#when you think of levitation you either think of magic or death; the soul rising up to Heaven

[melit0n]

3:35 to 4:10 in Levitate is so unbelievably comforting to me. In the best (and worst) way possible, it truly does feel like levitation.

The best way I can describe it is laying in someone's arms, lover, friend, foe or family, and simply basking in the comfort they give you. One arm wrapped, gently, around your middle, fingers tracing invisible patterns on your clothes, and the other hand softly combing through your hair as they whisper soft nothings in your ear. You're on the brink of sleep; half listening to their words and half being drawn in by the comfort of the drowsy void.

It's a warm hug that you never want to leave. (catch me replaying that part over and over)

[phcking-detective]

Find Familiar, ch 1/2

Nines casts the spell and feels the magic pull from their soul. They need this to work. They don’t know what else to do.

They hear nothing, but perhaps the animal is simply quiet. The summon circle contains a perch and a large bathtub, painstakingly levitated all the way to the highest floor of their tower. Even a small area filled with sand. Just in case.

A wizard never knows what form their familiar will take until they summon it.

Nines doesn’t dare open their eyes. They need this to work. They are the most brilliant wizard of their generation and likely several before and after as well, but their brilliance is purely academic. All magic comes with a price, of course. That is why they’re ... like this.

Why bright lights give them migraines, and they cannot stand to be touched, and can only wear certain fabrics, eat certain foods, sleep under EXACT conditions. Why they can understand ancient languages and cursed tomes better than they ever could read a face.

It is their Price, and they need--

Nines opens their eyes and stares resolutely at the empty summoning circle. The spell had worked. They felt it take their energy and a piece of their soul. It had cast.

But out of all the beings on this plane and sixteen others, none had answered.

Very well. They don’t need help. They never have.

A first child for inheritance, a second for insurance. A third for luck, a fourth for the middle. Fifth for work, sixth for status. Seventh to fulfill a prophecy.

And an eighth child to be tithed. Two parents, presumably, and the eighth made exactly ten, one-tenth of the family and all they owned given to the church so that they gods would look favorably upon them.

There was no point in a child after that. No prophecies or tithing, and certainly no inheritance left over after carving it up for seven others first. No one ever needed a ninth child.

And Nines has never needed anyone else.

***

Three days and nights after casting the spell, Nines has eaten few enough meals to count on one hand. The sand has not been swept from the floor, and they have not managed to drag themself from their studies long enough to utilize the bathtub for its actual purpose.

But they’re fine.

It’s fine.

They are the greatest wizard of his generation, and they will ... survive. Perhaps not live, not as others do, not in happiness. But they are not dead yet and he has no less than twenty-two contingency spells if death does dare

KNOCK

Nines looks up from their manuscript for the first time in so many hours, they don’t know if the sun is setting or rising. The crystal ball embedded above the door glows green. Someone just solved their first riddle.

Well. Surely the second will

DOOR

Nines stands, then almost collapses from the black spots overtaking their vision. That was too fast. No one should have been able to solve the second riddle that quickly.

MAT

Nines draws their wand and faces the door as the third and final crystal ball lights green.

Knock knock knock.

“Hey. Hey! Hey, asshole!”

... what? They must be dreaming. Yes, an unexpected social visit from a villager capable of bypassing all his wards is surely the stuff of nightmares.

“Either let me in or shut the fuck up!”

The indignity of being accused of speaking when Nines hates speaking, particularly to “people,” infuriates them enough that they forget their wand entirely and throws open the door to berate the--

The much smaller man glaring up at them.

Not small enough to be a dwarf, although he certainly has that ... stockiness. Perhaps a mixture of human and dwarf, but. Even half-dwarves have beards, while this man just has some rather scruffy stubble and a scar across the bridge of his nose.

“You don’t smell right,” the man informs them.

He shoulder-checks past Nines before they can respond. It’s only due to their momentary bout of dizziness that they don’t smite him immediately for that. Or when he circles around the large living area, sniffing at things like a dog.

“Should’ve expected it to be bigger in here than out there,” he says to himself. “Still kind of small though.”

“I do not receive visitors,” Nines replies as coldly as they can manage.

They have accidentally frozen people before, simply with the freezing burn of their anger, yet their magic lays calm and docile inside their chest.

“Good, I fucking hate people,” the man says.

Nines makes some sort of very undignified noise in the back of their throat at that. The man continues wandering about their space, finally sticking his entire head inside their cauldron.

They’re hallucinating. That last alchemical potion must have--

“Don’t you have any cooking pots?” he asks.

Nines doesn’t answer so they don’t have to admit the answer is no. They will not be judged by some--some vagabond, a dirty ugly little man who is--IS BAREFOOT?

“You don’t have shoes,” Nines says, as if that is the important part about a strange man breaking into their home.

“I wiped my feet, fuck off.”

Nines looks back toward the door. All three crystals glow a fading green as the wards slowly reset themselves.

They did not originally mean to bar all the villagers from visiting them forever. They simply wanted any guests to have basic manners. Knock on the door at the first floor before entering, close it behind them so leaves didn’t blow into the stairwell, and wipe their feet on the mat at the top.

Clearly, Nines had expected far too much of the general public.

Nines turns back to see the man filling their alchemy cauldron with water. Although they sterilize it thoroughly after each use in order to prevent cross-contamination among potions, they scrounge up enough hope past the exhaustion to ponder if maybe they had forgotten to do so in the haze of the last several days.

Unfortunately, the man’s flesh does not melt from his skin as he scrubs it out with a rag.

“What are you doing?” Nines asks.

“I’m hungry and you don’t have anything else to cook in,” the man says. “At least we’ll have leftov--”

“Get out of my tower!”

The man looks up and scowls at them. “You’re the one who kept fucking calling me, bitch. Make up your damn mind.”

The realization leaves them light-headed.

“I ... I didn’t ...”

The black spots creep back again, except now they can no longer accurately be called “spots.” They take up far too much of Nines’s vision for that, then consume it entirely.

Something warm and solid catches Nines before they fall. Their hands grab at whatever they can reach out of an instinctive need to hold onto something--fabric, skin, fur. Fur? Not quite. Hair, maybe. Very thick hair. Dwarf beard? No, only stubble. But very thick hair somewhere, somewhere, oh in the middle. His ... chest?

“Ow, quit pulling on that.”

“Furry,” Nines says, because they are very intelligent and also the greatest wizard of their generation.

“Yeah, moon’s close to full. Damn, you’re a gangly bitch, aren��t you? Where’s your fucking body fat, you need to eat more.”

Nines mumbles his very clever retort into his pillows. Oh, his pillows. They’re in bed. That’s nice. Their bed is soft and warm and good.

The other Warm Good thing wrapped around them lets go.

“Nooo.”

Nines pulls it back. Furrier now. They’d secretly wished for a dog. Obviously, a feline familiar would have been more practical, and certainly more in line with their introverted tendencies. Dogs need too much attention, and walks, and they drool and shed. Cats only do one of those things, and if they summoned a black one, the hair would just blend into their robes anyway.

But still. Some part of them had hoped ...

“All right, fine. Fucking bossy. Scoot over, bitch.”

The Warm Good thing piles into the bed with Nines, but there is still entirely too much skin. Nines does not go to bed with people. Certainly not with skin showing. They want--they need--

They want a dog.

They need a person.

Of course. A fully animal familiar could only do so much for them without thumbs, and monkeys are horrendous. Only a real person would be smart enough to take care of them the way they need it.

But a person-familiar ... unheard of. Impossible. No one had ever summoned a human before, and it would be grossly unethical regardless.

Nines crows with the proof that they really are the greatest wizard of their generation, and likely several before and after.

“OK, so you’re good with me being a werewolf, right? Because if you start crying about a monster and get a bunch of pitchforks up in here, I’m pissing on all your robes.”

A werewolf. Half man, half wolf. Brilliant!

“So. What’s your name?”

“Nines.”

“Fuck, humans are still doing that? Your litters are bigger than ours, goddamn. And popping them out one at a time like that?”

The werewolf shudders. Nines pets over them, much more fur than skin now.

“Was two of us,” they say, all filter gone with how tired they are. “Twins instead of just the last eighth. Connor, Connor was ... just ... a second quicker.”

“What, so they threw you away?” he asks, the question nearly a growl.

“Tech,,nicaaally,” Nines slurs. “They did him too. Gave him. Away. Just, pretended to love him first. It’s, s’crueler. I think. At least I, ahhhhh. I always knew.”

“Phckin’ hue-mens,” the werewolf growls.

“Mmhmm.”

“Miiine.”

That is the last word he can growl out before the transformation completes. Then Nines receives the dog they wanted. Like this, it is far easier to feel their familiar’s mind at the edge of their own, to recognize the bond for what it is.

Good boy, [name].

It’s Gavin, dickhead.

Adequate boy, Gavin.

The wolf huffs. Go to sleep. I’ll feed you soup in the morning and maybe you won’t be so hangry.

I only want potatoes and carrots. NO celery.

Go the fuck to SLEEP.

Nines does so.

--

The wolf licks their face only after he’s absolutely certain they’re unconscious. The dumb human just smells dehydrated.

He didn’t want to come at first. Didn’t understand what the ache in his head was in the first place, or why he kept feeling hungry no matter how much he ate or that he had to pee for four hours straight.

Just that he needed to go, go this way, this way, this way!

Fucking asshole wizard summoning him like he’s their goddamn dog.

(But it’s not like he has a pack of his own. Not like he has anything better to do. No one to protect or feed or cuddle.)

(And this human obviously needs his help.)

He’ll only stay for the moon, just so he has a safe place to sleep it off away from angry villagers convinced he’ll “deflower” their women--who already smell of sex by the way--even though he really prefers men.

And this one wizard, apparently.

Gavin licks Nines again. The human already smells way better with his scent on them, and this is the most luxurious bed he’s ever curled up in.

He can spend the night. Make some breakfast. He’s hungry, right? Wouldn’t make sense to leave a good meal behind.

Yeah, he’s just staying for the food.

***

***

One of my lovely followers recently commissioned a second chapter! It’s rated E for Explicit (sex scenes). Subscribers to my Patreon get early access to all my commissioned fics 2 weeks earlier than they’re posted to AO3 or tumblr ^^

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Infinity War (5)

CHAPTER 5: RAGE

Loki & The Avengers

Summary: A work inspired by @queencfthestarsdrfoster ‘s post of the universe where Loki is alive and Thor is avenged.

Series: Will contain all- and more- that we saw in Infinity War. Will not contain smut and fluff for obvious reasons. Might contain weird humor though.

Chapter content: Something I wish I could’ve done to them through the screen

Warnings: …blood. Icky. gooey, blood. Magic.

Word count: So my workplace shifted again. It’s...okay. Yeah, that’s it. Just okay. I mean partially it’s on me for not taking breaks and just keeping myself busy because I just cannot sit free, man. I can’t. And then by the time it’s 4pm I am exhausted as fuck and have to just keep it together till I can find my way out. Why am I like this? But I have to say, it kinda lifted my mood when I thought about my new radiant friend.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

Ebony Maw doesn't believe in violence of the mind. He does not believe one needs to boil one's insides just because some petty creatures with no real destiny in this universe have made a feeble decision of taking what is rightfully his master's.

Their death would be a small price to pay for the delay they have caused in me helping the Titan fulfil his destiny.

The periodic bloop on his ship's radar brings him to a rough terrain that is being tormented by the fresh blanket of snow piling over it. The winds are showing no mercy as they hit the transparent shield of his ship, illuminating the collision spots with a hue of gold and blue. How fascinatingly dull, this planet Earth, Maw coos to himself before landing his ship and walking towards the entrance.

Much to his surprise, he does feel a shiver through his adequately armoured body as the raging winds seem to be coming at him with impure intentions. And so, a tsk under his breath is followed by modestly twisting his hand to create an air barrier around him, keeping those vicious microscopic ice shards away.

The crunch of fresh cold powder under his feet is somehow welcoming to the symphony of havoc he plans on bringing to the ones who slipped through his hands. To the ones who do not have pure intentions for the infinity stone in their grasp.

There is a ripple he feels from somewhere behind him, tilting on one limb and taking a gentle swerve as an icicle misses him by centimetres. No time is wasted to pull that very icicle from the air and turn it around to throw it in the direction it originated from. And while that icicle travels back, snow is raised from the ground to be compressed into more. Those stubborn steps do not retreat as icicles find their target, only coming to a halt when those piercing eyes see for themselves Loki's figure lying in the snow, struggling to breathe.

Those piercing elements of snow have found all the vital points over the God's body, not surprising the Child of Thanos.

"You are supposed to be dead Asgardian," Ebony declares with a soothing yet eerie tone, his stature never faltering even as he looks down at the body writhing in pain, "you should stick to being dead."

Green eyes drowning in pain look up at him; same eyes he had once drained all hope out of. Such powerful techniques of purification were wasted on such frivolous being that day.

"But..." Loki struggles with the pain surfacing on his face, "b-but I'm not the one who's-"

It takes just one slight shift of Maw's posture. Just a single tilt towards Loki to hear what the dying alien has to say. And just as he does, a streak of blazing fire takes the master of torture with him, leaving Loki to complete his sentence, "-dead," before disappearing with hues of gold and green.

The snow feels harder on the skin than it looks, almost making Maw grunt. He thinks he misses the punch from the man clad in iron he thought he had left behind, but the hit to his skull sends a blaring pain, unbalancing him for a few seconds.

"Told you earth was closed, you dipshit!" Tony's voice resonates through the suit.

Maw feels the rising bitterness grind between his teeth before he slides away from another punch and sends ice shards towards Tony followed by a rumble under his feet.

"What the- is he trying to bring an earthquake?" Tony rises in the air to dodge the attacks coming his way.

The claws which are targeting the ground seem to be the epicentre of the rumble- focused on ripping the rocks lying somewhere under that blanket of pure white- feel themselves being wrapped by a stringed glow that yanks those arms, disrupting whatever power Maw possesses to move the elements around him.

"You really should get a hobby."

Maw knows that voice too well.

The magician.

When the supreme torturer tries to wrap the enchanted magic strings around his arms to pull Strange towards him, the latter moves his hands to convert those strings into handcuffs, freeing himself to create three more elemental circles and call forward blasts of pure energy aiming at his could-be tormentor.

Ebony dives away, calling forward more shards to break him free of those cuffs, taking the first chance his hands get to call up the already cracked rocks to target the sorcerer.

The first one is missed. The second is dodged. The third is barely tackled by his magic. The fourth one gets him. So does every other boulder that comes flying his way.

Strange is surrounded with boulders from every side, all of them aiming to crush him where he stands. While he is trying to protect himself- and the fate of the universe wrapped around his neck- he doesn't notice the slithering pieces around him, too wrapped up in fear as the rocks finally close in on him with a thunderous rumble breaking the air on their collision.

"Strange!"

No one knows where that cry comes from as clouds of dirt and smoke hide the point of impact; the crime scene.

Ebony Maw does not move a muscle from where he stands, his hands clasped on to each other with a watchful look, satisfied with himself.

"You critters should have given up these futile attempts when you had the chance."

His voice has a chill that echoes through the mountains. Even the wind seems to fall silent.

"You picked the wrong people for that intention, Voldey."

If Maw had brows he would have raised them when he turns around to look at a faint glow- a few feet above the ground- rise further. It's only when the clouds of unrest begin to lower the haze does the shadow of something fluttering around that figure comes to light.

How did he-

Every scenario is running through his mind to figure out how that magician escaped, cracking the glass walls of restraint inside him. The smokiness in the air takes its sweet time to reveal the shadow of the figure, the chest lit up in a warm blue glow while the arms rise from either side to mirror that very glow in Maw's direction.

"Light's out, you son of a bitch," Stark announces, already witnessing heaps of ice shards rising from the ground. The cloak of levitation readies itself to protect Stark while a grunt rises from Maw's throat as he changes the direction of the shards to point at Tony. Pulling himself back to gather as much potential, Ebony Maw is about to push them towards the man when piercing noise followed by something sharp jabs him like a thousand needles in the back.

"Now!" Tony shouts at the top of his lungs.

Within seconds a streak of green comes running on the snow- melting it where it touches the cold, cracking the ice till it reaches Maw to surround him in a circle marked with a Nordic enchantment.

Before those beady eyes can make sense of this intricate entrapment surrounding him, the cluster of boulders meant to kill Strange break with a crackling sound to reveal the Sorcerer Supreme clad in the Iron Man suit, his hands ready with burning rings that are fired at the tormentor, cuffing him while merging with the Nordic circle of magic, trapping his limbs.

It is unreal; the scream that leaves Maw's throat. The menacing cry is not for the pain but the pride that has been marred by humans and the God that is on one knee, keeping his magic strong and his eyes on the one who tried to take his light away not too long ago.

"YOU WILL ALL DIE! YOU WILL DIE THE DEATHS OF ROTTEN SWINE CRAWLING WITH MAGGOTS ALL OVER YOU! YOU WILL ALL WHINE BENEATH MY FEET!"

Stark and Strange walk towards the creature who roars while on his knees, their armours being exchanged without a word, looking at the dull alien yanking at the illuminated golden and green chains holding him down.

"Oh you coward," Maw hisses at Strange before turning to Stark, "using a shrewd God to capture me? Do you not know the likes of him? His silver tongue has a purpose. A purpose to fulfil his means. Once he is done you lot he will throw you to the black holes and move on to someone more powerful. He only fends for himself. I know because I have been inside his brain. His darkness eats him alive and soon it will eat you all!"

A huff of air leaves Tony's lungs when he shares a look with Strange. Their lungs slowly come back to ease. Their shaking hearts have found solid ground. Their doubtful eyes now look in the direction of the figure walking towards them, its hands illuminating green with an increasing density.

"They see through you, Asgardian!"

All the rage collected on Ebony Maw's forehead wants to launch at the God walking in his direction in any way it can find. But that rage seems to come to a standstill when it sees the figure emerge from behind the fog; concentrating on those lines running up and down the blue skin that is too flawless to belong to a mere animal. The rage resting on Maw's forehead starts taking a few steps back when it locks its beady eyes with the red that sears through his very soul.

"You're wrong, Maw-" Loki comes to stand right outside the glowing circle keeping his punisher captive- "they do not see through me."

A flick of Loki's wrist and the chains are pulled into the ground, making a reluctant Maw bow down to get them back up.

"They cannot see anything."

Maw tries to but he cannot break his gaze from those eyes carrying the colour of blood as they're looking down on him with unspeakable emotions; seemingly blank stare ripping his insides with every drop of volcanic heat leaving them.

"You did not leave much for them to see last time, did you?"

The icy chill from Loki's hand as it wraps around his throat to make him stand and face him with the roles reversed sends poisonous shivers through his existence.

"Don't worry-" Loki whispers too close to him; close enough to make sure he can be the first one in this universe to smell Maw's fear but not close enough for Maw to get his teeth in him. His free hand conjures a four edged dagger glistening with the glow from the snow. "-unlike you, I won't make you wish for death."

The strike is smooth. The blade goes inside his abdomen in one go, puncturing his vital organs with that very strike. Maw does not even feel it; something that brings a smile on Loki's face. "I will make you live death."

The blade comes out, bringing with it the spoils. Black insides slowly spill. This is the first time Maw feels something tickle his abdomen. The itch increases into an unbearable agony and he is trying to clutch to the wound to make that burn stop.

And the blood does stop. The wound heals back, leaving a blue bruise-like stain on that grey skin. The heavy breaths of relief slowly turn into wheezing. The eyes filled with three-seconds of reprieve go wide in horror. The murky, black blood-stained hands turn into claws to rip apart the very skin that healed a few moments ago as the throat breaks into an agonising shriek.

The poison on the dagger has done its job well. It coagulates the blood and regenerates the tissue to seemingly heal the wound but burns the coagulated blood and new fabrication of the tissue to the point that the animal would rather tear its skin apart than have that thing inside it for one more second. And when the freshly healed wound is exposed to the nitrogen in the air, it catalysis the poison to spread further into the body, making that animal a writhing howling mess on the ground.

Ebony Maw experiences the same fate. The shrill screams breaking the air come out for a few more seconds before he has gnawed himself inside out. All that is left of this child of Thanos is the goo its desecrated body lies in.

It does not take a genius to figure out how much thought Loki has put into Maw's extermination; something that makes Stark wonder what had Squidward done to Loki to call for such a gory end.

"Great," Strange snaps Tony out of his thoughts, scrunching his nose at the remains of the grey villain, "one down. How many more?"

"We took down the strategist," Loki announces, sending his dagger back to his pocket dimension, "it should be easy to take down the rest of the...children."

"Great," Tony mentions with a slight groan, "Alexander is dead. Loki's actually a-" he gestures at the Frost Giant, looking him up and down- "a teen girl's dream smurf and I just got a call from Banner telling me Cap met another of these deranged kids.” He groans. “Exactly how I was planning the day to go."

[sevenrelics]

Taako’s Good Out Here - 1.5k

If you're having non-magical issues, the last person on the moon you want to talk to is Taako. Having an issue with Mage Hand? No problem, he can walk you through it (he's not likely to because he's got way more important shit to take care of, but on a good day, it's a possibility).

Emotional issues, on the other hand? You'd be better off talking to Steven, because Taako’s good out here, homie, and he’s the least well-equipped person on the entire base to deal with this shit. 

He leaves the comforting and encouraging to Magnus, and the ‘wise’ observations and life lessons to Merle, he’s just out here for a laugh, and he’s great with that. Taako’s already way over his limit of people he should ideally care about thanks to Magnus and Merle.

Kravitz shifts on the bed a little, a few soft noises passing through his lips as he moves closer to the edge of the bed, like Taako’s presence alone pushes him away.

And, Christ, knowing him, maybe it does. He’s sure as hell tried, but Death’s emissary’s got stubbornness to spare, and Taako’s never quite been equipped with people enjoying his presence beyond in the bedroom and on television. And he’s a liar if he says he doesn’t like it, just a little.

But Kravitz isn’t like that. Kravitz has seen him absolutely plastered, has seen him with his hair smashed against a fishbowl helmet with oily tentacles at his feet, has seen him in at least seven compromising positions in the past month alone, yet still comes to dinner. Lets Taako hedge the date, and cancel plans because “hero stuff, pumpkin” when he’s really just in a bad mood or wants to sleep, or fucked up his nails so badly that he’s afraid Kravitz will say something. (Which he won’t, because no matter what he looks like Kravitz always calls him beautiful, and smiles that way that makes Taako’s stunted-to-all-Hell heart pulse.) He’s there when Taako wakes up with a splitting headache, and he always comes back when Taako screams at him to get out of his damn house and life, because he knows he doesn’t mean it.

Kravitz loves him.

Taako thinks he might too.

He’s not a great boyfriend. Not even a good one, even if he is hot shit and can make the best quiche in the fucking galaxy. Maybe he doesn’t deserve him. Scratch that- he definitely doesn’t, not that he can think of a single person in existence who could measure up to what Kravitz deserves. But he’s here. And for some unknown reason, Kravitz stays.

For a few minutes, it’s quiet, and Taako stares at his boyfriend’s chest rise and fall, even though it doesn’t need to. It’s a scene straight up from one of those sappy romantic films Carey and Killian own far too many of, and borderline creepy to boot. Every nerve, every thought in his head tells him to bolt and never look back, because if he’s learned anything throughout these quests it’s that he’s damn good at that. But he has lessons with Angus tomorrow, and if he leaves now he’ll have to buy a new stove before he gets to try that new tart recipe Avi gave him, and his suit is still at the cleaners, and-

Oh.

Well. It’s nice to make excuses for something that isn’t his fault, for once.

Taako sits up, the bed creaking beneath him as he shuffles a little closer to Kravitz, his heart thumping unnaturally.

“Hey,” he whispers, running his tongue over too-dry lips, his voice soft with disuse.

Kravitz doesn’t stir. He sleeps, well, like the dead, and Taako’s silently thankful for the chance to have this impromptu therapy session.

“I love you,” he says.

And just like that, the words are out of his mouth. There’s no magic. No broken spell, Kravitz doesn’t become alive through the power of true love, or any of that bullshit from stories. (He’d say children’s stories, but he’s picked up one of Angus’s books out of boredom before, and those are far more murder-y than the sappy romantic novels he’s thinking of now.) He’s just said The Words, and there they are. And they’re true.

“I love you,” he repeats, a little louder this time. The words grow lighter in his mouth, and he whispers them again, reaching out so his fingers just barely graze Kravitz’s shoulder, hovering there like he’s cast Levitate.

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you Iloveyou IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou, I-“ Taako pauses, his breathing ragged like he’s just run a lap around base. 

Like an idiot, Taako hopes Kravitz wakes up.

Like a coward, he prays to Istus that he doesn’t.

For a moment, it looks like his prayer has been ignored as Kravitz rolls over, his dreadlocks tousled against the pillow (he only uses one, something Taako will never understand). But his eyes remain shut tightly, and the sigh of relief that escapes Taako’s chest is the only noise in the room. He flops back down and lets his hand drop, his fingers splayed lightly on Kravitz’s cool skin.

He loves him.

Maybe he needs to work on being a little less guarded, a little kinder, sweeter, less prone to anger—

But hey. In Casa del Taako, it’s an emotional breakdown free zone. So for now, it’s one step at a time.

Taako’s good out here.

“Eat up, Boy Wonder,” Taako insists, handing the kid a second plate of cherry-drizzled tarts. Angus is early, and fuck if Taako’s passing up a chance to demonstrate his baking prowess, even if it means he has to triple-check the ingredients for poison. Thanks to Istus he's aware That Time wasn't wholly his fault, but the years spent contemplating it take over, and anyway, the actions are practically second nature by now.

Angus looks a little shocked at the heaping plate, but digs in when Taako raises an eyebrow. The kid practically worships the ground he walks on, and Taako doesn't have to admit how nice it is, because the fact that Angus sticks around despite his... nature... is testament enough to his understanding of it.

Or, he's just stubborn as shit. Taako's good with either one.

Kravitz waits at the table, hands folded politely as he waits for his plate too, and Taako can't resist a self-indulgent eye roll at how utterly domestic it is. The guy doesn't even need to eat. Shit, he doesn't even need to breathe, but here the Grim Reaper is, sitting in Taako's kitchen and definitely eating and breathing.

Clicking the oven off, Taako carries two plates off the counter, setting one in front of Kravitz as he digs in.

"So," Taako starts around a mouthful of egg, "no reaping jobs this morning? No poor souls to rip from the mortal realm?"

Kravitz doesn't dignify his jab with a response, but Angus pipes up, not even hesitating at Taako's glare. "Actually, Sir-- he usually just leads them." He shoots an inquisitive glance at Kravitz, who offers him a slight smile. "That's what he told me, at least. I'm surprised you don't know more about it, having almost checked into the Astral Plane--" He pretends to count, and Taako suppresses a huff because he knows damn well the little shit has this memorized.

"Eight times, not counting all the loops in Refuge," and Taako doesn't even want to know how he's heard about that, but isn't surprised in the least.

Brat.

"Yeah, well, Ol' Taako's had a lot of almost-deaths, Agnes. They blur together. Shut up and eat your breakfast."

Angus obliges, but Taako doesn't miss the mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Anyway," Taako drawls. "How goes it, Hot Stuff? There aren't any ravens pecking through my door right now, so I can assume you're not skipping work to hang out. Not that I wouldn't be fucking flattered, but--"

"Taako," Kravitz interrupts him, and the seriousness in his voice makes Taako's eyes fly up to meet his. Despite the tone, a smile pulls at the corner of Kravitz's unfairly handsome face. "I love you, too."

He reels back, his face burning, and he's sure that even if Angus wasn't Boy Wonder, Greatest Detective on the Moon, he'd be able to see through Taako's embarrassed guise to see how glad he is to hear it.