#which is good cos i needed them after those speech checks

[blackjackkent]

All right. Time to go in and see Malus.

-----

The blood smell is even worse in the surgical theater. The air feels thick with it. Rakha can taste it as she breathes in.

Like the rest of the House of Healing, this place was once fine and has deteriorated terribly. The walls are lined with seating and stairs and balconies of polished wood long since left to rot. The tilework floor is stained with long streaks of dirt and blood. The creeping vines of the curse have broken through the ceiling and walls.

At the very center of the room is a raised platform even more stained with blood than the rest. Four more of the strange, blank nurses stand in a circle around a half-naked body stretched on an examination table. And next to them is a form quite unlike anyone Rakha has ever seen.

A tall, lanky figure - his ears are elven but the rest of his body looks deformed, misshapen. His arms and legs are wrapped and stretched and replaced by tarnished mechanical limbs twice their intended length. His metal "hands" twist, revealing sharp, curved, blade-like fingers. His eyes are covered by a strange goggled mask that gives him the appearance of a staring, gaping madman. Every part of him, every fiber of his clothes, is drenched in blood.

"The objective of the scalpel, sisters," he is crooning softly, somewhere between an academic lecture and a lullaby, "is to soothe, for the scalpel indeed is an extension of Shar. See how the patient reacts when I but stroke the right nerve. Hear its comfort. Hear the very melody of mercy..."

He drops one of his long, taloned claws and drifts the blade eagerly across an open wound in the side of the body stretched before him.

Their victim, it seems, is very much still alive. At the brushing touch of the blade, the broken man squirms and cries out in terror and pain, too weak even to put full voice behind the sound.

"Pray, sister," Malus says. "Show us the extent of your beneficence." He gestures one of the nurses forward.

She steps forward, lifts a rusted-looking scalpel in one hand, and takes an unsteady swing with it down into the victim's midsection. There's a sudden splash of blood. The man whimpers piteously.

"STOP!" Malus snaps. "Stay your hand, for it slaps where it should stroke. We can hardly hear the patient's sighs of solace..." The man's whimpers seem to punctuate this speech.

Malus turns slightly. His eyes are hidden by the goggles, but his gaze has clearly fixed on Rakha as she enters the room.

"Perhaps it is our unexpected audience that makes you quiver..." he purrs. "Come - step forward!" He gestures again with his strange mechanical hand, this time to Rakha, gesturing her towards the dais. "You are no sister, but that matters none. Every student is welcome!"

Rakha's mouth has gone very dry. She doesn't move.

She is remembering, suddenly, the flickering set of images which the noblestalk provided to her in the depths of the Underdark. The only clear memory she has ever attained of her past before the nautiloid.

Rakha and Sceleritas, side by side at a vivisection table. Blood spatters across her hand as she severs capillaries one by one, delicate, careful. The search for perfection in agony. She shoves Sceleritas's face into the corpse as he clips the aorta, killing her victim too quickly. Another failure. Another not-quite-perfect death...

The blood pulse thumps in her head and her vision blurs. Yes, growls the beast in her head. This man understands. He knows... everything that we once knew...

"A student. Yes," she hears herself say, her mouth moving without her volition. "Do please... enlighten me..."

"Absence..." one of the nurses murmurs vaguely.

"Absence," Malus agrees with a sort of casually manic satisfaction. "No other word captures the heart of Shar so very perfectly... it is the scalpel-led journey that leads from pain to peace..."

As if to punctuate his words, he turns and swings two sharp blows with the knives of his hand, puncturing into both of the restrained man's eyes. The man screams weakly and spasms on the bed as a new river of blood pours out onto the soaked wooden floor.

"Hells," Wyll hisses under his breath. "Only a monster would inflict misery and call it medicine."

Malus looks down at the bleeding, shivering man before him and smiles, pleased. "See? What is the light of eyes but the cancer that causes one to witness the laceration of being? If light is the symptom, then darkness is the cure, for in light there is presence, but in darkness there is absence."

"In light is presence, in darkness absence," all the nurses intone together in unison.

Malus turns back towards Rakha. That unsettling smile still touches his lips. "But you... look how the succor of Shar eludes you!" he cries. "See how painfully present you remain. We do not wish to see you suffer so..." He takes a step forward on his long, gangly, metallic legs, his smile widening. "Let us cure you..."

Rakha's head has begun to ache. Her vision is whiting out at the corners and the beast is roaring in her head with sudden eagerness - and with anger. In her own voice it cries out within her, echoing down from that memory of the long-ago vivisection.

No. He does not understand after all. He has it wrong. There is no peace to be found in this slow torture. One kills to see the body twist and writhe and bleed and pass out of the world in unpeaceful agony, with no answers, no closure, and no serenity.

Kill him. He insults his craft.

She shakes her head sharply, trying to clear it of these thoughts. Malus is monstrous, yes, but Wyll would find these thoughts in her head equally so.

And yet this is who she once was, isn't it? Another killer, another cutter and slicer of flesh. They are two monsters staring each other down over this brutalized half-corpse, each only differing in the philosophy behind their blades - Malus and the beast, with Rakha as she is now caught between them like a struggling fish on a hook.

She clamps her jaw down tightly and tries, desperately, to focus.

[INVESTIGATION] Examine the sisters and their implements.

Narrator: The sisters' blades are bloodied and dully. Only the most measured hand could make a clean incision.

Pitiful, murmurs the beast. This is not perfection. This is amateur. Slipshod. Pathetic.

"Their blades are uneven," she says abruptly. "Efficient surgery will require further training." There is a plan forming in the back of her mind - and she cringes inwardly even as she thinks of it, because it is the beast's plan and not hers. It smells of viscera.

Malus tilts his head thoughtfully. "Their incisions are, as yet, still streaked with imperfection - that much I must concede," he says, with the air of a man discussing the weather. "How to steady their hands, I wonder..."

Rakha's harsh, off-kilter gaze bores into him. [PERSUASION] "Why not have them hone their skills on each other?"

Her mouth is operating without her. This is the beast speaking, the past version of herself that exists only in that single fragmented memory, reawoken by the familiarity of this blood-soaked room.

And Malus drinks every word down eagerly. "Yessss..." he hisses, his smile never shifting. "For are we not all in need of a cure?"

He draws back, lifts both grotesque hands in the air, and calls out to the nurses. "The scalpel does not discriminate! Let each and every one of you partake in its soothing journey! Absence, sisters! Acquaint yourselves!"

It's incredible, the alacrity with which the sisters obey.

Within moments they have cut each other apart. Four fresh corpses lie stretched on the floor, and Rakha sways dizzily as the beast feeds on the sight with eager hunger.

"It is a proud moment," Malus says dreamily, "when one sees one's teachings so lovingly taken to heart."

He turns slowly towards Rakha and flexes the mechanical joints of his piercing fingers. "You are to be commended for their graduation," he murmurs. "Rewarded with the promised cure. Come... I will acquaint you with the Lady's dark-fingered embrace..."

Rakha tips her head to one side and the beast's strange, feral smile tugs at her lips. For a moment she is aware of no one else but herself and Malus - of his madness and her own. [PERSUASION] "I would rather acquaint myself," she says, her voice calm and flat. "If you show me how."

(A/N: Slight artistic license - Rakha had a [BARD] persuasion option here instead, but it was much more verbose and performative and not Rakha-ish. This is the actual fallback dialogue line that is normally offered if you don't have a class-specific option.)

A long silence. Then Malus smiles again.

"Your diligence is exemplary..." he murmurs. "Very well. Your own scalpel will you be. Observe - then succeed me, into the succor of Shar!" His voice lifts in a sudden fanatical yelp--

And then without the slightest hesitation, he sinks one of his blades directly through his eye and into his brain. His body topples over backwards with a heavy, clattering thump and is still.

-----

Silence.

Rakha sinks slowly to her knees, staring at the sudden pile of corpses which has taken over the dais. She is trembling all over. The beast purrs in her head, sated, satisfied.

"What... in all the hells... was that?" Wyll asks faintly.

She jumps. She'd half-forgotten that he was there, or any of the others. "I... I don't know," she mutters. "I hardly knew what I was saying."

"An efficient resolution," Lae'zel says, just the slightest bit dryly. "Though I would not have objected to a fight."

"It is as I have already said," Minthara says, quiet and disdainful. "The Sharran philosophy is selfish, self-indulgent. This was a foolish performance, and Rakha put an end to it." She fixes Wyll with a pointed glance. "Or do you wish to say she has erred in securing that abomination's death?"

"No...ooo," Wyll says cautiously. "He had to be dealt with, that's certain. I'm just surprised, that's all."

He knows, of course. He was the only person to whom she explained the memory that the noblestalk gave her. He knows this echoed something terrible in her, and that she gave that echo voice, even if the cause was good. He is kind enough not to say anything, but he knows, all the same.

She hates it, all of it. And she hates that he knows, most of all.

[fun-k-board]

Some extra information on my universe's Sinister Six members.

First post here

I'm tempted to do entire fics on them but- I need to stop before I start overwhelming myself and getting too excited.

Doctor Olivia Odell

Likes - She's always had a strange fascination with ballet, always adores any dances that include sea themes, or long flowy silk.

Dislikes - Any vehicles, cars, helicopters, even bicycles make her nervous and uncomfortable because she has no control. Olivia used to walk everywhere, now, her tentacle situation can help with that.

Favourite food - Fruits, specifically strawberries and blueberries, she loves salads because they can be so diverse with what foods are included.

Least favourite food - Anything spicy, she's always preferred colder foods, and so something hot in temperature let alone flavour is just not her thing.

How does she text? - Usually her texts have very good grammar, even in crisis, she doesn't text often and prefers to use emails in which they're very professional and well structured.

Nationality - English.

What does she think of her fellow Sinister Six members? -

I... Have mixed feelings on the Green Goblin, I believe that his obsession with perfecting... Whatever he was trying to do, was rather immature, and not well thought out, but, I can understand his need for scientific discovery.

Frederick? His connections are useful, and his dedication to his family is admirable, but it gets in the way. He has a soft spot for those younger than him, which, to be fair, is a lot of people.

Marlene is far too bright, my eyes sting just looking at her. She's also very young and unsure. Her powers, however? Now, that's interesting.

Miguel, much like Frederick, has family issues that are too distracting, but, at least he's much more willing to be a firm leader and get the job done.

Mysterio... What do I say about Mysterio?... He's... His illusions are definitely useful...

Norman Osborn

Likes - He likes shiny objects, anything that can spin, and screams. They're loud, they drown out the voices.

Dislikes - Those two boys... He can't remember how he knows them, but he knows it's painful to see them.

Favourite food - Steak.

Least favourite food - Anything with too much grease.

How does he text? - Doesn't bother to check for spelling errors, punctuation, or grammar, and he's barely coherent. Yet, he insists on texting the Sinister Six group chat regularly.

Nationality - American.

What does he think of his fellow Sinister Six members?

Pretty hair, like little tentacles.

Sand is irritating, all over my skin... He does it on purpose, I know it.

Bright, loud... Perfect to listen to... Not fun to talk to.

Too quiet... He reminds me of... Of...

Shiny, I like the helmet, it spins.

Frederick Miller

Likes - Playing dolls with his daughter, he can't afford much, but his wife passed down a dollhouse with some cute little wooden peg dolls that they play with after school.

Dislikes - Soft beds, he's always preferred a hard surface to sleep on, maybe that's why his back is so horrible.

Favourite food - He likes cereal. It's cheap, the most important meal of the day, they give you a lot of what you need, plus, you can add anything to it.

Least favourite food - Honestly? Anything with an expensive price tag, the cheaper, the better it tastes.

How does he text? - He can't actually write too well and so uses the speech to text feature, it makes his texts get misunderstood regularly.

Nationality - American.

What does he think of his fellow Sinister Six members?

Olivia is strange, she's not a bad co-worker but she's intense. I don't know if she likes me, and I don't know if I like her. At the end of the day, she's just another criminal I gotta work with.

Uh... That guy...? Green Goblin, was it? He's... He's definitely a... Uhm... Person...?

Marlene reminds me of my kid, they're bright, fun, and honestly? I feel bad for them, they shouldn't be in this business, at all, from what they've told me, it was a complete accident.

Miguel, he's strict, commanding, but that's until you share a beer with the guy. He's damaged, I feel for him. Although, that doesn't make me like waking up at five AM any more.

I don't like how Mysterio acts around Marlene. He's just... Weird... At least his technology is useful.

Marlene Diegel

Likes - Ballet and classical music, they're very important to the history of theatre and the entertainment industry in general.

Dislikes - Dull colours and costumes that aren't flashy, in their opinion, if you're going to be a villain you may as well dress the part.

Favourite food - Cake, the ones with heavy icing and cherries on top.

Least favourite food - Chicken, especially with bones in it.

How do they text? - Lots of emoticons and exclamation / quotation marks, she's never professional texting even when it's about a serious mission.

Nationality - German.

What do they think of their fellow Sinister Six members?

I wish I was as smart as Olivia, I admire her, really, but she's honestly not very fun to be around. She's quiet, and kinda boring, but at least her tentacles can hold stuff for me.

Green Goblin gives me the creeps, he's literally green, I thought he was some kind of alien at first. I can't imagine purposefully doing that to yourself.

Frederick is nice to me, I don't know why, but he feels like my dad, or my brother, or just my friend, even if we never get to sit down and talk much, I always enjoy when we do.

Miguel also reminds me of my dad, but how he actually was, and not the feeling of a dad. He's very strict and he kinda scares me sometimes, but he's not doing it in a bad way, or at least I don't think he is?

Mysterio's got a fish bowl for a head, I admire the flair, especially the cape, but it is a little ridiculous, and that's coming from somebody with lighting patterns all over their clothes. There's something about him though, I can't place my finger on it!

Miguel Dominguez

Likes - Taking videos and photos, he originally wanted to be a photographer before joining the army, and he's never managed to get back into the hobby professionally.

Dislikes - Watching sports, he despises how boring it is and how you aren't even doing anything while watching.

Favourite food - Pizza, specifically with jalapenos, barbeque sauce and pineapple, it adds a spicy kick and an interesting flavour combination, which boosts his energy.

Least favourite food - Spaghetti, it was his wife's favourite, even the smell makes him sick to his stomach.

How does he text? - He uses emojis a lot and isn't well versed in how people typically use them, so tends to come off as strange. Very good grammar, but occasionally he will sacrifice a bullet point or capital letter once and a while.

Nationality - Mexican.

What does he think of his fellow Sinister Six members?

Olivia's smart, she put this scorpion tail on me, but, I know what it looks like when someone is being told to do something. That's all I'm sharing.

Green Goblin's more like a pet than a human, why would a man reduce himself to such an animalistic state of mind is beyond me. At least he follows orders, I suppose.

Frederick is a good, hardworking, man. Despite how he acts at first, he is very family centered, and I feel as if we both have an understanding of our relationship as co-workers.

I don't think Marlene's cut out for this line of work.

I appreciate Mysterio and his illusions, the technology is impressive, and he's even added advancements to my tail on more than one occasion. But, he's a bit too... Eccentric, for our missions.

Quinlan Blanchfield

Likes - Baking, specifically after a long day of working behind the stage, the lights, the music, it all gives him a rush, and baking cools him down.

Dislikes - The colour blue, it's always just annoyed him, it's too soft.

Favourite food - Cokie dough, and cookies, but, he's working on trying to convince Olivia to help him find a way to safely consume cookie dough, so far she's uninterested.

Least favourite food - Anything that's salty, he never adds salt to his baking, no matter how much it'll improve it.

How does he text? - Uses words that any regular person would need a dictionary to decipher, he's never had a spelling error or incorrect grammar, yet he also uses emojis occasionally.

Nationality - French.

What does he think of his fellow Sinister Six members?

Olivia is impressive, her advancements are far beyond any others, and I'm not just saying that because her boss funds us and our living situations.

Green Goblin interests me, his state of mind, or lack thereof, his costume, everything is such a point of intrigue, I can't wait to learn more when he starts to regain his memories.

The sand guy? He's annoying, I'm starting to think he's spilling sand into my costume on purpose.

Marlene...? No comment.

Miguel is a great leader, he's strong, strict, everything about him is intense, I admire him, I really do, but his schedules and god, the diet? Don't get me started.

[nautiscarader]

Nautiscader's Wendip Week 2021 - Day 2, say something

Melody asks Wendy and Dipper a favour. Will they prove her right in choosing them?

(Ao3)

===========

- Okay, here's the baby formula, here are the spare clothes, here's his favourite toy. - Agu. - It's called Agu. - Melody continued - At least this week it is, I think. He cannot talk yet.

Melody smiled and dragged her finger across her son's belly, causing him to giggle.

- Now, don't take this the wrong way, guys - Melody addressed her babysitters - I would usually ask Mabel and Pacifica, but since they are out of town, you are kinda my last hope. Are you sure you can do that?

Wendy Corduroy and Dipper Pines exchanged confident looks and nodded, giving Melody wide smiles.

- Don't worry, Melody, Shaun will be fine. - Wendy replied with a warm smile and took the chubby boy into her arms. - Yeah, I’ve helped Mabel babysitting, and Wendy obviously has tons of experience. - Dipper reassured her.

Melody gave each of them one last look, as if she was making final decision of which shirt to buy and returned the smile they gave her.

- Alright. We should be back by 7.

She leaned and gave her son one last hug.

- You won't cause too much trouble with Wendy and Dipper, will you, Shaun?

The baby waved his arms and replied and answer only he could understand. Melody jumped in place when she hear the car horn outside.

- Okay, take care of him! Call me if something happens!

And with that, she stormed out of Mystery Shack, leaving the two teenagers with a gruelling task.

- He does look like them, doesn't he? - That's how babies work, dork. - Wendy joked back - But yeah, he sure is Melody and Soos' son.

Shaun reached for his rattle and brought it to his mouth, prompting a fast reaction from both of them.

- No, that's not food. It's not plastic enough for food nowadays. - Wendy spoke, pushing the rattle away, much to Shaun's sadness. - Here, take this. - Dipper handed him a bottle of milk. - You-you know how to use it, right?

And Shaun answered that by chomping his baby lips around the rubber, eagerly sucking the milk.

- I think we make a pretty good team. - Wendy said, and the two high-fived each other and leaned on the counter. - Yeah, Mabel told me all about those times she had to make sure the baby is fine, as if it could spontaneously disappear or combust.

The two burst into laughter, and turned around to check on the baby, their voices silenced in an instant.

- Where is he?! - Dipper yelled - He-he was there! - Wendy pointed to the Shaun-less counter, still with all of his toys and empty bottle of milk.  

The two began frantically looking around, first to the floor, then to the doors and windows, and to their rising horror, Shaun was nowhere to be found.

Wendy grabbed a rattle and using it as a lure shook it to catch Shaun's attention, but up to no avail.

- Okay, how fast can babies crawl? - Dipper asked, opening one by one each barrel full of toys sold at the Shack.

In his mind, he tried his best to estimate where on Earth could Shaun disappear, and whether they should alert everyone in ten-mile radius.

But fortunately for them, one single "ding" solved their problem.

Wendy and Dipper turned their head towards the vending machine and saw baby Shaun standing in the elevator, though they only caught a glimpse of him when the door closed.

- No! - they both shouted and ran towards the shaft, but not until it closed completely. - How-How did he open the door? - Er, I'm gonna assume that "Tehees", "Doggy-dogs" and "NGC 7619 Galaxies" are his parents' favourite snacks? Cos that's what the combination matches...

Dipper furiously retyped the code and paced in place, waiting for elevator to come back up, hoping Shaun would still be there. But if the previous minutes have taught him anything is that children are far less predictable than he thought.

Dipper and Wendy stormed into the empty elevator and began riding down, dreading what could have happened with Shaun.

- Please tell me that Ford locked his lab... - Wendy spoke, after hiding her face in her hands. - Well, he usually does.

The elevator door opened, and their hearts sank again. This time he didn't. The two rushed into the underground lab, truly unsure what they could find inside. In front of them were vast rows of tables and bookcases, each containing, as they supposed, one of Ford's new experiments...

The two split up on both sides of the aisle, checking each and every box, crate and anything vaguely dangerous Shaun could have crawled into.

- Uh! Come on, where are you? - Dipper barked, unable to locate him. - I thought you've said that you've helped Mabel deal with kids! - Well... - Dipper's voice lowered down - Like, once. But what about you? I thought you knew how to handle babies! - I did not sign up for babies crawling into labs, dude! she barked back - You have three brothers! - Dipper exclaimed - Didn't they do stupid stuff? - YEAH, BUT MY MOM WAS ALWAYS THERE! - Wendy exploded and hid her face in her hands.

Any response Dipper had was stuck in his throat, as he watched her wipe away her tears she exploded into.

- Wendy... I'm- - She's always been there. - she continued - Like, I helped and stuff, especially with little Gus, but she still did the most... And Dad's always been there too, so... I wasn't that useful, really...

Her voice cracked, as she spoke, unable to meet her friend's eyes.  

- But then you called and... and I knew you needed help as well, so I knew what to do...

Dipper shied away and reached his hand to console her.

- Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. But we must find Shaun. - You're right. - she sniffed. - Agu!

At the sound of his voice, Dipper and Wendy jolted in place, frantically looking around, unable to locate the sound of the voice.

- Shaun?! Shaun! - Wendy shouted, getting familiar babbling in response. - Uh, W-Wendy...

Dipper tapped her shoulder, and pointed to the far-away end of the lab. Wendy gasped when she saw Shaun crawling on the top of flimsy-looking stack of books, reaching his hands to grab a model of a space-ship, dangling from the ceiling.

At the same time, Dipper and Wendy did the same thing. They've launched themselves, just as the stack of books lost all integrity, and baby Shaun fell.

Shaun was about to hit the other Shelf, but a pillow thrown by Dipper bounced him to the other side - evidently, it wasn't just filled with feathers.

Shaun fell into a box that Wendy caught, but as she looked inside - he wasn't there, and leapt from a second one, right next to her.

As she somersaulted through the air, Dipper tried catching him with a long net... and only succeeded by making him fly for another two minutes, as he wss now sporting wings.

Wings, which he lost when he passed through what looked like a UV light, but not before tearing the net apart.

But as he was about to slam into the ground, four arms reached out, grabbing him safely.

For an agonisingly long while, piercing silence fell, as Dipper and Wendy awaited some response from Shaun.

The baby looked at them, wearing the same baffled look, though without the dash of horror Wendy and Dipper sported.

- Shaun? Shaun! - Wendy gently took him in her arms. - Ugh, I wish he could say something! Hasn't Ford made a baby translator, or something? - Dida!

The two turned on the spot and watched as little Shaun babbled and pointed towards Dipper.

- Wait, what did you say? - Di-da! Di-da! - Shaun repeated eagerly - I think he means "Dipper"... - Wendy smiled, shedding another tear. - You think so, Wendy? - We-wy! We-wy!

Wendy gasped, and put her hands over mouth.

- That's-that's how Gus used to call me too...

She took him once more in her arms and giggled with him, hoping to get another rendition of her name. But the baby babbled "Agu" again, pointing to the spaceship model.

- Yeah, alright, have another Agu.

Dipper reached and, after checking if it didn't have any sharp edges, gave the flying saucer to Shaun.

- Let's get you back up... - Wendy, listen, I'm- - I know, dude. - Wendy cut him off - I didn't take it seriously enough as well..

With his new toy in his stubby arms, Shaun babbled in Wendy's arms, as the three got back in the elevator and rode up.

=======

- Okay, should give two burps now.

Wendy read the instructions, watching as Dipper held Shaun in his arms. He gently tapped his back, and to his amusement, received two small burps.

- Hey, it worked! - At least that's comforting...

The doorbell rang again, this time welcoming Melody back, as the businesswoman rushed back to see her baby back. Warm smile appeared on her face when she saw Shaun in Dipper's arms and she walked to take him back.

- Oh, Shaun, I've missed you so much... - L-Look, Melody!

Wendy and Dipper grabbed the little Shaun and proudly lifted him towards her, as if she has never seen her own child.

- Di-da! We-Wy! - He-he talks now! - Dipper exclaimed - A bit.

Melody's eyes brightened and shone with tears, as she took her son back into her arms.

- Oh, I'm so proud of you! Wait until your dad hears about it. - she gave Wendy and Dipper warm smile - You two have done really good job.

At the same time, Dipper and Wendy shared nervous looks, and as they both felt something churning in their stomach, they decided to come clear.

- Melody, look... the thing is... - We didn't. We turned our backs for a second, and... he just disappeared. - And he got into Ford's lab, and...   - And all the hell broke loose! - We... we failed you.

Dipper and Wendy awaited Melody's reaction, watching as she listened to their confession.

- Yeah, but that's what usually happens. Did he activate the copying machine again? - No, but- - Wait, what?

Melody smiled.

- Yeah, Mabel and Paz didn't have much luck with him as well. - she giggled. - You had to see their faces when there were fifteen of Shauns to take care of! One was only in black-and-white, it ran out of colour. It's a good thing those copies are destroyed when wet... Quite easy for babies, if you know what I mean.

Dipper and Wendy listened to her surprisingly nonchalant speech, as she continued to toy with her son's belly.  

- Well, I guess you've got a test for when you'll be parents.  

The two teenagers looked at each other, both sporting a deeply crimson blush on their faces, as they both rushed to deny any such possibility for a long time.

- Want to do something else and never talk about that? - Agree.

And the two jumped onto the sofa, ready to watch a movie in complete silence for once.

[vampiresuns]

Interlude 1: Do Not Stand Over My Grave And Weep, Part 2

⟡ PART 2: FRIENDS ARE THE FAMILY YOU CHOOSE ⟡

2.2k words. In which Anatole’s friends start uncovering the mystery of his death and sudden reappearance. 

CW: Death and discussions of it.

What to catch up with Anatole’s Apprentice series? You can do that here.

He had met him at University. He had been his friend since he was 18 years old. Anatole and Medea had been Leonore’s first lasting friends, the first people who outside of his family, had taught him permanence was not entrapment. They had filled his life with growth and laughter; he had suffered their woes, he had celebrated their triumphs, he had followed them into Vesuvia despite his original wish to travel the world. 

He still travelled, but he always came back to them. Medea and Anatole weren’t just friends: they were family now. When Leonore closed his eyes he could see them holding hands and jumping into the water one summer evening in Prakra. He could see Medea using his thigh as a pillow under a tree. He could see Anatole dancing. He could see Medea and Anatole dressed to the nines for their new Court jobs. 

He would know them anywhere. He would know them by the way their steps sounded alone.

It took Leonore some moments to remember where he was, Octavia gently nudging him. Sabine, who he didn’t realise had gone, announced themselves again, saying they had lost Anatole’s doppelgänger in the crowd. 

Only it hadn’t been a doppelgänger. Leonore knew his best friend, he knew Anatole when he saw him. 

“No,” he said at last. “No, that’s him. That’s him, Octavia. That was him, and I need to find him.” 

“Leonore, wait! Anatole’s dead.” 

They began bickering about it, Octavia trying to stop Leonore from head diving into a wild goose chase, not realising Selasi, the Baker, was listening to them. 

“Excuse me, forgive me for overhearing, but are you talking about Anatole Radošević? The magician from Moonstone and Jasmine?” 

“Yes! His aunt owned that shop,” Leonore said, jumping to talk to Selasi, who inspected him with a careful eye. 

“I don’t know what prank you’re playing, but he’s alive as can be. I opened a little after the plague subsided and he and Asra have been getting bread from me for three years, almost. They’re attached at the hip, so if you know Asra—“ 

Leonore leaped to shake his hand. “I do know, Asra! Thank you, thank you so much.” 

Selasi tried to tell him Asra wasn’t around, that he was on a journey, but that he could tell him where to find Anatole if he promised he was a friend, but Leonore sprinted towards the shop without letting him finish. Sabine set off to follow Leonore as Octavia called to both of them, which left her standing alone with Selasi. She made some apologies, and Selasi told her not to worry. 

“Where did you say you knew him?”

“Leonore went to University with him,” she said, thinking the least she could do was to assure the man they were Anatole’s friends, not some random people with weird motivations. “I know him through his cousin.”

The baker hummed. “I didn’t know Anatole had any family besides his late Aunt and Asra.”

Something about the way he said it, the casual certainty of it, gave Octavia a chill. She thanked him, and tried to catch up with Sabine and Leonore, not wanting to say anything Selasi might not know. She risked him stopping them, or worse, telling Anatole, which she didn’t think would be a good idea. Octavia just had a bad feeling about it: she didn’t expect people to just know who Anatole was, or had been, that could be conceited. Anatole himself hated being anticipated by his job, wanting to have the opportunity to present himself and do the best he could do. 

Yet from there to the sureness Selasi had had when he said he didn’t know Anatole had any family besides Paris and Asra? It was weird. The Radošević-Cassano weren’t meant to be separated; if Octavia knew anything about them from Milenko, it was that they were very close knit. The only people in their families that Octavia could think of as not being regarded ever, were Matilda and Krešmir, Vlad’s and Valerius’ late parents, who hadn’t even raised the siblings. All she knew about them was that they were neglectful and Matilda had the idle ennui of someone who was too used to having everything, and was used to using cruelty for fun. 

Milenko had only talked about them a couple of times, and she had never heard the Consul even mention them, let alone Vlad, Anatole’s father. One way or another, the Cassano didn’t detach themselves from their family, nor did the Radošević, and Anatole had only ever been extremely proud of the people who had raised him. That had been their way since the days of Cassano Arianamenzi, the first of them, and she could testify that legacy had not washed away with time. If anything, it had become stronger. So why would Anatole not speak of it?

Unless he didn’t remember them. She had read about such a thing once, doing research for one of her most early plays. A shiver went down her back, making her hug her arms around herself and walk faster.

When Octavia reached the Moonstone Leonore and Sabine were talking to a tall man who seemed to guard the shop. None of them had seen him before, but he seemed to know them; he called them ‘people from before’. 

“You used to give Anatole clementines, which he doesn’t like—” he said. He was tall, covered in a cloak, and had moss green eyes, though they were barely visible.

“He says they taste fake,” Leonore completed.

“So he gave them to me, before— it doesn’t matter. You won’t find him here.”

The only thing stranger than the stranger was that none of them could remember him as they tried to piece their afternoon together. However, Octavia had heard Selasi say Anatole was occupied in the Palace, and perhaps they could try their luck there. 

“Then let’s go,” Leonore said, already standing up. “Maybe Medea knows something we don’t.”

Medea Pryce was the daughter of two archaeologists and the granddaughter of another one. Both her father’s and her mother’s family had settled in Vesuvia some generations ago because its cultural diversity and rich history was good for the archaeological craft. Anatole wasn’t the first Radošević-Cassano she had met — her Grandmother was acquainted with Bastiste Cassano, one of the Cassano elders, and thus with Consul Valerius, whom Batiste called her spoiled grandnephew. Medea’s parents, on the other hand, were acquainted with Atanasie Radošević and Aurora Tesfaye, uncle and mother of Anatole’s cousin Milenko. 

So when she met him at University, which she had begun in Prakra, just as he had done, the surname called to her immediately. Discovering they would course the exact same program, even if they had different aspirations and goals, another pleasant surprise. It would be nice to have someone to know, as Medea liked making friends.

What a friend she had made of him and Leonore, who shared housing with them. Anatole was one of those people who had the energy of a handsome stranger one shared enlightening conversation with, yet then never saw again. Debonair and hopeful, he was passionate and inspiring, a devoted friend and nothing if not extraordinary. He had his shortcomings, like everyone, but that wasn’t the way one measured their friends. 

Seasons came and time passed. They both studied and apprenticed in Balkovia for six months, and then they moved on into Vesuvia, Leonore following them, to their surprise. They laughed and hurt, they fell in love with their own people, they held each other, and Medea and Anatole drafted their plans for the future. It would be a great future, they were sure of it. Anatole’s self-introductory speech for the Vesuvian Court was a gem, Medea believed it so. They liked to fantasise about one day becoming Consul and Head of Staff, with all the things they thought they could help with, working together for the people of their City. 

No matter the crashes and reality checks, the hardships or how many times Medea had seen Anatole stand up to the Count and the new Courtiers, they held hands through it and continued onwards: The World and it’s calling of completion met its perfect match in Anatole’s Ace of Swords coloured Strength.

Then the Plague came and Anatole died, and Medea was left with all their plans, and no one to implement them with. 

After his death, things only got worse. She could tell something was going on with the Consul, but she wasn’t close enough to him to know what. She was somewhat closer to Councilwoman Cassiopeia, but she didn’t seem to know what was going on with her cousin either. The Courtiers hadn’t done anything of value for the City in three years, and all that Valerius ever seemed to do was to keep it afloat. The Court was destroyed, and with the Countess as lost as they all were, Medea didn’t know where they would end.

When she heard the Countess had found a new advisor she was thrilled. Fresh air was what the Court needed, and by the first weeks of this advisor around the Countess, it was clear they were doing her good, even if she had heard the advisor had had a rocky introduction with the Court. It seemed like it, because she knew from first hand experience that the Consul had come in furious to his office, refusing to speak to anyone, except to Cassiopeia, whom Medea was sure forced him to speak rather than him wilfully giving her any information.

He had only said something about something in poor taste, and how had he let the Countess know he would not tolerate it, but he didn’t say anything else. 

Her turn to meet the advisor came the next morning. It happened by accident, when she was delivering some documents to the Council of Vesuvia. Meet was a lax word for it, ‘seeing’ him, was much more appropiate: with his light golden blond hair, and bespoke clothes. The same unmistakable black eyes and the scar across the bridge of his nose. The same stride, the same height, the same face, the same looks. 

Her friend, her own dearest Aelius Anatole had walked into the Consul’s office seeking for an explanation about the way he had been received in Court. From there on, the morning was mayhem, absolute mayhem, and only now that Medea was sitting alone she could finally process it. 

“Anatole” had introduced himself fully, his name the right name, but the Consul wouldn’t hear it, immediately throwing himself at the throat of the “second-rate witch” for daring to use that name. Anatole continued to insist that was his name. The more the argument extended, it was clear to everyone involved that that was Anatole, even to the headstrong Consul — his panicked eyes gave him away.

Medea knew her friend, her friend had always had a presence, even if he wasn’t always aware of it. He still had it, he still stood in the same way the Consul did, he still turned his eyebrows in the same way, and the way he spoke. 

What he spoke of, too. 

The breaking point came when the Consul grabbed him from the shoulders, demanding to know what he wanted from him. Then, Medea saw him do something he hadn’t done in years: she heard the Consul speak Balkovian in public. Medea’s grasp with the language was enough to know he asked two things, two crucial things, that anyone who wasn’t Anatole couldn’t answer. 

Anatole answered the first one, something about a sword’s name, in his perfectly native Balkovian, looking pale and sickly-greenish. Cassiopeia tried to interject, but the Consul wouldn’t listen to anyone. Then the Consul asked his second question, something about ‘what was the tree’, or ‘what was the name of the tree’, and nothing else. Medea wasn’t sure. 

Anatole replied both of the questions: His first reply being ‘grapevine’, followed by a choked up ‘cult of Dionysus’; the second reply was ‘a beech tree’, looking like he was about to vomit after the words left his mouth. 

“Valeriy?” He said, as the Consul looked at him in horror, still holding him by the shoulders. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Anatole did pass out, and the Consul, blushing cherry red as he realised the whole scene had been in front of half the Court office at his care, yelled at them to know what the hell were they doing, if not call for someone to take this boy to a bed. After it, the Consul stormed off, Cassiopeia power-walking behind him as she demanded an explanation from her cousin, an explanation the Consul refused to give, waving dismissively at her.

“Don’t you wave like that at me, Valeriy, unlike you, I know my own damn nephew when I see him.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“Valeriy Radošević, I will call you however I damn please! Come back here!”

Medea didn’t stay to watch the rest. The Court was in unrest, it was so much that it had stirred the four other weirdos into watching and making the oddest commentary for anyone to hear. Medea didn’t need an in with them to know they knew something they all didn’t, and simply thought of the Court Staff too inconsequential for them to spare them half a thought.  

As if possessed by a thunderbolt, Medea stood up from where she was sitting as she ruminated. She needed answers, and she needed to talk about this to someone. She had an idea: if anyone she was close enough knew a considerable amount of death and ghosts, it was Amparo Cassano, but first she needed to talk to Leonore. They had supported each other in these 4 years Anatole had been dead, or presumed as much. Anything she did, it would be with Leonore. 

As she turned around after grabbing her coat, Leonore was calling her name. 

“Sabine is waiting for us at our place, they wanted to ask some questions first so I ran here. Octavia is trying to find Amparo, or anyone really. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Good,” she said, as she grabbed his arm and began walking out of the Palace, “so do I, but not here. The Courtiers are around, and they cannot be trusted.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

Demonic Intervention (Indruck)

Prompt for the 7th: “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” - The Tempest (William Shakespeare). This fill is NSFW

It can't get much worse. 

Indrid is barely scraping by. He can count his friends in town on one hand. He’s gay in a tiny, rural community and one of the few men like him is a goddamn priest. His house is a mess. And his every waking moment is filled with the demons of his past or the devils lurking in his future. There are so many of them in his present too, roaming the streets of Kepler. 

What’s one more in the mix?

He lights the stubby black candle by the bed, scratches the symbols on the floor, and retreats into his cocoon of blankets to wait.

--------------------------------------------

Duck hates when it’s his turn on the summoning shifts. All this ancient knowledge and power and he’s stuck waiting to see if some yahoo in a graveyard or a wannabe cult leader will call him up into the world. 

He has brambles that need pruning, damn it. 

His name isn’t well known among humans, so he only gets summoned if someone is just rooting around for a demonic entity without caring who they get. He’s only been summoned twice in the last hundred years. The tingle in his horns tells him it’s about to be three. 

The room he arrives in is gloomier than any graveyard; the lights are off, the curtains are shut, and the place looks like it got hit by a tornado with a grudge. By the light of the candle, a pale-haired head emerges from the blankets of the small bed. A hand reaches for the floor, comes back with a pair of red glasses.

“Greetings, infernal one. Thank you for answering my summons.” The man’s voice is flat.

“Even demons got manners. So, uh, what’s the job?”

“There are so many dishes in the sink that the thought of doing them is an insurmountable task. Please do them for me.”

“...You realize I’m takin somethin’ from you for this, right? Like a piece of soul or a month of your life?”

“Mmmm” The man rolls over and says nothing else. 

“A day of your life for this.” Duck feels like he should haggle more, but then he’d had to pretend he actually thought a higher price was fair. 

“I accept your terms.” A crackle of green and black electricity flickers in the air in the form of  Duck’s signature and the other man’s name: Indrid Cold.

“Pleasure doin’ business with you.” 

Indrid says nothing. Duck is sure to wash and dry before he goes. 

The next day he’s summoned to the exact same room, in the exact same state of depressing mess. 

“Greetings, infernal one. Please clean this room.”

“Same terms?”

“Mmhmm” Indrid is just staring at the ceiling. 

“You gotta say you accept.”

“I accept.” 

Duck snaps, turning on the light, and gets to work. Technically he could do all this with a wave of his hand. But then he’d lose his chance to learn a little more about the guy who’s settled on demonic deals instead of a maid service. It’s the opposite of the usual problem he has in these kinds of situations, where the humans reveal their deepest secrets, desires, and fears within five minutes of meeting him. 

The records he stacks near their player, the clothes all go in the hamper to be magicked clean, then are hung in the closet; they’re loose and soft, not a scratchy fabric to be found. Tarot cards and candles abound, as do art supplies, and under a pile of drawings he finds magazines featuring muscular, hairy men in various sexual positions. Some of them even look like his preferred human form, the one he’s wearing now. 

He glances at the bed; Indrid is on his side, facing him, must have been watching him at some point but has dropped into a restless sleep. The blankets are slipping, showing a The Sonics tank top hanging off skinny shoulders. Right, that was one of the bands in the record stack. 

Duck doesn’t tend to pry into souls or auras or shit like that; there are whole heaps of trouble that lay that direction. But as he flicks the dust from the bookshelf covered in paperbacks, he feels the edges of Indrids and nearly falls on his ass from the wave of exhaustion and loneliness. 

When it’s time to go, he pauses to pull the blankets back up around him, sets his glasses on the bedside table, and turns the calendar on the wall from “September 1974” to “October 1974.”

When he’s summoned right back to Indrid’s room the next evening, he spots the same tank top on him as he sits up in bed.

“Greetings infernal one.”

“You can just call me ‘Duck’. It’s a nickname.” 

“Oh” Indrid blinks, perplexed, “very well. I, ah, there are some bills that need to be paid to keep the lights on.”

“You need the money for them?”

“No, just for someone to fill out the forms and checks and put them in the mail.”

“Okay. But my fee’s a little different this time: you gotta tell me when you last ate.”

“I accept. I ate this morning.”

Duck snaps his fingers

“Two days ago!” Indrid yelps, then slaps his hands over his mouth. He glares, “why does it matter?”

“Because while I’m payin those bills, you’re eatin’ dinner.”

“Everything in the fridge is disgusting and I can’t go to the store.” 

Duck takes the short trip out to the kitchen, opens the fridge to the new sound of Indrid’s footfalls behind him. 

“You got lots of decent stuff in here; could make you some eggs?”

“No, thank you.” Indrid shakes his head, looking a bit ill. 

“Well, what do you want? I can summon it up.”

“I’m out of Lucky Charms.” The humans says sheepishly, staring at his bare feet. 

A fresh box of cereal appears on the table, Duck pulling out the half empty bottle of milk. He thinks back to the drawings he saw yesterday and conjures a bowl covered in a pattern of brightly colored moths. 

He gathers the stack of bills of while hearts, stars, and horseshoes rattle into the bowl. After a few moments of crunching he hears, “May I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why is your nickname Duck? Does that word mean something else in demonic speech?”

Duck stuffs paper into envelopes, “Nah. It’s, uh, kinda silly but, uh, most demons learn how to take on an animal form. When it was my turn, they asked me which I wanted and, uh, I said I wanted to try bein’ a duck. Liked it so much I stayed that way for three months.”

There’s an odd, strangled sound that makes him look up; Indrid has one hand over his mouth and is shaking with little squeaks. He’s laughing. 

“I’m, I’m s-sorry but, but I, I cannot get over the image of you as a little, feathery waterbird.”

Duck smirks, “Only part that ever gave me trouble was the quackin’; always came out too deep.”

He just manages to pull the envelopes back as milk comes out the human’s nose and he giggles uncontrollably. 

“Ow, ow, heeh, oh g-goodness, I’m s-sorry I, I just haven’t laughed in so long, ugh, there’s milk on my shirt-”

“Guess you’re gonna need to shower now too.” 

“Nono, I can just change-”

Duck waves the bills back and forth, “Uh uh, if you want me to actually put these in the mailbox, you gotta agree to shower.”

“But that’s changing the terms!”

“Demon.” Duck grins. 

“Very well. Let me finish my dinner first.” Indrid scarfs the rest of the cereal, pads back towards the bedroom while Duck cleans the table. He waits to hear water running before going to the mailbox. When he gets back he sticks his head into the steamy bathroom.

“I’m gonna go now.”

“Oh, alright. Thank you again.” Indrid pokes his head out from the shower curtain and Duck resists the temptation to make the whole barrier disappear just for a peak. What can he say? He’s always liked his humans a bit unique looking. 

He draws a special sigil in the steamed-up mirror and heads for home. 

---------------------------------------------------

Indrid sets the candle on the table, lights it, adds the symbol he found in the mirror, and then starts unpacking his groceries. 

“Lookit you doin’ chores.” The whiff of burnt pine needles accompanies Duck’s voice and draws the tension from Indrid’s shoulders. 

“I’ll have you know I swept today as well.” Indrid turns and crunches the bag of potato chips in his fists; Duck hasn’t put his horns or claws away, and his shirt is half unbuttoned. 

“Caught me while I was gardenin, which is why I ain’t as put together as normal. What can I do for you?”

“This may sound strange but, ah, what is the fee for just talking with you?”

Duck’s eyebrows shoot up and then he chuckles, “You’re full of surprises, little moth.”

Indrid touches the luna moth on his shoulder; how much had Duck studied him when he was here? Did he like what he saw? Does he give everyone he makes deals with nicknames that come out in a drawl like summer honey?

“Hows a little nibble of the old soul sound?”

“I accept. Ah, would you like some cookies? A friend of mine brought them over to me.”

“Sure. The fella on the fridge bring ‘em?” The demon indicates the picture of himself and Barclay, the one he can’t bring himself to throw away. 

“No. My friend Dani, she’s in charge of the gardens for the little co-op in town and when the bakery has seconds she often drops them off for me.” 

He really needs to stop staring at Duck’s chest, even demons probably find ogling rude. Duck’s eyes--one blue, one brown-- catch his own and suddenly claw tips are undoing the remaining buttons. Indrid goes pink but manages to get the cookies and two glasses of water on the table without incident. 

“You know, you never told me why you stayed a duck for so long.”

“It’s the least demonic thing you’ve ever heard but, uh, I just thought it was nice. Bein’ out in the woods, paddlin’ on the lake and watchin the world go by. Sleepin under the stars. Just makes you feel like you’re part of somethin’ bigger than yourself. Now, I got a question for you; why go to all the trouble of summonin’ me just to do your chores?”

Indrid bites his lip, “I knew I was in the kind of mental place where I could not manage it myself. And it felt safer to ask you than to ask my friends. Not that they wouldn’t help me. It’s just, when my mind is like that it turns so inward I can’t conceive of a world that might contain things for me.”

The demon says nothing for a moment, sips his water with a thoughtful look. Then he sets down the empty glass, “Glad you’re feelin a little better.” He tilts his head to indicate the sketch on the counter, “that new?”

“Yes” excitement bubbles up in his chest, “I was reading about--ah, well, it’s, it’s sort of a long story, I don’t want to bore you.”

Duck kicks his feet up on the spare chair and gestures for him to continue. So he does, tells the demon about reading every book he could find on the mythology and folklore of the Mexico and the American southwest, about his new inspiration for a series of drawings, his worries that no one will like them or purchase them and he’ll be stuck running his little psychic side business until he dies 

Duck, in turn, tells him about life as a forest demon, about his hellcat, and about the fact he routinely comes up to the human world for french onion soup because the stuff made in his realm never tastes right. When Indrid next looks at the clock, it’s well after midnight. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so long.”

“No complaints here. But I oughta get home and feed Winnie before she shreds my cabinets again.” The demon stands, rounding the table, “gotta get my fee first.”

“Right. How should I…” Indrid stiffens as Duck bends forward, wondering if the sharp teeth that smiled at him all night are about to pierce his skin. 

Warm lips meet his forehead and he sighs at the tenderness in the gesture. Duck, however, moans as he pulls back, then quickly covers his mouth.

“Uh, that, that’s a totally, uh, totally not, uh, un-normal reaction, uh, fuck, see you around.” 

He’s gone with a campfire crackle, leaving Indrid to wonder how a demon can be such a terrible liar.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Sweet fuckin hell.” Duck gasps as his living room forms around him. His lips still tingle from kissing the human’s forehead, from the sheer force of the want and yes that came when he took that sip of soul. It’s never like that, never comes so willingly and eagerly, like the soul is searching for someone to look after it. 

Technically, there’s nothing stopping him from zipping right back up there and pinning Indrid to his bed while he takes what the human seems so happy to give. 

Duck takes five deep breaths, then ten, and then goes to retrieve Winnie from the cabinet she clawed her way into.

------------------------------------------------------------

When Barclay suggested Indrid find someone to confide in, Indrid’s going to guess he didn’t mean, “routinely invite a demon into your house to play cards or listen to music.”

Most times, Indrid isn’t even summoning him; they have two standing dates a week, plus a game night with Dani and her new girlfriend, Aubrey (who Duck seems to know but refuses to say more about how). Duck will sometimes drop by unannounced, and he hardly ever collects a fee these days. When he does, it’s always a taste of Indrid’s soul, taken via a kiss on the cheek. 

Indrid would let him take it any way he wanted. He’s well past denying the fact Duck is type in all his forms, that he’s gentler than most humans, and that he’s so charming Indrid would eat out of his hand. 

Duck even goes out with him, like the boyfriend he wishes he had. When he puts on his human form to accompany Indrid around town, he radiates enough residual, demonic energy that the people who normally make Indrid’s life a living hell stay far, far away. In fact, tonight is the first night in months he’s had something close to a disaster, and it was mostly an accident. He’s peeling his beer-soaked shirt over his head when he feels mis-matched eyes on his back.

“Have a little too much fun bartendin’ tonight?” Duck holds out his hand, rendering the shirt fresh and clean when it touches his palm.

“Some caveman hit on one of our regulars and would not back off when asked. She threw a full pint of beer on him and I happened to be standing right behind him when she did.” He wiggles out of his jeans, let’s Duck give them the same treatment he gave the shirt, “ugh, I need a bath, I smell like Rheingold.”

“Allow me.” Duck waves his hand and steam wafts from the bedroom, goes into it and grabs the bubble bath from under the sink as Indrid follows him in his underwear. Duck’s constant glancing at his crotch and legs makes him bold. 

“What’s the fee for such excellent service?”

“No fee, little moth. I’m just doin’ a favor for my friend.”

“And what if your friend wants to repay you anyway?”

When the demon looks up from the tub, his eyes are glowing, “Only if he’s doin’ it because he wants to and not because he owes me.”

“I want to, so very badly.”

In a flash Duck is in the tub, beckoning Indrid to join him. Indrid tests the water with his finger just to be safe.

“Mmm, nice and warm.”

“Hellfire, sugar. Now get your cute ass into the tub or--oh fuck yeah.” Duck growls as Indrid strips and climbs in with him, drags him into his lap and traces his claws up his sides while Indrid yanks him into a kiss.Curious, Indrid reaches one hand up to rub the base of his horn, the dark brown curls like smooth bark beneath his fingers. 

“Fuuuck” Duck groans, “feels like gettin a back-rub.”

“Then I better keep at it. Oh, oh my” Indrid sits back to admire the vines of green appearing in Duck’s skin, “you’re absolutely beautiful.”

“Kinky little thing, you like that I’m a demon.” Duck scrapes his teeth along Indrid’s shoulder, “that really why you summoned me? You were hopin I’d have my, uh, demonic way with you?”

“N-no, I, I, it’s no secret I’m attracted to you but I, you make me feel so happy, I’m so safe when I’m with you, and, and if all your care and affection towards me has been part of some malevolent plan please, please just tell me because I, I think I’m falling in love with you.” He kisses Duck with far more force than before, forestalling the inevitable confession that this was all just a game for his soul and his own, pathetic admission that he’s not sure that changes anything. 

“Oh, sugar” Duck keeps brushing their lips together as he speaks, “First time I tasted your soul I knew I was fucked. Knew I wanted to keep seein’ you, even if you never gave me another goddamn thing.”

Indrid buries his face in Duck’s shoulder, letting out shuddery sighs as Duck pets his back. He’s never leaving this spot, Duck is just going to have to carry him about while he does his infernal business and his housekeeping.

“Tell me what you want, little moth.” Duck kisses the shell of his ear. It still tingles, even when his soul stays put.

“Please fuck me? Oh! Oh that’s very efficient and extremely strange.” He squirms in Duck’s lap as his ass turns slick and stretched, like someone has pulled four fingers from it.

“Do it the traditional way some other time” The curved head of a cock bumps his ass, “you wanna feel just to be sure you can take it?”

He flails in the water a moment, finds a warm, responsive shaft with four, bumpy ridges leading to the head. It’s no bigger than the one toy he splurged on during his last trip to the city.

“Yes, certainly, oh, oh, AHHhnnnn yes.” The cock is hotter than his body as it slides in and he wonders if it will just melt him from the inside out, if Duck’s cum will be just as warm, how it will feel on his tongue and down his throat when he drags the demon into his bed.

“That’s it sugar, take it all the way. Fuck, been jerkin off to the thought of you on my dick for months.”

“Nnngh” Is his eloquent reply, the ridges of Duck’s cock making his toes curl and his fingers dig into Duck’s skin. 

“You like that idea, little moth? Knowin I could be out temptin anyone I wanted to and instead I was in bed thinkin’ about you?”

“Mhhmmm” He whines, the desire pouring off the demon wrapping around him and soothing his insecurities. 

Duck slows the thrusts of his hips and his voice is gentle when he whispers, “Course I did; no one can compare to you, ‘Drid.”

“Ohgod, Duck, please, please, please, want to be yours, always yours-”

“Careful,sugar, that sounds like you’re anglin’ for an infernal marriage.”

“A, a what? OHhhhnnyes” He moans as claws knead his ass.

“It’s a special kind of deal where a human agrees to marry a demon. Soon as they’re dead, they go straight to their spouse, no other options provided.” Duck cups his face, holding it steady so he can look into his eyes, “but there ain’t no need for that right now; way I see it, we can do this like we were just two normal fellas for now.”

“But it sounds fun.” Indrid offers a teasing pout and gets an adoring kiss in return. 

“Yeah? What if I tell you a lot of demons mark their spouses by piercing these” He pinches Indrid’s nipples, the pain making him bounce more determinedly on his dick. His demon growls, drops one hand down to thumb at the head of his aching cock, “pierce here too. Won’t even do it in public like you’re supposed to; do it at home so no one else will see just what a sweet, needy thing you are for me--whoah, fuck, did not expect you to cum just from playin with this nice dick a little.”

“V-very sensitive” Indrid gasps against the green swirls in Duck’s shoulder, his orgasm such a surprise he’s still registering it, hips twitching and tongue threatening to loll out of his mouth.

“Keep that in mind for next time. Might even bring a cage so you don’t cum too early and spoil my plans. Now, hold tight, little moth.” 

Indrid clings to the warm bulk of Duck’s body as his cock pounds up into him, the demon easily holding his hips up and his ass open so all he can do is whimper and writhe on it. When he cums it’s hot enough that Indrid squirms

“Don’t hurt does it?” Duck pets his sides, concerned. 

“Nono, it, it’s nice, just very strange.” Indrid winces as Duck pulls out, watches him wave his fingers to clear away the mess. When the demon makes no move to let go, Indrid looks up, “you really meant what you said? About wanting me as a boyfriend?”

“Damn right I do. Now c’mere, lemme get the beer outta your hair.”

Indrid hums as Duck scrubs his scalp and runs warm water over his skin, talking all the while about how they should go camping as a first date so no one will bother them, says he’ll even turn into a duck to make Indrid smile. 

Indrid says he knows just the spot, let’s his boyfriend dry them off and bundle them to bed and then, for the first time, falls asleep with a devil in his arms.

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

75 with either Royality or Roceit?

This was actually quite fun to write! It's been nice writing a platonic fic again :)

The prompt- “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

General writing taglist: @psychedelicships @jwillowwolf @lost-in-thought-20 @red-imeanblue (If anyone would like to be added, let me know! :)

Read it on Ao3!

To The Rescue.

Platonic Patton and Roman.

Warnings for frantic behaviour, panicked moments, fainting.

Patton wasn’t exactly a huge fan of exercise. Running in particular was something he would rather avoid doing in any capacity, however, unfortunately for him… he wasn’t going to have a choice today.

It all started when he thought he could impress Roman, his best friend and work colleague by finishing off his section of their quota sheets early, purely so there would be less work for him to do. He always liked being finished early, that way, if he was needed somewhere else in the office, there would be no problems. As his alarm clock went off the next morning, he realised just how much of a mistake that was… Maybe starting his work at 10pm (he could blame watching Disney movies for the late start) then working through to 3am wasn’t such a great idea. Especially when he had to wake up at 6am. He slapped his phone until the offensive noise came to a peaceful silence as he drifted back to sleep, he was rudely interrupted every ten minutes as the snoozed alarm came back with a vengeance; but he could deal with that. By the time it got to the third round of slapping his phone, he woke up with a start and scrambled to check the time. It was now 6:30am, he had to be at work by 7 and he’s already missed the bus. He was screwed, and that was putting it lightly.

He ran around his apartment frantically. If anyone was able to see inside, they would either see a man on a mission, or a man having a mid-life crisis. He desperately running down the stairs before going into the kitchen. He put the kettle on and left his thermal flask on the side, ready to pour coffee into soon, he started throwing papers into a bag while waiting, then he scrambled to pick up all of the ones he failed to put in first time around. The kettle announced it had finished its job, and as he poured the coffee into his flask, Patton looked down at his arm and realised he was still wearing his pajamas. He shrieked and ran back up the stairs to get dressed, he raced around to put on his classic suit with the bright blue shirt under his jacket and his dark blue trousers. He checked himself in the mirror and thankfully, his shirt wasn’t on back to front today which was a relief. He walked briskly out of the door and stopped at the top of the stairs, he looked down at his feet and noticed he’d left his shoes behind. Patton tutted to himself; this wasn’t going to be a good day. He grabbed his shoes and made sure to ties his laces as tight as possible, he was going to have to run across town after all.

He stormed down the stairs, jumping the last three of them before going back into the kitchen. His coffee was still steaming so he sealed his flask, took his bag off the table and slung it onto his back violently. ‘Almost ready to go!’ He told himself with a vague hint of positivity in his voice. The last task was the hardest… where in the name of sanity did he put his keys?

He sighed and he fought every urge to just give up and cry, but he started the search for his keys. He didn’t want to let Roman down, not today of all days. He ran through every room, threw all of the cushions off the chairs, pushed all of the DVDs off of the table from yesterday. They had to be there somewhere! He turned around one more time and he heard a familiar jingle coming from his jacket pocket, he stopped and slowly put his hand into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Patton could have screamed, but instead he glared at his keys like they had stolen the last cookie from his tin. He finally made a sprint for the front door, he was sweating like crazy and he had never felt this dizzy before, but he was ready to go at last. He put the key into the lock and the door clicked open.

He swung the door open and took one step out before stopping in his tracks.

“Roman?? What in the world are you doing here?” He jumped back startled at seeing his best friend standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face. His red shirt complimented Patton’s shirt nicely, they tended to unintentionally co-ordinate their outfits. Patton would have made a comment about it, but at the moment, he was too busy trying to stay upright.

“Well, we both know that you’re never late for work… and when even I managed to get into the office before you, I had to swing by and check what was going on and whether I could come to your rescue!” He held his hands up triumphantly like he was a knight in shining armour. Despite the bravado in his voice, there was still a minute hint of worry. Patton wasn’t sure when he stopped listening to Roman’s speech, all he could see was black spots clouding his vision and then… darkness.

Roman knew he was going to fall, Patton was quite pale and sweating significantly which was unusual for him. If he had to guess, he must have overslept and had been running around manically trying to get everything sorted. Roman shook his head and tutted lightly with a small smile on his face and caught Patton gracefully. He swept Patton up in his arms, carried him back into his apartment and placed him down gently onto the sofa. Roman checked him over quickly before taking out his phone and sending a text to their boss explaining the situation. When the swift reply came back for him to stay and look after Patton, he went into the kitchen and got a glass of water ready for when Patton came around. It was lucky he had been to Patton’s apartment before otherwise he would have no idea where anything was. He softly put the water down on the coffee table before switching on the TV and turned the volume down, he looked at Patton from time to time and he began to stir a little after about half an hour. He shot up in a panic and Roman immediately put his hands on Patton’s shoulders, reassuring him.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. Everything’s okay. We’re in your apartment and we’re taking the day off work.” He spoke softly and Patton relaxed with every word.

“W- what happened? I remember you coming to the door, and that’s all. Logan’s going to be mad if we’re not in. What about the deadline?” His words were rushed and a little slurred, but Roman stayed calm and kept his hands on Patton’s shoulders.

“I’ve talked to Logan, he’s absolutely fine with it. I’ve finished my quota stats, and we’ve just got to send yours when we can. Logan wanted me to pass on the message of… ‘You’re an idiot and please look after yourself today.’” He copied Logan’s voice and made Patton chuckle which was a very reassuring thing.

“Well, luckily, my quota stats are all done as well so we can send those in today. You still haven’t told me what happened.” He looked over in anticipation, almost praying that nothing too embarrassing happened.

“Yooou fainted. Straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” He nudged Patton’s shoulder playfully as he spoke with a teasing tone. Patton laughed whole-heartedly this time and Roman couldn’t help but join in. When the laughter stopped, Patton drank some of the water before apologising profusely to Roman. He turned and rested his head on Roman’s shoulder and Roman wrapped his arm around him in return.

“So… movie marathon? Then fast-food tonight? You can choose.” Roman knew Patton wouldn’t say no. As Patton nodded, he got off the sofa and put in the first Disney DVD he could find before grabbing a blanket off of the floor and draping it over the two of them. As the opening scene started rolling, he heard Patton say very softly.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue.” Roman smiled and gave Patton a strong side hug.

“Anytime, Patton”

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Nineteen | Temmie Village (Part 1 of 2) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Song Referenced

+

Temmiefied Version

Alternate Chapter Title(s): Stand by Me (no duh) or The Corny One With A Song Title Reference, Part 1

• • •

The shopping district’s as busy as the roads you’ve just driven by; food courts are the most bustling with the hour your phone marks: ten minutes past noon. Contraire to her punctual self, Brenda’s running late, though you settle for waiting ten more before sending her a message. You sit by an empty booth and take the last chair available in the row to avoid disturbing those who’re already eating. Then, you pull your planner out and skip through a few pages until you find the right one. Aside from your usual schedule, you had her visiting again this Friday, a meeting with Toriel regarding some plans she wanted to discuss with you on Saturday, and another one with Sans on Sunday to arrange the second step towards homeschooling Frisk while you enrolled them somewhere else.

It’s still hard to read that last one, not for what it was, but for the fact that almost every school you’d tried to sign them up into declined having other guardians aside from you and Jerry to pick them up. They declined Toriel just as much as they declined Undyne, all due to the new rules and regulations set up in schools since the monsters’ arrival. What Toriel wanted to discuss with you was related to that, though you hadn’t been given too many details as to what it was, exactly. You glance back to your phone to see over ten minutes have passed by already, yet Brenda's nowhere to be seen. You start typing up a message, only to be interrupted by her call; the device almost slips off your hands with how abrupt it is. 

“H- Hello?” you answer, catching your breath.

She screams an accusation at you, not an ill-minded one per se, but one questioning over why you’d kept information hidden from her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re that close to him already?” she asks, words jarringly loud. You have to turn down the volume despite it not being set on speakerphone. “So he's going to help you with Frisk? That’s serious boyfriend material, honey!”

Thankfully, she sounds happy.

Still, a correction's deemed necessary.

“What do you mean, Brenda?”

“Auntie Brenda, mind you.”

You huff and bring a hand to the side of your neck, tension consuming it. “Alright, Auntie Brenda… Where are you right now? I don’t have much break time left anymore.”

“Just go ahead and eat, dear. I’ll drive over on the weekend.”

Right as you’re about to complain over her choices, she speaks up again, calmer than before.

“Or why not come over after you have lunch there?” she asks, words cooed. “You work close to him, don't you?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll stay here.” You can’t help feeling a little sour over her suggestion and with the reminder you’ve waited almost half an hour for her at the mall. With the call, it’s now thirty-five minutes past noon, giving you barely sufficient time for you to eat -- let alone listen to her rambling over how she’d misinterpreted your relationship and how Sans was better than she expected him to be. “You didn’t bother him with questions about his job, right?" you add. "He’s-”

“Why would I? He’s working an office job just like you!"

“He, what?”

You can’t avoid blurting that question out; a blank canvas replaces the image of him working at a hot dog stand. You try to imagine him working an office job, but it's near impossible to. Even if he knew plenty on various subjects, the monotonous yet fast-paced ambience of a desk job didn’t quite fit with your view of who the monster was to you.

“He works an office job, honey. Don’t you know where your own boyfriend works?” You can almost hear her shaking her head, disappointment made known through the blatant change in her voice. “Shame on you!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and stand up, too vexed to sit still. “That’s not what I meant, Bre- ...Auntie Brenda,” you say, trailing off on your words. “I just… didn’t know he worked two jobs.”

“He does?!”

You lower the volume once more, Brenda's voice taking up a speakerphone quality to it again. Her tone then grows fainter as she questions the skeleton about the legitimacy of your statement. When her voice turns louder, you figure he’s given her an answer -- one you’ve no clue of. If he had two jobs, then you’re not so sure over how she'll be reacting. And if he didn’t, then you’d inadvertently put him on the spot by letting the truth known, something that didn’t really make sense if he was supposed to be working -- or at the very least, ending his lunch break right now.

Feeling it’s going to take a while, you stand in line at one of the fast-food establishments nearest to you; a growl from your stomach reminds you time’s running out. “So what did he say?” you speak up, knowing she’s getting distracted again.

“He does!” she exclaims, almost in a cheer. “Why didn’t you tell me he was that well-off, then? You should marry him now that you’ve got the chance to.”

“Weren’t you scolding me over the opposite barely a week ago?”

“Maybe so, but that was before I knew him better, dear!”

You roll your eyes and sigh, headache worsening. “Alright, I’m hanging up now. Don’t bother him too much, and stop interrupting his-”

“Wait,” she calls, excitement still there. “Have you ever thought of learning more about monsters? There’s a bunch of workshops going on right now… And I figured you could take one, since you’re dating one and all!”

Nearly the time for you to make your order, you let your tone become sterner, hoping to get your point across. “That… That sounds good and all, but I really need to go now. My lunch break’s almost over.”

Brenda huffs. “Fine.” Her voice comes out dragged, and it’s almost possible for you to hear her pouting. “But we need to talk all about this on Friday!”

“Sure. See you then.”

“Farewell, dear!”

You hang up, slip your phone back in your pocket, and turn to the register when you’re done, right on time to make your order.

• • •

Breathe in, breathe out.

You repeat that sentence along with those actions as you clock out of work, more than ready to relax, but less than capable of with how much you've left to resolve. 

Before turning off the computer, you click on your boss's e-mail for a third time today and read it once more.

>> Come to my office as soon as you're done with your shift for the day. I'll be waiting. – Sent from my ayPhone <<

You huff and glance at the pills on your desk. Despite these being given to you by the doctor herself, you're trying not to take them as often as the instructions on the bottle tell you to. You don't want to grow dependent on them, yet -- at the same time -- it's nearly impossible for you to go by your usual routine without having the repercussions of not taking them delay your progress. The side-eyes and looks some of your co-workers offer you on occasion reveal they're not too thrilled by the idea of having someone in your state around, either. Dizziness takes over and your headache worsens; they're enough for your body to finally give in, causing you to stumble out of your desk chair and direct all gazes on you.

Breathe in, breathe out.

It's just as impossible trying to ignore everyone, and it's even more difficult trying to stand up without making a complete fool of yourself.

Breathe in, breathe-

A hand's offered out to you; you accept it, yet you refuse to look at the person until you're back to your feet.

When you do look up, you recognize who the person is in an instant. It's the same man Sans had taken a picture with the day you first met. His hair looks different, but his face and clothing style remain the same. His hand stays holding yours until you assure him you're capable of standing straight again, and even then he still has his doubts. A subtle frown shows on his visage, fueled by concern.

"Are you alright, or should I call someone?" he asks, forehead creasing. "That fall looked pretty serious."

"I'm alright," you reply, managing a smile. You're still dizzy, the headache has only grown worse, and having people still looking in your direction doesn't help much with any of that, either. Even so, having him by your side along with a few other, approachable co-workers helps with bringing you back down to earth and allows you to find some more stability before going to meet with your boss. 

"Excuse me, (L/N), but…"

You turn to the voice to see a woman -- tall, pale-skinned, and dark-haired -- offering you your phone. It takes some time, but you're able to recognize her as one of the few co-workers you spent your lunch break with before Frisk went missing. She's as professional as ever, and her formality still shows subtly through speech, yet it doesn't erase how warm and genuine her tone sounds. "Your phone broke with the fall." She pulls her hand back as soon as you have the device in your hold; her body language reveals she has a hunch in terms of just how 'alright' you really are, and what a twice-broken phone in less than a year could do to your current, physical and mental state alike. "It seems like it still works though, since it was ringing just a minute ago."

"Thank you." You turn it on to view a cracked screen. The update Alphys gave it appears to have made it more durable, based on how minor the damages are compared to the first time it fell. You're capable of unlocking it and even checking your notifications to notice you've got a few unread messages from Brenda and Frisk's school, coupled with a missed call from Sans. That last one is harder to take in. He already knew what hour you clocked out, and he had enough common sense and decency not to call you unless it was an emergency -- unlike Brenda, who didn't really know how to read the room, and Frisk's school, which called only when it was absolutely necessary. "I, uh…" You're not sure on what to do first. Brenda could be easily set aside with what she did during your lunch break, but the same couldn't be said for everything else.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You flinch at the sudden sensation of needles on your forehead and a dizziness so strong and wild, it makes your stomach far too queasy for you to manage with. Still, you combat that feeling by grabbing some gum from your belongings, taking a few, and chewing them all at once. The sharp taste and scent of mint helps wash away nausea, yet the dizziness persists.

"Do you want us to take you home, (L/N)?" the man from earlier asks, sounding more concerned than before. Meanwhile, the woman approaches you with some water, one you accept and drink as quickly as it falls in your hands. They both help sit you down on a different desk chair -- one without wheels to prevent you from falling over again. Most have left, while some stay and try to offer more aid. Your boss stands by the exit, arms crossed, stance firm, and face hard to read with how bad your symptoms have turned. "Or maybe accompany you to the bus stop, at least? You shouldn't drive in these conditions."

"It's…"

Your eyes fall on your phone again, tempted to make a decision.

With your priorities now changed to the subject of your health, you set Frisk's school aside with the knowledge they're with Toriel at this hour and forget about the meeting with your boss, aware she's already seen you from a distance. Only his name remains; truthfully, you'd rather limit how much time you spent with him, knowing what the opposite did to your heart and mind alike. You hesitate and stare blankly for a short while before you click on his missed call. One tap and two rings is all that's needed for you to reach him. It takes a second for you to answer back at him, half as much as it takes for your hand to stop shaking and for your voice to gain a better semblance of strength. It's too late to hang up now -- and his call could likely be an emergency -- so you continue forward with it.

"You don't sound too great. Everythin' okay?"

"About that…"

You share some words with him and refuse to tell him of your situation until he gives you his own reason for calling you at this hour.

"...Why did you call me?"

"It's about Frisk, but it ain't an emergency or anythin' -- it's good news, actually."

"Then why did y-"

"Listen, I don't mean to be harsh or nosy, but you sound awful right now. I can give you all the answers you need later, but could ya tell me what's wrong?"

You heave a small breath and look at the time, along with the hour of his missed call. He made it around eleven minutes past the end of your shift, so it wasn't exactly interrupting your job, but you're not sure how to interpret his call and the fact it was his first occasion calling you so close to your work schedule. Even if you were overthinking it, you didn't want to overlook anything, either. And then again, the state you're in isn't really the best for you to be questioning every little thing about your relationship with him -- at the moment, of course. "I feel sick. Kind of similar to that day at the hospital." You decide to be earnest, regardless of how dry your throat feels and how fast your heart goes. "I, well…"

"Want me to pick you up?"

Your ears turn hot while your hands do the opposite. "Y- Yeah…" Your chest tightens and your words grow faint, until you continue with, "I need your help, teddy bear."

"Teddy bear?" he asks, chuckling.

"You're calling me puddin' now, aren't you? You're a teddy bear in my eyes, then."

"I wonder why."

You smile.

"...See you in a bit?"

"'Course. I should be there in ten minutes max."

"Thank you."

With that, you say your farewells and hang up.

Now left to wait, you put your phone away, pick up the rest of your belongings, and stay with the company of your two co-workers as you make it to the exit. Your boss is still waiting next to it, yet she steps aside as do other people standing nearby, providing you with space to pass by. She says nothing, so you stop for a second, only to have her nod for you to carry on walking.

"Come to my office as soon as you recover, (L/N)."

That's the only thing she says as the door closes, leaving you with one co-worker by your left and the other by your right, both waiting in case you were to fall over again.

Breathe in, breathe out.

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

Small but Important™ Q&A regarding healthcare and whether it's American-based or not

To clarify for everyone else possibly having that same doubt, based on a question made by a reader in terms of Chapter Six and Seven's events:

All healthcare/medical attention mentioned in this story is based off my country, meaning it's either free or at the very least, affordable enough that you don't have to choose between an Uber or an overpriced weewoo vehicle in case of a medical emergency.

For example: I pay only $10 for 4 different medicines I'm meant to take, 3 which are for a lifetime (example: thyroiditis), and the only thing my insurance doesn't cover is optometry, which is around $300 to $500 a year for a full exam and prescription!

Tl;dr: It isn't. There's no debt here so far, lol.

• • •

Tag List (Comment or message me if you want to be added to [or removed from] it!)

@the-simp-express

@nektotersh

@disastrous-l0vebug

@therealchickenjoe

@mintyflakes025

@pandaquick

@timelock97

@candle-creeps

@paperb9gs

@merak0

[sarkywoman]

Writing Asks

Tagged by @under-the-shady-tree, thanks!

20 questions, writer’s edition, let’s go!!

How many works do you have on AO3? 85

What’s your total AO3 word count? 712708

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Oof, uh... since like, 1999? Um, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Andromeda, Supernatural, Heroes, NCIS, DC, Marvel, The Umbrella Academy, Kingsmen, ASoIaF/Game of Thrones, Borderlands, Community, Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, Doctor Who/Torchwood, Final Fantasy, Harry Potter, Misfits, I think I’ve forgotten some...

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Noble Blood (Game of Thrones, ASoIaF - GRRM)  A Song of Bastards and Wards (ASoIaF - GRRM, Game of Thrones)  Young God (Borderlands)  Story and Sorcery (Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel)  My Shame is True (The Umbrella Academy (TV))

Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I try to! Comments are so important in the fanfic community and I know how hard it is to think of something to say about a story, even when you’ve loved it to bits, so I don’t want people to feel ignored. Especially because I appreciate comments so, so much! I will say though, I have lapses, often when my mental health isn’t good, where I simply don’t know how to respond to people and then months go by and I feel weird about replying... so sorry if you’ve ever commented on one of my stories and got silence - it was me not you!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? The Aimless One (Misfits (TV 2009)) Straight up the saddest story I’ve written, no question. Normally writing sad stuff doesn’t make me sad but I had to take a break in the middle of this to just try and grapple with the idea I’d had because it tapped into a lot of depressing thoughts I have about life and death in general. The comments were all complimentary but so upset that at first I was like ‘hooray, it had the desired impact’, then after a while I started to think ‘why did I want to hurt people like this?’

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Probably  Realising All You Ever Wanted, a Hobbs/Dirk fic for the Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency fandom. There’s such minor conflict in that one that the sugary sweet ending isn’t out of place. 

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? Well. I have some fandoms that are sort of crossovers already, things like Marvel where you have comic versions and movie versions and it doesn’t really feel like a crossover to be picking and choosing. Same with a Dirk Gently/Thor fic I did, because Thor cameos in the DG canon, but not this Thor. I think the most ambitious crossover I’ve worked on was a collaborative chatfic with @freshgratednutmeg that we’re never likely to post, where the need for more background characters in an Umbrella Academy A/o fic led to it being crossed over with Marvel and Brooklyn 99. (Leading to such amusements as Diego sparring with Rosa, and Five competing with Shuri in class.)

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Yeah, but it’s never been very well-reasoned so it’s been fairly easy to dismiss. Some people expect everyone to share their own perspective of the characters and it’s weird.

Do you write smut? If so what kind? Not really. I can go there and have done on occasion, but it doesn’t interest me very much. I think I did it more when I was younger because I felt like it was a necessary aspect of grown-up fanfic writing (when I started I was a teenager amongst mostly adults... or other people lying about their age too lol). These days I’m more likely to fade to black or allude to the acts. But I’m not averse to writing it or anything, but it’s never the focus of my story.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Only in the sense that I see them on other sites I didn’t upload to, sometimes in other languages, sometimes not. They normally say my name somewhere on them so they’re not stolen as such, but it’s still uncomfortable to see my work circulated to other sites without my permission.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not with my permission, but yeah. I don’t know how to feel about translations. Obviously I want people of other languages to be able to read my work, but at the same time I’m not fluent enough to be able to check the translator’s work, so I won’t know if they’ve done any better than google. Word choice is pretty important in fiction. A bad translation can totally warp a text.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not for posting or sharing, but me and @freshgratednutmeg cowrite all the time.

What’s your all time favorite ship? All time?! That’s impossible to answer. I’m a multi-shipper for starters, in pretty much every fandom I’ve been in. When I find a ship I love, I love it intensely above all others for the duration of the fixation. Then eventually it gets set aside when I find a new fandom. I’m also indecisive enough to not really have an all-time favourite anything. 

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? A Song of Bastards and Wards (ASoIaF - GRRM, Game of Thrones). I can’t begin to describe the pages of notes I have for this beast. Unless I threw them out, which... scanning my room... is a distinct possibility. Ouch. I’d hoped to parallel the books for a long time with this one, but the amount of work for a project like that is too much when you’re no longer as passionate about the source fandom. I suspect what I might do is scenes with interconnecting notes, just so people get some sense of closure.

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, baybee! Kinda makes me want to be a scriptwriter. People are always telling me that the characters ‘sound like’ them. I think it’s from reading voraciously from when I was young and being quite a social child, that moving speech patterns and quirks into writing is something that comes very naturally to me. Too natural, in fact, because IRL I write how I speak and that’s not always suited to the situation.

What are your writing weaknesses? Most things other than dialogue. Even thought processes are an internal dialogue, so they’re okay, but then like... a fight scene? A sex scene? Just even... what are their hands doing while they’re talking? How are these people physically present? Where are they? Are they inside, outside, is the building on fire? My descriptive skills are lacking, to say the least. It’s something I’m working on.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I’m not quite sure what’s meant by this. I’m not fluent in anything other than English so I don’t see that would work well for me. I know a few phrases in German/French/Welsh/Latin/Spanish but nothing useful for conversation. Dropping in words can work, if it’s the same way the speaker would use them amidst their English. Most of the time the characters I’m writing wouldn’t be speaking in another language anyway. We can blame the tag-team of English colonialism and American media for that one I think. I think that sometimes authors utilise a character’s language in a way that just exposes how little the author actually knows of the language and that’s a bit cringe for me.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Buffy the Vampire Slayer. None of those are online atm because they’re so so bad XD I should post them just so people can see improvement but... I can’t even read them, they’re hilarious. The most gratuitous self-inserts, the most ludicrous arguments, the most out-of-character romantic declarations.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Hmm, that’s a quandary. I think I’ll differentiate between favourite to write, and favourite end product. Favourite to write was probably  Noble Blood (Game of Thrones, ASoIaF - GRRM) because it was just a romp through my favourite themes. Given it’s one of my most popular stories, I’d say that just proves you should write what you want! I was going to quickly say  Young God (Borderlands) is my favourite fic for quality of the finished product, because I pretty much just sat down one evening and spilled it into a word doc then reread it back and thought ‘huh, did I write that? Awesome’. But I’m happy with a couple of more recent things I’ve done for The Umbrella Academy fandom, notably  The Price of Parenthood, which is very different to what I usually write and is a look at the life of one of the mothers who gave up her child to Reginald. Also The Water Calls, which was the only thing I managed to write for the recent MerMay event. It took me a little while to puzzle out how it all fit together, then once I had it worked out it came together wonderfully and I was very happy with the tone of it. 

Tagging anyone who fancies doing it.

[dindooku]

Now you’d had your fair share of tense meetings and interrogations before, but this one definitely takes the cake.

rating: E (swearing)

word count: 5,236

You stood in the middle of a large, circular room, surrounded by beings of similar attire to Kenobi. Some looked to be human, whilst some most definitely did not. Kenobi had given you a brief rundown of some of the council members on your way over, but the only two names you could remember were Windu and Yoda. He’d also advised you to address all as master, and that Yoda was referred to as the grandmaster, although he wasn’t too strict on formalities — which relieved you…a bit.

Before you had the chance to say anything, Obi-Wan introduced you.

“Council Members, this is Amy. She is a Commanding Officer for the 118th SAS forces from a planet named Earth. Unfortunately, we have never heard of the planet Earth, and Amy has found herself in an unfortunate circumstance. Amy, please can you explain to the Council Members how you arrived at Coruscant?”

Kenobi was being incredibly punctual towards the council members, and you got the hint. So, you tried your best to return the formalities in your response, using your Officer tone should do the trick.

“Council Members. Unfortunately, I would not call my presence to Coruscant expected, as to which you are most probably aware. On my planet, Earth, I am a commanding officer in our Special Services, who operates specialist operations and undertakes highly strenuous, dangerous, and tensile missions, including counter-terrorism, sieges, reconnaissance, and more. My most recent mission, however, is the cause for my attendance on Coruscant today.”

“My mission was to lead a command group of 6 into a classified area of uncharted forestry within the Amazon Rainforest. Upon entering the target co-ordinates close proximity, we happened upon an ancient temple, of sorts — which was decorated in the same symbols which line the pillars of this temple. Upon breaching the ancient temple, it became apparent that it was abandoned, or had not been interfered with for centuries. Upon reaching the center of the temple, I made my way through and into the middle of the room, in which I found myself blocked by an invisible force…a wall of sorts — it was nothing I had ever encountered before. I made the fatal mistake of touching this…wall, and if I remember correctly, it… it electrocuted me. It was odd… the whole room was static beforehand, and there was a significant shift in the temperature too — but what was even more abnormal was the fact that I was the only one that felt it. Anyway, after touching the…wall, I found myself waking up on the floor of one of the streets here, on Coruscant, and the rest is history.”

After finishing your little speech you took a deep breath in, and out. You needed to relax, your nerves were getting the best of you. You chanced a look over to Obi-Wan, who gave you a comforting look and a small, friendly smile.

“Unusual, this is. Heard of, it is not…” the little green frog thing spoke, and you quickly recognized this to be Grand Master Yoda.

“Yes, I agree. Say, you said you’re from a planet called, Earth?” Another Master asked.

“Ugh, yes, Master…” you stutter, realizing you didn’t know his name.

“Master Windu, but you can call me Mace,” Windu replied. He was just as stoic as Obi-Wan, however, his presence seemed to be darker, more stern, less patient — not necessarily a bad thing, but you knew you couldn’t give this guy shit, you had to be straight with him.

“Mace, um, yes, my planet is called Earth, from the Milky Way Galaxy,” you re-iterate.

“And you say you…you touched this invisible wall? And it electrocuted you?” He asked, leaning forward slightly on his chair, now resting his chin on his hand which was situated on one of the armrests.

“Yes, Sir, it… I could see my reflection, even though there was no mirror or ‘wall’, I can’t really describe it, it’s nothing I have ever experienced,” you mutter the last part of the sentence, you’re still just as puzzled by the strange events as you were as they happened.

“Interesting, this is,” Yoda chimes in again, his big ears drooping slightly as he rubbed his chin in thought. You glance back to Obi-Wan, who again meets your gaze with his, this time however he seems more concerned, his face wasn’t graced with his smile, and instead, it spoke of uncertainty. This certainly didn’t make you feel any better.

“And, you say that you felt a change in the feeling of the place?” Mace pressed.

“Yes, Mace, it…when we first entered the temple. The first thing I noticed was the temperature change, it felt hot, stifling even. But the biggest shift was odd, there was electromagnetic interference, my intercom stopped working, making a static sound from my mic piece. It also seemed to have an effect on my thought processes…everything became clouded almost like I was in a haze. Then, once I entered the central room, the temperature shifted to ice-cold, and the static grew even louder, to the point that when I was close to touching the wall, I couldn’t hear my men shouting at me. They…they were…” you couldn’t finish your sentence, the look of pure fear in their eyes had ripped you open. Now that you look back at the memory, you can feel the brutality of what has transpired in the last 24 hours. Their screams were hoarse, terrified. You’d never heard them like that, and the pure horror on their face, as if you’d just disappeared, it terrified you. Sensing your distress, Obi-Wan interjects.

“I think it’s wise we come up with a contingency plan, Masters,” he suggests. You hear his words but you’re still in a haze, the gravity of the situation was pressing down on you with an unbelievable weight.

“Hmm, stay with you, she must. Protect her, you will. Trained, are you, in combat?” Yoda asks.

“Uh, yes, Master Yoda. I have over 10 years of SAS operations experience. I’m specially trained in hand-to-hand combat and tactical assault.” You confirm. You were proud of your experience within the Army, but not necessarily proud of all the things you’d done…some haunted you, and those were secrets, admissions you were not yet ready to face.

“Great, this is. Accompany Master Kenobi on missions, you will help each other, you must.”

A wave of comfort and relief rolled over you. You’re glad that you know that you won’t be separated from the one person you trust on this god forsaken planet. If it means being escorted everywhere, you’d rather that than be left on the street, trying to find your way back across the Galaxy, home… if that was even an option anymore. You turned to Kenobi, who once again greeted you with a smile, this one wider than the others. It was infectious, and before you could control yourself, you were smiling giddily back at him. Jesus, what was this guy doing to you?!

“Master Yoda, may I ask where Amy will be staying? Surely there is a spare block or room she can—,”

“Padawan room, do you not have, Kenobi?” Yoda asked, interrupting Obi-Wan.

“Y-yes, Master Yoda?”

“Then stay there, she will. A close eye must be kept on young Amy, dangerous times this is, odd circumstances we find ourselves in. Time for doubt, there is not.” Yoda sternly replies. He really is one grumpy frog.

“Yes, Master,” Kenobi replies, keeping himself civilized despite his clear questioning of the living arrangement.

And with that, the council meeting was adjourned. Masters instantly began to filter out, obviously having places to be. You waited to be dismissed, as was habit, and after waiting you found yourself drifting into a distant trance of concentration — reliving the haunted events of your last mission.

Again, cutting you from your thoughts, Obi-Wan places a hand on your shoulder. His touch makes you jump, and you instantly crane your neck up to his, your eyes searching his for a hint of emotion other than pain and fear. And with a little quirk of his lips, he brings you out of your stupor, returning the feeling of giddy happiness you had felt only minutes ago. You relished in his ability to read you like a book and pull you out of your own mind, bringing you to the present moment, layering positive, good emotions over your soul. He was helping you in more ways than you could imagine, and you were helping him in more ways than he could, too.

“Come, let’s go get some food. I know a place,” he smirked, and you couldn’t resist the giggle which tickled your throat, so you caved, relishing in the moment. You followed him out towards the exit of the temple.

_____

Words simply could not describe what you were feeling right now. Maybe going to Dex’s on your first day was a step too far.

The complete multitude of emotions you were feeling was unfathomable. You’d compiled a mental list of things you’d never thought you would ever see in your lifetime:

* Flying cars: check

* Aliens: check

* Floating buildings: check

* Actual motherfucking wizards: check

These were just a few, and unsurprisingly it was the last one that caught you off guard.

“So I'm going to start calling you Gandalf now… or Potter…actually, space Jesus suits you better,” you chuckle from the diner seat of Dex’s restaurant. Obi-Wan had insisted that this was the best diner in town, and it was odd really, giving off a homely vibe - American diner aesthetic. This, you could get behind.

“Gandalf, Potter, Spa—Space Jesus? Who in Maker's name is Jesus?” Obi-Wan laughs heartily, these names really were something — he was truly awestruck in your imagination, the depths of your mind, and its ability to pull off wild stunts and stories like this.

“Well, Jesus is some guy from Earth, he’s from a Religion called Christianity. He’s the son of God, who some believe created all things. Kinda crazy if you ask me but each to their own, I don’t blame them. Potter is a wizard, he’s a kid’s book character who is basically going through what I am right now. Gets sucked into a world of magic and has to find his way through it, learning along the way. But Gandalf, he’s the real legend—,”

“Legend? Now, tell me about this Gandalf guy,” Kenobi chimes, leaning forwards in his seat, placing his head further over the table. He was completely and utterly enthralled by your descriptions.

“Well, see, Gandalf is known as Gandalf the Grey. He was a fine man, who was quick to anger, but just as quick to laugh. He had incredible wisdom, something he earned over his time in middle earth along Valinor. He was a mighty warrior, but also a gentle creature, who cared for all creatures of good-will and took pity upon those who were weak,” you scrambled. Finally being able to express your inner nerdy bookworm was therapeutic, especially when the one listening was as invested as dear Obi-Wan.

“Go on, don’t stop!” He nearly shouts, leaning closer in, his smile pulling an infectious grin from ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat.

“Well, Gandalf had immense power, but he would only use it to protect the innocent and good-willed. He fought for himself and himself alone, he was a server of Justice and Morality, no matter the consequences. Gandalf was a wise, wise man — funnily similar to Dumbledore, in fact,—”

“Who is the God’s name is Dumbledore?!” Obi-Wan laughed, completely dumbfounded that there was, even more, to go by. He loved his life on Coruscant and wouldn’t change it for anything, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t envy your experiences or knowledge of said wisdom-full wizards.

“Don’t even get me started on Dumbledore!” You laughed, leaning even further into the table. Never in your life had you gotten along with someone so well. It was weird, it almost felt like you’d known each other forever, and where just catching up after a long vacation. You were instantly best friends, and you certainly wouldn’t complain about being best friends with a man like Obi-Wan. The higher powers were certainly shining down on this boy when he was brought into the Galaxy. Something just clicked between you both, and you couldn’t feel more alive if you tried.

But, before you could give your hour-long prepped speech on why Dumbledore was the best wizard of them all, a robot had rolled over to arrive with your meal.

“Here’ya’are Darlin, ya new around here, aren’t ya?” The machine asked.

“Ugh, yeah, yeah I am, how could you tell?” You asked, slightly uneasy by the clear Artificial Intelligence of the robot.

“Honey, I would have remembered that pretty face of yours if I’d seen it before, sweetheart. Ya stunnin”,” she exclaimed. You instantly blush at the compliment. Even though she was just a machine, you felt like you were talking to a living being, and you didn’t mind that if all droids were this nice. You chance a look at Obi-Wan, only to see him nervously tugging with a loose chord at the end of his sleeve, although he couldn’t hide the smug blush that was plaguing his cheeks, bless.

“Thank you for your compliments... and the food looks delicious, thank you!” You chime back, eyes now glued to the incredibly crunchy-looking fries in front of you.

“Corellian taters’ are the best darlin’, enjoy!” She jingles before scooting off to serve the next customer.

You both quickly delve into your meals. You hadn’t realized just how hungry you were, and you couldn’t remember the last time you had any food of some sort of sustenance. You lived of ration packs in the Army, and a specially cooked hot meal was like Christmas for you. But, curiosity still has you in a bitter grip, so you pause for a moment and peer up to Obi-Wan.

“What is a Jedi?” You ask, now completely and utterly interested in understanding who exactly he is.

Obi-Wan stops mid-mouthful, slowly putting the fry he was about to devour back into the basket. He clears his throat and straightens up a little as if he’s about to give some sort of memorized speech.

“Well, my dear, Jedi are warriors of the Light, we are a force of good upon the land we live in. We are protectors who are united in our ability to utilize the Force, and maintain inner tranquility through seeking balance, avoiding emotions of anger and hatred, as those emotions lead to the Dark Side—,”

Whoa, whoa, hold your horses, Hercules. The Force? Light side, Dark side… elaborate,” you interject. This was all a bit crazy.

“Well, the Force is what gives a Jedi their power. It’s an energy field created by all living things, it surrounds us and penetrates us, it binds the galaxy together.” He exclaims. The worlds roll like honey off of his tongue, and you can tell you’re already addicted to his voice.

“…continue”

“Well, the Light Side of the force is the path that Jedi choose to walk, making ourselves vessels to the Force. The Dark Side is quite the opposite. Those that choose the path of the Dark side are considered Sith, and their intentions are solely individual, profitable.” He finishes. You can feel his emotion rolling off him in swathes. As soon as he mentioned Sith, his emotions dropped, the smile that once graced his handsome face is all but banished, instead, a hurt frown cripples his emotions. Trying to pull him out of his stupor, you blurt out the first question that comes to mind.

“So what powers do you have?” You ask, blunt as a knife.

“Well, for starters, I can do this,” he chuckles, and without moving a muscle a single fry starts to hover in the air right in front of your face.

“Shut the fuck up,” you whisper in astonishment. The fry drops immediately, and you bore a daring stare in Obi-Wan.

“How many times have I got to reprimand you on your language?” He chides, placing a hand out to quickly pick up and munch on the chip that had just been ceremoniously dangled by some invisible strings in front of your face.

“Do it again,” you demand, you have to see this again, just to make sure you’re truly not seeing things.

“If you insist,” he chuckles and points to a speeder parked just outside the window. And without even a hint of strain, the speeder lifts precariously in the air and swivels slowly around on an axis. You glance back at Obi-Wan, who is intently staring at the speeder. You look back, only to watch him gently place the speeder back down, now facing the opposite way from before.

“This is some Matilda bullshit right here,” you mutter, eyes plastered open in awe. You couldn’t imagine this man to be any better. He was incredibly handsome, so kind to an extent it hurts your heart, and now he’s just revealed he’s some sort of telekinetic space God. But your thoughts are cut short but the firm grip on your chin. Your eyes dart back to Obi-Wan, who is now glaring daggers your way.

His grip is firm on your chin, and he brings his head in closer to yours, maintaining strict eye contact.

“Stop. Swearing. Or I will have to make you.” This wasn’t an aggressive threat, not one that is meant to scare you or frighten you — no…this was something else. Obi-Wan Kenobi was flirting, and God’s… did he know how to press your buttons; all the right ones at least. And he seemed to have done the trick because now you’re completely and utterly breathless. All you can do is stare intently at the man you are now absolutely, one hundred percent reeling for right now. Fuck, you love space wizards, especially ones named fucking Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I can read minds too, darling,” he mutters, slowly removing his grip on your chin, satisfied that he’s made his point…obviously pleased with the results.

“Hold up, you can read minds!? So you know what I’m thinking all the time?”

“Not all the time, only if I pry, but you are incredibly loud sometimes, dear,” he counters, getting back to eating his fries before they turn cold.

“…loud?” Okay, now you’re genuinely confused.

“Your thoughts are loud, but only sometimes. Yours is an odd case, sometimes I can hear what you’re saying, and sometimes I can't. Your energy in the force is…unstable. See, everyone has a Force signature, and when you have a large affinity of Midichlorians, you’re able to harbor the Force in greater ways, however, with you, it seems…the opposite, like you...repel the force, sometimes -- when your emotions are getting the better of you. This is something I haven’t seen before, and I think that is why Master Yoda wanted us to stay together, to make sure that we keep this under control,” He confesses, he begins slowly rubbing his chin in thought, clearly perplexed by whatever theory that was running around in that incredible head of his.

“Well, okay, Midichlorians? Force signature… I, I’m sorry but I don’t understand what you mean…and, maybe…could you maybe teach me to not be so…loud?” You ask, trying not to show your hesitation. Force signature? Did he say I repel the Force? As exciting as being next to Obi-Wan, it was also quite terrifying to know that, or to feel like there was something wrong with you, and that they had no idea how or what to do…and that for the meantime you’re just going to have to sit around and make yourself useful. But, thinking about the incredible telekinesis you’d just witnessed, excitement at the possibility of living out an actual dream gripped you again. Maybe he could teach you a few tricks, in return for you teaching him?

“I don’t see why not?” He replies, that beautiful smile of his returning to his lips. It truly was marvelous, and you knew you’d never be able to get enough of it. “Come, finish up your food and we’ll head back, you need sleep, you’ve had a busy day.”

______

 For the second time today, you found yourself stood outside of Obi-Wan’s flat…apartment…condo…whatever it was. Pressing a button like before, the door whooshes open and you both walk in, with it closing with another electronic hum behind you.

Obi-Wan instantly heads into the kitchen to switch on what you assumed was the kettle. Not knowing what to do with yourself you stood like a lost child in the middle of the living room, rolling on your feet a little and swinging your arms. This whole day was incredibly overwhelming, and you couldn’t, even in your wildest dreams, even begin to imagine what you’d experienced…and even though your circumstances could be seen as quite horrific and terrifying, you couldn’t help but feel happy to be here, happy to be in the presence of Obi-Wan and other incredibly magnificent beings, in this huge temple, on a grand planet, in the middle of another motherfucking Galaxy. The pure scale of your circumstances isn’t comprehendible, and you don’t think it ever will be.

“Tea, darling?” You hear faintly, like a whisper from deep within your mind. Odd, you don’t remember thinking about Tea…Tea isn’t really a deciding factor in your circumstances right now, why are you thinking of —

“Hello? Amy, my dear, where have you gone?…she was here just a second ago…” you hear, turning around you see Obi-Wan, walking from the kitchen and walking around his apartment. He was…he was looking for you? But you’re right here, can’t he see you?

“Obi-Wan, stop playing I’m right here,” you say, but no sound leaves your lips. Huh, that's weird. You go to take a step towards him to pat him on the shoulder but as you go to touch him, your hand falls through his shoulder as if…as if you don’t exist. Okay, this was starting to freak you out, this was like back when you were on Earth when the Boys couldn’t see you. You quickly glance around the apartment, remembering that you left your backpack in the bedroom. You rush into the bedroom and try to dig through it but like before, your hands just slip through the objects in front of you. You need to concentrate, center yourself. So, you close your eyes, control your breathing and reach out, again, trying to touch the bag. As soon as you make contact, something shoots through you like ice, and before you know it, you’re touching your backpack in the bedroom, for real.

“Oh! There you are, I didn’t hear you creep off, would you like some tea, my Dear?” Obi-Wan asks, leaning on the doorframe casually. You don’t have the mental capacity to admire it right now, you’re still trying to process what exactly just happened. “Are you…are you okay?” He asks, now slipping off the doorframe and heading towards you, clearly concerned over your sudden change in demeanor.

“Yes, yeah, I’m fine, thanks, just…I think the events of the last day or so are starting to catch up on me..aha,” you say, laughing awkwardly towards the end in a sorry effort to convince him that you’re just tired and not absolutely shitting it at the fact that you just disappeared for a minute or so.

“If you’re sure…Tea will help, come,” He says, holding out his hand to you. You go to take it but hesitate slightly, and he notices but doesn’t let on. You take his hand, and you make your way into the kitchen.

_____

 “So what Tea would you like?” He asks as he sets two cups out on the counter.

“Um, well, just regular…Tea?” You reply, completely unsure if Tea here is the same as Tea at home.

“Well, I’ve got Corellian, Naboo special, Coruscant special blend…” he says, but before he can finish his sentence you remember something.

“Wait, gimme a sec!” And before he can process what you've said, you’re bounding into the bedroom once again to grab your food pack. Once back in the kitchen, you open the tin and pull out a Teabag. “Tetley's will do—” you say, grabbing one of the cups and placing the teabag inside. Then, you grab a sachet of sugar from the tin and pour it in.

“…Tetley’s, I can’t say I’ve heard of that kind of Tea before?” Obi-Wan mumbles.

“Well, it’s alright, not the best and not the worst, but still good ol’ British tea!” You laugh. Tea was your savior during excursions, it was one of the only homely comforts you could bring with you, having possessions and trinkets just wasn’t an option, but Tea? Everyone has time for a cuppa. Just as you finish the kettle goes off and you make a move to grab it, pouring the hot water into the cup. Next, you take one of the spoons Obi-Wan layed out and twirl the teabag in the cup, making sure to get the most out of it. “Do you, um, have any Milk?” You ask.

“Milk, I mean, I have blue milk in—,” he says as he fills his cup of tea up too.

“Wait…Blue. Milk?” You chuckle, dumbfounded by what you’re hearing.

“Yes…Blue milk,” Obi-Wan reiterates, almost in a way as if to say are you crazy? What, you don’t know what blue milk is?

“I—I think I'll pass on the Blue Milk—,” you chuckle, today couldn’t get any weirder. Instead, you fish out the teabag from the cup and place it on the small plate before you, and then you grab the small sachet of condensed milk from your rations tin and pour it in, swirling the mixture with the teaspoon from before.

“Wait, you put milk in your tea?” He asks, again absolutely dumbfounded by what’s going on in front of him. Milk…in tea? That's criminal!

“Ugh…yeah? Here, try this,” you say, fishing once again through the ration tin to grab a small bag of malted milk biscuits. You dunk one into your tea and quickly fish it out again, then hand it over to Obi-Wan. He looks at you hesitantly before slowly taking the biscuit, giving it a small sniff before taking a small bite. You watch him patiently with eager eyes, hoping that hell enjoy it.

“Oh…My God’s,” He mutters, his eyes blown wide at the new experience. “This…what is this?” He asks again, before sticking the whole biscuit into his mouth, practically hoovering it up.

“It's a malted milk biscuit, and this is British tea…on Earth, were pretty much the Godfather's of Tea” you laugh, enjoying the show of emotional turmoil playing out on Obi-Wan’s face.

“Malted Milk, British—Godfather?” He asks, completely and utterly lost to his own train of thought.

“You wouldn’t get it…” you say, taking a sip of your tea, but still maintaining eye contact with him as he revels in this new experience. And with that, the two of you sit and chatter on until both your pots of tea have gone cold, but neither of you cares, you’re both too enthralled in the conversation you’re both having to even realize a whole hour has yet again passed.

You chance a look at your watch only to see it's sitting comfortably at 11:48 PM. “Christ it’s late…” you mutter, blinking your eyes again to make sure you’re seeing it right.

“What is that?” Obi-Wan cuts your gaze, leaning over slightly and taking your wrist. He examines your watch intently, watching as the second-hand jumps around the watch face.

“It’s a watch,” you say, a little confused as to why it’s such a question. Surely they have clocks here?

“I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like it, um, what are the three little spikey things? And what do the symbols mean?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“Well—,” you say, leaning further in so your heads are only centimeters away as you both peer down at the watch on your wrist, “The spikes things are called hands, and they sit upon the watch face. The one that is jerking now is called the second's hand, as it counts each second. This hand,” you point to the biggest hand, “is called the minute hand, and this one, the smallest one, is called the hour's hand,” you finish, but Obi-Wan stays silent, like he’s in a trance of sorts, so you continue, “And, and these symbols, they’re called Roman Numerals, they’re an ancient form of literate numeracy used by the Roman’s, who were fierce warriors who existed thousands of years ago on my planet. They were incredibly intelligent for their time, I mean, all things considered. They invented many things, but they destroyed many, too.” You finish. And you just sit there, intently watching the metaphysical cogs turn in that astronomical mind of his. Normally manners would dictate it is rude to stare, but you can’t help yourself. Something about him is just so…right, so pure and genuine, innocent yet, violent, powerful, wise. People say that God’s and beings of mystical nature never existed, that it's just a hypothetical way of education and hindsight that humanity uses Legend and Fairytales to demonstrate the lessons of life; but at this moment you know that you’re in the presence of a truly, incredible being and that isn’t a fairytale, this isn’t legend, this is real, and you’re sat right next to him.

He slowly peers up from where he’s leaning over your wrist, and you lock eyes, once again, but now closer than you’ve ever been. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin as it twists and curls around your lips, kindly caressing and making your breath hitch uncomfortably in your throat. But you welcome this discomfort, for you cannot believe you have lived life, thinking yourself happy, only to not have known Obi-Wan; and now you question few moments of your experiences on Earth, knowing that you would trade anything just to spend another second under his spell.

“We should, you…you should get some sleep. We have training tomorrow.” He quickly snaps, shaking his head slightly as he stands from his seat and grabs both cups, leaving them in the sink. He…did he not feel the same?

You cringe at yourself a little, silently kicking yourself for being so foolish and letting someone get under your skin like this. You’re better than this, for Christ’s sake! No, if he doesn’t feel the same, then you won’t force it. You’ll keep to yourself, and you’ll be respectful, no matter how much you want to be closer. And just like your previous thoughts, the tales of Legends burn a painful pinch of hindsight into your conscience — like Icarus, you flew too close to the sun.

“…You need your sleep if you’re to have any chance against me…” Obi-Wan mutters from the sink. And with that you instantly laugh, the titanic of emotions finally capsizing as you break your self-deprecative destruction.

“I could say the same for you, Master Kenobi,” you giggle, and before he has time to counter you’re skipping off to the Padawan bedroom which you’re now to call home…for the foreseeable future.

[teamhook]

|AO3|

|FFN|

I want to thank @captainswanmoviemarathon and Discord. My co-writer @revanmeetra87

I want to also thank @ultraluckycatnd for Beta-ing thiis thing for us.

Thursday

Jefferson's broken leg was on a sling. His arm was in a cast. He wasn't in the best condition but he knew if he didn't get Killian back home he would be worse off. He would disappear. The TV kept reminding him that he needed to get out of the hospital ASAP. There were reports the elevators had either stopped working completely or malfunctioning. He had firsthand experience that is why he is in a hospital bed and not at home preparing his Nobel Prize speech. He had tried to charm the nurse to let him leave the hospital but failed miserably. Nurse Ratched told him he had to be released by Doctor Hyde. Jefferson didn't realize that she had come in to check on him earlier and overheard his entire conversation with Emma. She was concerned that he was crazy and suicidal.

Emma was getting ready for her day at work. The sudden ring of the fire alarm startled her. She could hear her neighbors yelling and Cat's frantic barks. She decided to check it out.

Killian had attempted to make breakfast and chaos had erupted, the fire alarm blared, smoke filled the apartment. Cat's barking got louder. As Emma entered she yelled, "Cat shut up!" She turned off the alarm, and opened the window to air out the apartment.

Killian glared. "That thing is a bloody hazard."

"It's just a toaster!" She glared back at Killian.

"That thing does not produce toast! One insertion only produces warm bread and two insertions produce charcoal!" he yelled.

Emma rolled her eyes, this man was a drama queen. "It's just a toaster." She repeats annoyedly.

Killian was pacing back and forth ranting, "You would think that when the General of Electric built the bloody thing he would test it, for him to take pride in his creations instead of just foisting them on the public without warning!"

"You know what, no one cares if they have to insert the toast twice. You know why? Because we all insert it twice!"

He took a step forward, he looked like a hunter going after its prey. He didn't stop until they were toe to toe. "Not where I come from!"

For a second Emma felt a rush, then she squared her shoulders. "Oh no, of course not because where you come from, toast is the result of reflection and study."

"Aye, you mock me, but perhaps one day, when you're awoken from a pleasurable slumber to the scent of a warm brioche smothered in marmalade and fresh creamery butter you'll understand that life is not solely comprised of tasks, but tastes."

Emma's smile widened. "Say that again."

Killian was baffled at her sudden change in demeanor. "Pardon me?"

"Nevermind, you'll be perfect." She looked him up and down. "Good, you're dressed. Come on, you're coming with me."

Killian followed her without question.

Emma and Killian arrived at her work, but not without some stares directed at Killian's wardrobe.

Emma had called Mary Margaret to meet them at the door. Just as requested, Mary Margaret was waiting for them. She greeted them as soon as they walked inside. "Emma, we've been waiting for you. We had-" She looked at the list, "five read so far-"

Emma shook her head. "Mary Margaret, meet Killian. Please take him to the greenroom; I want him to read." Mary Margaret smiled at Killian and nodded.

"Killian, this is Mary Margaret. Go with her and she will explain everything."

Killian and Mary Margaret disappeared down the hall.

Emma walked to the control room. Her boss was chatting up the client, so she went over to the monitors. There were women smiling and batting their lashes as they gazed into the screen with Killian on it.

The client, Mr. Spencer, was frustrated and finally said, "Walsh, I don't have time for this."

Emma responded, "Mr. Spencer, let's look at this last one."

Walsh Oz shakes his head. "Emma, the client said he wants to stop."

"Walsh, trust me, this is the one," Emma said with confidence.

"What is he wearing?" Walsh scrunched up his nose. "He looks like the Quaker Oats guy."

"Well, it doesn't really matter what you think. What really matters is what the ladies think. They love him. To them he is a dream. He's honest, courteous, handsome; a true gentleman. He stands up when you walk in a room. He brings you brioche in bed. If you eat his margarine, maybe your hips will shrink."

In the greenroom, Killian fidgeted under the scrutiny of the director's eyes.

"Mr. Duke, do you see that mark on the floor?"

Killian nodded.

"You need to stand on that tape line," the director said. "Okay, everyone quiet! And action!"

Killian stayed quiet with the rest of the room.

The director stared at him and rolled his eyes. "Mr. Duke, this is the part when you start talking."

Killian turned his gaze to the monitor and with a raised eyebrow, his blue eyes twinkled under the light. "Fresh creamery butter. Is there anything more comforting? I say there is. You'll agree once you sample fat-free Farmer's Bounty with the genuine essence of creamery butter in every bite. You shall receive butter's splendid flavour in your mouth without adding to the luxury of your waistline."

Mr. Spencer laughed boisterously. "Where do I sign?"

Walsh leaned in to whisper in Emma's ear. "Where did you find him?"

Emma took a step away. "Oh, he lives in my building."

Killian waited patiently by the door while Emma gave Mary Margaret some last minute instructions.

Walsh Oz walked out of the stairwell. He smirked as he noticed Emma was still in the building. "What's the deal with the elevators?" he asked no one in particular. He slowly approached her from behind, and smelled her hair. She stiffened. "Emma, we have so much to discuss over dinner tonight."

Oh yeah, Emma though. I'd forgotten about that. She tried to smile. "Yes, we do. I look forward to it."

Killian's jaw clenched at the display of power abuse and the obvious discomfort it caused Emma. Walsh grinned as Emma walked up to Killian so they could leave. "Nice job, Mr. Margarine," Walsh said as the glass doors closed behind them.

Once they're outside, Emma turned to Killian with a bright smile. She started dancing.

Amused, Killian smiled. "You look pleased."

"Killian, you did an amazing job in there! You are going to be famous!"

Killian simply smiled. "I take it you're dining with that man this evening?"

Emma's smile disappeared. "Yes, he's my boss, Walsh."

"Do you require a chaperone? His intentions are obvious," Killian asked.

"I'm alone with you, do I need a chaperone?" Emma rolled her eyes.

"Emma, we're not courting but if we were, as a man of honor, I would inform you of my intentions in writing."

"I don't need saving. No one saves me but me. Don't worry about it," Emma said, slightly annoyed.

Emma walked in front of him. Killian could tell she was miffed at him, so he kept a small distance from her. A horse carriage caught his eye. He patted the horse and turned to Emma. "How about we take one of these?"

She shook her head no. "Those are for tourists."

Killian smiled at the kind old man. "I'm sorry sir, she's not interested."

The man kindly grinned back. "No worries."

Emma raised her hand, and Killian watched her until one of the powered carriages - cars, he remembered - screeched to a halt at their side. It is bright yellow with some black trim, just like the one they used as transport earlier, but it appeared to have a different coachman.

"All right," Emma said as she opened the car door, "We're probably going to need a bank account number and possibly a birth certificate from you before we start filming. Legality and all. So if you could just drop the 'back in time' act for a few minutes and track them down for m-"

From behind them, a man in a billed cap darted forward and jerked Emma's reticule from her hands, then rushed across the street.

"Hey!" Emma shouted, enraged. "That's my purse!"

Emma took flight after the scumbag thief. "Hey asshole! That's my bag! I'm gonna get you, you ass!" She chased after him while wearing the most uncomfortable shoes. He was fast, but she was not about to give up.

She stopped for a brief second to catch her breath. She doesn't want to lose him and was about to restart her chase once more when she heard galloping hooves which confused her. She then heard her name being called out. That's when she noticed him. It was Killian riding a horse and he was fast approaching her.

"Emma, give me your hand," Killian instructed once he reached her.

She gave him her hand and he easily pulled her on the horse as they broke into full gallop in pursuit of the thief.

Emma held on to Killian tight as he maneuvered the animal. The chase didn't last long. They cornered the lowlife rapidly. "I warn you, scoundrel. You stand no chance. When you run, I shall ride and when you stop, the steel of this strap will be lodged in your brain."

The thief had nowhere to run so he just threw the purse on the ground and took flight. A sudden onslaught of cheering and applause erupted from their previously unknown audience. Killian unmounted to retrieve the purse. Emma simply stared at him as she tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

Soon enough, they find themselves back at the corner where the chase began. Killian hooked the horse back up to the carriage as the older man smiled at Emma. "Your boyfriend is a great rider."

Emma smiled. "Yes, he is."

On the ride home, they sat quietly in the carriage.

"Are you for real?" Emma asked.

"Pardon?" Killian responded with a raised brow.

"You're a Duke?" Emma asked.

"I was born a Duke, but I never felt like one," Killian smiled.

Back at the apartment, Emma was getting ready for her dinner with Walsh. She noticed the interactions between Cat and Killian.

Cat was eagerly waiting for her next command from Killian with a wagging tail.

"Stay...Sit. On your feet… Stay… Stay… Good girl," Killian said with a triumphant smile.

Emma can't help as her eyes drifted to Killian. He was a good looking man after all and she wasn't blind. He was distracting, but she had to focus. Dinner equals promotion.

"What are you guys doing tonight?" Emma asked.

David's attention was glued to the game on TV and he mumbled under his breath, "we might meet up with some of my friends."

"Alright, I'm off to dinner then," Emma said.

"Emma, please reconsider my offer to chaperone," Killian begged.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"David, don't you think it's inappropriate-" Killian asked as he helped Emma put on her coat.

"As her brother, I would think my sister would invite me to an audition," David said, outraged.

Emma sighed. "David, you're not exactly margarine material. I'm sorry."

"What!? I can't sell butter? Emma, I'm a great actor. I can sell butter! It's insulting that my own sister has no faith in me."

"Yes, David you are an amazing actor but-"

"Is it the accent? I can do British, Emma. Hell I can be anyone." David continued ranting as Emma turned to Killian. "Good night." She opened the door and lingered for a second before walking away.

Killian gazed after her with a small smile.

Emma and Walsh are seated and he ordered some drinks for them.

After the waiter left, his attention turned to her. "Emma, I have to admit I was nervous for you. When your friend walked in wearing that outfit, saying 'if you eat this margarine your hips will shrink'," Walsh laughed.

Emma smiled. "I was just doing my job."

"He is going to be bigger than Mr. Whipple. You're not sleeping with him are you?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head, yet at the tip of her tongue was a comment about it not being his business. Sometimes she had to remind herself to play nice.

Killian and David decided to go out and meet some friends. "Hey guys, this is Killian," David announced.

Killian smiled as he greeted everyone.

His companions were enthralled by his voice as Killian made a comment about how the best things in life are hidden in the basement of the Louvre.

David excused himself to go to the bar and get drinks where he bumped into a dressed up Mary Margaret out for a girls night out.

Killian noticed the interaction and David's obvious attempt at flirting. so he excused himself to get a closer look. Before he could get closer, though, the connection had been cut short and they returned to their respective parties. Killian stopped Mary Margaret to greet her as David caught their exchange on his way back to the table with the drinks.

Before anyone was aware of it, the evening came to its inevitable end. Killian and David were walking home and David stopped walking. Killian turned to him to see what the problem was as David started talking in a mocking voice...

"Please, allow me to assist you, Abigail."

"Oh, please, allow me to light that for you, Merida."

"What's this? Ah, this is my family crest. It has been in the family for generations."

"What do they have in the basement of the Louvre? The works of Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Chardin, David all surrounded by great coral sponges to absorb the moisture."

Killian was confused by his friend's behavior.

"Not all women are going to swoon over your-" David pointed up and down Killian's form.

Killian studied his friend, trying to understand David's point.

"I was going to get her number but-"

"I believe this is her number," Killian said as he handed his friend the paper. "Mary Margaret has no inkling of your affections. You are a Merry Andrew. Women respond to sincerity. This requires pulling one's tongue from one's cheek. No one wants to be romanced by a baboon. Here's her number and give her a call tomorrow. It's late now and Emma should be home by now."

"Wait, you like her." Realization dawned on David's face. "You really like my sister!"

"David, that's nonsense. You're intoxicated," Killian said as he scratched behind his ear.

"Now who's the Merry-Andrew? You know, Emma is having dinner not long from here. We should go and you can show me the proper way to make a move."

Killian sighed. "Not a move David, an overture. Make your intentions known. Think of pleasing her, not vexing her."

"Fine, no vexing. Come on let's go." David smiled as he pulled Killian in the direction of the restaurant.

Emma cleared her throat. "I have to confess I'm a bit confused. When you mentioned dinner, I was under the impression that we were here to discuss business, a possible promotion even." She sighed. "Dinner is winding down and we have yet to discuss those things. We've talked about your love of La Boheme, and the lovely place you purchased in Sussex."

Walsh gave her his best attempt at a seductive smile. "I don't believe I've ever seen you this flustered Emma, and you haven't even kissed me yet."

Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Right. I like you, Walsh, I do. But I think you would agree that a working relationship- a successful working relationship, requires-"

"Hello, Emma!" David's cheery voice interrupted. "We found you."

Jumping in her seat, Emma turned to see her brother suddenly hovering beside the table. "David?" she asked in disbelief.

"We wanted to say hi," David explained, then proceeded to introduce himself to her boss.

"We?" Emma thought, before realizing Killian was standing at her side.

"Emma," he said in a low, earnest voice as his eyes searched hers. "May I speak to you in private?"

Her mouth fell open. "Seriously? No!"

But Walsh was already inviting the two to pull up seats and join them.

"Where, exactly, did you say it is?" Killian asked Walsh with a cocked eyebrow.

"Sussex, near Ballmour," Walsh said with offhanded superiority.

"Built in the 18th century?" Killian reiterated Walsh's earlier words.

"Early 18th century," Walsh emphasized, with a look at Emma. Killian could almost see the man puffing out his chest with pride. "I have pictures to prove it."

"Well," Killian said, thinking of the empty, rolling green and scattered trees of the area as he knew it. "I do believe you were swindled. I can assure you, as of the late 19th century, there is nothing in the area but farmland."

"You're mistaken," Walsh said immediately. "That's not possible."

Emma quickly jumped in. "He's right; you may be mistaken, Killian!" she hissed. "You don't know-"

Irritation rising due to the fact she was defending the cretin who was so obviously looking to take advantage of her, Killian snapped back. "I was raised there, I do know."

Clearing his throat to break up the discussion, Walsh changed the subject. "Killian, do you enjoy opera?"

Still stinging from Emma's words, Killian plastered a smile on his face. "Oh, indeed. Do you have a favorite?"

Raising his eyes to the ceiling, as if thinking deeply, Walsh finally said, "Boheme. La Boheme. I've seen it 12 times. That's...that is how I learned to speak French."

From the corner of his eye, Killian could see Emma's eyes widen with surprise. Clearly she was impressed, or pretending to be.

Now the irritation grew to ire, and Killian could feel it gnawing at him. He knew he should just let it go, but suddenly he heard himself making a statement in French.

Emma looked to Walsh. "What did he say?"

As Killian had expected, Walsh was sitting there dumbstruck, only managing to croak out a small scoffing noise.

Killian translated the phrase, explaining it was the opening words to Boheme - a duet.

Still slightly stunned, Walsh managed to jump back in and tell the table that Andre sang it to Mimi.

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Killian laughed softly. "Andre?"

Now recovering, Walsh lifted his head. "Yes, I invited Emma to the Met to see it. But she turned me down! Can you believe that, Killian?"

Voice tight, Killian said, "True, it should not be missed by anyone. But perhaps Emma resists on moral grounds."

Emma groaned softly, lowering her head into her hands.

Walsh narrowed his eyes. "How so?"

"Let's get the check!" Emma said hastily, but nobody answered her.

"Well," Killian said, staring at Walsh challengingly, "some feel that to court a woman in one's employ is nothing but a serpentine effort to make a lady fall from grace."

Silence fell over the table, though David was trying to hide his grin.

Finally, Walsh said stiffly, "This guy is charming, Emma. The Duke of Margarine thinks I'm a serpent."

"No, not a serpent," Killian corrected. "Merely a braggart and cad, who knows less French than I, if that is possible." Pushing back his seat, Killian rose and collected his jacket. "And by the way, there is no Andre in Boheme. It's Rodolfo. And though it takes place in France, it is rarely played in French as it is written in Italian. Good night."

Knowing he had made himself a fool, and facing the possibility that Emma would never speak to him again, Killian still turned on his heel and stalked out of the restaurant.

Back at the apartment, Killian and David waited for Emma's return. At the click of the door's lock unlocking, Killian rushed to the door.

Emma opened the door and breezed in, ignoring Killian's plea for a word.

Tag List:

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[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part twenty-two

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

Threading dangerous waters

After Noir had taken his leave, Sarah took a few steady breaths and managed to put his untouched slice of cake away before collapsing on the couch.

Lightly tracing her knuckles, she laid on the only piece of furniture that hadn’t been left in shambles. The coffee table had been reduced to splinters, and the tv screen had a gaping hole where he’d sunk his knife to the hilt. Nails were stuck in the wall to her right, and she sighed at the thought of having to disable those explosives that hadn’t been triggered during their fight.

I’ll be back.

She sighed, pressing the back of her hand to her lips. God, what would she do.

 [Next day, at Vought Headquarters]

The following day, Noir left his living quarters quite early, a pair of dark brown eyes seared into his mind. He immediately delved into researching information on the latest experimental trials conducted by Vought. He searched and searched, with determined calculation. His eyes traced countless file names, patient numbers, and descriptions… until he found the one he’d been looking for.

He retreated back to his room and settled down, eyes pouring over the damning evidence.

Finally, he stood and left the room.

_ _ _

“All right, folks, how is everyone?”

The Deep started with a small “I’m o—,” but Homelander cut him off, and continued speaking. He didn’t really care, the question had been a pleasantry, an act he had no reason to entertain without an audience.

“—We all know about the break-in that occurred two nights ago while we were at the gala,” he nodded to himself as he slowly paced around the table. “And while our Noir gave it his all, this very dangerous woman played some tricks and is,” Homelander raised a hand in blatant disbelief, “still on the loose.”

Reaching the head of the table once again, he fixed his gaze on each of his team members.

“We also know of the unfortunate release of Compound V to the public, which has generated mixed emotions and alienated a part of our fans,” he paused, disgust pure on his face before he drew his conclusion. “It was her, this delinquent who stole from the archives and spilled to the news.”

The imposing man gripped the back of his chair, “I took this up with Stan Edgar, and he would have me—us, believe that he has it under control, that he’s handling it,” he exclaimed with a small burst of laughter.

Black Noir felt something creep up over his shoulder and settle in his chest: it was dread, a deep-seated sense of foreboding. And knowing what he’d learned that morning, what he’d promised himself, he again found himself conflicted. Focusing on Homelander’s speech, one sentence echoed inside his head: she is good, and he will protect her, she is good, and he will protect her.

“She must be found and swiftly dealt with as she poses a threat to Vought and all Americans,” Homelander announced. “She is obviously powerful if she was able to escape from Noir,” he paused. “I want everyone’s eyes open, and if you find her,” his face lost any sign of pleasantry, morphing with an unidentifiable emotion, “you will come to me first.”

Black Noir knew all too well what that unidentifiable emotions was: it was arrogance and a sense of superiority that underlined the man’s choices, again and again. It was his absolute need to be in the know and at the center of the attention at all times.

Everyone around the table stayed quiet. Maeve was picking at her nails, and Noir was doodling on a piece of paper. The Deep stared at the table’s surface, obviously afraid of the team leader’s mood swings. A-Train sat comfortably, more laid out than anything as he waited for the meeting to end. And Starlight, sitting delicately in her chair, counted down the seconds until she could clear out of the building.

Homelander slammed his palm against the table, “Is that clear.”

All eyes on him, he received a few nods and small acknowledgements.

Starlight tried to maintain her composure, but fear was clawing at her, demanding that she leave the room. She avoided looking at A-Train even though she could feel his gaze burning through her. If America’s favorite superhero found out she, member of the Seven, had leaked Compound V… she wasn’t sure that there’d be anything left of her once he was finished.

The leader of the Seven held his hands behind his back, making him an even more imposing figure.

“Vought is a great big company, our company,” he continued, “And Stan Edgar would have us believe that everything is under control… but he lies. It is not under control. I will find her, and I will end her before she can tear us down.”

His last statement held the finality and decisiveness of a promise.

“Remember, you come to me first,” he repeated, before going to stand by the large, paneled windows. A few seconds later, he glanced back at them.

“Still here?” he asked, suddenly irked by their presence. “Dismissed. Except you Noir, you can stay.”

Noir watched the other team members rapidly stand and leave the room, before letting his gaze fall back on the caped man standing by the windows.

“Noir, I’ll have you know that I trust you a great deal more than anyone else on this team,” he began, “and I trust you the most to gather intel on this Marianna Stacker.”

Sarah, his mind sighed.

“I want weekly updates until we catch her, I want to know who she is, where she lives, who she cares about—everything,” he carefully explained, “I will not have her and her lies destroy everything,” he gestured in general and Noir assumed he meant both the company and his popularity. The darkly suited man lightly rolled his eyes behind the mask but nodded.

He knew better than to anger Homelander. He wasn’t afraid of the maniac, no, he was a safety measure set in place to keep the man in check when the charismatic façade slipped off and revealed the monster beneath. Wasn’t there a saying? That to kill a monster you need a monster? And to do so, he’d rather know what the man was plotting than have to make a calculated guess.

Homelander nodded his head, “We’ll get her Noir.”

Noir stood, nodded, and left.

And Homelander watched him leave, always feeling a surge of respect for the silent superhero.

He turned back towards the windows and watched the busy city unfold beneath him, a murderous glint in his eyes. To hell with Stan Edgar, he was the true center of Vought. Fans called his name, he was their savior.

Finally, he too left the meeting room, deciding to take a stroll through the building..

_ _ _

That day, Sarah had returned to work, deeming a prolonged absence too risky since it could raise all sorts of red flags. She covered up with warm clothes, a pretty scarf wrapped around her neck, and faked a dry cough in the office.

She’d felt a shiver down her spine as she signed in at the front desk and ascended the stairs. Each step heavier than the last, she wondered if they would immediately pinpoint her as guilty. She’d taken sensitive information on one of the most terrible and controversial experimental trials ever: they would be looking for her, and they would employ every method. Her mind strayed to the variable in the equation, the one piece she could not control, the wild card that could make her or break her. Noir. And now that someone else had exposed them for using Compound V on babies to make them into superheroes, Vought was taking a lot of heat from fans, the media, and activists. They’d assume it was the same person who broke into the archives. So, they wouldn’t just be looking for her, they’d be hunting for her, ready to gun her down.

However, she was greeted back into the office with a couple waves and smiles, and everything went smoothly. She’d only been gone for a day, but a couple co-workers asked her about her cough and if she was feeling better. The day before, Martha had reassured a few of them when they’d asked about her so that she’d have an alibi.

And so, time rushed by, and, while she’d calmed down, she felt an inextricable knot in her chest. She was here, hiding in plain sight. And it could work, but only if Noir saw reason, if he questioned his loyalty towards the company and felt any for her.

Soon, it was time to pack up and go back home. She spoke with Martha and waved to a few co-workers before heading down the long hallway to take the elevator. She usually took the stairs, but suddenly preferred the quickest method to leave the building.

After pressing the button to call it up, Sarah stepped back and waited in the deserted hall. She felt, rather than heard a presence grow close. Noir came to stand beside her, seemingly waiting for the elevator himself. She looked at him through her dark lashes and fixed the scarf around her neck. Would this be it? Would he do it here at Vought where they could easily clean up the splatters?

The elevator arrived with a ding and he motioned for her to step in first, him following after. Were there no cameras in the elevators? Was that why he’d chosen this spot?

Noir moved closer to her and she wasn’t sure what to expect. She pressed her back to the elevator wall, feeling that characteristic warmth spread throughout her chest. But he did something surprising by placing his gloved hands on her hips, almost steadying her. He then produced a thin slip of folded paper, which he smoothly slid into one of her pants’ front pocket.

“What are you doing,” she whispered, trying to understand whatever he was trying to tell her.

Suddenly, the elevator dinged once again and slowed to a halt as someone got ready to join them on their way down.

Noir immediately stepped away as though she’d burned him. She soon realized why.

Crimson boots stepped into the small space, and Sarah thought she might suffocate as the doors slid closed. The dark blue suit and American flag taunted her.

Sarah knew what Homelander really was, how the selfishness and arrogance swam just below the surface.

He seemed deep in thought, but whatever trail he’d been following was interrupted by her loud heartbeat. He glanced to the side and saw the beautiful, albeit frazzled, woman in the corner. She stood straight and composed, yet she had a racing pulse.

Noir could also hear it and wished it would slow down to a normal rate. Capturing Homelander’s attention can be a dangerous thing.

She needed to stay hidden in the shadows, blend in with every other person at Vought. He would keep her from harm.

“Ma’am are you all right,” the Seven's leader asked with concern. “I don’t mean to invade your privacy,” he genuinely chuckled, “but I can hear your heart racing, like you're scared.”

Sarah shuffled her feet, “Oh no, I’m all right. I’m not a fan of small, enclosed spaces that’s all.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she suffocated the sudden need to shake it off. Just a few more floors and she’d be stepping off. Just a few more floors.

“Don’t worry, you have the strongest man in the world here, you’re safe.”

She smiled and thanked him before quickly stepping off. She slowed down, not wanting it to seem like she was running away. He’d meant to reassure her, but she could still feel the phantom weight of his hand on her shoulder. Once outside, she made her way home where she was ready to take a long shower and sleep amid her wrecked furniture.

Her fingers itched to touch the slip of paper in her pocket, to discover its meaning. She ultimately decided to read it at home away from prying eyes.

 [Vought Headquarters]

Once Sarah had stepped off the elevator, Black noir and Homelander made no move to follow. The doors closed and the caped man pressed the button for the upper levels.

Noir stilled, and suddenly had the urge to break the other man’s neck. He knew Homelander had seen them close together through the walls, and he realized he should’ve waited to hand her the note at her house.

“I was looking for you,” he spoke up with nonchalance, “and imagine my surprise when I saw you in here with that woman.”

Homelander smirked and slapped his shoulder, “You sly dog, Noir, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Noir fingers itched to pull a dagger, but he maintained his composure.

“Just keep your head on straight, yeah?”

Homelander straightened and faced forward, “You and me, Noir, we’re above it all—we were made for bigger things,” he cleared his throat, “I don’t want you distracted as we look for Stacker.”

Little did he know that she’d just rode the elevator with him, and never would he have imagined it possible for Black Noir to grow attached and protective of someone.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out going their separate ways.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 ​  @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx @rayray1463 @mialexisrodrigues @angelocipriano

[jisungsmochi]

competition - na jaemin

summary: you and jaemin have been competing alongside eachother in soccer since you were younger. it slowly became a competition when your teams were often compared to each other, so you both instead became rivals. but things change, when your teams are forced to merge.

childhood best friends to rivals (?) to lovers hehe 

a/n: i really outdid myself with this one but i just couldn’t stop writing HAHA pls enjoy it!! 

word count: 6.6k 

//

‘over here y/n !!’ you heard a high pitched voice call from your left, you giggled softly before dribbling the ball between your feet, handing it over to the six year old boy.

he dribbled skilfully before taking the final kick for the goal. both of you cheered as your parents and siblings watched on, clapping at your efforts. you ran up to him with arms wide, as did he, both meeting in the middle and embracing eachother in a slightly sweaty hug.

‘we are such a good team!’ you pat him on the back, while walking to your parents.

‘yeah we are! i can’t wait until we’re older, we can play on the same team!’ jaemin cheerfully exclaimed, making you nod in agreement.

‘i’ll see you next friday! bye jaemin’ you gave him one last hug before jogging to your parents.

‘ewww y/n! you like jaemin!’ your brother, mark teased.

‘i do not! boys have cooties!’ you crossed your arms, following your parents to the car.

‘whatever you say! i bet he will be your boyfriend in the future!’ mark taunted you while making kissy faces. although he was just a year old than you, you didn’t hesitate to slap the back of his head.

na jaemin was your best companion on the field. you practiced every friday, as your families were good friends, so your friendship was bound to have happened. but your interest in soccer was what really brought you two together.

as the years went by, your love of soccer didn’t fade away.

//

when you were both fourteen, you tried out for the regional teams at your local soccer club.

you both hyped eachother up as it would give you both an opportunity to be scouted when you both go to college.

‘y/n, you’re the best player i know, those girls have nothing on you!’ you nodded at his mini motivational speech. he looked at you with his smile which instantly made you feel at ease. you both had practiced almost everyday after school for this try out.

‘jaemin’ he looked over to you. ‘promise that we’ll play alongside eachother one day’ you pulled out your pinky, in which he nodded whilst linking his with yours and conjoining your thumbs at the end. it was a small action that was significant to you both.

‘i promise!’ he cheered before you both headed to the field.

and with flying colours, you both earned positions on your respective teams. jaemin came running to you, as he had done many times before, picking you up and spinning you around.

‘we did it! i can’t believe it! we are amazing!’ he smiled, slinging his arm around your shoulders as you both walked over to your parents.

‘we are going to own high school together!’ you smiled up at him, in which he smiled back at you.

everything was going to be perfect, so you thought.

but high school wasn’t all you expected. jaemin soon became a distant stranger. you couldn’t find time to hang out after school due to your practice schedules. and school was a whole different story, different classes, new friend groups. the whole lot. it was difficult to stay in touch. the only thing you both seemed to still have in common was your love for soccer. but it wasn’t enough to keep your friendship growing.

dinners at each other’s houses soon turned into just jaemin’s parents and his little sister. jaemin was always busy with his new friends and with his soccer team, he couldn’t come over anymore. and each time you would come over to dinner at his place, he would lock himself in his room to chat with his friends and play video games, leaving you and his little sister to watch random shows on tv. you missed him, a lot. you missed how you would both go to the local reserve to destress by kicking the ball around. you missed how he would text you at early hours of the morning because he had a nightmare. you missed how you give eachother shoulder massages before every tournament you attended. you missed na jaemin being your best friend. but this feeling soon turned into a distaste for him. you disliked how he tossed you away as soon as he found a new clique. you disliked how he became the star player on his team, when you were always placed second on yours. you disliked how no matter how many memories you both made, na jaemin refused to acknowledge your existence in the halls. you soon came to dislike na jaemin. and you weren’t so sure it would change any time soon.

//

you made your way to the soccer club, checking yourself in and meeting up with the rest of your team mates.

you only really had one other close friend on the team, yuna. she was the team’s goal keeper, and was often described as a prodigy as she only began playing soccer two years back. you both took your seats on the bleachers, awaiting the arrival of your coach. you looked over as you saw him, followed by the boys team.

‘oh no, this looks bad’ yuna gasped as the boys made their way over to your team and sat to the right of the bleachers.

‘okay so now that we are all here, i have some news. coach shin for the boys regional team has gone on part time leave due to an injury. we aren’t sure how long he will be gone for, but he and i have both agreed to merge training for the male and female teams to be on the same days.’

a wave of groans filled the stands as both teams were infuriated.

‘i understand your frustration, but i believe this is the best option as you all know we have the upcoming co-ed tournament. i will be choosing six players from each team to be on the team with consulting from coach shin. but for now, please practice as you would, and do not hesitate to practice together! now chop chop, we don’t have much time left!’ your coach blew his whistle as everyone made their way to the field.

‘i can’t believe it, the boys are complete assholes’ yuna groaned as you both left your seats.

‘i know, i can’t believe jaemin is still there’ you sighed.

‘okay but he is one of the best players in the club, you can’t deny it, he’s definitely making the co-ed team’ she looked over at him, then back at you.

‘yeah well i’m going to make it on the team as well. i need to beat him’ you spoke with such determination, yuna just nodded as you both began to practice dribbling.

on the other side of the field, jaemin was watching you practice. he hasn’t seen you on the field in a while, due to his schedule. but he couldn’t deny that you were getting better by the second. his thoughts were interrupted.

‘bro, take a shot!’ jeno yelled from the goals, as jaemin readjusted himself, before striking the ball, only for it to completely miss the goal. jeno ran up to his friend, with confusion.

‘dude you never miss, why did you miss?’ jeno questioned.

‘just...distracted’ was all jaemin could reply with.

‘by what? the girls?’ jeno joked, giving his friend a small tap on the shoulder.

‘it’s just so unfair that they are taking up half our field space as well as us having to share our practice time’ jaemin rolled his eyes, letting them land back on you.

‘yeah i know it’s whack, but if coach said it will be good then it will be. plus we have to try to get on the co-ed team’ jeno explained.

‘you mean, you, have to try’ jaemin jokes, as jeno tackled him to the ground,

‘oh you’re an asshole’

//

the next day at training, you saw that some of the girls on your team had started practicing with the boys. you weren’t completely against the idea, but it was always instilled into your team that they were our rivals. the boys team always competed in more well-known comps and had won more tournaments than your team. it was a real confidence bust. as you stepped onto the field, your coach called you over.

‘hey y/n, could you please practice with jeno? he’s still a bit unconfident with his goal kicks, and you are one of our best strikers so it wouldn’t hurt to help him out’ your coach politely asked. you didn’t dislike jeno, the way you disliked jaemin, so you agreed, making your way over to jeno. but the two boys came like a pair, get one, and forcefully get the other.

jeno gave you a small wave before jogging up to you to shake your hand.

‘hi y/n!’ he smiled at you, in which you returned,

‘hi, coach said you need help with goal kicks?’ you got straight to the point, ignoring jaemin staring from the corner of your eye.

‘yes please’ jeno followed you to the goal, observing your every move as you explained your technique. you tried your best to make it simple for him to understand. it took a while for him to get the hang of things but once he did, his face lit up. you couldn’t help but watch as jaemin glared at the both of you. you couldn’t read his expression, but he wasn’t happy.

once you had finished with jeno, jaemin approached you.

‘your leg wasn’t straight’ was all he said.

‘what?’ you struck back at him, the tone in your voice coming out harsher than you anticipated.

‘i said, your leg wasn’t straight. your knee kept bending’ he stood so his figure towered above you, his way of making it clear he felt superior. you rolled your eyes before poking his chest,

‘well hotshot, coach asked me to help jeno, and he actually got it. so my leg may not be ‘straight’ but i still got the job done’ your eyes pierced into his.

he scoffed, while crossing his arms,

‘i could have done better’ his whole composure infuriated you. this wasn’t the jaemin you used to practice with everyday. this wasn’t the jaemin who would compliment your every move.

‘just shut your mouth for once, jaemin, no one asked for your opinion’ you shoved past him, as jeno was jogging to you guys.

‘hey what happened?’ he asked you politely, trying to stop you from storming off.

‘he’s an asshole’ was all you could say before making your way to the bleachers and packing your things. you hated that he made you feel so small. you needed to prove to na jaemin that you were a good player, no matter what it takes.

//

the weekend had come along and it was a local tournament for your team. the boys were pretty much forced by coach to attend in order to analyse how the girls play. you and yuna were preparing for the match, tightening your shoe laces and doing some last minute stretching.

‘okay girl, what’s the game plan?’ she asked you as you both walked into the field.

‘game plan is to show these boys how it’s done’ you chuckled as you fist bumped her and made your ways to your designated spots.

the team you were up against were known local champions, you had only won against them a few times, but they had a well known rep for playing dirty. as the game commenced, everything went at such a quick pace. players from your team were getting tripped over, and constantly getting blocked shots. it frustrated you how embarrassing it seemed from the boys’ perspective. you had received the ball, whilst two players from the opposing team were chasing you down, one of them tripped you over as the other ran for the ball. as you fell to the ground, you felt your ankle twist, instantly knowing it wasn’t going to end well. as your body hit the ground, you immediately reached for your ankle in pain, calling out for the ref. the ref dismissed the action from the other players, and called a time out. your coach, along with some players from your team, helped you to the bench.

‘does it hurt when i do this?’ your coach was worried about the extent of the injury. you shook your head.

‘how about this?’ he strained it in another direction,

‘oh god yes it does’ you winced before grabbing your ankle again.

‘okay it’s not broken, just a sprain, someone get her some ice, you need to be on rest for the next few weeks’ he sighed, evidently stressed about the whole situation.

‘but coach, i need to make the co-ed team’ you cried,

‘try outs for that team aren’t for another two months, you will be okay’ he pat your shoulder as someone aided you with ice.

fuck this, was all you could think.

you scanned the bleachers as your eyes met with jaemin, who, for once, seemed to be worried. you ignored his glance before attending to your ankle.

//

despite your injury you still wanted to attend practice even if it meant you were to be put on the bench. jaemin constantly kept looking over at you, as if he was unsure on whether to approach you or not. you were tapping away on your phone when you felt a presence next to you,

‘how’s the ankle?’ he asked in a monotone voice.

‘why do you care?’ you shut off your phone and glared at him.

‘just asking’ he shrugged, taking a seat next to you.

‘it’s fine, i mean, i can’t really feel it but if i move it the wrong way, it just hurts so bad’ you sighed, unsure of why you were letting this out on him.

‘i’ve had a sprained ankle before, it will pass, don’t worry too much about it’ he awkwardly spoke as you just nodded. the tension was slightly unbearable.

‘you going to try out for co-ed?’ he decided to continue the flow of the conversation.

‘yeah of course, i can’t wait to beat you’ you chuckled softly, watching as his eyes met yours.

‘oh really now? with that little ankle of yours?’ he shot you his flawless smile that used to calm you down when you were younger.

‘once i’m healed you better watch out’ you continued with the banter. it felt nice to talk normally with jaemin again, but it still didn’t excuse the way he had acted towards you in the past.

‘i’m sooo scared’ he put his hands up in defence, yet again, smiling at you.

stop doing that, you thought to yourself.

‘it’s been a while’ you sighed, he looked at you with a confused expression.

‘since we’ve properly talked’ you explained, as he slowly nodded.

‘yeah about that i’m-‘

‘HEY! jaemin! my mum’s here to pick us up!’ jeno interrupted, as he made his way to the car park.

‘oh i’m sorry i should go, nice talking to you after so long’ jaemin quickly packed his things before rushing off to meet jeno.

he was something else. one moment he was criticising you on your kicks, and now he’s trying to be all friendly.

//

during school, you would never even taken notice of jaemin, but since that conversation at practice, it was all you could do. everywhere you went, he was somehow always there. part of you wanted to talk to him, but it seemed like something you both could only do at practice.

your brother, mark, was picking you up from school that day. as you put on your seatbelt, he started the car.

‘woah hold on, is that jaemin? i haven’t seen that guy in ages!’ mark spoke in awe before popping his head out the window,

‘yo jaemin!!’

the brunette boy noticed someone calling his name and made his way over to mark’s car.

‘what the fuck are you doing?’ your eyes widened as you slid down the car seat.

‘hey mark, it’s been a while’ jaemin was at the driver’s window.

‘oh hi y/n’ he smirked as you gave him a small wave before rushing to grab your phone.

‘damn you’ve gotten taller, wanna come hang out at our house, we’ve got to catch up!’ mark offered him, before you blurted,

‘no!’ the two boys looked over at you in confusion.

‘i- i mean, shouldn’t we also invite his parents too? mum and dad are both home from work today’ you quickly put together, watching as mark nodded in agreement.

‘yeah sounds good’ jaemin spoke, causing you to look over at him.

‘cool, come over at 6’ mark waved goodbye as he drove off.

‘why did you do that?!’ you slapped his arm.

‘hey! unlike you, i am still friends with him okay? and dude, are you sure you don’t have a crush on him? because i see the way you been looking at eachother an-‘

‘one more word and i’m going to dye all your white shirts, pink’ you threatened as the older boy became quiet.

what in the world was going to happen tonight?

//

six o’clock struck. your parents were frantically setting the table, excited that their friends were coming over after a while of not seeing eachother. you felt bad that they had stopped hanging out, partly due to your distance from jaemin. mark was excited as well, him and jaemin would play fifa on the playstation together, whilst you would bother them to watch a movie with you. it felt like old times were reoccurring.

the doorbell rang, and you being the closest, walked over the answer it. there you saw jaemin and his parents. he was dressed in a grey hoodie and some black jeans. it was a simple outfit but it made him look more fit and attractive. which you didn’t want to admit. you greeted them all politely as jaemin’s mum began to explain,

‘ah yes yeeun is currently on school camp so she is unable to be here’ you also missed hanging out with jaemin’s sister, hopefully that day will come again soon. both of your parents instantly reconnected, chatting away in the living room.

‘hey‘ you smiled at him softly. he looked down at you with slight admiration.

‘hey’

‘it’s been a while’ you spoke awkwardly.

‘yeah almost, three years?’ jaemin sighed, looking around your house that he once used to come to everyday.

‘not much has changed, really’ you led him towards your room, where a large butterfly sculpture was stuck on the outside of your door.

‘this is still here?!’ his mouth widened in shock.

‘yeah well, using super glue to stick this bad boy on, makes it difficult to remove’ you smiled as you opened the door,

‘ah my bad i’m sorry about that! but hey, i was eight’ he shrugged before looking around your room.

he walked over to your trophies that were displayed on a bookcase next to your study table.

‘so what’s new with you?’ you asked, taking a seat on your bed.

‘umm a lot? y/n, we haven’t spoken since like three years ago’ he sat next to you, leaving some space between you both.  

‘yeah, who’s fault was that?’ you mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

‘what do you mean?’ he tried to regain your attention.

‘you’re the one who stopped being friends with me!’ you threw your hands in the air in annoyance.

‘not true! you’re the one who left me for another group!’ he retorted, your eyebrows furrowed, irritated at his words.

‘well you’re the one who stopped coming over. you stopped talking to me at school and you stopped taking the bus to practice with me. what else was i supposed to do, but make new friends!’ you scowled at him, angered that he was trying to put the blame on you.

he was unable to say anything in return, instead he pulled your head against his chest and ran his fingers through your hair.

‘i- i just thought that, we were drifting already since we weren’t in the same classes, so i just cut our friendship off to just, try and make things easier. it’s not a good excuse i know, but i thought its what you wanted’ he explained, his words trembling as you felt his hands shake.

‘i didn’t want to stop being friends’ you wiped some tears that left your eyes and looked up at him.

‘i’m sorry for everything.’ he mumbled just loud enough for you to hear.

‘it’s okay’ you nodded, placing your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a hug.

‘can we try to pick things up where they left off?’ he offered, unsure of what your response would be.

you debated on your response. remembering the times he was completely rude to you.

‘we can try. but the moment you act like an asshole, i’m not afraid to hit you’ you threatened as a smile crept onto his face.

‘thankyou for giving me another chance’ he muttered.

‘it’s okay, promise you won’t mess this up?’ you pulled out your pinky. he smiled widely at your actions before linking your pinkies together and joining your thumbs.

‘i promise’

and with those words, and the official seal of friendship, na jaemin wasn’t so unbearable.

//

the next practice you both attended, your coach allowed you to participate in some simple training.

‘hey, your ankle seems to be healing pretty quickly!’ jaemin approached you, as he trapped the ball between his feet.

‘oh yeah, it’s barely hurting anymore’ you smiled back at him. although it has only been a week since he had come over for dinner, you both attempted to somehow rekindle your friendship. at times it was still awkward and you both were unsure of how to continue the conversation, so you both unanimously agreed to only talk during practice.

jeno and yuna would often join you both, abiding by your coach’s orders of light training. so the four of you were just passing the ball to eachother in a circle while talking about events at school.

yuna, unfortunately didn’t attend your school, which often led to her ranting about her crush on a guy in her maths class by the name of haechan.

‘ugh he’s just so nice to me but he’s so oblivious! i invited him to go to the movies but then he invited one of his friends as well because he thought it was a group thing, so i ended up third wheeling them!!’ she groaned, passing the ball over to jeno.

‘that’s a tough blow, maybe you just need to be more straight up?’ he passed the ball over to jaemin,

‘or how about this? get over him! you were already clear by asking him out’ jaemin shrugged before tapping it over to you.

‘i agree, he isn’t worth your time’ you stated to your best friend as she nodded along to everyone’s advice.

‘you are all probably right, fuck boys’ she giggled as jeno chased her to the other side of the field.

‘they would be cute’ jaemin muttered, standing beside you.

‘i mean i guess’ you chuckled, ‘want to go out? just the four of us?’ you offered as he agreed,

‘damn you’re asking me out on a date already? y/n i don’t like you like that’ jaemin smirked as you shoved his shoulders,

‘can you like not be self absorbed for like five minutes?’

‘no can do’

//

you were seated next to jaemin as yuna and jeno sat across from you both.

‘we’re really having mcdonald’s for dinner?’ yuna commented, whilst taking a bite of her fries.

‘got a problem?’ you retorted, causing her to chuck a fry at you.

‘so how are we feeling about co-ed try outs? i mean, we HAVE to all make it’ jeno started the conversation.

‘but jeno, we are both goalies, only one of us can be the team’s goalkeeper, and besides i suck at dribbling’ yuna sighed.

‘don’t be discouraged! we can help you’ jaemin offered, trying to cheer her up.

‘yeah, it’s no fun if one of us is left out!’ you exclaim, remembering back to when you and jaemin promised to play on the same team together one day.

as you all parted ways from car park, jaemin approached you.

‘hey y/n, want me to drive you home?’

you were originally waiting for mark, but remembered that he was studying for his college exams. you nodded in response to his offer and entered the passenger seat of his car.

‘wanna go somewhere?’ he mumbled, looking over at you. there was a short silence before you responded,

‘let’s go to the reserve’ you smiled as his face lit up. that reserve held so many of your memories. the time that you and jaemin were hiding from mark and yeeun when playing hide and seek. the time that jaemin got rejected by his crush in 7th grade and asked you to buy him lollies so you could both talk about it.

you hopped out of the car, meeting jaemin at the centre of the reserve.

‘it’s so quiet’ he whispered, slinging his arm around you, like many times before.

but this time it felt different. you missed the feeling of his arm around you. you missed his hugs and his motivational speeches, you really missed jaemin.

‘yeah it is’ you sighed before taking a seat on the grass. jaemin followed, not saying a word before pulling you closer to his side and allowing your head to rest on his shoulder.

‘remember when we were younger, and we wanted to play on the same team so badly that you even tried to cut your hair shorter so you would look like a boy’ jaemin chuckled, causing you to lightly slap his thigh.

‘hey! i had to live with a bowl cut for a whole year before my hair reached past my shoulders’ you whined, hiding your face in the crook on his neck, which made his composure stiffen. he wrapped his arm around you before continuing to tease,

‘no you looked very cute, the bowl haircut really suited you’

you didn’t know why he made you feel so fuzzy inside but you didn’t want that feeling to go away. you wanted to keep feeling how na jaemin made you feel.

moments passed before you moved your head to face jaemin. his side profile was so gorgeous, it made you speechless. his jawline was defined, his cheeks weren’t as full, his lips were plump. he soon took notice of you staring, turning his head to look you directly in the eyes. your faces were mere centimetres apart, if you would have just moved slightly forward your lips would have touched. jaemin’s eyes flickered between yours and your lips. his breath was hitting the surface of your lips as you felt his hand move a piece of hair from your face. he let his hand linger there, still not saying a word. you wanted to just close that gap, but you were unsure of how he felt about it.

‘i- i mean we should go’ he whispered to you, pulling away from you. you didn’t know why your heart hurt at his actions. you wanted to kiss jaemin right then and there, but you guessed that he clearly didn’t feel the same. you quickly made your way to his car, he remained silent the entire trip back to your house. as he pulled up to your drive way, you turned to him before saying,

‘i’m sorry about earlier, it wasn’t meant to happen. i mean, god i don’t know. i’m sorry, thanks for the ride, bye’ you stammered, making your way out of his car and heading inside. jaemin sat back in his seat, his heart beat finally resuming to pump at a steady pace.

he wanted to kiss you. but the timing didn’t feel right to him. he didn’t want to hurt you, like he did years before. jaemin sat in your driveway for a few minutes, recounting the events in his mind, replaying what he should have done differently. eventually he just groaned to himself before driving back home.

as you entered your room, you immediately called yuna, ready to pour your emotions out for the rest of the night.

//

a week had gone by since that day. your ankle was 99% healed, and you were cleared to play as usual. you entered the field and immediately began practicing your goal kicks. yuna was absent due to a cold, so your next best goalkeeper was jeno. you were shooting balls at him, left and right and he managed to save more than you expected.

‘let’s take a break’ he almost wheezed before walking up to you and handing you a water bottle.

in the back of your mind, you wondered where jaemin was, it wasn’t like him to skip out on practice, but part of you also didn’t want to know, in fear that your embarrassment would resurface.

‘try outs are next week, how you feeling?’ jeno asked, spreading himself flat on the field. you chuckled whilst copying his actions.

‘i feel good about it, and you?’ you question him back, as he lets out a small sigh.

‘fingers crossed, am i right?’ was all he said. you weren’t sure how to respond so you remained silent as you both stared at the stars in the sky.

‘hey’ you suddenly blurred, causing jeno to sit up and face you.

‘how do you know, if a guy likes you?’

jeno gave you a puzzled look before thinking of what to say.

‘well, depends, are you talking about any other guy or are you talking about jaemin?’ your eyes widened at the boy’s question, worried that you had been too obvious.

‘how did you know?’ you hung your head low to play with the grass.

‘i’ve seen the way you both look at eachother, you don’t just do that with a friend’ he shrugged before approaching you closer. ‘y/n, what are you waiting for?’

you weren’t sure what he really meant. it wasn’t like you were waiting for jaemin to confess. you weren’t waiting for you both to have some romance story to tell people. you weren’t sure of what you wanted from na jaemin.

‘i’m just scared, that things are going to go back to the way they were before. us ignoring eachother and not being friends’ you muttered, pulling your knees to your chest.

‘it won’t happen, you just need to be upfront with him. jaemin can be reserved and quite the ignorant guy, but he will let his guard down’ jeno reassured you, whilst softly rubbing your back.

his words remained with you for the rest of the night. as you laid in bed at 2:34am, not able to fall asleep, you called the one person you needed to talk to most.

‘y/n?’ the deep voice groaned, clearly having been woken by your call.

‘meet me at the reserve in 15 minutes, we need to talk’ you quickly hung up and put on warmer clothes. jaemin was confused to say the least, but he agreed that you both needed to talk.

and just like that, 15 minutes later, his car pulled up to the reserve where you sat in the centre of the field, just like many nights ago. you could hear his footsteps approach you, your heart pounding with every step he took. he hunched down to meet you at eye level before taking a seat next to you.

‘you called me out here to talk’ he spoke so softly, you didn’t want to look at him. instead you stared at some trees before replying,

‘what are we?’ you struck at him, watching as his demeanour changed.

he became more enclosed, his lips sealed and hands in his pockets.

‘what do you mean?’ he cluelessly replied.

‘you know what i mean, jaemin. you can’t keep confusing me. i can’t keep going on thinking we can still be just friends when you haven’t even properly told me how you feel.’ you sighed as you faced him, his face washed with a blank expression.

‘you haven’t told me how you feel either’ he retorted. part of you wanted to scream at him, but you knew he was right.

‘fine. i’ll say it. i like you, na jaemin. i’ve liked you since we were little. i’ve liked you since you took my hand after each fall in our practice games. i’ve liked you since you plastered a stupid butterfly sculpture on my door because you said it looks pretty. i’ve liked you since you promised me that we would make it on the same team one day. but these past three years, i’ve been battling myself into not liking you. i’ve tried to hate you because you just tossed me away. like all our memories didn’t mean anything to you. do i even mean anything to you?’ you suddenly felt tears rush down your face, your breathing becoming heavy and your fists were balled up. jaemin stared back at you, with every ounce of hurt he had ever felt. he didn’t want to hurt you. that was his number one priority since you were children, but he didn’t exactly that.

he pulled you to his side and stroked your hair to calm you down.

‘y/n, you mean more to me than you will ever give yourself credit for. i thought that i was holding you back, three years ago. you were pretty much the star player of the club, i couldn’t compete. i know that we were on different teams, but i wanted to be better than you. and fuck, that feels so selfish and arrogant to be saying right now but i hated how we were both brought up the same but you were significantly improving whilst i remained the exact same. so i decided that being friends with you, would only bring a lifetime of competitiveness and jealousy. there wasn’t a day that went by where i didn’t regret my actions.’ jaemin reached for your hands to interlock. still continuing to stroke your hair as you listened to his sweet voice.

‘now that we’ve had the chance to reconnect. i feel like an asshole. i should have kissed you that night. i kicked myself everyday since then because i didn’t do it. i just didn’t want to end up hurting you, so i pushed you away. and i am sorry for doing that to you’ jaemin pulled your face to be met with his. both his palms rested on your cheeks as he made eye contact with you.

‘before i keep rambling about how much i fucked up, i wanna say that, i like you too. even though it took me longer to realise it, i like you.’ he said above a whisper, your lips now millimetres apart. a smile crept to your lips, your tears had halted as you were admiring his words. na jaemin liked you back. that’s all you needed.

you leaned in closer, waiting for him to continue. he smiled back at you before softly pressing his lips against yours. his hands moved down to the side of your neck as the kiss got deeper. your hands played with his hair as he motioned for you to lay down on the grass, his body towering over you. his lips were so soft, so supple, everything about him was so amazing. he pulled away for a split second,

‘can we continue this in my car? It’s getting cold out here’ he smirked as you eagerly nodded.

god, he was something else.

//

today was the day. co-ed tryouts were commencing. you, jaemin, jeno and yuna huddled together,

‘okay everyone, let’s kick ass and show them what we’ve got!’ jaemin cheered as you all pat eachother on the back.

jaemin pulled you aside, pulling you in for a kiss, that lasted a big too long for everyone’s liking.

‘oh god they’re doing it again’ yuna fake gagged before pulling jeno to the field.

jaemin chuckled at their reactions before mumbling to you,

‘you got this baby’ you blushed at his words before giving him another quick kiss and running to your position on the field.

you pumped out your absolute best skills in this game, you had to put it all on the line. making this team would mean that you had a chance for college, and you needed it more than anything.

after what felt like hours of constant running and kicking, the game came to an end. you ran up to jaemin and embraced him in a hug as he swung you around.

‘that’s it, we’re done!’ he smiled before kissing your cheek.

‘i can’t believe we made it to this point’ you were in awe that in just a few moments, you would find out if you had actually made it.

jeno and yuna joined the both of you as you all walked to the leaderboard with the names listed.

‘oh i can’t look, one of you guys do it for me please!’ yuna trembled, hugging your side. you also put your hands over your eyes, asking jaemin to tell you the results. the boys both took a deep breath before reading the list of names. they both didn’t say anything. you and yuna slowly opened your eyes as the boys led you away from the leaderboard.

jeno looked solemnly at the both of you, along with jaemin who had his head in his hands.

‘what happened? did we not make it?’ you asked nervously, clinging onto yuna.

‘no’ jaemin blurted, followed by a sigh. ‘we all fucking made it! let’s gooooo!’ he cheered loudly, pulling you off the ground once again and spinning you around.

‘oh fuck you na jaemin!’ you giggled whilst slapping him lightly.

‘don’t do that again!’ yuna rolled her eyes before slapping jeno’s arm.

‘guys we are the dream team’ jeno stayed as you all laughed.

‘this is amazing! we have to celebrate! let’s go to mcdonald’s!’ yuna exclaimed, ‘race you to jaemin’s car!’ she laughed as jeno chased her to the car park.

you looked over at jaemin who couldn’t stop smiling.

‘you’re something else’ you pulled him to your side and slung his arm around your shoulder.

‘yeah but you love it’ he teased.

‘yeah and i love you’ your words stopped jaemin in his tracks, as he brought you to face him.

‘what did you say?’ he spoke in disbelief, looking for any sign of bluffing from you.

‘i love you, jaemin’ you said again with more confidence.

his smile got even brighter, if that was even possible. he attacked you with kisses all over your face and finally attached his lips to yours, pulling you in by the waist.

‘i love you too, so so much’ he mumbled against your lips, not caring that families were witnessing your major public display of affection. his forehead rested against yours as he stared into your eyes.

na jaemin was never meant to be your competition. he was meant to be your first love. he always has been.

[nothesc]

Trip to Zaorejas. A Damira fic.

Amira is invited to a trip to Zaorejas with Cris, Joana and Dani. Set before s3 began, based on the chats and stories we saw on Cris' pov

You can also read it on ao3

----------

“Okay, Dani says that my parents won't come until after dinner so we can go up to my house if you want. It's freezing on the rooftop," Cris tells Joana, putting her cell phone in her pocket after reading her brother's message.

She and Joana have been dating for a few months now but Cris is not ready to tell her parents yet and, although she could take Joana home with the excuse that she is a friend, she prefers to avoid forcing a meeting between her girlfriend and her parents just in case. Therefore, it is not until Dani assures her that her parents are not at home and that they do not plan to return soon that the girls decide to go up to Cris' house.

“Leave the coat there if you want to," says Chris to his girlfriend, pointing to the coat rack by the door.

“Hello!” “Joana greets Dani once they get on the couch.

“Hey, what's up?” Dani greets his sister”in”law with a smile.

“We're going to my room to watch a movie, okay?” reports Cris to her brother.

“I’m going to my room, I’ll make myself a quick sandwich and leave the living room to you if you're more comfortable on the couch”  says Dani heading to the kitchen.

Cris looks at Joana and asks her what she prefers to do. The truth is that watching the movie on Cris' laptop is more uncomfortable than watching it on the TV in the living room, so without saying anything both girls agree to stay in the living room and sit on the couch.

“Man, I feel terrible," says Cris to Joana.

“Why?”

“Because of Ami, I feel very sorry for her”

“What happened to Amira?” Cris hears behind her

Cris turns and sees her brother standing in the middle of the room with the sandwich in his hand, clearly listening to the conversation.

“But didn't you go to your room, gossip?” says Cris, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, but I have to go through here” Dani explains “what's wrong with Ami? Why do you say you feel sorry for her? Has something happened to her?”

Joana bites her lip to try to contain her smile. She has never talked about it with Cris, but since she has known Dani she has always thought that the boy has feelings for Amira, and it is not very hidden.

“Dude, relax, there's nothing wrong with her. Only that she told me to meet on the weekend and I said yes, but then I remembered that we were going to Zaorejas and the poor girl will be alone. Only Ev is free and she's going to go partying and well... Ami’s not especially happy about spending her weekend that way”

“Tell her to come to Zaorejas," says Dani before his brain can even process the words he is saying. He sees his sister looking at him with a strange face and immediately starts a speech to convince her “I'm saying this for Ami, so she doesn't stay home alone. And in the Zaorejas' house there is room for everyone. Dad and mom won't come for sure and Toni and Oscar aren't even expected.”

“Toni and Oscar?” asks Joana, confused, it's the first time she's heard those names.

“They are my older brothers” explains Cris to her girlfriend, then turns to her brother “do you think Amira will want to come to Zaorejas with us?”

“Of course, why not? Like when we were kids and she always came with us. Go on, tell her, you'll see how she likes the idea” insists Dani.

Cris looks at Joana to see what she thinks. Her girlfriend nods, she couldn't agree more with Amira coming. She has a very good relationship with all the girls but just as she is for Cris, Amira is special for Joana.

“Well, okay, I'll ask her”

Cris takes out her cell phone and writes to Amira telling her the plan but, when her friend doesn't seem very convinced, Cris can't help but frown.

“What? What is it? What did she say?” Dani asks insistently, the sandwich still intact on his plate.

“She says she doesn't know, because I'm going to be with Joana and you're going to be with your friends”

Dani feels like the illusions he had in the last five minutes are suddenly shattered. The idea of spending the weekend in Zaorejas with Amira...and with his sister and Joana, he liked it very much. He quickly tries to find a solution.

“Tell her that we can do things together... I don't know, look at a route, for example, the one by the river, she has never done it, right? I'm sure she’ll love it”.

“Your idea to convince Ami to come is to offer her to go hiking?” asks an incredulous Cris.

“Cris, not everyone is as lazy as you”

“What if I don't say anything and you just come as a thridwheel?” challenges Cris.

“What if I stay at home and you'll go to Zaorejas by foot?” Dani challenges back

“Let's see, let's see, calm down” Joana intervenes “Cris I think that Amira could really like the idea of hiking”

“Well, okay, I'll tell her that”

“Come on Cris, hurry up," says Dani in desperation as he looks at his watch. He has checked his backpack twenty times to make sure he has everything and is eager to get out the door, but his sister is still eating breakfast in total tranquility.

“Dani dude relax, don't stress me so early. “answers Cris, putting jam on her toast.

“Cris, it's 11:25 in the morning, so early in the morning? And we're meeting Amira and Joana downstairs at half past”

“Which means I have five more minutes for breakfast," says Cris, taking a bite of the toast. “Since when are you so worried about being on time? Mom always had to push you out of bed to go to class”

Dani opens her mouth to defend himself but realizes that he doesn't know how to answer his sister. It is true that there is a reason why he wants to be on time but he is not going to discuss it with her.

“Look, I pass. I'm heading out. Don't be long”

“Yeeeees”.

Once downstairs Dani looks around but doesn't see Joana or Amira, maybe he has gone a little overboard with punctuality.

“But what do my eyes see? A Soto being punctual?”

Dani doesn't even have to turn around to know whose voice that comes from, the smile that is immediately drawn on his lips says it all. Amira approaches him and stands in front of him. Dani greets her by bumping his fist against Amira's, just as they have been doing since they were little.

“Hey, the one who has created the bad reputation of the Soto's is my sister, I am  very punctual”

“Of course, that's why you always come last at every party”

“One needs time to get ready," jokes Dani as he adjusts the zipper on his blue sweatshirt.

Amira laughs and rolls her eyes, Dani has the ability to always make her laugh in just minutes. Dani smiles when he sees Amira laugh, he likes to be the reason for her laughter.

“Give me the backpack and I'll put it in the car," says Dani, noticing how Amira is carrying the luggage.

He approaches her and after a little protest from Amira who insists that she doesn't need help, Dani takes the backpack and places it in the car he has parked a few meters from his gate. He places his backpack next to her. He goes to close the trunk when he sees Joana arrive at the end of the street.

“I'm sorry I'm late, the subway stopped," excuses Joana, dropping her backpack on the floor as she arrives at Dani and Amira. Dani picks it up and puts it in the trunk with the others.

“Calm down, we are waiting for Chris anyway “ says Dani.

“I'm already here! “ he hears Cris say. When they turn towards the portal they see her running as she picks up her hair in a high ponytail. “Why are you all in a hurry, Zaorejas won't move from the place”

Approaching the car Cris leaves her backpack in the trunk and closes it. She greets Amira with a hug and Joana with a quick kiss on the lips.

“Come on, let's go. “ says Cris heading for the co-pilot's door.

“Hey Cris, leave Amira in front better and sit with me behind, okay?”

Cris looks at her with a scowl, every time Dani has taken them somewhere Cris has always sat in front, but she will not be the one to complain about spending two and a half hours sharing a back seat with her girlfriend. Shrugging her shoulders Cris opens the back door and sits with Joana next to her. Amira hesitates a bit in front of the co-pilot's door, for some reason she is nervous about spending the whole trip so close to Dani.

“Ami “ Dani calls her from the other side of the car before entering.

“Hmm? “ Amira murmurs distractedly.

“Everything OK?”

“Yes, everything’s fine” she says smiling. He smiles back at her and for a few seconds they only look at each other.

“Well, are we going or what?“ shouts Cris from inside the car earning an elbow from Joana, although she does not understand very well why.

Once everyone is in the car, Dani leaves the parking lot and heads for the road.

“Ami, put on some music," says Cris from the back seat to her friend.

“Don't even think about touching the radio. My car, my music “ warns Dani to Amira.

“Come on, man, your music sucks," protests his sister.

“I still have time to turn around “ Dani jokes looking in the rearview mirror “ but you'll see that I've prepared a playlist that will blow your mind. Ami take my cell phone and connect it to the radio, there is a playlist called Zaorejas.”

Amira takes the cell phone that Dani offers and unlocks it. For a moment all she can do is look at the background. It's a photo from about a year ago. A photo of Amira, Cris and Dani. Amira remembers perfectly the day that photo was taken. It was the first weekend after Amira decided to wear the hijab. Amira had gone to Cris' house to show it to her and they had both gone up to the roof. Soon after, Dani went upstairs to tell Cris that it was time for lunch. Amira remembers how Dani was a little impressed when he saw Amira but didn't make any

comment, just asked her if she was going to stay for lunch. Before Amira could answer Cris told her brother that she was and that they were coming down but that she needed a selfie with her friend first to immortalize the moment. After taking the picture with Cris, Dani said that he wanted to be in the picture too, with the corresponding joke by Cris calling him a meddlesome man. Her brother passed her and placed himself on the other side of Amira so that she would be in the center for the photo.

“Ami, are you going to play the music or what? “ asks Cris, taking Amira out of her thoughts.

“Yes, yes, sorry," says Ami, feeling her cheeks blush. She dares to venture a quick glance at Dani and for a moment seems to see that he has blushed too, but it's probably just the result of the heating. Trying to come to her senses, Amira connects Dani's cell phone to the radio, playing the list mentioned above. As soon as the first chords of the song begin to play, Amira looks at Dani in disbelief “what’s this?”

“I told you, I've prepared a playlist that's a blast," says Dani, looking at her briefly and smiling.

Amira laughs and looks out the window, humming the song that is playing, Mona Haydar's Hijabi.

“Oh my god at last, what a long trip “ Cris hardly waits until the car is parked to get out of it.

“Cris, for God's sake, it's been two hours and a little while," Dani grumbles, opening the trunk to get out the backpacks.

“But without eating, I'm starving”

“I could really eat something now too. It must be almost 2 o'clock, right? “ Joana supports her girlfriend.

“My mother has prepared me a couple of tuppers with food so that we don't have to cook anything else when we arrive," says Amira.

“I knew it was a good idea for you to come“ Cris hugs her friend and gives her several kisses on her face.

“Excuse me? The idea of Ami coming was mine “ Dani lets go almost without thinking.

“Ah, yes? “ asks Amira raising her eyebrows

“Dani tries to find an excuse to save him from the humiliation, but he can't find one.

“He was very excited," adds Joana, emphasizing the "very”

“Come on, let's go inside now and eat “ Dani locks the car with the key and goes to the house before any of the girls can say anything else.

Once inside, the four of them drop their things each in the room they have been assigned and sit down to eat the food that Amira's mother has prepared for them.

“Phew, what a nap I’m going to take after this meal“ says Cris stroking her belly

“Aunt, are you really going to take a nap? “ Amira asks incredulously “we are going to be here for only two days”

“Well, it’s what you get when you make me wake up early, you can’t now ask me not to take nap “ tries to defend Cris, which causes the laughter of Joana who knows perfectly his girlfriend

“You got up at 11 o'clock in the morning “ Dani accuses her

“It's already an hour earlier than usual, I need my hour's sleep.“ Turning to Joana, Cris adds : what do you say, love? Do you want to take a nap?”

“I'm fine with it," says Joana, kissing Cris' hand.

“Well, I think I'm going to go to the soap store, my mother has ordered a couple of soaps from there, she says they are very good," Amira said, recalling what her mother told her.

“I'm going with you, I'd rather not be here while these two "take a nap" “ says Dani making the finger quote gesture.

“But how dare you insinuate that our intention is to do more than sleep? “ Cris takes a hand to her chest to play the offended one and everyone laughs at her performance.

“A little more and you take the whole store, girl“ Dani opens the door of the soap store to Amira and both go out to the street, adjusting their coats because of the cold.

“Yeah, they all smell so good that I didn't know which one to get," Amira admits as she checks the paper bag to see if everyone she bought is there.

“Whoa, look at all the snow there”

Amira raises her head and follows the direction Dani points out. At the end of the street you can see a stretch of countryside where there are still many traces of the last snowfall. Amira smiles when a memory comes to her mind.

“Remember when we played building snowmen as kids?”

“Of course," Dani says, "the one who finished first won”

“And you always cheated," adds Amira.

“And you would get angry and end up destroying mine”

“It's what you deserve”

Amira and Dani laugh as they recall the times they played as children at Zaorejas. In a moment their glances meet and the games are forgotten, at this moment only them two exist. Until...

“First one to finish wins! “ shouts Amira running towards the area where the snow is located while she listens to Dani shout "cheater" indignantly.

“Daniiiiii“ complains Amira for the fifth time in the last three minutes. “Stop”

“I don't know what you're talking about “ says Dani playing crazy.

“Stop throwing snow on my snowman, you're a cheater," Amira protests. Ever since they started making the snowmen, Dani hasn't stopped throwing snow on her, acting like he doesn't even know it.

“What are you saying, girl? I'm not throwing snow on you. Maybe I might’ve thrown a bit by mistake. Like now” Dani repeats the movement he has been doing since he started, takes a little amount of snow and throws it in Amira's direction, but this time, instead of pointing at the snowman, he points directly at Amira, who lets out a little cry of surprise. Dani immediately realizes his mistake.

“You are a dead man “ says Amira

Then Dani gets up to try to put some distance between the two but it's too late, the snowball war has started. And it continues for several minutes in which both Dani and Amira try to throw to the other all the snow that they can while avoiding the one they receive. Amira makes a mistake and is totally exposed to Dani, who has a snowball ready to throw. Trying to put some distance between them she starts walking backwards without realizing that she has the snowmen behind her. She stumbles over them and falls backwards on the figures, destroying them completely.

“Amiiii, you always end up destroying my snowman“ protests Dani in a little boy's voice.

“Because you always cheat," answers Amira, sitting down and stretching out her hand to Dani. “Help me up”

Dani sighs and approaches Amira. When he shakes her hand, Amira takes advantage of the impulse to throw Dani to the floor while she stands.

“You...”

Dani tries to get up but slips and falls again, causing Amira's laughter, which eventually catches up with Dani.

“Okay, okay, we're even," Amira says, still laughing. She sits down next to Dani and together they look at what's left of their dolls, which is only two piles of snow “ Man, they were so beautiful and now look at them”

“What if we make one together? It would be the superior snowman”

Amira laughs at Dani's choice of words to refer to the snowman, but the truth is that the idea does not displease her.

“We finally found you, we have looked for you all over the village”.

Amira and Dani turn to Joana's words and see her approaching with Cris.

“But what are you doing, playing with the snow? “ laughs Chris.

“Look at our baby," says Amira enthusiastically pointing to the snowman they made between her and Dani.

“Man Dani, when I said I wanted to be a young aunt I meant Toni giving me a little nephew, not you and my best friend.”

“You’re really an idiot” Dani says to his sister, shaking his head.

Cris laughs and sits next to Amira and Dani to inspect the snowman.

“What a shitty snowman, if it's all deformed, I'm sure we can make a better one, right, love?”

“Hey, well, we can try," laughs Joana.

“No, no, ours was much better. “ Amira discusses as they enter the house.

“But what do you say? If ours was super cute “ Cris protests

“Super cute and super tiny, it measured 10 centimeters “ says Dani closing the door and taking off his coat.

“Daniel, size doesn't matter, you guys have to get that into your heads," says Joana, making Cris and Amira laugh.

“Come on, I'm going to take a hot shower and go to bed early, we have a route tomorrow," says Dani, avoiding the subject.

“You have, you mean “ says Cris “ because I am not going.

“Cris girl...”protests Amira

“Ami, don't even try it, it's a losing battle for this girl. Joana, what do you say? “ Dani asks before entering the bathroom.

“I...” Joana looks from Dani to Amira and back to Dani “ I stay with Cris.

“It seems that we will do the route alone”.

Amira's cell phone alarm wakes her up in one go. With her eyes half closed she checks the time, 6:30. At first she feels a bit out of sorts, but then she remembers that they're in Zaorejas and that she and Dani were supposed to leave today at 7:30 and Amira wanted to get up in time to have breakfast. Suddenly she hears a noise coming from the kitchen and realizes that there is a strange smell in the air, as if something is burning. Exalted, she puts on her hijab quickly and leaves the room to see what is happening. She would almost be less surprised if she had found herself in the kitchen with a crazy pyromaniac. Instead she finds Dani, concentrating on cooking, or trying to cook something.

“What are you doing? “ Amira asks quietly so as not to wake up Cris and Joana who went to bed later.

“I don't know what's wrong with the pan, I can't turn the pancakes around, they get stuck. I woke up early to surprise you with breakfast but…”

Amira smiles, Dani is up early to make her breakfast and, although clearly things have not gone too well, it is the detail that matters. Amira looks at the plate next to the stove and sees the remains of deformed and burned pancakes.

“Did you put butter or oil in the pan? “ Amira asks. Dani's confused and surprised face tells her that it hadn't even crossed her mind, which makes Amira laugh.

“Fuck Ami, I wanted to surprise you “ says Dani in defeat, stepping aside so that Amira can clean up the mess.

“No, I'm surprised," laughs Amira, who is touched by Dani's pouting. “Besides, I'm sure the dough is very good, you just need a little help making them in the frying pan.”

“How are you doing? “ asks Dani turning to look at Amira. They've been walking for more than two hours without stopping.

“Well“ Amira answers, although with difficulty to breathe “ Is there much left to the river?

“About 15 minutes or so. “ Dani says “Are you doing well or do you want us to stop now?”

“No no, we stop when we get to the river.”

“Perfect “ Dani smiles at her and sets off again, this time going a little slower so that Amira can keep up with him.

Once those 15 minutes promised by Dani have passed, Amira gives a little shout of emotion when she sees the river.

“It's beautiful, my god," says Amira, admiring the view.

“I told you, you would like it," answers Dani, also admiring the view, although in his case, he is not looking at the river, but at Amira smiling. “Are you hungry?

“Very“ says Amira sitting on a rock near the river.

“Well, here I haven't made a mess because I brought... “Dani sits in front of Amira and searches in his backpack until he finds the bag of food “ tuna sandwiches”

“Yes, yummy!“ Amira reaches out for the sandwich Dani offers and takes a bite.

“And I haven't shown you the best part yet... “Dani makes a dramatic pause before taking out the package.

“Muffins “ says Amira enthusiastically

“And the ones you like”.

“Man, thank you. You've thought of everything”

“I mean, I'm the best“ Dani jokes

“Well, don't get too cocky, because I still have the smell of burnt pancakes in my nose”.

Dani laughs and looks at Amira, illuminated by the mid-morning sun, with the river and the forest behind her she looks even more spectacular than usual. Dani can't help but take out his cell phone to portray this moment.

“What are you doing? “ she asks when she sees him pointing his cell phone in her direction.

“Don't move, you're perfect for a photo”.

“Dani, please“ says Amira embarrassed, she has never liked to have her picture taken, especially if the person she has to pose for is Dani.

“Go, come on, smile, you look beautiful... I mean, the picture looks beautiful“ tries to make amends Dani

Amira smiles and bites her lower lip without wanting to make too many stories out of what Dani has said, or almost said. Dani takes a couple of pictures of Amira from different angles until she gets tired and tells her to change positions. Now it is Dani who bends down by the river and Amira stands in front of him to take the picture. Something behind Dani captures her attention.

“Dani, don't move," Amira says almost in a whisper, "I don't want you to scare it out of the picture.”

“Scare who?”

Dani turns to his right and jumps at the sight of a duck just a meter away in the river. Amira captures the moment with her cell phone and starts laughing, tears filling her eyes.

“It's not funny, girl! Don't you know that ducks can eat your finger? “ says Dani moving as far away from the river as possible

“What are you talking about? How can a duck eat your finger? Come on, don’t freak out”

“I've seen my life pass before my eyes," Dani exaggerates, holding his hand to his chest as if he were going to have a heart attack, which only makes Amira laugh even more.

“Dinner! “ shouts Cris from the living room of the house to Amira and Dani who are each in their room resting after the route.

Amira is the first to come out, dressed in her yellow sweatshirt and black leggings. Dani comes out in a minute, wearing her gray shirt, blue sweatshirt and gray pants.

“Boy, when are you going to retire that sweatshirt? Mom is tired of washingit already “ says Cris while Dani sits on the couch next to Joana and Amira.

“It's my favorite sweatshirt. Do I tell you anything about always going in braids? “ Dani defends himself

“But the fact is that the braids look good on me.”

“Come on, relax “ Joana intervenes “ let the kid wear what he wants. And you look beautiful with your braids.”

“I know," says Chris, kissing Joana.

“Well, what did you do for dinner? “ Amira asks “I'm hungry.”

“I mean…we didn’t do it... We bought some pizzas at the bakery. “ explains Cris opening the boxes on the table in the living room.

“You were supposed to be cooking today, we made dinner yesterday," Dani complains.

“Well, I made dinner yesterday, you cut the vegetables," Amira says.

“And without me we would have eaten the vegetables uncut, it's a vital job in the kitchen.”

“Of course, of course," says Amira, nodding and laughing.

“Well, there’s pizza. Are you really going to say no to a pizza?”

“Never," says Dani, agreeing with his sister and taking a piece of pizza.

Once they have finished dinner, Cris looks at the time on the clock and gets up from the table.

“So, what? We go out tonight, right? “ she asks.

“Uf, girl I pass, I am dead after the route”

“Amira giiiiiiiirl, you can't do this to me. Come on, just for a little while “ Cris pouts but it doesn't seem to be working.

“It's just that with you it's never just a little while, Cris. And I'm super tired. I'm sorry “ Amira apologizes.

“Okay, fine. What about you? You haven't seen your friends yet.!

“I...”Dani looks from her sister to Amira and back to her sister “ I pass too, I'm so tired”.

“Come on! You can hike that route with your eyes closed, what are you telling me?”

“But Cris, let them, if the children say they are tired, then they are tired. We'll go out and let them stay here, together. “ Joana says guessing Dani's intentions and giving him a hand.

“Well, you're missing out, waterparties. I'm going to change. Love, shall we leave in half an hour? “ asks Cris to Joana, going to her room with her behind.

Once they are alone in the room, Dani and Amira begin to clean up after their dinner.

“Hey, if you want to go out, you don't have to stay with me, I don't mind being alone. “ says Amira.

“Nah, I'm so tired. I don't feel like going out, to be honest”

Amira nods and smiles. The truth is that she doesn't mind spending the night in Dani's company.

“Would you like to watch a movie when they leave?

“I'm fine with that," answers Amira.

“Well, behave yourselves, don't do anything I wouldn't do “ Joana says goodbye to Dani and Amira half an hour later. Cris is already outside waiting for his impatient girlfriend.

“Should I make some popcorn? “ Dani asks Amira once they have been left alone.

“Hmm, okay sure yes.”

Dani gets up from the sofa and heads to the kitchen. Amira realizes that he has left his cell phone on the table.

“Hey Dani! Can I see today's photos on your mobile? “ says Amira aloud to let him know.

“Sure! They're in the gallery, send them to your mobile if you want “ Dani comes through the kitchen door and points to Amira “ but don't delete them”

“Promised”

Amira opens the gallery on Dani's phone and starts looking at this morning's photos. There is a little bit of everything, pictures of landscapes, pictures of Amira with the river behind, of Dani posing and then being scared of the duck, selfies of the two together etc.

“I love this one, it's very good, pure fantasy," Amira says to Dani when he returns to the room with the bowl of popcorn and sits down next to her.

Dani looks at his cell phone in Amira's hand and sees that she is referring to the photo in which he is jumping after the scare the duck gave him.

“I'm going to put it on as a background to cheer me up when I'm sad," jokes Amira, making Dani laugh. “Talking about backgrounds...”

Dani sees how Amira goes to the home page of his mobile and shows him the bakcground Dani has on his mobile, the photo of him, Cris and Amira on the roof.

“I really like this picture “ says Amira, not daring to look at Dani.

“Me too, that's why I put it on “ Dani looks at Amira and when she looks up and their eyes connect he smiles” We used to have a great time together, didn't we?

“Yes...” says Amira almost in a whisper.

“And this weekend has been great, Ami. It's been a while since we've spent any time together, both of us. I missed it. I barely want to go home tomorrow”

Amira smiles, and Dani reciprocates. For a few seconds they both look into each other's eyes, not knowing what to say. When Amira feels that the tension between the two is too much she decides to look away.

“Should we put the film on?”

Dani opens his eyes and wakes up. His neck hurts a little from being in the same position for so long. The first thing he notices is that the TV is on with the movie stopped on the home page. The second thing is Amira. She is sleeping peacefully next to him, curled up under the blanket, her head turned slightly towards him. Dani can't help but look at her, she looks so beautiful, so serene, so peaceful. Something is stirring inside Dani, a feeling that always comes up every time he looks at Amira, but now more than ever it beats inside him. He's not stupid, he knows perfectly well what's wrong with him. He has known for months, maybe even years. He is in love with Amira. It's a pity she would never notice him.

The sound of the door takes him out of his thoughts. He turns and sees Cris stumble in, followed by Joana trying to hold her. Dani gets up from the couch, as if he had just been

caught doing something wrong. He immediately tells his sister to shut up and nods to Amira, indicating that she is asleep.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry," says a very drunk Cris, "but we'll have to wake her up, won't we?

“If you keep shouting like that you will surely do it“ Dani protests in a low voice.

“Come on, Ami, get up," says Cris to her friend, but Joana stops her.

“Come on Cris, let's go to sleep, Dani will wake up Amira, right Dani? “ says Joana

Dani nods and smiles at Joana gratefully. Once the girls are gone Dani sits on the couch next to Amira and says her name several times. The third time Amira slowly opens her eyes.

It takes Amira a few seconds to adjust the vision to the dark room, only illuminated by the TV. When her eyes connect with Dani's something stirs inside her, a feeling that always comes up every time she looks at Dani, but now more than ever it beats inside her. She is not stupid, she knows perfectly well what is happening to her. She's known it for months, maybe even years. She is in love with Dani. It's a pity that he would never notice her.

“Hello “ whispers Dani, taking Amira out of his thoughts.

“Hello," she says, smiling at him.

“I didn't want to wake you up but you're going to catch a cold and...”

“Thank you. I'd better go to bed," says Amira, slowly rising from the sofa.

“Yes, me too, we have a long journey tomorrow.”

Dani turns off the TV and turns on the hall light. Both he and Amira go to their rooms but stand at the doors.

“Good night, Ami," says Dani.

“Good night, Dani," Amira answers, and before Dani can disappear behind his bedroom door, she adds, "I missed spending time together too”

[cecilspeaks]

168 - Secret Blotter

Life is 10 per cent what happens to you And 90 per cent false memories of what you think happened to you. Welcome to Night Vale.

In an effort to bring more transparency to the Sheriff’s Secret Police, a chronicle of one night’s dispatches will be released to the public. This action comes at the behest of the City Council, who voted unanimously on a resolution to ban plastic bags.

Now, OK, while those two things may not seem related, Sheriff Sam misunderstood the vote as a rallying cry against tyrannical surveillance and a personal threat, involving being thrown to the pit of vipers behind the bowling alley. Sheriff Sam, who has a paralyzing fear of vipers, proposed a compromise in which Secret Police dispatches would be temporarily divulged, so the public can get a better idea of what agency does and how tax dollars are being spent. A plan which was readily accepted by the Council, though they continued to roll their eyes and gnash their teeth and chant softly: [creepy voice] “Viper pit! Viper pit! Blessed be the viper pit!” Which is just how they express a “yay” vote on procedural issues.

As a result, Night Vale has its first ever police blotter. Let’s dig in. 9 o’clock PM. Missing person reported inside the Ralphs. Night manager on duty says employee went to stock some cases of Lime-A-Ritas in the new walk-in beer cave and never came out. Reporting officer thoroughly checked beer cave and confirmed it was deserted. Three cases of the beverage were left haphazardly in the middle of the floor, and a loading dolly had tipped over onto its side. Manager states employee originally brought in four cases. Manager added one missing case of Lime-A-Ritas to the report. When asked if this kind of thing has happened before, manager changed subject and asked if officer would like to look at some of the children’s drawing contest submissions. Officer was amenable to this request.

9:16 PM. Noise complaint. Dog barking in an unknown language annoying residents. Dirty white fur, human face. Gone when officer arrived on scene.

9:25 PM. Two underage residents attempted to sneak into an R-rated movie by pretending to be one tall person in a trench coat. When confronted by officer, they turned into a swarm of flies and dispersed.

10:01 PM. Noise complaint. A sound resembling television static was being emitted from a shower drain out in the Hefty Sycamore trailer park. When recorded and played backwards, it turned out to be a broadcast from a 1952 episode of the game show “Beat the Clock”, where contestants competed to see how many pieces they could smash a clock into. A plumber was called.

10:15 PM. A resident of Desert Creek searched for “easy tortellini recipes”, but none of them were easy enough. It was so late already, and they needed to get to bed soon, but they were also very hungry and needed to eat dinner first. They wanted something quick, but they also wanted a real dinner, not a false dinner like… cereal? They became hyperaware that the more they deliberated on what to make, the longer it was all taking. And factoring in the decision-making time on top of the meal prep time was becoming additionally stressful in relation to the desire to get to bed soon.

11:30 PM. A Coyote Corner’s swimming pool filled with blood and began swirling furiously in a counter-clockwise direction. Home owner appeared distressed. Officer advised home owner to drain pool.

11:31 PM. Multiple residents awoke in a cold sweat from the same dream. It wasn’t necessarily a nightmare, but it was definitely not pleasant. The only thing they could recall afterwards was that it was showing, and that there was a tree with seven limbs.

12:00 AM. Witches.

2:00 AM. That time of night when everything starts getting hazy. Were you headed to a crime? Checking a surveillance station? Listening to a wiretap? Going home? Returning to headquarters? Signalling an invisible helicopter? Sometimes you lose track. An old local legend comes into your mind, and you try to recall the details. It’s been so long since you heard it. You watch the headlights bounce along the dirt road ahead, and your eyes begin to play tricks on you, sensing movement in the dark margins where the light doesn’t penetrate. You turn off the lights and slow the vehicle. They weren’t tricks after all. There is movement here, a dark writhing mass entering the roadway. You are forced to stop the car. Eyes flesh open in the dark. Many sets of eyes. This isn’t part of a half-remembered legend. This is something very, very real.

More of the blotter soon. But first, let’s have a look at traffic. You’re hunting in a pack near the Old Highway. The smell of blood is in the air. Headlights bounce over the rise and your stomachs rumble. The moon flees behind the clouds and you fan out, along both sides of the road, moving parallel to it like a lazy river. The car approaches and slows. It shuts off its headlights, as you knew it would. Some of you push ahead to the car, blocking its path. Others move to the rear and others remain at the sides boxing it in. You converge, surrounding it more tightly the door opens, then closes again, the fleshy creature inside cursing softly. You hear a crackle of radio static, but you know it is inconsequential to you. You consume the metal shell first. There are explosions of air and the hiss of leaking fluids. Then the glass, crunchy and cool in your collective gullet. And finally, the screaming delicacy in the center, the cloth-wrapped package of meat and bone. There are other things afterward, less enjoyable, but consumable nonetheless. Papers and electronics, and the pleather, and cold French fries in the back. Nothing must remain. By the time the moon emerges from the clouds, the old highway will be deserted once more. This has been traffic.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s show is brought to you by TickTock. The only app that tells you exactly how long you have left to live. The sleek countdown display synchs easily with all of your devices, so that you can check your mortality at a glance. The premium edition provides additional details, such as manner and location of death, and updates to the minute, as you make different choices throughout your day. You’ll find yourself asking questions like, why did returning a library book just subtract 4 years from my life? How did leaving late for work change my final outcome from drowning in gulch to birds of prey? Why does it say “tomorrow” all of a sudden? [panicking] It must be some kind of glitch, right? OK, OK, I’ve updated the app but it still hasn’t changed. It still says “tomorrow”. I just got checked out by a doctor and they said I’m in great shape, I’m staying home from work, I’m not answering the door, I’ve closed the blinds and I’m sitting on the couch, surrounded by pillows, not moving, not even blinking, I’ve done everything dammit, EVERYTHING!!! WHY DOES IT STILL SAY “TOMORROW”???!! Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. This has been a word from our sponsors.

Back to the Sheriff’s Secret Police blotter. 2:30 AM. Responded to an officer distress call on the Old Highway. No sign of officer or vehicle found. Must have been a false alarm.

3:15 AM. Nude man ranting in middle of old highway, carrying a case of alcoholic beverages. Identified as the night shift stocker at the Ralphs. Claims he entered the walk-in refrigerator at work, reached up to place the case of beverages on the shelf, and abruptly found himself in a network of ice caves. He eventually climbed up a snowy mountain where he met a robed figure he refers to as “The Oracle”. “The Oracle” foretold of a hungry darkness with a thousand eyes and urged that the portal must be cloooosed. The Ralphs employee also reported that “The Oracle” had slurred speech and seemed unsteady on its feet, and may have been inebriated. After this exchange, he then found himself standing in the Sand Wastes nude. He does not know where his clothes are. Officer escorted man back to the Ralphs to finish out his shift.

3:35 AM. Domestic disturbance. “He won’t stop practicing the flute!” a Cactus Bloom resident reported, indicating his dopplegänger who stood in the corner of the bedroom, staring unblinkingly at the wall and playing the same halting scale on a wooden flute. Officer advised resident to take a melatonin and try to get some sleep. “If he doesn’t stop, I can’t be held responsible!” the sleep-deprived resident threatened. “Sounds fair,” the officer agreed and left the premises.

4:00 AM. An alarm clock went off in Old Town. A woman attempted to get out of bed, but her cat walked sleepily onto her person and began purring, preventing her from rising. Her cat is elderly and the woman knows its number of purrs are finite and must be honored. Eventually, she put on coffee and took a shower. She used Herbal Solution shampoo for a lifelong dandruff condition, though she has not seen any improvement after years of using the products. She continues using it, because she likes the way it smells. It smells medicinal, like it’s helping, and it does tingle, like the label promises. The tingle means it’s working, the label says. So it must be working.

And now a break form the police blotter for some sports news. Night Vale High School – go Scorpions! – has added a concession stand to be used during sporting events. The parent-teacher association proudly unveiled the new stand at last week’s baseball game, dedicating the plywood structure to the memory of favorite AP auto shop teacher, Nick Teller. Teller reacted with confusion at this news, as he is still alive. “Oh, of co-, no, of course you are,” the PTA responded awkwardly, “but we just wanted to honor – your memory, as in what a great memory you have. You-you know how you’re really good at remembering stuff? We just wanted to, yeah uh, honor that,” the PTA went on, seemingly unable to stop explaining themselves, whilst standing in front of the dedication plaque, which featured several doves, a Celtic cross, and an image of clasped hands. Teller admitted he does have an excellent memory and is very honored. The following concessions are available at the Teller memorial stand: Special allowances, the granting of rights, the acceptance of certain things as truth, the yielding of certain other things as untruth. Also, RC Cola and popcorn.

Oh, which reminds me, we actually have another word from our sponsor, Royal Crown Cola. Invented by Ferdinand the 1st, king of Naples, who built a museum of mummies inside his palace to house the bodies of his slain enemies. “I am parched from building this museum of mummies,” he famously said, and the rest is history. RC Cola – the drink of ruthless monarchs.

In local news, I have the results of the Ralphs drawing contest. Local school children were encouraged to submit a drawing to the store this week, depicting their favorite Ralphs product. I’ll start with the runners up. The third place drawing comes to us from Ella Snider, a student from Night Vale Elementary, and it shows a large black scribbled mass with a lot of eyes on it, with the Ralphs building on fire in the background. Very creative, Ella!

The second place drawing comes from Jace McCoy, also from Night Vale Elementary, and this one also shows a black mass with many eyes and a big bright red splatter of blood across the page. Nice use of color, Jace!

And the grand price winner comes to us from Heather (Fathusam) [0:16:52] of Daggers Plunge Charter School. Her drawing features a beautiful black mass with lots of lovely eyes, and it’s holding a box of store brand frozen pizza rolls. Congratulations, Heather!

Back to the blotter. 4:01 AM. Distress call from the Ralphs. Upon arrival, officer was pulled into the manager’s office. The employee from the earlier incident was also present, huddled under a desk. Manager frantically indicated the surveillance window that looks out into the store, which he normally uses to spy on shoppers and report on what they are wearing for his Customer Fashion newsletter. Shelves of products were being knocked over and consumed by a vast dark nothingness. The back of the store then burst into flames. The manager implored the officer to quote, “Do something, please, or we’ll all be killed!” Officer used the intercom system to tell the nothingness to vacate the store immediately, and advised it of trespass and vandalism laws. The nothingness took the form of many dark shapes with many eyes. A tank of fresh seafood exploded and numerous shellfish were damaged. Officer advised the shapes that they were all under arrest. “Stop talking to it!” the manager cried and knocked the intercom mic out of the officer’s hand. Approximately 1000 eyes turned to look at the office window. Interesting. Well.

Let’s have a look at that weather.

[“Best Friends” by Curtains: https://curtains.bandcamp.com/]

4:35 AM. Situation escalated at the Ralphs. Officer, manager and employee embraced one another under the office desk amid the shattered glass of the surveillance window. The building trembled around them, products flew through the air, half the inventory was sucked into oblivion, and a great fire blazed, spreading to the bakery section. After doing an estimated 200,000 dollars worth of damage, the darkness and its many eyes entered the beer cave and did not come back out. Officer investigated the beer cave and found it to be empty. “You have to shut down the cave!” the Ralphs employee implored the manager. “That’s its doorway to our world!” The manager hedged and responded that a big heat wave was coming and if they hoped to recoup any of their losses, keeping the beer cave open was going to be instrumental to the store’s survival. “People will spend big on frosty cold beverages,” the manager responded. “Not to mention they’re gonna like standing around in there for a nice cool-down.” The employee wrapped his robe tightly around himself. Oh, the manager had lent him the robe, one of the many fashion items the manager kept in his collection, since the employee still didn’t know where his clothes had gone. “OK,” the employee said. He picked up a Lime-A-Rita and guzzled it down in one continuous gulp. Then he said, his voice already a little slurred: “I’ll have to try to shhhhtop it myself.” He ran into the beer cave and promptly vanished.

5:40 AM. Tree with seven limbs seen growing out of a hole in the vacant lot out back of the Ralphs. Snow observed on the branches, which melted off quickly as the sun rose.

5:45 AM. Real pretty sunrise.

Well, that concludes our Secret Police blotter. I dunno about the rest of you, but I personally feel a lot more safe and secure getting a closer look at what our Secret Police do. On behalf of Night Vale Community Radio, thank you for your service. I’m sure we will all rest a lot easier knowing that our fate is in your hands. Our sleeping bodies are under your watchful eye, and our every thought and action is being monitored for the greater good. As Secret Police mascot Barks Ennui always says: Stay tuned, stay, vigilant, report your neighbors. Woof. Woof.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Six out of seven dentists have no idea where that seventh one disappeared to. Honest, they all have rock solid alibis and that blood could have belonged to anyone.

[captain-s-rogers]

Have A Little Faith In Me

(gif credit to the creator)

Part One

Master List Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC // Clint Barton x OFC Word Count: 1,900 Warnings: none? A/N: Debuting for OC Day 2020! Here’s the first part of the rewrite of my first ever Marvel series! If you want to be added to my tag list please let me know! Feedback is cool :)

Rockefeller PR firm. Though not connected to the famed family by any means, legend had it the J.D. Rockefeller himself had hired the founding members to handle his public relations in the very early success of the family. As a show of gratitude, in addition to a substantial cash and client flow, Mr. Rockefeller had allowed the firm to use the family’s prosperous name.

Anyone who was anyone in New York City knew of and often employed Rockefeller PR. The firm put on benefit events like they were going out of style, constantly hosting galas and banquets for one charity or another. Of course, with the guest lists for the events most often restricted to Manhattan’s elite, the donations poured in left and right. The firm had reached their renowned status as the most profitable and most charitable over the years. 

In more recent years, Sophia Hawkins and Lucy Cleveland had made names for themselves as the firm’s most successful representatives. That success had given the clout they needed to swing an event entirely different from anything the firm had done in a long time -- possibly ever. 

For starters, this event wasn’t being held to raise funds for an art gallery or secure investors for a corporation. This event was being held to raise funds to donate to several different organizations that supported the US troops and veterans. Not to mention, the event was made open to the public -- another component which had never been a part of a Rockefeller PR event. The thing was 1940s USO; everyone who showed up to attend the event was required to dress accordingly and make a donation at the door, in addition to their purchased ticket, of course

Both Sophia’s and Lucy’s grandfathers had fought in World War II, which had been Sophia’s inspiration for the idea. The firm’s executives hadn’t been keen on the idea when the two women first presented it, but between the excellent publicity that would come from supporting the troops and veterans, and the girls’ track record of successful events, convincing them to endorse the event hadn’t taken but a few minutes.  

The night of the benefit arrived, with a line forming out the door a couple of hours before the designated start time. Sophia and Lucy were dressed to the nines, double checking that everything -- from the menu to the music -- was in order. The servers were dressing in period-appropriate waiter and waitress uniforms, and the trio of women singing were emulating a 1940s singing group to a T. While the musical act ran through their era-specific setlist, Sophia and Lucy shined up the finishing touches on the decor. 

“Soph!” Lucy called out across the banquet hall, “do we need to alter the table settings? Caitlyn still has place cards for high-profile clients set out.” 

“We can just toss the cards, since there’s no guest list and we’re closing the doors as max capacity,” Sophia replied, already plucking name cards from a nearby table. 

“Do we have enough food?” Lucy continued. 

“We’ve got the chefs cooking for one-hundred-fifty and there’s one-hundred seats. I think we’re okay,” Sophia smiled. “Calm down, Luce. Everything is going according to plan. Nobody can plan like we can.”

Finally, Lucy was able to calm down. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” 

The women smiled at each other; everything was going to be perfect. Despite Lucy’s worries, they were well aware that this had been one of the smoothest events they had ever planned. Not having to please a bunch of snobby clients made the process a breeze. 

With only a few minutes to go, Sophia and Lucy decided they were happy with the state of things. After a short breather, they told the doorman to begin letting guests in the hall. 

Manhattan’s elite mingled with some lesser known citizens, filling the room and milling about the dance floor with freshly served drinks. The two event planners flitted about, adjusting table placements as necessary, making sure the food and drinks stayed well-stocked. The turnout was set to be huge, and within ten minutes of the doors opening, the hall was filled to capacity. 

Once everyone had found their seat, Sophia made a brief yet spectacular speech welcoming everyone and thanking them for their donations -- with the total amount to be named later in the evening -- the musical act took to the stage. Drinks continued to flow, the appetizers were served, and the nostalgia of the songs pulled a few couples to the dance floor. Sophia and Lucy stood at the back of the room, admiring their handiwork. 

“Ya know, Soph, I think we did a good job with this one,” Lucy mused, accepting a martini from the bartender.

“I think you’re right,” Sophia agreed. She sipped wine from the glass in her hand and took another cursory glance over the room, ever vigilant for any little thing that might go wrong. 

“Everyone seems to be having a good time,” Lucy added. “And, speaking of a good time, I do believe that gentleman in the corner is eyeing you. He has been all night.”

Sophia choked her drink. “You’re kidding, right? Lucy, tonight is not the night for your games, friend.”

“I’m not playing games,” Lucy laughed. “See, over by the band? Tall, blond. Might have to call the doctor, since he’s been nursing that beer for over an hour. But, yes, friend, he keeps glancing over at you.”

“I think you’re full of shit,” Sophia mumbled, though she looked somewhat hopeful as she threw a casual glance in the direction Lucy had indicated. She locked eyes with the man Lucy had nodded toward. 

“Still think I’m full of shit?”  

Sophia scoffed, shaking her head before she downed the rest of her wine and set the glass on the bar. Yes, she had been hopeful seconds ago, but this man was beyond handsome -- and she was on the clock, to boot. 

“Go, talk to him!” Lucy urged.

“Not a chance, Luce. We’re working, remember?” 

Before Lucy could come up with a suitable response to change her friend’s mind, the man in question started towards the two women. When he was close enough for them to see he was, for certain, headed in their direction, Lucy whispered a quick ‘good luck’ in Sophia’s ear, then made herself busy checking on the status of supper.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man began, “but are you Sophia Hawkins?”

Sophia nodded. “I am. Can I help you with something?

“I’m Steve Rogers,” he introduced, extending a hand. When Sophia slipped her hand into his for a confident but cautious handshake, he continued.  “I wanted to thank you for coordinating this event. It’s a great cause, and I’m very impressed with the level of authenticity.”

Sophia faltered for a moment, running through her mental files so could explain the familiarity of his name. She recovered quickly, pasting a polite, professional smile on her face. 

“We did our best to make it as authentic as possible. My grandfather and great uncle were in World War II, and my co-planner, Lucy’s grandfather was in the war, as well. We were able to find a lot of photographic evidence to go off of.”

Steve hesitated, casting an uneasy glance at the ground before meeting her eyes again. “Yeah, my grandfather was in the war, too. I think he would appreciate how well you pulled it all off.”

“Why, thank you,” she smiled. They stood in silence for a moment, and Sophia noticed the authentic detail of the Army uniform Steve was wearing -- even with the best costume designers, nothing they had provided for the waitstaff or singers was this authentic. The longer she looked, the more familiar the uniform seemed. 

Steve met her eyes. “Everything all right?”

Sophia nodded and quickly dismissed the strange familiarity as something she had seen in her own family’s photos. “Is the uniform your grandfather’s?”

Again, Steve hesitated, almost as though he was looking for the right words to answer an otherwise easy question. “It was. Found it in my mother’s attic before the event. Since time-period attire was required, seemed like the uniform was the way to go.”

“It suits you,” Sophia smiled. She turned away for a moment to ask the bartender for another glass of wine. 

Steve quickly took a sip of his beer while he waited for her to return to their conversation. He looked around the room, catching sight of the dance floor; a warm blush creeped over his cheeks and down his neck. The tempo had changed from upbeat and quick to slow and steady. A surge of confidence swelled in his chest, pushing him to act on impulse. Steve finished off his beer and set the bottle on the counter, then extended his hand to Sophia again. 

“Forgive me if I’m out of line, but would you like to dance, Ms. Hawkins?” Steve asked.

Sophia’s blush matched his as she turned to set the wine glass on the bar. She accepted Steve’s hand. “Call me Sophia, and I’d love to dance.”

The couple eased into a simple waltz as the music began to build from the first verse into the bridge of the song. They danced in silence through the chorus, concentrating on the steps before changing focus to each other. 

“You told me about your family, but what made you decide to do an event open to the public? I’ve been told your firm generally caters Manhattan’s high-status citizens.”

“We do, you’re right,” Sophia confirmed. “Lucy and I have done so many of those, we wanted to do something different. We were looking through old family photos together one night, just for fun, and the idea to do a benefit for the military came to us. The USO theme followed.”

“I don’t want to sound like a broken record,” Steve smiled, “but you did a really fantastic job.”

Sophia showed her appreciation for his compliment with a modest smile. When the song ended, though she was reluctant to do so, she thanked Steve for the dance and turned to return to the bar.

“Sophia?” he called, gently grabbing her wrist to keep her from getting too far..

She turned to face him, brows raised in question. “Mm?”

“Would you want to get dinner some time? Maybe get to know each other better. Sometime when you’re not working.” 

Sophia didn’t bother to stop the ear-to-ear grin that spread over her face. “I would love that.” 

A pen was handy in the pocket of her dress, since she was, in fact, working. She took Steve’s hand again and jotted her number across his palm. She clicked the pen before putting it back in her pocket. 

“I’ll call you in a few days,” Steve promised. “We’ll work out the details.”

“Sounds good.” Sophia nodded and winked at him. She turned to walk away, this time looking over her shoulder to add, “Thanks for the dance, Captain.”

He froze for a moment, fearing that Sophia was aware of his full identity. Her eyes glanced to the patches on his jacket before she turned away from him; that had been what tipped her off to the rank. When she was back at the bar and conversing with her friend, Steve looked down at the phone number written across his palm. With a suppressed but victorious smile, he worked his way back into the crowd.

@arrowsandmixtapes​ @the-murder-strut-murdered-me​ @growningupgeek​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @captain-rogers-beard​ @kitkatd7​ @patzammit​ @sagechanoafterdark​ @what-is-your-plan-today​

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Goodnight, Aaron (Aaron Hotchner x OC) Chapter 5

Summary: After being grilled about his ex-girlfriend on what is meant to be a fun birthday outing, Sebastian gets some new information dropped on him by a worn-out Jack.

AN: Sorry I haven't posted in a while! Been a bit busy with job and family stuff. Hope you enjoy this chapter. This chapter is mostly unedited sorry!

Tagging: @sunlight-moonrise, @clean-bands-dirty-stories, @genevievedarcygranger, and @davidrossi-ismydad

Chapter 4 // Masterlist // AO3 Link

“They asked you to coach?”

Sebastian watched Jack run off to warm up with his team, then he turned back to Hotch who clicked the car keys to lock, “Do they know what you do for a living? And they’ve asked you to coach before? Mental.”

Hotch let out a chuckle at how utterly ridiculous Sebastian made it sound. And, truth be told, it was “mental” that Hotch was still coaching his son and their team when he still had to wrangle together his own team back at the BAU.

Sebastian adjusted his bag strap, “You need to learn to say ‘no’ to some people, Aaron.”

Hotch shook his head, playing into that teasing tone that had worked its way ito the conversation, “Well I don’t suppose you would be up for it?”

“I know nothing about football.”

“Soccer.”

“Soccer,” and Hotch laughed at the way Sebastian’s nose wrinkled as he mimicked the accent – albeit with heavy exaggeration on the vowels.

“Dave!”

Hotch’s hand raised into the air, catching the attention of his co-worker. Sebastian felt the pressure crank up to eleven as David Rossi sauntered over. He did not look like he was about to coach little league. He looked like he was about to go to one of his many villas in Europe and lounge around there for two weeks drinking wine.

 “David Rossi, this is Sebastian Porter.”

“Jack’s nanny, of course,” Rossi shook his hand heartily. Sebastian immediately wanted Rossi to be the cool uncle he never had.

He couldn’t think of anything wittier to say than this: “And you work with Aaron. On and off the pitch.”

“Couldn’t let him do it alone,”

“My ride’s here, so I’ll see you this evening. Nice meeting you, David.”

Though Sebastian was already behind schedule, he spared himself the embarrassment of his boss watching him lightly jogging over to his companions - and said companions clowning him for said light jogging.

“Aww, a lil peewee match?” Bellamy teased loudly, though not loud enough for the team to hear her.

Sebastian wanted to give her a playful shove, but he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t slide off her rollerblades deliberately, so instead he retorted, “Bullying kids, Bellamy? I thought you couldn’t stoop any lower.”

Klaus stopped rolling back and forth on his BMX, “Which one’s the boss then?”

“Wearing the white polo and shorts, not holding the clipboard.”

Klaus squinted behind his par of wholly unnecessary sunglasses, “Hmm, both are fit.”

“Come on, you’re staring,” and Sebastian twisted Klaus’ baseball cap around backwards before climbing onto the back of the bike.

As Klaus gave an indignant retort, he pushed off and began to cycle away. Sebastian’s hands gripped his shoulders tight and he opted to send a smile in his boss’ direction as opposed to a wave. Bellamy, the embarrassing mom type that she was, waved with both hands and skated backwards as she went.

Their afternoon sesh was off to a rocking start when Sebastian refused even one drink – sticking instead to a diet soda – while Bellamy and Klaus went for bottomless Bellini’s.

Bellamy discussed what children the new term had brought her. A short summary was that they were all little shits whom she adored and would protect with her life. That had been her track record for the part three years she had taught at this high school. The trio clinked glasses in celebration to her track record.

“Honestly, they’re so ready to get to using the Bunsen burners. It’s gonna be bonkers,” She beamed as a server brought her a refilled glass, “Can’t wait to bust out the copper.”

“As much as I love you talking science to me,” Klaus paused to put on a solemn mask that was cracked from the triumph he was wearing beneath, “We have to talk about Pippa while I’m still partially sober.”

When both his friends zeroed in on him whilst sipping their Bellini’s through straws, Sebastian all but exploded with excuses, “Oh my god, I get it! You told me so! It’s been a month! Can we drop it?”

“You went back to her!” Klaus ignored Sebastian’s “I know’s” with his head craning to reach over his friend’s voice, “After everything she did to you! You that desperate for attention?”

“Yeah!”

Both Bellamy and Klaus ceased their teasing, Klaus dropping back into his chair as he said, “Woah, ok, sorry dude.”

“It’s ok.”

Bellamy took Sebastian’s glass away, “Babe, that’s really depressing, you sure you haven’t been drinking?” She took a long sniff, her nose twirling around the rim before sliding it back to Sebastian, “No, he really is that deep.”

“Ha ha.”

Both Bellamy and Klaus sobered up considerably, the tone of their voices shifting into quiet support as Bellamy draped her arm around Sebastian’s shoulders, “I’m glad you got out of it, Bash.”

“Me too. And Rachael.”

“Ooo, how is Rachael?” Klaus pushed his sunglasses up his nose. How he looked like such a douchebag, shades on indoors, yet so happy with that status, Sebastian didn’t care to think about right now.

“She’s got a job in a firm now, big proper one.”

“Oooh! Can she get me out of my parking tickets?”

Suddenly the lights dimmed and Bellamy whipped out her phone, grinning behind it as Klaus looked up and around with a baby’s curiosity.

A troop of servers marched over with the birthday cake Bellamy had dropped off earlier that day. Its bright red buttercream icing Klaus went very quiet, a bashful smile glowing in the candlelight as the restaurant turned its attention to sing “Happy Birthday” to him.

“Happy Birthday, Klaus.” Bellamy and Sebastian kissed both his cheeks at the same time, a perfect photo op that one of the servers took for them.

The birthday boy was gracious enough to share his cake and give Sebastian a ride home after a few more drinks. Of water, Sebastian insisted that Klaus sober up a little so they weren’t going to crash the bike before his night out.

At the crossroads, Bellamy turned left when they went right, her arm stretching out to them like she was watching her loved one get shipped off to war. Sebastian was dropped off shortly after, just outside the block of flats, and Klaus was already off before Sebastian could tackle him with a hug. So he shouted after him. Nothing expletive, but it was enough for Klaus to look over his shoulder and smirk, swerving not a second later to avoid an incoming pedestrian.

When Sebastian entered the flat, Hotch and Rossi were in the sitting room, lounging in the settee over a bottle of whiskey artistically placed on the coffee table.

“Hey, how was the training?”

“Tough, but those kids are tougher.” Rossi raised his drink to his statement, and Sebastian thought about how he could subtly slide some adoption papers across the coffee table.

“Do you want a drink?” Hotch asked.

Already going to the kitchen, Sebastian checked in the stew he’d prepped that morning in the slow cooker, “I’m good, thanks.” He was a little peeved that he’d spent the afternoon sober, especially during the bashing of the ex-girlfriend, but he could always grab a nightcap later on. “Where’s Jack?”

“I SCORED A GOAL!”

Sebastian smile strained as he saw the state of Jack’s shorts once he rounded the corner to the kitchen. His shirt was off; clearly he was in the middle of getting changed.

“That’s brilliant, but if you come at me with them muddy keks, I’ll score a goal with you! Come back in your jammies and we’ll celebrate properly.” And he shooed Jack away to the bathroom. The star striker to be disappeared, his muddy rear skidding into his bedroom with the door closing quick behind him.

“‘Keks’?” Rossi repeated with an eyebrow raised.

So Sebastian clarified, “Trousers.”

“You mean pants.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at Hotch’s so-called correction before saying again, “No, keks.”

Thankfully they saw the funny side of it, allowing a hint of strain to drop from Sebastian’s shoulders just in time for Jack to come running back in. This time, he was wearing pyjamas.

Sebastian caught him neatly and plonked him on the countertop, “Tell me all about practice!”

As Sebastian prepared the rest of dinner, Jack babbled away about the training and his teammates. His energy by comparison to the other conversation between Hotch and Rossi caused theirs to stagnate in favour of joining in. Sebastian carried Jack across to the other counters without impeding his speech, keeping an eye on him and the food, while Hotch and Rossi joined in the storytelling.

At Jack’s description of Hotch and Rossi’s demonstration of a paired-up passing game, Sebastian’s abandoned phone began to buzz.

“Sorry Jack, I gotta get this. But why don’t you set the table?” Sebastian took him back down to Earth and shuffled him in the direction of the cutlery drawer before he picked up his mobile, “Hey, what are you doing up? Go to bed, young lady.”

Rachael replied with a heftier helping of snarkasm, “I’m in bed at the moment actually. Have you rung Mum and Dad yet?”

“I have, don’t worry,”

“Ok. Just checking.”

“Texting exists, you know? Not that I don’t delight at the sound of your grumpiness.”

“Yeah, well, you’re starting to sound more American.”

Casting an eye over to see Jack was nattering away to Hotch and Rossi, Sebastian whispered, “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

“I’ll call you after work. Love you, bye.”

“Bye.”

Sebastian hung up then slapped his free palm against his face.

Hotch caught his attention, leaning ever so slightly into his range of vision with concern, “Are you alright?”

“Forgot to say I love you, she’s gonna hold that against me for five years at least.”

As the person dishing up and the last to get to the table, Sebastian sat beside Rossi with Jack opposite him and Hotch diagonally across. There was a tautness in Sebastian’s back as he tried desperately not to gauge Rossi’s reaction to his food.

Instead Rossi reminded him of their meeting earlier, “Interesting choice in mode of transport today.”

Like a deer in the headlights, Sebastian tripped his way through his explanation, “Thanks, we’re desperately trying to reclaim our youth.” Then he popped a forkful of meat into his mouth to excuse him from further conversation.

Except Jack didn’t get the memo. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

“My sister, Rachael, she’s got a big case on tomorrow.”

“She’s a lawyer,” Rossi pointed across the table with his fork, “Hotch was a defence attorney.”

The information was so shiny and new to Sebastian, that he forgot to implement his “you’re my boss” filter and he said, “You look for ‘intimidating’ in your job descriptions?”

No time for regret, Jack once against filled the space. “Intimidating?”

“Yeah, intimidating, big into justice, likes his suit,” and instead of back down, Sebastian leant over his plate as if to tell a secret, and Jack opposite him leant close too as Sebastian said, “Your dad’s basically Batman.”

Jack’s face lit up at the comparison, one he had made in the past, and he continued to grin as he ate his stew.

“Anyway, our kid’s following up on some advice about getting my deposit back from my bedsit. Landlord’s being an absolute bad word.”

“If you want, I can take a look at it,” Hotch offered.

Sebastian looked back at Jack with fond bemusement, “Told you, your dad’s Batman, just no billions minus the brutality.”

Hotch’s cutlery slipped and collided loudly with his plate as Sebastian said, “It’s all good, thank you. I just sent him some photos of what the mattress looked like when I first moved in, should get him to give up.”

The conversation stagnated from Sebastian, still worn out word-wise from his afternoon drinking non-drinking outing, so he was grateful for the fact he finished first and Jack finished second.

“We can leave the grown-ups now,” he said in a loud whisper, already walking off with Jack to his bedroom.

Over his shoulder, he heard Rossi say not so quietly an I-told-you-so about how “men can be nannies” and that Sebastian was a good choice. While Sebastian was relieved at he had made a good impression on Rossi, he was not so much feeling the inferred sexism his boss held. Still, he was hired now. Microaggressions could be tackled when he got to them.

Cross-legged on the carpet, Jack set about demolishing the rocket. Bricks flew across his little zone of construction. One stray red brick hit Sebastian right between his sock and his cuffed jeans.

“What are we on today, bud? Pirate ship?”

But Jack was quiet. His energy levels were definitely crashing after such a big day. Sebastian gave him space to answer if he wanted, taking charge of organising the bricks into sizes for Jack to pick from.

When there was no reply for a solid minute, Sebastian asked, “You ok?”

For a while, Jack continued his silence. He was busy looking for a very specific shape of brick. His fingers searched over the top of the pile then dove into it, fishing out the perfect piece. Then he spoke.

“Batman beats up the bad guys,” Jack said, his voice hushed, “But so does Daddy.”

Sebastian blinked then recovered just as quick, “Oh I’m not sure about that.”

But Jack shook his head with his eyes still on assembling his boat, “He beat up the man who killed Mommy. Don’t tell him, it’s a secret.”

“A secret from him?” Sebastian didn’t know he was whispering too until he had already spoken.

“He doesn’t know we know. Can you make the mast please?”

And Jack held out a square block. Sebastian blinked again and accepted the piece. Clearly Jack thought this was a very casual conversation, something that Sebastian should keep from Hotch very easily. And he was making a ship.

“Jack, have you told that to anyone else?”

“No.”

“How tall do you want the mast?”

Jack measured with the space between his hands. Taking note, Sebastian continued to stack bricks until the desired height was reached, and Jack took it off his hands, placing it in the middle of the boat.

“I’m gonna get a drink. Do you want anything?”

The little guy shook his head, now completely absorbed in his construction projects. With a pat on his head, Sebastian twisted his legs around to stand and went to stand in the hallway. The door closed behind him and he pressed his forehead against the wall. He took a deep breath, rolling his head to the left, and pushed back his shoulders. A crack from his neck introduced him to the kitchen, where he tossed a half smile at Hotch and Rossi. Then he busied himself with getting that drink. A few drops of water splashed against his wrist.

“Hey Sebastian?”

Said person looked around to see Rossi rocking on the back legs of his chair, “I don’t suppose Hotch ever told you that, when you were taking your trial day, he nearly called you every hour to see how you were doing?”

“Dave,” Hotch said with something that was clearly intended to be a warning tone. The smile he was fighting to keep off his face betrayed him.

“No, he didn’t.” He hid his smirk in his glass. It dropped fast though. The Batman comments were still heavy in his mind, and now with Jack’s context on the brutality aspect, he wasn’t really jazzed to crack another joke lest he stumble across some more unfortunate information.

Rossi didn’t seem to care about that so much, “I had to micromanage his micromanaging.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t’ve minded that.” Sebastian’s foot idly dragged across the tile in front of him, “I’m sure Jack wouldn’t’ve either. And speaking of-” He pulled out his phone and pulled up the website he and Jack had browsed during breakfast, “I have a very important question for you: can we get this bouncy castle for Jack’s birthday?”

He showed the photo of the dream castle to the two men.

“You mean a ‘bounce house’?”

“No, I mean bouncy castle. He was telling me all about wanting a slide one, he’d be over the moon if he got to bring his classmates around to go on one!”

“I suppose if we removed all my furniture and knocked down the walls, we could fit it in here,” Hotch said smartly. His eyebrows were raised as he looked away from the screen at Sebastian, who snorted. God, it wasn’t even that funny.

Once again, Rossi chimed in with his brilliant contributions, saving Sebastian from utter shame, “You know, we could have the party at my home.”