#yes i am drawing childe and thoma again. shut up

[transurgender]

why would i ever go to and pay for therapy when i can draw genshin men so pretty it makes ur eyes hurt for FREE?

[liberty-barnes]

The Swear Jar

Part 1 of The Jar Series

Mob Boss!Tom Holland x Single Mom!Reader

Prompt: “I've never said a single fucking swear word in my whole damn life”

Warnings: swearing obviously, Tom’s a mob boss so there’s that, there’s like, one sexual innuendo but also ??? not really??? idk

Word Count: 4k (i really need to learn to write short things)

Estimated Reading Time: 16 minutes

A/N: It’s the pic guys, I can’t help it.

Edit: Wow, you guys actually liked this! So since many of you asked, a part will be coming out soon, maybe more, we’ll see. So if you wanna be added to my “The Swear Jar” Taglist, just ask me or add yourself directly through the link in my bio!

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

The bell above the door to the diner chimed and you perked up, smiling brightly at the young teenage couple.

“Gracie! Stella! It’s so good to see you again!”

The girls greeted you with the same amount of enthusiasm and proceeded to order their usual meal.

“Your hair’s really pretty Stella! You look like a mermaid now!”

“Thanks, Millie! I took your advice and went with blue instead of purple.”

The young girl smiled and captured the couple’s attention by showcasing her current work in progress.

Millicent Rose (Y/l/n) was your five-year-old daughter. She had brown hair, falling on her shoulders in nice large curls, and big (y/e/c) eyes, a perfect match to yours. She loved drawing (the diner walls were crawling with her masterpieces) and pretty hair, especially if it was soft. 

Her bubbly and fearless personality sometimes frightened you, but you mostly came to terms with the fact that your daughter was a social butterfly and took full advantage of the small diner to interact with as many people as she could.

You watched with a fond smile as Millie explained what she had been drawing to the girls, mentioning every little detail while they praised her good work. The young brunette had a gift to make anyone love her.

Soon enough, their large milkshake to share was finished and Lou, the owner and cook, was all done with the food so the girls sat down at a booth and Millie went back to drawing, little feet dangling off the chair and little brows furrowed in concentration. 

As you were refiling Mr and Mrs Lee’s drinks, the bell chimed once more and four men walked in dressed in stylish suits, much too fancy for this place. They sat down at a booth and started talking while you took a deep calming breath.

Oh, fuck me.

You took your notepad and walked over to them, a much too fake smile on your face.

“Good morning gentlemen, what can I get you?”

The table quieted down and you made eye contact with who you knew to be the leader.

“I’ll have a burger with fries and a strawberry milkshake.”

One of the twins said.

“I’ll have the same but with a chocolate milkshake instead.”

The other one added.

“Vegi burger and a coke, please.”

At least the blonde one had some manners. 

Your eyes lifted from the notepad to the leader once again.

“And for you?”

You did your best to ignore the slight tremble in your voice.

“Bacon cheeseburger, fries and a coke, darling.”

“Right away.”

You got out of there as soon as possible, sparing a glance at your daughter to make sure she was still sitting at the counter before entering the kitchen with a panicked expression on your face.

“Lou…”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’ve got an order… for the Hollands…”

“Well, shit.”

The Holland family was the oldest and most successful mob in London, extremely rich, dangerous, and seemingly untouchable.

Harry and Sam Holland, the twins, were rumoured to have been behind the Burtons’ death, another famous family known for drug trafficking and other crimes.

Harrison Osterfield, the second in command, was a close family friend, accused of drug trafficking, illegal weapons selling, and other such crimes, though the charges all dropped before the first hearing even took place.

And finally, Thomas Holland, the leader. Arrested for multiple murders, arson, extortion, and a long list of other felonies, but never convicted.

Everyone was scared of them, and the fact that they were eating here was not good for business. 

You ignored the tightness in your chest in favour of helping Lou prepare their food, hoping to do it as fast as possible so the group could leave.

Meanwhile, at the booth, Tom was rolling his eyes at his brothers and friend’s stupidity. 

“Okay, we get it, she’s hot, but you don’t have to talk about it all the fucking time.”

Millie turned her head in their direction and scowled. She stretched a bit to the other side of the counter to take the transparent jar and got down from her chair, making her way to their booth, stomping a bit, which made her Sketchers light up.

The diner watched with curious (and slightly frightened, for the Lees) eyes as the little girl climbed onto the booth next to Harrison, one leg after the other, and kneeled next to the blonde, setting her elbow on the table and stretching so the transparent jar was now sitting in front of Tom.

He looked at it: a lid-less mason jar with a pink bow and right in the front, in a child’s handwriting and pink glittery letters were the words 'Swear Jar’.

“You owe a pound.”

He lifted his head to look at the girl.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When someone says a bad word they have to put a pound in the jar. You said a bad word so you owe a pound.”

“I’ve never said a single fucking swear word in my whole damn life!”

“That’s two more so you have to put three pounds in.”

“Yeah, Tom, put the money in.”

Harrison had his arms around the girl and a smug smile on his face, evidently taking a liking to the young brunette.

“Shut the fuck up Haz, you curse more than I do!”

“Four.”

“Shit.”

That one was not on purpose.

“Five.”

“Okay, okay, jeez, hold on.”

He took out his wallet and took his only five-dollar bill amid all the hundreds.

“Just gonna put the money in this stupid jar.”

“Six.”

“Wha- stupid’s not a swear word!”

“I’m not allowed to say it so yes, it is.”

Tom rummaged around his wallet for a stray pound, reluctantly putting a hundred in after finding nothing.

“Does that mean I’m allowed to say ninety-nine swear words?”

“No paying in advance, everything that’s not the money you owe is a donation.”

“To what foundation?”

“The ‘get Millie new glitter pens’ foundation”

She answered with a smirk and everyone -bar Tom- was pretty much crying at seeing their boss be told what to do by a five-year-old.

“Man, you are so screwed!”

“That’s one pound for you, Mister!”

“Oh shit, right!”

“Two…”

Harry took out his wallet (still laughing his arse off, mind you) and didn’t even try to look for the two pounds, simply putting in a hundred.

Millie’s eyes were focused solely on Tom’s hair. She climbed on top of Harrison, her pink tulle skirt flying behind her and stood on the seat next to the brunette, her hands immediately flying to his hair.

“You have very pretty hair. It’s really soft.”

“Thank you, darling.”

She hummed and kept playing with the soft strands.

“My name’s Tom, and these are my twin brothers Harry and Sam, and my best friend, Haz.”

She looked around for a while, not answering, seemingly lost in thought until she looked back at him and her sparkling (y/e/c) eyes focused on his brown ones.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy. I’m Millie.”

“T-Tommy?”

Sam stuttered out between peels of laughter.

“I don’t like Tom, Tommy’s better. Why are you so shocked Twin Nice?”

Harry looked appalled.

“Why's he Twin Nice?”

“Because you said a bad word and he didn’t, so he’s Twin Nice and you’re Twin Naughty.”

Sam did a little victory dance, bragging about his new nickname to his twin.

The little girl sat down on Tom’s lap and started to play with the black ring on his finger.

“What am I, then?”

She looked up to Harrison from in between Tom’s fingers, still playing with the thick band.

“You’re Thor cause you have pretty eyes and you look really strong.”

To say that the blonde was pleased would be an understatement.

“You, little lady, are my new best friend. We need to come here more often.”

Millie smiled and went back to observing the ring.

“Does this mean you’re married?”

Tom chuckled and shook his head slightly.

“No, it means that I’m a part of the Holland family, like them.”

Everyone around the table showed theirs, a symbol of their high status in the mob.

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Do you live with your mommy?”

“No, I live with these dumbasses in a big house.”

She pushed the swear jar towards him and gave him what could only be described as the 'Disappointed Mom’ look.

“Do you like it?”

“Kind of, sometimes they get on my nerves and I wish they’d rot in Hell, but yeah, it’s not too bad.”

She slapped his hand in reprimand and he internally cursed himself.

“Don’t you miss your mommy?”

“A little, but I see my parents every Sunday for family dinner.”

He answered after placing yet another bill in the jar.

“Parents?”

“Yeah, my mum and dad.”

She hummed.

“I wish I had a dad.”

The boys all stiffened. 

Well, that escalated quickly.

Tom cleared his throat, measuring his words before speaking, for once in his life.

“Do you know what happened to your dad?”

“Mommy says he left cause he wasn’t good like her. She says it’s okay, though, cause we only need each other but my friend Lilly has a mommy and a daddy and she told me that sometimes when her mommy’s sad or tired he’ll do all the grown-up stuff like cook and read her a story while her mommy rests and she’s happier that way. I want my mommy to be happy like that too.”

For Tom, it felt like his cold, dead heart was starting to beat again. This little angel sitting on his lap was asking for something most children already had, not for herself, but for her mother.

“You’re a really good person, Millie.”

“If you stopped saying so many bad words you’d be one too, Tommy.”

The boys laughed yet again and they continued talking for a little while, refraining from any work-related issues for the sake of their newest addition, choosing instead to discuss sports and fighting over who’d be on cleaning duty that Sunday. Three more bills made their way to the jar during that particular discussion, one from each boy (bar Sam because he was on cooking duty, as always), and for once they allowed themselves to relax and simply be, instead of always worrying.

You got out of the kitchen with the men’s orders ready and looked at the end of the counter, planning to check on Millie before walking over to the mobsters’ table. Your brows furrowed when you didn’t find her and you immediately looked towards the girls’ table or the Lees’, finding she wasn’t there either.

“Mommy, over here!”

You followed your child’s voice and your eyes widened once you saw her sitting on the leader’s lap. The smiling leader’s lap.

You quickly made your way to their booth, placing their orders in front of them without even taking your eyes off your daughter.

“Millicent Rose! What have I told you about bothering people when they’re in their booths?”

She looked guilty for half a second but immediately perked up again, ready to defend herself.

“Not to, but Mommy, he said a bad word so I had to take the swear jar to him.”

“And why, pray tell, are you sitting in the gentleman’s lap?”

“His name’s Tommy and he said he didn’t mind and this way I can talk to Thor, Twin Nice and Twin Naughty better.”

Tommy, Thor, Twin Nice, and Twin Naughty?

“Oh, fuck me.”

Millie’s jaw dropped open. She’d never heard you swear before.

“You owe a pound, Mommy.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

You pulled a pound from your pocket and put it in, eyes widening at the amount of money in the jar.

“How in the world?”

“I didn’t have singles so I just put hundreds in. Apparently, it’s a donation to the 'Get Millie new glitter pens’ foundation.”

You set the jar down and shook your head in disbelief.

“I am never letting Harley babysit you ever again.”

She pouted and slumped down, arms crossed adorably in front of her.

“Now come on, let the gentlemen eat their lunch in peace and come get yours.”

She cuddled up to Tom more than before, burying her head in his chest and fisting his shirt, and shaking her head in protest.

“Millie, come on, let’s go. I’m so sorry for the bother sir.”

“It’s no problem, she’s welcome to say for however long she wants.”

The brunette smiled at your daughter and then at you, before the man on his right interrupted.

“Besides, she’s very entertaining. It’s nice to see someone else call Tom out on his bullshit.”

You and Millie threw the blonde matching glares while Tom just pushed the jar towards him.

“You owe a pound, Haz”

“Excuse you Tommy, my name’s Thor.”

He then turned to you with a smug smile and attitude.

“Cause I have pretty eyes like him and look very strong. Don’t you agree with your daughter… (Y/n)?”

He read your name tag and smiled charmingly while you pursed your lips, looking him up and down. You then looked at your little girl.

“You sure?”

“Well, who else has pretty blue eyes?”

“Captain America.”

She light up right away and straightened herself.

“Right! And he looks like Captain America when he was tiny! Thanks, Mommy!”

She then turned to Harrison with a gigantic smile on her face.

“You’re Tiny America now.”

The whole table -bar Haz- laughed and you had to bite your lip not to laugh too, instead linking your hands and looking at the clock.

“Come on Millie, it’s time to eat.”

“Can I eat here with Tommy, please?”

“If you eat here with Tommy I won’t be able to make sure you eat your veggies.”

The man’s heart stuttered when you used his nickname, a strange sense of happiness overcoming him.

“Tommy can check.”

“Mm… I’m not sure if he can check you ate them. He’s not used to your sneakiness.”

“What if I pinky promise to eat my veggies and eat a banana for dessert instead of ice cream?”

It was a struggle to get her to eat fruits and veggies. You usually had to settle for one or the other, so when she spontaneously decided to eat both, you jumped at the opportunity, mob be damned.

“Deal! But no annoying the boys.”

She smiled and nodded, settling comfortably on Tom’s lap, waiting for her food. You took out her plate of chicken nuggets, fries, and green beans, chocolate milkshake to wash it down.

You tried not to let the butterflies in your stomach distract you from your job but the way Tom smiled at your daughter and praised her when she ate all her veggies in a row, wanting to get it over with, made your heart ache, the longing for someone still very much present.

“Have a nice meal.”

You made eye contact with the brunette and blushed at the smile he sent you before waving goodbye at the Lees. The teenage couple had left a bit earlier so the mobsters were now your last customers of the day.

You wiped the kitchen counters and said goodbye to Lou, assuring him that you’d close up by yourself. As soon as he left, you took a deep breath and sighed, unable to stop your smile when you heard your daughter’s laugh carrying through the wall separating you from the group.

“Mommy, we’re done!”

You straightened up and schooled your features before walking over to them, taking away their plates while asking if Millie behaved and if they wanted dessert. The answer to both questions was a yes and so you came back a little while later with chocolate pudding for the twins, caramel ice cream for Harrison, a banana split for Tom, and a miniature one for Millie.

“Since you behaved so nicely you get a little sweetness with your banana.”

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled brightly at you.

“You’re the best mommy ever! I love you!”

“Love you too, baby.”

You turned around, ready to leave, when a voice stopped you.

“Why don’t you sit down with us for a bit? I’m pretty sure that if you wipe that table down one more time you’ll remove the paint.”

You blushed but complied, sitting down next to Harrison and watching as your daughter ate her dessert quickly and quietly, wincing from time to time because of brain freezes. As soon as she was done, she reached for Tom’s right hand. He switched the hand that held the spoon, eating with his left so that Millie could play with the ring on his finger.

Unfortunately for him, he had a bit of trouble eating with his non-dominant hand while holding a child on his lap, leading to a bit of ice cream falling on his shirt.

“Ah, fu-”

You shot him a glare that made him change courses immediately.

“-dge. Fudge.”

Millie clapped and gave him a big, approving smile.

“See, Mommy? He’s making progress!”

“Indeed he is, darling.”

“Oh, this is fucking hilarious!”

The young girl gasped, mouth open comically wide and utter betrayal swimming in her eyes.

“I thought you were nice.”

Sam realized his mistake as soon as she spoke, covering his mouth with his hand as if to stop any more of the offending words from leaving it.

“You owe five pounds.”

“What? Why? I only said one swear word!”

She shook her head in disapproval, arms crossed in front of her chest, and pushed the jar towards him.

“You made me believe you were nice so your trickster-y will cost you four extra pounds.”

You shook your head, smile firmly plastered on your face as you watched Sam pull out a hundred dollar bill with a pout on his lips. It was quite endearing, really.

“So, (Y/n), tell us about you.”

You locked eyes with the brunette once again, piercing gaze seemingly looking through you.

“I’m afraid there’s not much to tell, Mr Holland. I’m not a very interesting person.”

Your voice was soft, your words calculated. You knew that these men could kill you in the blink of an eye.

“No uninteresting person could have raised such a perfect little angel.”

He smirked and Millie looked at you with a smug smile.

“See, he said I was an angel.”

Life be damned, it’s not worth living if your daughter has an ego the size of Russia. That would most definitely come back to bite you in the ass.

“Yeah, that’s cause he hasn’t had to deal with you in all your nightly glory.”

She put her tongue out and snuggled deeper into Tom’s chest.

“Well, for one, how did you find yourself working here?”

He got the conversation back on you and you felt slightly intimidated with the whole table’s eyes on little old you.

“Customers are nice, I earn enough money for us to get by, owner’s nice, the school’s at the end of the street, and Millie gets to stay with me when she’s not there.”

Even though he was focused on you, you noticed the way he held your daughter close to his chest, his bigger frame completely enveloping her smaller one. She still hadn’t let go of his hand and kept playing with the ring on his finger. Seeing how calm and caring he was being with your daughter calmed you down and the more questions you answered, the more comfortable you became.

“How can you work at a dinner and not like vanilla milkshakes?”

Sam looked horrified at that, and you just shrugged dismissively.

“I never really liked when vanilla was too present. Like, if you used it to just enhance everything else you know, make it taste better, then sure, but just vanilla isn’t really my style.”

Tom took a sharp breath in and tried to stop his mind from wandering at the possible double meaning of your words. Instead, he chose to focus on the little girl on his lap.

Until he noticed she was asleep, that is.

He smiled a little and shifted her so she was resting more comfortably on his lap. Unfortunately for him, that caught your attention.

“Oh my, is she asleep? I’m really sorry.”

“No worries, though we should probably get her to bed so she doesn’t wake up with a stiff neck.”

For the umpteenth time, you pushed down the butterflies upon hearing him say 'we’ and being so careful with your daughter.

You took the remaining dishes and went to the kitchen, putting them in the wash and turning on the machine, leaving it to run so tomorrow morning you’d be able to put everything away. You went back in to clean the booth and Tom practically shoved a hundred dollar bill in your hand, ignoring your protests.

He waited for you by the door while you finished closing up, and you extended your arms towards him when you finished.

“Thank you for everything today, but you must be getting tired, I can take her from here.”

He gently pushed your arms down.

“Let me take you home, please, I don’t like the idea of you having to carry her all on your own.”

You hesitantly nodded and he guided you to his car. It’s only then that you noticed the other three had left. You settled on the passenger side of his black Audi and he handed you Millie, closing the door softly as to not startle her. He then entered the driver’s side and started the car. You gave him directions to your apartment building and within five minutes, he parked the car right out front.

Ever the gentleman, he insisted on carrying the little girl. Knowing by now that there wasn’t much you could do to protest, you agreed and led him up the four flights of stairs to your door.

“Sorry 'bout the mess.”

“It’s no problem, darling, I quite like it.”

You turned your head for a brief second, as if asking him to elaborate while still leading him to your daughter’s room.

“The fact that it’s messy means that someone lives here, that this isn’t just some house, it’s a home. My house is always pristine but that’s because no one’s ever there to actually use it as something other than a glorified B&B.”

He laid Millie down on the bed and you pulled the covers over her. You both stood side to side for a little while, just watching her breathe.

“That sounds really lonely.”

“Yeah…”

Another minute passed by with no words coming from either of you.

“You raised an amazing daughter, (Y/n).”

“You’re a good man, Tom.”

Hearing those unfamiliar words coming out of your mouth almost brought tears to his eyes. He was always used to being called a ruthless mobster, cold-blooded killer, or many other names that all meant the same thing: monster. But you called him a good man, and the sincerity in your voice was almost overwhelming.

He cleared his throat and straightened up, making you turn towards him.

“I should probably go… You should get some rest as well.”

You nodded and walked him to the door. In a split-second decision, you leaned up and kissed his cheek, locking eyes with him afterwards.

“If you ever need an escape, or just wanna hang out somewhere different, our door’s always open.”

That made a smile take over his face and he kissed your forehead.

“Thank you, darling.”

And as you watched him round the corner, only your back visible to you, you couldn’t help but feel like this wouldn’t be the last time you ever saw Tom Holland.

i have mixed feelings concerning this story but at least i have ideas for a part two (if i ever decide to make one)

don’t forget to reblog, comment or like if you feel like it <3

[ffangirlingsince2001]

Flash of a Blade

Kinktober: Day 9, Knife Play

Thomas Shelby x Reader

You find out what happens when you decide to bother Thomas Shelby while he’s working.

Warnigs: knife play, smut, language, blood, angst

One would think that a gangster would have nerves of steel. One would think that it would take an army to rattle him. No one would think that all it took was little ole’ you.

A flutter of an eyelash or the swish of a skirt pulled up a little too high and suddenly, Thomas Shelby would become the animal the streets knew him to be. Not that anyone knew what you did to your boss. Everything was done behind the thick shades of his office, hidden behind the idea of paperwork and laborious conversations.

However, today he was angry. From your humble desk just outside the man’s office you could practically see his blood boiling. Hands thread through his hair, files strewn across the floor, teeth grinding against one another loud enough to startle the birds that had dared to land on his window.

Salaciously, you strolled into his office, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. You sat on the edge of his desk and peered over the papers that he was studying oh so intently.

He didn’t even look up.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep staring so intently,” you teased but there was not even a grunt in response.  “Tommy,” you said again, a hand brushing his arm.

“Not now, Y/N,” he growled, batting your hand away. Any sane person would have taken that as hint enough to go back to work, but not you. You only quirked an eyebrow and persisted.

“It’s not going to disappear if you look away for a moment,” you pestered, and with unmatched bravery you laid across his desk, his paperwork, and stared right into his eyes.

“You’re being a petulant child,” he growled.

“Am I?”

“Yes, now get off and go back to your desk.”

“Make me.” A snarl crawled its way up his throat and with a dangerous thud he had dug his switchblade into the desk, centimeters away from your ear. You didn’t move an inch.

That was thing about Thomas Shelby, and you were sure that’s why he kept you around. He didn’t like things that flinched, flinch and you were dead, but with the stubbornness of an untamable mare your eyes merely flickered to the blade and grinned.

“Are you going to put that to good use, or am I going to have to show you how?” He ripped you from the desk, throwing his paperwork to the floor in a flurry. Calloused hands worked their way up your skirt, brushing the soft skin he had trailed a hundred times before.

“I should string your organs up in my window,” he threatened but you only laughed. It was not the first time he had said such horrific things, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last (at least you hoped it wouldn’t be).

“What use would they be there, when they could be sprawled out across your desk?” His fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, sure to leave bruises for you to admire in the morning.

“Don’t test me.”

“But there’s nothing I love more,” you whined, watching with apt fascination as he pulled the knife from the table and with quick fingers place the blade against your throat. The cold metal was harsh against your pulse, a dangerous promise of what was to come. “Tommy,” you moaned, tilting your head to further expose the delicate skin, your pulse quickening with each moment. He ran the blade along the dips of your throat drawing no blood. It wasn’t until he reached the skin beneath your collar that he dared to press the blade closer, small droplets of blood appearing along the cut.

“Are you going to behave?” He asked and with the petulance he had mentioned before you shook your head. He growled, pressing the knife tighter against your skin. He drags long familiar lines along your skin.

“T, Tom,” you whispered, hands clutching his biceps. His other hand returned to beneath you skirt, pressing rough fingers into your slick flower. “Holy fuck.”

“Nothing here is holy,” he growled, the knife busting through buttons until your chest was exposed, He pressed his lips to the long cuts, his lips stained red as he pulled away. You reached froward, thumb stroking his lips with awe. “You are nothing but sin,” he whispered, his teeth biting bruises into your breasts.

The knife remains pressed to your skin, harsh while his lips were soft, cold where is hands were warm. With soft hands you unlatched his belt, exposing his cock. He groaned as your fingers stroked the full length, and the knife cut into your skin a bit harsher than he had met.

“Fuck,” you gasped, staring at the wound.

“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbled, pressing his lips around the cut. “ ‘m sorry, I can’t help it.” He thrust two fingers inside your entrance, curling along the deepest part of your core. Your lips fund his as you tried to quiet your desperate cries. The desk shook beneath you, wavering from the force of your rocking hips and Tommy’s unrelenting fingers.

The dull edge of the knife scraped against your skin, sending goosebumps down your back as you threw your head back in pleasure. He removed his fingers and with admiral fluidity thrust his cock inside you. It was impossible to hold the sounds of ecstasy back as he filled you to the brim. It was almost agonizing, but it was an agony you welcomed. Practiced fingers twirled the knife around your body. Light brushes were replaced with quick cuts and then soft lips, all as he thrust into you with animalist intentions.

The pleasure quickly built inside your lower stomach, pulling your muscles tight. With a rush it snapped, and you were burying your screams into his tailcoat while the knife that had been stirring your nerves clattered against the desk. With a final staggered thrust he too came, collapsing over top of you with a pant.

He softly dragged his thumb over the wounds, admiring the way the skin rose with even the smallest injury. He placed kisses over them and then against your lips. He tasted like iron and whiskey, like a man should. And then, as if nothing had happened his glare returned (though possibly more playful than the last time he had tried ordering

[thebluenebula]

Ashleigh Wayne Fic AU Masterlist

Kitten

~1600 words

Major Characters: Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle (Catwoman), Carrie Kelley, Ashleigh Wayne

Minor Characters: Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown, Harper Row, Duke Thomas

Selina finally returns to the Manor after her 'vacation' with the intent of finally meeting Bruce's newest kitten. Unfortunately for her, the kitten isn't quite as eager to meet her.

Selina climbed in the open window, and quietly crept across the room until a menacing growl caused her to stop. "It's just me, Ace."

The dog took a final look at her, then went right back to sleep at bottom of the bed. Selina discarded her goggles, and gloves, before crawling in under the covers, and wrapping her arms around Bruce. He flinched at the touch of her hands. "Cold night?"

"Freezing."

"Where have you been?"

"Here, there, everywhere."

"I've been worried about you."

"Why didn't you send out a search party then?"

"Barry still complains about the last time I sent him to find you."

"I did warn him," she chuckled. "I heard our new kitten arrived. When are you going to introduce us?"

"She was in the living room when I came up to bed if you'd like to go down to her."

"I think I'll wait till morning, and what exactly are you doing in bed this early, it's barely past midnight?"

"Alfred said if I don't sleep for at least six hours he'd hide the keys of the Batmobile."

"Still listening to daddy's orders."

"Would you disobey Alfred?"

"Do I look like I have a death wish?" She lay into his chest. "Anyway, I'm too tired."

"Then how about we get some of that sleep he suggested?"

"That sounds good to me."

When Selina woke the next morning Bruce was still sound asleep. She chose not to disturb him, instead she got dressed, choosing to rob his clothes instead of using her own, and headed for the kitchen where she found Carrie, and Ash eating cereal. She crept up behind Carrie, and hugged her. "Hello, my little Kitten."

"Selina," she excitedly cried, "I didn't know you were coming over today."

"I thought I'd surprise you." She looked up at Ash, who was staring at her. "So you're Bruce's newest Kitten, I've been excited to meet you"

"Hi," she awkwardly replied.

"I'm Selina," she said, holding out her hand, which Ash cautiously shook.

"It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She headed to the fridge, and grabbed a yoghurt. When she turned back, Ash had disappeared. "Where'd she go?"

"Bolted as soon as you turned your back, she does that a lot," Carrie explained.

"It's bad enough with Bruce," she muttered as she sat across from Carrie. "Why can't she just be like you?"

"Like me?"

"You, quite literally, jumped into my arms when I first met you."

"I was excited to see you."

"You still jump into my arms."

"I'm still excited to see you."

"And I love that." She reached across the table, and patted Carrie's head. On her way back, she quickly grabbed Carrie's spoon, and used it to dig into her own yoghurt.

"Hey!"

"You weren't using it."

"Yes I was," she protested, lunging across the table. Selena dodged, and took off running, stuffing her mouth with yoghurt as she went.  "Come back with that," she shouted, taking chase.

- - - - -

Selena slumped down onto the bed beside Bruce. "Bad day?"

"Bad week, I've been trying to get to know Ash, but I can barely get two words in before she just disappears. Where does she even go?"

"You can't force her to like you."

"Oh yes I can, I'm sure Ivy wouldn't mind lending me some of her pheromones," she joked.

"That's cheating."

"I never was one for following the rules."

"You promised not to douse anymore of my children in pheromones, not after last time."

"That was an accident."

Bruce chuckled. "We're having a movie night tommorow, maybe you could try then."

"I already thought of that, Carrie says she'll just hide behind one of her siblings for the whole thing."

"Probably, but she's usually sleepy by the end of it, and that generally makes her easier to talk to."

"Is there a reason she doesn't like me?"

"No, she just can be... odd with people. She was actually really excited at the thought of meeting you."

"Did you try talking to her about me?"

"Yeah, but she didn't really answer my questions, just kind of ungracefully danced around them."

"Has she met Talia yet?"

"No, but I expect she'll appear around soon, she usually does."

- - - - -

It was a small movie night, with half the kids out of town, or otherwise occupied, only Bruce, Selena, Jason, Cass, Steph, Harper, Carrie, Duke and Ash were actually present.

Steph won the draw, and chose the movie, Twilight, much to Jay's displeasure, the others suspected that was her main reason behind picking it, but didn't question it.

About halfway through the movie Jay gave up watching it, and left despite Bruce's demands to stay. Ash quickly took his spot beside Bruce, and lay her head in his lap. It didn't take long for Ash to fall sound asleep.

Bruce gestured for Selina to come over. She did, leaving Carrie alone on the other couch, much to her displeasure. Bruce snuck out from under Ash, and let Selena take his place, laying Ash's back in place. "I'll be back in a little."

"You sure she'll be okay with this?"

"Of course, she lies like this with Kate all the time."

"I'm not Kate."

"She'll love it, promise," he insisted as he made his way out, stopping to cover Harper, and Duke, who were snuggled up together, sound asleep, with a blanket. Carrie waited till he was gone, before huffing across the room, and snuggling in under the covers with them.

The movie ended, and Cass, and Steph left, leaving just Selena. "Kitten, are you awake?"

Carrie lifted her head from Harper's shoulder. "Yeah."

"Coming over," she asked, patting the seat the far side of her. Carrie carefully left Harper, and made her way to Selina, laying beside her, and snuggling her head in beside Ash's. Selena gently scratched the top of her head. "I love you, Kitten."

"I love you too, Mom."

"Mom? It's not too often I hear that."

Carrie grumbled something unintelligible in response.

"I will always love you, Kitten, so, so much."

"I know."

"I know you know, but I still love telling you." She leant in close to Carrie, and whispered. "You'll always be my favourite. Now go to sleep, Love."

"You're my favourite too, Mom."

"I better be, I'm the only mom you have."

Carrie soon fell asleep, her fears, and jealousy quelled for now, though Selina didn't sleep, nor did she attempt to. Bruce had told her how Ash almost always woke at least once a night, and it didn't take too long before it occurred.

Ash raised her head a little. "Bruce?"

"Hello," Selina said, causing Ash to shoot up.

"I'm so sorry, I don't know how-"

Selena shushed her, and gently pushed her back down. "It's alright, just rest."

Ash glanced to Carrie, and settled back in beside her. "How did I get here?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not."

"Ashleigh, do you not like me?"

She looked up to Selina. "Of course I like you, you're Catwoman, you're awesome."

"Then why have you been avoiding me?"

Ash thought for moment, before choosing to be honest. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about you."

"What do you mean? How you're supposed to feel about me?"

"Every one keeps telling me that you're an amazing mother, that'll you'll be an amazing mother to me, but I don't know if I want... a new mother, so to speak."

"I am, at least a little bit, like a mother to everyone of Bruce's kids, and if I can be that for you, I'll happily be, but if that's not what you want, you can think me as just a friend, you don't have to think of me in anyway, but just know that I love you, no matter what you think of me."

"Why?"

"Why? Well, you're my boyfriend's child, and he has a great eye for lovable children, and from the many, many stories he's told me about you, I know when I get you know you, I will love you."

"I don't know how I want to think of you, part of me wants to think of you like what they tell me. Is that strange?

"Not at all, you don't have to decide how you feel about me straight away, and I certainly don't expect you to. How about you just get to know me, and ill get to know you, and we can figure how we feel about each other together?"

She smiled. "Okay."

"Now its time to get some rest, Sleepy Head."

"Alright." She attempted to get up, but Selina forced her down again.

"Ah, ah, ah. You can lay right beside Carrie if you want, I know she won't stir until morning."

"It's okay?"

"Of course, it's always okay, you can sleep in beside me when I'm here, you can come to me with your troubles, or you can just come to me if you need some attention, everyone needs that from time to time."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, now rest, we can talk again tomorrow."

Ash shut her eyes, and was soon asleep beside her sister. Not too long after that, Bruce returned, sitting beside Selina, careful not to sit on his daughter's legs. "You talked to her?"

"We talked," she confirmed, running a hand through Ash's hair.

"Good news, I'll take it."

"Of course."

"I see you also picked up another 'kitten' as well."

"You know Carrie, she gets jealous."

"You think she'll be okay?"

"If she loves Ash half as much as I think she does, yeah, she'll be fine.

"Good. I guess you're staying here for the night."

"I don't think I have much of choice."

"No, you don't, which I guess means I've got to stay here as well."

"You better."

Bruce found another blanket, and tossed it across the trio, before sneaking his way in beside Harper, and Duke on the other couch.

The six slept soundly that night, none stirring till near noon, and when they did, a lovely breakfast had been prepared, courtesy of Alfred.

This fic has changed a lot more from the original concept then most of my fics do, but I'm so glad it's done. It feels really important to my overall story. It's brings in a lot of things I wanted, Selina beginning to be a mother figure to Ash, Selina + Carrie having an incredibly close Mother/Daughter bond, and the fact that Carrie get jealous easily, in particular when it comes to Selina + Harper. Anyway I hope you enjoyed - TBN

[adhd-disaster-willie]

seventeen and strung out on confusion; chapter 2/4

So, I don’t really like this chapter as much as the other one but it’s fine. :/ I don’t have the patience to redo it, so this is what you get :)

Warnings: Homophobia, child abuse, non-graphic description of wounds, panic attacks

chapter 1

---

Alex didn’t quite know how long he’d been curled up on the sidewalk when a figure began approaching him; but he was shivering and crying and really not in the mood to be murdered. The person may not have been headed directly towards him, but they sure were biking fast in his direction and once again, being kicked out and killed on the same night didn’t sound like much fun. So, swearing underneath his breath, Alex stood up and began jogging away, still unsure of where he was headed.

The bike came barrelling towards Alex but came to a screeching halt immediately after passing him. 

“Alex?!” The person, who had a guitar strapped to their back, hopped off the bike and stumbled towards Alex.

“Luke?” Alex whispered, baffled. “What are you-” But he didn’t get to finish his sentence before Luke wrapped him in a hug, burying his face in Alex’s shoulder. Alex decided not to mention Luke’s damp, red cheeks. 

“Dude, what are you doing?” Luke asked, pulling away.

Alex snorted at that. “I could ask you the same thing.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and began rocking on his heels, counting down the seconds until Luke read him like he always does and Alex had to stop him from marching back up the block and yelling at the Mercers until his voice was hoarse.

“Your parents,” Luke muttered, his voice hardening, bitter. “They kicked you out didn’t they?” Luke didn’t get angry very often. Sure, he got upset and disappointed and frustrated, but he wasn’t one to get genuinely furious. He was now though. Alex grabbed his wrist and shook his head. 

“Yes, but Luke, please don’t.”

Luke narrowed his eyes, but backed off. “I’m gonna kill them,” He hissed beneath his breath.

“Not if you die from the cold. What are you even doing out here?”

Luke grew quiet, his gaze shifting to the ground. “Nothing, nothing I was just… I was headed to Bobby’s. The studio.”

Alex nodded, internally berating himself for not having thought of that. But he didn’t want to bother anyone. Staying in the studio for the night was entirely different from asking to live there. But he didn’t have much of a choice. 

Luke, somehow sensing Alex’s thoughts, sighed. “I’m gonna go grab your bike,”he said, giving Alex a quick hug before turning to walk up the sidewalk.

“Luke, you don’t have to-”

“Nah, I do. I’m not gonna make you go back there, and we sure as hell aren’t walking all the way to Bobby’s.”

“Fine. But you need to tell me what happened!” Alex shouted after him, but he was already far enough to pretend he hadn’t heard anything. 

---

Alex’s hands were practically numb after 10 minutes of biking, and his backpack felt like it had doubled in size. Not to mention the only light was people’s Christmas decorations and the occasional street light, and he’d only ever gone to Bobby’s in the day so he was relying about 80% on muscle memory. All in all, not a great situation. 

“Dude, why the fuck is Bobby’s house so far away?” Alex complained, adjusting his grip on his bike handles in hopes that it’d bring back some sort of feeling in his fingers. 

Luke shrugged. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet the whole ride and was yet to explain why he’d run off in the middle of the night, but Alex knew he’d open up in time… hopefully. If it had to be pried out of him, it would; but Luke was never one to keep secrets. At least Alex leaving in the middle of the night wouldn’t take much explanation, except to Bobby’s parents. No one had dared say it out loud, but for the whole year it’d felt like the seconds Alex had before being kicked out were just slowly running out. And this was the last straw. 

“Can we- can we stop for a minute?” Alex breathed, his legs burning. “I have like, no stamina.”

Luke chuckled weakly, coming to a slow stop. They leaned their bikes on the side of the curb before sitting down, feeling relieved that they recognized the area; it was just a few blocks from Reggie and roughly another 5 minutes to Bobby’s place. 

Alex let out a shaky breath. “It doesn’t even feel real,” he whispered, dropping his head and burying his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “God, they kicked me out.” It was finally settling in and Alex felt sick. “Dad wasn’t even there. It was- it was just Mom and she… She didn’t even seem sorry. She looked at me like I was nothing.” He choked down a sob. “Like I was never her son. I didn’t think she’d ever hate me, but look at where we are now.” Alex didn’t bother fighting the tears this time. His shoulders shook and he brought his knees up to his chest, breathing in slowly in hopes to prevent a panic attack. 

Luke moved in closer, wrapping an arm around Alex’s shoulder and squeezing. “Hey, it’ll be alright. We’ve got each other. And Bobby, and Reggie-”

“Luke, Alex?”

Both boys snapped to attention; they would’ve recognized that voice anywhere.

“Reg?” Luke stood up and took two long strides to meet Reggie, clasping his thin, hunched shoulders. “Shit. Reggie, dude.”

Alex wiped his eyes furiously as he walked over to where Reggie and Luke stood and he once again recognized the pure anger dripping from Luke’s words. Then Reggie moved closer to the streetlight and Alex’s heart plummeted to his feet. 

Reggie’s face was blotchy and pink and his eyes were swollen from crying. His hair was slightly damp and Alex felt sick upon seeing the shards of glass in it. There was dried blood on his cheek and Alex was afraid for him to take his jacket off, but Luke tore it off anyway, inspecting the bruises running up and down Reggie’s forearms and wrapped around his wrists.

Reggie squeaked in protest and snatched the jacket back, his hands shaking.

“They are dead,” Luke muttered coldly. He gestured to both Alex and Reggie. “I am going to actually kill both of your guys’ parents.”

Reggie looked over to Alex. “What did Alex’s parents…” He trailed off, face darkening in realization. 

“Where were you gonna go?” Alex asked quietly, his grip on his fannypack strap tightening. 

Reggie shrugged and went to sit down on the curb. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t just leave forever. Sammy… I can’t leave him alone with them.” He shook his head. “I’d hate myself if I just left him there.”

“Olivia moved out last year and left you guys alone!” Luke countered, sitting beside Reggie. “Reg, dude, you can’t stay there!”

Reggie’s expression hardened in a way Alex had never seen. Reggie Peters was basically a human puppy and it seemed Alex had gotten all to used to that fact. “Yea but she knew we had each other, Luke. You don’t get it. Sammy’s just 13, I can’t just leave him. I can’t.” Reggie’s tone grew more hopeless at the last sentence, his lip quivering.

“Fine,” Luke grumbled. “But at least come with us tonight. We’re going to Bobby’s.”

“But what if-”

“No buts. You’re hurt and you smell like beer, we’re not gonna leave you out here.”

“But Sammy-”

“Sammy’ll be ok,” Alex cut in. He squeezed Reggie shoulder and gave a half-hearted smile. “He’s a tough kid.”

Reggie nodded. A quiet sob ripped through him and he buried his head in his knees, leaving damp spots on his jeans from his hair which would probably smell like alcohol for a week.

Alex lay an arm around Reggie’s shoulder and Luke chuckled. “Yea, group hug,” he whispered feebly, joining the embrace.

The temperature was rapidly dropping and Alex could feel Luke shivering and Reggie’s teeth chattering, his own feet growing numb in his shoes. But for just a split second, none of that mattered. He didn’t have to look to know that they were all crying and that Reggies hair was sticking to his cheek and Luke’s guitar case was digging into someone’s shoulder. They were a family. A stupid, dysfunctional, scarily codependent family, but still. It was something.

---

March, 1995

Despite protest, Bobby’s parents had started giving Alex and Luke monthly allowances; claiming that if they were gonna live there, they were family, not guests. Reggie refused to accept the money; he was still returning to his house at least two nights a week for fear that his parents would take their anger out on Sammy. But the money meant that Alex was finally able to get a new hoodie; one that wasn’t too tight around the shoulders and didn’t ride up every time he lifted his arms. It was nice, too. Sure it’d taken a couple months of allowance to buy, but it was soft and comfortable and his favorite shade of pink. 

“Alex,” Luke whined, drawing out the vowel like a small child begging for candy. “You can’t leave us like this!”

“Luke-”

“It’s betrayal! You- I thought you were our friend!”

“Stop being dramatic,” Alex replied, smacking Luke’s shoulder lightly. 

“Ow.”

“It’s one band practice. If I don’t retake this test, I’ll fail Algebra.”

“Algebra is a stupid subject anyway,” Luke pouted, kicking a rock angrily.

“Bobby’s mom got ice cream,” Alex said. “Now go.” He waved Luke off, smiling impatiently.

Luke trudged away from Alex’s locker and towards the exit, his head hung low. “You’re the worst,” He shouted before walking out of sight.

Alex sighed and chuckled lightly as he turned back to rifle through his locker in search of a pencil; he’d lost his favorite one in English earlier that day (more like Bobby stole it, but same difference). He didn’t like pens because the concept of not being able to fix mistakes was more daunting than it probably should be, and he refused to use any non-mechanical pencils (“Shut it Luke, I’m allowed to be picky about my pencils!”) because he hated having to sharpen them constantly and he had a bad habit of pressing down too hard and breaking the lead. So he couldn't find a damn pencil and Mr. Thomas had said he had to be in classroom by 4:30 if he wanted to retake the test but he couldn’t find a stupid pencil. Alex swallowed and breathed in shakily, glancing up at the clock which seemed to be moving too fast because there’s no way it was already 4:25. Logically, he could just ask Mr. Thomas if he could borrow a pencil, but he didn’t want to be a bother, and he knew there was a pencil somewhere in here. 

Alex cried out in frustration, slipping his backpack from his shoulders and unzipping the small front pocket which he’d reserved specifically for writing utensils. Nothing. Ok. Fine, he’d just borrow one. It isn’t that hard to ask to use a pencil. Right.

Halfway across the hallway, Alex heard snickering drifting from around the corner. He froze and gripped his backpack straps tighter. It was useless, willing himself to keep walking. Not when that laughing was sickeningly familiar. God, Alex hated football players. 

“Awe look he got a new jaaacket.” Someone -Alex refused to try and decipher who- cooed mockingly.

Alex didn’t turn around.

“Y’know when you stopped wearing the other one, we were really hoping your parents had finally beat some sense into you.”

Alex looked at the clock. 4:28. He willed himself to move forward, ignoring the twisting in his stomach. He played out the beat to Now or Never on his backpack straps. 

“Hey! We’re talking to you!”

Why was the hallway so long? Alex had begun to think it had doubled in size since he’d started walking. His hoodie felt too hot all of the sudden and he could practically feel someone breathing down the back of his neck. They were talking to him, but it was muffled, like he was underwater. He tried breathing in slowly. 4:29. His steps quickened. 

“F*g!” 

He couldn’t breathe. Alex couldn’t breathe and he felt like someone had stabbed him in the stomach and was twisting the knife over and over and over again. 4:30. Oh god. They were yelling at him and drawing closer and closer and now he’d missed his chance and was gonna fail algebra and they’d call his parents and then the school would know he’d been kicked out and-

Someone had hit him. He wished he could pinpoint where, but his entire body was numb and throbbing and everything was blurry. He wondered briefly if the shouting was in his head or out of it. And this might be where he could say he’d blacked out, but that wasn’t quite what had happened. He stumbled blindly across the rest of the hall, mostly on autopilot, unable to see through tears and why was he crying??? He never really fainted, but no matter how hard he tried, Alex couldn’t remember what’d happened next. 

---

“Alex!” 

That was Luke, Alex was sure of it. 

“ ‘Lex, come on.” 

Reggie shook Alex’s shoulder and his vision began to clear. Oh. 

“What, why am I in the studio?” He asked frantically. “How did I- my test!” He stood up and not bothering to figure out why he was dizzy, Alex rushed to the doorway. 

“Nope.” Bobby clasped his shoulder tightly and steered him back to the couch. “Sit down, idiot, you almost passed out.”

“Dude, who punched you?” Luke asked, scooting in closer to Alex and gazing furiously at the bruise on his face.

Alex shrugged. “I don’t- I’m not- it’s…”

“Mr. Thomas said you came into his classroom and tried to ask for the test but he wouldn’t let you since you’d just been beat up and then Bobby heard you in the room cause, cause he came up to the school to give you a ride so you didn’t have to walk-”

“Reggie slow down, you’re gonna give him another panic attack!” Luke scolded, swatting Reggie’s chest and shoving him lightly. 

Bobby sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mr. Thomas is letting you retake the test next week, drink some water.” 

Alex took the glass gratefully and took a hesitant sip. He set the water down and breathed in, settling into the couch, still tense. “ ‘M sorry,” he muttered.

“Sorry? Dude what?” Luke looked at Alex, completely baffled. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I made you cancel practice so I could take my test but I didn’t even take it.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Reggie chided. “We’re not mad at you-”

“Yea it’s whatever asshat punched you that we’re mad at.”

“Bobby, we’re not killing anyone.”

“Yea please don’t get yourself arrested for me,” Alex laughed softly. 

Bobby shook his head and flopped down on the couch beside Reggie. “Fine.”

“Hey,” Luke shook Alex gently. “You want some chocolate? Reg got some of that fancy stuff-”

“No, I draw the line at giving him my chocolates,” Reggie complained, reaching across Alex to slap a hand over Luke’s mouth. “Ew! Dude, you licked me!” Reggie whined loudly as he shook his hand, pretending to gag. “That’s just low.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You’re both stupid.”

Alex let his head fall against the back of the couch, a small smile creeping onto his face.

---

I’m not great at angst, so I’m not quite sure why I thought I’d do well with this fic akhfkldsfh

please tell me if there’s anything else I should add a warning for, I tried to do everything but I could’ve overlooked something. 

chapter 3

chapter 4

[candied-peach]

ao3: “how bad can i be?” rating: T warnings: food, remus typical stuff, age regression, sympathetic remus, sympathetic deceit, creativitwins genre: fluff description: Roman ends up with babysitting duty.

A knock on the door drags Roman from his work and he frowns, looking up from the impassioned scribbled ideas for Thomas's next video.

"Yes?" He calls, willing the irritation out of his voice. He did forget to say he'd be working all day at breakfast, after all.

"Roman, are you busy?" Deceit's strained voice comes through the door. Roman's eyes widen in surprise. Deceit never seeks him out. Never seeks anyone out, really. They've accepted him, but it's still tentative, especially from Patton's side. He tends to stay in his room or hang out with Remus.

Speaking of Remus...

When he opens the door, Deceit stands there, flustered, one gloved hand raised to knock again. Remus clings to Deceit's side, a stuffed octopus slung under one arm and kraken-printed pacifier stuck firmly in his mouth.

Oh.

"Thomas needs me," Deceit explains breathlessly. "One of his friends is having a hard time with their parents, and Thomas, as you know, has a hard time with-" He gestures to himself. "But Remus is regressing, and he can't be left alone. Can you watch him for me? It shouldn't take more than an hour."

"Of course," Roman answers, belated. How hard could watching his brother be? He might even be able to get his work done. "Would you like that, Remus?" He asks, addressing his brother. Remus shyly nods, before looking up at Deceit with distress.

"Leaving?" Remus asks, popping out his pacifier. Deceit brushes some of the hair out of Remus's eyes.

"I have to help Thomas, little kraken," he says. "Just for a little while, and then I'll be back. Okay?" Remus looks like he's pondering for a moment, before he nods.

"Okay," he says. "Come back fast."

"I will," Deceit promises. "As fast as I can." He turns back toward Roman. "He isn't allowed to watch the movies he normally likes when he's regressed, but he asks for them anyway. He's an unholy terror if he's bored. He likes coloring and it usually turns out a little gory, but praise it anyway. He can have snacks, but only edible ones. No deodorant sticks." Deceit's nose wrinkles. He looks past Roman into his room, furnished with pristine red, white, and gold, then frowns. "Maybe you should watch him in his room. Or mine."

"It'll be fine!" Roman dismisses with a wave of his hand. "I've watched Virgil before when he regressed. How bad could he be?"

A funny look passes over Deceit's face, but it's gone before Roman can properly examine it.

"Sure," he says. He passes Remus's hand over to Roman's. "Remember, I'll be back soon," he says. "Behave for your brother, Remus. Okay?"

"Okay," Remus says, around his pacifier. Spit slides down his chin and Roman has to hide a wince of disgust. "I'll be good."

As soon as Roman shuts the door behind them, an enormous grin comes across Remus's face, the kind that bodes no good for any of the parties involved.

Roman's heart sinks down to his toes. What have I gotten myself into? He thinks.

"Revolution!" Remus shouts, and charges toward Roman's bed, stuffed octopus flapping madly in one hand.

"Whoa there!" Roman exclaims, reaching a hand and snagging Remus's sleeve, jolting him to a stop. "Where do you think you're going?" Remus cocks his head to one side, looking at Roman like he's an idiot.

"The bed," he says, as if he's talking to a baby. His pacifier dangles by its clip.

"Why?" Roman asks. Remus grins and Roman discovers that he has a gap in his teeth when he's regressed.

"Jump," Remus says, cackling. Before Roman can process what he's just said, he tugs free of Roman's grip and scrambles on the bed, bouncing on his knees.

"Get off the bed!" Roman demands, all too cognizant of Remus's dirty boots now making their way over each and every inch of his perfectly pristine prince-sized bed. Remus sticks out his tongue.

"No," he says. No longer content with bouncing on his knees, Remus clambers to his feet and begins to jump, nearly hitting his head on Roman's oversized canopy. Roman wracks his brain, desperate. Think, Roman, think, he chastises himself. Aha! He conjures up an enormous Disney coloring book, one with princesses and villains, and waves it enticingly in the air.

"I have a coloring book for you," he cajoles. Remus pauses, glancing his way, interest brightening his eyes.

"Coloring?" Remus repeats in a hopeful tone. Roman nods, trying not to seem too desperate.

"And a jumbo pack of crayons," he says, pulling a fifty-count box out of thin air. Remus's eyes really light up at that, and Roman has to smile, even if his bedspread is now covered in Remus's boot prints.

"Color!" Remus cheers, hopping carelessly off the bed in a way that scares ten years off Roman's nonexistent life span. He barely stumbles, though, and makes his way toward Roman, his stuffed octopus now perched on one shoulder, plush limbs looped around his neck.

"Here," Roman says, conjuring up a desk and chair. "You color. I work on stuff for Thomas." Remus's face droops a little at his last remark, but he accepts the coloring book and crayons willingly enough, clambering up in his new seat.

"Hey, Ro Ro," Remus interrupts him a few minutes later. Roman looks up from his idea pad, biting back his frustration. This was supposed to be the perfect distraction for Remus. How could it work if Remus kept interrupting? "Which red is good for blood?" He holds up a handful of red crayons.

"Uh, that one," Roman says, picking one at random and hiding his shudder of revulsion. It's not Remus's fault he is the way he is, he reminds himself.

"I like to color," Remus chatters. "I like to draw too. One time I drew everyone, you and Dee Dee and Lo and Virgey and even Pat! On a big paper-" He stretches his arms out comically wide to demonstrate. "And at the bottom I drew lots of skulls. Like a big pile of skulls." He beams.

"That sounds...delightful," Roman manages to say, narrowly avoiding an inadvertent Deceit summons. Wouldn't that be awkward. Unbothered, Remus nods happily, coloring away. The tip of his tongue sticks out between his teeth.

"I'm coloring Ariel," he says. "And a kraken comes and eats her up." He shows Roman his progress. Even regressed to a child, his art skills are nothing to sneeze at, Roman thinks. If only they weren't quite so...gory.

"Well done!" He praises. Remus practically glows, and Roman feels a pang of guilt stab him. Remus really is doing his best after all. It's not his fault that his imagination runs to- well, that, even when a child.

"Would you like a snack?" Roman asks. Remus nods eagerly.

"Deodorant!" He chirps. Roman shakes his head, alarm bells ringing in his head at the sight of the pout forming on Remus's mouth.

"Dee said you couldn't have deodorant," he says, cheerfully passing the blame to Remus's primary caregiver. "Edible snacks, kiddo. Do you have any favorites?"

"Goldfish!" He says, excited. The brewing squall seems to have passed, much to Roman's relief. "I like biting off their heads!" Of course you do, Roman thinks as he conjures up a sippy cup full of strawberry juice and a plastic bowl full of goldfish. Remus accepts both, cramming a handful of goldfish into his mouth as he colors. A few droplets of juice stain his coloring page and Roman expects him to tear up over it, but instead, he incorporates them into his artwork.

"More blood," Remus announces brightly. With an indulgent smile, Roman gets back to his own work. See? He tells the Deceit in his mind. He's not so bad. Sure, there has been a minor hiccup or two. I have to wash my covers, for instance. But really, he's not at all like you portrayed him to-

"Look, Ro Ro, I can fly!" Remus announces from the top of the wardrobe and Roman's heart stops.

"Remus!" He shouts, diving toward the wardrobe just as Remus bends his knees and jumps. With heart-stopping slowness, Roman makes it just in time for his brother to land on his back, driving him to the floor with a painful whoosh of breath.

"You got in the way," Remus accuses, disappointed.

"Get off me," Roman says. Reluctantly, Remus rolls off him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Roman tries to still his frenetically beating heart as he glares at his brother.

"That was very dangerous," he says, breathless. "Don't do that. You could have been seriously hurt." Remus shrugs, unconcerned.

"Not really," he says, popping his pacifier in and out of his mouth. "Dee Dee says I'm like a bouncy ball."

"Be that as it may," Roman says. "Dee is not here right now. I am. Please don't jump off the furniture. Why don't you finish coloring?"

"I did finish," Remus says. "You didn't see 'cause you were too busy with your dumb work." He crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, scowling.

Another splinter of guilt wedges itself in Roman's heart.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, Remus. You're right. I'm supposed to be watching you and I'm not doing a very good job, am I."

"Better than Pat," Remus says. Roman wonders at the story there, but decides to ignore it for the time being.

"Would you like to watch something?" He tries. "Just me and you, no work involved?" He expects Remus to ask for one of his favorites when he's older, like Repo! or perhaps a true crime documentary. Remus looks up shyly.

"Finding Nemo?" He requests. Roman smiles.

"Sounds good to me," he says. "Come on, let's make a blanket fort and watch it that way."

"And then I have more snack?" Remus asks hopefully. Roman laughs.

"Sure," he says. "Then you can have another snack."

tag list: @k9cat @paravigilant-virgil @croftergamer @airiervessel @bexxbeauty @ambersky0319 @yalltookmyurlideas @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @ihateitwhenyourejustvague @matthindavick @killjoy-3000 @littlestliu

[thanatosangels]

Congrats Mae!!! Can I have 🌿 with Thomas and Christopher? 💜

thank you so much!!! 

when Thomas was ill as a child, Christopher was essentially the only child of a similar age that Thomas really connected with. Because Gabriel and Cecily visited Gideon and Sophie a lot, they spent a decent amount of time together and bonded over their quirks and the fact they both felt like outcasts. They wrote to each other regularly as well.

Christopher was actually the first of the Merry Thieves to realise how Thomas really felt about Alastair. unfortunately, he did not realise how explosive this information could be. they were in the Devil one night, post Chain of Gold, and Matthew had been ranting about how much of a ‘wormy lying coward’ Alastair was when Thomas had come to his defence, albeit in a half-hearted manner. 

“Why do you like him so much anyway?” Matthew rocked back in his chair, wine in one hand and the other pointed at Thomas. Well, presumably anyway, because it was two inches too far to the left but Thomas gave him points for trying. 

Thomas just rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to explain that he didn’t like him, per say, just that Matthew was being, and always had been, incredibly unfair on him when Christopher piped up from his workbench in the corner.

“Because he’s in love with him, of course.” 

Several things then happened at once.

Matthew tipped back in his chair, his face a comical depiction of shock, and sent the wine flying across the room.

James got covered in red wine.

Thomas thought that his heart was going to give out.

“I- What? I am not. No!” He stuttered, his face matching the shade of scarlet James’s shirt had become. “Wherever did you get that from, Kit?”

James helped Matthew, who’s face was still slack with shock, up from the floor. “Matthew, you’re a bloody idiot, did you know that?” James mocked, laughter in his voice. “Also - yes, Christopher, what makes you say that?” He righted Matthew’s chair and helped him into as if he were an elderly man who needed assistance moving, then returned to his place at the table. Matthew’s face still did not change.

Christopher placed down his beaker and turned to face the rest of the Thieves, his goggles squint on his face. “Well, I thought it was rather obvious, is it not?” He walked over and sat down at the table, his hands gesturing animatedly. “You see, figuring out if someone is in love is just like trying to graph an experiment: you look for patterns, specifically in behaviour.” He looked around at the dumbfounded faces of his friends. 

“And... and what patterns are there here?” Thomas asked, hesitantly.

“First of all, you followed Alastair around at the Academy. Now, this could easily be dismissed as the quirks of a child but here it fits into our pattern. Secondly, you will not tell us what really happened in Paris. No, don’t try to argue Thomas, i know when you’re lying - or withholding information. Anyway, I happened to overhear Charles talking about seeing Alastair in Paris when I was at Matthew’s, I do not believe in coincidences. Thomas and Alastair were together in Paris. Third, Alastair is the only person Thomas would let see his tattoo. That’s a very intimate, private thing for Thomas, and the fact he’d share it with someone who is apparently a ‘stranger’ is very out of character for him. Hence I have to draw the conclusion that Thomas is, in fact, in love with Alastair Carstairs. And I have to say - i think they’d make a capital couple.”

Stunned silence. Thomas thought his jaw might hit the table.

Finally, Matthew blurted out “That is just preposterous! Never in all my days-”

“Shut up for a second, Matthew.” James looked at Thomas, his golden eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and love. “Remember the last time somebody spilt wine? What is it with you lot and bloody wine, by the way - anyway, it was Thomas. When Matthew told us Alastair was moving to London.” Thomas felt too hot and too cold all at the same time. “Tom? Is it true?”

“I....” Thomas didn’t know what to say. Was it true? He didn’t know. All he knew is that he missed Alastair. Missed talking to him as darkness blanketed Paris, missed watching the shadows on his face change as the city illuminated itself around them, missed walking next to him and talking about everything and nothing. All he knew was that every time he saw Alastair, his heart seemed to beat that little bit faster and if he was next to him he longed to reach out and grab his hand. All he knew was that Alastair was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, and that he wanted to kiss him, and hold him, and-

James’s voice, soft and comforting, brought him back from his reverie. “It’s alright if you do, Tom.” He looked at the faces of his friends: Christopher’s obliviously hopeful one, James’s small smile, Matthew’s - who had finally closed his mouth - that bore an open expression, one Thomas didn’t see all that often these days, that held so much love he felt his heart might burst. He swallowed thickly.

He stared down at his hands that were knotted so tightly in his lap that his knuckles were white. He could deny it again but, really, he found that he didn’t want to. “I mean... I might? I’m not really sure...” He bit his lip.

“What ho! Excellent!” Christopher ran to his workbench and began furiously scribbling in his notebook. “I was actually right! Of course, I knew i was, but the proof is always appreciated.”

James clapped him on the back. “Wonderful! I’m so glad you told us, Thomas.” Thomas grinned at him, feeling lighter than he had in months.

And then Matthew got up, a broad smile on his face, and came to grab Thomas by the shoulder. “Well! There’s a turn up for the books.” And then the smile was replaced a serious furrow of eyebrows. “I’m happy for you, old chap, i really am, but could you not have picked absolutely anybody else?” 

Thomas looked at him, his heart sinking ever so slightly, until Matthew threw his head back and guffawed. “Don’t look so scared! I’m joking - well, partially anyway - but whoever your heart decides to give itself to will be one lucky person. Even if it is sodding Alastair Carstairs.”

Thomas felt himself laughing too, and he felt like it was the first real laugh in an age.

okay, NOT a headcannon but inspiration struck and the opportunity was too good to miss!

Thomas and Christopher always get to read Lucie’s new writing: Thomas because Lucie trusts him to be kind but fair, and Christopher because he actually has a wonderful imagination that has inspired Lucie on more than one occasion. Anyway, after every new read, they get together and discuss what she wrote, how proud of her they are, and how far she’s going to go. She’s their little sister too, after all. 

[cristinablackthornkingson]

This Poor Unruly Heart.  A Thomastair fic.

Cross-posted to my AO3. 

***TW/CW**** Alcoholism. Homophobia. Homophobic slurs. (Shortened version of the F slur is used) Emotional abuse. Abusive parent. Abusive relationships. Mention of child loss.

It is a cold Winter’s day in late 1903, when both Alastair Carstairs and Thomas Lightwood, make the most terrifying and nerve wracking decision of their lives. After 3 months of being with each other they have decided to hide no longer, and come out to their parents.

Out of the two of them, Alastair is certainly most terrified, for so long Charles made him believe that he would always have to live in secret, he manipulated and twisted him into believing that everyone would be disgusted and hate him. Alastair knows his mother is a very traditional woman, and throughout his childhood he has heard his father throw around slurs and nasty words about people like Alastair.

However Alastair does not want to hide anymore, like he had to with Charles, he loves Thomas and wants everyone to know that, no matter what. With Elias still being in Idris for another day or so, Alastair will have a chance to speak with him privately, if all goes well with telling his mother.

Cordelia has known that Alastair is gay for a while now, she was the first person he came out to, and has been nothing but loving and supportive toward him, when he told her his plans to come out to their parents, she offered to be there for moral support. Alastair happily agreed, glad to have her to lean on.

So now he has found himself in the drawing room of Cirenworth, sitting on the couch next to Cordelia, across from their mother, who at 7 months pregnant looks more stressed, tired and ill than Alastair has ever seen her. He’s terrified of stressing her out and worrying her further, afraid of hurting her or the baby, but he refuses to have his baby brother or sister born into a world where their big brother is hiding a big part of who he is. If the baby is like Alastair, he wants them to have a good influence, someone to look up to and admire, like he has always secretly admired Anna.

“What trouble have you two gotten into now?” Sona’s tired but amused voice pulls Alastair from his thoughts. He smiles and lets out a breathy laugh, his poor mother having to deal with everything he and Cordelia and their friends got up to recently, hopefully the baby won’t be such a handful when they grow up.

“No mamán, we haven’t done anything, I... I need to speak with you about something, something I... discovered about myself.” Aalstair chooses his words carefully, trying not to fidget or let his nerves overtake him.

“Alright, what is it?” Sona asks, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands over her bump. Alastair gives Cordelia a brief glance and she smiles and slips her hand into his and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Alastair holds tightly to Cordelia and takes a deep breath. He then looks straight at his mother, and calmly says

“I’m gay, I’m attracted to men, and I’ve been seeing someone, a man. Thomas Lightwood to be exact. We’ve been seeing eachother for a few months now and I wanted to finally tell you mamán, because it is a big part of me and my life.”

Sona leans forward in her chair and takes Alastair’s free hand in hers.

“Are you happy?” She calmly asks. Alastair wordlessly nods, not daring to get his hopes up. “And this Lightwood boy, does he make you happy, does he treat you well?”

“Yes.” Alastair says in a breathy tone. “I... I love him, mamán, he is the best thing that has ever happened to me, I have never been happier than I have been since I began seeing Thomas. He... he makes me feel so loved and important.”

Sona smiles warmly and brushes her son’s dark hair back from his face.

“Then if you are happy, I’m happy.” Alastair feels the tears of relief and joy well up in his eyes as his breath catches in his throat.

“R-really?” He stammers. Sona nods and brushes his tears away.

“Yes Eshgham, all I want for you, Cordelia and this baby, is for you to be happy and healthy. Nothing and no one matters more to me than you 3, and a little thing like the sex of the person you love, is not going to make a difference to how much I love you, Alastair.” Sona’s voice is soft and low, full of love but also firm, so Alastair knows how serious she is.

Alastair lets out a sob of relief and lets his head fall onto his mother’s shoulder, as her arms go around him, her hand running through his hair, while Cordelia rubs his back.

“I love you mamán.” Alastair sniffs. Sona presses a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you too Alastair joon, very much. I do want to meet this Thomas boy of course, to make sure he’s deserving of you, not just anyone is worthy of being loved by my son, you know.” Sona lightly says, as Alastair lifts his head and wipes at his tears. He laughs at the thought of tall, muscular Thomas being lectured by his small, heavily pregnant mother.

“He is James’ cousin, so I think you will like him very much.” Alastair laughs, knowing how much his mother adores James.

“Like who very much?” The sweet and happy moment is suddenly interrupted by a gruff voice from the doorway that makes the blood in Alastair’s veins run cold. He turns his head to see his father standing in the doorway, dressed smartly but with his hair greasy and ratty, months worth of stubble on his jaw, his eyes bloodshot with dark circles underneath them, and a poorly hidden bottle of whisky poking out of his coat pocket.

“Oh Elias, we weren’t expecting you back for another day or so.” Sona says in a somewhat surprised tone, pushing herself to her feet to greet her husband, going in for a kiss to the cheek but recoiling when she smells the alcohol on him.

Elias completely ignores his wife, focusing all of his attention on Alastair.

“Who and what were you talking about? It seems like you were in the middle of a rather serious moment.” He asks in a deadly calm voice.

“Papa not now, Alastair is tired.” Cordelia protests, wanting to do whatever she can to save her brother having to face their father unplanned like this.

“I was not speaking to you Cordelia, I was speaking to your brother. I will ask again, who and what were you talking about? If you told your mother, you need to tell me.” there is now anger and irritation seeping into Elias’ tone.

“I...” Alastair begins, not quiet sure where to go with this. “Um, well I...”

“Have you hit your head or are you honestly as dense as I always knew?” Elias spits out in acidic tone, horrifying everyone in the room. It’s not the first time he’s spoken so cruelly to Alastair, though he’s never done so in front of anyone else before.

“Papa!” Cordelia protests.

“Be quiet Cordelia. You, get on with it.” He growls, glaring at Alastair.

“I’m gay!” Alastair blurts, cringing at how abrupt and sudden it was.

Elias scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous Alastair, you are far too young to know who you do and do not love, not that it is love, homosexuality is a disease, an illness of the mind.” He tells him in a dismissive tone. Alastair feels as though his heart may break in half. Nobody has ever said something so cruel to him before.

“No it is not, the love I feel for Thomas is just the same as any other type of love. He makes me happy and treats me well, I love him, it is one of the very few things in life I have ever been so certain of. I love him, father.” Alastair’s tone is tight as tears start to well up again, but there is also pride in his tone, and love at the thought of Thomas.

Before Alastair can comprehend anything else, his father is right in front of him, face to face, so close Alastair can smell the stench of alcohol on his breath.

“Elias let him go!” Sona yells, tugging at her husband’s arm, only to have him shake her off.

“No mamán don’t, you may get hurt, you or the baby.” Alastair tells her, holding his chin high and refusing to show his father any fear.

“Now you listen here boy.” Elias hisses. “No son of mine is going to be some disgusting fag, I will not have you taint the good family name of Carstairs. You are not irreplaceable, that child your mother carries could well be a boy, I could very easily replace you with him. And if you wish to have a place under my roof, you will shut your disgusting little mouth and never speak of this filth again!”

“Papa! Don’t speak to him like that, leave him alone!” Cordelia yells, trying to pull her father away, only for him to push her back, almost knocking her over.

Alastair has never been a violent man, despite his nasty attitude when he was younger, he would actually never harm a fly. However this time, Elias his gone too far. Alastair firmly places his hands on his father’s chest and with force, shoves him away so he is not in his face.

Alastair is about to respond, to tell Elias he’s free to replace him with the new baby, but Sona speaks up first.

“That is enough!” Her strong and firm tone rings clear through the room, stopping everyone and everything in their tracks.

“Elias Carstairs if you so much as ever lay a hand on my son again, I swear to the angel you will be sorry. You need to get off of your pedestal, you are not some all high and mighty holier than though member of society, you are a nasty, abusive man who refuses to get help for an addiction that has ruined everything. You ruined Alastair’s childhood with your alcoholism, I am not about to let you ruin the rest of his life with your homophobia.

I have put up with your nasty and abusive ways for the last 18 years, I have dealt with you calling me fat, lazy, useless, ugly, and many, many other things. I am done with it, no more. I took your abuse with the hope you would leave Cordelia and Alastair alone, and they could have nice normal lives. That is not how it works though, I know better now. I deserve better, my children deserve better.

I want a divorce, Elias, and I will be making sure you have no custody or involvement of this baby, as far as I am concerned this child is mine and mine alone, they have no father.”

There is a shocked silence throughout the room, following Sona’s pronouncement. Alastair feels guilty for feeling happy that his mother is leaving his father, and hopeful that he can escape him. He’s not meant to want his parents to split up, being the child of a divorced couple is shameful according to society. But why? Why is it shameful for Sona to escape her abuser, to give her baby a better chance at life and to take Cordelia and Alastair away from a toxic and abusive person?

The first to speak is Elias. He scoffs and sneers at his wife.

“Oh please, you need me Sona, you have nowhere to go and nothing without me.”

“I will go to The Institute, The Herondales will welcome me. I have plenty, Elias, I have savings you know nothing of, I have valuables I can sell should I need to, I have clothes for the baby, nappies are not hard to come by, I have everything I need, I most certainly do not need you.” Sona’s tone is impassive as she steadily holds Elias’ gaze. She then turns to her children, her gaze softening slightly.

“Alastair, Cordelia, you are of course welcome to come with me, wherever I find a home you will have a home, but if you wish to stay with your father then I will not be hurt or upset, and you will still be able to see your little brother or sister when they are born. The choice is yours.” Of course Sona wants her children to come with her, but she knows forcing them to if they do not want to, will not make her any better than Elias.

“I want to go with you mamán.” Cordelia immediately says, the love and respect she has always held for her father now shattered into pieces, never to be repaired.

“Me too, and I can help you with money mamán, now that I am old enough to receive earnings from The Clave.” Alastair says, leaning into his mother, who smiles and cups his cheek.

“Thank you Azizam, but you most certainly do not have to.” She then links her arm through with his and puts the other around Cordelia’s shoulders. “Come along, we can come back for our things later. For now I would like to meet your Thomas, Alastair. I am sure he’s a good boy if he’s related to James, but I need to be sure, as I said, not just anyone is deserving of my son’s heart.”

Alastair smiles brightly, his heart lifting and his pain easing at the thought of introducing his mother to Thomas, and having a peaceful and calm life at The Institute, where he will be free to love Thomas and be himself.

Meanwhile, in the Lightwood London townhouse, Thomas is nervously sitting in front of his parents in the drawing room, preparing to come out to them. He is sure they’ll be loving and accepting, they love and accept Anna, but maybe it will be different with their own child, especially their only son. Perhaps his father expects him to carry on the Lightwood name, what with Christopher having no interest in romance or anything of the sort, and little Alex only being 3.

“What’s going on Tommy? What do you need to talk to us about?” Sophie’s concerned voice pulls Thomas from his thoughts, and he lifts his head to look at his parents, sitting side by side, their hands entwined, both of them looking concerned.

“Uhh...” Thomas begins in an unsure tone. “Well... I’m... I’m gay.” Thomas blurts out, wanting it over and done with, holding his breath as he waits for his parents to react.

Immediately they both visibly relax, Gideon’s shoulders slumping in relief and Sophie placing a hand on her chest and letting out a sigh of relief.

“Oh love is that all?” Sophie asks with a hint of amusement in her tone. Baffled, Thomas nods.

“You gave us a fright Tom, we thought something was dreadfully wrong.” Gideon laughs, relieved beyond words that all is well with Thomas. He could not lose another child, Barbara’s death almost killed him, loosing Thomas or Eugenia would certainly be the end of him.

“We’ve always known that about you my darling, do you think we haven’t noticed you gawping at all the handsome men we pass on the street, or how you just loved hearing about your sisters' courting conquests and always asked for details on the men?” Sophie laughs, remembering 11 year old Thomas sitting with his sisters and listening intently as Barbara recounted her first outing with her first boyfriend.

“It... it doesn’t bother you?” Thomas asks in a hopeful tone. Could it really be this simple and easy? Could he be so lucky?

“Not one bit.” Sophie assures him.

“Just don’t steal Eugenia’s dresses if you want to wear women’s clothes, she loves you but she will not be pleased if you steal her dresses.” Gideon says in a light tone, earning a laugh from Thomas.

“I would not dare get between Genie and her dresses, though I have no desire to wear one myself, they seem rather uncomfortable.” He says.

“You do not know the half of it my love.” Sophie laughs, squeezing Thomas’ hand. “Is there anything else you wish to tell us? Remember, we’ll always love you and support you.”

Thomas bites his lip and takes a few seconds to think, before looking at his parents again.

“Well... actually, I am seeing someone. Alastair Carstairs to be exact.” Thomas nervously admits.

“Oh he is a lovely boy! Good to know your good sense continues through to the romantic aspect of your life.” Sophie grins, shocking Thomas.

“You like him? But mama he was the one who spread those nasty rumors about you a few years ago.” Thomas quietly says. He knows Alastair has changed and grown since then, but does his mother?

“He was a child, a scared child who was going through a lot of trauma, he made a mistake for which he is clearly very sorry. And besides I think it is quiet obvious that he at 16 did not just suddenly decide to spread rumors about strange adults who had nothing to do with him. I would not be surprised in the least if he was repeating what he heard from his father.” Sophie quietly says, trying not to let her anger escape. She is not angry with Alastair, but she is angry with Elias, who has said very unkind things about her before, some to her face and some behind her back.

Before Thomas can reply, there is a rap on the dinning room door and Scarlet- the Lightwood’s maid- steps in.

“Sorry to interrupt M’am, Sirs, there are guests here to see you, Mrs. Carstairs and her two children.” Scarlet quietly says. Thomas’ heart begins to race. Why is Alastair here? Is he alright?

“Oh, please do send them through Scarlet, thank you.” Sophie says, wondering why the Carstairs’ have turned up here. It’s not as if they are very close friends or anything of the sort.

A few seconds later Sona Carstairs steps into the drawing room, followed closely by Cordelia and Alastair.

“I am very sorry to intrude and interrupt, we can leave if we are inconveniencing you.” Sona says in an apologetic tone.

“No no nonsense, you are very welcome. Please, sit. Would you like something to drink or eat? Would you like to put your feet up, Sona?” Sophie kindly asks, remembering how easily her feet swelled up when she was pregnant all 3 times, by the time she was 7 months pregnant with Barbara she couldn’t fit into her shoes anymore and had to buy new ones specifically for pregnancy.

“Thank you, you are very kind but a simple seat will do, I get so tired so easily these days.” Sona says in a breathy tone, as Cordelia helps her sit in a nearby armchair.

Thomas and Alastair, meanwhile, share a delighted look at seeing one another. Thomas grins and quickly strides across the room and slips his hand into Alastair's.

“Mama, papa, this is Alastair, my boyfriend.” He proudly says, grinning at his parents.

Sophie immediately joins them and pulls Alastair into a hug, taking him by complete surprise.

“Don’t break his heart, alright?” Sophie softly says when she pulls back, placing a hand on Alastair’s cheek. Alastair smiles and nods.

“I promise, Mrs. Lightwood.”

Sophie smiles and squeezes his hand before stepping back to let Gideon talk to Alastair.

“Our Thomas is a sweet boy, with so much capacity to love. I’m sure you already know this but it is an honor to be loved by him in anyway. Never forget that, alright?” Alastair nods.

“Of course not Mr. Lightwood.” He assures him. Gideon smiles and holds his hand out for Alastair to shake.

“Good, and if you ever need some fatherly advice or a man to man talk, I am always here.” The offer almost makes Alastair tear up again.

“Thank you Mr. Lightwood, I very much appreciate that.”

“Now you just have to meet Genie, I think she will like you too.” Thomas lightly says, laying his head on Alastair’s shoulder. Alastair chuckles and puts an arm around his boyfriend.

“Well now it is my turn to introduce you to my family. You already know Layla, but you haven’t met my wonderful mother yet. Mamán this is Thomas, my boyfriend.”

With help from Cordelia Sona stands up from her chair and beams brightly at Thomas. She pulls him down for a hug and squeezes tightly.

“It is so lovely to meet the boy who has made my Alastair happy again. Treat him well.”

Over the next few months the Lightwoods and Carstairs grow very close. Gideon helps Sona begin proceedings for her divorce and also helps her make a case against Elias having any custody of the baby. They have plenty of evidence of him being an unfit parent and a danger to the baby, so it only takes a matter of weeks for it be agreed upon by The Silent Brothers and The Clave that Elias has no legal rights to the baby and will not be allowed around them at all.

Sophie helps Sona through the rest of her difficult pregnancy, having had a hard pregnancy herself, with Thomas.

Thomas and Alastair grow closer and fall even more in love, and Cordelia finds a new friend in Eugenia.

2 months later on a rainy February day, Cordelia, Alastair, Thomas and Eugenia are all nervously waiting outside the Institute infirmary, waiting for word on Sona who went into labor in the early hours of the morning. Brother Zachariah came right away, and has been doing a wonderful job of helping Sona through her labor while also keeping everyone else updated.

8 hours after Sona went into labor, the silence of the infirmary waiting room is interrupted by the squeaking of the infirmary door opening.

The 4 teenagers turn to look at the doorway, where Brother Zachariah now stands, his hood drawn back and his hands folded neatly in front of him.

“Uncle Jem.” Cordelia leans forward, eager to hear what he has to say. “Is mama alright, and the baby?”

Yes everything is absolutely fine Cordelia. In fact, you have a healthy baby brother, congratulations.

Cordelia gasps and shrieks in delight, turning to hug Alastair tightly.

“A boy! It’s a boy Al, we have a baby brother!” She gleefully exclaims. Alastair laughs in delight and holds his sister tight, picking her up and spinning her around twice, unable to contain his utter glee and delight. His mother is alright, his baby brother is alright, everything is alright.

“Two against one! You are done for, Layla!” Alastair teases, setting his sister down and affectionately tugging at a lock of her hair. Cordelia laughs and playfully swats him on the arm.

“Not a chance! I’m going to go hold him first!” she quickly turns on her heel and hurries into the infirmary after Jem.

“I always wanted a little brother, I’m quiet envious!” Thomas lightly says, slipping an arm around Alastair’s waist. “I am very happy for you.” Alastair beams at his boyfriend and kisses him.

“I love you.”

"I love you too."

[sugargliderowl]

Thoughts on Janus’ Playlist...

Some of my first-time-hearing reactions to Janus’ playlist (sorry for the rambling parts):

Black Hole Sun: It’s apparently about depression according to Genius? Like it’s kinda like yearning for the depression to be sucked into the “black hole sun”... The snake references and heaven and hell is definitely Janus. Also, it sounds old-timey like a jazz song, so that sets up the mood of the entire playlist. I don’t really get this... but this feels like a mood setter for the entire thing, unless it means something else. What do you guys think?

It Seemed the Better Way: The strings? CHILLS. Leonard Cohen’s voice reminds me of Hades in Hadestown. “Sounded like the truth, seemed the better way... but it’s not the truth today” is just his motto is what I’m seeing. And then the “I better hold my tongue, I better take my place...” part feels like resignation to me. It’s either Janus is trying to help, but that didn’t work so he resigns to become the “villain” of the light sides. It could allude to the dark sides as a whole: they are all trying to help Thomas in their ways, but because being themselves doesn’t work, they need the villain, spooky facade.

Anywhere: Ooh, I’m seeing a vintage vibe from all of this... Back to the song. “It’s a beautiful / If you’ve been lied to” is a good callback to the whole “society is built on lies” from SvS from Jay Dee. “Let this be a call to arms / At the changing of the avante garde / Nothing in this world... is beautiful.” Is Janus a pessimist? If so, he’s a good juxtaposition to Patton, the optimist. Also, the vocals remind me of like a really old timey radio, semi-haunted... my instincts say that it feels like the singer is like Harrison Bergeron (Kurt Vonnegut; do read it; it’s a good short story) trying to tell the truth about this world that people think is a good place.

Talking at the Same Time: Someone please draw Janus as like a 1920s gentleman character swaggering... wait I can. This song reminds me of “Why don’t you do right” by Jessica Rabbit on “Who Framed Roger Rabbit.” Jazz or blues? Either one. This song is really depressing? I don’t know why, but there is that feel of everything is hopeless. Pessimistic, again. “A tiny boy... made a sword from a stick and a gun from his hand” reminds me of Roman in a way? But then again, the “we bailed out all the millionaires / they’ve got the fruit / We’ve got the rind” doesn’t remind me of Roman.

all the good girls go to hell: “MY LUCIFER IS LOOONELYY”... sorry I love this song. Anyways, the lyrics really speak to Janus just because of the whole duality and Christian metaphors. Also, J is the side who would definitely “want the Devil on her team”. We love the whole duality motif. I just *chef’s kiss x3*.

Denial: OH MY GOSH THE SVS REDUX... J was denial. HE WAS DENIAL. “Just don’t shut your eyes closed / Not until I get it off my chest” is basically the blindfold metaphor that happened throughout SvS, so would this be the message he wants to send to Thomas and Patton... or maybe the entire light sides. “Have you turned a corner? / Do you think of leaving me behind?” Dark side acceptance arc? Also, “I know you’re looking for direction... I know where you wanna go / Oh I do, but do you?” is to Roman and Thomas for the callback because he knew they wanted to go “so bad.”

(click for more analysis and summary!)

Trust in Me: Of course, snek boi, I knew this could be something you’ll put in. But do we trust you? So this is his suave villainy song. This again shows how Bananaconda child operates; he wants Thomas to trust him and be selfish but excessively. That’s why balance is necessary for all of the sides!

Razzle Dazzle: *gasp* MUSICAL SONGS NOW? YASSS. Definition is “noisy, showy, and exciting activity and display designed to attract and impress,” so the whole facade of being fancy to hide the insecurities and “bad” parts. Sounds like someone we know (*cough* ROMAN *cough*). “What if your hinges all are rusting / What if, in fact, you’re just disgusting? / Razzle dazzle ‘em and they’ll never catch wise” is just a jab and a stab at Roman. Or maybe it’s him. He’s also the dramatic one. If so, we have angst arriving.

When the Chips are Down: HADESTOWN OH MY YES! STRINGS! AAAAA! Does Janus give me Fate vibes in a way? Yes, definitely. “Nobody’s righteous / Nobody’s proud / Nobody’s innocent / Now that the chips are down” Holy CRAPP. It’s the perfect response to Patton’s “Nobody’s perfect... except for Thomas, he loves his friends!” in SvS. Now that the “chips are down,” Thomas should take after himself... after all, the Fates were telling Eurydice to look after herself. Sounds like what Janus said to Thomas after the Redux.

Mandy Goes to Med School: Oh. Um. This sounds like the whole jazz/20′s theme. This song’s apparently about abortion? I’m kinda confused, so feel free to add on! But it’s quite the bop, just listening to it. Maybe the whole thought that society makes laws based on a false conception? Help.

I Put A Spell On You: Janus definitely goes to jazz clubs. “I can’t stand it ‘cause you put me down” and “I tell ya I ain’t lyin’” and “Because you’re mine” makes the whole villainesque feel. I don’t know where this was from, but this stands out to me just because it was on the “Friends on the Other Side Mashup”. 

Evil Night Together: Ominous, and then jazzy. Jay Dee’s flirting skills go to the max. This also gives the villain vibe by the lyrics referencing things that Remus would be fond about. Also, “Who’s gonna make you a hero” seems to be directed to Roman like he did in SvS. This is a very seductive song with really dark undertones about crime. Janus, that slimy snek boi is a lawful neutral to evil. 

Dont’ Tell Mama: Cabaret... a classic musical, eh? “Hush up, don’t tell mama / Shush up, don’t tell mama” goes to Janus’ power to silence people. “If you had a secret, you bet I would keep it / I would never tell on you...” Janus is definitely the one about lies and secrets, so that goes to that.

You’re a Cad: “What’s the point pretending that you could be a better man? / Just give in, since you always end up right back where you began” “You’re a rascal and a rogue, a villain and a crook” is the other sides viewing him, and “Still I tug at your line, I’m a fish on your hook” and “I should be better, but I’m worse” is hinting at some Janus angst. I think it’s going to be something about trust

As Far as I Can See: JANUS ANGST TRUCKING IN ON TO YA: “Nobody loves me / As far as I can tell.” Or even “Nobody’s listening as far as I can tell / And when I’m crying out / Nobody cries back for me.” Haha... I’m totally fine (*sobbing*). Also, the “we’re all going down / all down the staircase aboard” either hints at the Redux statement of pushing people off staircases... or maybe Virgil who went down the staircase and left the dark sides. Gosh, I thought this was gonna be a hype song by the beat, but I stand corrected.

Criminal: Oh, so the angst continues. Great. Totally great. This somehow links back to the bloopers of Thomas, as J, saying “I’m not bad; I’m just drawn that way.” This is peak sarcasm in a way, but I don’t really know. “I’ve done wrong and I wanna suffer for my sins / I’ve come to you cause I need guidance to be true / And I just don’t know where I can begin”... is this from Thomas to Janus or the other way? If it’s from Thomas, Janus is kinda mad and is using as much sass as he wants. If it’s from Janus, it’s either he’s lying or he genuinely wants a redemption arc like Virgil did... but in a not so righteous way with “And I need to be redeemed / To the one I’ve sinned against / Because he’s all I ever knew of love.” I don’t really know, but this is such a bop.

Change: “I’ve been thinking it’s just someone else’s job to care / Who am I to sympathize when no one gives a d-” and “” Wow. Janus has his similarities with Logan. He wants to be listened to the sides. I mean, there is a reason why he impersonates the light sides: to be listened without bias. “Change is a powerful thing / I feel it coming in me” foreshadows some good stuff with Janus! YES! Also, “Maybe by the time this song is done / I’ll be able / To be honest” and the rest of the lyrics just hit me like a truck? It hurts the soul in a way. Change is inevitable is the message, so would that mean Janus could have an upgrade? I mean, the change started when SvS Redux happened with him coming out and being accepted by the light sides, so maybe, maybe things will change from there in a good way.

Devil In The Details: “A house of cards / A supple heart / Is not a place to dwell”.... Patton? Oh no. “But know there’s no backing out / This is gonna be reality / You can never dream it out” is going to his reputation and relations with the sides and Thomas? He seemed to have hesitated to say his name and let his reputation down since that would change everything that he has known over the years. Would this mean the dark and light side thing will break in later episodes? Maybe. “I put the past into the ground / I saw the future as a cloud / If there’s still time to turn around / I’m going to” is a big oof. And then... “I am the first one I deceive / If I can make myself believe / The rest is easy” comes in. Is Janus lying to himself? He’s the manifestation of deceit, but is he also doing that to himself? Or it could be to Thomas. But then again...

Come Little Children: Spooky. Nice. This feels like a lullaby. “It must be this way / To weary of life and deceptions / Rest now my children...” and then “The time’s come to play / Here in my garden of shadows” make me think that Janus thinks that this life is quite... painful. I am not too sure about this, tell me what y’all think!

Into The Unknown: Oh it’s not that one. It’s the one from Over The Garden Wall (the animation if I remember it right). I don’t know why, but I saw Come Little Children and connected that to Into the Unknown as words, so that was cool. “Dancing in a swirl / Of golden memories / The loveliest lies / Of all” refers to nostalgia. This song is about nostalgia. Wait. OH WAIT. Patton’s room is all about that... so would that mean nostalgia is also part of Jay Dee too because of the mood around it that is distorted by emotions? That’s something really cool to think about. One more: “If dreams can’t come true / Then why not pretend?” I feel like this points to Virgil in a way because his dream is complete acceptance, but Janus knows V was a dark side, so maybe he’s hinting at Virgil pretending to compensate for the fact that he is a dark side.

Summary:

Janus’ aesthetic would be a 1920-40 vintage theme with jazz on the background, strings and piano used ominous effect, and being flashy and dramatic. He wants to be listened to the other sides, so he puts up different disguises (like to Pat and Lo), which includes his villain facade he put on for the past maybe 2 or 3 years. He strongly believes that society is built on lies, and like in SvS, he doesn’t want Thomas to be disadvantaged in the said society. He loves the whole duality and juxtapositions (I mean, his name is Janus for a good reason) because he embraces them both. He jabs at several sides for them faking themselves to hide their true feelings, but then again, he might also be lying to himself. He knows that change is inevitable after the whole name reveal, and we know that his acceptance arc is going to come. It could be about trust and facing the reality... just my thoughts. In other words, this playlist gave me a bunch of reasons on why Janus is a great morally gray character.

FEEL FREE TO ADD ON! I LOVE SHARING THOUGHTS! Especially with analysis, more people means more thoughts and new ideas and theories. Thank you! 

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter VI]

Word count:  4,675

Warnings: vulgar language

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

______________________________________________

“Renfield,” Count Dracula called. “Wake up.”

The man stirred in his bed, a string of drool escaping his mouth as he changed positions. Count Dracula looked around the room impatiently. When he first came to talk to Renfield, the man had been placed in a padded cell. It seemed now that he had been behaving nicely enough to be transferred to an ordinary room with a bed, a desk and a fenced window. Dracula sat down at the end of the bed and grabbed the man’s ankle. 

“Master!” Renfield shot up awake at once, folding himself up until he was hugging his knees. He laughed nervously, eyes darting around the room. “I-I didn’t call Y/N, I promise you. She came to see me, she did, yes, it was her. Please--”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Renfield drew his eyebrows up and released his own legs. The striped pyjama he had on was too short for him, making him look more like an overgrown child in the Count’s eyes.

“It--it isn’t?” he stammered. 

“I need your opinion on something.”

“Well, of course,” Renfield said, a cheery smile sprouting in his face. “How can I be of service, master?”

Dracula patted the man’s shin the same way someone would do to a dog. 

“Y/N…” he trailed off as the image of her sucking on her own finger popped in his mind. He blinked, trying to clear it off, and stood up. “She…”

A deep frown settled in his face as he paced around the room. 

“She what, sir?” 

Dracula shut his eyes, leaning his head back in concentration.

“She mystifies me,” he spoke in a low voice, more to himself.

“Well--” Renfield started, chuckling nervously again. “How could she possibly mystify you, master? You’ve drank her blood. There are no secrets--”

“Ah, but there are. There must be,” Count Dracula ran his hands through his hair, his mind remained fixated on her face close to his as she teased him endlessly. “She has a power of her own but I haven’t been able to identify what it is yet. She can incite me.”

“Yes,” Renfield drew out slowly. “Y/N has a way of getting into people’s heads.”

Dracula rushed forward, leveling his face with Renfield’s and making the man cringe from him.

“How?” he demanded. “How does she do it?”

“I d-didn’t mean l-literally, master. She knows how to twist words, that’s all I meant.”

“Oh,” he moved away and started pacing again. “It’s more than that, though… Tonight at the museum--”

“Which museum? V&A?”

“Her favourite,” Dracula nodded impatiently. No wonder Renfield would know about her fascination with that particular museum. “The rapture on her face when she walked in,” he smiled, “I thought I had her.”

“She turned the tables on you, didn’t she?” the knowing tone in Renfield’s voice grabbed the Count’s attention. 

“For more than a few seconds, yes,” he exhaled a breath he had no need to hold. “Made me chase her through the museum and fully took control of the situation. I only realised what she’d done after she left.”

“She’s seducing you, master, in your own game of cat and mouse.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Renfield,” Dracula snapped. “I am in control, always, but she bewitched me. She must have.”

He wasn't sure if she was Samson or Delilah anymore.

“Earlier today she came to visit me and asked me about how vampire legends might apply to you,” Renfield shook his head and rose his hands to add to the veracity of his words. “I revealed nothing, my lord.”

Dracula narrowed his eyes, pulling his lips down.. 

“Did she, now?”

Renfield nodded solemnly. 

The Count rolled his head on his shoulders. Who was she? What was she to affect him like that? The memories in her blood told nothing of that. He knew she was too headstrong to propose a deal of that nature to him. Now he was finally understanding where her intentions lied. Delilah, indeed.

“Thank you, Renfield. You’ve been quite helpful. I must go pay her a visit.”

  ______________________________________________

Her shower turned off moments after he arrived at her house. It distracted Count Dracula from Lucy’s text message, begging him for another bite. Lucy was addicted enough now that she didn’t care that he had drank from her only a few days ago. While tilting her head back and sinking his teeth in her certainly appealed to the bloodthirsty monster in him, he was curiously more interested in watching Y/N. 

Dracula clicked a button on the mobile’s side and the screen turned off. He slid the device on one of his coat’s deep pockets, feeling the outline of the book Y/N had lent him earlier that night. He retrieved it to look at the bright colours on the cover depicting a giant squid wrapped around a submarine. The memories on her blood weren’t needed for him to know that she loved this book. The pages were yellowed and a bit tattered, much like the cover’s edges, and it smelled like her, albeit one from long long ago. She must have read it dozens of times and yet he couldn’t find anything definitive about the book’s story in her blood. All he could gather were the character’s names, nothing more.

The bathroom’s door opened, deviating his attention from the book. He couldn’t see into her bedroom from where he was sat. Dracula stood up, balancing himself easily on the roof’s edge from the neighbouring house and made his way to a spot where he could get a better view. Beneath him, squared neatly between her house and Diana’s stood the back yard. It was spacious enough to contain a fountain, an old fashioned metal swing and a small vegetable garden. He stopped walking as she came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel and he knelt on his ankles as to not draw attention. 

Blood rushed hot through her veins, the sound of it nearly as erotic as her seminude body. Teeth elongated inside his mouth, their sharp edges poking at his lips and forcing him to part his mouth. She drew thin curtains, allowing only her silhouette to be seen. Book still in hand, Dracula lept down to the garden to keep her in his sight, landing soundlessly on the grass. 

He waited. 

“Look at me,” he said in the dead of night.

He wanted her to see the red of his gaze. Watch the terror on her face as she realised that the game was over and that she couldn’t beat him. With every drop of her blood, he would make her his.

Glass shattered to his left and Dracula swung his head to see a woman standing in the doorway. He cursed his impulses silently. It wasn’t often that he let himself get so carried away that he failed to pay attention to his surroundings. A cat slipped between the woman’s legs, hopping over the puddle of water and shards, and made a run for the hedges at the back of the property. Wind swept the woman’s silver and pepper away from her face, her hand frozen in front of her body as if she was still holding the glass. 

“Hello, Diana.”

______________________________________________

I woke up with the sound of water. A quick look at the time on my phone made me hop out of bed instantly.

“Shit, I’m late!”

No more dates with a vampire midweek. 

I peeked behind the curtains to check on the weather and to determine what should I wear for the day. Dark and heavy clouds covered the sky which meant I would have to whip out some boots for the storm on the way. A shape on the garden attracted my attention. Diana was standing in the middle of it, staring into nothing as she held a garden hose. A patch of earth beneath my window was soaked with water, like she had been watering that spot for more than a few minutes. I knocked on the window to get her attention but she didn’t react to it. I furrowed my eyebrows. There was no reason for her to water the garden when there was a storm coming. She hardly ever used that hose.

“Di?” I called after opening my window.

She blinked several times and looked up with a weak smile.

“Morning, Y/N.”

“Aren’t you going to work?”

“I’m not feeling very well today so I called in sick.”

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked and she shook her head. “Right. You might consider changing spots or we’re going get a swimming pool there.”

“Oh.” She looked at the wet spot she had been watering and redirected the stream of water to another side of the garden. “I got distracted.”

Satisfied now that I had managed to shake her out of her stupor, I closed my window and hurried to get ready. As I brushed my teeth, I noticed that the bite mark on my neck had a yellow tonality on the skin surrounding the punctures, which were nothing more than scabs now. The only bruising left was from Renfield and it remained a steady shade of purple and blue. I wrapped a wool scarf around my neck to spare people, and myself, from the view. 

A quick look at my phone informed me that it was 7:35am as I flew down the stairs, carrying a pair of boots and a purse. I sat down at the last step of the stairs, fitting each boot on my feet with disregard for the welfare of my toes. Losing a toe would be better than hearing Judge Llewellyn scolding me again for being late. My phone started ringing as I grabbed my briefcase. Cursing under my breath, I opened the front door, trying to balance my purse, briefcase and keys as I answered the phone and stuck it between my cheek and shoulder.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Roger from St Thomas’ Hospital. Can I find a Y/N L/N in this number?”

“This is she,” I replied, stepping out to the street. 

“I’m calling concerning Francis Renfield. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

I stopped trying to lock my door and shut my eyes, making a silent prayer.

“Is he dead?”

“Dead? No, miss,” he paused and I took a breath. “I’m calling on his behalf. He’s requested for some of his own books. He mentioned that you might be able to get them for him.”

Once I finished locking my door, I hurried down the steps, almost running to the nearby main road.

“Yes, of course. I have a key for his flat. I can-”

“Good. So here’s the list he gave me. Faust by hm huh… Got?--”

“Goethe,” I said impatiently. “I don’t have a pen right now to take note. Take a photo of the list and send it to me. I’ll drop by with the books around 6pm. Thanks, Robert.”

I shook my briefcase wildly to get the attention of a cab on the other side of the road. He braked instantly.

“It’s Roger.”

“Yeah, sorry. Bye!”

______________________________________________

As I went up the lift in St Thomas Hospital, heading for the psych ward, I realised I had successfully gone an entire day without giving Count Dracula much thought. Well. Almost. Now that I had that consideration in mind all I could do was wonder what he had planned for our next date. The prospect of controlling my impulses while near him wasn’t appealing, or dealing with his unbearable charm. Knowing he had no regard for my life didn’t help either. But I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t curious about what he had in store next. 

I closed my hands in fists. It didn’t matter if Renfield wanted to serve him or not. Dracula had taken away his free will and I wouldn’t simply accept that fact and carry on with my life. That had to be more important than my interest in the Count. 

“Do you need help with that?” 

I blinked, suddenly realising that the lift had stopped at my destination. I looked at the woman holding the door open for me and then to the cardboard box brimming with books at my feet.

“If it’s no bother. It isn’t exactly light,” I said.

She nodded once. I pushed the box forward with my feet so we could both take hold of each side. As she reached down, a hospital band slid to her wrist. I frowned as I took note of how pale the woman looked.

“Wait, no,” I began, making the woman look at me. “I shouldn’t bother you with this. You are not-”

“What? Healthy? In the best condition? Doesn’t matter as long as I have strength in this body,” she shot back matter-of-factly. When she smiled I noticed her teeth were slightly bucked. “Being polite won’t stop me from dying. Lead the way.”

She stared at me. 

“Okay,” I conceded, trying to unfurrow my brows. 

We carried the box out of the lift until we reached the nurse’s station beneath a plaque announcing that we were at St Thomas’ psychward. I signaled for us to stop at the station and we put the box down. The hospital band on her wrist had shifted angles and I was able to clearly make out a name as we stood up.

“Van Helsing?” I questioned, unable to conceal my bewilderment.

She glanced at the hospital band and then back at me.

“It’s a Dutch surname,” she explained with a small eye roll as if she was used to that question.

A bandage on the side of her neck drew my attention. What were the odds?

“As in Agatha Van Helsing?” I tried.

“As in Zoe Van Helsing,” she narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that name?”

“I think we might have a friend in common,” I murmured. I fumbled at my scarf, pretending to adjust it so I could grant her a small look on my neck. Risky, but it was the best option for me.

Zoe's eyebrows shot up. Her gaze lingered on my neck after I covered it and I smiled triumphantly. She knew.

“I wouldn’t call him a friend,” she finally said.

“Me neither,” I replied. She smiled back at me, though hesitantly. “Do you have time for a chat?”

She nodded. 

“Let’s do this on my car.”

“Yeah, give me a second.”

I found a post-it inside my purse and scribbled quickly “Deliver to Francis Renfield, patient in the psychward. From Y/N L/N. ” I stuck it to the cover of The Picture of Dorian Gray, the book standing on top of one of the piles, and then gestured for Zoe that we could go. 

I could barely breathe as we took the lift down to the car lot. After analysing Zoe, I wasn’t sure she breathed either. Finding someone else that I could talk to wasn’t the solace I was looking for but it was better than nothing. Taking by Zoe’s words she wasn’t any fonder of Count Dracula than I was. 

We were met with heavy rain once outside the hospital. To our right stood a car lot. Zoe pointed at the largest car in the lot, a black Land Rover parked a few feet from the main entrance. Lowering our heads as a feeble attempt to shield ourselves from the rain, we ran for it. The car beeped twice once we got close to it. I flung open the passenger’s door and threw myself in, followed closely by Zoe on the driver’s side. We closed the doors in unison. Sticking the key in the car’s dashboard, she clicked some buttons next to the steering wheel and hot air started coming from the air system. I ran my hands down my hair, trying to get most of the water out. 

“Count Dracula bit you,” she said simply. I looked at the bandage on her neck. “And me. Although from what I saw from your scar, he wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“No, he wasn’t. Was he trying to kill you ?”

Zoe turned her body on her seat as she plucked up a corner of the bandage and then threw her brown hair back to offer me a better view. The skin around it was as purple as the strangulation mark beneath my jaw. While the outline of teeth was as clear as day on my neck, her wound was a serrated gash with stitches over it that tried to mend it back. 

“Jesus…” I winced. 

“Yes, well. I suppose he treats his future brides to be much better than he treats his victims.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so shocked. It really isn’t that far of a leap and and by the expression on your face, I’d say I’m right.”

“What’s your connection to Agatha?”

“Distant relative. How do you know about her?”

“He told me.”

“Told you? God, you really must be special,” she said and then frowned. “Did he tell you she was a nun?”

“He killed a nun?” I shook my head and waved a hand to dismiss my last words. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Should expect worse from him, frankly.”

“Yes, you should. I would bet he hasn’t told you every little thing about him. He might not show you his worst side, I think.”

“I’m fairly acquainted with it. It’s why I’m here at the hospital. Dracula made a friend of mine his servant,” I grumbled as I ran a finger on the sore line on my neck. “Renfield didn’t take too kindly-”

“Renfield? The lawyer?”

 I blinked.

“Yes. How-” I stopped, piecing it together. It was a leap, much like Zoe had put it, but all things considered, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. “You work for that Foundation, don’t you? The Jonathan Harker Foundation. That’s the only explanation for you knowing both Count Dracula and Renfield. Frank got Dracula out of there. Don’t be so shocked,” I imitated, smiling. “I work with Renfield and sometimes I assist him with his clients. I lucked out.”

“Some luck,” she rose her eyebrows. 

“What stopped him from killing you? Don’t get me wrong but I highly doubt he would just let you go if you had him trapped.”

“I’ve got cancer working on my favour. His appetite doesn’t include that.”

Her skin’s sickly pale shade and her comment at the lift suddenly made sense. Cancer was working against her but I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“I wish his appetite didn’t include me,” I scoffed. “But I can’t escape him.”

She shook her head. 

“Not if he’s interested in you. I think the only reason he didn’t murder each and all of us at the Jonathan Harker Foundation is because we weren’t intriguing enough for him,” she paused, creasing her brow. “I don’t want to be invasive but would you mind giving me a few samples?”

“Samples?”

“I’m a doctor. Vampirism is a field that I’m fairly new to and my only test subject is uncooperative. Cancer corrupted most of the scientific evidence on my blood,” she spoke fast, like she was afraid I would leave. “You’re my patient zero.”

I watched her carefully, waiting for a sign; one that told me that she was manipulating me, or waiting for my intuition to tell me something was off, or perhaps for my bond to Count Dracula to finally interfere on his behalf. There was none. Now that I knew who and what she did, I realised how dangerous it was to be sitting in a car with her. Count Dracula had escaped the grasps of the Foundation but not without legal aide, which probably meant Zoe Van Helsing had serious resources to imprison Count Dracula. With a start I realised that she could be my way out of that damned deal I had proposed.

“He’ll definitely kill me if he finds out,” I said with a sigh. “What do you need?”

Zoe grinned, a glint appearing on her tired eyes.

“Blood samples and some tissue from where Dracula bit you, a small piece of scab should do,” she said as she reached in the backseat and pulled an aluminum briefcase. Setting it in her lap, she opened it, casting me a quick glance. “Take off your coat.”

“Oh, we’re doing it now, right.”

I removed my scarf and coat. She made me rest my right elbow on the support pad between us before tying a rubber band above the elbow ditch. Once satisfied, she stuck a needle on me before I could look away, making me emit a small yelp.

“Don’t like having your blood taken?” she chuckled. 

“Not like this,” I responded.

Zoe shot me a look and I grimaced. 

“You liked it when he bit you?” she asked, concentrating now on the vial filling with my blood.

“Can we change the subject?”

“It can help with my research.”

“Are you being serious or just prying?” the question was packed with an anger I hadn’t expected.

“Both,” she shrugged. She changed the full vial for an empty one. When the new one started filling, she stared at me. “Well?”

“Yes. It felt good. More than good, actually. A close second to sex,” I measured how much between my thumb and forefinger on my free hand. Catching the frown and wide eyes in Zoe’s face, I shook my head vigorously. “Not with him. That’s never happening.”

The memory of his body over mine made me shift on my seat. I swallowed dryly.

“Really?”

“Never.”

“I’m not judging you, it’s just that you don’t seem to be so sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m just the doctor,” while her expression was dead serious, the mischievous glint in her eyes gave her away. “Did it hurt at first?” I nodded. “And then it felt good?” Another nod. “I’ll test for dopamine and endorphins, as well. Those are our own bodies happy drugs. He might have some in his saliva in order to make it feel pleasurable.”

“Has it occurred to you that it might just be magic?” I asked as she changed vials again.

“Magic? Please. Some things pertaining Count Dracula might be magic but consuming blood is not one of them. Much like some snakes have venom to make it easier to eat their prey, I believe he might have an equivalent to that.”

“Well, did it work on you?”

“What?”

“Did you feel euphoric when he bit you?”

“No. I was terrified,” she replied. I raised my eyebrows at her and she shook her head. “Because it worked on you and not on me doesn’t mean it’s magic. Maybe he has some way of controlling the effect his bite has on people. We’re done with the blood samples. Now for the neck.”

She pulled the needle out and put a cotton pad over the tiny hole on my arm. She rose a vial, a marker pen in hand to write on the label. 

“Y/N L/N,” I provided before she asked. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” she chuckled, scribbling my name on all three vials. Next, she grabbed a pair of tweezers and a smaller vial. “Pull your hair back.”

I obeyed and tipped my head for her. There was a bit of pressure on the wound and then a tiny pinch followed by a burning sensation, making me yelp again.

“God, you’re dramatic,” she muttered. 

I snuck a glance at her and caught her smirk.

“Only a little,” I said, returning to my normal posture as she placed a small piece of skin inside the vial. “What kind of cancer is it?”

“Pancreatic. Death sentence, really. Not many people survive it.”

“How long do you have?”

“I don’t know. It’s stage four. I decided against getting chemo the moment I got the diagnosis because I know it’s basically useless in this case. I’m relying solely on palliative care here at St Thomas Hospital,” she shrugged as she organised all the vials inside the briefcase. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re being great help. How many times has he bit you?”

“Only this once. And not enough to turn me, he says. He would’ve done it again, I think, if I had let him.”

“Let him? ”

I smirked at her disbelief.

“Yes, long story but basically I made him a deal where he’ll only bite me or turn me if I allow him.”

She blinked, mouth slightly agape.

“Why would you do that?”

“When I made that deal I thought I was being clever for bargaining when I was actually just bluffing. I won’t be able to stall for much longer, that much I know. I don’t want to be like him,” my voice trembled and I cleared my throat. “I have dates with him set for the future - don’t ask. If I find a way to distract him, have him at the right place at the right time…” I scrutinized her face with every word, “would you be willing to capture him again?”

She stared at me.

“It might get us both killed.”

“I know.”

She closed the briefcase with a definitive sound.

“I’ll do it but, we’ll need time to plan. I spent over 3 months planning how to get him out of the sea without casualties and we still had plenty of them. I’ll handle that part. He has weaknesses, such as the sun, religious items and diseased blood. Try to find something else to our advantage,” she straightened, raising her chin. “You might have to let him bite you.”

“Thought you would suggest that,” I muttered. “He would probably trust me more. But the minute I let him do it, he’ll know about us plotting against him. He can do this thing when he drinks someone’s blood-”

“I forgot about that. Hell.”

“I’ll keep leading him on until we figure it out,” I assured her with way more confidence than I felt. “What’s so interesting about vampirism to you, anyway?”

Zoe placed the briefcase on the backseat again before answering me.

“How does someone’s body not change in over five centuries? Dracula cut his wrist to let me collect his blood and the wound closed itself right before my eyes. It’s isn’t just magic, Y/N. There is a science to it, there must be.”

I stared at her.

“Five centuries without any disease,” I added as I put on my coat again. “That’s it, isn’t it, Zoe? You think his blood holds the answer to your cure.”

Her frown was deep.

“The Foundation isn’t about me. Curing diseases is one its goals, yes, and I won’t lie to you and say I don’t wish I could be rid of this thing eating me away. But it’s not just it. The world would change if we could isolate all the aspects in his blood-” she shook her head. “I can’t tell you more than that.” She pulled out a mobile phone from her jeans’ back pocket. “Give me your number."

I narrowed my eyes at her. Zoe was reticent enough about the Foundation to make me suspicious. A clandestine operation, Renfield had said. But did I really care? 

“Fine,” I said and recited my number. “Calls only.”

“Agreed, less evidence this way,” she put her mobile back on her pocket. “I’ll call you over the next few days so we can set up a meeting. I’ll need more samples so I can follow up on your case’s progression.”

“Sure,” I said, wrapping my scarf around my neck. “I hope this works.”

She nodded, her fringe swaying to the sides as she did so.

“Me, too. Oh, make sure you take a shower and put your clothes on the washer when you get home. He’ll be able to smell me on you if you don’t.”

I grabbed my things and rolled my eyes. 

“‘Bloodhound’ certainly applies well to him, doesn’t it?” I said.

Zoe was still chuckling when I hopped out of the car and ran from the rain.

 .

.

Taglist: @festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @girlonfireice​ @dreamer2381​ @rheabalaur​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ 

I am so sorry if I forgot to anyone... please let me know if I did

[iwrestlenow]

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 14)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: A gift from the past secures the future. Knowledge is our greatest defense.

Or, this time, Logan means it when he says he'll never let go.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of violence and death related grossness (i.e., decomposition and fantasy derived nastiness)

There's an epilogue after this, so sorry it's kinda short--and I'm not kidding, guys, shippy bullshit to follow for the next 739 years.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1023, A.A.

Thomas felt a little bit like he was going insane.

Venturing through the deepest of the forgotten sewer tunnels beneath the palace, he shut his eyes and thought of Nico—his unruly curls, his too wide smile, his infectious laughter.

It wasn't his imagination—he heard it echo, somewhere worlds away, bright as the sun.

The grief knotted tight in his chest for an instant before it began to loosen again, bleeding comfort into the raw places in his heart.

They keep the Vigil. He reminded himself. Outlaw wouldn't lie to you.

Taking a deep breath, he quickened his pace.

Once he reached it—a break in the tunnel, where the unfinished pipe sharply cut off into stone and earth, Thomas knelt before the spot where he'd buried the parcel that Outlaw—Josiah Crofter—sent him.

A simple wooden box containing a vial of ashes and a single thread.

“You know what the Vigil is: our funeral rite, our means of keeping the dead alive in the worlds beyond. The Necromata got no souls, so memory's all we have. So we lay their body to rest, and the memories...trinkets, letters, clothing...we give to the funeral pyre. One that never ceases burning.”

Reaching into his belt, Thomas pulled out a dagger.

“When the fire dies, ashes are collected from the freshest embers and kept—and every year, they are added to a fresh pyre. Ashes are collected. The cycle repeats. The fire always burns...so long as the Necromata hold the flint and steel, the Vigil will continue.”

Gritting his teeth, Thomas lay the dagger against his palm, took a breath—and drew the blade against his skin with firm, even pressure.

“But the power of the Vigil is stronger than that. A secret, long kept by our people...that the Vigil don't just safeguard life after death.”

The skin yielded beneath the blade, weeping a garish line of crimson.

“It can safeguard life itself.”

Thomas bit his lip at the sting, but made a fist over the little mound of earth before him.

“The vial I gave you—the embers of your beloved's Vigil, a single thread from the handkerchief you gave me, stained with his blood. Buried 'neath your palace, you join us in the Vigil's keep...offer it blood and a blessing, and the Sacred Souls will let your beloved keep yours in turn.”

He watched his blood hit the dirt, little drops of red catching kernels of earth on their surface.

“The living remember the dead to keep them alive...so it goes when the dead remember the living.”

“For our sons, my love.” Thomas whispered. “For them, and them alone, keep my Vigil.”

The drops of blood sank into the earth so abruptly it startled him.

He heard his husband's laughter again—barely an echo, worlds away.

Even as his tears began to fall, Thomas felt himself smile.

********** 1033, A.A.

THOMAS.

It didn't feel like coming back to life—it felt like remembering.

The heartbeat that eluded his thoughts, the breath that danced on the edge of his consciousness, thoughts and reason and existence that lay just on the tip of his tongue.

A body to live, of course, how had he forgotten? Eyes to open...yes, certainly...

...well, that was a little bit harder. Something was wrong, terribly wrong...

That was when Thomas realized that his body hurt—everything hurt.

“...I may be mortal, but I am still a Weaver...with power over life and death.”

Somehow, over the sudden din, Thomas heard the choked sound of someone unable to breathe. It was a sound he vaguely recognized—a sound that chilled his blood, which already felt strange moving through his veins...chill, sluggish...

THOMAS.

...Nico?...

FOR OUR SON...KEEP THE VIGIL.

Thomas finally managed to open his eyes, head slowly rolling to the side.

The first thing he saw was the door of his bedchamber shattering. A hound swiftly followed, a massive creature with glowing blue eyes that made a beeline for one of the royal guard. Half paralyzed, half fascinated, he watched the animal's jaws close around the guard's throat and his head shake, tearing flesh...

Ichor, black and nauseating, spurted from the guard's throat instead of blood.

On the animal's heels came...yes, that was a heart healer, picking through the splintered wood with a look of horror on his face. A mage came to his side, a prison mage from the look of his robes.

He heard swords clashing—a gleeful cry of triumph. Oh, Remus, his beloved slice of chaos personified...

If Remus could bellow like that, however, he could breathe.

Thomas's eyes finally found the middle of the room—a chair, Roman's body slumped in unconsciousness.

THOMAS.

“I know.” Thomas croaked, struggling to sit up. Every one of his joints felt stiff and brittle, his throat sandpaper rasping one face to another.

Still, he got to his feet. Still, he stumbled over to where Roman sat, reaching out a too thin, too gnarled hand to pat his cheek.

“Ro...Ro...Ro—damn it. Roman!”

Roman stirred, his eyes slowly blinking open with a moan.

“...not...Ro...Roman...”

“What? I don't understand...”

Roman's head lolled to one side, his features paling. Thomas followed his gaze...

He knew the soldier—Colonel Mori, the man he'd barred from that young necromancer's presence once he'd realized what had been done to the poor child.

A poor child sprawled on his back—and Thomas couldn't be sure how, but he knew, he felt it in that place within his chest that tingled when Remus learned a new way to blow something up. He knew it in that place behind his brain that lit up when Roman was about to burst into his chambers with some new poem or story.

The part of him branded father strained towards whatever it was within Roman that was branded son, and Thomas knew it was in the wrong body.

“Rest.” he reassured the boy in Roman's body, patting his shoulder. “I'll be back in a moment.”

Straightening, his limbs grew looser as anger swelled in his chest...no, rage.

Rage for the young life that had been stolen. Rage for his son, who lay dying on the ground—rage for a man that he hated for what he'd done to someone Thomas respected and trusted.

Rage, even, for his broken bedchamber door, and the bodies falling all around the room. Rage filled him, revitalized him, resurrected him from the last dying embers of the grave.

Walking up behind an unsuspecting Mori, Thomas reached out and, without a single shred of regret, grabbed the man from behind to pull him close.

“I should have let the executioner do this ten years ago.” he spat in Mori's ear before he gripped his chin in one hand, secured the other at the right angle, and wrenched with a cry of fury that only died when he heard the satisfying snap of bone and sinew.

He swore, as Mori fell, that he could hear another voice alongside his—no longer worlds away, but so close he could nearly smell the bright citrus of his favorite cologne.

“I'm sorry, my love—but today is not our day.” Thomas couldn't stop himself from whispering. “Wait for me?”

Nico's laughter rang right in his ear, clear and true, before it receded back into the worlds beyond the reach of the living once again.

Roman.

Remembering in the absence of two men's anger, Thomas fell to his knees. The body before him was too still, the eyes glassy and distant.

“Roman...Roman, please!...”

“Your Majesty.”

Thomas turned sharply. At some point, the din had died and silence fell heavy over the room. A young cadet knelt beside him, blood and ichor staining his clothing and his cheek. His eyes were wide and haunted.

“No.” Thomas breathed as the cadet looked to the body on the floor and reached out to gently close its eyes. “No, no no no...”

Arms wrapped around Thomas from behind. Tears dampened his neck—blindly, shaking, Thomas reached behind him to run soothing fingers through Remus's hair.

“Logan, he—he has a Claim.” Remus stammered through deep sobs. “He—he can't be dead. Not when Logan can't...when he can't...”

Thomas didn't understand, but as he glanced towards the chair where Roman's body had been slumped, he watched Roman stand slowly, shuffling towards them, and kneel carefully on the other side of Roman's corpse.

“The Claim is bound to flesh, and it suspends when the soul leaves the body.” the necromancer in Roman's body replied—Logan, his eyes cold and hard and nothing at all like his dear, passionate son.

“He wasn't supposed to come for me.” he continued, running a hand over Roman's hair, his voice too flat, too lifeless. “I warned him...”

Logan trailed off, his eyes widening. Something dangerously like hope sparked in Thomas's chest.

Before he could even draw breath, Logan slammed a fist into the corpse's chest.

********** Knowledge.

“Logan, what the fuck?”

Knowledge is how.

Logan planted his palm in the middle of Roman's chest.

He covered his hand with his other, firmly meshed his fingers.

It is our best weapon...and our best defense.

Throwing all his weight behind it, Logan drove his hands into Roman's breastbone, establishing a steady rhythm.

“Logan, you gotta stop...”

“Virgil, move.”

Remus's voice, deafening silence. Logan kept his gaze focused on his hands in Roman's chest, tried to keep his vision clear so he could do it right.

The way Roman taught him, as his brother taught him.

“Stop.”

Remus's voice. Logan stopped.

Roman's chest barely lifted, then sank.

“Go.”

Logan resumed the compressions. A rhythm, a count...

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Stop. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Stop.

The vital breath—a means to raise the dead without magic.

The cycle continued. Logan gave up his soul with every thrust of the heel of his hand, let it fly into the ether, let it burn to nothing and filled himself instead with Remus's brisk instruction, with the drumbeat of the pulse he desperately tried to tattoo into Roman's chest--

“Logan, stop!”

Logan stopped. Someone was coughing, spasming, rolling to the side...

With an animalistic wail of agony, Logan flung himself around Roman, and followed his soul out of his body.

********** When Roman came to, he was hacking, his lungs burning, his whole body feeling...

...he lost the feeling as dizziness overcame him, and he was suddenly holding Logan instead of being held, the smaller man wracked with wheezing, desperate gasps for air. Everything still felt chaotic, off-kilter...

Chaos. The Animator.

This time, when Roman gathered him close, Logan didn't rear back. He burrowed hard into Roman's chest, shaking like a leaf, and clung so hard to Roman's shoulders he was certain there would be half moons left behind of Logan's nails on skin. Holding him tight, Roman surveyed the rest of his father's bedchamber.

There were bodies everywhere, many of them untouched. There was some blood, but most of the black stuff that filled the air with the smell of rotting death had been spilled from bodies under the Animator's control that were so long dead that their blood had turned to sludge—and now that they were inanimate again, in varying stage of decomposition as they lay, mutilated.

The only people left standing were the victors.

Emile and Remy, wrapped around each other, Emile strangely calm while Remy's solid black eyes took it all in with an equally strange, haunted expression.

Virgil and Remus, side by side, kneeling there before him. Virgil was visibly swaying, but Remus looked perfectly serene—blood and ichor dotting his face, smearing his hands, a rock in the middle of the rapids.

Janus, standing in the middle of the room, equally stained by battle and yet no less resplendent for it. By his side, still in animal form was Patton, calmly licking the blood off one massive paw. Janus had his fingers barely stroking Patton's head, and the side of his face layered with scales was spattered heavily with that same combination of red blood and black rot.

As Janus met his gaze and smiled, Roman felt certain in that moment that Janus had surrendered to Patton the human portion of his dual drake's soul.

Then there was his father, just at his elbow—somehow beautifully, miraculously, alive and watching him with a watery smile. He still looked...well, terrible, features still too thin and leathery, his pallor still that of a corpse dessicated by magic, but his eyes were open and sparkling with real, vibrant life.

“Hold on,” Roman breathed as he smiled back at his father and pulled Logan impossibly closer, “don't let go.”

Logan laughed, then hiccuped, pressing his face to Roman's neck. For the first time in ten years, Roman felt himself draw a true breath: free, clear, and clean as Logan clung to him tight and meant the words as he said them.

“I never have. I never will.”

[banalbones]

The Petite Prince: Chapter 4

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, 7, 8

Chapter 4: The Treasure Hunt, Part 1

Summary: Roman is a child. Virgil and Logan lost him, and are on a quest to find him. Meanwhile, Remus loves his baby bro.

Words: 1920

Ships: Familial prinxiety, logince and Creativitwins. Eventual familial royality, roceit and DRLAMP  

Genre: Fluff with a side dose of angst

Warnings: swears, falling, arguing, creepy little gnomes, tell me if there’s any more!

Taglist: @pricklyfish777 @sunflowerblondeuwu @itriedandimtired @draw-your-perfect-world

_____________________________

“Virgil?”

“Yea- oh no…”

“Exactly.”

_____________________________

Logan knew many idiots.

Roman, for one, when he was not a child. Patton, Remus, Thomas and even Virgil, from time to time, were on it.

Logan never knew he could be included on that list, but there he was.

He and Virgil had checked every room in the mindpalace, even Janus’s, but searching for a small child you can’t help but love, whilst simultaneously panicking because you had lost said child, makes you forget certain things.

Remus being certain things.

The pair had somehow managed to forget about the one person (or metaphysical person) who would willingly cause the angelic young prince harm.

The one person!

How does that even happen? How could one overlook something so dire?

Meaning, the resident nerd was in a bad state.

Virgil was in an even worse state.

Logan picked up the small paper crown, being careful not to tear it, and looked to the anxious side.

He really didn’t look great.

_____________________________

He looked horrible, actually.

Hey! It wasn’t that bad!

It was.

_____________________________

Virgil really didn’t look great.

Or feel great, for that matter.

They had lost the bean, which was bad enough, he had already been panicking about that, but, losing the bean to Remus?

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Thoughts were such a beautiful insight to one’s character.

The emo looked to where Logan stood, then to the deep depths of the Dark Imagination.

He had already been to the ‘Light’ Imagination, with its singing birds (annoying) and its lush forestry (also annoying), but the Dark Imagination was still a mystery.

It was comprised of living trees, dead trees, semi-dead trees and any other things that Remus could have thought up.

Meaning, Virgil was terrified to go.

But, he (and Logan) would do what had to be done to save the bean.

_____________________________

Why do you keep calling him ‘the bean’?

‘Cause that’s what I was calling him in my head the whole time.

Aww, cute!

Shut up.

_____________________________

As the left brain boys mentally prepared themselves to go into the hidden depths of the forest of the Dark Imagination, the two brothers (you can’t exactly call them twins at the moment) were having the time of their life.

In Remus’s room, of course.

Remus had seen his fellow sides enter the Imagination, and came up with a brilliant plan.

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

“Hey RoRo, do you wanna prank LoLo and Virgey?”

“Wha d’you have in mi- have in min- in mind?”

“How about we make them go on a little treasure hunt?”

“Yeah!”

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

The smol one hadn’t been hard to convince. He also didn’t know that he was the treasure, which was kinda funny actually, seeing as he kept asking what it was.

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

“Wha’s the trea- the treasure?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“But I don’ wanna…”

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

So, while Logan and Virgil panicked about the paper crown, Roman and Remus created a devious little ‘treasure hunt’.

“Can they figh’ a dra- a dragon?” The miniature royal asked.

Remus looked to the map of the Dark Imagination he had laid out on the table.

“Sure.” He grinned. “Armor and weapons or no?”

Roman giggled.

“With!”

Damnit.

Remus suppressed a groan.

“Whatever you say, little prince.”

_____________________________

The forest was dark and creepy and honestly kind of disturbing.

Virgil shuddered as he caught sight of one of the flying eyes that were following them.He tried to keep his eyes in front of him.

He was failing, but it’s the thought that counts.

“There’s a tower, maybe a mile away.” Logan muttered.

“That’s probably where he’s keeping Roman,”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

A pause.

“I though you didn’t have that one.”

“I now do.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“No, you can’t, you can hear it.”

“Same difference!”

“That doesn’t even make sen-oh shit!”

Oh shit?

Virgil looked over to Logan.

Wait, where was he?

“Loga-AhHhHhHhHhH!”

_____________________________

Ow. That was unpleasant.

Logan stood up.

Or attempted to stand up.

“Ow!”

Why was this place so small? And dark? He was already blind, for crying out loud. Also, where was Virgil?

…

“AhHhHhHhH!”

…

There, apparently.

“Don’t stand up.”

“What the fu-ow!”

He sighed.

That was what happened when one didn’t follow his instruction.

“I know that sigh. Logan?”

“Yes. It is me, Virgil.”

“You could have warned me about the ceiling.”

“I did.”

“And the hole.”

“I literally fell through it before you. How could I possibly have warned you?”

“By screaming ‘hole’ instead of ‘oh shit’.”

“Well-”

 “HeLlO bOyS!” A voice screeched from somewhere in the darkness.

Virgil screamed and grabbed Logan’s arm.

Ow. Why do I keep getting hurt?

“I hAvE a RiDdLe FoR yOu!”

Virgil tightened his grip, causing Logan to wince.

“What is it?” he questioned.

Might as well.

There was a sound of a throat being cleared.

“WhAt Is SmAlL aNd CuTe, LoVeD wHeN yOuNg BuT nOt WhEn OlD? AnSwEr CoRrEcTlY aNd DoN’t GeT eAtEn By GnOmEs!”

The voice then laughed (or screeched, depending on how nice you are) and disappeared.

For a moment there was silence.

Then,

“What?”

_____________________________

Remus and Roman cackled as they viewed what was happening through the fly-eyes. The treasure hunt was going as perfectly as planned.

(Apart from the two getting hurt, Roman had frowned at Remus for that, causing Remus to pout back. The exchange had ended in giggles.)

“Hey ReeRee?”

“Yeah?”

“I wan’ my cro- I wan’ my crown back.”

Remus turned his head to view the three year old.

_____________________________

He actually looked four at this point.

How come?

He was getting happier, so he was getting older.

Oh.

_____________________________

“Do you want a new one?”

“No.”

“Do you want some cuddles instead?”

“Maybe… but my- but my cr- cr-crown…”

Remus saw the smol one’s lip start wobbling, and oh god if it wasn’t the most heartbreaking thing (apart from hammers).

“Do you want Virgey and LoLo to bring it back?”

And then, as if by magic, Roman adorable little grin returned. He lunged forward, hugging Remus’s long, skinny legs.

“Yeah!”

Remus inwardly let out a sigh of relief. He loved his little brother with all of his (admittedly, shrivelled) heart, but he wasn’t prepared to deal with tears.

“Do you still want cuddles?”

“Duuuuh!”

_____________________________

“A toy?”

The screechy laugh returned.

“YoU iDiOtS! tHe AnSwEr WaS rOmAn! GoOd LuCk WiTh ThE gNoMeS!”

Virgil, for a moment just sat there, shocked.

Roman?

The moment lasted for approximately 0.6 seconds as the sound of footsteps filled the hole.

Many, many footsteps.

Virgil swallowed, his breathing quickening, as Logan scooched closer to him.

Then music started playing.

Virgil took a breath.

Do it for the bean.

_____________________________

“Holy mother of hell.”

That had been terrifying. Even for Logic himself.

He had screamed. So had Virgil. And so they decided they would never speak of the incident ever again.

Logan took a few deep breaths as he regarded his and Virgil’s attire.

His tie was ripped, along with his shirt, and Virgil’s jeans were more than a little worse for wear.

Getting away from the gnomes had been easier one would think, simply crawling through the hole they (he shuddered) had come from allowed them to escape.

It had led the pair to a cave in which they were able to stand.

Thank Einstein, I hate crawling.

 “So, now what?” Virgil’s voice echoed throughout the cave.

Logan stepped forward.

Do it for the child.

“We walk.”

_____________________________

Roman, after a healthy dose of ReeRee cuddles, started to feel curious.

There was so much stuff in Remus’s room, after all, and though his ankle still kinda hurt, he still reeeeeally wanted to poke it all.

Possibly with a stick.

“BroBro, stick?” he asked, missing the way Remus’s face filled with joy at being called ‘BroBro’.

“On the way, your highness.”

Roman like the nicknames. Big him never really got all these nice ones.

After being handed the stick by a grinning Remus, the petite prince took a stool (Or what seemed most like a stool) and started calmly climbing the shelves, poking at the stuff in the jars if it was colorful enough to catch his eye.

Remus, on the other hand, was laying on the floor, hands on his heart.

BroBro.

It was so. Pure.

The young prince would perhaps heal his blackened soul.

The Duke was so distracted by the purity of his baby brother that he didn’t even try to dodge the glob of purple luminescent slime.

He blinked.

And heard a snort of barely muffled laughter.

“I’ve been betrayed,” the trash man said dramatically, “By my own brother, no less!”

More giggles were escaping.

“And I am now… dead.”

Remus let his head flop, hitting the floor with a small crack.

After a few seconds, he felt a small finger poke at his cheek (How had that kid managed to get down so fast?) and a voice.

“ReeRee?”

“Ahhh!”

Remus jumped up to lift his little prince into the air, spinning him around and around and around.

Roman squealed and laughed, his little legs kicking the air.

The cutest boy, change my mind.

_____________________________

Virgil and Logan walked. And walked. And walked.

“Are we there yet?”

Logan deigned not to respond. Virgil had already asked seven times. In the past five minutes.

“Are we?”

His voice was higher this time.

Logan groaned.

“No.”

_____________________________

“Hey L, I see a light! At the end of the tunnel! Freedom!”

Virgil had been panicking (shocking) for the past twenty five minutes.

Logan had been getting increasingly irritated for the past twenty five minutes.

Virgil didn’t know why.

(He definitely knew why.)

“I see it, Virgil.”

“But do you really?”

“Yes.”

…

“Mind if I join your conversation?”

Virgil jumped at the lilting voice.

“I’ll do it anyway. Hello fellow travellers.”

“Who the heck are you?”

A small flame jumped out of the darkness, illuminating a figure with delicate features and large wings.

Wings?

“Why, I’m the Dragon Witch of course! Care for some bones?”

“I thought Roman killed you.” Logan remarked.

“He did. That’s why I’m here. Who else could sell bones but the dead? Speaking of,” the witch smirked, “You should buy some.”

“Why?”

The smirk grew.

“Why not?”  

____________________________

And so, the left brain boys bought a few bones, in exchange for a shoe each, before going on there way.

The Dragon Witch smiled as she slunk back into the shadows.

Remus would be pleased.

____________________________

Remus was most definitely pleased.

Two more shoes for the collection!

“Hey RoBro, look! It’s Virgey’s shoe! And Logan’s!”

“Shoes!”

“Shoes.” He nodded.

Roman was playing with a few birds that had followed him from the Imagination. And the squirrels. And the deer. And all of the other forest creatures.

The smol one truly was a prince.

I wonder if they have names.

_____________________________

Roman was enjoying playing with the creatures, especially Elphaba.

Her emerald green feathers shone brightly in the golden light of… something. He didn’t know what, as Remus’s room didn’t have many lights, lest not gold-ish ones.

Suddenly, a thought popped into his mind.

“Hey ReeRee?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think if I si- you think if I sing, the birdies will- the birdies will too?”

Big him always did that. It seemed fun.

ReeRee looked a bit confused.

“Li-li-li-”

Roman got stuck on the word. They were the worst sometimes!

“Big me!”

Remus seemed to catch on.

“Like big you does?”

Roman nodded aggressively. Yes! Maybe Big Bro would sing with him! That would be so fun!

_____________________________

As Virgil finally stepped out into the light, relishing the sweet, sweet sunlight, a bunch of birds appeared and started tweeting out… a song?

Well that was odd.

“Hey Logan?”

“What.”

“Is that the tower you mentioned seeing earlier?”

Because standing in front of them at fifty feet tall, was a tower.

And on top of that tower, was a dragon.

Fuck.

_____________________________

Thanks for reading this chapter of the Petite Prince!

I’m going to introduce Patton and Janus soon, so which one do you want to see first?

[nightashes]

Painting with Ashes

A/N: Hi, guys! Thought it was about time I wrote a Remus centered fic. I hope you enjoy it! I appreciate you all!

Summary: Remus wants to help Roman create, but Roman doesn’t want his help. Is there a place for the “bad” creativty?

ao3 version - writing masterlist

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiip

“Hey, Roman.”

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiip

“Roman.”

Riiiiiiiiiiip

“Roooman.”

Riiiiiiiiiiiiip

“I swear, Remus, if you don’t stop-“

“I’m boooored.” Remus laments, sprawled across the bottom-bunk, his head hanging off the side, while his hands work on ripping out another page from his already half-destroyed magazine. The dilapidated shreds of paper lie scattered across his torso and on the ground beneath his head. 

 Remus stares across their room at his brother, who is currently engrossed in his work for Thomas. The prince scribbling away at a particularly vexing part of a script, his brow creased and his lips pursed. In Remus’s opinion this whole “script-writing nonsense” was driving Roman completely insane and so it was his job, as a good brother (the best brother, really), to pester Roman into finally finally taking a break. 

Remus rips out another page, the sound satisfying some primal urge of destruction as he petitions his brother once again for some attention. “Can’t we do something together? Come on, we could fight! A good spar has got to be more fun than drilling out another failed script idea.”

BANG

Roman’s hands slam against his desk. 

Bingo. A wicked grin affixes itself to the rancid side’s face. His voice becomes sickly-sweet. “Yes, it probably would be better if you just turned the whole project over to me.” He rises, slinking across the room to stand above his brother, a vulture peering over his shoulders, inspecting the remains of the crinkled script. “You are clearly burnt-out on ideas. I’m sure I could offer Thomas a truly fresh perspective.”  The duke reaches out to take a hold of the project. Roman, quick as lightning, slaps his hand away. 

“Oh, touchy.”

“Remus, please.”

Remus pauses. Thinking.

“You know, I am also creativity. Why can’t I help?”

“I don’t need help. I’m fine on my own.”

Remus crosses his arms, pouting. “I don’t think that’s fair. It’s boring, watching you do all the work while I’m just told to stay out of the way. But Thomas forbid, the bad creativity contributes!”

“Remus, you aren’t the bad creativity.”

“Well, then let me help!” Remus reaches again for the script.

“No!” Roman yanks the pages away, holding them close to his chest. His eyes wide and his breath quick. As if Remus’s help was the worst thing in the world. And Remus, well, Remus was not having fun anymore.

“....okay...okay.” He nods, backing away from the desk. “....okay...I’ll just leave.”

“Remus, wait. I-“

The door to the imagination closes shut on his words.

Remus sighs. A heavy sigh. Much too heavy for the rambunctious side. He drags his hand down his face, as if the simple gesture could wipe away that heaviness. Could ease the weight that is settling in his chest. He breathes. Breathing in the air of the imagination. Air that is full of creative potential and...cheeriness. It did not match his mood at all. 

Shrugging his shoulders, he marches forward. Trudging through the rolling hills and the flowering meadows that mark Roman’s side of the creativity. He feels his own dour mood grate in sharp contrast to the sunny rangelands. He longs for the comforts of his dark forest, for the shadows of his thick canopy, and the haunting echoes of his gloomy cave. 

He watches his feet, gliding through the long grass, crushing the thin blades beneath his boots, only for the wild grasses to rise again as he continues forward. Leaving almost no sign of his presence. That he has passed through. That Remus Sanders the “the bad creativity” has had any impact on Roman’s perfect little meadows. Something about this frustrates him, it grates against his already frayed nerves. And they break. 

He stomps on the stems, he jumps on the blades, he kicks at the grasses, he drags his feet through the dirt, spraying up clumps of soil. He falls to the ground and tears out fistfuls of plant and earth. Pulling up chunks of vegetation. Throwing them around. A wild desire is fulfilled as he claws at the land, the dirt pushing up beneath his nails beds, covering his hands, staining his pants. He smiles. A wild smile. A smile of presence. The smile of a child that has discovered the joy of making mud cakes and of knowing the feel of the earth between his hands. The smile of being here in this moment and in this place. He is alive.

He looks up, measuring the distance left between him and his forest. He feels the desire to run between his trees and to unleash a wild cry of pure existence. What he sees is something he most certainly did not expect. The fatherly side, waddling forwards, his arms straining to keep hold of a large and cumbersome box. The top is open revealing paper, wire, ceramics, and the ends of other projects sticking up and over the lid. Patton, who is so focused on keeping his grip, does not take notice of the feral presence settled within the grasses. 

His mustache tickles as he smiles wide and broad. He creeps forward, summoning his mace, and cracking his neck. With a breath, he lunges, smashing the box from Patton’s hands and scattering the contents across the pasture. Patton screams in shock, flinging his hands up in fear, confusion written across his face as his eyes swing wildly around to land on… Remus.

Remus, who is cackling wildly, “Well, hello! I th-“ He cuts himself off, completely forgetting whatever clever remark he had planned. His gaze is locked onto the spilled art projects that now litter the ground… his spilled art projects. 

“Wha-“ His mind is blank. He can’t even remember the last time he hadn’t had some thought running through his head but this…

Patton hands flutter around his person. He rushes to explain, “Oh, Kiddo, look I was going to ask you if I could take them. But I didn’t even know what was pulling me towards the imagination in the first place. I was just in my room and, well, you know I keep and preserve Thomas’s memories. Good, bad, sad, happy, anxious, creative, and these they just have so many memories attached to them. And they were just lying there, neglected! I had to take them. To take care of them! And I, oh, I’m  explaining this terribly! I, just… Remus?”

Remus is not listening. He is crouched on the ground, carefully shifting through the discarded pieces. He lifts one up, an old crayon drawing, just a bunch of scribbles, he can’t even tell what it was supposed to be. He laughs. He wants to cry. He smashes it between his hands, crushing it into a ball.

“Remus, STOP!” Patton yells, grabbing the crumpled drawing away from the feral side, holding it close to his chest.

Remus looks up at him, his smile stretched, his eyes rimmed red. “Don’t you see, Patton? I’m tired of being told to stop.”

And there it is, a look of pity.��

Remus grabs the box, he flattens it with his fists, he summons some heat and sets it aflame. He feeds the fire, throwing in all of his past endeavors, his attempts at creativity. His paper mache eldritch horrors, his paintings of mayhem, a phallic sculpture that shatters as he throws it into the bonfire of his past. Paintings from when he was six, drawings from when he was twelve, origami from when he was fourteen, poetry from when he was sixteen, songs from when he was twenty. All of it up in flames, burning bright, the sparks singeing their creator. The smoke rises high. It fills the air and wipes away what was. And for a moment Remus feels free. 

He feels himself rise with the smoke. He feels his heart cleansed with the flames, a release of everything that has been building. 

A hand settles on his shoulders. Patton is sitting beside him, his hand still clutching the crumbled drawing.

“Sometimes, you just gotta let go of the past, Patton. Live in the moment. Let everything just roll off your back and only focus on what is. On here and now.”

Patton looks down at the picture in his hand. “I protect Thomas’s memories.” He unfolds the paper, smooths out the wrinkles. He speaks softly. “Thomas was so happy when he drew this.”

Remus gives Patton a look of confusion. “I drew that, not Thomas.”

The fatherly side sniffles, “You drew this together. It’s supposed to be Thomas electrifying his brother.” Patton shakes his head affectionately. “It was your idea. Probably because Roman had annoyed you that day.” Patton holds the drawing out to Remus, he gently accepts it.

A soft “huh” escapes his lips. “I had forgotten.”

“I’m not surprised. It was a long time ago. But I… Well, I remember everything.”

“Doesn’t that hurt.”

“It can. Sometimes all I want to do is just push all those feelings away. But I’m told that isn’t exactly healthy.” He gives his fellow side a sad smile.

“You don’t have to feel that way. You can let go of these memories. That's what I do. When you’re feeling like everything is too much! Just let it all out! Scream, shout, tear through the world! And then you just let it all go. Forget the past. We are only here and now.” He waves the drawing through the air, gesturing madly.

Patton follows the drawing with his hands, in some attempt at protection. “Oh, careful, Remus.”

“No! Don’t be careful. Careful is holding in all those feelings until they come bursting out! We won’t hold anything in! We forget the past.” He throws the picture towards the flames. 

Patton’s hands are already there. He catches the painting. “Please, Remus. This memory. Why would you want to destroy this?” He looks down at the worn paper. Smudges of fingerprints, of ash, cover the edges.

“Why would I want to hold onto it?”

“You and Thomas created it together.”

“And now, all we do is hurt each other. He pushes me away and I lash out.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Are you going to change that?” Remus raises an eyebrow.

“No. You are.” Patton speaks. And once more, he passes Remus the drawing. “Don’t destroy it, Remus. Create something new.”

“Create something new.” Remus hums to himself in thought. He waves away the flames, leaving behind only cinders. The rancid side leans forward, dipping his fingers in the ashes, and then he begins to paint. He brushes his fingers across the page, leaving behind blacks and greys. He dips his fingers into the fire’s remains again and again. Scooping up more ash to work with. A border begins to form. A collection of swirls and streaks. It accentuates the bright colors of the crayon scribbles. They pop against the smoky background. Old and new, merging and creating. Ash and crayon. Darkness and color. Remus is transfixed. He is no longer throwing away the past, he is rewriting it. And it is… it is something to be proud of.

“Wow.” Patton whispers beside him. “Two memories, blended together. It’s amazing.”

Remus cocks an eyebrow. “Eh, well it’s okay.” He smiles. “But I guess I will keep it. To remember this.”

Patton and Remus head back together. They talk. Wildly and passionately. About art. About memories. About jokes and puns. About anything that comes rushing through their heads. And it’s weird. And it’s silly and they love it. They laugh loud and merrily. And when they arrive at the mindpalace through Roman and Remus’s door, still laughing at some joke. They begin talking excitedly about the perfect place to hang the picture. Above the desk, beside the mirror, or on the wall by the bed.

Remus looking around slowly begins to take notice that the shreds of paper he had left behind seem to have multiplied. The pieces of magazine have been joined with the shreds of a script. The very same script that Roman had been working on. The one that had been irritating him for hours on end. And now it was destroyed and thrown away on the ground.

“Roman, you have to see what Remus created.” Patton speaks from behind him. 

Remus whips around to see Roman standing in the doorway, his arms full of an array of weapons.

“Oh, it looks great.” Roman speaks, still fumbling with an armload of swords, daggers, and arrows. “Remus, I… I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t help. I was just so mad at the script and myself and I wanted to be perfect. And I mean you were a jerk, but that’s nothing new.”

Remus scoffs. “Hey, you needed a break. I knew that, that’s why I pushed you. But that’s what brothers do. Being jerks is how we show we care.”

Roman shifts the weapons, raising them as much as he can without losing his grip. “You still want to spar?”

“Heck, yes I do.” Remus grins. He supposes that all in all there are some memories that really are worth holding onto, memories that remind him of who he is. Because he is creativity. One of two. And sure, sometimes it can be hard but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

awesome people to tag: @stop-it-anxiety @rainboots-are-for-snobs @hexatrash @ollyollyoxinfree @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun

[julemmaes]

C’mon, lick it // part two

Thomas Lightwood and Alastair Carstairs modern au

I DID IT, @tyherondaletrash FUCK YOU BITCH THIS IS FOR YOU CAUSE YOU DIDN’T LET ME LIVE THROUGH IT AND YOU’RE GONNA CRY THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR EYES

Everyone else, enjoy it!:)

Word count: 6,146

“I can’t believe those two are becoming old dudes.” Matthew sighed taped to Christopher’s side. They were in front of the entrance of James and Cordelia’s building ready to go and buy the noodles that the blond craved so much, but they had been there for more than five minutes and Thomas was beginning to suspect that soon they would all be going home.

“Leave them alone Math, they are not old.” Christopher replied yawning.

Thomas chuckled when he saw Matthew’s cautionary look, but he felt his eyelids heavy as well and in three seconds his mouth also opened wide and made a noisy sound.

“They just have a job that starts very early, unlike ours.” Lucie defended her brother and her best friend by trying to make it clear to Matthew that ordinary people with office jobs had to wake up at six, unlike people who worked in bars, like her and Math, who could go to sleep at the time the others were getting ready .

“About jobs that start very early.” Thomas intervened by smiling displeased, putting an arm around Alastair’s shoulders, who was rubbing his hands trying to warm up a bit. He found it ridiculous how his boyfriend so stubbornly refused to buy a pair of gloves.

“No. You’re not going anywhere.” Matthew snorted laughing, “And while I have not yet fully accepted your dyed blond there…” he continued nodding to Alastair with his chin, ‘It was just a phase.’ defended the guy, interrupting Math “…I would not want to stay alone with Mr. In Love and Miss. I Still Sleep With My Puppet. I could use real men.”

“The hell Math! It was supposed to be a secret!” Lucie whined, dodging Christopher who tried to stop her and hitting the boy on the shoulder. He snorted again, pushing her back to her place place. The Lightwood between them was holding back a laugh at the ease with which his friend had moved his cousin.

“Shut up, Lulu, everyone knows you’re still a child.” Matthew smirked, calling her with the nickname he knew only her father could use, looking in front of him and waiting for her to answer in kind.

“I’m sorry, but I also have to go in an hour early tomorrow and your mother might kill me if I’m late.” Alastair apologized by speaking quickly so that the bickering didn’t drag on, trying to look really sorry and not show how excited he was to finally go home.

“I’m too tired for a noodles party. Forgive me.” Thomas tried to save his boyfriend by directing Math’s anger toward him, and so it was, because it was as if Alastair hadn’t even spoken when Matthew turned to Thomas and was as disgusted as he had been before when he looked at James said, “No fuck you, I’ll never forgive you, asshole.”

“God, what am I gonna do now?” Thomas cried out in a desperate tone, Lucie slightly jumped at the sound, smiling broadly, “I will never recover from this terrible insult.” Lucie burst into laughter and when Thomas took Alastair’s hand in his starting to walk back to their apartment, Kit greeted them.

“Night night.” Lucie murmured with a half-smile on her lips, as if the fact that they were leaving weighted more on her than Matthew. Well this is really weird, thought Thomas looking at her, before turning and shouting over his shoulder, “Good night, everybody.” Alastair pushed him, as if to remind him what time it was (and that they had already screamed enough) and waved his hand in the direction of the trio, saying with a lower tone of several octaves “Night.”

“I hope you choke in your sleep, traitors.” Matthew cried as he stepped towards them, but staring at the window of James’ apartment. Then he looked at his wrist carelessly, “It’s only three damn, and we’re already so few.” Thomas chuckled interlacing his fingers with Alastair’s.

They walked for a while in silence, as they used to do when they came home after movie night. They lived only ten minutes from their friends’ apartment and driving to cover a so little distance and then not finding any parking was not a thing that tempted either of them.

Thomas was thinking about what he would cook the next day for lunch and was going to ask the other what was better between chicken and a omellette, even though he knew that Alastair would always choose meat over everything.

Alastair gripped his hand tighter, drawing his attention and when he turned around Thomas was grinning from ear to ear, Alastair’s gaze darted away, “Thank you.”

Thomas’ head tilted to the side, “For what?”

“For lying.” he shrugged “I know you don’t work tomorrow.” He kept on looking in front of him, if his cheeks were red only for the cold or even for the embarrassment Thomas couldn’t say. He smiled more widely. Sometimes it was so hard for his boyfriend to say simple things like thank you that he knew that when he did it for such petty things it was only because he was training for when he would really apologize.

“Ah, yes.” Thomas moved a hand in the air, “Of course. And then I’m dead on my feet, too.” he sent another smile his way, hoping to charm him, but Alastair almost seemed to refuse to look at him and Thomas realized that something was wrong because something in his tone seemed completely off when he replied, “Sure.” Alastair face scrunched up.

“What is it?” Thomas asked, curious to understand what was going on in his little head.

“I don’t know. Cordelia seemed distracted tonight.” he answered casually, kicking a bottle that was on the sidewalk, “And Matthew in desperate need of distraction.” he continued by squeezing his eyes when a bus lit up his face.

Thomas was happily surprised, it was not an everyday thing to hear Alastair speaking so friendly of his Matthew. Even when things started to go really well between the two them, Matthew had been hesitant and it had taken a couple of years and a move to convince him that they were made for each other, “Matthew is always in desperate need of distraction.”

“True, but tonight it was notably. Maybe with Christopher in a relationship he feels very lonely.” He hypothesized, finally looking up at Thomas’ face, whose eyebrows shoot up at the sound of his words.

“And since when do you care so much about Math, exactly?” Thomas asked sincerely interested in knowing what had changed in his vision of the blond boy.

“I’m not a heartless being, you know?”

“Still. You’ve never gotten along and it’s strange to see you worried about him.” Thomas said shaking his head still a little unconvinced.

“Oh God, I’m not worried.” Alastair exclaimed like he seemed disgusted just by the idea of it, “I’m just saying that maybe we should do something to distract him.” He said, trying to make it look like it was a normal daily thing he did, plan to cheer up Matthew, failing miserably.

“We?” Thomas asked, trying to get confirmation of what he had just heard, looking like an old man who found out that Santa really exists.

“If you don’t stop being so surprised about this, I’m gonna slap you.” Alastair warned him in a threatening tone as a shiver passed through his body. Thomas left his hand, hugging him, but keeping walking.

“As if you could reach me up here.” Thomas joked with a smirk.

“You’re… you-” the voice came out muffled, hindered by his boyfriend’s jacket, which pressed on his chin. Not that he minded, he was already feeling better than a few minutes before and could feel his fingertips start to regain sensitivity.

“Irresistible? Awesome? Too handsome for this world?” proposed Thomas hopefully, receiving a elbow straight to the ribs.

“Unbelievable.” said Alastair scowling, but still being slightly amused.

If to Alastair the others had seemed to be completely done with life and ready to sleep for eternity, Thomas was the exact opposite. He seemed to be kvelling out of every pore and the way he was jumping around, bouncing him around like a puppet, took a little of his concern away.

“Unbelievably handsome, you mean.”

“No, I meant you’re unbelievably stupid.”

“Ouch.”

Alastair shook his head, grinning, “Either way, if you don’t want to do something all together, you guys could always bring him out. You four could do a thing, like in the old days.” he proposed, shoving him off and putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Shortly after, he felt Thomas’ hand slipping into his own and smiled, holding his fingers hoping to warm up even more.

“A foursome thing you say?” Thomas asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement, “I didn’t know you were into these kind of things.” Thomas looked at him winking, but the smile died on his lips when he saw the grin on Alastair’s face.

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking shit, I won’t let you sleep with me for a week.”

Thomas scoffed, “You wouldn’t last that long. You’d miss me too much.”

“Two weeks, then.” returned Alastair, not at all frightened at the idea of actually spending two weeks without being able to sleep in Thomas’ arms.

“Wanna bet?” he asked him laughing, probably still thinking he was joking.

“You know I never back down.”

Thomas got serious, pulling his hand out of Alastair’s pocket and, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, offering it to his boyfriend. “Deal?”

“Deal.” said Alastair without blinking, turning to him and shaking his hand.

“What does the winner get?” Thomas asked without letting go.

“Don’t know.”

“How about…” Thomas pretended to think about it, but the grin on his lips implied that he had kept that particular punishment for a special moment. And it had arrived. It wasn’t strange that they were betting with each other, “The loser does the laundry for a whole month?”

“Yes please. I hate doing laundry.” said Alastair, hinting at nothing more than no intention of losing.

“Oh I know, that’s why it’s gonna be so much better when you drag yourself out of our room to come on the couch because you’re gonna miss me too much.”

“Believe it all you want.” Alastair said, “And don’t think you’re the only one sleeping on the couch. We’ll do a day each.” he added. Thomas was quite gigantic, and he would certainly sleep all curled up on the couch, waking up with an absurd stiff neck, but he also knew that he would never let him sleep on the couch for two weeks. Even because Thomas would lose.

“Maybe we should seal it with a kiss.” Thomas leaned down, taking a step towards him so that now they’re faces were just mere centimeters apart. Alastair felt the hairs of his arms standing up and tried to convince himself that it was the cold, like every time they were out and Thomas insisted on touching him.

“You are insufferable.” he smiled, brushing his lips with Thomas’.

“And you’re irresistible.” Oh my god.

“What’s up with all your flirty little comments tonight?” he shoved him by the shoulder, always keeping him close to his body, not wanting to let him go yet. Their hands still clasped together.

“I studied the adjectives dictionary and thought I should share my new knowledge.” Thomas said, lowering the tone of the voice, looking at him as if his life depended on it.

“Stupid.” breathed Alastair, licking his own lips. Thomas’s gaze snapped down at the movement of his tongue and a guttural sound shook in Alastair’s chest, “I, for example, would have used witless.”

“Kiss me.” Thomas ordered him in a sensual voice and Alastair found himself thinking about what his mother would believe if they arrested him for obscene acts in public, if he had stripped him and taken him right there.

When they got home, the warm air that came from inside invaded Alastair to the bones and he closed his eyes beading of that familiar smell that was a mixture between his and Thomas’s.

He was about to take his shoes off when Tom looked out of the kitchen, handing him a black bag that smelled awful. He wrinkled his nose, slightly turning his head away to escape the smell. And here goes the dream, he thought sighing.

“Would you mind taking the garbage out?” he asked him with a hopeful smile, already wearing slippers. “It’s been there for two days and it’s starting to smell so bad that if a bear came into the house, I wouldn’t be so surprised.” he said seriously.

Alastair raised an eyebrow, taking back the keys he had just laid and the dripping sack. He wrinkled his nose again, “There are no bears in London.”

“Whatever.” he heard the other says as he closed the door behind him.

He started humming, thinking about the closing of the case he and Charlotte were working on right now. He’d been working for a little over a year at a law firm in the City, and this was the first major case she’d ever entrusted to him so far.

He went down the last flight of stairs opening the door to the back of the house, but heard a loud noise coming from the main entrance so, after having arranged the bag so that it could not be moved by the wind, he went to check what was happening.

Once again in the fresh air of a sleeping London, he saw a person trying to get up and stopped at the last step, hesitating, trying to see if it could have been someone dangerous or if they only needed help.

The figure before him grunted, swearing immediately afterwards and with a movement too fast for what seemed his physical condition, he stood, staggering.

Alastair was left breathless, and all he saw was red. A red that had tormented him for years and that occasionally appeared in his worst nightmares, “Charles.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Alastair felt himself die a little.

It had been months since he had last said his name and years since they had seen each other.

He knew that he had moved to a small town near Basingstoke, but he had also explicitly asked Matthew not to tell him anything else and that time the boy had just nodded, without saying any jokes as usual.

He was wearing a suit and tie, and to unknown eyes he might have seemed fine, but (god damn him) Alastair knew him, and saw what was under the abnormal amount of alcohol he ingested. He knew that something serious had happened if he was in London. In front of the apartment he shared with Thomas. And yet, even though he knew it was something bad, he didn’t care.

He’d already given him too much, he didn’t even deserve a minute of his time. At the sound of his voice, Charles’ eyes snapped at him and Alastair felt compelled to step back, resenting him being so close. His hands started shaking and he stared at him with his eyes wide open. He knew he looked ridiculous, but he couldn’t hide the shock of seeing him there.

He was about to go back, inclined not to start a conversation with the boy who stood before him and Charles had such glossy eyes that to Alastair they could only remind him of all the times he had been forced to lock himself in a room with Cordelia, to spare her the sight of an alcoholic father. He nodded his head as a sign of greeting, his lips reduced to a thin line, turning and grabbing the door handle-

“Alastair.”

He closed his eyes and his breath became ragged. He felt his throat burn and he forced himself to wear the mask he had not touched in recent years and that had made him become someone he was not, made him become a monster.

“Alastair, I…” Charles took a step towards him, putting one foot on the first step, and Alastair’s back slammed into the frozen glass of the door when he tried to walk away. Charles halted, clenching his jaw.

Taking a deep breath, and another, then another, Alastair managed to talk, “What are you doing here?”

Charles seemed to relax, but he still came down the stairs, swinging before he grabbed the railing, “I wanted to see you.”

Alastair almost laughed, but he was able to detach himself from the door, carrying both hands in his pocket, closing them into fists, “How do you know where I live?” He asked in a dry tone, looking him in the eye.

“My mother told me.”

“You’re drunk.” Alastair stated, his gaze never leaving Charles’.

“I wanted to see you.” Charles repeated, as if those five words justified everything. As if he hadn’t made Alastair go through hell the whole time they were together and even after, when he tried to undermine his relationship with Thomas.

“It’s been four years.” his expression hardened.

“Rebecca left me.” one hiccup, and then Charles was holding back the vomit. Alastair turned his attention to the buildings around him, trying not to feel pity for the other.

Did she find out about your secret life and that you were lying to her all this time? , he wanted to ask him, but he just swallowed. He heard Charles sighing with relief and hoping he wouldn’t throw up, he turned to him again, “I didn’t know you were with anyone.” he said instead.

“Yes, because you didn’t bother to ask yourself how I was after you broke my heart.”

Alastair made a choked sound. He couldn’t believe it.

“I didn’t do anything. You built a life in a house of cards without thinking that the wind could blow too strong.” he told him approaching him enough to smell his cologne. The scent threatened to cloud his brain, bringing up too many memories.

Charles stood still, looking up at him, smirking, “How poetic you’ve become.”

“I’ve always been poetic, but you told me to be quiet because you were afraid someone might hear us.” Alastair raised his chin in defiance, and was satisfied when Charles did not answer him. He stood up straight and in a much less confident voice than he would have liked, he turned and pulled the keys out of his pocket, “Now excuse me, but I really have to go.”

“Sure, you’ve always been good at running away when things get tough.” Charles laughed, laughter devoid of all fun.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He whispered looking at the wood and glass in front of him, trying to focus on the brown streaks and not on Charles, “I didn’t run away because things had become difficult. I left you because you didn’t see me.” he took a small break, “You didn’t want to be with me and that… What we had was anything but healthy, Charles.” He ended up holding his fingers around the keys.

“And that-” another hiccup, “Lightwood is good for you, isn’t he? He treats you well. Do you still push him around, like you used to? Do you boss him around?” Charles asked, with a tone that made Alastair realize he knew he had struck a nerve. “That’s why you’re together, right?” something in Alastair’s chest took life and a feeling that had been dormant for years came to the surface. A feeling he chose to ignore completely.

Alastair didn’t even look at him and opened the door, he growled, “Go away. And don’t come back, or I’ll call the police.” When he came into the house for the second time that night, the heat didn’t warm the frost in his bones, and neither did the cheerful tone of his boyfriend when, leaning against the back of the couch, he said, “Finally, I was going to come down and rescue you.” Alastair didn’t answer right away, he was looking for an excuse, whatever was good to justify the fact that he was out for ten minutes.

He couldn’t have started a discussion right now. Not that Thomas would be mad at him, no. He probably would have consoled him, but in that moment he just needed to be alone and think about what Charles had told him. Convince yourself it was bullshit.

Thomas realized that something had changed in his boyfriend’s mood because he asked him, “Hey, everything’s all right?”

Alastair quickly recovered, blinking and starting to undress, “Yes, yes.” he said distractedly. “I’m just tired.” he took off his shoes, entering the kitchen to get a glass of water. His throat was so dry that it was beginning to hurt.

“Are you sure?” he heard Thomas scream in a worried tone from the living room, then that spark in his voice came back, “Are you already considering how bad laundry would be, for a month?”

He drew two glasses before he thought it safe to speak without his throat, now no longer made of sandpaper, being torn. He came out of the kitchen, heading towards their bedroom, “Sure. ‘Night Tom.” Alastair said to him, rubbing his hand on his face.

“Good night, Alas.” he heard him say. A break, then, “I love you!” said loud enough for night bus drivers to hear it.

“I love you too.” he whispered before closing the door behind him.

Thomas kept tossing and turning on the couch. The blanket he had chosen was making his arms itch and he could not find a position where all parts of his body were on the cushions and his neck was not bent in an uncomfortable position. Changing the blanket was not possible because entering their bedroom risking waking Alastair up was not even an option.

In the morning he would have had an important trial and had to be rested. Thomas was going to throw everything on the floor and settle down, there, when the sound of something falling out of the apartment door and a muffled fuck drew his attention.

His eyes moved quickly to the end of the hall, where Alastair slept undisturbed, “What-?” Thomas stood up when he heard another noise and then someone knocking so softly on the door that for a moment he thought he had imagined it.

He walked slowly to the hall, looking for something to defend himself, in case whoever was behind the door tried to harm him. He looked through the peephole and almost sweared.

He only saw the red hair, but it was enough to recognize the figure of Charles Fairchild. He sucked in a breath taking his keys and opened the door glaring once more at the door down the hallway, pushing back every rational thoughts in a box and ready to do everything in his power to prevent Charles to get to Alastair. The blood already boiling in his veins.

As soon as he was outside the apartment, he regretted opening the door. Charles was obviously drunk.

Thomas clenched his jaw, trying to control his tongue, who threatened to spit insults at him every second he spent staring at the brother of one of his best friends.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in an icy tone.

Charles chuckled, closing his eyes with an almost relaxed expression, “Funny.” Thomas raised an eyebrow, “What?” he asked. “No, I don’t care.” he told him by raising a hand in front of him, blocking anything else he had to say.

He closed his hands in fists, carrying his arms behind his back, insisting not to hit him unless absolutely necessary. His eyes widened, shocked by his own thoughts, opening his hands and crossing his arms on the chest.

The others would have been ashamed of him, because he was not violent, he was the gentle one, he repeated himself in the head like a mantra.

Yet kindness was the last thing he could summon as he watched Charles stare at him with a half-open eye and smelled like beer. “You have to leave before Alastair hears you.” he ordered without so many words. Saying his boyfriend’s name in front of him left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“And why would I do that?” Charles asked, ridiculously, staggering forward.

One thought brushed Thomas’ mind, “Does Matthew know what state you’re in?”

“Matthew.” disgust transformed Charles’ face, “He doesn’t even know I’m back.”

Thomas almost flinched away. He could have never spoken of his brothers and sisters with so much hatred in his voice and he knew that the relationship between Charles and Matthew was anything but fraternal, but he did not think that the oldest despised Matthew so much. That’s why he couldn’t control himself when he said to him with a strong tone, almost spitting, “Go away.”

Charles looked him in the eye and with the more serious expression than he had until then, said, “Make me.”

Thomas grabbed him by the shoulder and pulling him he behind began to descend the stairs quickly. Charles was having a hard time keeping up with him, and a couple of times he went and slammed into his back, but Thomas didn’t feel anything, and he didn’t move a half inch. He heard Charles swearing again and thought that he had never heard him say a dirty word until that night, “Okay, okay, calm down. I’m leaving.” Charles said yanking his jacket out of Thomas’ grasp.

“If I see you even a hundred meters from this house, I swear to God, I won’t be so forgiving, and the next place you’ll find yourself is prison.” he warned him without a glance, as he dropped him to the ground just outside the building.

“You’ve become such an asshole Lightwood, you were so kind before.” Charles bit and stood up and rubbed his wrists, “I remember you playing in our garden with Matthew and Christopher.” he chuckled for the thousandth time, “And after a few years, James came along. How cute you were.” he said with a sincerely happy smile.

“I’m serious, either you leave in five minutes, or I call the police.” he warned him one last time.

“Funny.” Charles repeated.

A vein popped out in Thomas’s neck while he yelled, closing the distance between the two of them, “What?!” He asked, “What by God’s grace do you find so amusing in all of this?”

“You spend so much time following his orders, you’ve become just like him.” hissed Charles, a chill ran down Thomas’ spine.

Everything stopped, “What are you talking about?”

Charles puffed, like he was bored with that conversation, like whatever he was talking about, the whole world knew, “Alastair.”

Thomas stood motionless, “I still don’t understand.”

He was ready to hear some bullshit, Charles wasn’t in a position to have such a serious conversation, and he couldn’t think clearly. For that it took a while when the other resumed speaking, it took a few seconds to really understand what he had just said, “I know him. He doesn’t really love you.” he hiccuped and stopped, “That’s always been the case between you two. You going after him like a lost puppy and he putting up with you because having someone around him is convenient.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Thomas draw in a slow and steady breath, shaking his head.

“Oh my God, you’re starting to scare me.” Charles let out a disbelieved laugh.

Thomas couldn’t hold it anymore, “Go away.”

Charles raised his hands as a sign of surrender and began to walk backwards, looking much more sober than he really was. He smiled, “You should be careful. You could get burned.” Thomas didn’t answer.

And he didn’t answer him when Charles turned around and walked towards High Holborn and said, “Goodbye, Thomas.”

When he opened the door for the second time that night he sighed, hoping that Charles would not come back to annoy them because he didn’t think he could handle a mental blow like the one he just suffered.

They had overcome that problem years before, and Alastair absolutely didn’t need certain doubts to resurface, so he let a smile open on his lips when he heard his boyfriend calling him from the room in an alarming tone, “Tom?” sleep laced around his words, “Thomas, is that you?”

He crossed the apartment, opening the door slightly, leaning against the door frame. He forced the corners of his mouth to turn up, “Yes Alas, don’t worry.” he said, leaning his head against the wall, “I just heard a noise and went out to check that everything was okay.” he closed his eyes, tired from everything that had just happened.

“And was everything alright?” Alastair asked, raising on his elbows. His hair was all messed up and a particular tuft was pulled up, he kinda looked like a rooster. Thomas looked at him and chuckled, nodding, “Yes, nothing to worry about. It was just Petunia.” he murmured referring to the one-legged squirrel who always managed to sneak into the stairwell of their building.

They looked at each other for a while in silence. Thomas was deciding whether or not to tell him, maybe he should let it go. Their lives were going great now, they didn’t need to ruin their night because of this. He would have told him about it another day.

Alastair’s eyes narrowed, questioning, “Do you need anything?”

Suddenly, Thomas couldn’t control what came out of his mouth, and before he knew it, he was moving toward the bed, “It wasn’t petunia.” He sat down, never looking away from Alastair, whose eyes were focused on Thomas’s hand, who was holding the blanket between his fingers, “It was Charles.”

Thomas waited for Alastair to realize what he had just said. It gave him time to decide whether or not to talk about it, but the only thing he said was, “You just lost the bet.”

Thomas’s chest tightened in a press, his eyes threatening to water, “Alas.” his hand lingered between them, resting at the end on Alastair’s arm, who slowly escaped his touch, as if not to offend Thomas, “I don’t want to talk about it now.” he whispered finally, his eyes welled up, mirroring Thomas’.

“You met him when you came down to take the garbage down.” Thomas understood with horror, holding his breath. Alastair’s body fell all the way back on the bed, and he brought an arm to cover his face, but Thomas heard it anyway when he said, “I don’t want to talk about it now.” he took a trembling breath, “Please.”

“Alright.” Thomas laid down next to him, taking him in his arms, while Alastair set himself up so that his back was crushed against the other’s chest.

“I love you.” Thomas said in his ear, putting his cheek on his shoulder, “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do.” answered Alastair, staring at the void before him, “I love you too.” he said before closing his eyes.

***

“I don’t think you should go to work in your condition.”

“And what condition would I be in exactly, Thomas?” telled Alastair, anger flashing in his eyes.

That morning they woke up and very quietly did what they did every other morning. Alastair had gone to take a shower while Thomas was making breakfast, both were so thoughtless that they looked like two walking dead men. This was at least until Thomas had pointed out that he was not well at all and that he could not face hours of trial, even risking compromising the case.

“You’re obviously in shock from meeting Charles and going to court with your ex’s mother doesn’t seem like the best way to deal with it.” Thomas answered him by getting up from the stool and approaching Alastair, who in the meantime was tying his tie in front of the mirror they had arranged at the entrance.

“And let’s hear it, what would be the best way to do it, hmm? Sit on the couch in pajamas all day feeling sorry for myself?” he made a sound of exasperation, bending his tie and clenching his fist, trying to calm down. Thomas went next to him, taking the garment from his hand and placing it back behind his neck, smiling amused, with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not working today, and you know I would stay here with you. We could talk about it.” he told him, focusing on the knot instead of him, knowing full well how much he hated being looked at during these conversations.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” grunted Alastair, minimizing the matter at hand as usual.

“Yes, there is.” Thomas answered, walking away to see the final result. Alastair bit out a thank you.

“No, there isn’t.” huffed Alastair, “It just happened that Charles came back to see how my life was going and to make sure you and I were still together. This is what happened.”

“We need to talk about it because if he told you half the things he said to me, that means you’re gonna let the hate eat you up until it’s too much and you’re gonna convince yourself that what he said is true and you’re gonna walk away from me. And I’m not gonna let that happen,” Thomas said.

Alastair, who was in the middle of pouring himself a glass of water, stopped, laying it all in the sink and drew all his attention to his boyfriend, “What did he tell you?”

Thomas, seeing that he had finally gained ground with that phrase, did not miss the opportunity, “Will you call to get off work today?”

“What did he tell you, Thomas?”

“Will you call?”

“Yes, fuck, yes. I will call.” he answered exasperated, leaning on the table with both hands, staring out the window. “What did he talk about?”

“He thrust high school times in my face.” he saw Alastair lean even more, “He told me that I’m your dog and that you only play along because you need company, in a nutshell.”

“You know it’s all bullshit right?” when Alastair spoke his voice was pained, desperate.

“Do you?” Thomas asked again, “Because I know you, Alas. And I know you know I love you, but I also know that you’re probably wondering how it’s possible after everything you’ve done.”

“I love you too.” rushed to say Alastair completely forgetting what else his boyfriend had said, as if he were afraid that if he didn’t say it, Thomas would leave.

“I know.” Thomas approached him, putting his hand on his forearm, making Alastair turn to him, “I know, and everything that happened at school doesn’t matter. We’ve already had that argument. We’ve already solved everything.” he said with a hopeful look. But he saw in Alastair’s eyes how deep Charles’ words were already planted.

“Yes I know,” Alastair said despite everything, “All that crap about the child with a sad childhood trying to cope with it by taking it out on others. I do remember that one.”

“It’s not crap. It’s the truth.” he said to him as a reprimand, holding his arm slightly, “I chose to be with you. And I choose it every day because every day you give me a chance to see what a great person you are and how much you’re actually worth it. The others may not see you as you really are, but I do.” He touched his cheek, smiling.

Alastair looked at him for a few seconds, and then closed his eyes kissing him. Thomas was right, they had already addressed the subject too many times to return to it now.

“Now why don’t you call Charlotte and tell her you’re not going to work so we can get in bed and do nothing all day?” Thomas reminded him when they broke off, and he was still crushed against him.

“You are insufferable.”

“I made you coffee.” Thomas walked away from Alastair, approaching the stove, “Here.” said turning a teaspoon of sugar in the coffee. He offered him the dripping teaspoon, because he knew how much it bothered Alastair to waste even a drop of that gift of the gods, as he called it, “C’mon, lick it.” Thomas whined when Alastair stood still before him eyeing him with a look of pure love.

Alastair’s smile turned into something else, while with one hand he took the cup and the spoon from Thomas’s hands and with a sensual tone said, “I thought I’d lick something else actually.”

Thomas yelped when Alastair picked him up from the ground, with a bit of difficulty, and brought him into the room laughing. He threw him on the bed before jumping on his boyfriend’s body.

Yeah, fuck Charles.

taglist (if you want to be added just dm me and consider it done, same goes for the ones who want to be deleted)

@tyherondaletrash @clara-sm @cordelia-carstairs-owns-me @tessaherongraystairs @idontgetit-whydoihavetosaymyname @jamescordelias @grxceblqckthxrn @thecerridwen @stitch-kiss @alastairlightwxod @ahiretsinging @allofmywonders @tremendousheadachecollector @tlh-tea

[seelie-regent]

The Cursed Light (Chapter 7)

@datfearlessfangirl

Two days had passed since Logan had regained his memories and he was spending as much time with his beloved fiance as he could without drawing suspicion from the other light sides. Remus had snuck into Logan’s room for the last night and slept next to him, leaving before Patton would come to get Logan. They had spent the last two days planning their wedding.  The couple had decided to have the wedding right after the curse was officially broken. The two planned to spend the day planning and just making up for lost time.

Remus sunk out of Logan’s room just as Patton knocked on the door. Logan opened the door and followed Patton to the kitchen and smiled when Remus winked at him. Everyone took their usual seat at the table. Virgil was messing with his wedding ring while lost in thought getting him a weird look from Roman while Janus avoided Patton’s gaze. The silence that filled the room made everyone uncomfortable. Logan fiddled with his own engagement ring and Remus subtle placed a hand over his.

“So how was everyone’s day yesterday?” Patton asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Productive,” Logan said stiffly.

“That’s nice,” Patton said.

“My brother didn’t do anything stupid did he?” Roman asked.

“Your brother isn’t as dimwitted as you seem to think Roman,” Logan said, trying to defend his fiance.

“Since when do you defend the freak Logan?” Roman asked.

“He’s not a freak Roman,” Logan snapped.

“You’re the one who called him that though?” Roman said.

“You saw how I reacted to calling him that,” Logan hissed.

“Logan, why do you suddenly care about Remus?” Patton asked.

“Because he’s a side just like the rest of us Patton and you can’t just act like he isn’t,” Logan growled.

“Lo calm down,” Remus said, placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch him you fiend,” Roman sneeraled.

“Shut up Roman,” Logan sneered.

“Logan it’s fine,” Remus said, trying to calm the normally rational side down.

“No it’s no fine Re. He’s being a dick and can’t see past his giant ego to see that he is the one in the wrong here no you,” Logan said.

“Logan, it's fine we're used to it,” Janus said, trying to help calm him down.

“That’s the problem you shouldn’t have to be,” Logan countered.

“I know we shouldn’t have to be but we are. Now calm down please,” Virgil said.

“This is between Logan and I, you pathetic dark sides need to stay out of it,” Roman snapped.

Virgil stiffened and shifted his gaze and he began to mess with his wedding ring again.

“Roman-” Patton said, trying to calm the egotistic side down.

“No Patton. Those three did something to Logan and I want to know what,” Roman growled.

“They didn’t do anything Roman. I simply realized that how we have been treating our fellow sides is wrong and unjustified,” Logan said as if he was talking to a small child.

“Don’t you dare talk down to me Logic. I am a prince,” Roman growled.

“I don’t see why a title you gave yourself has anything to do with this Roman,” Logan said then paused and added, “But if we are going by what you just said shouldn’t we be treating Remus like a duke?” 

“We shall never treat Remus as such. He doesn’t deserve the title,” Roman snapped.

“He has done more to deserve his title than you have to deserve yours Roman. Are princes not supposed to love and cherish all of their citizens. To accept all no matter what? If you are truly the prince of the mindscape as you have dubbed yourself should you not love and cherish the dark sides as you cherish Patton and I?” Logan asked.

“They are dark sides Logan, they don’t deserve my love or compassion,” Roman snapped, completely missing the way that Virgil flinched like he had been hit.

“Why is that? You hate your own brother. You think your brother does not deserve love or kindness. Why Roman?” Logan asked.

“Because he’s Remus,” Roman yelled, making Remus flinch, “He’s a monster that hurts Thomas.”

“I do not,” Remus said his voice so soft you could barely hear him.

“Yes you do you ignorant fool,” Roman hissed.

“Don’t you dare talk to him like that! He is far more intelligent than you will ever be Roman,” Logan snapped.

“Logan enough!” Patton yelled slamming his hands on the table making everyone jump.

“Patton-” Logan started.

“Shut up. Why on earth are you defending him. He is nothing important or worth your time. He is a waste of space and a freak. Just stop. I don’t know what Remus did to you but snap out of it,” Patton snapped.

“I can’t deal with you right now. Not when you just said that. I’m leaving. Remus you may join me if you wish. I will be on your side of the imagination continuing our experiment,” Logan said rising and moving towards the door.

“If you walk out that door Logan you will no longer be a light side,” Patton threatened.

“Why would I want to be one of you when you are so hateful,” Logan said and excited the door Remus was following behind him.

[1-1snailxd-art]

Sanders Sides Oneshot - Babysitting

This is how you beat writers block - you draw and then find your will to write afterwards.   

Characters/relationships: Logan / Virgil (analogical), Patton / Roman (Royality), Kid Thomas

Warnings: none

Words: 1511

Summary: This came about from a post by @fanartfunart and seeing as I’m trying to learn how to draw people better, I decided to challenge myself with a drawing....that drawing then turned into a little fic. FYI, I know there is a lot wrong with Logan’s proportions in the picture (I can see it), but Thomas is cute so whatever.  

_____________________________________

"Don't be such a baby, Logan." Virgil huffed, following his partner into the kitchen. "It's a kid, not a freakin' nuclear bomb."

"I know that, but..." Logan kept his back to Virgil as he absentmindedly took ingredients for dinner out of the fridge and cupboards. "I don't know anything about babysitting a child."

Watching the cook’s shoulders slump at the admission, Virgil softened his tone and moved to lean on the counter next to Logan.

"What's to know, Lo? You give him some food, easy for you, and turn on the TV. Job done." Virgil sighed when Logan didn't look away from the bowl in front of him; hands floured as he prepared a pasta dough. "Look, I only need to be in the studio for an hour at most; then I'll come straight home. You can entertain 'til I get back, right?"

"Are you sure you can't stay?"

 The tone of Virgil's phone gave him his answer as the other man quickly excused himself to take the call. It wasn't that Logan didn't like children; he just didn't think he was good for children. Honestly, he questioned daily what Virgil saw in him; a pensive, workaholic wasn't that romantic and didn't scream partner material. Patton on the other hand was destined to be a parent; they'd wanted to be one since they were kids.

The pasta dough came into shape as Logan recalled the day Patton video called them to announce they had been approved for adoption now Roman had consistent work. He'd shared in their excitement but never fully understood it. Admittedly, Logan was still hurt that Patton had moved so far away to support Roman's career and their relationship took a hit from the distance.  

Setting the finished dough aside to rest, Logan washed his hands and turned to find the dejected Virgil walking back in.

 "Virgil? What's wrong?"

"I've gotta go, Lo. Shit's hit the fan with the computers at the studio and Nate's pissed."

"How bad is it?" Logan moved closer, knowing there would be no way out of this now and accepting that he would have to face Patton alone.

"Backups failing bad. I should have gone in earlier when it was just a glitch. It was stupid of me to ignore it and-fuck I'm gonna pay for it n-"

Logan tilted Virgil's chin back and placed a soft kiss on his lips to silence the worrier.

"I apologise for my earlier attitude and clouded judgements. I will be fine this evening. You should go." Taking Virgil's hand, Logan walked him towards the door. "I will be fine until you or Patton return."

"Yeah, you will." he replied with a half-smile, before giving Logan a final kiss goodbye and heading out the door.

  The silence of the apartment was crushing as Logan threw himself onto the couch; sliding his glasses up off his face as he massaged his brow. It was all too much at once. First, he was just worried about seeing Patton and Roman again after years of dwindling contact; then they asked the couple to babysit while they went to the award ceremony that brought them to town; and now Logan would have to face it all alone. A knock at the door pulled Logan from his thoughts and he was quick to sit up and correct himself before answering it.

 "Hey Specs" Roman smiled from the entry; the pink backpack on his shoulder a harsh contrast to the black suit he wore. "It's great to see you again!"

"It's good to see you too, Roman. You are looking well considering the travel."

"Oh please," With a hand gesture Roman stepped into the apartment and put the apparently heavy bag down. "It would take more than a few hours on a plane to ruin this face."

"Indeed," Logan chuckled, turning just in time to see a pink blur heading towards him.

 "Uncle Logan!" Came a cheery voice as a body slammed into Logan and constricted his middle.

"Um...Thomas, I presume."

Logan looked up to see Patton beaming as they walked up the path in a simple blue gown. They looked so happy and lively that Logan forgot all his past grievances; it seemed Patton was happy and that was all that mattered.

"That's my Thomas," Patton giggled.

"It's good to see you again, Patton." Logan pulled a face as he looked down at the figure still holding his arms by his sides. "Your son is very... Huggie."

Roman and Patton both laughed, and Roman snapped a quick picture of the awkward man pinned by his son.

"Oh, I know. I trained him well, don't you think?"

"Indeed, Patton, but...um," Thomas giggled as Logan tried to lift his arms out of the vice grip around him. "How do I un-train him? I do need to work at some point this evening."

"That will do, Thomas; give Uncle Lo some breathing room."

At Roman's word, Thomas let go and moved to his father's side. Logan's moment of reprieve was short lived as Patton replaced their son, pulling their old friend close and whispering in his ear.

"I really missed you, Logan."

"I..." For a moment, he was lost for words before mimicking the tight grip around his friend. "I missed you too."

  The group remained in the entry as Patton began rattling off things Thomas could and couldn't do. Though he listened intently, Logan's eyes kept shifting to the young boy in the pink jacket that lent against Roman; holding onto his father’s arms around his neck and smiling up at Logan.

".... And if you need anything, just call me and I'll come right back and-"

"Calm down, Pat." Roman interjected, "We're just going for a few hours. I'm sure Lo and Thomas will be fine."

"Right. You're right."

"I always am." "That's not true, Dad." Thomas turned to look up at his father in confusion. "We were late to the airport because you got the times wrong, and you brought the wrong chocolate milk last week, and you-"

"Alright, that's enough." Roman was quick to scoop the boy up and headed inside. "Let's get you set up, hey."

A smile crept across Logan's face as he watched them go.

"Is that a genuine smile I see, Logan?" It comforted Patton to see him looking so content, despite his obvious fear of being responsible for Thomas.

"I'm proud of you, Patton." Their eyes widened as Logan turned; his own shining in the sun light. "You made the family you always wanted." "Almost," they laughed. "It's just missing one thing." "Hm?" Brows furrowing in confusion, Logan wracked his brain for what Patton was talking about. "What could you possibly be missing?"

"Just an uncle to teach Thomas about computers and another to show him how to cook. Any idea on where I could find them?"

"I think I do, but they live pretty far away." "That's okay, we're moving anyway." "What?" Logan was genuinely shocked by the news, mouth left ajar as Roman came up from behind and place a hand on his shoulder.

"You ready to be a full-time uncle, Logan?"

 The question left Logan reeling. Three years ago, Patton left their teaching position to follow Roman's quest for recognition in music and theatre; leaving Logan and Virgil behind in the process. One year ago, they adopted Thomas and their contact became almost non-existent; so to be told they were returning to include him and Virgil in their family...was amazing.

 "I suppose I'll have to be."

This time, Logan initiated a group hug; wrapping an arm around each of his friends and briefly forgetting that they had somewhere to be and he had a job to do.

"Jeez Specs, Thomas rubbed off on you quickly." Roman joked; causing Logan to quickly step back and adjust his tie.  

"Ah, yes, sorry." Logan stumbled over his words, causing his friends to laugh at his sudden display of affection. "I got a little carried away." "It's okay, Lo." Patton assured, waving at the little figure that was poking his head over the couch inside. "But we should get going or we'll never leave."

"Right. Yes. Of Course."

 Logan watched as Patton blew a kiss to Thomas before heading down the front path with Roman. Once the car had pulled away, he shut the door and turned to the smiling figure kneeling on the couch, waiting patiently. Brown eyes looked expectantly at him and he thought about Patton's wish for uncles for their son.

 "So… Thomas. Have you ever made pasta before?" The boy shook his head and slipped off the couch as Logan held his hand out. "Perhaps it's time uncle Logan taught you then."

 *************************

 When Virgil came home, he was shocked to find the apartment lit only by Steven Universe playing on the TV. Tiptoeing around the couch he was greeted to the scene of Logan fast asleep with Thomas laying on his chest. It didn't look comfortable at all, but Virgil had to admit it was an adorable thing to come home to.

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Tags: @thequeensphinx

What else have I done:

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton, cursed Deceit and ridiculous Remus)

Libraries are for Meetings (ongoing WIP - Human/University au with Royality and developing Analogical. Slow burn and heavily focused on a grieving group of friends that Virgil slowly becomes a part of to better himself.)

And more....

Writing Master Post

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles