#I hope he wrote down his brewing method

[maireadralph]

Entrapdak Positivity Month - Success

Featuring Hipster Hordak because it’s been a while since we’ve had one of those

[dreamlandforever]

The Devil You Know

(Sterek | Teen and Up | 13k)

AO3 link

I wrote my first Sterek for the "'What‘s a Stiles?" Sterek April event, based on the Prompt "Unhinged Stiles" and "Derek gets kidnapped", I hope you like it!

Summary:

“When was the last time you spoke to Derek?”

He was not expecting that question.

When was the last time he spoke to Derek? They spoke every day. They have spoken every day for six years. Sometimes Stiles calls, sometimes Derek does. But it happens daily, even if it is only for a few minutes.

But the thing is, Stiles doesn’t know what day it is. This case has been the entirety of his focus lately.

“What day is today?”

She doesn’t hesitate, too used to Stiles being…Stiles. “Tuesday”.

Fuck. Stiles missed work.

Wait. If it was Tuesday…

“Lydia.” He speaks as calmly and clearly as he is able to, which is not much. “Where. Is. Derek?.”

1

Tuesday.

There are a lot of things that Stiles prides himself in. Granted, most of them are illegal and kind of frown upon by the FBI, but he still knew how to get the job done. Research is one of them, and, fortunately for him, is also a skill very much appreciated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Especially because they didn’t know what Stiles’ preferred methods were, exactly.

The red yarn strewn all over his shoe-box apartment seems to belong to another lifetime. The only thing keeping him kind of in the present is the whiteboard he got for cheap on eBay, which also happens to double as the divider between his kitchenette and living room. FBI Stiles did not have to cover his walls in tacks, no, sir. FBI Stiles had a slightly better set up. Also, his landlord is not very fond of holes in the wall. Stiles may or may not have a little issue trying to hang a picture a few weeks after he moved in.

If he took a deep breath, he could really see himself transported back to his room in Beacon Hills. The coffee he was brewing was the same brand he had always used, the feel of the yarn was all too familiar to his hands, the pain on his lower back and the headache caused by sleep deprivation felt just like home. He wasn’t sure when was the last time he slept, but he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. From the state of the table and the marks on his cheek, he had fallen asleep at some point, so good for him. He let himself be transported back to his room, when he himself was a kid, and had to fight the Big Bad of the week, and not an FBI man who had to stop a fucking human from killing children, on top of thinking of the next Big Bad.

Which is why, it took a while for Stiles to realize that the buzzing wasn’t in his head, and he wasn’t just hallucinating it. He looked around his kitchen table, slowly blinking himself into reality. He can’t even tell how long he has been working, but it has been long enough for his blinking to actually hurt, and the pounding of his head has become more constant. With a sigh he finally finds his phone under a bunch of folders he isn’t sure he was even allowed to bring home.

Without even looking at the caller, he answers as fast as he can before the call can go to voicemail. “Hey, Der. I was just about to have dinner, don’t worry. Did you manage to fix that leaking sink? I cannot sleep with that thing, dude, and I am less than a week away from visiting.” He crosses his fingers, hoping he did not miss calls before. Derek does not enjoy when Stiles doesn’t answer his phone.

He is met with only silence. He flinches slightly.

“Breakfast? Was I about to have breakfast?” So maybe he did miss a few calls. And a lot more hours than he originally thought.

“Stiles, I am not Derek.” Lydia’s voice. She is calm and collected. And Lydia is one of Stiles’ comfort people, as well as one of his other regular calls, so he knows that voice.

“What happened?” He never quite mastered Lydia’s ability to remain in control. His voice sounded panicked even to his own ears. He stands up, no longer able to remain on the call while sitting down. His apartment is much too small to really walk away his nerves, but walking in circles will have to do. Was Derek in trouble?

“When was the last time you spoke to Derek?”

He was not expecting that question.

When was the last time he spoke to Derek? They spoke every day. They have spoken every day for six years. Sometimes Stiles calls, sometimes Derek does. But it happens daily, even if it is only for a few minutes.

But the thing is, Stiles doesn’t know what day it is. This case has been the entirety of his focus lately.

“What day is today?”

She doesn’t hesitate, too used to Stiles being…Stiles. “Tuesday”.

Fuck. Stiles missed work.

Wait. If it was Tuesday…

“Lydia.” He speaks as calmly and clearly as he is able to, which is not much. “Where. Is. Derek?.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” She asked again, the stress finally showing on her voice.

“Saturday.” His voice came out so soft he wasn’t sure she had even heard him.

He hadn’t spoken to Derek in almost three days. They speak daily. He knows what she is going to say before the words leave her mouth.

“Stiles, Derek is missing.”

The words still feel like lead at the bottom of his stomach. The headache is rapidly turning into a migraine, and it is becoming harder for him to focus.

Derek. His Derek. Gone.

“Since when?” He knows his voice is shaky, but he can’t stop it.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

There is a pause on the other side of the line, but Stiles doesn’t even notice. His head is going a mile a minute, and he cannot focus enough to comprehend simple facts, such as the passage of time. His entire body seems to have gone into panic mode, in a way it hasn’t for years. He is a man now, he is control of himself.

All bets are off the window when whatever is happening involves Derek, apparently.

“Sunday.”

He could hear ringing in his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was his mind dissociating or if his heart was beating so hard it was deafening. Either way, he didn’t have time for that, so he ignored it.

He knows today is Tuesday.

Derek went missing on Sunday.

And Stiles didn’t notice.

“Why hasn’t anyone called?” But as soon as the questions leaves his mouth, he knows the answer. Suddenly, he needs to hear it. He needs confirmation. Anger is so much easier to control than panic. Stiles wants to be angry. He wants to break something, he wants to take a swing of someone. And he knows just who.

“He said he would handle it. He benched all of us. And Derek usually keeps to himself, but Stiles it has been two days. He isn’t telling us anything.”

Stiles sees red.

[queenscodex]

Taking care of you when you're sick

Charatcers: Heartslabyul; Riddle, Trey, Cater, Ace, Deuce

- Gender Neutral Reader

- Headcanons

- Warnings: Sickness

Hi so I'm sick, it's the reason I'm taking so long to get event requests out. But I couldn't sleep so I decided to write this in hopes it will remove all the sickness from my body. Not proofread, I wrote this half asleep

-

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle can be very dependable on days when you're sick!

He knows a lot of methods to make you feel better- though, he can come off as brash and strict during these times but it's only because he wants you to make a swift recovery. And when he's clueless on what do, then he does some research himself

Although he isn't one to get sick often, he does know some good remedies to help soothe a scratchy throat, tummy pains, and anything that is causing you discomfort. He'll ask Trey to make you little treats among soups. However, he does keep an eye on your sugar intake but the soup is easy on the stomach.

Riddle makes sure you take your medicine at the correct times, even going as far writing it down on a little notepad as a reminder for himself. He also assures your getting the right of amount of sleep and properly taking care of yourself, shooing you off to bed when he catches you in the hallway

He prepares you a lot of tea, many depending on the situation; he knows a good tea to help you sleep if your sickness is causing you discomfort, and he also can brew up some ginger tea if you're feeling particularly nauseous.

Places a warm or cold cloth over forehead and changing it periodically when he checks your temperature from time to time

Riddle is patient with you when you're sick. He'll help you catch up on your studies once you're feeling better and will stick close if you don't want to be alone as you rest, even propping up a chair beside your bed as he recounts the history notes Trein left.

" You must take your medicine, my rose. It's vital for your recovery. Perhaps a pinch of sugar will make it more bearable?"

-

Trey Clover

Out of all the boys, Trey is the best at taking care of anyone who is ill. Like Cater, he was responsible for taking care if his siblings and his mother mode gets activated whenever a loved one gets sick

Getting sick in the first place is a challenge in itself. Trey always makes sure you dress appropriately for the weather, eat enough meals, and take care of other basic necessities. So getting sick was a surprise to him, but nonetheless he knows to handle it

Trey is patient with his partner, his movements are gentle and does everything with care in order to ensure a swift recovery.

He makes sure you take your daily medications and tries to make it more bearable by adding a pinch of sugar to conceal its nasty aftertaste- but not too much that the medicine loses effect entirely

Trey knows plenty of foods for someone who is sick. He prepares you good and healthy meals that are easy to stomach while also providing you nutrients and vitamins. He notes that you're getting your three meals a day while also having rest inbetween. He can be a bit strict with this, but he promises you to make as many tarts as you like once you've completely recovered from your sickness

He likes to give you massages as you eat, helping you relax as you down the food. Little praises are leaving his mouth with each bite you take, and once you're done, he tucks you to bed and places a cold rag to your forehead.

He will grab you anything you need, you will not be lifting a finger at all. Even if you insist you can do it yourself, Trey refuses. He's got everything; tissue boxes, little medicine candies, a weighted blanket, anything to make the whole process as easy as possible

" Lay down dear, right now you need to rest. I'll take care of everything else, call me if you need anything, alright?"

-

Cater Diamond

Cater was responsible for taking care of his sisters who commonly asked him for things while they were sick. He despised it, since they bossed him around and was often running around in order to get what they wanted. But this is his partner and he does not mind getting you what you need. He is quite dependable when his partner is sick as a result.

Cater is observant and attentive to your body language, if you exhibit any signs of discomfort, he is quick to soothe you to the best of his ability. He rubs comforting shapes in your back whenever you start to feel nauseous or gross, even pulling your hair back if it's long.

While out and about, he keeps some medicine on his person in case you need it.

Cater sends you a lot of videos and pictures while you're sick, often being silly little things that easily make you laugh followed by the text 'how are you feeling?'

While you're sick, his Magicame feed becomes filled with pictures of soups, tissues, and other things he gets you to help you recover. He the whole process with his fans, even picking up advice people leave among the comments

Not the best cook, but he will try to whip something up if you ask. Though it has an odd taste and some bits are overcooked, it's enough to soothe your stomach for a while. But a lot of the time he buys those pre-made things that you just have to heat up.

He props up a chair next to your bedside, keeping an eye on you and making sure you're getting rest while his fingers gently run through your hair in an attempt to relax you.

" You have nothing to worry about Y/n! Cay Cay will take care of you, I even made you some soup~ wait don't eat it yet! Let's take a picture for the recovery album 'kay?"

Ace Trappola

Surprisingly alright at taking care of his partner when their sick, minus a few moments of panic and slip ups

The first thing Ace does when he learns you're ill is making sure you're comfortable and getting you whatever you need. He has a glass of water on your bedside table if you feel dehydrated (which will be refilled every half hour) and some of your favorite treats when you get hungry.

He gets you a lot of soups that you can easily stomach and sticks to your favorites. He even is adamant on feeding you if you don't have the extra energy to pick up a spoon, though he's rather teasing about it- even if you fuss you can feed yourself, you will be met by hush on his part all while he tugs the spoon at your lips.

He is good at cheering you up. Ace dislikes seeing his partner under the weather. He'll crack jokes and act mischievous in order to make you laugh despite feeling all icky inside, it helps lighten the atmosphere. He may tune down the teasing for your sake, but he slips at some moments; mainly jokes about how you're going to get him sick.

Not the best at keeping track of your medicine, it tends to slip his mind at times as he is more focused on getting adequate rest.

Ace encourages you to get some fresh air from time to time. He takes your hand softly, guiding you to the nearby courtyard, his eyes attentive to any discomfort you may be feeling.

Even though he's not the one sick, he whines about how he is unable to kiss you, but he may end up giving you a few pecks which ultimately causes him to be sick and now both of you are bed-ridden together.

" Say ahh~ I heard from Trey that this soup helps calm the nerves and stomach. Hey, don't give me that look, let me feed you!"

-

Deuce Spade

Deuce knows how to take care of himself, but not so much when it comes to other people. He heavily relied on his mother whenever he got sick himself and picked up on her tactics when he got older. But when he got news that his partner was ill, he was clueless at what to do at first, unsure of how to apply that

He constantly asks you how you're feeling and if you want anything, whatever it was Deuce was set on retrieving it for you. Every five minutes you would see him pop his head around the corner, the same question falling from his lips every time.

Deuce tries to make you feel as comfortable as possible. He even offers to give you some massages to distract you from the discomfort being sick brings; although, he can be rough sometimes. But he does rub some very soothing shapes on your back if you're feeling nauseous and need to get it out of your system.

He takes extra notes for you if you can't make it to any classes because of your sickness, relaying the information to you later that day with some leftovers he saved for you at lunch.

He tries to get you everything you need. Tissues? He'll buy some! Can't stomach his leftover lunch? He'll try to make you a soup his mother made for him, although he may ask Trey to whip up something if he doesn't have the time. He always refills your glass of water, making sure you have something to drink.

In the end, Deuce ends up phoning his mother for advice and follows it thoroughly, making sure you're resting and taking your medicine at the appropriate times.

He's such a worry wart. It's reflected in his eyes as he encourages you to eat a little, his voice laced with concern as you weakly scoop up the goods with the spoon. Even when he's away, he can't help but think about your needs, hoping you're getting rest.

" Y/n, do you need anything? I'm about to run to the store to pick up some things to make you a soup- my mom said it helps a lot with stomach pains. Is there anything else you want me to pick up?"

-

[waynewifey]

I want to ruin our friendship. —

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Summary: The Marauders, tired of seeing Y/N’s sights of love, sneak Veritaserum into her drink, hoping to make her confess to James Potter.

Warnings: Underage drinking.

Words: 1400.

A/N: This is not my best work but lately I’ve been simping a lot for James... This is based on the song “Jenny” by Studio Killers. Hope you like it! Btw, my requests are always open.

"I just think it would be easier if you told him, you know? Just get over it already, the school year is ending and soon enough we'll be graduating and what if he vanished for good? You'll never know what could have happened between you two." Marlene said, making Y/N roll her eyes at her best friend. She tapped on her parchment the thoughts soaking in.

"Okay, that's enough. Just because you and Sirius worked out it doesn't mean that it'll happen the same to me. James is my best friend since we're eleven, I can't risk loosing everything." Y/N paused, whooshing away dark thoughts. "Now, add this: Veritaserum is a powerful truth serum. The potion effectively forces the drinker to answer any questions put to them truthfully, though there are certain methods of resistance. The use of this potion is strictly controlled by the British Ministry of Magic. " She dictated while Marlene wrote it down on their potions project. The blonde girl stared at the words for a second, a brilliant idea popping up in her mind.

"You've never seen Y/N staring at Potter? You must be kidding me. You boys are so oblivious!" McKinnon exclaimed scoffing, annoyed at her boyfriend.

"No need to offend us." Sirius joked, but corrected his posture when Marlene didn't laugh. "Has she ever said anything to you, Moony? I mean, we can't make her drink a truth serum for nothing, it will probably cost a lot to us."

"No, we usually don't talk about our love life." Remus said and continued talking before Sirius could say something more. "For the hundredth time, Padfoot, we don't have a twin ability to read each other's mind." Black scoffed and threw himself at the sofa, with no more ideas.

"Let's just do it. One way or the other, it will eventually happen, we're just helping them to do it earlier." Dorcas said from the door of the common room, where she was looking out for the two love birds.

"Fine. So here's the plan: Dorcas and Peter sneak into Slughorn's office and steal the material. I mean, borrow. Then they'll bring to me and Lily, we'll brew a stronger version of the Veritaserum, it should make her say whatever it's on her mind at that moment. Then we all go to Ravenclaw's party tonight. Remus puts some drops on her cup and we find a way to get them to be alone." Mary McDonald explained, every eyes of the room on her.

"That should be easy, we better get going though." Peter stood up and so did the rest of the group but Sirius and Marlene. Y/N and James entered the common room, back from their study session.

"And that is why I think everyone, including the wizarding society, should listen to Queen. I have a vinil of theirs in my dorm, I can show you later." Y/N said, making James nod in agreement. "Where's everyone?" She asked the couple.

"They had to... do stuff." Sirius said. Y/N and James sat on the couch. He embraced her by the side and she rested her head on his shoulder, like they always did. He smelled her strawberry scented shampoo and his heart skipped a beat.

"That's a shame, I wanted to talk to Peter. 'Heard he wanted a girlfriend." Y/N stated and closed her eyes. James' ones were now wide open, trying to look at her without moving.

"What do you mean?!"

"I saw this cute little mouse near the black lake, if you know what I mean." She laughed softly, being followed by everyone else in the room.

After a few hours talking, Marlene reminded everyone of the party and they hurried to get ready. On her way to the dorms, Y/N started taking off James' quidditch jersey.

"No, no. You can keep it. This one is getting old anyways. Besides, you look good on it." Potter said, offering a smile. Y/N blushed aggressively and rushed upstairs. She closed the door behind her, hugging the piece of clothing against her chest. She left it on her bed, next to her pillowcase — one of James' old shirts. She bathed and wore a dress that was a gift from James, the most beautiful one in her trunk. An hour later, she met her twin downstairs.

"Am I too late?" She asked.

"A bit, they left already." Remus answered, taking her arm and leading her to the Fat Lady.

The music in the Ravenclaw common room was very loud, it being in the tallest tower of the castle, noone down there would barely hear anything. There was a first grader at the entrance, answering all the riddles so the seventh graders could enter the party without burning their neurones. The sky-ish ceiling was quite a decoration. Besides being introverts, ravenclaws usually pulled out the best parties, because they would never get caught. Sirius quickly approached the twins, giving each one of them a drink. Remus stared at it for a bit while Y/N took a sip. She ran to the dance floor to meet her girlfriends. After a few songs, she went back to the sofas, siting beside her brother. Bring back that Leroy Brown started blasting from nowhere and Y/N jumped, finding James two meters from her. She grabbed the cup on her brothers hand and pulled Potter to the dance floor.

"THIS IS QUEEN!" She screamed at his ear, starting to dance. James, who didn't even knew the song, started jamming to it. He looked at her, the shadows of her face folding the traits that, as he thought, were perfect. She danced and screamed the lyrics like the world would end tomorrow. The song ended and she took a sip of the drink. It was bitter, she felt weak and fell into his arms.

"I think I'm sick," He took her in the arms and walked her out of the common room. They ran to the Astronomy Tower, where the air was fresh and she could breathe better.

"James, darling, you're my best friend." She said after a long moment of silence. They were sitting at the floor, her head was placed on his neck corner. Her words were barely understandable, she looked up to his brown orbits. "But there's a few things that you don't know of..."

"What are you talking about?" His expression was confused but he kept listening closely, watching her lips twitch under the moonlight.

"Why I borrow your jerseys so often..." Even though she wanted to, she couldn't stop talking. The words fell so easily from her mouth, she didn't understand what was happening.

"I already told you, I don't mind. They really do look good on you." He chuckled, earning a grin from her. You're so beautiful, I love you; he thought.

"I'm using your shirt as a pillow case."

"That's kind of creepy." He joked. She put a hand on his cheek, trying to hold back her next words.

"I want to ruin our friendship. We should be lovers instead." She finally said it. Her body was so light it could have flied away. He furrowed his eyebrows, completely surprised.

"Are you serious...?"

"I don't know how to say this, 'cause you're really my dearest friend but," She leaned her forehead to his, taking a deep breath. "James I'm in love with you. I've always been. I love you and I want to be with you forever... And I know this'll end everything but I had to tell you and,"

"I love you too, Y/N. Since third grade, when you tutored me for the first time and now I go on study dates even knowing every content, so I can be alone with you for an hour or two." He smiled, positioned his hand on her neck and kissed her for the first time. It just felt so right to be there, to be with him. She melted into his arms for a deeper intimate moment.

They went back to the party when she felt better, holding hands and getting everyone's attention. The marauders smiled and gave themselves a high-five. They knew that their relationship would be beautiful and last for long.

[soldmysoultootomeboys]

I love the au swap ! If you dont mind the undateables (+ platonic luke with simeon?) Summoning a demon MC??

Demon MC with Human Undateables 

I hope these are okay!! I’ve never written for these characters before so I tried my best

Part 1

Diavolo

When a human summons you, you tend to have an idea of what you’re going to see when you show up, black hoods, cult robes, mysterious sigils signed in blood, NOT an average looking sitting room that appears to be part of a moderately wealthy mansion

Immediately your greeted by a man in an expensive red suit

He looks rather excited to see you, like he wanted to pull you in for a hug right there instead he settles for a handshake

Before you can start your usual spiel on the rules for your pact he interrupts you shaking his head

“I invited you here not as a demon but as a guest. Consider it like improving the relationship between the three realms. What do you say?”

What can you say? A human with knowledge of all three realms was rare but one who invited a demon into his own home was even rarer. You can’t help but be interested in what it is he really wants.

So you agree a pact forming between you two in a second.

You fully expect him to break his promise. After all there isn’t anything in it for him. However a real order never comes and for all intents and purposes you really are treated like a guest. 

For a while you had wondered if you were meant to be a servant here, but Diavolo seems more than happy with his staff. In fact his head butler could be a demon with how efficient his service is. 

With a little snooping you manage to find a file full of different demons, including you but he easily explained it as possible candidates for his program.

On more than one occasion Diavolo invites you to enjoy tea with him, although you suspect its more of an excuse for you to talk about Devildom. Diavolo is fascinated with the place.

He hangs on to every word you tell him, exclaiming over your cultural differences with excitement. 

Whenever you bring back a new snack or devilmade show he’s very eager to watch it with you.  

You’re still not sure what he really wants. He continues to treat you as his guest but you can’t help but feel he’s hiding something. 

Oh well, it's probably nothing.

Barbatos

Sometime when you make a pact it feels like you’ve lost something. Maybe your freedom, or your dignity, but in this case it doesn’t feel like you’re missing anything at all. In fact its more like you gained a butler.

Even though you’re the demon here, he’s the one who’s always taking care of your every need

Before you can even ask he is offering you cake and tea with refined grace, as if he was born to do it

In fact the two of you end up enjoying some very fine tea parties

At first he insists on serving you but with a little nagging (as well as some bribes in the form of a few special Devildom tea blends) he can be convinced to sit and chat with you

He seems to know a little something about everything making him the perfect conversation partner and listens to you talk about home with a quiet smile. However your favorite times are when he lets loose. 

A real smile (drawn out by your presence and a bottle of wine) takes up his face and he’s more personal, teasing you and even talking about himself

However most of your time is spent in the kitchen

He works at a very popular bakery so the two of you spend many afternoons making pastries. You offer what tips you can but he is already a very accomplished baker so there’s not much you can say

Instead you sit on the counter taking swipes of the batter when he isn’t looking (He knows, he just wants you to feel like you’re getting away with something)

It’s on a day just like this you have your first encounter with what would become your worst enemy

He had just opened the cupboard to get more flour when he lets out a bloodcurdling scream

You jolt from your perch. In all your times of living together he had never made such a sound and you peak over his shoulder to see what he’s looking at

Calm as can be sits a plain black rat chilling on top of a pack of sugar

Barbatos is still very much so frozen so you scoop up the animal and go outside to dispose of it

It's kind of gross but not nearly as bad as some of the pests back in Devildom so it’s not that big of a deal

When you walk back inside he has once again composed himself into the picture of dignity but for the next week you are rewarded with as many sweets as your heart desires

After that you makes sure to keep the kitchen free from anymore of the pests and he leaves you more than enough presents for your service

Solomon

Who is this shady man?

He summons you in what looks to be a stereotypical alchemy lab, something you hadn’t seen since like what? The 19nth century? Jeez man move on

He asks you to make a pact and despite your general misgivings you agree

Of ALL of his 87 pacts (now 88) he favors you and you spend a lot of time with him in the human world

Although he’s a rather strange person his work is rather interesting. He has plenty of rare tombs and interesting spells, you just wish he wasn’t so eager to test them on you

Typically you just help him with potion brewing and magic but occasionally you perform other tasks for him too

You also end up meeting quite a few of his other demons including Asmo who was more than interested in having some fun with the both of you, something that you had to politely (and then forcefully when he didn’t get the hint) shoot down

Even though you work with him a lot you still don’t have a clue on what his purpose is 

Simeon

He didn’t summon you on purpose...probably?

It’s kind of hard to tell. He seems really religious but he’s also super chill about the fact that you’re there

He acknowledges that you’re a demon but never actually brings it up

When you’re in public he introduces you as a friend of his

It’s actually kind of funny to shake hands with people who would probably scream if they knew who you really were

You end up reading a few of the books he wrote. They’re actually really good. You even find a character that reminds you of you. It’s actually a little too similar really, but it was written before you two had ever met so you guess its just a coincidence.

He asks to see your demon form and as you have no real reason to say no you agree

He’s rather unphased but like Lucifer he’s very interested in your wings. Almost bluntly he asks if you could fly with them, or more importantly if you could fly with him

He’s not a big guy so it’s pretty easy for you to pick him up

It’s not the proximity that has you blushing but his outfit. While you had noticed he was rather scantily clad, it is extremely obvious when you have to touch him, hands pressed tight to the dips in his hips, while an arm is delicately slung around your neck. It takes all your focus not to just have a nosebleed and crash

When you get high enough that the city lights gleam below you and the stars glitter above he becomes very quiet. When you look over to see if you broke your new human you see that he’s just staring at the stars

He seems very at home in the air and holding him isn’t so bad. The two of you stay up there for a long time and when he finally begins to shiver from the altitude you settle on the roof tucked tight to his side watching the stars a little longer. Both of you thinking of a home you can no longer go

Luke

Has a heart attack

Literally has a heart attack

As soon as you appear he’s dialing for Simeon to come help him because there is a DEMON in his house!!

He tries various methods to banish you, most of them hilarious to say the least. 

Throwing salt, holy water, and even a shoe when he got desperate was about all he had in his arsenal. You actually laughed at that last one or at least you did before he started to cry

You give Simeon a pleading glance but when he only gives a mysterious smile at you in return you decide to scoop Luke up. He complains but pushes further into your chest anyways.

Once he starts calming down to the point where he doesn’t try to exorcise you whenever you enter a room he’s not that bad

In fact he’s pretty fun to hang around with. 

He spends a lot of time baking and you’re able to buy his affection by offering to teach him Devildom recipes

After helping him make yet another batch of cupcakes together you find that you actually really like the kid???

After this he’s going to be the most protected child in the entire world

Bullies beware between you and Simeon nothing is going to happen to Luke on your watch

Luke tries to rein you in most of the time so you have to make sure to do anything when he’s not watching

For the most part he pretends like he doesn’t like demons, but in the end it's obvious that he really cares about you

[likeawildthing]

Happy birthday, Lily. Note as to why I’m publishing this and what it means to me under the cut. This is an unpublished portion of Summer of ‘81.

xxxxxx

Two days after she finishes Potter’s snitch, July crashes down on Lily with a screech, a bang, and her own blood-curdling scream.

She’s stopped at the corner, impatiently waiting for her signal. Just as she’s about to bloody risk it and make a dash across, light be damned, Potter and Black pull up, looking smug and smarmy while straddling the motorbike.

Potter winks at her. Ought to be difficult, looking suave while riding pillion, but he manages well enough.

Black revs the engine, in a bid for her attention. When he’s got it, he nods at the road.

Lily immediately shakes her head. She’s fast on her skates, better than anyone she knows, but against a motorbike? Against that motorbike? She’s not completely bloody barking.

But then Sirius teases the throttle again, teasing her, and Potter flaps his arms like a chicken.

Pricks.

She isn’t a chicken. She knows this. 

She has nothing to prove to them. 

Really. 

But when Potter clucks, she flips him her own bird and crouches, calves tensing as if an invisible starting block were behind her.

Both boys lean forward in unison on the bike.

She cheats, tearing down the sidewalk before the light releases them. She laughs at their shouts of fury, skates faster, hair whipping ‘round her face.

Then the motorbike roars, a beast released, and with a squelch of tires on pavement they outstrip her in three seconds. Black pops a wheelie as they ride past; Potter nearly loses his seat, but doesn’t.

Even after they’ve turned the next corner, she doesn’t slow down.

The bike echoes deafeningly against the buildings as the boys loop around the block. As they pass her again, Potter waves jovially. She gives him the finger, but she’s grinning. She would gloat, too, were she in their trainers.

They’re waiting for her at the end of the block. Her legs are shaking, threatening to buckle, but she refuses to give them the satisfaction of doubling over and bracing her hands on her knees, no matter how sharp the stitch in the side pulls.

“Fancy a ride?” Potter asks.

Before she can answer, Black chimes in with, “Wouldn’t normally give filthy cheats a ride, but you’re a bloody mess, Evans.”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

She eyes them. “Where would I sit?”

“We’ll make room,” Potter says, grinning like an idiot.

“Your laps?”

“Handlebars.”

“Right. How could I have missed something so obvious?”

The sad thing is, she’s sorely tempted. But she’s got two potions to brew tonight, so—

“No, thanks,” she says, throwing them a two fingered salute.

“Evans,” Potter replies. “You’re skipping a chance to ride on the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen.”

Sirius elbows his best mate in the gut. “Bike’s not bad, either.”

She hopes they write her flush off as exertion rather than embarrassment. When James punches him back, Lily laughs.

She shouldn’t do it.

But the engine revs again—a blood siren call—and Potter’s smirk sharpens, pulls one of her own. The familiar thrum in her veins, adrenaline mixed with recklessness and something else she can’t place.

Old Lily would jump.

“Dammit,” she says, dropping to her arse and tugging at her laces, “give me a ‘mo.”

It takes an embarrassingly long time to pull her skates off, then her socks, which she shoves awkwardly into her skates. When she looks up, Potter’s driving, and Black is standing on the sidewalk. This shouldn’t surprise her—they probably planned this. Still, hesitates for a fraction of a second. Only that, and then she straddles the bike before she changes her mind.

She’s fucking barefoot on a fucking motorbike with James-fucking-Potter.

Old Lily needs a healthy dose of common fucking sense.

She’s glad the still lingering smell of rubber on asphalt masks her stinky feet.

For her safety, Lily tucks her thighs against James Potter’s hips in a pitiful attempt to keep her toes from the scorching exhaust pipes. For her pleasure, she wraps her arms around his waist.

“You know what you’re doing, Potter?” she breathes in his ear.

He shudders. She doesn’t have to see his face to know he’s grinning widely.

“Not a chance in hell, Evans.”

With that vote of confidence, he revs the engine and shoots forward like an arrow down the street.

In hindsight, she’s amazed they lasted three and a half blocks. To Potter’s first credit, it’s not his driving but the cat that does them in.

Technically, it’s her seeing the cat, forgetting about the tattoo she’d just inked onto his bicep, and squeezing to warn him, the blinding pain of which causes him to lose control.

He’s apologetic as fuck. Embarrassed. Terrified, rightly so, that his mate’s going to kill him.

“I think we’re even again, Potter.”

“You grabbed my bicep.”

“You crashed the motorbike.”

“Creative stop with the aid of a few dustbins, Evans.”

“He’s going to kill you,” she says, inspecting the shattered mirror.

“Fuck,” he says, seeing her properly for the first time. “All right?”

She assesses. She’s not hurt. Well, not badly. She felt the pull of a Sticking Charm, so she kept her seat, and a Cushioning Charm prevented real injury. A scraped knee, a burnt ankle from the muffler.

Not bad.

Not great, either.

She can’t fix either of her injuries here, with him. She refuses to get back on the bike, and he won’t leave her there, barefoot, with shards of mirror on the sidewalk after James pulled the motorbike onto the sidewalk.

They settle on piggyback, with more glorious thigh squeezing, though less pleasurable than before, while cheerfully contemplate which method of murder Sirius will employ when he finds out about the bike.

The murderer-to-be meets up with them a block sooner than expected, her skates in hand and a dangerous look on his face.

She whispers “hot oil and feathers, I think” in Potter’s ear. He shudders, and she can’t tell if it’s from adrenaline or the deadly calm in Black’s voice as he says, “Prongs.”

“Padfoot.”

“Black,” she says.

Black ignores her, his eyes fixed on James. “Where is she, Prongs?”

Lily hops off, best not to be in firing range for this. James lets her go automatically, his eyes fixed on Sirius. If she weren’t here, Lily has the distinct impression James would already be tackled, hexed, or perhaps a mixture of the two.

“Prongs—where in the fuck is she.”

“I’m fine, Black,” Lily says, “thank you for asking.”

“Evans, you’re clearly fine or you would’ve killed my best mate here. And thank you for not, because I’ll have the pleasure of doing it unless my motorbike is in the pristine condition I left it in ten minutes ago.”

“Go easy on him, Black. He was trying to impress a girl.”

She picks up her skates by the laces.

“You going to be alright, Lily?” Potter asks.

“Nothing I can’t fix at home,” she says, stepping on the ball of her foot to keep from showing him the heel.

“Ta, boys. Thanks for the…er….thanks. I think.”

“’Night, Evans.”

“Good luck, Potter.”

She giggles, fucking giggles, as James goes in a flat run. Even limping, which she hadn’t noticed before, he’s faster than Black. Lily waits until they’re around the corner, then starts for home, skates in hand. Yes, it will take her hours to brew some salves for her burn, but perhaps old Lily wasn’t completely daft after all.

______________________________________

Today I naysayed the idea of taking a walk, and then I remembered that old Lindsey--healthy Lindsey--never let something like the weather stop her from a good hike. Even if I can’t hike because health, I can go immerse myself in nature because I know it fulfills me. So I put on jeans and a sweater and my rain coat, drove the 20 mins to my favorite park, walked the half mile to my favorite bench and listened to the rain for forty minutes. Half froze to death, but it was great. Now I’m sat drinking tea and trying to warm up when I remembered this unpublished bit of “Summer of ‘81.” I have loads of unpublished fic and I think, if I do share them in the future, it will be in instances like this. This little piece of Lily—traumatized, disconnected, at a low point—that I wrote three years ago reminded me of myself today. We can make choices that honor our past selves even if we can’t go back and be that person. And that’s how we move forward, one oddball choice at a time. And as I published this, I realized it was her fictional birthday. So! Here you go.

[moonlit-han]

the perfect cup of coffee ↠ lee minho

genre: fluff, office au word count: 2k warnings: none, unless you really don’t like coffee? request: no (for junhuisflower​, who wrote the initial idea for this fic) a/n: i am reposting this fic because the first time i posted it, on June 13, 2020, it didn’t show up in the general tags. so, i hope you all enjoy it this second time around!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

In his impeccably neat and well-fitting suit, Lee Minho walked into the office where he held the position of Manager in Chief. This was not his official title, but one that he had chosen for himself; after all, he did manage just about everything and everyone, when it came down to it.

In reality, Minho was the Assistant to the Administrative Director of the company and was, in theory, meant to delegate the more menial tasks to others. However, this never occurred because Minho did not trust others to do work he knew he could do better. Over that which was not in his job description and, therefore, the responsibility of others, Minho still attempted to exert control. Thus, he was the Manager in Chief. Everything in Minho’s world had to perfect, or as perfect as Minho could contrive.

As he arrived at the office and reached for the company suite’s door, automatically passing something that was not there from one hand to the other, Minho stopped. He’d forgotten his coffee. How had he forgotten his coffee? This was practically unheard of, since he made his coffee at home and brought it to work with him. He did not fully trust coffee made by others.

Coffee was one of the many things that Minho insisted on being perfect. While he cared that his clothes were appropriately smart for the workplace and he prided himself on his small but wonderfully efficient car, he could manage for a time without them being in perfect condition. But, he absolutely had to have perfect coffee. In terms of non-essential costs, Minho spent the most on his cats (plenty of little treats, baubles, and warm places to sleep) and his coffee (fair trade, organic coffee made with care and attention). He was forever trying new ways of brewing coffee, and considered himself a bit of a connoisseur. Oftentimes, he’d even add some cardamom to the coffee as it brewed for a little extra spice and sweetness. Having such wonderfully delicious coffee was the high point of Minho’s day, a way he coped with the monotony of work.

So, when he arrived at the office and had no coffee, Minho was incensed. Sighing and grumbling to himself, he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. He had back-to-back-to-back meetings and was responsible for leading one of them; so, he needed the caffeine to get through his day. His schedule was so busy that he couldn’t go back out to buy coffee, and couldn’t go back home to make himself a proper cup. Damn. It was against his every rule for coffee consumption to drink that which had not been made by him and to his particular specifications. Well, there was nothing to do now but go into the office’s lounge and drink the fluid that might just pass for coffee.

Minho’s coworkers looked up as they saw him move toward the lounge. Was he really going to drink coffee here? they whispered among themselves. They remained quiet as he passed, not wanting to disturb him in case his lack of coffee unleashed a hitherto unseen wrath (or wraith, even).

As he pushed open the door of the lounge, Minho made a noise of disgust as he took in the smell: a ground-in kind of odor from years of low quality coffee that had seeped into the wood and cushions of the lounge’s chairs and sofa. But today, there was a sweetness floating over the sourness of the smell of old, bad coffee. Perhaps someone had simply brought coffee from the outside world into the room and the dregs still lingered in a cup in the recycling.

Resigning himself to drinking the coffee—Maybe if he gulped down the horrid stuff, he could just get it over with?—Minho took down one of the mugs kept in the cabinet above the coffee maker. As he poured the dark liquid into the cup, a richly sweet and nutty smell met his nose.

Wait, what?

This was the communal coffee pot in the employee lounge of his office. Good coffee pouring out of that pot shouldn’t be possible. Surely his senses were fooling him and the taste would be just as weak and grimy as it had been the one other time he’d made the mistake of trying it.

Gingerly, he stirred a little cream into the mug. Squeezing his eyes shut as if to ward off the assuredly inherent shitty-ness of the coffee, Minho hesitantly raised the mug to his lips and sipped.

His eyes flew open in surprise. This was some of the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Minho took another sip, savoring the taste of the brew. He was stunned, absolutely stunned. He had to find out who had made this wonderful coffee. It was imperative to his proper functioning, since this coffee would now be a regular feature of his daydreams.

During each of his meetings that day, Minho took a minute at the end to ask if anyone knew who’d made the coffee that day. No one knew. With each shake of someone’s head and each “No” he heard, Minho became increasingly more frustrated. How could no one know who’d made the coffee?

The next day, he asked around the office again, but still, no one knew. On the third day, Minho decided to stop asking his coworkers for fear of seeming obsessed, despite the fact that he really was obsessed with the question of who had made that coffee.

Several weeks passed with Minho occasionally checking, with the utmost secrecy, the contents of the office’s communal coffee pot. It was uniformly horrible. But after a full month of furtive coffee sampling, Minho’s work paid off.

It was a Friday morning and he’d ambled into the break room to just spend some time away from the (non-existent) noise of the office. He was surprised to find someone already there … making coffee.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said brightly. “How are you this morning?”

Minho stared at the young woman as she continued making the coffee. So, this is our new hire, he thought, noting the grace with which she moved.

“Mr. Lee?” she prompted.

Minho shook himself. “I’m sorry,” he searched his memory for her name, “Ms. L/N, isn’t it? I’m well, thank you. I hope you’re having a stress-free morning.” Minho leaned against the wall by the counter where Y/N methodically measured tablespoon after tablespoon of rich, dark coffee into the coffee maker. He noticed that it had been cleaned, too. “Do you make coffee here often, Ms. L/N?”

Damn it, that sounded like the worst pick-up line ever, Minho chided himself.

Y/N laughed softly. “Not really, since I’ve only been here a month, Mr. Lee. Would you like a cup when I’m done making this?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks,” Minho said, still in a bit of a daze. Huh, did she make that delicious coffee, then?

“Is it alright if I add some cardamom? I think it gives the coffee a deep, interesting flavor,” Y/N said before she closed the lid of the appliance.

Minho thought he’d died and gone to heaven in that moment; all he could do was nod. Y/N produced a small container of cardamom—she said she’d ground it that morning—and added a bit to the ground coffee. Minho watched as Y/N finished preparing the coffee, thinking to himself. Then, they sat in surprisingly easy silence as the smell of brewing coffee began to suffuse the room, filling Minho’s world. Leaning back in a chair, Y/N had a blissful look on her face at the aroma.

The coffee maker made a gurgling noise as it shut off, and Y/N rose to her feet. She withdrew two mugs from the cabinet, then went to her bag and produced a thermos and a jar of honey. Minho looked on as Y/N poured out the coffee, then measured out honey into one mug.

“Would you like some?” she asked, proffering the honey.

“Definitely,” Minho said, excitedly. “I rarely meet anyone else who puts honey in their coffee.” He smiled, dropping his earlier formal manner.

“Really? It’s the best. You know,” Y/N continued, spooning honey into his mug, “I’ve never met anyone else—other than a Turkish friend, at least—who puts cardamom in their coffee.”

“I had it when I was traveling and fell in love,” Minho said, then cleared his throat self-consciously. How was he talking with her this easily? “And, Ms. L/N, you’re welcome to call me Minho. You are, after all, the Assistant to the Artistic Director here, so our positions are equal.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, my name is Y/N.” She grinned and opened the metal canister, which Minho saw was full of cream. “Do you want to put yours in? I know people are particular about cream in drinks.”

Taking the thermos, Minho thanked Y/N and noticed that his heartbeat was pounding a little louder than he expected. Then again, perhaps not so unexpectedly as he was about to drink what he knew would be delicious coffee. He poured in just enough cream to turn the coffee the color of dark amber, then brought the mug to his lips.

“Enjoy!” Y/N said, smiling brightly as she took back her thermos and stowed it and the other containers in her bag.

Minho took a sip, and almost dropped the mug in surprise. It was just like the coffee he had tasted several weeks ago, and, really, even better. He savored the coffee, taking sip after sip as Y/N looked on.

“Is it good?” Y/N asked hesitantly, not drinking from her own mug yet.

“It’s delicious, Y/N, it really is,” Minho sighed, feeling as if he were drinking ambrosia. “Did you happen to make coffee for the office a few weeks ago?”

Surprise overtook pride on Y/N’s face as she chirped, “Yeah, I did!  Did you have some then?”

“I’ve been trying to find who’d made that coffee ever since,” Minho said, smiling at how odd that must sound. “I just really like coffee, and yours was incredible.”

Y/N blushed furiously and tried to hide her face by taking a sip from her own mug. “Thanks, Minho” she murmured. “I’m glad you liked it!”

Minho couldn’t help but smile softly at how cute Y/N looked when he complimented her coffee. Her dimples even came out when she smiled.

How is she that pretty? Minho groaned to himself. Shit. Well, what do I have to lose?

“Y/N,” Minho said tentatively, and Y/N looked up, her cheeks still pink. “So, there’s this coffee shop I love to go to and they have all sorts of unusual blends—it’s really quite lovely. Forgive me for being so forward, but may I take you there? I’m sure you’d enjoy it!” He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “But only if you’d like, and it doesn’t have to be anything more than two coworkers getting coffee together. I don’t mean to sound like I’m asking you out or anything,” Minho rambled, then stopped, knowing he’d probably said too much already.

“I’d love to!” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe we will be two friends getting coffee … or maybe something else?”

Minho’s eyes went wide in amazement as he made a little noise that could be taken as a question or a plea for clarification.

Y/N shrugged as she picked up her bag and went over to the door. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she said and winked, leaving Minho to stand in the office lounge, staring at the door.

Still unable to process his luck—was that it?—Minho took another sip of coffee. It was just as delicious as Y/N was sweet. This was going to be quite interesting indeed.

[the-last-teabender]

FANFIC: Oxventure - Duel Destinies

RATING: G

WORDS: Just under 7k

SUMMARY: Corazón gets hit on the head.

A/N: This isn’t my first time writing fanfic, but it’s my first time in literal decades writing something that a) isn’t going into a charity anthology and b) isn’t single-sentence goofs in my Gchat window with @randomthunk. So I actually am a little nervous to just yeet my work out into the world without an editor/publisher frontline protecting me from looking foolish. I do have plans to fic more tho.

I approached this as though I was writing an official tie-in because that’s my comfort zone (and occasionally my job). Which was a little challenging because there’s a lot that’s not part of the story but is part of the viewing experience. I have not mastered it in one story but the attempt was fun. Also I haven’t smashed alt-codes this obsessively while writing since I wrote about Señor 105.

Thanks aforementioned Ginger for being my beta reader and basically sitting on me to post this instead of hide it in my writing folder.

Anyway, if you like what I’m throwing out here, I have actually a lot of stuff in print and even more coming.

----------

“Right,” Dob said, pacing the length of the deck, “before we go, let’s review. Prudence, what happened yesterday?”

“We found a bad man killing off local slimes to make slime booze.”

“Good. Corazón, what happened yesterday?”

“I began my awesome new career as a detective and threw someone out a window.”

“All right. Merilwen?”

“Mow.”

“Excellent. Egbert?”

“I set a tavern on fire and got my seal very drunk on slime gin.”

“All right, that’s us caught up.”

That wasn’t the entire catch-up, but all of them knew the events of the day before well enough. The forest outside the town of Esterwell was in turmoil, according to the wizard Binbag after he tumbled unexpectedly out of a pantry. It was suddenly bereft of slimes — the cute little blobby creatures generally used for target practice by up-and-coming adventurers. As it happened, slimes had other uses. Serving as the base for a delightful high-end alcoholic brew, for one. Serving as the base of the entire local food chain, for another. If the slime population continued to plummet, eventually the other animal populations would follow suit.

An investigation of the local slime hunters (led by DCI Jeff Crimestopper, a pseudonym Corazón was becoming increasingly attached to) turned up that they were all in the employ of the same man: one Alonzo Horgan, owner of the Horgan Distillery. One especially talkative young hunter revealed that Horgan intended to “wring all the slimes out of Esterwell Forest” before upping sticks to his next hunting ground.

The goal was, in short, to stop Horgan’s machinations before he destabilized the entire local ecosystem and went on to do the same to others. Somewhere along the way, Dob had got it into his head that the goal was to start a brewery of their own and hold a cider-making contest in the Esterwell town square… an idea the group at large now referred to as “Plan C.”

Plan A, currently underway, was to continue the detective lark and either talk sense into Horgan or (more likely) run him out of town. Plan B was burning down the distillery.

“I’m still very much in favor of bumping Plan B up to Plan A,” said Prudence, wiggling her fingers as the group made their way back into Esterwell.

“Mrow,” Merilwen the cat grumbled from Dob’s shoulder, which translated to something like, “But that doesn’t actually solve the problem of making him stop.”

“Oh, fine,” Prudence huffed. “Detectives it is.”

Corazón pumped a fist low and (he thought) out of sight. “DCI Jeff Crimestopper back on the case, bay-bee.”

They arrived at the home of Alonzo Horgan — a palatial manor in a town that really wasn’t the sort to have palatial manors. At least half a dozen residences would have to have been knocked down to make way for the place, which stood half again as high as the buildings around it that had survived.

Merilwen hopped lightly from Dob’s shoulder, turning back into an elf again, as the half-orc tapped politely on the door.

“No, no.” Egbert shoved past him, balling up one scaly fist. “You’ve gotta really punch it.” He slammed his fist against the door several times, making it bow slightly under the pressure.

“Open up!” Corazón shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “We have a warrant!”

“Don’t just say we have a warrant!” Merilwen hissed.

The door was opened mere moments later by a tall, rail-thin man with an upturned nose and a downturned moustache. “Mmcan I help you?”

Corazón pushed past the man. “Yeah, you can take us to Alonzo Horgan. We’re taking him down to the station for questioning.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Horgan is not—” But the man was cut off as the rest of the group piled past and into the house.

“Where is he, then? Upstairs?” Corazón pointed up the stairwell, one foot on the steps.

The man at the door, to his credit, did his best to maintain his decorum. “Mr. Horgan is not taking visitors.”

“We’re not visitors,” Dob said gruffly, looming over the man, “we’re detectives.”

“Is that so? Well, I do hope you meant what you said about having a warrant. Otherwise I may have to take you to the authorities.” 

Alonzo Horgan’s voice silenced the group, but had it not, his presence would have. Fully six-foot-four, a stocky mix of fat and muscle generally only seen on back alley brawlers, stuffed into a fancy suit. His glare was imperious; his moustache was excellent.

Corazón swiveled and approached the master of the house. “Alonzo Horgan?”

“Yes, I’m… not sure who else I would be.” Horgan seemed put out for a moment, but recovered himself. “May I ask what business you have here?”

“DCI Jeff Crimestopper.” Corazón pulled a piece of paper from his coat, flashed it briefly, and put it away again. “This is my DI, Dob Tyler.”

Dob grinned toothily; had it not been Dob, it might have looked threatening. “Here to make sure my loose cannon superior does things by the book.”

Corazón gestured to the rest of the party. “DS Prudence, DC Merilwen. And, er, PC Egbert, he mostly makes the tea.”

“It’s really good tea,” Egbert piped up.

“No offense, sir…” Horgan gestured to Corazón. “But you look more like a pirate than a detective.”

“Deep cover, obviously. I wouldn’t expect a civilian to understand.”

Horgan waved a hand dismissively. “Even if I were to entertain the idea that you’re who you claim to be, I feel I’ve done nothing to warrant an investigation.”

Merilwen narrowed her eyes. “Nothing, Mr. Horgan?” Her voice was tense, hitting that slightly higher octave that her friends knew meant violence was quickly becoming an option. “Killing off an entire species for your own benefit is ‘nothing’? Allowing the local wildlife to starve is ‘nothing’?”

“Oh, it’s about the distillery, is it? I promise you, my dear, I’ve heard it all before.”

Dob gritted his teeth, giving Horgan a highly dramatic, highly knowing look. “I’d be careful if I was you, sir. DC Merilwen has a license to… er. Bear.”

Still, none of this seemed to faze Horgan. “If you think complaining about my methods is going to have any effect… let me assure you, it hasn’t yet. Now, unless you have any actual business with me…”

Prudence stepped up. “All right, look. Fine. We’re not actually detectives.”

“You don’t say,” Horgan deadpanned.

“That said… the whole slime issue is a real thing, and we really do need you to stop hunting them out completely. Or at least cut back.” Prudence looked back at Merilwen. “Cut back? Would that be good enough?”

“I prefer the idea of him stopping completely,” Merilwen seethed.

Prudence gestured to Merilwen. “Yeah, what she said. But I mean, it affects you, too. Do you like, uh… wild boar? I guess? Rabbit? Pheasant? I don’t know.” She spread her hands in an exaggerated shrug. “Screw up the food chain and you don’t get any of those.”

Horgan looked them all over, one by one. “You come into my home. You pretend to be something you’re not. And then you make demands of me that would effectively shut down my business. Give me one reason why I should even listen to what you have to say.”

Egbert had mostly detached from the scene in front of him, his eyes scanning his surroundings in search of something entertaining. They lighted on a pair of crossed swords on the wall, with a bronze plaque underneath: Esterwell Annual Fencing Championship, Second Place. Without thinking, he blurted out, “A duel.”

“I beg your pardon?” Horgan asked. The rest of the party fixed Egbert with confused looks.

“A duel,” the dragonborn repeated, with a little more confidence this time — confidence filled in a lot of blanks, in his experience. “If one of us bests you in a duel, you have to at least give us a proper audience.”

Much to the group’s surprise — including Egbert’s, truth be told — Horgan seemed to consider it. “Hmm. Well. I suppose it makes more sense than… whatever we’ve been doing.” He gestured at the room in general, then turned to Corazón. “On the condition that I fight this one.”

Corazón grinned. “Hell yeah. I’ll fight you. Prepare to have your whole scene wrecked by Corazón de Ballena.”

“I thought you said your name was Jeff Crimestopper.”

“I told you. Deep cover.”

Horgan sighed wearily and turned to his doorman. “See them out. Tomorrow at sunrise on the lawn. Come alone, whatever your name is. And pray you do not lose. I have no patience for time-wasters.”

The five were ushered out without another word.

“Not sure it’s wise to challenge a prizewinning fighter to a duel,” Merilwen noted when they were outside town again. “That sort of seems like the main thing he’ll be ready for.”

Egbert waved a hand. “Pff, it’s fine. The plaque on his wall said he was only second place. That means there’s at least one person better than him in town.”

“Still… What’s going to happen if Corazón if he loses?”

Corazón laughed. “Pff. Hah. Nothing. Because Corazón won’t lose.” He unsheathed his rapier and stopped to take a few jabs at a nearby tree. A heavy branch, near to breaking, creaked overhead. “You know what my crew used to call me?”

“Yes,” said Prudence, “you’ve complained about it several times.”

“I mean in battle. You know, when we captured ships. My swordsmanship is second to none. They used to call me Corazón the—”

There was a crash, and silence.

Egbert stopped walking, waiting for the punchline. “Corazón the what?”

“Er.” Merilwen pointed back toward the tree hesitantly. “Corazón the unconscious, apparently.”

Prudence turned and lifted away the branch, wincing at the sight of the pirate splayed out on the ground. “Oh, dear…” Then she looked up at the group. “So does this mean I’m captain now?”

---

The general consensus had been to let Corazón be once he’d been carried back to the Joyful Damnation and bundled into bed. He would likely be full of opinions and complaints as soon as he woke up. That, and he’d need his rest before dueling Horgan the next morning. 

There was no bleeding as far as they could tell. Just a big bruise that would get bruisier over the next few days. Egbert dropped a quick bit of healing on Corazón which, while it would likely be helpful in the long run, did nothing to wake him. Eventually, Dob took up a seat by the enormous bed in the captain’s quarters, keeping an eye on the patient and picking out a few chords to pass the time. Just as he was getting a good riff worked out... 

“Ow.”

“Ow?” Dob leaned over the bed. “Did you say ow?”

“Yes, I said ow. Because I’m in pain.”

Dob jumped up from his seat and threw the door open. “Guys! Guys! He’s awake!”

Prudence was the first to run in. “Is he okay?”

“Sounds like it.”

Egbert followed, with Merilwen bringing up the rear. They crowded around Corazón’s bed, realized at the same time that that would probably look weird from his vantage point, and backed off a bit.

“Corazón?” Dob leaned in slightly. “How’s your head?”

He squinted up at Dob. “What did you call me?”

“Oh, right.” Dob laughed. “Silly me. How’s your head, DCI Crimestopper?”

This just seemed to confuse him more. “Who… what are you talking about?” Then he pulled himself up to sitting, perhaps a little more quickly than he ought, and pressed a hand to the top of his head, looking around. “I feel like I’ve been beaned with an entire tree. Where the hell am I?”

“Your room,” Prudence offered. “We figured you’d want a nap after the bludgeoning.”

He shook his head, still sounding a bit dazed. “No… this isn’t my room. My room is bigger. And it doesn’t rock and creak. Are we… are we on a ship?” He looked up at the others again, as though seeing them for the first time.

“... who the hell are all of you?”

There was an awkward silence.

“He’s messing about, right?” Egbert grinned nervously at the others. 

“It’s Corazón,” Prudence said quickly, “of course he’s messing about. Just humor him, he’ll be on to something new when he’s tired of it.”

Dob was already on board at humor him. He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Oh, no! Corazón! All our precious memories, lost forever! Please say it isn’t so, old friend!”

If Corazón was acting, he was really leaning into the deadpan delivery. “Is this some sort of prank? It’s not a very good one, if…” His gaze wandered down to his hands resting on the bed sheet, his sleeves wrinkled back somewhat. His eyes went wide, and he made a sort of choking, stammering sound.

Then, again far more quickly than he probably should have, he threw himself out of bed, shoving past Egbert on the way to the largest of his mirrors. Carefully, he pulled his collar aside. And gasped.

“Oh, my God, I’ve been tattooed in my sleep!”

“Gosh,” Egbert said with an admiring smile, “he’s really devoting himself to the bit, isn’t he?”

Merilwen shook her head slightly. “I… don’t… know if it’s a bit.”

“Which one of you did this to me?!” Corazón pointed at the tentacle tattoo emerging from under his collar. “Why would you do that? Why… what happened to my hair!? How long have I been asleep!?” He grabbed the nearest person — Egbert — by the collar. “Are you trying to change my identity!? Am I going to be sold off to the highest bidder!? What’s your plan!? You have to tell me!”

Dob grabbed for his lute, a nervous grin plastered on his face. “Ooooh! Oh, dear! Looks like someone could use a nice lullaby.”

Merilwen held out a warning hand to Dob. “No? No. One second.” She waved a hand to Corazón, the way one might a skittish fox. “Hey, over here.”

“What!? What do you want now!?”

“Just. Okay. Calm down for a second. Calm…” Merilwen inhaled and exhaled slowly, guiding the breathing with her hands. Corazón, surprisingly did the same. That in itself was a sign that something was off.

“Okay, just keep your eyes on me, all right?”

“Sure.” Corazón’s voice was strained.

Merilwen rooted around in the pocket of one of Corazón’s jackets, folded neatly over a nearby chair. She found what she was looking for — a little leather pouch of gold coins — and poured the contents out into her hand. She showed them to Corazón, as though setting up a magic trick. He watched and nodded tensely, his jaw set.

“Dob,” she said with a sweet smile, opening the cabin window. “Would you do the honors?”

“Would I?” Without hesitation, he took the little handful of coins from Merilwen, slid over to the window, and chucked them out into the sea, one by one.

All eyes turned toward Corazón.

“Yes, and?” The nervousness was tinged with irritation. “What?”

Another awkward silence, this one longer. And awkwarder. As they all, in their own time, came to terms with the fact that Corazón was not, in fact, acting.

Prudence tapped him experimentally on the shoulder. He flinched away, balling his hands into fists and holding them in front of his face.

“Hey, hey, whoa! No, no, we’re your friends! It’s us!” Prudence smiled, gesturing around the room. “You know. The Oxventurers! Can’t you recognize us?”

Corazón lowered his fists. “If you mean could I pick you out of a lineup, then yes, I certainly could.”

“Corazón…”

“Hff… and stop calling me that! It’s weird!” He brushed off his sleeve where Prudence had tapped him. “If you’re my kidnappers, then I would hope you already know who I am.”

“Y-Yeah.... Sorry.” Prudence frowned, then smiled. “Percy?”

“Thank you. That’s more like it.” And Corazón made a break for the deck. 

---

“All I’m saying,” said the half-orc with the large hammer and the very nice hair, “is that we could be having a cider-making contest in the town square right now.”

“Or burning things,” said the tiefling, as a pair of ancient tomes played around her heels like rowdy puppies. “We could also be burning things right now.”

If this was a kidnapping, it was a very civilized one. Percy hadn’t had any practical experience with being kidnapped, to be fair. His father had suggested that it might happen once or twice in his youth, because that was just how life was for the children of rich and influential people. But after making it to adulthood without ever waking up in a dingy cellar surrounded by leering mercenaries, he’d just put it to the side.

He’d also been a bit disappointed, as escaping from said mercenaries could have been fun. But in retrospect, he might not have done as well at that as he liked to pretend.

He wasn’t tied up, or locked up. At worst, he had been prevented from leaping off the ship by all four of his kidnappers (and a seal, he was still contending with that information) piling themselves on top of him. They’d bundled him back into the captain’s quarters while they consulted with each other. Percy took the time to shave — the itch from his stubble was frazzling his already-frazzled brain — and change into a shirt that still had functional buttons.

The change had gotten a slight stare of disbelief from his captors, as though he’d gone and swapped heads, but no actual comments were made. And now, the dragonborn was sitting by him on the deck and handing him a cup of tea, and it smelled suspiciously like what he drank at home, and yes, this was absolutely one of his teacups.

“So!” the dragonborn said with a toothy grin. “Cora-... er, Percival. Percy? Mr. Milquetoast? Sorry, not sure what to call you now.” He had a cup of his own, but rather than sipping from it, he opened his long snout and splashed the contents inside. Judging by the reaction that followed, the tea was still very hot.

“Just, er… whichever? I guess?” Why was he sitting on a ship drinking tea with his kidnappers while they asked what to call him? Why had his father not been mentioned yet? Was that still incoming? His teacup rattled against the saucer.

“Mmmm… Percy. I’ve always thought you looked like a Percy.”

“Always?” Percy put his teacup down shakily on its saucer. “Then you’ve been spying on me? For how long?”

“No!” The dragonborn waved a hand frantically in front of himself. “No, no, I mean… we’re not…” He looked behind him, where the other three were peering at the scene thoughtfully. “Um, guys, I’m not doing great. Someone else try.”

The elf stepped in and tapped him on the shoulder, as though relieving him from duty. Good. As far as Percy could tell, she was the most logical of the group. She wasn’t panicking… not that he could see, at least.

“So you’re Good Cop, then?” Percy eyed her warily.

“No…” The elf sighed, a sort of long-suffering sigh that made him feel like this was not the first long-suffering sigh she’d issued him. “We’re your friends, really. And we’re just trying to figure out how to help you.”

Percy narrowed his eyes. “My friends.”

“Yes.”

“Not magical kidnappers looking for a piece of the Milquetoast fortune.”

“No. Not magical kidnappers looking for a piece of the family fortune. I promise.” 

“I mean, I have friends at home. I can just go home to my actual friends, and not whatever you guys are pretending to be.”

The elf’s face settled into an expression that somehow managed to be both neutral and confrontational, her lips pressed into a line. “Name four friends you have at home.”

Damn. “Uh, th-there’s, uh… there’s Steve… F-Friendsman.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s, a-um, Roger… M’buddy.”

The elf pressed a hand to her face. “Please, at least let us try to help you.”

She seemed absolutely genuine. It was making his head hurt. This was not how criminals acted. As far as he knew. “Fine, help me, or whatever it is you want to do.”

“All right, so…” The elf clasped her hands together. “It’s probably just a matter of jogging your memory. You got a little bop on the head, it shook things up, but we can help you connect things up again. Right?”

“Sure,” Percy said hesitantly, now with the added wrinkle of wondering when and how he’d been hit over the head. He considered asking, but he could already hear the answer. No, we didn’t hit you over the head intentionally. It was a love tap. Something like that.

The elf smiled. It didn’t seem like a kidnapper’s smile. But again, he had nothing to go on. Maybe kidnappers had really nice smiles. “Okay, good. So let’s just rattle out a few of the high points, and see what your brain latches onto.”

Percy nodded, taking a sip from the teacup he still held in a death grip.

“Okay. Spicy rat?” She paused, and he wasn’t sure what for. After a short silence, she picked up again. “No? Okay, that was a while ago, admittedly. Uh… baby-making watch?”

“Babies don’t come from watches,” Percy scoffed. “They come from under cabbage leaves.”

The elf ground to a halt in her questioning, but picked up again with a shake of the head. “What about the party? The one where you went dressed as a sexy nurse and made a teenage girl cry.”

Percy scowled. “I would never do that!”

The half-orc chuckled. “Oh, you very much did.”

“I will not allow you to paint me with the same brush as you, you… s-scoundrels!” Percy felt a chill down the back of his neck. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re trying to convince me I’m one of you and whisk me away to do unspeakable crimes, is that it?”

“Hasn’t taken much trying so far, mate,” Merilwen grumbled.

“Waaaait wait wait wait.” The tiefling squeezed up next to the elf. “We’re coming at this from the wrong angle. He’s clearly forgotten stuff from before we met him, too, right? What we need to do is remind him of why he became a pirate.”

Percy looked around the ship. Then down at the clothes he’d woken up in. And the tattoo on his wrist. “I’m a pirate?”

“Yep, you are a pirate.”

“So… this really is my ship?”

“Er, our ship, yes.” The tiefling seemed to take a lot of pride in saying that. Well, being co-owner of a ship was something to be proud of… if it was true, he’d probably let himself feel a bit proud, too. “So, maybe if you can summon up the feelings that made you want to run away from home and be a pirate, the rest will follow. So, tell us about your dad.”

“He’s… dumb?” Percy shrugged. “He’s annoying? I don’t know, it’s a lot of effort to run away from him for being dumb and annoying. I’ve got nothing.” 

The tiefling leaned in conspiratorially. “Nothing about what a bad dad he is? How he has ridiculous expectations of you? Doesn’t want you to have fun and live your own life?” She paused. “How he’s got a stupid wig and he’s all stuffy and bossy?”

Percy leaned away from her. “You seem to have plenty against him already.”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t hate him. You do.”

“No, it really does sound like it’s you.”

The tiefling laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, no, that’s just because he bothers you. It’s a support thing. I’d totally love to live in his big ol’ house.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t like my father, but you do like his money, and that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

The tiefling’s face twisted into a confused frown. “Oh, man. Yeah, we do kinda sound like we kidnapped you for ransom, don’t we?”

Percy flinched away, nearly dropping his teacup. Oddly, the tiefling was once again trying to reassure him. “Which we didn’t?? Which we didn’t. I’m just saying.” She sighed. “I guess he forgot whatever happened that made him want to run away, too. How about you, Egbert? Got any paladin magic for him?”

“I’ve got something better!”

All eyes, Percy’s included, turned to the dragonborn — who was now swinging a mace from one clawed hand.

“So, you know how in all the stories, right? Someone gets knocked on the head and gets amnesia, but then they get hit in the same spot and all their memories come back. Let’s just do that!”

The dragonborn strode over to Percy, winding up the mace. Percy stumbled backwards, his teacup falling and shattering on the deck. “Don’t you dare!”

“Egbert, not that mace!” the elf shouted.

“Oh, it’s fiiiine. I had to hit whatsisname loads of times before he actually turned into a seal.”

Percy looked at the seal. The seal looked back.

“Eg.”

The dragonborn raised his mace over his head. Percy stumbled backwards towards the door to the captain’s quarters, eyes locked on the cursed weapon. He reached behind him for the doorknob and twisted frantically. The door wouldn’t give way.

The elf flung herself at the dragonborn, turning into an octopus in midair. The two hit the deck, the mace rolling harmlessly across the deck as the octopus held the would-be attacker in place. Percy finally managed to yank the door open, racing into the captain’s quarters and slamming the door behind him.

“I meant a spell!” Percy heard the tiefling yell from the other side of the door. “You’ve got more healing spells, don’t you?”

“Oh, riiiight…”

There was a gentle tap at the door. Percy eyed it nervously.

“Heeey, buddy. You okay?” It was the half-orc. “Can I come in?”

“No, you absolutely cannot come in. You’re all insane and there’s a seal man out there saying egg.”

“That’s cool, that’s cool. I’ll just sit out here, how’s that?”

Percy heard a gentle thump against the other side of the door. “So… you really don’t remember anything, do you? About us, or your pirate crew, or any of that?”

“Last thing I remember is going to bed at Milquetoast Manor and thinking tomorrow night’s party was going to be very boring. Then I woke up in bed on a strange boat, with all of you standing over me looking ready to dissect me or something.” Percy sat down, leaning on the other side of the door. His head still felt foggy. “So? Which one of you blackjacked me?”

“You blackjacked yourself with a tree.”

Percy frowned. “Is that the sort of thing I’m likely to do?”

“Oh, yes,” the half-orc said cheerfully. “Merilwen had a stack of tree puns ready to go, but under the circumstances it seemed, uh… bit tasteless.”

“Merilwen?”

“The elf. Don’t worry, you can hear them later. You know, when your head’s right again.” A pause. “Oh! Haha. Of course. I’m Dob, by the way. The tiefling is Prudence, and the big dragon man is Egbert. And we’re all your friends, and we all do super cool things together.”

Percy nodded, still not completely convinced. Then he realized Dob wouldn’t be able to see him on the other side of the door. “If you say so.”

“Gosh. Introducing myself to you. That brings back memories.” Dob stopped himself, fumbling, as if he’d just said something extremely offensive. “I mean… you know…”

Against his better judgment, Percy got up and opened the door. Dob, leaning heavily on it, tumbled backwards… but turned the tumble into a backwards somersault and landed lightly on his feet. He gave a little bow, and Percy felt he ought to clap. Just considering the effort.

“You ready to come out and talk to the others?”

Percy leaned to one side and looked out onto the deck. Egbert was on his feet again, with Merilwen (now an elf) still clinging to his back, as though uncertain whether the dragonborn could be trusted on his own yet. Prudence wore a friendly smile that seemed to say “I’m not going to sacrifice you to my eldritch god, but I’m also not not going to sacrifice you to my eldritch god.” His trusted friends. Apparently.

Before Percy could answer, Dob slapped him on the back and walked him out onto the deck. “All right. We’ve all had a little breather, a little think, and I think… and this is just me… we should back-burner the memory loss issue and focus on the bigger problem.”

“There’s a bigger problem?” Percy looked at Dob incredulously.

The group at large winced. “Yeah…” Dob continued to speak for the group, and no one seemed to mind being relieved of that duty for the moment. “See, Percy. Percival. Friend. Our good friend of so long…”

“Just tell me what’s going to happen to me.”

“You have to duel someone tomorrow morning.”

Percy extracted himself from Dob’s friendly side-arm. “What? Why? Why would I do that?”

“Again,” said Dob, “if it makes you feel better, it is extremely on brand.”

“Hsfd… it doesn’t make me feel better! I have to fight someone tomorrow and I’m not me! I mean, I am me, but I’m not this other me who went and did a thing I didn’t do!”

Amongst them, Percy’s friends(?) laid out the entire situation. All he managed to retain were slimes, collapse of the natural world, very large man, and imminent swordfight. The rest was a sort of blur, and one he was in no mood to attempt to figure out.

“I can’t do this.” It was a statement of fact. “Maybe this Corazón guy can do this, but I can’t. Horgan’s going to be expecting some jerk pirate who can swordfight.”

“We can try another refresher,” suggested Merilwen.

Egbert reached for his mace. “I could try—-”

“No,” said everyone, possibly even the seal.

“Look,” Dob said gently, “we’ll have puh-lenty of time to work on the memory thing, right? All we have to do is get through tomorrow, and if it hasn’t cleared up by then, we’ll find someone to help you, no problem.”

“How can you be so sure?” Percy asked, the fretting feeling coming back even stronger than before.

Egbert shrugged. “It’ll happen. That’s how it tends to go. A problem comes up, and then a couple days later someone comes along with a quest that’ll fix it. It’s really handy.”

“Okay, that’s great for after tomorrow morning. But what about me, tomorrow morning, with swords? What’s my guarantee I get past that alive? Because I’ve never actually stabbed a man.”

“Yes you have,” Prudence pointed out.

“Like a lot,” Merilwen added.

“Apparently you kicked a man to death once,” said Egbert. “I mean, I found out later, but I believe it.”

“But I don’t remember that!” Percy flailed an arm helplessly. “It’s… hds… that’s some future guy and I’m not the future guy, I’m the me guy. How is the me guy going to survive?”

The group fell silent.

“... did I actually kick a man to death?”

They all nodded.

“Oh…”

“And see? That’s why we believe in you, Cor… er, Percy.” Dob threw an arm around Percy’s shoulders again. “We know what you’re capable of. We know it’s in here.” He jabbed at Percy’s chest with one finger. “And in here.” At his head.

“Ow!”

“The head, Dob,” Merilwen hissed, “watch the head.”

“Right, right. Look. We’ve got tonight to train you up into a believable Corazón de Ballena. You’ve already got the look, you’ve already got the voice. That’s more than most people start with.”

Percy let out a weak groan.

“Hey! No, this is good! We can do this! And maybe, somewhere along the way, something will trigger the ol’ bean and the memories will just come flooding back. Right, guys?”

The rest of the team seemed to believe it about as much as Percy did. Which wasn’t much.

“Are you sure we can’t just…” Percy motioned to the anchor rope. “Leave?”

“No,” Merilwen said firmly. But her expression was still hesitant. “No, we have to stop Horgan. More than anything else, that has to happen.”

She was insistent. This was important to her. Percy groaned again.

“Come on, buddy.” Dob lifted his arm from Percy’s shoulders, grabbing him by both arms and staring him in the eyes. “Look me in the eye.”

“Yeah. Looking.”

“Now. Are you a Thieves Cant, or a Thieves Can?”

Merilwen, at least, seemed to appreciate what Dob was going for.

---

Plan B no longer stood for Burning. Plan B, as indicated by a wild-shaped Merilwen taking up a spot behind the topiaries on Horgan’s lawn, now stood for Bear. And possibly Bomb, and Blast, and Bard Casts Thunder Wave, depending on who got trigger-happy first.

No amount of swordfighting or storytelling brought Corazón’s memory back. Nor did any amount of actually insisting on calling him Corazón. Their last ditch hope — that he’d wake up the next morning acting like nothing had happened — didn’t pan out, either. Dob gave pep talk after pep talk as Corazón fretted uncharacteristically, the latter eventually wrapping the uneaten bacon sandwich he’d made for himself in a piece of paper and stowing it in a jacket pocket. Finally, though, they’d all had to take up their positions and leave the rest to luck.

Corazón was left to make the walk up the lawn alone, but the other four had formed a perimeter: Merilwen in the topiary, Dob in a nearby tree, Prudence behind a fence, and Egbert peering over a hedge. Dob promised to shoot Corazón an occasional prompt if things got hairy; but, by and large, it was all him.

As the sun began to rise, Corazón walked up the paved path to the appointed spot. He’d not quite gotten his own swagger down, instead walking slow, measured steps with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

Try to look like you’re too cool for the room! Dob thought; Corazón looked up and around, surprised, then seemed to remember what Dob had said about sending mental messages. He stopped where he was, pulled his hands out of his pockets, squared his shoulders, and walked even more awkwardly up the path.

Fine. It’d have to do.

Just as the light of sunrise hit its best and most aesthetic hue, Alonzo Horgan and his servant walked out. The former wore a rapier at his belt.

“Corazón de Ballena,” Horgan said broadly, his voice dripping with fake friendliness. “Or are we going by something new today?”

“No, er, that’s me.”

Dob thought another swift message.

“I mean… that’s right! That’s me, Corazón. The mighty pirate. Here to run you through like a tasty kebab and grill… grill you on the fires of justice? What the hell does that mean?”

Just go with it, Dob thought irritably, but the moment had passed. Shame. He was rather proud of that one.

Horgan eyed Corazón with amusement. “I can wait if you need a moment.”

“No, no. Erm. Yes, that’s me.” Corazón’s hand hovered over the hilt of his rapier. He was tense. He was ready. He might have been about to faint. It was hard to tell.

Horgan’s retainer’s voice was soft. None of them could hear it from their respective points along the perimeter. Corazón didn’t look especially surprised by any of it, which hopefully meant there was nothing odd about the rules of the duel.

From their spots, separated though each of them was, they all had the same thought at the same time: what would it take? What hadn’t they done? Would they need a spell? Some sort of quest? A skilled healer? Would another bop on the head really have done it?

A shrill whistle blew. Each of them was shaken out of their thoughts to see that the duel had begun, and Corazón was already flagging quickly. It was less of a duel and more of a chase, the enormous Horgan lumbering across the lawn after his smaller opponent. Corazón, for his part, was holding his ground… though “his ground” was constantly moving backwards across the lawn in zigzags.

His heel came dangerously close to a stray root, nearly hidden by the grass.

“Look out!” Egbert shouted. Merilwen, Dob, and Prudence shushed him. Horgan looked up and around for the source of the voice. Corazón, on the other hand, missed the warning entirely. His heel caught on the root, and he windmilled backwards, landing flat on his back.

Merilwen hesitated behind the topiary, one huge, clawed paw creeping around the side of the greenery. Was it go time? The others were in the same state of indecision, poised to attack but waiting to see what happened.

Corazón lifted his head slightly. The massive form of Horgan hovering over him, blade raised threatening, blocked out the faint light of sunrise. The sword hung there for a moment… then was flung across the lawn, accompanied by a disgusted sigh from Horgan.

“How very disappointing.”

The group shot each other quick glances. The message was clear. Well, clear-ish. “Stop Horgan before he can leave” was clear enough, but what would be done with him once apprehended was likely still up in the air. Corazón, unaware of any of this, propped himself up on his elbows.

“Where are you going?” he asked weakly. “We’re not done here.”

“I rather think we are.” Horgan shook his head in… amusement? Disappointment? It was hard to tell. “What a shame. You were so full of piss and vinegar yesterday, and today you’ve got no real fight in you.”

“I’ve got fight… I’ve got plenty of… hhhh.” Corazón put a hand to his head.

“Serves me right, thinking I’d get a good fight out of some puffed-up fake pirate.”

“... what did you say?” Corazón’s voice was suddenly oddly sharp and cold.

Horgan chuckled. “You heard me. You’re less convincing than the chap I hired for my niece’s seventh birthday party.” He waved a hand to his servant. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve not had breakfast yet and I’m peckish. Think I might go to the kitchen and have a bit of a graze.”

On his next step, Horgan’s booted foot slid forward, sending him falling backwards into a puddle of grease that had absolutely not been there moments ago. Now it was his turn to look up at a looming silhouette: Corazón de Ballena, sword pointing down threateningly in one hand, bacon sandwich in the other.

“How appropriate. You fight like a cow.”

Horgan spluttered, eyes bulging. “You… what nonsense is this!?”

“It’s called the power of grease, that’s what nonsense this is. Now get up and fight me so we can have our little talk. Or would you rather we just go ahead and burn your whole scene down?”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Yeah, you’re right, I wouldn’t. I think Prudence might, though.” Corazón shouted toward the fence. “Prudence! Plan B for burn?”

Prudence threw her hands in the air. “Plan B for buuuurn!”

Horgan had managed to pull himself up to one knee, the grease still dangerously slick beneath him. “I said to come alone!”

“Yeah, well, pirate. Don’t know what you expected.” Corazón stepped back, taking a bite of his sandwich. “So, I’m calling this a win for Team Oxventure. Which means it’s time for some negotiations concerning your, er, current business model.”

“But…” Horgan looked in the direction of his servant. He was long gone. Whether he’d run off, or whether the large bear standing where he’d stood had disposed of him, Horgan couldn’t tell.

“Oh, yes. That’s our sustainability advisor, Merilwen. She’ll be taking over from here.”

Merilwen growled.

---

“So what you’re saying,” said Egbert, “is that my plan was the best and would have worked.”

“Hff… no! Absolutely not.” Corazón was rubbing a hand over his chin, displeased with the lack of facial hair. “A one-in-six chance of being turned into an animal is not a best plan. Why did you let me shave? I hate it.”

“It’ll grow back.” Prudence poured out a mug of slime beer… the last remaining barrel, which they’d taken with them as a gratuity after aggressively convincing Horgan to discontinue his fermented slime line. She offered the mug to Merilwen, who waved a hand in front of herself emphatically.

“No, I don’t want to drink the poor baby slimes…” The rest became too high-pitched and tearful to translate.

“I’ll drink the poor baby slimes.” Dob grabbed the mug and necked half of it, much to Merilwen’s chagrin. “Anyway, what snapped you out of it? Was it hitting your head again?”

Corazón wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Don’t know. I know I got really mad when whatsisname called me a fake pirate, and I wasn’t having that.”

Prudence’s eyes lit up. “Ohh, spite! Literally the one thing we didn’t think to try!”

“Well,” said Dob, passing Corazón his mended teacup topped off with beer, “I think we’ve all had a chance to learn something about friendship and patience and being true to ourselves.”

Egbert poured himself a pint. “I haven’t learned anything.”

“I have.”

Everyone looked at Corazón. “Have you?” Dob asked.

“Yep.” Corazón took a sip of beer from the teacup. “We are absolutely terrifying.”

Merilwen nodded sagely. 

“Yeah,” Prudence said dreamily. “It’s good.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room, and I’m not coming out again until my good facial hair is back.” The door to the captain’s quarters slammed behind Corazón.

And that is the story of how the Oxventurers brought down a corrupt businessman with a breakfast sandwich.

[goodbyekillingharmony]

My own interpretation of Qrow's character in V8

also, before we get really into this, of course, there will be spoilers. don’t say i didn’t warn you. also, probably don’t take this too seriously? i wrote this at like 3 in the morning last night and wanted to rework it into something more proper. i tried to make it flow more properly and fuck this may not even make any sense, so bare with me. this is mostly a headcanon i have to get myself through the travesty that is volume 8 and it did make it more enjoyable for me, so i guess that is a plus.

alright, i think i have bored you enough with the unnecessary parts, here we go boys. also, one final thing, this isn’t supposed to undermine shit like part 8 or f//r g//me, or anything of the sort, this was just made as a fun little headcanon that got serious real quick. okay, actually starting now.

I think most RWBY fans have noticed a sudden shift in behavior in Qrow. I don’t really know what the consensus is for this since I hardly, if ever, interact with this fandom, however, for me, until yesterday, it had bothered me heavily. I am a fairly harsh critic when it comes to the writing on the show, purely due to the fact I want to become a writer myself, so I tend to be overly analytical, which can lead to me finding flaws more easily. Nevertheless, even with my mostly neutral feelings regarding Volume 8 right now for various reasons, I persisted. It wasn’t until last night when I really started thinking about this, putting my more critical self aside, and started to look at the bigger picture. Then, an idea had popped into my mind.

Based on someone who has severe trust issues and immense paranoia, I had finally understood, well, at least, theoretically. What if the reason that Qrow is so hostile and, honestly, unreasonable this volume is because he suspected something like this. He suspected Ironwood to do something akin to this. Obviously, not to this severe of a degree, but he felt that like, sooner or later, that this would happen.

What do I mean by this? Well, me and a good friend of mine (@graegrape hi) had gone traversing the RWBY Wikia and found something that honestly kick started the entire thing. 

“ General Ironwood shows concern over Qrow's warning in his conversation with Ozpin in "Welcome to Beacon", which prompted him to bring his fleet to Vale in hopes of preventing conflict in the Vytal Festival. However, this action only served to infuriate Qrow. ’’

Naturally, this had caught my eye. So, we went digging for some screencaps.

When Qrow informed Ironwood and Co. about finding some of Salem's forces, Ironwood had deployed, essentially, his entire fleet, and Qrow was absolutely angered by this; how the hell could he have messed it up so badly?

-

However, at least in this point in time during Volume 3, Qrow doesn’t completely distrust Ironwood.

“ Qrow has commented that he wonders if Ironwood has a heart. Nonetheless, Qrow saves Ironwood from a Griffon in "Heroes and Monsters", knowing the general is innocent of the carnage caused by his automated forces. He shows his respect and loyalty by asking Ironwood for suggestions regarding their plan of action to deal with the invading Grimm, showing that while he may not respect his methods, Qrow does not completely hate him or view him as a threat. ‘’

What was the point of this part of the post, OP? Well, I am happy you asked. I wanted to show just exactly what their dynamic was back in those volumes, almost as a refresher. There is some amount of trust and respect, and there is some amount of comradery there, however, something underlying is starting to brew, specifically Qrow’s reaction to Ironwood’s course of action. My own interpretation of this part? This gave Qrow a proper look at how extreme Ironwood could get, letting it settle in his own mind for a while, making the seed of doubt of Ironwood’s self-destructive behavior plant itself.

══════════════════

The next part of this post will be way more hypothetical. While I will try to provide evidence, this is creeping into more headcanon-ish territory. You have been warned lol.

Well, that’s all of the Volume 2 - 3 stuff out of the way, time to move onto the elephant in the room. Alright, so Volume 7, a favorite for many and I am no exception.

However, even when I have rewatched the Volume at least 3 times at this point, there was a certain scene that had always stuck out to me, and that is relevant to the post at hand, so might as well get it out of the way. I’m sure we all know what I’m talking about here.

The hug.

So, when the hug happened, for Qrow, at least in my own interpretation, it felt like his entire world got shattered.

Ironwood had actually missed him; actually taking the time to tell him that he cared. You could see Qrow wasn’t as tense anymore, actually letting his guard down in front of someone that wasn’t his family. In my opinion, specifally with this frame,

Qrow had started to reflect. To reflect on not only their own relationship, but on himself as well. He, possibly, had his own seed of doubt regarding Ironwood slowly starting to disappear. Something akin to, “Maybe he does have a heart.” or whatever. 

And then, Ironwood, of all people, had betrayed him. It had happened again.

══════════════════

Suddenly, he was given a reason, at least in his mind, to justify his distrust of others, but of Ironwood especially. He was right in his mind. “Sooner or later, someone close to me would do this. And to imagine it being to such a severe situation too. He did it again.” Qrow was probably devastated. I’m not denying that he wasn’t sad about Clover, he clearly was and I am not going to deny that fact. However, that being his only reason does not sit well with me. His colleague, one of the remaining people in Ozpin’s group, had done this, after he had promised to ensure his safety, planting a false hope within him. Now, he was thrown away like a rag by one of the only remaining members of Ozpin's circle he could get into proper contact with.

Qrow’s sadness turning into anger is literally perfectly in character to him, so it would make complete sense, trying to deflect everything, because he, himself, wants to be right in his own mind; it was a long time coming, it only happened now.

He’s deflecting a lot of the things, pushing it in the back of his mind. He's scared. He has to be alone again. Just when he thought he was finally safe to trust people again, to seek comfort in someone like Clover, the first person he was willing to spill his heart out to, as well; he lost him. So, he uses everything he can to stop his mind from thinking about it. Anger, sadness, blissful ignorance; whatever he can do to ignore it, because he gave up drinking, so he can't use that for coping anymore.

The reason why he’s reacting so extremely is, in my opinion,is not just due to “Oh, well, I saw this coming.”, but also that he is going through withdrawl. He has to do cope using other methods, since he can’t use his former one anymore. He has to feel the full brunt of his own emotions, he can’t numb them down anymore, and to himself, he can’t justify his own feelings. In his mind, the best course of action is to redirect those extremes onto someone else.

It is quite possibly that Qrow had noticed Ironwood’s sudden shift in behavior, making him reflect on himself, too. He sees that Ironwood is walking down the same path that he himself was going down many years ago, but he can’t do anything. He thinks that Ironwood wouldn’t listen to him, considering what happened back in the Vytal festival. Ironwood did not back down in the slightest back then, so why would he now? That type of mentality. He doesn’t bother with it.

(This next part was written by my good friend and honestly? Great food for thought.) 

Qrow’s former emotions mirror those of Ironwood’s current ones. Qrow, back in the earlier volumes, had used alcohol to help ease his mind and block out things he didn’t want to think about. And now, current Ironwood, is only focusing on what’s directly in front of him and blocking out the entirety of Mantle.

In essense, Ironwood had become exactly what he hated about Qrow.

(I rewrote it a bit, but the main idea was all them. Thank you so much for this.)

He is deliberately using everything he can to not think about Ironwood, due to the fact that he can easily become irrational when he does, and he does need Robyn as an ally, so he buries it all down, possibly being self-aware about his own behavoir, but not know how to deal with it.

══════════════════

Well, that sure was long. There could be things I forgot to mention, and I’m not even sure if this is well structured or not, since I’m not used to writing essays, at least, not to this caliber, but I hoped it, at least, made you possibly think about Qrow in a more intiment sense. Qrow’s and Ironwood’s relationship had always been the most facsinating one in the entire show, so seeing it being thrown to the side did sting a bit. But, I hope that there was a good reason for it. I am still looking forward to what V8 has in store, especially with the heavily implied fight, I just hope it’s something more than just Qrow getting revenge for Clover. C’mon, CRWBY! I know you can do better.

If you made it this far, thank you. And please understand I made this out of pure love for the show. I have been a fan for a while now and I only want what’s best for the show. I promise this isn’t just me being a salty Ironqrow shipper lmao Anyway, let’s hope this volume turns out great.

[unincised]

It’s 12 in the morning and instead of doing homework I wrote a meta fic in the perspective of Dream and Wilbur during Dream SMP War. You can read it under the cut!

Inspired by (but not based around) <this post> and everyone’s replies, because that got me messed up tbh.

(It’s probably not chronologically correct / some events are probably forgotten or misinterpreted, but it’s early and I’m bored and inspired, so idk man.)

3k words; 2nd POV; any content warnings in the OG war apply here, but I don’t go into graphic detail so don’t worry. Might post on AO3 if I’m feeling cheeky.

--

--

You started to regret your decision. They haven’t existed on your land for too long, but they had already caused more trouble than what was worth. Still, you allowed them to stay, because they captivated your citizens; Strange accents, lovable characteristics, and a reputation that they grew from living elsewhere. You had figured that they would make great additions to your Court, for as long as they wanted it.

You never anticipated they’d take advantage. You never thought they’d stoop so low as to begin forming their own illegal acts behind your back.

There were whispers among the people; Forced smiles that promised secrets. You grit your teeth, because how could anyone keep secrets from you? From their King? Your closest friends knew nothing, but that didn’t mean nothing was happening. So, despite their best efforts to keep you calm, you went out scouting. There were tunnels all across your land, stretching as far as needed, appearing and disappearing, reforming to your needs. You knew this land better than anyone, and you used it to your advantage.

Tommy was acting awfully strange. Forced laughter, nervous glances over his shoulder, sword always strapped to his side. You tailed him until he was no longer on the main road, sneaking around a mountain and deep into the woods. Past a river. He stopped outside a single caravan, knocking on the door and being allowed entry a few moments later. Your eyes narrowed; No one informed you of a residence this far out.

Finding a better vantage point, you peered through the foggy glass and saw brewing stands lining the walls, a man you knew to be Wilbur pulling out a stack of blaze rods. Tommy visibly laughed, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

You couldn’t believe it. In his own home? Did they have no respect?

That night, you confided with George and Sapnap, watching as they sneered at the blatant lack of tact. It was the final straw: You made a final decision to ban them until further notice, maybe in a simple temporary status if they cooperated.

No one explained these things to you. You had no older advisors, no parental guidance, just your two friends who you’d trust with your life. You had no experience dealing with treason within your ranks, especially between two foreign ambassadors that weren’t supposed to break off with their own agenda. This was out of your control, and your confrontation hadn’t even happened yet. There was an unease within the three of you, but it was left unaddressed. You had no time to ponder these things. You needed to act.

Wilbur Soot was not like you. He was older, had experience, was once teamed up with legends that everyone knew the names of. He had a long-standing status within this very tight community. Compared to him, you were no one. You were younger, newer, growing fast but that meant nothing in terms of status. Your land was not well known either — if you ever needed help, you doubted that others would come to your aid. In this way, you were alone.

Despite your warnings, they did not back off. By this point, you were starting to get desperate. If you couldn’t handle a few criminals, how were you to keep your legitimacy as a ruler? You would be considered a joke, possibly even overthrown. Most importantly, how would your friends see you?

Through all of this, the citizens were turning. George arrived back looking frantic, shedding his commoner clothing and pacing around the room. He spoke of the murmurs in the crowd, of the people starting to lean towards those… those criminals. They spoke of you as a tyrant, singing praises of those foreigners’ bravery and justice.

Alone with your thoughts, you reflected. You knew that this war — and you knew it would become a war, no matter how much Alyssa denied it — would need to end with you on top. Luckily, this was something you could do. You were born to fight, knew the newest and deadliest attack methods, knew how to plan out traps, how to get people right where you needed them and strike before they even registered what happened. You had slain dragons; this team of misfits wouldn’t stand a chance.

The next day, you burned Tubbo’s house to the ground, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you screamed your declaration. WHITE FLAGS. OUTSIDE, BY TOMORROW! Sapnap cheered as the mansion lit the night up in a red glow. You knew that they’d be able to see it from where they cowered behind their walls in the forest. You hoped that they would back down before any real damage was done.

Two new allies joined your side, a young boy called Punz and a man named Eret. You only publicised one, the other was an Ace. Eret spoke in the accent of their opposers, came from the same region of their world, was charismatic and excellent at deception. Without hesitation, you gave him orders to be their spy.

“I want something in return,” There was a smug grin on his face, as if he already knew he’d get what was asked.

“Name your price.” You didn’t so much like compromises on such time-sensitive topics, but you knew that his role in this war would go a long way.

He wanted a castle, and a title to fit it. At first, you worried this was his obscure way of asking for your crown. It wasn’t; He wanted the title, not the responsibilities. With a suppressed sigh of irritation, you shook his hand.

Eret fit into the newly dubbed “L’manberg” seamlessly. He reported that they had no suspicions, going as far as to let him help build their wall of black stone. Slowly, the tension left your body; With this, the war was a guaranteed win.

Sapnap, ever the arsonist, strode up you with a mischievous smile, toying with a flint and steel. His idea was childish, would only really serve as something to fill the downtime and cause panic, but he agreed anyway. It was methodical, calming, watching the trees around L’manberg go up in flames until all that remained was a charred wasteland where a lush forest once thrived. George let out an exasperated sigh when he finally arrived, looking like a disappointed parent. To make up for it, you allowed him to light one block of explosives in the entrance of the nation’s walls, cheering and whooping as it cracked the stone and left a sizable indentation in the earth. For a time, things were perfect.

The harsh realities came crashing down when he arrived back home, finding almost no citizens on his side, harsh glares and spit words of villain. It seemed as if everyone forgot why the war was started in the first place. Did no one remember that it was them who came, betrayed what few laws he had in place, and then proceeded to create a nation on his land? Yet people sympathised with the four traitors — half of which were children. If anything, the notion that Tommy and Tubbo were being used for Wilbur’s own gain was something to fight against, but still no one listened.

You were beyond desperation: You needed to end this once and for all. Giving Eret the signal, and suiting up with your three other allies, the Dream Team finally headed off to war.

It was brutal. You arrived with the upper hand, camping atop the Embassy and sniping them off, effectively pinning them in Tommy’s old hut. The tides changed, and you retreated while they advanced. A game of cat and mouse, the roles switching mid-battle and no one knowing who was going to end up on top.

You sent off Punz to check on Eret, who had stayed behind in L’manberg. He arrived back with a confident smile, nodding once. The plan was set in motion, and you waited until the group of traitors returned back to their nation to regroup and restock. You lead the way through the charred remains of your land, dodging old traps and keeping to the shadows. The looming walls of L’manberg came into view, and a collective spike of excitement went through them. This was it; This was the finale. After all the failed negotiations: Discs, explosives, words — none of it mattered.

The hidden wall slid open, and in one fell swoop, you overpowered the criminals once and for all.

A message arrived the next day, from none other than Tommy. On it was a simple request for a duel, written in as few words as possible. As if the very notion of you reading his words disgusted him. George and Sapnap scoffed at the request, knowing the outcome with confidence, but you accepted it anyway.

Tommy was tired, bags under his eyes and the bow held low. Still, his eyes burned with passion, a promise of your defeat. Such a weak promise. At the count of ten you turned, appreciating Tommy’s unwavering resolve before firing a precise arrow and watching it plunge into the boy’s shoulder. His own arrow whizzed past your head, a few inches from its mark.

With one last look to the group as they crowded around Tommy in an act of protection, you turned and left.

The boy was persistent, a trait that you both appreciated and hated. A week later he was back, standing before you, a round object held tightly in his hands. You raised an eyebrow, finally impressed with the negotiation. Yes, this was something you could get behind. A fair trade: Something important to him for something important to you. A single music disc for an entire nation. Without context, the deal would seem weak and worthless. You knew better. You knew that his disc was treasured above anything else Tommy had. It wasn’t just a disc, it was leverage.

You took it from his weak grasp, watching as his hands clenched around empty air, head held low, but shouldered squared. The disc was turned over in your hands, as if in contemplation, before you acquiesced. He seemed to curl up into himself, and you wondered if this was something he wanted at all, or if it was the mental ministrations of Wilbur.

Nevertheless, you bid him a good day and went home. For now, you promised yourself, just for now you’d let them be.

The boy was surprisingly easy to betray. He gave you and your fellow friends free reign of his land so long as you followed his rules and played nice. You wanted to laugh outright, seeing right through that clay mask and into the eyes of a boy who knew nothing of real life. His position was unique, what with holding such a powerful title at such a young age, and that expanse of untouched land. He had no advisors, no guidance, following his and his friends’ own immature instincts. It was funny to you, but something else itched under your skin. You forced a smile at the interactions, convincingly obedient, but behind the curtains you sneered at this… child’s rule. What about him made for a King? How was he able to gather so many loyal citizens?

The amusement you originally felt twisted into jealousy.

To spite this boy and his very idea of ruling, you planned a coup. A revolution. Something to stir the pot, just to take him down several notches. The first step was Tommy. Naive, malleable Tommy, who played his part perfectly without even knowing it was pre-planned. Truthfully, nothing was remarkably illegal or interesting about creating a drug business deep into the forest, but it was a start. You snuck Tommy notes, telling of a fun project you wanted his participation in. You told him that he couldn’t tell a soul — sans Tubbo, of course — and waited for that reliable Tommy behaviour of not being able to keep a secret.

When he arrived on the doorstep of your Caravan, you could feel the eyes of someone else in the shadows of the trees. You made a show of it, leading Tommy to the room with a window, where everything was set up in plain view. The child was none the wiser, grabbing eagerly at the blaze rods, happily shrieking at this new turn of events. You promised him glory. You were on the right side of the war.

And there would be a war.

Dream was not a cunning ruler. He was smart, sure — everyone knew of his dangerous traps, of him outmaneuvering several people at once, of the several dragons he had slain just for fun — but he knew nothing of politics. He never addressed his people, never tried to win their favor, focusing all of his attention on countering every single one of your plans. You used this to its fullest potential, entering the empty spotlight and basking in the sympathetic gaze of the former King’s citizens. He no longer controlled them; They were yours. Their support was yours, their love was yours, and they promised you loyalty.

You took it all, and turned it back on Dream. In a beautiful display of true political power, you watched as your new followers pieced together their own narrative. Dream’s status was ruined, his name dragged through the mud, and you didn’t even need to do much. It was glorious.

There were casualties in war. Tubbo’s home was not a variable you accounted for, but with a few pats on the head, the problem was glossed over. Children were simple that way, you supposed. You told them that he could rebuild a new one, a better one. Homes were temporary, independence was forever. Tommy was the final word, escorting his friend away while trying his best to empathise. The sorrowful expression dropped on your face, and you turned back to more important matters.

A new face was standing at the entrance of your nation. He looked lost, hopeful, a tad bit tired. His eyes were covered by dark glasses. Eret was a sort of enigma, seeming to be a perfect addition to the team. They didn’t ask questions, did as they were told, was never mean to the younger boys. With his help, the wall around L’manberg was completed. Eret’s story was that had lived in Dream’s realm for a long time, but never seemed to fit in anywhere. As the tensions rose between the King and people of their origin, Eret no longer felt safe in the Kingdom. He wanted somewhere to belong, and he knew that you were the right man to give him that chance.

You had never heard of Eret before then, so you assumed the story legitimate. You had originally planned to still keep a close eye, but Eret was disarming, fitting into your ranks like he was there all along, never seeming like he was telling anything but the truth. He took on responsibility for Tommy and Tubbo, something you appreciated greatly. Until there was reason not to, you accepted him.

Tommy was enthusiastic, ready to charge into battle at a moment's notice. He stayed glued to your side, attempting to mimic and become a perfect copy. As if he was hoping to take your place someday. How funny. Besides that, he was comparable to a guard dog, which you could appreciate to an extent (you’d appreciate it more if he would stop trying to challenge enemies to 1v1s at every opportunity). You deduced that, in a few years — when he was finally combat-ready — he could make a formidable opponent. But Tommy didn’t have that luxury of time, so you made do.

Another thing about Tommy, was his obsession with two particular music discs. You wish you had found out this weakness sooner, because by the time Tommy told you, Dream had already discovered its leverage. Tommy and Tubbo would spend days off-schedule trading useless items with Dream, managing to trick him a few times until Dream came back with a netherite axe and forcibly stole them back again. It seemed to be an endless cycle, one which you did not appreciate. When Tommy returned with the two discs — confirmed to be the real ones — you told him that no longer was he to toy with the enemy like that. A dark look crossed his face, before compliance overtook. He saluted and went to find an Ender Chest.

You awoke to the forest surrounding your walls alit with fire. Standing on the outskirts, tossing aside a spent flint and steel, was Sapnap. His grin was maniacal, dark eyes staring at you with a challenging expression, knowing that he was untouchable. You had made it clear that nothing inside your nation was to be touched, but that of course excluded everything else. You grit your teeth, turning back to confer with Eret.

As soon as your foot touched the steps leading into the caravan, an explosion shook the ground under you. A cloud of smoke and fire emanated from the entrance of your country. Debris flew in all directions, gravel and dirt landing in your hair and dusting your clothes. The sound of cheering was heard in the distance.

When the final battle plan commenced, everything went wrong. Tubbo returned the day of the attack with news that they raided his home and broke all the potions he had spent days preparing. Your stock was nowhere near the needed amount. When on the battlefield, the group of netherite soldiers had you all pinned, fire arrows raining down from the skies. Even when you were able to change the tides, you quickly ran out of resources and needed to return home. It was a constant up and down, and you were only able to relax when inside the safety of L’manberg’s walls.

Eret had something up his sleeve. Something he’d been working on in secret. You felt an unease, because the man you had thought to be an open book was capable of hiding an entire underground bunker, complete with chests filled with…

Nothing. The chests were empty, and you turned in alarm when the sound of a button was pushed.

A few days later, Tommy entered your quarters, eyes downcast in something similar to shame. You suppressed a sigh, knowing that nothing good could come from a look like that. As it turned out, Tommy had challenged Dream to a duel. A final act, winner takes all. You didn’t know what to feel. As the war progressed, you saw the change in Tommy; He holds himself differently now. Dried cuts covered his face, bruises littered across his body, a near-imperceptible limp on the right leg. He was in no position for a duel, but it was out of your control. He had brought this upon himself, and despite it all you knew he had to follow through.

An arrow embedded itself deep into Tommy’s shoulder, and you swallowed harshly. He fell to the ground, and his friends surrounded him in a flurry of panic. Dream was gone just as fast as he arrived. Somewhere inside you, you knew that this would be the outcome. Still, you were disappointed.

You sat atop the walls, charred and cracked, needing several repairs after all they went through. But they weren’t your walls anymore, were they? Dream and his posse had won, and it was time for you to leave. In an attempt to overthrow that boy, you made him stronger. The citizens were divided, one half cheering at Dream’s victory, the other crying at L’manberg’s fall. When had this game become so serious? You didn’t expect this attachment to a throwaway nation that was only expected to live as long as it was entertaining. Now it felt like a real home, a place of sanctuary. You did this, you built this place, you fought for it. Still, it was no longer yours.

“I did it, Wilbur.” Tommy’s voice, normally loud and childish, had a somber tone. There was an edge of maturity, and of something gained while another was lost. You looked at him, taking in his eyes that seemed on the verge of tears, of exhaustion laced into every feature on his face, of calloused hands littered with nasty blisters. What did you do? The answer was not expected — you were ready to say goodbye to this place, to move onto the next project, to forget L’manberg ever existed.

A smile tugged at your lips. So faithful were his soldiers, so giving, so ready to sacrifice everything for something their leader barely believed in. You pulled Tommy close, embracing him in a tight hug that felt so unfamiliar. Your smile turned into a sharp grin, overlooking your land and seeing so many futures, so many possibilities.

“I’m proud of you, Tommy.”

[toothlessturtle21]

Tomato Soup

So I wrote this little thing that totally isn’t me projecting my issues with food onto a fictional character no way, so hopefully it’s not terrible because it’s not super proofread. TW: mentions of unspecified ED, hypoglycemia, noncon “repairs” done to Zane. Enjoy, I guess.

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

Zane loved to eat, until his father decided that the budget couldn't quite feed a family of two. ... Zane used to love to eat.

Zane's earliest memory of food being an issue to him was when he was barely even a year old. His father sat at the table, hunched over brass and copper coins, occasionally glancing at his son with a slightly worried expression. Zane was busy sorting their books, the task having kept him busy for the better part of the last two hours while his father said he had some "grown-up things" to worry about. Eventually, his father called out to him.

"Zane?" His father asked, voice strained. "What food do you have cataloged in our pantry?"

"Three cans of tomato soup, two sleeves of crackers, various spices, and one box of penne pasta. Speaking of which, I am getting rather peckish, I think I will go have some of the-"

Zane went to stand to go towards the cupboard to grab a sleeve crackers when his father stopped him.

"No!"

The android froze, recoiling a little in surprise as his father stood as well.

"Father, is everything alright?"

Julien smiled wearily, gently tugging on Zane's arm to move him back towards the workshop.

"Of course, Zane. Everything is just fine."

"Then why are we going back into the workshop? You only bring me back for repairs if something is wrong," Zane stated before a different train of thought hit him and he jerked away. "D- Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry if I was not efficient enough when I was organizing the books, I'll do better, I promise!"

"Stop fussing, you don't need to worry," His father consoled him, but Zane still dug his heels in enough to make his hesitation known. "You will be fine, I promise."

Zane was still stammering as he was pushed down onto the workbench and was powered off, world fading away as his mind still panicked.

...

Zane blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. He shot up straight, the memories of what happened right before his repairs making him quickly check his vitals for information.

Energy: 78%

Hydraulic Fluid: 89%

Vision: 100%

Audio: 100%

Hunger: -

Zane blinked, and tried again to access his hunger. Nothing. He looked over at his father, who looked slightly guilty but overall relieved.

"Why can't I access my hunger level?" Zane tried to ask with a level voice, but it ended up coming out choked. Julien shook his head.

"Don't worry about it, Zane."

And so he didn't. If his father wasn't concerned, then why should he be?

He tried to eat a cracker afterwards just to test what he believed his father had done to him, and he held back tears as what used to be a salty treat felt like cardboard melting in his mouth. He closed the sleeve, and set it back on the counter, resuming his task of organizing the library, but this time the actions felt a little more hollow.

So he watched as his father ate his soup and crackers, and just had to sit there and pretend to smile as he remembered how he used to enjoy the flavors dancing upon his tongue.

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

Zane was relaxing on his own bunk in the Monastery reading a rather good book when Cole gently knocked at the door, Jay poking his head out from behind the taller's back. Sensei Wu had set out to find something or other, leaving the three behind to their own devices while he was gone.

"Uh, Zane? You doing ok?" Cole started, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, uh," Jay stuttered, and Zane merely blinked as his friend tried to figure out his words. "Cole and I were talking, and we both realized that we couldn't remember you actually ever eating in front of us. Or at all."

"We're not mad or anything!" Cole was quick to butt in before Zane could speak, hoping to prevent any misunderstandings. "We just want to make sure you're not starving yourself or anything, because that would be really bad."

Zane stared in confusion, wracking his brain for anything to respond with.

"Why would me not eating be bad?"

"You could die!" Jay sputtered, and Zane felt some sort of sick feeling start to brew in his gut. "Please, just tell us if something's wrong, you can trust us, right?"

"I do trust you," Zane answered, for that he knew for certain. Cole and Jay looked like they were about to cry, and Cole reached out to gently tug Zane off his bunk. He was sandwiched in a hug between the two, Jay clinging to his front while Cole mirrored him from the back.

"Please, just eat something," Jay pleaded quietly, and Zane was incredibly unsure of how to respond besides a simple nod and a gentle hand rubbing at his friend's back to soothe him. Cole buried his head in Zane's shoulder, which wasn't hard since he was slightly taller than the blonde.

"I would prefer not to..." Zane began, but trailed off as Cole squeezed him tighter.

"I don't know what's going through your head right now Zane, and I don't need to know, but we're here for you. You don't need to change for anyone, yeah? Besides, you need the energy to train anyway."

Zane nodded along despite not knowing that they were talking about, but he could infer that whatever it was was a very serious issue. So he held his friends as they dragged him to the kitchen for him to choke down a granola bar, which seemed to calm them down enough where they stopped clinging onto him, but not enough where they wanted to leave him alone.

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

When Zane and his brothers sat pouring over their jar of coins to pay their rent, Zane felt a gross feeling return to his stomach. They had resorted to buying sandwiches from a shop a few blocks over because they never had enough money at one time to buy enough groceries to support them, so single servings seemed to be the most viable option.

Since discovering his android origins, Zane had discovered how to turn his taste back on, and had also figured out that eating did give him an energy boost, but never his hunger. So he ate mostly as an extra, something that was nice, but not necessary. So it was no surprise that when it came time to order dinner, Zane shook his head denied needing anything.

The ninja took his word for it, and weeks went by with Zane only eating by stealing scraps from the restaurant he worked at to keep his energy up as much as he could, but even he could feel his performance slipping as his body was forced to run on low amounts of power. More of his blood was staying in his core to run his heart, leaving him pale and shaky, and his eyelids felt perpetually heavy, like they were being held down by weights that kept increasing by the day.

The issue reached its apex, however, during a quick training session he had managed to sneak in with Lloyd between shifts. They were sparring, the android of course not using all of his skills on the child, but he could tell something was off. Zane was stumbling, his footing unsure and his blocks were sloppy. Before he knew it, he was on the floor, and Lloyd was shaking his shoulders out of fear before running out of the room to call Jay, the android's vision fading around the edges.

He tried to sit up, but doing so made his head spin and his gut curdle with nausea, so he curled up into a ball to ease the ache, eyes squeezed shut before he blacked out in the middle of the training room floor.

...

When he opened his eyes once more, Jay was worriedly peering down at him.

"You awake?"

Zane nodded slowly, and he felt something being nudged at the corner of his lips.

"Eat this."

Zane tried to look over the best he could, and to his morbid amusement, it was another one of the granola bars that Jay loved to force upon him.

"You just passed out from the robot equivalent of low blood sugar, you gotta eat something buddy. I'll grab you some fruit juice or something in a bit. It helps humans, so it's worth a shot on you."

Zane slowly sat up and backed against the wall for support, and methodically chewed the snack with measured bites, Jay texting something to someone quickly before putting his phone away to sit across from the Ice Ninja.

Once Zane was done eating, Jay decided to strike up the conversation that the two knew was coming.

"Zane, you gotta eat. I know the first time Cole and I thought something was up it was just because you didn't need to eat, but your body isn't used to this. You're hurting yourself."

"Just let me adjust to it, and I'll be fine."

"No, I'm not letting you do that. You're eating with the rest of us and that's final. Kai's dropping off a carton of apple juice in a bit, and we're getting food tonight. You're going to rest, because I'm not letting you pass out while training again. What if you had done that on a mission?"

Zane had no answer, and nodded his head meekly as a sign that he understood. Jay stood, and held out his hand, Zane accepting the invitation to stand, also very grateful that Jay didn't mention how he stumbled upon landing on his feet.

"Y'need to trust your body more, you're getting too caught up in your own head," Jay said softly as he sat Zane down on the couch, sitting down next to him with a slight bounce. "You're not a burden by needing to eat, buddy."

The android sighed, and rested his head on Jay's shoulder, his eyes still burning and his mind quickly following suit.

"Alright, you can use me as a pillow," The Lightning Ninja smirked, and wrapped an arm around Zane's waist. "I'm waking you up when Kai gets here, but then you can go back to bed, ok?"

Zane nodded sleepily before fully relaxing into his friend, exhaustion taking ahold of him with an iron grip as he fell asleep, Jay keeping him warm all the while.

[somekindoftuber]

vld youtuber AU (klance, part 7)

hey so who’s up for some a n g s t

(content warning for this chapter: vomit)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

.

“Favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Cool, mine’s blue. Um, favorite subject in school?”

“....Math?”

“Ew.”

“Lance,” Keith laughs over the mic. “You said no judgment. I was good at math.”

Leaning back, Lance pops his back. “Yeah, okay, fine. Mine was history.”

“Ew.”

They’d been sitting in the Overwatch menu screen for at least a half-hour, Keith indulging Lance in a question swap. “You know,” Keith says after taking a drink of his soda. “When I said we should get to know each other, I sort of expected something more.... Organic than 20 questions.”

“What, my methods aren’t free-range enough for you?” Lance joked, and Keith laughed loud at that one. “Well, you should know, Keith, that I have this tendency to focus on things that I want, and I don’t give up easily.”

Keith went silent for a second. “Things you want, huh?” His voice was low.

Lance felt the heat rush to his face. “U-um.”

“Sorry,” Keith said. “Too much?”

Lance chewed his lip. “Is it too much for you?”

Keith’s tongue clicked through the headphones over Lance’s ears, and when he spoke, his voice was almost sultry. “Nah. Besides, I can be pretty driven when I want something, too.”

Dear lord, this man was going to be the death of him. Now that they’d gotten their feelings out in the open, Lance was discovering a side of Keith he never knew existed - a bold, fearless, self-assured side. And holy shit, was it hot, if a little terrifying. Whatever reservations Keith had about flirting before now were long gone, and it would still throw lance for a serious loop to hear Keith directing low key innuendo at him.

“Here’s one for you,” Keith said. “When did you first play guitar?”

“Oh!” Lance grinned. “I was nine. I had already been playing the piano for two years, but it sort of bored me. I couldn’t get it to make the kind of sound I wanted, if that makes sense? Then my dad got his old acoustic guitar out of storage and got it repaired and restrung. When he played it, I knew it was the sound I’d been trying to find.” His eyes went misty as he remembered the first time he plucked one of the steel strings. “It sounded like heaven.”

“Wow,” Keith said after a minute.

“Your turn. How’d you know you wanted to be a pilot?”

Keith hummed. “I was always sort of an adrenaline junkie as a kid. Raced go-karts, ran track, got in trouble, did some free running. I… spent a lot of time in and out of foster care, which was a pretty numbing experience, so I think maybe I was looking for something to make me feel alive.”

Lance had no idea what to say to that, so he kept quiet.

“I went on a field trip to an air force museum with my school when I was thirteen,” Keith continued. “There was a reconstructed Grumman F-14 Tomcat on display, and when I looked at it, I just thought, I need to be in one of those.” He let out a little laugh. “That’s also where I met Shiro. Or, well, he met me. When I stole his car.”

Lance choked, beating his fist on his chest to get air back into his lungs. “Excuse me?”

Then Keith laughed long and loud. “Told you. Adrenaline junkie. I was a brat with something to prove.”

Lance stared at his computer screen. This was intense, and he had a feeling that he was only scratching the surface of who Keith really was.

-----

October began, and Lance was officially panicking. Because Keith’s birthday was at the end of this month and he really wanted to do something special for it. Now that they were hovering in some bizarre “not boyfriends yet” zone, Lance figured it wouldn’t be too much to maybe go a little further than he would for a friend.

He got out his guitar, a notebook, blank music sheets, and a pencil.

——-

Lance’s channel was gaining followers rapidly. He was no stranger to having an online following, but he had to change his notification settings on twitter to keep his phone from blowing up constantly. He pondered making a separate, locked account for himself, something his friends could follow where he could drop the YouTube persona.

He was sort of envious of Keith’s anonymity online.

And speaking of Keith, there was also the issue of a potential move to Springdale. Lance had looked up schools in the area, and the local community college had a music education program that he could afford. He’d closed his browser and walked away from his laptop after he had that confirmation and spent the next fifteen minutes pacing around the living room, running his hands through his hair until it was sticking up all over the place. It hadn’t felt real until that moment; before that, the idea of going back to school and pursuing an actual career had been just that -- and idea. But now? Now he couldn’t really make excuses anymore. It was all very much within his reach. He just had to muster up the courage to go for it.

Easier said than done.

Lance ended up stress eating half a carton of butter pecan ice cream by the time Pidge came home from class.

Lance posted more Overwatch videos in the meantime, held some more streams. His content was slowing down because he’d taken an extra shift every week at the cafe to save up money. He had no idea what his living situation was going to be come January, but it was safer to assume he’d be on his own and have the money to support himself.

He talked to Keith almost every day. They’d started using facetime, and that did a number on poor Lance’s heart, to get to see Keith’s face while talking to him. Keith was still unfarily, stupidly, irrevocably attractive, even when he was flushed and sweaty from working out or covered in grime from the garage. One time Keith had called when Lance was wearing a face mask, and Lance would have been embarrassed, if it wasn’t for the absolutely hilarious confusion that crossed Keith’s face at the sight.

“I’m kind of big on skin care, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Uh.” Keith’s thick eyebrows pinched together. “I hadn’t?”

Lance smiled as much as he could with the mask drying on his face. “Well, get used to it. It’s a packaged deal with me.”

Keith gave him a little grin then, and Lance nearly swooned.

.

Another night, as they were messing around in Overwatch, the topic of tattoos came up. “Do you have more than one? Tattoo, I mean,” Lance asked while they scrolled through servers.

“Just the one,” Keith answered. “I kinda want more, but I’m not sure what I’d get. You?”

“None.” Lance hummed. “How big is that lion, anyway? I could only see the top bit at the beach.”

“Not that big,” Keith answered. Then there was some shuffling from his end of the voice chat, and he went quiet for a second. Lance thought he heard a click.

“You okay over there?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just - gimme a sec - there.”

Lance’s phone buzzed at his side. He picked it up, the motion completely automatic, to see a new text. He used his thumb print to open it, and the entire universe ground to a screeching halt.

Because on the screen was Keith’s lion tattoo, in its entirety, the dark red ink carved neatly into Keith’s exposed hip. At the bottom of the frame, a thumb was hooked into the hem of a pair of sweatpants, pulling them down and away, and at the top, a dark gray shirt was rucked up to reveal a toned stomach. Lance’s heart might have stopped. There was so much skin, all smooth and milky, stretched over a sharp hipbone, the sweatpants pulled down just enough to reveal the tiny beginnings of dark hair below. Lance’s mouth watered.

“You still there?” Keith was asking, a smile in his voice, but Lance.exe had stopped working.

“Jesus Christo,” Lance breathed. “You -- you gotta warn me before you do that.”

He heard Keith huff a little laugh. “Sorry.”

Lance had the distinct impression that Keith wasn’t sorry at all.

-----

Lance might have pulled a few all-nighters in the course of the month. But he was running out of time, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until it was perfect. This was for Keith, for his birthday, and Lance absolutely did not half ass things like that.

Pidge just rolled her eyes at him and went back to her thesis, heedless of Lance’s internal crisis as she tapped away at her laptop.

He was finally, finally ready to record on the 18th. It took at least four tries to get one good take, and then he had to record backup vocals, additional guitar, piano. It took three days to get the song right, and he didn’t even have a video. A blank screen would have to do.

He set the video to post at 8:00am the next morning, October 23. He really, really hoped Keith would see it, and Lance listened to the song one last time before he went to bed.

I was wondering through, I’d never heard your voice You were just an idea on a screen I was belly up, dried up, a fish out of water Pretending that I could breathe air

But then I met you, and my world burst into color Where was I going before you came my way I don’t know, I don’t care, and I don’t think it matters I’m just so glad that I met you

I had no direction, you handed me a map And it’s pointing me your way I hope that’s alright, ‘cause I sort of can’t help it, You’re drawing me to you, and I don’t want to stop

Because my world is all color now that you’re in it So bright and beautiful, just like your smile And no matter what happens, I want you to know Darling I am so glad that I met you.

In the description, Lance wrote “happy birthday” with a heart emoji, then clicked “schedule video” and let the fates have it. He went to bed with a nervous jitter in his veins.

The next morning, Lance was still anxious as hell, so he went for a long run through the brisk autumn air. After five miles he came home and made some coffee, as it was brewing, his phone rang.

Keith’s number was on the screen.

Lance cleared his throat and picked up. “Hey Keith!” he started, happy that the words only shook a little bit. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Keith answered. His voice sounded strange. “I, um. I saw the video you posted.”

Lance felt his whole body flash hot as he bit his lip. “Happy Birthday, Keith.”

There was shuffling on the other end of the line. “That was for me?”

“Yeah.”

Keith was quiet for a long time. Then a sudden wet sniffle came through, and Lance felt himself panic. “Keith?”

“Sorry,” Keith’s voice cracked. “Sorry, I just--” he broke off with another sniffle, louder this time. “I’m not used to that. To people doing nice things for me.”

Oh god. Lance had made him cry. And the sound was so sad that Lance felt his own eyes sting.  “You okay?”

Keith laughed, the sound wet and strained. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just. Wow, Lance.”

“Get used to it,” Lance said softly. “I’m definitely the type for grand gestures.”

Another small laugh, then some more sniffling. “What did I do,” Keith whispered, “to deserve someone like you?”

Lance leaned against the counter top behind him, his heart hammering in his chest. “I ask myself that all the time.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Keith groaned, but Lance could hear a smile in his voice. “I have to go to work in an hour. How am I supposed to concentrate now?”

“You’re working on your birthday?”

Lance heard a grunt and the scrape of a chair. “I always do. My birthday’s never been a big deal to me. I think Shiro wants to barbeque tonight, though.”

The coffee maker beeped, and Lance poured himself a cup. “Would it be alright if I made it a big deal?”

Keith hummed. “If that’s what a big deal is to you, then I guess I’ll just have to get used to it, won’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess you will.”

-----

Pidge forwarded an email to Lance the next week. A science conference was being held in Charlotte at the end of the month, and she was going.

“I’ll probably be gone the whole weekend. I’m driving with some classmates, so you can have the apartment to yourself.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Or maybe have someone over.”

“Pidge,” Lance chided, rolling his eyes as she laughed into her coffee.

She was right, though. Lance could have someone over. Of course, there was only one ‘someone’ in mind - but would that be too fast? To ask Keith to come stay the weekend here? Alone with Lance?

His face went hot at the thought. A whole weekend alone with Keith.

They’d only been apart from each other for a little over a month, and facetime was nice and all, but Lance missed him. In person, Keith exuded this… energy that didn’t come through a phone line or internet connection. It was sort of intoxicating, making Lance want to get closer and closer. But would that be too much?

Lance mentally beat himself up for an hour before messaging Keith on discord about it.

LanceyLance Hey so Pidge is going out of town for a conference thing just after Thanksgiving. Would you want to come down here to chill? We can livestream or smth

Keith uh yeah I think that would be okay. what days

LanceyLance nov 28-30

Keith okay cool let me check some things and I’ll get back to you

Lance wondered if “almost throwing up from sheer nerves because I might get to spend a weekend alone with a hot boy” was a good reason to call into work. He went in for his shift anyway and was only slightly distracted. On his break, Lance checked his phone and found a new message from Keith on Discord.

Keith so that weekend looks okay, I put in for time off

LanceyLance cool!

Lance ruined the next three drinks, his heart in his throat.

Later that night, he got on a voice chat with Keith, his heart pounding despite him telling it over and over to calm the hell down.

“I was thinking we could do a livestream, maybe some Overwatch?” Lance said as he picked at a cuticle. “You could be my special guest.”

Keith did that little airy chuckle that made Lance shiver. “As long as you don’t ask me to sing.”

“No promises.” Biting his lip, Lance took a breath. He might as well ask. “You sure you’re okay with this? It’s not, like, moving too fast?”

Keith hummed. “No? I mean, I figured we were just gonna hang out… Why?” his voice dropped. “Did you have other plans?”

“No,” Lance squawked, cursing how his voice cracked. “No, I mean, you said you wanted to go slow, so I was just thinking we could just play some games, maybe watch a movie or go to the marina. That’s okay, right…?”

“Yeah,” Keith breathed, and Lance could hear the smile. “Yeah, that’s cool.”

A hot wash of embarrassment hit Lance, and he covered his face and groaned. Keith laughed a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance’s voice was muffled by his hands. “Yeah. I just -- jeeze. I must sound desperate or something.”

“It’s not just you,” Keith said softly. “I mean, same, I guess? I know I said I wanted to take this slow, but honestly, it’s turning out to be harder than I expected.”

The admission was unexpected and sent Lance’s blood pressure through the roof. He could already tell it was going to be a struggle to keep his hands to himself.

-----

One week until Keith’s visit. Pidge was packing her bag early and giving Lance absolute hell about it.

“Use protection,” she said, stuffing a shirt into a suitcase. Lance sputtered.

“Oh knock it off!” He shrieked. “He’s coming to hang out. That’s it!”

Pidge shot him a skeptical look as she folded a pair of jeans over her arm. “Sure, sure. Just do me a favor and disinfect any surfaces you decided to ‘hang out’ on.”

Lance threw up his arms in defeat, then went to his computer. He and Keith had already planned out their livestream, and decided it was close enough to make an announcement.

Lance! @lanceylance Hey everyone! Next Friday (11/28) I’ll be holding a livestream with special guest @k_redlion! Stream begins at 4pm eastern. Be there!!

.

Pidge left early Friday morning, and in the four hours until Keith was supposed to arrive, Lance did one of the most thorough cleanings of the apartment he’d ever done. He dusted, vacuumed, scrubbed and mopped, did laundry and the dishes, changed the sheets on his bed, washed the spare set of sheets for the pull out sofa.

Satisfied, he jumped in the shower and gave himself and equally thorough scrub down. He was all nerves as he dried off and dressed. He was admiring his handiwork in the living room when his phone buzzed.

Keith made it into town, be there in 10

Lance bounced on his heels and went outside to wait. After a few minutes, a dark blue sedan with Virginia plates pulled up and into a parking spot. The engine shut off, and the door opened to reveal Keith, in his leather jacket with his hair pulled up high.

“Nice car,” was the first thing that came out of Lance’s mouth. He internally groaned.

“Rental,” Keith said, closing the driver’s door and going for the back seat. “I love my bike, but five hours on it is a bit much, especially when it’s cold.”

Lance took Keith’s duffel bag for him and led him up to the apartment. He’d set up their streaming area in the living room where they’d be closest to the router.

“The stream isn’t for another three hours,” Lance said, setting Keith’s bag on the chair. “Wanna relax until then?”

Keith slipped out of his jacket, revealing a dark gray sweater that stretched nicely across his chest. “Sounds good. That drive is a little tiring.”

Once Lance had gotten them both glasses of water from the kitchen, they decided on YouTube fail videos, sitting next to each other on the couch, close, but not too close. Keith’s laugh was such a nice sound, and Lance couldn’t help but lean a little in his direction. After an hour’s worth of cats and people slipping and falling, Keith grunted, grimacing.

“You okay?” Lance asked.

Keith gave him a smile. “Yeah, my stomach’s kind of upset. That gas station poptart might not have been a good idea.”

Standing, Lance moved towards the kitchen. “I’ve got some pickled ginger in the fridge, would that help?”

Keith followed him. “Yeah, probably.”

As soon as Lance opened his fridge, horror dawned upon him. “I didn’t get us any stream snacks!”

“It’s not a big deal?” Keith said slowly. Lance handed him the jar of sushi ginger and shook his head.

“It totally is! We need proper junk food for streaming.” He pursed his lips and tapped his chin. “Are you okay if I hit the store? It won’t take long.”

Keith shrugged with the jar in his hand. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll just hang out and rest.”

He showed Keith where the forks were, taking a little delight in seeing how Keith ate the ginger straight out of the jar just like he did, then grabbed his shopping bags. “I’ve got my phone, text me if you want anything!”

The drive to the store was short, and Lance sped through the aisles with a basket on his arm. Gourmet sodas, the nice veggie chips, lemon cream cookies, a package of fresh strawberries. He’d take Keith out for dinner, maybe Vinnie’s again. This weekend was going to be awesome.

On the way home, however, Lance got stuck in stand-still traffic - he could see just far enough ahead to tell there had been an accident. And there was nowhere for him to turn off to for another few hundred feet, so he was stuck. Frowning, he pulled out his phone and shot a text to Keith.

stuck in traffic, might be a little late

He put Pandora on his phone and turned up the volume, shifting his car into park.

By the time Lance made it back to the apartment, he’d been gone for more than an hour and a half. The living room was empty, but Lance went straight for the kitchen. The stream was set to start in 45 minutes, so they needed to start setting up. “Keith?” Lance called as he stashed the groceries in the fridge. “You good, man? We should get started soon.”

There was no answer.

“Keith?” Lance poked his head out of the kitchen. “You here?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to see if he’d missed a text as he went towards the back of the apartment. Rounding a corner, Lance stopped. His phone clattered to the floor.

Just outside the bathroom, face down in the hallway, was Keith.

Lance slid on his knees towards him. “Keith!” Reaching for him, he turned Keith over, and gasped. His face was bright red, his eyes screwed shut. He was sweating profusely and burning up with a fever. “Keith!” Lance called again. “Hey, man, answer me!”

Keith’s eyes flickered. “L-lance?” he grunted, his voice weak. “It hurts, oh god Lance, it hurts so bad--”

Adrenaline was dumping into Lance’s bloodstream as he went into full panic mode. “What hurts? What’s wrong? Keith!” But Keith stopped responding, his breathing sounding wheezy and shallow.

“Shit,” Lance muttered, clutching Keith close to his chest. “Shit shit shit!”

His phone was five feet away. He should call 911. But who knows how long an ambulance would take and the hospital was five minutes away, he could get there faster on his own--

Lance had grabbed his phone and hoisted Keith into his arms before he realized it. And shit, Keith was heavy, making Lance stumble and lean against a wall more than once as he made it out of his apartment and to his car, where he dropped  Keith on the back seat.

He’d never driven so aggressively in his life.

Lance screeched to a halt outside the ER doors, and barely managed to put his car in park. He opened the back door and pulled Keith out, hooking one of Keiths’ arms around his neck and half-carrying him inside.

“Hey,” he called out. “Hey, I need some help here--”

At his side, Keith made a choking sound, then curled in on himself and vomited.

The whole world became too fast and too slow. Several nurses ran up to them, pulling Keith away. A clattering gurney was brought out. As Keith’s limp body was hoisted on to it, Lance barely registered someone talking to him, asking him what happened.

“I don’t know,” Lance’s throat was closing. “I don’t know, he was fine two hours ago--”

More questions, but Lance couldn’t hear them. All he could focus on was Keith, unconscious on a hospital stretcher, disappearing down a hallway as nurses ran beside him.

.

TO BE CONTINUED!!

(don’t worry guys, Keith is gonna be fine!! But Lance doesn’t know that OvO)

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

@thecorteztwins

Hello, once again I got a scene idea for your alt-Marauders stuck in my head and couldn’t rest until I wrote it, this time with Pyro and Shinobi making fun of Sebastian for being a wine snob.  Starts out light and funny, takes a sharp left turn into angst, then lightens up again at the end.  Sorry if I write Sebastian as too much of a villain here; I have a lot more sympathy for Shinobi and Pyro than I do for him, but I don’t want to straw-man the guy. 

It had been Sebastian, Shinobi, Madelyne and Claudine participating in the wine-tasting competition.  Haven had demurred that she didn’t know enough to participate, although Pyro wondered how true that was – she’d grown up surrounded by luxury, hadn’t she?  She must have had plenty of the good stuff.  Pyro had also admitted that he could barely tell red from white in a blind taste-test, much less differentiate between a Pinot Noir and Merlot.  Besides, he’d added, ignoring Shaw’s backhanded comment about how “it was sensible of him to know his limitations,” he’d rather drink wine than spit it into a bucket.  And someone had to help Haven pour.  

Of course, drinking the wine meant that he was more than a little soused as the contest wound towards its conclusion. Claudine had approached each wine with a detached, scientific analysis, speculating on fermentation techniques and breeds of fruit.  Madelyne was surprisingly knowledgeable for someone who hadn’t grown up filthy rich, and seemed to think the whole thing was great fun.  Shinobi, true to his background, had a refined palate, although he kept slowing things down by reminiscing about exactly where (and with whom) he’d first tried the various wines.  He’d missed a Château Leblanc because apparently “it tasted different when drunk out of a super-model’s high heels.”  It didn’t help that he’d also been drinking the wine, because “spitting is disgusting.” Of course, Sebastian had dominated the game, correctly guessing every wine, making a show of sniffing the aroma, then rolling it around in his mouth with great relish, giving extended lectures on the flavor notes of each wine, the grapes, the vineyard, what foods to best pair it with, and generally just being a pretentious dickhead. Unfortunately, Haven had turned down Pyro’s suggestion to have Sebastian drink out of the spit bucket, despite Pyro’s insistence that it would just be a hilarious, harmless prank.  

And it would take Shaw down a peg or two. The man was puffed up like a soufflé, and Pyro was dying to see, just once, the famous Shaw pride collapse into a soggy mess.  It didn’t even really matter.  Wine-tasting was a useless skill, as far as Pyro was concerned, and exactly the kind of spoiled over-indulgent nonsense he’d expect from the wealthy.  He just hated to see that smug fucker win at something again. Why did he have to be so damned good at things?  

But when the competition ended with Sebastian’s inevitable victory (Claudine in a surprising second place, apparently the scientific method worked), the group had broken up to various parts of the ship.  Haven was headed back to her cabin to read for a bit before bed.  Claudine and Madelyne went up top to look at the local constellations.  Pyro liked the mythology behind constellations, he was a sucker for a good story, but the stars themselves couldn’t hold his attention longer than about ten minutes.  Sebastian had fucked off somewhere, probably back to his own cabin to reflect on what a very smart and important businessman he was.  Pyro hadn’t been paying attention.  

Which left Shinobi and Pyro back in Shinobi’s room, where the contest had taken place, rather tipsy, and both a bit horny from all the “wine and sex” stories that Shinobi had been telling.  Slumped together on Shinobi’s spacious designer couch, Pyro rested his head against Shinobi’s shoulder, and let one hand drift down to the other man’s thigh, and things took their natural course.

Some very pleasant time later, they were both slipping back into their clothing, sweaty and still floating on the post-orgasm endorphin high.

“Well, that was fun,” Pyro laughed, pouring a glass of something dark and red.  He didn’t read the label, because he didn’t fucking well care.  “More fun than some kind of wine-tasting bullshit where you don’t even get to actually drink the wine.”

“Certainly more fun than watching Father dominate the contest,” Shinobi sighed.  He picked up several bottles and peered at the labels before finally pouring something that was, Pyro discerned with all of his expertise and skill, white wine.

“Who cares?”  Pyro said.  “Let him win the silly rich person contest.  What’s the point in being able to taste all the flavors in wine, anyway? It’s not like it’s a big secret, it’s written right on the label.”

“It’s actually very important when you’re moving in high society,” Shinobi said, looking pensive.  “I know it seems silly, but the kind of people that the Hellfire Club deals with will have no respect for someone who doesn’t know wine.”  He paused for a moment.  “I wish I’d done a bit better, it’s not like I don’t have experience.”

“Aww, fuck it, Shin.  Third place isn’t half-bad, and it was just for fun, wasn’t it? Trust me, I know how very skilled your tongue is.”  He tossed back his glass, and re-filled it, picking up a bottle at random.

“Nothing is ever ‘just for fun,’ with my father,” Shinobi said, holding up his own glass to look closely at it.  “There’s always some kind of test.  He always has to win, and I am always found wanting, no matter what I do.”

“C’mon, Shinobi, don’t let him make you feel bad. It’s all stupid.  He’s not special just because he can sip wine and make-up a lot of bullshit.  Anyone can do that.”  Pyro took a gulp of wine and held it in his mouth contemplatively, swirling the remainder around in his glass.  “Hmmm..a ’58 Bordeaux, brewed in a cask made from planks from the wreck of the HMS Endeavour.  Notes of Honeycrisp Apple, Trifle, Lavender soap and Black Cherry, offset by the delicate tang of diesel fuel.”

Shinobi flopped back onto the couch, laughing, and splashing some of his own wine onto his shirt.  

“You know wine is fermented, not brewed, right?” He chuckled.  

“I’m just gonna say that I know that to spare us further discussion about wine making,” Pyro shrugged.  “Brewed, fermented, made in a prison toilet, who cares?”

“It’s a good impression, but you have to make it a bit more accurate.  More like-” Shinobi took a sip of his own wine.  “-Montrachet Grand Cru 1981, from Domaine de la Romanee-Conti.  A bold, elegant Chardonnay, with a nose of winter apricots, Mutsu apples, distressed orange peel and hints of funeral bouquet.  On the palate, white peach and badgered lemon, with a smidge of mango, smattering of sun-kissed pineapple, and the faintest tinge of the arsenic that my son has snuck into the glass.  Bottled by a beautiful French woman named Amelie that I impregnated.  I gave another bottle to my good friend Sir Elton John.”

“The only thing wrong there is that your father isn’t nearly cool enough to know Elton John,” Pyro laughed.  “Also, he doesn’t have any actual friends.”

“I’ll concede that point.”

“Here, let me try again.’  Pyro took another gulp.  “Lascivious pear marmalade, with pomegranate, chocolate, lightly-spanked peaches and a naughty little hint of strawberry.  Sensual mouthfeel, like giving a blow job to a fruit stand.  I shoved the entire bottle up my arse this morning, and found it most satisfying.”

Shinobi howled with laughter, spilling most of the rest of his wine.  He poured again from a different bottle.

“Okay, my turn.  A 1947 Chateau Cheval Blanc, from Saint-Emilion Grand Cru, France.  A rich, taste and firm structure.  Midnight black currant, eccentric cranberry and depressed plums, with twinkles of Madagascar Vanilla, cayenne pepper and wasabi. Floral notes of crushed apple blossom and – “ he paused to take a sniff, “-discarded Valentine’s roses. Bottle personally kissed by Winston Churchill.”

“Okay, okay, here’s –“ Pyro took a swig from a new glass, “Blackberry, quince and persimmon, gathered at midnight under the full moon, fermented in a cask taken from a woman hung for witch-craft.  Hints of lamb’s blood and children’s tears, with just a touch of grave dirt bringing out the earthy tones.  Nice, floral scent, light and airy on the tongue, pairs well with fish.  A refreshing summer wine.”                

“Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc.  Grapes gently cuddled by professional masseuses.  Aroma of spring grass and wet cement.  Lashings of nectarine and little daubs of passionfruit, with a suggestion of yoga sweat.  Like licking coconut-butter and hibiscus-pear puree off a beautiful woman at the beach-”

“Are the two of you going to be finished anytime soon?”  A dry voice interrupted, and both turned to see Sebastian standing in the doorway. Shinobi, clutching his glass against his chest, looked chagrinned, while Pryo simply stared back at Shaw, unimpressed.

“I was hoping to retrieve one of the unopened wine bottles, assuming that the two of you haven’t wasted it all with your childish games.”  Sebastian sniffed, grimacing.  “And judging by the smell in here, I’m glad that I came by after the two of you finished fornicating, not during.”

“Fornicating?”  Pyro snorted. “Why don’t you peddle off on your giant Victorian bicycle and snatch some lemon drops away from poor children?”

“Why do you care anyway, Father?  You have sex all the time, much as I’d like to forget it,” Shinobi put in.

“I do not grudge you seeking your pleasures, Shinobi, but pleasure is meant to be a reward after a long day’s hard work, not something to wallow in day after day, entirely unearned.  And I do wish you were a bit more discerning in your partners.  That ‘giant Victorian bicycle’ was called a ‘penny-farthing,’ Mr. Allerdyce.”

“I know what it’s called, Shaw,” Pyro grumbled, annoyed despite himself.  He’d run across the term while researching one of his novels, but of course Shaw would treat him like a moron because he hadn’t used the “proper term” when tossing off a cheap insult.  

“At any rate, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Inferiors will always mock their betters, out of jealousy and lack of understanding.  But I had hoped that you, at least, would show more dignity, Shinobi. Did I not raise you to be better than this?”

“You barely raised me at all!”  Shinobi snapped, although he did not meet Sebastian’s eyes.

“It’s not jealousy or lack of understanding,” Pyro said, arms folded.  “We mock you because you’re a snobby arse that thinks you’re better than everyone else. Simple as that.”

“And am I not better?  I worked my way up from nothing to create a business empire.  I have amassed wealth and power that most people can only dream of, all from my own intelligence and hard work.  And compared to, what?  A stupid, intensely lazy son who would happily drink and fuck his way through life.  And a failed author who turned to terrorism and petty crime.  I think I can objectively say that I am, indeed, better.”

“Failed author?!”  Pyro was incensed.  “My books sold millions of copies, you wanker.  Maybe it wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was fucking well successful.”

“Fine, a mediocre author who enjoyed some small measure of popular success,” Sebastian shrugged.  “I don’t know why people published your tripe, but they did.  I’ll give you that.  From that perspective, I suppose my own son is even more disappointing. At least you had some semblance of a career.”

“Why don’t you take your wine and fuck off? There’s plenty left, if it’s good enough to satisfy your oh-so-refined palate.  We’re trying to have a fun evening here, and I’m sure you’re very busy plotting to steal Christmas.”

“No, I think the sight of my son’s debauchery has quite put me off wine for the moment.  I suppose I should really stop being surprised and disappointed at this point, but every time I think you’ve fallen as far as you can, Shinobi, you manage to find a new bottom.”  Shinobi did not respond, only clutched at the glass harder, a flush spreading over his face.

“Oh no, you can’t leave without a drink, Shaw. We’ve prepared a special blend for you, all the fanciest brands.”  And before he could second-guess himself, Pyro picked up the spit bucket and hurled it across the room at Sebastian.

Sebastian dodged to the side, far faster than Pyro would expect from a man of his size, and the mixture of wine and spit splattered against the wall and floor.  Shaw gave him a cold, fixed smile as he calmly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a few errant drops off his polished leather shoes.  It was the kind of smile Pyro would have imagined on a wicked count in one of his books, as he locked the poor governess in the manor tower and informed her that the handsome stableboy would be hung for murder.  Of course, in Pyro’s books, the plucky heroine would climb down the ivy and rush to the courthouse in the nick of time with evidence of the stableboy’s innocence.  Real life was never so satisfying.  

Well, at least he’d made the bastard jump. Without moving or looking up, Shinobi reached out and clamped a hand over Pyro’s arm, as if anchoring him in place.          

“You know, I’m not even angry, Allerdyce,” Sebastian said, dispassionate, as if discussing ocean currents or famine death tolls.  He straightened his suit, which was still infuriatingly spotless.  “I don’t get angry when an ill-trained dog shits on the floor.  It cannot help doing what comes naturally.  Of course, I will still wring the mongrel’s neck.”  The smile stretched a bit wider, showing more teeth.  “I have little patience for ill-trained beasts, and I like a good, clean floor.”

“That a threat, mate?”  Pyro snapped.  Shinobi’s grip on his arm tightened, and he felt tingly all over, vaguely light-headed. The wine was certainly making itself known.

“You’re not important enough for threats.  I assume you will clean this up after you and my idiot son sleep off your intoxication.  And Shinobi and I will have a discussion about his behavior, when he is actually sober enough to listen to reason.”  Sebastian addressed the last sentence directly to his son, who still stood quietly, head bowed.  Pyro could feel tremors running up his arm, and realized that Shinobi was shaking.  Fury boiled up inside him, hot and quick.

“No, you bloody well won’t!”  He snarled.  “Your son is a grown man who can make his own fucking choices, yeah, and you’re not going to lecture him like a child, or….or anything else.  Anything else.”  There were words caught in his throat.  Things that Shinobi had only whispered, that were not meant to be said aloud.  “I won’t let you.  No one on this ship will let you!”  Pyro groped for his lighter on the table, planning to send a few fireballs at Shaw’s smug face, at least singe his eyebrows a bit.  He gaped for a moment as his hand passed directly through the table – fuckin’ hell I’m a ghost! – before he realized that Shinobi had phased both of them.  

Sebastian smirked.  “You’re very chivalrous towards the people you want to fuck, aren’t you, Allerdyce?  Does that help you to believe that you’re more than just a crass, violent thug?”

“Fuck off, Shaw!”  

“Let’s avoid any more poor choices tonight, shall we?” Sebastian leaned forward, and Shinobi actually flinched slightly, leaning back.  But Shaw just scooped up the lighter and pocketed it.  “I don’t think you’re in any condition to use this responsibly, Allerdyce. Remember, your precious Ms. Dastoor wouldn’t come back if you torched the boat, even if the rest of us would. And Shinobi – “

Letting go of Pyro’s arm, Shinobi finally raised his head, gazing up at his father through the mess of hair that had fallen across his face.  

“There’s really nothing to say, is there?  Nothing you haven’t heard before.  You’ve disappointed me time and time again.  I won’t waste my breath any further tonight. Enjoy wallowing in filth.  Come see me when you’re ready to act like a man again.”

“Yeah, no need to waste any more time here, I’m sure you’ve got loads of kitten murder videos to wank off to.”  Sebastian didn’t react, as he was already striding from the room, door swinging shut.  “Why don’t you go kick Tiny Tim’s crutch out from under him, that’ll get you nice and hard, won’t it?”  Pyro yelled after him.  

He sat fuming for a moment, wanting more than anything to rush down the corridor and rip out handfuls of Sebastian’s hair. Gouge his eyes out with his fingers and shove the bloody mess down his throat.  To torch the man until his skin cracked and bubbled.  To make him hurt.  But that wasn’t a battle he was likely to win, so instead he grabbed the table and flipped it over, the wine glasses shattering in every direction.  

He could imagine Shaw pausing in the hall, smirking in satisfaction at the sound of Pyro throwing a tantrum, acting like the animal that he really was.  He hurled an empty bottle at the door, but it must have been sturdily made, as it simply bounced and rolled.  Then he sat with his arms wrapped tight around himself, taking deep, slow breaths.  He could never quite believe that his power didn’t include creating fire, because he got so impossibly hot when enraged like this.  It would be so satisfying to burn something – something old and huge and valuable, just to stand in the center of the inferno and let it all turn to ash around him.  

Either that, or a good, hard fuck.  That’d do the trick, too.  

Perhaps it really was for the best that Shaw had taken his lighter.  Of course, he had at least two more on him, but he left them in his pockets, and instead took deep breaths.  Just like Haven had taught him, hands on his shoulders, to find a calm, cool place that existed somewhere inside him.  This is how we put the fire out.            

He heard a small sound, and realized as he opened his eyes that Shinobi was no longer standing next to him.  Instead, he was wobbling his way over towards the spilled wine (thrown wine, actually) with one of the bathroom towels.  He dropped to his knees and began to mop up the puddle.

“Shin, no, don’t do that,” Pyro stumbled over to him, none too steady himself.  He pulled the towel away.  It was his own mess to take care of, but more importantly, interrupting their evening to clean up a stupid wine splatter felt very much like letting Sebastian win.  

“It’ll stain,” Shinobi mumbled, looking down at the floor, not meeting Pyro’s eyes.    

“Who gives a shit?  I’ll clean it up tomorrow, okay?  I’m the one who threw it, I’ll take care of it.  I’ll give the whole floor a good scrubbing in a sexy maid costume.” He winked half-heartedly.  

Shinobi scowled down at the floor, and then gave Pyro an abrupt shove, knocking him off balance.

“Why did you have to act like such an asshole? Father already thinks the worst of you, but you always make it worse!”  

“Me?”  Pyro blinked in disbelief.  “He’s the one barging in here swinging his dick around.  You want me to just stand there like a kid getting lectured?  Fuck that!”

“I mean, you could just….you could at least try…” Shinobi mumbled, wringing his hands.

“Try what?  Try to be a little more sophisticated, is that it?  You think your Dad is right about me?  Am I too trashy for you, Shinobi?  I wasn’t too trashy to suck your dick twenty minutes ago, was I?”

“No!  No, I don’t mean, that!”  Shinobi stammered.  “I don’t mean….I just…..he always…..he….”

Suddenly Shinobi sucked in a sharp, hard breath, and wrapped his arms around Pyro’s torso, burying his face against his side.  Pyro fell silent as Shinobi squeezed him tight, breathing in harsh, ragged gasps that Pyro would politely not acknowledge as sobs.  

It wasn’t something that he was exactly used to, despite all the soppy romantic bullshit he wrote.  He’d spent half his life in terrorist and quasi-legit military groups full of dudes with powers who treated every single interaction as a dick-measuring contest.  Not to mention their fearless leader, who would probably jump off a cliff before she showed enough vulnerability to shed a tear.

But sometimes it happened.  Sometimes guys broke.  It had happened to Dominic once when the divorce was official.  He and Helen been separated long before Dominic became “Avalanche,” but somehow seeing it in writing had left the usually stoic man sobbing.  It had happened to Pyro right after they got back from a fruitless quest in the Savage Land for a Legacy Virus cure that had never existed in the first place.  He’d been able to hold it together while they were fighting their way out, but once he was back at his apartment – sick, hurting and so fucking exhausted, back in the place where he was now definitely going to die – he’d broken down completely.  Both times, they’d just held each other and said nothing, and that was enough.  Later they’d pretended nothing had happened, to spare the other man’s pride.  

He didn’t think silence would work with Shinobi. Shinobi was a talker (and frankly, if Pyro was honest, so was he.)  Gingerly, he reached his arms down to encircle Shinobi in an awkward hug.

“There, there,” he tried.  God, couldn’t he do any better than that?  He was a writer, for fuck’s sake.  He’d just had sex with the man less than an hour ago.  What would one of his heroes say?  

Not to worry, darling, I’ve discovered the Marquis’s dreadful secret. Your marriage was never legal in the first place, and we can have it annulled on the morrow.

There is no ghost, my love.  It is merely a trick of the light and your own flighty imagination. I swear to you, there is nothing out on those moors except the odd rabbit.  Pay no attention to servants’ gossip.  

To hell with your damned father!  I swear he shall not keep us apart another second, and you need never fear him again.

Well, that last one was awfully tempting.  But probably not quite right.  

“Hey,” he tried again.  “It’s okay.  I know….I know it don’t exactly seem okay right now.  But it is.  You’re not a kid anymore, right?  And you’re not alone here.  You’ve got a boatful of people with you, and we’re all willing to get between you and that moldy old nutsack you call a father, yeah?  We’re not gonna let him do anything to you, okay?”  At least, Pyro knew that he, Madelyne and Haven would all be willing to step between father and son, if necessary.  He wasn’t totally sure about Claudine, she could be a bit of a cold fish, but she seemed decent enough.

Shinobi’s harsh breathing that was not quite sobs was starting to slow a little bit, so Pyro figured he was probably doing something right.

“And fuck him, anyway.  You’re not any of the things he said.  He spends your whole life either ignoring you or beating you up, but he thinks he can step in and start judging you now?  He sets you up with all his money, then blames you for growing up rich?  What an absolute cunt.  He’s just completely wrapped up in himself, Shin.  He’s the king of the fucking universe and anyone who isn’t him is just a peasant.  That’s why he’s so hard on you, because you’re not exactly like him.  Which believe me, is a good thing.”  

“I just wish……I wish I was better sometimes,” Shinobi gasped.  

“Well, fuck man, me too,” Pyro said.  “I wish I was better, I mean.  Not the way your old man means it, just…you know, generally better. I’ve killed people, I’ve stolen, and I really don’t feel all that bad about a lot of it.  Compared to that, being a trust-fund kid who likes to party really isn’t all that bad.”

Shinobi huffed slightly, nearly a laugh.

“And hey, you almost managed to kill your Dad.”

“Almost.”

“Still, quite an accomplishment.  And Shaw’s full of bullshit talking about you never working, anyway.  We’re all part of the crew here, we all go on missions.  You contribute just like everyone else.  So he can shut the fuck up.”  

“Yeah, I guess.”  Shinobi drew back, rubbing at his face, and sniffing.  “Hey, did you say ‘there, there’ when I first started, um, you know…..crying?”  

“Yeah,” Pyro rubbed the back of his neck.  “I ain’t exactly a great therapist, I’m afraid. It was that, or start reading to you from The Ghost of Briarcliffe Manor.  At least the sex scenes would have perked you right up.”        

Shinobi cracked a smile.

“Maybe your Dad could use a bit of that.  Maybe he’d be less of a sour old bastard if he got laid more often.”

“No, unfortunately, he gets laid plenty,” Shinobi said, combing his hair back with his fingers.  “He just hates fun.”        

“Fun?”  Pyro assumed a sour expression, sticking his jaw out.  “We didn’t have fun when I was a boy.  In my day we worked a twelve-hour shift at the cannery and got a five-minute break to chew on a sassafras stick, and we liked that just fine!”  

Shinobi actually giggled, and Pyro went on, encouraged.

“Fun is a disease that has infested the younger generations!  All of this dancing and moving pictures, and gramophone music!  What’s wrong with eating a bowl of plain oatmeal and staring at a brick wall?  That’s how I used to let my hair down on Friday night!”  

Shinobi got up and returned with sofa pillows.

“Here.  Your chest is too narrow for the part.”

“Oh yes, mustn’t forget the massive tits.” Pyro unbuttoned his shirt to shove the pillows in.

There was wine and saliva seeping into his trouser legs as he knelt on the floor.  In the morning, he’d get up and clean up all the mess in a hung-over daze, and he’d probably step on broken glass in the dark and hop around swearing. Then he’d have to wait for the headache and nausea to lift while Sebastian gloated at their state.  

But it didn’t really matter.  At the moment, Pyro was pleasantly drunk and Shinobi was laughing, and that was good enough.

[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife - II

AO3 :: Previously

VIII

“Claire? Not Julia?” Mrs. Fitz was very confused. I was helping her make the bed in Jamie’s and my new room—our room as newlyweds.

“I do apologize, Mrs. Fitz. I did not know how the laird would receive me if he knew I was Jamie’s wife. His presumably dead wife, you recall.”

“Och, I do mind. The lad was beside himself wi’ grief.” Her eyes misted over. “He refused to eat, all he did was wander about the castle and help with the horses.” My heart tightened to hear it.

“I am terribly sorry about your granddaughter’s betrothal,” I mentioned cautiously.

Mrs. Fitz shrugged thoughtfully, arranging the pillows. “God kens I love Laoghaire, but… Dougal’s idea in making that match—nay, he needs a woman, not a girl. And Laoghaire will be a girl when she's fifty.”

I could understand what she meant. I hoped the girl would not be disappointed for long. I recounted my story for Mrs. Fitz: how my mother and I used to travel as healers, about my midwifing apprenticeship at l’Hôpital des Anges, Mother Hildegarde, and how Jamie and I met. She thought it terribly romantic that we were handfast, and that I had stayed behind to help the sisters through the epidemic.

As she left me to settle in, Mrs. Fitz turned at the door. “I do love the lad. I am glad he found you, dearie, in the end. Take care of each other.”

* * *

When Jamie and I stepped into the great hall for dinner the following night, we were the target of whispers and comments directed at us from all sides. News traveled fast in the castle; I could only imagine what was being said about me, Jamie’s wife, come back from the dead. I gripped Jamie’s arm tightly as he escorted us to our seats. He kept his head up high, meeting people’s stares with a frank gaze. We ate in companionable silence, and as soon as Jamie was done eating, I gestured for us to leave the hall.

We were near the side door when there was a commotion behind us. I turned to spot a head of blonde hair racing amongst the tables. Laoghaire—Mrs. Fitz tried to pull her back, but the girl was too fast. She approached us, me in particular. She came up to me and shoved me, palms outstretched. I stumbled, caught unawares, but Jamie held me upright.

“Seas!” Jamie exclaimed, placing himself between Laoghaire and myself. “Lass, get ye under control—this is no way to behave towards my wife!”

“Your wife?!” Laoghaire’s eyes were wild with anger. Mrs. Fitz had appeared behind her, and was doing her best to pull her away from us with quiet noises meant to soothe the girl. “I was to be yer wife! Ye broke yer promise, James Fraser! I canna forgive that!”

“There was no promise from me, and ye ken it well, Laoghaire,” Jamie said between clenched teeth. “I never agreed to it, and my uncle has accepted our union.” Everyone in the hall had fallen silent, the better to hear the confrontation.

“Jamie, let’s just go,” I pleaded, tugging on his arm. Laoghaire turned her attentions back to me.

“He’s mine! Get ye back to the hell ye came from, and leave him to me! Go I say!” Laoghaire stamped her foot like a child throwing a tantrum. My own temper got the best of me and I stepped around Jamie, bent on pulling her hair or clawing her eyes out, whichever I could reach first. He caught me around the waist first, though, and pulled me back into his chest.

“I shan’t be going anywhere, least of all without my husband,” I hissed. “You must cease to call him yours, girl, now that the law say otherwise.” I watched with a satisfied smirk as Laoghaire’s face fell, and she finally allowed herself to be towed away by her grandmother.

“Let’s go, Sassenach,” Jamie said quietly in my ear, as everyone watched Laoghaire leave the great hall towards the kitchens, and conversation started up again slowly in their wake. I broke free of Jamie’s grasp and left through the side door. Once out of the hall, I picked up my skirts and ran as fast as I could towards our room. I heard Jamie behind me, the heavy tread of his boots catching up.

“Sassenach—Claire!” He sounded out of breath as he neared my side. “I would prefer not to follow behind my own wife.”

I did not bother to turn around. “So walk faster.”

We reached our room and Jamie closed the door behind us. “Sassenach, ye must no’ mind Laoghaire—”

“Not mind! Jamie, she shamed us in front of the entire castle!” I cried, flopping down on a chair by the hearth. “She’s made me out as some sort of devious red woman who would steal you away on a whim…”

“Ye are not a red woman,” he replied, stifling a smile. “They ken now that ye are Claire Fraser, from Paris, my true and only wife.” He pressed a kiss to the knot of hair on my head.

“No one approves Jamie… I was not expecting cheers and applause, but all this speculation and gossip is unbearable. Please, when can we leave for Lallybroch?”

“As soon as the MacKenzie allows it.” He came over to crouch next to me and took my hand in his. “I never thought to ask, Sassenach… can ye ride a horse?”

I laughed at this change of subject. “Not terribly well. I mostly rode in a wagon on my way here. Maman and I walked most everywhere.”

“I think ye should practice. We’ll ride to Lallybroch. Although I do mind something Jenny wrote me awhile back, when I let her ken we’d been handfast… married women shouldna ride horses.” Jamie laid his warm hand on my flat stomach. I sat up abruptly straighter, and laid my own hand over his.

“”Tis no danger to me at the moment,” I said gently. He nodded, accepting my reply. “Should that change, trust you will be the first to know.”

* * *

Rabbits were nibbling at the carrots. I would ask some of the castle lads to set snares near the vegetable garden. My medicinal herbs were also at risk. I knelt, pulling up weeds tirelessly. I noticed the edge of my cloak was rent as well, a piece torn clean out. It was a castle hand-me-down, given me by Mrs. Fitz. I would have to mend it, but first, I needed to take care of my crop. I was so absorbed in my task that I barely noticed the shadow that fell over me. I looked up when it cleared its throat to find Geillis Duncan smiling down at me.

“Oh, Mistress Duncan! How are you feeling?” I wiped my hands on my apron and covered the glare of sunlight with my hand.

“That is precisely why I’m here, Mistress Beauchamp. Or should I say Fraser?” She still smiled gently, cradling her enormous pregnant belly.

“Fraser, I suppose,” I said, returning her smile. “But Claire will do just fine. Did you walk here?”

“I took my husband’s carriage. ‘Tis a little far to walk from Cranesmuir to Leoch now; I tire so easily.”

“I think perhaps even the carriage ride might be too much, all that jostling about,” I said, gauging the heft of her belly. “It could cause you to go into labor.”

Geillis looked surprised. “I didna ken that. Should I go into confinement?”

I shook my head. “Fresh air does you good. Just avoid the carriage rides from now on. Is there anything I can do for you, mistress?”

“I did mean to ask ye for a tonic. Ye see, after every meal I have this burning sensation in my throat. I feel as though I might vomit, and my stomach hurts as well.” She seemed embarrassed. “Do ye ken what is happening?”

I smiled to put her at ease. “’Tis common enough—heartburn. Do you eat heavily seasoned foods or garlic?”

“Both,” she replied. I nodded and rummaged through the herbs in my garden. I plucked a bunch of peppermint leaves and tied them with a piece of twine from my ever-present basket.

“These should help. Brew a cup of tea with the leaves after every meal.” I handed the sheaf of leaves to her, and she held them tightly. She gave me an appraising glance, and I knew what she would ask. What many of the castle inhabitants were wondering themselves.

“Are ye with child, Claire?” she inquired curiously.

“No, at least not yet,” I replied cautiously.

“Arthur—my husband—and I had trouble conceiving. We had tried for years, and nothing. And now, a miracle.” Geillis smiled beatifically, a glow about her.

“We’ve only been married a few months, and apart for most of them. When we are ready, I hope it will happen.”

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “There is a wise woman in the forest, ken. Some say witch, of course. She has herbs and tonics like ye do. She can make a barren woman conceive. And she also helps the lasses who get in trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“Ye ken, trouble.” She gestured towards her belly.

“Oh.” I understood. “We called them angel makers in Paris. They were not as busy as the maîtresses sage femme, for all that. Do you know…” I hesitated to ask. “Does the wise woman use herbs to make angels, or… other methods?”

“I dinna ken… though those that survive the cure, shall we say, are often sick for days afterward. It minds me of witchcraft,” Geillis whispered.

“Do you believe in witches, Mistress Duncan?” I asked carefully.

“There are many things in this world for which we have no explanation. But to hold a bairn in yer arms, fruit of the union with yer husband… ‘tis a kind of magic some women would consider worthwhile to have, regardless of the cost.”

[peachypunk22]

Secret Santa for peachypunk22

Hey, I’m your secret Santa! Merry Christmas! Sorry for how long it took for this to reach you, I’ve tried sending it a few times, so hopefully this one will reach you. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you so for Christmas, I wrote you a fic! It’s called Morph Into a Morning Person! I’ve also posted it on archive of our own because it’s a little long to be a blog post. Romance isn’t my strong suit, but I hope you enjoy it! 

Josh discovered his powers when he was twelve. At first, he thought he was sensitive, observant, and good with words, but it turned out he possessed the ability to manipulate emotions. While subtle, it was a useful power for comforting a sad friend or calming down an angry friend, especially when Josh could make physical contact which seemed to amplify his powers. 

Josh discovered there were other superhumans in the world sophomore year of high school. The combination of hormones, drama, and constant stress pouring out of Josh’s classmates was highly overwhelming for Josh, leading to lots of escapes to the bathroom. During one of his escapes to the bathroom, Josh found one of his classmates panicking as he accidentally disassembled everything he touched. Josh quickly learned the portion of the population with abilities was quite high. 

Josh discovered coffee freshman year of college before his first round of finals. All his classes lined up so that Josh had exams back-to-back-to-back so a good friend who worked at the on-campus Starbucks provided Josh with copious amounts of coffee and extra shots of espresso. It naturally led to a slight caffeine addiction and a fascination with various coffees and teas. 

Josh discovered how dangerous a cranky superhuman was one morning, three years after graduating from college. He was driving to work but was looking at his phone to change the song when he rear ended a cranky pyrokinesis who nearly set Josh’s shirt on fire. Luckily, once resting a hand on his shoulder, Josh managed to calm the man down and exchange information. 

Each discovery Josh made lead to the opening of his beloved coffee shop which caters specifically to the superhuman population: Morph into a Morning Person. 

Morph became a hit and a well-known “safe space” for superhumans. A witch friend who owed Josh a favor enchanted the shop to only be visible to superhumans, so they’d have a place to relax in the morning without the fear of being seen accidentally melting something with their bare hands or possessing a few extra arms. 

“Morning, Josh!” Peter, a local high school student Josh took under his wing after finding him stuck to the side of a dumpster outside Morph, greets. 

“Morning, Pete,” Josh grins back, dumping a bag of coffee beans into the coffee grinder. 

Peter ties on his red and blue apron then turns on the cash register and fills it with change from the safe. The two prepare the shop for business, the silence being filled by Peter telling Josh about his classes, any recent drama within his friend group, and his “extracurricular activities”. Josh, being an older brother, badgersPeter about being safe, but encourages him to continue exploring his powers.  

At 6:30 on the dot, the first customer stumbles in and the flow begins. Peter and Josh fall into an easy routine of helping customers, brewing coffee, and serving pastries and breakfast sandwiches. At 7:30, Josh and Peter switch positions so that Josh is running the registrar while Peter fulfills orders. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” Josh greets an impatient looking businesswoman typing on her phone at an impossible speed.  

“Hi,” She greets distractedly. “Let me get a medium roast with two creams and a Splenda.” 

“Yes, ma’am that’ll be…”

“Back off, buddy!” 

Josh looks behind the woman to see a large man in a business suit glaring at a man dressed in a construction uniform. 

“I was in line first, pal,” The man in the business suit snarls, jabbing the construction worker in the chest with his finger. 

“Don’t touch me,” The construction worker growls, the walls began to shake slightly. 

The businessman laughs cruelty. 

“You think a little earthquake scares me?!” 

Josh quickly scans the woman’s card and hands her the receipt. 

“We’ll have that right out, ma’am.” 

The woman, still not looking up from what she’s typing, nods and steps out of the way, seemingly unaware of the brawl about to break out behind her. 

“Gentlemen, how can I help you?” Josh tries to mediate. 

“Let’s see how tough you are,” The construction worker growls, both men ignoring Josh. 

Josh braces both hands on the counter, about to jump over it to separate the two men. 

The businessman cocks his fist back, ready to punch the construction worker when a brunet man in a dark hoodie pushes the door to the shop open. He looks sleepily at the two men about to fight and lazily flicks his wrist, sending both men flying into the wall. 

They crash on top of each other then look up in a mixture of irritation and amazement at the telekinetic that just effortlessly flung them into the wall. The telekinetic tucks his hands into his hoodie pocket and glares at the two men. 

“Instead of getting into a fist fight like a couple of teenagers, why don’t you two act your age and stand in line like everyone else?” 

The two men sheepishly get to their feet and quietly get back in line, behind the telekinetic who walks up to the counter and squints at the menu board. 

“Thanks,” Josh smiles. “I really appreciate that.” 

“Well, I’d hate to see the inside of this place get trashed, given that I just discovered it,” He shoots Josh a crooked smile. 

While the customer ponders his order, Josh takes the opportunity to check him out. He’s slightly taller than Josh with dark fluffy hair, nice brown eyes, and a tan complexion. He’s cute, and maybe if Josh is lucky, also single. 

“Can I get a dark roast in the biggest cup you have?” 

“Not a morning person?” Josh jokes. 

“What was your first hint?” The customer responds dryly. 

“Well, flinging two of my customers into the wall gave me a feeling, but the coffee order really sold it,” Josh deadpans. 

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’m sure you have a much better policy when it comes to dealing with fights breaking out,” He frowns, his hand reaching up to twirl a thick lock of hair around his finger absentmindedly. 

“Please do not apologize, I’m grateful you were here because your method is much more efficient than mine.” 

“You look like you can handle your own,” He gives Josh a once over with a smirk. 

“Not as well as you seem to be able too. What’s your name?” 

“Tyler. It’s nice to meet you, Josh,” Tyler smiles. 

Josh falters for a moment. 

“How did you…?” 

“You’re wearing a name tag…?” Tyler raises an eyebrow. 

Josh chuckles. 

“Right,” He glances down at his name tag. 

“Who’s not a morning person now?” Tyler jokes. 

“Probably still you given the strength of this coffee.” 

Tyler chuckles. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

Peter sets Tyler’s coffee on the counter next to Josh. 

“Well, Tyler, since you prevented my shop from being destroyed, this one’s on the house,” He slides the cup to Tyler. 

“It’s the least I can do,” Tyler shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Will I see you here again?” Josh asks, slightly hopefully. 

“Mmm,” Tyler hums with approval. “With coffee this good? I’ll see you tomorrow,” He winks, then sticks a five-dollar bill in the tip jar. 

“Hopefully the coffee isn’t the only thing that’ll bring you back,” Josh teases. 

Tyler grins. 

“Among other things. See you around, Josh.” 

“Bye,” Josh practically whispers, waving longingly at the door. 

The construction worker steps to the counter. 

“Hi,” Josh greets, snapping out of his Tyler induced daze. “How can I help you?” 

…

As more orders come in, Josh leaves the counter to help Peter brew the drinks. 

“So, Josh,” Peter begins oh so casually. “You seemed to have hit it off with that telekinetic earlier.” 

Josh shrugs. 

“Nice guy. Kept my shop from getting destroyed.” 

“Uh huh… And I’m sure that’s all it was, you know, keeping the shop from getting destroyed. Because you know that I can do that. I’m-I’m sure there was nothing else uh… distracting you like say oh I don’t know, forgetting that you had a name tag on?” 

Josh raises an eyebrow. 

“What are you getting at, Pete?” 

“I’m just saying that you and that customer seemed to get along and maybe you should ask him on a date.” 

“Order for Frank!” Josh calls out. “It was one conversation!” He rolls his eyes as a dark burly man with a suspicious bag lugged over his shoulder grunts a thank you then slides the coffee off the counter. 

“He seemed interested! And you weren’t exactly subtle,” Peter argued. 

“Wow, I am getting dating advice from a high schooler. What has my life come to?” Josh jokes. “Besides, where’s this confidence when you’re talking to Wade?” He glances down at his watch. “Who actually should be coming any minute now–” 

The doorbell rings, signifying a new customer walking into the shop. 

“Good morning, Peteyyyyy,” A voice sings. 

“Go get em, tiger,” Josh grins, pushing Peter toward the cash register. 

Peter turns to glare at Josh with blushing cheeks. 

“Good morning, Wade, how are you?” 

“Well, I’m just super fantastic, now that I’ve seen you.” 

… 

            “Josh!” Peter calls from the pastry display case the next morning. “We’re out of wax paper!” 

            Josh hands the businessman his drink then ducks under the counter, searching for wax paper. 

            “Well, this is a pretty nice view, first thing in the morning,” A familiar voice chuckles. 

            Tyler! Josh panics, smacking his head against the roof of the cupboard. He hears Peter stifling his laughs. Little shit. 

            “Ow,” He groans, slowly sitting up and rubbing his head with one hand and wax paper in the other. 

            Tyler rocks back on his heels, looking amused.  

            “Did I startle you?” 

            “No, I always like to start my mornings off with a mild concussion,” Josh deadpans.

            “Sounds like a healthier alternative than a caffeine addiction.” 

            “Yeah, I’m a big believer in holistic medicine.”

            Tyler chuckles, looking over the menu board. 

            “Well, good thing I’m here to break up any more fights since your daily morning concussion might interfere.” 

            “My hero,” Josh jokes. “Does this mean I’m going to have to pay you to be security?” 

            Tyler shrugs. 

            “Yeah, but luckily for you, I’m a pretty easy man to buy.” 

            “Oh yeah? What kind of salary do you take?” 

            Tyler glances over at the pastry display case. 

            “Those muffins look pretty tasty. How about a chocolate one and some good company?” 

            And that’s how their friendship continues. Tyler earns his own personal seat at the coffee bar where he munches on a muffin while joking around with Josh and Peter. He’s charming and sweet and the inner workings of his mind are baffling, both in a cool artistic way and a straight up confusing way. 

            The two reminisce about growing up in Columbus and exchange goofy sibling stories. They talk about music and recommend new bands and albums to each other. Tyler quizzes Peter for his history class while Josh takes orders and tells Josh bad dad jokes while he makes drinks. Tyler tells Josh about discovering his powers and shows him some of the poetry and songs he’s written, while Josh shows Tyler grainy videos from someone’s basement of Josh pounding the drums and tells him about his tattoos.     

Tyler comes into the shop every morning and will sometimes stay for over an hour, but there’s a strange, unspoken barrier between the two. They’ve never hung out outside the coffee shop. Josh doesn’t even have Tyler’s number. He’s figured out that Tyler is single and bisexual, but every time he starts to work up the nerve to ask Tyler for his number or ask him on a date, he chickens out, afraid of changing the cohesiveness of their friendship. 

… 

            “Excuse me!” An angry man at the counter demands. 

            Josh looks up from brewing a cup of coffee for a tired mom who was toting around a toddler’s who hands occasionally burst into flames. 

            “Yes sir, how can I help you?” 

            “Help me?! How about instead of bumping your gums with Donnie Darko over there,” He gestures wildly to Tyler. “You could do your job and get my order right?!” 

            “I apologize sir, what seems to be the issue?” Josh asks, trying to send calming air toward the man, but the man waves his hand. 

            “I know about your ability, and it’s not going to work on me! I ordered a large iced, half caff, Ristretto, four-pump, sugar free, cinnamon, dolce soy skinny latte and you are trying to cheat me with three pumps! I want four!” 

            “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll fix it right away,” Josh grabs a fresh cup and begins remaking the complicated drink. 

            “You thought you could cheat me out of my drink! I know what I ordered, and I’m going to get it! How dare you try to steal money from me!” 

            “I promise, sir. It was unintentional.” 

            “Unintentional my ass! You’re just another greedy corporation looking to take money from the hard-working American people!” 

            Josh looks up at Tyler and rolls his eyes as the man continues ranting. 

            “Look at you with your tattoos and those stupid gages! Does your mother approve of those? You must be making her real proud. I bet you didn’t go to college! I bet you didn’t even finish high school! With a look like that, it’s no wonder you’re stuck making minimum wage in a coffee shop!” 

            Josh grits his teeth but continues making the drink. He slams a lid on the cup and turns to give it to the man, only to find the man’s “wrong order” is slowly floating from the counter to over his head. The man, who is still ranting, hasn’t notice the very full cup floating over his head. Then, the cup turns, dumping coffee on the angry man’s head. 

            “What?!” He looks at Josh in rage. “Did you do that?!” 

            “I only control emotions, sir,” Josh responds smoothly, biting back any laughs building in his throat. 

            “How dare you disrespect me like that!” The man roars. “You dump coffee on your customers?! What kind of business are you running here?! I demand to speak to your manager, you should be fired!” 

            “I’m the owner,” Josh slams the man’s coffee on the counter. “And you can take any complaints you have and shove them up your ass!” 

            “I’m never bringing my business here again!” The man roars, snatching his coffee off the counter. 

            “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out!” Josh calls as the door swings shut behind the angry customer. 

            Josh shakes his head and walks back over to where Tyler is sitting, innocently sipping his coffee. 

            “Wow, that was weird,” Tyler comments. 

            “Yeah… You know, I know I said you handle my aggressive customers better than I do, but maybe don’t dump drinks on them,” Josh leans against the coffee marker. 

            “I’m not sure what you’re referring too,” Tyler shrugs. “I didn’t do anything.”

            “Uh huh.” 

… 

            “Wow,” Tyler blinks, looking around the shop decorated with garland, stockings, and nicely decorated with Christmas tree tucked in the corner. “You really go all out for Christmas and…” He squints at the two sets of candles on the coffee bar. “Hanukah? Are you Jewish?” 

            “No, I celebrate Christmas. The Menorah was a gift from a Jewish customer and the Kinara was a gift from a customer that celebrates Kwanzaa,” Josh explains. 

            Tyler slowly nods. 

            “Very inclusive of you.” 

            Josh shrugs. 

            “I wanted Morph to be a space for everyone. Little things like acknowledging holidays go a long way.” 

            “Well, it does certainly look like a shitty Hallmark Christmas movie threw up here.” 

            “Hey! I like those shitty Hallmark Christmas movies!” 

            Tyler rolls his eyes. 

            “Of course you do.”

            “Well, if you don’t like the Hallmark Christmas movies, then what movies do you watch at Christmas time?” 

            “The superior Christmas movie of course, Die Hard.” 

            “Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”

            “Yes, it is.” 

            “Just because it takes place at Christmas time doesn’t automatically make it a Christmas movie.” 

            “Then what makes a Christmas movie a Christmas movie?” 

            “Because it’s about Christmas!”

            “Die Hard is about Christmas! John McClain is trying to get back to his family for Christmas!” 

            Josh rolls his eyes but laughs. 

            “You’re ridiculous. Do you have any plans for Christmas?” 

            Tyler frowns and scratches his head. 

            “Not really… This is the first year I’m not doing anything for Christmas… Growing up is weird.” 

            “Yeah, I feel that,” Josh nods. “This is the first year I’m not going home for Christmas either.” 

            “What were you planning on doing?” Tyler asks. 

            “Dunno, maybe hanging out with some friends. How about you?” 

            He shrugs. 

            “Was just gonna hang out in my apartment. Maybe watch a Christmas movie or two.” 

            “You’re going to spend Christmas alone?” Josh asks incredulously. 

            “Well… Yeah. Like I said, I’m not going to be with family this year. They’re going out of the country and I can’t afford to go with them.” 

            “Well, maybe if you stop buying so much coffee, you could afford it,” Josh teases. 

            Tyler smiles sheepishly at Josh. 

            “It’s worth every dime.” 

            Josh blushes and busies himself with continuing to make drinks. 

            “You shouldn’t spend Christmas alone,” He insists. “Family or not, that’s just depressing. It’s Christmas!” 

            “All my friends are going to be spending Christmas with their families.” 

            Josh pauses, his heartbeat loud in his ears. It’s the perfect opportunity. He’s just got to get the words out before he could stop himself. He can do this. What if he ruins everything? No, don’t think about that. He can do this. He can do this. He can do this. He can—

            “What if we spent Christmas together instead?” Josh blurts out. 

            “What?” Tyler asks. 

            Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no. This is his time to fix it. He could turn back. He could–

            “I mean, what if we spent Christmas together? You know, maybe baked some cookies, watched a Christmas movie, got some Chinese takeout or something…” 

            “That… That sounds really fun,” Tyler smiles. “You sure you want to spend Christmas with me though?” 

            “I’d love to!” Josh exclaims then grimaces to himself. 

            Hopefully he isn’t coming on too strong. 

            “Okay, what time do you get off work?” 

            “The shop closes at 6.”

            Tyler nodded then scribbles something on a napkin. 

            “Text me when you get off work. I’ll send you my address!” 

            “Okay,” Josh grins. 

… 

            Josh stands in front of Tyler’s apartment door, feeling nervous and giddy at the same time. They talk almost every day; Josh shouldn’t feel weird. But they’ve never hung out outside of Morph. What if it’s weird? What if it’s different? What if–

            “Josh!” Tyler greets, opening the door, decked out in Christmas PJs. 

            “Hey! Nice pajamas,” Josh grins. 

            “Thanks, my mom sent them to me,” Tyler strikes a pose. “Come in!” 

            Josh steps into Tyler’s apartment to find it surprisingly festive. There are lights strung along the walls, bows on the cabinets, garland everywhere, and a modest, but lovely Christmas tree. 

            “Now who’s the Hallmark movie?” Josh jokes. 

            Tyler grins sheepishly. 

            “My mom always does a lot of decorating for Christmas, so it makes me feel like I’m at home with them.” 

            Josh gets it because his apartment looks just like Tyler’s for the same reason. 

            “You brought stuff to make cookies!” Tyler exclaims, noticing the ingredients in Josh’s hands. 

            “Yeah, I thought that might be fun.” 

            “Of course!” 

… 

            While Josh has dabbled in some baking, the pastries served at Morph come from a local bakery. He is no pro, but it doesn’t take a professional to know that Tyler is a terrible baker. 

            “Why aren’t you measuring that?!” Josh demands, watching Tyler pour vanilla extract into the bowl. 

            “I am measuring it!” 

            “With what?” 

            “My eyes!” 

            “If these cookies come out tasting bad, I’m blaming you,” Josh shakes his head, continuing to plop small balls of dough onto a cookie sheet. 

            “They’re gonna be fine,” Tyler insists. 

            “Uh huh, sure.” 

            A small handful of flour that is nowhere near Tyler mysteriously hits Josh in the face. 

… 

            “Okay,” Josh admits, taking another bite of the cookies, fresh out of the oven. “These are pretty good.” 

            “I told you!” Tyler insists. 

            “Actually,” Josh coughs, choking on flour. “I take that back. I just swallowed straight flour! How did you even do that?” 

            “They’re not that bad!” Tyler disagrees then takes a bite of a cookie himself. He makes a strange face but swallows it. “Nope, they suck.” 

            Josh throws his head back, laughing at Tyler. 

            “We tried.” 

            Tyler shrugs then heads into the living room, picking up his TV remote. 

            “Who needs cookies when we have the best Christmas movie ever!” 

            “We’re not watching Die Hard—”

            “Die Hard!” 

            “No!” Josh protests, rushing into the living room, and trying to snatch the remote from Tyler who’s holding it just out of reach. 

            “Stop fighting it, Joshy and just accept Die Hard as the best Christmas movie ever!” Tyler stands on his tippy toes to keep the remote out of reach. 

            “Never!” Josh declares, reaching as high as he can. 

            Then the remote goes flying into the air, floating out of Josh’s reach. 

            “No fair!” Josh protests. 

            “What’s wrong, Joshy?” Tyler spins the remote in the air as the opening scene of Die Hard begins playing on the TV. 

            “I can’t believe we’re going to watch Die Hard,” Josh rolls his eyes with a grin. 

            “It’s not that bad,” Tyler insists then Josh spots something green move in his peripheral. “Oh, would you look at that?” Josh looks up to see mistletoe sitting on top of the TV remote still floating above him and Tyler. “Gotta follow traditions,” Tyler shrugs. 

            “Shut up and kiss me,” Josh shakes his head, then puts his hands on either side of Tyler’s face and pulls him to his level. “Merry Christmas, Tyler,” He whispers then closes the distance between them and kisses Tyler. 

            Tyler grins into the kiss, the remote and mistletoe clattering to the floor as he uses his hands to pull Josh closer by the waist. 

            Merry Christmas indeed. 

[iamkatehardy]

Dream Team (Eames x Reader) - Pt 2

Tags: @sparklyreaderx , @titty-teetee , @iv-nyc  , @ellar21 , @tiredoffeelinglost , @marvelgirl7 , @captstefanbrandt , @harleyquinns , @bsotstory , @mollybegger-blog , @scarrasco1325 (Tumblr won’t let me tag everyone, so I will be tagging in the comments ❤)

A/N: I am /was  a bit sleepy finishing this, forgive my typos or repetitive language at the end 😥 Also, I ended up writing more than I originally planned, so there will be a Part 3! All your feedback and opinions are extremely appreciated! They are motivating and fuel me to keep writing. Hope you enjoy it ❤❤ 

You can find the Teaser, Part 1 and much more if you search for my  Masterlist,  in case you missed them.

Dream Team – Pt2

It had been a little over seven weeks since you left Aruba and joined the team, endeavoring to track The Spectre. Such assignment bordered on the impossible; every lead you found had turned up nothing but dead-end after dead-end. The whiteboard that used to have any information regarding the targets of the team was unusually empty, aside from a couple notes and scribbles Arthur made during the countless meetings, which were just another first-class ticket to nowhere.

In their eyes, you had some slightly unorthodox methods to gather information, but a forger needs to be clever and crafty, in order to find a way around the problems and get results; these days, expert knowledge in computer science could come in very handy when you’re physically forging. Maybe the information you needed was just a few clicks and firewalls away; you were pretty sure it was only a matter of time before you had Mallory Hanson’s documentation, correspondence and bank information in your hands. There could be a clue from his past that could point you in his direction, so you spent a lot of nights going over the files, but they didn’t seem to have the answers you were looking for.

Tension was brewing in the warehouse and heated discussions became more frequent; in order to avoid them, you moved your little corner to a more peaceful place of the warehouse, where you could sit, work and hear your own thoughts.

“Do you have any results yet?” – Eames appeared behind you; he was the only one who remained calm and rational about the whole thing, which made him pretty much the only person you could tolerate at that point; his warm hands rested on your shoulders, gently squeezing them, trying to reassure you.

“No, I don’t, not really.” – You turned your attention to him for a moment.

“Why don’t you take a break? – He said, in a kind and understanding way, carefully kneading the muscles in your neck and shoulders. – “You look like you need it.”

“No rest for the wicked, Mr. Eames.” – After rubbing your eyes, you patted his hand with a cordial smile on your face, before looking at the screen again.

He shut the laptop.

“Hey!”

“Listen, darling, pushing ahead instead of resting won't help you achieve quicker results; actually, it’s quite the opposite.” – Leaning on the edge of the table, he folded his arms.

“Do not lecture me…”

“Oh, I’m not lecturing, I’m just reminding.” – A satisfied smirk played on his lips, as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Of course, whatever you say.” – You were willing to wipe the smirk off his face. After getting up, you locked eyes with him.  His eyes widened and his muscles got tense as you came closer; a mischievous smile puckered your lips when you noticed his reaction to the closeness of your bodies. – “Don’t worry, I don’t bite…”

“Not even for little old me?” – Chewing his lower lip, he studied you carefully, his eyes roaming over your body.

“Well…” – Lifting his chin with two fingers, you got closer. – “Maybe… If you ask really nicely.” – You purred, your lips whispering against his earlobe, with a devilish smile; there was something incredibly sexy about feeling your warm lips on his skin, so he took a deep breath to calm his racing heart, as he tightened the grip he maintained on the table, to avoid grabbing you instead.

Eames began to move closer to you, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he was cut off by another voice.

“Am I interrupting something?” – Arthur slowly paced the room with his hands behind his back.

“No, no, no, not at all.” – With a gentle caress, you pulled your hand away, stepping back and leaning against the table by Eames’s side.  

“It’s time for the meeting, to share the updates on the situation.”

“What updates exactly, Arthur? Because I don’t have any… And I doubt anyone else does.” – You looked up at the ceiling, rolling your eyes.

“In ten minutes…” – He gave you and Eames a stern glare, as you both shared a look.

The team gathered in a circle to discuss the situation; Arthur came up with different theories and strategies, he wanted badly to be the one to crack the case. He picked up a sharpie and wrote furiously on the whiteboard, circling and underlining here or there, to highlight the important parts.

Your focus didn’t last; in five minutes your mind was wandering, as you stared off into the distance, bouncing on the chair. Eames kicked your chair, making you lose balance and come back to Earth, as your chair hit the ground with a loud noise. He tittered and you fixed your piercing gaze on him, while the whole team stopped to look at you both; you gave them an uncomfortable smile and they focused on Arthur’s rambles again.

“I only have five of my nine lives left by now and you almost made it four!” – You turned to Eames, whispering while pinching his leg hard.

“It was just to keep you attentive and alert during the meeting. Don’t be so upset, lovely.” – He spun the pen in his fingers, looking at the files placed over his lap, with an insufferable smirk on his face.

“Screw you.” – Shaking your head lightly, you took a deep breath, biting your lip to avoid a smile.

He put his hand on your knee, trying to get your attention once again.

“What now?!” – Glaring at him, you tried to contain you laughter and slapped his hand.

“What a feisty babe we’ve got here, huh?” – His thumb lightly rubbed your skin.

“Is there something you care to share with us, (Y/N), Eames?” – Arthur looked at both of you, in turn.

“Actually…” – Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him. – “As you know, many of my friends who were caught committing cybercrimes were offered immunity as long as they accepted working for the benefit of the government, in the Cyber Division of the Bureau, or the Agency… Meaning they have access to some information that people in general don’t. I pulled some strings and had a meeting with one of them; he told me the feds may or may not have bugged The Spectre’s house and phones, not long before he disappeared, since he was a person of interest. I would love to get my hands on those recordings.”

“Just like you said, people in general cannot access such information.” – Eames opened his arms and scratched the back of his head, before letting them fall again at his side.

“Right, except I’m not just some petty criminal you’ve pulled in off the street. It may take some days, because I’ll have a shitload of security layers to penetrate… But I know I can pull this off, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“(Y/N), are you even listening to yourself?! Messing with the Bureau is off the table. First of all, it’s a serious criminal offense, therefore, it has serious consequences; it but if that isn’t enough to stop you from doing it, then just think we shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves right now. I’m not letting you risk our safety.”  - He looked you dead in the eye.

“Nothing in life comes without consequences.” – You came closer, wagging a finger almost in his face. -  “A lot of self-righteousness going on right, Mr. Eames… We’re more alike than you realize, so don’t go thinking you’re a saint.”

“I’m not; I’ve never said I was! But I’m not letting you do it.”

“I have no memory of asking for your permission.” – You spat those words venomously, and Eames looked at the others, looking for their support. - “Oh, I didn’t ask them either…”

Eames shook his head and without speaking another word he left the room.

“You know what; let’s just take a vote first thing tomorrow. Hopefully things will be a little more settled by then.” – Arthur made a wise suggestion.

Within a short time everyone had left the building, except for you and Eames; you were about to go back to work when you saw Eames and had an idea.

“Eames?”

He was sulking in the corner, thrusting his hands on his pockets.

“Hey…”- You came up behind him, your hand sliding gently down his back. – “I’m sorry.” – You murmured apologetically, before planting a slow kiss on his shoulder.

“We all lose our tempers now and then.” - He looked at you over his shoulder.

You turned him to face you, putting your arms around him and settling your head on his shoulder.

“I kind of like it when you get all mushy like that.” – He looked down at you, running his fingers through your hair.

“Just don’t get too used to it.” – You smirked, slapping his shoulder playfully. – “Would you like a cup of tea before we call it a night?”

“Of course! Is there anything you need help with?”

“Thanks, but I’m good; it’s just tea, not Mission Impossible, I think I can handle it.” – You teased, patting his chest, before going to make the tea.

The voting was in the morning, and you knew you couldn’t change Eames’s mind, so you decided you’d stop him from voting instead, and you knew exactly what to do. You had grinded a couple sleeping pills, to make it easier to slip them in his cup of tea, you just had to make sure he’d drink it.

“If you’d like more sugar, just let me know.” – Smirking, you delivered him the cup, letting the fingers graze lightly against his skin.

He sipped the hot tea noisily, sitting down on an old sofa.

“Come…” – He patted the spot next to him, before taking another sip.

You straddled him, locking your eyes on his.

“(Y/N), please don’t go on with this…” – He took a deep breath, looking down at the cup of tea with a devilish smirk.

“I haven’t even started…” – After taking a sip of tea, you rested your head against his.

“Be careful; any day now, temptation might be bigger than my self-control.” – Bending his face over the steaming cup, he slurped loudly, looking at you with glittering eyes.

“Is today the day?” – Leaning closer, with a teasing smirk on your face, you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging it lightly.

“It’s definitely about to happen, especially if you keep teasing me.” – He carefully set the empty mug aside, before his hands skimmed your thighs, igniting your whole body.

“Is that so?” – You set your mug aside as well, letting a hand trail slowly down his face.

His eyes followed your motion, before they ultimately focused on your lips; he dipped his head, trailing slow kisses up your neck, before he finally reached your delectable lips, tugging your lower lip softly. As he slid his tongue along your lower lip, an involuntary low whimper escaped your lips, and you pushed your hips against him. Eames smirked with satisfaction against your lips, before pressing a lingering warm kiss on them; you leaned forward and kissed him back, the way you’d been wanting to since you first met him, wrapping your arms around his neck. After long minutes of claiming your mouth in hard, hot kisses, a yawn escaped his lips.

“I thought I was amusing you, Mr. Eames.” – Nudging his face with your nose, you chuckled.

“And you are!” – He turned his face lazily, just enough to kiss you once more. – “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m sorry.” – Rubbing his eyes, he yawned again.

“Who need a break now, huh?” –Your thumbs caressed his temples slowly.

“You… And maybe me.” – His eyelids started to feel heavy and he closed his eyes for a moment.

You unstraddled him, sitting by his side instead; putting an arm around him, you settled his head on your shoulder. Moments later, his soft quiet snores let you know that he was asleep. Reaching up and touching his lips with your fingers, you thought about what you did and your guilt began to overwhelm you. Although you put the pills on his tea, your other actions had been free from malice and manipulation, but you knew he probably wouldn’t think the same once he woke up.

The next morning the team reunited, in order to decide what to do. Arthur looked a thousand times at his watch.

“Okay, where the hell is Eames?”

“Maybe he’s late.” – You shrugged.

“I don’t think so; British people are very strict when it comes to punctuality. Nevertheless, we’ll wait, see if he shows up.”

“Suit yourself , Captain Smarty-Pants!” – You rolled your eyes.

You waited 5 minutes… 10 minutes… Half an hour.

“Please, can we get this over with?” – Ariadne asked.

“Finally somebody is making sense!”- Rolling your eyes, you sighed.

“Very well, let’s go on with it…”

Cobb and Arthur agreed with you about stealing Hanson’s tapes, but Ariadne and Yusuf didn’t; since Eames wasn’t there, the count was three votes in favor of stealing them and two against.

“Time to get down to business!” – Smirking victoriously, you picked your laptop and started working your way into the core of the Bureau’s network, to get the files.

It took you hours to plan how to do it without getting caught, and even more hours to follow the plan you made. After working tirelessly, you came back to the team.

“Kiss me and tell me again how brilliant I am.” – You dangled a flash drive in front of Arthur’s face.

“Is that what I believe that is?”

“Over 20 hours of recordings…” – You smirked.

Eames stormed inside the room, furious.

“It was you, wasn’t it?!” – He rushing over to you and grabbing your wrist.

“What is done is done.” – You broke his grip and faced him. – “And a lot of things have been done while you overslept. Suck it up, buttercup… We’ve got work to do.”

“Are you people nuts?!” – He looked at the whole team in turn.  

“I’ve done this before, believe it or not. We won’t get caught, I’m absolutely certain of that. You found me on a fucking island on the Pacific! If I had ever been caught, I’d be wearing an orange jumpsuit for life.”

“Aren’t you afraid you will, after this?”

“Practice makes perfect! If they had detected the intrusion, they would’ve stopped me from accessing the information…They would’ve found me and arrested me by now. I’m pretty sure the worst is over. Relax, Eames.”

“Whatever happened, we need to put it behind us and work together. We’re getting really close.” – Arthur then tried to reason.

Although things with Eames were complicated at first, you ended up sorting them out; you made a hell of a team.

The following week everyone spent most of their days listening to the tapes, trying to figure out what information could be read between the lines.

“They look like normal talks. I give up. ” – Arthur was sick of hearing the same records over and over again.

“He keeps repeating these numbers...” – Eames circled the numbers on the paper on the desk.

“He disappeared with all his money, maybe that’s an International Bank Account Number…” – Ariadne pointed out.

“He won’t just put his money on a regular bank... When you have that much money, people make questions and that’s not good when you’re on the run. His money is probably stashed on an offshore account in some tax haven, even if those numbers lead us to an account, it’ll be a dead-end.” – Arthur sighed frustrated

“Where will these numbers take us?” – Eames threw the file and the desk on the table.

“We are so fucking stupid!” - You closed your eyes and buried you face on your hands laughing. – “Eames, I love you…” – You got up.- “ Where will these numbers take us? It’s a long shot, but what if the numbers will actually take us somewhere?”

“What are you talking about? I thought you only started hallucinating around 3 a.m., when the sleep deprivation kicks in.” – Arthur mocked you.

“What if those numbers are coordinates?” – You shrugged.

“Wouldn’t the cops have noticed that?” – Ariadne asked.

“Hanson had people everywhere; it wouldn’t surprise me if he bribed the feds to look past this… Or they missed just the numbers; they were thinly veiled in endless hours of meaningless conversations!” – You reasoned.

“Do you have any idea how many possible combinations are there?” – Arthur scratched the back of his head.

“Not that many! Look, the numbers are in groups.” – You pointed out.

“We can’t lose anything by trying, right?” – Eames looked up at you.

“Well, hell, let’s give it a shot!”

The team gathered around a table, discussing the possibilities. The list of places that coordinates using those numbers could lead was endless.

“God, it could be anywhere! From Armenia, to Liberia,  Ecuador, Palau, Ivory Coast, some place in Siberia, Nauru, Monaco…” – Cobb clasped his hands on the table.

“Monaco, a sunny place for shady people!” – You smirked victoriously. – “French Riviera…No income taxes… Highest number of billionaires per capita in the fucking world… Culture, gambling, fake philanthropy… Everything Hanson likes.” – Spinning on the chair, you threw your hands up.

“Everything you like.” – Arthur teased you.

“Do you think he could be there?” – Cobb turned his attention to you.

“There’s only one way to know for sure, boss! You go there! ”

“There’s one small problem with your plan… It’s not easy for ordinary mortals to blend in.” – Eames cracked his knuckles.

“You’re a forger, I’m a forger… We could pull some strings and get new identities for the team. Of course I don’t mean a mere ID; we need to create a new persona, to the smallest detail and that will obviously require more than forgers’ work. Nothing can be left to chance: we need documents, bank accounts with seven digits, a million dollar house, dress accordingly that character, act accordingly to that character…”

“Aren’t you exaggerating a little bit?” – He chuckled.

“Not really, no. I know it’s expensive and difficult, but…”

“Money is not a problem; our patron wants The Spectre at all costs, as soon as possible.” – Arthur interrupted you.

“You have the freedom to create the personas, as you see fit.” – Cobb leaned back on the chair.

“Well, you have experience with it…” – An insufferable smirk formed on Arthur’s lips and you glared at him.

During the next days, you made a few phone calls, contacting some old friends to urgently help you get the new documents for the team. IDs, passports, finance data, criminal records, bills, bank accounts, driving licenses, college degrees, even dental records; a lifetime compilation of documents would be in your hands in the blink of an eye.

“Eames… The accent and how stuck-up you can be… But also charming when you want to.” – You wrinkled your nose. – “I decided you’d be British nobility. Also, no more shirts with funny patters while you’re there.” – After hitting his shoulder playfully with his file, you delivered it to him, along with a bag with fancy plain shirts. - “Cobb, you inherited a lot of money because your family has been in the banking business for decades. As the boss, you get a yacht, which is the perfect façade for the team meeting, by the way” – You winked at Cobb and gave him his things. – “Arthur, you ‘re a fucking bastard and for that reason you’ll simply be Cobb’s butler.” – Folding your arms over your chest, you gave him a satisfied smirk.

“What a great day to be alive!” – Eames mocked him.

“You can’t be serious, (Y/N).”

“I really wanted to do that, but I made you some megalomaniac scientist who’s looking for someone to co-found his research… Next time you’ll be the butler, though.” – You handed him his files. – “ Yusuf, a cunning mysterious oil exporter coming from the Middle East to find some business partners! All oil exporters have a Lamborghini, so I felt generous and got you one, enjoy the ride darling!” – Dangling the car keys in front of him, you delivered him his files as well. - “And last but not least, Ariadne. You’ll be Eames’s wife, that will grand you place wherever he goes! Lots of designer stuff, grace, poise… These are Louboutin’s, treat them kindly, please.”

She tried on the shoes, tripping and stumbling around.

“I’m ok.” – She opened her arms, trying to keep balance.

“Graceful like a newborn giraffe.. Hopefully it’ll get better.” – Chuckling because disgraceful way she walked, you scratched your forehead.

“And you, what will you be?” – Eames looked up at you.

“I won’t be anything; I will be going back home.”

“What?” – He tilted his head.

“We found out where he was, that was my mission.” – You shrugged.

“Except we haven’t found him yet.”

“That place is smaller than this city, you will!” – You gave him an encouraging smile.

“Your skills could come handy.” – Arthur added.

“I didn’t even get an identity, Arthur.”

“That would be a problem, if you didn’t have a dozen of different personas, (Y/N).” – He came closer and you shook your head silently. – “Also, Ariadne would miserably fail at trying to be a noble… Sorry Ariadne, but need something more suited to you, like an artist.”

“Can artists wear flats and sneakers? Comfortable clothes ? ” - Ariadne sat on the table, kicking the shoes off and sighing in relief.

“See?”- Arthur smirked and you rolled your eyes.

Eames got up, putting his arm around your shoulder.

“So, would you like to be my wife?” – He whispered.