#uncle paul au

[lilacthebooklover]

planning out the "world's okayest uncle" fic is so fun bc i can like,,, make the simplest notes to expand on later. so then i end up with things like "paul tries to rizz up emma but then ruth happens" or "best uncle is gonna singlehandedly stop bullying fr fr". and then i just have to try to,,, decipher what i meant by that. it's an experience

[lilacthebooklover]

UNCLE PAUL REAL

I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

To add to the headcanon of Paul being Richie’s uncle: during the Halloween stream Jon was asked if Richie would like the Death Note musical. He said he (Jon) would like it probably, but didn’t think Richie was a big fan of musicals.

I wonder who Richie could’ve learned that distaste from

[windybluebelles]

I don’t think, as a fandom, we have utilitiesed the concept of immortal Alfred along side the Fawcett time bubble.

Now, I know for a fact that it’s canon Alfred is not immortal and has infact died, I also just don’t give a shit

I’m also fairly sure that time bubble fawcett has never been canon (atleast in the way that I picture it) , and at the very least isn’t anymore, I still don’t care.

Just picture, Itty Bitty Billy Batson (orphan whos entire support system from when he was younger is just entirely gone) hears a familiar voice coming through Batman’s personal comms, and just kinda thinks,

Holy Shit that’s Uncle Al

Now he’s obviously very confused, last time he heard anything about his Uncle Al was approximately in like 1954, and he was around the same age as his parents who I imagine couldn’t be any younger than like 30. So how tf is he not brain dead and being fed through a tube by now? (I’m sure there are some very functional 90 year olds but like… what are the chances?)

I imagine that Billy would eventually figure out that Alfred works for the Wayne family in Gotham (I also imagine that he now vaguely know Batman’s identity but he’s also like 12 so why would he care?) and finds a way to get there as soon as possible.

I’m picturing just like, Tim or someone opening the door to this tiny little boy whos holding a box full of pictures and letters and is politely asking if he can ‘Speak with uncle-err, Mr Pennyworth?’

[im-not-a-l0ser]

Paul: I’ve done the best I could to raise you! Have I been perfect? No. Paul: Do I know anything about children? No! Paul: Should I have picked up a book on parenting? Probably! Richie: Paul: Where was I going with this? I had a point.

[toomanyfandoms11]

Background on the Tim hiring Deathstroke thing in this https://www.tumblr.com/toomanyfandoms11/749474013724721152/toomanyfandoms

In my little universe that I like to maladaptive daydream in basically, Janet Drake, Slade Wilson, and Wade Wilson are all siblings.

Janet is the oldest child, and thefore according to family tradition the only child that cannot legally be linked to any crime (plz ask me about the Drake family lore. Also, Jack was the one killed by Captain Boomerang ).

Slade and Wade are twins, (their father had a sense of humor and their mother was too out of it to complain.) and bear the title of murder uncles.

Getting to the Joker bit: when Jason was being killed by the Joker, Tim was on a “family holiday”(training trip) to upstate New York (X-Mansion, most of the X-Men were too afraid to ask about the 10 year old that followed Deadpool around except for Wolverine, who taught him how to skin a moose, and Madelyne Pryor for some reason) and as a result did not learn about his death until about a month or so after it happened.

When Tim learned about his death he decided to wait a bit for Batman to settle down, thinking that he just needed to get the anger stage of grief out of the way and then he would go to therapy like a normal person. Tim was the sort of kid that would read the picture books about getting over grief when he was waiting in the doctors office.

Unfortunately, there were no picture books about superhero phycology. After about few months, Batman showing no signs of stopping and expressing his grief like a normal person, Nightwing finding out about Jason’s death through a newspaper tabloid and the two of them having an argument on top of the Gcpd station that was live-streamed by anyone with a phone and became headline news for a week, Tim decided to take matters into his own hands and hire his current favorite uncle (Wade had recently given him a pair of socks as a gift instead of the forensics book he wanted) and ask him politely (blackmail him with the time Slade had given him coffee while babysitting) to kill the Joker, “Pretty please Uncle Slade? I’ll make you cookies!”

Slade accepted this offer and went (with no small amount of glee/relief) to finally put a bullet through that waste of carbon’s skull. But, alas, Paul Verlaine (King of Assassins, Executive in the Port Mafia, Ex-Titans member and former boyfriend of Nightwing) got there first. After this, Tim’s story goes the route you would expect (with a twist~). After one too many times of Batman putting criminals in the ICU instead of talking to a therapist, Tim decides enough is enough and goes to Nightwings apartment in Bludhaven to ask him to arrange an intervention for Batman with the Justice League, or he will release Batman and Nightwings identity’s to the public.

Dick Grayson, after hearing this, dose not go “This seems like Bruce’s problem” and drop him off at the Batcave. He instead goes “who’s sassy lost child is this”, has the Bat-adoption gene arise for the first time, and decides that he will adopt this child who ran around Gotham alone stalking Batman and Robin, or die trying.

Janet, after talking with the man who drove her child back from Bludhaven at 4:30 am, is slightly leaning towards the second option, but she knows that A. Jack is a terrible father, and while she tries her best, she is also not winning mom of the year anytime soon and B. Shared custody is a thing.

And so, after 3 sword fights (one for each Drake-Wilson sibling), 5 panicked calls to Alfred about “Holy frick I’m turning into Bruce”, many late nights studying “how do I parent a 10 year old”, 1 realization of “holy **** I really do want to be a parent”, and a very well paid lawyer ( Matt Murdock), Dick Grayson becomes the legal parent of a one Timothy Drake, with the media explanation (that is true, but deleteing the superhero parts) being that Janet and Jack realized that they could not be the parents the Tim deserved to have, and that Dick Grayson could. (They got alternating weekends and cultural holidays (Jack is Chinese).

After a month or so, Dick takes Tim to meet Bruce (Dick did the intervention thing, it took the combined forces of Superman, Wonder Woman, Black Canary, Alfred, and Catwoman to get him to go to therapy.) and in the meeting Tim cheerfully reveals that A. He had figured out Batman and Robins secret identities when he was 9 (He went to a gala that the Wayne’s were at, and Dick did a quadruple somersault off of a chandelier that Tim remembered Nightwing doing) and B. He once hacked into Shield on accident when he was looking for a website that had a show he liked on it

[hatchetfield-omegaverse]

hi this is such a good au concept, could I request Paul or Wiley headcanons

Hatchetfield Omegaverse Headcanons: Paul Mattews & Wiley

Paul Matthews:

Paul Matthews is a Type 3 Alpha. He presented when he was 15.

Gets mistaken for a Beta all the time. He knows there's nothing wrong with being one, but it annoys him all the same.

He used to feel insecure about being a ‘Low Tier’ Alpha when he was younger. He's gained more confidence in himself since high-school.

That all goes out the window when he's around Emma.

Secretly reads trashy romance novels about Alphas saving Omegas. Or occasionally Omegas saving Alphas.

Fantasizes about Emma but will never admit it.

Is Richies maternal Uncle.

He was the first person Richie came out to. Most supportive uncle.

Pays for his HRT since he knows his sister can't afford it.

Smells like a clean beach.

Wiley:

Before he went through the portal, Wilbur Cross was your average Type 1 Alpha. Strong, intelligent, confident in his abilities.

He presented at 15 while at a high school dance.

Would often try to work through his ruts. More often than not this ended in sex with John MacNamara

He smelt like a bonfire. Oak wood and smoke.

And then he went through the portal and Wilbur Cross was no more.

Only Wiley remained.

Wiggly's influence on Cross completely stripped him of his second gender. He wasn't an Alpha, beta, or even an omega.

He was nothing.

Wiggly says no horniness while working for him. He will bonk you with the horny tube.

The few people who saw him afterwards commented that his scent had changed completely.

He now smelt hospital disinfectant and green apples and something distinctly wrong.

It was just another sign that being who came back was not Wilbur Cross. Not anymore.

Thank you so much for your request! This was so much fun to think about and write. And if you'd like to request something, please feel free to shoot me an ask!

[owchie-wowchie]

How would Witch in the Web go in the Uncle Otho AU?

sorry this got me inspired

Hannah's mouth felt numb as her heart roared, eyes wide and searching around this terrifyingly empty theater she found herself in. Her hand squeezed Miss Holloway's tight, nearly crushing her fingers.

"It's ok," Miss Holloway repeated over and over again. Hannah couldn't help but read too deep into her tone, wondering if she was aggravated at having to make sure Hannah didn't mess things up again.

The two crept onto the stage and the air went suddenly quiet, warmth vanished from Hannah's palm. She whirled to the side to see Holloway gone. Her heart sank, veins turning into lead. Hannah froze to her spot, both breaths and body trembling.

Not far away, a skeleton miraculously appeared in the middle of the floor, rotted and prone, the complexly detailed hilt poking out between a few ribs. From her, she was attacked by how horrid it smelt.

Flight won out in the end and she began to simply book it for the exit but a sudden invisible force prevented her movement, stopping her like a wall. She slammed her hands against the solid air as she spotted glittering blue sludge moving across the stage floor.

Spinning around, she rested her back on the unseen wall, eyes glued to the goo. It slowly dragged onto the skeleton, wrapping around it tight. The goo grew thicker, dense and brighter by the second. It pushed the knife out of the chest, making it fall into their hand. Lines of muscles and veins and nerves materialized inside the ooze, dangling off the frame before sliding into the proper spots. Pale leather spread on the fingers, moving out towards the arms and torso.

The face was the last part to grow back, messy brown hair sprouting on the top and eyes that were voids of pure black. A gasp shot out the recently created person as a flash of light made clothes appear on them, a brightly colored, slightly 80s-esque button up and jeans. The sight dimly reminder her of Holloway, it almost felt like this thing was stealing her style.

Whoever this person was, Hannah had no clue. They looked around Lex's age, a bit younger even. A wicked smile creased the stranger's cheeks, sending a shiver down Hannah's spine.

"Well, if it isn't little Banana Foster," they said. Hannah wasn't a fan of how they knew her nickname, she tried stepping back but was still prevented from leaving.

"Hannah!" A familiar voice yelled behind her. Before Hannah could turn to confirm her thoughts, a hand wrapped around her arm, tugging her from her trap.

Miss Holloway threw Hannah behind her, glaring at the stranger. Hannah was glad Holloway wasn't staring at her like that.

"Hannah, don't worry about him. He's dead," she stated, barely hidden vitriol clear in her tone.

The stranger responded with a barking laugh, rising to their feet. "Oh, if only! I'm afraid death wasn't really a respite from where I was trapped." They pointed at her with the knife. "Y'know if I was just a bit faster, I would've gotten you."

Holloway looked at Hannah over her shoulder. "Get to the exit quick, I'll make sure they don't come after you."

"15 years!" The stranger shouted, making Hannah jump in her spot. "That's how long I was trapped in The Black with no body." They chuckled humorlessly. "Did you know that the soul can feel just as much pain as a body?"

Holloway took a deep breath and raised her fists, ready to jump on the kid at a moment's notice.

The stranger wagged the knife at her a few times. "Last time, I was just doing what I needed to survive but this time," Their face fell, a sneer appearing in the smile's place. "I just wanna see your fucking heart ripped out."

[wigglys-dikrats]

i know the history of hatchetfield better than i know my family’s history

[weepylucifer]

when she's like 17, flora should have a rebellious phase where when layton and luke go off to do stuff without her, she sneaks out to hang out with paul. just visiting her delinquent uncle

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

au where everything is the same except percy gets new relatives on paul's side

a little old grandma who feeds him and gives him money to buy everything he never could when he was poor growing up

everytime she sees him, she babies him and tells him how tall he's gotten and complains about how skinny he is (she is also #1 percabeth shipper)

a grandpa who fought in the army and trades war stories with percy

who also ADORES annabeth and loves having intellectually challenging conversations with her about architecture, philosophy, mathematics, literally everything

an aunt who helped sally throughout her pregnancy with estelle which makes sally cry because she didn't have anyone when she was carrying percy

sally crying again because she's never had a parent figure since her uncle died and now paul's parents are all over her with their affection and acceptance (especially once they find out about the greek world)

a cool older cousin who ruffles percy's hair, teams up with annabeth to make fun of him, plays video games with him (annabeth teases percy that despite saving the world multiple times, he still wants to impress said cousin but still finds it cute how percy is adjusting to being the little brother for once)

when percy goes missing, all of them team up and consider marching up to olympus to kill the gods for kidnapping their new little baby boy

then after the events of hoo they adopt all of the seven

and they literally have to buy a bigger table because of the big family dinners they all have

and percy's just like 🥲 maybe relatives don't need to be out to ruin your life and traumatise you 24/7?

[lilacthebooklover]

hey, writer of the "world's okayest uncle" fic on ao3 and creator of this tumblr post (the uncle paul au) here! anyone got a suggestion for the paul & richie chapter? :)

[angsty-art-ist]

part 2 of the NPMD Monster High AU! seriously thank you guys for all the love on part 1, it means a lot that you like my silly hyperfixation crossover :]

a little lore note: in this AU, monsters can use magic to blend in with humans during the day, sort of like in the g3 cartoon. Hatchetfield is kind of split into the normie side and smaller monster side. the monster part of town is magically warded to make humans want to leave quickly, and monsters don’t tend to cross over into the human areas (with the exception of adults with normie jobs, like Mayor Lauter and most of the adult HF cast). Hatchetfield High is a “exclusive private school” in the monster part of town, and the normie teens, like Grace and Max, go to Sycamore.

why are Grace and Max humans if this is a monster AU, you ask? don’t worry, i have plans for them :)

Steph:

she’s a vampire because… well because she’s rich. you’ve heard of old money? these Lauters are ancient money

i had a hard time with her outfit because my main references were Draculaura and Elissabat, who are both very dressy, but i wanted to stay true to Steph’s casual grungy style… and then i remembered The Lost Boys were THEE original grunge vampires, so i mashed David and Paul’s jackets together and gave her a Santa Carla tee as a shout-out

the chains and plaid pattern tie back to Pete’s design, like the plaid of her flannel and his bow tie in the show <3

her father isn’t technically actually a king, but runs Hatchetfield’s monster community like he is one. a close encounter with a band of monster hunters the better part of a century ago forced the monsters into hiding under his command, and Steph’s mother ended up staked. Solomon hasn’t been the same since…

Max:

his design is simpler than the others, but that’s for a reason :) the mansters usually have more boring outfits than the ghouls, so it’s not that out of place for Monster High, right? i plan to make a few more ‘doll lines’ for this au- i’m thinking Dawn of the Dance next ;)

his jacket is based on the G1 varsity jackets that Heath Burns and Slo Mo had in their first waves, but with Max’s iconic blue. i got rid of the Hatchetfield ‘H’ since he goes to Sycamore with the other normies in this AU. go Timberwolves, i guess?

his striped shirt is based on Freddy Krueger’s iconic sweater, because Max in the musical seems to take a lot of cues from Freddy; coming back from the dead to get revenge on his killers, vulgar one-liners, gruesome kills, and even a parody of the Freddy rhyme painted on the set background. one, two, Jäger’s coming for you…

side note but i had a really hard time getting Will’s likeness in this pseudo-MH style. i think he ended up a bit too Bruce Campbell-y. maybe it’s the chin.

Grace:

sorry, Grace, i’m changing your name a bit. if you need a refresher on the G1 MH lore; Van Hellscream is the Monster High expy of Van Helsing. his niece Lilith appears in the Ghouls Rule movie, but i’m stretching out the timeline a bit so let’s say Lilith is Grace’s aunt or something. Chasity is her maiden name, which the family goes by because “Hellscream doesn’t sound very Christian”

these days, the Van Hellscream’s monster-hunting legacy is more of a family legend than history, and her parents don’t even believe that monsters exist… but Grace knows that something unholy is going on at that “private school”. she may not have Great-Uncle Abraham’s arsenal, but she has the power of God and years of repressed rage on her side

design wise she changed the least from her canon outfit. she’s covered in monster-killing weapons- crosses, stakes, silver bullets, and the flowers on her blouse and jeans are alliums, aka garlic flowers- which, fun fact, were originally thought to be what repelled vampires, rather than garlic bulbs!

her blouse is based on Nancy’s nightdress in Nightmare on Elm Street to match with Max’s Freddy stripes

[eroselless]

─────────────── the spaces between us // 2

series summary: when you accept a job as an au pair in the irish countryside, you expect to spend your days caring for your little new pal but its all upended when his charming uncle arrives to stay for the holidays. [3k]

[paul mescal x reader]

masterlist | part 1

warnings: kinda angst, sort of complicated family dynamics

note: hiii sorry it took me a little longer to get this out. i originally wanted to post the next part a few days ago but I came down with a nasty cold and could not sit down to focus. hope y'all enjoy it!

The soft patter of footsteps pulls you from your sleep much earlier than usual, a familiar giggle echoing through the quiet house. As you stir, you recognize the laughter—the one that never fails to bring a smile to your face. With a quiet sigh, you slip out of bed and wander into the kitchen.

The room hums with life. The gentle clink of cutlery against porcelain mingles with hushed murmurs, shushes, and the sound of laughter that fills the space. The first rays of sunlight filter through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the scene.

At the kitchen island, Paul and Callum sit together, sharing a pancake. Callum picks at the edges, pulling out the chocolate chips poking through, giggling as Paul swipes a few from the bowl beside them. The moment feels peaceful, intimate in a way that tugs at your heartstrings.

Leaning against the doorframe, you can’t help but smile at how easily they fall into sync. Callum stretches across the plate, tugging the bowl of chocolate from Paul’s hands. “Uncle P, stop stealing the chocolate chips!”

Paul glances up, a mischievous glint in his eye as he chews dramatically. “I’m quality-checking them, mate.”

Callum bursts into uncontrollable giggles, his face alight with pure joy before stuffing a handful of chocolate into his mouth, just like his uncle.

You clear your throat softly, and they both turn toward you. Paul’s blue eyes crinkle warmly with a smile, a look mirrored almost perfectly in Callum’s face—Niamh’s eyes, the same striking shade of blue shared across their family.

“Mamaíín!” Callum cries, nearly toppling off his seat as he rushes toward you. His sticky hands wrap around your legs, his face nuzzling into your middle as he beams up, mouth smudged with chocolate. “We made pancakes!” he exclaims proudly, tugging you toward the counter. “Uncle Paul let me do the whisking!”

 “Oh, did he?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at Paul.

Paul shrugs casually, leaning back in his chair. “He insisted. And I wasn’t about to argue with the chef.”

You chuckle softly, pulling out plates for yourself and Niamh. As you put the coffee on, ready to start the day, you feel Paul’s gaze linger on you for a moment before he turns back to Callum. Moments later, Niamh appears in the doorway, sharp as always, her notebook and phone balanced in one hand.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” she asks.

Your eyes flick briefly to Paul, who raises an eyebrow as if sensing the shift in tone, before you follow Niamh into the hallway. Her usual composed demeanor falters ever so slightly as she turns back to you.

“I need the house to myself today,” she says bluntly. “Callum’s father is coming by to pick up a few things, and… it’s not something I want Callum around for.”

You blink in surprise, catching the strain in her voice. “Of course. I’d planned to take him out today anyway. It works perfectly.”

Her shoulders relax faintly, though her voice remains tight. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “Paul can go with you. He’s got nothing else to do, but I’d prefer Callum not be alone with him all day.” You understand the implication—trust him, but not entirely. “We’ll keep him busy.”

When you arrive at the community center, it’s buzzing with its usual chaos. The building, modest and tucked at the edge of town, is alive with bright posters, hand-painted murals, and the unmistakable scent of too many feet. Children squeal and race around, filling the space with noise and energy. You unclip Callum’s coat, and he bolts into the crowd, a toy airplane clutched in hand.

Paul trails behind as you find a seat in the parents’ waiting area. Hands shoved into his coat pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, he looks distinctly out of place.  “Didn’t think I’d ever feel intimidated by toddlers,” Paul murmurs softly.

“You’ll survive,” you reply, suppressing a grin at his unease.

“I don’t like being outnumbered,” he mutters, glancing nervously at the many curious eyes turned your way. You wave at a few familiar faces before settling into a chair. Paul watches the scene before him, bemused.

“This is madness,” he chuckles. “There’s no way we were this loud as kids.”

“You probably were,” you tease lightly.

Callum soon spots you both, his voice rising above the chatter. “Look! I’m making a castle!” He grins, holding up a tower of oversized blocks. Paul smiles. “You’re an architect, mate.”

Just then, a tall brunette in a fitted sweater saunters over, her smile a touch too bright, her gaze fixed on Paul. “Well, well, Callum’s uncle, is it?” she purrs, her words dripping with sugary charm. “I thought you were a myth. It’s nice to finally see you back in town.”

Paul straightens awkwardly, caught off guard. “Uh… just visiting for the holidays.”

Her smile tightens as she gives you a once-over, her silent question clear: What’s he doing here with you?

“How lovely for you,” another woman chimes in, her tone sharper than her smile. “Having company must make things so much easier.”

Your cheeks flush at the insinuation, a pit settling in your stomach. “Oh, it’s not—” you begin, glancing at Paul, who has been pulled into Callum’s growing block tower project.

“Isn’t it?” the brunette—Maeve, you realize—drawls smugly. “I mean, who wouldn’t want someone… handsome to share the load?”

A third woman, gentler but still teasing, interjects. “Oh, leave her be. You’re just jealous, Maeve. If I had someone like him tagging along, I’d be smiling too.”

Maeve laughs sharply. “Careful, sweetie, or we might just steal him from you.”

Before you can muster a reply that doesn’t sound defensive, Callum’s small hands tug at yours, breaking the tension like only he can. “Mamaíín, we need you! Uncle Paul keeps messing up our pirate tower.”

Relieved, you let Callum drag you toward the community garden, an open space enclosed by glass walls that let the crisp winter light stream in. The air is a little sharper, less dull than it is outside, the walls only offering you a little bit of shelter from the December air.

You crouch beside him, seeing the remnants of a tower. Callum is huffing, taking sticks and stones from Paul’s hands as he sits next to the partial tower. 

“We need the strong ones,” Callum declares, shifting through smaller ones in his hands and tossing them away. “This one’s going to be really tall. Tall enough to see all the pirates!” 

You laugh at how he keeps taking sticks from Paul, frustrated at his uncle's lack of pirate tower building knowledge. You brush hair from your face as you collect bigger stones. “We’ll need a solid base first. Otherwise, the tower will topple as soon as there’s any wind.”

Callum nods solemnly, getting down to help you. Paul sits still, watching you both. His arms are crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but his gaze almost contemplative.

“Callum, just look at how careful she is,” he says suddenly, his tone light. 

You glance up, a little confused. “Careful?” Callum makes the same face, watching as his uncle shifts in his spot. 

He gestures vaguely to the stick in your hands, lucking one out of your open palm. “The way you handle things. Like a bird—delicate, precise.”

Before you can even think of a response, Callum’s face lights up, his giggle bright. “Oh, yes! Like a mamaíín bird!”

You blink, startled. “A what?”

Callum giggles, clearly delighted with himself. “A mamaíín bird! You’re little, and you take care of everything, like the birdies do!”

Paul chuckles softly, crouching beside Callum. “He’s got a point. You are a bit bird-like.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

Paul grins, his blue eyes meeting yours for a beat longer than necessary. “Oh, it is. Trust me, Birdie.”

The way he says it—low, teasing, yet laced with warmth—sends an unexpected flutter in your chest. You turn your face away, hoping to hide the flush on your cheeks, but the name lingers in the air settling into something unspoken yet significant.

“Mamaíín bird, can we make a nest too?” Callum tugs at your sleeve, breaking the moment.

You laugh, ruffling his hair. “Let’s finish the tower first, and then we’ll see about a nest.”

Paul leans back on his heels, his smirk widening. “Careful, Birdie. Looks like you’re getting roped into full-time bird duties.”

You glance at him, your smile faint but genuine. “As long as you’re willing to help.”

“Of course,” he replies, his voice playful but steady.

You sit there for another half hour, the tower collapsing a few more times before it finally stands. Callum, satisfied, dashes off to collect pirate swords, leaving you and Paul behind. He sits quietly, twisting a twig between his fingers.

“He’s been calling me that for a while—mamaíín,” you say softly, breaking the silence. “But he won’t tell me what it means.”

Paul raises an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Has he now?”

You hum, brushing dirt from your hands. “And Niamh won’t explain it either, something about not wanting to bring too much attention to it.”

Paul chuckles softly, his tone turning more serious. “Mamaíín… it’s Irish. A diminutive, like a pet name. It means ‘little mummy.’”

Your breath catches slightly as you glance at him. “Little mummy?”

Paul nods, his gaze steady, thoughtful. “It’s affectionate. It’s how he sees you. Someone who takes care of him. Someone he trusts.”

The weight of the explanation settles warmly in your chest, heavy and tender all at once. “Oh,” you murmur, turning back to the half-finished tower. “That’s… sweet.”

“It is,” Paul agrees quietly. “And fitting.”

There’s something in his voice—gentle, sincere—that makes your cheeks flush. Before you can respond, Callum charges back, shouting about needing rocks for a cannon.

Paul ruffles Callum’s hair as he joins in, leaving you alone for just a moment to let the weight of his words settle.

✧・゚: ✧・゚:

The playgroup winds down mid-afternoon, the earlier chaos subsiding as the children begin to tire out and parents begin gathering their things. Callum’s cheeks are flushed as he clings to Paul, one hand caught in his while the other wobbles his airplane. 

“Seems like you’ve got a fanclub now,” you murmur to Paul as you tug Callum’s jacket back on. 

Paul groans faintly, clearly uncomfortable from all the wandering eyes and snarky comments. “Yeah, Maeve’s got me down as her next trophy.” 

You laugh under your breath, but the moment is cut short as your phone buzzes in your back pocket with a message from Niamh. 

Niamh: This is taking a little longer than expected, would you be able to pick up some groceries on your way home? I’ll send you a list.

You frown slightly at the message, feeling for her frustration. Soon another message pings through, the list of items she needs. 

“Everything alright?” Paul asks, crouching to help Callum with his snow boots.

“Niamh needs a few things from the shop,” you say, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Since we’re already out.”

Paul straightens up, almost effortlessly scooping Callum up into his arms. “Groceries it is, then. My culinary expertise might come in handy.”

“You mean sneaking crisps into the cart?” you tease lightly.

Paul smirks, poking at Callum’s red cheeks. “Can’t let him grow up without the essentials.”

The town’s grocery store is quiet when you get there, smelling of fresh bread and cleaning supplies. Callum rides in the cart, humming to himself as he waves his airplane around. 

“Alright,” you start, scrolling through Niamh’s list on your phone. “Alright,” you say, scrolling through Niamh’s list on your phone. “Milk, bread, eggs… and tea.”

“Don’t forget snacks,” Paul chimes in, grabbing a bag of crisps off the shelf and tossing it into the cart with practiced ease.

You glare at him playfully. “Those weren’t on the list.” 

Paul simply shrugs, pushing the cart forward. “Snacks are the universal currency, right Callum?”

“Yes!” the boy pipes up, snagging a bag of treats from his uncle's hands. You roll your eyes but can't stop the giggle that falls from your lips as you continue down the aisles, Paul slipping forbidden treats into the cart whenever you turn away, Callum laughing conspiratorially under his breath. 

At the dairy section, you stop to reach for a carton of milk, looking for a specific brand. Before you can react, Paul, ever observant, grabs it for you, handing it over as Callum babbles about pirates and towers. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, a smile trying to make its way onto your face. 

“Anytime, Birdie,” the man replies, the nickname slipping out so effortlessly you feel like you could drop the carton of milk he just slid into your hands. You narrow your eyes at him, but his attention is elsewhere, already halfway down the aisle, rambling about what tea you should get. 

As you catch up to the pair of boys, a woman pauses next to you. She’s a stout elderly woman, her long hair cascading down her back. She watches as Paul listens in wonder as Callum chatters away about “canon towers.”

“Well, don’t you have a handsome boy there,” she coos, smiling at him warmly. Callum beams, holding up his toy airplane for her to admire.

The woman then looks between you and Paul, her sharp eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You two must be so proud. He’s the spitting image of his father.”

Your heart jolts. “Oh—no, he’s—”

But before you can explain, Paul stammers, “I’m just his uncle—”

The woman waves a hand dismissively, clearly not listening. “It’s always the way, isn’t it? The mother does all the work—nine months of carrying, all those sleepless nights—only for the little one to come out looking like his da.”

You freeze, heat creeping up your neck, unsure whether to laugh or correct her again. Paul, equally flustered, rubs the back of his neck. “Er—he’s not mine. She’s—”

The woman isn’t paying attention anymore, her focus back on Callum as she coos again, “Lucky boy to have such loving parents.”

Before either of you can say another word, she shuffles off, leaving you both standing there in stunned silence.

Callum, still oblivious, turns in the cart and beams up at Paul. “Uncle Paul, did you hear? I look like you!”

Pail blinks, letting out a quiet slightly awkward laugh. “Seems like the Mescal genes are strong in you, mate.” 

You stare down at the tea in your hands, unsure how to respond. Callum, thankfully, breaks the tension. “Uncle Paul, look! It’s pirate tea!” He’s holding a box with cockatoos on it, a hibiscus flower on the front. 

Paul clears his throat, ruffling Callum’s hair as he grins faintly. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is.”

The awkward feeling lingers between you as you make your way to the checkout. Paul insists on loading the bags into the cart while once again Callum chatters away, entirely oblivious to the exchange. 

As you step outside, the sky now much darker than before, Paul finally breaks the silence. “That was… something.” 

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “It happens more often than you’d think.”

Paul raises an eyebrow, “People thinking I’m your husband?”

You roll your eyes, the teasing note in his voice making your cheeks warm up for the umpteenth time today. “People making assumptions. Families come in different shapes and sizes, you know.”

Paul glances at you, something thoughtful in his expression, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he focuses on Callum, who’s waving his airplane toward the horizon like it’s searching for treasure.

“Where to next, Captain?” Paul asks, his voice light.

“Home!” Callum shouts, his enthusiasm unending.

You smile softly as you lead the way to the car, feeling a warmth you can’t quite explain settle in your chest.

✧・゚: ✧・゚:

The house is quiet when you arrive, the silence feeling heavier than it did before. There's a single glass of wine sitting on the counter, its contents empty, save for a few drops at the bottom. 

Callum charges up to play, disappearing and fully unaware of the somber mood in the house. You and Paul settle into unpacking the groceries in the kitchen, the soft rustle of bags and clinking of glass on the counter filling the empty room. 

It's not long before Niamh appears in the doorway, almost echoing this morning’s encounter. Her shirt isn’t as crisp as it was this morning, her eyes now rimmed with red and remnants of mascara. She looks exhausted, pieces of her auburn hair slipping loose from her carefully coiffed bun.

“Groceries?” she asks, her voice slightly clipped. 

“All here,” you reply, gesturing to the half empty bags that are still left lined up on the counter. 

Her eyes skim over the unpacked items, flicking over to Paul briefly before settling back on you. “Thank you, I appreciated it.”

The words are simple but her tone is strained, you can feel the weight on her shoulders. 

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, drawing closer to where she’s standing by the archway. Her arms are crossed over her chest—a sort of coping mechanism she’s passed on to Callum. 

“It’s been a long day. I had… some conversations that were necessary.” Her words falter for a moment, her gaze dropping before she masks it quickly. “Nothing to worry about.”

You glance at Paul, who’s watching Niamh carefully, his brows furrowed. There’s questions in his eyes but he doesn’t voice them. He lets her stand on her own, just as she always has. 

“If you need anything…” you begin gently, reaching out to put a hand on her arm but she pulls it away before it lands. She shakes her head. 

“Thank you. You’ve done enough,” she says. On any other occasion, you’d feel a bite to her words but they sound more like a quiet admission. Her eyes soften as she meets yours. “He’s happy with you, that’s what matters.”

The weight of the words settle in the air around you, you’re not sure whether it’s a compliment or something else—a reminder of what she’s failing to do herself. 

Niamh’s gaze flicks to Paul again, lingering. “Callum shouldn’t be up late. Keep an eye on him.”

With that, she leaves the kitchen, her footsteps soft as she retreats upstairs.

a/n: haiiii, if you gotten this far I wanted to say thank you for reading! any feedback and reblogs are appreciated :)))

[stylespresleyhearted]

the clegan/caustin dune au no one asked for

warnings: m! pregnancy, john egan as an atreides, mxm pairing, feyd x m! reader

In an attempt to please both her Sisterhood and Leto, Lady Jessica attempts to birth twins: one boy and a girl and she assumes she has completed her task but once the babies are born she is told she birthed two boys: Paul and John Atreides.

Since his first breath John has lived in his brother’s shadow. He shows none of the same fight skill and carries none of the preemptive characteristics that Paul does so he’s pushed to the side as Jessica and Leto and the entire Sisterhood focus on Paul and training him in an attempt to wipe out their house. When the Harkonnens invade, Feyd Rautha is on the front line, eager to spill Atreides blood. Lady Jessica flees with Paul and they leave behind John who was injured, finding him to be a liability when their top priority is keeping Paul alive so he can fulfill his destiny. John is found by Harkonnen soldiers but he’s in a comatose state — utilizing fear to enact the power of Prana Bindu in which he slows his heart rate and flow of his blood so he can appear dead to the enemies. The soldiers take him to Feyd and lie him on a medical bed and say it is a displeasure he is dead but Feyd can still have fun tearing him limb from limb. Figuring this is his last chance John leaps from the bed and begins attacking anyone, stabbing with what he grabbed in his hands but he was never trained properly, always pushed to the side because they had no need to keep him alive like they did his twin brother so it isn’t long before he’s brought down and the soldiers he didn’t injure are beating him.

Feyd watches on amused and aroused as the skinny boy fights for his life, standing even as he’s kicked down again and impressed by the display of power of controlling his vitals to appear dead. Even Feyd had thought him dead. Feyd kills the soldiers who are attacking him despite them being his soldiers and when John peeks from where he’s hiding behind his elbows it’s to Feyd already watching him as he licks the blood off his knife.

Without telling his uncle, Feyd returns to Geidi Prime with John. Not only does he feel an attraction to the young boy but instead of finding him pathetic like he does everyone else he’s impressed with his courage. He doesn’t beg and cower - he fights every step of the way. On his planet Feyd teaches John how to defend himself, how to fight, and for once John doesn’t feel tossed to the side or alone to fend for himself. Feyd is a psychopath but at least he’s giving John a chance. Now Feyd has his own selfish reasons, he sees the power John wields. The way in which he cuts with a sword as if he’s done so before despite swearing he never had training. The way in which servants flee sometimes when John strongly demands something. The way in which John can predict what Feyd is going to do sometimes before Feyd even decides to do it himself. It leaves him in awe of such a power and his attraction doesn’t work in terms of gender but it is the first time he can admit to being roused by such a weak, young boy.

During this time John’s falling in love with Feyd. He’s in love with the way Feyd never treats him as less or takes it easy on him (too easy that is) when they train together. Feyd leaves him bruises and cuts and lets him stand back up on his own before he saunters over and pushes John’s curls back off his sweaty forehead. Feyd’s honest and offers no sympathy when John recounts the way his own mother left him to die. He only tells John to get up and continue training so he never has to rely on anyone again. One night it comes to him in a nightmare: Feyd’s death. He sees his own twin brother, Paul (Paul’s alive and hasn’t come for him, he feels betrayed again) drive a knife through Feyd’s chest and John would rather die than live through that. In the nightmare comes a message too, from male descendants before him, that it is imminent for an Atreides to bear the child of a Harkonnen to alter Feyd’s fate and John somehow knows what he must do.

John slips into bed with Feyd that night, content to see that he does not lay with his concubines once he is done with them. He had heard the stories of the Bene Tleilax and their ability to genetically control their makeshift. He knows Feyd holds no qualms in bedding a man but he also knows it must go further and John must will his genetic components so he can carry Feyd’s child. It becomes a common occurrence for John to slip into Feyd’s bed every night, letting Feyd fill him with his seed and then willing his body to allow itself to be fertilized. It doesn’t take more than a week until John’s sure Feyd has filled him with his child, John can feel the power stemming inside himself, but still John goes to visit Feyd every night, yearning for his touch and his love even if it is rough and demanding. John goes every night until he begins vomiting every morning and Feyd grows concerned in his own way and John hides away when his abdomen begins to swell. By this time, the Baron is demanding Feyd’s presence on Arrakis so John is saved from having to face Feyd and inform him of what he has done.

John ignores any and all messages from Feyd while he is gone, using The Voice (a new skill he has mastered with the child growing inside him) to forbid any of the servants from telling Feyd that John has become impregnated.

John arrives on Arrakis right on time to stop Feyd from engaging in battle against Paul. Everyone’s shocked to see him, and shocked more still, by his appearance.

“An impossibility,” the Mother Reverent bellows in The Voice, “a trick somehow. A powerful figment of imagination.”

“You think my mother could somehow alter the plan of what is meant to be? Destiny will always find a way and the way came to me in a dream,” John bestows, angry at the denial of his unborn son. “The Emperor must die, in that my brother is right, but the only true ruler to sit on that throne will be our child. The child of Feyd Rautha and I.”

And Feyd Rautha watches on, amazed and in awe, both of the muscle John has put on thanks to their training, a complete contrast to the scrawny, skill-less boy Feyd had saved, and of how beautiful he looks standing in the middle of a room of enemies, demanding respect with his belly swollen from Feyd’s seed. Their child’s power already shining through him. From one second to the next Feyd has unsheathed his knife and slit the Emperor’s throat,

“My betrothed has spoken,” he says, nonchalant. “Any tongue rising in debate against him will meet my knife.” He comes to stand beside him, knife in one hand while his other comes to rest on his belly, feeling his child kick in happiness at the nearness of their father.

John holds his pale face in his hands, eyes shiny. “We’re having a boy, Feyd. The true Kwisatz Haderach. Of Atreides and Harkonnen descent, the two Great Houses, like Destiny always attended.”

[ragsforless]

Dune crack!au (4)

Irulan: Hey, Feyd.

Feyd: Yes, princess?

Irulan: I’m bored.

Feyd: Do you want to play smash or pass again?

Irulan: Fremen Edition?

Feyd: Atreides.

Irulan: Fine. You go first.

Feyd: Duncan Idaho.

Irulan: Obviously, smash.

Feyd: Same. Now your turn.

Irulan: Lady Jessica? She’s

part of House Atreides, right?

Feyd: To be totally honest with you, she’s a closeted Harkonnen at heart but I’ll pass.

Irulan: Why? She’s very pretty.

Feyd: I don’t like space witches. They’re weird and very mean.

Irulan: Like mother, like son.

Feyd: She’s also my evil creepy uncle’s super secret daughter.

Irulan: *sighs* And our monster mother-in-law.😔

Feyd: Don’t remind me.

Irulan: Fine. Thufir Hawat.

Feyd: Pass. Mentats freak me out.

Irulan: Feyd, babe, I thought you like math?

Feyd: Of course I like meth. I even started selling a ton of meth to some of Chani’s fanatical Fremen friends for a very good price.

Irulan: Let me guess, Stilgar?

Feyd: He’s my business partner.

Irulan: Nevermind. Your turn.

Feyd: Doctor Yueh.

Irulan: Does he still counts as part of House Atreides?

Feyd: He tried to kill my creepy uncle and brother. So I guess, yes?

Irulan: Pass. He was married.

Feyd: Your turn.

Irulan: Duke Leto.

Feyd: NGL, I’ll marry, kiss, and smash that one.

Irulan: But isn’t he like your distant uncle or something?

Feyd: You do know that we’re all related to one another, right?

Irulan: Right. We’re all married to Paul. So let’s play another game.

Feyd: How about we annoy and ruin our husband’s very important, very crucial business meetings again?

Irulan: I wish we could, Feyd, but the last time we did that, Emperor “I’m so special, I’m the Lisan Al Gaib” Paul punished us severely-

Feyd: Severely?! He just forced us to water all of his “sacred” arrakis palm trees for 2 weeks!

Irulan: Well, he’s currently talking to that angry looking Gurney Halleck guy. So-

Feyd: All the better!

Irulan: Better? For you?

Feyd: Gurney Halleck hates me. So I want to ruin his day as well.

Irulan: To be fair, Feyd, Gurney only hates you because you’re a living breathing Harkonnen.

Feyd: No, he hates me because I’m obviously perfect and pretty.😌💅

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

room for one more troubled soul

A belated fill for Day 5 of @charles-rowland-week! This is set in the Dead Girl Detectives AU I wrote about in tell them I was loved, featuring ghost!Crystal, ghost!Niko, and psychic!Charles, but it works fine as a standalone. You can either read it below or here on AO3.

Prompt: AU

Rating: M

Warnings: Child abuse, homelessness, David-typical unpleasantness, canon-typical violence

Word count: 7.5K

Relationships: Charles & Crystal & Niko

Summary: After running away from home, Charles ends up captured by a demon who he’s pretty sure is going to kill him. It seems like a fitting end for a short, shitty life until two ghost girls show up and rescue him from David.

Or, how Charles Rowland—psychic medium, unwanted son, and runaway—becomes a part of the Dead Girl Detective Agency.

***

Charles is twelve when he realizes that his father doesn’t love him anymore.

His father has always been a storm cloud of emotions that hangs over the whole house. There’s usually anger, resentment, fear, and a strange sort of grief, but there used to be love too. Charles used to feel it, even as Dad was slapping Mum across the face or taking the belt to Charles’s back. He knew that Dad cared about them in his own way, that he wanted them—especially Charles—to be better. And he could always tell that he was sorry after he hit them, even if Dad never said it.

The love ebbs away so slowly that Charles doesn’t notice until it’s gone, until his father shoves him against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs and send a framed family photo falling to the ground, where the glass cracks on impact. Charles stares at his father, hands raised to protect his face, and realizes that there’s no love left in Paul Rowland: just rage and the bitter disappointment of a man whose life is nothing like he expected. Dad isn’t even a little bit sorry as he pulls his belt off.

The hatred hurts more than the belt.

***

Charles is fifteen when he realizes that if he doesn’t leave, his father is going to kill him. He touches the coffee table in the middle of the living room and sees it clearly: a fist to the face, Charles reeling backwards, the crack of a skull against wood, blood soaking into the already-stained carpet. He stands there, frozen, until his father barks at him to demand what the fuck is wrong with him and Charles can only babble and excuse before scrambling away from the coffee table so fast that he trips over his own two feet.

That night, he sneaks out after his parents are asleep with nothing but but a backpack full of essentials, his cricket bat in case he runs into trouble, and the money he stole from his father’s wallet. He doesn’t need his powers to know that he’s never going to step foot back inside this house and that he’ll probably never see his parents again. He doesn’t know how he feels about that, so he doesn’t think about it.

For a while, he stays with his cousin, Liz. His uncle is cut from the exact same cloth as his dad, so she knows why Charles would need to run. But after a few weeks, Liz’s boyfriend starts making noise about how bloody inconvenient it is to have a teenager sleeping on their couch and eating all their food. Charles sees the writing on the wall, so he leaves before Liz has to make a choice. She’s his favorite cousin, so he doesn’t want to learn how she’d choose.

After that, he stays with a mate from school, Henry. That’s fine for a while, until Henry’s parents get it in their heads that what he needs to do is sit down with his own parents and tell them how he really feels about his dad beating the shit out of them, as if talking it out will help. He only has one set of parents, they tell Charles, and they won’t be around forever. Wouldn’t it be better to forgive and forget?

Charles leaves in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. He feels a little bad—Henry’s always been a good friend—but it’s only a matter of time before his parents call Charles’s, and that’s the last thing Charles needs.

He goes to London, because it seems like exactly the sort of place you should go when you’re trying to hide. In a city of millions of people, who will notice Charles? Plus, he’s always liked the city. His dad took him to a couple Arsenal games when he was a kid and it’s the only time he ever remembers Dad looking truly happy.

But London is a different place when you have nowhere to go. It’s winter and the shelters are full of other people needing a place to stay for the night. Plus, Charles keeps telling people he’s nineteen, but he knows he doesn’t look it. He’s not sure if he’s been reported missing—his parents probably wouldn’t bother, but Henry’s parents may have—so he’s not sure if anyone will be looking for him. Still, it seems safer not to linger in one place for long, even if that means being cold and hungry.

It’s the ghosts that keep him alive. London is full of them and once he gets to talking to a few of them, they help him find safe places to sleep. Janice, the ghost of an old lady who spends her afterlife knitting a child-sized sweater on a park bench, steals food for him sometimes. Charles doubts he would have made it a week here without them.

He meets David in the park that Janice haunts. He seems like a nice sort of bloke, a uni student who says he goes to school nearby. He buys Charles a sandwich and a cup of tea and listens when Charles talks about the father who didn’t love him and the mother who did love him, but not as much as she loved his father. He seems sympathetic, so much so that Charles gets the feeling that maybe he really understands. Other people, like Henry, have tried, but David seems to really get it. Charles has been so desperately lonely for weeks now, or maybe for the last fifteen years, and it’s such a relief to meet someone who sees him.

“Something’s off about that boy,” Janice says, eyeing David’s back warily as he walks away.

“Nah, he seems an alright sort.” Charles looks into his nearly-empty cup of tea. It’s the first hot drink he’s had in weeks and the warmth still lingers in his chest.

She makes a skeptical noise and he smiles at her fondly.  Janice doesn’t seem to like most people. He’d be pretty sure she didn’t like him either, if she didn’t keep making sure that he doesn’t starve or freeze to death.

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, smiling fondly. “I’m a psychic, yeah? I can tell when people are up to no good.”

He sees David in the park a few more times. David’s always friendly and willing to lend an ear and a few pounds for a sandwich. It’s the fourth or fifth time that they see each other, that David mentions that his roommate just moved out and he has an extra room.

“It’s too fucking cold to be sleeping outside, mate,” he tells Charles. “You can crash for a bit, just until you get your feet under you.”

Charles shakes his head. “Don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You won’t be.” David’s smile is kind.

“I can’t pay rent.”

“Sure, because you don’t have a job. You need a good shower and a shave before you go looking for one. Let’s just get you back on your feet and then we can talk about rent.”

Charles is a psychic. He’s been able to read other people since before he could talk. And all he reads from David is worry and compassion, no hint of malevolence or ulterior motives. A shower and a shave sound bloody brilliant. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to accept a helping hand. Once he gets his life together, he can pay David back. 

“Maybe for a night or two,” Charles says hesitantly and David’s smile widens. It’s only later that Charles will recognize the triumph in his eyes.

***

David does let Charles out to shower and shave occasionally, but that’s only because he smells when he doesn’t. Charles isn’t sure how David can smell anything else over the reek of dead fish that permeates the entire flat. At least the remembers to feed Charles every other day or so and has gotten pretty good about bringing pitchers of water after the time Charles nearly died after not having anything to drink for two and a half days. Mostly, he leaves Charles alone in his little room, the door locked and the windows boarded up.

Charles huddles on the little air mattress in the corner and tries not to think of anything. He tries not to think of David slipping into his mind and using him as a puppet, being locked inside his own mind as his body traveled around the city without his say so. He tries not to think of the venom David spits at him: “sad excuse for a psychic” and “fucking useless” and “should have just left you to starve on a bench.” He tries not to think of how fucking cold he is; if there’s heat here, David never seems to turn it on. It feels like he’s still sleeping outside.

He tries not to think of the vision he had earlier when David grabbed his wrist: himself tied up on the ground while David stands over him, knife in hand.

David is going to kill him.

It’s probably been a month since Charles trailed David back to his flat, trusting as a sacrificial lamb, and realized the moment he stepped inside and saw David’s eyes turn black that he’d made a mistake. Charles has spent most of the last month terrified and furious with himself for being so stupid. He would think the fear would have dulled by now, like it used to when he lived under the constant threat of his father’s belt. But right now, he’s so scared, he thinks he might be sick with it.

Charles doesn’t want to die. He left home because he wanted to live. It seems so fucking unfair that he escaped his dad only to end up captured by a worse monster than Paul Rowland could ever dream of being. And now Charles is going to die here and no one’s ever going to know what happened to him, if anyone even tries to find out what happened to him. Most likely, he’ll just be gone, with not even a missing poster left for people to ignore.

He might be crying a little when the door opens, but he quickly wipes his cheeks on the filthy sleeve of his shirt before David steps inside. Rising to his feet on shaky legs, Charles faces the demon head on. If he’s going to die, he’s not going to do it cowering on the ground.

“Here you go,” David says in his mocking voice, wearing a smile so unlike the one he used to convince Charles to follow him home. Charles can’t believe he ever saw kindness there. He tosses a greasy paper bag on the ground at Charles’s feet. “Eat up.”

Charles doesn’t bend to pick up the bag, even though his stomach is hollow with hunger. He figured out weeks ago that if he acts like he wants something too much, David will take it away just to see him squirm. “What do you want?” He’s asked it before. It was one of the first things he asked when he realized that David wasn’t the harmless uni student he was pretending to be. He hasn’t gotten an answer yet.

David chuckles. “Nothing you can give me.”

“Then you can let me go, yeah?” It’s not begging, Charles tells himself. He already tried that. He tried fighting David. He tried escaping while David thought he was taking a shower. He tried stealing David’s phone to call 999. Nothing’s worked. But maybe he can try negotiating. He’s been told he can be pretty convincing.

Anything that might save him from ending up with a knife in his heart.

“And why would I do that?” David steps closer, still wearing that predatory smile.

“Well, I’m no use to you, am I?” Charles asks desperately. “So why not just let me go? It’ll save you money on burgers and chips.”

David clucks his tongue. “You know, maybe you’re right. Here I am, spending all this time and money on a pathetic excuse for a psychic who’s barely any better than a carnival fortune teller. What a waste of my fucking time.” He tilts his head, regarding Charles coldly. “Maybe I should just cut my losses.”

Charles swallows. He doesn’t need his powers to know he’s made another mistake. “Please.”

“Do you know why I’m here in London, Charles, instead of in hell where I belong, torturing souls for all eternity?” David’s voice drops to a whisper.

Charles shakes his head.

“There was a psychic medium and she was everything you’re not. Strong and fascinating and so, so powerful.”

“And what happened to her?” Charles’s voice comes out a croak.

“She died.” David runs a finger down his cheek in a mockery of tears. “And I took her to Hell, because she was a really bad girl, but then she went and escaped. And you know, Hell really doesn’t like it when you let a soul escape you. So I got banished too and I don’t get to go back until I bring her back too. That’s why I thought I could use you.”

“I’m not going to help you,” Charles growls. He doesn’t want to die, but he won’t stoop that low to save his own life. 

“Oh, I know.” David scoffs. “You’re not nearly strong enough to be useful to me. Your powers are…” He kicks the bag at Charles’s feet. “A cheap, greasy burger to her Wagyu beef. You’re hardly worth the time it’d take to break your neck.”

Charles can’t help it; he flinches back.

David laughs. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe I can find something to do with you so you won’t be a complete waste of my time.”

As the door closes behind the demon, Charles sinks down onto the air mattress, hugging his knees to his chest in a vain attempt to stop himself from shaking.

***

Charles’s head is pounding, his thoughts slow and sluggish as he wakes. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept deeply, but he feels like he’s been asleep for a thousand years. His eyes are gritty, the inside of his mouth bone dry, and he aches all over. He tries to stretch, but he can’t move. The fog in his mind clears as fear rushes in and Charles’s eyes snap open to find himself tied up on the ground in the middle of his room. David is nowhere to be seen.

Frantically, Charles wriggles around, but the ropes don’t give. The last thing he remembers is eating the container of soup David brought him for dinner. He knew it tasted funny, but it’d been days since the burger and chips and he’d been starving, so he’d gulped it down anyway. There must have been something in it. How long was he unconscious? And where is David?

He doesn’t have to wonder where David is for long; the door opens and the demon comes in, the knife Charles saw in his vision in hand. Charles goes cold for reasons that have nothing to do with the icy chill in the air. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He wants to sound defiant. He just sounds terrified.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about our talk the other day.” David moves towards Charles in an unhurried saunter. “And I realized that I really haven’t been thinking outside the box about how I could use you to get back to Hell. I’ve been so focused on Crystal for years and I forgot that just maybe, I don’t need her at all. Maybe you’ll actually be less useless than you look, Charles.”

Charles can’t look away from the knife. “Sorry, not sure I can get you to Hell, mate. Unless you want me to stab you with that. Happy to try.”

“No, I think I have another idea.” David comes to stand by Charles’s head, twirling the knife casually. “You know, when someone dies, either Death comes and sweeps them off to a peaceful, boring afterlife, or Hell comes and snatches them away. Which do you think will happen to you?”

Hands pinned between his back and the ground, Charles tries frantically to loosen the knots around his wrists, but his fingers are clumsy with panic.

“You know, don’t you?” David smiles almost indulgently. “Your own father didn’t love you. You told me when we first met. We both know that there has to be something very, very wrong with you if your own father couldn’t stand the sight of you. You being born destroyed his whole life.”

“Fuck you,” Charles grits out.

“And you get angry sometimes, don’t you? Just like him. You think if I let you out of here, you’ll go on to have a perfect life with a nice wife and a couple of cute kids? How many black eyes will your wife have to cover up with makeup? How long will it take your kids to be terrified of the sound of your footsteps coming down the hall? You can fool yourself all you want, Charles, but I can see right through you. I can see the kind of monster you’ll become if you live.”

Charles closes his eyes. He can feel his heart pounding frantically against his ribs, like it knows it only has so many beats left and wants to get in as many as it can.

“We both know where you belong,” David croons. “And I really hate doing good deeds, but we both know I’m doing one when I put this knife in your heart and stop you from becoming just like dear old dad. And then when Hell comes to collect you, I’ll hitch a ride.”

The floorboards creak next to Charles’s head as David moves closer and Charles braces himself. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that David’s raising the knife, ready to plunge it into Charles’s chest, just like in his vision.

Hands grab Charles by the legs and yank. He yelps, eyes flying open in surprise, as he’s dragged across the ground, out of the range of David’s knife, which sinks harmlessly into the ground. When he glances down, he sees hands with pink-painted nails wrapped around his ankles. Behind him, David curses and Charles looks up to see the demon snatching up the knife, face twisted into a snarl. His eyes have gone entirely black.

David’s back is turned to the door, so he doesn’t see when a ghost steps right through it, book in one hand and the other hand outstretched. She’s about Charles’s age, wearing an old-fashioned sort of long light purple skirt and matching jacket, both embroidered with flowers, over a high-necked white blouse and an eye-shaped brooch at her throat. Her eyes are fixed on David, a grim look on her pretty face, as her lips move silently and a flame appears in the palm of her hand.

Charles doesn’t mean for his expression to give anything away, but it must, because David whirls around. When he sees the girl, he laughs. “Well, look who it is. I should have known you’d turn up, Crystal. You never like it when someone else is the center of attention. Still pining after me after all these years?”

“Hi,” a voice whispers in Charles’s ear and he turns his head, swallowing a surprised cry when he finds a girl’s face only inches from his own, her head and neck sticking out of the floor. Smiling, she says, “I’m Niko. And that’s Crystal over there with the fire. We’re the Dead Girl Detectives and we’re here to save you.”

“The Dead Girl…” Charles trails off as one of her arms phases through the floor and she hauls herself upwards like she’s climbing out of a pool. She’s wearing a short, bright pink dress with poofy sleeves and a giant bow tied around her waist. Bizarrely, she’s wearing a Hello Kitty backpack.

“Don’t worry, babe.” David takes a step towards Crystal, not even seeming to notice Niko and Charles, like she’s the only one in the room. “He means nothing to me. You’re the one I really want to drag kicking and screaming to Hell.”

“It’s been thirty-five years, David,” Crystal says. “Are you really not over it? This is getting pathetic.”

“Turn over,” Niko tells Charles and he complies, flipping onto his side so she can untie his wrists. “You’re Charles, right?”

“How did you know?” Charles tenses. The last time he thought someone was doing a good deed for him, he ended up locked in a room for a month.

“Janice hired us to find you. She was worried about you when you didn’t come back to the park.”

“Janice?” Charles nearly forgot about the cranky ghost on the park bench who stole food for him and knew the moment she clapped eyes on David that he was trouble.

“I’m sorry it took us so long to find you.” With a final yank, the ropes around his wrists come loose. “Can you untie your ankles? I need to help Crystal.”

Charles nods, sitting up with a wince to fumble at the ropes around his fingers. Crystal and David are still facing each other, Crystal with the flame in her hand and David wearing that same mocking smile. When Niko stands up, he turns that smile on her. Charles wants to punch it off his smug fucking face.

“Still keeping this one around, Crystal?” David asks. “I keep waiting for you to get bored of the sunshine and rainbows thing. You used to have standards for the company you kept.”

“I still do,” she says. “I’ve just raised them.”

“You know, I’m glad she’s here. Now, when I drag you down to Hell, we can bring your annoying little sidekick too.”

That seems to be enough for Crystal, who says another word in a language Charles doesn’t understand, making the flames leap off her palm and right at David’s face.

“Charles, you should probably run,” Niko says as David and Crystal lunge at each other.

Charles kicks away the last of the ropes and stumbles to his feet. There’s definitely a part of him that wants to bolt for the door. But these girls—the Dead Girl Detectives—came here to save him and leaving them to face a demon alone seems like a shit way to repay them. Not that they seem like they need his help. Crystal is throwing around fire with the skilled ease of someone used to it while Niko pulls a piece of chalk from her backpack and kneels to draw symbols on the ground. Charles may want to help, but he has no idea how.

Then he thinks of his cricket bat. Did David get rid of it, or is it still somewhere in his flat? Charles runs for the door, bursting out into the living area, which is bare of furniture and reeks of fish. He finds his backpack, jacket, and cricket bat by the door, right where he set them down a month ago right before he realized how badly he had fucked up by following David home. He picks up his cricket bat, examines it to make sure it’s undamaged, then rushes back into the bedroom to join the fray.

He finds Crystal fighting against a web of fire that’s surrounded her, pinning her to the wall, while David rounds on Niko, who is still focused on drawing a circle of symbols, her eyes wide as she hurries to finish. Charles crosses the room in two steps and hits David across the face hard enough to make his head snap around. Charles has taken a lot of swings with his cricket bat, but this might be the most satisfying one yet.

“I’m an ancient demon, Charles,” David says. There’s blood on his mouth and a burn on his cheek. “You can’t defeat me with a cricket bat.”

“Maybe not.” Charles shrugs. “But I’m going to try, aren’t I?”

He hits David again, this time in the stomach, and again in the head. A month worth of terror, grief, rage, and hopelessness seems to explode out of him as he just keeps hitting. David laughs and taunts him, but he stumbles with every hit, which is enough to keep Charles swinging. He wants to obliterate that smug, grinning face. He wants David to be half as afraid as Charles has been for the past month.

“Just like Dad, aren’t you, Charles?” David asks in a mocking voice and for an instant, it’s not the demon’s bloody face staring back at him, but Charles’s mum, looking at Charles with scared, betrayed eyes. Even though he knows it’s a trick, Charles’s swing falters.

It’s the opening David needs to reach out and grab the bat, yanking it out of Charles’s hand and breaking it over his knee. Charles stares in dismay as David tosses the broken bits of wood to the ground.

“Oops.” David steps on the remains of the cricket bat as he rounds on Charles. “You know, I think I’ve had enough of—”

A glowing golden string wraps around his wrist and David and Charles both look over to see Niko standing outside the circle of symbols, string in hand.  With a flick of her wrist, David is yanked forward like there’s a hook in his chest. He stumbles into the circle, struggling against the string with all his might. It doesn’t look like much, but he seems as trapped as Charles was earlier. Charles will have to ask Niko how it works later, if they make it out of here.

“Ready, Crystal?” Niko asks.

“You have no idea.” Crystal strides to her side and takes her hand. Burns criss-cross her arms and torso, but they already seem to be healing. “See you in another decade or so, David.”

“Bitch.” David bears his teeth into a snarl. “This time, it won’t take me long to find my way back. And when I do, you and this dumb little cunt—”

Charles is about to pick up the shattered remains of his cricket bat and give beating the fucker to death another go, but then the girls begin to chant. A wind picks up around the room and David howls. He thrashes against the golden string, hurling himself at the edge of the circle, but he can’t escape. As Charles watches, wide-eyed, David begins to flicker in and out of view, like a candle guttering out. With one last scream loud enough that it seems to vibrate through Charles’s bones, the demon vanishes. The string falls to the floor, its golden glow gone.

“What happened to him?” Charles asks into the ringing silence.

“We banished him to another dimension.” Crystal snaps the book in her hand shut and hands it to Niko, who slips it into the Hello Kitty backpack. “Not Hell, because they’re not going to let him back there without me, but somewhere he’ll have trouble finding his way back from. Last time, it took him a decade. This time, I’m hoping for two.”

“Right.” Charles nods, like he sees demons get banished to other dimensions every day. “Brills. So he’s gone?”

She smiles at him tiredly. “As gone as David ever is.”

***

Look, Charles knows he probably shouldn’t follow Crystal and Niko back to their office. This is how he got into trouble in the first place, following someone home just because they were nice to him. But Charles is exhausted and when he steps outside for the first time in a month, he finds that London’s being hit by the bloody blizzard of the century, so he decides that if Crystal and Niko are going to kidnap and murder him, they’ve probably earned it. He just hopes they let him have a nap and a proper wash first.

When they arrive at the abandoned building they call their office, Charles doesn’t even look around for any signs of danger before he collapses onto the sofa and falls asleep. He’s not sure how long he sleeps. A few times, he’s vaguely aware of Crystal and Niko talking, but it’s never loud enough to drag him fully back to consciousness. When he does finally open his eyes, which are gritty and sore from sleep, he finds that it’s dark outside the window. Niko is sitting behind the desk, typing on a laptop, while Crystal stands at the window, looking out at the snow. 

He glances around the office. It’s small and cluttered, every surface covered with trinkets ranging from crystal balls to old-fashioned clocks to a bobblehead Godzilla. The walls are covered in more posters of anime boys than he’d expect from a supernatural detective agency, but who is he to judge? There’s an overflowing bookshelf in the corner that seems to hold a mix of serious-looking, leather-bound tomes, mangas, and paperback mysteries. It seems like a home and Charles has to swallow down the knot of jealousy that rises in his throats.

Both Crystal and Niko look up when he groans and sits up. 

“Good, you’re awake!” Niko smiles at him brightly. “How are you feeling?”

Charles rubs at his sore eyes. “Like shit, really. How long was I out?”

“Fifteen hours,” Niko says. “It’s okay, being kidnapped is tiring. We got you some sandwiches.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Charles descends on the pile of sandwiches on the little table next to the couch, hardly even noticing what kind they are as he devours them. He’s vaguely aware that he’s in a room with the two fittest girls he’s ever seen in his life and he probably looks a mess—it’s been at least a week since David let him shower and shave the scraggly patch of hair that grows on his chin—but he doesn’t much care. He thinks he might be well and truly safe for the first time in months and he’s almost ready to weep with relief.

“Better?” Crystal asks after he eats three sandwiches and downs one and a half bottles of water.

Charles smiles sheepishly. “Better. Thanks for getting me out of there, yeah? Pretty sure I was well and truly fucked before you came along.”

“We know how to handle David by now,” Crystal says, like banishing a powerful demon is nothing. Charles guesses that for them, it might be.

“Well, thanks.” It occurs to Charles that he’s been crashing on their couch, probably getting in the way of them working their cases, for fifteen hours. One thing he’s learned from relying on the charity of strangers for months now is that it’s best to get out before they get tired of him. “Do you have somewhere I can have a quick wash before I go?”

“Go?” Niko’s forehead creases in a frown. 

“Where are you going to go?” Crystal asks.

Charles shrugs, trying for a smile, though it seems stiff and false on his face. “Probably back to the park, yeah? Janice will be worried about me.”

Crystal doesn’t seem to be buying it. “I went to see Janice while you were asleep. She knows you’re fine.”

“Brills.” Charles bobs his head in a nod. “But I don’t want to overstay my welcome, do I? Sure you don’t need me underfoot.”

“We’re ghosts,” Crystal says. “If you’re in the way, we can pass right through you.”

“Not that you’re in the way,” Niko adds quickly. “You can stay here as long as you need.”

Liz said that to him when he first showed up at her flat. So did Henry and his parents. None of them meant it. 

Niko presses on, smiling. “We don’t get a lot of guests. It’ll be like a sleepover! Except, we’re ghosts, so we can’t sleep. Or eat junk food. But we can stay up late with you watching movies.”

Charles looks away, unaccountably embarrassed. It’s nice of Niko to offer, but he can tell from the look on her face that she just feels bad for him. He reaches down to trace a finger over the swirls in the wooden table and a vision hits him.

An angry, shouting ghost, his face screwed up in a snarl. The table flying through the air, right at Crystal’s head. Niko shrieking in surprise as the table passes right through Crystal and splinters against the wall.

He blinks and the vision is gone. Crystal and Niko are right where they were an instant ago, both staring at him. “You should move that table,” he tells them. “Someone’s going to throw it at you and it’ll get smashed up.”

“You can see the future?” Crystal asks, like she’s surprised.

“Well, yeah,” Charles says. “I’m a psychic, aren’t I? Like you.”

“I’ve never been very good at seeing the future.” She shoots Niko a loaded glance. “More the present and the past.”

He shrugs sheepishly. “Only see a few seconds at a time. Not very useful.”

“You saved my favorite table.” Niko crosses the room to pick up the table, moving it behind the desk. “I think that’s useful.”

“Can you read people?” Crystal asks, watching Charles curiously.

“Yeah.” Charles grimaces. “Whether I want to or not.”

She nods. “I remember that. It was a ton of fun sitting in a classroom full of girls in 1916 and knowing how much they all hated me.”

“Been there, mate.” Charles remembers the last time he kissed a girl and realized she was thinking about his best friend. Or the time his favorite teacher handed him back a paper he thought he’d done okay on and Charles felt the utter contempt the man held him in. “Some days, I get why so many of us go become hermits in the woods. I would, but I’d miss spaghetti.”

Her lips twitch. “These days, I can only read the dead. They’re less noisy.”

“Sounds aces,” Charles says, then wonders if he’s put his foot in it. “I mean, not having to read everyone sounds aces. Not being dead. Sorry, that sounds rough.”

“I’ve been dead since 1916,” Crystal says. “You get used to it.”

“Did David…” He trails off, wondering if that’s a rude question. He doesn’t know the ins and outs of ghost etiquette.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem offended. “He didn’t kill me, exactly. The exorcism the school chaplain performed to try to get him out of me did.”

“And dandelion sprites exploded out of my brain,” Niko adds. “But that’s how I met Crystal, so it’s okay.”

Charles jumps as muffled shouting comes from one of the desk drawers. “What brains?” a squeaky voice yells. “We didn’t see any in there.”

Crystal pounds on the desk drawer. “Shut the fuck up in there, or I will drown you.”

“You always fucking say that.”

“Yeah, bitch. Maybe you should shut the fuck up, or we’ll drown you.”

Niko giggles. “They’re not so bad. They grow on you.”

“They really don’t.” Crystal looks at the drawer in disgust.

Charles stares. “The things that killed you are in that drawer?”

“Dandelion sprites,” Niko says.“They’re not so bad. They don’t really mean to kill people. That’s just what happens when they exit their host.”

Crystal rolls her eyes at the ceiling. “They’re toxic little shits, Niko.”

“They feed on attention,” Niko tells Charles, ignoring Crystal. “We keep them in the drawer most of the time, but we take them out sometimes so they can eat.”

“And they eat... attention?” Charles asks, bewildered.

“They seem to prefer negative attention,” Crystal says. “Otherwise, maybe they wouldn’t be such little assholes.”

“See?” Niko slides the drawer open, eliciting shrieks and protests from within, and pulls out a jar. Inside, two tiny figures, each no taller than Charles’s thumb, shield their eyes from the light. “These are Litty and her… well, we actually don’t know what they are to each other. This is Litty and Kingham.”

Litty catches sight of Charles and wrinkles her nose. “Oh, ew.”

“Really?” Kingham puts his hands on his hips. “You won’t let us out of this jar, but you’ll just let anyone walk into the office? Where has he been, snorkeling in a pile of fish guts?”

Charles should probably be offended, but he just grins. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Guys, don’t be mean to Charles,” Niko tells the sprites. “He’s our new friend.”

“Figures, the only friend you’d be able to make is one that smells like fish.”

“Okay, that’s enough sprite time.” Crystal plucks the jar out of Niko’s hand and shuts it back in the desk drawer.

Something like hope is kindling in Charles’s chest. He likes Crystal and Niko and they don’t seem to be in a huge rush to show him the door. Niko even called him a friend.  “Look, you two saved my life. I owe you, don’t I? Maybe I could stick around for a bit? Use my powers to help out on cases where I can? I can read the living, which might come in handy sometimes, and I can see the future. And…” His mind races, trying to come up with a reason to let him stay. He remembers Niko saying, “being kidnapped is tiring,” like she knows from experience.

“I helped with David, didn’t I?” he adds. “Kept him busy with my cricket bat so Niko could draw that circle.”

“He did,” Niko says, glancing at Crystal. “I wouldn’t have been able to finish the banishing circle if he hadn’t distracted David.”

Charles has a feeling he has Niko convinced, so he turns to Crystal. “I’m pretty aces at defending myself. I can get another cricket bat and if you’ve got clients who want to throw tables at you or who won’t pay, I can sort ‘em out. I’ll have your back. And I won’t be any trouble. Promise.”

Niko leans down to whisper something in Crystal’s ear. Crystal nods and murmurs something back, then they look at each other for a loaded moment. There’s history in that look, two people who have known each other for many years and don’t have to say anything to communicate. Charles feels another twinge of jealousy. He’s never had anyone to exchange looks like that with. He’s never had anyone who cared to know him that well.

“We have a room we let living clients stay in sometimes, when they have nowhere else to go,” Crystal says after a long moment. “It’s not much and everyone tells us the hot water heater is worthless, but there’s a bed we can make up. It might be nice to have another psychic around.”

“And someone who can hit demons with a cricket bat,” Niko adds.

“You two deal with lots of demons?” He doesn’t see either of them taking on the forces of Hell, but they handled David and Crystal escaped Hell, so maybe he shouldn’t assume anything.

“Not as many as you’d think,” Crystal says. “Mostly, we help ghosts with any unfinished business that’s stopping them from moving on. It doesn’t involve many demons.”

“Except for David.” Niko wrinkles her nose with distaste.

Crystal mirrors the look. “David will be a problem for the rest of eternity. At least until we find a way to trap or banish him for good.”

“Well, next time he shows up, I’m happy to hit him with a cricket bat,” Charles tells her. “Just need to find a new one.”

“Ooh, hold on.” Niko picks up the Hello Kitty backpack and reaches into it. And keeps reaching. Charles stares in astonishment as her arm vanishes up to her shoulder. “I think I have something in here. I told you our payment from the Case of the Floating Lockers would come in handy, Crystal.”

“You let people get away with paying us anything,” Crystal says with a huff. “He promised us a cursed diamond and he paid us with—”

“A cricket bat!” Niko pulls the bat out of the bag and hands it to Charles. “Maybe we can enchant it so it won’t break so easily.”

Charles weighs the bat in his hands. It’s a bit battered, but so is he. It’ll do. “Thank you,” he says, swallowing hard. “Wait, how did this fit in that little bag?”

Smiling slyly, Niko opens the bag and shows him the inside, which is nothing but blackness. “It’s a magical void. I can fit anything in here. There’s a bicycle floating around in here somewhere. And at least one severed hand.”

Charles decides not to ask.

“I can show you how to use it later, if you’d like,” Niko says. “Crystal never got the hang of it.”

Crystal eyes the bag warily. “It doesn't like me.”

“But maybe you will,” Niko says.

Charles finds himself unable to do anything but smile at her. “That’d be brills, Niko.” He looks between them hopefully. “Does that mean I can stay?”

Crystal and Niko exchange another look. “Yeah, you can stay,” Crystal says. “It never hurts to have an extra set of hands around. And we’re not going to kick you out in the middle of a snowstorm.”

Niko claps her hands and to Charles’s surprise, pulls him into a hug. It’s a bit odd, hugging a ghost. She doesn’t feel so much like a warm, living body, but more like the memory of one. He can almost feel the silkiness of her dress under his hands, but not quite. “Welcome to the Dead Girl Detective Agency!”

***

One year later

“And that’s a wrap on the Case of the Creepy Monk,” Charles says as he steps into the office, soaking wet, hurting all over, and exhausted, but warm with the success of a successful case.

“We’re not calling it that,” Crystal says, closing the door behind her. Unlike Charles, she doesn’t have a drop of water on her. The perks of being a ghost, he supposes.

“You got a better name for it, do you?”

“Yeah, the Case of Charles Almost Getting Eaten by a Hellhound Because He Wouldn’t Fucking Listen To Me.”

“That doesn’t really roll off the tongue,” Niko says.

Charles’s mouth drops open in offense. “I didn’t nearly get eaten by a hellhound!”

“So it wasn’t about to rip your throat out when Niko banished it?” Crystal raises an eyebrow.

Charles considers. “Right, maybe a little, but better me than you, right? I’m the brawn. It’s my job to take the hits.”

“Because what we need is an extra ghost on the run from Death.” Shrugging off her coat, she settles down behind the desk.

“But you did a great job getting the monk out of the way,” Niko says brightly.

Charles smiles at her. “Thanks, Niko. Nice to be appreciated.”

“I appreciate you,” Crystal says. “Alive.”

Charles’s smile widens. “Love you too, Crystal.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s her fond eye roll. Charles knows all Crystal’s eye rolls by now. “Just try not to get mauled by a hellhound.”

“Sure thing.” Charles spots a pile of mail on the desk. “Looks like the postman came, yeah? Maybe our next case is in here.”

“Hopefully one with no hellhounds,” Niko says. “Or creepy monks.”

“I preferred the hellhound,” Crystal grumbles and Niko giggles.

Grinning to himself, Charles picks up the pile of mail and starts sorting through. It’s pretty standard stuff: a love letter from a ghost from Brighton who’s in love with Crystal—that one goes straight in the bin—a flier from the local apothecary, a death threat from a ghost who blames them for his wife moving on without him—that one’s funny, since two-thirds of their agency is already dead. Charles tosses the death threat out, then picks up the flier under it and finds himself plunged into a vision.

A house on a quiet, tree-lined street.

Darkness.

A little girl with her back turned to Charles, standing in the middle of a room filled with bones. An enormous snake circling her, drawing back to strike.

Charles blinks and he’s back at the office, Niko and Crystal both watching him.

“What did you see?” Crystal asks.

Charles looks at the flier and finds a little girl smiling up at him. “Missing,” it reads. “Have you seen this girl? Becky Aspen, 10.”

“Charles, what is it?” Niko takes the flier from his hand.

Charles shakes his head, trying to clear the memory of darkness. He can practically feel Becky Aspen’s terror hanging in the air. “You two fancy a trip to the States?”

***

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