it can be tidy,” Stretch said as Edge came into sight, carrying the roses Stretch had laid out in an arrow to guide him. He swirled his hand through the heated water before raising his dripping fingers in a wave. “what do you think?”

Truth be told, Stretch wasn’t all that confident about this. He thought a hot tub was a little slice of awesome, but he wasn’t sure how Edge would feel about it. Anything that tipped the scale past neutral would be good enough, and hell, it wasn’t like they ever used the basement, anyway. It was finished, the walls painted and the floor tiled, and completely empty, not so much as a cardboard box tucked into a corner.

Until now. now it had a very nice hot tub tucked into a corner, the water steaming warm, with all the appropriate precautions for the humidity taken.

Probably the basement had been intended as a lab for Red. Probably. Stretch was gonna add that question to the list of ones he’d ask on the tenth of never. But this was his house too, so he figured they could use the basement for something else. His own lab would be a pain in the ass to move and he could just shortcut to it, anyway.

Usually, Stretch was an expert at reading Edge’s expression, but…right now he seemed oddly blank, his eye lights passive as he carefully set the roses down on the bottom step. “How did you even get this in here?”

“i’ll never tell,” Stretch declared. Taking refuge in silliness was automatic, a longtime source of comfort. “my mouth is sealed, you can’t torture it out of me. sans helped.”

Edge raised a brow bone. “You pried him out of my brother’s bed long enough to help?”

That was one question to check off the never-bring-up list. “why did they even think you didn’t know?”

“I have no idea. If they were trying to keep it a secret, then they should make sure their room isn’t next to mine the next time we are in a hotel,” Edge said dryly.

“okay, so as much as i would love to have a long discussion about sans and your brother screwing, you haven’t answered my question.” Edge only looked at him and Stretch tried to keep his face from falling, knew his smile was wobbling, “you don’t like it.”

Any growing disappointment was instantly converted to a squawk of surprise when Edge abruptly strode forward and climbed into the tub, clothes and all. His suit was sagging and clinging in an instant as he sloshed through the water to pin Stretch to the side of the tub, straddling his lap.

“Hm,” Edge nuzzled at his jaw, “it seems nice enough.”

“you nut,” Stretch could barely talk through his laughter, giggling harder as Edge licked ticklishly along his cervical vertebrae.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Edge asked, and yeah, there was no way his voice could ever sound anything close to innocent. Sexy as fuck was better anyway.  

“something close to it, yeah.” Stretch struggled to unbutton Edge’s sopping shirt. His bare toes found something that gave him a pause, “are you still wearing your boots?”

“I have more,” Edge ducked his head, his teeth grazed Stretch’s collarbone and abruptly he didn’t care about boots, clothes, or anyone screwing anybody who wasn’t him.

This experiment was getting marked down as a success.

  -finis

[veryangryhedgehog]

“The Man Who died Twice,” An Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

The Man who died Twice

(Just in this one Scene)

Ace didn’t know what he was doing in a suburb like Ede Valley. He was used to the hustle and bustle—and general violence and mayhem—of the city. Back there, he was somebody; he’d started from nothing, built his livelihood, his business. People scattered when they saw him approach.

That was true here as well, but he didn’t get quite the same high from soccer moms trundling little Timmy away from the strange man with the funny sunglasses.

Yep, he certainly missed the city, but he’d be back there soon enough, just as soon as he got this whole “deal” mess sorted out. He didn’t know why he was coming here now of all times. His business was booming, the world was in the palm of his hand. Maybe that was exactly why: he’d done everything he’d set out to do. It was time to reclaim his collateral.

Of course, that hadn’t been the terms of the original agreement, but did Ace look like he gave a flying fuck about the fine print?

Actually, don’t answer that. You don’t even know what Ace looks like. Yet.

See him here now, in his dark suit and omnipresent mirrored sunglasses, sitting at the counter of a smoky, quiet British pub. He could tell that this was a suburb because even here, in the shadiest part of town, people merely snuck glances at him over their pints and muttered to each other.

The bartender, he noticed, was new, a young kid with near-dreads and a frankly ludicrous number of tattoos. Probably one of those new-age hipsters or something. He sincerely hoped the pub hadn’t changed hands. But considering that from the neon sign to the dark interior, it for all intents and purposes appeared that no time had passed since he’d last stepped foot through that door all those years ago, he sincerely doubted that was the case.

“Hey, kid,” he called to the bartender, who was currently taking stock of the fine liquor selection displayed with an unmatched flair behind the bar.

The kid looked up. “Can I get you another?”

He swore, kids these days just had no manners. “That’s ‘can I get you another, sir’ and no. I’m here to speak to your boss. Probably.”

Sighing, the kid didn’t move. “Seems like everyone is. He’s in the back with a… client right now. You’ll have to wait a minute… sir.”

The kid had some spunk, Ace had to admit. It was truly difficult to fit that much sarcasm in one syllable. He made a note to himself to tip the cheeky brat later.

Ace was just about to order another drink while he waited, when with that unnaturally uncanny timing of his, the owner of The Smiling Goat strode through the back curtain, directly after a pale man in a truly fugly sweater vest.

“I’m sorry, Marcell,” Cowell was saying, “but for all your years and power there’s nothing you can do for either of them. Inconvenient as it is, both little miss Sabrina and the scary dragon lady made their deals fair and square.”

The pale man took a deep, clenched breath, briefly revealing unnaturally white teeth. “You know, Cowell, someday you’re gonna get exactly what’s coming to you.”

“And lucky you will no doubt still be around to witness the glorious event first hand.” Cowell grinned as the pale man nearly growled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, unless you’d like to stick around and have a pint, it appears I have other business to attend to.”

He gestured the pale man out onto the street and turned back to the bar. He blinked once, as his owl-like eyes fell on Ace, and shook his head. “Ace, is that you? My god, it must be… bloody years since I’ve seen you last.”

“I’d hoped it was the last,” Ace stood and shook Cowell’s hand. Slimy stick of a man though he was, Cowell had a firm handshake. Ace had to respect that.

“Doesn’t everyone,” Cowell recovered effortlessly. “Now, if you’ll just follow me to my office we can—”

But he didn’t get a chance to finish, for just then the door was kicked open, and the pub went silent. Ace instinctively reached for the gun under his jacket as he saw several vaguely familiar faces enter the dark bar. For a second, however, he thought he must be dreaming, because he never thought in a million years that he would see this assortment of faces together. Half of them were the pinched, Italian faces of the Mirelli’s, and half were the pasty, Russian faces of the Borozovs.

“What in the ever-loving fuck…” Ace began.

“I agree!” Cowell cut in. “Why on earth would anyone kick in that door? I had to pay a specialist to get it to stick like that.”

“N-no, that’s not…” Ace shook his head. “Never mind. This might be my fault. These chucklefucks clearly tailed me.”

The four men stepped through the doorway, and still with the utmost calm, Cowell motioned for the patrons to leave. The men let them go. Clearly they wanted to handle whatever it was they were here for quietly.

“Hands where I can see ‘em,” said the short one, waving a pistol nonchalantly through the air. Cowell and the bartender stuck their hands up, the latter looking slightly on edge, and after gesturing to the tall one to watch them, the short one turned to Ace.

“You really didn’t think we wouldn’t catch onto you playing both of us?” he asked. “We’re not stupid. Once we all realized you’d been uh… consortin’ with our greatest enemy, well, loyalties run deep, so now you’s gotta die.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Look like it matters to me? Go on, do it. I dare you.”

The short one looked a little unnerved, but thinking he’d called his bluff, straightened up again, and fired. Once, twice—always doubletap—and Ace fell to the floor with a small thump.

All present looked at his corpse for a second, including Ace himself, from over the short one’s shoulder. He would say that he hated dying, but usually he was already gone before the pain really hit. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still absolutely pissed.

“That… was a really nice suit.” All four of the men turned towards him with looks of abject horror on their faces. A gentleman might have given them a few seconds to react, but Ace was no gentleman. He punched the short one right in the face, and all hell broke loose.

Even with his ability to not die backing him up, Ace was no slouch at hand-to-hand combat. The short one was nearly down after that one punch, and the butt of Ace’s gun against his forehead knocked him out of the fight for good.

By then, the three others had recovered from their surprise and had begun to advance on him, guns gleaming in the dim lamplight. But Ace was ready for them.

“What do we do?” the bartender kid turned to Cowell, who merely looked vaguely amused at the scene. Just then, a bullet zinged directly over their heads and hit the old wood crossbeam.

“This, Tommy, is the part where we duck behind the bar to minimize the risk of a bullet ricocheting and hitting us.” When the kid looked about ready to resist, Cowell simply grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down with him. “You see, I could easily come back from something as simple as a bullet, but you on the other hand,” he made a hissing sound between his teeth,” not so much. And I’d not like to see your rather pretty face marred by blood today.”

The kid blushed slightly, and opened his mouth to comment on this, but was interrupted by a body being dragged across the bar directly over their heads, bits of broken glass from smashed pints rained down on them.

“Ooo, I’m going to have to replace those,” Cowell muttered.

“Sorry about the mess,” Ace shouted over the sound of someone’s jaw breaking. “I’m trying to minimize the damage but you know how these things go.”

“Well, you’re trying your best, and that’s all that matters.”

The last man standing, one of the Russians, ran at Ace with a pool cue he’d found lying around, but Ace shot him clear through the forehead before he ever reached him. He barely even had to look.

When all was said and done, there were six bodies on the ground. Two of them were Ace. After tapping them lightly to make sure none of them were getting up anytime soon, he sat back down at the bar and wrapped on the counter. “Hey kid, how about that drink?”

The kid and Cowell appeared from behind the bar, and after a second of taking in the scene, the kid blinked and mumbled, “Um, yeah, sure.”

Miraculously, the liquor display had not been harmed in the slightest.

“So, why are you really here, Ace?” Cowell leaned against the bar. “I hope it wasn’t just to trash the place.”

“I think you know what I came for,” Ace sighed wearily, and took a hard swig from the bottle of whiskey that the kid had just passed him. “My deal.”

It was clear that Cowell already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. “What about it?”

“You know, all those years ago, I thought I had outfoxed you. Hell, you gave me the ability to not die for nothing in return.” He stared off into nothing for a minute. “But I misunderstood, didn’t I?”

“They always do,” Cowell grinned a little, pleased with himself.

Ace continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “But it wasn’t for free, was it? Cuz while you gave me the ability to not die, that also means… that I can’t die.”

“You’re lucky,” Cowell said. “Most people don’t live long enough to realize what their deals truly mean.” He straightened up abruptly. “So, good for you, well done, a pat on the back, nice to see you.”

“Is that it?” Ace asked. “I was just hopin that since I’d figured it out, you know, learned my lesson and all, that you could…”

“Remove it? No can do, I’m afraid,” Cowell chuckled beginning to turn away.

“You mean you won’t do it?”

“Not won’t, can’t,” Cowell shrugged. “Once a deal is made nothing can be done.”

Frowning, Ace processed this for a second. He gazed down at the bottle in front of him. “Then make a new deal with me.” He gazed, stony-eyed, behind his sunglasses. “I’ll give you my ability to not die, and in exchange, you allow me to die.”

Cowell opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He did it again. Finally he frowned. “That… is a loophole that I had not considered. I sincerely hope no one else finds out about this.” He turned back to Ace. “Normally, I wouldn’t allow it. But I like you, and you’ve provided me with entertainment for the afternoon, so I’ll allow it just this one time.”

They sealed the deal with a firm handshake, and that was that. Ace took one last swig from the bottle, stood, and put a twenty on the counter. “That’s for the kid,” he glared pointedly at Cowell.

The daemon waved pleasantly as Ace made for the now broken door. “See you around.”

“No offence,” Ace paused, “but I certainly hope not.”

He walked out onto the sunny street and blinked for a second, even with the sunglasses. As he started walking, he happened to see a woman across the street, watching him. She had been watching him for years.

“Not yet,” he muttered and kept walking. There were still a few things he needed to take care of first. But once those were done, he’d be ready to step into her cold, loving embrace with open arms.

[just-french-me-up]

Okay but did Eponine and Cosette set Jehan and Montparnasse up on a blind date

2.5k and a link on AO3 later

Montparnasse was prettysure that Eponine and Cosette finally getting together was the lastseal required to spark off Armageddon. It had to be. Otherwise whyelse would Eponine act so weird? His roommate had beenreplaced by some permanently and frankly creepy smiling being whospent her time on the phone giggling like a middle schooler who’ddrunk half a glass of apple cider. Montparnasse had heard her singthis morning, for fuck’s sake! Something had fallen apart in thefabric of the universe, and Montparnasse was trapped in the uncannyvalley.

And honestly, he couldhave dealt with their syrupy lovey-dovey bullshit if they didn’tactively try to drag him into their cult. Now that they knew thebliss of young love, Cosette and Eponine had convinced each otherthat Montparnasse needed to be infected with the same ailment. Theycouldn’t have been more wrong.

Montparnasse didn’t date.It was a principle of his. So when Eponine ambushed him in astereotypical Parisian café on a fine Saturday afternoon,Montparnasse’s first reflex was to flee towards the nearest exit.

“You haven’t even metthem yet! They would be perfect for you!” Eponine protested,hooking her arm around his to stop him in his flight.

“I’m pretty sure thisviolate the Geneva convention,” Montparnasse grunted, fightingagainst her grip.

How dare she set him uplike this! It was too early for him to deal with that kind ofbullshit and she knew it! He should have known something was up whenshe texted him to meet at a café. Eponine was a bar person, not acafé person. Jesus, why did every person in a relationship thoughtthey had to “fix” single people into an item?

“Come on, what do youhave to lose?”

“My time,”Montparnasse answered flatly.

Having a good enough holdon him, Eponine started dragging Montparnasse away from the exit backtowards the main room. A reluctant cat on a leash would have beenmore cooperative. Oh, he could have escaped, if he had really put aneffort into it. But what would have been the point? If he fled now,Eponine would find other sneaky ways to trick him into going on adate, sooner or later. Might as well get it over with now, once andfor all. But he wouldn’t give in to her without putting up a fightfirst.

“Look at it this way:worst case scenario, you waste twenty little minutes. Best casescenario, you get laid. It’s honestly not that big of a deal.”

“I don’t need you to getlaid,” Montparnasse groaned between his teeth.

The café was a realtourist trap. There was even a surprising lack of accordion player onthe terrace. The main room was filled with tourists taking picturesof everything and anything. You could always spot them. They were theonly ones ordering croissants. Cosette, with her bright pink hair,stood out of the crowd like a beacon. She made a sign to Eponine andMontparnasse, and Eponine’s grip on his arm tightened. Montparnasse’seyes fell on the second beacon present in the room, a cascade of redhair falling in soft waves on naked freckled shoulders. Montparnasseblinked, taking in the freckled face and shy smile, the big doe eyesand bright yellow sundress. It was too much to process at once. Fuck,they were beautiful.

Eponine let go of his arm,but Montparnasse failed to notice. She went to kiss her girlfriend, aspring in her steps. Fuck, they were beautiful. Irritatinglybeautiful. Montparnasse’s gaze went from their designated date toEponine, daggers in his eyes. He couldn’t let her win. He couldn’tlet her sappy rhetoric win!

“Jehan, this isMontparnasse,” Cosette said enthusiastically, giving Eponinemeaningful looks. “Montparnasse this is Jehan! We thought you’dlike to meet.”

“Hi,” said his date,waving their hand.

Montparnasse merelynodded. Cosette and Eponine looked at them both, positively elated.

“Well, we’ll leave youto it,” Eponine declared, quickly leading Cosette out of the café.“Have fun!”

They were already too faraway for Montparnasse to protest. He found himself face to face witha stranger, a beautiful stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Hisdate, Jehan, gave him an embarrassed smile and sat at the nearesttable. For a second, Montparnasse weighed his options. He couldleave. He could walk out the door, just like that. He didn’t knowthem, why should he care? He glanced outside. Eponine and Cosettewere sitting at the terrace. Fine. Reluctantly, as though someone waspushing on his shoulders and hitting him behind his knees,Montparnasse sat at the other end of the small table.

“Is Jehan your realname?” he found himself asking.

“It’s Jean, actually,”his date explained, tucking a lock of red hair behind their ear. “Butmost people call me Jehan. Is Montparnasse your real name?”

Montparnasse shrugged.

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not. Youdon’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

An awkward moment ofsilence fell between them. Montparnasse was suddenly very aware ofhis body. What should he do with his arms? With his hands? He hadants crawling under the sole of his feet, all of a sudden. Jesus, henever had to think about this, usually!

“Listen,” Jehan said,leaning forward slightly, as though they didn’t want to be heard byother people. “we both know what’s going on here. I know you’drather be elsewhere, and I could frankly do with less scrutiny overmy sentimental life. We’re in the same boat here. So how about wechat for ten or twenty minutes, tell them we tried and call it aday?”

Montparnasse could nothave said why, but he felt slightly offended that Jehan had alreadydecided things would not work out. Before he remembered that hehad already decided things would not work out. He crossed his armsagainst his chest and leaned against the table.

“Glad we’re on the samepage,” he said, keeping a neutral tone.

The cheerful voice of thewaitress rose above them:

“Good afternoon! Whatcan I get you today?”

“Black coffee, please,”Montparnasse said.

Actually, he longed for adeliciously frozen and decadent frappuccino topped with caramel syrupand whipped cream. He’d skipped breakfast. And lunch. Probablybecause he’d been sleeping until 1PM, until the infamous Eponine textwoke him up. And there he was. Coffee for breakfast, then. At least,in a café, those came with a biscuit.

“I’ll take a pot ofChai, if you don’t mind, er,” Jehan squinted to read the waitress’sbadge, “Elodie. That’d be lovely.”

“Great. I’m bringing youall of that!”

The waitress scribbled onher notepad and dashed to another table. Left alone for a secondtime, the silence felt all the heavier.

“How do you knowEponine, then?” Jehan eventually asked, before the awkwardnesscould reach the point of no return.

“She’s my roommate.Childhood friend. You?”

“I’m part of les Amis del'ABC, you know, the activist group.”

Montparnasse nodded. Ahyes. The Wednesday meetings Eponine went to. He’d always thought shewent there because Cosette hung out with these people, and whatevercould get her closer to Cosette was good to take. He’d never reallythought she was actually interested in all that social justice stuffuntil he’d see her making protest signs that one time. There wasstill glitter on the carpet. A damn shame.

“That’s where I metCosette, too,” Jehan continued, their nails playing with the cracksof the wooden table. “It’s really great that they’re finallytogether. They danced around the question for too long, everybodycould see it. It was agonising.”

Montparnasse let out achuckle, in spite of his best efforts to stay stoic.

“Tell me about it. Youdidn’t actually live with one of them. It was hell.”

“I can imagine,” Jehansaid with a little smile. Jesus, did they always look at peoplethrough their lashes like that?

The cup of black coffeeand the pot of Chai arrived quickly on the table. They thanked thewaitress and she put a little saucer on the table, for the bill.While Jehan was pouring sugar into their pot, Montparnasse put a teneuro note into the saucer.

“Oh, I don’t want you topay for me!” Jehan said, embarrassed.

Montparnasse quirked aneyebrow.

“I’m not paying for you.I’m leaving her a tip.”

Jehan’s eyes went fromMontparnasse to the saucer and the ten euro note.

“That's―That’sone hell of a tip,” they pointed out.

“Shehas a god-awful thankless job,” Montparnasse shrugged. “The ordercame quickly and she was nice. I would have killed for a tip likethat.”

“Didyou use to work as a waiter?”

“Worst.A barrista. The worst three months of my life.”

Alright,considering, perhaps not the worst three months of his life. Butthose three months were pretty much up there in the pantheon of hisshitty life experiences.

“Didyou quit?” Jehan asked. They sounded curious. Suddenly, theconversation didn’t feel as awkward.

“Iwas fired,” Montparnasse answered with a little teasing smile. Hetook a sip out of his cup to build suspense. “I hated this job andwanted to leave, anyway. But one day some guy came to the coffee shopand stayed there for about three hours. He was a creeper, you knowthe type. He started bothering a couple of girls, so I thought I’dbuy him coffee on the house. Unfortunately that coffee ended up onhim rather than on his table, what a shame. My hands are usually sosteady.”

Agrin grew on Jehan’s face, and they made an approving sound.

“Thatguy could have sued you, though,” they remarked.

“Ipersuaded him not to,” Montparnasse said airly. “The coffee shophad security cameras. It’d have been a shame for the tapes to bereleased. I know people who are very good at sharing files.”

Jehandrank a bit of their tea. If Montparnasse was to believe the smile ontheir face, they were very amused.

“Sowhat you’re saying is that you’re chaotic good?”

“Oh,fuck no,” Montparnasse snorted. “Chaotic neutral maybe. Or trueneutral. You just don’t creep on people in my coffee shop. Creeper,creeper, crotch on fire.”

Fuck,this was going well. This was going toowell. They werelaughing together for fuck’s sake!

“Iworked in retail once,” Jehan said, holding their tea cup with bothhands. “It didn’t go well either. There was a lot of misgendering,but I was prepared for that. One day the manager told me I madepeople uncomfortable, because they didn’t know or didn’t understandmy gender. It weirded them out, so they had to let me go.”

Well,so much for the light-hearted atmosphere. Jehan’s story was a gutpuncher. Montparnasse pursed his lips and fidgeted with this coffeecup. That was the sort of bullshit Claquesous had to deal with, too.

“I’msorry,” he said. “That was really shitty of them. Isn’t thatdiscrimination? Couldn’t they get in trouble for that?”

“Itwas a while ago,” Jehan shrugged. “It got to me when it happened,but I don’t really care anymore.”

“Whatshop was it?”

“Why,are you going to go and persuadethem to right their wrong?” Jehan teased.

“Maybe.”

Jehanraked a hair through their hair and smiled at him. They liked him. Ormaybe he was reading too much into it. They appreciated him, atleast. He didn’t care about being appreciated, most of the time. Butjust this once, it felt nice. Warm.

“You’resweet, but I don’t think it’s necessary. They’re just―”

Alittle jingle rose from their bag, startling them both.

“Shit,sorry,” Jehan muttered as they reached for something in their bag.“I thought I’d turned it off.”

Thewords “it’s okay” got stuck in Montparnasse throat. Out of habit,he had looked into their bag and recognised a familiar rainbowpattern on a package.

“Yousmoke Sobranies?” he blurted out before he could think better ofit.

Caughtoff guard, Jehan looked at Montparnasse, then down at their bag, thenat Montparnasse again.

“Oh―er―yes,well, I don’t smoke that often, actually. That packet must be twoyears old. It’s more of a―er―aesthetic thing.”

Montparnassereached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved the slick blackpacket of Sobranies he kept there. Jehan let out a surprised gasp,before their expression turned into utter joy.

“BlackRussians! God, no one knows what they are around here! They’re sofancy, I love them!”

“They’resuch a bitch to get in France,” Montparnasse said, encouraged bythe enthusiasm in Jehan’s voice.

“Iorder mine online. Well, once every two years, you know.”

Theylooked at each other, all smiles. Fuck,they really werebeautiful. And they really wereinteresting. And they really made him want to stay and keep talking.He glanced outside again, his gaze covering the terrace in search forEponine and Cosette. They were nowhere to be seen.

“Look,”he said, his lips moving of their own volition, “I know a place inMontmartre. Great view. Maybe we could go there, if you want?Exchange a Black Russian against a Sobranie Cocktail?”

Jehanseemed to take his words in, wondering whether or not they shouldleave with an almost total stranger. Montparnasse was hanging at theedge of their lips, and he couldn’t believe the fact that he wantedthem to say yes. Damn Eponine and her schemes.

“I’dlove that.”

Eponineflicked through the channels, Azelma leaning against her. The morechannels you get, the least watchable things there are. They watchedbits and pieces of shows. Half of them were about cooking, because ofcourse they were. They were halfway through a very tensemayonnaise-making session when the front door opened. Eponinestraightened her back, disturbing Azelma who had dozed off fiveminutes ago.

“So?”she asked expectantly, looking at Montparnasse take off his leatherjacket.

“Sowhat?” Montparnasse rolled his eyes.

“Sohow was the date! Isn’t Jehan amazing? Did you like them?”

“Theywere alright,” Montparnasse answered flatly, quickly walkingtowards the kitchen to avoid any more questions.

“Parnasse,what’s that on your neck?” Azelma asked, a little sleepy.

Eponinelet out a loud gasp at the sight of the red bruise glowing onMontparnasse’s neck. Immediately, Montparnasse slapped his handagainst the mark and walked faster.

“Ohmy god! You made out! That’s a hickey! Montparnasse, come back here!Oh my god, I knew it!”

“Oh,shut up!”

[cultural tidbit: There’s actually no tipping in French culture, we just don’t tip waiters. Why, you might ask? Isn’t that unfair? Well, here, the tip is included in the bill, you don’t actually have to tip because they have a steady income. You pay a bit more than in other countries, but that’s because your order + the tip is one and only thing. That being said, I’ve seen tip jars in France, and I’ve seen people tip before. Maybe they do it in Paris, I don’t know, I’m not Parisian, so I included it anyway! That’s how it was explained to me growing up, maybe now tipping is a thing? I’m as clueless as you are.]