#(<- they could also use this to explain jeans water trauma but this is supposed to be HAPPY and SILLY)

[foxpile]

i need a scene in tsc2 where neil and jean meet up to discuss their fake “childhood best friends” memories so they can keep their story straight if pressed about it

[master-sass-blast]

Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter Two.

I had to input every single italic you see in this fic by hand because Tumblr doesn’t hold text format when I paste it innnnnn. *pained smile*

Please give this chapter some love, because that was fucking painful to do.

Summary: The aftermath of capturing Allison proves messy -both in dealing with the teen's evident trauma, and in all the skeletons in various closets that get unleashed soon after.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Rating: M for gun violence, depictions of death and injuries, depictions of emotional trauma, and gratuitous use of the word “fuck.”

Word count: 8.9k.

Set after “Children of the Gods: Part Three, Chapter One.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @leo-writer, @emma-frxst, @sadstone-s

“What the hell were you thinking!”

“Ooh, careful there, Doohan,” Wade snarks, head rolling to indicate he’s rolling his eyes. “Get any more agitated and you’ll be saying all the no-no words.”

Scott scowls at Wade. “Stuff it, Wilson.”

“Every damn night, laser pointer.”

A mixture of grimaces, sighs, and groans go up through the crowd.

You’re all gathered in the medical wing of Xavier’s –the X-Force and nearly all of the X-Men. Allison’s off being examined by Dr. McCoy and Alyssa –to make sure she’s stable enough to be taken out of the handcuffs and the suppression band—and Frank and Karen are sequestered in a separate room until it's clear how everything's going to shake out.

Because, naturally, there’s been a wrench thrown in the situation.

Or maybe the whole damn toolbox, you mentally amend as Wade and Scott resume arguing.

“We cannot harbor a mob criminal here—”

“She’s thirteen, Summers!” Wade snaps. The eyes on his mask narrow into slits. “She’s not a criminal –and her parents’ choice don’t automatically make her guilty!”

“Murder, illegal theft and possession of firearms, assault, stalking, kidnapping,” Scott starts listing, ticking off each of Allison’s misdeeds on his fingers.

“She lost her family,” Nathan interjects, voice going to gravel. “Where the fuck were all of you when she needed support? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

The room goes silent. Many of the X-Men members look away or hang their heads slightly.

“We had no way of knowing that Allison was a mutant,” Ororo speaks up. “Without the proper information, we can’t help. It’s unfortunate, yes, but out of our control all the same.”

“But you know now,” Wade argues. “You knew with Russell. You knew with all the kids at Essex house. You turned your back on him and those kids, just like you’re turning your back on Allison now.” He scoffs, disgusted. “Same shit, different day. You’re all a bunch of cowardly cocksuckers.”

“We do have limits,” Professor Xavier speaks up from his chair. “Russell and the other members of Essex house were considered wards of the state. Legally, that meant Essex house had custody of them until they turned eighteen. We wrote petitions. We did as much as we could to bring attention to the issue. Unfortunately, it got swept under the rug or stonewalled by anti-mutant members of the legal system. As for Allison…” He sighs. “Taking in wards with criminal connections put the school at risk. Not just for fear of retaliation –as would certainly be a risk with Miss Ricci’s connections to the mafia—but also our funding and licensing. As an orphaned mutant, she is certainly deserving of our help—” he pauses to glare sternly at Scott and a few of the more stubborn, self-righteous members present “—but we have to consider the needs of our other residents and students, too.”

“I think we’re overlooking that Allison is here right now,” Jean pipes up. “Whether or not she stays with us is one thing, but we need to decide what to do for at least the next forty-eight hours.”

“She stays here,” you say automatically. “As far as we know, she has no other guardians, potentially even nowhere to go. I don’t think it’s gonna kill us to give her a bed and some food to eat.”

“Absolutely not,” Scott fires back –and, behind him, Angel and Iceman nod. “She’s far too aggressive to possibly put the students at risk.”

“She’s agitated and traumatized,” you reason, “but that doesn’t mean she’s going to lash out at people left and right.”

“Doesn’t she have a guardian of sorts?” Neena pipes up. “Artemis? Has anyone gotten ahold of them?”

“We reached out with the number Miss Ricci gave us,” Xavier explains. “The call picked up, but there wasn’t any verbal response for the duration of the call.”

Well, that bodes well. “What about her attorney?” you ask. “If we can’t keep her here, wouldn’t her attorney be able to arrange some sort of safe place for her to stay.”

“Thus far, we haven’t been able to reach her attorney.”

And that bodes even worse. You fight the urge to sigh or roll your eyes, and instead mentally curse monkey wrenches and whoever thought to invent the damn things.

“For the time being, I’ve contacted some of our external resources” –the glance Xavier shoots at both you and Piotr tells you that it’s your uncle and Alexandra—“to help with matters until the dust settles. They should be arriving soon, so—”

There’s a loud crash from down the hall, the sound of glass shattering, and an angry screech that sounds suspiciously like, “Fuck you, Castle!”

You give into the urge to sigh before booking it towards the sound of chaos and rage. Great. Now it’s an entire toolshed.

***

Subduing Allison this time, at least, is easier for several reasons.

First, she’s still wearing the repression cuff on her wrist. Without her powers –without a way to pop in and out of this existence, specifically—she’s much easier to catch.

Second, she’s tired. It’s not just the bags under her eyes or the sweat glistening at her furrowed brow. She’s stumbling unevenly, panting as she tries to exact her revenge.

Third, Illyana happens to show up at the exact same time with your uncle and Alexandra (and Nikolai as well, though he has less involvement in the “subduing process”).

Alex reacts fastest. She hooks one strong arm around Allison’s waist, then scoops her away from Karen and a hangdog-looking Frank. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Allison, however, doesn’t seem to agree. (Though whether it’s due to general teenage contrariness or trauma-induced rage, the jury’s still out.

…Actually, it’s probably both.)

“You don’t even get it, Castle!” Allison snaps with a manic grin, eyes wide and haunted. “You killed a good man. My dad was getting out! He was going to testify against them—”

Alex clamps a hand over the teen’s mouth, making her cut herself off with a garbled grunt. “I said enough.”

Allison thrashes in the older woman’s iron-clad grasp –to no avail, unsurprisingly. Her face scrunches up, then her jaw starts flexing. There’s a moment where her expression goes slack when Alex doesn’t react, then her nose scrunches up again and her jaw starts working harder.

Alex sighs, then starts carrying Allison back down the hall (she’s astonishingly unfazed by been chomped down on). “Come on. Let’s get you calmed down, malen’kiy.”

At the other end of the hall, Neena pokes her head into the fray. “Someone who calls herself Artemis is at the front door.”

Professor Xavier nods, then says, “Please escort her back to Miss Ricci’s room,” before wheeling after Alex and Artemis.

You look between Neena and the Professor –then, in the interest of going where you’re actually allowed to be (and not being bored out of your mind because you’ll be literally shut out of the room), you head towards the foyer.

…

“Do you think Frank was set up to stop the trial?”

Your uncle shrugs; the two of you have taken up a spot at the back of the room, where you can watch things unfold and gossip like the two old ladies you are in spirit. “It’s possible. It’s also possible that it was retribution for Allison being a mutant. The Ricci syndicate is notoriously… intolerant.”

You grimace. You certainly understand just how far people will go against their own flesh and blood for intolerance’s sake. “Blood and water.”

Your uncle nods, expression equally sour. “You fucking said it, punk.”

There’s not much point in hashing it out any further –both from the standpoint of “forbidden knowledge” and digging up old trauma—so you settle back into watching Artemis go through the mandatory security check.

She’s tall, with broad shoulders. Her hair’s dark, just starting to streak with silver at the temples, and her eyes are deep, intense, borderline black color. Her nose is slightly crooked –comes with the territory in this walk of life—and she’s dressed in black motorcycle wear and combat boots.

She honestly looks so fucking familiar.

You frown, brows pinching together as you try and place her face in your memory. Failing your own abilities at recollection, you lean over and whisper, “Is she one of your team members? I swear I’ve seen her before.”

“Uh –no,” your uncle replies (and it’s too fast and shaky, but you’re too caught up in figuring out whom the fuck you’re looking at to notice). “I mean –everyone has a doppelganger, right?”

“I guess.” You squint at Artemis, as though physically narrowing your eyes will help your brain puzzle things out—

And then Alex strides into the foyer –wiping the hand that Allison bit, and if you look close enough you’re pretty sure you can still see a few bloody teeth marks—and the cloud of confusion lifts from your mind.

“Oh!” you gasp quietly. “That’s why she looks familiar! She looks like Alex.” You look from the Rasputin matriarch, to the other black-leather clad woman, then back again. “She looks… a lot like Alex, actually.” You laugh softly –coincidence is a hell of a thing—then keep rambling when your uncle doesn’t say anything. “Two women who love the color black and carry enough weapons on their person to stock an army. You’d think the universe broke the mold with Alex, huh?”

Your uncle shifts from foot to foot next to you, but says nothing.

“You really weren’t kidding about the whole ‘doppelganger’ thing, huh.” You cock your head to one side, then frown as another epiphany starts growing in your mind. “Actually… she kind of looks like you, too.”

Your uncle makes a quiet, pained choking noise. “Punk—”

“Yeah, she’s got more of your build…”

“Punk.”

“And her lower lip has that weird lopsided curve like yours—”

“Punk—”

You peer closer at Artemis’s face. “Actually, her nose looks like you took yours and Alex’s and mashed them together—”

“Punk.”

You finally look up at him and take in the pale, wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression on his face. “What?” When he doesn’t say anything, you look at Artemis, then Alex, and then back at him—

Oh God.

Oh God.

Holy fucking shit.

You stare up at your uncle, agape. “Wait a second –you and—”

“Okay, shut the fuck up!” he hisses, panicked, before dragging you out of the foyer and into the nearest hallway.

“You and Alex had a baby,” you blurt –albeit in a voice no louder than a harsh whisper. “Artemis is your and her lovechild!”

He winces, then holds up his hands. “I can explain—”

“I don’t think you can!” you hiss. “Why didn’t you tell me that I have a cousin who happens to be my husband’s half fucking sister! Oh God, does Piotr know? Do any of the Rasputins know?”

“I…” He trails off, then cringes. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure, actually.”

You stare up at him, dumbfounded. “You’re not sure. How are you not sure? Nick knows who you are –what, you think Alex just kept a whole child from his knowledge—”

“I mean, he probably knows that there was a baby at one point—”

“The baby is in this fucking house!” you snap in a quiet growl, arms flailing wildly. “She’s a full grown adult who probably pays taxes and has a 401k going! Why wouldn’t Alex tell her husband—”

“Look,” your uncle interjects, cutting you off. “As far as Alex knows… she thinks she’s… dead?”

You gape. Then, as quietly as you can manage (given the circumstances), you exclaim, “What the fuck!”

“Keep your voice down!” your uncle hisses, gesturing wildly in panic. He looks over his shoulder, then when he’s certain no one overheard you, he sighs and looks back to you. “Look, it’s a long story—”

“I’m sure it fucking is!” You cross your arms over your chest when he winces. “How is it that you know your secret lovechild is alive, but Alex doesn’t? What, did she just abandon her?”

“No, no—”

“Didn’t think so. So what the fuck happened?”

He sighs, shoulder slumping, and runs one hand through his already disheveled hair. “Look –long story short, the people who ‘made’ Alex took the baby—”

“Artemis. Her daughter. Your daughter.”

He purses his lips, but concedes with a nod. “They took her away after she was born and told Alex she was dead –and that’s actually what prompted her to get out, but that’s another story for another day—”

“Okay, hang on a second.” You squeeze your eyes shut and hold up one hand. “Alex thinks her baby is dead –probably one of the most traumatic things in her whole life. You’ve known that she’s alive…” You open your eyes again and fix your uncle with a stern stare. “Okay, how long have you known for?”

He grimaces and shifts uncomfortably. “…well, the US took her, but she didn’t present early, so they turned her loose into the foster system because she didn’t have potential as an ‘asset’—”

“How fucking long?”

He ducks his head, carefully avoiding your gaze. “…tracked her down when she was ten.”

Your eyes widen –and then you slug him in the shoulder. “You fucking colossal asshole!”

He panics again, motioning for you to keep it down while checking over his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up!”

“No! Not only have you lied to Alex for decades—”

“She never asked—”

“A lie by omission is still a fucking lie!” you snap in a gravelly whisper. “So, not only did you lie to her, but you also abandoned your daughter to the mercies of the US foster care system!”

“My life wasn’t safe to keep a kid around!” he hisses back at you. “I couldn’t take care of you, and I couldn’t take care of her! If anything, it was safer for her if the government thought I didn’t know she was alive!”

You sigh, pinch the bridge of your nose, and wave dismissively with your other hand. “Okay –fine. That still doesn’t justify the whole lying thing, but whatever. Does Artemis know that you and Alex are her parents?”

“…Yes. She tracked me down when she was in her twenties and I told her the truth.”

“Well, it sounds like determination runs in the family,” you mutter. “But at least you two have kept in touch…” You look up, see your uncle’s grimace, and sigh. “You didn’t keep in touch with her.”

He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Pretty sure ‘not like that’ is a good answer.” You sigh again, then shrug and put your hands on your hips. “Well, you’ve probably solved your own problem. She’ll probably just tell Alex who she is just to spite you, assuming she got the ‘petty vengeance’ gene too.”

Your uncle’s eyebrows spike to his hairline, and his expression goes through the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds. “She –she can’t—”

“She can and she probably will.”

He hunches over, crouching, and grips the back of his head. “Shitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuck—”

“Myshka?”

You and your uncle both jump, then whirl in unison and give your husband your best convincing, “we’re totally not talking about long lost, hidden family members and other poor life choices” smiles that you can each manage.

(Consider that you don’t look like you just shit your pants, you win.)

Piotr’s forehead wrinkles with concern. “What… is everything alright?”

“Just fine, baby,” you assure him, subtly kicking your uncle so he relaxes. “Just talking about what happens next.”

Piotr nods after a moment, likely picking up on that whatever’s going on right now isn’t life or death and that you’ll fill him in later. “I actually came to find you,” he says, gesturing to your uncle. “Professor Xavier still cannot reach Allison’s lawyer. He has asked for your assistance.”

“Right. Absolutely. On it,” your uncle says with a none-too-convincing smile. He shoots your husband a pair of finger guns, then books it out of the hall and towards the medical wing of the mansion.

Piotr stares after him, then shoots you a confused frown. “Is he okay?”

You shrug. “He’s doing about his usual.” You decide to further sidestep the issue by ambling over to him and giving him a gentle hug. “How are you?” Are doing okay?”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. “I am fine now. Just a little sore.”

“Me too.” You nuzzle your cheek against his burly chest. “We really should invest in that hot tub we keep talking about getting. It’d be great for post-mission recovery.”

“Hot tubs are expensive, myshka,” he chuckles.

“Yes, but we’re not getting any younger. It’d be a good investment in taking care of our bodies.” You tilt your head back and grin up at him. “I thought you were all about that life.”

He sighs and shakes his head, feigning exasperation, but his amused smile is a dead giveaway. “Whatever shall I do with you, myshka?”

You grin wider. “You could kiss me.”

Piotr grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours—

Mikhail appears next to you out of thin air. “Ah. Gross. Big meeting is happening. All hands on deck.”

Piotr rolls his eyes when his elder brother teleports away once more, then looks back down at you and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, baby.” You unwind your arms from his massive trunk of a torso, then slide your fingers between his as the two of you walk towards the medical wing.

…

“—I am telling you, Charles, not being able to reach this kid’s lawyer is a bad fucking sign.”

You and Piotr walk into a conference room to find your uncle and Professor Xavier locked in a heated argument.

Wade, Nate, and Neena are leaning against the table to watch, occasionally leaning over to whisper bits of commentary to each other (or, in Wade’s case, speak at normal volume).

In the corner of the room, where a couple of armchairs are positioned, Nikolai sits with his two other children; they’re speaking in hushed Russian, but none of them seem too concerned about everything else going on.

“As I previously stated,” Xavier says, words clipped, “we cannot release Miss Ricci without speaking first to her attorney. The X-Men operate as a special law enforcement service, and failure to comply with criminal and civil statutes will have enormous consequences for the Institute—”

“There’s going to be a bunch of fucking ‘enormous consequences’ for the Institute,” your uncle interrupts, growling through clenched teeth, “if you don’t evacuate this building right fucking now! Fuck’s sake, Charles –you hired me as a security advisor; just listen to me.”

Piotr frowns and curls one hand over your shoulder. “What is happening?”

“What’s happening,” a new, strong, feminine voice interjects from the hall, “is that we’re leaving.” Artemis shoulders past your husband –a feat not easily achieved by many—with Allison in tow, then holds up the teen’s arm that has the repression cuff still attached. She glares at Xavier (and God, she really looks like Alex when she does that), then spits out through gritted, bared teeth, “Get this fucking thing off my kid.”

There’s a longsuffering sigh in the hall, and then Alex steps into the doorway. “She has that cuff on for her own safety –as I already told you—”

Artemis whirls, face contorted by a vicious scowl, and snaps, “I didn’t fucking ask for you input!”

(Boy, if that doesn’t just scream ‘repressed trauma and mommy issues.’)

Your uncle looks like he’s about to pass out again, but Alex seems remarkably nonplussed. She merely raises one eyebrow at Artemis, as if to say ‘that’s all you got?’

There’s no way she knows, you think as you watch the two stare each other down. Not with how much she cares about her kids. There’s no fucking way—

“Actually, we’ve got bigger problems,” your uncle pipes up, voice quavering slightly before he clears his throat. “We can’t reach your kid’s shark.”

“They have other clients,” Artemis retorts, upper lip curling in a derisive sneer. Her dark eyes smolder with barely constrained hatred as she tosses a withering glance in his direction (daddy issues, too, this chick won the whole lottery). “Or maybe they got stuck in traffic.”

Your uncle narrows his eyes at that (and now the two of them look so much alike, overcome by ire as they are). “You cannot possibly be that fucking stupid.”

Artemis sucks a breath through her teeth, eyes widening with rage and hurt. “You fucking dick—”

In the corner of the room, Illyana bolts upright before going stock still. Then, she gasps and reaches out towards her mother. “Mama!”

(The way Artemis’s face mars with a pained grimace makes your heart ache.)

Alex tenses, eyes glowing gold as she starts scanning the horizon (presumably checking for heat signatures). “Gde?”

The room goes quiet –and then you hear it.

The sound of engines rumbling –multiple engines—and car wheels crunching against gravel. Doors thumping open and shut, followed by footsteps. Hushed voices.

You scamper over to the nearest window and float up, just enough to see several men clad in black and Kevlar and carrying rifles stalking towards the front door and around the sides of the house in groups. “Guys with guns. Lots of them.”

“Then get down!” Nate hisses before yanking you back from the window.

“Lights out,” Alex orders before hitting the switch herself. “Get everyone to a reinforced room.”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Xavier says before wheeling himself towards the door.

Allison clings to Artemis’s sleeve, much like a baby koala. “What’s going on? What’s going to happen?”

“Go with the Professor,” Artemis says. She quickly –but gently—frees her arm, then clasps the teen’s face with both hands. “Look at me. Listen to the Professor, and stay put until I come get you. Okay?”

Allison’s forehead puckers, and her lower lip starts trembling. “But—”

“Is alright,” Nikolai interjects with a kind, reassuring smile. He gently ushers Allison towards the door, then down the hall before she can protest further.

A few doors down, Karen pokes her head out of the room where she and Frank have holed up. She frowns as she takes in the chaos. “What’s going on?”

“Mafia men with guns!” Wade chirps as he half-skips, half-jogs towards the mansion’s entryway. “Tell your boy to suit up!”

“There’s a safe room at the end of the hall,” Neena adds as she runs after Wade.

Frank squeezes around Karen and kisses her temple before falling in line behind the two assassins.

You step to the side so Karen can run past you, then turn and press a hasty kiss against Piotr’s cheek. “Love you.”

He kisses your cheek in return, equally as brief. “Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

And then the two of you run towards the danger bearing down on your home.

***

In all the firefights you’ve been in, there’s always this moment of silence. A calm before the storm. A moment where everything goes still, while both sides wait for the other to make a move.

You duck behind a wall as the mafia gunmen continue hammering away at the front door, tucking yourself in a shadow. Your stomach tenses, breathing going quick and hard as your mind starts putting a plan together. Don’t want to risk collapsing part of the house by doing a pressure vacuum. Best option is to probably knock them to the ground so the others can jump them.

The door rattles. The wooden portal splits on one side, sending jagged splinters poking out into the air.

You slow your breathing, forcing yourself into a calm, focused state. Wait for them to get past the entryway so you can hit as many of them as possible.

In the back of the house, near the kitchen, you hear glass shatter.

They’re in. You clench your fists at your sides, watching as the front door slowly gives way. Three… two… one…

The door breaks open, swinging inwards as the first gunmen step into the foyer—

And then the door snaps off its hinges and slams into the men, taking them out like bowling pins.

Strike, a small, inane part of your brain giggles.

Shouts go up through the house. You can hear the sounds of rushed footsteps, shattering glass, and what sounds like people being bodyslammed through tables (and, given the type of people fighting for your side, it just might be that). Gunfire pierces the air –and is accompanied by the telltale, metallic plinks of the bullets ricocheting off your husband’s armor.

Angry screams emanate from the front step. Men barge in, firing down the hall, towards some unseen target (likely Alex or Nate, given the door trick).

You wait until as many men are piled into the foyer as possible, then send down a downdraft that blows out the windows on either side of the door.

The gunmen tumble to the floor, swearing in a mixture of English and Italian.

Nate, Wade, and Neena swoop in. They descend upon the mafia men like a pack of wolves, breaking bones, dislocating joints, and cracking skulls as they disarm –and, in some cases “un-alive”—the gunmen.

“It’s raining men!” Wade sings as he runs one of his katanas through the gut of one assailant. “Hallelujah! It’s raining men!” He ramps off a nearby wall, then t-bags another man before stabbing him through the temple. “Amen!”

You crouch, tracking the movement of the scuffle. You tense when you see a couple of the men jump Nathan, then charge towards the railing and dive over when a few more try to break past to run down the hallway. You flip in the air, land in the hallway ahead of them, and unleash a blast of wind right in their faces.

The mafia men fly out through the front door. They sail over half the front drive, then bounce off the gravel surface and roll several times before coming to a stop.

You let out a harsh breath, then dart down the hall towards the kitchen when you hear glass shattering and the sound of Frank bellowing angrily.

The kitchen and rec room are a mess. Glass shards from shattered windows coat the floor, glittering before being crushed underfoot. Doors are cracked from having people slammed into them. The rec room couch is overturned –and is sagging suspiciously on one side, hinting at a cracked frame. The entertainment system is shattered, with smoking bullet holes littering the TV, speakers, and media systems.

Frank has one of the guys pinned down over the sink. He’s snarling as he uses the lip of the sink to choke the guy out. There’s blood smeared his lips and chins, trailing back up to his chin.

Another gunman stalks in through the dining room, gun trained on Frank’s head.

You whip a blast of air at the second man, sending him sailing into the wall so hard the drywall cracks.

He drops to the ground, unconscious.

There’s some terrified shrieking –and then a gunman is punted up and out of the basement stairwell. He sails through the kitchen window headfirst, crumpling in a heap in the hedges outside.

Your husband storms up the staircase, teeth bared in an angry snarl. The waning daylight glints off his metal exterior, almost making him look like some sort of avenging angel. He stops short when he sees you, though; his irate expression vanishes, replaced by concern. “Ty v poryadke?”

You manage a smile and flash him a thumbs up—

And then a truck with a Gatling gun strapped to the roof rolls up to the back door.

“Get down!” Frank hollers before tackling you to the ground behind the kitchen island.

The room explodes into chaos. Bullets plow into the walls, sending up spurts of drywall dust in their wake. Wooden doorframes and floorboards crack, unleashing cascades of splinters in every direction. Glass shatters, raining down upon everything in its reach.

Frank positions himself over you, shielding you as fragmented bullets rain down upon your both. He cups your head with his hands, doing his best to protect you from the hellfire.

Over the din, you can just make out a loud, angry bellow –and then the sound of bullets hitting metal. Heavy, deliberate stomps make the floor shake.

The gunfire cuts off. A shriek pierces the air just before you hear what sounds like a car being tossed into a tree.

(As you’ll discover later, that’s precisely what you heard.)

Frank lifts his head, then carefully rolls off you. He crouches next to you and holds out a hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got glass shards and splinters in your hair, but you’ve been worse. You take his hand, flinching when you hear the sound of more gunfire outside.

Frank peers over the lip of the island. “Reinforcements. At least five more cars headed our way.”

You suck in a breath. “Piotr—”

“Is holding his own for now,” Frank says.

“I’m gonna help him,” you rasp out. “Make sure everyone in the house that’s not on our side… stays down. And that we’ve still got all our people.”

Frank nods, then runs off towards the foyer.

You catch your breath, then creep towards the back door (better safe than sorry). You flatten yourself against the wall next to the doorway, then peer around the broken frame.

Piotr’s facing off against the new influx of cars. He’s got one hand on the hood of one Range Rover, arm extended out like he’s fending off a five-year-old. With his other hand, he flips another SUV over, causing the thing to land on its roof and putting the vehicle squarely out of commission.

Your stomach sinks when five more Range Rovers tear across the lawn, leaving deep, muddy tracks in their wake –and are followed by three more trucks with Gatling guns attached to the roofs. You sprint out the door, take a flying leap over Piotr, then send out a shockwave of air when you land on the ground.

A few of the cars fly backwards, rolling across the lawn like tumbleweeds. A majority of them, however, manage to stay upright or bump into each other and recover.

Your eyes widen when one of the Gatling gun operators aims directly at you. Shit.

Piotr leaps in front of you, whirling so his back is to the gun. He curls his body over yours, shielding you as gunfire rains down on you both.

You grit your teeth, grunting. You can feel the impact of the gunfire resonating through your husband’s metal body. Worry clutches at your heart when Piotr lets out sharp, ragged groans; he’s largely invulnerable in his armor, not to mention his sense of touch is severely dulled, but you know that with shit like this he’s still feeling some sort of pain –and there’s nothing you can do. You’re both pinned down, and as powerful as your shockwaves are, they’re not enough to stop or even skew the trajectory of a bullet—

Blue light washes over both of you. The sound of the gunfire wanes, replaced by warbling, pinging noises instead.

You peer around Piotr’s side to see Illyana standing between the two of you and the oncoming cars. She has her arms outstretched, palms facing the onslaught of adversaries. A shimmering, sky blue shield with various magical incantations floating through it surrounds all of you, stretching into the sky for at least forty feet.

Illyana grunts. She’s being shoved backwards from the force of impact from the bullets. Her feet are digging into the ground, leaving ruts as she tries to hold her stance. “We need new plan!”

“How about ‘stay alive?’” Piotr shouts back as he digs shrapnel out of the grooves on his arms.

Wade, Neena, Nate, and Frank come barreling out the back door, faces streaked with soot and blood. They dive for the ground, covering the backs of their heads and necks with their hands—

An explosion goes off inside the mansion. The shockwave shatters windows on both the first and second floor, blowing out window frames and trim.

Piotr covers your body with his once more. He cups your head with his hand, shielding you from the falling debris and the worst of the shockwave.

You cough and hack as smoke billows out the broken windows and doors. You do your best to make a vortex to suck the smoke away and send it up into the air. Your lungs burn, and your ears are ringing like a bell from all the gunfire and the explosion—

Four more gunmen emerge from the smoke pouring out the back door.

You snarl, then whip blasts of air at them, slamming them into the exterior walls of the house.

One of them goes down, while the other three are merely stunned.

Mikhail comes barreling out next. He lets out a guttural battle cry, then sucker punches one of the men in the back of the head before aiming a blast of rust colored energy at another’s gut.

The man screams as he sails into the air, arcing over the tree line and disappearing somewhere in the canopies.

The third man aims his gun at Mikhail –then staggers and drops to the ground when a beam of golden energy sears through his chest.

Alex storms out of the smoke with Artemis and your uncle trailing close behind her. She glares down the remaining gunmen and cars, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Blood is flecked across her face and spattered over her leather jacket. “House is clear!”

“Yeah, except now we’re about to be cleared out!” Wade hollers back. “As in, ‘all sales final, no returns, no exchanges!’”

“If we could make plan,” Illyana screams, voice strained with the effort of holding the shield, “would be very great!”

You look over to Alex –and see her eyes widen. You whirl towards the gunmen just in time to see one of them aim a rocket launcher at all of you. “Oh, for the love of—”

The first hit is technically deflected by Illyana’s shield, insomuch that the projectile and the shield both shatter the moment they meet. The force of the magic breaking sends out a shockwave of blue energy that flies backwards into all of you, knocking those who managed to get up back off their feet and stunning the rest of you.

You groan, head reeling. Your vision clears slowly, casting double images when you move too quickly. Shit.

You can make out Piotr, just next to you. He’s lying face down on the lawn, grunting and moving in slow, clumsy movements. He turns his head, brow furrowing when he sees you, and reaches out towards you.

You extend your hand to grab his –but he’s just out of your reach, no matter how far you strain. Your body feels heavy with fatigue and pain; everything inside you is screaming to get up, to fight, to keep moving because death is knocking right on your door, and you’ll be damned if this is how you go out—

Alex recovers first –no surprise there. She shoves herself to her feet, seething and growling like a feral beast. She hurls a blast of energy at one of the cars –and, from the sounds of the carnage, makes a direct hit. She storms towards the sea of mafia men like an avenging angel, hell bound on vengeance and blood.

Audible gasps go up from the amassed assassins.

You lift your head to see several of the gunmen backing away from the mansion and crossing themselves with shaking hands. You chalk it up to Alex being Alex, and make to drop your head back against the ground once more—

And then you see Allison standing in the ruined doorway.

She’s glaring down the gunmen with a viciousness that doesn’t suit the youthful roundness of her face. Her brows are knit together, and her mouth is twisted into an ugly scowl. Her eyes are glowing a brilliant shade of blue and give off little wisps of azure colored smoke. Her skin and hair are smoking as well, creating an aura around her body. Blood drips down from her nose and onto her shirt –which is stained with ash and soot. There are burn marks and indents on her wrists from where the repression cuff and the handcuffs used to be, respectively, but the restraints themselves are gone.

The ground begins to shake. Two patches of cerulean light appear underneath the grass, growing larger until they form swirling vortexes of magical energy. The ground begins to crumble at the edges of the portals, eroding away and growing wider until they make gaping tunnels that channel so deeply into the earth there’s no telling how far they truly go.

You recoil when the smell of sulfur and smoke blenches forth from the tunnels. Shit, did she hit a gas line? Fucking dammit, like this day can get any worse—

Echoing, blood-chilling howls emanate from the tunnels.

Your eyes widen –and then your heart starts working overtime when you see two, then four massive hellhounds (like the ones Allison summoned at the mall) crawl out of the tunnels.

Shrieks of terror sound from the gunmen. Several take off running, while others try to shoot the beasts.

The hounds snap and snarl at the gunmen, then charge at the group. Two of them go off after the runners, while the other two start lunging after the assassins like they’re rabbits.

You stare at the chaos in disbelief –and then a set of strong hands grab you underneath the arms.

“Get up.” You uncle tugs you to your feet, keeping you steady when you stumble. “You can’t be in the flow of traffic for this.”

Behind you, Allison is panting like she’s run a marathon. The aura of blue smoke is growing around her, trailing into the air and floating over the ground. Veins of light spread across her face and arms, glowing the same shade of vibrant blue as her eyes. Her breathing grows louder and more ragged, until she’s growling and shaking with each exhale— and then she screams.

Much like the first confrontation in the cemetery, all those months ago, the scream unleashes a shockwave of blue energy. This time, though, the shockwave is far from a decoy for escape. It washes over you, the X-Force, your uncle, the other Rasputins, Frank, and Artemis harmlessly enough –then slams into the mafia forces and vehicles like the wall of a hurricane.

Alex charges after the shockwave, carefully trailing behind it. She waits until it clears the first line of gunmen, then slams her fist into the face of the man closest to her. She blocks his attempt to strike her, then twists his arm –dislocating the shoulder, which makes him shriek in pain. Then, she wrenches his rifle away from him. She shoots him once in the center of his forehead, then turns the firearm on his fellow men and keeps firing.

Mikhail and Artemis go after the one surviving Gatling gun. Mikhail teleports onto the truck bed; he sweeps the back of one man’s jacket over his head, effectively blinding him, then kicks the other man present in the balls before shoving him over the side of the truck.

Artemis, on the other hand, stops a few feet away from the truck. She uses her telekinesis to rip the Gatling gun off its mount, then yanks the driver out through the windscreen –headfirst, no less—and dumps him on the lawn.

He doesn’t get back up.

“Come on,” your uncle says, pointing towards the further reaches of the property, where some of the gunmen are still trying to outrun the hellhounds. “Let’s give the dogs a helping hand.”

The two of you reach out, creating a wind current that slices through the air and slams into the stragglers.

The men careen into nearby hedges –and the hellhounds have it from there.

The familiar sonic blast of Nathan’s gun rips through the air. The shot slams into the last remaining SUV, rendering the vehicle to little more than glass shards and mangled metal.

The back lawn and gardens fall silent, save for the sounds of groans of pain and the hellhounds chewing on various gunmen.

Mikhail takes a fall off the back of the truck bed. He flops onto the ruined grass below, limbs splaying like a rag doll’s. “Alright. Is time for nap. Wake me… never.”

Illyana scoffs from where she’s sat next to a smoldering bush. She picks up a nearby stone, then chucks it at her eldest brother’s head (and hits her target, no less). “There is still clean up. Bezdel'nik.”

Mikhail flips her off, then groans as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“She’s right,” Alex lectures her eldest as she picks her way through the carnage. She nudges one body with the toe of her combat boot, then shoots him through the temple when he groans.

“Mama!” Piotr gapes at her, expression scandalized. He sputters, looking between her and the body at her feet.

“Chto? Vy khotite yego zhivym? Chtoby on mog dolozhit' svoim khozyayevam? Chtoby on mog obrushit' adskiy ogon' na etu shkolu i vsekh, kogo vy lyubite? No –no.” She holds up her index finger and stares sternly at Piotr when he tries to argue. “You do not leave enemies on your six o’clock, medvezhonok. First rule of survival.”

Piotr swallows hard, then says softly, “X-Men do not kill.”

Alex shrugs. “And I am not an X-Man.”

“We’ll handle it,” Nathan says. He holds his hand out for Alex’s rifle, nodding when she hands it to him after a moment’s hesitation.

(Wade and Frank are already working their way through the sea of dead and wounded. Frank’s traversing the chaos methodically, sticking to minimal shots to kill the survivors, while Wade’s alternating between singing “Dancing Queen” and getting post-mortem revenge.

“You shot my dick off inside!” Wade gasps as he peers down at a –slightly chewed on—corpse. “Extra bullets for you!” He then shoots the dead body several times before resuming his pitchy serenade.)

“What now?” Allison asks, staring out at the carnage with a slightly shocked expression.

“‘What now?’” Artemis repeats, laughing incredulously. She stomps towards Allison, pulling a pack of tissues out of her inner jacket pocket. “What the hell are you even doing out here? You were supposed to stay in the safe room—”

“They had cameras in there,” Allison says with a roll of her eyes, as if that justifies her decision to join the fracas. “You guys were getting your asses kicked.”

“We would’ve handled it.”

“Yeah, except you weren’t,” Allison fires back. She scrunches up her face when Artemis starts wiping the blood off her face, but otherwise takes the mothering without any complaint.

“It’s not your responsibility to deal with this shit,” Artemis says, voice and expression softening for a moment. She cleans up Allison’s face –then scowls. “And where the fuck are your cuffs? How did you even get out of them?”

Allison shrugs. “I used my powers to short the repression cuff out and ash it off.”

Illyana’s, Alex’s, and your uncle’s heads all snap around to stare at Allison.

“Are you kidding me?” Artemis hisses through clenched teeth. “You could’ve fucking killed yourself!”

“Or caused magical paradox that ripped hole in space-time continuum,” Illyana snaps.

“Ruptured blood vessels in your brain and caused an aneurysm, made the cuff deliver a lethal electrical shock, turned your magic against your own body and rendered yourself to ash,” your uncle continues, ticking off items on his fingers.

“Well, I didn’t do any of that!” Allison snarls, glaring at the others while Artemis keeps cleaning up her face. “And I made sure you losers won the fight –so fuck off!”

“Get her something to eat and drink,” Alex says. “Her blood sugar is bound to be low after pulling a stunt like that.”

Artemis glares at Alex and opens her mouth to respond—

Across the yard, Wade lets out a pained shriek. “My balls are not fetch toys! Bad Fido! Bad!”

Your eyes widen as you watch one of the hellhounds swing Wade around by his legs. You bite down on your lip, holding in a shock-induced laugh.

“Where’s this mutt’s off-switch –hey, hey! No!” Wade wriggles in the hellhound’s mouth, panicking as another beast bounds towards him. “My spine is not a tug toy! Can someone get rid of Fido and Rufus before they rip me in half!”

Allison snorts –then, before anyone can stop her, holds out her hand and flicks her wrist.

All four hellhounds melt back into the ground, disappearing to the depths of hell from whence they came.

Artemis swears under her breath, then catches the teen when she stumbles. She moves frantically, grabbing more tissues as blood starts pouring out of Allison’s nose once more. “You fucking idiot. Why the fuck did you do that? When are you going to fucking learn that you’re not invincible—”

Allison lets out a sharp, hoarse laugh –then passes out.

…

The wreckage inside the mansion is heartbreaking.

You stare at the ruined furniture, the scorched walls, the splintered doors, the ruined rec room and kitchen, and you have to wonder what was the fucking point?

Part of you understands that the mafia came prepared for war; they were going up against powerful mutants, so –naturally—they would want to be prepared. Having the strongest, most powerful weapons available increased their chances of success. Logically –from a strictly tactical standpoint—it makes sense.

Glass crunches under your shoes. You stare down at a litany of fallen picture frames, heart wrenching as you stare at the ruined pictures of graduates, students, and workers inside. We’re just a school. We work with kids. What was the point of trying to wipe us out?

Piotr ambles up behind you. He puts his arms around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “Cleaners and repairmen will be here in less than one hour.”

You feel numb. You place your hand on his arm. “That’s good.”

“We have back ups of pictures,” he murmurs. He kisses your cheek. “Insurance to cover replacing damaged items. We will be fine.”

“I know.” You sigh, leaning back against your husband’s chest. “We’re just a school. What… what was the point? Why try to wipe us out?”

“I do not know.” Piotr kisses your other cheek, hugging you reassuringly. “Perhaps they believed we knew information about ‘family business.’ Or that we were protecting Allison for some reason.”

“She’s just a kid,” you argue, voice breaking as your grief and exhaustion wells up and threatens to overtake you. “She’s only thirteen…”

Piotr says nothing, merely holds you closer.

You sigh—

And then a door slams. Hurried stomps echo down the hall. There’s creaking as a door opens again, followed by more footsteps and exasperated shouts.

Allison storms past you and Piotr, heading towards the kitchen. Her jaw is set, fists clenched at her sides.

You and Piotr look at each other –then follow after her, if only to be sure that nothing else is going to explode today.

She slams her hands down on the island counter –and, on the opposite side, Frank and Karen both flinch and stare at her warily.

Allison glares at Frank, jaw working convulsively. Her shoulders heave with each breath she takes. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, making the bags underneath seem darker and deeper by comparison. She trembles, expression flickering wildly between grief, white hot rage, and the neutral mask she’s trying so desperately to hold. She sucks in a breath that sounds more like a pained sob, then stares Frank down and spits out through gritted teeth, “You leave my people alone, I leave yours alone. Deal?”

Frank sighs. He nods, expression heavy with grief and eyes shining with remorse. “Yeah, kid. You got a deal.”

Allison clenches the edge of the island so hard her hands go white. She lets out a strangled, angry laugh as the tears finally start to fall. She ducks her head briefly, then glares back up at Frank. “I fucking hate you.”

Frank grimaces, but nods and says, “I know kid. It’s okay. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“That ain’t worth shit.”

“I know… believe me, I know.”

Artemis –who’d previously been watching at the kitchen threshold—steps forward and puts her arm around Allison’s shoulders. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

Allison clenches her teeth together, but still lets out a choked sob. She presses her lips together, looking around the room to try and regain her composure, to stop the flow of tears. She manages a deep breath, then takes one last look at Frank and snarls, “If I have to see your fucking face again, I’m ripping out your guts,” before storming out of the room.

Frank, to his credit, doesn’t respond (though you suspect he feels too guilty to even consider arguing). He merely hangs his head, expression that of a kicked dog.

Karen leans against him. She interlocks her fingers with his, murmuring in his ear (likely about how it isn’t his fault, and while it looks like that may technically be the case, you’re glad you don’t have to walk the spider’s silk of a line those facts lie upon).

What a shitshow.

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders and gently leads you out of the kitchen. “Come on, myshka. Let’s go find spot to rest.”

…

Frank and Karen leave shortly after “making the deal” with Allison.

Allison and Artemis hang back for a bit to talk to Xavier. You don’t get all the gorey details but from what you can tell, it’s essentially an offer to help train Allison’s powers so she doesn’t hurt herself rolled in with a warning to keep her nose clean, stay on the straight and narrow, etcetera etcetera.

The sun’s just starting its descent from the sky before the two of them walk out of the meeting room.

Allison is wearing Artemis’s jacket and looks downright haggard.

Artemis has her arm around the teen and is gently guiding her while she talks to Xavier (though, perhaps the term “talk” is too generous, considering most of her responses are nods or terse, one-to-two word replies).

The rest of the Rasputin family, you, Piotr, and your uncle are all gathered in the foyer to make sure Allison and Artemis leave without too much trouble (or causing more trouble themselves).

Your uncle is sweating bullets and looks like he just shit his pants; he’s glancing between Alex and their daughter so fast it’s a miracle he hasn’t given himself a headache yet.

Now or never, you think, watching him with pursed lips. Tell your secrets before they’re told for you.

Alex kneels down next to Allison. “Are you okay?”

Allison’s gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “The fuck do you think?”

She quirks her mouth to the side. “Not all that good.” Alex ducks her head lower, trying to catch Allison’s gaze. “You remember what we talked about?”

Allison’s eyes narrow. She moves her gaze away from Alex. “Go to hell. I know what I know.”

“Sometimes… it’s better to not,” Alex says. She stares at Allison for a moment longer, then pats her shoulder before standing and walking away.

Artemis stares after Alex, expression morphing rapidly between fury and shock. She sputters for a moment before snapping, “What –that’s all you have to fucking say?”

Alex pauses, turning slightly so she can see Artemis. She raises one eyebrow, otherwise looking unbothered. “Is there something else I should be saying?”

“You don’t have anything to say to me?” Artemis presses, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing at all?”

“Is there something you want me to say to you?” Alex fires back, smirking slightly.

Artemis stares at Alex for a long, hard moment. She shakes her head, eyes welling up with tears, then turns her glare onto your uncle. “You really didn’t fucking tell her.”

“What?” Alex’s expression sobers, going wary as she looks between your uncle and Artemis. “What didn’t you—”

“This really isn’t the time or place—” Your uncle tries.

And here it goes.

“I’ve gotta do all the work, then,” Artemis snarls with a vicious smile. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense, considering I’m not your favorite,” she tacks on with an angry glare towards you. She storms towards Alex, one hand outstretched, with a cruel, angry smile stretched across her face. “Hey, mom. How’s it going?”

Alex’s eyes widen. She stares at Artemis, eyes tracking over the younger woman’s face. “What…”

“You fucking heard me.”

Illyana, Piotr, and Mikhail look at each other, then at Alex, then at Nikolai. They explode into confused Russian, gesturing between their parents, Artemis, and your uncle—

Realization dawns in Alex’s dark eyes. Her expression trembles, tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at Artemis’s face.

And then she uses her telekinesis to yank your uncle over and decks him.

[alwaysmychoices]

The Memorial

Synopsis: On the day of Danny and Bobby’s funeral, Charlie slowly (and unwillingly) begins to feel the impact of her trauma, and Ethan tries to protect her from her own pain.

Chapter 20 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 5.8k

Rating: T (language)

tw: disassociation, trauma, emotional distress negative self-talk

disclaimer: I used my experiences as inspiration for Charlie’s emotional state. I am not a trained mental health professional and apologize if I misrepresent anything in this chapter.

That morning, Ethan had no choice but to discharge Charlie from the hospital.

There was no reason to keep her, even after an unusually thorough final exam. Her vitals were normal, and she hadn’t exhibited any concerning side effects from her treatment in days.

Charlotte Greene had survived. She was in the clear now.

For the first few days, Ethan didn’t let himself dream of such a thing. He didn’t want to be disappointed if she took a turn, and he didn’t want to blind himself in his diagnosis and treatment of her. It was only in the last 48 hours that her discharge had become a real and impending event. Truthfully, he could have released her yesterday. The only reason he didn’t was that she experienced a few headaches he wanted to keep an eye on.

But it wasn’t the headaches, not really.

Ethan kept her in the hospital because, deep down, he doubted she was ready to leave.

Charlie seemed fine – sometimes, on a good day, even normal. But there was a haunting in her gaze, a lingering ghost in every movement. Something unresolved and untouched hid in every interaction.

The truth was that they neglected her psychological healing, placing all of their emphasis on her physical improvement. Each of her loved ones denied this to themselves, of course. They showered her with support and affection, and when she had those moments where she seemed lost in something, they stayed with her until she found her way back.

But they hadn’t touched the root of it.

They hadn’t had the courage, nor the stamina.

They didn’t know if they avoided it for themselves or for her. The free days – the one where she wasn’t thinking about her tragedy – were the best. She was a model victim, full of energy and strength. She made jokes from the confines of her hospital bed and offered warm smiles to comfort her loved ones.

Her parents left Boston confident that their daughter would make it through. Even when her father harbored doubts, he looked to Ethan to protect her.

But Ethan knew.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew.

He observed as if surveying her for cracks in the façade.

Even now, as Charlie collected her things from the hospital room in preparation to leave, he studied her. She seemed happy. She felt happy, but Ethan wasn’t sure if she was.

“You’re pouting,” Charlie commented playfully as she picked up her jeans and started to shimmy into them. Sienna had been kind enough to bring her a fresh set of clothes from the apartment so that Charlie didn’t have to leave in the scrubs she wore when disaster struck. Sienna had been more than happy to do it. It gave her a sense of power, that she could do something for Charlie after feeling powerless during her suffering.

“I don’t pout,” Ethan murmured, taking a seat in the free chair. He was, of course, still pouting.

“Well, I’m happy,” Charlie commented as she continued dressing, “I’m finally free, and I’m counting down the hours until I can finally take a shower in my own shower. I never thought I would miss water pressure this much.”

Charlie had a whole list like this – full of tiny luxuries and familiar habits that she missed. Some of them she already had plans to satisfy, like the shower and her coffee maker. Some were more abstract, like dinners with her friends and hearing Sienna hum during their morning routine. There was one she wouldn’t take a “no” on, which was that she intended to spend the night in Ethan’s bed no matter what happened today.

Right now, the world was full of possibilities, and after so long, she could finally reach for them again.

Ethan felt guilty for what he would say next, but he was also confident it had to be said.

“Will you be attending the memorial today?”

He watched the crack in her sunny day take shape and splinter her soft smile.

Charlie froze, and a cold, cold realization washed over her. It froze everything it touched until it reached her bones. Nothing was safe from its icy grasp.

It was a warm room, Charlie knew it was. And so, she pretended she wasn’t cold, even if her teeth felt like chattering.

“Is that today?”

Charlie knew it was today, but she asked just to be sure.

“Yes, at 3:30 pm.”

Charlie nodded, instinctively rubbing her arm as she tried to channel the warmth and happiness she felt only moments ago. It was coming back – so very, very slowly.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Ethan ventured carefully.

As he expected, Charlie’s eyes shot to him with an expression that could only be described as surprise and disgust. She had to go. Those men died for her!

They…

They died for her.

Charlie felt knocked back, and afraid Ethan would see it, she shook her head and turned her gaze to her jeans as she buttoned the top.

“I have to go, Ethan.”

“No, you don’t.”

They’d had this conversation last night, and even if Ethan knew he would lose, it felt imperative to try.

“Ethan.”

“Rafael Aveiro isn’t going.”

“Because he wasn’t medically cleared to go. That’s not the same.”

“Everyone would understand, Charlie.”

“I wouldn’t understand, Ethan,” Charlie insisted, “I have to go, for me.”

Ethan knew this was a terrible idea. He wasn’t sure why or specifically what would happen, but he knew Charlotte Greene should never step foot inside that memorial.

But there wasn’t much he could do. He knew Charlie very well, and if she intended to go, there was nothing he could do to stop her. Even if he demanded she avoid it and threw up barriers, she would overcome each obstacle with a vengeance. She was a stubborn woman with conviction, a damning combination.

All he could really do was make sure she didn’t do it alone.

“Alright,” Ethan conceded, earning a look of shock from his girlfriend, “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll come by to pick you up.”

Charlie squirmed, surprised by how easily he’d given up the fight. It gave her a moment of pause, and at that moment, she wondered if she was making the right decision. But then the thought faded, and her certainty returned.

She owed it to Bobby and Danny…

“Do you want a ride home?” Ethan offered, still a bit nervous about letting her out of his sight today, “I have time to take you, if you want.”

He’s scared, she realized quietly.

It was startling to see, though the sight was not unfamiliar.

Seeing fear now felt wrong. This was their happy ending, wasn’t it?

Charlie crossed the room to reach her boyfriend, who watched her in silence. When she studied him, she noted the exhaustion and the concern etched into his handsome face. Between his eyebrows, a firm wrinkle of unease sat. She gently smoothed it with her thumb and hoped that was enough to settle it. Ethan recognized her attempt at assurance and comfort, but he didn’t feel like he deserved them.

He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.

But really, they needed it equally.

They were two shattered people fumbling to put themselves back together.

“I’ve missed walking,” Charlie politely refused his offer. Ethan wasn’t terribly surprised she did.

“You have my number if you need me,” Ethan reminded her, and something warm settled in her heart, a break from the bone-chilling sadness.

She loved him so, so much.

“I’ll be fine, Ethan,” Charlie said with the upmost confidence.

Ethan raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I will be!” Charlie insisted.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Ethan declined to confirm her assertion. He couldn’t in good conscience assure her when he didn’t believe her.

Charlie wished he would anyway.

She made a show of rolling her eyes like she was amused with his overconcern. Ethan wasn’t impressed with the display.

It didn’t take long for Charlie to finish dressing and collect her things. When she was done, there was nothing left to keep her in this hospital.

They hesitated at the door and watched one another to see who would make the first move to leave.

Instead, Ethan kissed Charlie softly, whispering, “Goodbye, Charlie.”

She smiled into his lips, “I can’t wait to kiss you somewhere outside of this hospital.”

Ethan grinned. He felt a profound sense of relief that she would make it out of this building. His wonderful Charlie could do anything with this independence. She would continue to exist, even out of his line of sight. She was no longer a fixture in this hospital, nor a victim to gawk at during rounds.

She was free.

They were both free.

Ethan wasn’t sure what came over him. It could only be explained as an instinct to run. He was sure they had to. He was convinced that they were up against a tragic, impending disaster and that they needed to leave while they still had time.

“Why don’t we run away?” Ethan asked.

“What?” Charlie laughed, but the severity of his expression made her smile falter.

“I’m serious. Let’s run away, right now.”

“You’re at work,” Charlie cautioned with confusion.

“So? I doubt anyone would begrudge our departure after everything we’ve been through,” Ethan decided, “We’ll just go somewhere – anywhere you want – and come back whenever the hell we want to.”

Ethan wanted Charlie to say yes more than he’d wanted anything. He wanted this more than he wanted her to say yes to his offer at a relationship all those months ago. Really, he didn’t just want it. He needed it. It felt like the only way to quell his growing anxiety and avoid pain and tragedy. It was the only way to protect her.

But Charlie wasn’t the kind to run away.

She was the kind to try, even if it broke her.

It was one of the reasons Ethan loved her, but it was also one of the reasons she scared the hell out of him.

Placing a comforting hand on his cheek, Charlie kissed her nervous boyfriend softly and told him, “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

She never gave an explicit answer to his offer, but her aversion was answer enough to disappoint Ethan.

“Okay,” Ethan conceded weakly, kissing her forehead one last time.

When she walked away, Ethan wondered if he was worrying all for nothing.

She looked strong. She looked healthy. She even looked happy.

But something told him that she wasn’t, and against his best wishes, he trusted it.

Charlie left Edenbrook to a relieved fanfare. Everyone wished her well and showered her in comfort and adoration. A few of the nurses who had stayed with her this week took turns giving her goodbye hugs. When they held her, a quiet thought wondered if they just wished they could hug Danny. A pair of rowdy interns cheered when she walked by, but Zaid silenced them with a glare. Sienna paused her rounds just to give Charlie a big, tight hug.

It was a powerful and cheerful time.

But then she was at the front door of Edenbrook, and Charlie hesitated.

She felt almost contained to Edenbrook, like something would break if she exited.

It was an irrational fear, of course. That’s what she told herself when she finally made that first step on the sidewalk.

They never made it out.

Charlie felt the air get knocked out of her chest at the mere thought.

But that was ridiculous. It was a thought – and an intrusive one at that.

She wouldn’t let it stop her.

What makes you so deserving to get out?

Charlie gritted her teeth and fought the thoughts as she took another step.

They didn’t stop, though. At every block, there was something new – some horrific image in her mind, some intrusive thought, or some terrible memory.

She heard it in the voices of strangers on the street, but every time she looked over at them, they hadn’t really said a thing. They observed her wild, scared expression with a sense of concern and avoidance. More than one stranger took a few steps away when she looked at them.

They weren’t talking to her. Charlie knew that.

Still… little snippets of their conversations twisted into dark, terrible words.

“They deserved life more, you bitch.”

“You only lived because you’re a coward.”

“Would you have even saved them, if you could? Or are you too selfish?”

Even the beep of a cell phone brought her back to the horrible, irregular beep of Raf’s heartbeat monitor that night.

It followed her.

It was everywhere.

The anxiety started in her chest, but it spread through her body like an infection.

Like the infection that should have killed her.

Charlie fought it. She rebelled against the thoughts and battled the improbability of the dreadful words. She went in and out of panic in a series of disorienting flashes.

She didn’t always know where she was.

Once, she looked around the group surrounding her as they walked the crosswalk, and she wondered how she got here. Where had she been? Where was she going?

Then, it came back. She remembered again, and she pretended she never forgot.

Somehow, she made it home.

She was relieved to see her building. Quietly, she recognized that it was a miracle she navigated so well when her grip on reality felt fragile. But she pretended that nothing was wrong. Of course, she got home. She was normal, after all. Those were just bad thoughts and bad moments. It didn’t have to mean anything.

Then she realized she was just staring at her building.

She made no moves to go inside. She didn’t even fish her keys out of her purse.

Something in there was a threat, and she couldn’t go home yet.

She started walking away with no real plan. First, she thought she would just stop at a nearby coffee shop, drink an espresso, and then go back to normal. But she walked past the coffee shop and kept walking. She wasn’t sure where she was going.

A mile later, she finally decided.

Half an hour later, Charlie knocked at Rafael’s front door. Within seconds, Rafael’s grandmother opened the door with overwhelming exuberance. Charlie hardly had a moment to process Juliana at all before she was pulled into a big, tight hug.

The affection, if just for the moment, knocked Charlie out of her fog.

Juliana ushered Charlie inside with offers of drinks and snacks.

“Oh, thank you, but this is all too much,” Charlie insisted.

“Nonsense!” Juliana exclaimed, pushing a plate in Charlie’s direction, “You saved my beautiful boy. Nothing is too much for you!”

“Your beautiful boy saved me,” Charlie asserted with a bit of guilt. She wasn’t a hero. She didn’t deserve all of this.

A gentle creak of a door alerted Charlie to Rafael’s presence, and he sheepishly corrected, “We saved each other.”

When Charlie looked in his direction to greet him, Rafael knew.

Something was wrong.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in her eyes was amiss, even pained.

Charlie finally caved and accepted a dessert. Juliana, however, wasn’t satisfied and began packing her a tin of goodies to take home.

While she was a few feet away, Rafael took a few tentative steps towards his friend.

“How are you?” Charlie asked when he was close enough.

Rafael shrugged, “I can make it up the stairs without wheezing, which is an improvement.”

Charlie nodded slowly, “And Sora?”

“Definitely over,” Rafael confirmed, “But I think it’s for the best. You and Ethan?”

Charlie thought back to their night in quarantine, when Rafael implored her to tell Ethan how she felt. She was happy to have taken his advice.

“I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too. Naturally, I cried,” Charlie smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I don’t think he believed me until the next day, though. Something about deathbed confessions not being as meaningful.”

“At least it worked out for one of us,” Rafael smiled playfully.

He was watching Charlie, though. She realized it during a pause in their conversation. She felt studied, and she wondered what he saw.

Whatever he interpreted couldn’t have been good because, after a beat, he asked her to join him on his walk. Just as Ethan had hours before, Rafael regarded Charlie with concern.

Charlie accepted.

They navigated Rafael’s neighborhood largely in silence. The silence invited the fog back, and by the time they reached the park, Charlie felt like she was fighting against wet sand to keep moving. She was almost as exhausted as Rafael as they collapsed into a nearby bench.

Charlie felt like Rafael was the only person in the world who might understand what she couldn’t yet put a name to. But given the opportunity, she was too afraid to ask. If she asked, it would be real, and she wasn’t ready for it to be real.

“I never asked how you were,” Rafael said pointedly.

“Are you asking now?” Charlie asked, looking ahead at the park instead of her friend.

“I am.”

Charlie thought for a moment – maybe too long of a moment, really.

“My reports say I’m perfectly healthy,” Charlie finally answered.

“That’s wasn’t quite what I asked,” Rafael seemed amused like he had expected her to evade him.

Charlie rolled her eyes at his smirk, but it was a show. She just wanted to seem amused, too.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

He gave her time, allowing the silence to stretch until she finally had the strength.

“Does it stay like this?”

Rafael raised an eyebrow in silent question, and she let the façade slip just enough for him to know what she meant.

Charlie wanted Rafael to tell her that, while he felt what she feels now, it eased over time. Being home helped him become whole again. The thoughts and the panic would subside if she just waited.

But Rafael told her the truth instead.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I feel it every second. Sometimes, I feel like it’s harder at home. I wake up at home with my family and my life. And they… they don’t.”

His words crushed Charlie, and she sank further into the bench.

“Do you feel like it’s everywhere?” her voice was so soft, so scared that it shook Rafael to his core, “Like… if you’re just walking down the street, do you feel like you hear the bad thoughts? The ones that remind you of what happened.”

Rafael looked terrified.

He was, he realized belatedly.

Not just for himself and his trauma but for her and hers.

“Sometimes,” Rafael confirmed, “I feel it mostly in the pain… When my body aches and fails to do easy things, I’m so angry and then… Then, I remember why and what happened – and that Bobby and Danny only felt the pain in the end.”

Charlie grimaced, and she held onto the bench until her fingers turned white, fighting the wave of pain that followed the mental image. She looked pale and on the verge of collapse when she finally opened her eyes again.

“Don’t go today,” Rafael warned.

“I have to,” Charlie swallowed, “I couldn’t save them… I might as well honor them.”

Rafael didn’t have much of a counterargument, so he didn’t give one. He understood. In a lot of ways, he felt the same about the memorial. He, unlike Charlie, had been saved by his precarious health. He didn’t have to make that choice. He was relieved, even if he felt a twinge of cowardice for not even trying to go.

When Rafael didn’t try to stop her, their conversation fell into a lull.

The silence was nice.

Neither of them expected anything from the other.

They didn’t have to pretend to be okay…

Maybe they should have stayed.

But they didn’t.

Charlie, looking at her watch, realized she was running out of time. When she told Rafael that she had to go, she looked normal again – strong, even. Like she was clothed in armor. Like, maybe, if you squinted, you didn’t have to worry about her.

Rafael wished her well, and she started to leave.

“Wait, Charlie,” Rafael called out before she got too far away.

Charlie stopped, turning to him with an expectant expression.

“Thank you for making it out of that room.”

Her heart stopped, and her eyes watered.

They were supposed to be dead, and her heart burst with how happy she was that he was alive.

“Thank you for making it out, too,” Charlie was sure she had never meant a thank you as strongly as she meant that one.

He smiled softly, and then she left.

This time, when she reached her apartment, she had the courage to step inside.

It was… eerily the same.

Like this apartment was magically immune to all of the pain and trauma.

Something echoed in the halls, something she couldn’t yet touch.

The thoughts were distant though, but… so was everything else.

Charlie tried to put her life back together. She unpacked her things, cleaned her room, and started a pot of coffee. The entire time, she struggled to keep moving. She kept finding little moments of lost time. Alone, they were strange, but together, they were terrifying.

She knew her surroundings, yet something about them felt strange. She knew where she was, what she was doing, and what she was supposed to do next. But the haze…

It surrounded her.

It was everywhere but somehow out of sight.

She never saw it coming, but when she snapped out of it, she realized it had enveloped her.

She was empty, but the thoughts were finally quiet.

She felt nothing, but at least she didn’t feel the torture.

Charlie kept going because Charlie was the kind to always keep going.

When she turned on the shower, she was fighting to stay here, to stay aware. She wanted to stay.

The water was hot, obscenely so. The shock to her system burned more than just her skin. Her mind felt like it was ablaze, and finally, Charlie felt herself again. She didn’t know how much she missed her awareness until it was back. She turned the water hotter to keep feeling it.

Then…

She was back in the hospital – in the burning hot shower after she was released from quarantine. She was alone washing off the sweat and grime of that hospital room. She used shower products that weren’t hers, that didn’t smell or feel like her. She was alive. But who else was?

She was a lone survivor. She was the final girl. She was the lucky one.

Charlie screamed.

No. No, Charlie really screamed.

She was back in her apartment, and she was screaming.

She caught her breath, reaching for slippery tiles to find her balance.

She slid. Or maybe she sat down.

But she was on the shower floor, knees pulled to her chest as she begged for fresh air.

She sat on that shower floor, hoping for a miracle. She put faith in everything.

In the water, that it would wash away her pain.

In the air, that it would allow her to exhale her guilt.

In her body, that it would remember how to stand again.

But gasping through the water, she just felt like she was drowning.

Then…

When it was too much, when it was all too much, it stopped.

Like a warm, protective hug, her brain shielded her.

And then it was over.

What felt like seconds later, there were loud knocks at her front door. They were jarring and set her free from wherever she had been.

Charlie looked around frantically, trying to remember where she was.

The shower was still running, through the water was less hot now.

Everything looked the same, but…

But the sun was lower.

Charlie scrambled for a towel and turned off the shower. She fumbled for her phone on the counter, and her heart sank.

An hour.

She had lost an hour.

The knocking started again, and Charlie didn’t have the time to process what her lost hour meant. Still trying to get her bearings right, Charlie went to the front door and swung it open to find out who the fuck was so insistent about getting inside.

It was… Ethan.

And he was dressed in a suit.

Why was he-?

The memorial.

Ethan watched as her eyes widened in understanding and then panic.

He didn’t know what to think or how to interpret her apparent confusion. She was soaking wet still, as if she had just gotten out of the shower, and her skin was bright red, like it had been burned by the water. She looked…

Confused.

And scared.

Ethan immediately knew that something was wrong.

“Charlie, are you okay?” he broached carefully, taking a step toward her. He wanted to hold her, but she looked fragile…

“Yeah, I just, um… I was just…” Charlie stammered, “What time is it?”

“Three,” Ethan answered.

“What?” Charlie felt a wave of nausea. The memorial was at 3:30.

Ethan surveyed her again, taking in every clue like she was a mystery to be solved.

The wet hair. The confusion. The panic. The inability to explain.

What was it?

How did he help her?

“Charlie, why don’t you know what time it is?” Ethan asked cautiously, placing his hands carefully on either shoulder. She was hot to the touch.

“I, um, I was just in the shower,” Charlie answered. She felt like her mind was sludge, and words were nearly impossible to string together, “I must have zoned out and lost track of time.”

“For how long, Charlotte?”

Charlie dropped her eye contact and shrugged.

He leaned closer, pushing her soaking wet curls out of her face, “Rookie, please. How long?”

Her green eyes were full of fear as she finally admitted, “An hour.”

Ethan’s chest tightened, and he let out a horrified, terrified huff of breath. Instinctively, he pulled her in, tucking her safely in his chest where he knew she was okay.

She told herself she didn’t know why he was doing this. It just a little bit of time – only a little scary. More confusing than anything.

But she fell into his arms like she needed it because she did.

Ethan didn’t care that she got his suit wet.

He only cared that he had her.

“We’re not going today, Charlie,” Ethan decided authoritatively, “We’re not.”

“Ethan!”

“You’re not,” Ethan said more firmly.

“I have to be there!”

“No, no, you don’t,” Ethan pulled away just enough to look at her so she would know how intensely he meant this, “You do not need to go, Charlie. You need to make it through today. I’m not letting you do this to yourself just because you feel some obligation. Charlotte Greene, you owe your survival to no one.”

He knew she didn’t believe him by the way she averted her eyes.

“I have to go,” she insisted forcefully.

“No,” Ethan shook his head, reaching for her hand determinedly, “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

He started to pull her to her bedroom, but she remained firm.

“Please, Ethan,” she pleaded.

Ethan felt a moment of pause.

The way she looked at him… like she needed this, like she needed him to let her have this.

His heart broke.

His beautiful, wonderful Charlie was in so much pain.

And he caved.

He caved because he wanted to make it go away so, so badly that he was willing to make a thousand mistakes.

He grimaced but consented, “Fine. But we still need to get you dressed.”

Getting dressed, like everything else, was hard.

Charlie struggled against her mental fog, and as a result, she moved slowly. She was frustrated as she tried to push through her shortened routine. Even just putting her hair into a braid felt like a monumental task, and she cursed under her breath.

Why couldn’t she just be okay?!

Ethan stepped in before she could get too irritated. He helped her finish the braid and secured it behind her back. He found her dress hanging on the door and helped her step into it. He hesitated after he finished with the zipper, wondering once more if he should stop her before it was too late.

“I’ll be okay,” Charlie whispered, watching his hesitation in the mirror.

Ethan didn’t believe her.

Instead, he kissed the side of her head and whispered, “I love you, Charlie.”

She smiled – a real one. A tired one, but a real one.

Ethan found her shoes on the bed, and he held her hand for stability as she stepped into her high heels.

Then, she was ready…

And he had to take her.

Ethan didn’t leave her side, not for a single second. Not when they parked at the cemetery and were surrounded by friends and coworkers. Not when people tried to call him over to give their condolences. Not when Charlie’s friends surrounded and showered her in support.

Especially not when Danny and Bobby’s families greeted her and thanked her for all she did to try to save them. Not after, when they stepped away, Charlie collapsed into his side, tears running down her face.

He never left her.

Ethan held her hand the entire time. He didn’t give a shit who saw or what they said.

It was a relief when the service began, and everyone stopped crowding her. They stood in the back, where no one cared when Ethan put his arm around Charlie’s waist to hold her up. It was a lovely service – lighthearted but reverent. There were heartwarming stories and cheerful anecdotes. Bright, shining moments of joy were followed by waves of grief and anger.

When the families stepped up to the podium and began to speak, Charlie absently whispered to Ethan, “I think I’m supposed to speak…”

Ethan thought that was a terrible idea.

But out of respect for her grieving process, he asked, “Do you want to?”

Charlie considered it.

In her pocket, she had a piece of paper where she’d scribbled thoughts last night. It was full of platitudes and grief, even an admission that she couldn’t save them.

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say any of it.

She couldn’t even hear it.

“I think I want to go home,” she replied.

Ethan nodded thoughtfully, squeezing her waist reassuringly, “Okay. I’ll tell Naveen, and then we’ll go.”

Charlie nodded weakly and missed his warmth the second he stepped away. A minute later, Ethan returned to guide her back to the parking lot. They slipped away quietly. Only a few people noticed, and they were respectful enough to not say a word.

In the car, Ethan held her hand.

The fog was back and even stronger.

Charlie was silent. At times, she felt like the only thing keeping her connected to reality was Ethan holding her hand.

Ethan took her back to his apartment, where he knew she would be safe and free from well-meaning mourners and friends. He held her in the elevator and regretted letting her go to unlock his front door. Ethan had never been more relieved by Jenner’s love than when he saw Jenner shower his girlfriend with affection, allowing her to crack a small smile.

Ethan left Charlie and Jenner in the living room to change out of his wet jacket.

Alone for the first time since he found Charlie, he drowned in awareness. His Charlie…

He almost cried. He wanted to cry. He wanted to release this. He wanted to go back to the hospital, where he and Charlie slept quietly and smiled from across rooms.

He didn’t want to grieve.

Neither did she.

He had to protect her. He had to save her. And he didn’t know how.

Ethan sat on the corner of his bed, waiting for an epiphany.

Instead, he found Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked quietly.

Ethan shook his head resolutely, “No. Are you?”

Charlie let out a deep, deep breath.

“Not at all.”

Ethan laughed at the honesty. She had been lying to him all day, and hearing the truth was nearly funny when it was so glaringly obvious.

“You should have made me run away with you,” Charlie grumbled, kicking off her shoes as she walked into his room. She fell into his bed like it was the only place she felt safe.

But really, did she even feel safe there?

Ethan placed a comforting hand on her back and drew a soothing pattern with his fingertips,  “We still can.”

Charlie sighed, her eyes closing just a little, “Right now, I just want to stay in this bed.”

“You always liked my bed,” Ethan observed, kissing the top of her head. He kicked off his shoes and then fell back into bed beside her, turning his body to face her.

“It’s because you’re usually in it,” Charlie mused.

Her eyes were closed with Ethan decided to wrap his arms around her, tucking her head safely in his chest. She fit in his arms like he was designed to hold her…

When she looked up at him again, there was something raw hidden in the green of her iris.

“I almost lost you,” she said it like it was a revelation, one she hadn’t let herself think of since that night.

“I think it’s more accurate to say I almost lost you,” Ethan suggested.

“I’m serious, Ethan.”

“So am I.”

Charlie hadn’t allowed those kinds of thoughts or memories to permeate her life. She hadn’t wanted to be sad, but…

They happened.

They were real.

They followed her anyway.

“I woke up, and you weren’t there,” Charlie said, more to herself than to Ethan, “I was relieved. I missed you, but… I didn’t…”

Something was stabbing her.

Something inside. Something sharp and terrible and scary and it was here.

“I didn’t want you to watch me die,” she said in one breath, just to get it the fuck out of her.

She needed it out. She needed all of it out. It was trapped. It was torturing her. It was going to kill her.

She couldn’t breathe.

Or maybe she could…

She panted, trying to just fucking decide.

The fog was gone. The haze left.

And she was there, and she felt it. She felt all of it.

Nothing came to save her from the feeling.

She wanted to scream again, but it came out as a mighty, aching cry. She devolved into uncontrollable, body-shaking sobs.

The cracks in her perfect, sunny day splintered and shattered the illusion. There was nothing to hold on to now… It was just rain.

No, she was wrong.

There was one thing to hold on to.

And she held onto him just as tightly as he held on to her.

Ethan wasn’t going to let go, so Charlie let herself fall.

That didn’t go where I thought it was going to go, but wow... this may be the saddest chapter I’ve ever written. 

permanent tag list: 

if you would like to be added/removed/I forgot you, let me know

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[vorish-musing]

Risky Business (IT Chapter Two)

Summary: Eddie is a monster hunter, he’s called back to his hometown, there's another man eating monster, he just never realized how fucked this job could be.

Warnings: this story contains soft, safe, G/t vore. if you do not like this, I suggest not reading. this is also not a story for the faint of heart, there is (not super graphic) moments of fatal/hard vore, digestion mention (does not occur), fearplay, and the usual cussing warning.  

Hi guys! its been so long! I’ll be honest, i was not planning on posting this, since this was a WIP discarded back in march, but while watching the movie again, I realized I needed to finish this, I really hope y’all like it!

NSFW DO NOT INTERACT

Risk analysis? Was that Job invented before fun?

Well, it Depends on what you call ‘fun’

For Eddie Kaspbrak, risk analysis is fun.

He couldn’t remember much of his past, all that he knew was that monsters existed, the ones that hid under your bed, the ones that prey in the night, he didn’t know how he discovered this for the longest time, he just... knew.

He knew he had to have encountered a monster at one point, but he just couldn't remember when.

His first instinct was to kill these monsters, though after further consideration of how the ethics of that worked, plus the morality of him being the judge, jury and executioner was pretty skewed. He decided to analyze these creatures, at least the ones he found. Witches, Vampires, werewolves, ghosts.

So yeah, he was a Risk Analysis, he analyzed creatures that we’re a risk to human kind.

And yes, it was Fun.

Being a part of a small group of people who knew these monster movie critters existed was something he wished he could brag about.

Though everything changed when he got that call from Mike Hanlon, Begging him to come back to Derry to fight that clown. That damned clown.

His memories flooded back, the childhood trauma of that summer, 1989, when everyone they knew started turning up missing, really they were dead, nothing more than food to the demon living in the sewers

It was then, fighting that demon, when he realized that analyzing these monsters wasn’t enough anymore.

They were not a risk, they were a threat.

Once he got back to his home in new york, he began his own business, he tried finding his way into different circles, ones he never thought existed, multiple people with stories of slaying beasts of all shapes and sizes, and he was now one of them.

He got a second phone, one he could use for his side job, he went under an alias, Richie Marsh. Not creative, a little embarrassing,  but it worked.

He would get calls almost daily, he made pretty good money, but he had one rule, only kill if it had harmed first. He always turned the monsters who had done no wrong away, allowed him to get some sleep at night, knowing that he was saving others lives while doing this.

Hell, the first time he met a vampire, the dude just chilled alone in a cabin in the woods. Not bothering anybody.

He began making a name for himself in the business and it had only been a year, it was impressive to all about his knowledge, how much he knew about these creatures, how fearless he could be.

Up to this day, he scribbled down notes about the varying creatures he saw and met. Sitting in his living room, the constant scritch of his pencil was interrupted by a ringing from his pocket.

He took his ‘work’ phone out of his jeans, putting the device to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Richie Marsh?” A familiar voice was heard on the other end, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Eddie ran a hand through his hair, thankful his phone had a voice modifier, just in case he actually knew the person on the other line.. Even though chances of that were slim to none. “Depends who’s asking”

with one hand, he took a sip of water in a glass, while with the other he opened a new page in his notebook, ready to write down this stranger's name.

“My name is Mike Hanlon, I was given this number by a friend, he told me you could help me”

Slim to none huh?

Eddie coughed up the drink back into his cup,“M-Mike Hanlon?”

“Uh...yes, I...I need your help”

Eddie scribbled down the name very quickly, though nothing in the world could make him forget it. “with what? What's going on?” he felt his heart racing, he didn’t want any of his friends to know what kind of danger he was putting himself into, he didn’t want them to know, or even try it themselves.

“Well… I live in Derry, Maine. There was a curse in this town...right? A monster, it killed a lot of people, but me and my friends… we stopped it.” Mike's voice sounded nervous.

“I...see…” Eddie’s voice wavered, hoping that this wouldn’t be another call back to defeat a killer clown “if you stopped it, why are you calling?”

“Because people are going missing again, but I know it's not what we fought, it's something else, nothing is being left behind, they’re just...vanishing.”

Eddie scribbled a few words down, his throat getting dry as he began to sweat nervously “okay...what's the age range of the missing persons?”

Please don't be kids….please don’t be kids.

“All adults, the other creature went for children, and those killings lasted for a year at least. This happens every few weeks, from my calculations, it's once every 3 weeks, and if I'm right, they're supposed to be here by Friday, they start hunting at night.”

Eddie couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as he wrote what mike was saying down, opening his laptop and began booking a flight for Friday afternoon “okay, got it. have you seen this creature.”

There was an awkward pause, before Mike answered, almost embarrassed, “No.”

“Then how do you know all of this?” He wanted to believe Mike was reading too much into things, that Derry wasn’t being terrorized with another monster.

“Because one of the missing people has come back, and she came to me-- I’m somewhat of a Private eye in this town” Eddie smiled--good for him, making a name for himself in Derry.

“I talked with this one lady, she told me that she didn’t remember much, but whatever was out there, her two friends were killed, she didn’t tell me how they died, or even how she escaped...she just woke up..”

Eddie scribbled some more “do you know how many there are?”

“No. but I believe there's more than one, if you come in the next few days we can meet up and-”

Eddie shot up out of his seat “NO!” he heard mike go silent, before adding “uh...no...i’d rather uh...keep my face a secret”

Mike let out a laugh “of course, of course. We will have to talk more though, I have many notes and things that I’ve observed-”

‘Text me them, I have to go”

“But-”

Eddie hung up before he could hear the rest of that sentence, falling back into his seat. He put both hands on his face and sighed loudly.

He had to go back to Derry, and he had to avoid seeing Mike there too. He let out a groan, sitting up and finishing the booking process, it was only two days away, but that gave him enough time to pack everything he needed.

Those two days went by very fast. Mike tried to pay, but Eddie insisted it be free, not wanting to take money from his friend. Next thing he knew, he was on a plane to Derry, a rental car waiting for him and another traumatic nostalgia trip was in his future.

Once the plane landed, he quickly made his way through the airport, wearing a baseball cap in a poor attempt to hide his face. He got into his rental car, driving as fast as he (legally) could on the roads to his hotel room, texting Mike that he had landed, and was going to scope out the locations where Mike had claimed the creatures were.

As he drove through the streets, he began noticing the missing persons signs, it reminded him of when he was young, and there were people he knew going missing. He shook his head. Whatever those creatures were, He was sure he would stop it.

He parked his car in front of the hotel, getting a room key and making his way up with his bags. He used to be very particular where he stayed, but as the months went on with this job, he would just take what he could get.

As he settled in, he got another call from Mike.

“If you need any help, I’m no stranger to killing monsters, just give me a call” Mike sounded worried, but it also sounded like he wanted Eddie to say yes to him coming along, but the man couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“I’m fine Mr. Hanlon. Thank you.”

“Okay, most of the missing persons were last seen around the woods, be careful, the trees go on and on, outside of the town and basically into the next, which is an hour away when Driving” Mike explained a few more things about the town, which of course, Eddie already knew about.

After speaking for a few more minutes about the plan, Eddie hung up the phone, it felt so awkward to be speaking to him under his alias, it was the most disconnected he had ever felt while on the job.

Once he gets all of his hunting gear in order, he puts it under the bed, just in case housekeeping decides to come in, and promptly leaves the room.

If he had to be here for the next day or so, he could at least go out and get some food.

As he walked down the streets of Derry, he made sure wherever he would go, nobody was following, and that nobody who knew him could recognize him.

He soon settled on a cafe near the hotel, walking into the establishment and ordering coffee with a BUNCH of espresso shots inside, after all, he needed all the energy he could get. He was usually much more healthy, but on jobs, he needed as much caffeine as humanly possible.

Sitting at an empty booth in the cafe, he took his journal out, scribbling a few notes down, his plan, he never really needed a plan, but it was nice to have one. He was sure this was a simple case that would be solved in less than an hour, so he didn’t pay much mind to it.

The barista comes to his table, setting his cup of pure caffeine down. Before she could leave, Eddie pulled out a $20 bill out of his wallet, giving it to her

“Save up every cent, get out of this town, it’ll be good for you” she gave him a confused look, like she was expecting him to pull it away as a joke, but with a look in his eyes, she took the money.

The barista smiled, her eyes bright and much more charismatic than his, “thank you sir.” she pocketed the money in her apron “ and that's the plan, as soon as I have enough money, I’m leaving this hell hole--just me and my shitty van. all the way to broadway”

He nodded as she walked away. He took a sip of his bitter drink, going over his notes a few more times--now should I ambush or wait--

“Eddie?”

His heart stopped dead as he snapped his head up, hearing his name, slamming the book closed.

His eyes met Richie's, who seemed equally as shocked to see him there. They stared at each other for a few moments.

W...why is he here?! He...he can’t be here now...what the fuck?

There was something off in Richie's overall appearance, he looked very sick, malnourished, hunched over and wearing clothes that looked like they hadn’t been washed in weeks, his eyes looked like he was coming straight from the morgue.

Though his face was one of shock and confusion as to why Eddie was in Derry that night, Eddie was almost disappointed Richie was not happy to see him there.

“Holy shit trashmouth” Eddie sat up straight “What the hell are you doing here?” He motioned for Richie to sit down, which the man obliged to very quickly.

“Just passing through, I have to get down to uh… Ludlow, Maine.” to this, Eddie was confused, it sounded like Richie was making things up on the spot “I uh...got a show down there, w-what are you doing in Derry?”

He knew when Richie was lying, he always knew, he never told Richie this, but since they grew up together, he watched the mannerisms he had when lying, and could always tell ever since.

But that's because he didn’t want to look stupid, believing what Richie said. Definitely not because he liked to watch the man, and DEFINITELY not because he admired him for lying with so much ease.

Definitely not.

Eddie nodded, taking a sip of coffee “Just uh…” he quickly thought of a lie, “Visiting Mike, I wanted to surprise him, plus, wanted to get away from New York for a while”

“Interesting.” Richie’s eyes fell to the journal Eddie was desperately trying to keep hidden “Aw, does Eddie have a diary?”

Eddie let his face falter a bit, showing off his worry, pulling his journal “its it’s for work, asshat” he narrowed his eyes.

Richie, one who usually would keep poking at Eddie, slumped back a bit “Well, I gotta get going, Nice seeing you around.” he stood up, ready to walk away.

“Wait, come on.” Eddie looked up at the man, extremely confused “are you okay, man? If I'm honest, you look like shit.”

“Yeah i'm...fine.I just gotta get some...thing to eat” Richie eyed him up and down slowly, before exiting the building without another word.

Eddie just stared at the door as Richie walked away, well, not really walking, he was pretty much stumbling away.

Though as he left, the two men from before waved at Richie, like they knew him...probably just fans, Eddie couldn’t afford to read too much into things.

He shook his head, taking another sip of his coffee and reopening his book once again, Richie was probably drunk, and there was no surprise there. Eddie noticed how much Richie would drink last time they met, and this behavior didn’t surprise him.

But it was strange.

He quickly finished up his cup of coffee, placing his cup at the edge of the table, another waitress quickly coming to pick it up as he left the coffee shop, holding onto his journal tightly as he walked through Derry.

He checked his phone, a few missed messages from Mike, sharing a few more of his findings, but Eddie couldn’t bother to read them, his mind was only on Richie.

Why was he lying? What was he doing here? Questions whizzed around his head. Did Richie know something? Did Mike call him too?

Eddie sighed, he better get back to his hotel room, no use thinking about it now. He had a task at hand, and he had to get ready in the next few hours.

And that he did.

He was prepared for everything, he had a few guesses to what the monster was, a werewolf, a demon? but nothing really fit perfectly. demons kill people, but it's not like they would let people escape. Werewolves fit better, you could escape one, but they were not very...cleanly with their kills.

Whatever it was, it was going to be killed, no matter how many there were.

An alarm went off in his phone, letting the man know it was time to leave, get to the woods and start investigating.

He grabbed his bag, filled to the brim with gear, and headed out the door, texting Mike that he was headed out, and that the man needed to refrain from further messages, until Eddie had texted first of course.

He placed his phone back into his pocket, swiftly leaving the building. It was only a twenty minute walk to the forest, but if it felt like forever, his body felt shaky, like he should just turn around.

He never felt like this before, he chalked it up to nerves, with being back in Derry. Something in him still believed it could be IT, but he knew that wasn’t the case. If it was, ‘Richie Marsh’ wouldn’t be out, it would be the losers.

Before he even knew it, he was in the woods, walking down a manmade concrete pathway, exactly where Mike told him to go, trees making it seem like he was walking through a hedge maze.

As he walked down the path, it seemed to get more and more confusing, like he couldn’t even remember where he was going, but thinking it was nerves, he kept going.

His heart stopped as he heard a woman's scream break the cold silence of the night, the sound of heels clicking on the concrete coming closer and closer.

As quick as he could, he bolted towards the sound of the woman, following her voice. He carefully took out a  gun from his bag as he ran down the pathway, his finger on the trigger.

Soon enough, a woman came into his field of vision, she was wearing a black apron, a dirty white shirt caked in blood, and a tattered pair of shorts.

it was the Barista from the coffee shop, She waved her arms wildly as she ran towards him, stumbling around like an animal.

“Please! Please help me! He’s gonna kill me!”

Eddie placed the gun back into his bag, putting it on his back and grabbing onto her as she ran into him.

Her makeup was running down her face, blood all over her skin, her hair was a mess, what once was a perfect simple bun, was now tangled with branches and all kinds of dirt in it.

“Ma’am calm down its okay we just-”

“No you don't understand! We can’t stay here we have to run!” She whisper-yelled at him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the trees, straying from the pathway. “If they find us they’ll kill us!” she pulled him into a ditch, her breath shaky and tears flooding down her face.

“Okay… Okay take a deep breath, what the hell happened?” Eddie reached into his bag, grabbing his first-aid kit, ready to seal up any wound on her.

She took deep breaths, holding onto her arms as she shivered “these two guys, he… came into the cafe I work in, He was so nice” she let out a laugh, sniffling a sob. “I was so stupid, he asked me and my coworker out, and we said yes, it was supposed to be a walk in the woods, a nice walk… “

“Where’s your coworker now?” Eddie pulled out a cloth to wipe her off with, before he could give it to her, she began sobbing.

“The man…the thing! It ate her!” she said through her sobs. “While we were walking, they… they began saying weird things, like ‘dinner is ready' we didnt know what they meant! They meant us! This man came out of the woods, i called out to him, he just looked away, I think he was one of them.”

As she spoke, he watered down the cloth, giving it to her. “he...ate her?”

She sighed, wiping her face with the cloth, “this is going to sound crazy…”  she hesitated, sniffling again as she looked at him.

“I deal with crazy almost 3 times a week, this is why I’m here, you’re gonna be okay, this is my job.”

She nodded nervously “there was another man there, he was in the trees, before we could even say anything, all three of them...grew..into giants...and… my coworkers date...he picked her up and…”

She suddenly fell into a crying fit once more, falling into eddies lap, he rubbed her back, trying to console her.

“He… he bit her in half!” she screamed through sobs. “I got away, the one in the trees just watched me, who knows how close he is.”

He felt sick as she cried, and Eddie looked away from her… this wasn’t what he expected, no wonder nothing was making sense, there was nobody, because they would eat it.

He was about to say something, as they heard the sound of leaves crunching and branches breaking. “It's not my fault you lost the bitch”

The girl froze, her cries stopping out of fear, she covered her mouth. She shared a terrified look with Eddie, who shared the same look.

“Well it's not mine either, I was in the middle of eating!” the man sounded so nonchalant when talking about murder, but then again, most monsters weren’t remorseful.

“Will both of you shut the fuck up and just get on with it?” the voice sounded eerily familiar, but he couldn’t concentrate on it now.

The three men kept bickering, and the barista nodded to eddie, pointing to the other side of the ditch, mouthing the word “run”

He shook his head wildly, mouthing the word “no” over and over, if she did this, she would be dead.

Either she thought it would work, or she didn’t care if she died, but she ran up the side of the ditch, then began dashing through the woods once again, ignoring Eddie's silent pleas not to.

Instantly two out of the three men yelled, and began running as well, though their footsteps began getting louder and louder, Eddie shrunk back, trying to hide as best as he could.

He watched in horror as one of the giants walked over the ditch, which took them only one step, right above him, then another, then another, it was too dark to get a good look at any of them from his disadvantaged point.

But luckily, with all the noise they were making, he was able to run to the other side of the ditch, running up and hiding behind a large tree, digging through his bag, the best luck he would’ve had with killing these things, was his machete, thanking god that he actually brought it.

Eddie held it tightly to his chest, slowly turning to see what was happening.

“Let me go!” the Barista screamed as she was picked up by the giant, flailing around in his grip.

“Oh I’ll let you go alright,”

She gave him a strange look, before returning to her screams as he lifted her up over his head, his mouth agape.

“I’ll let you go now”

Eddie turned back behind the tree, hearing her screams as she was dropped into the giant's mouth, he wasn’t looking, but his mind pictured it. He felt sick to his stomach, anger bubbling up inside of him

He heard the screams of the woman suddenly stop, and a silence filled the air. Eddie knew what this meant, he felt like he was ready to vomit, his stomach twisting in knots

“Y’know you don't have to drag it out.”

“What? You’re just mad because you got jack shit, maybe you shouldn’t be so picky”

Eddie listened to the three bickers, waiting for the right time to move from tree to tree, making sure they couldn’t see him as he got closer.

In his head he knew this was a bad idea, that he was going to get caught, but this was the first time he had ever actually met a victim, he talked with her, even if it was brief, it pushed him more than anything else did, this wasn’t about money, for the sake of the town, no…

It was for Her.

He took a deep breath as he prepared to move to another tree, planning to climb it and attack in a much better position.

“Ah! I thought I heard something!” Eddie froze, hearing a booming voice behind him.

He. was. Fucked.

He instantly spun around, waving the machete up, he heard the giant let out a yell as the blade bit into its hand, which was about to grab eddie.

shitshitshit

Eddie backed up a bit, before taking off in a run, but it didn’t help, another came barreling in.. barrelling in Eddie's eyes, it was pretty much just a few steps for the giant, the last one just hung out in the back, basically ignoring the interaction.

Eddie prepared to swing again, but the giant in front of him didn’t move, just smirked, catching Eddie off guard, allowing the one behind him to snatch him up.

“Shit!” Eddie yelled as the sneak attack made him drop the machete on the ground.

“You little fucker…” the giant lifted him off the ground at a speed that made Eddie sick, never in his life had he wanted to be on the ground more than he was now, the cold wind made him cringe as he was face to face with the Giant.

Surprisingly, the man looked fairly normal, he wore a plain blue shirt with some black jeans, nothing like any fairy tale would describe it.

His eyes were damn near murderous, he held up his other hand ‘look what you fucking did.” Eddie struggled in the giant's grip, which only made the man laugh, “what? Little hunter doesn’t know what to say?”

Eddie sputtered a bit, how did they know he was a hunter?

“Looks like you got dinner after all, huh Rich?”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Rich...Rich...that voice...is that...NO….NONONO

Eddie's head whipped around as the third giant came closer to the other two...those glasses, those clothes...those eyes.

When those eyes met him, they shared the same look, the exact same look that they shared at the coffee shop. Eddie wanted to yell, but it seemed all the sound had left his body.

That's why Richie was in Derry...

“What's the matter?” the giant holding him pulled him closer, “don’t like knowing that you’re dinner?” he chuckled devilishly, Eddie didn’t respond, too horrified at richie to even register what the giant was saying “hey fucko! You listening?”

The giant shook Eddie a bit, still nothing, he gave a look to the other stranger, who just nodded, the same devilish smile pasted onto his face.

Without another word, he let Eddie go, plummeting towards the earth.

Eddie let out a loud yelp, it was almost in slow motion for him, falling through the air, hitting the cold, hard ground, he was sure a rib or two were fractured just by the pain he felt in his chest, but the pounding in his head was much...much worse. He couldn’t move, he could only listen to what they had to say.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Richie pushed the giant who was holding Eddie, not even caring to remember his name “you could’ve just given him to me.”

Richie's heart sank as he saw the hunter in the giant hand, Eddie, he knew Eddie was lying about why he was in Derry, Eddie was just simply, a bad liar. But he had never expected something like this, he never wanted any of the losers to find out about this. It was bad enough he was hunting in Derry, only a mere half hour from Mike.

“Why not? The little fucker wouldn’t listen, so I gave it what it deserved.”

He felt anger overflow him as the giant talked about Eddie in this way, but he stayed silent, bending down, and picking up Eddie by the collar of his jacket, his body dangling at it rose up.

Eddie could barely move, everything hurt, he knew he was being lifted up once again, but he couldn’t do anything about it, what was he to do, his ribs were broken, he was winded and he was basically a doll to these guys.

He could hear Richie talking to the two, but he couldn’t really understand it, until one sentence was asked.

“So, You gonna chew ‘im?”

This sent Eddie back into his fit of panic, adrenaline coursing through his veins, he began cursing, kicking, wildly flailing. The two giants just laughed.

“Come on richie, you can chew this once, trust me, so much better experience.” Eddie couldn’t tell which of the two giants spoke, but he begged to whatever was out there, that Richie wouldn’t go through with it.

“I’m not a fan of blood, you should know that by now.” Richie rolled his eyes, his gaze back to Eddie, his heart breaking as he watched the man flail around, knowing he was in pain by the look on his face.

“The bitch thought he was going to kill us, he cut my fucking finger! Let him have it!” the giant pushed richie slightly, Richie giving him a glare.

“He's going to die anyways, why can’t I let myself enjoy him squirm?” Richie spoke, monotone. “I like how it feels when they go down.”

It was enough to make Eddie sick.

“It's your last hunt with us, go out with a bang! You got a fucking hunter after all…treat it like it treats our kind!”

“Fuck off, let me do it.'' His tone seemed almost protective, but with Eddie hearing a low gurgle of the man's stomach, Eddie knew it was like an animal protective of its prey.

The two just sighed, watching Richie...just...waiting.

Eddie paused as the giants fell into silence, staring up at Richie with tears in his eyes, his vision was blurry, and his head kept feeling worse and worse. “Please...don’t do this…” he found his voice, only to say that.

What else was he supposed to say? It was rich! The man he grew up with, the man he fought a killer clown demon with….the man...who was about to eat him.

Richie just sighed, lifting Eddie up carefully, much more carefully than the others would even dare, tilting his head up and placing Eddie right on his tongue. Letting go of the man and shutting his mouth.

Eddie's heart dropped at the quick action, Richie not even hesitating before putting Eddie into his mouth.

The heat inside richies mouth was enough to make Eddie let out a yell, going from chilly weather and a biting wind to a human sauna was not the best transition. The sensation of the wet, squishy muscle underneath him giving him a dose of reality-- He pushed against the roof of the mouth, hoping to re-open the mouth, but from the angle he was at, the throat was just becoming him.

He attempted to climb up the tongue, but no matter how close he would get to almost getting out, the saliva around him beckoned him down the tight, hot throat.

“Let me out!” Eddie yelled, but he knew it was no use, that Richie wouldn’t let him go, not after this. “Let me out you...fucking bastard!”

This was it? This is how he would go, he fought almost every dangerous creature in the book and won but he HAD to be eaten by someone he called a friend?

He felt himself getting weaker and weaker, his breath becoming more and more shortened with each breath. He found himself almost allowing his body to be pulled and squished around by the tongue, which happily licked at him.

He yelled as richie rolled him around, coating him in thick saliva in the process, but he really couldn’t do anything about it, the fear and fatigue getting to his head.

As the throat beckoned him down, he clawed at the tongue to keep himself out of the hot, wet esophagus “don’t do this!”

His words were met with no answer, but with a swallow.

Eddie yelled as his lower half was pulled into richies throat, he couldn’t move, which made him flail around even more, this was met with another swallow, thick muscles pulling the rest of him into the hungry throat and down the man's gullet, it was almost second nature to the man.

It must’ve been only a few seconds, but it felt like hours as he slid down the esophagus, unable to move and his Eddies head spinning with anxiety.

The one word spilling into Eddie's mind was only ....”Why?”

He pushed against the esophagus in an attempt to stop himself from sliding down any further, but all the saliva clinging to him and his clothes wouldn’t let him.

Suddenly, Eddie felt his legs slip into the stomach below him, gurgles and growls heard below him. As the rest of him slipped inside the belly, the whole experience became very...very real.

His head was dizzy from the lack of oxygen in the throat, and he couldn’t stop shaking at the thought of this being the final place he would be alive, nobody would know Richie had done it.

And that's the last thing Eddie Kaspbrack remembered, before passing out completely.

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

Richie paused as he felt eddie go limp on his tongue for a few moments, he was scared this was too much for the little guy and his heart gave out, but the small man began to thrash around once more, which in a dark way, got him relieved, so he could continue.

This was a disaster, he hated how he had to eat people already, but the fact that it was Eddie made everything so much worse.

Richie should’ve known something was up when he saw Eddie in that cafe, he just couldn’t focus with the hunger eating him up inside.

Now it wasn’t only hunger eating him up...it was guilt.

He rolled Eddie around on his tongue a few more times, capturing the taste of the man.

he hated to admit it, but people tasted so good. It was almost like a drug for him, nothing really could sustain him for long, except for this. The longest he could go without eating a person was three weeks, he would move town to town with his tour, every few weeks swallowing a person to keep his energy up.

He carefully swallowed a few times, his Adam's apple bobbing as he brought his head back down, he could feel Eddie sliding slowly down his gullet, esophagus stretching as he did so it felt so...normal for him, like it was second nature.

One thing he was grateful for, was that he was the only guy that night who didn’t have a meal already lined up.

The past few weeks, meeting up with these guys got worse and worse, they were cruel, but for some reason they liked him, and would not leave him alone no matter how much he demanded them to, but tonight they agreed that tonight could be their last night

They always wanted it to be Derry, maybe because they lived there, maybe because the people tasted better. Richie didn't know, all he did was agree, since he didn't want one of their victims to become someone that he cared about. .

He felt guilty knowing the fates of the other two girls, but he knew he couldn’t stop it, they chose to kill those girls, they could’ve safely eaten them, but they chose to kill, which they thought he chose as well. He couldn’t change this, and it made him sick just to think about it.

As the two other giants shrank back down to their normal height, RIchie didn’t even bother to remember the jackasses names, they looked up at him.

“Sad to see ya go! Maybe we’ll meet up again!” one of them spoke, the other just nodded, before they both walked away.

sickos...

Richie stayed silent and still until they got out of sight, before letting out a deep breath, holding onto his stomach as he felt eddies body slip inside of it, it felt so...good to have someone in there again

But all according to plan,  he felt Eddie pass out, feeling his shallow breaths as he lay unconscious in his belly.

He was going to be okay...

----

It's too hot, It feels like I’m melting...I can’t move...I have to get out of here...I have to…

Eddie's eyes snapped open at the sound of a car horn, and a familiar yell, his head throbbing and he almost jumped out of his seat, he would’ve if he didn’t have his seatbelt on…

Seatbelt?!

Eddie's head snapped in every direction as he looked around, he was in a car, a blanket covering him...not where he thought he was...did...did he actually...no...he wasn’t...he couldn’t be… he wasn’t inside of a...

Richie let out a yell as Eddie popped up, making him swerve the car violently into the left lane, then back into the right lane, causing a chorus of more car horns to indicate that what he just did was an asshole move.

“Jesus fucking christ Eddie!” Richie yelled, “you scared the shit out of me!” he kept his eyes on the road, but the shock poured off of him like sweat.

Eddie just stared at richie as he drove, he could feel his body shaking at the sight of the man… he stammered for a moment, but he was only able to get out one word.

“Y-you…” his voice cracked a bit.

He didn’t want to believe it was true, but his clothes and hair being damp pointed out that might be the case, he felt his eyes sting with the threat of tears, never before had he felt this much Terror.

“I what eddie? I saved your life, what the fuck were you doing there?! If I wasn’t there you’d be fucking dead!” Richie turned to Eddie, giving him an angry look.

Richie was angry… at him?!

As Eddie got a good glypse at Richie, he noticed the man's face was red, his eyes a bit puffy, and he was shaking profusely, not to mention the cracks in his voice and the tears rolling down his face.

Richie was crying...Richie never cries…

“You actually...you fucking ate me?!’” Eddie finally worked up the courage to yell “What the fuck man?! I thought we were friends?!” his hand fell to his side, instinctively grabbing his knife holster, though only grabbing nothing, his knife lost in the fight earlier.

Richie didn’t respond, he just kept staring at the road. This just made Eddie angrier.

“You fucking piece of shit!” Eddie pulled the blanket off of him, shivering as his damp clothes absorbed the cold air around him. “You didn’t even tell any of us, you are a fucking m-monster!”

Again, silence, but he could see richie white knuckling the steering wheel.

Eddie could feel hot tears coming down from his eyes, “what's your plan now?” he couldn’t see himself leaving this vehicle alive, unless he hopped out the car door right now, even then he had a higher chance of ending up dead. “you should’ve made it quick like those other two fuckers did” he mumbled quietly.

Suddenly, Richie swerved across a few lanes, making Eddie slam into the car door instantly, which caused another abundance of yelling and anger from the man.

Richie didn’t say a word as he moved off of the highway, onto a local road, close to the treeline of the woods, slamming on the breaks at the closest place he could pull over at.

Eddie couldn’t help but be afraid of Richies silence, his slight shakiness as he held the wheel and the fact that Richie refused to make eye contact as he cried.

“I could’ve killed you.”  Richies voice cracked a slight bit.

Eddies heart sunk hearing those words, he could feel every bit of fear he had felt before hit him once again “R-Richie...I-I-”

“I could have done everything I said I would out there, and you could imagine what they would do if I wasn’t there…”

“Richie...p-please-”

“But I wouldn’t...I...I can’t Ed’s!” Richie lost all of his composure, and began yelling “I couldn’t let anything happen to you! What the hell were you thinking going after us? You could’ve died, Killing IT was one thing, but you’re alone!”

Eddie stared at him with a shocked expression, he felt his face flush, even if he was angry and scared, he was almost embarrassed, he felt like a child being berated by a parent, he frowned.

“You. ate. Me.”  Eddie spoke, emphasizing each word. “You ate me and you’re giving me shit?”

“But you’re still alive, hm?” Richie gestured up and down to Eddie, “nothing Hurt huh? You’re welcome.”

Those words actually got through to Eddie, “how am I...not dead…”

Richie sighed, hearing Eddie's tone, not angry, just...scared. “I’m not like them, Eddie. It's safe, because I’m safe…” Richie pinched the bridge of his nose “fuck that didn’t make sense, I..Its just something I can do.”

Eddie got a good look at Richie at this point, the man was no longer disheveled, he looked like he was good as new, no bags under his eyes, he didn’t look like he was going to pass out anymore...he looked healthy.

Eddie, felt tired, nauseous, and felt like he was about to pass out, they practically switched places. t

“What did you do to me…?” Eddie asked, which richie let out a small chuckle.

“Unlike Them”  he spoke of the two like it was bad luck to even think of them “I can’t digest living things, i uh… do have to eat living creatures though” he looked at Eddie, answering before the man could ask the question “I take energy, that's why you passed out, you came on the right day honestly, i usually wait a while before eating.”

“That's why there were survivors, that's how Mike knew--”

“Mike knows?” it sounded like a stupid question, but it had never crossed his mind. “How much does Mike know?” his voice was desperate, almost terrified.

“Not much… one girl that you...let go...talked to him about what she remembered…”

Richie shook his head “Fuck!” he yelled, slamming his hands on the wheels. “I left her on the pathway, watched her wake up, she shouldn’t have known about what happened.”

Eddie jumped at the slam “She didn’t remember anything, she thought escaped on her own, Mike has no idea what's going on, he...doesn’t even know he sent me here.”

“How the fuck doesnt he know?”

This is where Eddie began to feel nervous again-- what to say?

“A simple alias and a voice modifier did the trick.” Eddie rolled his eyes “and this isn’t my first time doing this.”

The shifter's heart sank.

Richie began piecing it all together, “You’re actually a hunter…?” he asked, “Tell me your joking Ed’s, you’re fucking with me…”

The thought of Eddie being an actual hunter was almost as absurd as knowing richie was a giant. Eddie was pretty fearless, but he didn’t act like the other hunters he’d met, if Eddie was actually a hunter, Richie was most likely a dead man.

“I uh… did tell you that I’m a Risk analyzer, I just didn’t tell you what kind of risks I worked with…” Eddie looked away, almost embarrassed. “I didn’t think I’d even run into you...or any of the losers on the job… Especially if the job is on one of you.”

Richie just stayed silent, Eddie. Eddie fucking Kaspbrack, kills monsters, just like him...all the time? He just silently turned on the car, driving back onto the main road. He felt this...intimidation now, and Richie did not like it at all.

“Richie?” Eddie asked, staring at the man, who just kept his eyes on the road. “Richie what's going on…?”

“I’m going to drop you off at your hotel, and guessing that there’s only one hotel that's not a total shithole, I’m guessing that's where you’re staying.” he spoke fast, like he didn’t want to talk to Eddie, which made the other man frown.

“You’re right...but...you seem...off.”

“Finding out my best friend is a killer isn’t something I really enjoy knowing.”

Holy shit…”Richie, are you...scared of me?” Eddie asked, utterly confused. He got no answer except for Richies face turning a slight red colour.

Eddie turned a bit red, but quickly changed the subject when Richie pulled into the driveway of the hotel, parking. “Are you going to answer me, dickwad” he only added the last part to get a reaction out of the man.

Richie snapped his head over to Eddie,  “we’ll finish this talk in the hotel room, I’m not staying in this car the entire night.”

“In the hotel room? What makes you think I’m letting you up there?”

“Because you can’t fucking walk.” Richie snapped once more, pointing to Eddie's legs, “Just try.”

Eddie just nodded, giving Richie a snarky look, then getting out of the vehicle.

“See!” Eddie spoke as Richie started, just waiting.  “What was that about---!”

Eddie couldn’t finish the sentence of glory as his legs wobbled. Making him fall to the concrete of the parking lot with a painful groan.

Richie got out of the car, a smug look on his face “what was what about?” He stood, hands in his hoodie pockets, holding back a bit of laughter.

Eddie just looked up, about to yell once more, but his own fear silenced him as he had to look up at Richie again, towering over him as he was on the pavement.

Richie frowned, seeing the fear in the hunters eyes, sighing

“Fuck--Here” Richie bent down, grabbing onto eddie, pulling the mans arm over his shoulder as to stablize him and help him move.

At first Eddie pushed back, not wanting Richie to even touch him at the moment, but something made him turn red as he got so close to him.

‘Do. not. Even. think. About. It.’

The walk up to the hotel room was silent, only minor grunts or breaths from either of the men.

Richie was practically going nuts with Eddie so close again--He would never admit it, but having eddie so close to his nose, he couldn’t help but smell him once again, and he smelled so...delicious, and the fact that he was able to taste him once meant that he knew that eddie was delicious.

‘Stop it….fucking stop.’

As they reached Eddie's door, the man tried to get the keys out of his pocket, only for Richie to just grab it out of his pocket himself, unlocking the door.

“T...thanks”

“Get in.”

Eddie sighed as they both walked in, the door shutting behind them. Eddie turned red as his luggage bag was sprawled on the bed, knives visible.

Richie groaned, seeing the blades, setting Eddie onto the bed, “Have enough fucking Knives man?”

“What? Scared?”

Richie said nothing, but looked away.

“The man who Eats people alive, is afraid of me?” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, dry and sarcastic, “and I’m not a killer…”

Richie gave him a disbelieving look, eddies laugh faded

“Well I am a killer, but it's not like that...I researched creatures like you for a while, I made like four journals just observing you guys…”

“Wow, a nerd in literally everything. Even murder” richie rolled his eyes, but it was very noticeable when his shoulders relaxed slightly, though still seemed on guard as Eddie spoke, his eyes narrow and hesitant.

“After IT,” Eddie turned away. “I realized that some of these creatures, they just want to Hurt people… and...I just can’t let that happen. So I became a hunter… it was tough at first, but i’ve gotten better.” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck nervously “B-but I don’t kill people who are just trying to live their lives, only the ones who are killing people...which doesn’t make me that popular.”

Richie gave Eddie a look, not disproving, but just...intrigued, “Damn, a hunter with a moral backbone? Where have you been all my life”

Eddie paused, “I’ve been in your fucking life” He almost felt offended “suddenly I haven’t been with you because of my fucking career choice? Newsflash fuckface, I’m still fucking eddie kaspbrack”

Richie’s eyes widened “I didn't mean it--”

“You fucking EAT people. And I still see you as my...friend” Eddies voice lowered, looking away, “trust me, if I didn’t you’d be dead.”

Richie fell silent, somehow the word ‘friend’ still hurt him. Eddie could see the hurt on his face, looking away as well.

“All the other hunters i’ve known never gave me a chance to explain” Richie finally spoke after a few minutes, “They just see me as a monster.”

“i-I’m sorry.” Eddie responded “I didn’t mean--”

“Oh shut up.” Richie flashed a smile “You get a pass, I fucking ate you. I didn’t get a chance with any others.”

Eddie couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at the comment, something so absurd about the situation allowed him to. He was a hunter, who had been eaten, and is now talking to the person who had eaten him.

“So...the other losers?” Eddie fake coughed, trying to change the subject “Do any of them know”

“FUCK no.” Richie shook his head loudly, “If they knew that I’ve wanted--” Richie paused mid sentence, sputtering, clearly not wanting that to come out.

Eddie's eyes widened, “No no no, you don't get to say that shit and NOT finish the sentence, dickweed.”

“I-I..er--” Richie couldn’t form a coherent sentence, too busy turning redder than a tomato.

“Richie...Have you thought about...Eating us...like all of us? The losers?”

At first, Richie resisted, sputtering out a shaky ‘no!’, but Eddie just stared at the man, his expression not changing, it was a trick he would use when they were kids, Richie would always break.

“Fuck you Kaspbrak!” Richie finally broke, throwing his hands in the air “what do you want me to say? There's not one goddamn day that goes by since the reunion where i don’t think about it! There! Judge me all you fucking want! It's not gonna change the fact that I wanted to Eat you!”

Richie turned red again as eddie just stared “forget it”

“Did you ever try?”

It was richie's turn to look offended “you think im fucking stupid? If I tried anything on that trip, you’d think i was IT, I wasn’t about to be killed by my friends!”

Eddie put his hands up defensively “Okay okay! Don’t get your panties in a twist! It was a fucking question!”

Richie slumped back, defeated “I’ve thought about it sure---I never planned to though!” Richie almost sounded like he was trying to promise Eddie this, rather than convince him “I never planned on telling you guys, not that you’d believe me if I did.”

“Well you didn’t exactly tell me...so you kept your plan?”

Richie gave him a ‘are you kidding me’ expression

“I will eat you again”

“Don’t make me pull out the Knives, Tozier.”

Before Richie could even say another word, a loud ringing came from the luggage bag. It was his backup phone, Eddie reached for it, Richie first shook his head not to answer, but Eddie did anyway.

“Mr Marsh? Oh thank god you answered, it's been so long I thought the worst? What happened?” Richie tensed up, hearing Mike's voice on the other end of the phone, Eddie looked at the frightened predator and shook his head, mouthing the words ‘voice modifier’ which made Richie calm down slightly, still uncomfortable to hear Mike's voice.

Though on the other hand, Richie couldn’t help but laugh at the ‘Mr. Marsh’ mouthing to Eddie ‘are you fucking serious?’

Eddie shook his head, trying to wave the man off “Sorry Mr Hanlon, I understand your concern, everything is--”

“Ed’s?”

Eddie's sentence came to a full stop as Mike said his name, and so did his heart “w-what?”

“i-I” Mike stammered on the phone for a second “Eddie is that you?”

Richie, in an act of pure instinct, snatched the phone away from Eddie, who yelled out a quick “wait!” Before Richie hung up, turning the phone off.

There were a few moments of silence, you could practically hear the two’s hearts pumping loudly and full of anxiety.

“Shit.” they both said in unison.

---------

its good to be back...again!

[hecohansen31]

Will you write more about the foursome where reader's Duncan's soulmate ? Please, I need more drama and fluff with them !! I need to see Michael and Jim trying to be nice with her (and failing like idiots), Duncan trying to please everyone, Reader finally having the chance to know them better and... get closer in every senses of the term (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

So I have been having an hard time finding time for writing lately and I am very sorry about it, because... a lot of the prompts you sent me are beautiful so... I can’t help but feel sorry, but things are getting in the way!

Still... I should be able to publish something more this week!

Sorry again lovelies and thank you for your patience!

I am going to tag @angel-langdon, because I know she enjoyed the first part of it, but if I am wrong, I am sorry I tagged you and with this being said, I am leaving you to the fic!

WARNINGS:  Sexual Themes, Idiots, Slight Mention of Trauma and Fights.

Since the revelation that Jim and Michael didn’t hate you, your relationship with them had surely gotten better, mostly due to the fact that they had started treating you with less coldness and much more gentleness, although they both had still their limits when it came to you.

Still, it was nice to actually not have to deal with them in awful and fighting moods, mostly so that you could relax and have truly fun with them and Duncan, who was literally the happiest man alive.

You had started taking surfing lessons with Jim in the weekend, although you sucked terribly at it, but you didn’t mind it, even when the boy would tease you endlessly, mostly because the same boy would appreciate completely the moments spent together, showing it to you in a much affectionate way than Michael.

It wasn’t that with Michael it was more difficult, because Jim with his abandonment issues wasn’t definitely the easiest of the two, but you had much less interests that you could share, mostly because not only the man was pretty closed off, but he still held some kind of distrust in you.

Still, talking with him about either Jim and Duncan was an amazing experience to bond over, mostly because he would soften up a bit and if you took care of his favorite boys, he would be the one to take care of you, pampering you at home or outside.

That period, the one under the Christmas’ months, you and Duncan had been pretty busy since it wasn’t easy for either of you to pull off your jobs, mostly in such an active period, although you wished no more than to crash in bed with your lovers.

You had been surprised that Jimmy and Michael hadn’t tried to stop you and Duncan from going to your respective job, as they always did with Duncan when they were feeling like he was neglecting them, like two spoiled children, but you just guessed they knew and understood that you were both struggling to give them best you could.

What you and Duncan hadn’t taken in account was the fact that those two weren’t being respectful of your jobs and lives, but were secretly plotting something in silence, to bring you together.

And it all started working when you received a rather cryptic message that morning, about Jimmy having felt sick t the airport and Michael needing a help with him.

Hadn’t you been so worried about Jimmy Boy you would have probably questioned why you had had to go to the airport, but you had been simply too worried and when Duncan came out of the car in front of you, also warned by a similar message, you knew that there might be trouble on your way.

You and Duncan both rushed to the position in the airport where Michael and Jimmy were supposed to be, the departure lounge where you found your boys… completely fine and with two sets of luggage each, in vacation attire and flowery shirts.

Both you and Duncan threw a look at each other, wondering in which strange reality you had wandered in, the moment you had entered the airport, but were quickly ushered in by your lovers, and meanwhile your “sick boy” literally welcomed you with kisses and hugs, Michael stood beside him, happy to see you both but a trace of uneasiness showed in his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Duncan, meanwhile you were too taken by cuddling Jimmy who literally purred against you, trying to slip a hand in your jeans “… Jim?! Michael told us that you were sick!”

“… yeah sick of you being apart from us!” he commented as if it was the most obvious choice ever, gaining a dreadful look from Duncan, meanwhile Michael shifted from the side of his lover to yours, clearly ready for Duncan to debunk the entire plan Jim had brought him into.

Duncan took his head in his hands:

“Jim, I have told you…!” he mumbled annoyed, since one of the most obvious causes of fights between Jim and Duncan was how much time the latter spent on his job, instead of spending it with him.

‘You know that I have to go to work to make the money you and Michael spend, don’t you?’.

‘But you just spend any second you can on your work, even when we are together! You always take calls and never make time for us!’.

And although you understood that Duncan was a busy man, you had to agree with Jimmy about Duncan needing some kind of rehab from work that he could spend with you, which you and Michael had discussed many times, having similar ideas on this.

‘I just wished that he would be less… tired from his work… I know that he can take some time off, but he just doesn’t think that those things can work without him, but we can’t also work without him’.

You had comforted both the boys and had tried to talk on your way with Duncan, explaining that, although your work took much less time than his, you understood what he was going through, but this didn’t oblige him to constantly work himself up to the bone, mostly neglecting others.

‘… I am trying, it’s just the most difficult thing ever to balance my relationship and work… I honestly wish that I could stay with you, but I am also worried that something will blow up my empire and who will want me without the money…’.

You had acted as a mediator between them, and you though you were making some progress since Duncan tried to use the phone less and less when he was with you, meanwhile the boys could count on your attention, when Duncan was away.

But then Jimmy decided to throw the entire thing away.

“And you think that giving me and (Y/N) a heart-attack was a perfect idea to get our attention?” Duncan was trying to keep his tone low, mostly because he didn’t want to give a scene, but Jim didn’t seem to care about anything.

“... it was the only way I could get your attention! You constantly are away, huddled up in your office and thankfully there is (Y/N) or we would just be alone for the entire time…!”.

What was the worse thing was that Jimmy looked close to crying and Duncan close to an emotional outburst.

Michael was the one who had the coldest blood and tried to bring some kind of peace:

“What Jimmy did was wrong, I am not going to lie, but we wanted to have your attention, and to make you relax since we know how much time you spend to make money for us to have a nice and comfortable life and we wanted to give you some kind of break”.

Jim immediately pushed himself so that he could side with Michael to reinforce the proposal, meanwhile he looked at you expecting to do the same, but you couldn’t help but be slightly conflicted: Duncan was your soulmate, but you were slowly learning to love those two idiots.

“… you organized a vacation on your own for me?” Duncan mumbled surprised, his voice little, almost as a shy kid receiving a gift.

“Yeah, we did!” giggled Jimmy, meanwhile Michael muttered darkly, sending you an obvious look.

“… but it isn’t simply for you, we also did it for (Y/N)” mumbled the blonde man, turning to you with a shy glance, that got your heart to lightly beat faster, meanwhile you blushed.

“Ah, that is too nice, sweeties!” you didn’t know what to say, because you were speechless due to the fact that they went from literally ignoring you to buying you a vacation in the span of a few weeks “… I am honestly… I don’t know what to say”.

Which meant that you honestly felt like crying a bit, and Duncan, recognizing your emotion immediately, hugged you close to his chest. Kissing sweetly your forehead, before he sent a look to your other two lovers, inviting them to join the hug.

Which they did with no hesitation, immediately hugging you closer with extreme gentleness, squishing you lightly and making you laugh through your tears, meanwhile Jimmy muttered something about ‘not wanting to make you cry for his stupid ass’, meanwhile Michael mumbled about the fact that he couldn’t believe that he had fallen in love with three idiots.

A few minutes later you were boarding in first class for an unknown location since the boys wouldn’t tell you and Duncan where you were going, but it was nothing that champagne couldn’t soothe.

In the end you ended up reaching a tropical island in a five star resort, with a beautiful sight on the beach and even more beautiful room service that you and Jimmy took immediate advantage of, mostly ordering fruit and some other delicacies, starved after the journey.

But Jimmy didn’t seem tired in the least and dragged you and the others, who were barely able to put on your swimming costumes, to the beach, and Duncan had no choice but play volleyball with him, meanwhile you and Michael researched whether this place was perfect for surfing or not.

It was more a cover mission not to be dragged in the “hurricane Jimmy”, meanwhile you two looked at your boys playing heavenly in the water, with you blushing and with Michael having that smug smirk of his which was like ‘Well, he is all mine’.

You both gossiped sipping on your drinks, meanwhile the boys tried to tire each other out in the water, trying to dunk each other, and to steal each other the ball, till they got tired of each other and in the end moved to annoy you and Michael, with cold hugs and splashing you.

You were more cooperative and accepted to immerge in the water, with your hands around Duncan’s neck and Jimmy linked on your back, trying to steal a piggyback ride.

Michael kept, as a cat scared by the water, to himself, till all your stomachs grumbled, and the brats of the relationship had already helped themselves to booking for an entire night the main room in the hotel you were staying, so that you could have a rather romantic and private dinner.

Michael and Jimmy helped you get ready, although it was more Michael, since Jimmy only ate up all the snacks in the minibar and “booed” any dress that he thought was too conservative (which was everything to you), meanwhile Michael gave you some suggestions about what to do with your hair and make-up, even applying your eyeliner, since you simply couldn’t.

Duncan had been waiting outside, although he hadn’t wanted you to know, he was probably phoning some of his companies to let them know he was on vacation, and when you all walked on him, his phone literally fell from his hands, as it happened in the movies.

Michael coughed pointedly to make Duncan close his open mouth, meanwhile Jimmy just thought about snapping a picture at his cute face you just blushed compulsively, and as you moved to get Duncan’s offered arm, both the boys brought you back, grabbing an arms of yours each.

“Brats” he mumbled annoyed, making another attempt, but both the boys growled light.

“… you don’t get (Y/N), because you are a meanie”.

“Can you not treat me like a toy?” you whispered, not wanting to be caught in this war, and they all seemed to settle for a truce.

… till you all settled down and ordered and meanwhile you were waiting for your food, you felt a leg brushing lightly against yours.

You didn’t mind it too much attention, mostly because accidental brushes weren’t uncommon, and although Duncan was pretty affectionate with you, “the brats” hadn’t tried to make a move onto you, in that sense, although Jimmy could get pretty handsy and, more time than not make-outs, with him were messy.

But you had never been all together with the four of them.

You didn’t mind it too much thought, when it happened again, talking calmly with Duncan about work, meanwhile Jimmy sometimes intervened and Michael mostly nodded, listening softly to the both of them, his hand gently caressing Duncan and Jimmy’s back, since he was settled between them and in front of you.

But the third stroke was definitely much more intrusive and clear in its intention, caressing the entirety of your thighs from your ankle to the inner part of your thighs.

You almost bumped your knee against the table at the pleasurable sensation, definitely not expecting it, and all the eyes were on you, and you couldn’t help but feel like it had been Jimmy, because he was at your left and smirked like he knew what was going on, but the next time the stroke happened, Jimmy was turned to Duncan, who you thought was the culprit.

And you sent him a pointed look: couldn’t he stop acting like a horny boy, just for a romantic dinner?

He looked confused, after receiving your glare, but you knew all too well that your soulmate was sneaky, but he was also ruled out as Michael’s hand moved onto your thighs and his legs caressed you again, this time making it clear it was him.

When you turned to chastise him, he just had this beautiful smile on his face, completely smirking at you, knowing what was going on and worst of all, that you were unable to do more, and as he reached down the skirt of your dress, he sneaked his hand into the slit and onto your panties.

He had been the one to suggest the dress with the slit and now you understood why.

Michael had been the most cold to you, so you definitely weren’t expecting it, as he pushed himself through the fabric of your panties and brushed your most intimate place, gently caressing your folds in a distracted way, meanwhile he involved himself in the conversation.

The pleasure going through you was gentle and soft, but it kept you distracted and when Jimmy asked you if what the waiter had brought you was yours, you had to almost get him to repeat the phrase, but worst of all as you were answering it, Michael inserted one finger in you, making you feel every inch of his thick finger, and you were unable to hide a moan.

Thankfully the waiter was graceful enough to disappear, but as he went away Jimmy ducked his head under the table to see what was going on, immediately grumpily mumbling:

“You little shit, Michael!” he screamed, meanwhile Duncan understood what the heck was going on, smirking at you, probably understanding the horrendous teasing that you were going through, right now “… we said we would wait till tonight”.

And Michael, although heartbreakingly, retreated his finger from you, sending Jimmy an annoyed look, before he showed you a teasing smirk, gently enveloping his fingers stained with your juices in his mouth, making you not only blush but molten heat was immediately poured again in your center.

“I just wanted a little taste” he mumbled, almost as child caught with his hand in the cookie dough.

“Well I can’t blame you… lovely (Y/N) here tastes just like cotton candy” mumbled Duncan, sharing an intense look with Michael, a light smile on his face, meanwhile Jimmy just pouted, before he drifted down under the table and before you knew it, your dress was brought up to your hips and your panties down.

“Then it’s only fair that I take my taste”.

[chances-r-high]

Death of a Bachelor

@royal-iris @addie-bear

It has been a long day for Iris. He’d been stuck in a long, boring meeting about the upcoming budget. There’d been a few staff changes, and the people Iris works with now aren’t as stupid as the last bunch, but he still finds himself frustrated or bored out of his mind. However, he’s excited that he and his mates are now getting around to plans on how to take Irk back. His Irk. Their Irk.

The thought brings a smile to his face as he enters their shared quarters. Persephone and Diana still make him nervous, but they seem to always know this and give him his space. He appreciates it, and he’s slowly but surely starting to become fond of the little beasts.

Addie isn’t too far behind him, also arriving from a rather exhausting day of meetings and planning. It seems the High Chancellor had taken the day off for...something. Addie knows he isn’t sick, but it has to be something pretty important for him to take the entire day off.

She smiles as she sees her other mate at the door, greeting Iris with a soft kiss to the cheek. “Hello, love. How was your day?”

Iris hums at the affection, leaning in to give Addie a nuzzle and peck on the lips. “Exhausting. Why do none of these people, who claim to be financial experts, know nothing about money?”

Addie snorts. “I think you’re just constantly impatient and don’t like to sit still for long periods of time.”

“You bet your ass, I don’t,” Iris admits. “It’s boring! I wasn’t meant to sit in long, drawn out meetings! I was meant to be on the battlefield fighting for freedom!”

Addie continues to look amused. “You do know that once you’re Tallest that a large portion of your day is going to be boring meetings, right? It won’t all be revolution and glory.” She only knows this because of having such a close relationship with not only Iris’ father, but with her Uncle Red as well.

Iris huffs. “Yes but those will be cool, diplomatic meetings. Not ones where I have to explain a basic spreadsheet to a group of people.”

He opens the door to their quarters, allowing Addie to enter first. As he follows her in he notices that the place smells extremely pleasant. There is also a spread of sushi rolls lining the dining room table. He doesn’t have to ask to know they were vegan. Chance is always very aware of his and Addie’s tolerances and allergies.

Addie raises a brow at the display. She’s pretty sure it isn’t their anniversary. At least she doesn’t think so. When did she wake up from that coma? She supposes that counts as good of a date as any for them officially all being together. Maybe it is. Has she really forgotten?

Before either Iris or Addie can think too hard about what this is about, Chance comes out of the kitchen, practically beaming at them. He is dressed in a tshirt and skinny jeans, a pink apron wrapped around his waist. He’s dyed his hair again, now a dark indigo. It brings his eyes vibrantly.

“You two are right on time!” the human said excitedly. “The ramen just got done!”

Iris’ eyes widened. “Ramen? You made ramen?”

Chance nodded. “Mhm! And not just some crappy, packaged ramen either. It’s a vegan recipe I found. I think you’ll both like it.”

Now Addie is very suspicious. “May I ask what the occasion is? And also why did you take the day off?”

Chance shuffles a bit. The weights in his pocket suddenly become very heavy. He’s been trained in espionage since he could walk. He could do this. “I just...it’s been a while since the three of us have had a nice dinner together. I figured we could use one. You know, just sitting around and talking and stuff?”

Iris can’t help but agree. He knows that the lack of such nights has been his fault, but since his and Addie’s talk (and especially recently) he’s tried to be better about that. More present. He smiles and goes over to his boyfriend and ruffles his hair. “Good idea, pretty boy.”

Addie still feels like there’s something she’s missing. Chance does nothing for no reason. Well, wanting them to spend a nice dinner together is a reason though, isn’t it? She just can’t help but feel like her human mate has something else up his sleeve. He’s an adorable and sneaky snake, and she knows better than to underestimate him.

Chance makes a chirp at having his hair pet. Perhaps Dibkins has rubbed off on him. Who knows. He grabs onto Iris’ hand and gives it a kiss. “I’m glad you think so, my Tallest.” He turns to Addie. “Shall we, Songbird?”

Addie sighs. Well, whatever Chance has planned will be unearthed soon enough. “How can I resist such cute faces and delicious looking food.”

000000000000

Throughout their dinner, the trio did just as Chance had hoped. They talked about their days, about the other people in their lives. They laughed and teased each other, bits of bickering becoming long bouts of flirting. It was a testament to how truly well the three of them fit together, how they’d each been lost satellites in space who had all three eventually found their way home - together.

Chance shuffles as they begin to finish up dessert (creme brulee). He’s been preparing for this moment for a long, long time, waiting for when things seemed settled and right. However, he’s come to the conclusion that perhaps things are never settled for the three of them, always having to muddle three one chaotic event to the next. But he also knows they are at their best together, and that he doesn’t want them to be apart ever, ever again.

He clears his throat, getting to his feet. “So, uh...I wanted to show the two of you something. You mind following me?”

Addie finishes off her last bite of creme brulee as she looks up at Chance. Now she knows something is up. She knows it’s not anything nefarious, but she’s always been dangerously curious. She has to know. “Alright. What do you have planned, Lucky Star?”

Iris is now suspicious as well. He’s easily distracted by the promise of food and his mates being cute, but he’s not a complete idiot. Something is definitely going on. “I’m with Addie. You’re acting way too innocent and both of us know better than to fall for that.”

Chance lets out a nervous laugh. “I, uh...well…” So much for all that espionage training. “...Just follow me and you’ll find out. Please?”

Iris and Addie exchange glances, but eventually come to a silent agreement. Their mate clearly wants to share something important with them, and the only way they are going to find out what it is, is by following him.

After agreeing, and taking a moment to clean up the dining room kitchen, they make their way out of their dwelling. Chance’s pace is quick and nervous, but he tries not to give that off. Sometimes he’s a little annoyed about how his mates have managed to knock all his walls down, make him so at ease with showing them what he truly feels. It makes it hard to plan surprises like this properly.

The deeper they go into the ship, the more curious Addie becomes. The part they’re entering now has been long abandoned, parts of Dwicky’s old labs. She’s ask Chance if he wanted it destroyed and redone, but he always brushed it off. She doesn’t quite understand why, knowing the place can’t bring him good memories, but it also isn’t her decision to make. Not her demons to face.

Iris has never even seen this place before. He’s avoided it, after hearing what lied down here. He knows that seeing the place wouldn’t be good for him, thinking about this being the beginnings of all the trauma and terror that Chance grew up with, where perhaps the roots of all the human’s nightmares lurk. Iris can’t help but wonder why he would bring them here. Isn’t this bad for him? Won’t this only be painful?

Finally Chance stops walking as they enter a dimly lit room. It’s surrounded by screens and monitors that are long since dead, just a strange, steady blinking of some of the buttons remaining. In the middle of the room is a round tank, more tall than wide. Several tubes float with in, swaying in the foggy looking water. It obviously hasn’t been touched in years, like an abandoned fish tank that someone forgot to throw out.

Chance takes a breath. This isn’t easy. In fact he feels every nerve of his body wanting out of here. But he came here for a reason. He’s tired of associating parts of this ship, his home, with bad things. He’s tired of letting the past haunt him. He wants to move forward. He knows it’s not that easy, especially with everything that has happened so far this year alone, but, by god, if he’s going to move on the best way to do it is to look forward to the future. To his future.

“This...is where I was born,” he tells them, his gaze moving up and down the abandoned tank. “Or, created I guess. I don’t know if they have proper terminology.” He turns around to face Addie and Iris, his feet shuffling. He buries a hand in his pocket, fingering the boxes there to find his strength.

“From that moment...I was a tool. A means to an end. I was used to for the plans of someone else, never allowed to make my own decision. Hell, I was practically convinced that is was my decision. That it was what I wanted.” He could probably thank Leera and her love for why that was never necessarily true. Why there was a door to his heart always left ajar. And, boy, had the two people standing in front of him stormed they’re way in.

“I...I never thought there could be anything else. That there could be any kind of light in my life that could show me another way. That my life didn’t have to filled with hatred and bloodshed. And...it baffles me still that not only do I get that from one person, but two people.” Two people who grew to love him for who he truly was, who dug it out under years of denial and anger and loathing.

He’s starting to get emotional as he continues to speak. “I love the two of you so much. And...and everyday I continue to love you more and more. Just when I think I’m full to bursting you show me that there’s still so much more room in me. And...and I want to give it all to the two of you. I want to give you everything…

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do to thank you both for being so good to me, for loving me so unabashedly and fiercely, for making me feel like the luckiest man alive,” he slowly pulls the boxes out of his pocket and hands them to each of his mates. Iris’ was in gold while Addie’s in silver, just he could make sure he didn’t mix them up. “But...I want to spend the rest of my life trying.”

Iris raises a brow, his face growing warmer with everyone of Chance’s words. He knows he and Addie can be rather dramatic, but when Chance gets in a mood it’s like listening to a Greek monologue. He can go on and on, his emotions driving higher and higher in a ongoing state of catharsis. It’s endearing and, dare he say, cute.

The box, however, brings him back to confusion. He turns it over in his hands a few times before opening it. Inside, nestled in black velvet, is a brilliant blue gem stone, the color rivaling the shade of Iris’ eyes. It’s beautiful but…”Um...not that I don’t appreciate this but...what’s this for?”

Addie’s sydark is soaring at Chance’s words. She’s still a little confused as to why he brought them here to say such sweet things, and her curiosity is only peaked when she and Iris are handed the boxes. She tilts her head and follows Iris’ move of opening it. She has a very different reaction when she sees her own deep purple stone, covering her mouth with one hand and her eyes immediately filling with tears. “Chance…” The word is barely a breathy whisper.

Chance smiles. He kind of figured Iris wouldn’t know what the stones meant. “They, uh...they’re proposal stones. In Lazurothian culture, they propose to each other with gemstones which later get made into jewelry after they’re married.” He didn’t want to do things the human way, even if adopting his new fathers have made him embrace being human just a little more. And he felt like giving Addie and Iris Oroks would be stealing their thunder in a way. So he’d talked to Midge about alternatives, and this had been his favorite.

The human slowly gets down on one knee in front of his mates, his heart pounding so hard he thinks it might escape his chest. “You two are the most important things to me in my life. I love you more than I think I could love anything else. My life until the two of you was a wasteland, and now I feel like I couldn’t be in a safer, more prosperous place.” He looks around the room, dark and dead with time. That’s how he wants to leave the past behind. Dark and dead in his wake as he walks toward the sun. “This...this is where I was born, but that wasn’t my beginning. You were my beginning. And I want this to be our new beginning together.

Will...will you make me the happiest man in the entire cosmos and marry me?”

Addie squeals, already falling to her knees and embracing Chance. Tears are falling freely from her eyes and she begins kissing his face. Luckily, he can make out a muffled, ecstatic "yes yes yes” in between.

Iris is left in shock at the explanation, his chest slowly tightening at Chance’s words. His grip tightens on the box and he feels his own tears at the corner of his eyes. He hasn’t been the best mate as of late, but for Chance to not only forgive him, but still want him to the extent to do this, it’s nearly overwhelming.

Iris falls to his knees as well, going over to Chance and (once he gets past Addie’s own affectionate assault) kisses him soundly on the mouth. He chuckles, trying to hide how his throat chokes up on his words. “Yeah. I’d be honored to kick your ass for rest of our lives, High Chancellor.”

Chance could cry. And he already kind of is. He leans into his mates’ - his fiances’ - affections. He loves them so much. He honestly can’t think of a time he was more happy than this.

It truly is a new beginning. For all of them...

[muertawrites]

An Unwanted Guest (Loki x Reader) [Part 2]

Summary: You come face to face with the monster in the house at the end of your street and find he’s much more sinister than you would have believed. 

Word Count: 3,200

Author’s Note: Read part 1 ~here~

{ masterlist }

A monster glared at you in the dark, its bloody crimson eyes observing you with harsh scrutiny. You realized in an instant that this was the creature you’d seen watching you; its skin matched the deep cerulean hue, and its height was as massive as had been described to you. At such close proximity, you could see features on the monster’s body that you couldn’t see before; coal black hair that fell in wild tendrils around wide shoulders, high cheekbones that emulated those of a large cat’s, deep creases of scarred skin etched into swirling patterns around a snarling mouth, and teeth sharp as daggers. 

The beast scowled at you, its nails in your shoulder only digging deeper as it dragged you closer into its grip. You shrieked, waiting for its teeth to sink into your neck and begin devouring you, all sense of fight missing in the face of a danger you never thought possible outside of your nightmares. 

But the pain you expected didn’t come. Instead, a long finger pressed against your lips, its cold skin chilling yours down to the teeth. 

“Shut up,” the monster growled in a deep, silken voice. “I’ve heard enough screaming for a lifetime this evening.” 

You hushed, gazing up at the creature in bewilderment. It, who you now realized was a man based on his tone of voice, stared back at you with a hard expression. With the hand that hadn’t dug itself into your neck, he raised a flashlight to your chin. 

“I believe this is yours,” he drawled. “I will, however, have to confiscate that prybar.”

In a swift motion, he removed his hand from where it had embedded itself in your shoulder and took the crowbar from your grip. He tossed it away somewhere to the side of where you stood, it clattering to the floor with a few loud clangs. He then placed his hand at your neck once more, using it to steer you around and into the hallway behind the door you’d been attempting to pass through. 

“Come now,” he said, “we’ll get you cleaned up. I don’t want you tracking any more blood through my house.” 

You allowed him to take you where he intended without struggle, your head swimming with a mixture of awe, confusion, hysteria, blunt force trauma, and blood loss. He led you down the main stairs, back into the entrance hall and through a hidden door to the side of the banister, which was disguised as a slot in the wall’s wood paneling. 

This door led to another set of stairs, at the bottom of which was a surprisingly cozy kitchen and dining area. Wood counters backed up against the stone walls that made up the house’s foundation, mounted above which were shelves and cabinets housing various bottles of oils, dried herbs, and dishware. There was an iron stove in the corner of the room that looked nearly as old as the house itself, its accompanying oven held aloft at its side with slots for the broilers underneath. A fire crackled peacefully in an impressive hearth, over which a large pot of something that smelled of garlic and rosemary bubbled in the gentle heat of the flames. 

Your guide sat you down unceremoniously upon the table in the center of the room, clearing away a half-eaten bowl of whatever was in the cooking pot so he could use the table to treat you. You watched in a daze as he gathered various items from the cupboards and cabinets before settling himself down in the chair nearest to you. He wasted no time, going right to the leg of your jeans and ripping them open, giving himself access to the cut on your knee. 

“I would force you to do something about breaking my window if it weren’t simpler for me to handle it myself,” he mumbled, poking at your wound with his frigid, blue hands. “You’ve paid well enough, however. This will need mending.” 

He reached into a metal case he’d taken from a cupboard and laid beside you, pulling out a bottle of clear liquid and some gauze. Tipping the bottle over, he soaked the gauze in the liquid, then proceeded to dab it over the open wound. You winced in hesitation of a sting, eyes creeping open when you felt none. 

“What…” was the only word your lips could manage to form. 

“It isn’t alcohol,” your host explained, though you were certain he knew you’d already guessed that. “Where I come from our medicine is very advanced; hardly any pain in our procedures.” 

Though his words were meant to inspire understanding, they only confused you further. You looked away as he raised a threaded needle to your loose skin, choosing instead to focus on the muscles in his upper arm, watching them flex as he moved the needle in and out of your flesh. There was a long moment of silence before you were able to speak again. 

“Who are you?” you asked in a hoarse whisper.  

He didn’t look up, continuing his work unfazed. 

“You know who I am,” he nonchalantly replied. “I’ve just made sure you can’t recognize me.” 

You furrowed your brow, starting to become frustrated with the lack of clarity you’d experienced so far that evening. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” you demanded. “Also, what about this house? It’s abandoned. I’ve seen it every day that I’ve lived in this town and it’s completely condemned. How the hell do you even live here?” 

The man, or beast, or whatever he was, finished sewing up your wound and snapped his gaze up to meet yours, glaring at you from beneath a firmly set brow. He reached for your hands, forcefully pulling them into your lap and turning your palms upward so he could inspect the damage you’d done to them. 

“This house was abandoned,” he corrected you, pouring the clear liquid in a waterfall over your hands. “I’ve renovated the inside, as you’ve seen. I keep the outside looking desolate so I don’t get unwanted guests like you snooping about.” 

“But you were outside,” you pushed. “My neighbor saw you. He said you attacked him and his friend when they were up here earlier.” 

The man waved his hand over your palms, and the shards of glass embedded in your open flesh floated upward, hovering as if drawn out by a magnet. Your eyes widened as he used his invisible grip to guide them over the table, dropping them into a clean dish before he gathered more gauze and began to bandage your hands. 

“Yes, children love to trespass this time of year,” he answered. “I decided that I’d scare them off for good this time. I’m sick of having to clean rubbish out of my garden.” 

With your hands adequately bound, your host stood, reaching around the back of your head and pressing his fingers to the spot where your skull had smacked against the conservatory floor. You flinched at his touch, more due to distrust than the soreness in your skin. The man inspected his fingers as he pulled them away, and you were thankful not to see any blood on them. 

“Nothing’s lacerated,” he confirmed, “but we’ll have to monitor your condition for the next few days.” 

You paled, the blood in your face draining into the pit of your stomach. 

“Days?” you echoed. “What do you mean ‘days’??” 

The man began to gather up his first aid materials, pacing casually around the kitchen as he stowed them away. 

“I can’t very well let you leave,” he explained.  “Not in the state you’re in.” 

He crossed his arms and leaned back against one of the counters, meeting your eyes with a predatory gaze. 

“Besides,” he continued, “I can’t let you go, anyway. You know too much.” 

“No,” you retorted, glaring back defiantly. “You can’t just keep me here against my will. The only reason I came here is because my neighbor and his friend saw you, anyway. You chased them through the woods and tried to kill them! What about them?” 

“Your neighbor is a child,” the man countered. “No one will believe the ramblings of a child.” 

“They won’t believe me, either,” you spat. “Monsters like you aren’t supposed to exist.” 

“No matter,” the man hissed. He narrowed his eyes at you, taking a few lurking steps forward. “I either keep you here, or I kill you. Which would you rather have?” 

You set your jaw, exhaling in defeat. You couldn’t run; not with stitches in your knee and a mind disoriented with a possible concussion. He was much bigger and stronger, anyway, and you had no doubt he was faster; he’d catch you before you could even find a way to escape. You were trapped. 

“Fine,” you conceded. “My neighbors will report me missing, though. You’ll have cops all over this place in a day or two.” 

The man smirked, one of his brows arching upward as if the idea of anything being a threat to him were humorous. 

“I’ll have an easier time keeping them out,” he assured you. “I never expected you to turn around break in. You, my dear, are an anomaly.” 

He stalked towards you, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and hoisting you over his shoulder. The world around you began to spin, and as you fisted the woolen fabric of his tunic, you felt bile rise to the back of your throat. 

“Watch it,” you quipped, your words coming out in a gasp due to your unease. “I might puke.” 

Ignoring your comment, the man carried you upstairs, back into the main hall and up the grand staircase, returning to upper story of the south wing. He brought you once more to the bedroom, taking you to the adjoining bathroom and setting you down beside a stone bath the size of a small pool. 

The entire room looked as though it was carved from a block of marble. The bathtub lay at its center, with a counter and sinks at one side and a row of tall windows overlooking the forest at the other. A cavelike shower was set into the wall at your left, shelves of linens chiseled into the wall at your right. Though the floor was stone, it felt warm under your feet; you curled your toes to make the most of the heat as the bath began to fill with steaming, perfumed water. 

Your host disappeared, returning a moment later with a stack of clothes. He set them down on the bathtub step beside you, adding a towel from the linen shelf to the top of the neatly folded pile. 

“I suppose you’ll feel a bit better about this mess if you wash some of the dirt off you,” he said. “I’ll dispose of your ruined clothing in the morning.” 

You nodded, muting your expression so as not to appear too thankful for his hospitality. If you were going to be a captive, you supposed, it might as well be with someone amiable, but you still refused to go quietly.

The man left you, giving you time to soak in the massive tub and rinse off the grime you’d acquired during your misadventure. You used the time to try and come to terms with your situation, dancing somewhere between accepting it as reality and insisting your mind was playing tricks on you. You’d never hallucinated before, but if that’s what all this was, it was more vivid than you would have considered; the water enveloping you was tepid and appeasing, every touch and scent and sound as real as if you were awake and sane. You closed your eyes and pinched yourself a few times, testing to see if it would actually help to rouse you. Each time you opened them again, you found no change. 

After you were clean and dry, you slipped into the new clothes your host had provided you - a big, baggy sweater and a pair of old sweatpants, both in faded and rather ugly shades of dark green. They were supple and warm against your skin, however; so much so that you forgot for a moment that you had essentially just been kidnapped. You slumped back out into the bedroom, exhaustion weighing heavily on your shoulders. 

In the space before the fireplace, the man had laid an array of cushions, furs, and blankets in a pattern that formed a sort of makeshift bed on the floor. He looked up when he heard your shuffling footsteps, gesturing to his handiwork as you entered. 

“This should be plenty comfortable for the evening,” he said. 

“I don’t get my own room?” you asked. 

The man set his brow at you, his crimson eyes flickering with frustration. 

“No,” he quipped. “You already broke one window to get in, I don’t trust you not to break another to get out. Come now, you need your rest.” 

You yawned, crawling onto the thrown-together mattress not nearly as reluctantly as you should have. Your eyelids were heavy, your body sore and weak, and although your head still swam with curiosities, sleep was the most pressing matter on your current agenda. As you lay down, the man draped one of the blankets over you, sealing you under a shield of warmth. He then settled himself into one of the living chairs beside the fireplace, occupying himself with a book while he waited for you to fall asleep. 

“Can I ask you something?” you grumbled after a few moments of silence, your mind still working behind the haze of fatigue. 

“You can, but you may not get an answer,” the man drawled, not looking up from his reading. “I already feel you know too much about me for my liking.” 

“How do you keep yourself hidden?” you wondered, ignoring his remark. “And how long have you been here? This place has looked abandoned for as long as anyone I know can remember…” 

The man sighed, shutting his book as he debated his answer. By the time he spoke, you’d come to accept that you weren’t getting an answer at all. 

“I have… certain abilities,” he told you. “ ‘Magic’ is what your kind would call it. I came here many years ago, when I was exiled from my own home, and use my abilities to keep people like you away. If anyone gets too close, I scare them off. Obviously, such tactics don’t work as well as I’d like them to.” 

You smiled, amused by the irk in his voice. 

“Hey, this sucks for me, too,” you replied. “Since you’re holding me hostage, can I at least get your name?” 

Again you were met with silence. It was a full few minutes before the man responded. 

“Loki,” he mumbled. “My name is Loki.” 

You hummed, nestling deeper into the blankets. His name sounded familiar, but the thought evaporated in your tired mind as soon as it appeared.

“Thank you for not killing me, Loki,” you said. 

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound settling in your chest and fluttering like a moth on a lightbulb. 

“You’re quite welcome,” he replied. “Now sleep. Your words are beginning to slur.”

A gentle grin flickered across your face, and your lips retained their curl as you slipped under the surface of a heavy and restful slumber. 

You awoke the next morning to a gentle breeze and the cawing of crows. Cold air ruffled a few strands of hair across your nose, where sunlight from your bedroom window warmed your skin. You grumbled incoherently as you rolled over in the sheets, pulling your comforter over your head to block out the chill and morning light. 

Just a few more minutes, you thought to yourself. A few minutes, then coffee...

As the lulling arms of slumber wrapped themselves around you once more, your mind wandered back to the dream you had last night, about the abandoned house at the end of your street and the man who lived within it. You were thankful to be in your own bed; uninjured, free to come and go as you pleased without having to hold anyone else’s secrets.

A sudden, dizzying pain in the back of your head jolted you out of sleep-induced bliss. You grimaced, reaching up into your hair to find the source of the sting; your eyes shot open when you felt a bump protruding from your skull. 

It suddenly became clear to you that you weren’t at home. You were lying on the floor of a spacious bedroom, curled up beneath a mound of furs and blankets and nestled atop a pile of soft cushions. You rose one of your hands to your face, feeling sick to your stomach as the bloody bandages twined around your palm stared back at you in the light pouring from the large windows beside your makeshift mattress. 

“Ah, you’re finally awake,” a voice nearby drawled. “I’d begun to think you’d died during the night.” 

You shot upward, sending the room around you into a vicious spin. Hands flying to your temples, you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the vertigo and nausea away as the bile in your stomach threatened to spew from your throat. Once you regained your sense of equilibrium, you eased your eyes open, your entire body freezing at the sight of the man who stood before you. 

Gone was the monster you’d encountered the night before; in his place was an even greater evil, one you feared far more than any mythical beast. 

The man above you was towering, his piercing green eyes shining the color of acid. His black hair was pulled away from his face, his lean arms folded over a broad chest that bore a faded t-shirt and loose-fitting hoodie. You remembered the name the beast gave you the night before, realizing with disgust why it had sounded so familiar. Though he was dressed much more casually than he was known for, his sharp features were unmistakable. 

The man before you was Loki of Asgard, the infamous murderer with a lust for human blood. He grinned at you, a malicious flicker glistening in his hungry eyes. 

Panicked, your eyes fell back to your hands. 

Heavy, gold shackles had been bound to your wrists. You threw the blankets from your legs, breath shallow and chest heaving, only to find a matching pair of chains strapped to your ankles. Your fingers clawed at your neck, where a thick collar was fastened at your throat, so tight it threatened to draw blood with each movement you made. 

Loki chuckled as he watched you struggle in your bindings, stooping over you and taking the chain at your neck in one of this large, powerful hands. He forcefully pulled you to your feet, bringing you face-to-face with his wicked, mirthful smile. His finger ran down your cheek as he fixed you with a gaze that suggested salacity and death. He was going to eat you alive. 

Last night hadn’t been a dream at all. It was a nightmare that to your horror, had come true; you were the prisoner of a deranged, otherworldly psychopath.

“Welcome home, pet,” Loki growled. “We’re going to have such terrible fun together.” 

[misssophiachase]

For the klaroline song dabbles could you do Taylor Swift 'I Forgot That You Existed' I just picture them both getting over their past traumas just by being together

Thanks nonnie! Great idea. I love this song (and the rest of the album). Hope you like where it went, blame the fact I just watched Blue Crush again.

He’s chasing his wayward brother across the globe to take his mind off things and she’s trying to keep a low profile after a messy break-up until their paths unexpectedly cross.

I Forgot That You Existed

Oahu, HI 

I forgot that you existed

No, she really did forget. The only thing she did remember was when it happened. 

It was Sunday July 26th at 1:33pm. A stunning 93 degrees on the North Shore according to the weather report, the sound of waves from nearby Waimea Bay her backing soundtrack and a delicious serving of fish tacos courtesy of the guy seated across the table.

The guy that looked completely out of place in his designer threads at a food truck who seemed to be studying the meal in front of him carefully.

“It’s a taco, you eat it with your hands no cutlery necessary,” she instructed, picking it up and taking a sizeable bite. “See?” 

“And here I thought it was a projectile I could throw at my wayward younger brother,” he muttered sarcastically. “And I do know what a taco is Ms Forbes.”

“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a first if you did throw it at him,” she offered, looking over to said brother who was attempting to charm a few local beachgoers and wolfing down his own tacos without caring much about spillage. 

Caroline wasn’t quite sure what to think about her current predicament, she’d woken early to surf then headed to Waimea for her usual lessons.

What she wasn’t expecting was a twenty-something, English tourist, albeit cute, dressed in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt. He’d called her darling about twenty times before she’d even taught him how to stand up beachside on his board. 

Once she eased him into the water (probably against her better judgment), he decided no more training was required and proceeded to anger neighboring surfers (either by heckling, cutting them off or trying to chat them up) and broken her board in half during a particularly bad break. 

It was only when they returned to the beach and happened upon another equally out of place observer. Unlike her Hawaiian shirt-wearing student, this guy was practically glowing in the sunlight. Dirty, blonde curls, crimson lips, and dimples which were so distracting Caroline didn’t even notice just how much his jeans, loafers and button-down shirt were screaming preppy chic in the completely wrong setting. 

He removed his aviators, those blue eyes taking their time to not only inspect her companion but her also. Caroline almost felt self-conscious the way those intense orbs were traveling the expanse of her bikini-clad body. She shivered inwardly annoyed that some cocky stranger had that effect.

“Who tipped you off this time, Niklaus?” Her troublemaker to the left whined. Obviously, they knew each other but in other news his name was Niklaus? Caroline wasn’t quite sure how to process this information.

“Lucy.”

“Seriously? The maid ratted me out?” 

“I think she was more disturbed by your request for Hawaiian shirts, Kol,” he murmured, his eyebrows rising briefly in judgment.

“I was trying to blend in so as to avoid detection.”

“As much as you like to think you’re stealth, well you’re not.”

“Is that according to the older brother or detective in you?”

“Both,” he shrugged. Caroline meanwhile was watching this whole scene unfold with great interest. She’d been teaching surfing for about six months now but never experienced anything like this. “You need to come home, Kol.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” He growled. “What if I’ve found the love of my life here in Hawaii.” Before she knew it, he’d placed his arm across her back and pulled Caroline closer.

“The love of your life? Well, then I’d really love to know the name of the amazing woman who’s tamed my little brother.”

“I’ve done no such thing,” Caroline blurted out, feeling completely lost. The fact this idiot broke her board was one thing but then he’d brought her into his story which wasn’t on. “He’s not my type at all.”

“Hey, I’m everyone’s type.”

“Wow,” Caroline whistled. “I really hope you don’t use that line when trying to pick up women.”

“Too late,” the cute looking guy murmured, a slight smile tugging at those crimson lips.

“You are such a wet blanket, Niklaus, always trying to ruin any semblance of fun. Don’t forget that if you hadn’t bloody well abdicated the throne I’d be able to travel the world without a babysitter and have fun with whomever I like,” he pouted, his brown eyes wandering back to Caroline.

Abdicated a throne? Were these two royalty or had she entered the twilight zone?

“Oh come on, buddy,” she huffed. “Still not in the slightest bit interested.” Caroline couldn’t miss the stray dimple his brother flashed in response. “I’m not here for whatever weird family drama this is, I have to go and source another board since his royal pain in the ass broke mine.”

“Now that is a catchy nickname,” Niklaus smirked. “But please let me buy you another, it’s the least I can do.”

“I’ll sort it out,” she mumbled, slightly overwhelmed under his gaze. “However, I am starving so if you want to buy a girl some lunch I might be able to forgive the debt.”

“Yes! Let’s get some lunch,” Kol agreed. “Great idea, darling.”

“I’ll promise I’ll make him sit at another table,” his brother promised. 

And I thought that it would kill me, but it didn't

“So, Niklaus, what’s that all about?”

“What’s that about? It’s my name last time I checked.”

“Well, Niklaus seems like someone who’ll show up to the beach fully clothed on a hot day, visibly annoyed even with the gorgeous scenery and look down unfavourably upon perfectly good tacos. But then there’s this whole other person that has flown across the globe to rescue his younger brother for whatever reason, not just from a hideous Hawaiian shirt, and even settle his debts with buying a girl some lunch.”

“Well, if I’m honest that person is actually named Klaus,” he smiled knowingly. “Unfortunately, my family is yet to fully accept him because they can’t seem to shorten my name like I’ve insisted upon for years.”

“We do it to annoy you,” Kol offered. Even from his place a few tables over he still had exceptional hearing to interrupt.

“Story of my life,” he shrugged. “And I’m not one to let false statements stand Ms Forbes, I happen to love tacos.” With that he picked it up and took a bite, Caroline trying to ignore just how good he looked doing it.    

“I’m pretty sure Klaus would call me Caroline; you know just saying.”

“So, what exactly are you doing here, Caroline?” He grinned as he said it and she was trying to focus given how good it sounded rolling off his tongue. “Well, besides having to put up with my brother?”

“I’m a surf instructor,” she murmured, feeling her answer was woefully inept given his response but not wanting to elaborate further. 

“That I got,” he nodded. “So, are you from these parts originally?”

“I think your charge has done a runner,” she gestured to the back of his Hawaiian shirt billowing in the breeze, glad to have a much needed distraction. 

“Bloody hell,” he growled. “I’m too old for this.”

“He’s headed towards the camping ground, I have a friend who works there and can keep him occupied,” Caroline explained, pulling out her phone and texting, deciding that Katherine would be the perfect choice. The perfect amount of luring him in with her feminine wiles and then scaring the hell out of him. 

“I really should go myself,” he said, standing up and stretching, Caroline not missing the brief flash of skin between his jeans and shirt. “But thank you for everything, Caroline.”

“You’re welcome,” she mumbled, wishing for some reason it didn’t end here. She’d spent the last six months not seeking attention but for some reason Klaus had made her crave it again.

Her phone beeped signalling a new text message from Katherine. It was a picture of a happily looking Kol surrounded by multiple bikini-clad campers. “Pretty sure he’s settling in for the night.” 

“As I understand it your brother is happily occupied,” she shared the picture noting Klaus’ disapproval followed by something resembling relief. “The camp site has a bonfire at sunset, you could collect him then.”

“Is that where you Americans decide crackers, marshmallow and chocolate make a good snack?”

“You are not dissing s’mores,” she objected. “You can’t judge until you try one.”

“But what do we do until then?” He asked, his lips curving into a smile. 

“We could surf?”

“Well, I’m not sure...”

“Afraid?”

“Oh you did not just do that,” he growled, he was pretending to be angry but she could sense his excitement. “And what am I supposed to wear?”

“I’ll help you out,” she offered, cocking her left eyebrow and trying not to imagine just how good his physique would look in much less clothing. “Just don’t break my spare board or I will sue.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he saluted teasingly. 

And it was so nice

What Caroline wasn’t expecting was for him to be so natural on a board and in the water, a far cry from his brother’s efforts. They laughed, mainly when he fell without notice and she refused to relinquish her board to save him. She told him tough love was much better if he had to fight off a killer wave or shark without assistance.

It was about 5pm, they’d been riding waves for a few hours their limbs sore and sunset was edging that bit closer. Klaus and Caroline lay on their respective boards in the water. The big waves had long disapated and it was now just a gentle nudge. 

“I’m jealous,” he murmured, his hands running through the water lazily. 

“Of what exactly?” 

“That this is your home, you get to watch this brilliant sunset every day.” Caroline knew that wasn’t altogether true and for some reason felt more relaxed than usual. 

“It’s not my home originally,” she admitted quietly. “I ran away a year ago from my past because my ex wasn’t the most loving or respectful of people. I guess I kind of feel like a fraud pretending I belong here.”

“If it helps, so do I most days. My parents are disappointed in my life choices and my girlfriend cheated on me because I wanted to be someone else with much less money.”

“So, they were all upset you abdicated the throne in Genovia?”

“Geography wasn’t my forte at school I’ll admit but pretty sure you just made up a country, love.”

“Obviously you’ve never seen The Princess Diaries,” she opined, not missing his confusion. “Please tell me Kol isn’t actually taking over a real country because I’m worried for its citizens wellbeing.” 

“Thankfully, no. My father owns British Airways which we do liken to another country,” he explained. “I never cared for the family business even with all the trappings. I’d worked hard at the police academy and wanted to work my way up through the ranks without family assistance.”

“And it didn’t go down so well?”

“My father practically disowned me and appointed Kol CEO-in-waiting which totally threw him over the edge into Hawaiian shirt land. I don’t regret my decision but feel so guilty that I’ve scared Kol into a role he’s not ready for yet.”

“Hence your unexpected appearance on my beach,” she uttered. “I’m pretty sure he appreciates your effort.”

“Because he’s been so happy to see me.”

“I think it just might take a little more time, let him just relax for a while,” she suggested. “How about we head over to the campsite and I show you just how good s’mores can be?”

“I’ll entertain your theory for my brother’s sake,” he shot back. “But I have to admit it’s extremely difficult to leave the water.”

“I know what you mean, it’s....” 

So peaceful and quiet

[boltofnightshade]

TA:D Ch.2  T is for Trauma

"Alexandria, honey wake up. We need to talk," Mom’s gentle shaking  woke me up. 

I blink a few times looking up at her. My arms and chest are still covered with bandages. I sit up, gratefully taking the water offered. 

"What's up mom? Is everything alright? It's not Danny, is it?" I panic slightly. 

"No, no. Danny's going to be fine he's going to be released soon. We, as in your father and I have something to discuss with you." Mom states motioning Dad over. 

Raising an eyebrow, I agree that we need to talk with a nod. 

"Alexandria, you know we love you right?" Dad starts off. 

"Of course.”

"Well you see the thing is...your mother and I thought you might be better off with a relative for the time being." Dad blurts out.

"What?!?" I snarl. 

"Alexandria! Please, we just want what's best for you and we believe that it'll be best for you to live with someone else for awhile," Maddie speaks in even tones, looking in my direction but not at me in concern. 

"Why? Not happening by the way. And what about Danny? We've never been separated before. Why now?" I demand. 

"Alexandria, Lexy, we have your best interests at heart. Danny and Jazz for that matter would both be staying with us while you go on to your great uncle Alphard." Jack responds. 

"My what? And did you ever consider that I don't want to go?"

"Lexy, Uncle Alphard is on my side of the family I know you've never met him. But honestly it's for the best." Jack comments softly. 

"Don't call me Lexy! I don't want to go. I want to stay here with Danny," I mutter. 

"You don't have a choice, Alexandria! Alphard will be picking you up in a few days," Maddie states. 

"It's been days since I've woken up the first time. Why is it you've only looked at me a few times directly? What's wrong why are you forcing me into this?" I question rapidly. 

"We love you Alexandria, this really is for the best," Maddie says as she gets up. 

"How long?" 

"What?" Came the double reply from my parents. 

"How long am I to stay with this Alphard?" 

Maddie and Jack say nothing just glance at each other guiltily. They both wave a quick goodbye before leaving. 

'How could they!?!? They're just abandoning me. Why, what did I do?’ These thoughts went cycled through my mind bringing grief and unshed tears each time. 

As my mind kept spiraling down into wretched thoughts of my parents, a nurse walked in. He had honey brown hair, his glasses glinted in the artificial lighting hiding amber colored eyes. 

"Your sister is ready to go home, unfortunately dear, we have to keep you for another day," the nurse simpers. 

"I believe you meant my brother, as Danny is a boy," I glare at him for misgendering my twin. 

"Yes, well either way we need to keep you an extra day. Stand up and we can get those nasty bandages off of you." 

I stand, waiting patiently for the nurse to unwrap the bandages, he's surprisingly gentle about it. 

"Just give me a moment to dispose of these and you can go look in the mirror," the nurse says. 

Rolling my eyes I go into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror I see severe scarring of sorts.

 *Examining it closer, I could see multiple lines creeping and crawling up my skin. Starting from my hands and going up my shoulders and across my chest I pull the gown away and see it stop above where my heart would be. There's a strange bloom there, it looks similar to the two blooms on my palms. The lines swirl and open with starbursts of what looked like lightning or perhaps the branches of a tree in winter. It was raw, angrily red but got progressively darker up my arms and appearing black on my heart.* 

'How odd. Why am I marked like this? Is it a result of the accident? Is this why my parents refuse to look at me? Over a bunch of.....scars? I guess. How dare they! This is their fault! They've always cared more for that thrice damned portal than they did us!' 

'Cowards, my parents were utter cowards.'

I sneer at the pile of clothes my parents left me. Apparently they’d been here last night, and they couldn't even face me or say goodbye. 

"And they call themselves ghost hunters," I scoff to myself. 

I gather the clothing and take them into the bathroom. I start the shower up, waiting for the steam to rise before getting in. I wash quickly, wanting this to be over with as soon as possible. I get out and dry off. 

I put on a black tee with the words Fuck Off on it in rainbow colors, a grey plaid flannel goes over it left open. I tug on a pair of dark grey skinny jeans and a pair of socks. Next, I lace up a black pair of doc martens. I found a pair of soft gloves in the pocket of my jeans and pull those out as well. 

I glance into the mirror to try and fix my hair. I part it the way I like and leave it down as I don't have anything to tie it back with. With my hair air drying it would get soft waves in it. Tucking a stray piece behind my ear, I turn away and carefully pull the gloves on. 

I go back inside the hospital room and sit in one of the visitors chair, waiting until I was released.

 ‘How am I to uphold my oath? I won’t be able to protect Danny from them anymore. We’ve always been together; we're close. Too close, according to Jazz, but she doesn’t know. She wouldn't understand why we’re like this. Jazz has hinted that I see Danny as more than my twin. It’s not true. All we’ve got is an intense bond due to certain ah, circumstances. Circumstances and secrets we keep hidden from the rest of the family for our own safety, and theirs. Family is everything, at least that’s what dad always claimed.’ 

 I shake my head to distract myself from my thoughts. What really gets to me is that Maddie and Jack aren't going to say goodbye. They most certainly won't let Danny or Jazz say goodbye either, I’m sure.

"Ahem, you must be Alexandria. I'm Alphard Fenton," a voice with a slight rasp greets. 

I stand up immediately and face the door. A man much older and taller than me stands in the doorway. Most of his hair is white, though there is a black strip of color going down the middle. It’s been pulled back away from his face, tied with a leather cord. His left eye is blue, his right brown. Two scars pass over his right eye half hidden by a monocle.  He has a neatly trimmed white goatee as well. He wore a three piece suit, and black oxfords. He was definitely a Fenton. The same unsettling vibes I got from my parents I also receive from him. 

"It's Alex, Uncle." I stated.  

"Is that so?" Alphard murmurs. 

I glare, still pissed and hurt over them. I walked over to my uncle and wait by his side. 

"Do you have everything? Yes? Let's not dawdle then," Alphard articulates. 

I follow slightly behind him as he walks out of the room. He lopes through the hospital with casual grace. I jam my hands in my pockets letting out a hiss at the pain of doing so. Alphard stops outside looking at me quizzically. I look up at with impatience, I just want to get out of here since I wasn't allowed to say goodbye. He opens the door to an old Rolls Royce. I slide in and close the door waiting for him to walk around and get in. I buckle in as he starts the car. 

"Hopefully we will get to know one another splendidly. I took the liberty of stopping by your parents’ place to get a few of your things. However, as it most likely won't be enough you will also have to go shopping for more at a later date.” His businesslike tone softens, “I am terribly sorry about this whole thing, Alexandria.” 

"Thanks, I'm fine though. How come I haven't heard of you before?" 

"Jack didn't say anything? Hmm, I do suppose that is our way but I thought with the...... What do you know? Not enough clearly. I still can't believe he never explained.... No matter, after we get to my home, I will have to explain in full," Uncle verbalizes. 

I hum in response. Watching Amity fly by, I wonder if I'd ever come back. If I'd ever be able to see Danny again. 

Hours go by in silence. I haven't been paying attention and I have no idea where I am. 

"Uncle, where are we?"

"We're almost there, my dear, fret not. You will be safe here." 

It went unspoken between the both of us but I knew if Uncle Alphard was anything like Dad that I wouldn’t be as safe as he wanted me to believe. 

[every-last-inch-of-me]

Waterloo Sunset || Marginally Catholic

[Backdated: Late August, shortly after the HP AU.]

Gaston drags Claude on a day trip into the capital, where Claude admits his intentions of leaving the church and Gaston makes a discovery.

TW: light mentions of abuse, death and trauma

@hellfire-damnation

GASTON: 

Gaston had been up, for once, in what normal people could consider 'the morning'. The birds had been singing, the sky a bright blue and the breeze cool, wafting through his window and tickling his sleeping body awake. It felt like summer, for real this time and, since the bar's shifts were covered all day, he was desperate not to waste it.

He'd thrown on his clothes and made his way across the road to the church, where the priest was just finishing up his morning service. For a second, he waited by the doors, just to be certain that it was closer to the end of the service than the start (though really he had no idea) and threw the doors open with a resounding CRASH.

"Ok, everybody! Up and out! Church today is cancelled!" He called, as he strutted down the main aisle, before raising an eyebrow at the old lady who hadn't got out of her seat yet. "That means you too, Petunia."

"My name's-"

"Less talking more walking. We," he threw the priest a jacket and shirt he'd found spare at his house, "have places to be. Chop chop. Haven't got all day. We have trains to catch."

CLAUDE: 

Of all the things he expected to come through his door this morning, a loud and insistent Gaston LeCarriere was not one of them. Specifically, one that was up this early. Not that Gaston lazed about, really, but not many people were up with the sun like Claude was. 

A hazard of the position, he supposed, among other things. 

Regardless, the man's brow furrowed as he watched Gaston come up the main aisleway, weaving between the elderly patrons of the church easily as they shuffled about. The last one out, as usual, was Edith. 

Shaking his head at the other man's antics, not commenting because he was used to them by this point, Claude caught the clothing that was tossed to him with one hand as he moved around to help the older woman up onto her feet. Thanking him, she gave his arm a pat and he smiled, bright and warm, as he watched her walk out into the church courtyard. 

Once she was out of the building, Claude heaved a sigh and began undoing the buttons of his priest's habit. "Is this even mine," he questioned, arching a brow at the white t-shirt in his hand. "And what are you on about? Trains? Where are we going?" As he spoke he moved around the room, hurriedly putting everything away, hands untucking the collar at his throat and removing the rest of the clothing of his office like it was second nature. It probably was, but that still didn't explain why he was doing it. Other than the fact that Gaston had said they were going somewhere, somewhere that obviously did not require his being dressed as a priest. 

GASTON:

Gaston could feel his toes buzzing as he watched the priest helped the slowest old woman in the world onto her feet and watched her leave. He'd never been very patient. By that point, if the pressure in his legs that was stopping him from picking her up and throwing her straight out of the door could be used, he'd either be knee deep in the stone or levitating.

He shrugged at the first question and let out a quick, "You tell me." After the first time Claude had stayed, bloody and beaten, there had been a silent exchange of clothes. The priest had liked a jumper, so he kept the jumper out when the man came by in the evenings. A t-shirt fitted, so if it came too late to cross the street, the shirt became his. And in turn, there were bits of the priest's clothes in his basket waiting to be washed. Of course, they were technically Gaston's, in that he'd bought them. But he was fairly certain he was the less frequent occupant.

The one in Claude's hand wasn't particularly distinguishable, but it had looked small when he'd picked it up and that was good enough for him.

"And we're going out," Gaston said, crossing his arms and tapping his finger into his arm. "Hurry up or we'll be late."

CLAUDE: 

As soon as he had returned from helping Edith out the door and had his collar and habit off, Claude was slipping the shirt over his head and the leather jacket he kept at Gaston's across his shoulders. After the first night he had stayed in the other man's flat, clothing had sporadically appeared, intermingling with what was already there. He still even had one of Gaston's jumpers somewhere in the wash, though he could hardly tell you which one. 

Likewise, he had some of the man's own clothing scattered around. A jumper that was a bit bigger in the shoulders, jeans that were longer at the inseam. It had become almost habit these days to accidentally find himself tossing on a shirt and realizing it wasn't his. 

And he could not have really told you when it started happening, just that it had. 

Out? Well, that was certainly news to Claude. Still, he did nothing more than raise an eyebrow and gave a small nod, bemused at the run around he was being given. The priest didn't really have to worry, to be honest. If it was anything overly important, the other man would have told him. No, this was something he wanted to do, and Claude was being brought along with him. 

He ushered the other man out of the building with a hand between his shoulders, turning and locking the doors up once they were outside, before turning and folding his arms across his chest. "Care to tell me where it is that we are going, or is it another of your surprises?" The last time that had happened he'd been blindfolded and led into a cellar. 

GASTON:

Gaston shoved his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath, thankful they were moving before his impatience succeeded in vibrating him through the floor. It was also a relief to see that the clothes he'd picked up actually looked quite nice, in a Claude-y kind of way. The priest had a way of pulling things off that Gaston hadn't mastered. 

Of course, Gaston did look good in a lot of things because he was musclebound and had the face of a God. But there was a balance when it came to a lot of clothes, in being the right shape and size to not make him look like a) he'd dressed in a sausage skin; or b) he was about twenty-five stone, and not in the good way. It seemed the priest avoided that dilemma by merit of being perfectly slender. 

He waited until the door clicked and shrugged. "This time I'm actually selling you into slavery. Don't want to keep the human traffickers waiting," he teased, resting an arm on Claude's shoulder as he finished locking the door. "You'll be blessing black market holy water."

CLAUDE: 

Rolling his eyes at the non-answer, Claude recognized he would probably not be getting anything out of the other man anytime soon. Still, the off-color quip made him shake his head, fighting the curl of a smile as it edged at the corners of his mouth. He snorted instead. The words 'not for much longer' were on the tip of his tongue, so close he just wanted to say them. But, he knew if he did, if he said it and then was denied, somehow, he was dashing his hopes as surely as he had gotten them up. 

"They would give me back. I am a particular brand. Not many people can afford me nor do they know how to handle me," he teased, moving away from the door and speaking over his shoulder as he took the steps two at a time. He did not have to check to know Gaston was following behind him, excess energy and all. 

Whatever it was they were doing, the other man was positively brimming over with it. Stopping once he was at the end of the drive, the priest inclined his head towards his car, gave the keys in his hand a shake. "Are we walking to the station or shall I drive?" 

GASTON:

Gaston turned his head and let out a quiet laugh. "Can't afford you or handle you? What're you? An inspirational facebook post for fourteen year olds who've just broken up with their boyfriend?" He teased, prodding him in the ribs and hoping by this point the bruise was far enough healed that it didn't hurt too much.

For a moment, he stared at the priest and then his car. He'd forgotten he had a car. He'd forgotten he could drive even. Swynlake was the sort of town that there wasn't all that much need for it. Gaston had long gotten used to walking and, as a teenager, it had definitely saved him money. And, probably, brushes with the police.

"But nah, why the fuck would I choose to get robbed by the station car parking machine. If we don't drive, I've got more cash for drinks."

CLAUDE: 

Claude chose not to reply to the ribbing. Instead, he just smiled, still flicking his keys in his hand while he waited for the other man to reply. He had only been joking but there was also a part of him, a very small part, that knew it was the truth. 

With his past, with his idiosyncrasies and the way he was, very few people could tolerate him. Or, at the very least, that was always what Claude had believed. So, yes, he was grateful to the man, even if he was being an ass about it. 

"You forgot I can drive didn't you," he quipped, smile widening to show his teeth as he laughed. Then, Claude pocketed his keys and shook out his shoulders, angling alongside the man to match his gait. He didn't mind a walk, not really, and if they were going to be drinking...wherever it was that they were going, well, Claude would leave his car anyhow. 

GASTON:

The walk to the station wasn't long, though a little sticky in the swelling heat of the rising sun. He'd almost wished they'd driven by the time they'd made it. He was overheated, of course, brow dripping with sweat as he settled under the closest seat to the aircon and directed air into his shirt under the amused (or perhaps disgusted) gaze of the priest, while the landscape slid past in swells and dins of roaming hills and sneaking urbanisation - until the first tower blocks of the city sprung from the ground.

The last time he'd been to London was when his parents had died. The French, forever bureaucratic, had struggled with a detail in a translated document that, after weeks of fighting by post, had miraculously disappeared from their possession. In the end, he'd decided to go to the embassy so he could fight them face to face. 

He stepped from the station, breathing in the city air and smiled. He loved it up here. Though they'd struggled through crowds just to get to the street, there was a errectic peace to the world. It was an absolute state, between the people and the cars and the way the concrete made the heat throb, but the city seemed quite content in itself. It was the sort of thing he wished he could bottle and take with him wherever he went.

"Cool, isn't it?" He smiled, meeting the priest's gaze for a moment before glancing off down a nearby road. "I think if you head that way it's only a couple of minutes to the waterfront."

CLAUDE: 

During the walk to the station, Claude had time to mull over where exactly it was they were headed. To him, there did not seem to be a countless number of options though he knew the system could take them most places across England. It was not something he often thought about, in truth, because he had been so used to driving in France. The town he and Laurent had resided in was small, barely more than what could be considered a hamlet, and he'd had to drive into the city often. 

Once university had begun, it was a similar experience, though the loosening of his leash had only lasted so long. 

He had not, however, expected Gaston to be taking him into London. Following the other man a bit speechless at all the activity. He had not been into London since helping Quasimodo, and that was nearly a year, perhaps two, ago. Even then he had not stayed long. And what Gaston seemed to be suggesting that they stay the day, perhaps see the sights. 

Claude nodded, eyes taking in everything around him, speechless for the first time in a while. There was so much to see and, when he turned to the man beside him, a grin stretched from ear to ear across his face. He nodded his head, glancing down the street, before giving a bit of a shrug. 

"I've no idea where I am going. I have been here only a handful of times. So, please, lead the way." 

GASTON:

Gaston stepped ahead of him, beckoning him forward with a hand as his head stuck a little into the road so he could see if there was anything he recognised. Frankly, he had no idea where he was going either. But he was well seasoned in the art of winging it and at worst he could subtly look at the maps on his phone when the priest wasn't looking - like a true man, he'd never admit he was lost.

"So, what d'you wanna see?" He said before he threw himself across a line of moving traffic before the lights had completely changed, spotting a gap in the cityscape and hoping it meant the Thames was nearby. It was almost fortunate he hadn't grown up in a big city, or at least anywhere his parents could have seen him doing self-destructive everyday acts. After all, it wouldn't have taken werewolves to kill them. His mother certainly would have died of a heart attack first. "I think the London Eye's this way. Probably some street performers," he flicked a glance over his shoulder and offered a faint smile in the priest's direction, "get an honourary Mr Whippy. With a flake, obviously."

CLAUDE: 

Claude gave a shrug of his shoulders as he stepped up closer to the younger man, glancing down the street just as Gaston was. "Perhaps the waterfront, then? I do not particularly know where anything is, here. It has been longer than a year. And when I was here it was not for sightseeing." 

While he'd been talking, Gaston darted out into the street, apparently intent on getting himself hit by a bus. The Frenchman protested loudly, giving the drivers that had been heading down the roadway an apologetic look. After a moment, Claude caught up to him. His brow was screwed up in a bit of a scowl and he shook his head. Still, he couldn't help the little smile that curled around his mouth. 

"The London Eye sounds perfect. Just do not walk into anymore cars, please." 

GASTON:

Nor had he really been to London sight-seeing. But he spent so much time on his phone, staring at rose tinted interpretations of the city through another person's camera he felt as though he could guess it almost as well as knew Swynlake. Which was probably wrong. Though he planned on pretending right up until they got lost and found again.

Gaston frowned and raised a shoulder, with something of a smirk to his mouth with Claude's words. While the dream they'd shared had been a little traumatising, it had reminded him how much he'd enjoyed being young and a little cheeky. And though he wasn't making a conscious effort to try to get back to the days before - as much as he'd loved them - he found a joyful attitude bubbling back to the surface from time to time.

"Hey now, I didn't walk into any cars," he snatched his gaze away and smiled as he watched the outline of the Eye rise along the cityscape. "Just oncoming traffic. God, it's almost like you care about me."

CLAUDE: 

Following after Gaston felt almost like going into a den of lions, except he wasn't entirely afraid. It was nice to see a smile on the other's face, too. He had said it before and he would again, it was one of his favorite faces the other man pulled. And he liked when he laughed. It was something rare, fleeting and achingly personal, and it was nice. 

He'd told Gaston, as he vaguely remembered it, that he felt lucky to hear it. Claude would say it again because it was true. 

"Do not give me that look, LaCarriere. You know what you did." Still, he followed Gaston's gaze, drawn to whatever he was looking toward, though he kept an eye on the cars and the people around them. At the man's last quip, however, Claude shot him a puzzled look, brow scrunching together as he glanced at the side of his face.

"Why would I not?" It was quiet, and probably much heavier than he had meant it to be, but it was honest. There were many things he could think of not to care about, be it a person or a situation, but Gaston had never been one of them. Claude had cared about him, in whatever capacity he was able, from the moment they'd met. 

GASTON:

Gaston shrugged and let something of a smile twist his lips. "Bit gay," he smirked, ignoring the question. People didn't tend to admit they cared about him. It was part of the male experience, he thought. You didn't care and people didn't care right back at you. Granted, on occasion a girl would claim they did, but it was usually much too soon and frankly a little off-putting.

Claude, of course, was another thing entirely. A fresh entity he didn't quite understand. Because he did care and, Gaston had realised after long nights in each other's company, he cared back too, in his own way. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud. Or at least, not where anyone but Claude could hear him.

"Wanna grab an ice cream while I get the tickets?" He asked, glancing at the queue to the attraction that was beginning to loom over the cityscape. It was still quite early (for Gaston at least) and while the air hadn't quite warmed to its height, standing in the sun in a queue full of Chinese people wasn't exactly cooling. It was part of the reason he didn't spend much time aching to visit attractions. They were always too warm and he'd much rather be soaking up the sun in a beer garden with a pint in his hand and a packet of crisps.

CLAUDE:

The Frenchman huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Gaston's smile. He shrugged his own shoulders and, in the same motion, slid his jacket from them. Tugging at the collar of the shirt that was definitely not his, Claude quirked a brow at the other man, voice teasing for a moment before dropping into something like seriousness. "Whoever said I wasn't? Besides, it isn't hard. Everyone else is just stupid." 

That was showing a bit too much of a hand he didn't know he had been dealt, but Claude wasn't going to take the words back. He meant them in their entirety, even if Gaston was going to tease him about them. He did care. And, in his own way, Gaston did too. If he hadn't, they wouldn't be here. 

Nose wrinkling as he glanced at the long line in the sun, the dark-haired man nodded his head. He broke off from the man and made his way to the stand a few feet off, the vendor looking unpleasantly warm herself. But, she had a smile on her face and Claude returned it, small and warm, as he paid for the ice cream. The tip he put into the jar on his way off was met with an exclamation of surprised thanks and he chuckled quietly to himself as he accepted it. 

When he returned to the line, he held the ice cream out to the other man, licking at the rivulets of cream and sugar that had melted down the side of his fingers when it was pulled away. 

"Did they say how long the wait will be?" 

GASTON:

The barman threw a raised eyebrow over his shoulder as he began to move away, amusement tangling his lips. With a tone like that, he could never tell if the other man was being serious or messing with him. But frankly, by this point he no longer cared. After all, if a priest was going to vouch for him, he had nothing to worry about.

 "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were chatting me up," he called behind him, before dipping into the ticket office. Surprisingly, the queue for the machines wasn't as long as he'd been expecting. Perhaps that was because it was a weekday afternoon. Perhaps it was because everyone else had already bought them on their phones and was about ten steps ahead of him.

He wandered back to the priest, tickets in hand. He wasn't very good at waiting for things he wanted: always one for instant gratification. Even if it cost him in the long run and GOD this had already cost him. Probably because they were banking on impatient bastards like him being around. "Got us express tickets so as long as it takes for them to open the door on the pod I guess," he mused, glancing back up and taking the ice cream as he shoved the tickets in his back pocket.

CLAUDE: 

Smiling to himself at the quip from the other man, because really what did you say to that that wasn't incriminating?, the Frenchman waited patiently for Gaston to return, edging out of the way of other tourists. Craning his head back, his gaze was lost for a moment in the sheer enormity of the sky, the backdrop it made against the steel of the Eye. It was rather beautiful, if you thought about it in any particular way, and Claude was glad to have the sight. 

Fishing his phone from his pocket with the hand not sticky with melted ice cream, Claude scrolled until he found the camera, snapping a quick photo of the backdrop. He turned when he heard the other man coming closer and, seeing him standing there, felt his finger capture that moment, too. 

Stowing his phone without looking at either one, Claude handed the treat over, eyebrows arching up into his hairline at the comment. When he spoke, however, it was on a laugh as he shook his head. "Impatient. That is what you are. Stubborn and impatient. You did not need to buy them on your own, you know. I'd have split them but thank you, anyway." 

GASTON:

Gaston raised an eyebrow and took a bite out of his ice cream. It was a habit that his mother had always hated. She seemed convinced that she could feel the second hand pain in his teeth when he did it. But the action had rarely bothered him, especially with soft cones. 

"Split them?" He scoffed, finishing his mouthful. "What? With the 25p you have in your bank account?" He laughed at his own joke and stepped towards the entrance of the line marked Express, wondering if Claude would be offended by the thought of them taking their sticky ice cream hands into the pod. "Just shut up and enjoy yourself for once in your life. Or I'll go take these tickets to that bird over there and you can watch us from down here."

He wouldn't, of course. First off, giving women very expensive things for free set a precedent he wasn't willing to uphold. And really, he'd taken Claude out to show him what living felt like. He didn't plan on wasting the trip.

CLAUDE: 

Claude watched with skepticism as Gaston bit into the side of his ice cream, eyebrows arching. He felt the cold in his own teeth and it made him wonder just how the other man got away with such a thing. 

The comment was an old-born one, however, so all he did was roll his eyes and shove him with a shoulder. "I have a stipend, thank you. Just not a lot by the time heating and air and gas are paid for." The Frenchman shrugged a shoulder, more flippant than he normally was about it. The thought had settled more and more firmly into his mind that he would not be living like that for much longer. 

Then again, he still needed to find another place to live, too. 

"I am, actually. Despite being kidnapped again. It is...nice, being able to go out into the city." His eyes flickered to the mass of the Eye in front of them, a bit of longing in his gaze as he stared up into the sky. He missed the flying from the dream, had since he'd woken. It figured that one of the few ways he knew to obtain the feeling was to be perched on high again. 

He sighed through his nose, then, and shook his head, the curl to his lip not entirely hidden by the ice cream he was eating. "You would not. We're here to have fun, nounours." 

GASTON:

A wry smile twisted the younger man’s lips at the thought of kidnapping. He knew it was a joke, though he couldn’t quite stop himself from smirking at the thought of being to the church what Robin Hood was to the rich. If giving to the poor counted their own priests. Stealing misery and dishing out bundles of fun. Like a sexy Father Christmas. Though really, he was quite pleased to hear that his idea was somewhat appreciated, even if the execution was not.

 A hand came round and he wrestled the man’s head teasingly into his armpit. “I’m here to have fun. You’re just my sidekick. Accessory to fun. And if I choose to take Supergirl on the flight of her life there isn’t much you can do about it apart from buy your own ticket and third wheel the fuck out of it,” he said, dragging the other man into the walkway.

CLAUDE: 

Claude saw the smirk and knew it was meant to go along with his first comment yet the eyeroll and the fond shake of his head were almost second nature by now. There were many things people didn't understand about his position as a priest, one of which was his lack of money. The church was meant to provide for the people who worked for it but, even still, it was usually not enough. 

"And I make your life interesting. You would not know what to do without me," he said, humming a bit to himself. The Frenchman yelped when an arm dragged him close, pressing him into Gaston's side and caging his head beneath his arm. The hand not holding his ice cream clutched onto the side of his waist that was closest, deft fingers jabbing into his side. The man squirmed a bit beneath that arm, face turning against his bicep and nipping at the skin there to get him to loosen up, eyes bright as he laughed, quiet among the crowd. 

The walkway was crowded, though, and Claude watched the people around them with a critical eye. He pressed himself further into the other man's side because of that, grip tightening minutely against his side as they manoeuvred into the queue. 

GASTON:

The barman rubbed his free elbow into the other man's skull as he dragged him along, laughing and trying to resist the urge to flinch at the prods to his side and the teeth to his arms. Evidently, the rest of the occupants of their queue, considerably more mature and better dressed than they were, seemed to disapprove of the mass of arms and flailing ice cream. Though frankly, he'd paid an arm and a leg for the pleasure and if he wanted to cover a man in a suit with a 99 flake he was most certainly going to.

"How? By- Ow- By making everyone think of me as the loser that hangs out with the priest?" He smirked, giving the priest's head another hard jab before taking a bite of the ice cream still in his hand.

Honestly, though, he didn't care all that much about what people thought. Proximity to him elevated everyone to God status, he thought. If it had worked for Tubso back in school, it could work for Claude too. For starters, Claude was considerably better looking - even if it was disguised behind the veil of priesthood - and considerably less noticeable.

CLAUDE: 

He could feel people staring but Claude didn't rightly care. Not right now. For once, he was content to let people stare at him and not care what they saw. Gaston's arm was still wrapped around his head, though, and the Frenchman laughed louder as he pushed at his arm with a hand, teeth catching his arm again. 

"No one knows I am a priest here except you, nounours. And I am magnifique, thank you very much." Finally wrestling his head free, Claude made a victorious noise, much to the chagrin of the pair in front of them in line. Claude smiled widely back, for once not caring what anyone in the world thought. 

His excitement at the trip they were taking into the Eye was more noticeable the closer they came to the lift, eyes sparking with some contained joy he normally did not show, nearly bouncing as he walked. He tugged Gaston along beside him absentmindedly, watching the faces of the people around him.

GASTON:

Gaston followed the other man's lead, content to let him drag him about, so long as he wasn't complaining. Really, he was quite surprised by Claude's enthusiasm. Gaston had never really shown much interest in the London Eye on any of his previous visits as a teen or with family. They'd all preferred to drink and eat good food, and frankly there wasn't anything much worse that he could think of than being stuck in a bubble for forty five minutes as it very slowly did a tour of the London skyline.

Though, somehow that seemed marginally better than doing it all on foot. They could definitively say that Claude had seen the entirety of London and he could spend the rest of the afternoon drinking beer in the sun by the river.

"Calm down. You're like an African child seeing snow for the first time, it really isn't that interesting," he said, stepping up to the front of their queue as the other pair began to board and taking a memorabilia booklet from the server. Too fucking right for that sort of money, he thought, eyes quickly grazing the pages and paying little attention to what he assumed was a runthrough of the safety information.

CLAUDE: 

There was something to be said for the enthusiasm that radiated off of him, like a switch had been flipped or a light turned on. There was an explanation for it, of course, but it was hard to put into words. Still, Claude was offended by the comparison as much as he was with anything Gaston said. That is to say, he snorted and shook his head. It might be off-color but it was not technically wrong. 

Eventually, they wound their way closer to the front of the queue and waited patiently for the pair in front of them to board. Gaston was given a pamphlet and Claude tilted his head to the side to look at it, brow arching as they were held at the gate by the bored looking young man waiting there. 

The glass bubble lifted them away and then another came and they were ushered into it. Except no one else had followed, as Claude had expected there to be. Suspicious, Claude glanced at the tickets Gaston had purchased, laughing aloud when he saw the name on the top. 

In his hurry to purchase them, Gaston had gotten them express tickets on the Eye. 

"Well this is certainly nicer than I was expecting," Claude teased, grin never fully leaving his face as he settled onto one of the benches and drew his knees up, chin resting on them as he looked up at the other man. The silence stretched for a moment as they got situated, the calm of it washing over him in a way that it did not anywhere else. He spoke again as the bubble lifted into the air, eyes bright, and took in the city as it rose around them. 

"Merci, Gaston, really. The city is beautiful." 

GASTON:

Gaston snatched the tickets from the other man and narrowed his eyes as he scoured the surface for the answer as the dome continued on its slow rotation. He'd thought he'd been buying express tickets, fast track, whatever you called them. After all, he wasn't much one for waiting and at the time entering a five minute queue with all the snoots had seemed far more appealing than the one that wound half way along the river bank. 

Though, thinking back on it, the machine had served him a little pop up window with a picture of a peaceful looking couple, offering express entry and a relaxing experience and he'd clicked the enormous black yes, instead of the smaller paler 'no, thank you'. By the looks of things, that pop up had been the Premium Private experience. Or, as he thought of it, Daylight Robbery.

"Don't start thinking I'm always this charitable," he said, sitting down beside him and whacking him around the back of his head with his tickets before he reached towards the complimentary chocolates. Or… well… over them, to the child-sized bottles of champagne. But he could pretend that booze wasn't the first thing on his mind. He twisted the cork out with his teeth. "I was tricked."

CLAUDE: 

Snorting as Gaston cuffed him around the back of the head, he twisted fingers around the man's hand and tugged it away, laughing. "That is what you get. Impatient," he sing-songed, teasing Gaston with an arched brow. Settling further back into the seat, Claude tilted his head to the side and watched as more and more of the city came into sight. 

"Perhaps you should be tricked more often, then," he said, tugging the champagne bottle out of Gaston's hands with a roll of his eyes. Twisting his hand deftly, the rest of the cork came away with a pop. Handing it back to the other man, he reached over him and grabbed two glasses by the stem. He gestured with them, waiting until Gaston took one before leaning away. 

"Charity has nothing to do with this. But it is nice, all the same. I have always liked being up high, you know. Feels like nothing can get you here." 

GASTON:

Gaston shook his head with something of a smirk etched into his mouth as he took his glass and filled it, before topping up the other man's. This was always one thing he hated about booze that came with things - or food for that matter. It was always pitifully small and never enough to really get drunk on so frankly, what was the point? Though, in that breath, it was best forgotten that it took rather a lot to get the large man tipsy - something he attributed to his size, rather than his problem.

"Can't say I'm so much of a fan." Sure, flying had been fun in the dream. He'd loved it, truly. And some part of him hoped he'd find something he'd loved that much again. But when it came to being trapped in a floating glass bubble over a body of water, he was less certain. Not that he was scared, per se. Gaston didn't get scared. But his brain had chosen precisely the wrong moment to remind him that a runaway ferris wheel was just a windmill full of corpses.

"So," he rested his elbow on the other man's shoulder and touched their glasses. "Got anything to toast or are we giving this one to my extortionately large penis?"

CLAUDE: 

Head leaned back against the cushions of the bench he was on, Claude's hand curled loose around the stem of his glass, murmuring a thank you into the air when Gaston filled his glass. 

"No? Well...I suppose we all have different reasons. Mine...it was safer there than it ever was on the ground. Besides, you see many different things when you form a different perspective. It was fun, flying, in the dream. I suppose this is as close as I can get to that, hm?" 

Claude stood as he spoke, eyes watching the skyline through thick glass panes, shoulder leaned into the wall of it. There was something immensely relaxing about the sight of the city spread out beneath him, a bird's eye view to the entirety of London itself. As far as sightseeing went, this was by far one of his favorites. 

Tilting his head to the side to watch the other man from the corner of his eye, the Frenchman laughed, the sound reverberating off the walls of their little bubble in the sky, before falling silent. Was there? He...he didn't know. Glancing down, Claude felt the corner of his mouth curl into a grin, happiness radiating off of him in infectious waves. He turned, back resting against the glass, and said, quiet, "How about receiving my specification to practice law in Swynlake. And--my removal from the church." 

GASTON:

Gaston had thought, at first, that the two would go hand in hand. He'd been aware of Claude's past in law - to some degree because of the first dream they'd shared together - so somehow he'd imagined that the two lives would continue in conjunction, as they did already, books strewn over church tables when no one was looking. But, as the second half of the man's announcement fell like a tonne of concrete blocks into the sea, he found his gaze turning and his head tilting, eyebrows furrowing as he processed the idea.

"Are they kicking you out or…?"

For a moment, he felt a flash of worry settle into his chest, that it was his fault, that he'd stolen a priest from the church like he stole the clever kid from class. After all, he'd spent too much time trying to let the other man find out what enjoying himself actually felt like, perhaps he'd ignored the consequences.

Though, by the looks of things, the priest was smiling, which added another layer of curiosity to the process.

CLAUDE: 

There was something almost endearing in the worry he saw sketched across Gaston's brow at the admission. It was something he had, truly, agonized over, telling people. But...here it felt easy, like there was nothing that he could not say. Still, it was not what he had believed would happen. 

The Frenchman chewed on the inside of his cheek while he waited, head tilted to the side, waiting for the shoe to drop. It did, he supposed, in some way. But he also knew people did not know the intricacies of these things. He would have to explain them. He'd known this, but it was another thing to do it. 

It was most assuredly the reason he had not said anything to the other man until now. 

"Non, it was voluntary. I realized...after my trip to Scotland at the beginning of summer...that the way I was helping people with my position in church...it did not help me. They gained something from it, yes, and I will never begrudge them that...but it was more than theological, for me. It was...painful, continuing." 

His head tilted back against the glass behind him, Claude sucked in a breath through his nose, long fingers spinning the glass in his hand, anxiety rolling off of him now that he had begun. "It was as much a personal reason as it was a difference in theology. They are...old fashioned, do not see things the way that I do. Never have. It was squashed while I was in seminary or," he gave a shrug, a wry smile, "they tried to. But it did not...stick. And then I came here. And I found the courage to do something I have wanted to do for nearly a decade. My replacement is coming at the end of the month, perhaps a bit later, but...I have known since the lantern festival. I just...did not know how to...explain it to anyone. I know what they will say." 

GASTON:

Gaston never claimed to be the sort of person who was well versed in humanity, in the psychology of man. But it stood to reason that he might want to leave. As far as he had seen, Claude was never happy while he was there. Not in a way he saw happiness. And certainly not in a way he'd seen it inside the other man - soft and glowing and full of teasing. 

Paired with the horrors of his past, he didn't imagine Claude would ever be, if he felt the need to stay.

"Well fuck what they say," Gaston said, letting out a short, derisive snort from his nose. Though he could imagine a few of the parts. He'd remembered the drama Lady had made when he'd mentioned that the priest would be coming to prom and it didn't take much creativity to work out that people would come up with much worse comments on the idea of a priest defecting. "People say a whole lot of shit. But it doesn't make them right." 

He turned his head, voice softening as his elbow shifted and he tapped their glasses together. "But if it's good for you, it's good for you. I'm proud of you." He looped an arm over the other man's neck and squeezed him into his shoulder. "Though, I mean, obviously now we're going to have to spend the evening finding you some A-grade pussy, break your post-priest virginity, you know. Obviously, first we're going to get you absolutely hammered too." His eyes scanned the landscape and he pressed his lips to one side. "What else can't a priest do?"

CLAUDE: 

"I could say the same about the way people talk about you," he murmured, artfully shrugging a shoulder as he took a sip of his champagne. "But I do think they sometimes hurt more than you let on, yes? I understand that, believe me. It is why I waited." He would rather figure out what he'd wanted to say exactly before he opened his mouth. The only people in Swynlake who knew were the congregation themselves, and they'd all sworn themselves to secrecy, including Edith. 

"The ones who know happen to also be the ones you kicked out of the church this morning. They've sworn themselves not to mention it, for which I am grateful. Edith had a very hard time though. She wanted to tell you, actually." Again, he shrugged, swirling the drink in his glass around until he was abruptly tugged into Gaston's side. A surprised bark of laughter erupted from his throat before he burrowed his face into the other man's shoulder with a sigh. 

"I would rather not, thank you. Either one, but the drinking--" he huffed, irritated that he had to even warn about any of this, and pressed his forehead into the arch of Gaston's shoulder while he spoke, hiding a bit more of himself. "Drinking is fine but not...that much. It is...a control issue, for me. Laurent--used that." He grimaced, voice falling away as he mumbled the request into the man's shoulder, pulling away carefully to gauge his reaction. That was one of the few things Gaston did not know, in fact, and it was one of the harder ones to swallow. "There is a lot that we -- they cannot do, but those...are the main ones."

GASTON:

Gaston had shrugged the thought away. It was uncomfortable, really, how the priest (though he wasn't really a priest any more) could read him like an open book. Sometimes he wondered if it was an art form he used on all he came across. Or one he reserved solely on the barman. Something unique. Whether it was because he knew him so well, or because Gaston was rather more readable than he liked to admit.

Though, still, he pushed the man with a shoulder and raised an eyebrow in his direction. "Well, we've already worked out that I'd rip off that old pervert's dick and feed it to him, dead or alive. So you're safe." He took a slow sip of his drink - mostly because there was so little of it and he'd rather ration the drink as not to spend the rest of the journey boozeless - and loosened his grip on the older man. "Anyway, I've seen you on the dance floor after a drink. Get a couple in you and you'll forget all about Satan's dick stain." He nudged him. "Gaston guarantee."

CLAUDE: 

“And I believe I told you it was not necessary, much as I appreciate the sentiment,” he murmured, allowing himself to be nudged about before he straightened his spine with a sigh. Still, the small, barely-there-grin was enough to set the ease of his shoulders again, allowing him to fall a bit more boneless against the wall. Claude lounged back, then, a critical eye cast over the other man at his quip. 

“A guarantee, hm? Does that mean you guarantee a dance, too, or will you beg off again? Mmm, or try to, anyway. And I am not that good of a dancer. I just enjoy it, much as that may mean anything at all.” He brought the lip of his glass up for a drink, then, and considered something else, head cocking to the side as he glanced back up at the man. He noted, with some curiosity, that Gaston hadn’t moved back yet. “You obviously have a destination in mind, then. And it involves dancing. And drinking. Are you taking me to a club?” 

GASTON:

Gaston unlooped his arm and shrugged, before stepping towards the rail over the opposite window and gazing over the skyline as they crawled closer to the top of the attraction. "You're the one who said it. I was just thinking about tried and tested ways of getting you drunk, Mr Frollo," he smirked, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. A hand found the railing beneath him and slid along the smooth, cool surface. "But anyway, it's not ball dancing so I think I'll be fine. And you'll get to see what proper hip work looks like."

Honestly, before prom, he hadn't known that people still danced like they had. As far as he'd known, dancing was mostly a process of getting utterly legless and sliding your hands (and groin) all over the closest person in a low cut top. It probably wasn't the sort of thing the other man would approve of. But it was most certainly an area in which Gaston excelled. "Besides, we don't have to go there straight away. There're a few waterside pubs I want to stop at on the way."

CLAUDE: 

A quiet laugh escaped him and Claude shook his head, coming forward alongside the other man to lean against the railing of the opposite side. The slow movement of the bubble in the air was almost soothing, in a way, like time was suspended and they possessed every ounce of it here in the sky.

"And how do you know I do not, hm? You've seen me dance one time, and that was proper dancing," Claude murmured, smirking around the edge of his glass. He shook his head fondly, the image of carousing in a pub somehow different when it was not Gaston's own. 

"How about two. And then the club." 

GASTON:

Gaston's eyes scoured the skyline, as the other man came to stand beside him. He knew there was no way he would see home. The idea was faintly ridiculous. But he found it a little surprising to discover, even in the heart of the city, you could see the distant green hills of the surrounding counties. Sure, he loved the life in the city. But looking out at the green, in some parts he knew he would always be a country boy.

"Ok, deal. But that wasn't proper dancing, that was fancy wank," he retorted. As far as he was concerned, being mostly hands and groin was proper dancing. If only because he knew how to do it and he didn't know how to do anything else. After all, he was far too good looking to ever master the next most attainable style: dad dancing. You couldn't dad dance if you were hot. It didn't work like that. "It's not proper dancing if you partner isn't literally begging for your cock by the end of it. Fact."

CLAUDE: 

The silence was nice, comforting even, as they looked out over the cityscape, Gaston searching for the small, sleepy town they'd come from. You could see pieces of the countryside if you really looked, strained for it, hills rolling behind great buildings and cars and roadways. That was a comforting thought, too, that he could somehow see Swynlake and think that, maybe, he could consider it home. 

Gaston's words made him snort, hanging his head as he shook it. "There was nothing fancy about that, Gaston. They were only basic steps because I had to literally drag you onto the floor." The second half of that statement made him pause, mischief lighting up his eyes for a second as he straightened his back. Leaning a hip against the railing, Claude took a sip of his drink, letting the silence linger before he responded. 

"No one ever said I would be begging for it, but ask nicely and," he shrugged, a wicked look on his face before he laughed. "Really, Gaston, how would you know what kind of dancing I do. I could be very familiar with it." 

In fact, he was. They hadn't just taught them proper dancing in that studio. What people affectionately called 'dirty dancing' was also shockingly common. It was what people did in the clubs and, occasionally, late at night in the streets. When music played and not another soul was around to hear it. 

GASTON:

The barman rolled his eyes. As far as he was concerned, anything that needed steps was fancy dancing. Basic or otherwise. Though he couldn't help but near choke on his half a sip of champagne as Claude spoke again. While the other man had always been a little excessive, a little teasing, a little flirty, there had always been the barrier of priesthood - the fact that he couldn't and wouldn't - that cushioned the impact of his quips. Or tried to.

Without it there to catch the words, it seemed to strike with full force as he found himself half laughing and half… not.

He gave a hard, painful swallow and flicked his gaze back to the man beside him. "Edith would be spinning in her grave if she could hear you, Frollo. But I mean, I'd pay money to see it. The dance, not your cock," he said, mouth crooked with a smirk. "Could probably film it too: Horny Priest Goes Wild in Club. I reckon we could get a few hundred quid for that." He gave the other man a nudge with his elbow. "Law or porn, you know? Feel like there's probably more money in porn."

CLAUDE: 

Gaston choked on his drink and Claude looked like that cat that'd gotten the cream. The look on his face was smug, to say the least. It was always amusing to see what reaction he could pull from the other man, though he was not always kidding when he said the things he did. Far be it from him to let on to that fact, but sometimes the off-color quips were, privately, a little bit true. 

Claude rolled his own eyes at the other's statement, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he took another swallow of champagne. "Edith is not dead, but I hardly think she would be surprised. She was one of the worst of them." The last bit of champagne was drained from his glass and Claude set it to the side, knocking an elbow into Gaston's side while he did. 

"No photos. No filming. That will cost you extra, cher." He winked, then, and laughed, the sound bouncing around the room. "I would be an awful porn star, for the record." Too many hang ups, he thought, but that was another matter entirely. "Law is much easier. I can argue people into submission." 

GASTON:

For a moment, he felt a spot of warmth grace his chest. As a teen, most of his enjoyment had come from terrorising others. But over the years he'd found a kind of happiness in knowing he could please those he was closest to. And Claude, by some magic, had been the closest for a long time. Closer, he sometimes wondered, than Tubso had been before he'd left after college. And certainly with the same amount of lewd jokes, even if these were directed down slightly different roads.

"I dunno, Claude. I'm pretty sure there's people out there who wouldn't mind paying  you to argue them into submission either," he said, clapping him around the shoulder and giving him a flick on the cheek. "The internet is a dark place and I'm just saying I probably wouldn't be too bad of a pimp. As internet pimps go."

CLAUDE: 

Snorting at the other man's words, Claude leaned back against the railing. He angled himself towards Gaston, elbows resting against the rail. "Other lawyers, you mean? They butt heads too often. At any rate, I think I am okay." 

Wrinkling his nose at the younger man as he flicked him on the cheek, the Frenchman waved his hand away with one of his own. "Is this like the black market? Take me back when people do not want me anymore, Gaston?" The tone was teasing but there was a curiosity, as well, that lingered. 

GASTON:

Gaston laughed and shook his head. Other lawyers. Though frankly it wasn't much of a surprise that the priest wasn't aware of the intricacies of internet fetishes. A lot of people probably weren't. But he'd ended up down a few rabbit holes while searching for interesting porn when he was bored. A lot of it he wouldn't recommend... and the rest he wouldn't admit to, for various reasons.

"Nah, not quite. I'd probably just sell people angry voice lips that they can wank to. Or you know, feet pics. Perverts love a good foot pic," he said with a teasing smirk, elbows nudging the older man's ribs. "So really, you wouldn't have to go anywhere. Disappointing, but I guess I'm stuck with you for now."

He finished his drink, wondering if perhaps he'd brought down the tone of the afternoon. And possibly ruined a rather nice view of the city with his less than appropriate talk. But then again, where was the fun in an afternoon if you couldn't talk about porn?

CLAUDE: 

Pulling a face again, Claude let that thought roll around in his head for a moment before promptly locking it away in the section of his mind that had a giant "Do Not Disturb" sign plastered across it. "Should I be concerned about a foot fetish, Gaston? Is that what this is?" All things considering, it was weird, but it was not the strangest thing he had heard. You heard a lot of things in a confessional, some of them best left to oneself. 

Still, he was only joking. He highly doubted Gaston would be the kind to have a foot fetish. Or, really, fetishes of any kind. "It is okay, cher, I will keep your secret." He grinned before patting the other man on the bicep and straightening up, shaking his head at the last comment. 

Heaving a put upon sigh, Claude shrugged, ambling hack towards the benches and laying himself out across them, raising his voice so the other man could hear him over the barrier. "I suppose you are. What a shame that must be for you, hm?" 

GASTON:

The barman threw a faint smirk at the priest and raised a shoulder. He'd noticed earlier that they'd come to the top and were starting their slow descent back down. But the way the wheel hovered over the water, he'd hardly registered that they'd made it back to the stands before the doors slid open and the operator was ushering them out.

"Not feet," he called teasingly over his shoulder as he stepped out of the bubble and into the crowded gift shop. "Nuns."

From there, they wound along the waterfront, pub by pub, and making a short tour of the cathedral. Though Gaston had possibly had one too many beers by that point to appreciate the heights or the art or the fact that Claude didn't get a free ticket for having been a priest - though, eventually, the person in the ticket office had given him a discount, probably to shut him up. By the time the dark crawled in, they'd been in a bar since dinner, knocking back made-up cocktails (which felt a little ponsey, though in Gaston's opinion, anything was better than Fosters) and laughing at the shit 80s music that seemed to penetrate every corner of the space from its speakers mounted by the dancefloor. 

They'd come in because it was cheap and stayed because, despite all the creepy middle aged men and the hen parties they seemed to be preying on, it had its own unique charm.  

"What's next? Wanna share a slippery nipple?" The barman laughed as he knocked back the sour bottom of his last drink, properly enjoying himself for the first time in a long while... if you didn't count the times he'd been having sex - after all, that was a different kind of enjoyment. Though he could help but tease the idea of introducing a few of those drinks into his own pub when he got back.

CLAUDE: 

When the doors to their private little bubble opened and the next pair was being ushered in, Claude was surprised to find that they'd passed the time so quickly. He had discovered that, with Gaston, it was easy to lose track of himself, his anxieties and inadequacies he always felt. The laughter he let loose at the quip about nuns had him doubled over as he walked, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. 

Following after the other man from pub to pub along the waterfront was an interesting experience. Lunch at one place and then milling about at others, a walk through an old cathedral that made him miss the ones in France with a heavy pang. The architecture and the stained glass had always been his favorite part. They'd found themselves staying at one of the pubs for the music, the atmosphere somehow more enjoyable even with the older men that lingered at the peripherals of his vision. 

But Claude ignored them in favor of chatting with some of the women around them, women who were there with their friends for a fun afternoon. Gaston, as well, seemed to be enjoying himself. It was nice to see the man laughing, enjoying himself. Gaston did so little of it, after all. Always working, always running around. He'd tried so hard to get Claude to enjoy himself that, sometimes, the older man thought he'd forgotten to allow himself to enjoy his time, too. 

"Please do not ever say that again," he groaned, laughing, his head leaned up against a palm, body angled towards Gaston on the barstool beside him. Eyes straying past him to the dance floor, Claude gave a lazy shrug of a shoulder, gaze lingering on the dancers for a moment before focusing muzzily back on the other man. There was a pleasant hum settled beneath his skin, warm from the few drinks he'd had and the pleasant afternoon. He resolutely ignored the man at the end of the bar, the one that had set himself down and wouldn't stop staring since they'd walked in. Instead, he quirked a brow and nodded his head to the floor, "How about a dance?" 

GASTON:

Gaston's eyes skimmed the drinks menu, locking his jaw to one side and muttering "I'll take that as a 'no'" quietly to himself as he perused the rest of the drinks. He'd felt eyes on them for a little while, though he'd got used to ignoring the feeling. Sometimes gay guys with nothing to lose liked to hit on him and other people were certain they recognised him somewhere they couldn't quite place - probably a crappy Next catalogue from 2008 before his dreams got ripped out from under his feet… not that he'd ever say that. Though really, he felt like he gave off enough 'fuck with me and I'll turn your penis inside out and not in the good way' kind of vibes to keep most creeps away for a thousand years.

"But I guess we could," he shrugged, pushing the sheet to one side. "Is this the bit where you show me you're able to dance without looking like a ponce?"

CLAUDE: 

Cocking his head to the side, the Frenchman raised a brow. Despite the loudness of the pub around them  he was close enough to hear the other man's mutterings. "I did not say no to a drink. Just the name," he said, the corner of his mouth curling. He was about to speak again, comment about the dancing that he could, in fact, do without looking "like a ponce" when something caught his attention. Movement behind Gaston made him stiffen before he could continue, body going rigid and fingers curling around the edge of the bar top, eyes wary. 

The man that had been there, staring past Gaston's shoulder, was walking closer. Nudging himself closer to the larger man, Claude started talking, voice low but loud enough the other man could hear him, words strained as he kept his heart from thudding too loudly in his ears. There was something about him that was unsettling, cold. It reminded him of Laurent. 

"There is a man coming over. He has been staring for the past half hour. I have ignored him but he seems not to care. He tried to talk to me while you went to the restroom. He had also bothered some of the women."

GASTON:

Gaston felt the sudden frost in the air, saw the way the man's body seized up, and followed his gaze over his shoulder with a stormy look. He wasn't much one for ignoring things like that. Mostly because he wanted people to know that he knew, that they couldn't get away with that kind of shit without incurring his rage. After all, most of the time creeps and thieves and criminals were banking on people ignoring them as a means to get away with it.

"Well, he can fuck off then, can't he," he said, pressing an agressive smile into his lips and locking eyes with the stranger, before turning back to his companion. Though somehow, he had the strange feeling that the creeper would stay where he was. And in turn, Claude wouldn't enjoy the rest of the evening for the weight of the man's gaze against his skin. "How about we just go outside for a second? Gives me more room to relocate his nose into his skull if he decides to follow us," he continued, hoping that he'd spoken loudly enough to be heard by both parties.

CLAUDE: 

It was like watching a slow motion car crash, Claude decided. It had the same type of energy, chaotic and possibly dangerous to the person in its path. That was what watching that grim look cross over Gaston's face did and, for a moment, Claude could breathe again. He had been better at deflection once, could usually tell someone no and they'd leave. But this guy was another story entirely. 

A twitch of a smile appeared on the older man's face at the words before it was gone just as quickly. He knew what Gaston was doing. He had already seen the man stop, hesitant at the loudness and the words directed his way. When Claude was offered a chance to leave, to breathe, he jumped at it. 

Sliding from his barstool quickly, the Frenchman shrugged his jacket back over his shoulders before wrapping a hand tight around Gaston's forearm. Then, he tugged at the man, an urgency to his movements as he pulled him away from the crowd and through the bar. Gaston barely had enough time to leave any bills behind. 

The moment cool air hit his face, Claude sucked it in greedily, allowing himself the chance to close his eyes, lean his head back against the wall, and breathe. He would be fine with Gaston out here to watch him. He just needed a moment, some time to gather his heart and his head back in one piece. Claude was proud when his hands did not shake as he reached into his jeans pocket for a cigarette and a lighter, sparking up in the alley behind the bar. 

Sucking in a lungful of air, Claude held it for a moment before exhaling, slowly through his nose, a billow of smoke wafting out around his head. 

"I used to be better at that. Getting them to leave. Some days...it is not so easy. Merci," he murmured, voice quiet, eyes flickering to the other man's face for a moment as he held the cigarette between his fingers. He took another drag before offering it over. It wasn't a drink, but it was a start. 

GASTON:

Gaston didn't need Claude to tug at him to get him moving, though he followed quickly anyway. It was hard to miss the aura that rolled of the priest's skin, even as they met the cool air and tucked themselves down the side of the bar, where the rest of the world - or more importantly, that freak - couldn't find them.

He hovered beside Claude, an eye at the end of the street, watching the orange light cast shadows in the darkness, just in case one turned out to be their unwelcome addition. Though he found his eyes flicking back, as the first few sparks illuminated the priest's face and the smoke curled around him. "It happens. No one's perfect all the time. Well," he smirked, taking the cigarette and slumping on the wall beside the other man, "apart from me."

His mouth closed around the cigarette. To one side, just to be careful - he'd heard the tales that it would stop the wrinkles from forming around your mouth. Not that he was a frequent smoker regardless. The last he'd had was at a wedding two years ago. After all, cigarettes paired quite nicely with the buzz of alcohol and the setting sun.

He passed back the cigarette.

CLAUDE: 

Tipping his head back against the cool tile of the wall was enough to get Claude’s breathing to slow, if only a fraction, his heart no longer beating wildly in his chest. The panic was subsiding into a dull throbbing, something like a full-bodied, bone-weary aching. The air was cold on his face, which helped, and when he breathed in through the smoke it burned down into his lungs. It was something to focus on, something other than the way Gaston was hovering at his side, watching him and the street at the mouth of the alleyway. 

Snorting, the man turned his head against the stonework, a smile easing over his face at the quip. There was a bit of a tiredness hanging around him, faint but consistent with their day and the last half hour. When he spoke his voice was rounded at the edges, accent peeking through more heavily than normal, no longer attempting to regulate it. 

“Yes, yes of course, because you are perfection in human form, eh?” Looking up at the darkened sky and not the other man for a moment, Claude sighed, glancing back over when the bright light at the tip of the cigarette flared closer to him. Taking it back after a second, the Frenchman let it hang between his lips, speaking around it, before taking another drag. 

“The stars are always brighter outside of the city. I have often wondered...whether that will change one day. If I stop noticing. I do not want to.” A pause, then he glanced back at the other man, “I remember them from the Titanic, actually, all those stars. Before the-before it sank.” 

GASTON: 

Gaston threw a wink through the darkness. He was well aware of the other man's sarcasm but somehow he couldn't help himself from playing into the joke. Following the other man's gaze up to the sky, he borrowed the cigarette from his mouth as he listened to him speak.

"Don't think it will. The city's full of shit, it's easy to see something's missing." His eyes searched the sky for a moment, peering into the few faint dots that were visible through the orange haze. He wasn't much of a stargazer. He didn't know the constellations - for all but Orion's belt, which had only stood out to him as a child because Orion had a sword. Though even that was obscured by the brightness.

He took a quick drag of the cigarette and flicked the long ash into the ground before taking another. "Though can't say I remember much from the Titanic. Apart from being pissed and having a kid and a wife and you." He took another drag, feeling the nicotine - or possibly the alcohol - tingle in his lips and burn in his cheeks. There had been rather a lot about that dream that he'd tried to forget. But there was no harm in admitting he'd known he was there, that they'd had a connection and that, to some degree, he'd tried to save his life. Even if he'd blurred out the bits in the middle. For his own sanity. Or to stop him from doing something stupid.

CLAUDE: 

“I wasn’t done with that,” he grumbled, turning to arch a brow at the other man as he stole the cigarette from his mouth and breathed smoke out into the alleyway. He hadn’t caught the wink, but he’d heard the sound of it in his voice. Instead, he leaned a shoulder and a hip against the wall and watched him as he spoke, the tip of the cigarette glowing bright in the dark. 

Humming out his agreement, too content where he was standing to utter anymore in that stitch of time, Claude reached up and snagged the cigarette back, unconcerned when their fingers tangled, fumbling over the filter before letting it sit snugly in the V of his fingers. Licking his lips as he turned away, the older man set the stick of nicotine between his teeth, sucking the feeling of it down into his lungs and back out. The smell of it was sweet, packed with cloves and herbs, a rarity that he only kept around every so often. He did not smoke nearly as often as he had when he was a younger man, but the feeling of it was something he occasionally missed. 

You. That word made him look, eyes widening for a second. He’d thought, after so long, that the memory had faded, that it would eventually disappear. They hadn’t. Sometimes, he still flinched at the sound of rushing water. He couldn’t take a cold shower, even if he wished to. And the memories remained. 

He stared at the side of his face for a moment longer before looking down, shoulders dropping towards the wall as he heaved a full-bodied sigh. “It is hard to forget, yes? Something like that...it stays. And...everything else, too. It is funny...I was a lawyer then. And I am again.” Not that he had never stopped, but the exclusivity of the job was permanent now.  

GASTON:

"But you're not the same," Gaston returned quietly, shifting ever so slightly in the direction of the other man and watching the glow at the end of his cigarette bounce softly off the angles of his face. It was one thing he'd used to justify the dream the longer their friendship had grown, that neither one had really been them. Claude had lacked the darkness in his past and Gaston had been driven by some sense of ambition that hadn't been quelled by the death of his parents. It had been what had led him to the man in the first place. The desire for something better. 

And perhaps the same could be said for this world too, but for a different kind of better. Not want of money and acclaim, but because he'd been guided by a greater purpose. Or, at least, given into his own superstition.

He rested an arm against the wall and followed the line of the drain along the pavement with his eyes, feeling his face buzz warmly from the drink. "Do you think everything happens for a reason? You know, all that flowery wank the church wants you to believe. That God puts things in your path to lead you or to test you?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed into the distance, before returning his sight to Claude. 

His family had never been one for the softer side of religion. They believed that God would smite you for wrong doings in the end - by the bible, not by general morality - and that one must confess their sins in order to be forgiven. But the idea that God was all good and all loving and interfering with human life at every turn had been lost on them. After all, far too many decent people failed and far too many awful ones triumphed. And frankly, God had better things to be doing with his time than constantly testing farmers.

But in the event He did, that He had drawn them together as part of some celestial ritual of good and evil, Gaston couldn't quite tell who was being led, who was being tested or whether or not they were headed in the right direction.

CLAUDE: 

There was something about the way Gaston said it —’but you’re not the same’—that gave the other man pause. This was something he had mulled on in the quieter moments of the evening, after, when he could not sleep and there were too many thoughts running around in his head. He had been different. Less burdened, carefree in a way he was not in this aspect of life. Claude in that dream had been able to do things he would not have in life, not then, anyway. It had almost been as though that reality...dream...whatever it was meant to be was showing him things he could have had if scars did not riddle his body and a demon did not plague his dreams. 

Claude could feel the other man’s eyes on him, watching, his voice careful, and he wondered at it. Wondered why he continued, that he did not change the subject. It made him think Gaston, too, had pondered on such things. Still, when Gaston posed his question, leaned up against the wall with his face turned away from him, Claude felt like he could look, like he could listen. He snorted quietly, smiling a bit around the cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth. “It depends. I was meant to. But meaning to and doing are entirely different things. Sometimes, I do think that, other times—” Claude paused, mulling over his choice of words as he shifted against the brick at his back, leather rubbing against the brickwork. The sound of it was deafening in the silence.

“If what was meant to happen to me did not take place, I often imagine what would have been different. If that...dream...was at all accurate. There are times that I think...maybe, perhaps. In others, I see nothing. Laurent existed, and now he does not. I choose to believe that was meant to happen. But..I do not know if I am meant to believe it. I never have.” It was not lost on him, how fallible he sounded. So many people believed that he was all-knowing, that his job as a priest made him a font of wisdom and godly divinity. But Claude Frollo was just a man. He wondered and he doubted. He did not know. 

“If it did not, I would not be here, after all. So...yes, I suppose some things are meant to happen. But not all. And that was the hardest part to reconcile, doing what I did...I did not agree with everything they tried to teach, and it created frustrations, rifts. In a way I wanted it to happen...because then I would have gotten away. I still did but,” he shrugged, sucking on the cigarette until smoke obscured his face in a haze, “certainly not in the way I expected. If Laurent was God’s way of being a--a test or...an obstacle, it was a poor way to get me here. I do not think I could ever forgive that....” Claude shook his head, brows furrowed at the thought. Flicking the ash from the end of the filter, the Frenchman offered it to the man beside him. 

“Did that answer your questions, nounours?” 

GASTON:

Gaston's eyebrows stayed pinched, listening, curious as the other man spoke, as his words bounced around the alley and slid through the dull thump of the music radiating from the bar walls. It was all a little complicated, possibly why his sober mind spent more time thinking about its next drink than it did about religion and philosophy. But to a degree it made sense, yes. Claude's mixed interpretation of it, at least. Though it didn't quite answer the question he'd asked - or rather, the question he'd skirted around asking.

His fingers slid beside the other man's and gently pinched the cigarette from his hands as he leaned the top of his head against the wall. Someone - probably him - had made the filter damp. He'd never been very good at smoking. The deep, bitter taste only ever called to him when he was quite drunk, and when he was quite drunk, he was also quite sloppy.

He let the smoke curl from his mouth and shrugged. "Maybe. I suppose. And," he gazed into the light at the end of the stick as he flicked it - though really there was nothing to flick off, "what about us? Do you think we were supposed to meet?" 

It had been his largest preoccupation in all of this. Their lives had skirted, meters from each others' doors for years and then, when it seemed Gaston's life was reaching its bottom, their paths had finally crossed, been cemented by a call from his mother in the darkness and the pull of the church bells. He still wasn't sure if that had been a true connection with the dead or no more than a figment of his sleeping mind and a happy coincidence. But in some parts, he hoped it was the former. If only because it justified the odd connection he felt to the other man, the way they shared space and clothes and contact and felt like they were supposed to.

CLAUDE: 

Gaston pinched the cigarette from between his fingers and Claude dropped his hands to his sides, a hand coming up to toy with the edge of his jacket. Watching the other man, there was a disquiet that brewed beneath his skin. His thoughts were messy, written all over his face, and Claude could not tell if it was because of the drink or something else. Or both. Still, he slumped against the wall and he listened, eyes flicking over Gaston's face. 

The question he asked made him pause, head cocking to the side in confusion, not expect that line of thought. Him. Them...that was something he did not know Gaston ever even thought about. They were friends, perhaps the best of friends, but Titanic had happened before all of that. For a time, it had colored his thoughts, had made him wonder. 

Running a hand over his mouth, Claude leaned back against the wall and mulled over what he wanted to say, words coming to mind and then discarded as quickly as they'd come. What he settled on, though, he hoped was enough. 

"I...believe that if I had never left France, I would have never met you. But I did. And we have. And--" he sucked in a breath, hand going up to his hair, brow pinched as he thought over what it was he wanted to say. "Do you know what I think about you? I am sure you may not believe it but...I never believed the things you would say about yourself, what other people say. Because the first night I met you...you thought I was cold and closed the pub door. That was not it. But you did not ask, you did not tell me to put on a coat. Did not ignore it. And that was how I knew you. You are a good man, Gaston. And I am glad to have been meant to meet you." 

GASTON:

The barman listened quietly, as his eyebrows, once furrowed, seemed to relax. For a moment, the silence had injected a shred of nervousness into his heart. But as the words came, it was replaced with something else entirely. He watched the arm go up, the fingers into Claude's hair, and felt the space enclose around them. A corner between the other man's elbow and the wall behind them, for just their heads and just their thoughts.

He'd hardly remembered that first meet, for all but the request drunks. But it crept back hazily and he tilted his head a little further at the thought. No one had ever deemed him good before. Protective, perhaps. Charming on occasion. But never good. Nor had they admitted to being glad of meeting him. If anything, more people seemed to rue the day.

For a moment, he lingered in that sensation, in the way his body warmed, unsure what words should come next, if there were words to come at all. His eyes searched the shadows, the faint glint of light in the other man's eyes. And when he found nothing his lips spoke for him, edging nearer to the closest thing to being wanted for something more than want, until they pressed ever so softly into the plump, full mouth he'd kissed once before, somewhere in the depths of a dream.

CLAUDE: 

For a moment, Claude believed that the other man's silence was telling. But he didn't move. It was like he was frozen, breathing the air in the alleyway with nothing else to latch onto. His one hand fiddled with his jacket, not knowing where this put them or what he had done. The man should have known...Claude hoped he did...he had never made it a secret, that he thought Gaston was good, that he was rough around the edges but inherently decent. 

He thought--

Claude stopped thinking. Stopped breathing. Just...stopped. 

All he could feel and see and breathe and think was the other body crowding him close to the wall, hands and arms bracketing him in, caging him. But for every time he had been frozen, afraid, vulnerable, there was nothing here that frightened him. Nothing about Gaston could ever. The soft hesitance of the other man's mouth against his own was like a shock to his system, Claude's lips falling open with a shaky exhale. 

In a second, he was pressing close, kissing back, teeth finding the other man's lip and tugging, a whimper escaping him as a hand came up to wrap around an arm. He had wanted to do that since he'd met the man. Did not because it was Gaston, because he was important. And, for another, he had been a priest. But now...now…

Now, he angled his head and gripped fiercely, their mouths connected in a tangle of lips and teeth and tongue.

GASTON:

Gaston had been surprised by the quiet whimper, the way the other man's fingers had squeezed into the flesh of his arms, the way his teeth teased at his lips - in a way he'd only seen through a television screen. His body had moved long before his mind had and now, with a moment to think on his actions, he'd half expected a soft push apart, a gentle rejection - because you could be good in someone's heart but not good for them. But instead he'd been taken. And so his arms moved of their own accord, pressing a hand into the wall behind them as their bodies drew ever closer, the slighter body sandwiched against the wall.

Blood pulsed in his lips, a dizziness swilled in his head and left the world around him feeling blurred, for all but the points at which their bodies met and burned hot against his skin. Though the dream had been months passed and Claude hadn't quite been Claude, his lips felt just as soft, had tasted just as sweet. And for a short moment, his chest was overcome by the same swell of want, of lust, as he had in the depths of the boat, finding its way back through the motions it had memorised from that night.

CLAUDE: 

Gaston shifted closer and Claude, all at once, found himself pressed into the brick at his back by the bulk of the other man. A hand came up by his head, the other somewhere else, almost far away with the way his senses had narrowed down, all at once, to the feeling of everything surrounding him. 

His breath sounded loud in his ears, heavy as it heaved from his nose, unwilling to disconnect from the kiss quite yet. He didn't know yet if this was the drink or something else, but he was in enough of a right mind to angle his head and deepen the kiss, a hand coming up to wind fingers into Gaston's hair. 

In a way, it was like muscle memory, something he remembered from the swill of his thoughts. 

GASTON:

The breath that escaped him was soft and wanting, his lips pressing ever more fervently as Claude's fingers found his hair. His free hand slid along the line of the other man's shoulder, up the soft, hot skin of his neck and cupped his jaw, pulling it towards him. Really, somewhere in the heat and the touch, he'd imagined it would feel stranger than it did. But he'd spent so long connected with the other man, whether by the ribbons of Fate or the friendly comfort of another body to his side, it seemed natural, like nothing had changed. For all but the tongues that teased together and needy press of Gaston's body to the one beneath it.

CLAUDE: 

Claude's breath puffed out of his nose against Gaston's skin, the pull of mouths against mouths and hands trailing across clothed skin an almost foreign sensation. Of course, he had kissed people before. But this...it was different. There was something different about it, but he was too drunk on it to care, whatever it was. 

When Gaston's hand came up to tug at his jaw and pull him closer, head tilted further back against the brick, Claude thought he would feel skittish, somewhere in his mind, that this was too close, too much but all he was thinking was that it was not enough. 

The loudness of someone crashing into the door beside them, slamming it open from the inside, had the man wrenching his head away, hissing at not only the loss of contact but the teeth that had nipped the skin of his mouth. He could taste the faint coppery tang of blood. He didn't know if it was his. Chest heaving in the space they'd created between them, Claude found himself dropping his head back against the brick and laughing to himself, low and wrecked sounding.

He hadn't taken his hands from Gaston's hair. 

GASTON:

Gaston felt his heart stutter at the sound of the fire exit rattling open. His head snapped away, staring to the open door as the hand that had cupped the older man's face fell to his side. Usually, when he was caught doing things he wasn't supposed to, he kept on going, throwing challenging glances at any witnesses and daring them to stop him. But even though the light that poured through the opening bore no figure, he found himself easing to a stop, just in case. He didn't want people to see. It meant admitting things to himself that he wasn't quite ready to admit.

But still, he kept the closeness, the palm buried in the brick behind his head as he turned his gaze back with  the soft sound that escaped the other man. His eyes skimmed the smile on the other man's lips. "When's-" His gaze twitched back towards the open door, "the last train back?" He asked, half wanting the peace of home, privacy and a safe space to struggle through the feeling; and half worried that if they missed it, they'd have to spend the night in a hotel - because God, he suddenly wanted to stay the night in a hotel, wanted to taste the body of a man and see if it felt just as sweet as its counterpart. The thought itself scared him, terrified him that once he'd tried it he'd never go back. 

CLAUDE: 

The loss of the palm and the heat that radiated from the other man’s skin left a bit of an ache behind Claude’s breast, like it had taken all the warmth with it. Or maybe that was the fuzziness that’d overtaken him at the feeling of a bit of drink mixing with the feeling of something pooling lower in his gut. Something he hadn’t quite had to define in...years. Not in the way this was making him feel, anyway. Claude breathed, then, and turned his head to watch Gaston’s face. 

Tilting his head in thought, the Frenchman gave a small shrug, nudging the other man’s arm to get a glance at his watch. He really needed to stop leaving his at home. “Mmm...we probably should have been to the station, but--if we run…” Claude watched the other man’s face for a moment, eyes searching, before he sighed, quietly. 

“It is up to you. We can walk, but that means hours on the road in the dark. Or...we can stay.” 

GASTON:

Gaston stared into the darkness and laughed. Because he kind of wanted to stay, wanted to drink more, get lost in the moment, lost in sensations he'd never felt before. Because he kind of wanted to grab a crate of beers from an off licence and make the day's walk back to Wiltshire, because it was ridiculous and every good adventure started with drink. Because he kind of wanted to wake up in his own bed and pretend it was all a dream.

Because he kind of didn't know what he wanted.

For a moment, the hand at his side strayed, slid into Claude's palm for want of anything else to do and gently stroked circles into the back of his hand. A smile etched into the corner of his mouth. "Race ya," he said, quickly pushing their hands apart and spurting from the alley into the live street and past the figures of the night.

CLAUDE: 

Claude listened to Gaston’s laughter with his eyes closed, as though if he didn’t see him doing it there wouldn’t be something that connected it to this moment. If the other man chose to stay or if he decided to leave, it would be a decision made and forever connected to the sound of that laughter. There was something comforting about living, for a split second, in that sound before it was gone. The silence stretched for one second and then two and, then, there was skin sliding against skin and a warm hand slipped against his own. Claude did open his eyes then, gaze a bit hazy, breath coming in a sharp, inhaling hitch at the contact before it evened out once more. 

The feeling of where the younger man’s fingers had drawn circles into the back of his hand was hot, like a fire, warm to the touch and burning all at once.

And, then, he was gone. 

This time, Claude laughed, too, and followed, jogging to keep up, head swimming with the smell of Gaston’s cologne, the drinks, and the sound of the night around them. He supposed, then, that he had his answer. 

GASTON:

The cool night air burned against his cheeks as he ran, letting out a loud whoop of laughter as he skidded around a group of people, half slipping on the pavement, and darted across the road as the crossing turned green. He could hear the steady beat of Claude's feet beneath his own erratic thump, echoing off the tall buildings as they passed and turning heads as they went. Headlights rushed passed, shadows danced under streetlights. His head flicked back, grinning happily at the man on his heels, and set off even faster.

In that moment, it was almost as if the years slipped through his hair and ran free on the breeze. His tongue burned with the taste of the drink, his lips with the taste of the kiss. He felt childish, unguarded, free. In ways he never felt at home, in fear someone might catch him in the act, might see his joy and shoot it down because they thought he was undeserving.

His hand caught a lamp post and swung into the next street, watching the glowing red sign of the train station rise from the distant end of the road.

"Last one to the gate is a fucking fagot!" He called behind him.

CLAUDE: 

Gaston was really fucking fast, incredibly loud, and Claude couldn’t tell if they’d drunk enough for these types of antics. He didn’t rightly care. He was having fun. Keeping the other man firmly in his line of sight, the Frenchman used his smaller size to weave through the crowds, zigging and zagging around people in an attempt to catch up to the younger man. Claude was in no way unfit; contrary to what people may believe, he worked out when he could. He just didn’t broadcast it to the world. The muscle he possessed was lean, fitting to his body type rather than attracting to it. Most of the time, one would not even know. 

Picking up his pace with his legs outstretched as long as they could reach, Claude sprinted past the other man when the sign for the train station came full into view, a triumphant grin on his face when he flung himself onto the platform and then, promptly, bowed over, chest heaving. His chest heaved as he braced hands on his knees but when he righted himself there was a grin on his face. Cheeks red and hair windblown, Claude knew he probably looked a mess, but he could not find it in himself to care. Gaston came into view minutes later and Claude tilted his head, watching him, self-satisfaction oozing from his very being. 

“I believe that makes me the winner, non?” 

GASTON:

Gaston hadn't spotted the smaller man whiz past him, concentration spent trying not to trip over members of the crowd or get hit by cars as he skirted the pavement in an effort to gain time. Perhaps if he had, he might have tried a little harder. But as it was, he'd thundered through the entrance to the station, ticket at the ready, thinking he'd won by miles as he slammed through the gates - tempted to vault them when the barriers threatened not to open for a moment.

The smirk slipped from his lips, however, as the half crouched body raised its head, to reveal the shit eating grin of a certain Claude Frollo. "Yeah well," he started, taking the other man's wrist and slamming his palm into the door release, before pulling him onto the train. It'd be just his luck for the train to leave while they were standing right next to it. "We all knew you were a fucking fagot anyway so I guess we didn't need a race to prove it." He shrugged, stepping backwards into the crook of the corridor, a teasing grin flickering onto his face. 

His hand made no effort to let go. Instead, he gently tugged the other man's body into the space he was occupying.

CLAUDE: 

The self-satisfied smirk only grew when he saw Gaston make him out in the crowd. The other man’s own smirk fell from his face and Claude raised a brow, about to comment when Gaston came forward and grabbed him around the wrist. He’d seen the look on his face when he’d come through the gates, that competitiveness of his making him contemplate vaulting the gates or barreling through the people to win, but this was different. The touch was never so deliberate and, startled by it, Claude let himself be dragged onto the train. 

Despite the other man’s words, Claude merely rolled his eyes, ignoring the dirty looks tossed their way from the rest of the people shoving their way onto the train. The Frenchman pressed himself closer, disquieted by the amount of bodies surrounding him, especially with the alcohol in his system. 

With Gaston pulling him closer, they were basically chest to chest, Claude’s chin tilting to rest up on Gaston’s sternum. He cocked his head to the side, an easy smile curling the corners of his eyes. “Oh you knew did you?”

GASTON:

Gaston gazed into the other man's eyes and pressed his lips into a lopsided smile.  For that moment, despite the bodies that weaved around them, the eyes on his skin, the way the doors beeped as a last warning and the train shuddered to life, the world was just them. Just the point their bodies touched and the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes. Sure, it might have been the drink. Or his expertise in tunnel vision.

Or perhaps it had always just been them. Sometimes it felt like it.

"I reckon I could have called it," he said, eyes raising a moment to check the distance for a pair of empty seats, with no luck. Though he was sure the train would clear the closer they got to home. "You were always a bit of a woman. Fairy. Whatever you want to call it."

CLAUDE: 

Returning the smile, Claude followed the other man’s gaze when he went looking for a seat. Finding none, the Frenchman sighed, shifting on his feet as someone jostled him from behind, a slight frown pulling his forehead into a crease down the middle. The last warning of the doors’ closing sounded and then they were moving, Claude planting his feet to ensure he didn’t topple over with the movement. 

Swaying, he and Gaston seemed to be connected at the hip, conjoined in a way that wouldn’t separate them even if one moved and the other didn’t follow. 

“Do you? I do not think so,” he teased, humor more than anything in his voice. The words did not bother him, partially because he knew Gaston was not being serious and partially because it had always been a peculiarity of his speech. Gaston had called him a woman multiple times since they’d met, and it had only been said in jest. But, maybe there was something in that, too. “How about just a man who likes men, hm? That is as good a description as any, though I do not just like men. You, I like you. Most,” Claude shrugged, the movement halted by the arm that curled around him and crowded him close. “They do not make it easy. Nor did being a priest, for that matter but...before seminary it was different.” 

GASTON:

Gaston's shoulder twitched as he thought on it, though it may not have been felt over the sway of the moving train, over the gentle rock of their bodies as they rattled against one another. Perhaps Claude was right. Perhaps he never would have sensed it. If he had, he doubted he would have allowed himself to enjoy the comfort of the other man's presence in the way that he had. Or perhaps that was why he had. Because he'd sensed it, but it had been held in a place that was unattainable and therefore no worry to his own senses or to the priest's. Perhaps it was that gentle curiosity that had guided him. Perhaps it was nothing at all.

And yet, here he found himself, stealing a moment of otherness with the man before him. Before he had to return to the grips of Swynlake and wonder what would happen if anyone found out.

Though the little admission checked him, left a soft, awed smile on his tired lips. Gaston wasn't sure if he was a man who liked men. He knew he preferred the company of men. Was that the same thing? Perhaps he'd never know. Perhaps it didn't matter. Not right now at least. Not until they set foot on Swynlake's cobbled streets.

 "I like you most, too," he echoed softly, leaning back against the train doors behind them.

CLAUDE: 

Claude’s eyes crinkled at the small smile he’d pulled from the other man, soft and secretive, and it lit his face up with one of his own. It had been Gaston, after all, to kiss him. Gaston who had somehow wormed his way into his life and into his brain and stayed when no one else had tried (or, perhaps, where very few had succeeded). Gaston who has seen his scars, had touched them, and had done nothing but accept them and his past. The medication, too, that Claude took was taken as it was, never made more of than it had to be. It was, perhaps, that easiness that had made him care about the other man. 

Or, maybe, it was planted there from the first night they’d met and they’d sat and talked for long enough that the pub had almost emptied and Claude had not felt subconscious about anything for the longest time. Maybe it was because Gaston had seen a man and not the office he wore. Maybe it was because Claude had let him. Whatever the reason, the Frenchman did not want to squander it. The relationship he had with this man was more important to him than any other he had had in a very, very long time. Gaston was his best friend, but he was also that tight feeling in his chest, that peace of mind and safety that came with Gaston standing beside him. Just like tonight, Claude had known that, whatever happened, the other man would be there. 

It was what gave him the courage to lean in again, an arm wrapping around the larger frame pressed against his and press a careful kiss to the other man’s jaw. “Good,” he said, the word almost like finality, “I had hoped you might.” 

GASTON:

Gaston closed his eyes and tilted his head into the wall, hand curling up into the hair of the head that had risen to kiss him. There was a strange peace in the moment. A warmth in the other man's body, that he pulled closer. Intimacy was something he scarcely afforded himself and yet with Claude, it was abundant. Their friendship before that moment had been laced with quiet moments of intimacy, of legs sprawled over legs, heads in laps, the gentle caress of fingers through hair. And in the louder moments, it was still a tangle of arms and elbows and, occasionally, feet in your face.

He could feel the drink more now. And the weight of the tiredness behind his eyelids. Though he cracked them open one more time, to smile and place a kiss on the other man's forehead.

"Think I saw some seats clear," he hummed as the train pulled into a stop and the crowd shuffled past them.

CLAUDE: 

Claude hummed against the other man’s skin for a moment, swaying with the movement of the train. He’d propped himself up against the bulk of Gaston’s upper body, the hand that had snaked its way into his hair holding him close. It was comfortable, comforting, something they’d had before this but Claude had never chosen to identify. There was a comfort in knowing that the man had been there, been his friend. His closest friend. In a way, Claude wondered if that was where this sudden feeling came from, this tightening in his chest and the ease with which he let the other man pull him into his space, his kisses. 

But Claude knew that was not all that it was. 

Head tilting with a quiet sigh, the Frenchman nodded and braced himself as the train slowed. He returned the smile and, once the train car had cleared a few of its passengers out, Claude pushed away from Gaston’s chest to manoeuvre them to the empty seats the other man had spotted. 

GASTON:

Gaston threw himself into the chair, lolling his head back against the cold plastic panel of the nearest wall, where he kicked his feet up onto the opposite seat - much to the displeasure of the person sitting beside it - and wrapped an arm around Claude. "Not exactly my normal night clubbing," he mused quietly into the top of the other man's hair. "But I'll take it."

Between the soft scent of the other man's head, only fractions closer than he usually placed it, it was the only thought that preoccupied his mind, as the train rocked them into a shallow sleep all the way home.

Everything had changed and nothing at all.

CLAUDE: 

Claude was too drowsy to make any apologies or fuss for the other man, so he just shook his head and offered the person beside them a look. They harrumphed back at him, a critical eye on the pair as the Frenchman was pulled into the larger man's side and tucked there. 

It was warm and comforting and there was something about the way the other man's chest rose and fell that lulled him into a false sense of security on the train in the middle of a throng of people, like he was safe here. He was always safe here, really, but it was in the midpoint between awake and asleep that he truly felt it, keen, like heartache.

The rocking of the train helped him nod off and the heavy arm around his shoulders kept him there. At least, that was, until they were shaken awake by a kindly old hand. 

Claude startled, gaze fuzzy, as he glanced up at the woman that had been seated beside them, hair graying and curling at the edges of her face. She glanced at him, once, before walking away. Rubbing a hand down his face, Claude nudged the other man in the ribs so he could stand, waiting for him just a few feet away before weaving his way back toward home. 

GASTON:

Gaston's consciousness peeled back to the stark yellow lights inside the train and the gentle jostling of Claude nudging him awake. It seemed a lot less cosy, now they were far from the city and the huddle of bodies had become a faint scattering of men and women between the seats.

He pulled himself upwards and tumbled out of the train. It was probably past curfew, he realised, as they exited the station to find the world void of life. Though instead of hailing a cab, he tugged gently on Claude's arm and lead him by the back streets to where a narrow cobbled path skirted undergrowth on the outside of town and curled behind the houses, straight to his back door. He'd often take the route as a teen, to avoid trouble or more likely get into it. Of course, there hadn't been a curfew back then. But he'd come to know the streets and the trees as a safe spot from authority. 

And on that warm evening, with the town hidden from view, its safety seemed all too appealing. The birds sang and a sloppy arm slung around the other man's shoulders, as he pulled them through the slim gap between the Deer and the building beside it. 

CLAUDE: 

The streets were empty, was Claude's first, sleep-fuzzy thought as he made his way onto Main Street, Gaston close behind. He hadn't thought they would be walking at this hour but it did wonders for clearing the fog from your head. Enough to know that the grip the other man had on his arm was one he didn't mind leaning into, now that he could, nor the fact that the path they were taking led them behind the houses. 

Away from Main Street, on the outskirts of the town. 

It wasn't one he'd seen used before and it didn't look it. Claude wondered how Gaston had even found it, known about it, but then those thoughts tumbled away. Gaston was raised here. Of course he knew pathways like this existed. 

So, Claude let himself be led by the arm wrapped loose around his shoulders. Let himself be steered between the gaps of the buildings. He recognized the outside, vaguely, as the Deer but he didn't quite know why they hadn't gone inside. Gaston had the keys (or, Claude hoped that he still did. Gaston had moved the spare, but the Frenchman still knew where it was, regardless. Showing that meant he had to give that away). Beyond that, Claude was content to lean against the solid bulk beside him for a moment longer before pulling away. 

Head tilting to the side, the corner of Claude's mouth curled up into a smirk, mischievous as it always was. His brows hiked up his forehead, asking a silent question. Were they just going to stand here all night, or was Claude going to have to trudge further down the street in the dark? 

Or, maybe, was Gaston going to let him stay? 

GASTON:

Gaston didn't know why he hesitated. Only that he did. The pressure of drink on his body had largely subsided, to nothing more than a faint dryness in his mouth and a twinge just above the eyebrow. He wanted water and blankets and to mindlessly pump social media directly into his brain for the next 24 hours. He also, surprisingly, didn't want the moment of soft summer warmth to end. Not in the raw, animalistic way he usually didn't want a moment to end - right up until it did end, at least for him, and he couldn't care less any more. Well… not much, anyway.

His eyes flicked across the street to the cold outline of the church, and then back to the man in front of him. "Do you," he threw a thumb over his shoulder, for once in his life unable to follow with a witty comeback (possibly because no matter how it went, the joke was probably on him) "wanna come in for a coffee?"

CLAUDE: 

The smaller man watched Gaston's face for a moment, noticed the way his eyes glanced behind his shoulder. The church was behind them, looming in the dark like some malevolent entity.

The hooked thumb back towards the flat made his eyes crinkle, a huff of a laugh curling the edges of his mouth. Claude nodded his head, a hand coming up to run through his hair. 

"Oui, I would like that." His hand moved, then, and wrapped, first, around the back of a bicep, tugging at it, and then skimmed higher, fingertips careful, always with a question curling his brow. 

GASTON:

Gaston let the touch guide him closer, soaked into the warmth of another human being. That human being. Knowing that coffee wasn't the intention, nor the end result. Not even the beginning. He stepped closer, hands finding the other man's waist, torsos meeting gently in the middle. For a moment, he lingered like that, listening to the sounds of the morning birds as his gaze skimmed the older man's features, the lines of his face and soft fan of his eyelashes, filled with a strange tangle passion and apprehension at the night's discovery.

"I'd like that too," he answered quietly, before pressing another eager kiss onto his awaiting lips.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Mark of the Wolf Part 8 (Derek Hale x Reader)

Catch up here! | Chapter Masterlist here

A/N: So it's finally here, the long-anticipated eighth chapter! Three cheers for the amazing readers who asked when my next instalment would be, you guys kept me writing through this stressful and busy academic year! Also, was the wait worth it? No. You guys deserved an update months ago! (I still have Halloween prompts in my inbox... *laughs nervously*) I hope you enjoy this chapter. All I can say is... the action picks up in the next chapter!

Note: Reader’s last name is Markolf. A lot of season 3 callbacks!

Words: 3062 (this chapter was long!)

Warnings: Past Trauma??? An insensitive Peter? Some tropes thrown in there! That’s it I guess.

"What did you find out?" Liam whispered, conscious not to be too loud since you were passed out on the cot a few meters away.

"It's too much to get into now," Derek whispered, his eyes on your resting form. "But I think I know how she survived the first attack."

"The John Doe case in New Hampshire?" Stiles asked. Derek nodded.

"In her memories, she hid behind a sage bush that caught on fire."

"Are you suggesting these hunters are afraid of Sage?" Peter fired off the question like it was a race after rolling his eyes at the idea.

"She burnt some sage at the animal clinic too. I think they have to sense who their targets are. The sage probably throws them off the scent… or however they track people."

"There has to be a reason people use sage to cleanse houses. I saged the hell out of my house after I found out we had a Hellhound on the Police payroll." Stiles revealed boldly. Everyone turned to look at him like he’d set his underwear on fire. "What? Lydia told me sage cleanses negative energy and auras."

After a beat, Liam added, "Sometimes the answers to the hardest questions are the simplest ones." He sounded like a philosophy major. Now it was his turn to get everyone's confused glares. "What? I read it on a fortune cookie once."

Scott's head snapped up with a thought, "What if they see their targets the way we see Kitsune? Auras.”

“And the sage acts as a smoke screen," Stiles finished Scott’s thought.

"Are we supposed to start sporting necklaces made of sage? Maybe make a nice cologne? Don't know about you, but I'm quite partial to the smell of my Eau De Nuit Oud. Besides, we can't set fire to any bush we come in contact with in hopes it may be sage when the hunters attack again." Peter said.

"We aren't a priority on their kill list now that we know they want Y/N." Derek reminded his uncle bitterly. "Which means we can't leave her unprotected until we find a way to fight them."

"Who's gonna be on first watch?" Stiles asked, "Because I'm in desperate need of a shower and a nap."

"I'll do it." Peter offered.

"And are we just supposed to trust that a former homicidal maniac like you wouldn't just give her up to the Order to try and save your own skin?" Stiles shot back.

"Hey!" Peter acted offended, "Reformed homicidal maniac to you."

Derek made his way to the exit, "Peter comes with me. I have a lead to check out."

"I'll take first watch." Scott declared.

Derek took a double take of your sleeping form. He was becoming all too aware of how increasingly protective over you he was getting. He didn't like where this was going. He clenched his jaw, and with large strides, he left the bunker with Peter on his tail. He kept berating himself; he should have never fucking kissed you!

***

You awoke with a hell of a headache and a throbbing feeling where Peter’s claws used to be. Your legs were as heavy as logs as you dragged them off the bed and onto the ground, your hand pressed to the nape of your neck in a feigned effort to sooth the stinging sensation.

You heard the faint whispers of voices coming from the other side of the room. For a moment you thought you had been in your own house. Correction: your new house with unpacked boxes and fresh sheets, but after a few seconds, when you finally got your bearings, you realised you were still in the Bunker. You sighed, feeling exhausted of your dark surroundings more than anything else.

"Look who's finally awake," Scott said with a relieved smile on his face.

"How long was I out?"

"A little under four hours," he answered.

"Four hours?" you asked in disbelief. "Why didn't anyone try and wake me?"

Scott awkwardly shuffled his feet, "Honestly, we figured after the night you just had, you could use a little rest."

You gave them a soft smile, "You got any pain killers?" you asked, still rubbing at your neck.

Scott looked at you with both a confused and concerned look, "It hasn't healed yet?"

"I heal faster than humans, but not as fast as werewolves," You stood up from the cot, which took more effort than you'd have liked. That memory sharing fiasco left you feeling winded, even several hours after said aforementioned memory sharing. Though, something about it made you feel different. It was like you were forgetting something crucial. You only remembered bits and pieces, like the last remnants of a dream that was slowly slipping from your mind. Instinctively you traced your lips with the tips of your fingers. What were you forgetting?

"Here you go," Scott handed you a container of painkillers and some bottled water.

"Thanks," You looked around and noticed how empty the bunker was. "Where is everyone?"

"It's daylight. The hunters don't come out during daylight so Stiles went home for a change of clothes and some sleep. Peter and Derek took off on some 'urgent business' and Liam… Well, he's supposed to be here by now. It's his turn on guard duty."

"Guard duty?"

"You were unconscious. And with what happened to the animal clinic, the hunters are after you too."

"You guys would do that, help a total stranger?" You looked at Scott in awe. There were very few people willing to put their lives on the line to help a total stranger. Scott simply gave you a well-worn smile, like he'd practised it many times before. A smile that said 'you're not the first stray we've taken under our wing'. In a way, he reminded you of your older brother. They both have that annoying to God hero complex. Then, like a bolt of lightning striking twice, you remembered the devastating state of the animal clinic. "Shit! The clinic. How the hell am I going to explain what happened?"

Scott put a hand on your shoulder, "Don't worry. We have a sheriff in our pocket."

"What? The town's sheriff knows about werewolves?"

"He should. He's Stiles's dad after all."

"Who are you people?" You were completely dumbfounded by the level of transparency going on in this town. Maybe moving here for a fresh start away from all things supernatural wasn't the best idea.

"Actually," Liam's voice erupted from the entrance, he tried to take the steps gracefully but wound up almost tripping on an untied shoelace. He was flush, probably ran here. "Most of the town knows.”

"The whole town?" This was getting out of hand. Does no one know the first rule of surviving as a supernatural is to keep their very existence secret? Moving here was definitely not the fresh start you needed. You were wracking your brain trying to think of the reason you chose to move to Beacon Hills. You were coming up empty.

"Prompt as usual Liam," Scott teased.

Liam gave him the closest thing to puppy eyes you had ever seen, then shrugged and said "Sorry. Overslept."

Scott made his way out of the bunker, giving you a sheepish wave, you noticed the circles under his eyes at that moment. He was probably more tired than he let on. Liam dug his fists into his jeans and walked towards you, a curious look in his eye. He stood close to you, his nose protruding away from his body. He looked like he was searching for something with his nose. Wait… Was he?

"Are you sniffing me?" You asked with a raised brow. Liam almost seemed to jump from embarrassment.

"Sorry. I was just trying to see if I could sense your..." He stumbled around trying to find the right word.

"My being a werewolf?" He nodded. You giggled a little. "Unlikely. When you don't shift for a prolonged amount of time, the gap between your werewolf and human side grows." You touched your neck wound. Soon you'd probably no longer be able to heal faster than normal people.

Liam noticed your wistful expression and cleared his throat, "So, what do you want to do? We could leave the bunker. I'm sure you're tired of being cooped up in here."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Sure, as long as I'm on guard duty and you don't get kidnapped by tree people."

Your mood suddenly picked up. You knew exactly what you wanted to do. "How do you feel about unpacking boxes?"

***

Derek and Peter were walking silently side by side somewhere in the woods. Derek had a permanent scowl on his face. Even his stride was faster and more purposeful than usual and Peter noticed.

"You've been awfully quiet," Peter remarked as he walked with less purpose and more leisure than his brooding nephew.

"Don't have anything to say."

Peter rolled his eyes, "So you dragged me out to the woods for some Uncle-Nephew bonding time? Gotta say, you're doing such a good job. Bonding requires actual, you know, bonding. We can start with some small talk."

Derek simply ignored Peter and continued walking on.

"Okay, I'll start. That Doctor, she's quite easy on the eyes. Not to mention, very damaged. All that emotional baggage of watching her poor boyfriend die. But hey, from all the sexual chemistry I noticed between you two of you --" Peter was cut off by a very annoyed Derek suddenly grabbing the collar of his V-neck shirt. "Ahhk, careful! This is Armani."

Peter stared into Derek's angry glare and everything fell into place. It was like a light bulb went off in his head. "Oh, that's why you've been more broody than usual. You like the good doctor, don't you?"

Derek let out a deep sigh and let go of Peter's collar. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. He had played right into Peter's manipulative hands. He'd overreacted. "Don't be ridiculous."

"So that kiss was just what? A European handshake?" Peter teased like the smug bastard he was.

Derek's brows rose up in surprise, finally ending his permanent scowls reign on his face. "How did you?"

After a beat of letting his nephew stew about in his shocked disposition, Peter finally reminded him, "The dream state? You may not have seen me, but I saw everything too. And from what I saw, she could do with a few counts of therapy."

"Don't be an ass."

"Fine, then tell me where we're going!"

"The root cellar. Alyster mentioned a 'Mother Tree'. The root cellar is right below the Nemeton."

Peter rolled his eyes, "Last year’s news. Get to the part that makes me go 'Oh!'"

Derek rolled his eyes, "In the dream state I saw a symbol. A tattoo. I think I've seen it before, in the root cellar where Pai--" His eyes turned dark from the bitter taste of that particular memory. Peter's face was no longer smug, he decided it was better if he say nothing. But being accommodating wasn't his winning quality.

"So, Y/N… She a good kisser?"

"Peter!"

He shrugged, "What? I'm just making small talk."

Derek began walking again, "Well, stop."

Peter hurried after him, "Ah, the youth. No time for the little things anymore."

After what felt like hours, Derek and Peter finally stumbled upon familiar ground. Derek did most of the heavy lifting, trying to make a path to the collapsed root cellar. Peter stood over his shoulder barking orders on how to clear the rubble. "No not that one, move the other one, it's bigger."

"You're welcome to come down here and help!"

"I already am!"

Derek sighed what was probably his hundredth sigh of the day. After clearing a path, both Hale boys went under the unstable structure. Derek's eyes grew cold and dark when he spotted the blood stain that haunted the cellar. He pushed his feelings under the surface and tried to ignore it. Even Peter was dishevelled by it, but he too swallowed hard and tried to ignore it.

"Here," Derek said, his eyes were their wolfish blue to see better. His hand was tracing the weird carved symbol on a snaky root.

"Is that the--".

"Celtic five-fold knot? Yes." Derek said grimly.

"So what, you think Jennifer's behind all this? Because I can assure you, she's very dead."

Derek wrestled with the idea for a bit, but considered it impossible, "No, she used the knot as a way to channel the power from her 'sacrifices'." Derek spit out the words like venom. "I'm thinking the Order of Sagittarius use it for the same purpose. Somehow, when they kill someone, it's like they absorb their essence. I think all this is linked to a Nemeton. A much older one."

"That's a bit of a reach, don't you think?"

Derek smirked at Peter, "You got another explanation as to what Mother Tree means? Or how the head hunter somehow absorbed Alex's… essence? Or the fact they can disappear into trees apparently?"

"No…" Peter saw merit in Derek's train of thought, didn't mean he enjoyed him being right. "But this is a druid symbol and our friendly neighbourhood vet seems to be otherwise occupied."  

"Guess we'll have to do things the old fashioned way." He took his phone out of his pocket and waved it about. But first, Derek had to make a pit stop at the animal clinic. "Go ahead and fill the others in. There's something I need to do first."

***

You were absentmindedly leaning against the counter of your kitchen island. A hot cup of tea pressed between your palms. The steam formed curtains of white, blurring your vision. You kept moving the rim of the cup from side to side on your bottom lip -that feeling from earlier never left. You kept feeling like you forgot something. You had your keys and the stove wasn't on when you got home but the feeling refused to subside. In the background, you heard Liam and his friend, Mason -who he called to help with the unpacking of boxes- chatting.

"So then he tried to kiss me, and I didn't know what to do so I just turned my head and pretended to sneeze really loudly."

Your skin prickled a little when you heard Mason say kiss. What happened in the dream state? What were you forgetting?

"Didn't you tell him you're with Corey?"

"Well… not really. I said I was with someone, but long distance means I don't get to see Corey as much as I'd like. So, I'm always going solo to everything. Always." Mason said with a hint of dramatic flare. Liam let out a soft chuckle.

A knocking sound emanated from your doorway. The door was wide open to let the warm light of the golden hour into your living room. The knock was more a courtesy than a necessity.

"Hey, Derek. What are you doing here? Thought I'd be guarding Y/N till sundown?"

"Just here to drop something off," Derek answered. His voice was like a cooling breeze stirring you from thought. You felt hyper-aware all of a sudden. Like someone poured ice water down your back. And because the universe was always pulling rugs from under your feet, of course you were still wearing the dishevelled baggy clothes you had taken a nap in. You set your cup of tea down when Derek walked into your kitchen. He stopped for a second, studying your face like he was waiting for you to do or say something, but you didn't. Something about the way he held himself felt different. He seemed… almost self-conscious. It was jarring to see him look vulnerable, even if it only lasted for a few seconds.

Derek looked around your newly unpacked kitchen, "Hmmm… I think an old friend of mine in high school used to live here once. The house looks different though."

You felt cheeky all of a sudden, "Couldn't lead with a simple Hello?"

He looked you dead in the eyes, "Simple isn't in my nature." There was a bit of fire in his words. In the background, you heard Mason whistle lowly and something that sounded like a smack followed by a disapproving "Ow!" Derek smirked at the whole situation.

"Tea?"

"No, thanks." He walked closer to you, out of the view of the boys in your living room. "I came to drop this by and tell you everything with the animal clinic has been sorted. Talked to the Sheriff about what happened." Derek handed you the family picture that had been on your desk before the attack. There was a crack in the glass and a tear in the photo from an arrowhead.

A smile crept onto your face as you took the photograph. Your fingers touched for a moment and you felt a jolt. In your peripheral you saw Derek wrestle with his own face muscles, he was trying to keep a straight face. Then an image of a frantic Derek trying to wake you snuck into your mind. And like an elastic band returning after being stretched, you finally knew what had been haranguing you all day. The kiss. Your heart began to race and a flush raced to your cheeks too. You shook the memory away and tried to act as nothing had changed. Only, everything had changed. Were you attracted to Derek?

“Th-Thank you,” your gratitude came out as little more than a whisper, but you knew his wolf hearing picked it up just fine. You looked up to his eye-line, “I…” The golden light made his green eyes appear mystical. His piercing gaze threatened to drown you in a sea of green.

The sound of Derek's phone ringing shifted the tense atmosphere in the room giving you a chance to take a breath. Derek’s mood shifted. On the other end of the line, you could hear Scott say, "We may have a small problem."

Great! So now, not only was an all-powerful group of supernatural hunters gunning for you but apparently, there was yet another thing to add to your growing list of problems. And not to mention the mixed feelings you were struggling to decipher about your kiss with Derek.

 Part 9 is HERE!

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As Always: Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know what you think so far! Don’t be afraid to ask to be added to the tag list and just a heads-up. I will try to update more often. Also, I just finished watching Teen Wolf completely, high-key offended Noah and Melissa didn’t end up together! lol. Broken tags crossed out.

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[adrianna-m-scovill]

Soothing (Barson fic)

Barba gets poison ivy on a very sensitive part of his body and needs help applying the ointment. Pre-relationship Barson. 

Rated Mature. 8900 words. On AO3.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Benson said, gathering Noah into a hug and kissing his curls. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” Noah said as he drew back. He started pulling off his backpack. “But—”

Straightening, Benson finally got a good look at the man lurking in the doorway. “What the hell happened to you?” she exclaimed, and Noah looked back as he dropped his heavy pack to the floor.

“I don’t think Uncle Rafa had very much fun,” the boy finished.

Barba scowled at her. “I’m fine. It was fine. It was fun,” he said, and she might’ve laughed if not for the bandages and homemade finger-splint. His mutinous expression was daring her to laugh.

“Seriously, Barba, what—Come inside,” she said, moving forward and reaching for his arm. She saw him tense, and she stopped. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

“Sorry, Uncle Raf,” Noah said behind her, and Benson watched Barba’s gaze slide to the boy, watched as his expression gentled.

“I told you, Noah, it’s not your fault,” Barba said. “Don’t worry, alright? I’m just going to head home and…get cleaned up.”

“Okay. Thanks for taking me.”

“Anytime,” Barba said, smiling. Benson doubted that Noah could see the strain in the smile, but she could. Barba’s eyes returned to hers. “I have a car waiting,” he added.

“You’re welcome to bring your bag inside and stay for dinner. I’ll give you a ride later. Seriously, what happened to your hands?”

“Another time,” Barba said, backing into the hallway. “See you later, Noah.”

“Bye,” Noah said, dragging his backpack toward the living room.

Barba met Benson’s eyes for a moment. “Later, Liv,” he said, and then he was gone. She resisted the urge to follow him into the hallway, demanding an explanation, and instead pushed the door closed. She turned to look after her son.

“Noah, what did you and Uncle Rafa do last night?” She’d known that camping was far outside Barba’s comfort zone, which was why she’d been surprised by how easily he’d agreed when Noah asked him, rather than her, to accompany him. She knew that most of the other kids would be there with their fathers—and an uncle, a grandfather, and one older brother—so she couldn’t fault Noah for wanting to fit in even if she did bristle at the implied misogyny. She had been caught off guard when he’d asked Barba, though, and when Barba had quickly—almost eagerly, it had seemed—consented.

“All sorts of stuff!” Noah exclaimed, plopping himself onto the couch. “We put up a tent, and we played football, and we...made s’mores and hot dogs, and...um…” His forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember the events of the previous day and night. “We told scary stories and Uncle Raf’s was the best, Mom. We went fishing but I didn’t catch anything and that’s okay ‘cause I didn’t wanna hurt the fish. And hiking, and…”

“Sounds like you had a good time,” she said, settling onto the sofa beside him.

“It was so much fun!”

She couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, but she was worried about Barba. “I’m so glad, honey. But...tell me what happened to Rafael.”

“Oh,” Noah said, his smile faltering. “Wellll...lots of stuff.”

She tried to temper her unease; she didn’t want to jump to conclusions and assume the worst, but part of her was already sorry she hadn’t forced Barba to stay and explain the bandages. “Start at the beginning.” She paused. “Did he break a finger?”

Noah shook his head. “Mr. Jim said it was just jammed. Uncle Raf couldn’t bend it and they had to pull on it and Mr. Riley made a joke about pulling on fingers but I didn’t get it and Uncle Rafa didn’t laugh either. But maybe that’s ‘cause I think it hurt pretty bad. It got real purple. Mr. Jim said he was impressed Uncle Raf didn’t say any bad words.”

“How did his finger get jammed?” she asked, her heart already going out to poor Barba. She didn’t want to tell Noah that, contrary to what Jim and Riley might believe, pulling on a jammed finger was not a responsible course of action. She could only hope they hadn’t caused further damage.

“Well, we were putting up our tent but Uncle Rafa didn’t know how, so he was reading the instructions. Some dads asked if he wanted help but he said no, we could figure it out. It was taking us a long time, though, so they started playing football. He asked if I wanted to go play but I said no, I wanted to help. I never knew how to put up a tent before, Mom! You gotta slide the stick things through—oh,” he said, realizing without prodding that he’d gotten off-topic. “Anyway we were reading and Mr. Riley yelled ‘heads up’ and threw the football to us but Uncle Rafa was afraid it was gonna hit me in the face so he tried to catch it with his wrong hand.” Noah grimaced and shook his head. “Big mistake,” he added, and she laughed in spite of herself.

“So...his fingers are splinted because of a football…?”

“Mommy, it hit real hard,” Noah insisted, miming slamming one hand into the fingertips of his other. “Mr. Riley said sorry he threw too hard. Uncle Raf said it was fine but it really wasn’t ‘cause he couldn’t bend his middle finger.”

“That must’ve hurt.” She hesitated, afraid to ask the next question: “Did they laugh at him?” She tried to keep her tone light so that Noah wouldn’t think it was too bad if they had.

He shook his head, though, curls bouncing. “Only when he said about skipping gym class when he was in school. He told me I’m not allowed to do that, though. But I like gym class!”

“I know,” she said, ruffling his hair and smiling. “So what happened next?”

“After they pulled his finger then Mr. Jim taped a bag of ice around it and we finished putting up our tent and then they asked me if I wanted to play football even though it would’ve been the wrong number but I didn’t want Uncle Rafa to feel bad so I said I didn’t want to play but he said he would if I did so we did but first he let Mr. Jim tape his two fingers together with a popsicle stick.”

“And you played football?” She wished she could’ve seen Barba running around with them. At least she knew he’d gone in jeans rather than a suit and tie.

“Uncle Raf got knocked down once even though it was s’posed to be touch football but he also got a touchdown ‘cause he can run real fast.”

“Can he?”

“Yup. He said the little guys had to be fast where he grew up. They laughed but...he’s not little anymore. Guess he just remembered how. And anyway we won.” He paused, thinking.

“How’d he get the bandages?” she prompted.

“Oh, yeah. We had to make pointy sticks to cook the hot dogs and marshmallows. But first we had to cut the little branches off. I found our sticks but they had a lot of branches. I broke some off but he wouldn’t let me use the knife ‘cause it was too big.”

She winced, imagining what was coming. “He cut himself?”

“He couldn’t hold the stick real well ‘cause his fingers was taped together. And then he slipped and the knife went whoosh,” he said, sliding his hand through the air and slamming it into his left palm. “He did say a bad word but I didn’t laugh because it was bleeding a lot. I didn’t like it. I got scared but he promised it wasn’t as bad as it looked. And Mr. Jim said it didn’t need stitches.”

Mr. Jim is not a fucking doctor, she thought, but she kept the words to herself. She might rethink future trips with him as a chaperone, even though Noah seemed—thankfully—fine. Barba appeared to have borne the brunt of the trauma.

“So they cleaned it up and put this gooey stuff on it and wrapped white stuff all around it ‘cause it was too big for a band-aid.”

“So...he only cut his left hand? Where his jammed finger is?”

“Yeahhh,” Noah said, and now she could see hesitance—and, she thought, guilt—in his face. She waited, giving him time to continue, but he didn’t.

“What happened to his other hand?”

“It was an accident.”

“It sounds like they were all accidents, honey. What happened?”

“I dropped Eddie,” he said quietly, looking at his lap.

She hesitated. “You dropped...I thought I told you to leave the elephant home.”

“Yeah.”

She suppressed a sigh. “Okay, it’s alright, but how did you dropping Eddie hurt Rafael’s hand?”

Noah wrinkled his nose and bent forward, dragging the backpack against his legs. He reached inside and pulled out the toy. His lower lip trembled as he looked at his favorite stuffed animal. One of Eddie’s back legs was black, charred, although there was a white bandage wrapped around the bottom of the burned appendage.

“I dropped him in the fire,” he said, and she could see the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh, honey, well it looks like someone fixed him up at least.”

“He got a bandage like Uncle Rafa’s,” he said, his face still on the verge of crumpling. She pulled him into a one-armed hug, kissing the top of his head.

“Uncle Rafa saved Eddie from the fire?” she guessed, wondering how badly Barba’s hand was burned. And if he should have a bandage over it. She supposed that was probably Jim’s doing, too.

“Yeah. His hand got real red. He kept it in ice water for a long time but he said it was fine. They asked if he needed a hospital but he said it wasn’t that bad. Like a sunburn,” he added, and she hoped that hadn’t just been to pacify the kids. “Then they put other gooey stuff on it and wrapped it up but he said it had to be loose to let air get in so when we went in the tent, he redid it himself. I helped a little because of his hurt finger.”

“That was nice of you. All of this happened yesterday?”

“Yeah. And then we ate hot dogs and lots and lots of s’mores—Uncle Raf ate more than me! And we told ghost stories, Mom. Oh no wait first we went fishing. And then after ghost stories we went to sleep, but first Uncle Rafa got poison ivy on his butt.”

“On his—what?”

“On his butt,” the boy giggled.

“No, I mean—how the—How did that happen?”

Noah screwed up his face in thought. “He went to the bathroom in the woods, Mom,” he said, as though the idea might not have occurred to her. “But it was real dark and I think he didn’t see it, and some little leaves got inside his underwear,” he continued, whispering the last word.

“How...uh…” She wasn’t sure what to ask next—or how. She didn’t want to be thinking about Barba’s ass—or crotch, for God’s sake—and it certainly wasn’t an appropriate topic to discuss with her son.

“We got in our pajamas but then as soon as we got in our sleeping bags he got up and turned on our lamp thingy and he told me to cover my eyes, so I did and then when he said it was okay to open my eyes, he was in his pajamas but I guess he took his underwear off and it took kinda a long time. And I knew it was poison ivy ‘cause Mr. George showed us what the leaves looked like but Uncle Rafa looked it up on his phone, too.”

“Did he touch the leaves with his hands?” she asked, feeling ill.

“Unh-uh, no, after he saw them he put a sock on his hand to hold them and then he put the sock and his underwear in a bag and he said he cleaned himself up before he put his pants back on ‘cause when we read about it on his phone it said that the leaves have oil and he said his sweats were okay because they didn’t touch the leaves and he washed up before he put them back on.” He shrugged as if to say he was willing to take Barba at his word.

“Did he say he had a rash or anything?”

“Nah he said he’d probably have a itchy butt in the morning,” he said, grinning. “I laughed ‘cause it was pretty funny. He thought so, too.”

I doubt it, she thought. He might’ve laughed but I doubt he thought it was very funny. “And did he?” she asked.

Noah looked confused.

“Did he have an itchy butt?” she asked, smiling to hide her concern.

Noah laughed. “Yeah. But he said he wasn’t gonna scratch. And he didn’t tell anyone else and I didn’t either ‘cause I didn’t want him to be embarrassed.” He looked down at Eddie and lost his smile. “Momma, when you talk to Uncle Raf will you tell him I’ll be more careful next time?”

“Honey, I know he doesn’t blame you for anything that happened.”

“But I just hope he’ll wanna go again.”

She let out a breath and ran her fingers through his hair. “You had fun with Uncle Rafael, huh?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he answered glumly. “He’s real fun.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Honey, listen, I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna see if you can stay next door with Mrs. Cooper and Austin for a bit, okay? And I’ll go talk to Uncle Rafa and make sure he’s feeling okay.”

“Can I go, too?” he asked hopefully.

“Not right now, but I’ll make sure he knows that you had a good time with him. Wait here while I run next door.”

“Okay.”

“If you need fresh bandages for Eddie’s leg, you can get a box from the bathroom drawer.”

“Uncle Rafa said this one would be good for a real long time as long as I don’t get it wet or dirty.”

“Well, I guess he knows what he’s talking about,” she said, ruffling his hair. “Since he was the attending veterinarian,” she added, and Noah laughed, hugging the elephant carefully to his chest.

 *       *       *

 She passed a young man who appeared to be a delivery person leaving Barba’s apartment as she approached. He smiled and nodded, and she returned the gestures. She was worried, though—worried about Barba, and how much pain he might be experiencing. She hadn’t given him any warning that she was stopping over because she assumed he would tell her he was fine.

He looked less than thrilled when he opened the door. He might be annoyed to see her outside his apartment, but it was more than that; she could see the strain in his face, and it did nothing to ease her worries.

“Liv. What’s up?”

“I hear you had a rough night.”

He grimaced, shrugging a shoulder, and turned away from her. “Sorry if Noah was upset. Since you’re here, I assume you interrogated him?”

“I asked a few questions,” she said. He hadn’t exactly invited her inside, but he hadn’t asked her to leave, so she stepped into his apartment and closed the door. He was pacing. She looked toward the kitchen and saw an open bottle of liquor.

He caught the trajectory of her glance and offered a small smile. “Want a drink?”

“No. Thank you.” She also noticed that he’d taken the bandage off his right hand, and she could see the redness as he paced in front of her. He was still wearing the jeans and sweater he’d had on when he dropped off Noah, and his left hand was still wrapped and splinted.

“Is he alright?” he asked.

“Noah? He’s fine. He wanted to come check on you but I left him with the neighbor so I could check on you.”

He laughed. He lifted his hand to scratch at his jaw before wincing and dropping it back to his side. “This isn’t really a good time,” he said. “I’ve got a...situation.”

“Poison ivy?”

He sighed, casting her a sidelong look as he paced.

She looked at his hands. “You need some help putting lotion on?”

He answered with a humorless laugh. “Not going to happen.”

She watched him pace for a few more moments. “I can see how much discomfort you’re—”

“Where did he say I had it, exactly?”

“Your, uh...butt,” she said, trying not to let her embarrassment show. “I realize it’s not ideal, but I’m sure we can handle a little awkwardness to get you feeling better.”

“I think I’ve had about as much humiliation as I can handle for a while.”

“Barba, I think your ego is healthy enough to survive a few knocks. Besides, how bad could it be to have a friend help—”

“We don’t have that kind of friendship.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together: his agitation, his refusal to meet her eyes, his inability to stand still. “What does that…Where exactly do you have…” He cut his eyes toward her and quickly away. “Jesus, Rafael, you need to go to the hospital if it’s—if you’re—”

“Sure, I’ll take the subway.”

“I’ll drive—You can’t sit?” she realized, cursing herself for being so slow to understand just how bad his situation was. “How’d you get to my apartment—and here?”

He sighed. “I didn’t want Noah to know how bad it was but…it’s…worse. It’s definitely getting worse. And it’s definitely not just my ass.”

“Raf—”

“Look, I talked to a doctor friend of mine, alright? I have a prescription, a steroid cream, he had it delivered for me. I just, uh…” He held up his hands with a grimace.

“How…extensive…”

“Very.”

“I mean how, um…sensitive an area…” She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment. “How deep, or—or invasive—For crying out loud, are you really going to make me ask this any more directly?”

He stopped and turned to face her. His cheeks were dark but he held her stare. “Very,” he repeated.

“Okay, well…could we maybe, I don’t know, cover up…you know…” She gestured a hand toward his crotch, saw his jaw tighten, and cursed herself again.

“No.”

“No because you don’t want to, or no because it’s—”

“Both.”

She hesitated, raising a hand to rub her middle finger against her forehead.

“For Christ’s sake stop thinking about it,” he said.

“I can’t. You’re obviously in pain.”

“I’ll handle it. Just go home.”

“Handle it? How?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Squirt in the general direction?” she suggested.

He snorted, the ghost of a real smile curving his lips before he grimaced again and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I don’t…” He gave his head a little shake, and she could see the desperation peeking through his bravado. His throat worked as he struggled to swallow. He let out a slow breath and returned his gaze to hers. “Fuck, Liv,” he said softly, and for a few seconds all of his defenses were gone.

“Okay,” she said, stepping toward him automatically, unable to bear the torment in his eyes. “Maybe—maybe a baking soda bath? To take the edge off?” She looked at his hands. “Do you have rubber gloves, or plastic, to keep your hands dry?”

“Sure, yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said, and she could see him piecing together his armor with effort. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

“Raf.”

“This is not your problem. Really, I’ll—”

“You can’t get the steroid stuff on your hands.”

“No. Gloves, like you said.” He offered an almost-convincing smile.

She held up two fingers. “I’m sure they’ll fit over the splint.”

“Look, no offense, Olivia, but I really, really need to get my fucking pants off and I think it’s best you leave before that happens.”

She almost laughed, but seeing the pain in his face tempered any amusement she felt. “Why are you still wearing them? It must be—”

“I had to wait for the prescription and then you showed up.”

She refused to take offense at his accusatory tone. “Fine, there must be someone else who can come help you put the damn cream on. The doctor friend? Your…I don’t know…mother?”

“My mother?” he asked, and she did laugh at the abject horror in his expression as he stared at her.

“Okay, okay,” she said, holding up a hand. “Listen. I’m sorry. I can’t stand to see you like this and it’s my fault, at least partly. You didn’t have to take Noah on that camping trip, even if he did ask you. I should’ve given you an out, told him I was going, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been the only mother there.”

“You would’ve.”

“Really? Well...still.”

“By no stretch of imagination is this your fault,” he said. “If a grown man can’t manage to cut a piece of wood or take a sh—go to the bathroom in the woods without help then I really think he deserves what he gets.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

He raised his eyebrows and held his hands out to his sides. “Look at me,” he said. “One night, less than two days in the woods—I can’t take it anymore, Liv, seriously—”

“My son doesn’t have a scratch on him—”

“I’m taking my clothes off.”

“—and from what I can tell never wants to go anywhere without you again.”

“So help me God.”

“Rafael.”

“He’s too polite to say so, but I’m sure he’ll never want—I can’t discuss this right now,” he said, starting abruptly toward the bedroom.

“I can’t leave until I know you’re okay.”

“I don’t care what you do right now,” he said, pushing the door closed behind himself.

 *       *       *

 “Fuck. Fuck.” There was a long silence from the bedroom. “Are you still here?” he finally asked.

Benson was pacing the living room, listening to him mutter and curse. “Yes,” she answered. “What do you need?”

The silence stretched out on the other side of the door. Finally, barely audible: “Fuuuuck.”

“Let me help you. Don’t keep suffering just because you’re embarrassed.”

“This is not something you should...have to do,” he muttered; she could only hear him because she’d stopped in front of his door.

“I promise you, no one will ever know about this but us.”

The door opened and he stood before her in a bathrobe, held loosely closed by the thumb and middle two fingers of his burned right hand. He looked so miserable that she had to fight the urge to pull him into a comforting hug. “This is...the worst thing I’ve ever felt,” he admitted quietly. “I can’t get a glove over the splint, I can barely use my right hand because...it hurts, and I can’t see…” He released a heavy breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Okay,” she said, putting a light hand on his arm. “We’ll do this, Barba, it’s fine. Is it...front and back?” He stared at her. “The rash? Front and back?”

“Yes. Well. Uhh...back and...under...mostly,” he said.

She ignored the dark blooms of color on his cheeks. “Do you want to do this standing or lying down?”

He hesitated. “Standing?” he finally repeated. “How…”

“I thought you might feel, I don’t know, less vulnerable on your feet. If I…” She trailed off, realization dawning. “Yeah, no, I guess not,” she muttered as he shook his head. “Okay, let’s put a towel on the bed, you lay down, and we’ll get this over with.”

He swallowed and fidgeted with the front of his robe. “Alright, then you can...wait here and I’ll...let you know when I’m ready if that’s…”

“Of course. Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

He backed away and pushed the door almost closed, and Benson turned to resume pacing while she waited. She didn’t want him to think this was a big deal; it shouldn’t be a big deal, and she hated the nervous flutters in her stomach and the heat threatening to creep out of her shirt collar every time she thought about what was going to happen.

 *       *       *

 He was lying face down on his bed, on a towel, and he’d draped his bathrobe over himself from middle back to calves. His heart was slamming in his chest, and it wasn’t all from the pain and itchiness.

Those were bad, though; he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said this was the worst thing he’d felt. The pain was even secondary to the itch. Everything felt hot and swollen, itchy and achy and raw, and he was unable to see the most-seriously affected areas. He cursed his injured hands a hundred times over. All he wanted was to be able to glop cream on his hands and slather it all over between his legs and over his backside until the maddening itch was gone.

But he couldn’t. His hands, in addition to being somewhat incapacitated, hurt. He couldn’t even fist them in frustration.

“You can come in,” he said, in spite of the acid burning his gut. He shifted his hips a bit beneath the robe and barely suppressed a groan; the friction against the terrycloth made it worse, because the urge to scratch was overwhelming. His body wanted him to rut against the towel to relieve the itch, and he closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “I’m sorry,” he said when he heard her approaching the bed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said quietly. He heard her pick up the box of rubber gloves he’d set beside the steroid cream and it occurred to him that he should’ve tried harder—the maddening itch and ache were robbing him of his ability to think of anything else, stealing his finely-honed skill of compartmentalization.

“Maybe you can just help me get the gloves on,” he said, unable to keep the desperation from his voice. “At least on my right hand and I’ll just—just—”

“Cause yourself more pain in one place to relieve it in another,” she said quietly. “Barba, you don’t have to take care of everything by yourself. Relax. Focus on breathing.”

“Are you thinking this is why men would never survive childbirth?” he asked, and he heard her soft laughter. He wiggled on the towel and winced.

“I couldn’t say. I’ve never gone through childbirth.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. Liv, I can’t—”

“I’m going to lift the robe, okay?”

He swallowed with effort. “Okay.” He felt her fold the bathrobe up, felt the air caress his overheated skin. He stared at his right hand, tracing the edge of the redness with his eyes.

“Rafael, I’m so sorry, this must feel awful.”

“That bad, huh?” he muttered. His chin was tight against the bedspread.

“I’m going to touch you. I’m going to start high and work my way down.”

“Okay,” he repeated. His heart was still racing and his stomach churning but he’d lost all of his fight. He just wanted relief and it would be idiotic to stop her now. “We’re still going to be friends after this, right?” he asked. It was a pathetic attempt at a joke, he knew, but she laughed anyway.

“I’d say it would take worse than this to get rid of me but I imagine you’re not in the mood to think about worse scenarios.”

He smiled in spite of himself. “God forbid.” The cream felt cold against his skin and he tried to focus on that rather than thinking about what she might be seeing. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more vulnerable. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, but especially her. He hated that she’d been put in this position, hated that he’d probably embarrassed Noah, hated that he couldn’t take care of himself.

But he trusted her. She wouldn’t laugh at his discomfort, or take advantage of his embarrassment. She was the last person he wanted to see him like this but the only person he would trust to do it. He didn’t want to think about what that might say about him or his potential for a happy future.

Even so, the thought—the recognition that this was Olivia, and he could be safer with no one else—actually managed to calm him, and he let out a slow breath against the comforter. She was swabbing gently at his skin. Each touch brought quick relief to that spot, but as she applied the cream to more and more areas of rash, it also served to localize—worsen—the discomfort between his legs in the areas she hadn’t yet reached.

He shifted involuntarily against the towel and hissed in a quick breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m going as quickly as I can but I don’t want to miss any. Rafa, most of these back here aren’t that bad, but it looks like it gets worse…”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He didn’t have to be able to see it; he could feel it.

“I’m going to touch lower. Inner thigh,” she said.

“Okay.” Her voice was almost as soothing as the ointment. “For the record, I’m...not a complete idiot,” he said after a few seconds of silence.

“I’m sorry? Why would I ever think that?”

“I mean I didn’t...I might not know much about camping or—or plants, or you know, wilderness stuff but I didn’t do this…”

“You didn’t grab a handful of poison ivy leaves to wipe your ass?” she said, and he laughed in surprise, immediately wincing at the friction. “I know. Noah said you got some leaves in your pants. Sounds like an understandable accident in the dark when your hands probably made things difficult to...navigate.”

He looked at his hands and didn’t answer.

“I need you to spread your legs.”

He closed his eyes but did as instructed.

“I’m going to get on the bed if that’s alright?”

“I guess it’s still better than you kneeling in front of me,” he mumbled, and to his relief she laughed. He’d been studiously avoiding that image in his mind—refusing to contemplate what could’ve made her think that would be a comfortable position for either of them.

“It didn’t occur to me until I...visualized,” she answered. He could hear the embarrassment in her voice, and also the smile. Both comforted him. The bed dipped as she crawled up between his knees. “I’m going to...uh…”

“I don’t need a play by play,” he said. Then, afraid the words sounded ruder than he’d intended, he added, “Thank you. I just—I trust you and just want this over with.”

“Alright, I…” She trailed off. He felt her fingers, gentle, soothing his itch and pain half an inch at a time. She was spreading him open, getting closer and closer to the heart of the matter; he almost laughed at the thought.

“What?” he asked. He couldn’t stand the awkward silence. Maybe if they pretended like they were having a normal conversation, they could gloss over the fact that she was mere inches from giving him a prostate exam.

“I don’t want you to be upset,” she finally said.

“Upset?” he repeated. “I think we’ve passed...You mean upset with you?” he realized.

“You asked if our friendship would survive this, and—”

“Jesus, Liv, because you shouldn’t have to do this. Not because...You’re doing what you always do. Helping. Taking care of people. I just hate having you see me like this.”

“I know this is awkward, but you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. There’s a blister here, this might hurt, okay?”

He braced himself. Her touch was gentle, the cream soothing. He let out a breath. “It’s not embarrassment,” he muttered, so quietly he wasn’t sure she would hear him. “I mean it is, obviously this is humiliating, but it’s more than just…” He stopped, afraid his emotional state would lead him to say something he shouldn’t.

“Is this about Noah?” she asked.

And you, he thought.

“You’re not going to give me some line of misogyny bull, are you?” she asked, startling him into a small laugh. “Because I expect better from you.”

“I’m not allowed to question my masculinity on occasion?” he asked. He was half-joking, but he was also treading dangerously close to the source of his wounded pride. And she knew; of course she did.

“No,” she answered. “Look, Barba, the day will come when I will embarrass Noah just by existing, and hell, maybe you will, too. But this is not that day. He doesn’t care if you can catch a football.”

“I can,” he muttered, scowling at his splinted finger. It was bruised, a little swollen, sore. Damning.

“I’m sure you can,” she said, and he smiled at her placating tone. “The point is, it doesn’t matter. What matters to him is that you were willing to spend time with him. He’s worried you won’t want to take him again because he wasn’t careful enough.”

“Shit,” he exhaled. “I’ll talk to him.”

“That’s my point,” she answered. “Perineum.”

“I—What?” A moment later he felt her gloved finger swipe over the sensitive spot, and he jerked reflexively, digging his toes into the bed. “Fuck.”

“Sorry.”

He laughed, a nervous sound that did nothing to cover his anxiousness. That touch had caused a decidedly unwelcome flush of heat that had nothing to do with his rash. “Thanks for the warning,” he managed, as her thumb—the touch light, barely-there—spread cream over the curve of one swollen testicle. His right hand was curved into a painful fist, and he straightened his fingers, wincing at the sharp sting as the movement pulled at his burned skin. He was going to have to get some more aloe cream on there, as soon as she was finished between his legs.

“I think you’re going to need to turn over,” she said after a moment, and he could hear the apology in her voice.

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could answer.

“I can’t see the rest,” she said. “Of the rash, I mean. And it would probably be worse if I just...rubbed my hand around blindly...under your crotch.”

He made a sound, unsure if it was a laugh or a groan. He knew she was trying her best to put him at ease, but he was both surprised and alarmed to learn that the pain and itch were not enough to counteract his body’s response to the gentle touch of her fingers.

“Unless you’d rather get on your hands and knees,” she said. A joke. He did his best to laugh, but it sounded choked. He heard her soft sigh. Felt her hand against his hip, an oddly comforting touch considering his state of undress. “Two minutes at the most,” she told him quietly. “Come on, honey, you can do this. You’ll feel better.”

He didn’t think she was aware of what she’d said; most likely, she’d slipped into mother-mode, thinking of him the same way she would her son. He couldn’t blame her. He’d acted nothing if not childish since her arrival.

He could feel everywhere she’d applied the ointment; the relief was substantial, and made the fiery itch on the remaining affected area even more obvious. He knew where she would be touching, what she would be seeing. It could be worse. He’d be able to keep something of himself covered, and she’d basically seen everything else already.

“Two minutes?” he heard himself say. “Not the most inspiring pillowtalk.”

She laughed. Luckily. “I can take as long as you want me to,” she returned, and he pressed his face into the bedspread, laughing. The fact that they could laugh about this at all was a testament to her. He felt her shift, moving one knee and then the other over his leg until she was kneeling beside him instead of between his thighs. She touched his hip again, this time where the bathrobe covered his skin. “I won’t look. My eyes are closed. Roll over, do what you need.”

He laughed again. “If you ever have reason to want to blackmail me, just give me your demands up front and I’ll be happy to pay, Lieutenant,” he said. He put his elbows on the bed and lifted his head, looking back over his shoulder. She was kneeling beside his thigh, her hands resting palms-up on her own thighs, her eyes closed.

“I know you better than that,” she said. “You’d never give in to blackmail, even if I had pictures.”

He smiled, taking a moment to study her while she couldn’t see him. He tried to imagine anyone else in his life offering to do this for him—and actually being able to convince him to allow it.

He tried to imagine a worse time to tell her he was in love with her. Probably two minutes from now, he thought, and he almost laughed again.

“Besides, you know I’d never have to blackmail you,” she added.

“Are you saying I’m a pushover?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

He chuckled, wincing as he carefully rolled away from her toward the edge of the bed. He tugged the bathrobe over his stomach as he shifted and settled onto his back. The towel was bunched beneath him and he didn’t have a pillow under his head, but it didn’t matter: all of his body’s pains and discomforts had overwhelmed his ability to sort them through.

“No, you’re right, all you have to do is ask,” he said quietly, watching her from beneath his eyelashes. “Or drop hints. Or look like you might ask.”

He watched her laugh before looking down at himself. He slid his right hand under the bathrobe, covering himself against his lower belly with his palm, but the heat was almost immediately unbearable for his hand. He glanced at her face. He’d seen her lose her temper in a heartbeat but here, now, for him, she had nothing but seemingly-infinite patience and compassion.

He used his left hand, instead. The bandage was soft against his flushed skin. He crooked his other arm over his eyes; he couldn’t watch her bending over his crotch. “Okay,” he said, and he heard a rustle as she moved. He felt her move back into position between his spread legs. He could feel the cool air under the edge of the robe, felt her slide it a bit higher so she could see what she was doing. He had no idea how well he had himself covered, and it didn’t matter. What difference did a few inches make, anyway?

“You have some blisters on your…”

“I can’t think of a single word that I want to hear you use to finish that sentence,” he said.

She laughed, but said, “This looks pretty bad, Raf.”

“I can’t imagine it’s a pretty view at the best of times,” he answered. He paused. “Just a small area, though? I can feel where...it seems to be the worst.”

“Yeah. A few blisters where it must’ve been warmest or...where the leaves were stuck…”

He almost choked on his laugh. “You know, I swear I had a dream exactly like this, once. Except you were a nun who regaled me with the dangers of teenage boys touching themselves inappropriately and I woke up with an overwhelming urge to go to confession.”

She rested a palm on his thigh as she laughed. He peeked beneath his arm, because she was never more beautiful than when she laughed. He quickly recovered his eyes when she reached a hand between his legs.

“I think that nun would give me more Hail Marys than you, for this,” she said.

“Oh, I don’t know, depends on whether or not she could read my—” He realized what he was saying and broke off abruptly. He cleared his throat.

She paused for a moment. “Probably even then,” she said quietly. Without giving him time to think of a response, she added, “I’m going to touch the worst part. It’s not going to feel great.”

He braced himself as best he could, cleared his throat again, and said, “Okay.”

She was right. It didn’t feel great. The pain wasn’t unbearable, but the itch beneath the touch of her fingers made him grit his teeth, tighten his arm over his eyes, and draw a slow breath through his nose. His splinted fingers were only an inch from where she was prodding, and the urge to push her hand aside and scratch was nearly consuming.

She was being careful, afraid of hurting him any more than necessary. As the cream began to soothe the itch and discomfort, he felt his muscles relaxing in relief. His hips were achy from being so tense, and he concentrated on settling his body more comfortably against the bed.

The relief didn’t last long, though. She brushed a finger along the crease between his balls—he knew this wasn’t a remotely sexual situation, he knew that he had no business responding, but he was helpless to stop his body’s reaction. He felt himself twitch beneath his hand and he pressed himself tighter against his body; he would crush himself against his own pelvic bone if he had to.

But she was still running her fingers over him, around him, under him, into the high recesses of his legs, gently poking and prodding and shifting aside hair and flesh as she searched for areas that needed attention—

He could hear the note of panic in his voice when he spoke. “I need you to stop being so...uh…”

“Thorough?” she suggested. “I’m sorry, but I need to make sure—”

“Gentle. I was going to say gentle. Jesus Christ. I can’t, um…”

“You want me to hurt you?” she asked.

“I can’t—I’m not—” He was growing hard under his hand. If she was observant—and he knew she was—he wouldn’t be able to hide it for long. He knew she wouldn’t blame him for his body’s response, something that she knew couldn’t always be controlled. But he knew he should be blamed, because it wasn’t just the touches that were affecting him. It was the knowledge that the fingers were hers. And he deserved to be damned for entertaining any sexual thoughts about her—at any time, but especially now when she had willingly put herself in a horribly awkward position to help him.

“Okay. I’m almost done. Move your fingers just a little bit, there’s one red streak partway up...Last one, I promise.”

He swallowed. “I...can’t…”

“Half an inch,” she said. “I can’t really see but I don’t think it goes any higher.”

He was afraid if he tried to speak, nothing would leave his throat but a strangled sound of distress. He also knew that if he waited, the situation was only going to get worse. He shifted his hand, praying she would finish as quickly as promised.

She brushed a finger along the very bottom of his shaft, and he managed to catch the groan in his chest.

“It’s a natural reaction,” she said quietly, trying to console him, and he knew that she was blushing. Without even seeing her face, he knew that it was as red as his. “I mean, between the relief, and the...the contact—”

“Stop talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking.”

“I thought it might help—a reminder that it’s me, and not someone—”

“No. Nope. That does not help,” he said, and she fell silent. She applied more cream around his base and pulled her hand back.

“Sorry,” she said after a moment of awkward silence.

“I’m sorry,” he countered.

“I think I got it all,” she said. “Does it feel alright?”

“Much better,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to lower his arm and look her in the face. “Thank you.”

“You should probably wear something loose. Light. Boxers—or even just the robe…” She trailed off.

“Okay.”

“Do you need help?”

“Help?”

“Getting something on?”

“No. Thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll wait in the other room.”

“The other room?”

“The living room.”

“Oh,” he answered. “Right.” He’d imagined she would want to make a quick escape. “You can, um...go if you want.”

He felt her shift backward and climb off the bed, heard her taking off her gloves and gathering up the supplies to set them on top of his dresser.

“I’ll be in the other room,” she said. A few seconds later, he heard the soft click of the bedroom door closing.

 *       *       *

 She glanced up when he stepped out of the bedroom. He’d slipped on clean shorts and had his bathrobe belted loosely, although he’d struggled a bit to tie the bow. She had just finished pouring two glasses of scotch, and he watched as she looked down to screw the lid back onto the bottle.

“I thought you might want a drink,” she said.

“I think I need a cigarette.”

She laughed, looking up at him, and the sight of her amusement eased some of the tension from his shoulders. He crossed toward her slowly, fighting the impulse to fidget. She held out a glass as he approached.

“Can you hold this?” she asked, and he nodded, carefully taking the scotch. The glass was smooth and cool against his burned skin. He watched her sip her own drink. She had to drive herself home, but she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave.

He gestured toward the living room. “Want to sit?”

She nodded, and he turned away, carrying his drink to the sofa. He sat carefully, wincing as the shorts bunched up, and adjusted himself as well as he could. She set her glass on the coffee table and he looked up at her.

“Can I use the bathroom?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “I guess so, just leave a quarter on the tank.”

She smiled, and he turned his gaze into his glass to keep himself from watching her walk away. He was still staring into his glass, lost in thought, when she returned a couple of minutes later.

“Are you okay?” she asked, and he looked up, noting that her hands weren’t empty. She had antibacterial ointment, a roll of white gauze, paper tape, and aloe cream.

“I’ve been better.”

She sank onto the couch beside him. “You don’t have a fever, do you?”

He managed a smile. “I feel a little warm but I’m pretty sure it’s the heat of, you know, humiliation.”

She sighed. “Raf, I wish I could make this better for you,” she said.

“You did,” he answered. “You are.” When she lifted her gaze to his, he was helpless to look away.

“Are you going to argue if I ask to help with your hands?”

He shook his head. He let her take his scotch and set it beside hers on the table, and when she reached for his left hand, he held it out and turned his body slightly toward her to make it easier.

“I’m going to untape your fingers,” she said. She glanced up at his face. “For future reference, don’t let those guys pull on any part of your body that’s injured.”

He was surprised into a laugh, but he bit back the inappropriate joke that rose to his tongue.

Smiling as she returned her attention to his fingers, she said, “I heard that thought.”

He laughed again. “You always do. And anyway, I had some misgivings but I don’t use the middle finger of my left hand for all that much anyway.” He grinned as she snorted softly. She was carefully removing the tape from his fingers.

“So long as you refuse their attempts to help next time.”

“Next time?”

She glanced up, then back at his hand. “If you decide to go again.”

“I’ll always go if Noah wants me to,” he said, “but I should probably take a babysitter.”

“I hear you did a great job of looking after him. And Eddie.”

“I meant for me.”

Cradling his hand in her palm, she pressed her thumb gently between the second and third knuckles of his bruised middle finger. “Can you bend this?”

He did, carefully. It was stiff and sore, but not unbearably so. That was a good thing, because he was going to have to figure out how to apply another dose of cream by morning, if not sooner. Now that the edge had been taken off, his situation didn’t feel quite so desperate. He didn’t intend to let it get that bad again.

“I could go along, next time,” she said without looking up, watching as he bent and straightened his finger a few times to work out some of the stiffness.

“Instead of me?” He smiled. “Or to babysit me?”

“Protect you from the dangers of the woods. Knives, fires, poisonous plants.”

“Footballs,” they said in unison, and she glanced up again as they both laughed. He hesitated as she started unwrapping the bandage around his palm. “Some of those guys would love having you along.”

She smiled at his hand. “Yeah?”

“Well, all of them, but especially the unmarried ones.”

“Hmm,” she answered. “This doesn’t look as bad as I was afraid it would. It’s a little red. I’m just going to put some ointment on and wrap it back up but make sure you keep an eye on it.”

“Mmhm.”

“We could probably go without them,” she said. “I mean, there’s no reason we’d necessarily have to...wait for someone else…”

“Okay.” He hesitated. “What are we talking about?”

“Camping.”

“Okay. You...want to go camping...without the others?”

“We could. If you wanted.” She was wrapping clean gauze around his hand, covering his cut palm. “You could look after Noah, I could look after you.”

He laughed without much air behind the sound. His stomach was fluttering nervously. “Okay,” he repeated.

She glanced up. “If you want,” she said, shrugging a shoulder. “You can think about it.”

“Noah and I do know how to put up a tent, now.”

She smiled. “We can bring those metal roasting sticks for the hot dogs and marshmallows.”

“I’ll try not to impale myself on one.”

“And only Nerf balls.”

“That sounds reasonably safe, then. And only non-flammable stuffed animals.”

“Of course.” She taped the gauze down and released his left hand, reached for his right. She winced at the sight of the redness. “I told him not to take the elephant, anyway. That’s why he feels bad.”

“It’s not his fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t. Any more than any of this was your fault.” She squirted aloe cream into his palm. “When he was telling me about everything that happened, all I could think was thank God you were there with him. Doesn’t sound like the other dads were very trustworthy.”

Once again, he didn’t think she realized what she’d said. He watched her gently massaging the cream into his skin with her thumbs. He swallowed, gathering his courage. “It means a lot that you trust me to...take him places,” he finally said.

“There’s no one I trust more,” she answered. “And he loves you.”

“I love him, too,” he murmured, surprised by how emotional he was feeling.

“I know.”

“I…” love you, too. The words stuck in his throat, not because he didn’t want to say them—he did, but not like this.

She looked up and met his eyes. “I know,” she repeated with a small smile. “If you’re feeling up to it, maybe we can talk about it next weekend.”

“Sure. Over dinner?” He could reserve a nice table, put on a suit, buy some flowers and fancy wine, hopefully speak in complete and coherent sentences.

“Sounds nice,” she said, as she finished massaging the aloe between his fingers. He was disappointed when she released his hand. “I should get home. I’ll check in tomorrow morning to see how you’re feeling, but promise me you’ll call if you need help with anything—even if you need a ride to the hospital, anything—in the night?”

“Okay.” He watched her push to her feet and head toward the bathroom to wash her hands. When she returned, she started to gather up the supplies. “I’ll take care of that, it’s alright,” he said. “Do you want the rest of your drink?”

“I have to drive. Sorry, I didn’t mean to waste it.”

He smiled. “I’ll drink it,” he said. “I can probably use the help sleeping.”

She touched a hand to his hair and bent down, pressing a kiss to his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as she straightened.

“Yeah.” When she started to turn, he blurted out her name: “Liv.”

She stopped, meeting his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said after a moment.

“Anytime,” she answered with a smile, and he felt his lips twitch in amusement. “Get some rest, Rafael. Don’t get up, I’ll let myself out.”

He watched her cross to the door. “Have a good night. Feel free to call if Noah needs to talk to me or anything.”

“I might just call to say goodnight,” she said, smiling back at him.

“I’ll call you,” he suggested.

Her smile widened. “Pushover,” she said.

He grinned in response.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

The Easiest Difficulty - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent Pairing: jondami Summary: It was a simple choice, for both of them. The simplest choice. Or really, it should have been. A/N: In the same AU as Long Time, No See (where Damian left vigilantism completely). This takes place over a few years, though is not every instance they share on the topic/life stresses (ie Jon’s doubts on being a hero etc) and by the end, Damian is 27/28 and Jon is 24/25. Sorry if this is weird/has plotholes. I just wanted some jondami fluff and shit. They both date other people but obviously not seriously. This is one of those 5x1 fics, but I’m bad at that format so not really haha.

~~

There were signs. Signs he chose to ignore but, in hindsight, probably should have used to escape instead. The girls at the front desk squealing with delight and chattering loudly. The office animals barking and meowing in greeting. Even Zooki, the cat he brought to the office with him every day, sat up, sniffed the air, and started purring.

Yeah, he shouldn’t have ignored those signs.

“Uh, D?” He glanced up towards the receptionist sticking her head in the door. Her smile was too bright, too excited. “You have a visitor.”

“Adopter?”

“Personal.”

“Let them in, I suppose.” He sighed, dropping his pen and leaning back in his chair. His family knows better than to bother him at work. And if they absolutely feel the need to, to call first. No surprise visits.

The receptionist nodded and disappeared, only to be replaced a moment later by a dark-haired man in dirty jeans and an ugly flannel shirt.

Damian’s frown deepened. And he couldn’t help but feel betrayed when his beloved Zooki rose from her perch to go greet their guest.

“…Jonathan.” He grumbled as he fixed his glasses, standing anyway.

“Hi.” Jon grinned, and suddenly produced a bouquet from behind his back. Roses of all different colors. “Happy Valentines Day.”

Ah. Now he understood why the front office was so giddy.

Still, Damian couldn’t help but smirk as he approached, and accepted the flowers. Zooki purred from between their feet.

“Cheater.” Damian mumbled, his nose dipped in the petals. “You can’t box me in with a romantic holiday.”

“I’m not trying to box you in.” Jon denied. “I’m just trying to ask you on a date.”

“And I gave you my stipulations.” Damian glanced up, keeping his face in the flowers. “Have you met them?”

Jon glanced down.

“…Jon?”

“Can’t you just like, put those off for now? For one date?” Jon mumbled, shuffling his foot. “Just so I can treat you for a few hours, for once?”

Damian sighed, and opened his mouth to respond, but Jon kept rambling.

“I mean, what if it goes horribly? What if it turns out our clearly mutual crushing was all for naught because we’re both terrible people and so we’ll never go out again? Then your stipulations won’t even be necessary!”

“Or, we could fall head over heels in love and be unable to live without each other. Then my stipulations would be very important.” Damian countered. “Trust me – I don’t like saying no to you like this. But it’s important to me, so I’d hope it’d mean something to you too.”

A pause.

“…So?”

“No.” Jon exhaled. “I haven’t met your stipulations.”

Damian clicked his tongue, and finally removed his face from the flowers. “Thank you for the gift, Jon. I truly do appreciate it.”

“…Can we at least get lunch while I’m here?”

Damian shook his head, turning away and returning to his chair. “I’m swamped with paperwork. Not to mention I need to start preparations for this weekend’s adoption event.”

“…Okay, no problem.” Jon gave him a smile, but Damian didn’t look at it, knowing it would be sad. “Call me when you’re free?”

“Only if you promise to call me if you are.” Damian returned. Jon gave a bitter laugh and turned away.

~~

Damian pulled at his bowtie. He hated these things. Hated the monkey suits, hated the guests. Hated how fake it made his family, and even himself.

He also hated the inevitable kerfuffle when a bad guy tried to crash the party.

And this night was no different. The only thing that was maybe a little strange was that he’d had enough champagne not to care all that much when a gun was shoved in his face, or when he was shoved into a chair next to Tim and threatened.

Hell, he and Tim even toasted, clinking their glasses together and gulping their drinks down as the criminals screamed for Bruce to pay for their lives.

It’d been a crummy week at Wayne Enterprises. A crummy week at the animal shelter. They were allowed to have this.

The plus side of getting out of the hero life – he could sit back and relax, not waste much energy attempting to save himself. And his brother was probably too tired at this point to even try. Finishing the booze in his hand was much more important than his life at this point.

Besides – they knew they didn’t have to try tonight anyway. Their Super counterparts were watching for this exact moment, and it wasn’t long before the ballroom was being invaded by red capes, and various poorly designed uniforms.

Honestly, a leather jacket? A hoodie? A skirt? And Clark’s was just ugly, no matter how many times he tweaked it.

Regardless of their aesthetics, they were good at their jobs, and quick. There was still champagne in Damian’s own glass when he felt Jon’s arms wrap protectively around him, and whisk him away to safety on a nearby roof.

“You’re safe now, Mr. Wayne.” Jon drawled, watching as his family landed around the city with the rest of Damian’s family.

“Oh, gee.” Damian returned, just as sarcastically, downing the rest of his drink. He saw one of his would-be captors try to escape through a balcony door, and threw the empty glass at him with a well-aimed shot, shattering it along his temple. “How could I ever repay you?”

Jon laughed. “Well, you know, a kiss would be nice. That’s what a lot of the middle-aged women we rescue offer. Even to Kara.” He smirked, stepping closer. “And that’s a payment I’ll gladly accept from you.”

Damian stared incredulously up at him. “Sorry, I’m not a middle-aged woman.” He drawled, then gave a smirk of his own. “And I’m more into farmers’ sons anyway.”

“Oh, come on-”

“And only farmers’ sons.” He backed up a step, holding his arms wide while looking around. “And unfortunately, all I see around here are superheroes, so. Guess I’ll keep my kisses to myself.”

“You’re the worst.” Jon whined with an annoyed chuckle.

“From where I’m standing?” Damian said softly. He glanced over the building, watched the cop cars start to arrive. He turned back just to watch Jon take to the sky. “That title is yours.”

~~

“I can’t believe it.” The old man said. One Mr. Sanchez, a twenty-four-year veteran of the Wayne Enterprises board of trustees. Damian was here with him because of the almost-kidnapping event at the gala a few months prior – his father was having a press conference today to talk about security, his family’s safety and how they’re coping, blah blah blah. The usual. Anyway, in Damian’s completely objective opinion - Sanchez’s mind was starting to go. “I can’t believe I know someone who has a superhero interested in him.”

Tim snorted into his water down the table.

“Trust me.” Damian sighed, keeping his voice even. He glanced fiercely at his brother. “It’s not all that uncommon.”

“I suppose.” Sanchez said. “But still! It must be exciting! Especially because it was a Super, no less!”

“There is nothing between the youngest Super-whatever and myself.” Damian droned boredly. “Regardless of what you and the idiot public think you see in that picture.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Wayne. This kind of chemistry is impossible to fake.” Sanchez said, holding up the newspaper in question. Above the fold, splashed across the page – Jon and Damian talking on the roof after Jon had rescued him from that party. Because, of course there weren’t any better or more relevant photographs of the event, right? “And in any case, it’s quite clear that Superboy is very smitten with you, regardless of what you claim. There are rumours about him, and even his heroics. The biggest one being he is only ever seen in Gotham on the rare occasion you are in town.”

“For one, he doesn’t go by Boy anymore, the whole world knows that. For two, I will tell you the same thing I told the reporter who emailed me about this drivel of an article.” Damian sighed, watching Dick come over to Tim, who was having a silent laughing fit behind his hand. He clearly asked Tim what was so funny, and Tim openly told him. Dick’s eyes shone in amusement as he looked up at Damian himself. Damian hated him. “I have no interest in my rescuer whatsoever, nor any superhero otherwise. Whom I’m romantically interested in is none of the public’s business, and I’d appreciate the courtesy of privacy.”

“Fair enough. You are a private citizen and wish to remain so. That’s why you left the limelight of Wayne Enterprises, I know, I know.” Sanchez waved off. “But, may I ask?”

Damian glanced at him.

“Why no superheroes?” Sanchez asked. “What turns you off to them? Even my mother said she’d leave her husband of fifty-seven years for the likes of Batman or Black Canary.”

“Because that’s not a world I want to be a part of. I had enough of all that Batman and Robin stuff growing up here. That’s part of why I left Gotham. Superheroes are nothing but trouble.” Damian explained. Then quieter, mumbled, “And what if they go out and don’t come home? What if they die in the field? Just because they’re heroes doesn’t mean they’re immortal. Doesn’t mean they can’t come back hurt and broken. And would you like to see that happen to someone you claim to love on a potentially daily basis?”

Sanchez didn’t answer that. He quickly dropped his gaze to the floor.

“And I, for one, have had enough loss and trauma in my life. So I’ll take a hard pass on a traumatic love life too, thank you.” Damian concluded. He let there be a pause of silence, then hummed, shaking his head as turned to the door to leave. “No, I’ll take the likes of…I don’t know, a poor farmer from Kansas over a superhero any day.”

~~

The only warning he got was all of his animals twitching their ears and turning towards the front door at the same time.

He glanced up from his papers as he came out of his office. “Wha-”

And that was all he could say before the door flew open, practically knocked off its hinges, and he was thrown back against the stairs by the weight of a body stumbling forward and falling on top of him.

“What…” Damian blinked, watching the papers he’d been holding float around them like giant snowflakes. His focus was slow in his surprise, but eventually his vision evened out, and he recognized the body on top of him as none other than: “Jon?!”

Jon grinned, sloppy and giddy. His eyes were blurry and his cheeks were red. He was in his farm work clothes – an old t-shirt, holey jeans and muddy boots.

“…Hi.” Jon hummed, making no move to get off of him. In fact, he did the complete opposite. Seemed to settle his weight against Damian as he reached up and gently ran his fingers over Damian’s face, along the arm of his blue glasses, glossy eyes darting across his features. “…You know, you look way better in glasses than I ever did.”

“…Jon?” Damian whispered, feeling his own face heat up, just a little. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” Jon nodded awkwardly. “You know, Pop won’t let me grow peaches. I think it’s ‘cause we don’t live in Georgia.”

“What? What are you talking about?” And no sooner was the question out of his mouth, the stench hit his nose. The smell of smoke, of greasy food, of too much beer. “Jon, are you-”

Jon’s eyelids fluttered, and he sighed happily as he pulled Damian’s glasses away from his face, in what he probably thought was a seductive move.

…Oh god, he was drunk.

“Jonathan.” Damian scolded.

“You’re pretty.” Jon countered, closing his eyes as he swayed back and forth a little bit. “Did you know that?”

“Jon, how much did you have to drink tonight?” Damian demanded. He put his hands on Jon’s chest, not so much to push him off, just to steady them both against the sharp corners of the steps. He glanced out the destroyed front door, and frowned. “Oh my god, Jon, did you fly here?!”

“I’ll fly to the moon.” Jon slurred, leaning in to brush his nose against Damian’s skin. And as much as he didn’t want it to, Damian felt his heart hammer in his chest, as Jon fell into a ridiculous rendition of Frank Sinatra. “Come fly with me, come fly, oh, let’s fly away…”

“Jon.” Damian tried. “Come on, you need to sleep this off.”

Jon didn’t break his song, just pressed his lips to Damian’s jaw, fingers curling into his hair.

“Who were you out drinking with? Do they know you’re here?” Damian pushed, but even he knew in his soul it was half-hearted. “I’ll need to call your parents…”

Jon stopped singing then, and just turned the tune into a hum as he brought his other hand up to hold Damian’s cheek. He opened his eyes now, and stared at him in a hazy bliss.

Damian gulped, and hated himself when he felt his fingers twitch tighter into Jon’s shirt.

“Jon…”

And Jon kissed him.

And Damian should have pushed him off. Jon was drunk, his stairs were digging into his back, the animals were making a racket and probably escaping, and his stipulations –

But god, Jon tasted so good.

So he indulged. Felt guilt and shame running all through his system, but goddamn, he indulged. Just for a second. For a few seconds.

Because of course, this was all he wanted. All he’d ever wanted. All Jon ever wanted too. And it’d be so easy…

But no. Because he was out. He was out and he refused to be dragged back in, or involved in any way past what his family forced him to be.

Even for his potential – total, absolute – soul mate.

So, sadly, when Jon pulled back for air, Damian turned his face away before Jon could dive back in. Put his hand against Jon’s mouth, and pushed him back as gently as he could.

“You’re drunk.” He sighed. Jon gave a little whine behind his fingers, but moved back as Damian sat up. “Come on, Jon. Let’s get you into the guest room.”

Jon outright groaned as Damian stood and pulled him to his feet by his hands, grabbed his glasses from where Jon had tossed them, and dragged him carefully up the stairs, into – what he believed was – the wrong bedroom.

~~

“Just like old times.” Jon smirked, throwing blankets towards the bed. Damian snatched them out of the air, rolling his eyes. “All those old sleepovers we had, like when our dads were working cases and stuff.”

He grabbed a few pillows from the shelf, then stepped over to Damian, very obviously standing purposefully in his personal space. Damian kept his scowl.

“I won’t make you sleep on the floor this time, though.”

“I’m not taking your bed, Jon. We’re adults, I can survive a few nights on the floor.” Damian mumbled. “Though frankly, the sooner this case of Grayson’s is over, the happier I’ll be.”

“Well, of course I agree. The sooner Dick and Dad find whoever’s threatening you and your dad, the happier I’ll be too.” Jon snorted. “And no, you’re not taking my bed. We’re sharing.”

Damian felt heat in his face. “Jon…”

“The bed’s big enough.” Jon grinned. “And like you just said – we’re adults, Damian. It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I won’t have a problem.” Damian spun away from him, unfolding the blankets and laying them out. “If there’s anything to worry about, it’s you and your…your crush.”

It was mean, borderline cruel. But it was the only way he could protect himself too.

Jon just laughed, though, and as soon as Damian had the blankets settled, flopped onto the bed.

“You wish it was just a crush.” He giggled. Damian let his frown deepen.

“No, I wish you would move on.” Damian scolded. He began to set up the pillows, began debating putting one between them as a barrier – just in case. “I wish you’d let yourself be happy instead of chasing lost causes.”

“I am happy. And I’m not chasing a lost cause.” Jon countered. “Even if we’re not together-together like we – I – may want to be, you’re still my best friend. You still make me happy.”

Damian pursed his lips, and kept his gaze on his task.

“Hey.” Jon suddenly took hold of his wrist, squeezing gently. “Don’t feel guilty about it, okay? I get it. I totally get it. You’re not being selfish, or greedy or anything. You got out, Damian. You got out of the mask, you have a life, you’re happy and safe and stable. You’re taking care of yourself. And you deserve that.”

“…I’m sorry I can’t be like your mother.” Damian murmured, still refusing to look. “I’m sorry I can’t…toe that line like she does. Or be able to have two completely separate lives like Grayson or Drake do.”

“Don’t apologize.” Jon repeated. “I’m glad you don’t. That means I don’t have to worry about you being out there getting hurt. Times like right now excluded, anyway.”

Damian closed his eyes. Jon gave his wrist another squeeze.

“And you’re not hurting me with your choice either.” He whispered. “I understand the ultimatum, I do. And I respect that.” He paused, and Damian felt him look out the window. “You don’t owe me anything, Damian. You don’t owe anyone anything. Not me, not your family, not the world. You always tell me to take care of myself; maybe you should listen to your own advice.”

“Love is about compromise.” Damian countered softly. “And I haven’t made any.”

“Neither have I.” Jon agreed. “In fact, if anything I should be apologizing to you. You gave me a simple choice, and I keep making the wrong one every day.”

“No you don’t.” Damian shook his head, opened his eyes, glanced at the other. “The world needs a Superman.”

“Yeah, and it has like four or five, even without me.” Jon laughed. “Honestly, I’m totally expendable. Which probably makes what I’m doing to you even worse.”

“You are not…!” Damian almost shouted. He stopped himself, though, and instead just pulled his hand from Jon’s. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m tired.”

“Same.” Jon allowed. He patted the bed next to him. Damian silently crawled in next to him, lying as close to the wall as he could. He waited a moment, knew Jon was watching him, then decided to put that pillow between them.

Jon snorted when he did so, and immediately tossed it to the floor. He scooted closer, hooking his chin over Damian’s head as he flopped his arm loosely around his waist.

“You’re here so I can protect you, remember.” He mumbled, like it was actually a valid explanation. Damian sighed, but didn’t shove him off. Didn’t make any move to return any affections, either. They laid in the silence for a moment, listening to the bugs chirp into the Kansas night. “…You’re always going to wait for me, aren’t you.”

“Always.” Damian promised quietly. “Unfortunately.” He added bitterly after. Another second, then: “And I guess I don’t have to ask you the same.”

Jon didn’t answer. Damian fell asleep.

~~

He was just finishing watering the plants on his back porch when the sun began to rise over the tree line. He’d found he enjoyed gardening in his new life, specifically early morning or late night gardening. When the neighborhood children were asleep or inside, and cars weren’t coming and going. When there was utter silence and peacefulness. Just him and his thoughts, and sometimes, if they were awake themselves, his animals.

The water in the can ran out, and he placed it on the porch railing next to his pot of blooming zinnias. He gave a contented sigh as he reached for his mug of steaming coffee, holding it in both hands as he took a long sip, and paused to watch the sky light up in deep oranges and pinks.

Then – his house gave a slight shake, and he could hear things inside falling off shelves.

He turned back towards the house, setting his coffee back on the table as the animals inside began to stir and bark in alarm. When he got in, he watched his pets all rush to the front window, staring anxiously at something in the front yard. Damian frowned and followed the mob, but instead of looking out the window, he moved to the front door and opened it, facing whatever threat it might have been head on, like he always had.

But it was no threat.

Standing in the center of a small crater localized to his front yard, stood a man in a red and blue hooded sweatshirt, torn, dirty and open, exposing a bloody and disgusting white shirt underneath. His ripped jeans had even more holes in it, and he was missing his shoes.

Next to him was a duffle bag.

“…Jon?” Damian called carefully, stepping outside and closing the door before any of the dogs could follow. Jon glanced up at him with tired, sad, hollow eyes. “Jon, are you alright?”

“You were right.” Jon croaked as Damian approached him. “You were always right.”

“About what?” Damian reached up, and gently ran his thumb over the giant bruise on Jon’s face. “God, Jon – what happened?!”

“I should have listened to you years ago. I should have agreed to your stipulations. Then we could have been happy and safe and a family and…”

“Jonathan.” Damian tried again, dropping his hand to Jon’s chest. He could feel the blood still seeping, feeling injuries that Jon absolutely should not have. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want it.” Tears welled up in Jon’s eyes. Overflowed immediately. “Damian, I don’t want to be Superman.”

Damian’s eyes widened, and he felt his heart maybe stop.

“I lost. Again. People died today, and it was my fault, Damian. I wasn’t good enough. My powers shorted out. I was…I was only a fucking human.” Jon wailed. “I don’t want it to happen again. I…I can’t let it happen again. But it was…I…” His shoulders slumped. “I’m so tired, Damian. I don’t know how Dad does it. I…”

He swayed on his feet a little bit, and Damian immediately reached out for his arms. His tears twinkled in the rising sun.

“I can’t be Superman. I don’t want to be. You were right. You were always right. I should have gotten out when you did. I should have given up this stupid symbol and helped people on the ground, like you do.” Jon repeated. His lip trembled. “I don’t want to be Superman, Damian.”

“Then don’t be.” Damian whispered.

“I just…I want…” He let out a tiny sob. “I don’t even want to be the Son of Superman anymore. I just…” Another louder cry. “I just want to be Jon.”

And Damian couldn’t help but smile, as he gently began to push that sweatshirt from Jon’s shoulders. “You are.”

“I just…” Jon repeated. He suddenly glanced down at his bag. Damian did too, saw the zipper wasn’t completely closed. Inside, he could see clothes and books and pictures. Jon’s whole life, more or less. He looked back up at Jon, and Jon was staring desperately at him. He was serious about this. “I just want to be yours.”

Damian couldn’t help but grin even wider. There was no more Superboy. There was no more budding Superman. There were no more nights laying up in worry that he would die, that they’d be separated forever. No more days feeling guilty or selfish, because he was making him choose. No more ultimatum between him and the cape.

There was just his love. There was just his soul mate, Jonathan Samuel Kent.

“Beloved, you always have been.” Damian breathed, bringing his hands up to carefully hold Jon’s face, and kiss him as sweetly as he could. As sweetly as he’d always wanted to.

Jon all but collapsed into his arms, clinging as tightly as he could, and Damian relished in the feeling. Even when their lips broke apart, Damian didn’t let him go. Kept a protective arm around his waist as he leaned down and picked up his bag for him.

He kicked the ruined hoodie into the dirt of his front garden, making a mental note to gleefully burn the thing later. (With Jon’s permission, of course.)

“I’ll need to find a job.” Jon murmured. “And I…I don’t know how to cook. Or understand banking accounts. And I’ll pay rent, and I’ll…”

“Shhh.” Damian breathed. “Later, Jonathan. One thing at a time.”

When they attempted to step forward, Jon immediately stumbled, and half collapsed further into Damian’s side. Jon couldn’t walk, his leg was clearly too injured. And that was fine. Damian merely flipped Jon’s bag over his shoulder, and slip his arm under Jon’s knees. Jon immediately curled into his chest, arms around his neck.

“May I show you to our bedroom?” Damian asked gently, as Jon desperately dug his nails in Damian’s back. “You look like you could use a nice long nap.”

And finally, he caught a smile on Jon’s lips, and relief in his voice. “Yes, please.”

Damian carried him to the door, balancing on one leg to kick open the knob, then walked across the threshold with him. The animals all began sniffing at the new arrival, but Damian paid them no mind, immediately moving towards the stairs, towards the bedroom.

Their bedroom.

“Welcome home, Jon.” Damian whispered into his hair.

Jon, still crying, let out a tiny laugh. “I’m so happy to finally be here, Damian.”

[dodolostinhell]

Harry Potter and the cursed child - the play, my opinion (+Scorbus)

(This is super long (3.5k words), but I marked the different topics in case you want to read about something specifically!)

I went to London two weeks ago and guess what: I was lucky enough to get tickets for the play!

I just wanted to share my thoughts on the play. Please note that this are my very subjective thoughts on the play and someone else who was in the same room as me could have thought something completely else about it. Also note that I am one of the very few people out there on the HP fandom who liked reading the Skript. So my opinion on the play may differ (although I highly doubt that anyone would dislike the actual play)

I LOVED IT. I loved it so much. I was shaking after part one and crying after part two. It was all too much to handle for my little heart. I hope I can somehow share my experience through sharing it here.

I want to start with some general thoughts and opinions and get more detailed later, where I want to talk more about the actors/characters and some of the relationships, ending with Scorpius and Albus‘s relationship in the play (spoiler: it was so gay). I won’t talk about the plot. Because that is obviously the same.

The theater was beautiful. The set and everything around it was so lovely. I actually had pretty good seets in the middle, looking down on the stage (I was in like the first balcony/dress circle). I could see the whole stage perfectly. I loved how they expended the set for some scenes, so it actually felt like you were in the middle of the action. You could feel the energy of the play way better that way. For example when the dementors flew through the air or at the end, when Voldemort steps from stage into the crowd and the other actors are looking at us, while reacting to Harry’s parents death.

The special effects were amazing! They were made so well and it really gave the play the magic it needed. Of course it’s different than a movie (or a book, where you see it perfectly in your head), but it didn’t matter. It worked brilliantly and made my mouth drop several times. Stuff like Draco and Harry‘s Duell looked very impressive and filled the whole room with energy and tension. I won’t be spoil how they did it, but I‘ll just say that they used light a lot and fire. Just one thing that I absolutely adored, that I need to talk about, is the effect while time-turning: when time settles lights were moved that way, that it seemed like the wall was moving like water or a wave. Like getting bigger and smaller in smooth movements. It looked so good.

The other normal props were okay. Sometimes I had hoped for more. For example the train scenes, where they just build seats with suitcases. But things like the moving stairs on the other hand looked really cool. But in general nothing special about it.

The costumes looked very good for the most part. (Exception is Ginny, more in her segment.). I don’t know why they changed the school uniform, but it looked really nice. Although you sometimes couldn’t see the house colors very well. I loved the school uniform in the Voldemort AU. It looked very elegant and reminded me of Draco in his sixth year. It also suited Scorpius so well. They also changed the wands of the people we already know. I don’t know the reason for that but it isn’t like you could see them very well anyway. I really like the wands of the next gen, whose we didn’t know. They look so pretty.

The actor‘s performances were brilliant! They gave those lines so much life and made the story appear very different a lot of times. They were the people who made it a whole different experience to reading the Skript. I think this would make it way more appealing to the people who didn’t like the Skript, because I think some lines work very differently played out by actors in comparison to reading them.

Now I will go into more detail about actors, relationships etc. (Things that always matter the most to me).

Let‘s just start with Harry Potter played by Jamie Ballard. I liked it. He is an amazing actor and portrayed Harry‘s feelings very well. Especially the scene where he watched his parents die was very impressive. The way he broke down really hit me. That scream at the end was nerve wracking and you could feel all the hurt inside him coming out.

Also the very controversial line „i wish you weren’t my son“ was delivered so well. It really came out of a place of frustration. You noticed throughout the whole scene how much he is struggling with being a good father for Albus and the hurt he is feeling when Albus rejects him: it all build up to that moment, where it all was too much.

I love how Jamie brought Harry‘s trauma to life. You could really see how Harry wasn’t able to get closure with his past.

Next is Hermione, played by Nicola Alexis. She was brilliant! It was 100% Hermione and she did a perfect job. All her mannerisms were on point and it really felt like Hermione. I loved how she interacted with Harry, in a kind of motherly way, but still as a friend. Especially when they were joking around. She had a really nice energy about her and can’t say enough how great she was (and I really don’t get how people were mad that she’s black. It didn’t matter at all and didn’t make her any less of a perfect Hermione.)

And the last one of the golden trio: Ron, played by Thomas Aldridge. He was a comedy figure throughout the whole play to lighten it up a bit. Thomas did a good job though. He was very funny and portrayed Ron’s strange humor and mannerisms really well. It still didn’t feel like Ron to me. I can’t really explain why, but I couldn’t quite see him as Ron. But his performance was still great.

My queen Ginny, played by Susie Traylling. She was a really cool mum. She was cool and badass just like she’s supposed to be. The only issue I had was her outfit: it was so ugly. She wore a horrendous long skirt and a weird wooly sweater. It just wasn’t Ginny at all.

Also sometimes she was softer, especially to Harry, and that never really felt right. Somehow there missed that sarcastic tone or something that alsways comes with her, but she was just this super caring and kind person in those scenes. She should have needed a bit more self esteem in those. But in general Susie did a good job (and it way better than movie Ginny, although that isn’t very hard).

And Harry and Ginny’s relationship kind of works. I liked there chemistry and how Ginny is kind of the boss of the family (because of course she is).

Rose, played by Helen Aluko. She gave Rose a very different touch to what I expected her to be. She’s energetic, has a shit load of self esteem and has quite some attitude but that becomes quite nice to the end of the play. At the start she’s just as irritating as I imagined her to be but by the end in her fourth year, she becomes kind of sarcastic and likes to joke around in here very own way, playing a lot with her attitude. I really liked her by the end, which I couldn’t in the Skript. Helen makes Rose appear so different to what I imagined her to be like are at the end, but I love it.

Young Harry by Tommy Bard was adorable. A brilliant performance for such an young actor. He really felt like Harry to me and he did an excellent job.

My boy Draco, played by James Howard. He was so sassy and I loved it. I was sceptical at first, because he seemed kind of arrogant, but you soon notice that it is a mask to protect himself and his son. After a while you could see the fear and emotions inside him. I liked how he gave Draco that three dimensional touch that he really needs. The only thing that irritated me a bit was his deep voice, I felt like didn’t suit Draco, but James’s performance absolutely made up for that.

Delphi played by Eve Ponsonby. She looked so good (I was kind of irritated at the beginning and than I realized how good Tom Riddle looked and it made sense). I loved her clothing style with ripped pants and a black jeans jacket. Also her colored light blonde hair with blue tips looked so cool. It just was very weird when she suddenly wore that jacket out of black feathers after her reveal. It made her flying around a bit too dramatic.

It came to a surprise to me that I really liked Delphi. She was someone I would like to spend time with myself (without the whole daughter of Voldemort thingy). She really felt like a energetic, self-confident young women, who’s very passionate. Also her revealed selve was very cool! Eve’s performance was brilliant. She was very evil but you could still sympathize with her at the same time. You saw how much she loved her father and how badly she wanted to see her dad. Not just as a partner in crime, but also as an orphan, who misses her father.

She’s also kind of the biggest Scorbus shipper (she absolutely knew that at least Scorpius has a huge crush on Albus) and the biggest cock block of all time (more about that later in the Scorbus segment).

I also loved how they hinted on Delphi being bad. In the way she talkes sometimes I could sense there was something shady going on. Or another example would be at the beginning in Harry’s house with Amos Diggory. You can see her carefully grabbing her wand when she sees Harry, but than deciding against it and leaving her wand in her pocket.

Hagrid was the only Performance I didn’t like at all. His costume was great, but everything else wasn’t Hagrid. He was too naive and wasn’t kind or empathetic (at least it didn’t feel like it).

Snape wasn’t very good either. He looked like Snape and killed Alan Rickman’s way of talking but his personality wasn’t right. He was purely a fanfic Snape and that isn’t how Snape really is: He’s an asshole and that doesn’t change in an AU. But instead he wasn’t mean at all. Instead more reserved.

Professor McGonagall played by Sandy McDade was brilliant. It was perfect. 100% McGonagall. She was sarcastic, sassy and so done throughout the play. She didn’t want anything to do with Harry’s shit. I loved how different her dynamic was towards her former students and her students now. And it was hilarious how she still had authority over the golden trio (+Draco) although two of them have super high positions in the Ministry (Hermione his the fucking minister of magic and still she’s intimidated by McGonagall. Genius)

Moaning Myrtle played by April Hughes. She was brilliant. My absolute favorite performance. It was absolutely perfect. Nicely uncomfortable but still funny. And the way she moved: so perfect! Aaand she changed her lines: Harry is canonly bi!

Let me explain: Myrtle is talking to Albus and Scorpius. While she talks it is obvious she sees their dads in them. She says so explicitly. They start talking about Cedric. She says it was such a shame that the pretty one had to die. She listened to so many people crushing on him. So many Girls and some boys. While she says that she looks more into Scorpius’s direction, but when she says “and boys” she turns to Albus, definitely thinking about Harry, and telling Albus (and us) that way, that Harry used to have a crush on Cedric. I was so happy about it.

Now finally the protagonists!

Albus Potter was played by Joe Idris-Roberts. I liked it a lot. Joe gave Albus so much personality I had a hard time finding in the Skript. He made him three dimensional and he really felt like a teen who is going through a lot.

My cinnamon roll Scorpius Malfoy played by Jonathan Case. Damn he looked good (the blonde hair suits him so well. He looked so handsome and adorable). It was perfect. Quirky, nerdy, socially awkward, enthusiastic, insecure, funny. Absolutely brilliant. I didn’t think I could love Scorpius more, but Jonathan did it. His mannerisms were brilliant and really portrayed his quirkiness. The way he presented the lines were creative, fitted perfectly and made them even greater as they were. Also so many layers to his presentation. There was never a scene were he was one dimensional and there always was something more going on with Scorpius. I loved just watching him and interpreting his performance and what Jonathan tried to show subtextually.

Now relationships! I touched some already but I wanted to talk about them a bit more.

I’ll start with Harry and Albus’s relationship. I touched this a bit in Harry’s segment already. They truely felt like father and son who have a very troubled relationship. You can see how they love eachother but they struggle to understand eachother. Especially with Albus being in the middle of puberty where you already have enough trouble understanding yourself. Until Godrics Hollow there is so much tension. When Harry decides that he must just be an authority to Albus and separates him from Scorpius really broke my heart and you could see how Harry didn’t know better and was frustrated. There was so much to it and so many unspoken words were between them. It worked brilliantly and they portrayed their relationship great.

I adored the shift in Scorpius and Draco’s relationship. You always saw how much they cared for eachother. But they didn’t know how to approach eachother. In Godrics Hollow everything turns and they have a adorable father-son relationship. You could see them in the background talking, both smiling at eachother. It warmed my heart.

Delphi’s relationship with Albus and Scorpius before here reveal was also very interesting. She actually was very nice to them, although she could get a bit too enthusiastic. Delphi saw that Albus and Scorpius need eachother to be stronger and therefore actually is a good friend to them and brings them back together. It’s also really clever how she separates them at the same time. While Scorpius and Albus are still together, she slowly loosens their relationship by making Scorpius very jealous. You could see how Scorpius dislikes her more and more the more the relationship between her and Albus grows. She’s excellent with people and therefore exactly knows how to play with those two so they do what she wants. Yes she looses at the end, but that’s because she didn’t manage to loosen Scorpius and Albus’s relationship after all.

So before I can get more into detail on what she did with the two I need to get started mit Scorbus!

Scorpius and Albus need and adore eachother. Their friendship helps them to get through some tough emotional stuff. But throughout the play I got the feeling that there was more. They both feel more than friendship for eachother and they truely love eachother. They don’t know that from the other and they try to hide it, but I saw something there.

It starts with the touchiness. There are loads of casual touches. More than I ever see with any of my friends. They need to be close to eachother.

And then there are Scorpius’s looks. Gosh that boy can look at Albus, it’s incredible. Almost all the time, when Albus isn’t looking at him, Scorpius looks at him with love and desire. The scene where it is the most obvious was when Delphi was Training Albus and Scorpius was getting closer to them to watched what going on. There was so much jealousy and hurt in his eyes. He was not only afraid he would loose his friend and be replaced, but also that Albus would have a crush on Delphi. Delphi sensed that of course and used this.

Another example is right before Delphi’s reveal. Scorpius and Albus sit very close next to eachother on the stairs at the owlery, talking what to do with the time-turner. Not only they sit very close and there’s lot’s of casual touching, they both make eyes at eachother. It seems like Scorpius isn’t even trying to hide what he is feeling, smiling so openly, warmly and loving at Albus. Albus is doing a better job at hiding it, but there also is some pain in his eyes, as if he is looking at Scorpius as if he will never be able to have him that way.

Then comes Delphi into the same scene. She goes and sit right between the two and separates them that way. You can see how Albus is looking apologetic into Scorpius’s direction, who is looking hurt and jealous. That look really made me sad. Delphi than changes from being the biggest cock block ever to being a shipper and ties Scorpius and Albus together on their hands, so they basically sit on top of eachother.

And finally the last scene Albus and Scorpius have together. In the Skript this scene made me very angry, because suddenly Scorpius needed to be straight again and have a crush on Rose, but the live performance changes it completely and is almost proof that there is more going on. The actors definitely didn’t care about Scorose and went full on Scorbus.

The scene takes place an a staircase. They stand in front of eachother, while Scorpius stands two stairs further down. Because of the hight difference it first seems like they don’t stand that close, but actually they stand pretty close to eachother. They talk about how they can’t believe Scorpius has asked Rose out. Scorpius genuinely didn’t look like he could believe it. As if he didn’t want to but now he was crazy enough to actually do it. Albus looks kind of sad when he says it. A little disappointed.

Scorpius starts rambling on how Rose and him will have a beautiful future together, but although his words should be hopeful, they came across as an act. As if his heart wasn’t at it. They both try not to look at eachother, because they have a sad look in their eyes. As if they were both hiding their true feelings.

Than Rose shows up. She greets Scorpius with Scorpius King with a sarcastic tone to it. She runs away laughing after that. In the Skript it sounded she actually liked Scorpius, but in the play she was just making fun of him. When Rose is pretending like she likes Scorpius for this few seconds, Scorpius looks shocked. I could practically see “oh no what have I done” going through his head. Albus also looked shocked. He never wished that Scorpius’s crush would be returned.

When they realize it was just a joke, they loosen up. And Scorpius hugs Albus. By far the most passionate hug of all. Especially because Scorpius is standing a little lower makes the hug even more adorable. Than Albus says he thought they agreed they didn’t hug. That made me thinking, why they would discuss that in the first hand. My idea is, that they are both scared that their crush would come out and they can hide it better, when they aren’t intimate that way. And then Scorpius says, that he thought they would do this in this new version he had in mind. This confuses me until the day of today, because this is an actual line in the Skript were Scorbus apparently isn’t a thing. But the only thing “a new version of us” could mean is in a romantic way. Everyone I spoke with agreed with me and were just as confused as me. I just believe that Scorbus is canon and that these two oblivious boys have huge crushes on eachother. That’s at least what the play told me.

I hope I could kind of share my experience and this didn’t end up being way too long for anyone to read. I can just say that I loved the play and I can absolutely recommend it to everyone. It was worth every pound.

[dainesanddaffodils]

Compatibility - A Strange Magic Ballet AU ... sort of

This was @suzie-guru‘s christmas present, which I finished a few weeks ago - but being her present I didn’t want it online until she had read it. She now has, so now it’s my christmas gift to the fandom! 

Enjoy Bog and Marianne flirting in a dance studio and using ballet as a backdrop to talk about their individual mental health issues

Compatibility

Marianne knew she was staring, and she wasn't trying too hard to conceal it.

Because, to be frank, the man was worth staring at. Not to mention that she was more than allowed some curiosity when a stranger was cast as her co-lead in the upcoming spring production of Swan Lake. 

It wasn't that it never happened that her city's Arts and Theater Company took open auditions from the greater community, especially for bigger productions, but rarely did they land lead roles, when there was the whole issue of compatibility between leads. And rarely did they ever look like the photo of the man that she had been given when casting had been confirmed. 

The man in the photograph had looked like a lumberjack, or a construction worker. Or just homeless. He was in no less than four layers, and one of them was plaid. His beard looked too unkept to be hipster chic or whatever it was that her sister's boyfriend, Sunny, was. He looked about as far as you could get from the role of a ‘handsome prince’, if he looked like a dancer at all.

His name, according to the listing, was Bog King.

Presently, two weeks after the cast announcement, she watched him stow his bags and change his shoes. They had the studio to themselves; a personal practice time slotted out for the two leads, the way actors did compatibility reads. It was a chance to see how they played off each other, to see how and if this would work between them.

He looked like the man in the casting picture; even more out of place perhaps because now she could see his height in person (6'6" jesus christ). But in practice clothing and out of his four plus layers of flannel, jean, and leather he was, in fact, quite athletically toned. His broad shoulders tapered into a thin waist and she might have snuck a glance at his ass while he got his shoes out of his bag. That was absolutely a ballerina's ass. 

So yeah, she was absolutely staring. 

"Ye can ask, you know?" He spoke like they were coming out of a pause in an existing conversation and not like these were the first words he'd said to her. It took Marianne a second to even understand that he was addressing her.

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking about asking and you don't have to worry about offendin’ me- I get it often enough."

Again, Marianne was thrown off by the conversational tone (if not by the gruff and slightly accented voice), and it took her a few more seconds before she understood he was commenting on her staring. That he had, more than likely, taken it as an insult to his appearance. He understood the question that she did, in fact, have:

How the fuck does a man who looks like he just walked out of spending the past ten years living behind a truck stop come to be a ballet dancer? 

Which, to be fair, was a pretty insulting judgement to make on someone based on their appearance alone. And she had made it.

She felt her face warm, embarrassed and irritated at how accurately she had been read and called out by a total stranger. "You're real great at starting a conversation, has anyone ever told you that?"

His eyes widened, taken aback. As if he hadn't expected her to fire back (if this was really how he began conversations, she was surprised he wasn't used to people responding in kind). But then, he smiled. It was sarcastic and bitter - the kind of smile her father would chastise her for. She decided she rather liked it. "All the time."

"Charming."

"That's me."

Marianne was rearranging her feelings towards him so quickly was giving her a bit of whiplash. Rarely did anyone keep up with her sarcasm to this level. 

Still, she knew she couldn’t make small quips much longer without bringing up the already remarked upon elephant in the room. She picked at the sleeve of her black leotard and pushed forward. "So... how long have you been dancing?"

Bog King glanced up at her, eyes moving across her face for a moment until a corner of his mouth twitched. They both knew that she was asking what he expected, but also not asking how he had expected. He returned to tucking his laces in. "Five years." 

Marianne was glad he was looking away, because she didn't know how he'd react to her shock. "Five years?" She said at last, her tone as steady and mildly interested as she could make it.

He snorted, looking back at her again, his expression frustratingly unreadable. "I'm a quick study." She would have made a face or sarcastic comment to that but he didn't sound like Roland would have had he said the same thing. There was no pretension to it. It was just a fact. And despite his rough appearance, Marianne believed him.

“What got you started?” She asked, before she could stop herself. He raised his eyebrows and she quickly added. “It’s just- I’m used to people realizing pretty young that this is something they were into, you know?”

"And when did you start dancing?" Bog countered, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Two? Three years old?"

Marianne's own lips twitched in spite of herself. He truly did have a charm about him, though unlike anyone else she'd met. "Four," she said, lifting her chin a little. "And a half."

Bog laughed shaking his head. "Of course." 

“I stopped for a while, a couple years,” she blurted, unsure why she was, what, explaining herself to him? “Some shit happened and I said I was through. I didn’t think I was going to come back.”

Bog shifted on the bench, allowing her space to sit down, which she did. She had no idea why she was telling him this; even in the vaguest terms, talking about what went down with her and Roland was something she didn’t do. Ever.

“What changed?” He asked, as though her two sentence watered-down version of past trauma was worthy of his attention (and jesus, when was the last time Marianne had felt any part of her that wasn’t an on-stage persona was worthy of attention?).  

“I realized that I was still miserable,” she said, her shoulders rising and falling in more of a sigh than a shrug. “And I thought that was bullshit – like, why should I have to give up something I love because a few shitty memories. Screw that.”

Bog’s smile returned, and just like before, Marianne recognized that smile as one she’d given countless times. Bitter and full of a fierce ‘fuck it’ level of optimism that came after years of being hurt. She knew he got it. He didn’t even know a quarter of the full story but he got it. What did she do with that?

She tore her eyes away, looking back at her shoes, and realized she still needed to change into her pointe shoes. She hadn’t even begun stretching. This conversation had thoroughly distracted her from her usual pre-practice routines.  

She dug her pointe shoes out and began going through the motions of getting ready for practice, her mind wandering back to her earlier misgivings about potential compatibility with a stranger. It was looking like that might be the least of her problems.  

“Therapy,” Bog said suddenly. Marianne looked over and realized he had been watching as she got ready.

“What?”

“What got me started dancing,” he clarified. “It was therapy.”

“What?” She said again.

Thankfully that got a smile from him. “Some- how did ye put it? Some shit happened. I needed something to, I don’t know, distract myself? Keep myself functioning?” He laughed a little, though it wasn’t particularly happy. Dumbfounded, Marianne searched the lines of his face (he had to have at least five years on her, probably more), and bit her lip to keep from asking for details. He hadn’t.

“And this helps?” She asked at last, more incredulous than she had intended. It felt a bit like the equivalent of someone saying ‘have you tried yoga’ – she thought about the idea of someone suggesting that as therapy after Roland, and how negatively she might have reacted.

“Well, if ye haven’t noticed, it hasn’t exactly made me a ball of sunshine.” She snorted and he grinned. “But yes, it helps. It gets me out of my head, but doesn’t require… socializing. Does that make any sense?”

“Totally,” she said instantly, because it did. Some people found ballet a difficult form of theater but Marianne had always embraced a form of emoting that didn’t require words. “Well, I’m glad it worked. You’re obviously good at it.”

Bog waved off the compliment, though Marianne thought she could see his cheeks color. “Decent.”

“Decent doesn’t land you the lead in Swan Lake,” she told him firmly.

“I’m as surprised as anyone with that,” he retorted. “Certainly wasn’t what I was goin’ for. Not that I won’t take it,” he added quickly.

“Were you going for the wicked sorcerer?” She teased, looking at her tall, sharp-featured conversation partner. Earlier she would have worried that might have offended him but now she wasn’t surprised (though a bit pleased) to hear him laugh.

“Would be what I’m more familiar with.” At her inquisitive noise, he said, “I’ve been the Mouse King in the Nutcracker… twice now?” He counted on his fingers. “More suited to me than Prince Charming, I’d say.”  

Marianne had had that exact thought the second she saw him. She didn’t know if she agreed with it now.  

She busied herself with finishing her lacing. When she had Bog got to his feet. “Well, come on then- Marianne, was it?”

Dear god, had they not even properly introduced themselves yet? “Um, yeah.”

He offered a large hand, which Marianne wasn’t sure if she was supposed to take it like she was shaking it or like he was going to help her to her feet and awkwardly tried both. Bog laughed, and did indeed pull her up. For a second, she was thoroughly distracted by the first real impression of how much height different there was between them; she didn’t even reach his shoulder. The man could probably lift her with two fingers. She felt heat rush to her face and tried to very casually step away from him.

Seemingly unaware of her reaction, Bog released her hand and moved on, intent on the barre on the other side of the room. Grateful as she was to be moving on to actual business, she had one last thing to say on this topic, and if she didn’t now she knew she wouldn’t.  

“Hey, Bog?” He paused, turning to look at her. “Why’d you tell me all that? About your therapy and shit?”

His eyes narrowed, genuinely puzzled. “Ye asked.”

“Yeah but you said that everyone asks.”

“Not like you did,” he said. Before she could reply he added, “I didn’t tell ye any more than ye told me. Why did you?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. She was still confused about that. “I guess… I had a feeling you’d get it. Not a lot of people do.”

“I had a feelin you’d get it,” Bog echoed, offering her another crooked smile, like this was the simplest thing in the world. Like he wasn’t confused by how quickly they had bonded, like connecting through the course of a short somewhat cryptic conversation was perfectly normal.

And maybe it was. Maybe Marianne was overthinking things (Dawn would certainly say that she was). Maybe, for once, she could take her own advice and let herself have something nice.

She smiled back, shook her head, and joined Bog at the barre.

[axlslittlebitch]

Date Gone Wrong

Prompt: I didn’t want to tell my friend what really happened at my date last night was so I when she asked who my date was I just pointed at a random stranger (you) but now they’re storming over to interrogate you and you’re playing along??? okay?? Omelia fluff. (Amelia’s outfit: GA 12x09 Meredith & Amelia second scene). Also Michelle here is Michelle from Private Practice.

Amelia and Michelle walked into their favorite coffee shop, sat down at their usual table, the one with the best view of the whole café for gossiping reasons, and ordered their coffee.

“Come on why can’t you just tell me already” nagged Michelle.

“Can’t you just let it go?” pleaded Amelia.

“No I want to know” insisted Michelle.

“Why do you even care this much? It was just another date with a random guy.”

“When it’s just a random guy you don’t have a problem telling me. Did something happen? Did he hurt you? If so just tell me. You know I would go to jail for you.”

“No nothing happened” said Amelia hoping Michelle would drop the subject.

Truth is Amelia stood up her poor date from the previous night and instead spent her night at a bar drinking her ass off. But she had too much pride to admit that, plus she wasn’t in for the lecture that would follow if she told Michelle the truth; something about her needing to cut back on her alcohol consumption and finally settle in with a guy instead of sleeping with every guy in Seattle. The city wasn’t that big and soon there would be no more men for Amelia to fuck. Michelle’s words, not hers.

“Well is he here? You told me you met him here and that he comes here every day for coffee. You don’t have to tell me you can just point” said Michelle hoping her friend would cave and admit defeat.

“Fine. That one” said Amelia pointing to a random stranger she had never seen before.

“The ginger?” Asked Michelle surprised.

“Sure” said Amelia feeling uneasy just now realizing who she pointed at. The ginger was unbelievably hot and muscular with a growl planted on his face as he looked at the laptop’s screen in front of him. He was wearing a light blue button down shirt that perfectly matched his eyes along with simple black dress pants and shoes. He only had one problem though; he looked nothing like the guys that Amelia usually went for who only wore leather jackets and devious smirks on their faces and had black shoulder length hair and the bodies of Abercrombie models. The ginger sure looked tough and defined, but more in the I went to the army fashion than the I go to the gym sense. Well it was too late to fix her mistake now.

“He’s hot I’ll give him that.”

“He is” agreed Amelia.

“So what wrong with him?”

“Nothing’s wrong with him.”

“Then why won’t you talk about him?” asked Michelle annoyed by her usually talkative friend’s lack of explanation.

“Because I don’t want to” said Amelia as if spelling each word slowly to a child.

“Fine” said Michelle and got up from her chair.

“Where are you going?” asked Amelia confused.

“Well if you’re not gonna tell me I’ll ask him myself” she said and stormed off towards the hot ginger, Amelia following close behind.

Oh God she thought. This day would be marked in history as the day she died of a slow torturing death from her embarrassment.

When Owen looked up from his computer the first thing he noticed was a beautiful woman walking quickly towards him, but she was nothing compared to the other woman that was following her close behind. She was wearing a grey shirt that had two stripes, one black and one dark green, with black skinny jeans, a military green jacket and black heeled booties. But what caught his attention the most were her deep ocean blue eyes that looked angelic in contrast with the dark eye makeup along with the beautiful dark curls that framed her face. On a closer look though he noticed that her eyes screamed for help and she looked terrified of what was about to happen. If only Owen knew.

“Hi” said Michelle so fast Owen wasn’t sure he even heard it.

“My friend over here” she gestured to Amelia “says she went out on a date with you last night but won’t tell me anything so I came here to find out myself”.

To say Owen was shocked would be an understatement, but as he shifted his gaze towards the young woman’s pleading blue eyes he decided to play along.

“Um yeah we did. We went to a nice restaurant. Had a lot of fun.”

What the hell is wrong with this guy though Amelia. Why the hell was he playing along to this stupid thing? Was he stupid? A creep possibly? Or maybe a really polite stranger. The last one seemed better so for her sake she decided to believe that.

“And?” asked Michelle looking for further information that would explain her friend’s unusual behavior.

“And what?” asked Owen confused.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” asked Michelle showing no signs of shame or embarrassment. Owen chocked.

“Umm unfortunately our time was cut short because I had an emergency at the hospital, so I didn’t get the chance” improvised Owen.

“Is that why you wouldn’t talk about it?” she asked Amelia who had turned beet red. Owen thought it suited her and made her otherwise perfect demeanor look more human and beautiful if that was even possible.

“Can’t you just let it go? I told you who he was. You got your answer when can go now” she pleaded.

“No I can’t. I won’t let you ruin your chance with the last man in Seattle. After him there are no more left Amelia, you’ve screwed them all” half yelled Michelle not caring about the ginger hearing them.

“Could you say that any louder please?” said Amelia sarcastically suddenly getting angry.

“He just seems like a nice guy. Talk to him. Give him another chance” she said and looked at Amelia with her puppy eyes making it impossible for Amelia to say no.

“Fine” she said and sat on the second chair at the stranger’s table, as Michelle made her way back to their original table smirking.

“I’m so so sorry. I had no idea she was going to do that. You didn’t have to play along” rambled Amelia.

“I know but it was too entertaining to miss. Plus you looked terrified and I kinda felt sorry for you. I’m Owen by the way.”

“Amelia.”

“So Amelia apparently I’m the last guy in Seattle for you.”

“Oh god” she exclaimed wishing a giant hole would appear underneath her and shallow her whole. Owen simply laughed.

“Amelia come on talk to me. I don’t bite. And we certainly don’t want to disappoint your friend.”

This guy was really something.

“So what really happened last night? Was it that terrible? Was he ugly? Stupid?” he asked.

“No, I don’t know. I didn’t go” she admitted to the total stranger.

“Poor guy left alone waiting for you. Why didn’t you just tell her that? I’m sure she would have understood.”

“Because then I would have to tell her what I did instead and I’m in no mood for a lecture.”

“So what did you do? You’re making me curious. Come on I won’t lecture you.”

“I went to a bar, got wasted, left with a guy I’ll probably never see again.”

“That sounds normal. Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Didn’t you hear what she said? I have a tendency to get wasted and apparently sleep with all the guys in this city and if she found out that I did that again she would literally kill me, after torturing me with her usual lecture about staying sober.”

“Do you have a problem staying sober? Maybe she’s just worried and looking after you.”

“Yeah that’s a talk for another time” said Amelia completely avoiding the oxy, Ryan, baby talk.

“So there will be another time huh?” asked Owen hoping she’d agree to go on an actual date with him.

“Maybe” she said blushing.

“I think we’ve talked enough about my unhealthy obsession with the male gender. It’s my turn to ask questions now” said Amelia trying to change the subject.

“Okay fire away.”

“Umm let’s see. Well what do you do Owen? You mentioned a hospital previously.”

“I’m a trauma surgeon. I save thousands of lives everyday” he said in a seductive tone.

“Okay” said Amelia unimpressed.

“Okay? Aren’t normal girls supposed to swoon over doctors? I mean I make millions per month plus I save lives.”

“I’m not a normal girl.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m a surgeon too”. Owen chocked on his water for the second time that day.

“Aren’t you like 20 or something?”

“I’m 31” she responded.

“How is that possible you’re like tiny? Plus you look very young.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment and I’ll let you know I’m a world class neurosurgeon.”

“Neuro ha?”

“The best of the specialties.”

“Easy there. Trauma is obviously superior.”

“Ha ha you wish”

“So where do you work?”

“I used to work at the Virginia Mason Medical Center but I just transferred to Grey Sloan Memorial, because they have a much better neurosurgery department plus they offered me head of the department.”

“What a pleasant surprise. I work there too as the chief of surgery and chief of trauma. So you should really be thanking me Amelia Shepherd for the millions of dollars that will be soon going into your bank account every month from now on, as I am technically the one who offered you your job.”

“So as of tomorrow morning you’re going to be my boss?”

“It appears so yes.”

“Fun” she said sarcastically.

“Oh watch out. I’m going to make your life a living hell and cut all the neurosurgery budget” he joked.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Michelle approached their table. “Hey, just wanted to let you know that I gotta run. Also I’m not stupid I know you didn’t go last night and instead went home with whatever his name is, I’m sure even you don’t know, I just wanted to see how far along you’d play with this. You have balls, love. You can thank me later. And don’t forget we are going to have a lovely talk this afternoon” she said leaving Amelia with a shocked expression and before she had the chance to respond.

“Ugh” she groaned.

“She knows you better than you give her credit for.”

“I know. I just wish that she would for once drop the whole subject. I appreciate her looking out for me and she has helped more than I could ever ask for, but I feel like she judges me all the time. And it’s not like she’s any different, half the times I go out she’s with me.”

“Anyway back to you praising me for offering you that magnificent job” said Owen trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

Owen’s phone beeped. “I’m so sorry. It’s a page from the hospital I have to run.” He got up from his chair left money on the table for his coffee, kneeled a little and kissed her.

“Date tomorrow. 9 o’clock. Meet me at my office” he said and with that he was out of the coffee shop, running towards the hospital.

Amelia didn’t even have time to think about what had just happened, as she was left staring starstrucked at the chair where Owen was once seated. Maybe going out with a date before fucking wasn’t such a bad idea after all she thought daydreaming about the handsome ginger.