#also ignore the hands ignore the hands and all the weird limbs I was sketching these when I thought I was still on a time crunch

[canisonicscrewyou]

I’m not going to ask if this is anything because this has been everything to me for like 10 years now.

Whoever first started tossing around the fan theory around season 5 or 6 that Rory Williams was actually the Master in a fobwatch, I owe you my life, and you owe me years in therapy bills.

But now I’m actually in the beginning process of plotting out a cohesive(ish) fanfic* using my Rory/Darvill!Master, and maybe that plus drawing my self-diagnosed Pretty Boy will help get the fungi out of my brain (<- impossible)(<- the fungus is now a load-bearing part of my brain.)

*(in which the Master gains enough control+consciousness to… kind of put Rory in the fob(wrist)watch and like, he COULD probably just open the watch. But now Rory’s stubborn, and he can see what will happen, and he can use Rory as some kind of hostage, and… he’s kind of fond of him after like, a thousand and thirty some years, technically. Hence giving Rory a body+voice through a TARDIS hologram port.)(probably. it’s an early WIP for a reason.)

[homebody-nobody]

you’re a part of me

(WHAT?? Jax wrote ANOTHER fic?? THREE FICS?? in TWO WEEKS?? I know, I’m shocked too. We’re gettin closer and closer to bein a Real Fic Writer lads.) How many juke first kiss fics will you write, Jax? all of them. as many as I want. I dunno. you're an adult obsessed with a tweeny-bopper show. shut up. who even has the patience for 5 +1s in this house it's 3 +1 and only barely bc I don't know how structured fic works so it's not even separate like it's supposed to be. anyway enjoy some dumb teenagers falling in love if the dialogue is cringe sorry lol I was trying to stay in the tone of the show and may have gone a little bit too disney channel (Also if you see typos/the same adjective used twice in one sentence/paragraph, no you didn't I don't edit it makes me nervous)  ------------------------------- (ao3) ------------------------------ '... Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity. Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable.'

(3 times Julie and Luke almost kissed and 1 time they did) ------------------------------------ Luke is overly physical. Theoretically, Julie already knew this. She’s seen him with the boys, the way he lives in other people’s space, hanging off Reggie and lurking next to Alex, not caring where his lanky limbs or knees or elbows end up, even if it’s in other people’s ribs. He was never like that with her, too afraid of the crushing disappointment that came when she phased through his hands. But now, there isn’t the strange, tingles-up-her neck way-weird, way-wrong sensation that came when she accidentally brushed through him. So even though Julie’s used to keeping a respectful distance, Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity.  Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable. 

She notices it the first time during rehearsal, when they’re hashing out the particulars of a melody -- Luke wants it to go down, and Julie thinks it should go up. She plunks herself down at the grand piano to prove that her idea will sound better, fanning the half-finished sheet music out across the top, pointing out the measure they’re arguing over, smudged and crinkled from repeated erasings. 

Luke narrows his eyes at her from across the room, his face set in his trademark (adorable) grumpy expression. “It just sounds better!” she argues. “Listen.” She puts her hands on the keys, left hand hitting the chord, right dancing over her proposed melody. “So please, keep chasing me…” she sings, building to the last word and sliding her voice over an intricate run ending in a step up. Looking up, she tilts her head, her wild hair piled into a tenuous bun, curly tendrils framing her face. Luke’s stomach does an interesting flip. “See?” 

He stands up, swinging his guitar strap down across his chest before walking around her, putting his right hand over where hers had just been on the paper. He stands just behind her shoulder, sending goosebumps down her spine. “It should go down,” he insists. “It’ll flow better with the next line and then the break before the chorus makes more sense. Listen.” He puts his foot up on the bench and swings his guitar back up like it's an extension of him, playing a riff and singing the line they’re arguing about before dipping in to the next. “So please keep chasing me,” he sings, his voice gracefully stepping up and then back down, “Cause even though I’m runnin’, I know you’re the one I need.” 

“You’re making it too simple!” she cries, slamming her hands down in her lap and turning to face him. She opens her mouth to continue the argument, but when she looks at him, she starts, finally realizing just how close he is. The toe of his sneaker brushes her leg, and he leans over the sheet music, closing her in against the piano. His dark eyebrows pull together, mouth slightly pinched as he concentrates, solid and strong and very much in her space. “Um --” she says. 

He shrugs, shaking his head a little bit. “What,” he says, not understanding what she’s having a problem with. Julie’s eyes drop to his mouth, close and stupid kissable, and he notices the motion. The air crackles as both of them unconsciously draw closer, song forgotten, focused only on each other. Luke leans in, half an inch, and Julie’s breath hitches in her chest. This is stupid. She knows this is stupid. Luke is dead. Full ghost. Not real. Well, real, but not a viable option. He might have a physical presence now -- a very strong, very warm, very attractive physical presence -- but that doesn’t make him any more possible. And yet, here she is, pulled into him like he has his own gravitational field and she’s helpless to it. Luke licks his lips, and Julie tilts her chin up, fractional motion tiptoeing toward something irreversible and dangerous. 

Just as she’s about to step over that uncrossable line, there’s an almighty crash. Both of their heads whip up in time to see Alex topple off his stool -- he’d fallen asleep as they were arguing. The noise wakes Reggie, whose head was lolling against his amp. “I didn’t do it!” he yells, flailing into sitting up straight. 

Julie clears her throat and turns back to the keyboard, stretching her hands over the keys. “You’re, uh --” she says, glancing at Luke out of the corner of her eye to find him smirking in an infuriatingly adorable manner. “You’re right. It should go down.” He stands up straight, mildly surprised at his easy victory, and backs off from the piano to show Reggie the chords. They sketch out the verse and Alex adds a backing beat, the moment forgotten. 

That is, until Carlos comes in to nag her to eat. Alex poofs out and Reggie dives behind his amp. Since the whole discovering-corporeality thing, they’re not totally sure if Julie’s the only one who can see them still, and they’d rather not have to explain to Julie’s dad what three teenage ‘holograms’ are doing living in his garage. Carlos delivers his message and then darts back inside, eager for dinner, and Julie stands up from the piano, gathering the half-finished song and tucking it into the folder she keeps her in-progress projects in. 

Reggie emerges in a comic mess of limbs and grins at her, Alex poofing back on to his stool. “I’ll be back after dinner to finish this,” she says, hoping they don't notice the shake in her hands as she tucks the folder away. Luke pops his chin over the edge of the couch, behind which he’d taken cover. 

“Hey Julie!” he calls, and she turns back to look at him. “Just remember; KISS.” 

Her brain short-circuits, heart tripping over itself as she remembers his eyes on her, his shoulders and his hands and his stupid concentration face. “I, uh -- What are you --” she sputters.

A shit-eating grin spreads across Luke’s face as he puts his elbows on top of the couch and pushes himself up. “Keep it simple, stupid.” 

Julie practically runs out of the garage. Alex raises an eyebrow, his gaze arcing from the door to land on Luke. “That was uh…” Luke schools his expression into one of false innocence. “Bold.” Luke rolls his eyes and brushes him off, but Reggie gives Alex a knowing look. Their friends are idiots. 

It happens again one afternoon when Carlos has a baseball game and Julie has the house to herself. Or, so she thinks. She’s lazing around on the couch, avoiding her history homework spread out on the coffee table, Adventure Time babbling on the television. She’s slowly working her way through a bag of gummy bears and m&ms (her favorite candy combination),  wearing an enormous hoodie that used to be her mom’s, home alone; life is fantastic. Until -- 

“Oh, sweet, cartoons!” Luke poofs into existence directly next to her on the couch, and she starts violently enough to shake candy into the couch cushions. Some of it lands on his chest, and he holds up a green gummy bear with a wistful expression. Julie just stares at him, still mildly in shock, definitely still annoyed, and really not in the mood to endure his moping about food when she was having a perfectly nice time by herself. 

“Hey,” he says, either ignoring or unaware of what he’s just done to her heart rate and her peaceful afternoon. “You think now that I’m corporeal --” (he over-pronounces the word, having just learned it from Flynn days before) “I can eat like, regular human food?” It isn’t until he looks to her for an answer that he realizes what he’s just done. “Oh, sorry,” he says, that same stupid-ass grin settling on his face, not sorry even a little bit. “Did I spook ya?” 

His glee at the pun, which he definitely stole from Reggie, sparkles in his gray-green eyes, and Julie’s heart, which had just started to recover from his sudden appearance, trips over itself one more time. Emerging from the shaken-up snowglobe of her brain, she blurts out her first thought. “You’re the worst,” she says, even while thinking the opposite. 

He looks genuinely hurt for about half a second before turning the gummy bear towards her, too, and speaking for it. “You should be nice to Luke,” he says in an absurd voice. “He’s so handsome and talented!” He laughs at his own joke and pitches his voice up to continue with the bit, but she snatches the candy out of his hand and pops into her mouth, grinning. He feigns shock. “That bear could have had a family, Julie.” 

“If they did, they’ll all be happy together in my stomach,” she says, eating another one to punctuate the statement. Luke laughs, and the sound has a heart-stopping melody of its own. It’s comfortable, the relationship that they’ve developed with each other. He always laughs at her jokes and is the first to offer her a compliment after rehearsal, and she loves his dorky sense of humor, even when she gives him a hard time about it. They write music and goof around, and even with the (very strong) undercurrent of romantic (she hopes) tension between them, a friendship sits comfortably on top. He’s only been in her life for a short time,  but she can’t imagine it without him. Her feelings for him endanger that, so she does her best not to let it show. He asks her what she’s watching, and she explains the basic premise of the episode so that he can understand what’s going on. 

She’s hyper-aware of him as they watch the show, and  she envies the ease with which he occupies her space, his shoulder brushing hers, their knees occasionally bumping. He slouches all the way down on the couch, one foot kicked up on the table, turning the remote in his hands and messing with the battery cover, completely at home. (He’s always fiddling with something -- a pen, his necklace -- or bouncing his leg, or clicking a guitar pick between his teeth. It’s a habit that’s mostly adorable and only sometimes annoying.) If he notices her staring at him, he doesn’t say anything. 

It takes a couple more episodes, but she finally relaxes, and the distance between them -- already spare -- vanishes, her shoulder tucked under his, her head angled toward him, their feet bumping on the table. Half her attention is on Finn and the land of Ooo, and half on the boy beside her, who doesn’t seem to give any indication that he’s thinking about this as much as she is. Luke has a way of pulling her in until she’s closer than she ever planned to be, like she can’t help but touch him. Ever since the night they played the Orpheum, he’s become magnetic, his presence a force she can’t resist. If she tilted her head down, just a fraction, it would be resting on his shoulder. What would he do? Would he shrug her off, or rest his head on hers? She watches his hands play with the remote, imagining what his strong, slender fingers would feel like laced with hers. She’s had crushes before, of course -- she liked Nick all the way from seventh grade up to this year -- but nothing so real and powerful as this. 

“Don’t you think Finn sounds just like Reggie?” Luke asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks up at him, and he looks down at her, and -- oh. 

He’s very close. 

His eyes always remind her of an overcast sky, swirling with unknown depth, and they widen when they meet hers, filled with awe. Blood rushes in her ears, muting the TV, tuning out anything that isn’t him. Her heart is beating so hard and so fast she wonders peripherally if he can hear it, and then that thought fizzles out with the rest of any kind of logic when his gaze drops to her mouth. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her!! Panic and elation and anticipation all scramble in her chest. She’s never kissed anyone before, and even though she’s never asked, she knows he probably has. What if she’s bad at it? She’s half freaking out and half telling herself to shut the hell up as he turns his entire body towards her, his hand reaching up to hold her face and -- 

The front door slams open, announcing Carlos and Ray. “Mija!!” her dad calls. Luke jerks back from her like he’s been burned, eyes filled with absolute terror, before he disappears. 

“JULIEEEEE!!” Carlos hollers, launching himself across the living room at her and landing on her stomach, knocking the air out of her. Her arms come up around him automatically, despite all the sweat and the diamond dirt sticking to it. Feeling mildly shell shocked and like she’s been hit by a hell of a lot more than her little brother, she barely listens as Carlos and their dad babble over each other in an attempt at telling the story of Carlos’ game-winning home-base slide. She’ll be happy for him once her heart rate slows down. 

Luke stays away for almost a full twenty-four hours after that particular mishap, long enough she almost asks Reggie and Alex if he talked to them about it. There’s about a thousand reasons not to, but mostly, she doesn’t know if she can even explain just what happened. She does tell Flynn, who launches into a very confusing monologue that starts with her admonishing Julie for thinking anything good can come from involving herself with a literal ghost and ends with her gushing about how many cute love songs they could write together, zero percent of which makes her feel better. 

The only reason he doesn’t continue avoiding her is rehearsal, which, of course, he would never miss. She’s hoping to talk to him before they get started, but then the bus gets stuck in traffic and all of her boys are already set up with their instruments and having an impromptu jam session by the time she gets home.  “What --” she hisses as she heaves the doors shut behind her. “Did I tell you guys about playing in here without me?” Alex shrugs and apologizes, and she can’t really be mad at Reggie, at least not for long. 

But Luke -- he barely looks at her, nervous fingers dancing across a complicated riff even as the other boys stop playing. It takes a second of silence before he looks up to see the rest of his band staring at him. “Oh,” he says, the phrase ending in the discordant sound of fingernails on steel strings. “Yeah, right. Sorry.” 

They get started, but nothing sounds right. Luke rushes the tempo and refuses to make eye contact with anyone, spinning off into fancy riffs that have no place in the song they’re working on. Reggie keeps trying to keep up with him, tripping up Alex and frustrating Julie, and when the song grinds to a cacophonous halt for the fourth time, she stands up from the piano. Reggie takes a step back. 

“What is your problem?” she practically yells, stomping over to Luke. He’s been surly and unusually stubborn, and the shift from his usual cheerful, passionate demeanor builds her own stewing anxieties to a dangerous head.

“It’s not my problem you can’t keep up,” he says, and then, after watching the words register in Julie’s expression, immediately regrets it. Alex’s eyebrows shoot up and Reggie makes a very soft ‘ooooohhh’ noise under his breath.

“It’s not keeping up if you can’t hold a steady tempo,” she says, too upset over his refusal to cooperate to catch the reaction from her bandmates.

“Okay, so maybe I was rushing,” he admits, trying to walk it back. But Julie’s on a roll, and once she gets started laying into him, she very rarely lets up.

“Thank you!” she yells, the sarcasm clear in her tone. She’d been especially fond of the product so far, a song she thought embodied the perfect blend of Luke’s harder edge and her singer-songwriter roots. His sudden, uncharacteristic left turn is as much an interruption in their rehearsal as a knock to the tenuous pride she’d been building in the piece.  “And what are all those riffs you’re tossing in? You have to hear how they don’t fit.” 

“Oh come on,” he says, proud in his ability and therefore less willing to step down. He rolls his shoulders back and moves toward her, the challenge set in his spine. “I was shredding and you know it.” Luke is sweet and kind and silly and compassionate, but he’s also a musician, and a lead guitarist at that. His ego, though it rarely becomes an issue, is far from insubstantial. 

“If you want a solo, fine!” she cries with exasperation, her hands flying through the air like they always do when she’s upset. “But you have to say something so we can give you room for it!” Her annoyance has turned down the sensitivity on her Luke-nonsense monitor, caught up enough in the trouble that she can’t see that he’s riling her up on purpose.

“What, you afraid of a little improvisation?” He’s smiling now, and his obvious glee, such a stark flip from where she thought this was going, throws off her tirade. He starts walking toward her, and his newfound physicality gives him an ability to fluster her to a much greater degree than before.

“No --” she stammers, stumbling backwards, distracted out of anger by his sparkling eyes and the power in the body approaching rapidly. “That’s not what I --” There it is again, that power he has to turn the rest of the world into radio static, her vision blurring and her hearing dulling until it’s just Luke filling up the world in front of her. 

“C’mon Julie,” he says, and right now she hates his stupid smirk and the stupid way he rolls her name around in his mouth before letting it out. “you have to take risks once in a while.” She’s backed up against the piano now, her hands wrapped tight around the lid, and he’s still pushing it, strong and warm and undeniably, frustratingly male in her space. 

But Julie isn’t one to let him intimidate her into silence, no matter how cute and well-muscled he may be. She takes a breath and looks him in his ridiculous sparkly eyes, poking him in his absurdly firm chest.“I am not afraid of taking risks, mister,” she says, “Let’s not forget who performed in front of her entire school to get back into the music program --” 

“My idea,” he scoffs, not backing up. Why isn’t he backing up.

“Or who fronts a band of actual ghosts!” she continues, her voice increasing in volume again, and the speed of her heart tripping over itself could be from the argument or the boy who’s collarbones are less than a foot from her face. Both are entirely possible. 

“Less ghost now,” he reminds her, tilting his head, his weight leaned one one leg, his hand resting on the head of his guitar, relaxed when they’re supposed to be arguing. 

“You just get to poof out after we perform!” she says, only about two-thirds of her mind still focused on the fight itself, the other third completely wrapped up in the feeling of Luke in front of her. “I’m the one who has to stick around and ask questions!” 

“So you’re saying you take chances,” he says, diabolically diplomatic instead of challenging. He leans forward, putting his hands on the piano behind her, caging her in with his arms. She refuses to back down again, even though his face is now inches from hers. “You’d take a leap of faith?” 

“Yeah,” she says, only half-certain, because she’s not totally sure they’re still talking about music, and her heart is in the base of her throat and her stomach is somewhere around her shoes, and suddenly her hands are sweating when they definitely weren’t a minute ago. This definitely isn’t an argument about the song anymore. 

“Oh yeah?” he says, and there’s the challenge again, except this one sounds more like a dare, and he’s definitely looking at her lips this time, not even trying to be subtle about it, and her hands are braced on his forearms and when did they get there? And Luke is warm and when she looks up, his eyes are on hers, and despite all that bravado and provocation there’s still a question there, and all she would have to do to answer is lift up on her toes and finally, finally press her lips against his, and -- 

Alex coughs. The oxygen goes out of the room like someone opened an airlock, and Julie feels herself sink, just barely, back down on her heels. The world fills back in, colors and sounds suddenly too bright, too abrasive. Tearing her eyes off Luke, she glances over his shoulder to where Reggie and Alex are, still with their instruments, watching them intently. Alex looks politely put out, his eyebrows tilted up with incredulity, like he's asking if they seriously just made him watch that. Reggie, on the other hand, hides nothing in his expression, shock and amusement there in equal parts as he glances between Alex and the two of them still tucked close against the piano, jaw askance in a surprised smile. 

"Are you done?" Alex asks, in a tone that sounds less like a question. "It’s not that I mind…" he gestures between the two of them with a drumstick. "This, but like, time and place, dude." He's not talking to Julie. Luke clears his throat, appropriately chastised, but still looking smug as shit. 

"Um, sorry," she mutters as he returns to his spot next to his amp. 

Alex shrugs. "Not your fault," he says, "from the top?" 

"Uh," she says, frozen for a moment in embarrassment and confusion. She looks to Alex, and he gives her one of his soft, kind smiles, the sort that makes her feel like everything is going to be okay. “Right, okay,” she finishes, as her hands twitch and she settles back into her body. Rushing back around to the bench, she flexes her hands over the keys, curling them into fists and then back out again when they tremble. “From the top.” 

The rehearsal goes -- okay, after that. The magic is missing; therefore, while she usually feels inspired and courageous and empowered walking out of the garage, she just feels exhausted and drained. She eats dinner with her family, and her dad definitely notices that she’s uncharacteristically quiet, but saves asking about it until after Carlos is safely sequestered with his iPad. “How ya doin, kiddo?” he asks as she helps him clear up the dishes. “Everything okay?” 

Julie looks at her dad with mild alarm, wondering what exactly he knows. He does his best, he really does, but it took him a while to even notice she was in a band. Not to mention, he still believes they’re holograms. “Um,” she says convincingly. “Yeah?” 

He smiles kindly, in the way that means he’s very politely calling bullshit. “Alright, mija. What’s going on?” 

Heaving a sigh, Julie keeps her eyes on the dishwasher she’s loading, trying her best to plan an escape route out of this conversation. “I promise, Dad,” she says, “It’s nothing.” and then, what she thinks are the magic words. “Boy stuff.” 

But Ray’s been prepping for this, had conversations with Rose about it before she passed, while the cancer slowly ate her alive. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to be there for her daughter through the time in her life a girl needs her mother the most, and she wasn’t about to let him hide behind toxic masculinity and leave Julie to figure it out on her own. “Okay,” Ray says, trepidation clear in his voice but also not unwilling to approach the topic. “What’s his name?” 

Julie almost drops the pot she’s scrubbing. “Does it matter?” she asks, her voice crawling up several octaves. 

“Just trying to learn who is in my daughter’s life,” he answers diplomatically, sitting down at the counter to make it clear he’s not letting her out of this one easily. 

“I promise, Dad,” she says, doing her best to frantically dodge the interrogation she knows is coming, regretting she brought it up at all, cursing herself for being so obvious. “It’s dumb. You don’t even know him.” 

Ray nods slowly, pretending to believe her. Julie goes after the pot a little harder, because maybe if she just finishes the dishes she can go upstairs and bury herself in her bed and not have to have this conversation anymore. “It’s not that guitarist, is it?” he asks, and her spine goes stiff as a ramrod. Ray’s her dad, but he’s not blind. He’s seen the way they look at each other when they perform, the way the boy follows her around the stage like a puppy, desperate for her attention, disappointed when she jams with the other members of their band and not him. He’s an excellent musician, but Ray knows too many stories of near-legends gone sour with misdirected young love. 

“No!” Julie cries immediately in an obvious lie. “Of course not!” She turns, half-laughing, explanations falling out of her mouth “We’re just friends,” she insists, lacing her fingers in front of her and nodding exaggeratedly. “Just friends. Only friends. Uh-huh. Friends. And!” she continues, gesturing widely, “he doesn’t even live here! So that… wouldn’t even make sense!” she laughs awkwardly. “So no way. That it’s him. No way it’s him.” 

Ray sighs out a laugh that Julie’s too panicked to hear and leans forward on his elbows. “Alright, nina. Just be careful, okay?” She’s nodding along, edging her way towards the stairs. “You and your band…” She looks like Rose, in that hoodie that practically swallows her, hair piled messily on top of her head. Her mom was also a terrible liar, he remembers fondly. “You have something special. Don’t throw that away for a boy.” 

Julie nods rapidly and then bolts, thundering up the stairs before throwing her bedroom door closed behind her and diving headfirst onto her bed, burying herself in decorative pillows. How does everyone  know?? First Flynn and then Reggie and Alex and now her dad? Is she that obvious? (Um, yes.) She flops onto her back, staring up at the colorful tapestries slung across her ceiling, the string lights and posters and art. Usually, she loves her room, the feeling of her creative mind as a space she can inhabit, exploring her heart and the things she loves without having to shut out the outside world. But tonight, she feels trapped in her own head, so she grabs her notebook and squeezes out the window, perched on the roof outside her room. 

The evening air is cool and crisp, the gentlest bite warning the oncoming winter, as much as there is a winter in LA. She spends a while scribbling down half-baked lyric ideas and doodling angry black scribbles around the edges of the pages when nothing comes out right. It’s harder to write on her own, now, without the steady pulse of Luke’s genius behind her, the electricity that flows between them as they create impeccable harmonies. Sometimes, it feels like music belongs to the both of them together, a joined force, like they’ve given up their individual melodies for something greater. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. 

Eventually, she just ends up holding the notebook open to ‘Perfect Harmony’ with one hand, the other arm wrapped around her legs, her chin propped on her knees. She still hasn’t shown it to Luke, afraid of how real it feels, how clear it makes her feelings for him. Also, it’s a ballad, which they haven’t even approached yet, and she has no idea how Reggie and Alex will feel about such an explicitly romantic duet. She’s thinking that maybe she might be able to vague it up, maybe even make it a solo piece, when Luke appears next to her, like thinking about him draws him to her. (Which might actually be true -- she hasn’t examined that very closely.) 

“Hey!” he says cheerfully, all awkwardness from the evening’s rehearsal ostensibly disappeared. He plucks the notebook out of her hand, using the other arm to hold back her immediate demands for its return. “New stuff?” he asks. This is not normally such a grievous invasion of privacy. Ever since they started writing together, their songwriting journals have become common property, and half the pages in hers are marked up with his handwriting and vice versa. 

“It’s not ready yet!” she cries, pushing against the (stupidly strong) arm he has across her collarbone, willing to climb bodily over him to snatch the notebook back. Luke’s face very slowly falls as he reads it, the lyrics sinking in, and her protests trail off as she stops scrambling to grab it out of his hands. 

He stands suddenly, pacing across the roof. “Did you --” he starts, breathing shallowly, his tongue tucking his teeth between his lips, nostrils flaring before he speaks again. “Why did you copy this out of my songbook?” It’s not accusatory, only a question, born of true confusion. 

“I didn’t,” Julie replies without skipping a beat, equally baffled. 

“I wrote this after the garage party,” he says. “How is it in your notebook?” 

“I wrote it at school before the garage party,” she replies, doing her best to keep down the memory of the Luke in her imagination and the song coming to her fully formed in the form of a Patrick Swayze-esque daydream. She didn’t even tell Flynn about that part. 

“At school…” Luke repeats, studying the lyrics with a furrow between his eyebrows, and as much as Julie is also reeling from shock at the mystery, it’s kind of adorable to watch him try and solve it. “This doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking up at her, signature grumpy expression in place. He tilts the notebook flat, like he’s presenting it to her, hoping she has the next steps. Like he’s reached his conclusion, and it’s that he’s confused. 

“It doesn’t,” she says, and it comes out as half a laugh unintentionally, just looking at his ridiculous, adorable face. 

“Why are you laughing?” he demands with exasperated urgency. “This is super weird!” He rushes over and collapses next to her, a mess of flannel and limbs and beautiful dumbass. He shoves the notebook back into her hands as she folds her legs underneath her, relinquishing her grip on her knees. 

“Yeah,” she sighs, unable to wipe the grin from her face. “Yeah, it is.” Luke looks like he wants to ask her what she’s smiling at, but then he starts smiling, too, because her happiness is his happiness. Julie’s already past the strange coincidence, lost in the joy of his gray-green eyes and the feeling of him next to her. She’s too used to strange, to the ever-changing rules of the afterlife and the constant uncertainty that Luke and her boys bring to her life. Yes, it’s strange, but she’s in a ghost band and her crush is dead and still manages to look at her like that so she has a certain level of perspective when it comes to things like this. 

“What are you --” Luke tries to say, but her eyes are on his and they’re warm and brown and kind and he’s finding it a little hard to form sentences. 

“This is ridiculous,” she says, and he’s nodding without knowing what he’s agreeing to. “We wrote the same song on the same day,” she laughs, and he nods again, half-listening, half lost in her. She’s excited now, about the possibility brought on by magic and her connection -- their  connection -- souls tied together with passion and music and love. “That’s impossible!” It cements something for her, the feeling of coming together, of sliding into place. They’re so solid, tight, together, on the same wavelength… musicians have put it a thousand ways throughout the years, to communicate the feeling of a co-writer, a bandmate, a partner, reading your mind, singing the next line, playing the next riff that was just in your head. Julie and Luke get the added bonus of being inexplicably spiritually linked. Nothing can break that, or replace it. She’s not scared of it, anymore. 

“Impossible,” he echoes. He always feels a little bit stronger, a little more alive whenever he’s with Julie like this, just the two of them, hanging out or writing music, and he’s in her immediate proximity, soaking in the warmth of her brown skin and brown eyes and the chaotic energy of her wild, incredible hair. She pulls him in, without knowing the power she holds or the light that she emits, casting a golden glow over everything around her. 

“Luke,” she says, and he tunes back in, realizing that he’s steadily leaning toward her as they sit on the roof, Julie cross-legged, Luke angled toward her, one leg stretched out, his elbow propped on his other knee. “Are you listening?” 

“Um,” he swallows, “Yeah?” but he’s looking at her lips, not her eyes, and he’s thinking about kissing her, just once, just to see what she tastes like, remembering the smell of gummies and m&ms, hoping she’ll be just as sweet. She doesn’t say anything, mostly because she forgot what she was going to say in the first place, watching his eyes watch her mouth, breathing him in. He’s too close again, closer than any friend or bandmate should be, and there’s no mic between them, and the door to her room is closed, and there’s no bandmates or brothers or dads, and her heart pounds in her chest. 

When she tilts her chin towards him, she feels ready, finally, knowing what he means to her. Only a breath separates them, but they both stop, waiting for the inevitable interruption, the door slamming open, or someone calling up from the yard below, but it doesn’t come. Realizing what they’re both waiting for, they breathe out a simultaneous laugh, their foreheads dropping together. The tension fades, and Julie’s smile feels uncontainable, demanding every inch of her face as this beautiful, goofy, genus, talented boy adores her while she sits there, falling in love with him. 

It’s easier, this moment, than the one before, because it feels less laden with the weight of someone pulling away, unsure or unwanting. This moment is comfortable, joyful, the two of them acknowledging every minute of want and disappointment and hilarious misfortune over the past few days, acknowledging what they would have asked for instead. And when Luke finally reaches up, pulling her in gently with his hand on her neck, his thumb sliding over her jaw, it’s with confidence and tenderness, reassured that she wants this, too. Julie leans easily into the touch, and when their lips meet, the spark and rush is better than any performance, any screaming crowd drowning in lights. They kiss each other, moving together, leaning in as one, harmony made in the movement of mouths and the press of lips, and this moment -- it’s perfect. 

[robbyrobinson]

GODS AWAKEN: CHAPTER 27

The mad emperor dashed at Camila at lightning speed faster than her eyes could perceive. Huge gashes were torn into Camila’s clothes from the razor-sharp teeth of Belos’s suckers. Camila desperately tugged at her attire to withdraw more parchment paper.

“You have gotten heinously slow throughout the years haven’t you, daughter?” Belos snickered.

Ignoring him, the middle-aged mother successfully discards a glyph from her shirt and slams it on Belos’ hideous face. He was propelled further away. Camila, with the parchment still in her hand, held it out defiantly. On the paper was a sketch of waves representing wind.

“Wind spell,” she stated in a matter-of-fact way.

Belos chuckled. “But your mind is as sharp as ever.”

Belos lifted himself off the ground with his abdominal tentacles and reclaimed his staff. He raised it skyward summoning a rumbling quake underneath the ground of the coliseum. The force underneath shifted its motion and erupted out of the ground sending dust and rocks in the air. The beast possessed a huge gaping maw fixated into a permanent scream and beady yellow eyes. It lunged towards the mother in relentless speed.

Camila grabbed another parchment from the spot between her chest and slammed it on the ground to activate it. She hadn’t foreseen any possible method of getting out of the way of the rampaging worm and even if she did, its frame was too colossal. The worm dipped down claiming the mother with its mouth and taking out a large chunk of the ground.

“How unfortunate,” Belos noted.

As he looked at the worm again, he was taken aback. Red flames flickered out of the sides of the worm’s body and burned it from the inside out. Belos flicked his finger uprooting roots from the ground to restrain his daughter. Brown, hickory roots wrapped around her waist and limbs slamming her with savage force. Belos waltzed towards her holding his hands out again. This time, the illusion of an axe was levitating above his head.

With swift motion, Belos clutched the axe and brought it down.

Camila breaks the root wrapped around her waist and rolled over. A swishing sound droned out and before Camila knew it, a small segment of her front hair was sliced away falling to the ground before her. Camila sighed in relief.

The brown-haired girl grimaced and pulled her wrists together breaking the roots between her hands. She ducked again when Belos brought the axe back down.

“Hold still, miscreant, it will only last a second.”

Camila rolled over thrashing her leg out. Her foot hit the handle of the axe and sent it sky high. The axe materialized before the two.

Another parchment paper rolled out this time Camila hit it with her foot. A wall of ice grew from the ground slicing off Belos’s tentacles.

“Gah!”

The Emperor’s weird alien blood dripped from the stumps of the tentacles and corroded the soil. “Not bad; a minor scrape nonetheless.”

New fleshy tentacles sprung from the stumps hissing and writhing towards the human woman. They opened their blood red maws showing off their razor teeth gnashing and clicking like needles. They shot at Camila again this time managing to make a hit on her.

Camila was knocked to the ground again. The papers were scattered all over. The middle-aged mother reached out her hand to grab one, but Belos’s staff stamped down on her exposed palm.

“Ugh!”

Belos laughed to himself again. Like before, his ribs scraped against each other as he laughed and wheezed. Gunk fell out of his mouth as his hold over his staff began to falter. “End of the line.”

Back at the laboratory, Luz and the gang finished up on their stockpiling of glyphs. Luz made a dash down the stairs to marvel at her work. “Do you think that should be enough?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s blow this joint,” Eda noted.

Luz looked around the laboratory again seeing all the boxes containing the enchanted armor. She grimaced still sensing the screaming emanating from the armors’ metal shells.

“Are you okay, kid?” Eda asked.

“Belos had created those suits out of the broken souls of witches; if we’re really doing this, I feel we should give some peace to the poor things.”

Eda scratched her chin. She sighed deeply. “Eh, fine.”

Eda entered her house casually throwing aside any of the unconscious bodies of the guards. There was a crashing sound and a few mini explosions, but the Owl Lady returned holding a few flasks.

“Edalyn, what are those?” Lilith asked concerned “and what is that purple substance inside of it?”

“The seeds of some poppy plant that I got from the swamp; just grind em up and light a match and voila...a magic bomb.”

She passed the flasks – about six in total – and also gave them a stick to grind the seeds into a powdery substance.

“Make sure to completely grind them otherwise the explosion fails.”

They pressed down hard on the seeds and scraped the smaller pieces counterclockwise until they were soft as feathers. “Typically takes about ten seconds to completely pulverize them.”

After the task was over, they poured the powder in a long trail leading towards the entrance. “Oh, so this is like gunpowder,” Luz said.

“Yes, Luz, it’s like ‘gunpowder’.”

Luz took one last look at the laboratory to soak in the knowledge of what she was about to do.

“You still want to do this, Luz?” King asked.

Luz nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Luz took a parchment paper containing the fire glyph placing it on top of the trail of powder. Gently pressing it, a small flame started and completely consumed the paper. As the flame grew larger it quickened its pace eating away at the powder. The trail of powder would ultimately come to an end once it connected with the crates containing the statues. Another trail led towards the portal machine and quickly ignited a large fire.

“We should leave now.”

Luz and the team met up with Amity and her siblings and dashed further down the halls. Large walls of fire licked at the powder seeking more to consume and destroy. The flames rose higher and higher now reaching the stairs.

Belos now had his hand wrapped tightly on Camila’s hair. Tugging it, he lifted his fist. Lightning flickered from his fingers. “It is a shame that you have driven me to this point.”

Camila scowled at him. “Enough with this talk. Do your worst.”

“With pleasure.”

Before he could strike Camila with the full brunt of his electricity, he was caught off guard by a sudden tremor.

“What in the-?”

A cloud of smoke spewed from his palace blasting chunks of debris skyward. The ground shook again at the further destruction. The explosion sent a wavelength leveling half of the palace and bringing the final nail in the coffin towards his laboratory.

Belos dropped to his knees. “This can’t be...how?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Camila beginning to collect herself. He made a grab for his staff, but Camila batted it away.

“This cannot be how this all ends.”

Belos stood up and growled showing his large, inhuman teeth that were sharpened and crooked. His tentacles flailed around in disbelief. “My plan has failed.”

“What plan?” Camila asked “you already failed to execute me like you wanted.”

Belos turned and grit his teeth together. “That was only a small sample of my revenge.”

Camila raised an eyebrow.

“I had served the Isles for fifty years all for one purpose: when my master escaped from his prison, I asked him to destroy your world. But I saw that if I were to have summoned the Outer Gods to the Isles...”

“What that you’d become one?” Camila interrupted.

This elicited a shrill chuckle from the Emperor. “Close, but no cigar: when the gods would arrive from the portal, I would steal their powers and become all-powerful.”

“But what of your master’s plans?”

“I don’t care one lick about Nyarlathotep’s whole goal of destroying the Isles and recreating it in his image. It should be ME and me alone who could bend and mold the Isles to my liking. Once I became a god of my own design, I would turn on my master and kill him.”

“Oh, you mean with this?”

An irregular, bizarrely angled instrument sliced into Emperor Belos’s chest and ripped through his wicked heart. Belos coughed up purple pus which dripped down his chest. Belos wheezed in agony and turned around with bulging eyes. He saw the Black Pharaoh standing behind him holding the other half of the instrument in his hands.

“L-Lord...” Belos coughed again. His lungs were filling with his own blood.

“If you really wanted to kill me, you shouldn’t have shouted your plan out loud.”

“B-But...how...?”

“Don’t act like I did not know your true allegiances. You planned this for a long time ever since I noted that you had your own agency.”

Belos wabbled to his knees. His life was painfully draining out and flooding the ground.

“After all, I switched out the Shining Trapezohedron with a decoy after all.”

Nyarlathotep crossed his arms and looked down at his servant. Belos slipped off the instrument and laid sprawled on the ground. He covered his chest with his hand to placate the internal bleeding. “Please, master, give me another chance.”

“Oh, so now you’re being a loyal servant?” Nyarlathotep said rolling his eyes.

A dark mass descended from the Crawling Chaos’ body and became two dimensional as it slithered on the ground. Belos’s shadow grew larger from the waning sun and seemingly was trying to flee from the mass of Nyarlathotep’s shadow.

The shadow produced long, spindly fingers and grabbed onto Belos’s leg. Emperor Belos’s physical body was tossed on the ground and dragged alongside his shadow’s leg. Belos was pulled closer towards Nyarlathotep’s body.

“No, master please! If you do this, I will lose my personality. The very fabric of my being will cease to be.”

Belos clutched his tentacle appendages on the opposite sides of his body and jammed them tightly in the ground. “I’m sorry...please, please have mercy!”

Nyarlathotep’s shadow was that of a fisherman’s rod. It nudged the shadow’s leg a few times and loosened its grip. About two seconds later, enough time for Belos to relax, Nyarlathotep’s shadow tugged again, tighter this time and pulled Belos further.

“Have mercy!!”

Belos disappeared underneath Nyarlathotep’s garment. And it was then that the Emperor’s rule over the Boiling Isles came to an end for whatever made Belos himself was stripped away from him making him become nothing more but a memory. Camila shivered unsure of what to do or say.

Nyarlathotep smiled wickedly. “Let the game begin.”

[lunap95]

Chapters: 2/7 Fandom: Super Sons (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Maya Ducard, Collin Wilkes, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Cassandra Cain, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Kara Zor-El Additional Tags: Roommates, Domestic Fluff, adopting a pet, High School, Jealousy, Running Away, Partners in Crime, Fake/Pretend Relationship, getting caught, Heartbeats, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Masquerade, Family Vacation, Marriage Proposal, JonDami Week 2021 Summary:

Hey hey hey!  I'm here pushing my "Jon is a horny teenager" agenda with the next @jondami-week!

Chapter 2: High School | truth or dare | jealous

You can also read it under the cut

When the bell finally rang, Damian left a heavy sigh, stretching his limbs after the nap his last class had been. Not too far, Maya teased him when the first thing he did was pulling his phone out. He ignored her comments and the knowing look Collin was throwing at him in order to open the first conversation lined on the chat thread.

Hey, alien freak, what time do you finish your practice?

Hey, angry gremlin

Coach wants us to practice our strategy for the next match, but probably around 5.

Fine, I will wait for you at the bleachers.

What? No! I will search for you after practice.

Don’t come!

Damian frowned at the message. Usually, after Jon finished playing around with the absurd football team, they would meet on the bleachers where Damian had probably spent the last hour sketching and then they would go to the helicopter waiting for them on the field. Depending on the day, they would either crash at the Kent flat in Metropolis, train on the Wayne mansion or go to the Fortress of Attitude to work on a case. So Damian did not understand why suddenly Jon did not want him to wait for him.

“Do you think he knows?” he asked Maya later while they were waiting on the bleacher, because Damian was not exactly good at following orders. Not too far, Jon and the rest of the team were running around, his blue eyes staring at Damian from the distance.

“About your crush on him?” questioned Collin with a smirk. “Dude, don’t worry, Jon isn’t exactly the brightest guy around, he probably thinks is super normal your best friend has a whole notebook full of sketches of you.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” a wrapped sketch of Superboy hit Collin on the head.

“Wilkes have a point, you aren’t exactly subtle,” shrugged Maya. “But no, probably he didn’t want you to get close to the football team.”

Her words kept floating on his head even after they left and Damian found himself staring at the white paper wondering why Jon would be against him befriending the members of this team. Almost as if summoned by thought, he saw Jon approaching him with one of his teammates next to him. Strangely enough, the kid seemed to be saying something to Jon with a smile that the half-kryptonian was not returning. He almost looked mad. Weird.

“Woah, look at the time, we need to leave superfast, don’t we, D?” Jon said when they reached Damian.

“Not really,” he answered. “Pennyworth had to take Richard to Bludhaven so we have to wait a bit for him.”

“Great!” suddenly intervened the other kid. “Hi, I’m David, one of Jon’s teammates.”

“Yes, I clearly see that,” he raised an eyebrow at Jon who only shrugged.

“Well, let me tell you is an absolute pleasure to meet you, Damian,” to his surprise, David took his hand to place a gentle kiss on it while throwing a wink in his direction.

It took all his willpower to not cringe at the action, but watching how Jon was frowning in a clear bad mood he tried to behave. After all, this David boy must be a good friend for Jon if he wanted to introduce him to Damian. Was this the reason Jon did not want him to come today? Because he was scared Damian was going to be rude with this kid? That could not do, he was going to show Jon that he could be perfectly polite.

-----

Their routine changed a little bit from there. David ate lunch with them and always joined them on the bleachers after practice. He had to admit the kid was not that bad if it were not for the constant innuendos he had to suffer in his presence (Anyone told you your eyes shine like emeralds; They say painters need to know a lot of anatomy so I’ll be here if you want to practice; The tone of your skin is made of dreams baby, wet dreams). And the worst is that Damian could not tell him to please throw acid on his face if he ever dared to repeat those sentences in his presence, because David was Jon’s friend, and he was trying to be supportive.

Which was one of the reasons why he said yes to that stupid party and why he was suddenly in a circle playing truth or dare with David and the rest of the football team. Jon was there too, but he seemed to be in other of his weird bad moods. He had been having a lot lately and Damian did not know why.

“So, Dami,” he was this close to throwing his drink on David if he ever repeated that stupid nickname. “Truth or dare?”

“Your dares are dull as a doorknob so I will choose truth,” he was also expecting this game to finish soon so he could talk to Jon.

“Do you like someone?”

The whole room seemed to quiet at the question and suddenly Damian felt a thousand eyes on him. He could lie but having Jon in the room meant he would probably notice and ask him later.

“Yes.”

“From this team?”

“I believe the rules of this game forced me to answer only one question,” the other players started to complain and even Collin shouted at him to answer. “Fine, yes, it is from the team.”

His reply seemed to be enough for the next player to continue with the game, but it also made Jon frown harder and leave the room. Damian excused himself in order to follow him, but the boy must have used a bit of his super speed and he lost track of him in the sea of people. So he tried looking outside thinking that maybe the young kryptonian wanted a quick flight but to his surprise, David was following him.

“Do you need something?” he questioned when it was obvious that David was there for him as there was no one around them.

“Actually, yes,” he smiled approaching him. “And I think you know what it is.”

Before Damian could tell he had no idea what he was talking about, David crashed his lips against his, pushing him against the outside wall of the house. It took him a few minutes to finally react to what was happening, but before he could push David away a sudden current hit him sending him over the bushes.

“What the-?” questioned the boy confused for what had happened.

“Don’t you dare to touch a single hair from his head!” Jon was practically hissing at David, his heat vision almost visible.

“Cut the crap, dude!” David got up. “Damian said he liked me, why don’t you let us make out in peace and go sulk about it somewhere else?”

“I have never in my life stated such a thing,” interrupted Damian completely scandalized.

“Yes you did, on the game just a few minutes ago.”

“That was not you, you absolute brainless idiot! I can barely stand you!” he exploded. “The only reason I was doing it was because you were Jon’s friend.”

“He is not my friend!” Jon shouted then. “He had been pestering me about introducing you for months, that’s why I didn’t want you anywhere close to the team!”

“Then why didn’t you say it sooner?”

“Because you seemed to actually like it and I was scared if I said something you would know I was jealous!”

“Why the absolute hell would you be jealous of someone like him?”

“Because I like you!”

“Well, I like you too!”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

“Perf- wait, when did David leave?”

They turned to see that the spot where David was just a few minutes ago was now empty. After having clear he had no chance with Damian he must have decided to leave them to his argument. The interruption made them realise what they have just said and they stared at each other for a second, before Jon erased the distance between them and pushed Damian against the wall in a heated kiss. The smaller boy melted at the gesture and let his hands run through his waist.

“You cannot,” Jon kissed him on the neck. “imagine how much,” he sucked making Damian moan. “I’ve wanted,” he let his tongue lick the spot his lips had touched just mere seconds ago. “to do this.”

“Did you really thought I liked him?” mocked Damian tangling his fingers on his hair.

“And I hated every minute,” Jon kissed him again, resting his head on his front. “I want you all for myself, D.”

“You dumb corn cob,” he kissed his nose. “You always had me.”

[seavoice]

rewind

hey ever write something super weird that only you can understand (until you write the actual story that goes with it?) and impulse post it? hmm yeah :( but its ms levesque so 💖🥰 as usual link to ao3 in the title!

Death was cold, but so was winter, and that was the reason Hazel didn’t realise she was being trailed by it until it was too late. Not that it would have made much difference to her, really. Being as old as she was, she had been waiting for this day for quite some time now. And well. It was December anyway, a dead month if there ever was.

Still, if nothing else, Hazel should have been alert enough to realise who the footsteps belonged to before she looked up from her sketch, unprepared and caught off guard. She put her pencil down and rose to her feet. If she was to die today, clad in pyjamas and completely weaponless, she would do it on her feet at least.

Death looked as beautiful as ever.

Death also seemed content in coming through the door. For months after the quest to Alaska, hell, for years after the Prophecy of the Seven, Hazel had imagined this moment taking place in a multitude of ways, a hundred different scenarios. Thanatos — or maybe even Letus, his Roman form — would sweep in with the evening shadows, melted into the darkest shade of the largest trees. Descend from the heavens with his multicoloured wings. Just appear before Hazel one fine night on the Argo II, come to take her back to the rightful place in the fields of Asphodel, an eternity of forgetfulness. Maybe even done right this time.

Then she had outgrown the fear of her teenage years, outlived her first life by years and then by decades, and the scenarios grew kinder. More softer around the edges — death would come, but it came to those her age anyway. It came with heart disease and cancer and kidney failure, rather than bloodthirsty monsters, and it came at the end of a long well lived life. Maybe, she even dared to hope, enough time had passed that she would see the rolling green of Elysium instead of the colourless poplars.

But in no scenario did Death simply twist the doorknob to her house in New Rome and walk in with his kind eyes and grim brow.

In every scenario though, Hazel knew what would happen next, and she jutted her chin out defiantly, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes. She would die on her feet, and she would die with her dignity.

“Come for me at last?” Hazel tried to keep her voice as even as she could, but her hands shook despite her best effort to the contrary. “And over here I’d been thinking you’d forgotten me.”

Thanatos’s smile was cold, but not unkind. “That would have been to your credit, Ms. Levesque.”

It wasn’t a joke, but Thanatos’s eyes seemed to soften with his words.

“Many escape death,” he said. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t phrase it as a question, but it was clear that he expected Hazel to have something to say to that.

Hazel didn’t have anything to say to that.

Thanatos took the hint. He repeated, “Many escape death. But no one as well as you. I didn’t think my attention would have done any great favours for your case.”

Hazel hadn’t known that dying took so much time now. Thanatos had never been the type to loiter. There had been no kindly, infuriatingly pensive death gods at the site of her first death. Only her mother, pressed into Hazel, face in her hair and body wracking with suppressed sobs. She still felt the warmth of her mother’s tears, the broken echo of her apologies.

Decades of living a full life, a full second life, and the jagged edges of the first still managed to cut her up. Centuries apart now, and Hazel was older than Marie Levesque ever got to be, and she still missed her mother.

“But you’re here to take me now,” Hazel said. “I finally caught your attention.”

“I never thought you would have regrets,” Thanatos said. “Not after the life you’ve led. Eighty years is far more than most people get. Decades unimaginable to demigods, let alone children of the Big Three. You cannot tell me you have regrets?”

“No regrets,” Hazel agreed. Her hair was grey and she found new smile wrinkles in the mirror every day. She hobbled to her friends’ graves when she could, laid flowers on the family she had found, and then lost. Nico’s grave never went a month without fresh lilies, despite her brother being dead for over ten years now. She had lived long enough to hear her joints creak and her gait wobble. Long enough that her life had meant more than waiting for a monster to do her in. Long enough that it had been more living than surviving. “At least, not...many.”

Thanatos inclined his head. “I have heard that’s the best mortals can hope for.”

Greeted by death as a friend . Hazel guessed he had a point. Hazel might have been interrupted mid-sketch, and she would never get to say goodbye to the sweet Ceres kid who had inherited Arion from her. She would not get to visit her brother’s grave one last time or stroke her horse’s luscious mane and offer a goodbye — but a death in old age, a death heralded by the god of it himself...not many were as lucky as her.

A lump rose in her throat. No one had been as lucky as her.

In death at least, she would be reunited with her friends. Roman emperors, car crashes, heart attacks, vengeful monsters, cancers...it had picked them off one by one until it was just Hazel alone.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. “I’m not — I don’t regret it. I’m ready. I’ve...I’ve lived a good life. Lives. I got more chances than I thought I would, Even...even unfairly , you can say.”

Thanatos didn’t say anything. He just met her eyes, expression unreadable. “”Fair” is the most useless word in matters of life and death, I’m afraid.” He raised his hand. “But regardless. We have spent too much time talking, Ms. Levesque. Far more than I ever spend with the souls I collect.”

Hazel nodded. “I’m ready.” She knew it was useless -- it didn’t matter to Thanatos whether she was ready or not. But it steeled her own bones.

She could feel his coldness seep into her own limbs, at once comforting and frightening. His hold was so icy it burned . She watched Thanatos’s form flicker like a dying candle, and with it, her own soul.

Hazel Levesque would die for the second time, face judgement for the second time, enter her father’s kingdom for the second time. She found herself floating away from consciousness and dying, dying, dying , closing her eyes—

//

She opened her eyes on a white sand bank. Beyond her stretched green fields. Elysium.

Elysium. Had she been judged? She couldn’t recall who her judges had been, what their verdict was. Elysium? You’d think she would remember getting sent to eternal paradise.

And then she saw the river separating her from the green fields of the blest. The Styx cut an angry line before Hazel, bubbling with broken oaths and shattered promises and discarded dreams.

She was on the other side. Not in the Elysian Fields like she had thought but instead…

She turned behind in recognition and sure enough, millions of poplars and grey shades dotted the scenery. The endless Fields of Asphodel, as dreary and terrifying as she remembered it.

Her heart sank. Asphodel. After it all. Asphodel? A second chance squandered and she couldn’t even remember the verdict. She raised a hand to her aching head, a hand that was unwrinkled and soft, and — unmistakably a thirteen year old’s .

Wait.

A shadow crossed her periphery. Hazel lifted her eyes to a flash of black iron, a Stygian sword raised as a torch. A young boy no older than thirteen was bundled up in a black overcoat several sizes too big for him, dark hair unbrushed and falling into his eyes.

Hazel was looking at her dead brother, a brother who looked several decades younger than when she’d last seen him, when she’d pressed a kiss to his wrinkled cheek in the New York hospital room.

Nico looked very much not old and very much not dead and very much like he didn’t know her yet. Not properly.

“You’re different,” he said, and had he ever sounded so young? His voice was cracking, and was that a zit above his right eyebrow? “A child of Pluto. You remember your past.”

“You’re alive,” Hazel said. Her voice sounded ragged even to her own ears. She longed to reach out and cup his cheek, hug him so hard that she would never let go. She had missed him so much.

But Nico didn’t seem to even know her.

“I’m Nico di Angelo,” he said, young in a way she didn’t remember. But those words she did remember, as if it were yesterday when she had heard them and not more than sixty years ago. Her heart sank further. “I came looking for my sister. Death has gone missing, so I thought…I thought I could bring her back and no one would notice.”

[themidnightfarmer]

Delivering forgiveness|| Remmy & Jared

Timing: After the initial ring escape sometime.

Location: Jareds farm

Tagging: @whatsin-yourhead & @themidnightfarmer

Description: Remmy delivers a thank you card and gets forgiven.

Triggers: None I think?

It was immediately worrisome to Remmy that the front gate of Lydia’s walkway stopped them as they headed out. A long stretch of empty road expanded in front of them as the world warped-- black figures huddled around the sides of their vision, creeping closer. Remmy froze, hand on the gate, and screwed their eyes shut, counting down from ten. 10. They were safe. 9. There was nothing there. 8. No one was going to hurt them. 7. They were safe. 6. No one was going to kill them. 5. It’s just one gate. 4. They weren’t going back into those cages. 3. No one was there to take them. 2. They were safe. 1. They were safe. When Remmy opened their eyes next, the road was back to normal. Drawing in a breath, they swung the gate open, stepped out and waited with bated breath for something to happen. But nothing did. They shut it quickly, then, and scurried off down the road, to the bus stop. They’d timed it just so that they wouldn’t be waiting at the stop alone too long, and scrambled on. Relaxing once they were settled into a seat surrounded by several others. 

The bus dropped them off just outside of town, where Jared said his farm was. Remmy didn’t know there were farms in a place like this, but they supposed it made sense. Why not? This place had literally everything else. As Remmy came up the dirt driveway, the farm came into view. It looked welcoming, and near the second gate that Remmy would have to go through that day stood a man, lanky and beaming. Remmy gave a short wave as she approached, recognizing Jared, even though the last time they’d seen them they’d been covered in blood and shoved in a car. They faintly remembered the other form he’d had, wispy and tall, but put the thought away for now. “Hey!” they said as they made it up to him. “Hope you weren’t, um-- standing around too long?”

Jared placed himself where he usually did when he was executing someone to the farm. At the end of the long dirt trail, but right at the outer fence gate. He was sat on the tall wooden fence when he spotted them coming up the trail. Hopping down he raised a friendly hand in greeting and tried to project as welcoming a vibe as he could. He knew once they were inside the gates they might rethink wanting to come over. But hopefully he could prove trustworthy enough to convince them to stay when that moment came. 

“Hey! Not long at all, don't sweat it.” The nymph jerked his head towards the gate and heaved it open to let them in. “Most of my kids are on the other side of the property right now.” He explained as Jared started walking backwards and leading them towards the house. “How was your trip to the carnival?” He asked politely. 

Remmy felt a bit of their nerves rising in their throat when they stepped through the gate, watching it close behind them. They weren’t’ trapped here, the land was wide open. Everything was going to be fine. They looked back over at Jared and gave as much of a smile as they could muster. “Okay, good,” they answered, rubbing the back of their neck a moment, “other side? Do you...have a lot of kids?” Blinking, they peered around, trying to spot someone, but they couldn’t even hear much of anything. They stiffened at the mention of the carnival. “It went fine,” they lied quickly, before moving the subject along, “have you um-- lived here long? In, uh, White Crest?”

“Oh yeah loads, over thirty. I’m really lucky to have them. They’re a handful but...well Nymph and all I want to keep them safe you know?” Jared smiled. He noticed the hasty reply and politely ignored it. Instead giving them a warm smile and turning around again to walk side by side. “Lived on this farm all my life actually. Appeared in town, and my family took me home here. Left it for me when dad got a job out of state and wanted to trade in the farm life for something more desk based.” He shrugs with a smile. “We never got on well, but I was the only kid to show an interest, and they wanted to keep the house in the family. But what about you? Lived here long?”

“Thirty!?” Remmy sputtered a little, shaking their head. They weren’t one to judge, but thirty was a lot of kids. They blinked again, but tried to wipe the surprise off their face. “That’s...that’s a lot. Is there anyone here that like...helps you?” They paused a moment. They knew the word nymph from fables but didn’t know they were real. Then again, what wasn’t real at this point? Remmy glanced over at Jared. “Uh, sorry...what’re nymphs? I-- I’m still kinda new to all of this,” they muttered, “I only died like...a year or so ago. It um-- took me a while to figure out what I was. But I won’t hurt you!” they tacked on quickly, holding their hands up, “Or your kids! Pr--” The ‘P’ word stuck in their throat again and they swallowed it down. “You don’t have to worry. But uh...I haven’t been here too long, since uh, November last year?”

“Yeah, they just keep showing up you know? I think this time next year I’ll have to build another barn.” The nymph laughed. “Just me though, not really safe to have people on hand to deal with them. They’re you know...vicious so.” He was so used to people either knowing everything, or not knowing anything. That the in-between stage was throwing his brain for a loop. He hadn’t yet caught up to the fact Remmy had no idea he was talking about creatures and not human kids. Jared recoiled at the almost promise, but relaxed again soon after as they approached the house. He hopped up the steps and threw the door open with no resistance -the only people who locked the thing being Nell and Blanche when they came and went. “Nymph. I’m Fae. I’m the nymph for my kids. Nymph of vicious creatures.” He explained heading inside. “Want a drink?”

Remmy’s head was spinning by the time they made it up to the house. They didn’t quite understand why he was being so blase about having so many kids, and more showing up, and keeping them in a barn!? But then he said the word vicious creatures and it suddenly clicked into place-- he was talking about animals not children. It would have been a relief had the word Fae also not been in the sentence. They never wanted to be the kind of person to judge someone by their species, but they couldn’t help the stiffening of their limbs when he said it. Was he a good Fae? Was he nice? Did he try and trick people into promises? Remmy didn’t know Jared all that well, but Nell did-- and Remmy trusted Nell. And so, they decided they would trust Jared. They had to. “Oh, uh-- no, that’s okay. I don’t really um...I wouldn’t be able to taste it, anyway,” they said finally, stepping inside. The door closing behind them made a soft clicking noise and Remmy’s hands tightened on the envelope in their hands. “Oh, uh-- here,” they muttered, holding it out, “I’m not really good at these things, but I made you a thank you card. Is that weird? I-if it’s weird I can just...throw it away. And it’s not even really a card, I couldn’t think of anything not cheesy to say so it’s just a sketch of the ferris wheel because you said you liked the carnival and-- I-I swear I’m not creepy! I’m sorry, I’m rambling,” they cleared their throat, and held up the card once again, “Um...thanks. For coming for us.”

“Oh right, of course.” Jared spared them a sheepish grin before instead leaning on the counter in the kitchen. His eyes flickered down to the envelope and then up to look at them again curiously, like a confused labrador, while they explained. He started into action when they spoke of throwing it away. “Woah hey no don’t throw it out. Hey, thanks for the card.” the nymph held his hand out for it and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy I could help get you out of there. That place…. Well it’s high on my shit list I can tell you that for free.” He mumbled leaning back against the table to rip open the card as a distraction from thinking about the ring. 

Remmy relaxed when he took the card, not realizing how worried they’d been about it at first. It seemed like they were worried about everything these days. They didn’t like it. They missed being able to go outside without being afraid, and being able to talk and meet new people without worrying about accidentally binding themself to a promise. “It’s...yeah,” they muttered, eyes dropping to the floor, shifting between their feet. “It’s not a good place.” But what were they supposed to do about it? It wasn’t like they had the power or the strength to actually make a difference there. Though they’d let out a lot of creatures when they’d escaped, the Ring would never stop. Not until it was gone completely. “I’m sorry you got caught up in that.”

Jared opened the card and smiled at it, he then propped it open on the counter beside the empty fruit bowl. “I was already sort of caught up in it honestly.” Jared was reminded of Ronald, and his decision to let the man go. He grimaced and tried to cover it up for the comfort of Remmy, who was clearly having a hard time with the topic. “Place like that isn’t good for who I am, and my kids you know?” No animal or person should be forced to fight against their will. Jared had a hard time battling with his morals over hunting, and self defence against his creatures, but there at least most people shared the same values. No one should be forced to do something, especially if that something might potentially hurt themselves.

“You were?” Remmy asked, a bit perplexed. But when Jared brought up his kid again-- the creatures-- they realized why he might have been. As it slowly clicked into place, Remmy felt their skin prickle. Jared was some sort of supernatural who was connected with vicious creatures. And he knew about the ring. And in the ring, they had monster. Otherwise known as-- Remmy blinked, shaking their head. “You-- that’s why during the escape--” they paused, unsure of what they were trying to say, “You said you were a nymph for creatures? What, um-- what does that mean?”

He nodded and gave a half shrug crossing his arms and heaving a sigh. “Week before everything with you and Nell someone got onto the farm and tried to take one of mine.” It made Jared cringe. He felt guilty and angry, even now after it all. The nymph smiled apprehensively at the question, “We’re connected. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like a low base feeling of energy. It gets stronger the closer a creature is and how good we are together.” He paused for a moment trying to make it simpler. “Uh, put it like this maybe…. If they suffer I suffer. My role on earth is to offer protection and help the balance. But they’re hunted so consistently it’s more like I’m trying to claw even a small pull in our direction.”

Remmy felt their chest begin to clench. The more Jared talked, the more he explained, the tighter it gripped. It almost felt suffocating, even if they couldn’t breath. They couldn’t keep looking at Jared once they were sure what he was saying was true-- he was connected to the monsters they had fought. Had hurt. Had killed. Their actions had caused direct suffering to someone and Remmy wrenched their eyes shut, clenching their jaw. “I’m sorry,” they said, rather suddenly, voice cracking, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I never meant-- I thought it was-- I thought I was doing good, but I know now I wasn’t, and I-- I’m so sorry.”

Jared looked a little guilty that he’d caused the other so much anguish. But at the same time, all he’d spoken was the truth. He simply was connected to his charges, he simply did have a low ache in his bones because of their near constant demise. It was true, but it wasn’t anyone's fault. He was built this way, and bias against his kids wasn’t going to change in his lifetime. He was slowly coming around to the idea that, maybe sorry would have to be enough. The people who harmed his creatures more often than not didn’t see them any other way than dangerous. It wasn’t fair but that was ALSO the truth. “It’s.... a lot of people think it’s for the best. I don’t blame you. I won’t blame you.” The nymph sighed. “All I can ask is if you’ll do differently now you know, and if you will...that’s everything to me.”

“Of course I will!” Remmy said immediately. “Of course! I never-- it was just-- I thought it was okay without ever questioning it, and I-- I know that was wrong now. That that-- that way of thinking is what got me into that position in the first place.” They remembered the clenching feeling inside, remembered the terror they’d felt when Jax had snapped his fingers and Nell had crumpled. The defeat in their bones as they’d laid in that cage, thinking they’d never get out. All because they’d been so desperate to feel good at something, to be good at something without questioning the why or the how or the what. They shook their head. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone ever again. Not people, not supernaturals, not mon-- er, creatures. That’s not...that’s not me anymore.”

He wanted to say it was okay. But honestly to Jared it wasn't right to say that. All he could offer was forgiveness from himself. “Hey, really. That’s all we can ask for.” He tried to be soothing, his tone of voice trying to be as gentle as he could possibly make it. Even when he was so clearly uncomfortable with the memories of the feeling from back in the ring. “Making a change like that is really going to be big.” The nymph wanted to be encouraging, but all he could offer was what made him feel like everyone should make and stick to a switch like that in ideology. “I could uh...help maybe? I could...introduce you to some of my kids? Make a fresh start? I know bits and pieces that might help...reduce the danger to you and them both?”

Remmy wasn’t sure they deserved this kindness, but they were thankful for it all the same. Messing up usually meant anger, especially from older, authoritative figures. But Jared was gentle and he reminded them of Lydia. They looked up at him again finally, wringing their hands through their shirt before quelling the anxious fiddling by clasping them together. “You...could do that?” they asked, curiosity in their voice. They weren’t sure how to separate the idea that they’d killed so many by their hands with being able to form some sort of relationship to them, but they knew they wanted to try. That’s all they could do now, right? Try? “I...if you’re okay with that, I think I’d like that.”

Jared flashed them a smile. “We have a lot of babies at the moment. Summer is prime time for the farm so the little ones are still not grown enough to be scary. I can show you them, tell you about them. Tell you how to get away with as little damage to you and them as possible. It’s not always that you’ll be able to do that, and it’s okay to defend yourself. But maybe we can put some good stuff in your noggin. It’s a good start yeah?” The nymph tapped his head and shrugged. “They’re wild animals, I don’t see them how others do, so you’ll have to tell me if I get too weird.” He laughed before gesturing to the door. “We can start with the most tame kid I have if you like. He’s not a baby, but he’s not wild like the others. Someone tried to domesticate him, but they treated him poorly so a rescue was staged and now he stays here. What do you say?”

Remmy could feel the relief building inside of them as Jared spoke. He didn’t seem angry or mad, maybe just upset. Which was totally valid. He deserved to be upset and they knew that, while maybe they didn’t entirely deserve this guilt, they needed to feel it. They needed to see the consequence to their decision and face it head on. And the way Jared described them, the way he felt, it helped. It helped them realize that these were just...creatures. Animals. Supernatural, perhaps, but they were just wild animals. After a long moment, they nodded. “Yeah…I-I think I’d like that. I wanna meet them. I wanna know more.”

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Surprise Girlfriend

A random quirk affect makes things a little more... interesting. 

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Sex, cursing, dildo use, just naughty things in general Pairing: Fem!Bakugou x Koge (OC) (and regular Baku, too, a little) Words:  8,571

a/n: This was an idea that I’ve had for a long time and finally decided to just... go for it, even tho it’s super kinda weird and naughty. But y’know, I had fun, it was difficult and different for me so I think that was good to help me with my... funk, I suppose. I decided to stick with masculine pronouns for Bakugou during this, so sorry if it seems a little confusing or off when I describe him. There are some other quirk related accidents that can turn out in different ways that I have in mind, too, that I may be able to do eventually. Either way, enjoy. Also enjoy these horrible awful gross sketches that I did, even tho I don’t like them much I though I’d include them anyways lol. 

BTW, please blacklist the tag cutesuki-lemons if you do not want to see this content from my blog. I will no longer be tagging with specific keywords for this type of content.Thank you~

Due to the nature of this post, the characters are 18+

Full story under the cut~

Cutesuki 6:09 PM: koge. im coming home. i want to hear NOTHING about how i look. NOTHING. 

Koge was pretty sure that a text had never confused her so much in her entire life, especially not a text from her lover. Many things about it didn’t make sense, but the fact that he used her first name along with capital letters made her increasingly nervous. What could possibly be the problem for him to send her such an ominous message? Had he gotten hurt? Was he covered in dirt and grime from a particularly difficult mission? Was he missing a limb? 

Me 6:11 PM: What in the world are you talking about Katsuki? (⊙＿⊙) What’s wrong? Are you okay? (⋟﹏⋞)

Cutesuki 6:15 PM: im not hurt if that’s what you want to know, but i am not okay. i fucking mean it. one word and im getting a hotel for the next 24 hours. 

Me 6:16 PM: Whatever it is, it can’t be that horrible. (´･･`) Why don’t you just tell me, so I won’t be so surprised when you get home? (･ω･)b

Cutesuki 6:18 PM: no! you just had better act like nothing is different! nothing! 

With an annoyed grumble, Koge pulled her legs up onto the couch, adjusting her blanket over her chilled feet. If it was truly as serious as Bakugou was making it seem, there would be no possible way for her to just ignore it. She knew that she would end up saying something, as the words would just spill out of her mouth involuntarily, as they had a tendency to do anyway. At least it seemed to be something temporary, according to what he had said along with his threat to avoid her for twenty four hours. That put her at ease a little, though her curiosity was unquenchable. 

I wonder if he got turned into a cat person like I did not long ago. Though that ended up being fun. If he’s this upset about it, I think having fun is definitely going to be out of the question. 

Deciding to practice at pretending that nothing was going on, Koge dropped the topic and went on discussing normal, mundane things with him as she awaited his arrival home. Bakugou took to the normalcy well, not making a fuss or seeming off in any way. The only thing he seemed frustrated about discussing was the movie night they had planned, as he seemed quite set on just going straight to sleep. Even eating dinner brought about a frustration that Koge couldn’t understand just yet. It was as if he wanted the day to be over, to sleep as soon as possible. Perhaps sleeping was the way to get rid of what was ailing him? 

Eventually, the sound of rough and angry knocking reverberated through the room, prompting Koge to stand. Nervous butterflies rattled about in her stomach all the way to the front door of their apartment, and as she unlocked all the locks, they nearly burst out of her. As the last one was undone, she took in a deep breath, preparing herself to not make a scene. 

All of her preparation was useless. The instant she laid eyes on her lover, she gasped out in shock, instantly covering her mouth in an attempt to stop anything else from escaping. The person before her was indeed her lover, the man that she had grown up with and loved with every inch of her soul. But he was no longer a… he. A woman stood before Koge, dressed in the clothes that Bakugou had left in that morning with his familiar duffle bag slung over their shoulder. Although Bakugou’s regular height hadn’t changed, the clothing hung extra baggy off the figure of the woman, making it nearly impossible for Koge to see exactly what they looked like. Those particular points paled in comparison to their face, which was absolutely lovely, if not for the glare and typical snarl that arose when Koge let out her squeak of surprise. 

“Damn it, Utsuro, I told you not to act up!” The feminine growl of Bakugou’s new voice was foreign to Koge’s ears, leaving her in stunned shock as the stranger shoved their way into their home. Swallowing her shock, Koge shut and relocked the door, waiting until she was done before even attempting to speak. 

“Katsuki… I’m sorry, but you have to tell me what happened first. Was this done by a quirk?” She took the duffle bag as it was shoved into her arms, watching her lover curiously as he stripped off his shoes, not even bothering to put on slippers. Once shoes and jacket were removed to be left at the entrance, Bakugou stormed off towards the bedroom, hands shoved into his pant pockets. 

“Of fucking course it was a quirk! And it wasn’t even a villain! It was a pedestrian I helped get out of a fight zone, and she was so scared she activated her quirk on me. They didn’t need me there so I fucked off the instant it happened, so the media couldn’t see me. I’m fucking pissed about it!” 

Following the fuming blonde into the bedroom, Koge put the bag in her hands down in its usual spot, though she didn’t even get a glance at Bakugou before he was in the bathroom. The door slammed shut so loudly it made Koge jump, and she was sure the entire 40 story tall apartment building could feel it. “Did she at least tell you how to go back?” 

“I have to either sleep or sweat it off. She said that if I sleep it off, it will take longer, but it will go away within a day. If I sweat it off, it will be gone sooner. So my ass is going to do an intense workout, until I’m sweating my balls off, then going to bed!” The sound of shuffling clothes was mixed in with his voice, only making Koge curious again as to what this new body looked like. 

“But Katsuki, you don’t have any balls.” 

“Shut up! Get me my fucking tank and shorts out of the dresser!” 

Giggling, Koge made her way over to the commanded destination, pulling out Bakugou’s favorite black tank, loose workout shorts and a pair of boxers. She was unsure if these were even going to fit this new mystery figure, but she knew that none of her stuff would fit either. Bakugou was still much taller than her, and Koge doubted that the new feminine figure was any less muscular than normal. So, she brought the clothes over, knocking on the bathroom door lightly. “Here, love.” 

The door peeked open barely enough for Bakugou to peek out at Koge, his hand reaching through. Still, Koge kept the clothes close to her, peering up into that crimson glare she loved curiously. “Can I see you?” 

“What?! No, you can’t see me, give me that shit.” Bakugou’s cheeks flushed dark red, snapping his fingers to command the delivery of the clothes. “I mean it, I’ll fucking leave and go get a hotel if you keep bothering me!” 

With a roll of her eyes, Koge plopped the clothing into the slender waiting hand, which vanished back behind the door before it shut. “Honestly? I’m your girlfriend, you shouldn’t be scared to show me yourself. What am I gonna do? Take pictures and post it all over the internet? Laugh at you? You want me to act normal, but you’re the one acting like a spaz.” 

“I think I have every fucking right to act like a spaz, Utsuro! I was just turned into a fucking chick! Damn it, my tits are too big for this shirt!” 

Koge instantly began to laugh, though she covered her mouth to try and stifle the sounds as to not upset her lover further. “Well, that tank does fit you tight, even when you’re normal. You want just a normal big t-shirt instead?” 

“Everything’s too big, Utsuro. Even my damn boxers!” 

Beginning to actually feel bad for him, Koge tapped her finger against her chin, wondering what she could do. “You could just go without boxers, and wear the shorts. It’s no different than freeballing as a dude.” 

“It is different! I have a cunt now, it goes up inside my body, that’s gross! What if it gets all infected or some shit.” 

“Okay, now you’re being ridiculous. I’ve gone without underwear plenty, and you are well aware of many of those times. Have I ever gotten an infection? No. Just don’t go rubbing your pussy all over weird shit or shoving stuff up in there.” 

Bakugou groaned out loudly, a sound Koge knew well to be an expression of frustration and defeat. With a small tap of her fingers on the door, Koge sighed. “Come on, Katsuki. Come on out and I’ll help you find clothes that fit. You can’t avoid me all night. I’m not trying to make fun of you or anything.” 

After a long moment of silence that almost had Koge giving up, the door finally opened, revealing Bakugou in all his red-faced shame. He couldn’t even look at Koge, fiddling with the shorts to try and tighten the string to keep them as snug as possible. “I don’t like this, Utsuro… I feel fucking weird.” 

Comforting smile on her lips, Koge reached out and took Bakugou’s hands gently, leading him out into the bedroom. “Just remember that it isn’t permanent, love. It will go away, sooner than you think. If it helps at all, you’re seriously one smokin’ hot lady.” 

Face flushing darker, Bakugou scoffed, snatching his hands from Koge to cross his arms over his chest. “Tch, fuck off! You think I wouldn’t be?!” 

“Katsuki, you’re so beautiful as a man, there’s no way you’d be any less beautiful as a woman. Your boobs are even bigger than mine!” Tenderly, Koge reached up and cupped his cheeks, which were hot against her chilled skin. “Come here. I missed you today.” With a gentle tug, she got him to lean in for a kiss, pushing herself up on her toes to meet him halfway. She did have to admit that it felt different, his lips softer with just a hint of that characteristic roughness she was familiar with. It was still her Bakugou, and that fuzzy, warm sense of love filled her like it did any other day. 

He didn’t quite seem to agree, the furrowing of his brow hinting that he was still uncomfortable. “That doesn’t… bother you?” 

“Hm? No Katsuki, not at all. I mean, your lips are way softer but that’s it. Why would it bother me?” Koge sneakily wiggled her way into an embrace, her arms around his neck while he nervously locked his arms around her torso. 

“But, I’m not… I’m a fucking chick right now. That doesn’t make you feel weird?” 

“No. You’re still my Katsuki. I love more than just your body, you know. Everything about you is still the same. Just… you’re a lady right now. And that’s fine.” 

“But you’re not attracted to women.” His hands moved to caress her sides. “It has to be strange for you.” 

Koge gave a small roll of her eyes, pushing herself up on her toes to kiss him again. “It’s not! Sure, I’m attracted to your normal body, but that doesn’t make a difference. I love you for being you. Man or lady. Even if this was permanent, nothing about how I love you would change.” Her comforting words only made his cheeks somehow flush darker, a scoff leaving his lips before he shoved his face into her hair, squeezing her against him in his embarrassment. Smiling, Koge stroked his hair softly, glad to see that the texture and style of it hadn’t changed much at all. “Don’t stress out about that. It’s just temporary.” 

“I’m fucking glad it is. I don’t know what I’d do if I ended up a woman forever.” Bakugou peeled himself from her, making his way over to his dresser to dig about for clothes that might fit him better. It was obvious that he needed it, as the shorts would have fallen without him holding on and it was clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t think I have anything that will stay on…” 

“Hmmm.” Koge followed him over, stopping at her side of the dresser to dig around as well. “I might have some shorts, but they are like… girly shorts. And some normal underwear, too. Nothing frilly or… thong-ish. You could try them?” Pulling out the mentioned clothing items, she took a second to look over Bakugou’s body, trying to gage his size. His new figure very closely matched hers, with a soft athletic frame that was quite curvy. The only difference was really the height, so she figured that the shorts and underwear would probably fit. “I know you’d prefer your boxers and all, but if you’re worried about not being covered, these would be the most comfortable.” 

Bakugou glared at the clothing out of the corner of his eye, clutching a pair of his own shorts in his hands tightly. The reluctance was obvious on his face, but Koge could see that small spark of realization behind it. A new body required different clothes, and though it was clear that he didn’t want to succumb to his new female figure, it was something he’d have to suffer through. Roughly shoving his clothes back into the drawer, he shut it harshly with his knee before taking the clothes in Koge’s hand. “And what if they don’t fit?” 

“They should. You’re taller than me, but your figure isn’t all that different. If they don’t fit then we’ll… figure out something else. We can both just walk around naked or something.” Koge couldn’t resist a smile at the blush on his face, though she was happy to see that he only went to the bed instead of going to hide in the bathroom. “Ooh, not scared to be around me anymore, huh?” 

“Well don’t fucking watch me change! Fuck, Utsuro, keep it in your pants.” Bakugou glowered at her over his shoulder, waiting until she huffed and turned her back to him before letting the baggy shorts and boxers fall to the ground. Pout on her face, Koge crossed her arms over her chest, listening to the sound of shuffling clothes and the familiar snap of underwear band against skin. 

“Any luck?” 

“I suppose… How can you stand this stuff so tight against your skin? It’s irritating! Like having a permanent wedgie.”

Koge giggled, unable to resist a glance over her shoulder. She got a peek of his backside as he pulled the shorts up into place, and from the looks of it, they fit just fine. A little tighter on him than they were for her, but they still fit better than the loose shorts. “Well, we don’t really have anything hanging in the way, so it’s normal. Those look good on you!” 

Glancing at her with cheeks still as crimson as his eyes, Bakugou scoffed, adjusting the tank to try and pull it further down to hide himself. “Shut up, I don’t want to hear that… I just want to work out and go to bed so I can be rid of this.” 

“But you haven’t even eaten dinner yet. You’ll make yourself sick doing that without food. C’mon, let's cook dinner first and then we can work out together.” Koge smiled at him, gently taking his hand as he approached her. “You gotta get used to your body first before you start working out, anyway. I can tell you’re fumbling a bit with the boobs.” 

“They’re so in the fucking way… I hate them.” 

“Aw, I like them. You’re at least a double D, Katsuki. They’re super pretty and perky without a bra, too. You haven’t squeezed them or anything yet?” 

“No! I am not touching myself in any way, don’t be perverted.” 

“I’m not being perverted. I just assumed that most guys, if they suddenly had tits, they’d want to touch them. You like mine so much, I just assumed you would have given them a squeeze.” Koge reached up and squeezed her own breast, pushing it up a bit. “I’m kinda jealous of yours…”

“Don’t start. Let’s just eat some fucking food so I can get on with working out and be done with it!” 

Cooking, eating, and cleaning up afterwards went about as normal as any other day, though Koge could see that Bakugou was struggling. He had issues holding chopsticks, more than normal, and cursed every time he dropped some rice down between his breasts. Koge couldn’t resist her giggles every time he had to fish it out, nor could she resist teasing him when his nipples became visible with the cold. He didn’t react as badly as she would have expected, merely covering them with his arm or pulling his long legs up into the chair to pull his knees to his chest. He may have not liked it, but Koge found him to be ridiculously adorable. 

As they finished cleaning up after dinner, Koge gave a sigh as she hopped up to sit on the counter, patting her full belly a few times. “Man, I’m full! That was delicious as always, Katsuki. Thank you.” 

Bakugou only gave a grunt in agreement, currently drying his hands off on a small towel they kept hanging next to the sink. Once he was done and after placing it back into its spot, he turned his crimson gaze towards her. Koge could see his tension soften as it usually did when he was calm, so she beckoned him over with open arms, which he responded to instantly out of instinct. Wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to the edge of the counter, he kissed her sweetly, making Koge’s heart flutter. She let her own arms wrap around his neck, legs hooking around his waist to keep him close. 

He was so soft and sweet, kissing and caressing her body with that familiar touch that she couldn’t resist. Eating may have been a problem, but showering her with such sweet affection obviously wasn’t, not missing a beat in the way he kissed her. If it was a normal night, she knew very well that he would have scooped her up and took her to bed, but as his lips left hers with a frustrated sigh, she knew she wouldn’t have anything more. 

Grumbling, Bakugou rested his forehead onto hers, his crimson gaze locked onto hers with that familiar haze of lust. “This fucking sucks, Utsuro…” 

Koge caressed his cheeks softly, giving a quiet hum as she stroked his skin with her thumb. “I know… I will admit, I’m missing your dick right about now. I’ve been waiting for you to get home all day, after that teasing you gave me this morning and left me hanging. Unfair.” 

“I can’t do anything about it… And I sure as hell am not putting on a strap on.” 

“We don’t even have one. I mean… I have other toys-” 

“No.”

Pouting, Koge let her hands fall to rest on his chest, running her fingers along his collarbone. “No? Why no?” 

“I’m not going to have sex with you while I’m like this. In any way. It's not happening.” 

“Why? It could be fun. A woman’s orgasm is completely different from a man’s, y’know. Aren’t you curious about what it feels like?” Her fingers traveled up and across the soft form of his jawline, waiting for that flicker of contemplation to cross his face. “You have to be, at least a little bit.” 

“You do realize my body is probably set up like a virgin, right? It wouldn’t be as fun as you’re thinking.” Bakugou gave a small shake of his head, his cheeks flushing at the thought. “It’d probably just fucking hurt.” 

“I’d treat you nicely, Katsuki. Nicer than you treated me.” 

“I treated you just fine! You weren’t even physically a virgin, you just hadn’t even been with a man before. You were the one telling me to fuck you harder, don’t even try to make me seem like an ass.” 

“I’m not! What I’m saying is that I wouldn’t go all out on you… at first. Until you’re ready. And if you don’t want anything up in there, I can just play with your clit instead.” 

Bakugou’s face was dark red by the time she finished, glowering down at her with reluctance. “You don’t even know how to fuck a woman.” 

“I get the concept. And I know how to use toys. That’s something you don’t know about.” 

“Not happening.” 

With a huff, Koge shoved her face into his chest, enjoying the soft plush swell of his breasts. “Meanie. I bet you’re super wet just from kissing me.” 

Bakugou stroked the back of her head softly, a hint that he truly did feel guilty that he couldn’t give her what she wanted. “Yeah, and it’s fucking uncomfortable. Not as bad as having a boner, though…” 

Koge kissed Bakugou’s skin softly, trailing her lips and soft kisses up to his neck. “You have a lady boner. That throbbing and aching…” She let out a small, airy sigh, caressing the side of his neck. “Mm… I’ve been feeling that all day. It can be unbearable sometimes…” 

Bakugou moved his hands to her hips, his fingers edging under her shirt to feel her skin. “I get that Utsuro, but there’s just no way.” 

“Katsuki… You aren’t scared are you?” Koge smirked against his skin, feeling his grip tighten on her. “Or is it… You don’t think you’d be good enough? I bet you just wouldn’t know how to handle me as a woman…” 

Bakugou brought his hand up, digging it into her hair and gripping a handful, tight enough to bend her head back and make her squeak out in a mix of pain and pleasure. “You’d better watch your mouth, Utsuro. You’re the one that wouldn’t know how to handle me.” 

“Wanna bet?” Koge let her fingers slip under the rim of his shorts, feeling her cheeks flush from the grip on her hair. “I bet I could have you wiggling and panting. I can already tell that you’d make the cutest expressions while cumming… C’mon Katsuki. Just because you have a pussy now doesn’t mean you should be one.” 

“I’m going to kill you.” 

“Do it. Pussy.”

Koge let out a squeal as she was scooped up off the counter, laughing when she settled over Bakugou’s shoulder as he headed towards the bedroom. “Wow, you’re still strong enough to carry me like a sack of potatoes!” 

“That’s because you are a potato.” Bakugou landed a firm smack on Koge’s ass, making her yelp and wiggle to escape. 

“Ow!! Mm, do it again-- oof!” Koge was denied her request as she was tossed down onto the bed, her body bouncing with the impact. She didn’t have time to move or react as Bakugou straddled her torso, sitting firmly down onto her lower stomach to keep her in place. With a huff, Koge glowered up at him, her hands gripping his thighs. “Well this is new.” 

Smirk on his lips, Bakugou reached behind him, his hand finding its way between her legs to rub and tease her clit on the outside of her shorts. “You really are just a horny little slut, Utsuro.” Free hand wrapping around her neck, he squeezed with just enough pressure to make Koge wiggle, and though his hands weren’t as big as normal, they still had a good amount of strength. “Soaked through your shorts and taunting me until I decide to fuck you. You’re going to regret it.” 

Struggling to breathe or make a single sound against the grip on her throat, Koge nodded, digging her nails into the skin of his thighs as she wiggled beneath him. “I’ll never regret it. I’m not the only one.” She slid one hand up, pressing and rubbing her thumb against Bakugou’s clit. “You’re just as wet as me. In fact, I think you’re worse. I can feel it on my stomach.” 

Bakugou couldn’t stop the furrowing of his brow or the slight rocking of his hips, confusion flashing across his features at the feeling. The clit and the head of a penis were decently similar, that much Koge knew, but she was also positive that they had a totally different sensation. He had grown so used to being the one to pleasure her, to taking control and turning her into the cock hungry bitch that she was. But now, he didn’t have that, and Koge was very curious to see how he was going to handle all the new sensations and pleasures that he was unfamiliar with. He may have known what places on the female body prompted reactions, but he had no idea how it felt. That would be Koge’s ace, her way to turn it around and make him the one to twitch and writhe. 

She wanted to see it so badly. Sure, Koge loved to be dominated by him, to be used and teased until she was filthy begging mess. But to tease him the same way, to use his temporary body to send him into the same bliss she felt was something she couldn’t resist. “Already wiggling your hips, Katsuki? I’m barely touching you.” 

“Shut up!” Bakugou’s middle and third fingers found their way into her mouth, gagging her to silence her teasing. That didn’t stop her fingers, however, which moved in rhythm with the way he was stroking her own clit. What she couldn’t mimic, however, was the direct contact that Bakugou was able to achieve, his hand shoved into her shorts and underwear. “That’s it, you bitch… suck on my fingers while I make you cum.” 

Although she wanted her chance, Koge couldn’t resist his demands, sucking and licking his fingers as if they were his member. Even though his hands weren’t as big, he didn’t lose any sense of technique, his fingers alternating from slipping into her cunt to rubbing her clit until she was moaning and squirming beneath him. She had completely forgotten about touching him, her hands once again gripping his hips as she had nothing else to anchor herself to. What she did notice however, was the way he grinded his hips against her stomach. It was just a slight movement, but it was enough for Koge to know exactly what he was doing. He was completely getting off on this, and that only turned Koge on more. 

Soon enough, Koge did just as he had said, cumming hard on his fingers as her teeth clamped down around the others. Removing his hand from her shorts, he gave her cunt a firm slap, making her squeak and gag on the fingers still knuckle deep in her mouth. “Fuck, Utsuro, you’re so sexy. And such a little horny slut, cumming so fast.” As he set her mouth free, Koge took a moment to cough. 

“How unfair, pinning me down so I can’t do anything to you. Still scared I’ll one up you?” She still didn’t have a chance to move as Bakugou shifted his body back between her legs, ripping her shorts and underwear off before gripping her legs behind the knee. With a push, he bent her legs over her body until her knees were on either side of her head, displaying her wet and throbbing cunt to him. 

“I have to let you know what you’re up against.” He gave her thigh a harsh bite, making her whine. As his lips and teeth continued to leave marks and kisses along her skin towards her dripping sex, he groaned out in frustration, eyeing every inch of her. “Fuck, I want to sink my cock into you so badly. I know what it feels like and I can’t fucking have it.” Tongue reaching her clit, he sent her into another round of pleasure and senseless moaning, her fingers digging into his hair. 

“I-I have a cock for us, Katsuki-- a-ah!! We just- oh fuck!” She gripped onto one leg as he released it, his fingers going in to pleasure her. His tongue on her clit and his fingers in her cunt drove her wild, making her nearly cum instantly again. “We have to p-pop your cherry first with s-something more- ah, something smaller.” 

Bakugou became increasingly aggressive with his movements, as if he didn’t want to give her a single chance to talk. Sure enough, Koge was silenced by her moans, until he brought her to yet another body shaking ograsm. Panting and already feeling her body becoming sticky with sweat, she ignored his chuckles of smug victory, focused instead on the feeling of his hands sliding back up her thighs. Even with more slender hands, his touch sent goosebumps across her skin, as did his snarky commentary. 

“Utsuro, you’d better have a fucking idea about what you’re doing. Because I haven’t been this fucking horny in a while, not since I fucked you in my office that last time.” 

Smirk crossing her lips, Koge put her feet against his chest, giving him a rough push to force him to fall backwards. Ignoring his grumbles of protest, she moved to straddle his body as he had her before, plopping down to sit on his lower stomach. “What’s that, Katsuki? Are you actually begging?” 

Snatching onto her thighs tightly, Bakugou glared up at her, though his face flushed with the feeling of her hands sneaking beneath his top. “I’m not begging for anything! I’m just fucking warning you, don’t even start this if you don’t think you can make me cum.” 

“Don’t worry,” Koge leaned forward and kissed him sweetly as she pushed his tank up over his breasts, lightly trailing her fingers against the soft flesh. “One way or another, I’ll get you there. And if not, then when you’re back to normal, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.” With another, more passionate kiss, she assumed that the way he kissed her back as a positive response. Becoming more excited with his silent approval, Koge did her best to mimic the way he played with her breasts. She lacked his roughness, but her tender touch is what she knew he liked, anyway. The hardness of his nipples and the way he gasped into the kiss with each roll or pinch beneath her fingers told her that she had to be doing something right. 

After a slight nibble to his bottom lip, Koge moved her kisses down across his jawline to his neck. They soon joined her hands at his breasts, making him gasp and tense up as her teeth clamped down around one nipple while the other was pinched between her fingers. Koge became rougher with this positive response, sucking, biting and rolling his nipples beneath her tongue. Shifting her body over to sit beside him instead, she continued with the attention to his breasts while one of her hands slipped beneath his shorts and underwear. 

The first thing Koge noticed was how hot and wet he was. Without bottoms on to catch the liquid, she was positive that he would be nearly dripping. She hadn’t expected him to be this turned on, but in relation to the way he acted in his normal body, she guessed that it was a pretty even reaction. Before she touched him, she moved her lips back up to kiss him, wanting to watch his expressions. “Are you ready, my Katsuki?” 

As he caught her gaze, Koge felt an intense fluttering of her heart and stomach, unable to believe how absolutely beautiful and flawless he was. His flushed cheeks and concerned furrow of his brow only made her want to pleasure him more, and as his face contorted with the first roll of that fleshy button beneath Koge’s fingers, her excitement only further boiled within her. His entire body trembled with just this delicate touch, and so she increased the pressure and speed of her rhythm, feeling the heat in her own body flare at the sweet moans that escaped him. 

It was obvious to her, however, that he was trying very hard to not seem overwhelmed by the feeling. The way his body tensed and how he held his breath were clear indications that he wasn’t letting loose, and Koge couldn’t allow that. 

With a quick kiss to his lips, which he seemed reluctant to let go, Koge changed up the direction of her fingers. In that moment of distraction from the kiss, Bakugou let out a sharp moan, before quickly trying to subdue it. Giving a small shake of her head, Koge kissed his cheek softly, before shifting her body between his legs. “That’s naughty, Katsuki. Don’t try to hold yourself back, that messes it up.” 

“I don’t want to sound like a desperate horny bitch, Utsuro.” He shifted his hips up so Koge could slip his shorts and underwear off, not even bothering to be embarrassed about hiding himself. “I already hate the way I sound.” 

“Don’t think about that.” Koge softly kissed her way down his stomach, giving him little bites and nibbles where she pleased. “Don’t hold your breath and don’t try to be quiet. No one can hear you but me. And I love the way you sound.” Hooking her arms beneath his legs to grip his hips, she ran her tongue along his sex, focusing all her attention on where her fingers had been before. Again, she used what he had always done to her as an example, instantly breaking his tough attitude into dust. His fingers dug into her hair as his body arched up into her, moaning without restraint. 

“F-Fucking hell, Utsuro, take it easy!” 

Giving a light nip to the swollen clit she was abusing, Koge couldn’t resist a smirk from crossing her lips as she gazed up his body. “This is me taking it easy, Katsuki. I think you’re just an extra sensitive woman. So cute.” Koge went right back to it, ignoring his choked complaint for her to not call him cute. 

This was something completely different for her, but just like when she would suck his cock, her only goal was to pleasure him. If she could turn him into a groaning mess then, she could do it now, and from what she could tell she was doing just that. She loved the feeling of his fingers digging into her scalp, his body rocking against her rhythm and thighs squeezing against her head when there were sudden spikes of pleasure. She loved him, and no matter what he may look like, all she wanted was to make him happy. 

In her moment of focus, her hand moved on unconscious impulse, adjusting her position just a bit to be able to slip two fingers into him. There was no resistance or pain as she expected. Instead, he gave an adorable squeak-like moan at the feeling, his body shuddering as his core squeezed her fingers. At first, Koge paused, worried she may have upset him until she felt a rough tug on her hair. 

“Don’t stop, Utsuro, for fucks sake!” 

Deciding not to punish him for being so demanding, she instead gave him what he wanted, continuing to pleasure him with her tongue and fingers. Within minutes, she could tell that he was getting very close, with the way his body moved and voice hitched. 

“F-fuck, I-- Koge--,” Bakugou couldn’t talk behind his moans, his body beginning to give those taletell signs that he was about to cum. Without skipping a beat, Koge pushed him all the way over the edge, until his entire body with jerking and twitching with the onslaught of his first female orgasm. It was as if he lost all control over himself, his fingers affectionately stroking through her hair as he calmed, sweating and trembling. Smiling and licking her lips, Koge sat up from him, removing her fingers from within his still throbbing cunt. 

“Mm… How was that, Katsuki?” Bringing her fingers up to her lips, she licked his essence off her fingers, finding that she quite liked the taste of him. Bakugou propped himself up on trembling arms, glaring up at her with obvious annoyance at her smug attitude. 

“You know damn well, I’m not going to say it.” 

“Do you want to be done?” Koge tenderly ran her hand up and down his inner thigh, watching his chest for a moment as he struggled to catch his breath. Bakugou’s brow furrowed at the question, his eyes glancing over at the nightstand which housed Koge’s collection of toys. He knew which one she had wanted to use, and now that it was quite obvious his body could accommodate such a thing without pain, he seemed… curious. 

“What would you want to use?” Sitting up all the way, Bakugou caressed her cheek softly, moving some of her hair out of her face. Cheeks flushing from the tender touch, Koge turned her lips into his palm to kiss it softly before looking over at the nightstand as well. 

“Well,” Koge placed her hand over is, her body tingling as his other hand moved up her thigh. “You know I have that one I bought on accident… That doubled ended dildo that I thought was like.. Two separate ones for some reason when I bought it.” 

“Hm…” Bakugou urged her closer until she was straddling his lap, his arms around her petite body in a comforting embrace, his lips exploring her neck. “Is that what you want?” 

Koge couldn’t resist a soft gasp at the feeling of his teeth nipping lightly at her skin, hiding her face into his hair as the fire within her grew stronger. “Katsuki, this has been and felt amazing as always, but I… I miss your cock so much. I miss feeling you inside me. A toy still can’t compare, but I think I need it to be satisfied… for now.” 

“Then get it out. I can’t let you go unsatisfied, Utsuro. You know I refuse to let that happen.” Bakugou’s hands slid up her sides, taking hold of her shirt and pulling it up to remove it. His tank was removed shorty after, leaving them bare. “Unless I have plans to tease and edge you like crazy before leaving you hanging for a while.” 

“Like you did this morning.” Koge kissed him sweetly before reluctantly peeling herself away from him, moving to the edge of the bed to dig through her nightstand drawer. Soon enough, the bright blue doubled ended and very realistic anatomy wise dildo appeared from the collection. “I got this one because it was so similar to your size. Widthwise, at least. But I didn’t realize it was like this.” She held the semi floppy toy out towards him, unable to resist giggling at the way he leaned his body away from it. 

“My dick doesn’t look like this, Utsuro.” With some hesitation that Koge couldn’t quite understand, Bakugou took the end of the dildo that was pointed at him, giving it a squeeze to test its firmness. 

Koge scooted in closer to him after she snatched another item from the nightstand, though she left it off to the side for now. “I didn’t say I got it for the way it looks. I got it for the size. How realistic it’s made is nice, too. Except for the color of course.” 

“Why do you even want this when you can have my dick whenever you want?” Bakugou glowered down at her, seemingly quite offended. “What’s the deal?” 

“You’re not always around, Katsuki. You have your business trips that can be up to three weeks that you’re gone! I get horny and lonely! What do you think I’m using when we sext or have phone sex, a pencil?” She snatched the toy from his grip, before giving him a punishing smack on the boobs for his stupid question. “I can barely get off using my fingers anymore, I need you, a dildo, a vibrator or a combination of the three.” 

“You’re just a-” 

“-A cock hungry slut. You’re right, I love dick. Your dick, to be specific. But,” With a sigh, Koge leaned back on one arm, picking up the other item she had pulled from the drawer a moment ago. Flicking the bottle open with her thumb, she squeezed a bit of the lube onto her hot and waiting sex, before using the dildo to spread it about and get a decent coating itself. “I’ll just have to use my imagination. Now come here, sit like me. Put your leg over mine, and I’ll put mine over yours… There.” While Bakugou got situation like instructed, Koge slipped the toy into her as far as it would go, her body tingling with the feeling of being full. 

Once settled, Bakugou watched her with a flushed and almost confused expression, as if he were unsure how to go about this. “This is weird.” 

“I know you’ve seen your fair share of lesbian porn, Katsuki. Here.” Koge shoved the lube into his hand, which he accidentally squeezed too hard in his embarrassed frustration, sending an excessive amount pouring over his inner thigh. Giggling, Koge ignored his frustrated cursing as she wiped up the liquid with her hand, leaning forward to kiss him as she spread it across his sex, unable to resist a bit of teasing to his clit. “You missed. It goes here, silly.” 

“I fucking know where it goes, bitch.” Digging his fingers into her hair, he gripped it roughly, swallowing her gasp as he kissed her with a more fierce passion. His impatience to move on overshadowing hers, Koge scooted her body just a tad closer, letting him take control. First, he focused on moving the toy within her, making her moan and gasp into the kiss as she clutched onto his leg. 

“Put it inside you, Katsuki,” Koge broke the kiss with her words, catching his gaze. “Please… I want to feel good together.” 

Bakugou couldn’t take his eyes off her eyes as he complied, shifting his hips to allow his end of the toy to slip inside him. Koge smiled as she watched his expression contort, pleasure and confusion fighting to take control. It was as if he couldn’t resist it, beginning to rock his body nearly the instant it was fully in place. After sharing another kiss, Koge leaned back on her hands, following his rhythm. This was something that she had never experienced before, but the feeling of the toy moving within her and watching him crumble to the pleasure only further spiked her own. 

It was clear that he didn’t know what to make of it, but was enjoying it nonetheless. Not just a little bit, either. He was taking full control of it all, setting the pace and even moaning without restraint. 

“W-what do you think?” Koge found a moment to speak, beginning to feel that bubble growing inside of her. Instead of answering her with words, Bakugou surprised her with a sudden change of position, grabbing her by the neck and forcing her down onto her back as he hovered his body over hers. Clutching his arm, the new pressure around her throat and sudden increased speed sent her pleasure spiking. Now, she was completely at his mercy, which was exactly how they both preferred it. 

“Yeah, I know you like that, you little horny bitch. Cum all over this cock, Utsuro.” 

“Y-you first.” A sly smirk crossing her lips, Koge reached down to grab the middle part of the dildo that wasn’t going into them, clicking a hidden button three times to set it to it’s fastest vibration. Bakugou’s tough front instantly faltered, increasing the speed and roughness of his movements. 

Koge had to admit, even though it was different, it was pure bliss. She never took her eyes off of him, if she wasn’t watching the way he moved than her eyes were on his face. The look of absolute desperation to reach climax and all willpower crumbling at the mercy of pleasure was something she could not only relate to, but also something she would never forget. 

“I-I’m going to cum! Katsuki--” Her nails digging into the skin of his arm, she did her best to hold off, noticing that his movements were becoming erratic and almost stiff. “Cum with me!” 

“S-shut up! I-- ah, fuck!” The way Bakugou’s voice squeaked as his body shuddered with his orgasm made Koge smile with her own, allowing her body to release the built up pleasure. It rolled across her body in strong waves, the vibrations only prolonging the experience. Bakugou couldn’t seem to take the excess stimulation, removing the toy from himself and thus from within her, pushing it away as if it were causing harm. Koge giggled softly at the action, reaching up to caress his cheeks. 

“Come here, you adorable thing. Love of my life.” She wrapped her arms around Bakugou as he rested himself down onto her, though he kept most of his weight on his arms. With a tired groan, he buried his face into her neck, giving Koge easy access to run her fingers through his hair. 

“No more,” He grumbled against her skin. “How can you have five or more of those in a session.” 

Koge gave a small shrug, prompting him to shift himself back up to look down at her. “I’m used to it, I guess. And you just make it so easy, just by being your amazing sexy self.” 

“Damn right.” After sharing a kiss, Bakugou let his lips trail across her cheek and to her neck, caressing her body to his with a tender touch that sent Koge’s heart fluttering. As he moved them to lay on their sides, Koge nuzzled her face into his chest, soaking in the warmth and soft plushness of his body. 

The time spent cuddling was short lived as Bakugou suddenly pulled himself from the bed, snatching his discarded clothes off the floor and putting them back on. Curious, Koge rolled over onto her side to watch him, though she quickly understood what he was doing as he pulled his arms up over his head to stretch. “You’re still going to work out?” 

“Fuck yes I am. I didn’t sweat nearly enough form that fuck, I have to sweat more to get this quirk out of my damn system.” 

So he did, working out until he was quite literally dripping with sweat. He did so for about an hour and a half, with Koge watching from the comfortable confines of their bed, her fluffy fleece blanket wrapped around her from chin to toe. Once he was satisfied that he had worked himself to the limit, he hopped into the shower with Koge, whom spent most of the time under the water playing with Bakugou’s breasts. At this point, he was so tired that he gave up after slapping her hands away a couple of times, letting her do whatever she wanted. 

Squeaky clean and dressed for bed, the couple buried themselves beneath the blankets. With a bit of juggling of positions and figuring out how to lay down comfortably with his breasts in the way, Bakugou squeezed Koge to him tightly. Koge couldn’t resist the smile on her face as he nuzzled his face into the side of hers, placing a firm yet affectionate kiss on her flushed cheek. “Mm, someone’s really sleepy. My sweet Katsuki…” Turning her head a bit, she caught his lips in a kiss, caressing his cheek softly. Bakugou returned the affection without question, though he did scoff once their lips parted. 

“Shut up, Utsuro. Before I kick your ass out of bed.” 

“You’d never.” Her fingers trailed along his jawline softly, keeping her gaze locked with his as she smiled against his lips. “Besides, we both know you like it when I’m all lovey towards you. Admit it.” 

“I couldn’t be in love with you if I didn’t.” 

Heart fluttering, she gave him one last kiss before cuddling herself in for sleep, her head resting comfortably on the swell of his breasts. “Mm… Boobs really are comfortable.” 

“Well enjoy them, because I expect to be normal by morning.” 

“I’ll have my big strong man back. Though, this is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Such fun.” 

“It wasn’t fun, Utsuro.” 

“Lies. You had fun. It wasn’t as fun as when I was a cat girl, but I still enjoyed it. And I know you did, too. At least a little.” 

“Whatever… Shut up and go to sleep.” 

“I love you.” 

With another affectionate kiss to the top of her head, Bakugou kept her close, filling Koge with such a strong sense of pure adoration. “I love you, too, Koge. I can’t wait to be back to myself in the morning…” 

The couple fell into a deep and restful sleep, with no alarm and no sense of urgency waking them up. What did pull Koge into consciousness, however, was the sudden pleasurable feeling of being full. A familiar form within her core sent that blissful tingling across her skin, forcing her to clutch onto the sheets and moan into her pillow. On her stomach, she could feel the weight of her lover at her hips, straddling her legs as his manhood filled her. How long he had been playing with her, she didn’t know nor did she care. All she could do was lift her hips up into him, feeling him reach into her depths like no toy on earth ever could. He was so hot and eager, his burning palms on her ass sending fire through every inch of her body. 

“Someone’s finally awake,” That deep growl of his voice made Koge’s heart flutter, opening her eyes to peer up at him over her shoulder. Bakugou was indeed back to his old self, his gorgeous muscular body looming over her. “I nearly had you cumming in your sleep just from fingering you.” 

Nearly feeling like he was reaching all the way into her stomach, Koge’s entire body was aching for him to move. “That’s mean, Katsuki… Not even waking me up to enjoy the fun.” 

“Who says I didn’t try? It’s not my fault you sleep like a fucking rock.” With that, he began to rock his hips, slowly and teasingly working himself within her. Unable to resist, Koge arched her hips up a bit more, an airy sigh of pleasure leaving her lips. 

“You just couldn’t wait, huh? Not that I can blame you… Fuck, it’s so hot… So deep--” A sharp moan interrupted her as he gave a rough thrust of his hips, picking up his pace as he leaned his body over her. After pressing a rough kiss to her cheek, he moved his lips to her ear, his voice nearly making her cum already. 

“Shut up, Utsuro… Now that I’m normal, it’s time for me to get you back for all that bullshit you put me through yesterday. So… tell me how good my cock feels inside you, and maybe I’ll give you what you’ve been missing.” 

[devnny]

CHAPTER TWO.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

This is it fellas; the MEAT, the starting point that actually matters. It's all a damn mess hereafter. Devi, babey... forgive me, the Hell begins now! (And Johnny... please fucking behave yourself.) 

Dear Diary,

I’m back from vacation.

I have a date FUCK meeting with Devi. Yes, that Devi. Weird, no?

She grew a head-thing too, but she can control it, and she’s going to try and help me do that too… We’ll see how well that works out. She yells a lot… scary.

I haven’t totally given up on my emotional enema idea, though! Just gotta work on my temper. Why does everything have to be so aggravating?

--

3:00PM:

“I must be out of my fucking mind, Tenna.”

“I thought you just got over being out of your mind.” Tenna replied from the couch, squeaking Spooky as punctuation to her sentence.

“Don’t chastise me.” Devi moaned, loosely draped over her armchair. “Sickness has nothing on Nny.”

She dragged herself into an upright position to continue her complaints.

“AN ART LESSON FOR A MURDEROUS LUNATIC, yeah, innovative idea there, Devi!” She cried to the gods in vain. No gods could save her from the bed she’d made so neatly for herself.

“Maybe he won’t show up?” Tenna tilted her head further off of the couch in an attempt to make eye contact with her forlorn companion. Devi only melted further down her seat.

“That’s my only hope.” She sighed. “But knowing my luck, he’ll show up with a bouquet of severed hands for me. God it was so… weird talking to him again. Besides the topic being about personal insanity and death, it was sorta like old times.”

Tenna sat up to stare at her skeptically.

“Don’t tell me you missed him.”

“NO, no! Nothing as stupid as that.” Devi insisted. “Well, I mean, I did miss the Nny I thought I knew, but that’s kinda “sucks to suck”, seeing as that Nny wasn’t… really him.”

“And what if that was the real him? And you’re going to slowly scrape Mister Nice-guy out of his skull with your bare hands, like some kind of monkey artist-therapist combo?”

“I doubt that even more.”

Devi got up from her chair to scoop up the art tablet that was besmirched with Johnny’s drawing from off of the coffee table. The little stick figure he scribbled down had stayed there, mocking her, since his creator had left in the early morning hours. Johnny had only shared a couple of his “Happy Noodle Boy” comics with her long ago, likely because he was embarrassed about them. He had said he used to paint and sketch very detailed pieces, but as “something” – which she now knew was the “Doughboys” and wall-demon, and whatever else was involved with these brain parasites – overtook him, he lost all ability to create beyond these meager doodles. She couldn’t imagine a more horrid fate for a creative. For herself.

To some degree, she pitied him, but then she would remember he that tried to murder her and felt a lot less pity. Even if she understood now that he was hapless pawn, set forth to do obscene violence in the name of some otherworldly creature, all that said about him was that he was too weak-willed to stubbornly commit to his art the way she had – so could she even help someone like that?

It was irrelevant, she decided, since his new little “voice” wanted to involve her in his scheme to eat the last remaining bits of Johnny’s brain. If she didn’t try and aid him now, he would probably just manifest in a couple of months to try and either murder her or… worse.

She shook her head. Disgusting!

“I don’t have a choice with this Tenna.” Devi grumbled. “Or rather, I guess I do, and I’m choosing to deal with this now, instead of trusting Nny to have any mental wherewithal to fight this off and not turn into a puppet again.”

“That’s very brave of you, Devi. You’re an inspiration.” Tenna joked, wiping a fake tear away. Devi groaned.

“Thanks. Now get out of here, before the creature himself shows up.” She tossed the tablet back onto the table haphazardly. “I know how he acts around me, relatively anyway, but I don’t need extra company throwing him off-balance, and this ends up a double murder.”

“Okayyy, but if things get hairy, give me a code, like, three stomps on the floor, or eerie silence, or something, and I’ll call the cops!” She grinned from the doorway.

“WHAT GOOD WOULD IT DO!?” Devi steamed and slammed the door shut. She still had very bitter feelings about the city’s useless police force – demon intervention or not.

--

6:01PM:

Johnny sat with his knees up under his chin in the driver’s seat of his car. He pressed his shins against the steering wheel anxiously while he tried to think about what to do. He had gone home and bummed around – the house was still as he’d left it, only dustier, which was to be expected -- until the afternoon, after which he started panicking like the madman he was. What the hell was he supposed to do, actually show up to this thing against his wishes? An ‘art lesson’ with that intimidating woman that he didn’t particularly enjoy being around anymore, mostly because she berated him with scathing honesty now!? Ridiculous!

Yet he was here, parked behind a 24/7, less than a block from her apartments, at the time she requested he come. Curse her, and curse her rightness about all of this. He didn’t want to go.

Hesitantly he moved a hand over and grabbed a small bag of his own art supplies from home. Nothing fancy, but he preferred his own pens for inking comics, as he knew how they performed. Small increments of control was better than none, after all.

Johnny, bag clutched to his chest, exited his vehicle and kicked the door shut. As he walked from the alleyway to the sidewalk that lead to Devi’s building, he questioned all the uncertainties that he was headed directly towards.

The most basic of those worries was his timing for this meeting – arriving early was out of the question, but he had arrived almost exactly on time, which also seemed kind of pathetic. He hated getting caught up in these sort of social dilemmas – but since it involved another person, and one that he kinda-sorta respected in the highest regard, he wanted to make a good impression! What if she was irritated that he was even a minute late? Or what if that made him look totally creepy, and arriving loosely around 6:00PM was more of what she imagined? Stupid social cues!

Amongst his inner-monologuing, he failed to realize how close he was to Devi’s apartment until he was at the steps of the building. He cursed to himself, then treaded up into the lobby and checked the time on the digital wall clock that hung lopsided by the elevators. 6:14PM.

“Shit.” Johnny mumbled again. He didn’t want to hurry if this was supposed to be a casual timeframe, but he didn’t want to doddle either! He decided to take the stairs, but briskly.

--

FOUR FLOORS UP:

Devi had just started to think that the glimmer of a chance that Johnny wouldn’t show up was plausible, when the door knock came.

“Shit.” She griped from the kitchen. Her chest heaved out a sigh, and she aggressively set down her glass of water on the counter. This was going to be a long night, surely.

A few short strides to the door, and she opened it up to her expected guest. At least he didn’t have a bouquet of human limbs.

“Hi.” Johnny shot her a sideways smile. Devi did her best to hold in any unhappy noises, and tried to force what little optimism she had out from the very bottom of her soul.

“Hey, Nny.” She replied, only a little dryly. Johnny smiled wider at that.

“No bat tonight?” He pointed to her bare right hand. Devi looked down to it, then back at him.

“Don’t tempt me.” She stepped aside and let him in, hoping that the act wasn’t just as good as signing her death certificate. Johnny strolled in much too casually for her liking, but she ignored that, hoping to put off any bursts of maniacal rantings from him as long as she could.

Johnny looked around her apartment, like a normal house guest might, seeing as he was one this time. He inspected a few of her paintings with a thoughtful smile on his face and his hands crossed behind his back, still clutching his pencil bag. Devi’s eyebrow ticked in annoyance.

“I didn’t really get a good look at your apartment last night. It’s nice. Very you.” He hummed.

“Thanks.”

“These are your paintings aren’t they? I like them.”

“Thank you, Nny.” Devi rolled her eyes tiredly. “Can we focus here, a little bit?”

“I’m only trying to be polite! You were so kind to invite me back despite desperately wanting to smash my skull in yesterday.” He smiled at her again, almost arrogant, as though trapping her in small talk was a necessary evil, and if he had to suffer this social outing, so did she. Devi snorted.

“Your immense politeness is noted. Now let’s get on to what you’re here for.” She tilted her chin in his direction as she walked by, leading him further into the living room. She sat with a leg tented up on the floor, and Nny followed, sitting across from her with his feet together.

“I see you came prepared for this. That’s good.” She noted the little bag in his lap, choosing to assume it was art supplies and nothing sinister. Johnny grinned while Devi took up the same drawing pad from the night previous. He eagerly opened the pouch to spill out his pens and pencils onto the table. Devi held in any relief that she was right in her assumption.

“So. You just want me to draw?”

“Yeah.”

“And you really think that’s the key thing here?” Johnny questioned skeptically.

“Sickness always talked about how annoying my work ethic was for her. While she was trying to form, I guess, I was using too much of my brain for painting stuff, so she couldn’t grow right, or quickly, or whatever.”

“I see…” Johnny brought a knuckle up to his mouth. “So it’s not so much using your brain, but using it for creative endeavors? Writing, drawing, thinking?”

“Seems like it.” Devi leaned back on her palms. “And to a further extent, not giving in to the temptation of sitting around and doing nothing. There were times where all day I’d be thinking; “I need to work, I need to work”, but I just sat there on the couch thinking about it, never actually got up and did anything, which is what she wanted. For you, it was probably a little different, seeing as – as far as I know – the only supernatural thing that lived in the apartments besides Sickness was the psychic fat of a morbidly obese woman.”

“…What?”

“Nevermind.” Devi looked around before settling her eyes on the paper again. “Just draw, for like, an hour. I need to get some work done too, so I’ll just sketch concept crap while you do that.”

“What should I draw?” Johnny inquired while he jammed the eraser of his pencil up against his gumline.

“I can’t tell you that, that defeats the purpose.” She sighed. “Just, draw a comic, I don’t know. It doesn’t have to make any fucking sense, just something.”

“HAH!” Johnny laughed. “Well I have good news about my Happy Noodle Boy comics, then.”

He seemed a little more enthused at that and pulled the tablet in his direction, before hunching over the table and skritching away at the paper beneath him. Devi watched him curiously a moment before returning to her art room to retrieve her own sketchbook.

--

45 MINUTES IN:

Devi looked up from her perch on her armchair at her struggling ‘student’. She’d already watched him wad up and throw three separate sheets of paper around him, and he was looking more unhinged the less his drawings were coming out like he wanted. Johnny stared at his current page with his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed tightly. As he lifted a hand up to the spiral of the tablet, Devi interrupted him.

“Ah.” She scolded. “Keep going.”

“But it’s STUPID. It makes no SENSE.” He argued at her from the floor.

“I told you that’s fine. Don’t get frustrated on the details, it’s fine if it looks like crap as long as you finish.”

“IT’S NOT!”

“Nny.” Devi’s eyelids lowered, indicating as ungently as possible that she wasn’t budging on the subject. Johnny responded with collapsing across the table dramatically.

“THIS IS TOO ANNOYING, I WON’T CONTINUE.” He seethed. “I’m going to the 24/7 and getting a Brain-Freezy!!”

“No, you are not. Finish your stupid comic, you only have like, ten minutes until ‘break time’ anyway.”

“YOU CAN’T MAKE ME STAY!” He screamed back, raising up to glare at her with his hands flat on the table. “I’M TIRED of being controlled, this is idiotic!!”

Devi frowned and set her sketchbook aside.

“Don’t be such a baby!” She chided him. “Think of the goal you’re working towards, you moron! Complaining about not being free when working toward freedom? HELLO?”

Johnny kicked his legs out and let himself fall backwards onto the floor, glaring at the ceiling as though it had called him a slew of cusswords. After a few moments of heaving breaths, Devi watched his chest slow to childlike huffing.

“But… I HATE it, Devi. I HATE IT!” Johnny clenched his fists tightly. “I hardly even enjoy drawing these ASININE Noodle Boys anymore!! I want to draw the way I used to, and this just reminds me that I can’t!! Sometimes it’s still fun, but mostly it SUCKS! COMPLETELY SUCKS!”

“Jeezus… don’t look at it like that, Nny.” She sighed. Tenna joked about her being a therapist monkey, but that was barely an exaggeration if this was going to be how things went every encounter. “Look at your scribbles like the first step back to your previous talent, not a continuous path of stagnant shit you have to walk. I swear, Johnny, this is going to help.”

She hoped that she was swearing to something she could actually bolster, especially after Johnny rolled his head over to give her an immensely forlorn expression. After a moment he sighed and sat back up, lamely picking up his pencil to continue drawing. Devi watched him again, a pinch uncomfortable with the sudden seriousness of the mood, and tried to think of something funny to say.

“Well,” She picked up her work again. “I guess if all else fails, you can just die again.”

Anyone else might have thought the comment cruel, but Johnny burst into a fit of muffled hysterics. Devi smiled against herself, but did her best to hide it behind her sketchbook. Johnny’s giggling tapered off as he settled his hand back onto the page he was working on.

“You know,” He began as he started scribbling. “the funniest thing about the whole dying incident… the method was so stupid.”

“I told you about the RadioShack arm and all of that, but the way I rigged it, it shouldn’t have ever worked! It was hooked up to the phone, and would activate when I got a phone call, but wouldn’t actually go off until I picked up the receiver and said “hello” into it. As Psycho-Doughboy so kindly said, it was a load of shit! I never get calls, not even wrong numbers, and especially not at 2 o’clock in the fuck-all morning!”

Devi’s hand stopped moving mid-stroke, her eyes wide. Johnny didn’t notice, and continued speaking while he drew.

“But, out of all the shit luck I’ve had, the phone rings, right then, right when I was screaming with the Doughboys, saying I was calling the whole thing off! Now that I think about it… I don’t know why I didn’t just… not pick it up – BUT, thank fuck I did, right?”

Devi remained silent, her throat suddenly, and increasingly, dry. It couldn’t be, it just could not be. Her mind raced; maybe it was wrong, she was mistaken – but there was no way, it fit too well. All she heard was that fucking “hello”, then a bang – a gunshot. A thud. A scream. If Johnny was still talking now, she couldn’t hear him.

“It was me.” She said suddenly, bringing Johnny out of his thought.

“Huh?”

“…It… was me. It was me, I was the one that called you that night.” Devi’s widened eyes lifted to stare at him as she spoke. “Tenna said… I was just… checking if you still lived there.”

Her mumblings died off as her eyes wandered away from Johnny’s face to bore into the drywall across the room. Johnny blinked, barely processing what she was saying.

“What? You called me that night, Devi?” He wondered only briefly how she could know it was that exact night, but quickly rationalized that he hadn’t received any other phone calls besides that one, before or since. It was Devi. His eyes grew impossibly larger as the reality of it dawned on him.

He stood up, unable to keep still with the sudden surge of energy pulsing throughout his body.

“You, you – YOU called me Devi!” He paced as he handled the information. “You did – oh my God, I can’t believe I never thought of this before!”

Devi’s attention made it’s way back to her now manic guest, and she watched him uncomfortably from her seat. Johnny smiled uneasily, holding his head while he walked.

“The entire reaction, I gave the reaction the credit for removing those shitty horrors from me, but I never thought of the action! The call itself! It wasn’t just the GUNSHOT, it wasn’t just DYING, it was that phone call! MORE IMPORTANTLY, it was the one that placed that phone call!! My God, all this time I’ve been ambling around, a slave free from his shackles, thrust into a world unknown, when the KNOWING was right there!! It was so obvious!”

He stopped his frantic pacing to kneel into a lunge at the foot of Devi’s armchair, startling her further into the fabric of it’s back. Johnny grabbed the corners of her sketchbook, which she was using as a pathetic shield between her frazzled self and the man before her, and he smiled wide with excitement.

“Oh, Devi! Devi it was always YOU – who else would it be!? Who else COULD it be!” Johnny breathed through a laugh. “Devi, you KILLED ME.”

She could only stare at him in silent horror. It wasn’t like she meant to kill him! She did say that she wished he would die for making her like him so much and then letting her down so horrendously but – Christ, it wasn’t meant to be so literal! She didn’t want to be the cause of it! If he wanted to just go vaporize and leave her alone, that’s what she would have preferred back then. Johnny didn’t seem to realize her discomfort on the gruesome truth to his ‘demise’.

“You stripped me of those wretched little monsters – even the WALL-THING!” His smile didn’t waver. “I should have known; there was a reason you escaped! No, a reason I MET you!”

Devi wanted to interrupt before he convinced himself of some soulmates bullshit, but her throat felt clogged, and nothing would come out.

“And here you are, helping me again… Fuck’s sake, I’ve been so foolish! So BLIND!” Johnny’s fingers gripped onto her sketchbook harder, pulling it down so the top was under his chin as he leaned in further. “All this time, it was always you; you made me happy, you escaped, you released me of that Hell!! If fate’s a real thing, THIS is it! How else would I get aligned with the one person, after all of that previous shit, that has the mental fortitude to withstand an attack from those disgusting vermin!?”

“J… Johnny.” Devi managed finally, through her barely functioning jaw. The sound of her voice seemed to reel him in a ways, and he slid back to sit on his heel expectantly, but with a much less wild look in his eyes.

“Oh, I beg you, please don’t be nervous Devi! I don’t hold any resentment for your hand in my death, not at all!” He chuffed. “And I’m so sorry for… for yelling, and being an overall pain in your ass since visiting you. I swear, after this, that’s it! Whatever you say, goes.”

Devi blinked in surprise at that. Was he honestly pledging his loyalty out of sheer gratitude that she inadvertently kind-of murdered him? She could only stare at his eager eyes, unsure of whether to be horribly afraid of this new measure of weirdness in their relationship, or to feel safer in that she was his so-proclaimed Angel of Death.

“Um… uh…” She tried to think of something to say, but was still panicking internally. “Um, y-y’know what, Nny?”

She hated how his head perked up, like he was waiting on her word.

“A uh… a Brain-Freezy sounds good, actually. You wanna go grab us a couple while I… think about what kind of existential bullshit I’m experiencing right now?”

“YUM. Yes, okay! I will!” His smile pulled up on one side, letting his gums peak out, before he ran to the door. He halted abruptly and turned to her again. “Is Cherry Doom okay? That’s the flavor I get.”

“Yeah.” Devi didn’t even think about her answer, and watched him leave with an uncertain, disturbed look in her eyes. She melted unceremoniously against the chair, arms and legs splayed out, and continued to stare at nothing in particular. She didn’t want Johnny to like her so immensely -- she didn’t even want for him to like her much at all! The way this was going, she might be stuck with him as long as his gratitude lasts. How long could the frenzied gratefulness of a homicidal maniac last, exactly?

--

NEXT.

[pipesflowforeverandever]

The Ink Demonth, Day 15: Time Travel

I borrowed @aceofintuition‘s Joey Drew, “Snowy”, again for this alongside my own, “Gingie”. This drabble is based on an RP we did together some months ago. You can tell by the length how much I enjoyed writing it.

Summary: An old man with blue eyes steps into the page of someone much younger with dreams ahead he still can’t see.

Word Count: 2942

The aging man heard the ring of the café door as he stepped in, the gentle sting of coffee immediate underneath his nose and its faint taste on the edge of his lips. His eyes glanced around at a world seemingly tinged brown like a yellowing photo, the soft, warm hues evident everywhere on this sunny autumn evening. There was a record playing somewhere as the sweeping of a broom scuffed next to the counter that caught the silver fox’s attention, but his light wrinkles crinkled a bit more as interest in the cleaning was brief; he was here for something else.

Someone else, he found as a shade of reddish-orange caught his gaze, and he felt lured closer just like a curious fish in the sea.

The young man had his back to him, a briefcase shadowed by his side as it leaned against the leg of a chair. He was the brightest thing in the room, like he lit it up the same way a candle does the spare, dusty bedroom; everything around him just seemed to follow suit to his cream sleeves and tan-brown pants. His cup of gold-tinted tea rippled as he bumped the table, reaching down for a hardcover book with pages sticking out in much the same way the case did.

The newcomer, still standing, allowed his ice blue stare to cling as he walked past the busy, seemingly ditzy boy. Or…well, “boy” as an accurate term is determinate on how old one is when perceiving it. The redhead certainly wouldn’t consider himself a boy at the ripe old age of 22, but someone without a line of color left in their grey hair would, and the mysterious person letting his black cloak rub past the seats as he made his way to the window was such a someone. It wasn’t until he sat down that the distracted kid had finished lugging up his notebook and felt his expression still at the appearance of someone he didn’t expect to see again.

After all, Joey had lived here for years, and most unusual folks he spied on in the park didn’t show up again somewhere else. Not in the same day.

The stranger was beautiful, with hair styled almost impossibly in a large swoop from the left to the right side of his head; the end of it had a distinct wave, and it all looked dyed as if steeped in moonlight for nights on end. His brown skin shone with the glow from the window, leaves falling from the tree just outside it past a pair of irises that would put the finest crystal glass to shame.

The aspiring artist with already pinkish skin felt it become pinker, heat nibbling at the top of his cheeks and the tips of his fingers and knuckles. The pages laid across his desk were undoubtfully familiar; what were the chances that he had seen them as he strolled past to the booth? In his panic, he calculated it to be high; even if the old man refused to look back at him, he must have known.

He’d find out many, many years later he didn’t, but the wrong assumption made the right thing to do. It was inevitable anyway, in a certain sense, as sketching strangers in the park without them noticing was a practice that can’t eventually go undefeated.

And Joey, even when he was young, was a man proactive in his introductions. Perhaps a bit more on the shy side than he would be running a studio, but still someone that would rather talk than let silence rule the day.

And so he did.

“G-good ev- afternoon! Sir!”

The silver-haired man lazily blinked and glanced to the side at the youngster who was hardly taller than him even when the former was sitting and the latter bouncing to the tips of his scuffed shoes. A grown man, perhaps, but Joey would always be teased for never growing an inch more. The blue-eyed man evaluated him, another set of honey eyes flickering slightly but constantly with nerves that had a shaky smile to match at the corners of his mouth. He noted there was no mustache above his lips, but still sideburns and glasses to accessorize his head.

He played dumb. “Hey.” The newcomer’s voice was deep with two accents coming together, one a southern drawl and the other the unmistakable hint of someone accustomed to speaking Spanish. “…What can I do for ya?”

Yes, of course, he had noticed the ginger staring at him from afar some hours ago. Yes, of course, he was going to enjoy seeing him squirm for a reason to cover it anyway. Truth be told, he was surprised that the kid came up to him in the first place; he figured it would be up to him to initiate a conversation, if one was going to happen.

But that had always just been Gin, it turned out. The old man tried not to smile at the idea of it, so there was just a twitch on the left side of his mouth.

“I- I was just!” Joey held his hands in front of his chest, chin turned down to restless, fiddling fingers. What could he even say?! ‘Oh, I’m so sorry for sketching you without even talking to you first’? No! He wasn’t even sorry! …Just sorry he got caught.

It was only then he supposed maybe he hadn’t been caught, as he assumed. The realization it was far too late to back out felt like a push on his back to keep spitting out words and hope they make sense.

“I…I hope this doesn’t come off in the wrong way, my good man!”

Said good man raised a brow as the other squeaked his way around the situation.

“But- but you made for a lovely inspiration!” Joey kept grinning until it hurt his face, as he looked at the stranger for any sort of reaction.

“…Beg your pardon?”

Oh.

“I! I simply!” Come on now, confidence! Only thing left to save him now! “I’m an artist! And I do life studies! And you simply are just FAR too interesting to ignore!”

And in both excitement and fear, the old man felt himself involuntarily tilting his head back as a book was shoved into his personal space, pages flicking until it fell to the last ones before the rest of the book seemed orderly. And there, indeed, was his own face.

In awkward silence, his wide eyes flicked back to look at the others’, just to see the ginger in the same sort of anxiety inducing panic that he was before- perhaps amplified. He blinked again. Somehow, he still wasn’t used to this kind of attention, even if he knew he should have known better.

Gin was a weird kid.

With the young man waiting, seemingly, for him to react first, the stranger gently gripped the book and pulled it away so it was at a better angle for his eyes.

And although he knew he was avoiding the growing need for a pair of glasses, the old man also understood at a glance this was something special.

“How about…” the older man drawled with as much patience he could muster, trying to begin a proper conversation, “…’Y pull your stuff over here? ‘Magine your back hurts from standing up so straight.”

With that, he had to try not to chuckle as he saw the kid realize his stance and overcorrect, abruptly adjusting where his limbs were in relation to his body before scrambling to bring his things spread across the table in an armful. They were spread once more before the other next to the window, and it didn’t take long for him to try to forget at least a bit of the horrible introduction that just happened.

It almost felt like he was evaluating his portfolio, with a bright-eyed new artist waiting with a bounce in his seat for commentary on the accumulation of his work and skills.

So he was the kind of guy to pour himself out without even knowing if the other person was an artist or not- just someone he…wanted to approval of. The old man supposed there was something there he was supposed to think about in relation to his friend, but didn’t have the attention to word exactly what as he plucked up a random sketch- a seemingly candid one of a rabbit tucked behind a thin bundle of flowers.

“These are nice,” the old man commented with a sharp but approving glance over. “Y’ got a real eye for detail, here, kiddo.”

It still didn’t cross the youngster’s mind that the whole ‘I’ve been drawing you’ thing was pushed aside so easily for a reason. He had been watching him back for even longer; no explanation was needed, and he couldn’t improvise a realistic response anyway as if he was surprised.

“I’m…an artist, sir,” Joey repeated again, somehow steadier this time but calmer. “I just draw what I see. And I quite enjoy it! I just-“

Joey interrupted himself with a hum that trailed off, in some way not wanting to finish that thought. The other man pursed his lips.

“Just what, kid?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“…Can’t really drop all these drawings on my lap and call whatever you want to say about them nothing, you know.” His tone was dry but the meaning was sincere, a tinge of softness in his voice, a kind of understanding a bit too familiar to put aside.

As such, after a few more seconds of fumbling, the shy young man simply nodded in agreement.

“Now…” the older continued, setting the held page down to pick up another, “…What do y’ wanna do?” The question was taken with a bit of shock, but he continued as easygoing as before. “What do you…wanna make with all this? What’s the dream, kid?”

It did feel like a dream, Joey inwardly agreed. He plopped himself onto a total stranger and found himself without hesitation being probed about what it meant to him. And usually Joey had answers! He could go on and on and on without taking a single breath about what it meant to him to create things, about wanting to do things for others to see. But he always said so unprompted; now that it was actually asked of him aloud, he found himself floundering on what to say.

“I…”

The old man tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at him, wasn’t so invested in the answer that he couldn’t hear anything else.

Joey exhaled and folded his hands on the table, thumb smoothing over his own skin in restless ponderance- a good emotion for a matching time in his life.

“I would…love if I could, somehow, use my art to…make people happy.”

Now that was something he had never considered, but there it was- spoken by none other than himself. He briefly bit his lower lip and looked out the window, perhaps avoiding making himself look at his art and the man that was now- unbeknownst to him- clearly staring with intent.

“I…want to do what my mother always believed I could do. You see- see, she told me I had a special kind of magic that matters to other people. That I’m so bright that…I can make others bright too, just by making them smile.”

It was so, so hard for the stranger to withhold his smile for just a second longer.

“But I…don’t quite know how that can be done!”

Joey’s eyes flickered back, and the nervous smile had returned; in spite of his optimism, it was like putting a blanket over the unsure, tumultuous waves of the sea.

“Then you try something out.”

The response, as quiet as it was spoken, was still strong and unexpected, and so Joey felt himself gasp. His honey eyes widened, and his whole head turned to attention.

And now- now he was letting himself smile. The man opposite of Joey knew that he was looking this time, and that it was when it mattered.

“You keep tryin’, no matter what. And piece by piece, something will come together. Just like when you figured out how to draw, right? Assumin’ you were normal and learned things as you went instead of being perfect on the first go.”

With his lips lightly parted, the young man in awe of someone who could- for all he knew- been spouting motivational nonsense without knowing a lick about art…was entirely believable.

It was the right thing at the right time, regardless.

Those brown irises had eyelids fall over one second more, returning to his own creations with a new perspective. The lines seemed more purposeful, the shapes more unique. It was something flawed and yet flawless, just as he had always seen anyone else’s art.

The old man was quickly becoming satisfied with the rare feat of making Gin stunned enough to shut up. He thought about leaving right then and there, as if this was all he had come to see and do, but he was once again the person between them surprised when the redhead stood up first, scooping up the papers in his arms. The young man forced his eyes away but towards the end of the collecting finally met his again, a twinkle there that made the silver haired wanderer feel more at home than he had been this whole time.

“Thank you,” he muttered, words slick and airy with what could only be relief. “Thank you.”

He stood up straight, adjusting his hold on his things until they were more orderly and less likely to fall away. “I…do hope to see you in town again.” His grin was fading in and out with each phrase, but the feeling was so pure, so freed, that an excuse wasn’t needed. “Apologies for…not…asking first!” he chuckled, buckling at the knees briefly.

The other man chuckled back, the sun setting behind the glass. “No problem.”

A wonderful, awkward pause filled the space between them, the conversation ending as it started with one sitting down and the other standing up. Joey didn’t know that the other person would have as much a reason to try to treasure this moment as he did. Eventually, he took a step backward and slowly turned around through the now near empty café, towards the front door and the streetlights beginning to be lit.

“Oh!”

And he spun right back around, much to someone else’s bemusement.

“What…-” the redheaded scamp asked with hesitation, “-Is your name?”

Looking him up and down, having forgotten to introduce himself too, the fellow with moonlit hair and a black coat leaned his arm around the edge of the booth and took a moment till he smirked.

“Mr. Flores.”

The man with sideburns and glasses nodded, mouthing a ‘right’ before abruptly turning back and leaving the room. Mr. Flores watched the brightest splash of color in this world stained like aged paper walk out his life, looking forward when he would walk back in. With he himself looking like he was out of place and dyed with blues- with an indigo tint in his clothes and the cyan like glittering water under his eyelids- decided it was his time to leave, too.

The suitcase Gingie had forgotten was reverently taken by the handle before disappearing in a portal, the rim of which shimmered blue, too.

The old man ducked out and into the room of another person, someone who he had grown old with. Nighttime had fallen and the shadows of unlit halls looks like ink thin and seeping into the wallpaper. What he surely knew was yellow now seemed a bit on the cooler side, and someone he had just seen looking like the fire of the sun in daytime now seemed like wax of a candle extinguished, in his cream shirt in the dark and top hat hung up on the coat rack. Gingie, his red hair looking paler as strands of it turned white, glanced up from a paper held between his fingers. His gaze was soft, mischievous, and made Snowy feel at home.

“Mr. Flores,” the other Joey smirked.

A hand came to hold his back, the two old men together with more winkles and greyer hair than when they first met- for either the first time or the second time. Snowy scoffed, grinning wide.

“You weren’t supposed to remember till I brought it up to ya!” he lamented humorously. “Wasn’t supposed to be that I just…show up after accidentally running into you in the past, then you suddenly know too. More dramatic than that!”

Gingie scoffed right back. “It seems like you and I have exchanged some…traits over the years. And here you were always teasing me for being the one to portal into your life first.”

Snowy sighed through his nose as a rosy hand cupped the side of his face, tilting into it with hooded eyes.

“…Nah.” Then the toothy grin came back, devilish. “You were as much of a chicken with its head cut off as ever.”

And to that, the other pursed his lips, still holding his cheek. “And you were as subtle as ever.”

Basking in the moonlight of the time Snowy was really from, Gingie pulled him closer, their silhouettes seen through the window if one was looking- their faces becoming one shape and the outline of their bodies shining like the glass under the stars, frost around them like a picture frame as snow began to fall. The lost suitcase was set down and very likely forgotten for yet another several decades.

[themurphyzone]

Oneshot: Perfect Child

Summary: Roger is polite, Heinz is not. Roger can charm the sternest military general, Heinz would just get himself booted out. Roger is an angel, Heinz is not. That's the way the world's works, right?

AN: This concept has been on the back burner for months but I think it would be interesting to do a little switcheroo, don't you think?

The award ceremony was today, and everything was perfectly in order. His kickball uniform had been lovingly ironed, his cleats were dust-free, and an empty spot on the mantle awaited an engraved trophy. 

His lucky red kickball was bouncy and clean, perfect for the kicking demonstration Roger would give when the coach called his name. 

"Good morning, Mother," Roger greeted as he walked into the kitchen. "Breakfast smells lovely today." 

Mother muttered something, pushing a hand to her face tiredly as she stirred the eggs. 

The motion drew Roger's eyes to her hair, which was tucked in a messy bun with several brown strands escaping their confines. That was odd. Part of Mother's morning routine involved spending forty minutes combing her hair into a perfect, neat bun. 

He filled the coffeepot with the correct amount of water. He prided himself on his ability to make coffee his mother liked. 

Father's coffee was harsh and bitter, an unforgiving mass of swirling black tar. He always claimed it was how real men took it. And if Heinz didn't blow up the coffeepot with some weird invention, his mugs tended to contain enough sugar to put an entire doonkleberry cheesecake to shame. 

Really, there was nothing hard about brewing the perfect mug for Mother. One scoop of beans, water to the third long black line, brew, pour into ‘Ich liebe Mutti’ mug, add one teaspoon of sugar and two tablespoons of cream. 

"Mother, your coffee's ready," Roger announced as he set the mug on a placemat. 

Mother didn’t fully wake up until she had her coffee. Roger was a skilled navigator when it came to handling her more irritable moods. Just say things she liked and the problem was solved. 

Father didn’t care for open displays of emotion. 

Heinz would frazzle her nerves the moment he opened his mouth. 

But Mother simply plated the eggs and potatoes, her back turned to Roger. There were three plates laid out. 

That wasn’t unusual. Heinz must’ve done something to earn a less tasty breakfast. 

Mother set the loaded plates on the table. Steam rose from the potatoes and eggs, filling the room with an enticing scent. Roger eagerly took his seat, closing his eyes and allowing the familiar smell of Mother’s cooking surround him. 

Mother glared at him. 

Roger just smiled. She hadn’t touched her coffee yet. Maybe she was so tired she mistook him for his crazy brother. “You make wonderful breakfasts,” Roger said amiably, figuring that compliments would cheer her up. 

Mother’s glare didn’t waver. 

Roger fiddled with the tablecloth, averting his eyes completely. Silence always worked when Father was angry. Stay quiet, stay still, and he didn’t notice. 

But Mother was never angry at him. She was perpetually frustrated with Heinz’s antics, but Roger didn’t do the sort of things that Heinz did. Roger didn’t test her boundaries, he didn’t blow stuff up, and he certainly didn’t question her decisions. 

Mother knew best. 

Heinz didn’t understand that. 

“Porridge is in the icebox,” Mother snapped. She yanked the plate of eggs and potatoes away. 

Roger’s stomach grumbled in protest, but he slid off his chair obediently and took out the bowl of cold porridge. There would be enough to satisfy his hunger, but it just wasn’t eggs and potatoes. 

She was probably concerned about his weight. He’d always been chubbier than his peers. 

He was halfway through with his bowl of porridge by the time Heinz walked into the kitchen. 

“Looks great!” Heinz exclaimed, shoveling eggs into his mouth at an alarming pace. 

Roger winced at his brother’s appalling lack of table manners. 

“So hungry!” Mother declared as she sipped her coffee. “Make sure you eat all of it. You’re too thin.” 

“Ye’th Mo’er,” Heinz said through a mouthful of potatoes. 

“Mother, may I have eggs please?” Roger asked. 

Mother’s smile evaporated. “Is the porridge not enough?” she barked. “You’re not starved. You’re not a common street whelp.” 

For a single, terrifying moment, Roger’s limbs wouldn’t work. His hands dug into the tablecloth, rooting him to the spot. He had to say something. 

Defuse the situation. Make her not angry anymore. 

What did he say if Heinz mouthed off and Mother was still angry after she punished him? 

“You’re right, Mother,” Roger agreed. “I apologize. I won’t ask again.” 

He avoided looking at Heinz’s plate, which had a second helping of eggs on it. 

Mother sniffed. “Your brother knows how to show gratitude. I carried you for nine months, the least you could do is appreciate it.” 

Heinz gulped loudly enough that Mother’s attention flickered to him. “I just got an idea I wanna sketch out. No idea what I’m calling it yet, but it’s gonna be cool. Roger can take the rest of my breakfast if he wants. Can’t wait much longer, see ya!” he yelled, shoving his plate in Roger’s direction before sprinting out of the room. 

Roger didn’t take the plate, half-afraid Mother would snatch it up before he could take a single bite. But Mother slid the plate in front of him. 

“Heinz is being generous. So don’t be wasteful,” Mother muttered. 

The eggs didn’t taste that great after all. 

As soon as he washed the dishes to Mother’s satisfaction (which took an hour), Roger knocked on Heinz’s bedroom door. Maybe his brother knew something he didn’t. Heinz tended to squirm if he felt guilty. He also rubbed his neck, avoided eye contact, and talked incoherently. 

Heinz was a terrible liar. No wonder he got punished so much if he couldn’t even hide the things he did. 

There was a muffled yelp from behind the door. 

It was taking a while for Heinz to answer, but Roger waited patiently. 

Then a harsh stomping of hunting boots against floorboards drew closer. Mother was probably too tired to protect him from Father. Roger was on his own.

Deciding that self-preservation overrode politeness, Roger wrenched open Heinz’s door, scrambled into the bedroom, and shut it behind him. He kept one hand on the doorknob, worried that Father had seen him and wanted to yell at him too. 

The footsteps faded away, and Roger breathed a sigh of relief. 

Heinz was frozen on his bed, his hands shoved underneath a thin blanket. The blanket couldn’t even hide a mouse, so it was unlikely the arrow-shaped lump would escape Mother and Father’s scrutiny.

After a long moment, Heinz fell back against his bed frame, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. “Don’t stomp around like Father for a joke!” he spat. “That’s not funny!” 

“Sorry to startle you,” Roger said, deciding to ignore Heinz’s thought process. He’d never understand what went through Heinz’s head anyway. “But Father and I would’ve crossed paths if I hadn’t ducked into your bedroom, and you saw how tired Mother was at breakfast. She’s not in a state to help me with Father.” 

“Ugh, can’t you talk normal?” Heinz groaned, pitching a pillow at Roger’s head. But since he didn’t have a good throwing arm, Roger didn’t even have to dodge. 

Roger had no idea what Heinz was talking about, so he ignored that statement too. “Why’s Mother so tired? What did you do this time?” he asked. 

Heinz clapped a hand to his mouth, but several giggles escaped him. “You think Mother’s tired? Seriously? That’s all you got from this?” 

“If she isn’t tired, then why is she acting this way?” Roger asked. “Does she have pills?” 

Pills had a tendency to make people act funny, Roger noticed. Frau Schulz once bought a bottle from a traveling peddler and hadn’t been the same since. Now everybody gave her house a wide berth because she tended to beat up passersby with a meterstick. 

“Nope! She doesn’t have pills! I zapped her with this!” Heinz hopped off the bed, pulling back the blanket to reveal a strange white device. “And you know what? It worked! She actually loves me now! I haven’t tested the waters with Father yet, cause I’d really prefer Mother to be there in the off-chance Father wasn’t affected, cause you’re not totally immune to his wrath either and I don’t wanna risk getting saddled with lawn gnome duty since that could potentially cause Mother to not love me anymore.” 

Heinz seriously thought that just because they needed to discipline him a lot meant that they didn’t love him? 

“Mother does love you,” Roger said. “You just think she’s unfair.” 

Heinz snorted. “Wow. You just don’t get it, do you?” 

“What exactly am I supposed to understand here?” Roger asked, all civility vanishing. “Mother was cross with me because of you. You need to go apologize for zapping her with that thing and for cooking up this scheme just to avoid getting grounded.”

Heinz growled. An actual growl that belonged more to a wild animal than an eleven-year-old. 

“I zapped them so they’d love me!” Heinz shouted, pushing his face into Roger’s to drive the point home. Roger wasn’t scared of him though. Father was a million times worse. “I don’t care about avoiding trouble! And they still love you too! The inator wasn’t designed so they’d hate you like they used to hate me!”

Heinz’s voice wavered as if he was trying to convince himself more than he was denying Roger’s accusation. 

“They don’t hate you,” Roger said, though he was certain his words would fall on deaf ears. “They’re trying to straighten you out so you don’t screw up in the real world.” 

Heinz shoved Roger towards the door, his face scrunched up in anger. “Get out!” he yelled. “You took everything! At least let me have a few square feet to myself!” 

Roger allowed Heinz to forcefully push him out, though it would just take one well-aimed kick to dislodge Heinz. But he didn’t see the point in getting physical. Words were a much more effective tool. 

“I’m letting Mother know you’re trying to avoid punishment,” Roger said calmly. 

The color drained out of Heinz’s face. He bit his lip, wringing his hands in nervous anticipation. “You can’t tell! I can’t get in trouble!” 

“It’s the right thing to do,” Roger declared as he marched down the stairs. He ignored Heinz’s cries of protest. 

Mother and Father were in the living room. Mother hummed to herself as she knitted a frilly pink dress, while Father cleaned his prized hunting knife. Eyeing the sharp object warily, Roger stuck close to Mother’s side of the room as he approached. 

“Mother, Heinz is lying again,” Roger said. Mother’s humming abruptly stopped, and she peered at him through half-lidded eyes. “He did something and now he’s scared that you’ll make him do more chores.” 

“Heinz does not lie,” Mother said. “Don’t accuse your brother of such things.” 

“He’s hiding something,” Roger added. He spoke slowly and enunciated each syllable, focusing on keeping his tone even and controlled. Adults only listened if a kid spoke like an adult. 

Mother set the frilly dress aside. She beckoned Roger over with her finger. He glanced at Father, but the man was completely focused on his knife’s metallic surface. Roger felt sweat on his palms, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t hot enough to sweat. 

His legs stiffened against his will as he stood in front of her. 

She did not pick him up, ruffle his hair, or smile. 

“I did not punish your ungratefulness at breakfast, nor your incompetence at washing dishes,” Mother said coldly. Her tone made Antarctica seem like a tropical paradise. “But if the next thing that comes out of your mouth is a lie about Heinz, I will tack on additional hours to your lawn gnome duty. Do I make myself clear?” 

He had lawn gnome duty. 

He never had to serve lawn gnome duty. 

Father tried to make him do a shift with Heinz once, but Mother pitched a fit. 

It’s too dangerous for Roger! she had cried. The witches are more interested in plump children! He won’t last out there! You’ll get more wear out of Heinz. The witches will find him repulsive. 

Father’s ‘BEWEGEN DICH NICHT’ had never been directed towards Roger, but he always felt an inexplicable urge to not breathe, not move, and not speak whenever the phrase was bellowed at Heinz. 

“Answer me when I ask you a question,” Mother snapped. 

He could compliment Mother. But that had nothing to do with the topic at hand. 

He could reason with her. But something told him logic was no match for Mother’s anger. 

He could apologize, though he knew he did nothing wrong. Heinz was hiding things. Mother always said hiding things was the equivalent of lying. Heinz was trying to avoid punishment, though Roger didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish in the long run. 

Don’t try to negotiate punishment, Roger had learned from observation. Adults didn’t like that. 

Yes, apologizing seemed like the best option. 

“I apologize,” Roger said quietly, his head bowed to make himself sound more sincere. 

It was completely unfair, but Roger didn’t dare say it out loud. 

“Mother!” a shrill voice yelled. 

Roger looked up, startled as Heinz barged into the living room. Heinz flew straight into Mother’s lap, settling on her skirt with a contented grin. He could only stare in disbelief as Mother hugged Heinz back, her mood brightening considerably. 

Father huffed at the affectionate display and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Upon hearing the loud bang, Heinz jumped, his knuckles turning white against Mother’s sleeve. But Mother continued to hold him, stroking his hair and whispering comforting words. 

Heinz only relaxed when it became clear that Father wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, but he still looked rather pensive.

An unpleasant feeling settled in Roger’s stomach as he watched Mother and Heinz talk to each other, laughing at things only they could understand. Mother never hugged Heinz. Heinz frustrated her. Naughty children got scolded, not hugged. 

Roger swallowed, daring to take one step closer. Mother and Heinz looked so comfortable...maybe there was room for one more. 

It might be a tight fit for Heinz and him to be on Mother’s lap at the same time, but they’d manage. 

Roger reached out, feeling the smooth fabric of Mother’s dress against his hand.

Then the dress was pulled out of his reach, and Mother drew herself to her full height, carrying Heinz in the crook of her arm. 

“Heinz needs me now,” Mother said, inclining her head as if she was watching a particularly annoying insect. 

Heinz’s mouth dropped open, and his gaze flickered between Mother and Roger, an odd expression on his face. “Mother...you can hug Roger too. Really, I don’t mind. Roger could use one too. I’m not really a baby anymore, and you always like hugging Roger, so...” 

Mother shook her head, gently silencing Heinz with a finger on his lips. “Roger hasn’t earned one. First, he tells me that you’ve lied to me. Even though you’re the most trustworthy child in the village. Everyone knows it. Now he demands things he hasn’t earned.” 

Heinz’s face turned red shamefully, and he refused to make eye contact with anyone. 

Roger said nothing. Mother had called him the most trustworthy child in the village once. All the other kids would lie, cheat, and steal. Roger had been raised better than that. 

“You will not be going to the award ceremony,” Mother continued. “I know you tricked the coach into giving you a trophy.”

The words tumbled out of Roger’s mouth before he could stop them. “But I’m the best player on the team! I earned that trophy, and everyone’s expecting me to be there! I can’t just-” his protests died away as Mother leveled a cold glare at him. 

“Would you like to argue and make it worse, or would you like to accept and be done with it?” she asked. 

She was right of course. Mother was always right. 

Wordlessly, Roger shook his head. 

Heinz had watched the entire exchange with an uncharacteristic silence, staring at Roger with pity written all over his face. 

Roger stared back at his brother, silently daring him to make the situation worse. 

Heinz was normally an open book. But now Roger couldn’t tell what his brother was thinking at all. 

“Mother, can we go to the ceremony?” Heinz finally asked. “Our neighbor Kenny is on Roger’s team, remember? I wanna go support him.” 

“What a sweet friend you are,” Mother told Heinz. 

Heinz smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Mother sighed, finally putting Heinz down. Roger was glad. The sight of Mother holding Heinz was too weird for him. “Very well. I suppose Roger will have to receive his trophy somehow. Otherwise, they’ll give the trophy to Frederick-” she spat the name as though it left a sour taste in her mouth “-and I’ll be forced to listen to Helga’s nonstop bragging at bridge club.” 

Every coach in Gimmelschtump and the surrounding villages knew of Mother and Helga’s rivalry when it came to cheering on their sons at kickball games, and no umpire dared challenge a call if Roger and Frederick were involved. The boys avoided each other out of embarrassment since they didn’t want to deal with their mothers’ antics. 

Heinz’s eyes turned pleading. “Can I just meet you and Roger at the field? I want to go buy Kenny a present, and there’s still a little time, and Roger needs to put on his uniform anyway, so...”

He was fibbing again, though Mother didn’t seem to notice. Roger bit his tongue to prevent another slip of the tongue, wondering why he had to be saddled with a chronic liar for a brother. 

Mother smiled. An actual, warm smile.

But it wasn’t for Roger. 

“I’ll give you a few coins for your present,” Mother said, bending down and planting a kiss on Heinz’s forehead. “Wait here.” 

Mother kept money in her dresser, and the boys knew better than to venture into the master bedroom without explicit permission. Even Heinz, who often demonstrated that rules were meant to be broken, never crossed this line.

Before Roger could stop him, Heinz used the opportunity to grab the device he claimed he used to make his parents love him. 

“What are you doing?” Roger asked, in his best you-didn’t-listen voice. “She said to wait here!” 

Heinz scowled as he grabbed a worn coat from the closet, buttoning it up to his chin to conceal the device. “I have to zap them again. While they’re not doting on me. It’s kinda gross. How do you put up with it? Well, Mother at least. Father still avoided me. The only thing he did was not force me to be a lawn gnome today.” 

“You’re zapping them cause you can’t handle the responsibility?” Roger asked. 

Heinz snorted. “You’re just a dumb kid. What do you know? I don’t wanna deal with you moping anymore, got it? Mother doesn’t like to wait. I’d hurry and put on my uniform if I were you. And I need to zap Father first, so don’t tell Mother where I’m actually going.” 

Roger trudged to his room. The uniform and kickball were right where he left them, but he didn’t feel like going to the ceremony anymore. 

Mother didn’t praise his kickball skills on the way to the field. She refused to hold his hand, making him walk several steps behind her. 

Roger assumed Heinz had gone to Herr Freitag’s house, where Father played cards on Thursdays. He wasn’t exactly sure how Heinz planned on getting in, or how he would aim at Father. Heinz tended to botch the simplest tasks, so he didn’t have high hopes of Heinz succeeding. 

Then again, Roger wasn’t sure what Heinz was hoping to accomplish by hitting their parents with a laser beam. 

A wooden stage had been set up next to the pitcher’s mound, his teammates milling around their parents as Coach Weiss made the final preparations. Folding chairs were set up for the audience, and Mother took her seat in the back row. 

Mother used to sit in the front. 

Helga, a woman with a rather bulbous nose, scoffed at Mother as she passed. Frederick curtly nodded at Roger, refusing to look at Mother. Most kids were scared of her for some reason. 

Roger didn’t speak to any of his teammates as they were seated in their designated area. He clutched the hem of his shorts as Coach Weiss greeted the audience. 

There was a trophy for everyone on the team, with their position listed below the name. There were also trophies for Best Kicker, Most Team Spirit, and Future Hall of Famer, in addition to the large championship trophy that would go into the village’s archives for everyone to gawk at when they found the time. 

“I’d like to call our star player up to the stage first!” Coach Weiss boomed. “In all my years of coaching, I have never met a child gifted with such skills! Come on up, Roger Doofenshmirtz!” 

Roger loved attention. But there was no clapping or whistling from the person whose attention he wanted most of all. He could barely see Mother, even as he ascended the steps. But he knew her posture was stiff, her hands folded in her lap. 

She was looking at the entrance of the field rather than the stage. She was probably more concerned at how Heinz hadn’t shown up yet. 

Roger felt no joy as Coach Weiss passed the trophy to him. 

“Your mother get cursed or something?” Coach Weiss asked. Unfortunately, he caught the audience’s attention too. People whispered as they brainstormed Mother’s strange behavior. She was usually the loudest one in the audience. 

Even the outfielders normally heard everything she screamed. 

Roger forced himself to smile and bow graciously, and the whispering died down. He just needed to get the audience to believe that nothing was wrong. 

Today was just a weird day and everything would soon be normal and forgotten. 

Eventually, all the general trophies were passed out. Roger gritted his teeth. It had ended too soon. Now they’d be handing out the truly special trophies. 

“Frederick has earned the Most Team Spirit award!” Coach Weiss announced. 

Helga screeched like a banshee as Frederick rushed up to the stage, his cheeks resembling a tomato. He quickly thanked Coach Weiss and hurried back to his seat. He kept his head down and refused to look at his mother, who bragged loudly to several nearby annoyed parents. 

Mother didn’t take the opportunity to brag about him. 

“One very bright little boy has surpassed expectations. Under normal circumstances, the Kickball Committee for Youths only allows one special trophy per player. However, I requested special permission to allow one of our gifted athletes to receive two special trophies. They sent a representative to sit in at one of our games, and he was blown away by the remarkable aptitude of this player!” 

Special. Remarkable. 

None of the other boys on the team received compliments like that. Kenny was average, and while Frederick was good, he wasn’t that good. 

“I proudly present Roger with the Best Kicker and Future Hall of Famer trophies!” 

Roger didn’t want to look at Mother, not wanting to see her disappointment stain his achievements. But he did anyway. 

A movement behind her caught his eye, and Roger watched curiously as Coach Weiss boasted of Roger’s kickball prowess. The tip of a metallic device poked around a corner, and a red beam of light struck Mother. 

Everyone was too busy clapping at Roger (or in Helga’s case, sulking) to notice the strange light. 

Coach Weiss deposited the two trophies in Roger’s arms, but Roger barely noticed their combined weight. 

Mother blinked, confused by the clapping audience in front of her. Then she stood up and looked at the stage. 

Roger’s breath hitched as he and Mother stared at each other. 

After a long moment, she shrieked in delight and dashed towards the stage. 

“Roger! That’s my son!” she exclaimed. “I’m so proud!” 

Roger laughed as she picked him up, setting him on her shoulders. 

Mother was back. Mother was back and that was all he wanted. The trophies were nice additions, but they paled in comparison to a mother who would cheer for him in kickball. 

While Mother and Coach Weiss whisked Roger away for pictures, he caught a glimpse of his brother. Heinz was partly hidden behind a bleacher, tears streaming down his face as he choked out something inaudible, but Roger recognized the lip movements, having seen the same motion uttered a million times before. 

I love you, Mother. 

Camera after camera took pictures of Roger, and he smiled for each one. But by the time he looked back, Heinz had run off. 

The strange device had been broken beyond repair. 

The remaining pieces were trampled into the mud. 

Heinz was punished with five hours of lawn gnome duty and dusting the permanently filthy shed as a result of interrupting Father’s card game, stealing money from Mother’s dresser, and arguing about the unfairness of it all. 

Mother was loving and kind and Father was Father. 

Everything was normal again. 

Epilogue

Roger remained close to Mother, taking the time to visit her though his schedule was packed with social engagements and mayoral duties.

Mother was loving and firm, a source of encouragement when he needed it most.

But there had been a day when her loving nature seemed to vanish, his security net swept away by a roaring tide of uncertainty.

No, the stress of campaigning was causing him to believe things that weren’t true.

That day had been nothing more than a fever dream.

AN: Heinz probably learned the hard way that science is no substitute for loving parents. That’s why he never targeted his parents with a scheme in the show. Sadly, there’s no way he’ll ever get their love and respect. Not the way he wants. 

Roger can’t even consider the truth about his parents. Better for him to believe his mother is a loving mother than accept that his mother was a monster. 

[romanovcain]

( BILL SKARSGÅRD, MALE, HE/HIM ) I, CAIN ROMANOV am a LEGACY student and would hereby like to submit my application to Kingswood Boarding School. I am EIGHTEEN years old and will be a SENIOR I would describe myself as RIGHTEOUS and AMBITIOUS, but also AVOIDANT and UNTRUSTING which I plan to work on during my time here. This is my request to join the HENRY building as a house MEMBER and look forward to hearing back from you. [ jimbo, 19, est ;)] 

hi this is cain and i love him treat him nicely ok thanks

tw: cults, abuse, heroin, weird religion shit

son of vaughn and adelaide romanov

vaughn being one of the senators of the state [whichever one that kingswood is located in] and his wife being a huge contributor to charity work over the years

adelaide was born and raised in england to a very, very, noble family and still keeps in close contact to them--often visiting them with the children

cain is the eldest of five children and always had a strong sense of duty to protect his younger siblings from harm’s way

the only one allowed to bully them is cain himself

right off the bat, cain could do no wrong. he was a perfect child who never threw tantrums or tracked mud throughout the house--he was obedient and had a great deal of respect for his parents and their reputations

they practically grew up down the street from kingswood, and he had always known he was going to attend the school. it was in his blood, both lines, and cain strove to never disappoint

being of such high status did, admittedly, give cain too much of an ego

he wasn’t boastful about his family, but he did give off an almost untouchable air

he either acknowledged you, or ignored you completely. often decided on who your parents were

at kingswood he was practically their golden child; the poster child.

he was respectful and charming, his smile could get him free of a month’s worth of detention, and he never let himself get into any bad publicity

he was part of several clubs, and was the star jumper on the track team

his presence at kingswood was known, and it was that simple. either you knew of him, or you wish he knew you

he was elitist and didn’t acknowledge those he considered ‘less than’ him; scholarship students, henry boys and victoria girls--anybody who would tarnish the reputation he had from birth was a no-go

he never sought out problems, himself, having always avoided unneeded conflict

that being said--when there was needed conflict, he wasn’t afraid to have it...handled

his best friend died sophomore year and it affected him pretty badly, though he would have never showed it

if anything, he became colder--if that was even possible. he was practically the ice king.

he went into senior year as head of edward house, the president of student gov, along with a member of several other clubs, and captain of the track team. 

and months later; on january 1st, 2018--cain disappeared

nobody knew where he had gone; it sent the nation into a panic.

months long search hunts, constant activity checks on his cards and phone, national broadcasting of his information. radio silence.

cain was, not dead--but seemed like it

in reality, he had given up his life of luxury to pursue what he thought was a new beginning

his recruiters were carefree children of god; who believed wealth was the root of all evil, and that those corrupted by capitalism had to be saved

they were part of a much, much, larger cult--with many, many more followers

they met cain by coincidence; small talk in a bank. they knew who he was; everybody knew who cain romanov was.

the fact his name was cain, was a message from god

they had to have him

they managed to impress cain with their intensive knowledge of life, and from there they had stayed in contact

right until january 1st, when cain was ‘initiated’ into their cult

the new year symbolized new lives, and they stripped him of his sins.

it was fine, at first. cain enjoyed the simplicity of their lives and didn’t particularly mind the worship--he had grown up religious

they were minimalist, and didn’t want cain to own any personal belongings, but he managed to hide a secret journal inside his mattress.

it was at first, just something to record his days with, or write letters to the people he missed, despite the fact he could never send them

it soon proved to be his means of survival

as the months passed by, cain was finding it harder to please his new family. they wanted more out of him. they wanted him to bless them, but he was just a boy

he was just a boy.

they found reasons to punish cain, no matter how small the error--he was punished

they involved him being grabbed at and tugged at, dozens of hands pulling at his limbs and clothes and begging him--chanting at him--to repent, until he did so

other times, they’d cleanse him via baptism, repeatedly, until water nearly filled his lungs

one of the worst things they did, were their attempts to subdue him and force him to conform back into their ways. everyday, they’d inject him with a small dose of heroin

this action led to cain’s eventual memory loss; his memory became fuzzed, shattered, only pieces and bits of his previous life left behind

but his journals reminded him of what he used to have. even if he didn’t remember it fully himself, he could read his own words and know that no matter what was going on--it was not right. and he had to get out.

he let the cult thing he was conforming, for a few months after that--to just, avoid the punishments.

it worked for a while, up until new years eve.

he had done something, unworthy to their god, and he was to pay in a terrible way.

they held him down, and attempted to brand cain with--well, the mark of cain

he bit them whenever they tried to come near his head, so they settled with his chest--right over his heart

at their cleansing ritual, that was when cain made his escape--running through woods and woods and woods until he collapsed in the middle of the highway, nearly causing an accident

it was soon reported, on january 1st, 2019, that cain romanov had been found

despite having been, running for hours, and extremely dirty--cain had been forced to recount to the police exactly where he had gone, what he had endured.

he broke down several times, sobbing, though it is a fact he keeps strictly to himself

and just like that--he was taken home.

the family reunion was....tough. some of his family had accepted the fact he was dead, others had always known he was still alive, somehow.

regardless, it was all very emotional.

despite how emotional, it was, every time somebody went to hug him, or shake his hand, or anything--he’d back away, cringe, with a repulsed look on his face

it was an extremely quick decision, but after a brief amount of thought--both kingswood and his parents thought it would be good for publicity if he finished the school year he never got to see--enrolling him for his senior year. again.

his father took advantage of the heartfelt reunion, and took the chance to announce his campaign for presidency--in name of his found son, who gave him hope once more. or some other bullshit.

cain is not the boy he was previously. he is much more reserved, yet not nearly as elite as before. he doesn’t give a shit where somebody came from. he just wants to finish his year and go about his life again

suffers from pstd and goes to therapy once a week; he still journals because his therapist told him too

also took up sketching (often, abstract portraits) as a way to help him think, or process, or cope. it was a method of healing.

looking at his old journals helps him with recognizing people, but he doesn’t really remember them

he doesn’t remember too much of his time at kingswood, and is struggling. it’s weird to know he meant so much to specific people, even though he has no memory of them anymore

he’s gradually regaining his memory, but is also dealing with heroin withdrawals. after all, they had been forcing it into his system everyday

he cant stand being touched, contact with others repulses him and often triggers flashbacks to the cult

he has no interest in any of his former positions, choosing to focus on schoolwork.

there’s probably more that i forgot tbh

EDIT: the police found the recruiters of the cult, but not the entire ordeal. cain is obsessed with the investigation, and follows it extremely closely. if anything, he’s creating his own mini investigation in following.

wanted connections !!!

past connections, mainly

old friends

ex-relationships

people he should really remember but doesn’t

he was an idol for many, and was notorious around the school. if theyve been at kingswood for a while, there is a huge chance they knew of him

god i dont know

just. give me angst. he doesn’t remember a lot about others.

[welllpthisishappening]

Sticking to the Color Scheme

There was hair in his face. And sparkles on his nails. And posters in his locker, hand-drawn masterpieces that they’d probably put in frames at some point. 

But for right now, Killian was simply content to hold onto his kid and make bets about games and listen to the regular scouting report. And, maybe, eventually make out with his wife in some corner of the Garden they hadn’t made out in yet. He wasn’t sure there many of those left. 

Rating: A great, big pile of pre-game fluff.  Word Count: 7.5 and everyone talking over each other.  AN: I’ve mentioned a few times that I love TJ Oshie on here (there’s a reason Killian took all those shootout shots in The PyeongChang Triple) and a few months ago he did an interview with his nails painted because, well, his daughter painted his nails. So, that’s like the most Killian Jones thing to ever happen. And I was like, I’m going to write that. This is the last season, so age updates: Matt’s eight, Peggy’s five, Roland is 17, Henry’s 22, Dylan is nine.  Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll and all Blue Line one shot updates coming on Sundays. 

“Not a word.” “I said no words, Cap.” “You were thinking them.”

“I was not. I was considering thinking them, but then I decided I’d rather not die before we could possibly clinch the East and that’d ruin whatever fairy tale we’re running with here.”

Killian glanced over his shoulder, stuffing his gloves into the corner of his locker and there wasn’t really that much room in his locker. There wasn’t really much hockey equipment in his locker. There were, however, several photos and hand-drawn pictures and the most recent one was leaving a trail of sparkles across the entire locker room.

“Fairy tale,” Killian echoed. “Isn’t that a little sentimental for you, Scarlet?” Will shrugged, stretching his legs out and propping his feet up on the lowest shelf. “Is it not? You take your option, your kids are painfully adorable and, suddenly, we’re rolling through some kind of postseason script that’ll probably inspire a movie at some point.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” “I’ve put the appropriate amount of thought into this. And you better put up your sign or Pegs is going to be really disappointed.” Killian hummed, far too aware of his five-year-old daughter’s decorating tendencies and the letters that he was, at least, ninety-eight percent positive Emma had sketched at some point the night before.

“She made one for Rook too,” Will continued, eyes darting towards Killian when he was forced to use stick tape to press the piece of paper into one of the few open corners of his locker. “It was the most goddamn adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Wait backtrack a second, have you seen my kids before I have? Is that weird?” “It’s definitely weird, but they like me more and Dr. J wanted to discuss strategy on the PK. He’s got a lot of thoughts about forechecking.” Killian scoffed, something that felt like pride blooming in the center of his chest. “That’s because he’s frustrated we’re not scoring at least ten goals a game. How did you happen to see my kids before I saw my kids?”

“We just went over this, Cap. And because Gina told them they had, approximately, five minutes before Robin had to go on air and Pegs made him a good luck sign too. Although I think he got a different color scheme than we did. Something that was going to match his tie.”

“How could she possibly know what color tie he was going to wear?”

“Seriously you can’t figure out that string of communication on your own?” Will asked and Killian didn’t blink when he twisted, met with an expression somewhere between amused and all-knowing and they were probably going to get glitter on the ice.

“Ok, try and keep up,” Will grinned. “Ruby and Emma drew those letters last night at the restaurant, Rol helped outline them because, naturally they needed to be outlined, Matt thought everything should be blue, Pegs disagreed, Gina heard, promised to find out what color it should be and texted Emma when they got home. Locksley followed up with photo evidence so Pegs could make sure she picked the closest color while we were at morning skate and then went to the MSG studios when, as previously mentioned, Gina told them they could.”

“That wasn’t really that complicated,” Killian said and Will groaned, rolling his head when he made some sort of rude gesture that wasn’t quite as endearing as color coordinated artwork. “So they went across the street then?” “I thought you just said it wasn’t complicated.” “Don’t be an ass.” Will chuckled, shaking his hand out of his glove and running it over his face, the smile there genuine, like everything was, well, sparkly. And color coordinated. With well-outlined block letters and personalized pre-game messages.

God, maybe they were some kind of fairy tale.

“Holy shit,” Killian gasped, jerking towards Will and earning a pair of incredibly well-rolled eyes for his outburst. “When?” “You’re going to need to be more specific, Cap.” “When did this happen?” Will hummed in the back of his throat, squeezing one eye closed and his nails weren’t quite as perfectly colored as Killian’s, but there were still bits of blue and sparkles and they were going to inspire several different headlines if anyone saw. “Uhhhhh not last night, but the night before?” “Why are you spending so much time with my kids?” “We did this already,” Will chuckled, tugging his hand out of Killian’s grasp and shoving against his shoulder. “They like me better. And you were still here when I got uptown, probably doing something vaguely Captain-esque…” “I was on that hockey show Locksley does post-game.” “How many shows is Locksley on?” Killian shrugged, but the answer might have actually been six and Regina had outdone herself in the last few seasons.

They were all going to be set for life – with bright blue, sparkly nails.

“I feel like I should be insulted that Locksley isn’t inviting me on his shows too,” Will continued, leaning over to lace up his skates. “Whatever. I’ll score a hatty, your kids will love me more and then Locksley will have to acknowledge me.” “You realize how insane that sounds?” “Yes.” “Oh, huh,” Killian blinked. “That was not the answer I thought I was going to get. I was sure there was going to be way more banter.”

Will flashed a grin, glancing around the locker room when it started to fill up – new kids and more veterans and far more laughter than there probably should have been, all things considered, but they could clinch the East that night and things were vaguely fairy tale and, over the last few years, the New York Rangers locker room had become some kind of never-ending parade of absolutely adorable.

“I’m here to keep you on your toes, Cap,” Will muttered, pushing off his bench and catching a close-to-flying Dylan Havfrue around the waist. “Control your limbs, little man.” Dylan did not, in fact, control his limbs, laughter sounding impossibly loud even with the other footsteps approaching. Killian turned just in time for a flash of green eyes and dark hair and several incredibly potent limbs to fling themselves at him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck and a knee finding its way into his spleen.

He assumed it was his spleen.

He also assumed it was bruised.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” Peggy shouted and he could feel her smile when she buried her face into the crook of his neck. “Did you like your sign?” Killian tried to keep the hair out of his mouth when he answered, but that was a lost cause and he was too busy catching Emma’s eye from the other side of the room. She bit her lip lightly, trying to stop herself from smiling too wide and that was kind of a lost cause too.

She had a walkie-talkie in her hand and she looked a little tired, but that was par for the playoff course and there were Rangerstown posters everywhere.

Killian was, at least, ninety-six percent positive she’d hung half of them herself.

She’d still been in Chase Square when he walked out of the MSG Network studio across the street two nights before – balanced precariously on a vaguely rickety ladder with both Merida and Ruby spotting her. And he wasn’t really sure what had happened, but it felt like something in his brain had short-circuited and he nearly got hit by four different cabs when he ran across 7th Avenue.

Ruby didn’t appreciate that.

But it hadn’t really mattered because he was him and Emma smiled as soon as she saw him, sitting on the top step of the ladder like that wasn’t even more precarious than standing on it.

They made out in the backseat of the cab uptown – after he’d helped her hang the signs.

“Cap,” Phillip muttered, kicking at his ankles when it became incredibly obvious Peggy did not appreciate being ignored. “What’s happening with your face?” Killian blinked, trying to come up with an appropriate answer to that question, particularly when one of his kids was hanging off him and the other – decked in head to toe Rangers gear – was tucked under Phillip’s arm with an expectant look on his face that felt oddly familiar.

Emma smiled.

“He’s probably thinking about all the ladders he’s got to save people from,” she said.

“That was dangerous, Swan.” “Ruby and Merida were there.” “That does not make me feel much better,” Killian argued and Peggy moved again, a different knee finding its way into one of his kidneys. And several different ribs. He was going to be bruised before he even got on the ice.

It was worth it.

He might have been the most melodramatic part of the fairy tale. He hoped they didn’t put that in the inevitable film adaption.

“What exactly are we missing?” Phillip asked, directing Matt further into the locker room until they were both sitting on the same bench. And Phillip’s locker had a considerable amount of hand-drawn art on it as well.

“I had to hang signs before you guys could clinch and because you cold clinch and apparently the ladder was too rickety,” Emma explained.

“Had to or decided to?” “That’s not the question you should be asking.”

Phillip chuckled, glancing meaningfully Will’s direction. He nodded seriously, lower lip jutted out and Killian felt the smile on his face when he noticed the slight flush on Emma’s cheek. “Yuh huh,” Phillip grinned. “So, like, on a scale of one to ten how much did Cap freak when he found out? Actually, you know what, you don’t have to answer that. I don’t want to embarrass Cap in front of your kids.”

“You are playing with fire, Rook,” Killian growled, the vaguely ancient nickname working its way into the threat.

Phillip’s smile widened. “So what you’re really saying is like...a fifteen?”

“You want to get the puck at all or no?” “Please, you need me. And that other kid is nothing.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re pissed he’s breaking your record,” Ruby said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere with a clipboard in hand and a pen behind her ear. “And as a follow-up to that, where’s your kid, Rook?” “Ok, I have not been a rookie in nearly a decade,” Phillip sighed. “We were literally just talking about a rookie. Go bother him, Lucas.” Ruby narrowed her eyes and it looked like she grew several feet while she stared at Phillip, his lips pulled behind his teeth and Killian didn’t think he imagined the way his arm tightened around Matt. “You want to rephrase your official statement?” she asked. “Because that one was pretty shitty, honestly. Don’t let him touch the puck the entire first period, Cap.” “See, that’s that what I’m saying,” Killian said. “But seriously, Phillip, where is your kid?”

“If I say I’m not entirely sure does that make me the world’s worst father? Because I’m like only seventy-six percent positive that they’re here.”

“They are,” Emma said. “Reese’s told me she saw Aurora with someone who she assumed was Aurora’s mom and dad and an incredibly adorable kid wearing your jersey heading up to the team suite when they got here.” Phillip hummed, doing something that looked like an attempt at a wink. Ruby nearly cackled. “Oh thanks, Em,” he said. “That was definitely them. You can tell Mary Margaret her assumptions were correct.” “Good news,” Ruby mumbled. “You know what happens sometimes when you assume."

Emma glared at her. “Don’t you have something better to do than make sweeping allusions to vaguely antiquated curses in front of kids?”

“They didn’t even notice,” Ruby reasoned. She pressed a kiss to the top of Matt’s hair, laughing loudly his grumbled c’mon Ru. “Don’t be like that mini-Jones. You get on TV when you were across the street?” Matt shook his head, kicking his feet out and the banter was a strange pre-game routine they’d all fallen into. “No, there wasn’t enough time.” “You want me to beat up Locksley for you?” “Lucas,” Killian snapped, at the same time Emma yelled “Rubes” and Will was going to do permanent damage to his shoulders if he kept laughing while trying to make sure Dylan Havfrue didn’t end up on the floor in the middle of the New York Rangers locker room.

Merida shouted something on the walkie-talking again, something about fans and cheering and an appearance from Rangers legend Robin Locksley before puck drop.

“Oh God, did she honestly just call him a legend?” Will groaned. “Don’t let Gina hear that, she’s going to change his business cards if she knows that’s what we’re referring to him as.” “Why are you all being so difficult about this?” Emma asked, eyes flashing towards Killian and it wasn’t easy to balance Peggy when he held his arm out towards her. She moved anyway, letting her head rest against the front of his pads.

“I’m not being difficult. I'm being...practical. It’s so much work to redo business cards. Isn’t that right, Lucas?” “I was not in charge of my own business cards,” Ruby answered evenly. “I have several different assistants for that. Because I’m way more important than any of you.” “And modest too,” Phillip muttered. Ruby glared again, but he was already holding up one hand and shaking his head. “Don’t do it again, Lucas. I’m going to score at least once and assist on someone else’s goal. Two points, at least, so I can impress my kid.” “And his in-laws,” Emma added. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“Right, right, of course. Totally not part of the plan.”

“Hey, Em,” Will cut in, wincing when Dylan inadvertently elbowed him in the ear. “How many shows is Locksley on? Cap didn’t know.” Emma twisted, glancing up at him from underneath her eyelashes and, more than a decade later, that was just as distracting as ever, a few hours before puck drop. “You really don’t know?” she asked.

“It’s a lot, right?” “Four?” Ruby asked, gaze flitting around the room and they really needed to get dressed soon. Killian assumed Ruby had something vaguely vice-presidential to do. He hoped Mr. and Mrs. Vankald got along with Phillip’s in-laws in the team suite.

“It’s got to be more than four,” Killian said. “Six. A round half dozen because Gina is crazy. Don’t repeat that,” he added, mostly into Peggy’s hair. “I don’t want to get yelled at later.”

Phillip shook his head. “No, no, it’s not six. That’s insane. Who’d have time for six shows?” “Gina would make time.” “I mean that’s a fair assumption,” Ruby grinned. “But, not to repeat myself, you know what happens when you assume, Cap.” “Oh my God,” Emma groaned, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the back of Killian’s hand. “Count them. He does MSG-150, plus the post and pre-game stuff.” “You can’t count post and pre as different shows. That’s all part of the game broadcast. And MSG-150 is just part of the intermission same thing.” “Agreed,” Will said. “Anything game related only counts as one.” “That’s just because you don’t want it to be a lot numbers,” Emma pointed out. “Sounds like you’re a little threatened.”

Will tilted his head, eyebrows pulled low and Killian didn’t have to see her to know Emma was smiling. And he nearly dropped Peggy when he moved, earning another bruise for his efforts, brushing his lips over the top of her head.

The entire locker room groaned – including that other, incredibly fast rookie and both of Killian's kids.

“Hey,” Killian said, eyeing Matt with something he hoped was vaguely fatherly and not how much he wanted to make out with Emma pre-game. He didn’t really care about the number of shows Robin was inexplicably on anymore. “None of that.” Matt nodded, a twist to his lips and a flash in his eyes and he’d gotten very good at perfecting that very particular response.

“It’s three,” he said.

“What?” “Uncle Robin is on three shows. If you’re following Ru’s rules and saying that the game stuff only counts as one.” “How do you know that?” “I watch TV,” Matt shrugged. “He does the game stuff and The Hockey Show and Aunt Gina got him that fancy Locked In thing.” “That fancy Locked In thing,” Phillip echoed, working another shrug out of Matt and Killian was fairly sure there were cameras working into the locker room too. Mulan was probably on some kind of pre-game, photo gallery quest.

“Gina talked to someone in production, got them to agree to use the name Locked In for the show that used to be the coach’s show,” Emma explained. “There was a lot of discussion, a lot of debate, Gina glared at people. The usual.” Phillip nodded in understanding, but Killian mumbled don’t repeat that either in Peggy’s hair and Gina was going to murder all of them at the restaurant later that night.

Her nails were probably blue too.

“It’s only three shows,” Matt mumbled, like he’d won some kind of argument or settled some kind of debate and he probably practiced shrugging in the mirror as well.

And Killian didn’t know who laughed louder – Ruby or Phillip or even Emma, twisting into his side with both her arms wrapped around his middle.

It made his pads dig into his shoulders and the small of his back and he didn’t say anything, just hid his smile in the mixture of both Emma and Peggy’s hair.

“You’re definitely the smartest one, mini-Jones,” Ruby said, brushing far too long hair out of Matt’s eyes and tugging lightly on the front of his jersey. “Thanks for agreeing with me.” Matt muttered something that sounded like yeah, sure, but the tips of his ears had gone red and he couldn’t seem to meet anyone’s gaze, avoiding Killian’s expectant stare and possibly proud smile and Phillip was still laughing.

“Man, it’s like looking in a mirror,” Will said, hitching Dylan further up his shoulders and Killian hoped Ariel wasn’t anywhere nearby. She would yell.

“You know that doesn’t make any sense at all, right?” Emma laughed. She pulled her head away from Killian, lips still curled into a smile and he tapped his thumb on the back of her wrist – just over her laces and her nails were a slightly different shade of blue than Killian’s or Will’s.

“I think you got a few more sparkles than I did, Swan,” Killian said, nodding towards her hand. “When did you have time for that?” “We were all very well scheduled. She had a whole plan.” “For real?” Emma nodded, a camera shutter clicking a few feet away and if any of this ended up online Killian was going to break several sticks and a few whiteboards just to prove a point. “I expect a few more sparkles next time ok, little love?” he asked, somehow managing to get into Peggy’s gaze and she practically beamed in response.

“Only if you win,” Peggy said and it might have been ok if the internet got official documentation of that moment because it might have been the greatest moment and Killian was only slightly certain his heart hadn’t exploded out of his chest.

Will looked a little stunned, Ruby squeezing her eyes closed and she was absolutely on the verge of tears, but Emma’s walkie talkie made noise and they all jumped, Merida’s muttered voice sounding only vaguely stressed.

That was a step up from normal. Killian assumed it was because they’d hung the signs two nights before.

“Although,” Emma continued, brushing away Peggy’s hair from Killian’s face, “you are kind of right, Scarlet. It’s eerily similar to Killian.” “It’s the eyebrow thing,” Phillip said. He rested his head on top of Matt’s shoulder, working a not-so-quiet groan out of the kid and Killian felt a surge of affection that might get him to score his own hat trick and maybe he should have challenged Will to some kind of pre-game bet.

Will chuckled and he couldn’t sit down with Dylan hanging off his shoulder, but he could, at least, lean back and Peggy made some kind of strangled sound when he nearly ripped one of her latest works of art.

“Uncle Will,” she shouted, directly into Killian’s ear and both he and Emma mumbled some kind of reprimand under their breath. It didn’t make a difference.

There was art to protect.

“Sorry, sorry, Pegs,” Will said quickly. “The art is totally fine. I promise, kid.” She nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide and still just a bit cautious and Will grabbed more tape, some kind of precautionary measure against the creative inclinations of a five-year-old who had taken over an entire professional hockey team.

“Daddy,” she said, yanking on his pads and nearly strangling him in the process. “You never said.” Killian blinked, trying to make sure his throat hadn’t collapsed in the last four seconds and Emma answered for him. “Said what, babe?” “His sign!” “Oh, right, right, right. You know, we worked very hard on tracing those letters last night,” Emma said, glancing back at Killian and he was going to show up the rookie. He had his priorities straight. “And there was some debate about the color scheme.” “Blue is generally a safe bet,” Killian muttered. He shifted Peggy to his other side, dimly aware of several assistant coaches shouting and a few more camera clicks and they needed to go play a hockey game. “And I love the sign, Peg. You did a fantastic job.”

She smiled at him, peppering the side of his face with kisses and Killian’s entire being felt like it was going to explode – several varieties of emotions and most of them were just synonyms of happiness.

“You and Uncle Will and Rook got different ones!” Killian’s eyes flickered towards Emma – she shook her head in response, an unspoken she was determined that had basically become the subhead of Margaret Elsa Jones’ life at that point.

And no one was very good at saying no to her.

He assumed Peggy was the reason they’d been let on the set across the street before Robin was slated to do fan events and three shows in one.

“We’re totally going to win now, Pegs,” Phillip said.

Matt nearly screamed. “Don’t jinx it!” “Oh my God, it is like a mini-Cap. It’s so weird. Listen, Matt, you’ve got to do me a favor and when you play, you can’t pick twenty too, ok? Pick another number.” “Don’t pick Rook’s number, Dr. J,” Will mumbled, kicking lightly at Matt’s ankles and working a laugh out of him. “Plus seventy-six is way better. Looks good when you’re checking.” “Oh my God, Scarlet,” Killian sighed.

“We going to bet on something or what, Cap?”

“What do you want to bet on?”

Will shrugged, tilting his head and keeping an arm around Dylan. “I feel like you should get to pick since you’re just going to lose, so…” “Ok, that’s rude.” “Well, Rook claimed he was going to get at least two points, so I expect three points from you, Cap. At least.” “Three,” Killian repeated. “That’s it?”

Will gasped, nearly falling backwards off the bench when he tried to point and laugh at the same time and Killian probably would have made fun of that if he didn’t realize they were being filmed and he could hear Robin’s voice moving through the locker room.

“Awfully confident,” Emma muttered, lacing her fingers through Killian’s free hand.

Killian hummed, pressing another kiss to her hair, but Matt didn’t groan when he moved towards them. He slammed into Emma’s side, though, never quite as good on the ground as he was on ice and stopping was still a distinct work in progress.

“Three is easy,” Matt said. “Just get in front of the net, Dad.” “Yeah, Cap,” Phillip nodded. “Just get in front of the net. We’ll do the rest. And I really want to make sure Scarlet loses.” “Ok, that’s rude,” Will hissed.

Robin – and his video entourage – arrived in front of them before Killian could come up with some witty retort, pushing cameras into their faces and his tie was incredibly red.

“What the hell is this?” Killian asked, tugging on fabric and Robin couldn’t swat at his hands quickly enough. “A power tie? This is the wrong color entirely.” “Get out of here, Cap. And stop swearing in front of your kids.” “You just came at a totally inopportune time, Locksley. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a TV show to do?” “What do you think I’m doing? This is pre-game stuff.” “Part one of three,” Ruby muttered, waving a dismissive hand when Robin muttered what under his breath. “Don’t listen to them, Locksley. Scarlet, finish your terms.” “Terms,” Robin shouted. “What the hell? Guys, it’s not cool if you leave me out of the bets.” “Locksley you are a retired hockey player,” Killian pointed out. “A legend. If you will. And stop swearing in front of my kids.” “Who said that? The legend thing, not swearing in front of your kids. Hey guys, long time no see. Peg, the guys at the station put your picture up on set.” Peggy let out a noise between a scream and a gasp, trying to climb up and down Killian at the same time. “Really?” “I wouldn’t lie to you, kid. You’ve got to make one for Rol though. He’s super jealous of your dad’s nails.”

“Can we get back to the point, please?” Will asked. “Pegs, you’ve done a great job with the art, they should let you redecorate the Garden and wherever Rol is--” “--The national team training center, Scarlet, don’t act like you don’t know that.” “Whatever, whatever. I want at least three points, Cap and if I don’t get three points, then I get to take the lead in post.” “We do post in front of our lockers later,” Phillip muttered, but it didn’t make any difference and Ruby was already demanding to know what the hell that means.

Will widened his eyes in wait, pointing meaningfully towards both Peggy and Matt, like he was reminding Killian that his kids were standing there would make some kind of difference. As if he weren’t already far more competitive than a normal, healthy person should be.

“Yeah, that’s totally fair,” Killian said. “Game on or whatever.” “Oh God, I can’t believe you just said that out loud. You get that on camera, Locksley? I want that documented for posterity so we can show it when they inevitably retire Cap’s number and the league wants hysterical videos during the inevitable ceremony.”

“You’ve put way too much thought into this,” Robin said. “Why are you thinking about Cap’s retirement ceremony? Mini-Jones is going to wear his number anyway. Obviously.” “Obviously,” Emma repeated softly, just loud enough for Killian to hear it and maybe they could find a corner of the Garden they hadn’t made out in yet.

Matt’s ears were red. Again.

They were absolutely going to clinch the East.

Will nodded, tugging Dylan along with him when he took a step into Killian’s space and Robin directed the cameras towards them. “Game on,” he said.

Robin made Will repeat the whole thing on camera – something about good for the fans and the internet – but it gave Killian a chance to shift the weight of the five-year-old still clinging to his side and direct the eight-year-old with bright red ears towards the door of the locker room and Emma had turned her walkie-talkie off at some point.

And they were, really, overflowing with traditions now, but this one might have been Killian’s favorite and he was kind of a giant sap.

“Alright,” he said, not surprised when Peggy found a way to drape herself horizontally over his shoulders. “Scouting report.” He saw Emma’s smile out of the corner of his eye, twisting the ring around her neck, and Killian couldn’t quite remember when it started exactly – probably somewhere around the time that Matt could open his eyes.

It was definitely before he could form cognizant sentences.

Emma claimed it was playing favorites again, something about how he’d gotten used to the sound of games before he was even born, and Killian probably wouldn’t have ever admitted how much that made his pulse pick up. She absolutely knew anyway.

And the websites backed her up.

It became a trend that first season after Matt was born – hours spent on the couch in their apartment and the couch in Emma’s office and it was some kind of mutual comfort thing, Matt resting on his chest with a team-provided tablet in his hand and film in the background, mumbling a steady stream of commentary and explanations into an infant’s ear.

They kept doing it with Peggy – partly because it really did seem to help both Jones kids sleep and partly because Matt resolutely refused to stop learning how hockey worked once he could form cognizant sentences – and there probably weren’t any two kids in the continental United States who knew more about the game than the Jones kids.

They watched film and dissected game play and gave Killian a scouting report before every game. It was tradition.

“The Devils block a ton of shots,” Matt started. “You won’t be able to do much from the point because they’re going to get into the lanes.”

Killian nodded. “You were pretty adamant about getting in front of the net.” “I know.” “And?” “And what? Score and beat Uncle Will in the bet.” “You’ve made it sound awfully easy,” Killian said. “Their defense doesn’t give up many goals. It’s top in the Metro or something.”

“Yeah, but not on the PK. They’re garbage on the PK. Uncle Liam said a lot of stuff about them in Norwegian and... “Hey,” Killian interrupted sharply and Matt’s eyes widened when he realized what he’d almost said. “Tell Uncle Liam to stop being such a bad influence.”

“He’s not wrong.” “Yeah, I don’t care.”   Emma couldn’t quite mask her laugh, doing a pretty awful job of turning it into a sound that even resembled a cough. She tugged on the back of Peggy’s jersey, trying to pull her off Killian’s shoulders, but that was, apparently, a bigger challenge than getting into the zone against the Devils.

“Something to add, Swan?” Killian asked, ruffling Matt’s hair when he groaned as loudly as he possibly could.

She shook her head. “Absolutely nothing. Just, you know, that maybe you might have mumbled a few pointed words that weren’t in the English language during the last game against the Devils and now you’re--” He didn’t let her finish, which really wasn’t the best plan when both of their kids were standing there and they were in the middle of the hallway, which more than a decade later was still some kind of trend, and Killian really did have to finish getting dressed. He didn’t really care. He was going to kiss his wife and he could feel her smile when his lips found hers, the hint of laughter lingering in the minimal amount of air between them when one of her fingers hooked around a clasp in his pads.

“You’re a menace,” Emma mumbled, resting her forehead on his.

“Nah, a distraction at best.” “I have stuff to do.” “I have a game to play.” “Yours might be more important.” “Equal footing, love,” Killian argued and it wasn’t much of an argument because it was a bunch of absurdly sentimental, fairy-tale type of truth.

Until Matt groaned again and someone called for Killian from the locker room and they really did have things to do. Emma kissed him again before she pulled away.

“Screen ‘em,” Peggy yelled, her own laughter nearly louder than her game-time suggestions when Killian tugged her down. Her words weren’t quite words when he flipped her over, Emma rolling her eyes and that was a bit of a tradition too. The light in the hallway seemed to reflect off the sparkles on his nails. “Daddy, daddy, you’ve got to screen ‘em and then you can score!”

“Oh, yeah?” “Yeah!” “Like, at least, three goals,” Matt added, a smile on his face and belief in his words and Killian barely heard Ariel’s screech when she jogged down the hallway.

“Cap, what the hell? God, jeez, sorry Matt, sorry Pegs.’ “Relax, Red, we’re fine,” Killian promised. “And you might want to refocus your frustration for Scarlet because I’m pretty sure he’s bench-pressing your kid in there.” “Are you kidding me?”

“Tattle tale,” Emma muttered, smile still on her face and ring still pinched between her fingers.

Killian made a dismissive noise, certain the smirk almost worked as soon as Emma tugged her lower lip in between her teeth. “Just reporting the facts, Swan.” “God, you’re the most annoying hockey star in the history of the world,” Ariel mumbled. The words lost a bit of their edge when she started making faces at Peggy, though, slinging an arm around Matt. Her nails were painted too. “You going to score, Cap?” “Obviously.” “Ok, there’s no need to be quite so certain about it.” “Confidence is key, Red. Stop trying to undermine my father-type lessons.” “Jeez, laying it on almost too thick, don’t you think?” “He’s a giant sap, that’s why,” Emma said, a quiet hum of agreement from Ariel. “I mean, don’t get me wrong it’s cute, but that’s totally what it is.” Matt stuck his tongue out when he nearly growled in the middle of the hallway, Peggy far too busy giggling to be impressed by her parent’s continued and inevitable flirting in Madison Square Garden hallways.

Ariel rolled his eyes. “Nice nails, Cap.” “It’s good luck,” he shrugged. “Are yours a different color?” “Nah, they’re still blue, but we had to pool resources when Pegs decided she was going to take over the entire team, you know.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes total sense.” “I think the person behind the counter at Duane Reade thought we were planning something almost nefarious, honestly. Gina and I had to buy, like, fifteen different shades of blue.”

Killian blinked, surprise settling over him and it probably shouldn’t have, particularly when Peggy smiled, twisting back onto her feet. There was hair in her face.

Fairy tale. Or whatever.

Someone called for him again and it probably wouldn’t have been a very good lesson to be late for his own game.

“C’mon guys,” Emma said, tugging Peggy back to her side. “We’ve got to get back upstairs before we make sure Uncle Robin does something vaguely legendary outside.”

He was expecting the kiss, knew it was coming and they’d already kind of made out several times already, but Killian was still kind of greedy and absurdly happy and everyone’s nails were bright blue.

“I love you,” he muttered and maybe Peggy learned how to giggle from Emma.

“I love you too. Score some goals, ok?”

They won.

Easily.

By four goals, which wasn’t really all that surprising because Matt was right and the Devils PK was exceptionally shitty, and the new coach didn’t break nearly as many whiteboards as Arthur had, but that was neither here nor there because they’d won and Killian scored and assisted on Phillip’s second goal and they won.

He didn’t, however, win the bet.

He was only slightly frustrated by that.

And that was the biggest lie he’d told since he promised he was done after his second contract extension ended because he really, really hated losing and hated losing to Will even more, even when it was a stupid bet that didn’t really mean much of anything.

“It was a close call, Cap,” Will said, making sure to nod as sarcastically as he possibly could. Killian’s phone was already ringing a few inches above his head, no doubt some incredibly pointed opinions from Liam about those turnovers in the neutral zone and the way that one check looked.

He ignored his phone.

And Will.

There were already cameras by the time he got to his locker, reporters and recorders and that one guy from Newsday who still used a pad of paper because he didn’t trust technology and Killian’s hair was still slightly damp from the shower.

And, honestly, he should have realized exactly what Will had been planning from the get-go, should have known that he’d probably teamed up with Robin as soon as Killian left the locker room, but he could feel his eyes widen as soon as he heard the voices and Peggy leapt into his lap before he’d taken a full breath.

“Hi,” she shouted, standing on his legs and tugging on the fabric on his shoulders, a precarious balancing act that was also a bit painful.

That one check had totally fucked up his right thigh.

“Hey, love,” Killian mumbled. “What are you doing here? I thought you were upstairs with Mom and M’s and Uncle David.” “Mom had to work and Ru brought us down here because Uncle Will said we could be on TV!”

“Wait, what?”

“What part of that was confusing, Cap?” Will called from the other side of the room. “I told you I was going to control post and this is how I wanted post to go.”

Matt was already talking – giving a detailed description of the Devil’s penalty kill and how important it was to wrap up the series with a strong showing like that and Killian was fairly sure he’d heard the phrase Cup run several times in quick succession.

“Hey,” Robin cut in, leaning around one of the cameras and tugging the microphone away from Matt. “No jinx.” Matt didn’t look particularly impressed. “We’re totally going to win.” “We’ve got to get you some more media training. You can’t say that kind of stuff on the post-game.” “Rol would!”

“Ah, he’s got you there, Locksley,” Phillip laughed, his own kid in his arms and Dylan a few feet away and they were all going to end up on several different backpages for whatever stunt they were currently pulling.

It’d be some kind of incredibly heartwarming scene in the movie.

“Yeah, that’s probably true,” Robin admitted. “And this is, like, full circle or something from the first Cup run.” “Can you say that, Locksley?” Killian asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be less biased now that you’re some fancy TV guy?” “Ok, I am not a fancy TV guy. I am a normal TV guy.” “Eh, how many shows do you currently have?” Robin made a less-than-mature hand gesture behind his back, careful to avoid the cameras and the reporters and Killian had to push his face into his daughter’s hair to make sure his own laugh didn’t draw too much attention.

“Shut up, Cap,” Robin muttered and none of it was very professional, but none of them had ever been very professional and they all had painfully adorable kids who wanted to talk about hockey and scoring opportunities on the MSG post-game show.

“Eloquent. No wonder they put you on forty-seven TV shows.”

“You should have been able to get four points in a four-oh game.” “You want me to get points on every goal we have?” Killian asked, flashing a grin at Peggy when she moved her hands to the front of his shirt.

“Eh, I’m just going off of previously emotional moments in the highlight reel of your career.” “That didn’t sound all that sincere.” “And that rhymed,” Will pointed out, shrugging when Killian narrowed his eyes. “Don’t do that, Cap. This is the easiest post I’ve ever done. Dr. J is some kind of hockey soothsayer because you and Emma are obsessed with this game and force-fed him those aforementioned highlight reels for the last eight years.”

“Trust me, no one force-fed anything.” “That’s probably true, actually. Whatever. I hope this becomes a thing. What do you think, Locksley? Viewership through the roof?”

“Either that or some incredibly pointed columns in several different tabloids.”

Killian scoffed when he noticed the vaguely scandalized look on several different reporter’s faces and Peggy appeared to be answering a few questions of her own.

“What are you doing, little love?” he asked, but she didn’t hear him, or was, possibly, ignoring him, staring straight into the closest camera like she’d been waiting her whole life to stage a presser after the final game of the regular season.

“Good luck,” Peggy said and it clearly wasn’t the first time she’d said those two specific words.

A reporter smiled, Robin laughing under his breath, but several other reporters looked slightly frustrated and Ruby was going to have some kind of metaphorical field day writing that particular release.

“You have to argue against it, Cap?”

Killian arched an eyebrow, holding onto his kid a bit tighter out of instinct and the reporter widened his eyes when he didn’t answer immediately. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” he said, winking at Peggy when she twisted back against him.

“It’s a pretty good color for all of you,” the reporter continued. They were talking about the goddamn nail polish.

Of course they were.

“No, no argument,” Killian shook his head. Will made some kind of absurd noise at the word, but Killian didn’t look away from the throng of reporters around his locker and he was old enough that he didn’t quite care what they printed about him anymore.

And the nail polish had absolutely been good luck – even if he hadn’t won the bet.

“No?” That question came from a different reporter and Killian shook his head before the two letters were finished and Will was still making noise, Phillip shouting a slightly muffled argument when he was forced to play jungle gym for his kid.

Phillip definitely had blue nails too.

“How many times are we going to do this?” Killian asked. “Did you want the sparkles too, is that what the issue is?”

“That’s totally what it is,” Will agreed. “Hey, hey, Michael, if you ask Pegs, I bet she’ll do your nails before we start this Cup run.”

Peggy nodded enthusiastically and Killian wasn’t sure if his heart exploded or, simply, grew forty-six sizes, but it had been that kind of day and she was already talking about different shades of blue on one hand.

“We won,” she said said again. “Good luck and Daddy scored and Rook scored and now we’re going to win a Cup!” “No jinx,” half the locker room yelled at the same time Matt shouted “I told you!”

Killian smiled when the reporters couldn't come up with another question, a flash of blonde hair leaning against the open doorway of the locker room with Ruby draped over her back.

“You can quote her on that if you want,” he said, eyes darting Emma’s direction. “And when you inevitably write your sidebar on all of this, make sure you point out how well done everyone’s nails are even after the game ended, ok? That’s a sign of a true professional.”

The headline wasn’t all that creative the next morning – Littlest Jones Guarantees Blueshirts Look Good Ahead of Cup Run – but it was almost complementary and it was difficult for Killian to be frustrated when he was too busy getting his nails redone before the start of the Cup Finals. They used extra sparkes for the first game at the Garden.

And, years later, with another Cup run ahead of them and a different Jones wearing the number twenty on center ice at the Garden, Peggy almost looked nervous, eyes ducked and voice quiet, when she asked Killian.

“For good luck?” she whispered

He felt the smile inch across his face, something sentimental and emotional and maybe the fairy tale hadn’t ever really ended – just moved to a different generation and he would have bet Will and Phillip and Robin that there was a hand drawn sign in Matt’s locker already.

“What’s the name of that color, little love?” “Dad.” “Old habits,” Killian muttered and Peggy rolled her eyes, nearly jumping the few feet between them and swinging her legs over his. “C’mon, I bet it’s got a good name.”

“Front page worthy.” “You’re kidding.” “I wouldn’t joke about something as serious as no-jinx nail polish.” “Good alliteration.”

Peggy hummed, smile tugging on her lips and her smile looked exactly like Emma’s. The eyebrow thing, however, was all him. “The glitter is called set in stone.” “There’s glitter too?” “There’s no point if there isn’t glitter.” “Ah, of course,” Killian laughed, shifting so he didn’t end up with a foot in several different internal organs. “Alright, no time like the present, huh?” Peggy rolled her eyes at the cliché, but that was another old habit and they were a team full of traditions and family and she muttered the scouting report under her breath while she worked, promising as long as MD doesn’t crash into the boards too often, it’ll be fine.

It was – good and great and goddamn historic and every single one of them had bright blue nails when the Rangers won another Stanley Cup.

As tradition dictated.

[fromthe-seoul]

hidden pictures

a sketchbook is an artist’s lifeline.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1366

a/n: well i finally finished something! enjoy artstudent!joon.

Please God, if you’re up there, let it still be there, you thought as you frantically speed-walked down the sidewalk. Only on five cups of coffee, zero sleep, and half a bagel would you have forgotten your sketchbook behind in your studio class. Finals were fast approaching and just when you had stepped across the threshold of your apartment, desperate for packet ramen and a nap, did you have that peculiar sinking feeling in your stomach-- you were forgetting something.

After rifling through your bag to discover with chagrin that yes, you had left your sketchbook in that solitary corner room in the art building, you resignedly trekked back across campus. You tried not to think about everything else you could be doing with the wasted time as you tried not to look so frantic walking. You couldn’t imagine why someone would take it, but you absolutely could not lose that book. It was pretty much your livelihood; It had all your final project plans and some sketches that you were fiercely proud of, but would honestly never see the light of day.

As your feet hit the pavement your thoughts drifted back to today’s class. You and your colleagues were working through another light study, the subject plain geometric shapes on a pedestal in the middle of the room illuminated by several lamps. You always sat on the side of the circle closest to the windows to let the sunlight stream comforting warmth onto your back as you sketched.

There was also another, sneakier reason you liked that particular space in the circle.

Directly across the room sat an ethereal boy by the name of Kim Namjoon. He was by far the most attractive person within the class, with soft ochre hair that gently swept across his forehead, a tall, slender figure that managed to pull off the most dubious fashion choices with ease, and you absolutely couldn’t ignore the dimples that graced his cheeks every time he smiled. More often than not you shook yourself from observing him drawing than attending to your own sketches. The worst part was that his looks weren’t even his greatest attributes. He had the audacity to be bafflingly intelligent as well, and his beautiful hands created even more beautiful artwork.

You had only spoken to Namjoon a smattering of times-- once to compliment his engraving, which was chosen to be on display at the building’s gallery, and twice to ask him when the next set of sketches were due. He never failed to bless you with a small grin and, curiously, always looked you in the eye. The intensity of his gaze often made you shy away after the minimum of conversation, just like staring at the sun. Occasionally you’d accidentally make eye contact from your opposing places in the room, and every time you got caught you’d frantically flit your gaze on anything but the boy whose lips quirked absently at your attention.

The tall limestone walls of the art building finally loomed above you against the cloudless sky, and you haphazardly shoved your way through the front doors, heading for the drab, eggshell hallway to the right. Thanking anyone in the heavens who would listen that your classroom was not any higher than the ground floor, you slowed your steps to a faint smack of shoes on the linoleum and caught your breath. You could practically feel your sketchbook already back in your hands where it belonged.

Twisting the handle and stepping into the classroom, you scanned the room for your book. It lay on a stool near the cabinets, curiously nowhere near where you thought you left it. Maybe someone moved it after class… You seized it and moved to flip through it, just to make sure everything important was still contained within the pages. However, your base sketches for your final were nowhere to be found. Instead, you found yourself looking at...yourself.

The random page you had turned to in this book that was definitely not yours contained three sketches, all with you as the subject. The artist was definitely skilled, simple pencil strokes somehow bringing you from real life onto the page with ease. Your mind raced as you took in each one, running down the mental list of your classmates and trying to pinpoint who would secretly draw you, and with such skill. The top sketch was of yourself drawing, neck craned over your pad, pencil in hand and brows furrowed. Rather meta, you mused, but your eyes caught the next one to the left. This depicted you laughing in conversation with someone unknown, head thrown back in laughter and hands clasped together. The look on your face showed no sign of worry or care, you looked...happy.

The final drawing shook you somewhere deep down that hadn’t been touched in years. In and of itself, it was simple. A plain old portrait, head on. But it was like looking into a mirror. Every detail, like the flyaway hairs that bordered your forehead or the small scar near your eyebrow--every detail was present but perfected with such care, such precision. Your own expertise told you this was not a quick scribble, but a labor of persistence, of intent. The room seemed to spin for the slightest moment with the realization that someone had interest in you, enough to immortalize you in a deeply personal fashion such as this.

You barely registered the abrasive squeak of rubber on linoleum or the slam of the door opening. It was the abrupt halt of footsteps matched by a violent intake of air into heaving lungs that shook you out of your gaze to greet your new companion, and then it was your turn to have the oxygen knocked out of you.

There stood Namjoon looking like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. There was only logical connection you were able to make, one tiny little realization: this was Namjoon’s sketchbook. He had drawn those pictures.

After a few hour-long seconds you finally came to your senses and slammed the book shut, an embarrassed heat slyly creeping its way across your traitorous cheeks.

“I-I’m sorry, I left my b-book and I thought it was yours--I’m so sorry,” you stammered, quickly handing the boy his sketchbook. He looked easily as mortified as he gently took it back, hands visibly trembling and watching as you scanned the room for your own book. Sure enough, there it sat underneath a beam of sunlight by the window. Right where you left it.

“I hope you don’t think,” Namjoon began, choosing his words with utmost care, “that I’m weird or creepy for drawing you.” You gripped the sides of your sketchbook and observed his wary eyes as they braved a scan across your face.

“NO--no,” you blurted. “I’m actually...really flattered. They’re really good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve never had anyone draw me before,” you admit, suddenly too flustered to do anything but trace the metal rings holding your book together.

There is a long moment, a stagnant second where neither of you speak for fear of going too far out on the limb, stepping across an imaginary line, breaking out of an invisible box. Namjoon clears his throat and you think your heart might beat right out of yours.

“I mean, if you wanted to pose for me formally, that, that would be really great,” he suggests timidly, and you chance a look at him, his arm nervously scratching the back of his neck. “But only if you want to!” Your lips couldn’t fight back a small smile at the boy standing in front of you, mirroring your death grip on your sketchbook, your most private possession.  He had chosen to put you in his, and your heart went a little sideways-funny whenever you thought about that small little detail.

“I would really like that.”

Namjoon left that small room in the corner with a phone number written on his hand, a bounce in his step, and sketchbook safely tucked in the crook of his arm. He usually hated when anyone touched his drawings, but somehow he didn’t think he would mind if it was you.

[jpechacek]

Disney Horrors

Originally, reimagining Disney princesses as monsters straight out of Lovecraft was a joke I doodled on a post-it at work. I’d just finished the Disney Noir series, and I tried to think of the most ridiculous thing the princesses could be (aside from potatoes and rocks, which have already been done). Ergo: weird creatures. And since there’s a fair bit of abstraction happening in each piece, I thought people might like to see my thought processes while designing these grotesqueries.

Lots of detail under the cut.

Iä! Iä!

As you can see, there isn’t a whole lot of thought put into these, just a few basic characteristics pulled from the movies and mixed around. Why is Cinderella basically a giant leg? Because she loses a shoe! Tiana is a giant frog, because of course! Not some of my finer moments, but that’s okay: it’s just a doodle.

But then: Obviously I couldn’t let something like this just sit around, inchoate and unformed. So I did some thumbnails in earnest (now lost), and moved to rough sketches. Three of the princesses are done now, and a fourth is in the works, so let’s go through why each one is what it is.

ARIEL:

This one’s easy. Most of Lovecraft’s creatures are marine or marine-inspired (the man had issues with fish), and because of his influence, his artistic descendants have kept up the tradition of huge tentacled horrors.

Roughs.

The biggest issue was simply the environment to put her in. I chose a volcanic plain on the seafloor, surrounded by wrecked ships. Ariel, after all, collects human things. On revisiting this, I wonder if I should have gone more fishlike, but in this version she’s some sort of dread sea-goddess, so her body has cephalopod and coral elements to reflect a few of the ocean’s weirder denizens. And, really, isn’t weird the point?

For each of the princesses, I do these small rough sketches and then move on to the final. Some of them require a few roughs; in this case, it was mostly so I could try out large Mignola-esque pools of black to see how it looked. Once I’m happy with the roughs, I do a light underdrawing in non-photocopying blue pencil on 11 x 14 Bristol. Then I ink using a combination of fine Prismacolor pens, a brush pen, and sumi ink for the black areas.

Final.

I wish I had made the ships more obvious, but that’s my only real regret here. She intentionally extends past the edge, with the intention that this will read as only a small part of Her Submarine Glory. I’m pleased with the tentacles’ sense of mass and the little details, like the folds around the edge of the body and the “brain coral” protruding from within. Not bad for a first outing, I think.

AURORA:

In the original doodle, Aurora is some kind of bizarre Ent...thing. I didn’t much like that, but I did like the combination of flora and fauna happening there. And what’s always happening in cosmic horrors? Things awaken, as foretold, and their awakening signals doom.

BEHOLD.

I had just seen some Jack Kirby New Gods pages and thought, yeah, I can do that. There’s some a congeries of thorny bubbles here; the briars become the shell encasing She Who Slumbers, and Her great eye is beginning to open. The thorns are intended to recall teeth or tusks, so the border between animal and plant is blurred, and, yes, Aurora’s eyes are intentionally kinda yonic. Even in the Disney version, there are some uncomfortable sexual undertones to her story, so why not drag them in here somehow. Originally, this was flipped so the bubbles sat at the top of the page, but I rotated it so they seem to rise up, impending.

*Inception blast*

The background has changed to something swirling and galactic: the diagonal whatever-that-is in the rough leached energy from the image. (Also I just noticed this photo was taken while the piece sat atop the Ariel one, so ignore the righthand and bottom edges.) Aside from that, not too much change here from the rough, except for some hair...stuff...coming out of the thorns as well; gotta make her seem a little mammalian. I just really like this piece all around.

BELLE:

This was a toughie. As you probably saw in the doodle, at first she had more characteristics of the Beast, but that’s very, very far from the point. I had to think a lot harder about what Belle meant to me, what her distinguishing markers were. She’s in my favorite Disney movie, so getting enough distance to reduce her to essentials was harder than with the other princesses.

I gave up on this pretty quickly.

The first concept, which I still like in theory, is Belle as a pile of hands, with her head turned into a mirror ball surrounded by petals. Why hands? Belle is always touching things. She’s curious, so she picks things up and sticks fingers into food; she brushes her hair out of her face, she cleans the Beast’s wounds—she’s just always engaging with the world around her through her hands. Alas, this mass of hands never really gelled, particularly with the mirror and petals. It just didn’t work. But really: how scary is a freakin’ pile of hands?

Start from zero!

As you can see, some elements were retained. The mirror and the petals are still here, and she’s got more limbs than she should, but I pushed things further into inorganic territory by getting rid of her feet and adding the occult circles around her hands. Belle is a bookworm, and if there’s one thing we know from cosmic horror, bookworms invariably summon things. I dunno what eldritch!Belle is up to here, but it’s not good.

She walks in beauty like the night

There was actually a huge gap between Aurora and Belle—I think I finished Aurora in the summer and only got back to the project last month. And that shows: with the other princesses I was extremely conscious of my solid blacks, but with Belle I didn’t really plan them out until the actual drawing process. If you follow me on Instagram, you probably saw the multiple iterations this piece went through, and I’m still not happy with the finished product. I am, however, extremely pleased with the creature herself. I’m happy with her seraphic elegance and sculpture-like artificiality. I think she’s also got a nice sense of movement; Ariel and Aurora are fairly static, which is fine, but this piece has a feeling of something happening.

CINDERELLA:

I only have the rough done for this princess, but I don’t anticipate it changing much, so let’s take a look at it and I’ll share the finished piece once there’s anything to see.

Clearly, she’s changed a lot from that leg...thing in the doodle.

So, Cinderella. She’s known for that glass slipper, but I think nearly as iconic is the scene where she sings with billions of soap bubbles. And of course you’ve got the bell tolling doom. I looked at marine life for inspiration, particularly these lovely things, and added a bunch of bubble-like eyes, and here you have eldritch!Cinderella "cleaning” the world (i.e. glassing it). The biggest challenge here will be the varying scales, from the destroyed houses and trees in foreground to the immense monster looming in the atmosphere. Can’t wait to see how this one turns out.

Look for updates as I complete the rest of the series! Thanks for reading.

[misssophiachase]

not sure if you're still taking prompts but if you are, can i request a human klaroline drabble based off of "oops" by little mix? like a friends with benefits but we realize we're something more?

Thanks for the awesome prompt nonnie, think this is one of my new favourite songs! Also it’s a little different but the concept is still basically the same. I hope you like it! All lyrics in bold italics are by Little Mix and Charlie Puth (a little altered to suit the story).

Oops!

“Oops, my baby, I woke up in your bed”

Caroline’s eyes darted around the room trying to gain her bearings, this certainly wasn’t her bedroom. Enzo St John’s 18th birthday had been massive, no surprises at all given the organiser. Katherine had thrown him a surprise pool party at her house while her parents were away in Washington DC and all Caroline remembered was a lot of tequila, a lot of swimming and a lot of dancing on the dining room table. She just hoped it was still standing after all the weight it had endured during the night.

Sleeping with someone didn’t quite fit in with all those memories. Sure, her and Tyler had been messing around a bit but this definitely wasn’t his room. For some reason though it was a little familiar, especially those sketches on the wall in particular. Caroline felt her blood go cold at her delayed realisation, it couldn’t be him, right?

She turned over reluctantly, her eyes finally resting on the guy sleeping next to her. As far as possible options could go he was probably the worst. Not looks wise; this guy could be an Abercrombie and Fitch model with that curly, blonde hair and those crimson lips. But when it came to the worst people you could sleep with, your best friend’s brother was at the top of that list.

She pulled the sheet closer around her naked body self consciously, accidentally rousing him from sleep. She watched as those dark, blue eyes fluttered open and a pair of rogue dimples appeared out of nowhere as his gaze met hers, his dark, blonde hair adorably rumpled.

“Do you always watch people sleeping? I mean it’s a little creepy don’t you think, love?” He asked, his voice full of sleep.

“If you must know I was laying here commiserating over my choice of bedmate,” she growled. “I know you’ve always had a thing for me but really Klaus.”

“Says the girl who couldn’t keep her hands off me last night.”

“I’m blaming it on the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed,” she shot back, trying to ignore just how sexy his unkempt stubble looked at this time of the morning. “Trust me, if we were sober this would’ve never happened, I do have my standards after all.”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” he smirked. “In fact you were revelling in my standardless company. I seem to recall a few cries of pleasure along the lines of…”

“I don’t need a recap,” she scowled, interrupting him. “I just need some caffeine and a hot shower and to forget this ever happened.”

“I’d be more than happy to scrub your back, you know get to all those hard to reach places.”

“Get out!”

“Last time I checked this was my bedroom, love,” he replied, gruffly. Of course it was, typical. “Looks like it’s time to do the walk of shame, door’s just over there. Although you might want to watch out for Rebekah, she’s usually leaving for yoga at this time on a Saturday morning.”

“Don’t call me love,” she muttered, placing her head in her hands in frustration. “Of all people why do you have to be a Mikaelson?”

“Unfortunate turn of events, trust me,” he said, knowingly as he propped his head up on his elbow and trained his gaze on her. “Usually my one-night-stands don’t talk this much the following morning. If I knew you were going to be this chatty, I might have reconsidered my decision.”

“Charming, Mikaelson,” she muttered while pulling off the sheet completely, wrapping it around her body and madly hunting for her discarded clothing. She was also trying to ignore the fact that he was now very naked sans covers. “Remind me not to have the pleasure of your company ever again.”

“Ditto, love.”

She chose not to respond, taking her pieces of clothing into the connected bathroom and slamming the door shut. It was probably the quickest she’d ever dressed, desperate to get out of this ridiculously awkward situation as soon as possible. It’s not like she didn’t find him attractive, in fact she’d found herself day dreaming about her best friend’s brother sometimes but knew nothing good could ever come of it, especially given what a known womaniser he was.

She consulted her dishevelled appearance in the mirror briefly. Her blonde waves were messy and obviously knotted, her creamy skin flushed and she had a telling trail of mascara under her left eye. Classy. As soon as she’d managed to make the best of her appearance, Caroline emerged from his bathroom. If this was some stranger then her exit would have been a lot simpler. Unfortunately a few stray memories from their night together came rushing back causing some unexpected shivers which were threatening to break her resolve.

It was a mad frenzy; clothes discarded at a rapid pace, tangled, sweaty limbs, mouths exploring and moaning against every inch of bare skin. He certaintly had talents, not that she’d ever admit it to him of course.

“I’m impressed, most girls I know spend at least a good few hours in the bathroom.”

“Well, I’m not like most girls you know, Mikaelson,” she growled, heading towards the window and opening it. The last thing she wanted to do was get caught by Rebekah or Kol for that matter so this seemed like the only escape.

“That much is true,” he agreed, his eyes flickering admiringly over her body encased in a fitted black dress. “I might even be open to another tryst if you’re lucky.”

“You wish,” she muttered, straddling the window sill and climbing out onto a nearby tree branch. If she’d known she was going to be scaling trees she definitely would have dressed more appropriately. Caroline had many regrets but she didn’t want to add getting caught out sleeping with her best friend’s brother to that list. The quicker she got out of there and showered her sins away the sooner she could forget what she’d done.

“Oops, we broke up, we’re better off as friends”

“You know, I’m really getting sick of your post mortem analysis, love.” Klaus groaned. “I understand once could be considered a stupid mistake but how do you explain ten times? Actually no, I was a little drunk a few of those times, make it at least a dozen.”

“Why do you always feel the need to revell in my misfortune, Mikaelson?”

“If it really was misfortune I’m surprised you’d come back so many times for more,” Klaus drawled. “I suppose I should get dressed before you kick me out in a raging fit of denial, yet again.”

“At least you catch on quickly,” she mumbled, throwing his shirt directly at his head. “This can’t happen ever again.”

“Exactly what you said the previous eleven times,” he joked, not missing just how hungrily her eyes devoured his bare chest in the meantime.

“I mean it this time.”

“Well, here’s a little hint for you,” he offered, placing his top over his head. “Don’t ogle me while you say it, I’d actually believe it if you refrained from checking me out.” She rolled her eyes at his usual lack of modesty. “Anyway, what’s wrong with a little harmless fun?” It certainly was fun, Caroline cast her mind back to the night before.

His teeth grazing and nibbling at her skin, his fingers massaging her silky folds as he did it. Caroline bucking her hips feeling all control slip away but not minding because she knew just how spectacularly it would end, it always did. Not that she’d ever admit that to him of course.

“You’re arrogant, annoying and smug. Oh and Rebekah’s brother,” she answered, by way of explanation.

“You really need to stop with all the compliments, love, you’ll give me a big head. Well, besides that unfortunate mention of my brotherly connection to Rebekah.”

“Too late for that and what have I told you about calling me love,” she muttered.

“I know how much it annoys you.”

“Of course,” she hissed. “So, what exactly are you still doing in my bed?”

“No need to get your panties in a twist, love,” he answered. “Oh, hang on that was me last night.”

“You are hilarious.”

“And here I thought you only liked me for my body.”

“Oh just please get out, there’s only so much I can take of your over-inflated ego and it’s stifling what available oxygen I have left.”

“Always so bloody dramatic,” he quipped, rolling out of bed. “So, should we just organise our next rendezvous or are you going to continue to live in complete denial that this will never happen again?”

“It won’t’ she promised. “Whatever this weird, messed-up thing is ends now.”

“Fine with me,” he replied, nonchalantly as he sauntered towards the door. “I have better things to do with my time anyway.”

“Now I accidentally need you, I don’t know what to do”

Caroline was extremely frustrated, that much she knew. When she’d insisted it was their last time together, she hadn’t expected Klaus to agree. After all she’d been saying it for months but he still entertained whatever was going on between them. She’d suffered through a number of inane holiday parties without the promise of seeing him at the end of the night and it was difficult to say the least. She told herself it was purely because of the physical aspects but every now and again niggling feelings would appear and confuse her more.

She’d made it her New Year’s Resolution to completely forget about him and whatever the hell had been happening and focus on the rest of Junior Year. Like most resolutions, that had lasted about five seconds. She’d flocked to the highway bar out of town after some particularly bad news from her parents. It was the only place that served minors and right now she needed alcohol, a lot of it in fact. At first the straight vodkas burned as they slipped down her throat but now they tasted like water she was that numb. It was exactly how she wanted to be though.

Klaus had arrived halfway through her drinking binge, playing pool in the corner with Enzo. It wasn’t a surprise altogether given she knew they liked to go there on Friday nights and possibly found herself there on purpose. It wasn’t just alcohol that calmed her after all. She’d pretended to ignore him but couldn’t miss the stray glances he kept sending her way.

“Alaric, I’ll have another one,” she slurred, slamming her glass on the bar in the process and trying to ignore the fact that her vision was blurred.

“You’ve had enough, Caroline,” he answered, not even bothering to look at her questioning expression as he wiped down the bar.

“I don’t think you heard me properly,” she insisted. “I want another one.”

“That’s not going to happen, maybe you should call it a night,” he replied, seriously. “What can I get you, Klaus?” Of course he had to approach the bar at that exact moment. Typical. Caroline chose to keep her gaze fixed on the bar wondering if he was going to say anything.

“Two beers, thanks,” he asked, Alaric walking away to get them from the fridge. “Are you alright, Caroline?”

“I’m fine,” she scowled. “Well, I was until you decided to interrupt my peaceful reverie.”

“I’m glad to see that stubborn, blind hatred for me is still well and truly present,” he shared. “I’m a little upset to be honest, I thought you’d actually miss me.”

“You wish.”

“They do say absence makes the heart grown fonder, though.”

“Well, whomever came up with that saying obviously wasn’t a cheating husband working away from home,” she mumbled, trying not to betray her feelings but the vodka wasn’t helping her discretion.

“Is there something I can do?”

“Well, maybe you can,” Caroline purred slipping off the stool and falling into his arms clumsily, her arms snaking around his neck. “You always did know how to take my mind off things, if you know what I mean?”

“You decided it was over between us and given your current state that’s probably not the best idea, love,” he murmured.

“Don’t call me that,” she growled, retracting her hands and looking over at Alaric wearingly as he came back with beers in hand. “I’m leaving.”

Caroline tried to keep her composure as she walked towards the door, the few stumbles an annoying consequence of her current state. As the fresh, cold air hit her she felt somewhat relieved to be away from prying eyes. Now to get home somehow, even if it was the last place she wanted to be. The first thing she noticed was that surrounding scenery was most definitely spinning, Caroline shakily placed her arms over her eyes in an attempt to stop the spinning but even in the darkness it wasn’t helping.

“I need you,” she whimpered helplessly. The last thing she remembered was falling towards the ground wishing that he would come and save her.

“Now I accidentally know that you’re in love with me too”

“Where am I,” she asked, sitting up quickly the pain ripping through her head a clear sign that she’d drunk too much the previous night. Klaus awoke from his sleep on the nearby armchair, his eyes opening slowly. Even in his half asleep state Caroline couldn’t deny just how cute he looked in his creased t-shirt and jeans.

“My place, I’m surprised it isn’t familiar yet.” She looked down self consciously hoping that she was fully dressed and hadn’t thrown herself at him in a fit of drunken desperation. What she found was a very familiar, black, Clash T-shirt, from memory it was his favourite. “I was the perfect gentleman I promise. You got a little sick on my bike and I had to change your clothes.” Great, this wasn’t embarrassing at all.

“But you brought me here?”

“I just figured after what you said last night you wouldn’t want to go home.”

“After what I said?” Caroline asked, still trying to gain her bearings. It was definitely the last time she drank that much straight vodka in such a short period of time.

“Well, you know…”

“I don’t which is why I was asking, Mikaelson.” He pursed those irresistible, crimson lips before responding.

“Caroline, you know full well why,” he replied, gruffly. “The last thing I want to do is rehash everything all over again I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing you’d feel like on top of that hangover.”

“Great! Drunken, rambling Caroline rears her ugly head yet again,” she growled, holding her sore head in her hands. “I mean so what if my parents are getting a divorce because my absentee father has been cheating on my mother and it turns out she knew all along but strangely ignored it. If those aren’t relationship goals, I don’t know what are.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I know this can’t be easy for you.”

“Yeah well I was the stupid one who didn’t see any of this coming,” she muttered.

“This had nothing to do with you, Caroline.”

“Then why does it feel like that?” She mumbled. “Like if I’d known maybe I could have done something.” Klaus made his way over to the bed and sat down next to her surprising her slightly. Things between them had always been physical, yes, but this felt like something entirely different.

“You couldn’t have stopped this, Caroline. Your parents are grown adults and made their choices and it’s not your fault,” he murmured. She looked into his eyes, losing herself momentarily as he spoke. He was usually so sarcastic and arrogant but this was a whole other side to her best friend’s brother. As soon as the words entered her mind Caroline knew she had to go before anything else happened.

“Uh, well, I’ll be on my way just as soon as I can get up,” she uttered.

“There’s no rush, really,” he replied. “I mean there’s water and aspirin by the bed but if there’s something else you need…”

“Since when did you become so considerate?” She drawled, noting the pitying look on his face, Of course she should have known but if there was something Caroline hated it was someone feeling sorry for her. “You know I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity. You know I’m not always the bad guy you make me out to be, Caroline,” he explained, fastening a lock of hair behind her ear. She froze, trying to ignore the feelings his simple touch was causing. It would have been so easy to lean in and dissolve into his kisses and forget about all her problems right now.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For last night.”

“Anything for you, love,” he replied, his voice low and husky. She felt dizzy, wondering if it was just hangover symptoms or his close proximity. “Maybe we could…”

“I really should go, you know just in case Rebekah decides to comes in,” she interrupted, thinking this was getting entirely too real and her emotions were already all over the place thanks to her parents.

“And we pick up exactly where we left off.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing Caroline, it isn’t really the time.”

“Well, obviously it isn’t nothing, Klaus,” she scoffed.

“Unlike some people I’m not ashamed about being seen with you,” he growled, standing up again and moving towards the bathroom. That Caroline wasn’t expecting, she always assumed Klaus was indifferent about their arrangement. He’d certainly never acted any other way, well until last night. Was there a chance he felt the same way about her? “I’m going to take a shower.”

Caroline lay there for a while revelling in his scent on the pillow case while listening to the running water and trying not to imagine him naked as the water droplets washed over his toned body. The increasing warmth between her legs was telling her she needed to get the hell out of there before she lost all willpower and joined him in the shower. Given their discussion Caroline wasn’t quite sure he’d be amenable to that anyway.

“Oops, baby, I love you”

It had been three long weeks, Caroline had been busy trying to deal with the fallout of her parents’ news. Her father moved out, something Caroline didn’t think would effect her as much as it did. He’d barely been there when they were married so she was suprised at just how upset she felt seeing all of the cardboard boxes and empty space, especially in his office.

Rebekah and Katherine had been so supportive, not that she expected any less. They were suprised she hadn’t told them sooner, not knowing she’d shared it with someone before them. A certain someone who would send concerned glances her way when he didn’t think she was watching, but she was. It was difficult not to given Caroline realised she was in love with him. Yep, she was in love with Klaus Mikaelson but had no idea what to do about it.

It was obvious he had feelings for her given their last conversation but Caroline felt like she didn’t know how to tell him. Klaus was obviously hurt by the way she’d brushed him off and knew she had to make the next move. Caroline had spent too much time worrying about what Rebekah would think and less about her feelings. It was time she put things right.

It was a Tuesday morning, Caroline was walking through the school corridor purposefully knowing her destination. His locker was at the opposite end to hers and she watched intently as the numbers ascended. About twenty metres later she didn’t need to count any further, noticing him rifling through his locker. She felt the familiar butterflies in her stomach at just how gorgeous his ass looked fitted snuggly into those dark jeans, his white Ramones T-Shirt riding up and displaying some bare skin she knew very well. Caroline shook her head, she needed to focus.

She approached his locker, coughing to get his attention. He turned curiously, his eyes raking over her body before settling on her face. “I wondered where my favourite t-shirt went.” Caroline looked down at the baggy Clash t-shirt she was wearing over her jeans. She’d taken it after that night, call her crazy but she wanted something of his.

“You let me wear it.”

“I didn’t expect you to steal it though.” Caroline noticed a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, hoping this was a good sign. “You might not want to wear that around school, half the guys as well as my siblings know it’s my favourite shirt.”

“A fact I am well aware of, Mikaelson,” she smiled deviously. “Let them talk, in fact I’m hoping they do.”

“Oh really?” He grinned, slouching against his locker and crossing his arms over his chest. “And why is that?”

“It’s probably the easiest way to break it to them when we go out on a date.”

“Since when are we going on a date?” Klaus asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Since I’m holding your shirt for ransom and one of my demands is a date,” she explained. “So, if you want to see it again, I suggest you adhere to my rules.”

“I’ve never taken too well to demands but I suppose I could take you on a date. Although I have to say I’m curious as to what the rest of your rules are?”

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” she purred, moving forward so that her chest was lightly brushing against his, all noise and movement in the crowded hallway suddenly blocked out and it felt like it was just the two of them.

“Well, not if I get my shirt off you first, love,” Klaus growled, closing the distance between them so their lips were only inches apart.

“I’ll take that as a challenge then,” she smiled, closing the distance and pressing her lips to his. As he massaged her mouth softly, his arms snaking around her waist, Caroline couldn’t help but think how well their arrangement had worked out.

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