#technically... its very squint and you see it with the last two

[matt-at]

Touhou sketches that were mostly done at 3am

[coffeeghoulie]

broke the mold (change will come)

chapter 1: can't explain a thing

"For a very long time, I thought I was fire too."

The only person Swiss has ever told this story to is Aeon. But that is centuries from now, and he is not yet Swiss.

I've been thinking about and working on this fic since I wrote Eternal Heatstroke last year, and it's finally ready to share! You don't have to have read EH before reading this, but this is technically its sequel.

Much thanks to @askingforthesun for letting me bother them with this fic and helping with the worldbuilding, @mintea-in-space for reading through it, and to @belle--ofthebrawl for letting me yap about this fic in person. <3

Title and all chapter titles (unless otherwise specified) are from (Coffee's for Closers) by Fall Out Boy. Updates on Fridays.

Contains emotional child abuse, religious doubt, a large group of ghoul OCs, dissociation, and a large crisis of faith. Please mind the warnings <3. 5.9k.

divider by @wrathofrats <3

He's just gotten comfortable in the little nest in the corner of their room when the door creaks open. Golden light spills into the late night darkness, revealing the silhouette of a teenage fire ghoulette. Her horns are just starting to curl back over her head, silver jewelry threaded into the braids that brush over her shoulders. The hall light glints off of them, catching his eye.

"Aurum," she says bluntly, no hesitation or care that he might be asleep. He shuts his eyes. "Mother and Father want to talk to you."

Aurum squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, a pang of fear and deep seated dread sinking into him. He groans under his breath, biting down hard on his lower lip. "I know," he says, reluctantly extracting himself from his nest just as Scintilla, his sister, curls up into hers in the other corner.

"Be quiet when you come back," she says, disinterested in the obvious fear in his scent that he can't quite mask. "Some of us care about our studies in the morning. Ignis is already asleep."

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, feeling his sister's eyes burning into the small of his back. "I'll be quiet, Till." He’ll at least try to be. At least for his youngest sister’s sake. Sometimes, it feels like she’s the only one who doesn’t just hate him.

"You better be quiet," she grumbles, settling into her bed. "You certainly weren't last time."

Aurum shuts the door as quietly as he can.

The walk down the hallway gets longer every time he's summoned, he swears. Every step harder to take, unavoidable. His heart pounds in his chest. It rattles at his ribs in an attempt to get free. He waits for a moment outside of their door, the frame seeming to loom over him despite him being rather tall for his age.

There's shuffling within, blankets and papers, quiet murmurs that Aurum can't quite make heads or tails of. He knows his mother and father's voices though. He swallows hard, turning the door handle and stepping into his parents' room.

Aurum feels like he's spending more time in his parents' room than his own, these days. It's the third summoning this week. Their room is exactly the same as the last time he was summoned here. Their hearth sits against the far wall in an intricate weaving of bedding, two dressers on the wall opposite. The window is tightly shut, and if Aurum squints past the glare from the lights on their nightstands, he can see the glow of the City below.

Aurum ducks his head as both of his parents' gazes lock onto him. Pyra sits in her nest, legs gracefully tucked under her. There's papers and readings sprawled out in the blankets, her glasses perched on her nose as she looks over the frames. Inferno stops pacing by the window, turning to look at his oldest and only son, dull yellow eyes staring into what counts of his soul.

"Your father and I both know why we've asked you here, Aurum," Pyra says, reaching back to where she's tied back her hair. A few loose twists have escaped her ponytail, and she pushes them back behind her ears neatly. Ever prim and proper, even when winding down for the evening.

"Yes, Mother," Aurum mumbles, taking the space he knows well at the foot of their hearth. His arms go behind his back, and he hangs his head, his braids falling into his eyes.

Inferno tuts, and Aurum jolts. "You look at your mother when she speaks to you."

Aurum swallows. "Yes, Father." It's always hard to judge if Inferno gets involved on nights like this. He usually yields to his mate, but some nights... Aurum just has to hedge his bets. But he swallows hard again, straightening to meet his mother's dark amber gaze.

"Why do you think we've called you here?" Pyra asks, her attention split between him and her papers. Aurum's made the hypocrisy comment before, about him forced to be at attention and her being allowed to pay attention only when she pleased, and it didn't end well, so he keeps his mouth shut.

"I don't know, Mother," he says. In reality, it could be any number of infractions. Iggy, even though she's his favorite little sister, loves pushing his buttons until he breaks and snaps. It could be the way he isn't keeping his nest clean to Tilly's standards. It could be anything.

Pyra whips towards Inferno, something red glowing in the darkness of her eyes like embers waiting to be kicked back to life. "By the Prince, Inferno, he's just like you."

The larger ghoul throws his hands up, raking claws through close-cropped curls. "I know, Pyra, I'm trying to make sure he doesn't turn out like me."

"You're not trying hard enough," she snaps, turning back to Aurum. His ears pin back. "'I don't know' is not an answer, Aurum. Try again."

Aurum wracks his mind, even as everything starts to blur around the edges. He digs his claws into one of his wrists, squeezing as hard as he can. He hopes the pain keeps the dissociation at bay. "I- I really don't know, Mother."

She snarls, slapping the papers in her hand against the nest. Aurum flinches, but he knows better now than to physically recoil and step back. He'd learned that lesson a long time ago. He instead tightens his grip around his wrist.

"You are here, again, because your tutor told us that you weren't trying at all to improve your magic. Again."

"I am trying!" Aurum says, eyes glancing nervously between his parents. His father stands stock still, staring expressionlessly. "Saint Jezebel, I'm trying, I swear!"

"Watch your tone." Pyra tuts, her fangs clicking threateningly. She picks up the stack of papers and thumbs through them. "I'd believe you, Aurum, only, that's exactly what you said about the last tutor. And the last one. And the one before that."

Aurum takes a deep breath through his nose. "Because it was true then, and it's true now. I am trying, Mother. I don't know what's wrong with me that I can't use my magic like I used to. I can't do anything right." He snaps the last sentence, unsure if he's angry with her or at himself.

She shakes her head. Her eyes lock on his and it takes everything in Aurum's power to not look away. To stay here and present and focused. If he misses something, she will make him live to regret it. "Tone, Aurum."

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mother."

Pyra doesn't respond with much more than a huff.

"You know how your mother feels about 'sorry,' Aurum," Inferno snaps. He leans against the bedroom wall. He watches. It feels like that's all his father ever does. Watches, never interferes. Except when he's angry enough to start yelling too.

Aurum hates those nights. He hopes this isn't one of them.

"Yes, Father," Aurum says.

"Quit it with the 'Yes, Father, yes, Mother,'" Pyra says. "We're sick of hearing it."

Aurum squints, brows furrowing with exasperated confusion. "Well, if I don't address you, you yell at me for being disrespectful. If I do address you, you get angry. I can't win."

She mirrors his expression. He can't tell if she's mocking him. She probably is. "So you admit that you think this is a game?"

"No!" He says, throwing his head back to look up at the ceiling, a silent prayer in his mind. "That's not what I said at all!"

"You are squandering the Prince's gift!" Pyra snaps, her many fangs long and sharp. "He said that you would-"

"Grow to great power and bring honor to my name in servitude to the Throne! Mother, I know, you've told me!" Aurum says, his claws curling into his wrist and threatening to break his own skin. "You tell me every time I don't do good enough for you!"

"Aurum," she growls, standing from the nest. She's just barely taller than him, and her eyes bore into his. "You would do well enough for us if you just tried. I know you can, I've seen it."

"What, when everything was fucking easy?" He snaps. Aurum's exhausted. He wonders why they can't have these little "discussions" earlier in the day. When he wouldn't ache for his nest. Wouldn't have to worry about waking his sisters.

"Don't take that tone with me," she snarls. She's never done more than snap her teeth, grab at his wrist, but there's enough threat in her voice that Aurum flinches.

He lets his eyes flick up at the ceiling, the familiar words starting to rush through his mind. Seven Sisters, grant me the strength and patience I do not-

"Don't roll your eyes at me, Aurum!"

Aurum's eyes go wide, glancing back to his mother's face as she stands in front of him. "I didn't!"

"I fucking watched you, Aurum, I'm not stupid!" She lunges, so close Aurum can feel her spittle hitting his cheeks. "Quit fucking lying to me, it's not going to get you anywhere."

"Mother, I didn't roll my eyes, I looked up-"

"Knock it off," Inferno says. "Listen to your mother."

"I am, Father," Aurum says, bravely looking away from Pyra to glare daggers at his father. He feels the anger burning in his chest, coals kicked into flames with each heartbeat. Whenever he calms, in hours or days, who knows, Aurum knows there will be no forgiveness for his father's enabling observance. For never putting a stop to this. He's close to grown now, he can leave soon and never have to do this again.

Not much longer until he's grown. He's gotten this far. He can make it a few more decades.

The tiny voice in the back of his mind reminds him that he's not sure how much more of this he can force himself to endure.

Pyra's clawed hand grabs his chin, forcing Aurum to make eye contact with her. "You need to try harder, Aurum. The Prince said you would bring honor to your family's name and follow their footsteps. Do not make a false prophet of Him."

"I am trying as hard as I can, the fire's not- It's not coming to me the way it used to, and I don’t know why," he says, tail curling around his calf sheepishly and ears pinned back. "I'm sorry. Mama, I’m sorry."

She rolls her eyes, huffing. Her voice goes soft, and her thumb smooths over his cheek. Gentle. He fights every instinct to lean into it. "I don't believe you. Aurum. If you really meant it, you would do something to change it."

Aurum sinks his fangs into his tongue until he tastes blood. Even despite the pain, he can feel his mind retreating deep into his brain, leaving him feeling almost hollow. Pyra's talking. He knows he can hear her, but nothing processes. She can probably see the way his eyes are going dull.

There's a muted dread that settles in his chest. He knows she's saying something he needs to listen to. She'll be pissed when she realizes he isn't hearing her. His father'll be pissed too. But Aurum can't get his brain back online even despite that threat.

He can hear her talking. So close he can feel her breath, his eyes crossed as they try to focus on her. He cannot make out the words but knows the tone. He’s heard it before. He knows how to make this stop, how to stop nights like these, but he’s been trying just as long.

It feels like he’s living the same day over and over and over and over and over again with no end in sight.

Eventually, she lets go of his face, takes a step back to her nest. To where she’s brought her work home from the Palace. Flamespeaker’s duties never ending, and Pyra’s served the Prince with honor since long before she’d met his father.

"You are dismissed," Pyra huffs. She gestures towards the door. "Do not wake your sisters."

Aurum nods, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat as he tries to force himself back into his body. "Yes, Mother. Good night."

It isn't returned.

He shuts his parents' door as quietly as he can, turning the knob as it latches so it doesn't click loudly. His tail tucked between his legs, he slips back down the hallway to his and Scintilla's room. He's fighting a losing battle, his eyes stinging and blurry with tears, and by the time Aurum creaks the door to their room open, they've started dripping down his cheeks.

Aurum's nest waits for him, and he slips under the covers as quietly as he can. Best he can tell, he was successful on not waking either of his sisters. He counts it as a win.

He throws the blankets over himself, eyeing the lump Scintilla makes under her covers carefully. Her breathing is slow and steady, and he nods, knowing what she looks like when she sleeps. He's been sharing a room with her for almost two centuries now, has been practically his entire life. Iggy, his baby sister, youngest of his den, had slept in their parents' hearth far longer than Scintilla or Aurum had, and when she'd finally outgrown the habit, Aurum had been more than happy to give up his room for her.

Aurum watches Scintilla breathe for another few moments, just to make sure he’s followed through with his promise. When he's certain she's asleep, he grabs a big handful of the thickest blanket in his nest, sinking his teeth into the fur to stifle a sob.

The barrier breaks, and it all floods out of him. He sobs, curling up in on himself, knees to his chest, and he shakes. He's tired. So tired. Scared, and upset, and wailing like a brand new kit. He hates himself for it. He's almost grown, and here he is, crying so hard his tears steam up on his cheeks.

Of course his fire makes itself known now.

Aurum hates it all.

He tries to keep it quiet. He really does. But he freezes when he hears a snap of fangs from the other side of the room.

"Be fucking quiet," Scintilla hisses. Her tail unfurls from around her body, the spade smacking threateningly against her nest. She rolls over with a quiet growl. “Or I go get Mother.”

Aurum whines, caught. He turns over to face the wall, tears still streaming down his face as more shame settles into the core of his chest. His tail uncurls from around his thigh, and he takes the spade between his teeth.

He bites down until he tastes iron, willing himself to fall asleep.

Aurum's dreams have always been strange. Tonight is no exception. He finds himself in the shadow of a tall ghoul, a man he doesn't recognize. Everything's too fuzzy to make out the real details. He's lit with fire, steam and shadow obscuring the details. All Aurum can see are the broad features. His hair falls in long locs down his back, horns curving out from his head.

Aurum calls out for him, so close, yet when he tries to take a step towards this strange, familiar ghoul, he gets no closer. "Hey!" Aurum calls, reaching as far as he can.

The man pays him no mind. He does not say anything, doesn't even acknowledge that Aurum's called out to him. He starts to walk away.

“Hey!” Aurum panics, breaking into a stumbling run after the man. "Wait!"

With every step, Aurum gets further away from the man, even as he reaches with arms outstretched, runs as fast as he can. "Please don't leave me here!"

The man pauses. Looks over his shoulder. The moment Aurum meets his eye, he jolts awake in a sweaty, disheveled mess. He doesn’t fall asleep again. Mind too frantic, trying to figure out what it meant. He has no answer.

Things are still tense in the morning, a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, coating the roof of his mouth. His sisters share glances with each other as he steps out into the common room, even Iggy. She looks tired. Something like disappointment pangs sharp in Aurum’s chest, and he curls in on himself.

"Didn't sleep well," she says to no one in particular, spreading jam over a stale piece of flatbread. There's a dog-eared book in her lap, and her tail brushes against the stool leg as it sways absently behind her. Ignis ties her locs back out of her face as she eats. She doesn’t look at him. That hurts worse than anything else.

Aurum's ears pin back as Scintilla glares at him from where she sits next to their sister. "No wonder," she says dryly. Her fingers work at a piece of silver jewelry that had come off of one of her braids in the night. “Someone doesn’t know how to be considerate if the instructions were written out and shoved into his face.”

"I'm sorry," Aurum mumbles, tail curled around his calf as he goes to get himself something to eat. He knows his mother has already left for her duties, but he can't quite remember if his father had a meeting scheduled for this morning or the next day. It's always best to try and appease his denmates just in case he's still home.

Even then, it doesn't really matter if Inferno's home or not. Despite walking on eggshells around them, trying his best to be civil and accommodating, one of his sisters will find something, say something, to report back to their parents. Kicking the coals to restart the fire, whether they mean to or not.

Aurum's used to it by now anyways. No use complaining. He takes a deep breath and turns his back to rummage through a cabinet. Their eyes burn into his skull.

"Quit saying you're sorry, Aurum," Scintilla scoffs. Even with his back turned, Aurum knows his sister has her fangs bared. She sounds like their mother. "We keep going through this because you won't listen to Mother. You are ruining our lives. All you are is a broken record. You're not sorry."

His tail lashes behind him and he whirls on his feet to face her, forgetting all about finding something to eat. "Quit telling me how I feel, Till!"

She just rolls her eyes, snarling a little under her breath. "Don't call me that."

"I can't call you your name?" Aurum snaps, meeting her glare and baring his own teeth in response. "I can't call you your Prince-damned name?"

Her eyes flare with fire, smoke curling from her nostrils. "Tilly isn't my name, you belligerent asshole!"

He snarls, lunging for the counter, and she swats at him, hissing and spitting. Her claws catch the back of his hand, and Aurum shouts as she rakes them across it. "Fuck you," he snarls, clutching his hand to his chest. Dark blood oozes like magma from the cut.

"Oh, get over yourself," Scintilla says, rolling her eyes, getting up from her seat and grabbing her bag. "It's time to go, Ig. We’re gonna be late if we don’t." Ignis follows close behind her, giving Aurum one last glance as she too grabs her bag and follows her sister out the door. The anger Aurum sees there stings like salt in a cut.

He stands stock still until the door latches shut behind them. Aurum snarls under his breath, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can feel his pulse in his temple and in the gash across the back of his hand. The house is silent around him.

Aurum clenches his fists, claws digging into the meat of his palms. He hastily wipes the blood from the back of his hand. It burns. Or is it just his eyes burning that he feels?

He doesn't know and he doesn't care.

Aurum glances down the hallway to his parents' room, trying to determine if his father is still home. When Inferno doesn't come out from his own room or the living room with all of the commotion, Aurum takes a deep breath, lets it out on a sigh. He marches up the hallway and throws his bag back into his nest. Fuck it all, he's not going. He's already going to have to face his pack's disappointment for being a bad fire ghoul.

He might as well give them something different to be disappointed with. Stir it up a little bit.

Aurum heads out then, glancing down the street to his sisters' backs as he turns in the opposite direction. Fuck being a broken record, he scoffs to himself. Under the anger, a dread starts to settle in his chest. He bottles it up for now.

He keeps his head down as he walks deeper into the heart of the City. He knows his parents should both be at work, but they could very well see him ditching his tutor.

It'll get back to them eventually. Of course it will. But Aurum has things he wants to do before he has to deal with those consequences.

Aurum ducks down a side street between two tall buildings, ignoring the ghouls and demons of all elements moving around him, living their lives. He's grateful that they ignore him, despite all of the gold in his hair and ears that marks him as family of the First.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Palace looms over the rest of the skyline, growing ever closer. Aurum feels his heart race, knowing his mother, let alone the Prince Himself, are in that building, and he's walking closer like he wants to be caught.

He keeps walking, head down, breathing in the scent of a street vendor's wares, frying flatbread and sweet and savory fillings. Aurum's stomach growls. He realizes he didn't actually get a chance to eat before rushing out. There's a few coins in his pants pockets, but food can come later. He has something far more important he wants to get done first.

The Palace looms large on the hill in the center of the City when Aurum steps out of the side street. But he turns his back to it. Saint Jezebel's chapel is a much smaller building, ash grey brick and glass stained every color Aurum could ever imagine. There are grander churches, the ones he attends with his family for Black Mass.

But no one ever looks for him at Saint Jezebel's.

Aurum pushes open the door as quietly as he can, slipping inside. He takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders as he takes in the chapel. He's the only ghoul here, much to his relief. Aurum doesn't need anyone questioning him right now.

He slips into the last pew, eyes forward to the statue on the altar. She'd once been human, Up Top, a long time ago. She’s beautiful, carved from perfect white stone by a ghoul long gone by now.

Aurum clasps his fingers together, resting his wrists on the pew in front of him, before bending to press his forehead to his forearms. He takes a deep breath. "Our Father, who art in Hell," he begins, barely a breath louder than a whisper, eyes squeezed shut, focused on that little seed of flame at his very core. "Unhallowed be thy name. Cursed be thy sons and daughters, of thine nemesis who are to blame. Thy Kingdom Come, Nema."

The little speck of flame caged in his ribs, his magic, the core of his being, flickers in acknowledgment. Aurum tries to spiritually warm his hands by the flame. The Prince had made his ancestors, and by extension Aurum himself, in His own image. Had stepped forth from the fires of the Pit, unholy Creation to rival His Forsaker's.

"Infernal Majesty," Aurum whispers, the air still and quiet around him. "I offer my thanks, to be created in Your image, a creature of fire to burn away all Holy. I know this to be true, Olde One."

His eyes dart behind his eyelids. He knows he's alone. But he can feel Saint Jezebel's eyes, even as she looks through the window behind him. Above him. He wonders if she knows he’s here.

"You love Your creations, like Your father was supposed to love You. And You have made us good, and right, and powerful. I try my best to live up to that legacy, and the future You personally have seen for me."

He looks up, opens his eyes. Saint Jezebel stares out the window towards the Palace.

"Lord Lucifer, Prince Morningstar of the Nine Hells, creator and protector of Your children, I pray to borrow an ounce of the strength it took You to stand up to him. I just want to be a good son, Majesty. I want to make Mama and Dad happy, and do good by you. I don't know why I can't get better."

He hastily wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, dropping his head as he continues to pray. The tears sting the cut still there. "Unholy Lord, if all of Your children are made in Your image, why am I bad?"

The chapel is silent. Aurum's question hangs on the air. Even the little spark of magic at the very core of him, forever dancing and flickering, feels like it's frozen still. Saint Jezebel stares.

Aurum swallows hard, lowers his head again, and keeps praying. "O, most unholy Lord, grant me the sacrilege of your knowledge. Open the channels of my infernal soul and bring sweet release to the darkness inside of me. O, let my understanding of Your abhorrent secrets bring me closer to thee. Nema."

The whispered words almost seem to echo throughout the empty chapel. Or maybe Aurum just feels too small, insignificant to be heard. He asks anyways. "The dream from last night, Lord. A-are you leaving me? Am I that bad a ghoul? What's wrong with me? Why won’t it stop?"

Despite his pleas, desperation souring his scent, Aurum knows the only way he's getting an answer is if he marches right into the Palace. He’s just a kit, he knows they're not going to listen to him if he demands audience. He knows his mother likes to talk. He knows what she's said about him.

He wonders if the Prince hates him. It’s a thought that tastes bitter. But sometimes, the helpful things are. It’s almost like medicine.

Aurum stops praying. Just rests his forehead on his arms, feels the bench in front of him dig into them with the pressure. Lets himself be aware of sensation. Tries to shut off his mind. Can’t quite do it.

He’s only aware of time passing when his stomach growls. Services aren’t until the evening, but the chapel’s always open to those who need it. Which, right now, seems to be only him. He’s never been so grateful to be alone.

Aurum stretches when he stands, and is almost sent back on his ass with the force of the dread that hits him. He can’t stay here forever. And leaving means tucking his tail between his legs and sneaking back home. Walking willingly into the lion’s den.

But it’s not like he has any other choice. Aurum has to go home. Or whatever he’s walking into will be far worse when they eventually drag him back.

They’re waiting for him when he returns. Of course they are. Aurum stops in his tracks, ears pinning back and tail curling tight around his calf as his parents glare daggers at him. “M-mother, Father,” he breathes.

“Would you care to explain where you were, Aurum?” Pyra asks, her arms crossed over her chest. Her magma-like markings swirl and ripple, heat radiating off her like her anger. “Your sisters said you never showed up at the tutor’s.”

Aurum shrugs, swallowing hard as he steels himself, forcing himself to hold eye contact with his mother. “They left without me. I wouldn’t doubt that they’re making things up just to rile you up.”

“Lying isn’t a good look on you, Aurum,” Inferno warns. He bares his teeth, and Aurum fights every instinct not to bare his throat in submission. “We found your bag in your nest.”

“I’m not lying.” He at least has the audacity to look his father in the eye as he lies.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he scoffs, stepping towards him. “Get in here. Quit standing in the threshold.”

“Of course, Father,” Aurum says. Every emotion, all of the fear and doubt and anger, swirl inside his chest until all he feels is tired. He crosses his arms, mirroring his mother.

“Don’t take that tone,” he growls. Aurum just huffs.

“Now what? Let me guess. You’re just going to scream at me until you’re happy, and then send me off to bed so we can do this all again in the morning.” He’s fucking exhausted. Aurum hurts.

“We don’t do this because it makes us happy,” Pyra spits. Her eyes burn, flashing orange and red like embers kicked back to life. “We do this because you refuse to fucking listen, Aurum. You have the power to put an end to this. The ball is in your court. This is on you.”

He just laughs. It’s better than bursting into tears. Inferno lunges at him, infuriated by his blatant disrespect. Aurum flinches back, eyes wide as his father grabs him, pulling him closer to him and his mate.

“I can’t end this, because no matter what I do, it’s not good enough,” he hisses, trying so hard to hold himself together. He knows how they react when he cries. He pulls fruitlessly at his arm.

“It would be good enough if you just did what you were told and tried,” Pyra snaps. “That is quite literally all we ask for, Aurum. That does not feel unreasonable to ask for. We ask for you to just try.”

“I do!” he yells, wrenching his arm from his father’s grip. He feels his body temperature steadily rising. “That’s all I fucking do! I try, and I try, and I try, and you’re never fucking happy! What the fuck do you really want?”

For a moment, his mother just looks sad. But Aurum has no fucking pity for her, for his sisters, for his father. His parents don’t answer, just stare at him.

“What do you want,” Aurum tries again, gritting his fangs. “Tell me exactly what you want, so I can be a good enough son for you. Or is that just it, that you want a different kit because I’ve so thoroughly and repeatedly failed you?”

“Aurum, that’s not what we want and you know it-” Pyra tries to protest. Aurum just rolls his eyes.

“Am I making you a disappointment to the Prince? Am I fucking up your most honorable career, Mother? Aren’t you so disappointed that you’re not raising a good enough successor? Come on, tell me.”

“Don’t bring that into this, Aurum,” Inferno snaps, but Aurum ignores him. Much to his parents’ dismay, all they’ve really done is made him excellent at tuning them out. He cocks his head, raising his eyebrows as he waits for his mother’s answer.

“Mother, you know it’s true. The Prince blessed me, so you say, and I’m proving Him wrong.”

Pyra’s eyes ignite, and if Aurum weren’t so angry, so exhausted, he’d be truly afraid.

"You are so fucking inconsiderate!" Pyra screams, baring each of her fangs. Her markings ripple like lava, running down her arms and glowing bright. "If you were anyone else's son, they would have given up on you by now. You are squandering that blessing, and we still haven't given up on you, Aurum."

Aurum's heart and fists clench so tight he can smell blood. "Well," he says, swallowing hard to keep his voice as level as he can. "Maybe you should give up on me."

He gives his mother one last glare before he turns and walks out of the door.

"Aurum, get back here!" Inferno roars, but it's cut off as Aurum slams the door shut. With a jolt of fear, he starts to run.

Aurum doesn't look back, but he doesn't hear the door open after him. Granted, all he can hear is his heart pounding at his ribs, his panting breaths, his feet on the paving stones. He doesn't know where he's going, just lets his feet carry him away away away.

He slams open the doors to Saint Jezebel's for the second time in twenty four hours, and once again, he is alone. The offering candles flicker at her feet, lit for services that are soon to start, and the sight of fire makes Aurum's chest sting even more.

He storms up the aisle, a growl building in his throat as he reaches up to his hair. Aurum knows he doesn't have that much time before someone caves and comes looking for him. He can't go back. But he moves with purpose until he stands underneath Saint Jezebel, her eyes looking up to the window, out to the Palace.

They do not look down upon him.

With shaking fingers, Aurum takes out every last piece of adornment in his hair and ears. Each cuff and ring and charm, the gold gleaming in his palm, the tiny red gems that had been woven into his braids. It takes longer than he'd like, struggling as he makes himself bare for the first time in his life.

The pile in his hands clatters as they shake. Aurum stares at the jewelry, what had marked him as one of the First and as a ghoul in service to the Prince. Some of the pieces had been his mother's, his father's, grandparents', some from ghouls even older and long gone before Aurum had been born.

Each and every one of them had spent their lives in service to the Prince.

Aurum snarls, staring up at Saint Jezebel. His back is to the Palace. "I asked for protection," he says slowly. Something burns in his chest, nasty and acrid and curling up the back of his throat. "I begged You for safety, from them, from her, and You ignored me. I thought I was Your child! I thought You fucking cared!"

His knees tremble. If he were any less angry, adrenaline burning through him stronger than his magic ever has, he might have fallen to them.

Instead, he balls his fist around the pile of adornment. The metal digs into the cuts on his palm. He turns, staring out the stained glass window out to where the Palace sits on the hill. He hopes the Prince can hear him.

"I'm not your fucking child anymore," he snarls, chest heaving. "I'm no one's."

He turns back to the statue of Saint Jezebel and throws his adornment at her feet. "Fuck You!" he screams, drowning out the sound of the metal clattering on the marble. Aurum's eyes burn, vision hazy. "If You wanted me to care, You wouldn't have made me bad, wouldn't have given them a reason to hate me. Fuck You."

Aurum turns and storms out of the chapel, slamming the doors behind him before he starts to run. The Palace is behind him.

For the first time in his life, Aurum leaves the City. And he doesn’t turn back.

[pumpkinfreak]

Heroes In The City: PT 7

It had been such a nice evening. It was so odd to see Eel in civilian clothes, but he looked nice in dark wash jeans and a red corduroy jacket, and he was doing a fine job as a fake boyfriend. He walked with her arm in arm, and insisted on paying for her food at the baseball game, and watching him gush about his son was quite enduring.

Then without much warning she found herself marching off with Linnya who was beginning to cry. Before Diana could do any consoling Luke appeared and just as quickly disappeared with his girlfriend. She had been around long enough to know that arguing with upset teenagers was a bad strategy. Patrick caught up with them as Luke and Linnya made their escape. Diana grabbed his arm, linking hers around it, to keep him from going after them.

“ Let them cool off a bit.” She said gently. Eel let out an exasperated sigh. “ I’m sorry. I know this isn’t a real date but you shouldn’t have to deal with my drama.” Diana shrugged. “ I have been on worse dates, but why don’t you buy me a drink to make it up to me.”

He blinked hard at her then smiled weakly. “ You get whatever you want…don’t you?” She leaned down towards him. “ Only most of the time.”

***

Eel took her back to the jazz club, The Keys, it was quieter tonight and they sequestered themselves to a corner booth. “ How did you meet Angel?” Diana asked as their drinks arrived. A dark hoppy beer for him and a Brandy Alexander for her.

“Juvie, well technically it was a group home for troubled teens, but tomato tamoto.” He took a long dreg. “We got married the second we were both eighteen like a couple of idiots, and spent fifteen years in wedded agony.” He chuckled darkly. “Best thing we ever did for our relationship was get divorced, at least that’s what I thought.”

Eel slumped a bit in his seat.

“ The last serious relationship I had was in World War Two.” Diana said it like she was talking about the weather. “ His name was Steve Trevor and I loved him.” She paused for a moment, gaze far away lost in another time. “ He died a few years ago, he was ninety eight.”

Taking a tentative sip the rich liquor tasted bland as it slid against her tongue. “ He taught me how to swing dance, and took me to my first drag show.” Eel thought she might start crying. “Being an immortal has its drawbacks.” She finished drawing into herself.

Eel gently placed his hand over hers. “I know what you mean.” Their eyes met and after a moment she brightened slightly.

“Patrick…how old are you?” Eel dramatically crossed his arms. “Well I certainly don’t get carded anymore.”

Diana laced her fingers to rest her chin against them, and gazed at him pensively. His normal body, for lack of a better term, had deep set crows feet, flecks of grey in his black curly hair, prominent smile lines.

“A mature thirty five?” She guessed.

Eel pursed his lips and squinted at her. “You’re good, you’re very good,” he leaned forward. “But technically I'm fifty eight, at least I’ve lived fifty eight years, If only the fountain of youth wasn’t an acid bath.” He leaned a little further and whispered conspiratorially. “ Do you want to know a secret about this old man you may, or may not be dating?”

Diana whispered back. “ What ever could you be hiding from me?” Eel nodded his head towards the dance floor. “ I love swing dancing.” He confessed.

***

Diana hummed quietly to herself as she stepped into the dress shop. Canary’s wedding party was deep inside the store, already with piles of gowns in their arms. “Oh my god, there she is!” Vixen exclaimed. Diana froze as everyone looked at her.

Canary shuffled over to her, her legs trapped in a tight mermaid style skirt.

“ Okay, definitely not this one.” She spoke over her shoulder at Power Girl, who pouted. “ Diana! we need to know everything.” She demanded when she finally reached her. “ About what?

Vixen rolled her eyes, dropping dresses on a nearby chair. She retrieved her phone and showed Diana the article from a sleazy gossip blog. She had to admit it was a great picture of them.

The photographer had captured them mid dip. Their cheeks were rosy and their smiles bright. She was barefoot, her heels discarded to make the height difference more manageable. He had offered to make himself taller but she insisted.

His arms were tight around her waist, and she had one hand tangled in the curls at the back of his neck.

“ -and there’s videos all over the place. I don’t know what’s more shocking, you two going out again, or Plas being a good dancer.” Vixen added with genuine surprise.

Diana shrugged nonchalantly. “ He’s a great dancer, we’re going out again next weekend to do just that.” Power Girl helped Canary back to the dressing room. “ Aren't you worried about leading him on?” She asked and Vixen nodded.

Diana casually began looking through dresses. “ Who says I’m leading him on? We enjoy each other’s company.”

Canary called out from behind the curtain. “So you are dating!” Diana shrugged again.

“ She shrugged, Canary.” Power Girl told her as she handed her another dress. “ A shrug is not an answer!” Canary said, poking her head out. Vixen pursed her lips, looking down at her phone. “ You know he’s not bad looking.” She admitted. Power Girl gasped and Canary frowned, her nose scrunched. “ He’s got a gold tooth.” She whispered like it was a horrible secr

“…it’s kind of hot in an old, divorced dad, who’s a washed up gangster, kind of way.” She said tentatively.

Power Girl put her hands on her hips. “ Did you just call Plastic Man…a DILF?” Vixen nearly dropped her phone. “ I did not say that.” Canary pulled the curtain aside sharply. “You strongly implied it.” She chided with a giggle.

“ He is fifty eight, has a son, and you called him hot. Are those not the prerequisites for a DILF.” Diana teased. They all gawked at her. “ He’s fifty eight, that’s nearly a grandpa. He’s a GILF, Vixen you called him a GILF.” Power Girl pointed at Vixen who waved them off with a huff. “ Diana I did not call your man a GILF, and this conversation did not happen.”

Canary shook with laughter and she struggled to compose herself. “ Diana, are you bringing him to the wedding? I need to know the seating chart.” She said, taking a deep breath. “ We’ll be there.” Diana promised.

💕Them💕

[caradecema]

Half A Heart Of Green and Gold

Part: 9

SUMMARY: Gemma Crouch, Slytherin's finest and Sirius Black's longtime best mate, has a habit of flirting like it's a sport-especially with him.

Everyone sees the tension but them.

Lily and Remus are done waiting.

James is taking bets.

And Hogwarts is holding its breath to see if the hottest duo finally stops pretending they're just friends.

(Sirius Black x OC)

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·.

The next morning arrived with the usual chaos of Hogwarts: owls flapping over breakfast, first years scurrying late to class, and Filch cursing someone about dungbombs. But among all that noise and motion, there was a tension hanging in the air—thick, charged, and wrapped around two specific seventh-years.

Gemma and Sirius.

Because everyone could feel it now.

Not just Lily, not just Remus, not just the Slytherins with their internal betting pool, but everyone. Even McGonagall looked like she was holding her breath half the time in Transfiguration.

And yet, Sirius and Gemma... were back to flirting like absolutely nothing had happened.

They strolled into the courtyard together, shoulder to shoulder, laughing about something undoubtedly inappropriate. Gemma's red eyes scanned the area, the corners of her mouth pulling into a satisfied smirk when she spotted Remus reading beneath a tree. She made a beeline for him, only to stop halfway when Sirius grabbed her wrist and spun her toward him dramatically.

"Leaving me already?" he asked with mock sorrow. "You wound me, Gem."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she quipped.

He grinned. "Wouldn't be the last."

She rolled her eyes and stepped away just as Lily called her name.

Across the courtyard, Caleb was watching again. And this time, Lily didn't even need to nudge him.

He stood.

Sirius noticed.

"Don't," Remus said without looking up from his book.

"Don't what?" Sirius asked, eyes narrowing as Caleb walked toward Gemma.

"Kill him with your eyes. It's a little obvious."

But Sirius wasn't listening. He was already squinting like he could set Caleb on fire with sheer willpower.

"Hi, Gemma," Caleb said, flashing his perfect Ravenclaw smile. "Hogsmeade again this weekend?"

Sirius opened his mouth, but Lily was faster.

"Actually," she said sweetly, appearing out of nowhere, "Slytherin and Gryffindor have a joint study session that day. For... academic bonding."

Gemma arched a brow. "Since when?"

"Since now," Lily chirped.

Caleb blinked. "Oh. Right. Well, maybe after—"

"We usually go for drinks after bonding," Dorcas added, appearing beside Lily like the second head of a well-coordinated chaos hydra.

Gemma bit back a smirk.

Sirius was fuming. He looked two seconds away from turning into Padfoot just to bite Caleb's leg off.

Before the poor boy could continue digging his grave, Gemma stepped forward, looped her arm through Sirius' like she owned him, and tilted her head toward Caleb.

"Thanks for the invite," she said. "But Sirius and I have plans."

Sirius blinked.

They did?

Apparently, they did.

And he wasn't about to argue.

He threw an arm around her shoulders, leaned in dramatically, and said, "You know how demanding she is."

Gemma smirked. "Insufferable, I've heard."

Caleb gave a polite nod, clearly confused but too Ravenclaw to argue. He turned and left as Lily and Dorcas shared a victorious high-five behind his back.

Later That Night. What started as a study session quickly devolved into absolute chaos.

Books were technically open. Quills were out. But parchment? Mostly covered in doodles, betting tallies, and very unhelpful notes like Gemma hearts Sirius maybe????

Sirius was leaning back on the couch, twirling a quill and not even pretending to study.

Gemma sat on the floor in front of him, her back resting against his knees, flipping lazily through her Potions book. "If Slughorn gives us another essay on moonstone, I'm switching schools."

"You won't," Sirius said, poking her shoulder with the end of his quill. "You'd miss me too much."

"You wish," she muttered, though the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

"Please," Peter whispered to Remus. "Just make them kiss. Or snog. Or stab each other. Anything to release the tension."

Remus was scribbling something in his notes. "Give it a week. One of them will snap."

"I'm betting on Gemma," James said. "She's got that look."

"What look?" Lily asked.

James pointed. "That one."

Gemma had just turned, looked up at Sirius with this... expression. It wasn't teasing or smug or sarcastic. It was soft. Real. And Sirius had noticed.

He froze. Their eyes met. And something passed between them—unspoken, unmistakable, and impossible to ignore.

For a moment, the entire common room fell silent.

Then Sirius said, "You always look at people like that, or am I just lucky?"

And just like that, the cocky mask cracked.

Gemma blinked.

"No comment?" he asked, surprised. "Gemma Crouch speechless?"

She reached behind her and swatted at his shin. "Don't flatter yourself."

But her voice was quieter than usual. No snark. Just... unsure.

She got up to refill her drink, and Lily stared after her with wide eyes.

"She's blushing," she whispered.

"No," Dorcas gasped.

"Yes," Lily confirmed.

And across the room, Sirius Black sat still, his hand curled slightly in the place where she'd leaned against him just moments before.

His smile? Dangerous.

The kind of smile that said game on.

The study session had, in theory, started with good intentions.

Books lay open on every surface of the Gryffindor common room. Quills scratched here and there, chocolate wrappers dotted the table, and James was at least pretending to read something on Defense Against the Dark Arts. Lily was going through flashcards with Remus and Dorcas. Peter had somehow dozed off in the armchair by the fire, parchment stuck to his cheek.

And Gemma?

Gemma Crouch was nestled between Sirius Black's legs, head tipped back and resting on his shoulder, her eyes fluttering with exhaustion. She'd made a solid effort—her Potions book was open in her lap, and she'd even made a few notes on the essay due next week—but the long day, the earlier Quidditch match, and a quietly growing peace settled over her like a spell.

Sirius was mid-discussion with James about wand movements when he looked down and saw her eyes fully closed, lips parted slightly in sleep.

He blinked.

"Mate," James whispered, following his line of sight.

"Yeah."

"She's out cold."

"Yeah."

"What are you—?"

But Sirius was already shifting gently. He slid out from behind her, careful not to wake her, and slid down to the rug. Her head tilted slightly at the sudden loss of his shoulder, but before it could fall, Sirius guided it softly down... onto his thigh.

He settled against the couch, back pressed to it, one hand instinctively going to her hair.

His fingers curled through the strands, slow and tender, like he didn't even realize he was doing it.

Lily glanced over the top of her cards.

Dorcas nudged her.

Remus, without looking up from his notes, muttered, "Called it."

Gemma stirred once, her hand twitching like she was reaching for something. Her fingers brushed the hem of Sirius's sweater. He didn't say anything, just looked down at her—like she was something he hadn't quite figured out yet. Not because he didn't know what she meant to him, but because the depth of it still surprised him.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"She's really asleep," Peter mumbled from his armchair.

"Yeah," Sirius whispered, almost to himself. "She is."

Outside the windows, snow began to fall. The fire crackled low. Pages turned. The soft rhythm of fingers threading through red-streaked hair became the only movement in the world.

It was a strange kind of quiet—comfortable, warm, and oddly intimate.

And for once, Sirius Black didn't have something clever to say.

He just sat there, her head on his thigh, and let the world pause for a while.

Gemma stirred slowly, like a cat curled in a sunbeam, reluctant to let go of the warmth. Her nose scrunched faintly as she blinked open her eyes—only to be met with the rise and fall of Sirius Black's chest above her.

She paused.

Then tilted her head.

Her pillow was not the armrest of the couch like she vaguely remembered. No, it was warm. Alive. Her cheek pressed against something firm yet comfortable, and her hand—Merlin, her hand was practically on his stomach.

And his fingers... were still in her hair.

Sirius hadn't moved. He was lounging like a prince—elbows resting loosely on his knees, chin propped in his hand, his fingers still absently playing with her curls like he hadn't realized she'd woken up.

Her voice was a low murmur. "Comfortable?"

Sirius looked down, caught. "You were drooling on me, Crouch."

She grinned sleepily. "Flirting already? I just woke up."

Lily smothered a laugh. Dorcas didn't bother hiding hers. Remus raised his brow, unimpressed, and Peter, still drowsy, blinked like he was just now registering the exchange.

But Sirius didn't rise to it—not like usual. His smirk was faint, soft at the corners. "You looked peaceful. Thought you'd wake up swinging if I moved you."

Gemma lifted herself onto her elbows, but didn't move away from him yet. "So you thought letting me sleep on you was better?"

"Obviously."

Their eyes locked. For a moment, it was quiet again. She could hear the fire crackling, feel the warmth of his leg under her, the light scratch of his fingers just brushing her scalp before they paused.

Then—classic Gemma—she smirked. "You're obsessed with me."

"Madly," he deadpanned.

The others groaned in harmony.

"I'm going to vomit," Remus muttered.

"Do it away from the rug," James added.

Later that night, with most students filing off to their dorms and the common room now dim and glowing with the last flickers of firelight, Sirius slung Gemma's bag over his shoulder before she could even reach for it.

"I can carry my own stuff, you know," she said, though her tone was more teasing than annoyed.

"I know," he replied, tugging on the strap with a grin. "But I like playing the gentleman. Let me have this."

They walked together toward the dungeons, past the fading chatter of students, cloaked in the hush of late night corridors. They weren't touching, but there was a tension in the air—not awkward, not uncomfortable. Just something... tightly coiled.

Almost like a held breath.

They rounded the last corridor near the dungeon entrance when she appeared.

The Girl. Again.

The Gryffindor from earlier. The one who had made Sirius clench his jaw so hard it nearly cracked. She stepped out from behind one of the statues, her hair immaculate, her smile coy.

"Sirius," she purred.

Gemma blinked. The audacity of this bitch.

Sirius stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. "Hi?"

"I was wondering," the girl twirled her hair around her finger, "if you'd like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend."

Gemma turned slowly. Her eyes twitched once. Then she smiled. Not sweetly.

"Oh boy," she muttered.

Sirius blinked, caught between what the hell is happening and what the hell do I say.

The girl looked Gemma up and down like she was nothing more than a shadow next to Sirius's light. "I mean, if you're free."

Sirius opened his mouth. Closed it. Then looked to Gemma.

Gemma arched a brow.

"Oh, don't mind me," she said, her voice syrupy and sharp. "I'm just the one who sleeps on him in front of everyone, flirts with him in every class, and who—" she took a step closer to Sirius, her voice lower "—knows what he smells like at 2 a.m. after sneaking back from the Astronomy Tower."

The girl blinked. Sirius choked.

Gemma tilted her head. "But please. Ask again. I love the confidence."

The girl turned a deep shade of red and muttered something about "maybe another time," before all but fleeing down the hall.

The moment she disappeared, Sirius burst out laughing. "That was... terrifying."

Gemma gave a smug little shrug. "She was annoying me."

He stared at her. Really stared. Then, after a beat: "What do I smell like at 2 a.m.?"

Gemma smiled. "Like cinnamon, smoke, and poor decisions."

Sirius threw his head back, laughing again.

She took her bag from his shoulder, though his hand lingered a second longer than necessary.

"Night, Siri," she said softly, her voice softer than it had been all evening.

He hesitated, then stepped forward, just barely brushing a kiss to her temple.

"Night, Gem."

And as the dungeon door creaked open behind her and she slipped inside, her smirk returned—but this time, it wasn't for show.

.·:*¨༺༻¨*:·.

[blackjackkent]

"For a warm bed and full stomach," reads the dilapidated sign, "look no further. Welcome to the Last Light Inn."

In Rakha's head, the guardian whispers, "This place is protected. Must be the refuge the Harpers spoke of."

Rakha feels mildly relieved to hear her again. She has been quiet since the last dream some weeks ago - but by this comment, it's obvious that she is still very much watching.

And the guardian was very ready to say that going to the creche was a bad idea - which turned out to be correct - but seems to have no such qualms about this place. So that seems... promising.

Rakha strides forward, and lets out an audible noise of relief as they pass the moonlight barrier surrounding the inn. She can feel the way the Weave shifts and softens on her skin as they leave the shadows, the corruption fading, the pure magic returning.

One of the Harpers guarding the gate straightens up, seeing them approach.

"You there! Step forward and keep your hands off your weapons!"

Before Rakha can answer, a more familiar voice chimes in - the captain from the fight out in the shadows. "Easy! She's with me."

The guard squints warily, then straightens up and jerks her head. "Come." She turns away, barks a single word that means nothing to Rakha. "Jaheira!"

As Rakha follows her past the gate, it becomes evident that Jaheira is a name. The guard has called to her superior - a woman with long grey hair in close braids who is standing in the inn's courtyard.

The woman turns slowly and fixes Rakha with an intense, piercing gaze that Rakha immediately finds hard to look away from. She has an air of grave authority, and the two scimitars strapped to her back have obviously seen regular use.

She crosses the few feet separating them and for a moment stands in silence before Rakha, examining her up and down. When the guard tries to break the silence, to speak up as to Rakha's trustworthiness, Jaheira silences her with only a glance.

Not a woman to be trifled with, Rakha finds herself thinking involuntarily. And yet somehow she is still startled when the Weave suddenly whirls around the older woman like a tornado.

Jaheira's eyes flare with a pale green light and she slams a fist downwards towards the earth. Vaguely Rakha recognizes the magic - she has seen Halsin use something similar on rare occasions in camp, a magic drawing on the land itself, natural life energy. It is very different from her own magic and Gale's - it feels softer on her skin, smooth like tanned leather, all curves and no angles, and she is astonished to feel the level of power necessary to wield it in this barren, lifeless place.

She's so fascinated by this realization that she does not notice the vines creeping up around her legs.

She's trapped. This woman, without even a greeting, has caught her like a fish in a net - or perhaps more accurately, like a beast caught in a snare.

KILL, demands the dark urge, more fiercely this time. Rakha's jaw works as a feeling of humiliation and rage threatens to overwhelm her wonder at the magic or any possible hope of assistance.

We came here for help and you treat me so?!

A burst of fire flares in each palm. "You have till the count of five to let me go," she growls.

(A/N: LOL there's a wizard option here as well: "Fascinating - both your command of magic and its technical implementation are impeccable." To which Jaheira responds: "A good start - but you've told me something I already know. Tell me something I don't." I love her, in case anyone was somehow not aware. XD )

"A count to five is all I need," Jaheira answers coolly. Without loosening the spell, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small vial about the size of her palm.

"This is why we're here, you see," she goes on, and her voice has gotten markedly colder. "It is a curious creature that hides all manner of secrets. But if there's one thing we know..."

She extends her hand, bringing the vial close to Rakha's face, and Rakha flinches as she sees what is inside it - a tadpole, just like the ones she has taken from the dead bodies of Absolutists. Just like the one squirming inside her own head.

A bright line of pain stabs into her skull - familiar and terrible, the pain of a connection between her own worm and the one Jaheira holds. The jarred parasite begins to squirm and writhe, its slimy body knocking against the glass walls of its container.

"...it's that it knows its own kind," Jaheira finishes icily. She flexes her fist, and Rakha grunts as the vines tighten around her ankles. The Harper smirks without humor. "You should never have come here, True Soul."

Rakha's jaw works; as the pain of the connection slowly fades again, she tries to focus, to sort out what is happening. These Harpers, whoever they are, know about the Absolutists. They are enemies of the Absolutists - and they think Rakha is one. A curious combination of good and bad news - but Rakha will not let herself be trapped like a rat while they decide what to do with her.

I am no cultist. But you will *not* hold me.

(A/N: There is a sorcerer-specific line here - Force your own magic through the vines, weakening them. However, it leads to Jaheira being an incredible badass, popping spells in both hands, and snarling 'STAND DOWN, OR WE'LL PUT YOU DOWN' which is just the fucking coolest but also pretty hard to justify Rakha not going into kill mode at that point. Flavor-wise, though, she's still definitely revving up the magic here. XD )

"I... am not... a True Soul," she growls. Fire sprouts around her whole body, searing outward into the wild growth holding her pinned to the ground. Jaheira's eyes widen and she lets out a sharp hiss, as if in pain, and Rakha watches the Weave swirl madly as the Harper begins to summon a fresh spell in her off-hand--

"STOP!"

A reddish blur barrels over a nearby pile of crates and resolves itself into a young teeth-ling girl. Rakha is startled to recognize her - it's Mol, the urchin leader from the refugee camp, and currently she looks more agitated than Rakha ever saw her previously.

"What are you doing?!" the girl howls at Jaheira, for all the world as if she was fully grown and twice the Harper's height. "She's the one who saved us!"

"She's the one who protected the Emerald Grove?" Jaheira demands.

Mol grins widely. "Yup! Didn't leave a goblin standing. Not so bad to hang around with, either. Saved two of my friends - one from a harpy and one from a mad druid with a snake. Didn't make a fuss of our thieving either."

She crosses her arms and peers up at Rakha with her one visible eye, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. "I'd pretty much trust her with my life."

Rakha goes completely still. The flames around her disappear. For a moment she does not feel the press of the vines on her legs or the weight of Jaheira's threats. She stares at the little girl with abject astonishment.

I'd pretty much trust her with my life, Mol said.

Rakha remembers Arabella and Mirkon, the children she helped to save - the reason Mol is vouching for her. She remembers struggling against the beast in both cases, which would just as happily have feasted on each child's blood.

Do you know how many other lives I have ended, child? she thinks bitterly.

And yet... she is surprised to realize, distantly, how long ago those moments in the Grove seem. She has experienced much since then, built a whole life in miniature, a life where she has begun to learn the lines that delineate the gradations of death, the killing that is monstrous versus the killing that is right, that has purpose.

And in her scattered moments of strength, she left a mark on this child's life.

"A True Soul with a mind of her own?" Jaheira says slowly. She sounds doubtful, but her fist unclenches, and the vines around Rakha's feet come loose, retreating back into the soil. "How is that possible?"

Rakha takes a careful step backwards, testing the freedom of one foot, then the other. She knows the true answer to Jaheira's question - but her pride still stings from the trap the other woman placed her in. [SORCERER] "The Weave itself burns through my veins," she says, just a touch sardonically. "Perhaps the tadpole is afraid."

Jaheira smiles coolly. "I've met no sorcerer that powerful - and I've met many. Now speak plain. How do you have control?"

Rakha looks at her steadily for a long moment. It would be easy to attack now, while the Harper's guard is down - but she has many friends in this courtyard, and Rakha has only three. The chaos that would result would be delicious for the beast... but her own body would be among the fallen.

And more to the point... Jaheira is an enemy of the Absolute. That means she likely knows things Rakha needs to know. And her magic is clean and bright, not like that searing darkness outside.

"Fine," she mutters. "Here."

Show Jaheira the artifact.

She can almost feel a faint heat through her gloves as the Prism glows in her palm.

Jaheira looks at it with cautious interest. Then she reaches into her pack and pulls out the vial with the worm inside. Placing it near the Prism, she watches as the tadpole begins to squirm again with new agitation - and then bursts, coating the inside of the vial with a dark, oozing sludge.

Jaheira's face twists with distaste - but her shoulders have relaxed. Her ire at Rakha has faded. "What in the hells is that thing?" she asks quietly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Rakha responds, promptly and completely seriously, which elicits a low laugh from Jaheira.

"Strangest magic I've seen since roaming the ruins of Myth Drannor, but I can't argue with the results," she says dryly. "Congratulations. You've earned yourself the benefit of the doubt."

She snaps a hand out sideways; Rakha stiffens for a moment, expecting another magical attack, but it is a gesture of command instead. "Hear me, Harpers!" she barks. "All clear! At ease!" Around them, the soldiers all begin to sheathe their weapons, and Jaheira fixes her eyes on Rakha soberly.

"I'll not pretend to understand what that artifact is," she says, her voice low again - and suddenly Rakha becomes aware of a heavy weariness under it that her defensive anger was masking. "But I'm old and wise enough to recognize a sliver of hope when it crawls out of the dark." She leans forward. "Tell me - why have you come here?"

The beast has calmed back into stillness again - overwhelmed by Rakha's own emotions, at least for the time being. So she is able to match Jaheira's low tone, though the words emerge more like a growl as the subject turns towards the vengeance she hopes to find here. "To destroy the Absolute in its lair," she says. "Moonrise Towers."

Jaheira's eyebrows lift, and then she smiles, very faintly but for the first time without that icy undercurrent. "Then you've found an ally in me," she says, "for that is precisely why I am here."

Her eyes flick past Rakha, acknowledging her allies behind her, and then she gestures backwards towards the battered-looking building behind her. "There's food in the inn over there. Beds too if you require rest." A quick flash of humor - muted but potent. "Aloe oil in the cupboard, in case the vines gave you a rash."

She draws a slow breath, then nods as if coming to some conclusion internally. "Settle in, then come join me for a drink. You may just be the godsend we've been praying for."

[amywritesthings]

Hello Hello Hello-ween! 👻

This is Episode 1 (...dunno whether there will be more...) of

Oddly Specific Asks🗿✨️

where you will get oddly specific questions and choices that will tingle your pringle. Let's go!

1) Favorite line in Avatar: The Last Airbender?

2) Best Justin Bieber Song?

3) QUICK ROUND! Pumpkin Spice or Matcha Latte?

4) Favorite way to cut a sandwich?

5) Most annoying Anime character?

6) QUICK ROUND! Mint chocolate on pizza or cheesy pineapple on ice cream?

7) Rate yourself: How well would you perform with ODM gear? On a scale from Sasha's potato to Levi VS Beast Titan.

8) In a fight between a peanut, a pistachio and a macadamia nut - who would win and why?

9) QUICK ROUND! Never read FanFic again or never write FanFic again?

10) GET CREATIVE! Write a short dialogue between any AoT character and a mindless titan about the lastest hairstyles in Mitras. Add details of the titan's reaction as well as at least two rhymes.

Thanks for playing! If you enjoyed this stupid game my silly little brain has come up with, let me know in your answer and I will give you another round. I hope this made you smile at least a little!

Best,

a very weird German <3

hallo-sleepover '24! / accepting.

When I tell you that I just finished eaten a chicken pesto sandwich and opened my inbox and went my god. I am so game.

1) Technically, I have two because I'm a LoK truther as much as ATLA. Unironically, they're both Uncle Iroh. "Perfection and power are overrated. I think you are very wise to choose happiness and love instead." (ATLA) + "If you look for the light, you will often find it; but if you look for the dark, that is all you will ever see." (LOK)

2) I don't know many Justin Beiber songs, but one of my cardio classes once used "Friends" and it's such a good song.

3) Pumpkin Spice, I'll never choose anything different.

4) In half because I am lazy.

5) Bestie you're going to get me in trouble 😭 my heart says Eren from AOT (I'm sorry please don't add me to the weird yeagerist hit list) but I feel like the diplomatic answer is Mineta from MHA. I want that diaper grape eviscerated.

6) Mint chocolate on pizza. Something about a cheesy pineapple makes my texture sensitivity want to fly into the sun.

7) Without a threat? I'd be able to use ODM gear at like a confident 4 because I train with weights 6x a week, but the second you put a titan in front of me? -10. We're getting eaten, my friends. I am so bad with scary things.

8) I'm going to be so honest -- I have never eaten any of these LMAO so I'm going by name, and 'Amy Macadamia' sounds very Myspace to me, so I'm going to sit myself in the mac nut corner.

9) Never read fic again. I've been writing my own self-indulgent fanfiction since I was ten years old on every surface I could pen or type. There is no way I am giving up the ability to hide in my own little escapism world.

10) You're fucking crazy SKDJFKSDF ALRIGHT I DID MY BEST

Chewing on one-half of his slightly stale sandwich, Connie squints at the titan strapped down by Hange's latest invention. Surveillance shifts sucked, but not even the brainless could convince the boy not to talk.

"So... you got a whole head of hair. Wild. Kinda flowy, and stuff -- to be put it mild." He chomps down on another edge, speaking with his mouth full. "How'd you grow that out?"

The titan blinks right through Connie's sandwich, its tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

"Or were you... uh, titan-born that way?"

Another blink.

Yeah. this conversation was going a whopping fuckin' nowhere.

"Thought about growing out my own situation." Connie holds up his free hand to pet it through his own buzzcut. "I'm not bald, for your information."

It didn't ask. Then again, Connie didn't ask to get put on this damn detail, so he keeps going. He puffs out his chest and considers.

"I know Jean's already growing out his mullet, but would that be copying if I did it, too? I mean Mitras has, like -- what, three good hairstyles right now?" He lists on his sandwich-slicked fingers. "Mullet, braid -- ew -- and the undercut thing. I'm not getting flack for copying Captain Levi, though. No, siree."

The titan gurgles, and Connie can't help but feel like it was big guy code for indifference to his plight.

"...damn, you're really no help."

[sciencestyled]

The Old Atom and the Sea

There are two types of people in this world: those who understand atoms and those who shoot at them. I was the latter for most of my life, though in my defense, most things start behaving better when you introduce them to a shotgun. Atoms, as I learned through a tragic misunderstanding with a physics book, are not among those things.

I’d been nursing my usual breakfast—a fine cocktail of existential dread, three black coffees, and a hangover that could knock a charging bull off its hooves—when the door to my humble hideaway in Havana creaked open. Standing there was a scientist. Not the sort of person you’d expect to ruin a perfectly good day of fishing, but there he was. He had the aura of a man who had something important to say, which immediately made me dislike him.

"Ernest," he said, using my name in that serious way people do when they think they’re about to blow your mind with knowledge. "Do you know anything about atoms?"

"Enough to know I don’t trust anything that small," I grunted. "If you can’t catch it with a rod and reel, it’s probably up to no good."

He looked at me like I’d just insulted his mother. "Atoms are the building blocks of the universe!" he exclaimed, as if I cared. "Without them, there'd be no whiskey, no cigars, no marlin—nothing!"

The mention of whiskey piqued my interest. "I see," I said, leaning back in my chair. "So you're telling me these little atoms are responsible for the things that make life worth living?"

The man’s eyes lit up. "Exactly! And that's why I need your help to explain the beauty of atomic life to the world. There's this video—"

At this point, I had a very serious decision to make: either ignore him and return to my perfectly respectable life of fishing and drinking, or take him up on his offer and finally understand the tiny bastards responsible for all the headaches in my life. I took a sip of my coffee and thought about it.

"You’re telling me atoms are responsible for everything?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Even hangovers?"

"Technically, yes."

I squinted at him. This was personal now. If I could learn to control atoms, maybe I could prevent hangovers. Maybe I could even bend the universe to my will. Or at least, make the next day’s fishing trip a little less painful. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. I had to play it cool.

"Alright," I said, "I'll watch your little video. But only because I’m a man of the world, and the world runs on whiskey. And cigars. And occasionally a good marlin."

And so, we sat there—me, the skeptical author who believed nothing smaller than a fish was worth his time, and the scientist, giddy as a schoolboy, playing the video on a dusty projector he’d brought along. As I watched, I couldn’t help but be amazed. The life of an atom, it turned out, was full of strange happenings. Particles flitting about like Hemingway at an open bar, electrons spinning around like drunkards at a tavern, and protons holding everything together like a man holding onto the last shreds of his dignity after a wild night out.

By the end, I realized two things. First, I knew less about the universe than I thought. Second, atoms, in all their mysterious glory, were probably responsible for most of my personal misfortunes.

“Alright,” I said when the video ended. “I suppose the world ought to know about this. If we’re all at the mercy of these microscopic devils, the least we can do is learn their ways.”

The scientist beamed. “You’ll help me spread the word?”

“Not just help,” I grumbled. “I’ll publish it. Let the world see what we’re really made of. But if anyone asks, I’m still shooting at them. Got a reputation to maintain.”

So, that’s how it happened. How a hungover writer, cajoled by a scientist with a love for atoms, decided to make peace with the smallest building blocks of the universe. Watch the video, learn what I did. And if you’re ever in Havana, buy me a drink. Just don’t mention atoms.

I’ve still got a grudge to settle.

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Eddie and Max get out of the hospital at the same time. Eddie's scars are tender. It hurts to move sometimes. But he's got ointment, and pain pills, he'll be fine.

Max can see, not super well, but it improves a little every week. Her arms are mostly healed, she still has slings for when they ache. Her legs are healed, technically, the bones anyway. But she's got braces and isn't supposed to walk on them yet. She can stand on them for a couple minutes off and on to stretch them. But she goes to physical therapy multiple times a week.

Her mom had been rightly worried and upset and freaked out, because they couldn't afford a van for her wheelchair. And yeah she can get out of her wheelchair if she needs too, but its easier on her body if she can just, roll in and out of a vehicle.

So eddie tells her mom he can drive her around. All they need is a ramp for his van. He already had straps in the back to secure things, they use them on Gareth's drum set. The relief on Max's mothers face and the way she hugs him genlty is... too much. He just smiles and looks away, nodding when she thanks him again.

He drives her to therapy twice and decides that her trailer needs a ramp too. A good one. He can't help lift Max's chair, so he just has to watch Max's mom struggle to get her up the stairs.

So he goes home and starts drawing. He can see it in his head, the way he wants it, bigger than it probably needs to be, but he wants the slope to be low impact, because once her arms get strong enough to move herself, he wants her to able to do that. He just... doesn't know how he's gonna manage to DO all this.

But he goes to the hardware store one day, with Wayne, because Wayne knows things, about everything. And Wayne helps him pick out the wood, they estimate the numbers and then buy a little more, just in case. And they load it up, and drop it by Max's house. And the next day, Wayne goes to work, and so does Eddie.

He ties his hair back, shoves himself into a pair of Wayne's old cover alls, and walks slowly over to Max's, she doesn't have therapy today, or the next two. Eddie doesn't think he can get it done by then, but he's gonna fucking get it started if it kills him. He pops a pain pill into his mouth, takes a swig from the water he'd brought with him, takes a look at the drawing he'd made, and gets to work.

Max rolls onto her small porch steps about an hour into Eddie's work, he's been measuring and cutting and just separating things into piles. She says his name softly and he looks up, squinting, he's covered in sweat. And his body fucking hurts. He wipes at his forehead with his arm and limps over to Max. She's holding out a new glass of water.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is ...tight. Like she knows exactly what he's doing. Eddie chugs the water and hands her back the empty glass.

"What? You don't like suprises?" He huffs, smiles with the tease. She smiles back, her bottom lip trembling slightly. He rests his hand gently on her knee, gives it a squeeze, then heads back to where he was,

"Go inside. I can't keep an eye you when I'm working and if you roll off that teeny tiny porch you're mom'll kill me." She snorts, but does as he says. A few minutes later Eddie hears the door slap shut again, and looks up to see another glass of water sitting on the porch. He shouts a thank you, and keeps working.

It only takes another hour before he almost has a breakdown. His skin hurts, he's hot, his hands are shaking. He's downed three more glasses of water. His last thank you had been so strangled that Max had just looked at him and then disappeared into the house.

He's sitting on the porch steps now, hands shaking in his lap, tears falling down his face. He can't take another pill yet. He's got two hours. He takes a few very deep breathes, about to steel himself and get back to work, his hands are on his knees, about to push himself up, when he hears the car.

He looks up, and Steve's car is parking at his house. His hands fall from his knees. But its not just Steve in the car, Nancy and Robin are there too. All of them in old looking jeans, and ratty looking shirts.

Robin's are covered in paint. Eddie's breathing goes shakey as Steve pats Robin's shoulder and points at Eddie. Robin nods and heads for him, doing a weird little run, Eddie can't help but smile. Steve and Nancy are grabbing things from Steve's trunk, Eddie doesn't see what things, before Robin is filling his vision, dropping to her knees in front of him looking concerned as her hands gently cradle his face.

"Hey you. You okay? Max said you might need some help." Robin breaths it out like a sigh, like she'd been holding in her worry. Eddie bites his lip to stop it from trembling anymore and nods. She nods back with a smile.

"Okay cool. Well, help is here. Help being, Steve and Nancy." She nods to them.

"And I'm gonna sit with you until you're feeling a bit better okay? Then you can jump back in." Steve clears his throat aggressively as he walks past her at that. Robin's face scrunches.

"Maybe." She tells Eddie. Steve was ... was he mad? He wasn't looking at Eddie, just helping Nancy get the tools they'd need out of the box they brought. Eddie had some tools, but just for one person. Robin rubs his knee gently and squishes in next to him on the stairs.

"So you got baby sitting duty?" He asks her, his side pressing into her as almost all the fight to stay upright leaves his body. She's steady beside him, holds him up easily, her hand curling around his bicep for extra support.

"Well, Nancy and Steve thought it was probably best that I don't handle tools. So yeah, but hey, babysitting you's not so bad. I mean you're a GREAT conversationalist." Robin smiles brightly at him, watches him try to smile back and then grimace.

"You okay?" Her voice is concerned now, and that apparently draws Steve's attention. He's at Eddie side in the time it takes for Eddie to nod, his face still scrunched in pain. Steve kneels, looks up at him.

"Where are your pills?" He asks. Eddie shakes his head.

"Hour an a half." Eddie grunts out. Steve's head falls and then it's shaking, he sighs, and fuck, he sounds disappointed. And he's glaring at Eddie when he finally looks back up.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Doing this by yourself, with no one here but Max to help you if you got hurt. Did you think about that?" Steve's voice gets louder as he talks.

"Steve." Robin's voice, a warning.

"No. Robin. This is... you could've gotten hurt Eddie." He huffs it, his voice is full of frustration, and anger. Eddie just stares at the ground, tries to breathe around the lump in his throat.

"I know I fucked up alright? Can we spare the lecture?" He grits, his voice is wobbly. Steve doesn't hear it, just huffs again and stands, Eddie sees his hands hit his hips and braces for whatever he's gonna say next.

"What was Max supposed to do if you got hurt? Huh? She can't help you dude! And Wayne's at work! You're all alone out here, when you shouldn't even be out here in the first place!" Steve is openly yelling now, both Nancy and Robin saying his name as Eddie's shoulders shake. Eddie clears his throat roughly, pushing the tight feeling away so he can speak. He shoves himself to his feet with a wince, pain shooting through his body.

"You think I dont know that? I know how fucking alone I am. Thank you. Steve." His hand clenches at the pain in his side, a whimper rips out of his throat, tears burn his eyes and fall. Steve looks startled, then concerned, reaches out to steady him, Eddie slaps his hand away, hard.

"Don't fuckin touch me." He growls, wipes at his eyes with shakey hands and starts walking to his trailer. His foot hits a dip in the ground and he stumbles, Robin catches him, just enough to keep him on his feet. She lets go immediately as he shrugs her touch off gently, and keeps walking.

"FUCK!" he yells it, to no one really, just built up frustration clawing its way out of him. He stomps, carefully, up his own trailer steps, and lets the door slam shut behind him.

Max's trailer door squeaks open, and the three of them turn to see her looking at Steve.

"That was harsh. I told you to come help him, not fucking yell at him and make it worse." The look in her eyes could cut glass. Steve droops under her scrutiny, his hands moving to cover his face.

"Fuck. I know." He groans. He looks up, and over to Robin.

"What's wrong with me?" He sighs, his head hanging again. Robin gives him a sympathetic smile, walks closer, rubs at his arm.

"You care about him. And you were mad. And when you're upset you get...." she trails off, thinking.

"Bitchy." Nancy supplies, moving to his other side, her hand on his shoulder as he glares at her.

"What? You do. Eddie was trying to do something nice. Something amazing, actually, for Max." Steve glares harder, she holds her finger up, silencening whatever he was about to interupt her with.

"And yes he went about it the wrong way. He obviously should have called for help." Robin chimes in, squeezing his arm.

"But no one said he was a genius. He's just trying to help." Nancy finishes, moving her hand over his shoulder soothingly.

"I know that. But he can't... he can't just help others to point that he hurts himself!" Steve flails a little, both Robin and Nancy leaning away from him, out of his flail range. They share a look though. And Max snorts behind him. He wips around to look at her.

"What? What was that for?" He asks, his tone, to his dismay, bitchy.

"Did you hear what just came out of your mouth? Have you met yourself?" She asks, crossing her arms carefully over her chest. She glares at him until he deflates. He sighs. Squints against the sun as he looks up at the sky.

"I need to go apologize." He says. All three girls nod.

"Yep." Nancy says, pressing her lips together so she doesn't smile.

"Definitely. 100% yeah." Robin squeezes his arm again, gives him an encouraging nod.

"If you don't. I'm throwing myself down these steps and telling my mom you left me unsupervised." Max says, her voice flat. Steve's eyes widen, and then he gives her a look.

"Jesus. Alright. I was already going. No need for threats." He calls the last part over his shoulder as he makes his way to Eddie's trailer. He bounces up the steps gingerly and knocks.

"Come in." Eddie's voice calls. Steve opens the door, the living room is empty. He walks down to Eddie's room and his heart sinks. Eddie has one arm pulled up inside his coveralls, it's bent at an interesting angle, he's sitting in the edge of his bed, his face is wet with tears. He flinches a little when he sees it's Steve standing there and that hurts Steve too. He moves closer, just one step and then Eddie chokes out,

"I'm stuck." And Steve moves fast. He kneels in front of Eddie, trying to look at the situation, his arm is caught in the sleeve, his elbow shoved into it tightly, he moves Eddie's wrist and Eddie flinches again.

"Does it hurt?" He asks, keeping his voice quiet. Eddie nods, bites his lip. The sleeve is pressing hard into Eddie's arm, right where one of his scars is. Steve winces in sympathy.

"How attached are you to these?" He tugs on the front of the coveralls, Eddie looks at him.

"I'm not. They're Wayne's old pair." He says, his voice tight from the pain.

"Okay good." Steve says as he slides his pocket knife out, flicks it open, and cuts the sleeve in one fluid motion. Eddie's arm drops free, another whimper falls out of him at the release.

Steve cradles Eddie's arm, holds it gently as Eddie catches his breath. His fingers squeeze Eddie's wrist and he opens his eyes. Looks at Steve.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you." Steve says, not letting go of Eddie's wrist. Eddie blinks at him. Stares. Then shakes his head.

"Don't be. I fucked up. You were right. I shouldn't have been out there by myself." Eddie frowns, wipes at his wet face. Steve shakes his head then, pushing himself up onto his knees, his back straightening, moving him closer to Eddie's face.

"No. Don't do that. It wasn't your fault. Okay? I shouldn't have yelled. You were trying to help Max. And I just... I didn't wanna find you hurt. Again." Steve looks at Eddie, really looks at him, tries to convey what he means without having to say it. Eddie's eyes are wide, and a little glassy from crying, but Steve sees it, the moment realization hits him.

"Okay. I won't do it again." Eddie nods, moves his wrist in Steve's hand so he can curl his fingers around Steve's wrist.

"Thank you. Just call us. We'll help you. Okay? And Eddie?" Steve swallows, stands and lifts Eddie to his feet, Eddie blinks at him owlishly.

"You're not alone. I'm sorry if we made you feel that way." Steve whispers it, feels his throat burn as Eddie starts crying again. He wipes at his face and shakes his head, looks at Steve with some strange frown smile combo.

"No I know. I just... it's always just been me. And Wayne. Ya know?" He says, holding onto Steve as he sways, dizzy. Steve holds onto him right back.

"Yeah. Well... not anymore." Steve shrugs, smiles, and then tugs Eddie out of his room. They get him another pain pill, Steve rubs some ointment onto the scar on his arm, and then they go back outside.

Nancy is cutting wood while Robin measures and marks. Steve doesn't let go of Eddie's hand until he has him sitting on the porch steps. Max hands him another glass of water.

"You're drinking me out of house and home Munson." She teases, he stares her down as he chugs the water, holds the glass back out to her and wiggles it with a shit eating grin.

"Unbelievable. Sending the girl in the wheelchair to do your errands." She sighs, but smiles when Eddie hops up and gets the door for her, follows her inside to help. He pops back a minute later and hands Steve a peice of paper. It has his plans for the ramp on it.

"This is sort of what I was aiming for." He shrugs, watches Steve look over the paper.

"You did this?" He asks, looking back up at Eddie. Eddie nods, wraps his arms around himself, feeling self-conscious under Steve's gaze.

"What? What's wrong with it?" He asks when Steve says nothing.

"What? Oh no, sorry, nothing's wrong. It's just super detailed." Steve smiles, shakes his head, hands the paper to Robin and Nancy.

"Yeah well, I wanted it done right." Eddie shrugs, Nancy makes a weird moaning sound behind them, both of them look to see her looking down at the paper in her hands, lovingly. She looks back up at Eddie.

"Finally! Someone else detail oriented. I'm making copies of this." She sounds genuine as she waves the paper, smiling at Eddie. He flushes red and moves to sit on the steps again. When his hands stop shaking he helps Robin with the measurements.

She measures, he measures, Nancy and Steve cut.

It takes them two days. But they get it done. The ramp wraps around the side of the trailer, where Max's mom always parks. He bought some plywood as well, to put down on the ground, so Max's wheels wouldn't sink.

The first time she pushes Max down the ramp she nearly cries as she throws herself at Eddie. Hugs him tight and then apologizes when he huffs in pain. Max grabs his hand, looks up at him with her bright blue eyes, and kisses his arm. Just a little peck, smooching the bats on his skin. But he gets it. That's all she needs to do. He knows she's grateful.

Steve shows up at Eddie's trailer the day after they finish the ramp. His eyes are wild and he looks like he's been shoving his hands into his hair for a couple of hours. Eddie gets half way through asking what's wrong and then Steve is kissing him. They almost fall into the trailer with the force of it. Steve catches them, rights them, but doesn't let go of Eddie, just lets out a breathy,

"Sorry sorry." As he keeps them steady. Eddie just smiles dumbly at him. Wayne stands from the couch, clears his throat awkwardly and pats Eddie on the shoulder as he leaves, says,

"Told you them coveralls was lucky boy." He winks as he passes them. Eddie's laughter filling the trailer behind him as Steve's face goes crimson and he drops his head on Eddie's shoulder with a dramatic groan.

[sardonic-sprite]

Home Alone

Some days, Tim was really fucking glad to have Batman for a next-door neighbor.

He couldn't exactly remember a time when he was quite this glad or relieved, though. He'd never been on the verge of being kidnapped before.

But that was ok. He wasn't going to be kidnapped.

He had a plan.

Call the police would probably have been more rational, but the power was all still dead from the snowstorm, and Tim figured the roads to Bristol were blocked up, too. At the very least, his driveway was, and it was long enough to be considered its own short road.

Stupid fucking snowstorm. It was its fault that Tim's parents couldn't get back in town, and that he was alone and trying not to end up kidnapped on Christmas.

But it was ok. Because he wouldn't. Because he had a plan. And about two hours to set it into motion. And if it failed, the kidnappers were probably just going to be so pissed they'd kill Tim, so technically his goal of don't get kidnapped would still be met.

Technicalities were usually much more fun.

Tim ran around the house in a frenzy, darting glances out the window every few minutes to make sure the creepy men hadn't gotten any closer. But no, they were still huddled around their fires out in the yard, waiting for him to surrender.

Big fat nope to that one. Tim didn't know who they were working for, or why that guy wanted an eleven-year-old kid, but he knew it was most definitely for something very bad, and he wasn't interested in the particulars.

He paused, shuddering at the thought that entered his head, then scattered a few more Lego pieces on the floor.

The thing was, Tim could neither call for help nor run away while the power was out and the bad guys were surrounding the house. But if he got them inside the house, and made sure they couldn't follow, then he could race across the half-mile stretch to the property line. Crossing that would trigger Batman's security, and he'd come and investigate and bring Tim somewhere safe and beat up the bad guys, and maybe even be impressed at how clever and resourceful Tim had been.

Of course, even getting outside hinged on how many bad guys actually did come inside, and how many got caught in Tim's traps long enough to give him a head start. The traps had never been tested, after all, and Tim only had time for so many math calculations to determine their effectiveness. Drake Manor was also so large that he couldn't sufficiently cover it. He'd have to guide the bad guys where he wanted them to go.

Which meant he was using himself as live bait.

... It was gonna be fine.

The clock began striking nine as Tim finished his second-floor traps and double-checked the wiring. His heartbeat was going crazy in his chest, and he took deep, slow breaths in time with the chimes to steady himself. If he hyperventilated and passed out, he was worse than dead.

"TIMOTHY DRAKE," boomed the voice that had called out before, somehow magnified so that each word was perfectly clear, "THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED. REFUSE, AND WE WILL USE ALL FORCE TO APPREHEND YOU."

Tim threw open the nearest window and stuck his head out, squinting against the snow to see the nearest fire. He didn't know if the man was at that one or not, but it didn't matter. He was sure his cry of "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE! EAT SHIT!" was heard by all.

He slammed the window shut as the voice yelled furiously and sprinted down the stairs, skipping over the wires and traps. He wasn't sure how many were going to enter in each direction, but the first landing was the best place to bring them all closer.

Tim had to wait there for several minutes, anxiety building, before he heard the first cry of pain. It sounded like it came from the front door, and Tim smirked, thinking of the heavy vase that had just gotten shattered over the bad guy's head.

Strangled swearing erupted from the kitchen where superglue had stolen shoes to bare feet to a sea of Legos. A howl rose from the living room where a hot plate had been set under the window.

"DRAKE!"

"Last chance to surrender!" Tim hollered mockingly, wiping sweaty hands on his pants.

Screams and a terribly loud bang meant that his flashbomb had successfully blinded someone, and the most creative swear Tim had ever heard in his life confirmed that sticking his mother's sewing needles into the grey carpet had been a stroke of genius.

"You will pay for this, you insolent whelp!"

"You want it in cash or credit?" Tim needed them closer. Besides, it was just a little bit fun to tease.

"In blood!"

The first man appeared at the foot of the stairs. He held his right hand close to his chest, but otherwise looked unharmed. He must have avoided the lighter in the hall, though by the sound of it, one of his buddies hadn't.

Tim gulped. All he could see above the black ninja mask was the man's eyes, and he looked furious.

"Um, how about traveler's checks?"

The man started up the stairs with a roar and immediately toppled backwards, slipping on the generous coating of oil over the hardwood.

"Oh, yeah, I just polished that."

One man staggered into the foyer from the front hall. He still had dust and broken pottery on his head and shoulders, and his eyes looked unfocused. Another limped in from the kitchen, barefoot and glaring. He drew a knife, and Tim scrambled backwards.

"No!" The first man grabbed the other's wrist. He didn't look happy about it, but he said, "Lord Ra's wants the boy alive."

"He can live without his arrogant little tongue!"

Tim tried to think up something clever to say, to get them to come up the stairs, but he really did not want them any closer than they were. Out in the yard, they couldn't hurt him, but here they could. They could hurt Tim very, very bad.

Two more ninjas stumbled in, one blinking and squinting, pant leg still smoldering. The other, who looked like a woman, was walking on the sides of her feet. She left a thin trail of blood behind her, and Tim both felt sorry and wished it were worse all at once.

"He's lost his tongue even without your blade, Hans," laughed the first man. "Not so brave now, are you, boy?"

Brave, Tim. Brave like Robin.

Jason wouldn't be scared of these goons, and neither would Dick. Dick would make fun of them, and Jason would cuss them out, so Tim did both.

"Like hell I'm scared of you shit-faces! The wax dummies at the history museum would make better ninjas than you!"

Hans yelled and ran at the stairs. He didn't hear the first man yell, "Fool, it's oiled!" until he was already flat on his back. Tim listened very hard, but couldn't hear anyone else in the house. He taunted, "Where's the rest of you? Maybe you could use the power of friendship to figure it out," to make sure.

"Thank whatever god guards you there are none others," the woman snarled. "Or you would choke on your blood even as you laugh."

"Dramatic," Tim quipped weakly, voice a bit too high.

"How did we fail him that Lord Ra's would punish us this way," moaned Pottery Man. "Being tormented and mocked by an infant."

"Hey!" Tim cried, indignant. "I'm eleven and five twelfths!"

"Enough of this!" Number One shouted. "Hans, the servant's stair, Edda, the back stair. Jethro, the dumbwaiter." They scattered, and One began stalking up the oiled stairs, clinging to the rail and motioning the blinded man to stay behind. "You think we do not know every hall and stair in this house, boy? Every entrance and exit? What do you think will be your salvation if you stall us?"

Tim swallowed, edging into the hall and carefully pushing open the first door. He may have to adjust his escape plan.

"Indiana Jones, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg, 1981!" Tim hollered. He dove out of the way as his father's massive, prized floor globe, the one twice the size and weight of Tim, rolled down the improvised ramp and onto the stairwell, gathering speed every second.

Tim took off, running down the hall to his bedroom without looking back. He heard screaming from several parts of the house, and would have jeered at them about not expecting him to know how to trap his own house, but he no longer wanted to give away his location. He'd need extra time now. Climbing down from his window was going to be a hell of a lot harder than climbing the rope he'd put in the dumbwaiter for himself.

Tim pulled out his army knife as he passed the dumbwaiter door and started sawing at the rope, grateful the set-up could double as another trap. He didn't even have to cut all the way through, the ninja's weight snapping the fibers in seconds once they frayed. He heard a yell and an awful snap.

The cry of, "I'll kill you, brat!" should not have been comforting, but Tim didn't want to have killed anybody, so it was.

He made it to his room, shut and locked the door, then shoved his dresser against it, grunting and panting. He had to lean against it for a moment to catch his breath, swiping the sweat from his forehead. He gave himself thirty seconds, but dropped it to twenty when the shouting drew nearer.

"I can do this," Tim whispered, stepping onto the windowsill and staring down. "I can totally, one hundred percent do this."

He sat down and shimmied around until he was clutching the window ledge with ungloved hands. His fingers were already freezing. His toes hung and flailed in open air for a few terrifying seconds before they found crevices in the weathered brick.

Tim took a deep breath.

Slowly, inch by inch, he worked his way down the wall until his feet hit the top of the first floor window. His fingers scraped and bled against the bricks, turning white with cold and terror. Sweat ran down his face and back, making him hot and cold both at once. Once he got his hand or foot on a hold, it was hard to make himself move again.

Carefully -- oh, so, so carefully, when Tim's feet hit the top of that window, did he turn his head over his shoulder. The snow rose to the bottom of the window, making the drop only about three feet into a cushion. Tim closed his eyes and jumped.

The snow crunched loudly beneath him, and he broke through it up to his knees. He didn't dare waste time celebrating, but immediately started off, hoping the blizzard would help to cover his tracks.

Half a mile due east. Tim could make it.

Half a mile through ever-deeper snow, in wind and dark, with only a coat and boots, and furious ninjas hunting him down.

Tim had to make it.

At first he tried to run, shoving his hands in his pockets to make them warm, but it was like trying to run through a pool, and Tim soon found himself basically swimming with his arms and legs. Within minutes (though each felt like an hour) he couldn't feel his fingers at all.

The snow was high enough to slip into the tops of his boots, melting into his socks and making his feet grow numb. Tim started crying, only realizing it when the tear tracks burned down his cheeks and froze there. Every breath became a white cloud in front of his face.

The whole world had turned into the snowstorm. Tim didn't know anymore if he was going east or west, north or south, up or down. If he was still going towards Batman and safety, or if he'd got so turned around he was about to run right into the ninjas' arms. He stumbled and staggered, knowing he had to keep moving no matter where he ended up. Fall down in the snow, and he was never getting back up.

Then finally, finally, Tim saw light in the distance.

"Help!" he cried, but his voice was ripped away by the wind.

"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"

A shadow blocked the light, and Tim sobbed in relief as arms hugged him tight.

"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."

Tim screamed and started thrashing, but the ninja had his arms pinned, and the snow blocked his kicks. He tried to bite, but there was nothing in front of his face but thick cloth.

"Let go!" he wailed. He was so close, he couldn't fail now. "Let me fucking go! Hel--mmph!"

Tim was spun around and a hand covered his mouth, grip bruisingly tight, enough that Tim couldn't even move his jaw, let alone bite.

"Oh, no, boy," the ninja snarled in his ear. "You will be brought before the Demon's Head, and punished for every injury inflicted, and even the great Detective can't save you!"

"Can't he?"

Tim's heart leapt as a hulking shadow appeared out of the snow, Batman's unmistakable growl now a roar over the wind. He had done it! He'd gotten to Batman! He was saved!

And then he felt ice cold metal against his throat.

"Stay out of this, Detective. Lord Ra's cares not if he must resurrect his prize."

Tim trembled, even though he'd stopped shivering ages ago. He didn't know what that meant, but he never wanted to find out.

"He should care that Gotham and its people are under my protection. Let the boy go, or there will be retaliation."

"We do not fear your posturing, Detective," the ninja sneered. He started dragging Tim back, away from Batman and safety. "And we do not fear your allies. But continue to oppose us now, and we will strike you down--"

"Wanna bet?"

There was a loud thunk and the ninja's hold went slack. The knife dropped to the snow, its wielder crumpling, and Tim stumbled, grabbing for his throat to be sure it wasn't bleeding.

"Kid? Kid, what's wrong, are you hurt?" Robin hollered over the wind.

Tim slowly shook his head, staring at the ninja. He felt something warm and big and surprisingly soft drape over his shoulders, like a blanket, and looked up to see Batman leaning over him with his cape.

"You're freezing," he murmured, sounding much more like Mr. Wayne. "Robin, get him inside!" His voice dipped back to a growl as he said, "I'll deal with the League."

"Here, kid."

Batman was replaced by Robin, but the cloak remained wrapped around Tim. He was bundled tighter into it, then scooped right off the ground and into Robin's arms. He squeaked in surprise, but pressed closer because Robin was so warm.

"Geez, you're tiny!" Robin half-shouted, wading through the snow only a little faster than Tim had. "How old are you, kid?"

"Eleven and a half," Tim mumbled. Jason Todd was a fine one to talk about being small for one's age.

As Robin muttered something like, because the half makes all the difference, a big black shape loomed out of the snow right in front of Tim's face. It took him far too long to realize it was a Bat-Snowmobile; Robin had plopped him on top and climbed on behind him before he registered the headlights had turned on.

"Hang on tight!" Robin ordered, and the engine roared to life.

Tim yelped, grabbing Robin as the vehicle lurched and zoomed into the storm, throwing his arms around the older boy's neck and hiding his face against his shoulder. One arm wrapped around Tim's waist and gently squeezed.

"Just hang in there a few more minutes, squirt. It's not far."

"What's not far?"

Not Tim's house. Please, not Tim's house. He didn't want to go back and run into the rest of the bad guys -- the League -- without Batman. Robin was awesome and warm, but Batman was powerful, and Tim didn't think the League would give up without more of a fight.

Robin hesitated before answering. "Wayne Manor is just under a quarter mile. They can look after you while I go back to help Batman."

Tim sighed in relief. Wayne Manor would be warm and safe, and until Batman and Robin came back to be Bruce Wayne and Jason Todd, Tim would no doubt be looked after by Alfred Pennyworth, and he was as powerful as Batman himself in Tim's book.

I did it, he thought happily, cuddling closer to Robin's warmth. I actually fucking did it.

"Eat shit, Lord Ra's."

Robin laughed.

After only a few more minutes, Wayne Manor appeared, looming out of the dark with a few cheerily lit windows. There was a glowing Christmas tree visible through one, and seeing it warmed something other than Tim's fingers.

Robin parked the Bat-Snowmobile outside the back kitchen door and swung himself off, then scooped up Tim to plop him on the ground. He kept an arm around Tim's shoulders as he went and knocked on the door. Tim could see the kitchen lights on, and it only took a minute before the door opened to reveal Alfred Pennyworth in a robe and nightshirt.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, and immediately backed up to usher them inside.

"Mr. Pennyworth, this is Tim Drake, your next-door neighbor," Robin introduced. "His home was attacked tonight by the League of Assassins, and he had to run a long way through the cold. If you would look after him and warm him up, Batman and I will be back before too long."

"I-- yes, of course," Mr. Pennyworth said, surprise changing to concern. "Thank you, Master Robin."

Robin nodded and ruffled Tim's hair. "You'll be safe here for a while, ok, squirt? Batman or I'll be back soon."

Tim nodded, and Robin grinned and left. Tim could hear the roar of the Bat-Snowmobile as it tore off outside.

Mr. Pennyworth turned to put a kettle on the stove, then told Tim, "Come, let's get you out of those wet things, Master Tim."

Tim nodded eagerly, stumbling a bit on frozen feet as he followed Mr. Pennyworth to a bathroom, still clutching Batman's cape around his shoulders.

"I'll set some of Master Jason's things outside the door for you. You're about the same size, I think. If you can find your way back to the kitchen, I'll have hot cocoa ready in moments."

"You don't have to go to any trouble," Tim said shyly.

"Nonsense, dear boy." Mr. Pennyworth smiled. "Tisn't any trouble at all, I assure you."

He left, and Tim stripped out of his sweats and socks. He hated to drop Batman's cape on the ground, but it had gotten soggy with snow just like everything else. He tried to fold it up, but it was like trying to fold his sheets, it was so huge.

A knock came at the door, and Mr. Pennyworth called that there were pajamas and a sweatshirt outside. Tim answered with a thank you and waited a moment before sticking one hand out the door to snatch the bundle.

He was startled into a laugh to see that the pajamas were themed like Batman and the hoodie like Nightwing. He wondered if Dick had gotten it for Jason. There were also a non-themed pair of slippers, and now that the feeling was coming back to Tim's toes, he could tell they were wonderfully soft.

Once dressed, he found his way back to the kitchen, where a kettle was starting to whistle before Mr. Pennyworth plucked it off the stove.

"Warming up, Master Tim?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

The butler tutted. "Alfred is quite alright, dear boy."

"Thank you, Alfred," Tim corrected shyly. He'd never called an adult by their first name before.

A very loud yawn from behind made Tim jump, turning to look at the doorway, where...

Tim blinked.

Where stood Jason Todd.

He was dressed in Wonder Woman pajama pants and a red hoodie, rumpled like he'd been asleep, but his hair was still damp and his nose and cheeks pink from the snow and cold. His eyes looked bleary and sleepy, like he'd just woken up, but he most definitely scanned over Tim like he was looking for injuries.

"'S goin' on, Alf?" he asked, slurring his voice to sound half-awake. "Who's that?"

Tim just kept staring, dumbfounded, as Alfred said, "You recall young Timothy Drake, Master Jason? I'm afraid he ran into quite the spot of trouble tonight. Robin brought him here for us to look after until the situation is resolved."

Jason's eyes widened like he hadn't himself, as Robin, dropped Tim off ten minutes ago. "No way," he muttered. "What the hell were you doing, Timbit, that you got mixed up in superhero stuff?"

Tim hesitated.

"Batman! Mr. Wayne! Robin! Help me, please!"

"So this was your clever plan, was it, boy? No wonder Lord Ra's took an interest in you."

Tim hadn't had any idea just why he was being almost-kidnapped, except maybe for ransom or something, until the ninja had said that, and Batman showed up seeming to know all about that Lord Ra's guy and his ninja-kidnappers. At the time, he'd been too terrified to analyze, but now he wondered...

Did Ra's somehow know that Tim knew who Batman was? Tim didn't think that was possible. He hadn't even told his parents. But maybe Ra's was a mind-reader. Or had some kind of special powers. But then why would he need Tim to tell him who Batman was? Especially when the ninja sounded like Ra's and his League already knew all about Batman.

"Timber?"

Tim blinked and looked back at Jason. He and Alfred were both watching Tim, sharp-eyed. That was when he realized Jason wasn't just asking as a shocked civilian, he was investigating as Robin. In order to protect Tim, he and Batman needed to know why he'd been endangered in the first place.

"I...I don't know," he admitted. Jason's mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown, until Tim hesitantly added, "But I might have a guess?"

"Yeah? What do you think?"

Alfred set a cup of steaming cocoa on the table in front of Tim. It warmed his face, and he almost thought it burned his hands when he cupped them around it, but he didn't care. One sip warmed him all over inside, like he hadn't been cold or frightened at all. He wondered if Alfred was magic.

There was another clink of ceramic, and Tim realized Jason had gotten a mug of cocoa, too, and had sat down across from Tim. He held out a bowl of marshmallows, and Tim took two with a soft thanks.

Jason waited until Tim had taken two more sips before prompting, "Timmers? What's your guess?"

Tim took a deep breath, trying to calculate how mad Batman was going to be when he found out, and blurted, "I know who Batman and Robin are."

"What? No way! Who are they? How did you figure it out?" Jason gasped, face splitting into a grin, looking for all the world like someone expecting to hear the most amazing secret in the world.

But Tim saw the panic behind his eyes.

"I wouldn't tell you, if you didn't know," he promised. "But they're you. You and Mr. Wayne. I... I know because it was Dick Grayson first. He's the only person ever who can do a quadruple flip, and I saw Robin do it with my own eyes."

Jason stared.

Alfred stared.

Tim ducked his head and stared at his cocoa.

Then Jason said slowly, "You... you saw the first Robin in person? Doing a four-flip?"

"Yes?"

"How... how old were you?"

Tim frowned, calculating. "Nine?"

Alfred coughed.

"You were nine," Jason repeated. "And you were out in Gotham and saw Robin. Doing a fancy flip. And figured out one of the most dangerous and well-kept secrets in the city."

"Yes," Tim said, a bit more confidently. "Like I said, only Dick Grayson can do that flip. And if he's Robin, Bruce Wayne has to be Batman. And you have to be the next Robin. It's... it's just logic."

It's just logic, Jason mouthed. His lips stayed parted in astonishment as he turned to look at Alfred.

"That's... quite impressive, Master Tim," he managed. "Although, might I inquire... just what were the circumstances under which you saw Robin's flip?"

Tim hastily took a sip of cocoa. Jason raised his eyebrows and copied him, not setting down his mug until Tim did. Tim immediately took another sip. Jason and Alfred exchanged a glance.

"IusedtofollowBatmanandRobinaroundatnightandtakepictures," Tim blurted.

Jason blinked rapidly several times before suggesting, "A-again... slowly, please?"

"I... I used to, to follow Batman and Robin around at night. And take pictures."

"And your parents let you?" Jason yelped.

"They didn't... exactly know?"

"How...?" Jason's voice kept sounding more and more strangled. If Tim didn't know better, he'd have thought an invisible villain was throttling him.

"Well..." Tim ducked his head, shoulders almost rising to his ears. He stared intently at the melting marshmallows in his cocoa as he said, "They're not really around much."

"What exactly do you mean by 'not much,' Master Tim?" Alfred asked, both firm and kind, but also concerned.

Tim's ears felt hot. "They're usually on digs. They come back for a weekend or so every couple months. So they never knew I went out at night. I never told them I figured out who you are. I promise that I've never told anybody, and I never would tell anybody, even that Ra's guy, no matter what he did!"

He looked back up at Jason and Alfred, hoping they could see the honesty in his face.

Their faces showed a mix of shock and horror. Jason's eyes were wide and round, but Alfred's were pinched, and his mouth was drawn into a hard line. Tim swallowed nervously.

"You're a very impressive young lad, Master Tim," Alfred said in a carefully measured voice. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I think I ought to go inform Master Bruce of... these developments. I assume your parents were not home tonight?"

"Their flight got cancelled," Tim admitted. He wondered for the first time, as Alfred nodded curtly and stepped out of the room, if Batman had a mind-wipe machine or something. He very much hoped not.

Jason made a low whistle, then murmured, "Well, damn." He took a sip of cocoa, looking at the door Alfred had left through.

"What's 'well damn'?" Tim asked, voice too high.

"Alfie's 'bout'a go off," Jason chuckled, then, seeing Tim's expression, clarified, "not on you, Timberly, on your parents. And Ra's. Definitely also on Ra's."

"Why would Alfred be mad at my parents? And what does he need to tell Batman? Are you mad at me? Because I figured it out? Or..." Tim gasped in horror. "Or because I led them here? I led them here! Oh, God, I told a villain who Batman is! I--"

"Tim! Tim, calm down, it's ok!" Jason seemed torn between laughter and concern, but he reached out and put a bracing hand on Tim's shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong. Ra's already knows who we are. Alfred just has to tell Bruce, um. Not to look for your parents. And why they're not there. And that's why he's pissed off, because nobody should leave a little kid all by himself for all but a few weekends out of the year."

Jason looked pissed himself when he said the last bit. Unfortunately, all of it just left Tim with even more questions. But even as he opened his mouth to ask them, there was a loud rattling and banging from above.

"What was that?" Tim yelped, jumping and spilling cocoa on the table.

"The storm," Jason said, completely expressionless. He grabbed some napkins from the holder on the table and dropped them on the spill, clearing it with one neat swipe. "Don't worry about it."

"You're sure it's not the ninjas?"

Jason snorted. "Don't ever let them hear you call them that. I'm sure, kid. Batman's got it covered."

Alfred came back into the kitchen muttering about reception, and took Tim's and Jason's empty mugs over to the sink to wash. There was a loud pounding from up above, first moving distant, then drawing near again. Tim realized it was running feet.

He raised his eyebrows at Jason.

"The storm, huh?"

Jason shrugged with a smile too mischievous to be innocent.

A moment later, Bruce Wayne appeared in the doorway, hair mussed and face pink, barefoot and wearing a red bathrobe that did not succeed at hiding the Batsuit underneath.

The way he blinked and squinted at the warm kitchen light appeared genuine, but he sounded far too awake as he said, "Alfred, what's going on? Who's this? Jason? I thought you went to bed."

Jason glanced at Tim, mischief peaking.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, jumping up and running over. "Dad, you'll never guess what happened! This is Tim Drake, from next door, and he was attacked by supervillains and Batman and Robin came and saved him and brought him here!"

"Oh! My... God..." Mr. Wayne faltered, glancing from Alfred (who's back was turned to hide his smile) to Tim (who was just as confused as he seemed) to Jason (who was grinning just a bit too wide), before narrowing a bit at the last one.

Jason beamed up at him, and Mr. Wayne apparently decided not to worry about it, because he turned to Tim and asked, "Are you alright, Tim?"

"I... think so," Tim said slowly, staring at Jason, who was mouthing at him. Mr. Wayne glanced down at his son suspiciously, but Jason shut his mouth in an instant.

"Are you hurt at all? Cold?"

"No, I'm ok now. Mr... uh, Alfred's hot chocolate warmed me right up."

Mr. Wayne smiled. "It does that quite well. Are..." He turned hesitant again, glancing at them all before asking, "Do you know if your parents are alright? If they escaped?"

"They weren't even there," Jason said, bright smile turning downright ferocious. "They leave Tim all alone in the house all year and only come in for a weekend every once in a while. And since that's criminal neglect, and Batman and Robin asked us to take care of him, I guess I got a little brother for Christmas like I asked for after all!"

Tim stared. Mr. Wayne stared. Jason beamed. Alfred coughed in a way that sounded much too much like a laugh.

"Um..." Tim started, but had no idea how to continue.

"It... I... don't think it's all quite that simple, Jay," Mr. Wayne cautioned hesitantly. Jason just stared straight up into his face, both grinning and glaring at the same time. It was mildly terrifying, and Mr. Wayne cleared his throat before turning to Tim. "But of course, you're more than welcome to stay with us until it's safe. We'll be glad to have you."

Tim stammered out a thank you, wondering if Mr. Wayne offered because he knew as Batman that it wasn't safe. He hoped not. As awesome as being Jason Todd's little brother sounded, Tim already had parents and a home, even if they were... distant. He also wondered why Jason was pretending he was an ordinary civilian, and that Tim didn't know better. And Alfred was going along with it, even though he'd been about to tell Batman everything just before.

"If you're quite warm and well, Master Tim, I think a good night's rest would do you good," Alfred said, "as it would the rest of us."

"Oh. Um, yes." Tim blinked and looked at the clock, which read 11:30 PM. "Sleep. Yeah."

"Great!" Jason chirped. He did a cartwheel over to Tim, channeling Dick Grayson, probably, and pulled him up, slinging his arm over Tim's shoulders. "C'mon, Timbers, we can have a sleepover in my room."

"Uh, sure."

A sleepover with Robin? Tim was equal parts confused and ecstatic. He followed Jason past a mystified Mr. Wayne, who wished them both goodnight, and up a small back staircase to the second floor.

It wasn't until Jason had showed them into his room and they got settled in bed that Tim finally asked, "Jason? Why didn't we tell Mr. Wayne that I know who you are? Isn't it kind of important?"

"Oh, Timmy Tim Timmers. Think about it. We only get to tell him that once."

"But-- oh. Ohhh."

"Exactly." Jason sounded smug. "Just you wait, Timbit. I have a feeling you and I are gonna be the holiest terrors this city ever saw."

[silverwolf1249]

Alright y'all it's been over a year since I made this rec list and I decided to got digging in my bookmarks once more and update it (if you want to try excavating further, I welcome you to the cesspit that is my bookmarks tab on ao3).

*Please read all tags and all of the summary just to make sure it doesn't have anything you don't like/want*

Clark/Bruce:

Lex Joins the League by metukah; short sweet hilarious

Strangers When We Meet by Trista_zevkia; I'll admit I haven't read this one in a bit so it's a bit fuzzy but my tags say "bruce wayne is bad at communicating" "like so bad" and "superman so horni on main bc alien biology said so" so make of that what you will

Superman Reads Thirst Tweets for Charity  by wewillalwaysenduphere; comedy fucking gold people

I'm just really into BDSM, Kind Truths, Can You Hear Me? by Mawiiish; what's a little identity porn between two superheros?

Batman and Bruce Wayne are Dating?! by Glowzilla48 I do love me some identity porn superbat + fmk lol

How to Date a Superhero by solomonara, mostly the 2nd work, all of it's great tho

Fake Empires by copperbadge; second person POV from Clark, more identity porn (ur prob seeing a trend here lol)

No one could save me, but you by HuntedPrincess; hnnnnnnnn

unofficially official by Soundsgaytbh (orphan_account); only in some works of this series (maybe only one I can't remember) but the whole series is great

smokin' in the boys' room by TheResurrectionist; y'all this author in general is chef's kiss

Floundering by freedvmrouge; meet cute except they've met lol

The Sit-Down by Ginevra_Benci; clark is v stressed, bruce tries to help but not in the sexy way

Hal/Bruce:

Am I The Asshole? by FabulaRasa; you need an account to read this series but it's absolutely worth it if you don't already have one

(incomplete)It was a joke! by Devilhorn; is technically mult ship but endgame hal/bruce. Anyone remember the post where the league bets bruce he wouldn't be able to kiss all of them without revealing his identity? yah that and its glorious

Constantine/Bruce:

(incomplete)constant comment by Unpretty; very minor brucie, but I love their dynamic so I added it :)

Slade/Bruce:

here as I am by TheResurrectionist; special mention since it's not strictly brucie wayne but like also a tiny bit?? Like it's giving brucie wayne vibes even though it's just bruce. Dat smut tho, and the superbat sequel ;)

Mult. Ships:

(incomplete)The Batchelor by sardonic_sprite, SkullKitten; mmmm that's some good food right there *slam slam*, only 1 chapter rn but what a glorious chapter it is

Gen/No Relationship:

Bruce is - involuntarily, if he may add - the president of Gotham by soyasauce can't believe I forgot to recc this one last time it's so fucking funny enjoy crack galore

The Sexy Mug Prank by Nokomis; admittedly the teeniest, tiniest mention of Brucie but I love me a Bruce prank fic and some bonding w Steph!

Brucie Wayne Gets Into A Fistfight With A Supervillain  by Roses_Bloom_In_Greenland; sad it's short but it makes it all up and more with its sheer existence and it bullies lex, we love bullying lex in this Christian household

(incomplete) Two Sides of a Coin (You Can't Have One Without the Other) by Nation_Ustria; hnnnn 2 of my fav tropes smashed into a fic, cryptid batfam + the waynes being the waynes. The concept and worldbuilding is immaculate and I love this story so much.

Spicy? Nah. by cripskis; ok so not brucie brucie, but it's brucie and we love him

Daddy Issues by That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl; absolutely living for bruce trolling tf out of everyone frfr, also hilarious

Identity Confusion by That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl same author and series as above, but deserved its own special mention bc yass brucie gatekeep girlboss gaslight

Batman Fatale by schrijverr; mmmm love me a brucie voice on a bat furry body

I got better things to do by Amisti same description as above but with more fuckery lol

Space cellmates by BoredomBeckons; superbat if you squint but otherwise identity porn galore

glitter & silk by sparkycap; oddly wholesome and I love the jason bruce bonding

Funding The Batman or Fucking The Batman by HeartfulCakes; barry/bruce and clark/bruce if you squint, loved this one so much, so much identity porn and bruce loving his children and his children being protective of him

Tell Me Your Secrets (I Already Did) by Athi816; superbat if you squint, but also bruce is sooo bad at communicating but he tries lol

Marvel Crossover:

Knaves All Three by Ginevra_Benci, an absolute gem imo, I love this one so much it makes me laugh every time

Just Another Day by TheResurrectionist; HAHA STEVE NO

No, no, I was hired to kill Batman. by SomeSortofItalianRoast; Natasha gets her time to shine in this one

So, how long have the two of you been married?  by SomeSortofItalianRoast; I cannot explain how much I love Bruce and Tony banter

when you, a Queen, come across another Queen, and discuss how best to maximize your joint by graveltotempo; I dream of the day they make a fic with Oliver and Bruce absolutely yassified and maximizing their joint slay as they deserve

White Collar Crossover: I'll be honest a lot of my white collar x batman bookmarks with bruce in them usually have at least a lil brucie wayne, same w my marvel x batman bookmarks

Suspension of Disbelief by Amateum; cute, if neal was dick and went to a gala where bruce was

Imperial Green by Ginevra_Benci; neal/bruce, I love this series and the Malones appear which I always love me a matches malone and fam fic.

*Note* There absolutely are more I bookmarked with Brucie Wayne that I just forgot to tag properly. I might come back and add another addition to this later lol

I desperately need more rich bitch drama queen brucie wayne content, especially when the JL and/or batfam get involved. Pretty sure I've scoured the whole fandom for more and can't find any I haven't already read and that's absolutely tragic.

[noteriii]

11:55 pm (shxtou x reader)

shxtou x streamer! reader

synopsis: it’s bedtime for both of you guys, and he makes sure of it. 

[heavily based off his most recent tweet lol]

༉‧₊˚.

rubbing at your eyes, you let out a tired sigh sinking into your desk chair. squinting, you read the small numbers on the corner of your monitor. it was getting late and you were already running off a little sleep in the first place. at the very second, you were in search of new games to play for your upcoming streams to plan a tentative schedule. without wanting to copy anyone’s current gameplay, you dove into a deep search of steam game reviews. closing the application, you noted the last thing you had read over onto a document and made sure everything else was saved. reaching over to the side of your desk to turn off your lamp whilst your pc buzzed, there was a faint ringing from your headset that you had put onto its stand a while ago. listening closely, you hear the light tone of the discord call notification. 

slipping your headset on and pulling your microphone close to you, you yawned as you answered the call. on the screen appears the familiar mop of dark, purple hair in a dark room illuminated by dark led lights similar to the ones you had on right now. “you’re not in bed yet?” his voice rings through your ears almost immediately. you gave your boyfriend a tired smile, shaking your head as you rub your eyes. “hi to you too, shoto.” you laughed lightly, hearing him yawn through the call. “go to bed, y/n” he tells you, adjusting the way he was laying down. running your hand through your hair, you nodded and motioned your hand into the general direction of where your bed laid. “i’m ‘bout to.. was just turning off the games,” you tell him as you look at the screen. from the very corner, you see a small tuft of gray fur and an outline you couldn’t mistake. “are you sleeping with the fat squish?” you say, an amused smile gracing your features. shoto moves the camera a bit, revealing a large wolf squishmallow you two had bought together last time you had visited him. technically, the large plush belonged to you- it just didn’t fit into your suitcase. “he has a name, yknow.” your boyfriend corrects you, placing his hand over the face of the stuffed toy and giving it a light, and what you thought could potentially be violent, squeeze. “you’re sleeping with ‘lil fat guy’ tonight? since when?” you giggle amusingly. “since you left him here, idiot. he’s lonely here without you, duh.” he answers as if it were obvious that your stuffed animal ‘missed you’. “are you sure he’s lonely or are you projecting yourself as him right now?” you questioned your boyfriend, drawing a tired laugh from him as well. “just miss you, that’s all.” shoto confesses. you can swear, even in his dark room, you can see the light blush on his face. “i miss you too, loser.” you tell him, letting out a tired yawn. “come on, babe. i’ll call you on your phone instead, okay? get into bed, let’s go to sleep.” all you can do is nod again sleepily, removing your headset from your ears as he ends the call. setting your pc into sleep mode and pushing in your chair, you glance around your room. sighing lightly, you pick up a sweatshirt you had managed to ‘borrow’ from your boyfriend and shrug it on, taking in a deep breath of the scent. dear god. you missed him. 

dragging yourself into bed and under the covers, you pull out your phone. as if he knew your every move, shoto calls you. he smiles, seeing you draped in his hoodie. oh, what he would do to have you in his arms right now instead of the stupid stuffed animal you left behind. “hi.” you break the silence first, placing your phone on your night stand next to you. “hi, my love.” he replies to you, his voice quiet. “‘m gonna sleep now, shou.” you tell him, nuzzling into your blanket. as you drift into sleep, you can’t help but feel even just a tad jealous of the squishmallow in his embrace. 

“goodnight, my love.” 

[xiubaek-13]

The Busiest Night Manager In Seoul Part 1

Part of the Crimson Aurora Hotel & Spa collaboration

Genre: Hotel AU, eventual smut.

Pairing: Night Manager Baekhyun x Hotel Guest Reader

Word Count: 3,932

Warnings: Christmas tree innuendo? Roleplay if you squint. Nothing really for this chapter, its mostly an intro to their characters.

A/N: I hope you enjoy this. There will be 3 parts to this short fic. I wanted to break it up a bit rather than drop a 15k monster on all of you.

You checked your booking information one last time before leaving for the airport. You’d gotten ready too early, a trait your mother had ingrained into your subconscious, at least you weren’t as extreme as her - she’d be at the airport 8 hours before the flight boarded, you were only a couple of hours ahead of schedule. Still not quite believing that you were off on an all expenses paid trip to Seoul, you shut the door behind you and rolled your suitcase towards the taxi that had just pulled up in front of your building. When you’d topped the sales board for most insurance policies in your branch last year you had been gifted a $100 voucher for dinner so it had come as a huge surprise that this year instead of a gift voucher, you received an envelope through the internal mailing system that contained a plane ticket, a 5 night hotel booking confirmation and details of a one day meeting that you were to attend on behalf of the company. 

After confirming that the trip was indeed real and not some sort of joke you’d looked the hotel up online and it was fancy with a capital F. You just knew you’d look out of place there. The Crimson Aurora Hotel & Spa was a top tier, very expensive, luxury hotel. You had this image of all of the guests in their designer clothes, nary a hair out of place. Your personal style did not scream ‘I have lots of money’, not that you cared. You liked your style, it wasn’t bad, it would just stick out like a sore thumb in a place like that. 

The hotel had recently been renovated. You’d spent a decent portion of your flight to Seoul reading up on the new and improved Crimson Aurora. They offered a wide range of services, more than you’d seen on any hotel list that you’d stayed at before: 24 hr room service, on-site pool, spa, sauna, gym with personal trainer, yoga sessions, cocktail bar, celebrity chef, top of the line security, tour guides, live music. The list went on. Surely they were offering too much? How many employees did it have? It would have to be a lot to accommodate all of those services. 

You were due to arrive late at night, checking in around 11:30pm due to your flight times. You had been given instructions from one of the very helpful receptionists on how to contact the night manager once you arrived so that he could check you in and see you to your room.  While the taxi from the airport took you to your destination you rang the number you’d been provided with. After two rings the night manager answered. 

“Crimson Aurora Hotel & Spa, Night Manager Baekhyun speaking. How may I be of assistance to you this evening?” His voice was soothing, the tone of it comforting. It made you feel like you were speaking to an old friend which kind of startled you.

Pulling your mind from the odd tangent it was headed down Do I know him? Surely not right? But his voice…it feels familiar… “Oh hi, I was told by one of the daytime receptionists to call this number when I was on my way to the hotel. I’m in the taxi from the airport right now.”

“Are you checking in for a stay with us?” He asked.

“Yes. I got stuck with a late flight. Christmas in July and all that. The driver says we’ll be arriving in about 15 minutes. Can you let me in once I arrive so I can check in? I’m sorry to be arriving so late at night.” You apologised. You knew that check in had technically finished hours ago but you’d specially organised the late check in after realising at the airport that your flight was delayed.

“It’s a very busy time for tourists, that's for sure.” He replied, not at all fussed by your late arrival.  “Ma’am if you could provide me with your booking reference I’ll have most of the check in process completed by the time you arrive.” He said kindly.

“Ok great. My booking reference is CHS-01004099.” You replied.

“Thank you ma’am. I’m just bringing the booking up now.” He hummed softly as he pulled up your booking information. The sound was pleasant to your ears but was not doing anything to help keep you awake. “You’re going to be spending a week with us. On behalf of Crimson Aurora Hotel & Spa I hope you enjoy your stay.” You could hear the smile as he spoke. “Now when you arrive, walk up to the glass doors and press the white button on the left hand door frame. That will notify me of your arrival and I will come out to assist you with your bags and finalise the check in process.” He stated.

You nodded, then realised that duh, you were on the phone so he couldn’t see you, and spoke. “Thank you. See you soon then.” You hung up, stifling a yawn as you made sure you had all of your bags ready for when you pulled up to the hotel. 

***

“Ok you are all set,” He smiled warmly at you as he handed you your room key. “I’ll have Jinki, our bellboy, bring your bags up to your room in a moment. You’ll need to use the room key to access floors above the restaurant level, which is level 3. On behalf of the Crimson Aurora Hotel & Spa I’d like to welcome you and hope that your stay is everything you wish it to be.” He guided you through the hotel lobby and stood with you while you waited for one of the three elevators to arrive. 

You don’t know what you expected the night manager to look like but it sure as well wasn’t what had greeted you when you had arrived. In head to toe black his ash blonde hair stood out almost as much as his incredibly warm smile. He’d greeted you and helped you inside, his ring clad fingers taking your bags from you as you followed him to the reception desk. It had been difficult not to just stare at him, there was no denying that this night manager was handsome. If he’d noticed your lingering gaze on his face and the few too many undone buttons of his shirt, he made no comments about it. Maybe it was the jet lag setting in or maybe it was just him but you continually found yourself stealing glances at him during the entire check in process. Baekhyun had remained a consummate professional so either you weren't staring as much as you thought or he was ignoring it. 

He grinned and waved after you stepped into the elevator. "Sleep well. Just call the front desk if anything in your room isn't right." You nodded in thanks, a small smile creeping onto your face.

The bed in the room was so incredibly comfortable that as soon as your head hit the pillow you fell asleep. You didn't even hear the knock at the door when the bellboy arrived with your bags, nor the way he quietly opened the door and placed them just inside before leaving. The long flight coupled with the huge comfortable bed meant that you slept a lot longer than you had planned. You managed to wake up right before breakfast had finished for the day. One hurried shower later you arrived at the restaurant just before the breakfast buffet closed.  You’d read about this buffet on the flight over and the way it had been described made it a must on your ever growing list of things to see and experience while you were here. 

The review you’d read had been correct, if anything it had undersold on just how unbelievably good the food was. Every single thing that you had off that buffet was delicious to the point that the food was making you mad. Whoever they’d hired as the chef and kitchen staff were worth every cent, possibly more.

Once you finished eating you took yourself on a tour around the hotel grounds, past the gym where you saw a few people taking a class with a very enthusiastic instructor, the pool; manned by a seemingly disinterested pool boy, the massage parlour; which was manned by one overconfident man who winked at you as you wandered by, the yoga studio where a class had just finished, the beautiful gardens and a second restaurant spot. You found your way back to the main area of the hotel and passed through the bar lounge and games area before you came to a stop in the lobby. The hotel was beautiful and whoever had redecorated had done an amazing job. You had read in the information pack that the Kim Kibum (better known in the art world as Key) was the mastermind behind the interior decorating.

The rest of your day was not very busy. You took yourself on a tour around Seoul, taking in all of the sites, doing some shopping and eating some local foods. Tomorrow would be the day of your actual meeting so you worked out the building that you had to go to and the most efficient route between it and the hotel. You went back to your room to look over the schedule for the day as well as key points and topics to be covered. Most of it was boring pseudo sales crap but you made sure to read all of it, not wanting to be under prepared. You are an excellent sales person but you also like to be prepared for these sorts of things, not wanting anyone to surprise you and make you look like a fool.

***

Baekhyun POV 

“Yah Junmyeon! When are you gonna hire more staff? I can't keep doing this on my own every single night. There's too many jobs, too many guests and I'm the only one apart from Jinki who works the night shift.” He half whined down the phone at his friend and boss. He was tired. Tired of demanding shifts with little to no thanks. He needed at least one more staff member and one more security officer before his job could become smoother. He also needed the damn bartender and the musician to start already. He was being run ragged and if the issue didn’t resolve itself soon, he’d be in danger of burning out.

Ever since the refurbishment of the hotel Junmyeon had been busy searching for and hiring new staff. He only wanted the best - he had a vision of what his hotel could be and this was his chance to get it right. So far he had hired a world class celebrity chef, an incredibly attractive pool boy, a masseuse who was good at his job but would steal your heart, a flashy bartender and a new musician. However, not all of these hires had commenced work yet. Some were still in mandatory training and others weren’t due to start until August. He couldn’t have pulled this difficult period without his events coordinator who was a true lifesaver almost as much as Baekhyun was. Junmyeon truly didn't know how he would have continued to run the hotel without Baekhyun's help. He was willing to do a shift that no one else wanted to, giving up his nights to cater to the whims of tired, grumpy, drunk and handsy elite guests. He was always available to work, was never sick and Junmyeon was pretty sure he hadn’t had a day off in at least three months. It was something he wanted to change but it would have to wait until after the Christmas in July period because he couldn’t trust anyone else to keep up the charade to children in the night when Santa was concerned.

“Soon Baek, I’m interviewing more candidates today.” He sighed, the pressure to get his staffing issue solved quickly weighing down on him. “I’m doing my best to find more staff to cover the nights and we’ve got others starting next month. We’ve just got to get through July.” Junmyeon couldn’t risk hiring the wrong people so his screening process was lengthy and demanding. 

“I know you are hyung. It’s just been a lot this past week. Christmas in July has made my shifts incredibly busy and while I’m amazing, arguably the best night manager there ever was or ever will be, I’m only one man.” He said.

“You know how much I value you Baek. I’m going to find you the staff you need but I can’t rush it. We’ve gotta trust the process.” He paused. “I’ve gotta go, the first candidate for the day has arrived.”

Baekhyun hung up and continued his journey to his room. One of the perks of being Night Manager was a suite on the eastern side of the hotel. His suite was lovely, he’d done his best (much to the chagrin of Key) to make it feel like home. He accepted all of these shifts, as well as the title of Night Manager, because he loved working for the hotel. He considered Junmyeon to be one of his closest friends, he didn’t even mind that his close friend was his boss. 

He loved his job, he just wished that he didn't have to wear so many hats at the moment to please the guests that they had. As it was newly refurbished they were trying to bring in new clientele and in order to do that it had to seem like the hotel was fully staffed at all times including the night shift so not only was he night manager but he was everyone else during the hours of 10 until 6. To say that this was exhausting and kind of boring in the beginning was not an understatement but he turned it into a game to keep it interesting for him.

Behind the reception area where no one could see he had a coat rack full of the other uniforms that staff would wear to fulfil their various roles and when it was called for he did a very quick costume change, disappearing and reappearing as someone new. For him the most fun was when he impersonated the staff that weren’t there.

Most of the guests were so full of themselves or the business that they were there for that they didn't really pay much attention to the staff as long as the staff member was good at their job and present so Baekhyun had gotten away with his ruse for quite some time. He had it down to a fine art. Until you. You saw him and he didn’t know how to feel about that. At first he was scared that you’d make a complaint to the hotel about him, but you seemed to enjoy watching him play his many roles. He wasn’t sure why the thought of that thrilled him as much as it did.

It had been quite some time since a guest had stared at him the way you did, as though you were transfixed by him. He was used to people looking through him, just seeing a staff member that they needed for something, which was fine with him, but you looked at him. That first night when you checked in he hadn’t had time to change back into the suit he wore for his main role. He’d been serving drinks at the bar right up until you buzzed the front door. He hadn’t missed the way that your eyes kept drifting to his lips, chest, hands, and thighs. It felt good to be looked at like that, as someone desirable, but he kept quiet about it. He didn’t want to make you embarrassed as he was pretty sure you weren’t aware of how unsubtle you were being after having been in transit for most of the day. He hoped he’d get to know you better during the course of the week. 

***

Your POV

After two days at the hotel you’d come to know a few things. 1. During the day, the place was bustling with both guests and staff. 2. At night, it was still bustling with guests but the staff… well the staff seemed to just be Baekhyun and Jinki. 3. Baekhyun denied this vehemently. 

The first night after your arrival you headed down to see the Christmas tree in the main lobby and grab a drink at the bar, maybe even listen to the dulcet tones of their newly hired pianist. You saw Baekhyun at the reception desk, giving him a small wave as you passed by. He smiled and waved back as he continued to assist the couple in front of him with directions.

You stood in front of the large tree in awe. You’d never seen a Christmas tree of this magnitude before. It was lit up, well like a Christmas tree, the red and gold baubles accenting the green of the tree beautifully. It was a lot grander than your small tree at home. Granted, yours was a real tree and you had to keep it alive (something you wouldn’t say you were excelling at but the thing wasn’t dead). 

“I’ll give you a drink voucher if you can spot my favourite decoration.” His voice startled you. You turned to your left and found Baekhyun grinning as he stood next to you. “Sorry, I thought you’d have heard me walking over. You must have really been immersed in the tree.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ve never seen one this big before.” He laughed. “It’s huge! Who has a Christmas tree that’s at least three storeys high and isn’t amazed by it?!”

He shrugged. “I guess I’m just used to it. I see it every day so its size doesn’t distract me.” He fought the urge to wink as he spoke. “Anyway, my offer for a drink voucher stands. You just have to find my favourite decoration. I’ll give you one chance per day.” The distinct ring of the bell at the front desk sounded and he sighed. “I’ll be back. Go get up close and personal with it.” 

Not one to pass up a free anything, you moved closer to the tree as Baekhyun went about doing his job. At first glance you’d only focused on the red and gold baubles but the longer you looked, the more decorations you noticed. There were ornaments spread across the entire tree. You spotted a candy cane, a nutcracker, various glittery pine cones, some snowmen, some varied Santa ornaments, and angel or two, a range of coloured balls with odd symbols on them, random animals with vaguely Christmas themed objects; like the corgi with a snowglobe. 

You decided to pick the European gnome style Santa ornament, with his hat covering all of his face except for his nose and beard but when you turned around, Baekhyun was nowhere to be seen. You decided to go to the bar, figuring you’d see him on your way back to the elevator when you were ready to return to your room for the night.

***

“Why are you everywhere?” You asked, pointedly.

The bartender, who was without a shadow of a doubt, Baekhyun replied. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You served me a drink then disappeared, only to suddenly be over at the piano accompanying the jazz singer who’s here tonight, and now you’re back serving drinks.” 

“You’re mistaken.” He gestured to the tag on his shirt. “I’m Taemin, as you can see from my name badge and the pianist is Chanyeol. We’ve got similar hairstyles so I could understand why you might confuse the two of us.” He pointed at his attire. “But as you can see, I’m wearing completely different clothing. Maybe you need your eyes checked. We staff aren’t all the same, you know.” He smirked as he shook a cocktail for another guest, expertly adding little flourishes as he worked. You were not convinced. This man tending the bar, as far as you were concerned, was Baekhyun and he was doing a terrible job of convincing you otherwise. Maybe the other guests didn’t notice him the way you did but you had memorised the features of his face, and apparently some other features as well.

You leant forward on the bar counter. “You both look alarmingly similar to the night manager…” 

He chuckled as he shook his head at you in disbelief. “So our CEO has a type. How is that our fault?”

“Baekhyun…” You started.

He tutted at you as he moved to stand directly in front of you, only the bar counter separating the two of you. “I might have to cut you off little lady, I just said my name was Taemin. How could you get that so wrong?” He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. It felt like a challenge, one you were willing to play along with for now.

“My apologies, er Taemin was it?” He nodded, happy that you were playing along. “Your drinks must be stronger than I anticipated. You see I was talking with the aforementioned Night Manager before I came in here. He offered me a free drink voucher if I could guess his favourite decoration on the Christmas tree.”

He leant forward on the bar, his closeness almost distracting you. “Did you guess correctly?” He asked, a knowing smile forming on his face.

You shook your head, pouting. “No. He was nowhere to be seen when I was ready to make my first guess.”

“Ah, he is a busy man.” Not-Baekhyun offered. “I’m sure you’ll see him before you return to your room.

You sighed. “True, but I wanted to make my guess. I really stared at that huge, girthy tree for so long and got so close to it to inspect all of the details.” 

He cleared his throat. “Now I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe the Christmas tree like that before.” 

Before you could continue your innuendo another guest arrived at the bar which demanded Not-Baekhyun’s attention. He offered you a slight shrug as he turned to focus on the guest’s order. You couldn’t say that you minded though, you enjoyed watching him tend the bar. He was remarkably good at it, flipping bottles and providing easy banter. You weren’t sure why he was pretending to be someone else, changing his shirt, jacket and sometimes his hair wasn’t enough to fool you. Clearly it worked for the other guests as you’d spotted quite a few people who you’d seen speaking with him at the front desk not even take a second glance at him as they ordered their drinks.

The whole bit with the size of the tree? You’d picked up on his suggestive yet playful tone when he’d first mentioned it. You were here for a few more days and there was absolutely no harm in flirting with the very attractive man who seemed to be doing everyone’s jobs. He seemed interested so even if nothing came of it, you could both have your fun until you left.

As you sipped your drink, a devious little plan formed in your mind. One that would achieve a few goals for you. It would catch him out on pretending to be others and explore the extent of the wardrobe options he had on hand. If it went really well, then you both just might get to have a very Merry Christmas…in July.

Part 2

A/N: Thanks for reading and enjoying this collab. Please don’t forget to check the other writers out @myeoning-call @leewalberg @yourkeeperoftherunners @taem-min @ouvuo @dreamylittlesugarcube @jxstadaydreamer and @sojuri

[enddaysengine]

Zebub (Accuser Devil, Paths Beyond)

I never got around to accuser devils last time, so I’m glad to return to the zebub, because they are one of the favourite devils out there. Zebubs get their name from Beelzebub, which you can see if you don’t anglecize the Hebrew: Ba’al-zebub. Ba’al is “lord” and zebub is “flies,” so that’s where the very distinctive appearance of these devils originates. Got more to say on that front, but I’ll save it for when I talk about Big B, but consider using them if you are drawing on Canaanite or Phoenician mythology. 

In-universe, accuser devils are also linked to Baalzebul (with Pathfinder’s alternate spelling) since they manifest fairly exclusively from his layer: Cocytus. The technical term for zebubs is “sneaky bastards” - a role they share with imps. Whereas imps focus on corruption, particularly of spellcasters, zebubs practice classical spycraft. In 2e, they even sneak attack to reinforce this stereotype! 

The iconic ability for accuser devils, however, remains the Infernal Eye, allowing zebubs to pass information onto their handlers with perfect fidelity. This also makes them excellent secret messengers and terrible witnesses. Zebubs forget the memories they transfer with Infernal Eye, so as long as you can guarantee they’ve passed on the message, you can be reasonably assured they don’t know its contents anymore. 

But can you, really?

Outside Pathfinder, 40k is an excellent visual touchstone for zebubs. The game loves its creepy cherub servitors and their aesthetic is close enough to zebubs that you’ll get there if you squint. Although perhaps that is even more apropos advice for Starfinder. Still, consider how you can use zebubs like the Imperium uses cherubs to carry around relics and icons. Even if it doesn’t make encounters tougher at high-level, it may just make them more memorable.

Sozar and Grabba have a better relationship than most imps and zebubs, but they still maintain a healthy professional rivalry. Sozar (the imp) is a logistics and honey traps specialist, maneuvering operatives into positions where they can leverage emotional bonds to acquire intelligence. Grabba prefers eavesdropping and invisibility, directing its open operatives with whispered messages. The two work well together but engage in a never-ending game of oneupmanship, even if it puts their spy networks and missions in untenable situations. 

The Devil’s Left Eyes is coven of zebub occultists who have learned how to reverse their Infernal Eyes. Instead of giving memories to others, their rituals allow them to absorb memories, obliterating them from the minds they are taken from. These rituals can destroy lives, make people forget promises and vows, leave seemingly random holes in their memory, or even lose memories of signing infernal contracts with the zebub. With that said, the coven’s abilities are highly sought after by mortals willing to do anything to forget their pain, trauma, or sorrow despite the danger of leaving oneself at the mercy of the devils’ whims.

Zess the Dragon is a unique zebub blessed by Mahathallah, transforming her dipteran body into that of a dragonfly. Specializing in ferreting out secrets and saboteurs, Zess is frequently summoned to the Material Plane, especially by cutthroat nobles of Cheliax and Taldor. Unknown to the hapless mortal summoning, the Dragon is also an accomplished enchanter and illusionist. Its magic certainly serves its master’s purposes, but it also uses it to trick those same summon into thinking it has used its Infernal Eye when it hasn’t. Zess has accumulated a treasure trove of secret messages, memories, and blackmail over the centuries that mortals believe have been safely forgotten. 

[spilledkauffie]

Newsflash

Pairing: Loki x FemaleTVAWorker!Reader Word Count: 1.5k T/W: just something cute A/N: finding Loki & helping him with the TVA transition

P.s. this is just for fun, I’m not trying to be technically accurate in how said abilities come about. This is just something I’m trying, we’ll see how it goes!

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4 | Ch.5

The TVA was abuzz with agents running hither, thither, and yon to try and find the most recent Variant they had brought in. You’d already heard who it was and that he was giving everyone quite a time with his cooperation, or lack thereof. Walking down the dimly bright hallway, you sidestepped to avoid a team of hunters on their way to a new location. You smiled recognizing a familiar face jogging up to you.

“Have you seen him?” Mobius asked, only mildly frustrated; he never raised his voice, especially at you.

You smirked and shrugged, keeping your hands in your pockets, “I haven’t, but newsflash, I could’ve told you this was going to happen.”

“Yeah, well,” he said through gritted teeth, “it happened,” he added, stepping around you to meet up with a squad. 

Despite being assigned as only an agent, you had a special gift of being able to sense what was going to happen. Of course, the TVA loved it when they felt they could use it, but they also hated it, especially when you suggested something dangerous or out of the question to the authorities, reminding you that: ‘you aren’t a Timekeeper and cannot actually see the future.’ Which was true, you had to admit it as far as you knew your predictions and information was all off feeling, but there was something to be said for your feelings never being never wrong.

Coming to the room the Variant was last seen in, you looked left and right, entering cautiously. Sure enough, you had found exactly what you expected to find, Loki, alone with the Tesseract. On the sound of you closing the door, he startled, looking up and immediately defensive. You stayed where you were, not wanting to give the impression that you were there to intimidate. Loki eyed you up and down, he had to admit you were the most beautiful being he’d seen in a long time. 

“Looks like you found what you were looking for,” you nodded towards the cube at his feet. 

“This- this useless,” he picked up the Tesseract and gestured it around, nonchalantly. 

“Well,” you shrugged, “that depends who you ask, why you want it, and where you are, Loki. Oh, and when you are.”

He shook his head, setting the cube down again, “but here- here infinity stones are used as paperweights,” he tilted his head at you, “honestly, who are you people?”

“We’re the TVA, we-” you began, but stopped when he scoffed and combed his hands through his hair looking away. You bit the inside of your lip, wishing you could tell all, but no doubt you’d be fired for that. Approaching him, he glared at you, he was on the defense and you couldn’t blame him after what Mobius and the TVA had done in such a short time from apprehending him. 

“Have you been to see a doctor?” You asked, observing some bruises and cuts across his face, not from the TVA of course, that was the Avengers’ doing, but it was worth asking.

“What? No, I am fine,” he rolled his eyes, “I don’t need one, if I could use my powers, I could fix it anyway.”

“Fix it? I thought you were fine?” you tilted your head, still standing in front of him. 

He sighed, clearly exhausted, putting his head in his hands. Fingers gripping his raven hair. Approaching calmly, you sat beside him, with the Tesseract situated between the two of you. You looked at its mesmerizing blue glow, it was beautiful as they all were. 

Suddenly Loki lifted his head, soft smile as he looked at you, “Madam,” he began, and you raised your eyebrows, “you seem an intellectual individual, far smarter than any of your coworkers, you are far more beautiful than any,” he took a pause, “I believe there’s been a mistake, and perhaps,” he moved closer to you, making you look down, before back up, well aware of what was happening, “perhaps you could help them to see their mistake.” 

Quirking your lips, unable to deny he was very charming, you tried not to smile. Instead you put on a wince, “I’m sorry, I thought they told you,” you said very gently, making him furrow his brows, you lifted your shoulders, whispering, “magic doesn’t work here.” 

“Oh for-” Loki said exasperated, “that wasn’t magic!”

“No,” you laughed, eyes crinkling with your accompanying smile, “but that was laying it on pretty thick.” 

He exhaled deeply, “it wasn’t all a lie,” he admitted, perking a brow, glancing at the floor.

You stared at his neck for a moment, not in any particular manner, but another smile pulled at the corner of your lips. 

“What?” Loki almost flinched as he asked upon noticing your gaze, still figuring out what the TVA’s intentions were for him kept him on edge. 

“I just noticed you got the collar off,” you looked up to his eyes, gesturing to your own neck with a finger, “most people don’t even try, but it's quite easy, as you’ve found out.”

Loki straightened up, dignity returning, “well… I’m not some animal, I’m a-“

“A god, right,” you nodded, finishing his sentence. Swiftly Loki turned his head to completely face you, confusion was stricken across his expression, but then you smiled again, this time at him, were you mocking him? No, you sounded like you believed him. Why were you smiling? Your presence wasn’t like the rest of the TVA—

You leaned in closer to him, telling him in a whisper, “I never liked the collar either.”

“You- wh-,” he stuttered as you kept eye contact, clearly stuttering was not in his nature, he didn’t like being confused and scared, he didn’t like not having the upper hand, “what you weren’t ‘born behind a desk,’ bred to loyally serve the Timekeepers?”

You quietly laughed at the seriousness in which he used air quotes, shaking your head, “goodness you sound like Miss Minutes.” You met his gaze, “no,” you left it there for a while, he relaxed, dropping his hands. He was actually relieved to hear that you weren’t, and he wanted to hear more. 

“Go on,” he said in almost a question, with ‘please’ attached. 

Sighing, you complied to explain, “once upon a time, I got a little too interested in a Time Stone we had come in.”

“But magic doesn’t work here-“

“No, it doesn’t,” you looked over, meeting his eyes again, you enjoyed looking at them, “I took it from the TVA after they brought me in, I thought it could be my way out, but it backfired,” you quirked your lips, looking down at the ground, “too much pressure on it and. . .it shattered,” you paused blinking, “I was exposed to an energy I can’t explain and it gave me something I can’t explain, but,” you sighed, straightening up, “the TVA found me, reset the timeline, and took me back in for examination.”

“And what- now they hired you?” Loki asked, his tone wasn’t exactly soft, more shocked at their recruiting choices. 

You returned to the present, coming out of your own flashback, “now,” you smiled widely, “I’m of more use to Mobius than he’ll ever admit.”

There was silence, and you let it remain, assuming Loki had a lot to process. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he squinted. 

“Because you have power and potential that could change history, if only you-” 

With a sudden motion the door flung open, and Mobius, wary at first, made his way in. Upon seeing you, he let down his defenses.

“You found him I see,” he put his hands on his hips, a stance that almost made you laugh, at least internally, “didn’t feel the need to tell me?”

“I knew you’d get there eventually,” you nodded. 

“Unbelievable, Newsflash, actually it is believable and that’s the problem-” Mobius muttered to himself as he left to inform others that Loki had been found and detained again. 

“Newsflash?” Loki questioned, looking over at you, you just shrugged, “you sound like quite the handful yourself,” Loki actually smiled at you; you returned the smile, nodding to yourself. 

“Look, Loki,” you started, pressing your palms together, “Mobius has a lot of faith in you, and I know you don’t believe in trust, but we’re about to trust you very much,” you saw he opened his mouth, you waited, eyebrows raised as if asking ‘yes?’ but he silently answered by shaking his head, allowing you to continue, “I know you’ve seen and been through a lot today, I won’t lie, I was confused when I came here too, but this really is bigger than anything you could imagine. We need you,” you furrowed your brows, speaking from your heart, “more than you know.”

“Well, it’s nice to be needed,” He bobbed his head with a smile spreading further on his lips. “I believe you,” he said, soft eyes suddenly looking at you, “I just can’t- believe all. . .this,” he lifted a finger and made a circle, looking around, ”not yet anyway.”

You smiled, throwing him a wink, “give it time.”

[mintjamsblog]

8 (sunbathing) or 25 (senseless) for the fic prompt!

Look what I did! I combined 2 prompts! Into one almost 2,000 word mini fic. (Well, mini for me). I know this was supposed to be a drabble, but here, have something longer:

8. Sunbathing AND 25. Senseless.

He's been looking forward to this holiday for weeks. The hotel's five-star, of course, with a choice of well-stocked bars, six tennis-courts, four award-winning restaurants, three pools, two gyms, a spa, dozens of staff eager to ingratiate themselves with the wealthy clientele and — lest his darling should complain — Armani fucking bath robes. 

Alfie's enjoying the private beach and the world's most comfy sun-lounger, complete with one of them rattan parasols and a glittering turquoise sea. He ate enough at breakfast to last him a whole fucking week and his freshly-oiled skin now sizzles in the full glare of the sun. Sweating's never felt so good; it's as if life's stresses are leaching out of his body and into the towel beneath him. The scent of salt and suncream slows his heart to a gentle patter. He made fucking sure the resort was kid-free, so the only soundtrack to this bliss is waves as they lap against the sand. Maybe he'll go for a dip in a bit, when he's heated himself to a good, heavy smoulder. But first he'll have a doze ... aids the digestion, don't it?

"Where's me fucking phone, Alfie?"

"Jesus H. Christ, Tom, you trying to give me a coronary?"

"Give my fucking phone back or I'll give you more than that."

Alfie squints at the angry shadow looming over his lounger; even through flashing-white retinas he can tell Tommy's face is puce. The air, so recently tranquil, bristles with hostility as Tommy swipes droplets of chlorine from his body as if they were burning his skin.

Alfie knew this was gonna be hard, right? It's not like Tommy mis-sold himself; their very first meeting ended in a slew of creative insults and a life-time ban from Alfie's favourite coffee place. (Anyone who can get that worked up over a splash on their fucking suit clearly ain't the type who finds it easy to relax.) 

"You lost your mobile, treacle?"

"No. I have not fucking lost it. You paid someone to nick it while I was in the pool."

That's one of the problems with Tommy. He's a suspicious little prick. "You do know how preposterous that sounds, right?"

"Not half as preposterous as you look with those stupid fucking tattoos. Give my phone back. Now."

"How can I give it back if I don't know where it is?" (Not technically a lie. He paid the pool-boy to half-inch it, yes, but he has no idea of its location at this precise moment.) "Why don't you see this as an opportunity to leave your email alone for five minutes?"

Tommy looks fit to burst out of his very lovely skin.

"I hear the yoga teacher's excellent," Alfie continues. "Or you could book yourself a massage."

"I'm booking the next flight home unless my phone's back in fifteen minutes. I'm going to the room." Tommy flings his towel at Alfie, kicking up a flurry of sand as he storms towards the hotel. Fine then. Plan B it is.

He don't actually have a Plan B, as he follows Tommy at a safe distance, but he's always prided himself on a knack for improvisation. 

One feigned apology for phone-theft and a conciliatory hug later and Tommy is on his back, wrists cuffed through the headboard slats. His eyes are ablaze with fury but whatever he'd like to say comes out as a muffled growl. Turns out the belt from a towelling robe makes a very effective gag. (Alfie suspects that a lesser brand would have done the job just as well, but he doesn't miss the opportunity to point out its designer credentials.) 

Tying Tommy's legs is a little more problematic. Devoid of the speed of handcuffs and the element of surprise Alfie's forced to wait a while for the thrashing to subside. Not that it takes too long; a kilometre in the pool has rather sapped Tommy's strength. 

"Should've had more than egg whites for breakfast," Alfie says, tying a second towelling belt around Tommy's left ankle. He pulls it up to the headboard, through the slats behind Tommy's head, and out again to be fastened around the other ankle. He ignores the furious glare — it's hard to take anyone seriously with their feet either side of their ears.  He likes Tommy bent like this: with his legs splayed and his vulnerable bits exposed, like an upended turtle stuck on its back. If turtles wore very expensive swimming trunks.

"Now then, let's start again," Alfie says, sitting on his heels. "This is called a holiday. We came here to unwind. Clearly you need a little more help with that than even I anticipated." He wanders into the bathroom to find everything he needs, giving Tommy a moment to adjust to his predicament. May as well get used to it. He's gonna be there a while.

"Now," Alfie says, returning with a pair of scissors. He knee-walks onto the bed whilst snipping at the air. "I wouldn't move if I were you, wouldn't want me to nick anything vital." He proceeds to carefully cut a line up the side of Tommy's trunks. "No need to look so incensed, love, they're only polyester." 

*

Alfie fucks him for forty minutes, through sweat and sand and suncream, till Tommy is shaking his head side to side and sounding a lot more high-pitched. He seems a little chastened (not quite repentant yet, but he'll get there, given time).

"Your own fault, sweetheart. If you hadn't've flicked that towel at me there wouldn't be so much sand. Didn't have to be this way."

Alfie likes it this way. Likes making Tommy so exquisitely sore he can't think about anything else.

"And there's no point shaking your head like that. You know how to make this stop."

If Tommy were to bang his head three times on the pillow, Alfie would back off and untie him immediately. He knows Tommy won't, but he pauses to be sure. The little brat enjoys pretending to hate it far too much.

"Hmm, thought not," he says with a wicked grin. "Gonna fuck you till you're so used you can't sit down at dinner." Alfie comes a few thrusts later, with that very thought in his head — Tommy lowering himself gingerly into a chair in front of the other diners. He lets his orgasm take him, closes his eyes and fucks in hard and shudders to a finish. When he opens his eyes again Tommy looks fucking smug, or as smug as is achievable in such a submissive position. 

"S'pose you think this is over, hmm? Think you can clench your pert little backside and make me come and that'll be it for the day?" He sits back and aims a good hard slap at Tommy's upturned arse. "I've got bad news for you, sweetheart." He slaps the other cheek. "I've brought the strap-on with me." He presses a kiss to Tommy’s forehead and heaves himself from the bed. "Just gonna clean up a little. You wait here a minute." 

He returns with a bath-brush in hand, and strokes the bristles down Tommy's thigh, tutting and shaking his head in a mock disappointment. "I think someone needs a little help with his priorities. Twenty should do it, what do you think?" He doesn't give Tommy time to respond before he starts in with the back of the brush — every swat delivered hard and fast to show that he means business.  

He watches the shock on Tommy's face morph into what might be the first shreds of contrition. "Good," he says, when he's finished. "Think we might be getting somewhere." He loosens Tommy's drool-soaked gag, and pulls it down to his chin.

"Fuck you," Tommy rasps. "Give my phone back." 

Alfie sighs heavily. Clearly there's bugger-all chance of any more sunbathing today. "You see that there's low blood-sugar, petal. Always makes you stroppy."

He makes his way to the mini-bar and finds a can of coke, together with a bendy straw. You really do get what you pay for, this hotel's thought of everything.

"Here, drink up," he says, sitting himself on the bed and pointing the straw towards Tommy's mouth.

Tommy turns his head away, so Alfie takes a sip himself. "Guess I'll ring room service then. Get one of them lads in the Hawaiian shirts to bring up something more substantial. Course I'll have to tip him well to cover the embarrassment of seeing you trussed up like a Christmas turkey waiting to be stuffed." He reaches over to the bedside table and retrieves the in-room menu. "What'll it be? Club sandwich?" He raises his eyebrows at Tommy and profers the coke can once more. 

"Cunt," Tommy croaks, but he must be truly parched because he takes the straw between his lips and finishes most of the can.

Over the course of the next four hours Alfie fucks him properly senseless. With the strap-on and then with his cock again, and then with both side by side. He spanks Tommy in between fuckings, till the poor little love's eyes shine and spill and he struggles charmingly. "S'all for your own good, sweetheart. You need to learn to switch the fuck off."

By the time Alfie's done, Tommy's pink all over and docile as a lamb — he don't seem to care what day it is, let alone where his phone might be. Released from his binds, he curls into Alfie and buries his face out of sight. 

Alfie holds him like that for a long while, stroking his shoulder, kissing the top of his hair, until the silence gets disturbing. He wants to revert to type and fill the air with words, but it ain't always the best tactic, so he distracts himself by taking Tommy's hand and sucking each finger in turn, from the tip to the furthest knuckle. Tommy lets him, that's the strangest thing, doesn't push or pull at Alfie's lips, just nestles ever closer until it must be hard to breathe.

He insists they go out for dinner; he's hungry again, despite the breakfast, which means that deep-down Tommy must be absolutely famished. Their table is on the sand, at the far end of the restaurant (although far from turning him on, Tommy's obvious discomfort at sitting down fills Alfie with unease). Confronted with the menu, Tommy seems vaguely confused, so much so that Alfie ends up ordering for them both — steak, medium rare — but draws the line at cutting it up when Tommy just stares at his plate. 

"On second thoughts," Alfie tells the waiter, "we'll have these boxed and taken to our room."

"Is everything alright, sir?" the young lad asks.

"I'm not sure," Alfie replies. "We're feeling a little out of sorts."

He wouldn't want Tommy like this all the time, sleepy-eyed and meek, but he does like the way their legs are pressed firmly together under the table. He likes that when he holds out his hand, Tommy takes it without suspicion, letting himself be led through the hotel and back to the safety of their room. He likes that he can undress Tommy, tuck him carefully under the sheets, and feed him cubes of soft red-meat till he's too tired to even chew. He likes the relief on Tommy's face, the dark space between his lips, the way the frown lifts from his brow as he settles into a dream. And he loves the way Tommy stays asleep till gone nine the following morning. How he flushes pink and lowers his eyes when he catches Alfie staring. 

Alfie tips his chin up, gently, and kisses him on the lips. "What am I gonna do with you?" he says with a smile.

"Anything you like," Tommy whispers, and immediately burrows in.

"That so, treacle?"

"Hmm."

"In that case, I have just the thing. Today, my love, we are sunbathing."

[sunder-soul]

As requested, a Part II to the prompt from @riddles-wifey​​ about jealous Tom!

PART I HERE! 💖

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Jealousy

Summary: Reader tries to avoid Tom following their strange confrontation, fails miserable, a very different kind of confrontation ensues.

Word count: 1.5k Content warning: making out, nothing too serious.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Something weird happened,” you say bluntly, falling into the seat next to Margot in Transfiguration the next morning.

She immediately looks up from her textbook.

“With Riddle,” you add quietly, glancing around the classroom to check for onlookers and potential eavesdroppers.

Margot’s brows shoot up and a wide grin splits her face. “Are you serious?” she whispers excitedly, leaning in.

“Yeah,” you mutter, pulling out your Transfiguration textbook and some parchment. “I think he thought that me and Varrowe were dating…”

“And?” Margot says immediately, so focused on you that she doesn’t notice Dumbledore stride into the room (which is rather impressive considering he’s dressed in vibrant lime green robes with glittering gold fastenings.)

“He got all mad last night when he saw us together, but then when I told him that I was Varrowe’s tutor, he…” You trail off, twirling your quill in your fingers, very unsure how to even describe what had happened.

“Yes?” Margot prompts, still grinning.

“He got all up close and… intense,” you mumble with a wave of your hand, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

Margot looks delighted. “And?”

“And nothing,” you shrug, dejectedly writing the date at the top of your parchment. “After that he just… left.”

“Sweet Snidgets above,” Margot says, shaking her head with a wry smile on her face. “You snagged Riddle.”

“I haven’t snagged anyone!” you whisper hastily, glancing around again. “And keep your voice down!”

“I’m so proud of you,” she says theatrically, completely ignoring your panic. “Merlin’s beard, wait until poor Olive Hornby finds out, she’s been planning their wedding since first year –”

“She’s not going to find out anything,” you say pointedly, narrowing your eyes, “because there’s nothing to find out!”

“Sure, sure,” Margot winks, “so what are you going to do?”

“Dunno,” you mutter, “I guess just avoid him for the rest of time.”

“Avoid him?” she repeats, looking scandalised. “Are you completely stupid? Why would you –”

“My deepest apologies, Miss Droope,” Dumbledore calls from the front of the room, making the both of you jump and wheel around in your seats as the entire class turns to look at you. “I’m afraid I must interrupt your conversation with the minor inconvenience of today’s lesson,” he continues with a sparkle in his eye. “Perhaps you two might find a time outside of class to continue your discussion.”

“Sorry Professor,” you both mutter, hastily bending over your notes.

Dumbledore resumes the class, but the side-eye grin that Margot shoots you assures you that you are most definitely not off the hook yet.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Your plan to avoid Riddle works right up until the exact moment that it doesn’t.

It’s a rainy Monday night about a week after the strange conversation with Riddle and you’re holed up in the library with the most gruelling History of Magic assignment you’ve ever had – a sixty inch dissertation on the contributing factors of the Giant Wars.

You throw your quill down and sigh, staring up at the droplets trickling down the dark window and listening to the relentless thrum of the rain. Your eyes are aching and your brain feels like fuzz – it’s definitely time for a break.

You get up and wander down the nearby shelves, vaguely searching for a particular text and fully intending on taking as long as possible to find it, when just like that you round the corner and see Riddle standing in the middle of the aisle.

You freeze.

He hasn’t seen you yet, peering attentively at a text open in one hand as the other traces down its table of contents. You take a slow step back, and right as you think you might get away without drawing his attention, his head swivels around and his eyes flash to yours.

There’s a very loaded pause in which you must look a lot like a deer caught in headlights.

“Evening,” Riddle says smoothly, snapping his book shut with one hand and sliding it back onto the shelf.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

“I haven’t seen you around very much lately,” Riddle says casually, leaning against the bookshelf beside him.

“I’ve been busy,” you mutter, avoiding his even gaze as you scan the shelves for the book you’re looking for.

“Oh I’m sure,” he says softly.

You grit your teeth and squint at the books in front of you, determined to ignore him.

“What are you looking for?” Riddle asks.

“Modern Gigantomachy,” you say reluctantly.

“Which edition?”

You glance around at him. He’s still leaning against the bookshelf, looking annoyingly attractive, the waves of his black hair contrasting with his skin, the fine angles of his brows above his dark eyes, the knowing curl on his lips as he watches you –

“Fourth,” you say quickly before you can get too distracted.

Riddle pushes off the bookshelf and is suddenly mere inches in front of you. Your heart immediately lurches as you take an instinctive step away and your back hits the shelf behind you. Riddle delicately arches a brow at your reaction, his eyes fixed on yours as he slowly reaches up to a shelf far above you and slides a book off of it. He hands it to you and you take it automatically.

“Thanks,” you breathe, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Of course,” Riddle says softly.

There’s another silence. Neither of you have moved an inch, and you begin to wonder exactly how many times you’re going to end a hair’s breadth away Riddle before one of you finally caves –

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he murmurs, a smirk building on his lips.

Your heart stops for a second. “You were jealous of Varrowe,” you blurt out.

Riddle’s smirk falls. He lifts a hand to rest on the shelf above your head, leaning over you very unnervingly. “Jealous?” he repeats sharply

“Yeah,” you breathe, slightly horrified that you’d actually said it out loud. “You were.”

Something works in Riddle’s jaw as he glares down at you, and you hug the book he gave you closer to your chest.

“And why would I be jealous of Varrowe?” he whispers.

You blink at him. Riddle is close, too close, his eyes raking across your face as he looms over you, something almost possessive about his hand above your head. There’s no mistaking the sudden shift in the air between you.

You’re leaning up onto the balls of your feet without thinking twice.

Your lips brush against his, so softly that the kiss is barely there, but enough to send your heart hammering as you pull back just far enough to check his reaction. Your cheeks are aflame and your lips are tingling, unable to believe what you’ve just done as the silence stretches on and on, as Riddle stares back at you, frozen in place with something you can’t recognise burning in his dark eyes.

The faintest frown appears between Riddle’s brow, and then slowly, very slowly, he’s leaning down towards you. Your breath hitches. His lips meet yours at the exact same moment that he steps in closer, crowding you back against the shelf, soft and warm, kissing you with a smooth, relentless pressure and you’re leaning up into it without even realising what you’re doing, thoughts swirling, heat on your skin, stomach twisting –

Riddle is pulling the book from your hands and carelessly dropping it to the floor, taking you by the waist and lifting you up as he steps in again, pinning you to against the bookshelf without breaking the kiss. Your hands card into the soft waves of his hair and his grip on your waist tightens as you wrap your legs around him. The first touch of his tongue makes you gasp against his lips, and Riddle’s fingers immediately tangle in your hair to pull you harder against him. Riddle’s mouth is moving against yours, hungry and unyielding, and you’re getting dizzy as heat curls in your stomach –

He pulls away very suddenly. You stare at him in surprise, breathing hard. Riddle’s lips are slick and his eyes have gone black, one of his hands still buried in your hair and the other gripping your hip so tightly that you’re sure that you’ll have bruises in the pattern of his fingers tomorrow.

“We are in the middle of the library,” he murmurs against your lips. It takes a lot to resist shivering at the sound of his voice.

“We… could… go somewhere else…” you manage to say, your heart racing so hard that he can surely hear it.

A small smirk builds on his face. “What about your essay?” he says smoothly, so close that your lips start aching to close the scant distance between you –

“I think technically I just had my textbook confiscated by a prefect,” you whisper with a flicker of a smile, “so there’s my alibi.”

Riddle breathes a laugh, and then his lips are on yours once more.

Thanks for asking for a sequel @bluehydrangea-cherry​ and @the-almond-dinger 💖