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httpdabi · 3 years

Text

His property

Word count: 6.0k

Genre: SMUT, maybe angst, romantic ? Lots of Dabi lol not sure if it’s yandere... yeah

Warnings: 18+, kidnapping I guess, fire play. Not sure how old Melissa actually is, so if she’s underage in anime, here she’s at least 21 y/I and allowed to drink

Qurikless OC being "saved" from not so hero person. :)

Being quirkless didn’t bother me that much. Sure, i was jealous when my friends started developing their own quirks, showing of. When they used to make a little show, competition which quirk is better, all I could do is sit in the side and adore them.

My parent were telling me almost every day to try to stay out of trouble. If there is a hero fighting a villain, I should just walk away. Because even their power can harm me. I learnt that I can just be at the wrong place In the wrong time and I could be in trouble. They always taught me to be extra careful.

When I was a kid, I used to depend on my parents too much. Today it was kinda different, I was giving my best to be independent as much as I can. Working at a small coffee shop, living in my small apartment. Trying to live as quiet as possible.

,,One caramel macchiato and one chocolate cappuchino” my co-worker said loudly for me to hear. Even tho it could be stressing, I loved my job. I loved making different drinks and talk with people.

I made a little ok sign and started making the ordered drinks.

The shift was passing real fast since there was a lot of work, there wasn’t even time for break. Of course, I could catch a minute and smoke one real fast. Being honest, I was fine with that.

After long ass night I changed into my dress and finally went home. Home wasn’t far from my working place, so if the weather is nice, I would take a walk instead of going home with bus.

,, Great” I hissed after trying to lit my cigarette. Perfect timing for my lighter to die. Little piece of shit gave up on me after such a hard time at work.

I sat down on the end of the bench, trying to find another one while the cigarette was still between my lips. There was nothing worse then forgetting your lighter or when it stops working.

,, Need a little help?” a man asked. I knew that few of them were sitting on the bench, but I didn’t pay attention that much. Before I could turn my head around to face him and take his lighter, his hand was in front of me, and he was lightning my cigarette up with his finger. Small blue fire coming from his finger, looking hella familiar. The purple skin with silver patches didn’t make a klick in my head either.

,,Thanks” I said fast, curious who it is, since my brain was telling me that I know this person. But once I looked at him, his head was already turned to another direction. Not wanting to bothering him or his friends, I just left believing it was someone I saw on my work. After all, we have a lot of costumers.

Time after work was my favorite, especially if I didn’t have to wake up early next day. A glass of wine, face mask, and phone in my hand. I couldn’t force myself to spend rest of the night locked up watching TV, so I enjoyed the beautiful weather on my balcony. I could see the little group of friends from my balcony. So I was lowkey stalking them a little, sad I couldn’t hear shit they were talking about. My little stalking was interrupted by a small vibration coming from my phone.

Of course it was Melissa. My one and only friend, quirkless bitch just like me. Usually I am not a person to use apps for meeting new people, but when I saw that there is an app for us quirkless sad motherfuckers, I had to instal it. And that’s how I met my soulmate Melissa.

Melissa: ,, What are you doing? I am on my way to your place´´

To Melissa: Chilling on the balcony and sipping on my wine. I´ll be on my way to buy us another bottle and strawberries.

I couldn’t even place my phone on the table and another message was already there.

Melissa: AMAZING!!! Can´t wait to get wasted with you. See ya in a bit loveeee u

Since The shop is near café and my home, there was no need for me to change. I was already in my pajama shorts and shirt, so all I did was wear my baggy hoodie over it. Taking my wallet, I sprinted fast to the shop.

The very next day, I had to work with a worst hangover ever. Melissa left my place around 10AM, groaning in frustration she had to wake up so early. But at least she didn’t have to work.

My shift began at 13PM, so I had some time to rest and let the painkillers work their wonder on me. Sadly the time before my shift started passed faster then I could imagine, and once again I found myself at my work.

From 13 to 16PM there isn´t much work. There are some people passing by after the end of their shifts, our usual costumers coming at the same time. But the exactly at 17PM is where the hell starts.

That was the very reason I liked morning shifts more, even tho I had to wake up so early. It was still less work then in late shift.

More and more orders were coming. Usually I would somehow manage to keep my shit together somehow, but this time I was real mad my boss didn’t get more workers. It could be much easier if there was 3 of us in the shift, instead of two of us.

Like we didn’t have enough stress already, there was a huge explosion near the café. Not paying much attention to it I continued making the drinks.

,, Get down!´´ my co-worker screamed and pulled me under the desk with her. I tried to peek and see what´s happening but in the very moment I did it there was another explosion, blowing me almost away.

In that moment I didn’t know if the explosion was beside our café again, or in it. But I could hear people screaming.

My co-worker started crying, telling me how my face is all bloody. Which was pretty weird, since I felt good. She was pulling me to the back side of the café telling me to use the back door and wait for her.

I did as she told me, seeing the mix of the red and blue flames freaked me out. It was the first time in my life to end up in situation like this, so a wave of panic took over me. Sobbing loudly, I sat down, hugging my knees. I was waiting for my co-worker, too scared to try and get help on my own, since I could still hear screams and people fighting.

Another explosion, probably in the café, since once again I was blown away. I could hear Ryuku and Kamui Woods asking if someone is here. But I couldn’t say a word, as much as I wanted to. I wanted to scream, but even a whisper was heavy at that moment.

Their voices were like echo, and the buildings around me started to get blurry.

I could feel my forehead being touched. My hair being placed behind my ear and someone telling me to wake up. Once I opened my eyes, I saw arm resting beside my head on the street. The same purple skin I saw last night.

I forced myself to look up, and the moment I saw that face, I felt embarrassed I didn’t recognize it before. Of course it was Leauge´s villain Dabi. Maybe the fact that I was trying to ignore the news around as much as possible, thinking if I stay in my safe zone I´ll protect myself. But of course I knew the League of Villains. Of course I knew Himiko Toga, Kurogiri, Shigaraki, Dabi and the rest of them. As much as I wanted to ignore everything happening in the city, I simply knew about them. Everyone does.

,, No´´ I whispered, not being able to feel pain or fear. My eyes looking beside him hoping hero or my co-worker will come and save me.

Dabi lowered himself trying to get my focus on him.

,, They are all gone. ´´ He said looking me directly in the eyes. Whit those words all the hope I had died. I closed my eyes while tears started to roll down my cheeks. This was it, I thought. Either way I´ll die from bleeding out or he´ll kill me.

,, Don´t worry babe, I won´t hurt you´´ He whispered, still playing with my hair. I had no power to say anything, all I could do is wait to fall into unconsciousness again.

His hands tried to pull me up, but somehow in that very moment everything started to feel heavy and I felt like I was about to vomit.

,,Fine, if you want to die, then die´´ He said, and once again everything else was black.

I woke up with sudden urge to vomit again. Being in dark unfamiliar room didn´t help either. The only thing that helped was the fact that I was alive. Before I could stand up and find bathroom, I vomited all over the floor. Maybe it´s weird, but I started crying, not only because I had no idea where I was, but also because I vomited. It´s a nightmare for me.

The door suddenly opened and at my surprise Dabi got inside. Which followed with me vomiting once more and crying again. Didn´t he let me die ?

,,Goddammit, I even prepared a bucket for you, can´t you use it ?´´ He said calmly. Grabbing my arm harshly, he pulled me up and forced me to walk out of the room.

,, I´m sorry´´ I sobbed, not wanting to make any problems. I didn´t want to do anything to provoke the villain.

,, Wait here´´ he said, forcing me to sit in the kitchen. Then he went back in the room I slept in.

The kitchen wasn’t big, but it wasn´t small either. There was a counter with drinks, and two tall uncomfortable chairs. On the other side were cabinets, sink, dishwasher, stove and freezer. Everything was in light and dark shade of gray.

,, Well, you can vomit like world champion´´ Dabi´s voice echoed thru the room. I could hear the toilet flush and his steps coming closer. It took him a second and there he was, standing in front of me. He went to the other side of the counter, took one glass and filled it with cold water.

,, So babe, what happened back there?´´ he asked, placing the glass in front of me. I was scared and confused, and I didn’t have any courage to look the man in the eyes or say anything.

,, I don´t know´´ I said quietly. He sighed and took a small box of cigarettes out of his pocket. Lighting his cigarette up with his quirk, just like he did yesterday.

,, You are lucky I noticed you trying to hide back there, since your little friend left without thinking twice´´ he said, as he puffed on his cigarette.

I wasn´t sure if I should feel sad, betrayed or mad. From all of the people back there, a villain saved my life. But I did feel thankful to him.

,,Thank you´´ I said, looking at him. His cigarette between his lips, eyes half closed.

,, What should I do with you´´ he said, finishing the cigarette and taking another one from the box. He placed the box in front of me.

When he realized that I won´t take one, he stood up and made his way toward me. Standing behind me, he placed his hands on my shoulders, slowly massaging them. His one hand pulled my hair back lightly, and other one placed his already lit cigarette in front of my lips.

,, Come on love, I know you smoke´´ he said, placing the cigarette between my lips with a little force. In a moment, his face was inches away from mine. I could feel his breath on my neck, making me freeze in the place.

,, Maybe I should keep you for myself here´´ he whispered, breathing deeply on my ear. ,,After all, I can protect your quirkless little body´´ he addes slowly.

There were many things going thru my mind at that moment. What did he mean ? How did he know I don´t have a quirk?

Days and weeks passed and there I was still at Dabi´s place. First few days I was left alone, either way he was really busy or just wanted to give me some time. Dabi let me sleep in his room, since I couldn´t force myself to sleep in the one I vomited. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could still smell the vomit.

His room was decorated in dark shades. One black king sized bed in the middle, dark green walls and black furniture. On the right side were huge windows and balcony. Since I was alone, I gave myself a little bit of freedom. After all, he didn´t seem that dangerous as everyone said.

At the beginning he didn´t let me cook or do anything that could be dangerous in his opinion. He didn´t trust me at all, being sceptic that I might poison him. He did try to keep me entertained, giving me Nintendo Switch with some games like Pokemon, Super Mario, etc. He also didn´t have any problem with Netflix or whatever I wanted. I know those are small things, but being with him, I expected less.

After some weeks passed, I was seeing him more often. He would casually get inside his room, since there was the balcony. Without knocking or any sign. Well, it was his room after all. Sometimes he would just bring us some fast food, ice cream and force me to eat with him. At least he thought so. I didn´t have any problem with it.

After 3 weeks passed, I started to realize that I was pretty much attracted to this man. I wasn´t someone who falls easily for a man, but his attitude, his cold personality, the way he moves, the way he talks, the way I could catch him look at me, it was all extremely attractive to me. It probably all started the day I caught him sitting beside me, thinking I was asleep. It was around 3AM when I heard him coming inside his room. He sat beside me, and started caressing my cheek softly.

In that moment all I could do was just pretend that I was still asleep.

After that night, he would come at night and just sit there with me, thinking I was asleep.

I opened the window and sat on the balcony, admiring the sight of the buildings and colorful lights coming form the streets, and cars.

,, I don´t remember allowing you to go outside.´´

He was standing to my left side, looking at the street.

,, Planning how to run away?´´ He added, not paying attention to me. He was wearing black pants, with dark grey oversized sweater. His presence was too much for me, it wasn’t that I was scared of him, but I was too shy, I couldn´t look him in the eye without thinking about him sitting next to my ´´sleeping´´ form and looking at me, playing with my hair.

,, You know what will happen if you even try´´ he said getting closer to me. I could feel his hands on my hips, holding them firmly. I could smell his strong cologne mixed with smoke. He told me if I even think about running away, he would burn me down even my ashes will disappear. Somehow he knew who my parents are, who my friends are and he said he would kill every single one of them.

At first I didn’t believe him, somehow I thought he isn´t capable of something like that. But I changed my mind once I saw him on the news, where it was talk about his victims.

His thumb was going in circles, making a small pressure on my hip. I didn´t think of running away. First of all I wasn´t brave enough, second of all, I was so unimportant to this world that I didn´t hear shit about me on the news.

,, Can I have my phone ?´´ I asked him, not thinking about his reaction or anything. I just wanted to contact my parents and Melissa.

,,Wha..?´´ he laughed out. His hold getting stronger, keeping me in my place.

,, Babe, do you think I´m that stupid ?´´ he laughed, turning me around to face him. If I wasn´t in a situation like this, I would probably feel the urge to touch his scars, being so close to me.

,, I just want to contact my family and my friend. I won´t do anything that might harm you´´ I said, not breaking the eye contact.

,, Harm me ? ´´ he laughed, his face inches from mine. This man was indeed driving me crazy.

,, Please, you can control me if you want. I won´t delete any message, I´ll do whatever´´ I managed to say somehow. His lips being so close, it was a wonder I could speak at all.

The moment his lips brushed against mine, I felt all possible feeling I could in my stomach. ,, You´ll do whatever?´´ he said, his head still tilled to the side, and lips brushing over mine. I could feel a small smirk forming on his lips.

,,I´ll think about it´´

After that day, he didn´t hold himself at all. Doesn´t matter what I was doing, if he felt like being close to me, he would just do it. If I was cleaning, making myself a snack, playing some games, he would just casually slip his hands around my waist.

Laying down on the couch, legs up on the wall, while playing Super Mario. There was one level I couldn´t pass as hard as I tried to. It was just too troublesome. Dabi was sitting in the kitchen, smoking and watching the gameplay. I could hear him mumbling something to himself, before he made his way and sat beside me, taking the controllers out of my hand.

I was surprised when he started passing the level without any trouble, defeating Iggy Koopa so easily.

,, YAAASSS´´ I screamed grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie and shaking it happily. I was dealing with that level probably two days in a row.

In the moment when I was about to ask him how did he do it so easily, he threw the controllers to the side, grabbing my right leg with his left hand, and my hip with his right hand. Pulling my body to his direction. I couldn´t even understand what was exactly happening in that moment, since it happened so fast. He placed my legs around him, and hovered over me.

,, Don´t I need a little present for this win?´´ he said looking at me, placing small kisses over my face. This time, I couldn´t suppress the need to touch his scars. The curiosity took over me, and suddenly I found myself, placing my index finger beside his lip. Moving my finger lightly to the left side of his face. The moment I did that he froze in the place, not kissing me, or doing anything. His body twitched once my finger was under his eye, touching the scars and the small patches.

He grabbed my jaw, and kissed me forcefully, forcing his tongue inside, not giving me a chance to breath. His other hand was under focused on pulling my shirt up, just enough for my bra to be visible.

,, You are driving me crazy´´ he said, his lips now on my neck, one hand still on my jaw and other grabbing my left breast making me moan suddenly. I could feel him smirk while leaving wet love marks over my neck.

Having Dabi around was something I hoped for now. I was hoping for those unexpected touches and waiting for him to come at night like he always did.

What surprised me was the fact that he actually gave me my phone. Telling me that he will control my messages and that if he notices I´m deleting them, things won´t be smooth as they are now.

Somehow, I didn´t even feel the urge to write something bad, to ask for help or anything ? I found myself wanting to be in his presence, I wanted him to be close to me.

He already contacted my parents and Melissa before, telling them that I´m alright. He ignored the rest of the messages they sent me. They wanted to see me, they were worried. Melissa thought she did something wrong, since I was ignoring her.

The moment I contacted her, my phone started buzzing with all the messages she started sending me. Where am I? Why did I ignore her ? What happened ? Am I ok ? What happened to my work?

To my parents I simply wrote that I’m fine and safe.

At my surprise, they told me they know where I am, and that we can work it out. They told me that he waited for them home one night. Telling them he felt they need to know where you are, and telling them if they try contacting a hero or police what will happen to me.

I told them that there is no need for me to go anywhere and that I feel safer then I ever was.

After I found out that my parents know, I felt the need to tell everything to Melissa too. She was my best friend after all and I knew she would understand me.

I explained everything what happened that night. Explained how he saved me, how he’s taking care of me and trying to give me everything I need. At first she was really surprised once I mentioned his name. I mean, who wouldn’t be surprised ? But if I’m happy, then she’s happy too. She never judged me even once.

Dabi wasn’t home, so out of boredom I decided to make some food. Maybe he’ll eat it too once he comes home. I decided to make Spaghetti with Quattro formaggi sauce. I noticed that he really likes cheese, so maybe he will give it a try.

After having dinner on my own, I decided to watch some movie on Netfix before I go to bed and once again wait for him. The movie wasn’t anything special, but I still forced myself to finish it. My mind was away all the time, not being focused on the movie at all. All I could think of was Dabi. If someone told me that I would be so desperate for LOV’s villain Dabi, I wouldn’t believe them. But there I was, waiting for him like a lost puppy.

Placing my phone on the Kitchen counter, I made my way to his bedroom. For some reason he was still sleeping in the other room. Making me wonder how does it feel to sleep next to him, and why he let me sleep in his room for such a long time.

I slowly lain down on the right side of the bed, focusing on the lights coming from the outside. Covering my lower part with the blanket. The soft lace pajama that was hugging my body, gave me some comfort in some weird way. I lain on my stomach and placed my left arm under my pillow. Closing my eyes, I inhaled a deep breath trying to keep myself awake.

It was around 2AM when I heard the door slowly open. I could hear his steps, I could hear how he’s in the kitchen, taking my phone, and shortly after placing it back again. I could hear the shower and his soft humming.

Not shortly after that, I could hear him coming. Slowly opening the door and making his way toward me. Sitting to my left side, he took a deep breath, placed his long lags next to mine, and slowly caressing my head. His fingers slowly found their way to my neck, moving left and right.

,,I know you’re awake’’ he said, as his finger slowly brushed the lace on my right shoulder down. In one moment, he was pacing a kiss on my shoulder, and in the next one he was hovering over me. I could feel him on my back. His face inches from mine. When our eyes met, I wasn’t sure if I felt embarrassed or glad.

He took a deep breath once more, and started placing kisses down my back, while his fingers were on my hips. With every kiss, I was going more and more insane.

Dabi got off me, and pulled me to lie to the side, once again facing my back.

,, Such a good girl for me’’ he said pushing my pajama slowly up, and touching my right breast slowly, while biting my neck. All I could do was move my head in the right direction, giving him more access to my neck.

,, Move your legs a bit for me babe’’ he said, placing his hand under my shorts. He didn’t give me a chance to do it on my own tho, forcefully moving my tights and slipping his hand under my panties. My head fall back onto his chest, moan slipping out of my mouth once I felt his touch.

,, Are you my good girl?’’ he asked, stopping his fingers form any movement. Feeling his hot breath on my neck, I forgot how to speak properly.

,, Y-yes’’ I managed to say somehow. Every kiss, breath, word, move from him, made me crazy wanting for more. I could lie to myself and say it’s only because it’s such a long time since I went in bed with someone. But I there’s no need for lies, I’m attracted to this man.

His fingers started moving in circles, massaging my clit just as I wanted. Placing his knee between my legs, giving himself more space for movements. I closed my eyes and moaned, once his finger enter me. Without any word his fingers started to move in and out, so slowly that it was painful. Loving every second of it.

Once again, he pulled me over, making me lie on my back, placing himself between my legs, pinning my hands over my head. No words could describe how I felt in that moment. This time I moved my head foreword and kissed him. I wanted more. He returned the kiss, and started grinding his lower part of body against me, making me feel his erection.

Whit every move he made, I wanted more and more.

When he let go of my hands, I immediately started touching his body, I wanted to feel his skin, his scars. The moan escaped his lips once I started kissing his neck. Not wasting any time, he pulled his whit shirt over his head and threw it across the room, giving me access to his well build chest. Without thinking twice, I started kissing his chest, the purple scars he had. His head was hanging low, breathing deeply.

His hand found it’s way to my throat, grabbing it harshly and pulling me up a little. ,, Time to undress you love’’ he said, his hand like a neckless around my throat.

Moving my ass up a bit, Dabi pulled my shorts and panties down, throwing them on the floor. When I was about to take my top off, he pushed me down smirking a little. Slowly playing with the lace on my right shoulder, he did something I didn’t expect. The blue flame appeared on his fingers, destroying the lace. First the right one, then the left one. His lit index finger went down over the material of my top, from my chest to my stomach, flaming it up just enough to destroy the material.

Once it was destroyed, Dabi pulled the rest of my top that was under me and also threw it across the room. Taking a good look of my naked body, he slowly went down, placing soft kisses over my stomach. The fact that I could feel his burnt skin too was taking me over the edge.

,,What if’’ he breathed out, still leaving wet kisses over my stomach and chest. ,, What if everyone knows to who you belong’’ he said, eyes looking up on me, trailing his finger around my stomach. His left hand holding my hip, making sure no movements were possible.

,,What do you mean?’’ I asked confused, not able to understand anything clearly anymore. There was no need for me to even think about it, because Dabi already made his decision to mark me as his. A loud scream escaped my mouth the moment I felt my skin getting burned.

His hand was still holding me firmly, but he immediately stopped what he was doing, and placed his hand over my mouth.

,,Relax, it will be over just in a minute’’ he said, kissing me deeply. He took the destroyed top and placed it between my lips. Making sure I was biting the destroyed piece of cloth, he slowly went down to finish what he started.

Making sure I won’t interrupt his work, he held my hands together firmly, while holding my legs with his weight down. Every move of his finger, burning my skin, was sending a wave of pain through my body. Closing my eyes, tears rolled down my cheek. Back aching up, screaming into the cloth in my mouth, nothing of it helped me calm down. But he was correct, it took him around minute to finish. Pulling the cloth out of my mouth, he kissed me.

,, Such a good girl’’ he said in between the kisses. Pulling my head up, I saw his name on my stomach. ,,Now everyone knows who you belong to’’ he added, leaving wet love bites all over my neck. From all the pain I felt when he was burning my skin down, everything after that felt like aftercare.

Dabi stood up, taking off his shorts and boxers before he climbed on top of me again. He kissed me once mere before he started rubbing his hard dick over my clit. He knew that I wanted more, but the he liked the fact that I was so desperate for him.

,, Dabi please’’ I moaned out, wanting him inside me already. Without any word or sign, he entered me roughly, not giving me any time do adjust to his size.

,,Of course I’ll give my good girl what she needs. You are too good tonight’’ He said kissing my nose, while my hands were grabbing the covers of his sheets to find my comfort in them.

He didn’t move for some minutes, leaving wet love marks over my chest. But once he was done, he slowly pulled his dick out so only his tip was inside of me. Then again, slammed it back inside. The harsh move, made me place my hands over his back, finding comfort there instead of the cold sheets.

He moved few times with the same method. Every time he would slam his dick back inside I wanted to dig my fingers inside his skin. But I was too afraid I would hurt his already burnt skin. I didn’t want to hurt him.

After he slammed too hard inside me, I accidentally dug my nails into his skin. It was probably not to hard, but still I caressed the place I thought I hurt and apologized to him.

,,You don’t have to worry about it love’’ he said stopping his movements. ,, My skin is already bruised, few new scars won’t hurt me’’ he added, giving me the permission to do what I want. Whit those words his movements started to speed up, making me throw my head back into the pillow and wrap my legs around him.

Dabi bit my shoulder, groaning into it, while he was getting faster and deeper with every move he made. Even tho I was still worried about his skin, I couldn’t help it, my nails were scratching it and digging into it enough to keep up with his moves.

,,I’m close’’ I moaned, while every thrust was bringing me closer to my orgasm. I didn’t have to repeat myself or wait, his hand found it’s way to my clit, rubbing it fast into circles. Which was enough for me to cum all over his dick while moaning his name out.

Without any word, Dabi turned me around on my stomach and entered me form behind once again. Holding my hips strongly while thrusting deep in and out of me. Being sensitive form my orgasm, with every thrust he did, my moans were louder.

,, Ass up’’ he said suddenly stopping his moves. Once I did what he told me, he grabbed my head and pushed it deep into the soft pillow and started to fuck me like there was no tomorrow. The sound of his skin slapping my own, the image of what was happening almost drove me close to my second orgasm.

My moans were huffed by the pillow, while Dabi was fucking me into the mattress.

,, Yess babe, cum for me again’’ He groaned into my ear, fucking me even harder.

,,So close’’ he moaned, touching my clit again and moving even faster and deeper if it was even possible. He didn’t have to touch me much, another orgasm was already hitting me hard.

,, Yess baby, so good’’ he moaned, while his dick started twitching inside of me. I felt his hot cum inside, closing my eyes, trying to catch my breath. Dabi didn’t stop, he tried to fuck his seed deep into me, until he thought it was enough.

Falling beside me, his arm over my back, breathing deeply into my neck. I wanted this moment to last forever.

His fingers trailing up and down my back slowly, while smoking a cigarette. The cold air coming form the opened balcony was a contrast to his hot fingers going up and down.

Once I noticed the cum that started to leak out, I stood up covering my body with the blanket, making my way to the bathroom to clean myself and wear another pajama.

When I finished, and changed. I found Dabi standing in the kitchen, already in his white shirt and his shorts for sleeping. Half of his cigarette was finished.

,, You coming back?’’ I asked.

,, Don’t you want to sleep alone ?’’ he asked turning taking one last smoke before placing the end of the cigarette under the water and throwing it away. I shook my head slowly, and made my way toward his room, hoping it’s enough for him to come back.

Once I buried my head into his pillow, I waited for him to follow me. But the steps were going to another direction, making me sigh deeply.

Shortly after that, at my surprise, Dabi appeared again. Holding some lotion in his hands. He sat beside me pulling the sheet down and my pajama dress up. Small smirk appearing over his lips at the sight of his name on my stomach.

Banding down, he kissed it few times before he applied the cold lotion all over it. Laying down beside me, he placed his arms around me and pulled me closer to him and hiding his face into my neck breathing my scent in.

With his presence and arms around me, it was the first night I could fall asleep peacefully not feeling scared of anything in this world.

Hope you liked it, too lazy to correct all the mistakes.

Also credit to the owner of the photo :)

Much loveeee

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secretobsessionstuff · 3 years

Text

Traffic Jam: Madix Food Poisoning

Madix awoke with his head in Riley’s lap. It was awfully disorienting. The last thing he remembered was falling asleep with his head against the car window while Dakota and Blair chatted quietly in the front. He also remembered that his stomach was quite full from dinner, and that it lulled him into a deep food coma. He definitely ate too much at the buffet, so he welcomed the drowsiness that came with the heavy meal.

Now he was completely horizontal with his legs curled up on the back seat. He could feel Riley playing with his hair which felt heavenly, but he did want to know how he ended up with his seatbelt off. He also registered the fact that his stomach didn’t feel any lighter. In fact, it was hurting and churning more than before.

With a groan, Madix sat up and looked around. It was dark out, like it had been before he fell asleep, but now the car’s interior was flooded with red from other people’s brake lights. Everywhere he looked, he only saw the lights from many stationary cars on the highway. He couldn’t have been out long if they were still on the highway.

Dakota looked back as he saw movement in the mirror. “Did you sleep off all that food, Mads?”

“Not really.” He squinted more from discomfort that anything else. “How long was I asleep for?”

“Close to two hours.”

“Two hours!” he exclaimed. They should have been back home by now. The four lanes of stopped cars answered some of his questions. “How long have we been in traffic?”

“Close to two hours.”

Madix huffed and fell back on Riley’s lap. He would have much preferred to be home rather than stuck in a sea of parked vehicles. He looked up at Riley with as much of a smile as he could manage with the ache in his belly. “Thanks for keeping me comfy.”

“I didn’t want your neck to hurt from sleeping against the window,” Riley said while leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead. “When it seemed like we’d be stopped for a while, I took off your seatbelt.”

“What the hell is keeping us stopped for two hours?”

Blair looked back at the boys and chimed in saying, “the rumour is that some guy got hit trying to cross the lanes. People gave up a while ago and got out of their cars.”

“They have the right idea,” Madix mumbled. He really had to pee and now it seemed things were about to get worse with the nausea that was slowly growing in intensity.

The car was mostly quiet, the conversation having died an hour ago. Madix closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep again, and sleep off the stomach-ache this time. He still had the taste of the ocean in his mouth from the seafood portion of the buffet. It made him want to gag just thinking about it.

His belly was so full and swollen. He could feel it pressing against his jeans, so he undid the button to give him some room to breathe. As he did, his stomach let out long gurgle that he could feel beneath his hand. The air must have traveled up his throat because the next thing he knew he was burping wetly into his fist.

“Ugh, excuse me,” he moaned. Lying down was not the best position to be burping in. His throat was already burning from the reflux.

Riley’s hands went back to playing with Madix’s hair, but it felt more tense this time. “Your stomach was making a lot of noise while you slept.”

“Mmh, it’s kinda upset,” Madix said with his eyes closed. For a moment, he forgot who he was talking to. “I’m actually a little nauseous to be honest.” The gentle massage ended as Riley’s hands froze. Shit. Madix sat up and fixed his hair nervously. He wanted to tell Riley that it wasn’t that bad – that he could hold off until they got home. But he didn’t know when that would be and God his stomach was cramping. Whatever he’d put into his belly really didn’t like it in there.

Riley started to bounce his leg and bite the nail of his thumb. Madix could see the war on his face. Half of his brain told himself to run away while the other half told him that Madix was able to comfort him all the time. It was no big deal. But the louder half was the one telling him to escape. There was only one problem. “Madix, we’re in a car. I—I don’t like this…”

Before saying something that would help, Madix couldn’t help the belch that escaped past his lips. Sitting up straight made the air and food shift around in his stomach. There was another gurgle that made him push his hand into his abdomen. He hated the fear that came across his boyfriend’s face. “Ry, it’ll be fine. I can always get out of the car if I need to.”

That’s when Dakota piped up, perhaps sensing the change in atmosphere. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Madix says he’s nauseous and thinks he’s gonna puke,” Riley said quickly with a quiver in his voice.

“Well, I didn’t say the part about—” Another wet belch caught him off guard and forced him to put a hand over his mouth. Okay, yeah Riley was right, he did think he was gonna puke.

Dakota and Blair both looked back worriedly. It was weird to see Dakota so well from the back seat, but it wasn’t like he had to concentrate on driving. He gave his friend a sympathetic look which morphed into an alarmed one as he heard the burp that Madix let out. “Damn, that didn’t sound good. Are you—”

Madix suddenly opened the door and left before Dakota could finish his sentence. Dakota just stared at the place where Madix had been. He blinked a few times and then simply turned up the car’s music up much louder than normal. With his hand on the door, he looked back at Blair. “You should talk to Riley about something really awesome. I don’t know what, but just talk. Or sing!”

“I’ve got him. Go help Madix.”

Dakota didn’t need to be told twice. He left his passengers in the beautiful company of Freddie Mercury as Bohemian Rhapsody started to play. Good, that was a long song.

He went around to the back of the car where he found Madix hunched over and coughing. There was no puddle of vomit by his feet. Yet. The boy’s hair was a mess and sticking up from sweat. Dakota placed his large hand in the center of his back. “You know, you puke in my car a lot.”

Madix groaned and spat on the ground as his mouth filled with saliva. “I didn’t this time.”

“I know. It just got me thinking of all the lovely memories,” Dakota said with a grin. The grin turned into a grimace as Madix burped, the sound of it hitting the back of his throat. “Did you catch a bug? ‘Cause I can’t imagine you’d be carsick.” Looking around at the traffic jam, Dakota tried not to make eye contact with the car behind them. It was only then that he realized that they might be giving a few people a show that they didn’t want to see.

Madix shook his head. This was worse than motion sickness. This was something spoiled trying to crawl out of him. Or swim out of him. He was going to tell Dakota the reason, but a harsh retch put an end to that plan.

Dakota’s eyes went wide. “Oh boy, sounds like you’ll tell me later.”

Madix’s stomach heaved into his throat as a gush of partially digested food rushed out of his mouth. It splattered in between his feet, forming an impressive yet disgusting puddle of sushi and ice cream, and everything else that the buffet offered.

He felt big circles being rubbed on his back which made the pain of his next retch less terrible. Still not great. His throat burned from the second wave of sick. The burn invaded his nose, making him wish he had a tissue as the sniffles came on strong.

Dakota gave his back a firm pat in between the light circles. “There you go. Get that shit up and you’ll feel better.” He had no idea how true those words were. Madix just had to get it out of his system because it was wreaking havoc on his stomach.

There was a rare moment of quiet in between bouts that Madix used to contemplate if life was worth living. He leaned against the back of the car, trying to catch his breath before the next round started.

“Are you finished?” Dakota asked, “Because I have water in the car.”

He moaned. “No, but water would be great.”

Dakota came back to the car just in time to hear the last verse of the song. Riley and Blair were indeed singing, albeit shakily in Riley’s case.

“How’s he doing?” Riley asked with concern in his voice.

“Beautiful, very impressive boyfriend you’ve got,” Dakota said with the same energy that he gave to everything. “But seriously, he’s okay. We’re managing. Lovely voices by the way.” He gave a Blair a wink and left.

Madix was back to gagging over the puddle with sick hanging from his lips. Yep, so beautiful, Dakota mumbled to himself.

“Thanks,” Madix said as he wiped his sleeve across his mouth and took the water bottle from his friend. “It was something I ate by the way. Sorry about this.”

“Hey, I got nowhere to go,” Dakota raised his arms, gesturing to the traffic jam.

As if the universe wanted to prove Dakota wrong, the cars started rolling ever so slowly. It was more movement than they’d seen in the last two hours. “Finally. Do you think you’ll be okay for the rest of the drive?”

“I hope so.” Madix rubbed the back of his neck. “I hate doing this to Riley.”

“He’s singing his worries away with Blair.” Dakota waved his hand in the air.

“I thought I heard Queen.”

Dakota chuckled. “And I think I’m going to take the backroads home, so I’ll pull over whenever you need.”

Before Madix could thank his friend, the car behind them honked at them to get a move on. Dakota shouted unkind words to them and waved goodbye with only one finger.

#emeto #emetophilia #emetophile #emeto fic #emeto kink #sickfic #food poisoning #Madix #Riley #Dakota #Blair #my ocs #vomiting #puking #platonic

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ao3komorii · 3 years

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Tangling with the Boss (Sett/Reader)

Finally, my Sett story! This one is in two parts so I’ll be posting the other part either today or tomorrow. Some little notes for this; Sett’s mother doesn’t have a canonical name as of right now so I made a name for her, and Sett’s full name is Settrigh (canon, I didn’t make that one up lol). Also, there is smut at the end. I hope you enjoy! :)

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Navori, Ionia had not always been your home. You had been a respectable young Demacian citizen, from a good family. You were spoiled, but had never caused any trouble, never created any waves. You had a good education and a supportive family, at least until you woke up on the morning of your twenty-second birthday.

Everyone in Demacia was familiar with the mageseekers. The squad that captured and confined anyone found to have magic powers; magic was a danger, and anyone who possessed any must be removed from society. You had been taught that from an early age, and had seen the mageseekers around in their half-masks, easily accepting their purpose in society. But that day you had woken up in a sweat with a scream, your clothes in tatters from the fire that engulfed your arms and legs. Your parents had burst into the room just as you realized that the fire didn’t hurt.

Your mother gasped and your father stared at you with disgust and hatred in his eyes. They both turned and ran back into the hallway, and you knew the mageseekers would soon be upon you. Everything in your mind had screamed at you to do what was right and wait for the mageseekers to come and take you away forever, but in this moment, you finally realized what a broken system you lived in. If these so-called dangerous mages were anything like you, then they didn’t deserve what had happened to them. And if you stayed, you were looking at life imprisonment at best, and a slow, painful death at worst.

And so you ran. With nothing but a dress hastily grabbed from your closet, you had fled your home and Demacia altogether. Noxus was no friend to Demacia, but the violence that raged there told you that it would not welcome you with open arms. From your years of schooling, you knew that the island of Ionia, across the Noxian waters, would be your only option. Ionia was a place that tolerated magic, which had been a source of disdain for your teacher when it had come to geography lessons. It was just unlucky for you that to get to Ionia, you would have to cross Noxian territory and then find passage on a ship at the Noxian shores that was headed to Ionia.

You had no choice but to cross Noxus, staying on the far borders and attracting as little attention as you could. As someone who had grown up in a wealthy household, it had been a big change for you to suddenly forage for your own food and shelter, your only comfort being your new fire powers keeping you warm in the cold nights. You were slowly growing better at controlling it, but not good enough to avoid a few close calls with suspicious Noxians that you then had to flee from. You were sure that you looked awful, filthy, and tired, but you eventually reached the Noxian coast and managed to sneak onto a small passenger ship as it loaded some barrels.

Getting to Ionia had been a huge culture shock for you; here, magic was everywhere, and people of all kinds roamed the streets. It was such a difference from your old life, but watching families walk the streets reminded you sadly of what you had left behind. You had nothing here but your freedom, which stirred complicated feelings in your heart, but being here alone was much better than rotting in a dungeon or losing your head to the executioner’s block back in Demacia.

You had nowhere to go, and so you had wandered around until your feet hurt and your eyes were tired of being open. You had found an only somewhat grungy alleyway and collapsed in sleep as soon as you had sat down. You had no idea how long you had slept for, but you were awoken by a gentle hand grazing over your hair. Your brain hadn’t fully accepted your fall from Demacian grace, and you opened your eyes expecting to see your mother, but you were instead greeted by a beautiful middle-aged woman with light purple hair and matching soft furred ears atop her head.

You had never seen a Vastayan before, only read about them in books. Your Demacian teachers had only referred to them negatively as barbaric creatures that embraced terrifying magic. But your status as a fugitive mage had you questioning what you had been told, and so you had agreed to the woman’s offer to bring you to her home to patch up the wounds you only now noticed you had, adrenaline keeping the stinging pains at bay until then.

Ciorah had noticed right away that you were not from Ionia, and she had later told you that she saw something of herself in you that day that made her feel that she couldn’t leave you alone to die on the streets. She had taken you to her modest home, insisting on giving you food and some of her spare clothes. She was nothing but nice to you, and in return you had told her how you came to be in Navori. She had listened, and comforted you in a way that was not unlike your own mother. And she had told you about her son, who she had explained was off building a school at the time, and how sweet a boy he was.

You had talked with her for quite a while, as you had nowhere to be in the first place. When it started to get cold as the night rolled in, Ciorah asked you to show her your magic, and you had obliged only after she had reassured you that Vastaya were creatures of magic, and therefore it was harder to injure them with it. She smiled gently as you allowed a small flame to light in your palm, and helped guide your hand to light a simple blue-tinted candle with ease.

You had been surprised with how easily she guided your magic, unsure of how you had the luck to come across her in the first place. She would not let you leave her home that night, insisting that she had a friend that you had to meet the next day. You were ushered to sleep in her son’s childhood bed, Ciorah silencing all of your protests that you didn’t want to trouble her.

The next day, she took you to see a proud Vastayan woman with a stern gaze and a blonde braid laid over her shoulder. You had been invited into her home, where you noticed delicate glass works displayed around the rooms.

The woman, Inora, became your mentor. She had been creating glass works to sell for years, and had once belonged to the same Vastayan community as Ciorah before they had both been expelled. While Inora looked outwardly intimidating, she sympathized with your situation and had readily offered to help you harness your powers in exchange for working as her apprentice and helping her shape glass with your fire.

You had accepted the apprenticeship, and began to train under Inora, your powers slowly becoming easier to manipulate. Ionia had become your home, and eventually it became easier to avoid thinking of where you had come from. You were often sent out to deliver orders, and it made you happy that Inora trusted you with more responsibilities.

You had just finished your deliveries for the day, and had one more stop to make. When you had some extra materials, Inora would let you make little glass trinkets to give to Ciorah. You had made her a small cat out of glass this time, and fished it out of your bag carefully as you knocked on her door.

Ciorah welcomed you in happily, placing the glass cat beside the other animals you had made for her in past. As with every time you visited her, Ciorah had you seated with a cup of handmade tea in front of you.

“I am always happy to see you doing well,” she said softly, taking a small sip of her own cup of tea.

You smiled, knowing better than to tell her the only reason you were okay was because of her. You had told her so many times already that you didn’t want to get on her nerves, so instead you visited her often and brought her new glass pieces whenever you could to show how much you appreciated her kindness.

“How are you doing?” you asked. You had been worried as of late with there being an increased ruffian presence in town, and Ciorah was an ideal target for those with compromised morals looking for an easy mark.

“Everything is fine,” she reassured you, before looking over to the door with her brow furrowed. “I told Settrigh to come by, but I do not think you will get to meet him today.”

You waved her comment off with a smile. “It’s alright, I know his job keeps him busy.”

In the year you had been in Ionia, you still had yet to meet Ciorah’s son despite all the time you had spent in her company. You knew that he worked hard to provide for her, so you could forgive him for never being there when you were. Though it didn’t make you any less curious to meet the kind, hardworking young man. If he was anything like his mother, you were sure that you would get along well with him. You had Ciorah and Inora, but a part of you lamented no longer having any friends of your own age category.

“Be careful on your way back,” Ciorah’s voice broke through your thoughts. “I have heard that some of the brutes from the fighting pits have been causing trouble lately.”

The fighting pits. You had heard of the brawling arena in the Noxian district of Navori. You hadn’t been in that part of Navori, let alone in the pit itself. You had seen loud, tough-looking men around town, and if they were any indication of what their place of employment was like, you weren’t interested.

“I’ll be careful,” you promised her, changing the subject to something lighter. “Inora wanted me to ask if you needed any supplies…”

Talking with Ciorah caused time to go by without you noticing. It came as a surprise to you when you decided to look behind you to a window and discovered how dark it was outside. Ciorah was quick to notice as well, and insisted that you head home before it got potentially dangerous outside.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” you promised her as she saw you off with a smile.

The streets of Navori were fairly busy, as it was barely evening. Your walk would only take around fifteen minutes, ten if you took the side streets, which you had opted to do this time. It wasn’t late enough for you to get into any trouble, so you felt safe enough to take your usual shortcuts. Maybe you were being naïve, but although you had heard stories, nothing untoward had happened to you in your time in Ionia. Still, you avoided meeting anyone’s gaze as you maneuvered around a mother and child perusing a fruit cart and entered the alleyway just behind them.

The alleyway was darker than normal, so after a cursory look around, you lit a small flame on your palm after seeing nobody else in the area. With the light of the flame as your guide, you walked to the end of the alleyway, turning the corner as usual and stepping over the dip in the stone floor. You had been mentally going over the list of things you had to remember to tell Inora when you got back, so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice a large frame move to block your way. You collided with the man who was right in front of you, stumbling back and into another man who was suddenly behind you. You hurriedly looked between them as they both leered down at you, closing in on you.

“We got a little mage here,” the one in front of you taunted, jerking his head to his buddy, which made his choppy, greasy hair bounce.

You gasped; you hadn’t realized that the flame in your palm was still lit, and quickly extinguished it. You had nowhere to go, and they knew it. You could only shudder as the man behind you brought some of your hair to his nose as he stared you down in an intimidating manner.

He dropped the lock of hair as he noticed you looking back at him in terror. “Too good to talk to us?” he jeered.

“She ain’t too good for the fightin’ pits,” the first man added. “They straighten out bitches with their noses in the air.”

“Even if she dies, we’d get a finder’s fee,” the second man replied.

You tried to dash around the man in front of you, but he caught your arm and threw you to the ground. You were about to scream, but silenced yourself with a whimper as a knife was thrust close to your face. The large, greasy man stared down at you with a predatory grin as his friend moved the knife down to press slightly on your neck.

“Yer gonna earn us enough money to pay all our debts!” he announced as you were grabbed and forced back on your feet.

“Or die tryin’!” the other man joked, both men cackling with laughter.

You were dragged out of the alleyway, the knife at your neck replaced by a too-tight grip on your arm to arouse less suspicion. You looked around with eyes wide in terror, hoping that someone noticed you were out of place and needed help. But no matter how much you tried to catch someone’s eye, nobody spared you even a glance. As you were dragged along further, you suspected that this was the seedy part of town, because it seemed like everyone was ignoring you on purpose as you passed them. Everyone here had their own illegal business to conduct and none of them had any care for one girl in trouble.

The next turn opened up to a densely crowded area, packed with women with sharp eyes and men with muscles bigger than any you had seen before. There was not a friendly face in the crowd as you were jostled by the men dragging you through the throng of people and towards a side entrance that was manned by a heavily muscled man with thick eyebrows and tattoos littering his arms.

“We got a late entry,” the man with the vice grip on you stated.

The assumed-bouncer raised a thick eyebrow. “You think she has any chance?”

“If she do, we want our cut of it!” the skinnier captor cackled.

You looked pleadingly at the bouncer, hoping he could see that you were not willing to be here. “Please, help me, I don’t want to–”

You were cut off as a fist to the back of your head caused you to bite your tongue, the taste of iron filling your mouth at the same time as you felt your skull ring with pain.

“Shut it, bitch,” the larger captor shouted.

You felt tears prick your eyes as you silently cried, blood dripping from your mouth and onto your chin. You risked one more look at the bouncer, who stared at you impassively for a moment before standing aside and opening the door. You would get no sympathy here.

“See Dedric’s till, he’ll check you in,” the bouncer grunted, and you were quickly pushed in the door, the man slamming it shut behind your group.

The two men immediately rounded on you and you were shoved against a wall. The skinnier man leaned in towards your face, his chipped and dirty teeth on full display and way too close when you had no room to move away. “You try anythin’ like that again and we’ll kill ya right here.”

“Ain’t no one in the pits gonna care about one dead bitch,” the larger man chimed in.

They wasted no more time, grabbing you and pulling you through the barren hallway and up to a man with an eye patch and shaggy black hair who sat at a desk with a large chart in front of him and a surplus of coins just behind him in a chest.

“Got one more for the lineup,” the skinny man told the man at the till; Dedric, you had to assume.

Dedric grinned as he stared you down. It was clear to you where on your body he was staring, and it wasn’t your eyes. He looked down at his list for only a moment before looking at your captors. “I s’pose you’ll want a finder’s fee,” he drawled. “Ya can get it now, or double after the fight if she survives.”

The brazen talk of your fate sent a shiver up your spine. You let a few more tears fall as the men discussed details, just wishing that you were back with Ciorah; you’d even take a scolding from Inora over the likely awful death you had coming.

“We’ll do the double,” the large captor sneered.

“Ya might get lucky,” Dedric replied, jotting something down on his list. “We got a lotta amateurs on tonight.”

After he finished writing, Dedric finally looked you in the eyes. “Ya got a stage name?”

How dare he even ask when it was so obvious that you were not here of your own free will? You felt anger overwhelm the fear you felt for a moment. You glared at him, refusing to answer his question. You would have no willing part in this murderous spectacle.

Dedric looked annoyed with you, gesturing dismissively to the side. “Take her to the stage. Lookin’ forward to watchin’ the attitude beat out of her.”

The skinny man held his knife to your neck again as you were then pulled down another hallway and towards the competitor’s area, several men in flashy outfits scattered around, sharpening weapons or talking amongst each other.

“Please,” you tried one last time. “Please don’t do this!”

“Please!” the larger man said in a high-pitched mock imitation of your voice, both men breaking out in obnoxious laughter.

“Looks like yer up first!” the skinny one said as they handed you off to another burly man, who you assumed was overseeing the competitors.

“No!” you protested uselessly.

“Use that firepower and maybe you’ll earn us double!” the large captor taunted as they made their way towards the spectator stands.

Without any say in the matter, you were shoved out into the large arena, rows and rows of people staring down at you as you stumbled and fell onto your hands and knees, palms stinging from the impact. Looking around, you noticed no friendly faces in the crowd, just a large group of intimidating strangers that were all sizing you up.

Just as you were standing up, chatter and applause rang out from all around you, and you looked for the source, since it obviously wasn’t you. You didn’t have to look far as a man strutted out from the pit entrance behind you.

He strutted around the ring, giving you an opportunity to assess him as well. He was a large figure, muscles prominently on display from his lack of a shirt, red paint splashed across his skin like blood. Or maybe it was blood, he was too far away from you at the moment for you to tell. He was clearly Noxian, a large Noxian crest tattoo visible on his back when he turned his back to you in order to face the crowd. He flexed his muscles for the loudly cheering crowd for a few more minutes before he finally acknowledged you, although your attention had been turned away from him to look for any escape routes.

“Too bad we gotta fight,” he remarked offhandedly. “You’d make a real nice ring girl.”

He said it loudly, despite being ten or so feet away from you, obviously intending to impress the crowd with his trash talking. You just rolled your eyes, feeling bitter and angry that you had even gotten in this situation in the first place. You would never see Ciorah or Inora again because two criminals decided to target you, and it wore down any spirit you had left to think that you had made a happy life here just to die in the fighting pits.

The announcer then declared that the fight was to begin from his cushy podium, sending your heart rate skyrocketing. You were very clearly trapped; scaling the twenty foot walls that led up to the stands wasn’t going to be an option. Your opponent walked to the opposite side of the arena that would be his starting point, readying himself by materializing two very sharp daggers out of thin air and sending a bloodthirsty smirk your way.

This practice was barbaric, and you took one last look at the crowd for any hope of someone who would understand that you weren’t here willingly and want to help you, but all you saw in their eyes was their eagerness to watch you die. You felt disappointment radiate from within you as movement caught your eye; a large man entered a relatively barren area of the stands, and you noticed the furred ears atop his head immediately. A Vastayan in the fighting pits? The only Vastayans you knew were the opposite of anyone who would ever come here. You realized that he was looking back at you as your eyes drifted from his ears to his eyes. You weren’t sure what to make of his cold, calculated gaze, but a loud whistle brought you back to your current problem; the fight was on.

Your opponent began to run at you, faster than you thought possible, and you threw yourself to the side just in time to dodge the first swipe of his blades. You had no combat experience at all, all you had was your magic. Magic that you sparingly used and had never used to hurt anyone before. The thought of using your magic like that scared you, but you didn’t have a lot of options at the moment. You scrambled up and were about to make a run for it, but found yourself pinned in place as the Noxian threw both of his daggers, which struck both sides of your loose-fitting shirt and then embedded in the wall behind you, one dagger grazing the flesh of your side as well. You cried out in pain, too scared to form tears as you tried to pry the daggers from the wall to free yourself.

The man sauntered over lazily to screams from the audience for him to finish you off. “We had some fun, sweetheart. But I think it’s time to show you how we say goodbye in Noxus.”

You didn’t understand his reference, but the crowd got noticeably excited as he cracked his knuckles, now only a foot away from you. Even if you escaped the daggers, he was too close for you to get away from him. This brute would take your life to the sounds of thunderous applause unless you did something now. You took your hands off of the daggers and raised them up, palms facing towards the Noxian.

“Please stop…” you begged him. You really didn’t want to hurt him, but you didn’t want to die. You would have to put up a fight.

“Little late to be beggin’ for mercy!” he cackled, and one of the daggers pinning you disappeared and reappeared in his hand. “Time’s up!”

His dagger didn’t have a chance to get closer as you let go and he was blasted with a spray of searing fire.

It was turning out to be a bad night for Sett.

He had been disturbed on the way to his ma’s house by one of his men in a panic, who had informed him that the two competitors for the crowd-drawing fight of the night had gotten in a drunken brawl earlier and had both been arrested by the Ionian authorities. His knuckles twitched as he changed course and made his way to the pit earlier than he had intended to. He knew that his ma would forgive him, but he hated breaking promises that he made to her. Sett had a way he liked doing things, but without a headlining fight, his options were slim; get in the ring himself, or put on an amateur night.

His momma had been worried about the influx of Noxians to the Ionian shores lately, and he knew she would be on high alert for any new injuries on him. The one thing he hated above all was being the cause of her worries, so he gave the orders to scout out competitors for amateur night. Maybe he’d find some new talent to replace the two drunken morons permanently. He wasn’t worried about either of them complaining about being replaced; it was a well-known fact that Sett didn’t give second chances. Not to anyone that messed with his money.

Once a group of men had been dispatched to spread the news that they were recruiting for the night, Sett made sure everyone was aware of the change. Newbie nights always drew in a lot of overconfident braggarts who spent more time showboating than they lasted in the ring, so everything would be timed carefully. The more fights he could pack in one night, the more bets they could take in. Amateur nights almost never had clear winners before the fights began, so the house won more than on nights where the big names came to fight. It sorta made up for the smaller crowds on amateur nights, but some money was better than no money.

Ensuring everything was ready took longer than usual, and by the time Sett had taken his place in the stands, the first fight was about to start. He already had a distaste for the muscle man with the Noxian tattoo. They never seemed to stop reminding him of the father that had abandoned him and his ma. He didn’t feel the need to fight Noxians in general, but he never minded watching them lose in his pit. The Noxian was parading around; not unexpected for a rookie to go heavy on the taunts but light on the punches.

Having had his fill of assessing the Noxian, Sett turned his gaze to the other competitor, only to discover that she had been staring at him already. They met eyes for a few moments, which was enough for Sett to notice how out of place she looked. Last minute nerves happened sometimes, but this girl was on another level. He was across the pit from her, but he suspected that she was crying. What kind of idiot had booked this crybaby for a fight?

“Who did she sign up with?” he asked one of the till masters, Ryo, who had also come to watch the fight.

“I saw her at Dedric’s with two other guys,” was the answer he received.

Dedric… Dedric had been working at the pits since before Sett had taken them over, which was something he knew the man had been unhappy about. Sett didn’t insist that everyone like him, but he expected obedience to his rules. And signing up weaklings for fights that lasted ten seconds was not good for business. If fights were short, the spectators got bored, and his tills got lighter.

“Do you want to stop the fight?” Ryo asked carefully, knowing better than to force any opinion on the pit boss.

“Nah,” Sett replied. “Let it go on. But I want Dedric’s till checked at the end of the night.”

Bets had been taken, and Sett wasn’t going to stop the fight now and lose out on the coin it generated. He would talk to Dedric later; for now, he was interested to see if the cocky Noxian had any skills to back up his mouthing off.

The Noxian brandished two daggers from thin air and charged at the girl. Sett stared her down, waiting for her to do something worthy of interest as she dived to the side to avoid a direct blow. Well, maybe the fight would last twenty seconds instead of ten, he mused.

The Noxian’s next move pinned the girl to the wall with his daggers, and he began to taunt her as she cried and begged for mercy. Sett had thought something was up before, but now he knew. Dedric would have to be out of his mind to book this girl, unless he was counting on fixing some easy matches. Nobody would volunteer for a match to the death that they didn’t think they could win, and Sett smelled a rat. He kept his business away from the Ionian authorities’ grasp, but shit like kidnapping local girls for pit fights would bring attention that he did not want. He wouldn’t stop this fight and draw attention away from the matches, but Dedric was gonna learn very soon why he should’ve played by Sett’s rules.

He flexed his knuckles as he watched the Noxian go for the killing blow; the corpse cart standing by, ready to collect the girl’s body. But the cheers and chants from the crowd died down to a whisper as the Noxian let out a terrified scream. Sett only had a second to duck as a wave of fire shot out from the girl, which travelled all the way across the room and ended at the wall directly behind where he had been standing.

At first he thought it had been an attack meant for him, but as he glanced down to the pit, he saw that the fire had hit its intended mark. The Noxian was unrecognizable, a black human-shaped figure. Sett couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead, but the corpse cart was wheeled over as the girl collapsed on the floor, the remaining dagger in her side disappearing, a clear sign that the Noxian was no longer alive. Her clothes in burnt tatters, the girl curled up on her side and sobbed. It wasn’t a sight he had seen in the pit before, and he was taken aback.

“Guess she ain’t as weak as she looks,” Ryo remarked with a low whistle.

The crowd remembered to breathe again as the body of the Noxian was wheeled away. There was a mix of cheers and boos, the latter likely from those who had bet against the girl. The doors to the pit opened up, an enforcer entering with two men at his heels. The men were out of place, looking more like con artists than pit fighters. Ryo was looking out at the same scene as the two men attempted to haul the girl to her feet as she resisted heavily.

“Those were the guys who brought her in. You think…?” Ryo prompted.

“Yeah.” Ryo didn’t have to finish his sentence for Sett to know that they both suspected the same thing about the situation. “Invite those two to the back office. I want the girl separated from them. I’ll deal with Dedric later.”

Ryo immediately left to oversee the orders, and Sett watched as Ryo appeared in the arena and had the two men and the girl escorted out of the pit so the next competitors could fight it out. He trusted that Ryo could handle the problem for now; any action on his part would have to wait until the crowd had gone home for the night. And with more fights to come, Sett settled back into his chair and kept his focus on the pit.

You were not being dragged away by those creeps again, not after barely surviving the fight at the expense of taking a life. You struggled, hoping the pressure of the crowd would keep them from pulling the knife on you again.

“Get up!” the skinny one screeched at you. “Get your ass up!”

Their tugging on your limbs paused as a man with dark hair in a low ponytail and an overly pleasant smile approached.

“Gentleman, the boss would like to talk some business after the rounds,” he explained smoothly. “We may even triple your finder’s fee.”

Your heart sunk. So nobody here was a decent person? You would get nowhere being on the floor, so you reluctantly stood up, your captors taking an arm each to allow you no chance of escape. You could only do what you could to avoid further violence being inflicted on you. You followed the smooth-talking man down the hallway you had been in before, up until he stopped in front of a door.

“You can wait in here for the boss,” the man announced, but didn’t stand aside for the men to enter. “She’s gotta go in another room. Can’t have the talent present while the men talk business.”

Your captors seemed to accept his logic, stepping into the room, obviously mentally counting their imminent profits from your enslavement. Whereas all you could think about was how you were going to get out of this. You were reluctant to hurt anyone, but maybe if you threatened this man with your powers, he’d let you leave. You followed him to the room next door, readying yourself to throw a fireball and run if necessary. But before you could work up your nerve, the door was shut and you were left alone with a promise that the boss would be paying you a visit soon.

You paced around the room, trying to think of what to do. Inora must be so worried that you hadn’t returned home, but you had no way to contact her from here. And even if you did, you doubted that she could get you out of this viper’s den. You would have to do something. You had lost track of time, stuck in your own thoughts until you heard muffled shouting from the room next door. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the voices sounded angry. You crept closer to the wall to try and hear better, but just as you put your ear to the wall, there was a heavy impact to the other side of the wall, which jolted you backwards, landing on your back and knocking the wind out of you.

You had to get out of here. You had heard the click of a lock earlier when the smooth-talker had left, but maybe you could just burn the door down? You ran a hand along the door; it was unfortunately solid. You had never tested your powers like this before, so you were unsure of if you could accidentally enflame the entire building. You had no idea what had happened in the room next door, which was now eerily quiet, but you weren’t about to be next. Not without trying to get out of here. You placed both palms to the wooden door, ready to burn right through it, when it was opened from the outside, sending you flying forward, eyes shut reflexively for the impact to the floor.

“And here I thought you were done fightin’.”

Your eyes snapped open at the deep male voice and sudden grip on your forearms, only to see the Vastayan man from before. You were eye-level with his very muscular chest, and looked further up to see him looking down at you with an eyebrow raised. Up close, you could make out every little scratch on his ruggedly handsome face, your eyes drawn to one small white scar that ran down one side of his bottom lip and ended just a bit above his chin. You came back to yourself all at once, flushing with embarrassment as you realized that you had been staring at him too long.

You remembered your situation, jerking back and out of his grip, which surprised him. Your need to separate yourself from him resulted in you falling to the floor again, and you began to quickly scramble away from the man.

He brought a hand up to itch at the back of his neck as he casually stepped into the room. “Relax,” he said, moving closer to you. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

“Please, please don’t–” You were babbling, and you knew it, but you didn’t know what else to do as you curled into a ball on the floor, keeping your eyes on his approaching figure.

He looked somewhat annoyed, halting where he stood a few feet away from you. “Look, we beat the story outta those scumbags that brought you here. You’re free to go.”

His words swept away your fears of immediate and swift peril, which was quickly replaced by confusion as you slowly sat up. “But…”

“I know what good girls like you think ‘a the pits, but mine ain’t like that,” he explained. “We only take willing fighters.”

“I didn’t…” you trailed off, deciding not to voice your half-hearted protests. You definitely had thought exactly that, so you weren’t sure why you had tried to deny his assertion. “You’re going to let me leave?”

“I would invite ya back, but I don’t think the pit is the right place for a cryin’ city girl,” he replied.

“Thank you!” you exclaimed, ignoring the insult. You weren’t sure what to say, but you didn’t want him to have any reason to reverse his decision. He ran a fighting pit, so clearly he wasn’t all there morally, but you didn’t want to stay here and access him further, not when he was giving you a free pass to get out of here.

You stood up, keeping your eyes on him as you inched towards the door, the man staring back at you with what looked like amusement, keeping his gaze on you as you passed by him and into the hallway. You weren’t sure where to go from here, but you were afraid to seem like you didn’t know what you were doing.

“Wrong way,” he called out when you were halfway down the hallway in your chosen direction. You flinched at his voice, turning around and sheepishly walking back in his direction as he chuckled.

“Down the hall and to the left,” he said as you passed by him.

You walked a little faster at his words, but followed his directions. You were too nervous to look back, and you hurried around the corner, feeling his eyes on you until you fully left his sight. You were grateful that there was one decent person in this place, but you wanted to be out of here as soon as possible.

The air outside the arena was stale, but welcome to your frazzled nerves. You walked among the crowd of exiting patrons, hoping that they wouldn’t take notice of you if you kept your head down. Luckily for you, it was a busy night of betting, and that’s all the crowd around you could talk about. You stuck close to a group of women that were discussing how attractive one of the fighters was until you were back on the main streets again. You were grateful for all the loud people on the streets, because nobody paid any attention to you as you took only well-lit paths back to Inora’s home, eyes flitting around as you kept watch for any more goons in your way. You weren’t sure what the man had meant when he told you that he had dealt with your kidnappers, but if they were out on the streets, then you needed to be off of them as soon as you could be.

Inora was in her favorite chair by the front door as you unlocked the door and came in. She practically leapt from the chair, rushing over to you once she noticed your appearance. You hadn’t had a chance to look in a mirror, but you knew that your clothes were dirty and ripped, a patch of your shirt stained with your blood from the Noxian’s dagger. You must have looked awful, and would likely have bruises all over once you woke up tomorrow.

Inora sat you down and began to fuss over your injuries, washing your cuts and bandaging the worst of them as you told you what had happened to you.

“Those dirty kidnappers,” she growled. “They are a scourge on Navori!”

You didn’t want to make her any more stressed, so you shortened your summary of the fight and skipped to the part where the Vastayan man let you leave. Inora had only calmed down slightly, her protective nature setting in as she made you some dinner, despite your offers to help her. You sat patiently in your chair, hoping that being as calm as you could would keep her from acting on her threats to go down to the arena and give them a piece of her mind.

You had to beg her not to tell Ciorah about what had happened. Ciorah was a sweet lady who already worried too much about the dangers of the streets, and you didn’t want her constantly stressed with worry for you every time you left her home. Inora was reluctant, but understood why you wanted to keep the experience a secret from Ciorah. You were eventually allowed to go to bed after Inora had finished fussing over you, and you were so tired that you passed out almost immediately.

The next day, you were anxious to get out of the house and visit Ciorah. You had woken up in slight pain from bruises all over your body, but otherwise you were feeling better. Unlike you, however, Inora had woken up even more protective than the day before. She hadn’t let you do any glass work, stating that since you had used your powers to the extreme yesterday, using them today would be too much of a strain on you. You had tried to tell her that you felt fine, but no amount of convincing would lessen her worries. She barely let you make your own food, and you were trying to be patient, but felt like you were going a bit crazy with her constant hovering around you.

“…and if you’re still there when it gets dark, stay there and I’ll come get you,” Inora instructed you as you stood by the door, ready to leave for Ciorah’s home. She had been talking at you for several minutes now, and you decided to just let her talk until she got it all out. Only after agreeing to all of her conditions did she let you leave at last, and you took only busy streets to get to Ciorah’s house.

You had tried to wear enough clothing to cover all of your bruises and cuts, but you hadn’t worn a bag over your head, so Ciorah noticed the scrapes on your face and hands immediately. She fretted over you as she ushered you into her home, and you were immediately reminded of Inora, who had done the exact same thing. You gently refuted her worries, sitting down opposite her at her small table.

“I tripped and fell into a thorn bush,” you carefully stated your rehearsed lie. “I’m fine!”

You felt bad at just how easily Ciorah believed your lie, but you knew it had to be done. She didn’t need the extra stress, and you didn’t want to make her even more concerned about the ruffians at the pits. You bit down any urges to tell her the truth, covering up your guilt with a smile just as a knock came at the door.

You felt unease rise up within you as Ciorah excused herself to go to the door. The only person who had ever visited when you were here was Inora, and your mind began to race, trying to think of what to do if Inora was here to tell Ciorah tell truth. It seemed like you couldn’t escape the awkward conversation, and so you stared at the wall that was blocking your view of the entrance and tried to think of any possible way to explain to her why you had lied without damaging her trust in you. You thought you were doing her a favor, but now that your plan was backfiring majorly, you were feeling even worse.

You listened intently as Ciorah opened the door, waiting to hear Inora’s voice that you knew was coming. Instead, you heard a man’s voice, and an excited coo from Ciorah, which derailed your train of thought entirely.

“Sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” the male voice said. “The boss’s daughter was sick, so I did his share of work too.”

“I am just happy to see you, Settrigh,” Ciorah replied warmly.

As soon as you heard the name, you realized that it was Ciorah’s elusive son at the door. You admittedly could use the help in distracting Ciorah from your injuries, but more than anything you were interested in finally meeting the son that Ciorah often spoke so fondly of. You let a smile light your face in excitement as Ciorah came back into the room, and the large figure just behind her sent your heart racing.

You barely heard Ciorah introduce you to her son as you stared at him, eyes wide and skin feeling cold with dread. Settrigh stared back at you in shock, neither of you breaking your shared gaze until Ciorah asked her son if he would like some tea.

“Yes, ma,” Settrigh answered politely, and the blatant change in his personality from last night shocked you.

The calm didn’t last long, because as soon as Ciorah left the room to prepare the tea, Settrigh quickly crossed the room to get in your face, voice threatening despite being at whisper volume. “Did you tell her?”

“What?” you whispered back.

He glared at you, unamused by your lack of answer. “Did you tell my ma about what I do?”

“No!” you squeaked, backing away in fear. “I didn’t want to worry her… and besides, I didn’t know you were her son!”

“You better not be lyin’,” he threatened, and the implications of his words were clear. You say anything and he would do the same thing to you that he did to your kidnappers last night. You didn’t know what to do to get him to understand that he could trust you.

“Settrigh–” you tried to plead, but his growl shut you up.

“Sett,” he grunted. “Momma’s the only one who calls me Settrigh.”

“I… I’m sorry.” You didn’t know what else to say to abate his sudden anger.

He scoffed. “Relax, I’m not gonna hurt ya. Just remember that my momma don’t need to know what I really do.”

You nodded definitely too many times for it to look casual as Ciorah came back into the room with a tray of three teacups with a soft purple flower pattern dotting the rims. With Ciorah here, you felt a little safer than being left alone with him, and could take the time to examine him more closely. You sat back down at the table and tried to stifle a laugh at the sight of the heavily-muscled man sitting in a chair half as wide as he was and drinking from a dainty little teacup. Sett caught your nearly-silent giggle and frowned at you.

“Settrigh, do not grip the cup so hard!” Ciorah scolded him, and Sett hastened to apologize to his mother, his furry ears drooping down in a way you realized that you found cute. Such a fierce beast in his pit, but a tamed puppy in front of his mom.

As you sipped your tea, Ciorah fetched your newest figure from its position on a small stand and held it out to Sett, who took it to admire politely.

“She brings me these when she has extra materials,” Ciorah said proudly, smiling at you as she addressed her son. “I told you that she helps Aunt Inora?”

Sett stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. “The Demacian girl…” he muttered to himself.

Ciorah had told him about you? You felt shy as you wondered exactly how much she had told him about your life. Other than Ciorah and Inora, nobody in Ionia knew your shameful history. You really shouldn’t care, but you felt shame at this man who had grown up with a loving mother knowing that you had travelled across a continent because your family didn’t want you. You tried to ration with yourself that you didn’t need his approval, didn’t need him to like you, but you found yourself longing for any connection with someone your own age. But you didn’t want to seem desperate, so you pushed your emotions away for now and chatted casually with Ciorah, too scared to talk directly to Sett and give him any more reasons to dislike you.

Watching him interact with his mother made you feel happy, but also empty and jealous. Eventually, you were content to just let them talk as you nursed your tea, sinking into thoughts you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on in a long time. Thoughts about your family, of how you’d never see them again unless you wanted to give yourself up for death as a Demacian fugitive. That even if you did, they would only ever see you as a black mark on their otherwise-perfect legacy.

You didn’t notice as a tear fell from your face and into your now-cold tea, but both sets of sensitive Vastayan ears perked up at the tiny sound it made. Only when Ciorah called your name did you realize that you were crying.

“Sorry!” you cried out, embarrassed at losing control of your emotions. You stumbled out of your seat, rushing towards the front door, not stopping at the calls of your name from Ciorah as you opened the door and rushed out into the street. You only slowed down when you reached an empty alleyway, wiping your face with your long sleeve as you cursed your own judgment. Less than a day after you had been kidnapped in an alleyway, and here you were being careless yet again.

“Hey!” a shout startled you as your upper arm was gripped firmly, and you looked over to see Sett looking sternly down at you. “What are you doing? You nearly gave ma a heart attack!”

You didn’t have the strength to pull your arm from his grip, and you looked at the ground as you answered. “…it’s nothing.”

“You think I’m stupid?” Sett growled. “Nobody cries without a reason. I understand if you don’t wanna tell me, but I don’t like it when ma worries.”

He wasn’t going to drop it, so you finally looked up at his face, surprised to see that he didn’t look as angry as his voice had sounded. He raised an eyebrow at you, which finally prompted you to talk.

“I don’t know how much Ciorah told you about me, but…” You struggled for words for a moment. “Seeing you two interact just made me miss my family back in Demacia. Which is stupid, because they didn’t want me the second they knew I had magic…”

“Savages,” Sett remarked darkly. “All ma told me ‘bout your past was that you came from Demacia, but after seein’ your magic, I’m not surprised you’re here. Those fools think they’re above lowly magic and then imprison any inconvenient mages that slip through the cracks of their lineage.”

You inhaled sharply, surprised at his words, and he released your arm at last, leaning back against the alley wall. “Besides the pits, ma’s all I got. My pa wanted money more than his family, so he ran off to be a big shot pit fighter in Noxus.”

“Sett…” you whispered, and he turned his sharp gaze to you, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I don’t need your pity, fireball. As long as I have coin for ma, and keep my pit runnin’, I’m not worried about my pa. As long as he doesn’t show his face back in Navori, that is.”

“Sorry for running out,” you said quietly, feeling very embarrassed about your childish behavior.

“You don’t need to say that to me,” he said casually. “But you really worried ma.”

“I don’t know if I can face her now,” you admitted honestly.

Sett laughed. “She won’t be mad, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve gotten on her bad side before and you ain’t even close.”

Sett turned to leave the alleyway and you trailed just behind him. His legs were much longer than yours, but he was obviously slowing his stride to allow you to keep pace with him. You made sure that your eyes were dry when you arrived back at Ciorah’s house, and were embraced by her as soon as she saw you. Somehow, Sett silently standing nearby gave you the confidence to tell her what had upset you. She had held you very tightly, much more than you had thought capable of a woman of her small stature.

By the time she had gotten the full story out of you, the sun had begun to set. Remembering Inora’s warning, you reluctantly admitted that you should head back home.

“Settrigh will escort you home,” Ciorah said sweetly; her tone kind, but firm. You didn’t dare disagree, but you were surprised at how Sett immediately agreed to her request.

He was so clearly a momma’s boy. You felt bad for judging him so harshly upon first meeting him. Though that didn’t excuse him running the violent, thug-infested pits, but you forced yourself to take comfort in the fact that he seemed to only allow willing competitors to fight in matches. You realized that he had never explicitly told you what had been done to your kidnappers, and your fear of running into them on the streets again prompted you to ask him as you departed Ciorah’s home.

“Are they… dead?” you asked quietly, scared of what his answer would be.

Sett shrugged. “I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking. They’ve been banned from the pit, and encouraged to leave town.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You were so sure that he had killed them. It was the pits, people died there all the time and nobody ever questioned it.

“Before you go thinkin’ I’m a saint, I did rough them up a bit,” he added. “Can’t have scumbags thinkin’ they can get around my rules.”

It was somewhat reassuring; you felt bad to be disappointed that they were still alive, but hopefully they wouldn’t be in any shape to try and get revenge. You didn’t want to experience any more violence; it was bad enough that you had killed someone, even though you had no choice. Silence dragged on as you walked alongside Sett until you were almost home.

“Y’know, if you ever get tired of Inora, I’m always lookin' for capable fighters,” he said, startling you out of your thoughts.

You stopped in your tracks, gaping at him as you tried to think of how to answer without offending him. He let out a bark of laughter as he stared back at you. “Sorry, city girl, just wanted to scare ya. You’re strong, but I know the pit fighter life ain’t for ya.”

He just said that to bug you? You had genuinely been worried that he would make you fight again! Fortunately, you didn’t have to wait long for revenge as Sett winced with a yelp as he was smacked in the back of the head by a strong hand.

“Settrigh!” Inora scolded. “You never visit anymore, and when I do see you, you’re out here picking on my apprentice!”

“Aunt Inora…” Sett greeted weakly.

She smacked him again. “I don’t tell your mother about your work and you repay me by allowing innocent girls to be forced to fight? What if she didn’t have powers and died!?”

“I’m sorry!” Sett yelped, before noticing you snickering at him again. “Hey!”

“I’ve ignored your seedy business long enough because you take care of Ciorah! You will apologize to this girl, not me!” she demanded.

Sett looked very defeated, and you were taking a bit too much joy out of watching the intimidating man be taken to task by a woman much older and smaller than him, though you would have to ask her how she knew that he ran the pit. He turned to face you with a grimace; he must have been used to her wrath if he folded so easily. Luckily, nobody was around at the moment to see his suffering but you and Inora.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding at least halfway sincere.

“Settrigh…” Inora warned, but you couldn’t help but jump in on his misery.

“I’ll forgive you if you let me pet your ears!” you teased him.

“What?” he snarled. “I’m not a–”

“Settrigh!” Inora scolded him with a smack to his biceps. “She’s being a lot nicer than your mother would be if she knew what you did to the poor girl!”

Sett growled, his eyes telling you that he would get you back for making him submit to your request. But you were having too much fun with the large half-Vastayan man and reached a hand up as he bent down to allow you to reach his furred ears. To your glee, they were incredibly soft. You ran your hand along the silken fur until a quiet noise from Sett stilled your hand as you looked back down at his face to see a flush to his skin that wasn’t there before. When he noticed you staring at him, he swatted your hand away at last, muttering something to himself and brushing past you to walk in the direction you had come from without another word.

“That boy is so predictable,” Inora mused as you followed her inside.

“You knew he ran the pit?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“It was hard for him when his father left,” Inora answered. “Hard for Ciorah too. People feared his father, so they were accepted, but they were not liked. After his father left, they no longer tolerated Settrigh. He had no choice but to grow up too soon.”

He had mentioned his father had left, but you didn’t realize he had been bullied. You weren’t sure what to say, so you said nothing and let Inora continue to talk.

“He used to get in fights all the time. Kids would say things to him about his mother and it would upset him. He grew up eventually, but I suspected he hadn’t really stopped fighting. I asked around and found out that he had taken over the pit,” she explained.

“And you didn’t tell Ciorah?” you wondered aloud.

She shook her head. “He begged me not to. With his money, she did not have to work gruelling jobs to support them anymore. I hate to admit it, but this way, Ciorah is safe and healthy. She struggled for a long time after we were forced to leave our tribe, and all Settrigh wants is his mother’s happiness.”

“I can see that,” you agreed. “I was really scared of him yesterday, but after seeing him act like an obedient puppy with you and Ciorah…” You couldn’t help but laugh as you recalled him being bossed around by the women.

“He’s a good son,” Inora assented. “I admit that maybe I went a little far with the ear pats.”

She noted your confusion and giggled. “Vastayan ears are more sensitive than human ears, and Settrigh’s even more than average. His mother used to pet his ears to calm him down when other kids would tease him.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to–” you started, but silenced you by waving off your concerns with a smile.

“He hasn’t come by in so long, so he deserved a little teasing as my revenge!” she joked. “He needs a break from being a big scary pit boss occasionally!”

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Ryo told Sett bluntly. Other men in his pit would be too afraid of insulting the pit boss to talk to him like that, but Ryo knew that Sett trusted him, and liked to think of himself as the closest thing the Vastayan brute had to a friend. They did not see each other outside of the pit, but they both spent so much time there that it didn’t matter.

Neither one of the men pulled punches with each other, and Sett’s personality change had not gone unnoticed by Ryo. He knew that it had started sometime around when they had dealt with those woman-nappers, but Ryo hadn’t been able to pinpoint what had changed his friend. Sett was as focussed on the coin as ever, but Ryo had caught him lost in thought much more often over the past month. Sett, however, kept his thoughts stubbornly hidden, no matter how hard Ryo tried to pull the secrets from him.

“Caiyana finally make you an offer you couldn’t refuse?” Ryo teased, knowing that there was no chance that Sett would answer in the affirmative. Caiyana, the deadly assassin-turned-pit fighter had her keen eye on Sett since she found her way to the pits. Sett had been cordial, even friendly to her, but Ryo knew the boss well enough to tell that he maintained a professional distance from the beautiful murderess, as much as a pit boss could be called professional.

Sett scoffed. “That woman ain’t into anythin' but Noxian gold.”

“Then you two have a lot in common,” Ryo replied dryly. Sett was blind if he thought Caiyana wouldn’t give up her booking fee for the night if it meant that she could jump the boss’s bones.

Ryo allowed silence to overtake the room as they double and then triple checked the coin count from the night’s lost bets. Ryo focussed his attention on organizing the coins, until everything was all set in its rightful place and Sett had no business to use as an excuse to not answer his friend, so Ryo tried again.

“I’m not stupid, Sett,” Ryo said smoothly. “If not Caiyana, you’ve got someone on your mind. You’re not smooth enough to hide your schoolboy crush from my eyes.”

“You wanna say that again?” Sett growled, and Ryo was confident that Sett prized the bag of coins in his grip too much to throw it at his head for that comment.

Ryo had always liked to get the last word with his burly friend, so he stood up with his modest cut of the night’s profits, sauntering to the door with confidence. “Bring her around sometime. I want to meet the woman that puts up with a momma’s boy like you.”

Sett noticed that people in the streets gave him a wider berth than usual, and he figured he must look as pissed as he felt. He valued his friend’s honesty and loyalty, but Ryo really loved pushing his buttons. They liked to bug each other often, but Sett hadn’t expected Ryo to bring up his love life, non-existent as it was.

Sett had never had flings with women, even after his rise to popularity within the dregs of Ionian society. When his father was still here, nobody really talked to him out of fear. But after the scumbag had run off on them, all hell had broken loose. No girl would look at the fatherless half-breed bastard with anything but scorn in their eyes. And then he had grown some muscles and taken over the pit and only then women became eager to throw themselves at him. He could see through their flattery as if they were made of glass; he wasn’t egotistical enough to believe these women truly had any interest in any part of him other than his prestige and his wallet. They liked the pretty package, but would balk if they got a look inside his damaged soul. None of these women had any time to waste on a bastard with thinly-veiled daddy issues.

He wasn’t about to tell Ryo, but he did have more than the pit to think about as of late. He had run into you a lot lately when he visited his momma in the daytime. He hadn’t noticed it himself, but he had begun to expect you to be there when he stopped by. The last time he had been by to bring ma some more coin, he found himself looking at your usual chair as he entered the home. Ma had noticed immediately, informing him that you were out making deliveries. Sett couldn’t pretend he wasn’t looking for you, but he bristled at his momma’s next sly comment about you being unattached. It seemed that his pensive mood had followed him into the pit, and it annoyed the hell outta him.

Sett didn’t have a crush. He wasn’t a boy anymore, nor an awkward teenager. He had never bothered with women, not unless it benefitted his pit. He was annoyed with himself for wanting to be around you. But he wasn’t about to trust Ryo with that information and open himself up for his friend’s teasing. The pit would be closed for cleaning the next day; it had been a bloodier week than usual, but Sett would welcome the time off so he could have more time to spend with his momma.

You had been too busy to see Ciorah lately, and by extension Sett as well, since you only ever saw him at his mother’s house. A rich collector had come upon your work, and had been commissioning you and Inora to make him various glassworks, which on top of your usual amount of work made you so busy that you had no time for anything else. The worst part being that the collector was sleazy; he insisted that you deliver the finished pieces, and would then make various excuses to keep you in his home as long as possible. You had wanted to tell Inora, but the man had been paying you well, money you knew would really help Inora at the moment, so you put up with it. You had survived the pit and the journey across the Noxian sea, you could take one so-far harmless creep.

You had just finished delivering another sculpture, following the man around his house until he finally decided where the perfect place for his new glasswork would be. You had hoped that would be the end of it, that he would for once have mercy on you and let you leave, but it was never that easy with this guy. You had been standing outside of his house, trying to excuse yourself for around twenty minutes as he continued to ignore your excuses and talk over you.

“…I do paint sometimes, you know. You should come model for me, you’re beautiful enough. I’ve always wanted to paint a nude model in a field of flowers. You’d be very happy as my model, happier than dirtying yourself with glass dust,” he rambled.

“I… I don’t…” You weren’t sure how to refuse him without losing his business; he had never been this bold with his creepiness before. “I like my work…”

“You can’t possibly think you’ll get anywhere in life working in that tiny shop,” he said, and you bit your lip in frustration at his patronizing tone. You needed to get out of here before you really lost it on him.

“You’ve got such a beautiful body,” he drawled, either oblivious or uncaring as to how hard you were trying to exit this conversation. “Your breasts were made to be painted–”

He was startled out of his speech by a large hand on his shoulder. You gasped in surprise, relief coloring your cheeks with warmth as you saw Sett right behind him. You hadn’t even seen him coming. The creep had an entirely different reaction as he stumbled away from the very angry half-Vastayan. The collector fell backwards in his urgency to get away from Sett, falling onto his butt in shock, but still had the nerve to speak.

“Y-you beast! Beasts like you don’t belong in the presence of civilized folk!” he bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at Sett, who lifted an eyebrow, his gaze still sharp and angry.

“You gonna apologize?” Sett growled lowly.

“Apologize?!” the man screeched. “Why should I apologize when you’re the one harassing civilians?”

“To her,” was Sett’s reply as he stared the man down. “That ain’t how ya talk to women half your age.”

“Excuse me?” the man exclaimed, getting red in the face from all the shouting he had been doing. “Mutts like you need to mind their own business!”

Sett’s eyes flashed dangerously at the insult, and your gaze flickered down to his fingers as he flexed them in what you assumed meant that this was going to get ugly. You quickly grabbed the hand closest to you before Sett could reply, and after a moment’s resistance, he allowed you to drag him away from the flustered man who was still on the floor.

“Thank you for your patronage!” you called out in the sweetest tone you could manage as you turned the corner, leaving the creep to cower and sputter on the ground.

“Sett, what were you…?” you queried him as soon as you got what you hoped was a good distance away from the creepy collector’s home.

“Ma needed more milk,” he answered, holding up a small woven bag that you hadn’t noticed that he had been carrying.

“Oh…” you replied stiffly, feeling awkward as you noticed that you were both still holding hands.

Sett looked down at you sternly, and you weren’t sure if he was aware of your joined hands or not. “You shouldn’t let people treat ya like that. Who knows what that bastard would’ve done if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“I know,” you groaned. “He buys a lot from us and Inora really needed the money to replace a torch I broke by accident…”

“Inora wouldn’t take his money if she knew what he was sayin’ to you,” Sett retorted darkly. “No coin is worth a woman bein’ treated like that.”

For such a big, intimidating guy, he sure was sweet to you lately. Sett took you out of your thoughts, tugging your hand to get you to follow him down a familiar path.

“Ciorah’s house isn’t…” you protested in confusion, but Sett’s steps didn’t falter.

“We’ll get there,” he replied. “But first we’re gonna go explain to Inora why you won’t be goin’ on deliveries to that freak anymore.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to protest; after that escalation in creepy behavior, you didn’t want to be anywhere near that guy ever again. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting Inora down; the creepy guy was the most profitable client in a long time. But there was not a high likelihood that he would be commissioning you in the future after Sett had nearly beat him up. You followed him back home, finding Inora in the workshop finalizing a piece that would go to a sweet older lady who bought works from you for her grandchildren.

“How was–” Inora greeted you before noticing your companion. “Settrigh?”

“She didn’t wanna tell you, but that old creep has been flirtin’ with her,” Sett explained while you awkwardly fiddled with your fingers just behind him.

“What?” Inora gaped. “I knew he had been ordering a lot of pieces, but I never thought…”

Sett nudged you forward, and you figured you should tell her the truth. “Sorry I didn’t tell you… normally he just rambles stories at me and stands too close, but today, he…”

It was too weird for you to say out loud, but Sett didn’t have the same reservations. “The bastard was tryin’ to convince her to model naked for him.”

“He what!?” Inora snarled. “If I could get my claws on him…”

“I was tryin’ to, but she stopped me,” Sett replied, gesturing to you with a jerk of his head.

“Sett!” you scolded him, but Inora barked out a laugh.

“For once, I approve of your violent streak!” she grinned.

You knew they weren’t biologically related, but you couldn’t help but note how familial their bond was. Inora was more outwardly tough than Ciorah, but both women fit so well into Sett’s life.

“Ma’s waitin’ on me to bring her milk,” Sett changed the subject with a sly smirk. “Gonna take her with me so she doesn’t run back to her boyfriend!”

You gaped at Sett, him and Inora laughing at the disgusted look on your face. “I would never–”

“Relax, princess,” Sett snickered. “I’ll protect ya from him.”

You lost all will to argue, his words flustering you into silence. You couldn’t tell if his tone was flirty or not, but the sudden nickname made you blush. Sett seemed oblivious, but you met eyes with Inora, who smiled knowingly at you, and you quickly looked down at your feet.

“You can take her with you, but you’ve gotta promise me you’ll punch that asshole if you see him again!” Inora joked.

“Can do,” Sett answered affirmatively.

“Don’t be too late!” Inora added, winking at you in a manner that left you no room to doubt what she was really saying. You were relieved that Sett had already turned to the door and had missed her wink altogether.

You still weren’t sure why he was insistent on bringing you along, but it had been a while since you had seen him and you had missed the big brute. You followed Sett out of the front door, waving goodbye to Inora as you emerged back onto the early afternoon streets of Navori.

“…how is the pit?” you asked, wanting to say something but couldn’t think of any interests of his besides his mom and his work in your flustered state.

“’s good,” he answered with a chuckle. “Didn’t think you wanted to hear about the pit.”

What could you even say to that? That you just wanted to talk with him and weren’t sure what else to say?

“I…” you trailed off as you entered the streets that made up the marketplace that led to Ciorah’s home.

“I told you I won’t make ya fight,” Sett laughed. “The pit is a place for degenerates like me, not little mages.”

“You’re not a degenerate,” you refuted softly. “If you hadn’t saved me, I would probably still be with those kidnappers.”

Sett scoffed as you both turned onto the street that Ciorah’s house was on. “With your firepower, they didn’t stand a chance in a fight with you.”

You just stared at him, dumbfounded by his confidence in you. You still weren’t sure how you had beat the Noxian in the pit, but it was a weird feeling to have someone who brawled for a living complimenting you on your combat prowess, however little you felt that you possessed anyways. Maybe you should start having more confidence in yourself; he had certainly given you something to think about. Sett knocked on Ciorah’s door as you stepped onto the landing by his side. You felt a sudden onset of emotion as you reflected further on what a good thing it had been for your life for you to meet Sett.

“Hey… are you cryin’?” Sett said, looking panicked.

Before you could answer, Ciorah opened the door to see you wiping away the small tears that had developed in your eyes. Sett looked infinitely more panicked as his eyes darted from you to his mother, and you watched as her eyes narrowed as she looked at the scene in front of her.

“Settrigh!” she scowled. “What did you say to her?”

Sett’s eyes widened in panic at his mother’s ire, an ear in her grasp before he could think to pull away. You quickly followed them into the house, shutting the door behind you.

“It ain’t like that, ma! She just started cryin’!” Sett protested.

“I raised you to be kind to women, Settrigh,” Ciorah replied sternly.

“He didn’t do anything, I promise!” you corrected Ciorah’s impression the best you could, trying not to laugh as Sett rubbed his sore ear when Ciorah released it upon hearing your words. “I was just thinking about… how nice Sett has been to me and I teared up.”

You were embarrassed to have to be so honest, especially since Sett was now staring at you with a look in his eyes you couldn’t read. Ciorah finally abandoned scolding her son to give you a tight hug, which only served to make you feel more embarrassed. You had never cried this often back in Demacia, but that was hardly unusual for Demacia. There was always a high importance placed on being proper and not embarrassing your family. You had grown up with the notion that it was normal to keep emotions – even happiness – out of the public sphere and away from troubling anyone. Thinking back, you realized that you had never even seen your parents cry. Ever.

The only emotions they displayed often were fear and anger. You knew now that was how they kept Demacians in line. By making them fear mages like you that just wanted to be accepted in their twisted society, by making families turn on their kin because of powers they could not help. Ionia was not free of cruelty, but you would never have the entire island turn against you just for using your powers. All of the people you were close to here openly embraced you, powers and all. You would never go back to Demacia as long as you lived; Navori was your permanent home as far as you were concerned.

Ciorah happily accepted the milk that she had sent her son to buy, insisting that you both stay for dinner. You chopped vegetables with Sett while Ciorah oversaw the stew that was simmering. You were having fun, other than Sett dangling cut onions in your face, which made you tear up yet again, Ciorah smacking his shoulder when he teased you for crying. You hadn’t had so much fun in a long time, just sitting around the table with them and chatting as you ate, which was only made sweeter by the fact that you didn’t have to put up with that creepy customer’s behavior anymore. It definitely felt like too soon when it was time to head back home, and this time Sett offered to walk you home without Ciorah’s prompting.

“I’ll see you again soon,” Ciorah told you warmly, giving you a hug.

You stepped back from her and Sett quickly took your place, giving her a kiss on the cheek as she wrapped her arms as far around his broad back as she could reach.

“Love you, ma,” Sett told her.

“And I love you, Settrigh,” Ciorah replied in kind. “Stay safe.”

“Are you going to the pit now?” you asked him as Ciorah closed the door and you both exited her hearing range.

“No need,” he answered. “I can trust those knuckleheads by themselves for one night.”

“If you say so,” you answered in a singsong tone.

Sett playfully raised an eyebrow. “Ya know the pit ain’t all I ever think about.”

You weren’t sure if you were reading too much into his words, and the glint in his eyes. You were paranoid that you were over-analyzing what wasn’t romantic intentions on his side. But no matter what you did, you couldn’t help but hope that Sett would make a move, because you just didn’t have the confidence.

You decided that it would be worth a try to see if you could fish any more information out of him. “So, what else do you think–”

You would not finish your sentence as your arm was grasped roughly from behind, a hand clamping over your mouth and muffling your surprised cry.

Sett snarled and made to dash over to you, but a long, sharp blade to your neck had him pausing in his tracks, feral anger plain on his face. You still couldn’t see the man who held you captive, as any movement from you had him inch the blade closer to the flesh of your neck, and so you kept painfully still. Your situation fully illuminated on you when men began to trickle out of the shadows, including two ugly faces you remembered in detail, even a month later.

They looked even more rough than the night they had kidnapped you. It seemed like Sett’s lesson hadn’t gotten through to them as they closed in on you alongside a dozen or so men who looked just as intimidating.

“Let her go,” Sett snarled, and the venom in his tone shocked you cold, but unfortunately did not have the same effect on the group of men.

“You won’t protect your bitch this time, half breed,” the taller kidnapper sneered to supportive chuckles and jeers from the rest of the group of men.

“Navori is tired of your iron fist,” the other kidnapper added tauntingly. “So we’re gonna do the pit a favor and make sure you never step foot in it again.”

“You can try!” Sett growled, muscles flexing dangerously.

“Fightin’ fair just ain’t in the cards anymore,” the tall man replied, and before Sett had time to react, one of the men dashed forward and threw a sickly yellow powder in Sett’s face, which had him fall to his knees coughing and breathing heavily before he collapsed on the ground. The hand on your mouth tightened as you screamed and struggled. All your struggles did was draw the attention of the men back to you.

“Poor girl,” one man drawled. “About to watch her boyfriend die.”

Your eyes widened, heart beating overtime as you watched the men begin to crowd around Sett’s unconscious body. What had they thrown on him? Ionia definitely had its own drug trade, but you had no knowledge of what the yellow powder could be. But as you watched the men brandish weapons of all sort, you realized that the drug must have been a means to an end. A knockout drug strong enough to render even the large half-Vastayan unconscious. Sett was defenseless, and showed no signs of waking up despite your mental pleas.

“She’s gonna cry,” one of the men articulated with a cruel laugh.

“With him gone, she’s gonna be real lonely!” another man jeered.

“Not for long,” the tall man sneered. “She’s got a big debt to pay us, so we got first dibs. You all can have what’s left.”

You couldn’t lose Sett. You could barely hear what they were saying around you, eyes locked on the gleaming silver of their weapons as they raised them in unison to strike at the downed man you cared so much for. You didn’t wait a moment, because Sett didn’t have a moment to spare if you were going to save his life. The thugs were gleefully unaware, and even the cry of pain from their buddy that held you captive was too late of a warning to save them from your desperate fury.

Your fire reached an inferno in a split second, and the man who held you captive fell back as every part of him that was in close contact with you broke out in burns so hot that this skin bubbled and peeled right off. His last scream would come too late for his friends as you rushed at them, your hair whipping around your face as you slammed into them with the force of an erupting volcano. Your intense fire melted their flesh as you came close, their cries of agony a chorus you were all too happy to hear.

You knew that your kidnappers had been in the mass of men that stood around Sett, but in your fury, you did not see their faces. You did not watch their expressions as they melted away to nothing; they were dead, and not worth any more of your attention. In seconds, you had wiped out every last one. You stood before the ruined men, chest heaving, as you finally came back to yourself and realized that Sett too had been in the center of your inferno.

Shaking your head to clear yourself of your murderous focus, you dropped to your knees beside Sett, who you immediately realized looked completely fine. He had been in the middle of your fiery wrath, but he had not so much as a burn on him anywhere. The only sign that your powers had affected him at all was the slightest beads of sweat on his forehead. How could he be okay? Your fire never hurt you, but this was all-new territory for you.

“Sett!” you cried, placing your hands on either side of his face, tears dripping down your face and onto his jacket. “Sett, please –”

“’s warm.”

His whisper was almost too quiet for you to hear, but his eyes opening ever so slowly confirmed that you hadn’t been hearing things. Sett slowly sat up, rolling his shoulders. He grunted at the impact as you buried your face in his chest, and he slowly sat back up, placing a hand on your back.

“…should go,” he muttered, and you pulled back to look at his face. He clumsily pushed some hair out of your face as you noticed his pupils looked dilated. “We should… we should go,” he slurred.

“Are you… drunk?” you ventured a guess, and he smirked lazily, leaning in to nibble on your neck, which sent a blush to your face and a shiver down your back.

“Nah,” he answered, and you didn’t believe him for a second.

“Can you stand?” you asked him, and he only answered when you backed away from him until he couldn’t kiss at your neck anymore.

He scoffed, lifting himself up a little too fast, his drugged state putting him off balance. You quickly got up as well, grabbing hold of him before he fell over and slinging his arm over your shoulder. Ciorah’s home was close, but you knew that Sett wouldn’t want her to see him in this state.

“Sett, where do you live?” you asked, hoping he would have the mental facilities to properly answer you.

He stared at you intensely for a few seconds before sighing and beginning to walk, forcing you to keep up with him so neither of you would fall over. You were thankful that he just led you silently; you weren’t sure if you could take any more of his drunken flirting. You let him lead you, surprised when you bypassed the wealthy district entirely; you had just assumed that with all the money he made, Sett would live in the most expensive part of town.

The neighborhood Sett finally led you to was one you hadn’t seen before. It was very quiet, only a few people walking around, none of which even bat an eye at you supporting the large pit boss as you walked by. You wondered what kind of a place this was for the sight of the two of you to not be out of the ordinary.

Sett led you up a stony walkway to a very modest home, and you let him off of your shoulder at last so he could lean on the wall and fish his keys out of his pants’ pocket. When he finally managed to retrieve the small silver key, you took it from him. If the walk here was any indication, his coordination was not the best right now. You unlocked the door with ease, and Sett sauntered in, you quickly following behind him and locking the door.

You had clearly underestimated Sett’s recovery time, because as soon as you turned around after hearing the click of the lock, Sett caged you against the door with his body. You stared wide-eyed at the predatory smirk on his face, giving you nowhere to run. You couldn’t tell if this was his true feelings spilling out or if it was the drug. You knew which one you hoped it was, but you couldn’t take advantage of him in this state, not when he could do something he would regret if he weren’t under the influence of the weird powder.

“Sett, you should rest…” you protested, pressing your shaky palms on his chest, ready to push him away if you needed to.

“Nah,” he purred with a grin. “I think I’m good right here.”

“But I don’t know what they gave you, it could be–”

“Stop talkin',” he grunted, and it was all the warning you got before he crushed his lips into yours.

You gasped in surprise, and he didn’t waste the opportunity, sticking his tongue in your mouth and playing with your own. Your fingers gripped at the fur of his long jacket, breaking away from the kiss with a moan when his hands moved down to your hips, pulling your lower body closer to his, a rapidly hardening part of his anatomy brushing obviously against you with the motion. Sett chased your lips, kissing you breathless several times over as you tried desperately to keep up with the rough pace he had set.

You still couldn’t believe this was happening, but you were starting to feel more comfortable kissing him. You wanted him to be as wrecked as you were, and so you did the only thing you could think of that might fluster him and grabbed one of his ears, rubbing it between your fingers. Sett didn’t stop kissing you, but groaned against your mouth. A few more seconds of you repeating the motion had him finally break away from your mouth, and you stared at his beautiful golden eyes as he opened them at last. You were breathing heavily as you watched his gaze trail down your body. You realized that you had once again singed your clothing with your earlier outburst, your top a lot more low-cut than it had been when you had left Ciorah’s home, the singed edges of the fabric hovering at the tops of your breasts.

“Hold on!” Sett grinned.

You stared at him, confused by the mischief in his eyes. Sett wasted no time, his strong arms going around your back and under your thighs as he lifted you into a princess carry. You squeaked in surprise, holding your hands at your chest, unsure of what to do with them.

“Doubt I’ll get tired of this,” Sett remarked, turning around and heading down the hallway. “Last chance to back out, princess.”

He was really testing your newfound commitment to honesty. Your face burned with embarrassment and shame, so you buried your face in his chest as you murmured your answer. “…I don’t want to back out.”

Sett laughed, the vibrations from his chest against your ear as he pushed open a door with his shoulder. You brought your head back up to look upon a rather modest bedroom. The room was dim with the day’s waning light coming through the window, illuminating the large bed that sat in the center of the room. You weren’t given a further chance to examine his bedroom as you were laid on the bed, staring at Sett as he stood just to the side.

“Hope you’re ready, baby,” Sett purred, unlatching his gauntlets and letting them drop to the floor as he shucked his shoes off. “I don’t do anythin’ half-assed.”

You sat up on the bed, figuring you probably shouldn’t be wearing shoes in his nice bed, reaching down and gently removing them and setting them on the floor as Sett removed his jacket. Sett rolled his shoulders back as he stared down at you, unashamed by his own partial nudity as usual.

You had no time to feel self-conscious as Sett was on you again, hand fisting through your hair to angle your mouth against his better. You kissed him back with everything you had, but his efforts overwhelmed you and it was all you could do to grasp at his neck and thread your tongue with his. You wrapped a leg around his hip, and he happily ground his pelvis into yours. You cried out as the bulge there hit against you in just the right spot to send a spark through your body. Sett pulled back, golden eyes dark as he combed a hand through his hair.

“I want you bad, princess,” he growled.

“Sett, I–” you tried to answer him, but then his thick fingers were slipping beneath the skirt you wore and past your underwear to rub at a spot that had you squirming and moaning as Sett stared down at you proudly.

“Betcha never had this in Demacia,” Sett growled as his fingers moved from your clit to push a finger inside you. “At least those jackasses did something right when they drove you to Navori.”

You couldn’t reply, could only moan his name and weakly grip at his arm as he pushed another finger inside you, the pad of his thumb brushing against your clit as he continued fingering you.

“Sett, please–”

“Can’t wait any longer, baby?” he taunted, and you glared at him to the best of your lust-addled ability.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I can’t deny ya anythin’ when you look at me like that.”

Sett rolled over so that he sat at the edge of the bed, licking his wet fingers clean while staring at you haughtily. Standing up from the bed, he peeled his tight pants off of his legs, and you were flustered anew to discover that he hadn’t been wearing any underwear. You couldn’t help but stare at his cock, which looked rock hard as it jutted out proudly from his pelvis.

Sett easily caught you staring, his eyes raking over your still-clothed body. “You need some help?”

You felt overcome with a burst of shyness at what was about to happen. Sett climbed back onto the bed, and you blushed as his cock brushed against your hip. Sett noticed how stiff you were, leaning in to give you short, soft kisses until he felt you visibly relax.

“C’mon,” he prompted. “’s only fair I get you naked too. Been thinkin’ about this since ya melted those thugs.”

“What?” you replied.

“Came to as you torched ‘em,” Sett answered, nuzzling against your neck, mouth at your ear as his hand crept to the bottom of your shirt. “You have no clue how hot you look when you fight.”

Sett’s fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, and you lifted your arms to help him take it off of you. Your shirt was made of thicker material than you usually wore, so you hadn’t worn a bra underneath. Sett was very appreciative of that fact, palming your breasts with his large hands as he looked down at you with the hunger of a predator.

You were so worked up that you couldn’t wait any longer. You wiggled your hips, trying to shuffle your skirt down because Sett was so close that you couldn’t fit a hand between your lower bodies. Sett took pity on you, taking his hands off of your tits to help you shimmy your skirt and panties down and off. Your underwear was feeling a little too damp, so it was a relief to have them off at last.

“No shame if ya need to claw my back up,” Sett teased as he lined himself up with you. “I know I’m a lot to take.”

You frowned at him; there was no limit to his self-confidence, was there? Your irritation only seemed to further bolster him as he grinned happily. You couldn’t even stay mad at him; he was such an overgrown puppy. You hated that all of his quirks just made you more infatuated with him. You would have to rub his ears again and take him down a peg.

But Sett would make the first move, as always. He grasped his cock, holding your gaze as he began to ease himself into you. You closed your eyes, nails digging into your palms as you adjusted to the feeling. He went slow, inching in further and further until your hips met, his legs on either side of yours.

You felt so full, and for all of his grandstanding, Sett wasn’t doing much better. He let out a low groan, moving his hands to either side of your face to keep himself from crushing you with his well-muscled body.

No more words were exchanged as Sett began to move his hips, dropping his lips from yours to nibble at your neck, his hair tickling your cheek. The position brought his furry ears closer to you, and the temptation proved too much and you reached up and pulled on his ears, and Sett’s hips snapped up to yours harder in surprise, the resulting feeling making you moan.

“Should’ve known you’d go for the ears again,” Sett growled.

“They’re so cute,” you replied, barely able to get the words out when Sett moved back to grab onto your thighs and encourage you to wrap them around his hips. He pushed back in, and it was all you could do to grip at his biceps as he got even more brutal with his pace, leaning down to kiss and bite at your breasts, the sensations only heightening the pleasure you felt.

You shut your eyes tightly as you felt your pleasure climb higher and higher, your unintentional clamping of vaginal muscles earning you a groan from Sett as he reached a hand down to rub at your clit as he chased his own end.

“Sett,” you moaned, opening your eyes to pull his face to yours so you could kiss him again.

You could only hold out a moment longer, the kiss getting slower as you reached your peak, your legs tightening around Sett’s waist and walls clamping down on his cock. Sett growled against your lips, slamming down into you a few more times before he stilled, parting from your lips to rest his forehead on yours, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“I’d say that went pretty well,” Sett declared.

As the haze wore off, you began to wonder exactly what this meant to Sett. You had no knowledge at all of his romantic history, and so you didn’t know what to think.

You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out as a weak whisper. “Sett… what are we?”

He didn’t reply, but leaned down to kiss you. You frowned, dodging so that his lips landed on your cheek. If this was just a fling, he needed to tell you now. You wouldn’t let him avoid the question.

Sett’s eyes opened when he realized that you had moved your face. You gave him a hard look, and he returned it with a toothy grin and a laugh. You felt your heart drop; was he going to laugh at you for wanting more? Was this the last content moment that you would have with him before it all came crashing down?

“Don’t know why you’re even askin’,” Sett said, and you just stared at him, too scared to even breathe. “Ma likes ya… I like ya. You ain’t gettin’ away from me that easy.”

#xreader #reader insert #league of legends #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #league of legends sett #sett #sett x reader #smut

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spacegirlapollo · 4 years

Text

Again [ Aizawa x Reader Smut]

Whats up folx I am back ! Sorry for being gone so long! Here’s a new mid length fic!

Title: Again

Genre: Some fluff , Smut

Description: You are feeling hot and heavy after your personal training lessons with you boyfriend Aizawa Shouta.

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“Again.”

You huffed out a tired breath clutching your stomach with your right hand and holding yourself steady from the floor with your left. On the gym floor below you, you could almost make out your sweaty, wild haired reflection. You were trying to get as many deep breaths as possible before you stood up , knowing that they could be your last for a few minutes.

From the corner of your vision you could see the socks of your boyfriend, Aizawa Shouta, and even though you couldn't currently see all of him, you knew he was looking down at you, probably with his arms folded. And you were sure that he had that look that he gave his students when he was challenging them, and pushing them hard.

You were the one who had asked for the training in the first place, you’d watched once, the way he kept in shape and practiced his fighting, and you wanted nothing more than to be able to do the same thing. You knew it was going to be hard but, this…. was tough.

“Y/N” He said, his tone was devoid of any impatience, but he wasn't showing you any other emotions either. He was not going to take it easy on you. This was the fourth week of training and you were just seeing the end of your heavily bruised and sore body and having to take ice baths every night. Shouta had warned that once you got to that point, it was easy for your body to reach a stand still, so he was going to push you even harder.

Feeling a bit shaky you moved your legs to balance your frame and stand back up. You were running a cycle of high kicks and punches. First you had to counter him, coming at your quicker each time, then you had to come at him and try to find away against his counters. Shouta would always stop right before a kick landed or a punch landed, as to not hit you but show you how open to attack you were. He did however counter and counter hard, He was an expert at making you lose your breath and your balance. All your bruises were just from hitting the floor after unsuccessfully landing a punch and being countered or pinned to the floor.

You faced him again, chest rising and falling fast, you’d been trying to land the same combo for 20 minutes, a high punch, a low kick a high kick and then a punch to the stomach.

Shouta curled his hands forward, becoming you to try again. You saw him move into place meaning that he was preparing himself to not be knocked over. You were both in all black sleeveless workout clothes and you had to forcefully remove the thought about how good he looked in it.

Your right foot shifted forward and you could see him react before you had even thought what to do next. As your balled fist launched towards his upper chest area, he swatted your arm away with his right and pivoted back, you launched into your kick, using momentum to launch your left foot forward. In a swift movement, Shouta slid his foot out, connected with your swinging leg and pushed hard outward.

You gasped as your legs were forcefully split, the wobble returning again and you landed on your right knee, hands falling from their fist to catch yourself on the ground again.

You loved your boyfriend, and after every training session, he would give you massages, run the baths and grab the ice. But suddenly you felt a surge of annoyance. You had not been able to land a punch in 4 weeks worth of practice, sure he was a pro, beyond a pro, but the sore loser in you was reaching for the surface. You didn't even want to land a punch, you just wanted to be able to disarm him once. Just once.

“Again.” He was rolling up the gauze over his knuckles, the strand of hair that had fallen loose from his high bun was bumping limply across his face. Your fingers gripped against the gym floor as you let the annoyance wash over you. It provided you one thing that maybe you had been missing. Focus.

Without any more promoting you lifted up from the floor quickly, barely standing up tall you used your left hand this time to come for his right side. He reacted, but you noticed a little slower than before, using this right to disarm your left. His stance was good as if he was bracing for your kick but his chest was wide open, so you decided to go out of order, releasing a grunt of pure adrenaline, sending your your right forearm into his chest, he was sturdy but surprised, moving a step back. As you hooked a foot underneath his now open stance, He grabbed your elbow and waist, and the both of you fell quickly to the floor, you on top of him, and his back to the gym flooring.

Your chest was rising and falling as you laid on top him to soar to move. You didn't feel like a winner going out of order, but it was satisfying to finally knock him over the way he had been doing to you. You realized as you looked at him he was smiling.

“That was good.”

Your eyebrows raised high, “That was good? But I went out of order.”

“You made it so that I couldn't predict what you were going to do next.” He said as if it was simple. You always come with your right and you came in with your left. I wasn’t expecting that.”

His sudden praise of your work had sent any previous annoyance away and your sudden closeness had you staring at his lips as he talked. You forced yourself to meet his eyes.

“You were still able to counter it though.”

He shrugged as much as he could on the floor, a smirk playing on his lips. “weIl… I am pretty good. But your getting closer ”

You giggled at this, feeling that lighter, airy feeling after a workout, and a bit light headed by your closeness.

“So your saying that I’m going to actually get better than you one of these days?” You teased, a playful smile on your lips. Your lips parted a bit as he hand came up to your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He murmured

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” He said softly. “You’re always throwing me off guard.” This time it was you catching his wandering eyes to your lips.

“Maybe we should.. Go back inside.” You say, knowing that any further and you’d kiss him on the spot.

He nodded, and you tried to push yourself back up, only to have your arms buckle and collapse back on top of him as he was sitting up.

You could feel his chest shake as he chuckled at your almost noodle like state. Before you could protest he was lifting himself off the ground and picking you up bridal style, as if he hadn’t just done a whole work out. You opened your mouth to demand to be put back down but you knew that he wouldnt and that your legs were Jello anyway.

------

By the time you’d made it up the stairs, you’d convinced him to take a bath with you, you undressed as he filled the extra large tub full of water. Since it was so large, it took a moment to fill. You were trying to pin your hair up with your noodle arms but everytime you raised them you felt that dull ache of pain.

Shouta appeared in front of you taking the pins from your and and moving in close now, his wholly naked form distracting. You could see from the mirrors in front of you that he was haphazardly putting your up but you still appreciated it.

“ I feel so helpless when my arms hurt like this.”

“Pain means its working.” He said finished with his messy work on your hair his hand traveled down to your check and your lips parted a bit as he raised up your chin. You were ready to close your eyes for a kiss but instead he said.

“The bath is ready”

He let go of your face and you stood there stunned. He was teasing you and you didn't not not like it.

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Shouta felt his cock twitch at the little moans you couldn't help that escaped your mouth as you sank into the hot water and sat back into him. He’d been trying to reign himself in but he knew that soon you’d feel him pressed up against your back.

He could have stayed in this position forever as you laid into his chest. He wanted to hear more of your little moans though and his hand slid up your leg slowly to your core. You about melted into him as he used his other hand softly cup your neck as he began to pepper kisses there, his finger slowly spinning circles around your pleasure spot. He relished in your whiney gasps as he laid hot kisses down your neck.

~Damn~ You thought as your brain was nothing but fog as Shouta picked up the pace. You felt his teeth graze your neck and whimpered a bit. In response you felt him pepper you with kisses before sinking his teeth a little less than gentle into your neck.

You couldnt help the moan that came out of you, it felt a little to good. You could feel the rumble in Shouta’s chest as he began to cup your right tit, earning more whimpers from you as you rapidly approached your orgasm. Almost as if he sensed it , his grip became tighter and his voice was right in your ear, urging, almost begging you to cum for him. Your breath hitched in your throat and your eyes fluttered as you came to him, which earned you kisses along your jaw and his slow deep voice saying “ Mmm good girl.”

You wanted so badly to kiss him how and so you turned, his grip shifting to your waist as you straddled him, the water sloshing slightly at your movements. You brought your lips together and he responded in kind, letting you control the pace. You wanted to repay his pleasure and you were sure any brush up against his sensitive and throbbing cock would send him writhing.

Grabbing a fist full of hair, you pulled him away from the kiss, leaving hot kisses down his skin, he sucked in a lot of air as you pulled his hair, something he was never shy about letting you know he loved. His grip on you tightened as you grazed your free hand against his throbbing cock. You began to return the favor gripping him, stroking him while sucking softly against his sensitive neck.

You were unrelenting as you picked up the pace leaving bite marks across his neck. As you felt him starting to unravel you brought your lips together again nibbling at his lower lip as he stared up at you as if you were the only thing in the world as he came into your hand. You relinquished your hold onto his hair and he brought you close to his chest, and it was your turn for your head to tilt back as he pressed himself into you, guiding you with his hands around your ass.

“Fuck.” You gasped out pleasure exploding around your body. Your moans filled the bathroom as he began to stroke into you at a needy pace. Neither of you were going to last long but your closeness was intoxicating. Your hands were on his chest and your pins had fallen letting your hair fall over you and cling to your curves.

Head falling back as you felt that knot in your stomach you moaned out as you came.

“Shouta!”

Unable to hold out on your tightening core he thrusted a few times before spilling into you.

You both sat for a moment breathing in and coming down from your high.

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An hour or so later you were climbing into bed, completely and utterly spent , knowing that sleep was knocking at your door. Shouta slid into the bed next you and almost like magnets you came together, snuggling into his frame. He was stroking your hair behind your ear again and you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“Good night baby.” You said softly.

“Goodnight love.” You were sure he said as you drifted off into sleep.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #aizawa x reader smut #shouta aizawa #mha #mha fanfiction #mha smut

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sortasirius · 3 years

Text

Programing The Winter Soldier

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, heavy angst, this is seriously big sad hours

AN: This is so very sad and I definitely cried writing it lmao. I love Bucky Barnes so much.

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Words: 3873

Read it on AO3 here

January 23, 1945

General,

Sgt. Barnes has undergone an initial mind wipe. Dr. Zola has succeeded in attaching the weapon to his shoulder. He has been put in the cryo-chamber as a test, and after some initial pain it looks as though it has worked.

We will begin reprogramming shortly.

Longing

Bucky wakes up in pain. His arm hurts. After a few moments of long, deep breaths where he decides he’s not, in fact, dead, he tries, experimentally, to move his fingers. To his relief, he finds he can, but something feels different, wrong. The clicking in his index finger, from where he had broken it when he was twelve defending Steve from some guy he had tried to fight in an alley after the creep had tried to grab at a woman on the street, was gone. The pain is gone there too, in fact he can’t feel anything below the burning where his shoulder meets something cold, something foreign.

He tries to look around, but it’s pitch black wherever he is. It’s also brutally fucking cold. He shivers violently, trying to get away from whatever cold metal is touching his skin, but no matter how far he leans, he can’t seem to get away from it.

Suddenly, without warning, fluorescent lights above him burst into life, and Bucky screws his eyes up against the sudden brightness. Blinking away the mild pain, he sees a man he vaguely recognizes coming toward him. He’s a shorter man, wearing round glasses…

Like another switch flipped, Bucky suddenly remembers this man, remembers a saw taken to the shattered remains of his arm, remembers being tied down, with a rag stuffed in his mouth to keep him from biting off his own tongue. He remembers the arm that doesn’t belong to him attached to his left side. He remembers throwing someone across the room as though he was weightless.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the man looks him up and down, ignoring the way Bucky shied openly away from his gaze, “Let us begin.”

They don’t release Bucky from the restraints while the doctor, Zola, measures him from head to toe, has him flex his new arm, takes his blood pressure and heart rate, checks him for infection. He only occasionally stops to speak to an assistant, who all keep their distance from Bucky, or say something in German to a soldier watching everything. He makes Bucky watch a grainy video of ever-changing shapes, and sticks him painfully with a needle whenever he tries to look away.

“Now Sergeant,” Zola addresses him after nearly an hour of poking and prodding, “Can you tell me a memory of yours?”

Bucky doesn’t even consider, just says the first thing that comes into his brain. Whatever this guy wants, it’s going to be easiest to just give it to him.

“Steve and I were walking along Rockaway beach two years ago. I remember it was nearly dusk, summer, we were watching the sunset and Steve brought some bread to feed the birds. I remember they were swarming us, you show them any kind of food and they all come swooping in. Steve kept laughing because they were trying to land on me. I remember the smile on his face and his eyes matched the water. It was the first time he really laughed since his mother had died. He told me later that he really needed that laugh.”

Zola looks at one of his assistants and gestures to the red book on the table next to him.

“First word: Longing.”

March 10, 1945

General,

We have had limited success reprogramming Barnes so far. Zola has been working extensively with him, and while we are now seeing less incidents of outward aggression to staff or soldiers, his rate of noncompliance has skyrocketed.

Please advise on any alternate methods we should attempt.

Rusted

Bucky tries not to think about his new normal, but the repetition of each day makes that difficult.

Each morning, he’s awoken by a prison alarm and the instantaneous switching on of all the lights in his cell, followed immediately by his first meal of the day served through a slot in the door. Steel door, reinforced, at least four feet thick. Even the new arm doesn’t make much of a dent in it, though he’s tried. God knows, he’s tried.

After breakfast he’s led to the combat cage where he meets with Zola, before being led through drills that he must comply with. Noncompliance leads to pain. Stepping out of line leads to pain. Not eating leads to pain. Not answering a question leads to pain. His whole life revolves around inflicting pain and trying not to get pain inflicted on him.

On bad days, when he’s been too slow or asked one too many questions, they wipe him before lunch. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. There is nothing else to say. It’s beyond unbearable.

On good days, they’d give him lunch and Zola would run his usual tests. Ask him about a memory, ask him about his family, his parents, his sister, his friends. For some reason, it always came back to Steve. Every time, no matter how Bucky tried to steer his brain away from him, it always came back to Steve.

This time he tells Zola about an old motorcycle they had rescued from the junkyard one summer. It was more scrap metal than anything, rusted out from the wind and the rain and the New York winter it had suffered through outdoors, but they had scraped together pennies from odd jobs and had gotten it to run again. It was a blast, to go zipping through the streets of Brooklyn in the dead of night, looking for trouble or whatever they could find, having to stop what felt like every ten minutes to fix some part that had fallen off or sprung a leak. A total hassle, but totally worth it.

After his tests, Zola would send him back to the unnamed soldier who was responsible for his physical activity, this time to put him against enemies. In the beginning, Bucky would refuse to fight them, but in his new quest of not putting himself through more pain if he could help it, he had started obeying the commands given to him, even if that meant using the strange attachment to his body that he hated looking at, that was welded to his skin, the burned and tortured flesh above it just a reminder that he used to be fully human.

After his second round of drills, they either send him to bed and give him dinner an hour later, or they put him in cryo. He longs for the cold metal of the room they keep him in on the nights when he goes to cryo.

It’s the same every single day.

Zola starts saying a new word to him: Rusted.

May 7, 1945

General,

After three weeks, Barnes’ hunger strike has ended. He can barely stand anymore, let alone lift the arm, but he is willing to eat. Zola has suggested that we put him back in cryo and get his weight up so he can at least stand. Your suggestion of a controlled shock each time he refused to eat worked perfectly, we always appreciate your input in the construction of our new weapon.

Seventeen

They let him out of cryo after what they tell him is four weeks. When he looks down at himself, he can’t see his ribs or the sharp definition of his hipbones anymore. They make sure he can stand, that he can punch, that he can shoot a gun. They work on the strength of the punch. Zola is angry that it’s been weakened.

The hunger strike was a stupid idea, it was too much like what Steve would have done, and Bucky would never be Steve, or be with Steve, no matter how much he would like to.

His body is littered with burn marks from the shocks they gave him when he wouldn’t eat, and Bucky winces at the memory of the pain, the memory of his body seizing up and being outside his control. He supposes he should be used to the out-of-control thing by now, but he isn’t, he can’t, because then he’d really have lost.

Bucky hates cryo, he hates cryo almost more than he hates the mind wipe, because at least when his mind was wiped he could still dream. They couldn’t control what he dreamed about, and they didn’t know what he dreamed about. Rather, they never asked him what he dreamed about, therefore they didn’t know.

Bucky thinks about his last dream, the one where he and Steve were on a beach somewhere. Not the Northeast, somewhere tropical, maybe California. They have their toes in the sand and Steve remarks that the sand is so hot here, how do people walk on sand this hot?

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola breaks him out of his thoughts, “Tell me why you stopped eating.”

Bucky looks up at him, he’s so tired. He doesn’t want to fight anymore but he has to, the skinny little kid from Brooklyn with blue eyes and a blinding smile would want him to.

“When I was seventeen my family couldn’t afford food for the week,” the words pour out of him of their own volition, and he’s too tired to stop them, “Dad was out of work, we were desperate. Steve and his mom brought over dinner and made us keep the leftovers. It was a pot roast, best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t want to be a weapon. I don’t want to be your weapon.”

Zola leans back and considers him. A smile spreads across his face.

“What you want doesn’t matter. It never did.”

Bucky wants to hit him with the weapon on his left. He wants it more than anything. But he can’t. He’s not allowed. He really just is a lapdog for them now.

Zola adds a word the next day: Seventeen.

June 15, 1945

General,

It has been noted recently that Barnes is unwilling to lash out or attack any combatants that fit the following profile: blond, blue eyes, male. Zola has insisted this weakness is an asset in his reprogramming and that it will not last. We have brought in two soldiers that match this profile at Zola’s request, I will report any findings.

Daybreak

He’s not Steve, Bucky tells himself over and over as the handsome blond solider smiles at him when he brings him his dinner. They open the door now, just so Bucky can see the man clearly, just so he can see his smile and the slight edge to his light blue eyes. They’re lighter than Steve’s but something in Bucky simply doesn’t care anymore. The eyes were wrong but they were something he could cling to. The hair was just a shade too dark but it reminded him of a different time. The smile was just a little too wide, but he remembered one that was a little softer, a little more slanted.

“I remember watching the sun rise in Germany during the war,” Bucky tells Zola blankly in their meeting that day, so used to the stab of the needle in his skin that he doesn’t even feel it, “Steve told me his favorite time of day was this early in the morning, right at daybreak. He told me that before, too, before he was Captain America, but we got to just sit quietly and watch it, watch the colors. I don’t remember them.”

“Very good,” Zola stands, beckoning to the blond solider to take Bucky to his next assignment.

Bucky walks along silently, head held high as he approaches the cage, where a larger soldier is waiting for him, outfitted head to toe in combat gear. Shouldn’t be a problem.

“Soldat,” Zola stares through the bars of the combat cage minutes later, where Bucky has paused, fist raised above the quivering man in front of him, “Don’t hesitate, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your audience.”

Bucky looks over to Zola, the blond soldier who smiled at him the night before is watching.

Zola’s right, he can’t disappoint him.

“New word,” Zola mutters as Bucky straightens up, shaking his hand to get rid of the red on the metal knuckles, “Daybreak.”

July 4, 1945

General,

Barnes had an unfortunate breakthrough during today’s training. He seemed to remember something from prior to his fall and was unable to complete the mission set in front of him. I am becoming frustrated with Zola, he insists that this is all part of the process, that to break a man down there will be moments of pure weakness, but Barnes is looking less and less like the man we thought he was.

Furnace

Steve is the only thing he thinks of when he has a clear mind anymore.

He doesn’t remember little details of his memory anymore, but he remembers Steve. He doesn’t remember his birthday, but he knows when Steve’s is. He doesn’t remember the smell of spring in Central Park, but he remembers the way Steve wore newspapers in his shoes. No matter what, he knows Steve.

Zola knows this, he uses it against him. Every day, the talks get longer, the punishments get more painful, and the amount of times he’s wiped go up.

“Tell me a memory,” it feels like Zola’s asked this a thousand times now.

“Steve’s furnace in his building broke last winter. We had him over for two weeks until the landlord could be bothered to fix it. Mom loves him so much, she would have him around all the time if he’d let her. He always thinks he can do everything himself.”

“You speak of him as if he’s here. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s the truth.

Zola adds Furnace to the list of Bucky’s words. He can feel himself slipping away every time they’re uttered.

August 12, 1945

General,

Thank you for your visit last week. Your insight into our project is much appreciated. I agree that we must continue to press on, we have no put so much man power and energy into the project it would be a shame to shut it down now. Zola believes that we are close to a breakthrough, despite occasional noncompliance by Barnes.

Nine

It’s starting to get harder and harder to fight against the constant onslaught of change they were forcing on his mind.

He can’t dream anymore, so the cryo chamber at least lets him rest, because the only dreams he has are dark and shadowy. He’s losing his already tenuous grip on himself, his memories becoming indistinct, with only a few bright spots left to cling to in his mind.

“Tell me a memory.”

It takes him a second to think of one. He cowers as Zola stands over him.

“When I was nine we went on a field trip to the Met. Steve made me read all the little cards next to the paintings, even though it made us lag behind everyone else.”

“Do you still think of him?”

Always.

“No.”

“Good. Add Nine.”

September 1, 1945

General,

Zola chose to move forward with giving Barnes the news of Steve Rogers’ death last week. So far, it has proven an excellent tactic in breaking his resolve. After an initial disruption in his usual pattern of behavior (consisting of a violent outburst that left his entire holding cell destroyed followed by a complete emotional collapse), Barnes has been much more compliant in the process.

I believe we may be close to a breakthrough.

Benign

Bucky has been unmade, strand by strand, bit by bit, atom by atom, he has been unmade and put back together for the purposes of following orders, of being a human weapon of mass destruction. There has been so much pain in his unmaking, so much unrelenting physical and mental pain from being ripped apart and put back together over and over and over again.

And yet, none of that pain was like the pain of knowing that Steve Rogers was dead.

Bucky would take it all over again, spend a thousand lifetimes in this room, in the cell, in the combat cage, in the cryo chamber, having his mind wiped like a problem on a chalkboard just so he could unlearn that Steve was dead.

Zola is the one that tells him. He shows him a newspaper in English, then Russian, then German, all with the same headline: Captain America Dead!

Bucky feels like a feather caught in a windstorm, torn to shreds by the whipping downdraft of mother nature’s power, by the power of his own grief.

Bucky knows better than to move while Zola is in the room, but the second that he leaves, the rage, red, blind, hot, overtakes him, and he uses the weapon attached to him, which has become a part of him, to destroy everything he can. The metal table, reinforced with steel, comes apart like wet paper in his hand. He destroys the sink, leaving nothing but powdered ceramic and plumbing hookups behind. He gouges marks into the walls with his fingers, he slams his arm onto the floor. And then? He collapses in the middle of the cold metal room with his cold metal arm, just a cold metal soldier who’s lost the only reason he wanted to get out of here, to stay who he was.

“Come on Buck, we don’t have to do this.”

“When was the last time we snuck into a Dodgers game? It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pausing as they waited to cross the street to cough into his jacket. Bucky, almost subconsciously pats his jacket pockets. Good, he’s got an extra one of Steve’s inhalers in case it’s a bad night for his asthma.

“Come on Steve,” Bucky nudges his shoulder as they approach the stadium, “I know it’s been hard recently, but hey, at least we have baseball.”

Steve laughs at that, and gives Bucky an almost radiant smile. Whatever it was, it makes Bucky feel like he has the sun in his chest.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was a date,” Steve jokes as they sneak in behind an older couple, heading up to their favorite spot to watch the game.

“Who says it isn’t?” Bucky is glad his face is hidden in shadow as they make their way up the stairs of the stadium to the very back row, “But don’t think I’m gonna buy you a hotdog or anything.”

“Come on, what kind of girl pays for her own hotdog?” Steve winks at him, and Bucky can’t hide his wide smile at the words that settle themselves right in the middle of his beating heart.

“Soldat. Stand up,” Zola’s voice comes through the speaker, and Bucky can’t comply, he tries, but he’s crushed by the weight of the loss of Steve Rogers, the only person that could pull him out of this, that could undo the work of HYDRA that had been inflicted on his mind and body.

He hears the stomping of boots outside the door, but he still can’t stand, he still can’t make himself be the good lapdog he’s supposed to be. He’s broken, empty, unusable, unloveable.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, not even thinking about fighting as the soldiers pull him up to standing.

Zola’s voice comes over the little speaker they have in the room, the one that Bucky couldn’t reach to rip to pieces.

“Next word: Benign”

October 29, 1945

General,

Zola had a long conversation with Barnes today. The loss of Steve Rogers is still affecting him. Zola tells me he has a plan, that our work is almost finished.

Homecoming

They take him to the combat cage again. There’s someone waiting for him.

“We have a test for you today,” Zola swings the door open, and he sees that it’s the blond soldier who reminds him of Steve, tied up and bound and already bloody.

Bucky takes a step forward, staring at the terrified man. He feels something, he can’t identify what it is.

“Tell me a memory.”

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of the soldier as he speaks.

“When Steve brought us back from the HYDRA base, they called it our homecoming. I wasn’t used to him yet, him being taller than me, being okay with being the center of attention. I wasn’t used to him being different. But sometimes I saw flashes of the old Steve, when he looked at me, when he was drawing on a scrap of a napkin, when he made a joke that everyone laughed at. And then, sometimes I thought he forgot about me. He didn’t need me anymore.”

He looks down at the soldier.

“Kill him, soldat,” Zola tells him, “You don’t need him. You never did.”

The cowering blond soldier might as well be Steve, Bucky can’t tell the difference anymore. He snaps his neck anyway, pretending that he doesn’t feel the shattered remains of his heart split just a little bit more.

“New word: Homecoming.”

December 15, 1945

General,

Only a few more weeks I believe, Barnes has become more and more compliant, completing missions with ease and without hesitation. We put him in front of a live target yesterday, the man captured at the border three weeks ago. Barnes did not even seem to hear his pleas, even though we have been assured he can hear and understand them.

One

He kills easily now. He does it without thinking.

“Tell me a memory.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Good. Add One.”

January 23, 1946

General,

Congratulations. The asset is ready to begin service.

Freight Car

The Winter Solider does not hesitate. He does not disobey orders. He pulls the trigger as easy as breathing. He’s a ghost story, a legend, the new fist of HYDRA.

Zola speaks to him, he answers. A soldier speaks to him, he answers.

“There is one last word to add,” Zola tells him, walking around where he stands, straight, like a steel rod. He’s more metal than man now, anyway, “Tell me about the day you fell.”

“I ziplined onto a freight car. I took out the targets. I fell. I was found by HYDRA.”

Steve was there. He tried to save me. We joked about Coney Island. I miss him, I wish I was with him. I wish I had died when I fell. I wish I could just be Bucky. I don’t want to be a weapon, I just want to be Bucky.

“Very good, soldat. Final word: Freight Car.”

As each word is read, Bucky departs his mind, taken over by The Winter Solider. Each word takes away a layer of memory, a layer of who he was, who he had fought so hard to stay. Now it doesn’t take weeks of time, or months, to unmake him. All it takes is ten words, ten words that connect him completely to Bucky Barnes, yet somehow, ten words that remove him altogether.

Zola finishes the list. Bucky Barnes is long, long gone.

“Ready to comply.”

#stucky #my writing #stucky fanfic #mcu #not spn

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cuddlecave · 3 years

Note

is xiphoid

first: you *are* good

next: alright thingrey au

how bout an alternate 'the team finds out the shapeshifter is still alive, whoops!' but in an utterly disastrous way

it's been a while since antarctica! a long while, and gord and benr *meant* to tell the team about them ages ago, when benr became human shaped again, but there just never seemed to be a good time? and really, whats one more day, week, month...

anyway the team is utterly oblivious of benr, but being aware of gord, means that's they've noticed he's not been spending as much time with them! been spending, like, a lot of time at home, actually--or away from town. sometimes even avoiding them! they're worried, bc really, this is not the way to deal with trauma, gord! you don't pull away from your friends, you get help! just bc you can't see a therapist doesn't mean you shouldn't try to process it!

anyway, gords generally cagey about where he is, but on a rare team night where he had come to hang over...they very much on purpose get him drunk. now, drunk gord is still pretty fucking cagey (he loves his boyf and would never endanger him if possible), which is a shame, but tom is able to ask a question casually enough that gord doesn't think about it...and ends up telling them he goes out to the [insert desert area here] sometimes. when pressed on why he goes, he seems to realize he made a mistake, and bolts, cutting the night short.

now, credit to gord, him and benr don't go back to that particular desert area after that. but the team are damn smart, and figure that just bc he's not at that area anymore, doesn't mean he's not in *any* desert area anymore.

takes some trial and error--figuring out when gord seems to be out (he never answers his phone when he's out, his car is not at home), and then checking a desert area (didn't get anything but desert the first few times). but eventually...they find his car.

things paint...a worrying picture. there's camping/chilling gear in the car (chairs and a shitty tent, left from when gord tried camping several years ago and never bothered to remove from his car) but they're not set up and gords not there? the doors arent locked and the keys are in ignition? (gord doesn't want to drop his keys running from benr, he did that once and it sucked. also why he doesn't bring his phone! but he's out like 55 miles from the nearest town, who's gonna steal his car?) there's torn up foliage around, as if something big came through (benr may give gord a head start, but he still likes to be big enough to a) chase well, and b) nom gord after), and most worryingly--a set of human footprints in the sand, clearly running based on stride. and some strange larger footprint *next to them*.

their friend was ambushed by something big, and is going to get got. (this is not entirely untrue. not ambushed, but definitely going to get got, lol.) they set off quickly following the footprints.

meanwhile-gord and benr are having a *great* time! the exercise feels nice for both of them, it's a cloudy day so it's shady, they're gonna order pizza and play playstation after this--its gonna be a wonderful day. it already is!

gord, at this point, is beginning to tire out. benr is getting closer. he pushes himself a bit farther, to stretch out the chase just a touch longer, and makes a sharp turn around a rock formation, causing benr to briefly crash into it, giving him a few more steps. but he's tired, and well, benr has better stamina--and agility. benr bounds over the rock formation and uses it's height to gain just a bit of an extra boost, and tackle-hugs gord. they nearly crash into some sharp shrubs, but they're fine.

gord turns and looks up at benr and grins, and benr leans down to him, and gives him a long kiss. gord hums in contentment and relaxes. he's gonna get to doze, now, before driving. naptime, hell yeah.

benr picks him up to swallow him and he just remains basically limp, exhausted, letting benr manhandle him, gently maneuvering him into his jaws. he's swallowed with little fanfare, and happily settles in his tum, almost immediately starting to doze as benr starts to walk.

then he hears screaming, and benr sharply moves, and suddenly he's wide awake.

the team follow the tracks. it's a long walk, even moving at speed--gord must have really been booking it, which means hopefully he's still safe, got away some how. surely nothing would chase him for too long, when he was outrunning it this well. the trail goes on and on and on--its looking less like this thing gave up. and gords footsteps are shorter, he's not managing a hard run anymore. they're coming up on a rock formation--its still several hundred feet away. close enough to see a figure that can only be gord run from behind it, but far, far to far away to do anything about what happens next.

they see him turn sharply, and something big hits the rocks, clearly taken off guard. he makes it a few steps. and the team look on in absolute horror as what can only be the shapeshifter jumps off the top of the rocks, and tackles gord to the ground. they're partially obscured by the desert plants, but it's enough to see, even at this distance, the rippling body parts of the creature, pinning gord down.

the thing leans its head down toward gord, and they can't see what's happening with the plants and distance. and then.

it picks a completely unmoving gord up, and swallows him whole.

oh, god. it snapped his neck. it ate him. it's going to try to finish what it started in antarctica oh fuck does anyone have a flamethrower?!

a seeing it stand and start to leisurely walk in the direction they came from, they're finally broken from they're spell of silence and horror. somebody starts screaming angrily, and bubby has a lighter and big spray, making a makeshift flamethrower--and they run towards it in vengeance.

it notices them and sharply turns, booking it in the opposite direction.

(1/?)

continued under the read more!

(cont) oh fuck, thinks benr. this is not good. Not Good at all. gord frantically asks what's going on?! and goes cold when benr says 'ur friends saw us. and buby has fire.' the good thing is, benr is bigger and faster than humans. the bad thing is that he's been running all morning and now has over 200 pounds of boyf swaying in him, even if he's holding gord as tight as possible so he's not getting thrown everywhere. he's not gonna last long, and there's nowhere to hide. gord is furiously thinking. but he's also exhausted, and panicking. the thoughts in his brain are sticky like drying glue when he tries do something with them, and he can feel benr slowing. it's not by much, but his alien bf getting hurt *at all* is unacceptable, so. he decides to stop thinking and start doing. he tells benr to 'stop and let me out! as fast as you can!' and benr skids to a stop and turns half facing the approaching team, and splits his abdomen open and gord comes tumbling out into the light, getting immediately covered in dust and mud sticking to the saliva covering him. it's kinda gross, but at the moment it's not even registering, bc in those moments buby has nearly caught up. gord stands, pushes benr behind him, who let's himself be pushed purely out of surprise, and holds his hands out. 'its me! I'm fine it's ok it's me, please I can explain, just turn off the fire! it's ok!' but the thing is, as far as they're concerned...'you fucking imposter we saw gord die! get a better lie!' and buby is still running full tilt at them. gord has enough time to think, *aw fuck, this is gonna hurt*, before buby lights his makeshift flamethrower and gord is suddenly extremely hot, in pain, and knocked on his back. he can see the sky for a quick moment, before what can only be benr is standing over him, protecting him from further fire. a few limbs quickly use the dirt to put out the couple embers on his shirt (well, what's left of his shirt...) buby jerks back at the large being leaping in his direction, but it stops as it stands over the gord-imposter. which... is not moving. or writhing like the shapeshifter, or trying to split off from the damaged part. it's just...lying there. shallowly breathing as if in shock. buby gets a bit of a sinking feeling. - I got tired after writing this but basically benr tries to angle around enough to protect gord and also use teal green on him from another mouth. the team quickly figure out something is fucky, and that gord...might not be a Thing?? gord is in zero shape to have a real conversation--burns are serious business, and he basically passes out during teal-green. so why was the creature... protecting gord?? especially if it ate him?!?! there's an uneasy (extremely uneasy) truce, and benr carries gord back to the car, flamethrower pointed at them the whole way. they leave gords car and take them both back to toms place, in the car they drove in. it is supremely awkward. especially when gord wakes up for half a minute, kisses benr, and passes out again. not sure how it would go from there,, .... didn't mean to accidentally write a minific but here we are!! I really like the 'extreme misunderstanding vore' trope, lol.

ohhhh man this is like an angsty version of a regular not-a-game au idea i've thought up before o: thinking about what would happen next... the whole car ride home, benb was hitting gord with more healing (tho he gave the guys ample warning first about what he was doing so they wouldn't think he was attacking or something), and thanks to that, gord's burns are healed up to the point where he doesn't need hospitalization, just some burn cream and good rest to finish it off. (and a hair cut. benb is very sad that he couldn't repair gord's burned hair and beard. when gord's awake again he's just "Dude it'll grow back, don't worry." "i knooowwww but it still sucks. your hair was SO pretty. and you look like a sixteen-year-old without facial hair. kinda weird. babyfaceman." "WOW shut up."). when gord's awake and aware enough again, they all have a sit down and get an explanation from him and benb. benb goes on to basically give a summary of his whole backstory; explain what exactly he his and how he got to earth, and what he was trying to do both at the b'mesa base and that first norwegian base he first thawed out in. when he gets to the part about why he never wanted to hurt the sciteam, that does a pretty good job of warming them up to him. "the thing about that frzn guy is he was a total asshole. HUGE douche canoe. and i was like 'maaaan i don't wanna be this guy, he suuuuucks', but then i noticed that he'd hardly ever interacted with anybody else there. new guy on the base. nobody knew him, or knew what he was like. so i figured i could get away with acting like myself instead of him, and nobody would notice. i've never been able to just be me around other people, only when alone. i didn't really... know how it was gonna turn out. but you guys ended up liking me! you invited me to come hang out on breaks, and play video games, and watch movies, and talk about soda and photography and it was fun and nice and good! you were nice to my dog body, too. giving me a name and everything... you're all great cools. i got attached to you guys. like, super attached. didn't wanna hurt you, ever. 's the reason i never touched the sled dogs, too- i knew tommy would be sad if something happened to the dogs, and i didn't wanna make him sad." (bubs probably acts like he's not touched by that, but he is :B and also, like i've said in a post on my main, bubs feels some sympathy towards benb after hearing about his origins as an unethical science experiment. bubs wasn't grown in a lab in this au, but he was still subjected to some painful "knowledge tubes" experiments due to his contract with b'mesa. so he still knows that feel, bro. unwilling lab rat solidarity.) benb apologizes for everything in antarctica, and bubs apologizes for torching gord, but then the team asks what the fuck? happened in the desert?? and gord explains the "one-sided tag" game they do to help benb burn up energy, and that benb was just carrying gord to let him rest from the run on the way back to the car. ("Carrying you in his stomach, though?" "nah i don't put him where food goes. it's the uhhhh *lip smack* nap organ. custom made for sleeping in. bedry time.") (they also at one point explain "also we're dating" to which gord gets accused of being a monsterfucker ha ha. and then benb's like "ew no i'm ace" and harold goes on about how beautiful interracial young love is.)

#long post #bf tum is the warmest place to hide

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musicalmagic · 4 years

Text

Some Things Just Are

Summary: Hoseok and you are roommates, and have been for a while. There's just one tiny detail: You're autistic. That's nothing to be ashamed of, it just means that there is always something that can bother you throughout the day, and with support from Hoseok and everything else, you'll get through no matter what comes your way.

A/N: First off, hi...I’m back. Did you miss me? Uh so... this one is a little more personal, a little more real. Just to let you know, some sentences where a character other than yourself is talking, I may not include how they say it (also because I might not be able to describe it in the first place…haha hahahh) I am autistic myself by the way. I have experienced a lot of what the reader has dealt with, and have also included a couple of my own personal stims. This story isn't a representation of all autistic individuals however, it's a perspective of one person. As autism is extremely personal and every one of us is different. But please, if you don't know what we've gone through, don't try to explain how we feel for us. Just listen.

* Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Autistic Reader

* Word Count: 1,222

* Genre: Fluff

* Warnings: Meltdown scene

While it was just before 8am when your alarm would blare and awake you, you had woken up before it. Blinking rapidly as sleep worked its way out of you, the weight of your blanket heavy against your chest and your back tingling from it pressing against the mattress. It was always something tactile, always something, every fibre of your being ignited when something made itself known to your skin. It was a relief to feel the almost automatic smoothness from turning to your side and feeling one foot moving up and down the other as you yawned and released the stiffness in your muscles for sleeping in the same place for too long. Truthfully, it was a natural thing that you had done since you were young. No one taught you to do this motion when the sensations from everything else began to irritate you. It was just, something you did.

You were still in your pjs when you exited the room you occupied. Rubbing your eyes and trying to get it to focus afterwards, Hoseok, the “best-roomie-ever” was jumping excitedly in front of the T.V, watching the dancers move about the screen. Recently, he had bought a smart T.V that had YouTube as a function, and you thought it was because of all the new features and cool things that were built-in. Yet again however, Hoseok smiled and said that he bought it for YouTube, so that he could have the T.V “large enough to view the dance moves”, as he had graciously put it. You only laughed and had gone about your day afterwards as Hoseok switched it.

Now, Hoseok was studying the main dancer extremely close, watching every movement and flick of their hips, all the little intricacies that they were doing.

“Hoseok, you’re doing it again!” You called out to him from your room, voice slightly croaky.

He turned, waved and smiled a little, and sat on the couch behind him. You moved over behind him and started to thread your hands through his hair.

“Ahh, so I was up to it again, eh?” Hoseok said playfully.

“Yup,” you replied.

“How do you always manage to catch me though?”

“I don’t know. You seem to have a habit of it. I just am there to witness it,” almost a robotic sounding reply, to anyone else that didn’t know you, but Hoseok just tilted his head up, craning his neck to see you and had a fond expression on his face.

Hoseok didn’t say anything as he stared at you, and truthfully, you had not the faintest idea why. To you, Hoseok and many other people were an enigma that couldn’t be solved. Much less try to wrap your head around. So, you detached your fingers from his bedhead and ran over to the other side of the couch. Avoiding his gaze as he trained his eyes on you.

“Anyways, wanna watch something better than the news right now?” You said quickly, plopping yourself down next to him, “I had an idea of watching a T.V show I saved for this very occasion.”

“It’s barely 8:30 in the morning and you want to watch T.V?” Hoseok asked, a slight chuckle under his breath.

“Yeah!” You said happily. Hoseok gave you a funny look, but shook his head at you. Which you took as a no, it wasn’t a bad thing.

The couch’s pillows had, with all its rough glory, begun to irritate you, Hoseok was none the wiser as he switched from YouTube to Netflix, but your back was tingling with that familiar feeling, and at some points down your back was starting to hurt slightly. You wiggled in your seat trying to dispel the discomfort, only for you to sit back in a huff.

“Hobiiiiii,” you whined. Hoseok turned his head in confusion, only to see your reddened face and an unhappy expression.

Pleadingly you said, “Please can we get something a little less fluffy on the pillows!” Hoseok only stared, and you tried your best to look for longer than a second or two, but honestly the pillow was really annoying you.

He could tell you were about to crack like an egg if too much pressure was pressed to it, his gentle hands pulling you forward, and you came face to face with him. How did he get there so fast?

“Breathe. You gotta breathe,” he suddenly said sternly. Like a switch from happy and joking to concern and worry, yet you still couldn’t keep your eyes on his for too long. Lest it’d stir up uncomfy-ness in you. Your back had stopped tingling like before, but his fingers that pressed into your wrists (barely there), and hair sticking to your face, not to mention the clothes that weighed on your skin, was enough for you.

It had broken you.

Like something came over you, you shoved Hoseok away and retreated to your room. Eyes unfocused and blurry, everything up against you was so consuming. Thoughts switching off as you desperately tried to rid the feeling, and all you could do was press your hands together and rock; back and forth, back and forth, a haze in your head like a bad headache, but it just made you dizzy instead of just the pure pain of it forcing a pressure to your skull. You didn’t hear as Hoseok opened the door, or when he quietly sat next to you. Humming under his breath, a simple melody that you could latch onto. Becoming hyper focused to the sound of the notes, the haze in your brain becoming lighter, and lighter, and lighter, until it was barely there. You sighed as you slowed, and your white-red hands flooding with blood as you relaxed them.

When it was finally over, you tipped your head and felt like crying. It happened again.

Hoseok didn’t say anything as he handed you a tissue, and you held it with both hands. A neutralness to the tissue that you liked. Nothing soft nor rough, which suited you fine. You glued your eyes to your lap, studying the patterns.

“I’m sorry…I ruined our morning again, haven’t I?” You said sorrowfully.

He was quiet for a moment before he answered, “No. You never ruin it.” Hoseok suddenly laughed, his signature heart-smile breaking through, “Although, I think we’ll definitely get a better pillowcase!”

You laughed too. It relaxed you, and nothing was better to latch onto than someone’s laugh. Especially Hoseok’s, something about his laugh always made you feel better.

“Yeah…I don’t like that pillowcase anymore. I know I was the one who chose it, but…” You trailed off.

“Hey, hey,” he started to say, “It’s alright, no biggie. Besides, I never liked—”

Your head twisted so quick that it cut Hoseok off in momentary surprise, “You didn’t like it?”

He stuttered, “Y- I mean, of course I liked it! It was a combo of your and I’s favourite colour after all!”

“Oh…that’s good,” you simply said, happy at his answer.

“By the way,” Hoseok began, clearing his throat, “I hope you know, that you don’t ever ruin my day. Never ever, so please, don’t think that.”

“It’s hard not to Hoseok…” You answered sadly.

“I know…” He breathed in, “I know.”

“But no matter what, you’re who you are; that’s nothing short of amazing.”

#bts stories #bts #hoseok x reader #jung hoseok and reader #autistic reader #actually autistic

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misdirectionandmisfortune · 3 years

Text

Springtrapped

Fandom: Five Night’s At Freddy’s

Warnings: Child death, child murder, kinda sorta death, torture, animatronics, horror, blood, gore

Word Count: 1275

Note: This is a part of the Labyrinth series, where I recount the entire FNAF story as I see it, through the eyes of the characters. I will be posting them out of order, but there will be a link to a masterpost with them in chronological order here. This is part of William Afton’s story. Enjoy.

Narration

My heart pounded in my ears. I could hear it over air coming in and out of my lungs, hard and heavy and frantic. Nothing felt real. It was close, I could feel it. It was getting closer and closer, I could practically feel it at my back. It would catch me. I couldn’t let it catch me.

My eyes jumped around the room, searching for an escape, a weapon, something. I’d basically built this place, no one in the whole world knew this place better than I did. Where could I go? Where could I hide? The answer came to me suddenly, ringing in my ears, sharp and undulating, like an aluminum bat hitting a metal pole.

The backroom.

The backroom was my safe space. It was meant for blood to be spilled, for final screams, for the rush I felt when someone took their final breathes, for accidents that no one else would know about. It was made to cover things up. It was made to hide.

I skirted down hallway after hallway, passing rooms with lonely tables and abandoned toys. I looked for the room, the one tucked away from customers and cameras. There. I tried to turn the knob, but my shaking hands and racing brain made my fingers slip and slide over the brass. Eventually, I managed it. The creaking and scraping of metal on linoleum was getting louder and louder. I slammed the door shut.

The first thing I noticed about the room was the smell. It smelled of rot and sweat and blood. The room was dingy and made entirely of soulless concrete. Scattered patches of scarlet blood stained the walls and the floors. A moldy, golden fursuit lay in the corner farthest from the door. When I laid my eyes on the familiar bunny suit, all I could hear was screaming.

So. Many. Screams. All of them overlapping, but I could hear them distinctly, somehow.

I heard Charlie’s muffled cry as a knife entered her chest.

I heard Susie’s wail for her long dead dog.

I heard Cassidy’s wordless scream for help.

I heard Jeremy’s shriek of horror as Gabriel let out his own scream of pain.

I heard Fritz’s call for parents who would never come.

I heard the familiar scream of every child whose light I snuffed out.

But, then I heard ones I’d never heard before.

I heard the mournful howl of the parent’s of those same children whose lives I took for myself.

I heard Elizabeth’s scream as her life was consumed by my own creation.

I heard my son’s cry of fear cut short by the jaws I had crafted with my own two hands.

I tore my eyes away from the SpringBonnie suit, and the screams cut off abruptly, leaving me with my churning stomach in a grim room filled with nothing but pain and fear. For a moment, for one moment, I felt guilt rise to choke me, but a pounding at the door caused everything to freeze.

Shit. Fuck. Shit, it saw me. Fuck, shit. What do I do? I’m trapped. My eyes darted over every corner of the room. What could I do? There was nothing here, only windowless walls, blood, and--

The springlock suit.

That… thing after me. It wanted revenge, didn’t it? It was them. The ones I’d locked underground with my daughter. And the suit. I always used that one, when I lured them. I could never bear to wear FredBear after what happened to him. They would be scared of it, surely. They were monsters now, but, deep down, they were still children. It could protect me.

I scrambled to put it on. I tried to be careful of the springlocks, but the pounding on the door grew louder and louder, and my hands were too shaky and my mind too scrambled. I secured the parts to my body as best I could and then I waited. It was trying to break through the door. It managed to dent the metal but it held strong. Reinforced doors. I wasn’t stupid. I tried to control my breathing, tried to calm down, but my heart still pounded in my chest and my breathing was only slightly less rapid. Then, suddenly-

The noise stopped.

The world came to a halt, as did my breathing and my heart froze in my chest. My mind raced, but whatever thoughts went through my head, I couldn’t tell you. They disappeared as soon as they came, evaporating into the void. The door handle began to slowly turn, and I could feel my chest start to scream for air. It had learned how to open the door.

The door creaked open agonizingly slow. The door blocked my view of the hallway outside, so I was forced to watch as that thing slowly slinked in. Metal parts and wires wriggled and writhed as it slithered into the room. It’s shape was vaguely humanoid, though cables and cords dragged behind it like intestines on the outside of someone’s body. It wore the head of a Funtime Freddy model, though it was dirty and broken. It locked eyes with me and we both froze.

“You.” It said, it’s voice a chorus of metal scraps and static, the undertone of a Funtime Freddy voice box mixed in.

I swallowed, but said nothing. It did not approach. A beat passed. Then another.

With a jolt, I realized that I was right. It was afraid. My thoughts had been frantic and not at all rational, but I was right. The relief swamped me, overwhelmed me, and before I knew it, I was laughing, feeling lighter than air.

I laughed,

and laughed,

and laughed.

I didn’t notice the springlocks of the suit loosening, nor the shift in attitude of the creature in front of me.

“Fitting, that in your attempt to escape us, you end your own life.” It said. Before I could even pause to consider what the hell that meant, I heard a snap.

Shit--

A choke cut off my laughter as thousands of tiny metal rods pierced my throat, my skull, my limbs, my whole body. I gurgled as blood filled my throat, and I doubled over and collapsed on the ground. Blazing agony shot through my whole body as I began to drown in my own blood. And yet, laughter still danced in the air, mocking my pain. It… That creature was laughing at me. Rage set my body alight, and hatred bloomed in my chest. It was laughing at me, mocking me. I wanted to scream, I wanted to curse, I wanted to kill it, to break it down into small little parts and melt it into nothing, I wanted to hurt it. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do any of those things. I couldn’t even think. I could only writhe in pain on the floor, every movement sending a jolt of pain through my entire body. In that moment only three things existed. Pain, anger and laughter.

And that’s all there ever was. Even after the creature skulked out of the room, and the door shut, taking the light with it. The laughter echoed in my head as I lay twitching on the floor. Blood pooled around me, joining the stains of those children I’d killed, but the pain and the rage and the laughter never faded. There was a distant part of me that wondered why I hadn’t died, but to the rest of me, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was going to hurt it. I was going to hurt it so much worse than it hurt me.

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kashxy · 4 years

Text

the curtain’s rising (here we go now, break a leg)

fandom: mcu (peter parker)

pairing: none

rating: t (teen)

prompt: ‘the whumpee used to have some source of comfort, like a physical item or an activity. when the whumper finds out, they want to rip it away from them.’

warnings: gore. kidnapping. stockholm syndrome. graphic depictions of violence.

—

“Nothing breaks you, does it?” The man spits, heaving through groans. He looks bloody himself, his shirt soaked in blood and water, mixing together in the white fabric to create a dirty stain that won’t come out without at least three washes.

He’d been water boarding Peter for the last fifteen minutes and he still hasn’t spoken, something which the teen stays incredibly proud of. He’s proud of himself, as proud as he can be while he’s bent over in a puddle of water, gagging and heaving and bleeding but still glaring, still murdering the man with his gaze.

In all honesty, he does know what the man wants. He wants to know where Tony is, where he’s holed up after leaving to recover from his injuries, where he’s hiding out with his perfect family and his lover. But he’ll be damned if he ruins that for Tony, too, and if he denies it enough, maybe the man’ll believe him.

“Boss.” Someone says, bursting through the door. He barely looks at Peter on the floor, one pathetic glance without an inch of sorrow on the young man’s face.

He looks like Peter. Brown hair, not as curly but still voluminous, a little bruise on his cheekbone. The man greets him with a gentle hand on his cheek, and the younger man leans into it, whining softly against the touch starvation.

“He plays soccer.” The younger man mumbles against the hand, gentle and murmured like it’s a secret shared between the air. Peter can barely hear them from here, his enhanced senses duped by the drugs. “College level.”

The man eyes him, his eyebrows drawn together.

“He’s scrawny.”

The younger man hums, eyes closed softly. He looks like he’ll drift off to sleep any second, no care in the world about the fact that Peter’s laying broken on the dirty, cold ground.

“Strong. Almost inhuman.”

The man stops at that, as does Peter. He looks up like a scared little baby deer in large headlights, body involuntarily flinching as the man makes eye contact with him.

“Very good, Matteo.” He murmurs, pressing his lips gently to the younger man’s forehead. He leans in, whining so loud that Peter flinches from the pure agony and desperation in it. “Very good.”

Matteo leaves soon after with tears in his eyes and not a single glance back at Peter. He feels a stab of hatred in his heart, the sickening feeling that someone else knows what’s happening and refusing to help. Despite how his mind screams at him to recognise the signs of stockholm syndrome, it still hurts nonetheless.

“Soccer player, huh?”

Peter swallows, a thick array of blood and spit working its way down his throat. He’s already spit as much as possible out at the feet of his captor, but there’s a cut across his lip that won’t seem to heal.

“We can work with that.” He says, and then turns. Peter’s heart jumps and he whines, shocked by his own indescribable desire for the same man who’s torturing him not to leave. He doesn’t know if he could handle being alone again, not here, not while it’s so cold and dark and lonely.

The man doesn’t leave, Peter’s shoulders sagging when he turns to discarded gym bag on the floor. He’d brought it in hours ago when they started, and Peter had forgotten all about it.

He’s digging around for a while, humming to himself like he’s done it a billion times before. Peter thinks of the boy, of the way his eyes glazed over like he was brainwashed, and winces. He doesn’t want to end up like that, no matter how much it hurts to stay awake in this state of mind.

“I’ll give you one more chance.” The man says, his shoes clicking against the floor slowly. Peter hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten up. “Where is Tony Stark? Where’s he hiding? I know you know, pretty boy. He wouldn’t have left you alone.”

Peter glares at him, his lips pressing tighter together. An old baseball bat, dirty and brown in places, swings lazily from the man’s right hand.

He looks up again, surprised by the silence. He’s still waiting for an answer, whether it’s what he wants to hear or not. Peter doesn’t even want to give him the satisfaction.

He stays silent. Never mind the fact that his stomach’s churning like a goddamn slushy maker, but he won’t speak. He won’t even tell him to fuck off, tell him to go to hell and send him a postcard, because there’s nothing he’ll get out of it. He learnt early on that the man wasn’t fazed by his quick wit or the sarcastic insults that somehow tumbled from his lips, and it’s better that he save his breath anyway.

“Very well.” The man says with a sickly sweet smile, and swings the bat high in the air, bringing it straight down in the space between Peter’s kneecap and his shin.

The pain explodes all at once, like a tense bomb that’s been waiting and hiding, excruciating and mind numbing in its agony. It doesn’t feel real, doesn’t feel like it’s humanly possible to feel so much pain all at once, the agony short wiring his brain for a split second and making his entire body go numb.

His scream’s cut short by a choked off sob, gasps echoing in the otherwise silent room. The man’s not even smiling, not wincing, not glaring. He’s just stoic, as silent as the walls around them, seemingly unphased and bored.

The pain’s still blossoming, spreading down his leg all the way into his feet until his ankle’s seizing back into the chair he’s tied to. He’s never felt anything like it, despite dying and coming back to life, being shot, stabbed, punched, kicked, broken. Nothing’s ever hurt this bad.

He can’t even suck in enough air to scream again, his brain’s capacity to use his lungs overcome by the fact that his knee feels like it’s been twisted a hundred and eighty degrees. The room suddenly looks a whole lot lighter, the white pain making even his captor’s face look a little less scary.

“No, wait-“ Peter shouts as the man brings the bat down again, onto the other knee this time. He doesn’t wait for the exploding pain this time, just strikes his legs from different angles, the right and then the left and then on top of his knee until Peter’s body won’t even react to it anymore and he’s just sitting with two legs he can’t feel and tears that won’t stop.

“I would hope you change your mind now.” The man says, dropping the bat just inches from Peter’s feet. He knows he wouldn’t be able to reach it, wouldn’t be able to work his legs enough to stretch out even a few inches.

He leaves without another word, the light still switched on so Peter’s eyes won’t unfocus on the fact that his legs are both twisted in together, the knee of his left leg almost sticking out of the skin. There’s more bruises than there is pale skin, and he feels a jolt of sickness in his stomach.

He doesn’t even try to stop it. He leans over to the left, vomiting all over the stupid dark grey floor, spitting blood and bile and not much else because he hasn’t eaten in almost a week and they barely give him enough water to stay alive.

Collapsing to the floor, intense agony spearing his body like a white hot resemblance of a seizure, he lets out a choked whine and tries to fight against the black tendrils making their way across his vision. He wonders if he’ll even stay alive long enough for anyone to find him. If anyone’s going to come soon.

If anyone’s coming at all.

#marvel #peter parker whump prompt #peter parker #peter parker whump #whump #whump prompt #angst #gore #short fic #peter parker angst

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skia-oura · 4 years

Text

Dipper’s Day Around the World

A/N: This is 21k written over the span of like 6 months, so buckle in folks.

ao3

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December 4th, 5:58 AM EST

Dipper didn’t exactly sleep, anymore, but he was close enough to rest and unconcern with the matters of the rest of the world, sandwiched between Torako and Bentley in their bed, that the sting of the summons—friendly, from a personal circle, not from the standard one that strangers used—startled him into a disgruntled moan. Torako, a lighter sleeper in the morning, the early bird between them, twitched and then hummed an inquiry. “Izza…summons,” Dipper mumbled back before he turned and pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

“Mmm,” she said. After a while, she asked, “Someone you know?”

He could hear her voicebox buzzing under the skin at his lips, could feel it vibrating lightly into the cartilage (manifested cartilage, yes, but cartilage as long as he wanted it to be) of his nose. A very dim part of him strengthened by still-waking awareness wanted to open his mouth and bite down into the flesh a little, just to feel it echo more directly into the not-bones of his teeth. The rest of him knew that it was a bad idea and was a sure way to get the heel of her palm slamming into his nose hard enough to break and hurt. It wasn’t even omniscience that told him this, just unfortunate prior experience.

She still let him close, though, and so he nuzzled in. “Yeah,” he sighed, but he was mostly awake now. “It’s a friends and family circle. Even though it’s at—oh, look, it’s 6 AM,” he said.

Torako reached over and up and ruffled at his hair. He sat up and smoothed it flat, glowering down at her. The motion dislodged Bentley’s arm from his waist but the Bentley that lived in this house was a deeper sleeper than the Bentley that returned to the apartment he’d been kidnapped from, and so he did nothing but scrunch up his nose (adorable) and sleep-mumble unintelligible noises before relaxing back into deeper sleep. Dipper sighed and relaxed shoulders he hadn’t even realized were tense.

“Go gettem, Dips,” Torako whispered, eye cracked open in a half-awake smile. “We’re gonna have breakfast bout nine, ok? Ben’n I got busy days planned.”

“Okay,” Dipper said. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Torako’s forehead. “Let Bentley know where I’ve gone when he wakes up, okay?”

“Mmmkay,” Torako said, then yawned and snuggled back into the covers. “Later gater.”

The summons stung him again. Dipper hovered above the bed for a moment, wings spread, then melted from comfortable (but elegant!!) pajamas into a more formal (but somewhat casual) suit before focusing on tracing the summons back to its locus, and slipping from bedroom on the East Coast to elsewhere.

December 4th, 11:01 AM BST

Elsewhere turned out to be another bedroom, in front of somebody he knew (Soos, no—Olla, her name is Olla) in England. He also knew that her mother would destroy them if she found them together, and it was the middle of the day and wait, what was Olla doing home anyways?

He blinked down at her. “Why are you even in your dorm? Don’t you have classes?”

“Alcor,” Olla moaned. Her hair was a mass of messily plaited braids, ribbons bright but askew. “You gotta help me. You’re my only hope of passing this stupid chemistry class I decided to take with my friend but we’re both hopeless—not hopeless, but definitely for sure 100% in over our heads—and for some weird reason most of the people in class aren’t keen on talking to me long enough to do studying or they’re busy or they’re just pain rude, please save me.”

Dipper sat down on her bed, which was next to the desk she was sitting at. Olla Sussally twisted the chair around in place, leaned forward to heave something up off the floor, then turned back around. In her hands—fingernails painted vivid, somewhat chipped colors that shifted weakly from hue to hue—was a very large tub, and in that tub was the biggest horde of candy Dipper had seen anywhere other than a grocery store. His mouth, despite any efforts to the contrary, began to fill with saliva.

The memory of Olla’s mother was just terrifying enough to remind him that his skin was actually prickling with discharged magical energy. “Your mom changed the wards again, didn’t she? It’s a shame they didn’t work, but she’ll know you summoned me, she always does, and she’s always so pissed even if I didn’t technically approach you.”

Olla moaned and tipped her head back for a moment. “I know I know, it’s so dumb and I hate it yet my mum really is the best and I love her n’all, but like, I have got to get this chemistry in the brain space as fast and fully as possible so can we talk about mum later? I have a candy bag per concept and you’re, like, supposed to be super smart, right? You’re supposed to know everything.”

Dipper cocked his head at her. Olla wasn’t smiling, not even nervously. Well, Dipper thought to himself, Mrs. Sussally couldn’t be too mad if this meant Olla a) was less stressed, and b) passed chemistry.

“Okay,” he said, sticking his hand out. “Deal.”

“Oh gosh oh thank you you’re the best,” Olla breathed out, then reached out and shook his hand vigorously with both of hers. Blue fire bloomed, then sputtered when she whirled around and pulled a textbook towards her—which, considering the fact that Olla was one of the most laid-back and calm people he knew, was concerning. “Okay, so, let’s start with chemical formulas, because hoo my man—my demon? I’ll have to ask you later—but, like, there’s molecular formula, and then there’s empirical formula is sometimes the same but sometimes different, and it has to do with math which is fine but I still don’t get why.”

Dipper blinked at her, then reached forward and pulled a bag of malted biscuits from Olla’s candy stash. She had swiped several worksheets and class notes up to hover in the air between them. “It’s easier to deal with some chemical equations that way,” he said.　“Look—here, at this problem…”

_______________________________________________________________

Halfway through explaining the Gillespie-Nyholm theory in regards to double and triple molecular bonds, Olla’s phone rang. Dipper stopped, stared at it. Olla looked down. The display read: ‘Mum <3 <3 <3.’ The hearts twirled in circles and threw off little digital glittery sparks.

“Aw,” Olla groaned, tipping her head back. “It’s only been, like, an hour. Come on, mum!”

“Maybe she hasn’t noticed yet?” Dipper ventured. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to lick off the sour sugar particles and eyed the still mostly-full tub of candy. “If she hasn’t, we could definitely get through another few concepts. I’ve only had four bags.” He wanted at least another three. Maybe five. Ten would be best.

Olla stuck out her tongue at him, took a deep breath, and then answered the phone. “Hey, mum, what’s up, howsit going, what’s on, you at lunch or something, it’s so weird for you to call me now haha you know class just finished!”

There was a muffled noise, the sound of somebody talking just out of earshot. Dipper tipped his head to the side. Would eavesdropping even be worth it?

“Woah, that’s weird, the wards are juuuuust fine here!” Olla cast her eyes up at the ceiling. Dipper looked up as well, and winced a little at how almost soggy some of the wards looked, bent out of space from where he’d pushed his way through. Well, their cover was blown. He cast a longing look at the candy bags, and wished for a reality in which he could earn them. “I guess your alert app is just fritzing out again!”

Silence. Then, several garbled words, Olla’s eyes widening and cutting to him. She laughed a little nervously. “What do you mean, mum? Sure, I wasn’t in Mid-Millenium Literature class, but that’s just because chem is kicking my ass into a sad bit of lumpy dough and I needed to take time—no, no, no tutors, just me and my cute little—wait you’re right outside the building??”

Dipper froze again. He met Olla’s eyes. As Olla’s mother started talking again, Olla flapped her free hand at him frantically, mouthing go go go!! as she listened.

If he really wanted to, he could take Olla’s mom. But a) he respected her, b) Olla really loved her, and c) Olla’s mother actually kind of just a little bit intimidated him when he wasn’t hopped up on anxiety and possessiveness and fear for his Mizar’s safety. So Dipper grimaced, lifted a hand in farewell, and blipped out of Olla’s dorm room with the fleeting thought of the next place he could go on such short notice.

December 4th, 9:29 PM AEST

It was, perhaps, not the best idea to suddenly appear on the couch right next to Tommy and Filara Hangar—they were a little jumpy—but Dipper wasn’t anything if not dramatic. He slung one leg over the other, slipped into something a little more formal mid-blip, and set his hands on top of his knee so that the fingers were curled a little over the kneecap. “Hello,” he said, pitched just high enough to be heard over the evening news.

Next to him, Tommy Hangar screeched and nearly scrambled over the back of the couch. Filara Hangar seized a wineglass off the table and flung it at him with incredible accuracy. Taken off-guard, Dipper had only a split second to decide whether to let it land or whether to pluck it out of thin air. He hesitated, and the decision was made for him—the glass smacked into his nose and red wine splashed up and over his face. Blinking, liquid clinging to his eyelashes, Dipper said, “Well, that was rude but I get it, I guess.”

Tommy wheezed from behind the couch. “What the fuck, you feathering fuckwit,” she said. “Holy shit you can’t do that to us without giving a ring or tapping out a coupla knocks first. I hate it when you do that! It freaks me the fuck out.”

Filara, on her part, was staring at her outstretched hand, bewilderment blooming all over her aura like morning glories. “I threw a glass of wine at Alcor the Dreambender,” she said, a little faintly.

“And hit,” Dipper groused. He materialized a stylish handkerchief from out of his vest pocket, snapped it open, and dabbed at his face just to emphasize his point. “You’re lucky that this suit is literally materialized out of the power I possess and isn’t actual fabric, because that would be a bitch to clean.”

“Die mad about it,” Tommy said. Dipper opened his mouth to respond to that, but Tommy widened her eyes at him and he wisely shut his mouth. She hauled herself back up and over the couch to sit squarely between Dipper and her wife. “We wouldn’t pay for it anyways, it’s your own feckin fault for slipping in here out of thin air at—” she glanced at the news “—9:34 PM, what the hell and why are you even here?”

Dipper waved the concern aside as though it were a physical thing he could clear the air of. He finished dabbing the wine off his face and snapped the handkerchief again to disperse it from its momentary existence. At the same time, the wine was pulled out of the non-fabric of his clothes and vanished. “My last appointment was cut very abruptly short, and I’d been meaning to check in on you two so I figured that now was as good a time as any. How are you?”

Filara blinked at him. “I hit Alcor the Dreambender with a half-full glass of wine,” she said, a little glee in her voice and in her eyes.

“Yes you did, honey,” Tommy said. She patted her wife’s hand and smiled. “It was a hot damn moment of glory and I love you even more than I already did.”

“Didn’t you throw ice water on him a few months ago?” Filara cocked her head and looked Tommy up and down, lightning bright sparks of realization fading into soft ombre appreciation.

Dipper frowned. There was no need to rub it in, he totally could have stopped that from happening—both the wine and the water. “Yes she did, and we’ve already covered the wine stuff, how are you?”

“It’s 9:34 PM,” Tommy drawled, turning her attention away from her wife to glower. “What do you think??”

“Now, now,” Filara said, rubbing at Tommy’s shoulders from behind. “I know it’s late, but we haven’t seen him in a while and I threw wine on him, so I think that it would only be fair to entertain him with a little conversation, don’t you think? I’m sure he’s a little lonely, aren’t you?”

Filara smiled at him. She looked nothing like Lionel, but Dipper read him into the quirk at the corner of her mouth that said she was still smugly amused at her unintentional victory over him. The little heartache that came with the thought moved Dipper to look past it and the quite frankly presumptive opinion that he was lonely, he wasn’t lonely. He was fine.

“No,” he said, “but Bentley and Torako are busy sleeping right now, and I’m awake and out so I wanted to talk to you.” The more he thought about it, though, the more tempting the thought of blipping back home and crawling into bed for snuggles was. He absolutely was not lonely.

Tommy wrinkled her nose. “That’s right, it is stupid early over there still, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, though stupid early was a relative term when it came to individualistic habits and sleep patterns. For some people in the same time zone, it was stupid late.

Filara leaned over and propped her elbow on Tommy’s shoulder. Her near-invisible lenses flashed a little, and she grinned. “So how are Ms. Gorgeous and Mr. Sigils?”

“Adjusting.” Dipper leaned back into the arm of the couch and twisted a saccharine drink out of nothing to sip at. “We just finished settling into the new house nine days ago. Torako or Bentley might have sent you pictures?”

Tommy had been frowning at Dipper ever since he pulled out his drink. “Dude,” she said, slowly, “I know you’re a demon and all, but that’s rude, man, just ask for a drink.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” Filara said, patting Tommy’s arm. “If he brings his own drink, that means that there’s more wine for me. And yes, Torako did send me pictures of the house. Bentley didn’t, but he made up for it by sending me updates on how things were going, and I very much appreciate it.”

With a sigh, Tommy leaned back into the couch and crossed her arms.

“Did she send you pictures of the tables?” Dipper drawled, swirling his drink around in its glass. “Mine was the best one.”

“That’s not what she said.” Filara raised her eyebrows. “In fact, she said that you all voted hers the best, and that’s the solid truth there.”

Dipper sniffed and took a sip of his not-beverage, mentally pulled together his arguments in favor of not Torako winning their unofficial competition, and launched into them with a passion that Bentley would have described as ‘overkill’ and Torako as ‘desperately in denial.’

_______________________________________________________________

December 4th, 8:39 PM PHT

Dipper only burned through an hour before Tommy had enough and kicked him out during a lull in conversation, citing that she actually wanted to spend time with her wife, not the dude who came around to pick her wife’s brain and engage in furious debate over the most mundane things before turning around and treating the most abstract concepts with the same fervor. He’d relented and accepted a couple drinks—overly sugary and laden with alcohol that couldn’t affect his non-existent metabolism—and found himself having made off with one of the Hangars’ drinking glasses on accident. He shrugged, sent it off to the Mindscape Shack, and figured it would make a good excuse for another visit.

In the meantime, it was time to visit somebody very new to their current life.

Dipper closed his eyes and followed one of the faint bonds inside of himself to a small apartment of Cebu—Grand Courtyard Bldg 5, apartment 607, nursery with the window facing north-east—in the evening, when its sole occupant was sleeping soundly, parents in the other room finishing dinner and relaxing before the baby woke up again. There was a personalized cam-monitor in the corner, anti-tamper sigils that reminded Dipper of Bentley (and when he looked at them for more than a split second, he saw Bentley working on them as part of a senior project for undergrad, and how strange, how incredible to think that they’d gone so far from that point, blooming into existence under his fingertips), and Dipper only spared a single thought to artificially looping the input past the anti-tamper sigils (they were Bentley’s, of course he knew how to get around them) before drifting closer to the crib.

Lloyd Remnit had not lasted long after their visit, after Dipper tore the information from his mind and Fantino had died as a result. Stan had always given everything for family, and it always hurt when he failed to protect them. (many Stans had summoned him over the years. Some paid the ultimate price for their loved ones. Some paid a different price, but it all fell to pieces around them anyways. Others, ones who hadn’t summoned him, had summoned others instead—one had given away her soul to be consumed. Dipper had torn that demon to pieces).

This time around, given how his last incarnation had ended up at odds with Alcor, he was determined to have Stan on his side. Which meant—this.

“Hey,” Dipper said softly, breathily. In her crib, María Elena ‘Inyang’ Dimayuga lay on her back, fingers curled into soft fists. He took a moment to take her in—a little on the large side, for a two-month-old, eyelashes dark and soft against her puffy cheeks, baby hair thin clouds across the crown of her skull. “Hey. I’m going to be your Uncle Dipper. Your parents don’t know yet, but they don’t know a lot of things about you yet either, do they? They’re still calling you Aweng. Don’t worry, they’ll figure it out eventually.”

Inyang shifted in her sleep and scrunched her nose. Dipper stilled, but her eyes didn’t open, and her barely-there, underdeveloped aura didn’t shift suddenly in that telltale breath between sleep and wake that infants tended towards. After a few moments, he slid from stillness into careful motion, chin propped in the heart of his palm, elbows on the edge of the crib, ankles-crossed mid-air. His wings fluttered once or twice. He sighed a little.

“It’s been a few years since I’ve interacted with somebody so young,” Dipper confessed. “Not since Lata, at least. Nobody’s been stupid enough to summon me with a newborn sacrifice recently, and the chances to meet babies like you are otherwise pretty slim in my line of work.” He laughed a little. Inyang let out a breathy sigh of an exhale. “But you’re family, you know? I should—I should stick around for you.”

Inyang’s fingers tightened into fists, then relaxed. He looked at her nails. She probably needed them trimmed, soon. Dipper remembered sharp baby nails, and they were a somewhat discordant experience when the rest of them was so soft, so malleable, so easy to swallow—

Dipper closed his eyes, breathed in and out, and chased the thought down into the deepest, most terrible part of him. Then he opened his eyes and looked back down at Inyang.

Inyang looked back, dark eyes large in her small face.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Inyang frozen by the uncertainty of an unfamiliar face hovering over her, Dipper by the very human instinct of ‘maybe if I don’t move, this very small child will just go back to sleep instead of crying.’ Despite being a dream demon who didn’t need moist eyeballs, Dipper was the one who blinked first.

Inyang’s aura twisted. She let out the start of a choking cry. Galvanized by memories of caring for babies over the years, Dipper started shushing her, reaching into her crib on reflex. His sharp talons faded into stubby nubs, his gloves melted away to materialized skin. “Hey, hey, no, it’s all right—”

Footsteps outside the door. Moments before he managed to pick Inyang up, Dipper frantically twisted himself into the shadows under her crib. Seconds later, the door opened.

“Oh, that’s odd,” the parent said. Dipper blinked, and there it was—Alisha Dimayuga, journalist, wife to Jolan Dimayuga, owner of a small clothing boutique that custom-sized for all its customers. “The camera didn’t pick up on you waking up—hush, hush, sweet little Aweng, here I am, it’s okay. Why don’t we go see your Zaza, hmm? Zi would love to hold you, love to kiss your precious little nose and all the pain away.”

Dipper stared up at the bottom of the crib, seeing Alisha pick up Inyang and soothe her without physically seeing it. Alisha rocked from side to side with each step, murmuring about how hard it was to be a baby as she slowly made her way out the room, Inyang still crying pitifully in tired-sleepy-pain-overstimulation. She was going through one of her growth spells, Dipper knew suddenly, though he’d always known it. It hurt, to grow so much all at once and not understand anything, and thankfully it was knowledge that faded quickly. Dipper still remembered his second birth, how things changed and ached and felt like fire melting and reforging and melting his bones all at once. The pain of it, over and over, all at once after stretches of nothing.

He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Dipper considered revealing himself to Alisha and her partner. He thought about introducing himself, but the thought of Alisha’s fear and Jolan’s terror-courage and the rift that would possibly set between him and Inyang made him hesitate, caught between the soft shadows of the nursery and the light spilling in through the open door. He stayed for a few moments, listening to Alisha and Jolan’s soft voices in the other room, hearing Inyang’s cries get quieter and quieter until she was silent.

Maybe another time, Dipper told himself. He coalesced back into his humanoid form next to the crib, with its whale-patterned sheets and its pale linoliwood bars. He looked out the door, into the sliver of the hall he could see, and remembered other babies over the years that he had raised, or helped raise. Later, he told himself firmly. For sure.

Dipper closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and blipped—

December 4th, 8:54 AM EST

—into his designated seat at the dining table, aka the chair that Torako had snatched for her temporary bedside table and kept falling out of bed for. Dipper might have—in the previous months—maybe on occasion scooted it just far enough out of reach that she would tumble out of the sheets. Just maybe on occasion, though. Not every night. That would just be suspicious.

“Morning,” he chirped at Torako, who was sipping at a cup of coffee. He eyed it—hazelnut creamer, oof, she was anticipating a Day.

“Hey,” Torako said. Across the table, Bentley’s forehead was flush against the wood surface. He groaned out something that Dipper interpreted as a greeting.

“You never jump anymore,” Dipper complained. He crossed his arms and set them on the table, leaning forward. “It’s so disappointing.”

“Dude, we’ve lived together for, like, eight years, of course I don’t jump anymore,” Torako said. Dipper hummed in absentminded agreement in order to hide the fact that he was as of that moment making plan after plan to startle the snot out of her. “Besides, now I have a Dipper-sensor as long as Bentley’s around—he moaned out something a second before you popped up.”

Very kind of her to tell him what situation he needed to avoid in order to succeed. Torako really was her own worst enemy, because she should know by know that Dipper wasn’t nearly nice enough to not take advantage of such facts. “I had forgotten about that.” He actually almost had. “Bentley conscious yet?”

Bentley groaned again. Torako picked up her fork, stabbed a sausage on her plate, and shoved it in her mouth. Dipper squinted his eyes at the remaining sausages and wondered if he could get away with sneaking one off her plate.

“Kind of. I think he had a rough last hour of sleep; he was really groggy when I finally shook him awake.”

Half-formed schemes of how he was going to make Torako scream in surprise fell to the back burner as he cast a more appraising eye over Bentley and his aura. Bentley kept saying that he didn’t want them to treat him like something fragile, like those delectable sugar cubes that were 90% air, 9% sugar and 1% flavoring and were so thin they fell apart the moment they touched your tongue, but Bentley was also dealing with PTSD among a host of other problems so Dipper was going to worry. Especially since, you know, exhaustion crept and shifted slow through his aura in a way that Dipper hadn’t seen since last week.

“Hey, Ben. Looking tired there.”

Bentley didn’t make a noise. Instead, he lifted his head up just enough to glare at Dipper. Dipper winced, both at the animosity and at the tiredness strung at the corners of his eyes and in the crease of his forehead. Bentley glared even more.

Torako whistled. “I’m not sure, but it might have actually gotten worse?”

“Shut up,” Bentley groused. He reached out and nearly knocked his mug of coffee over (and if it weren’t bad enough that he was drinking coffee, it was worse because even all the way across the table, Dipper’s teeth could feel the half-cup of sugar Bentley had poured in) before tugging it close and sipping. It must have tasted awful. Bentley didn’t blink an eye.

Dipper looked at Torako. Torako glanced at him. They both decided that shuddering was probably not the wisest course of action, with Ben so grumpy. That being said, Torako still opened her mouth. Really, she was her own worst enemy.

“So you’re…still going to work today?”

Ben grunted and shifted his gaze to her, narrow-eyed. “I gotta,” he said. “There’s a new sigils company being built here, and there’s a…what’s the word…mandatory, right, there’s a mandatory meeting at 9:30 about it.”

“What about a teleconference?” Torako speared another sausage. Dipper, momentarily distracted, looked down at her plate and stretched nonchalantly. If his hand was a little closer to her plate than before, well, that was just coincidence.

Shaking his head, Bentley took another sip of his coffee before saying, “Confidential information. Gotta be in person.”

Dipper, after a blink and a quick rush of information, thought that it might be more that Bentley was being stubborn about ‘earning his keep’ and less about ‘having to go to the meeting in person.’ Dipper was actually pretty sure that Karl Svinhish would happily come to visit just in order to fill Bentley in on the details. He considered the pros and cons of actually saying that, and decided to keep his mouth shut. Instead, Torako distracted, he set his fingers right at the edge of her plate.

Torako snorted and pointed her fork at Bentley. “And Karl Svinhish wouldn’t bend over backwards for you, no, no he wouldn’t.”

Bentley actually hissed at her and bared his teeth. Torako’s face went—not pale, no, but she had the expression of somebody who has just realized that they’re treading right at the edge of too far and should really go back before they’re mauled. She stabbed down for her sausages.

Dipper, right on the edge of getting himself a tasty salty snack, howled as her fork stabbed right into the back of his hand.

“Oh fuck,” Torako said, jumping out of her chair. “Oh fuck, how the fuck did your hand get there, what even—”

Dipper felt torn between cackling and screaming. It really, really hurt in all the best and worst ways. “You stabbed me!”

Bentley, at some point, had half-pushed himself out of his chair. He lowered himself down into it, lifted his coffee mug, and raised his eyebrows as Torako pulled the fork back out of Dipper’s hand. He sipped.

“Shut up,” Dipper giggled at him, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m too tired to be nice,” Bentley muttered. “You were asking for it.”

Torako blinked. She looked down at her sausages. “Were you—trying to take my breakfast?”

“No,” Dipper lied. He licked at the puncture holes in the back of his hand, then willed them to go away. His blood tasted almost like copper, today. “Of course not.”

Torako glowered at him, and pointed the fork. “You were.”

“Never,” he said. There was a tug somewhere in his gut, and he recognized family—friend—Batoor a split second before he said, “and you can’t prove otherwise, Batoor’s calling, see you guys later bye!”

Torako threw her fork. He disappeared before it could reach him.

December 4th, 4:09 PM GMT

Dipper blipped back into physical space upside-down and in a pretty snazzy pair of electric blue ruffled slacks. He craned his neck back to look Batoor in the eye. “You called?”

“Someday, I hope you realize how old you sound when you say that,” Batoor complained. He was sitting on his desk, a textbook in his lap and a pencil stuck behind his ear. His curtains were open, the dorm courtyard below empty but for the few students taking advantage of a clear afternoon to get some much-needed sun. Dipper tilted his head and pointed.

“Is that kid stacking chips on her nose?”

“Undoubtedly,” Batoor said, not even looking. “It’s a new fad. You wouldn’t understand them, being an old geezer.”

Sometimes, Dipper regretted introducing Torako to Batoor. He extra regretted that Torako and Batoor had exchanged contact information, and that Batoor was picking up on some bad habits of Torakos, like bullying Dipper with no regard for how impressively powerful he was. No respect these days.

“I understand fads,” Dipper grumbled.

Outside, chip-stacking student made it to four chips high. Four chips wouldn’t be nearly so impressive if they weren’t being stacked corner to corner. Dipper was kind of jealous—he wasn’t sure he would be able to do that without taking advantage of his powers.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Batoor said. “Anyways—I need help with this history paper. You know about history, right?”

Dipper fancied that, if he’d never become a dream demon caught in the claws of near-eternity (he knew that he wouldn’t last forever, but it may as well be—it basically would be, as far as this universe was concerned, and more than that he couldn’t quite wrap even his demonically-altered brain around), he would have been a scientist, or a mathematician, or an over-qualified pizza store manager (which if it came with free pizza, wouldn’t be a half-bad gig.) At almost-thirteen, he hadn’t been as interested in history beyond conspiracy theories and supernatural stories. Now, though—“My middle name may as well be Historical Record,” Dipper said. He flipped over mid-air. His braid fell over his shoulder as well.

Batoor blinked at him. “Those pants are…new,” he said, in English. Dipper narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Not really,” he said. “What, you don’t like them?” Mabel had been the one who pestered him into conjuring them for himself in the first place. He’d gotten a whole cheesecake out of that deal, and the mortification of them had barely been enough for his young-demon ego to deal with. Now, though—they were ruffled, and bright, and Mabel’s, and that was enough.

“And the braid is different,” Batoor said.

Dipper looked down at it, pulling it further into view with his left hand. He flipped the end of it between his fingers. “ Yeah, I don’t usually go for this style. It’s fun, to change things up.”

Batoor blinked. The scales around his eyes shimmered. “Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, “I guess so. Anyways, I need help with the history paper. About history. In English. I am older so class is harder? It’s a high-level class.”

“Okay,” Dipper said, easily enough. It wasn’t like Torako or Bentley would be better company now, and they were going to be busy anyways. “What you got to pay me, then?”

Grinning, Batoor opened a desk drawer with his foot. Dipper perked up despite himself, shoulders dropping and eyebrows raising. “Candy,” Batoor said, “and snacks. From Kabul.”

Not as easily obtained as gummy peaches, here in Ireland. “Oh,” Dipper said. “I see what you’re doing. You’ve been talking to Torako.”

“Of course,” Batoor said, before switching back to Dashto. “She’s the only one that can handle you, other than Bentley, and she’s the one with the Demonology degree. She’s been very helpful in my studies.”

Dipper stilled. He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were doing a degree in Community-Building and Inter-Species Relations,” he said, slowly.

“I am,” Batoor said. He reached inside the desk drawer and picked up a couple packages, one carefully-preserved mini gosh-e fil stuck in stasis, powdered sugar and chopped pistachios kept in place through the power of food-regulation preservation spells, and the other an assorted bag of koloocheh. A few of them were broken despite the spells, and Dipper knew they had to be good. Koloocheh were brittle cookies by nature, after all.

“Oh,” Dipper said. He couldn’t look away from the treats for a second, then made himself because he could get a major deal out of these if by some small chance Batoor didn’t know any better. “They’re pretty good, but for a whole paper?”

“And proofreading,” Batoor said. He smiled, as sweet as the sacrifice he was offering. “I know exactly how valuable these are. They’re not only delicious, they’re sentimental. My Oware bought them for my Transfer-Day. I haven’t had gosh-e fil since we left Afghanistan.”

Oh fuck, Dipper thought. He felt a trickle of unease down the back of his neck a second before the realization hit him and he sunk to standing on the floor like a dumbass. “Oh,” he said again. “You’re doing a specialization in community law and advocacy, aren’t you.”

Batoor grinned. “Demonology overlaps with law-writing classes a lot, you know. Anyways. For help finding relative articles about my history topic in both English and Dashto, assistance refining my arguments, and thorough proofreading of my English composition, I will give you both of these very valuable, sentimental treats, and maybe we can have some video game time together if my roommate doesn’t come back too early.”

“That’s a big if,” Dipper said. “Do you have the new Red Rider game? The one that’s set in a magicless urban wasteland that you have to carefully scavenge tools and make intelligent allegiances in order to strategically rise to the top of the crime syndicate that’s taken over the city and make the ultimate choice whether to rule over all with an iron fist or transition to a better societal system?”

Batoor stared for a moment. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You like that game?”

“Well,” Dipper said. “I suppose I kind of do, yes, but not too much.” Dipper carefully did not mention that the open-story ending that mimicked the rewards and consequences of living a high-stakes human life scratched the same itch he had tried to, over and over and over in human skins that lasted not long enough. He also didn’t mention that the mathematics that went into calculating story paths from individual choices was jaw-droppingly incredible and he needed to see it in play for himself.

Batoor nodded. Dipper narrowed his eyebrows in suspicion at the sparks of mirth and slowly unfurling anticipation in his aura.

“Stop being amused,” Dipper said, pointing his lace-gloved finger at Batoor and scowling. “I kind of like it.”

“Sure,” Batoor said with a perfectly straight face that was very at odds with the emotions that Dipper was reading. He held out his hand. “Anyways, I do have the game and we can play it if there is enough time. If there isn’t, we’ll play at the next opportunity feasible for both parties. Do we have a deal?”

Dipper looked at the sweets. He tilted his head and thought about the promise of the game—which he was guaranteed to have a chance to play—and then about the difficulty of the task before him. He didn’t mind proofreading either, especially because English had cast off a bunch of the fiddly rules about punctuation that honestly Dipper thought were still needed. He could make sure that Batoor’s teachers weren’t teaching him too much that was wrong.

Grinning wide, Dipper reached out and took Batoor’s hand. “Deal,” he said. Blue fire licked up from between their palms briefly, and Dipper felt himself get—sharper, smarter, stronger—for a brief flash as the deal lanced through him. Then he let himself slide into that state of mind where he was—not compelled to do a task, no, but it was similar.

“Great,” Batoor said, grinning lazily. He leaned back against the desk and looked very self-satisfied. “Because my Red Rider game’s multiplayer option hasn’t been used since the time my roommate agreed to try it out with me.”

Dipper tipped his head. Something niggled at him. “How long ago was that?”

“Two months ago,” Batoor said. “The day I got the game.”

Anticipation tingled up and down Dipper’s arms. He felt himself lift back off the ground. “Oh? Why not? It’s an excellent game.”

“He said I was too intense.” Batoor picked under his fingernails at imaginary dirt, but Dipper could still see the grin on his face.

“Oh,” Dipper said again. Then, he said, “Well, we should finish that paper as quickly as possible, shouldn’t we? I doubt that you’re more intense than I can be.”

“We’ll have to see,” Batoor said, eyebrows raised.

________________________________________________________________

They did not, unfortunately, get a chance to see. Writing papers was harder than Dipper remembered, and Batoor had chosen to write about anti-preter sentiment in Ireland two hundred years ago and the impact of the laws enacted during that time had in the centuries following. There weren’t too many papers on the matter in Dashto, and any articles that they could find were harder to understand the further back they were, so Batoor was stuck with English and translated Gaelic sources.

Halfway into Presumption of Guilt: How Lawmakers Built a Sinister System in the Absence of Politically Powerful Preternatural Citizens that Resulted in the Summer Riots of 3784, Batoor’s dorm buzzed. They froze.

“Hey, Batoor!” Dipper heard. He swung his head around to look at Batoor, who met his gaze. “Why you lock the door? You got company?”

Batoor flushed. “No!” he yelled, voice cracking a little as he flapped his hand at Dipper. “I just was studying!”

Dipper snatched what remained of the delicious snacks that Batoor had traded and stopped just short of blipping out. “When are we going to play Red Rider?” he hissed quietly in Dashto.

Apparently Batoor’s roommate had very, very good ears. “Batoor?”

Batoor leveled the nastiest glare that Dipper had been subject to from him. Dipper threw up his hands in frustration and tried to communicate, with his eyes, that he was just asking, no need to get pissy about it! To which Batoor shook a finger at Dipper, waggled his eyebrows in I-told-you-we’d-get-to-it-when-we-get-to-it, and gestured for Dipper to stay quiet for good measure.

“I was only talking to myself!” Batoor yelled back. “Let me get the door for you—”

Dipper felt a tug in his gut. Thankfully, he let himself follow the summons, twisting out of existence from Batoor’s Irish University dormroom and—

December 4th, 9:44 PM EAT

—into a small bedroom with sparsely decorated walls, a pale tile floor worn right to the edge of minor neglect, and a small child sitting on a patterned rug right at the edge of his circle.

Dipper swallowed back his customary greeting and instead asked, “What’s up, kiddo?”

They hugged their knees closer to their chest, squashing what looked to be a very sentimental stuffed manticore. “Sshh,” they said, so quiet that Dipper had to readjust his hearing. “Aunty Adi is asleep.”

“Oh,” Dipper said. He sat cross-legged a half-inch above the wobbly chalk lines. After a moment, he whispered, “I like your scentless candles.”

The child ducked their face into their knees and the stuffed manticore’s fuzzy mane. “Thanks,” they said, but then said nothing else for a long time. Their aura shifted between embarrassment and hesitation and quick flashing bursts of smothered pride. Dipper made the decision to wait for them to speak, and instead cast out his senses more to assess his new surroundings. There was a small bed in the corner, third-hand but well maintained, a nice new desk bought at a bargain, temperature-regulated sheets, a little bookshelf that was crammed overfull, a tablet for children open to what seemed to be a digital copy of a centuries-old summoning how-to that had never been legally published but had found its way around anyways. Down the hall to one side there were three other signatures—two more children, one adult, each in separate rooms, and to the other seemed to be a living space complete with kitchen and a harmless little snake that curled up in a hole in the wall, sleeping off its latest meal. The night air was cool in such a way that suggested the previous day had been hot.

“Are you really a demon?” The kid asked.

“Yeah,” Dipper said, wiggling his claws at them. Their eyes were big and dark in the candlelight from right over their knees. “Alcor the Dreambender, at your service.”

Another very long pause. Dipper waited.

“The book said you were nice,” they said. Dipper tilted his head. The book had been distributed during one of his nicer, more mentally present phases. Fortunately for this child, he’d had over a decade of recent socialization with human beings, so he wasn’t super tempted to take advantage of what the kid thought.

“Right now I am,” he said. “What you want, then, kiddo? People usually don’t summon me unless they have a deal in mind.”

They looked away and buried themselves further into themselves. The minutes passed. Outside, bugs sang and small lizards rustled in pursuit. The candles flickered, burned wax into vapor that wafted away, slow and lazy but inevitable. Dipper kept himself breathing, steady.

“…Aunty Adi doesn’t like me,” they said.

Dipper blinked. “Oh?” he asked, and looked closer. No broken bones, a bruise on their knee (legitimately tripped and fell), short curly hair (useful for the heat), crooked fingers (an accident when they were two years old), missing tooth (their adult teeth were coming in). Whatever it was, it wasn’t overt physical abuse. Dipper narrowed his eyes. “What does she do? Where are your parents?”

They shifted one foot over the other. “I act funny,” they said instead. “Mom and Dad are busy working in Lilongwe, so they left me with Aunty Adi.”

There was a lengthy silence. Dipper had started getting that uneasy prickling along the back of his neck, the one he got when kids weren’t safe and happy, and he had to breathe in deep and out slow to stop himself from getting ‘intense,’ as Torako put it.

“Other kids don’t like me either,” said the kid. “I don’t get it, I laugh when they want me to and follow all the rules, the ones they don’t say but are there anyways, but they still don’t like me.”

Lonely crept over them like a purple shroud, heavy and dark and bruiselike. Dipper watched it settle and shift for a few moments, and turned the words over in his head. They waited.

“Do you want a friend?” Dipper asked, finally.

A heartbeat, two, and then a nod.

“Do you want me to be your friend, tonight?”

A double nod.

“I’ll need something in exchange,” Dipper said, because it was true (though not really, no, he could totally absorb the backlash that came with spending a night playing with a kid but this wasn’t Mabel) and the kid should know that, but also— “maybe some candy? Kids have candy, right?”

He’d really, really prefer the manticore. He almost asked for it. Then he thought of what Torako would say and do to him if she found out he’d taken a beloved stuffed animal from a lonely, friendless child and figured that stealing candy was a comparably minor offense.

Their wide dark eyes stared into his, and then they very slowly nodded, and even more slowly pointed in the direction of their desk. “In the drawer,” they said. “Milk drops.”

Dipper tilted his head over at the desk and blinked. “Okay,” he said and extended his hand. “Is it a deal?”

After a short moment, they nodded and extended their hand over the shaky, weak chalk lines of their summoning circle. “Deal,” they said, their hand in his, blue fire flaring up between them for a second before dying down.

Dipper tilted his head, blinked into something a little softer (more comfortable, something that would set the kid at ease) and asked, “So, kiddo, I’m yours to play with for a while. What you wanna do?”

The kid didn’t smile, but hesitant happiness spread like frail roots through the heavy purple lonely in their aura. “Well,” they said, quietly, “there’s this—card game, that I got to play once…”

_______________________________________________________________

It took several hours of very quiet playtime for the kid to finally get tired enough to fall asleep. Dipper tucked them—tucked Pili—into their bed, sang a slightly off-key lullaby until their tired eyes finally blinked shut and their chest rose and fell softly and their grip on their Manticore (Nadine) loosened. He thought for a moment, then summoned a Dream to curl up next to them and a Nightmare to stand guard until Pili woke in the morning.

“You keep an eye on them, alright?” Dipper said. The dream baa’d and snuggled in close to Pili, who relaxed further. Himmwichlint, the Nightmare, blinked its five eyes independently and huffed out a derisive what, you think I wouldn’t at Dipper. Dipper huffed back and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not saying you can’t or won’t,” Dipper complained, crossing his arms. He was wearing a very soft sweater that Pili had exclaimed quietly over before stroking for a solid five minutes. “I’m just saying what I want you to do.”

Himmwichlint rolled its eyes back at him. The effect it had was really similar like those plastic googly ones that Belle had once used to bedazzle a pair of sneakers into a constantly-rustling horror show. She had worn them every day for a month to class. Dipper had ended up making a deal with Lionel to have them disappear.

“No respect,” Dipper complained. “What is it with everybody in my life refusing to show me respect? I am a very powerful dream demon, you would think people would remember that more.”

The Nightmare chuffed low in its gizzard, and its wool shook in laughter. Then it turned itself around to lay on the ground at the side of the bed, very purposefully looking away from Dipper.

Dipper threw up his hands. “Unbelievable,” he whispered, turning around himself to leave the room. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

He very quietly swung the door open and then stepped into the quiet hallway. Another step, and he shifted from the soft sweater and comfortable sweatpants he’d put on for Pili into a sharp black suit, dark and imposing and shadowy. He didn’t need to close his eyes for more than a few seconds to know that he wanted the room at the very end of the hall. He walked forward on the thin air just a hair off the ground, passing by several pictures on the walls and a totem lodged in an inset shelf near the ceiling. It was supposed to protect the inhabitants, but the spirit that was supposed to be there was missing. It had been missing for years at this point.

Not that it could have done much of anything if it had been there, Dipper thought to himself with a little grin. It could not have stopped him from having a little chat with Auntie Adi. He doubted that it would have even tried.

In moments, he reached her door. The insects outside had fallen silent. He pushed the door open, soundless, and entered her room.

It was dark. A thin sliver of slightly-overcast moonlight drifted through the crack between the curtains. In the middle of the room was a wide bed, thin summer blankets draped over a sleeping figure. When he looked around, the room wasn’t overly different from Pili’s—the same well-cared-for furniture, clothing bought at a bargain and a few priceless treasures (gifts, or inheritances, or simply items loved to the point of powerfully tempting)—but there was something about it that cradled the sleeping figure. There had been a lot of love in this room. There was a lot of love, and care, and fondness. Pili’s room seemed so much emptier by comparison.

Alcor made his way to the edge of the bed. He flicked out his cane, threaded his hair back into a ribbon-tied ponytail, and then sat down.

Adi didn’t respond for several moments, still deep in sleep. No matter. He knew that the deep part of her responsible for living, for detecting danger and escaping from it was slowly waking up. With every breath, it was pulled closer and closer to the surface, a buoy rising to the surface of a wide dark sea, dragging consciousness up with it. Her brow started to furrow. The soft lines along the edges of her mouth began to deepen. Her eyes tensed. Inhale, exhale, and her eyes fluttered open.

It took two breathing cycles for her to register that there was a strange person in her room, sitting on her bed and looking down at her. She jerked into motion, opened her mouth, and screamed.

Alcor smiled into the silence. He had already borrowed—not stolen, he might still give it back—her voice. “Now, now,” he said, softly. “You shouldn’t disturb the children’s sleep. Let’s be quiet, all right?”

Her eyes are wide. The sclera is bright against the darkness of the room. Her hand feels at her throat, which is bobbing with fruitless effort to speak.

“I know this is frightening,” Alcor said. His grin widened. The fear shooting up from Adi in sparks set him on the most wonderful edge. It buzzed against him, just enough to turn his teeth a hair past sharp and blow his pupils a clawtip longer. “But really, this is quite important—can I trust you not to scream?”

She nodded. What a fool—he already knew he couldn’t. He knew she would scream as loud as she could, and then her children would come in, and then Alcor would have to figure out how to deal with them in non-lethal ways. What a mess that would be. Instead, he chuckled before reaching out and tracing a claw against the bottom of her jaw. Adi froze. Her chest barely moved, quick and light.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled, leaning in a little. Her eyes darted from his teeth to his eyes and then back down again to his teeth. “I already know I can’t. Anyways, this will be a far more productive conversation if you aren’t doing any of the talking.”

With a sharp inhale, she clenched her fingers in the blanket pooled at her waist. Alcor tapped her chin. She nodded again, this time short and jerky. Her fear really was quite exhilarating, Alcor thought to himself absentmindedly. He’d have to make sure to milk as much out of her without compromising his position, or Pili’s.

Ah, yes. Pili’s. A no-name soul that he hadn’t had any meaningful prior relationships with. But children were children, and no-name souls could earn names, couldn’t they? Lionel and Torako and Georgi were all excellent examples. He would have to keep an eye out for Pili—make sure that Adi didn’t do anything unfortunate.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,” Alcor said, leaning back a little. Adi exhaled shakily, and nodded again. “Well, it has to do with your nibling. Did you know that they’ve managed to access quite the outdated collection of demonic academia? Their circle was a little wobbly, but it’s supposed to be simple enough for a child to draw with a bit of effort, if they’re desperate enough.”

Alcor noted the sudden tension in Adi’s shoulders, the sourness of jealousy that rose up among misplaced gangrene anger, the mist-like waft of dark guilt that drifted off as quick as it drifted in.

“You see,” Alcor said, crossing one leg over the other and wrapping his hands leisurely around his knees, “children have to be desperate enough to draw my circle. That’s not even taking into account the effort many go to in order to get the information needed to draw my circle, and say the incantation, and gather the necessary supplies. Children, you see, don’t often have the resources or freedom an adult does. Please, do me a favor and consider—how desperate must young Pili have been to go to the effort of all that?”

Adi’s anger flashed and deepened. She lifted her chin, eyes narrowed, and opened her mouth to retort before she tried to speak and remembered exactly who it was she was talking to. Fear drowned out the anger. She curled back in on herself, shifting back on the bedsheets with a near-silent rasp.

Yes. This was what he deserved. This was the respect he had earned, that he had been deprived of the last few hours. He breathed it in deep.

“I know you haven’t laid a hand on them,” Alcor drawled. His eyes crinkled in a smile. “Trust me, we would be having a—different conversation at that point. Perhaps off in the desert, where you could scream and I could enjoy it without having to worry about your spawn ruining everything. But that’s also the problem, because—you haven’t laid a hand on them in love, either.”

Silence. Her aura spoke volumes. He let it balloon up between them, bobbed his foot as she swallowed past a rabbit-quick heartbeat. The pale moonlight coming in through the crack in the curtains glinted off the shiny cap on the toe.

“Your nibling summoned me because they were desperate for a friend,” Dipper said, very very quietly. “They wanted somebody to play with. To love them, even if that love wasn’t as real as what they really needed. Even just for a night. You, as their guardian, have failed them. You have neglected them, for terrible, petty reasons that have nothing to do with who Pili is, and have everything to do with who somebody else is—one of their parents, I’m assuming.”

Adi bristled again, shoulders drawing up and back in indignation. Her sleeping cap shifted, exposing some of the kinked hair it was protecting. Alcor reached over. She stilled, heartrate jack-knifing as he pulled the cap back into place.

“You don’t have to be their friend,” Alcor said. He smiled. “But it would be such a shame if you didn’t learn how to be kind to them and how to be supportive of them. Such a shame indeed. There are always…repercussions, you see, for these kinds of actions.” He leaned over, resting his chin in one palm, fingers curled in a precisely calculated mimicry of danger. Adi trembled, swallowed. Sweat tricked down her brow and along the lines of her slender neck. Dipper watched it drip down, and felt her terror spike.

“What a shame indeed,” he said. He glanced up, still smiling, and caught her eye. The shallow inhale she was taking hitched. Her pupils shrunk despite the darkness. Alcor tilted his head to make sure the light glinted across his sharp teeth. Then, he drew back.

“But I suppose it would be better for Pili and your other children if I actually gave you the chance to learn,” he said offhandedly, and looked at his claws. The next exhale broke out of her, ragged and loud in the silence. “I’m trying to be a better person, you see, and I suppose you haven’t done anything egregiously worthy of…such harsh retribution.”

Alcor stood. He picked imaginary lint off his shoulder, pulled his eight-ball cane back into the physical realm, and leaned on it. “I don’t suppose I have to inform you that if things don’t get better, I will know,” he drawled. Adi’s hands were clutching at the fabric over her heart. “But, for the purpose of all transparency…if they don’t, I will know. I doubt you’ll enjoy what happens afterwards.”

With a grin that was satisfyingly wide, Alcor bowed and faded out of sight. A moment later, he released his hold on Adi. He watched her place trembling hands over her mouth and hyperventilate for several minutes. She eventually calmed enough to slide out of bed and stand on shaking legs, though it took her a few tries to be steady enough to walk on her own. She checked her eldest son’s room, then her daughter’s, and then finally –with no little hesitation—her nibling’s.

Alcor grinned as she stifled a gurgling scream at the sight of Himmwichlint curled up in front of Pili’s bed. Himmwichlint lifted its head, blinked its five eyes at Adi, and then yawned on purpose to show off its incomprehensible but terrifying teeth and its two whipcord tongues. Adi whimpered and stumbled back. Alcor, upside-down on the ceiling, hummed and grinned wider.

Himmwichlint tilted its head up, made eye contact with him, and huffed.

Alcor rolled his eyes back at Himmwichlint. He did not need to get out of here, not when this woman’s reactions were absolutely hilarious. He hadn’t been front-row seats to a horror show with so little blood in ages.

Himmwichlint snorted, looked back at the woman, and nestled itself back in. On the bed, Pili sighed and snuggled the dream closer. The dream obliged.

Aunt Adi dropped her fist, just a little. She stared at her nibling, eyebrows furrowing. Soft surprise echoed out in the spaces between her terror and horror. If he looked closely, he could see the beginnings of wonder peeking out from behind the residual film of jealousy and anger.

Oh, he thought. Maybe she would learn. What a disappointment, almost to the point he was the slightest bit mad about it. He’d been looking forward to eking out some more terror from her, maybe indulging in snacking on a finger or two, possibly a kidney, nothing life-threatening. Her actually cleaning her act up was going to ruin things for him.

Oh, he thought after another moment. Maybe—maybe he did need to go somewhere—else. Dipper closed his eyes and as quietly as possible, tessered into the mindscape, lay in the grass among his Nightmares and Dreams, and simply was.

________________________________________________________________

§¢ɷʘϠϰѬ ҈۝†‡₰ ʯ͚:ͼǂ Nightmare Realm

It was nice, for an indeterminable amount of time, to let the manic buzzing energy and self-righteous anger and the hunger for justice (revenge, the kind that benefited him and him alone) seep out of the front of his mind and down into the back. A couple Dreams nestled up to his sides, and one had decided that his chest was the best place to curl up on. It chewed on his lapel absentmindedly. Dipper would have minded more if it a) wasn’t easy to fix, being made of thought, and b) weren’t the case that the Dream was in the top tenth percentile of cute Dreams—which were altogether adorable as it was.

The Nightmare taking advantage of the situation to snuffle into his hair was another thing entirely.

“Erschie,” Dipper said, eyes closed but eyebrows furrowed down. “What are you doing.”

A pause, then Erschie snorted warm sulfuric air directly into Dippers mostly-made-up scalp. Dipper waited a few seconds for something else to happen, then opened his eyes. The moment he did, he felt Erschie’s fangs and sharp front teeth start to scrape at the top of his head.

“Gross,” Dipper said, even as he felt the skin slice open just a little. “Disgusting.”

Erschie paused, then withdrew. Dipper blinked. Erschie then licked at Dipper’s hair with all the gross slobber in Erschie’s dumb gross mouth.

Dipper bolted upright, the Dream on his chest now in his arms and the other two left to flop into the grass and baa irately over the sudden lack of support. “ERSCHIE!” Dipper screeched. His hair stood up on end. He could feel the slobber starting to trickle down the back of his neck. “WHAT THE FUCK.”

Erschie blinked up at him, closed its eyes, and then let out a wool-rustle throat-croak hoof-stomp that Dipper knew to indicate Erschie’s general amusement at being a nuisance in Dipper’s life. The Dream snuggled into Dipper’s arms. This, unfortunately, limited what response Dipper could take.

In order to demonstrate to Erschie that he was a dangerous, serious, terrifying dream demon, Dipper opened his mouth, displayed all his rows of teeth, and hissed at Erschie. For some reason, that just made the Nightmare express Amusement more exuberantly.

“You’ve been conniving with Himmie, haven’t you,” Dipper said. He resisted the urge to stamp his foot. “You’re both out to show me as much disrespect as possible.”

Erschie clacked its teeth together and flicked its ears.

“What do you mean it’s not hard?? I am Alcor the Dreambender, Devourer of Souls and Lord of Nightmares, King of Darkness, Destroyer of Light, the Infernal Star! I’m literally the Scourge of All Beings Living and Dead and you say it’s not hard to disrespect me??”

With an exaggerated snort, Erschie dipped its head down and up twice before flicking its ears in succession.

“I do not embarrass myself!!” Dipper howled, throwing his arms up in the air. The Dream previously occupying them fell to the grass with a disgruntled bleat, and glared up at him as ferociously as it could manage. Dipper looked down at the Dream and winced.

Erschie performed its most vigorous Amusement dance yet.

Dipper pointed at Erschie and glowered. “Shut up,” he said.

Predictably, but disappointingly, Erschie did not listen. Erschie continued to do its best to convey its Amusement at Dipper, adding insult to injury by throwing in a mirthful head-shake.

“Can’t get any respect around here,” Dipper grumbled, squatting down and papping the Dream to show his remorse as was only appropriate. “They’re all out to get me. But you won’t be like that if you ever become a Nightmare, will you? You’ll be appropriately respectful, unlike that ungrateful troll over there. Yes, I could eat it, but no, I am merciful and abstain like a good demon. And this is the thanks I get.”

The dream looked up at him and blinked. It turned its head to take in Erschie, who was now turning around in a circle as it continued to mock Dipper. Then the dream looked back up at Dipper and flicked its ears just like Erschie was.

Dipper stood and put his hands on his hips. “Wow,” he said. “The rebellion really does start early. I can see I’m not welcome here, in my own Realm.”

Erschie blew a raspberry. All three Dreams watched Erschie in clear curiosity, then turned around to Dipper and did the same.

“Rude,” Dipper growled, and pulled himself away into another place chosen on a whim.

________________________________________________________________

December 5th, 1:58 AM, AZT

Dipper found himself outside a small home with a bright blue door. The outer walls were made of corrugated metal that had also been painted blue, and a birdhouse had been set between two of the windows. It was cold. Dipper breathed out, then in, then suffused heat into his next exhale just to see the condensation rise and dissipate into the air.

He turned around, looked down the footpath that meandered down the slope the house was set into. There were more houses, roofs illuminated by moonlight, windows largely unlit. It was 2 AM in this small town of Laza, after all. There wasn’t very much to do, unless he really wanted to terrorize the inhabitants by tap-dancing on their ceilings or whispering traumatizing thoughts into their dreams. He thought maybe that might just possibly be a not great thing that Bentley would get quiet and frustrated with him over, though. Instead, maybe he could just eat some of the goats that one of the houses kept down below. Dipper hummed and tapped his finger on his chin.

Eating goats was probably something he would get in trouble for, on second thought. He could just terrorize the goats. That was still fun, but didn’t hurt any people. Actually, Torako would get a kick out of some selfies, he could do that. Tempt her into another passport-less road trip, for the fun of it. They could take Bentley too, this time. It would be much lower stakes. Yes, a picture would be good. Dipper took a step forward, absentmindedly casting his mind around to count the souls in the vicinity, and then froze.

He turned back around, looked at the blue house with the blue door and the birdhouse set into the side of it. A gust of wind blew through him, then around him as he made himself just a little more solid. In turn, he stared through the house and at the soul on a couch. The soul had dozed off while watching the news, which had turned off automatically an hour ago. Dipper stared, then—because he really didn’t have anything better to do—blipped from outside to just in the living room.

She had become an old, old man, this time, Dipper realized. A very well-groomed and well-dressed old man, even in sleep. She didn’t seem rich this time, he thought to himself, taking in the heirloom table and the rugs worn with age and use, but then again, Pacifica tended to bounce up and down the economic scale from life to life.

Dipper took a seat in the thin air above the table, on which there was a lone, empty cup that had held coffee at some point. He tilted his head at the old man, watched him breathe in (a little raspy) and then out (almost a snore) for several minutes. Dipper closed his eyes, and saw Pacifica’s death—

Tunar, in a hospital bed, age 146, seven weeks and two days before his birthday. He breathes in, and then out, and then in, slower and shallower each time. The heartbeat monitor chimes weakly, but steadily. His nephew holds his hand, an old man himself, and his great-great-grandniece is smoothing down the sparse hair on Tunar’s head.

Tunar does not open his eyes. He has already said goodbye, said it in the hour he was awake before he slept, said goodbye the same way he always did before falling asleep—with a soft ‘I love you,’ a kiss on the forehead or on the hand or on the cheek, and a small little sigh as he set his head into the pillows and closed his eyes again. His other grandnibling has gone with the rest of their family to get something to eat and bring food back for the two who stayed behind. This is probably for the best—there are nineteen of them, you see, because Tunar had loved well and was well-loved in turn.

His death is slow, as easy as death is capable of being. Medicine has brought the human body far, but there will never be immortality. There never is immortality, not for humankind, not for the dayflies who are born at dawn and die at dusk, not for the oldest of vampires or the fairest of dragons or the coldest of yukionna. All things die, eventually. All things pass.

Tunar takes a slow, slow breath in, lets it out, and does not inhale again.

—and opened them only to see that the old man had woken up, 137, still nine years left to him, and was looking right at Dipper.

Dipper startled a little, but didn’t move. The old man did not startle, but instead stretched after a moment in the way that old people do to get stiff muscles to cooperate again.

“Ah, I fell asleep on the couch again,” Tunar muttered. His hands shook a little as he clapped them once. The lights came on, dim. “I really should stop doing that, it’s very bad for my back and for my sleeping schedule. This face isn’t getting any younger, you know.”

Dipper cocked his head. “Do you want it to?” he asked.

Tunar scoffed and pushed himself to sit up straight before reaching for an elegant white cane. His hands, wrinkled and adorned with liver spots, wrapped thin fingers around the gently curved top of the cane. “You think you’re so smooth,” he said, narrowing thick eyebrows at Dipper. “I know better than to make a deal with you, Soul-Devourer.”

After a brief pause that stretched on to the edge between acceptable and too long, Dipper said, “Actually, it was mostly curiosity.”

“Mostly,” Tunar drawled, leaning back into the cushions and looking down his nose at Dipper. Dipper was reminded almost viciously of Pacifica and how she would stare at him, unimpressed, after whatever shenanigan he’d pulled recently that pissed her off. It froze Dipper for several long seconds, his heart in his throat as he couldn’t stop seeing her face over Tunar’s. Then Tunar sighed, and the spell was broken.

“I suppose you’re not actually here to reap my soul for whatever reason, though.” Tunar tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “I know you caused a big hullabaloo a few countries over several months ago, but they’re saying that the river is purified and that there were minimal casualties, which really is quite surprising.”

“Well, old man,” Dipper drawled, leaning over, “what makes you think that would stop me from taking what I want?”

Tunar blinked, looked closely at Dipper, and said nothing for a long time. His eyes were dark, if a little clouded, but piercing in a way that had Dipper twitching his foot. The light buzzed overhead. The clock in the other room slid nearly-silently to the next minute. Outside, Dipper could hear grass rustling in the wind if he concentrated enough, or too little.

A hum brought his attention back to the Pacifica in front of him. Tunar had leaned forward, placing his face and throat closer to Dipper, close enough he could reach out or lunge if he really wanted to.

“Well then,” Tunar said, smiling, his prosthetic teeth shining somewhat brighter than the few natural ones he had left, “seems to me that you don’t want to eat me.”

That wasn’t completely accurate—it never was—but it was accurate enough that Dipper found himself flushing. He withdrew and hunched his shoulders, looking at the pictures set into the wall as though he’d never seen anything like them before. Fingers wrapped around his knee, he managed to respond, “Says who?”

Torako would have gleefully needled the truth out of him. Bentley would have stared at him, arched an eyebrow, and said “Says me,” with the slyest little grin on his face. Pacifica would have lifted fingers to her mouth and chuckled, eyes half-lowered in a kind of superiority-fueled amusement.

Tunar snorted, eyebrows shooting up higher, and leaned back. “Can’t believe I thought you were some kind of suave, smooth-talking master-villain,” he said. “You’re a dumbass.”

Dipper scowled at Tunar. Tunar grinned unapologetically, sharp at the edges. “You suck,” Dipper said, finally.

With a cackle, Tunar finally lay his cane across the top of his legs. “I’m thirsty,” he said, finally. “Make me some coffee.”

“Make—you have a demon in your living room, and you’re telling him to make coffee??” Dipper said, voice momentarily going shrill.

“That’s right,” Tunar said, eyes creased in a self-satisfied smile.

“I could—I’ve manufactured deaths for less offense,” Dipper said, even though it wasn’t much of an offense.

“I’m a hundred and thirty seven years old,” Tunar said, archly. “Even if I thought you would do that, I wouldn’t be frightened. I’ve lived a long time.”

Dipper stared. “Unbelievable,” he finally said. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been dealing with this kind of disrespect all day. You don’t even know me.”

“You just have that kind of face.” Tunar reached out with his cane and poked Dipper in the arm. Dipper’s jaw fell open. “Now. Coffee. I like mine with heavy cream and a scant spoonful of cane sugar. Get to it.”

It took Dipper several moments to get his jaw closed. Then, he stood up, feet firmly on the rug below the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen to do as Tunar said. He was never, he thought to himself, introducing Tunar to Torako or Bentley. Never.

________________________________________________________________

In the middle of a story about the time that an acquaintance, unaware of the fact that Tunar wasn’t particularly interested in romantic or sexual entanglements, tried to set Tunar up with xir grandchild ten years Tunar’s senior when Tunar was 23, Dipper’s phone rang. The lyrics to Dancing Queen blared in the air between them before Dipper could answer it.

Tunar tilted his head. “You have a phone?”

Dipper sent a glower at Tunar, then answered the phone. “Yes?” he asked, in an approximation of what passed for English these days.

“Oh, thank goodness you answered,” the voice on the other end of the line said. Dipper blinked and took a second to place the voice—Reynash, right. “Listen, Lata’s sitter dropped out on us again, he was supposed to pick him up from school today but we just got the call that he didn’t, could you—”

“Yeah, yeah, no, give me five, ten minutes,” Dipper said, tipping his head and calculating the closest point to Lata’s new school that he could feasibly tesser to and remain anonymous. “I’d teleport right to him but that might be a bit—”

Reynash laughed, a little too tight to be completely sincere. “Ahaha, yeah, no, we would appreciate—no, thank you, I’ll let the school know that Lata’s Uncle Tyrone will be coming to get him.”

“Sounds good,” Dipper said. “I’ll message when I pick him up, okay?”

“Thank you again,” Reynash said. “I’ll be home after five, maybe five-thirty, so if you could keep him company until then—”

“Yeah, no problem at all!”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Reynash said. “Thanks again, see you.”

“See—” Dipper only managed to get out one word before the dial tone sounded. He looked down at the phone, and then said, “Well then, he really is busy I guess.”

“Alcor the Dreambender has a mundane social life?” Tunar said, droll. Dipper relaxed, purposefully, then tilted his head at Pacifica’s latest incarnation. He looked at Tunar through half-lidded eyes, Stan held in the back of his mind—Pacifica did like her fame, he remembered absently. She liked being the center of attention, and what better way to be the center of attention than to have a juicy news scoop to sell to the highest bidding news agency?

Tunar took one look at Dipper, humphed, and then smacked Dipper in the knee with his cane.

“Hey!” Dipper protested. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t you get snippy at me,” Tunar said, wagging a finger in Dipper’s face. Dipper was seized by the childish urge to snap his teeth at it. “I could see you getting all paranoid on me. On me! After I’ve spent the last unbelievable amount of time talking to you about my life and all the personal details in it. I even let you slide on reciprocating. The least you could do is let me have this.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes at Tunar. “You going to tell anybody?”

Tunar snorted. “Tell people that Alcor the Dreambender came by for coffee and a chat and ended up taking a phone call in my presence? I’d either end up with terrified Demonologists tearing up my house or being prescribed a variety of medication for hallucinations and fits of fantasy. Perhaps I would have been tempted in my youth, but these old bones are done with all that drama.”

He watched Tunar’s aura, saw it peppered with the lightest of lies—Tunar was plenty tempted now—but it was enough that Dipper leaned back into the couch and took a final sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he said.

There was a beat of silence. “So,” Tunar said, “you have to leave, I’m supposing.”

“Yes,” Dipper said. He leaned forward, set the cup in its saucer with a light a clink as he could manage, and stood up. “My apologies for intruding.”

With rolled eyes, Tunar set his cup on its saucer as well with far less care than Dipper had taken. “Bah, you’re not sorry. I expect to see you here next week—though possibly at a more reasonable hour. My Doctor says that I really need to keep myself on a better sleep pattern.”

Dipper’s hands stuttered over where they were needlessly straightening out his collar. “Next…week?”

“Of course,” Tunar said. He stood with the help of his cane and grunted with the effort. “What, you think I started that story with the intention of leaving it unfinished? No, you will be back next week. And—you have a phone. Call me before you come so that I am ready for company.”

Dipper could only blink. “But I don’t know—”

“It’s written on the stasis fridge, top left corner. Take a look at it when you bring the cups in to the dishwasher.”

Spluttering, Dipper said, “I—you expect me to wash the cups?!”

“And you can let yourself out, I assume,” Tunar said. He turned a genial grin on Dipper, but Dipper was savvy enough to see the slyness in the corners of it. Also, the amusement in his aura helped matters a lot. “Seeing as you let yourself in.”

“...I am an all powerful demon, and you expect me to wash your cups for—”

“That just means I am all the more assured you are capable of such a simple task,” Tunar said. He reached out a slightly shaking hand, patted Dipper on the shoulder, and then said, “Well, I am off to bed. Again, I expect you next week. Do try not to show up in the middle of the night again, it’s not good for my heart.”

With that, Dipper watched Tunar shuffle off around the coffee table and down the hall beyond the other side of the television screen. He blinked a little, completely blindsided—though he probably shouldn’t be. Pacifica also had a tendency of bulldozing through most of her social interactions.

Sighing, Dipper reached down, gathered up the teacups, gave them a little rinse with the sink tap before setting them in the washer, and entered Tunar’s number into his phone. He looked down at it, displaying up at him with deceptive innocence, and furrowed his eyebrows. Then, he saw the time, said, “Oh, crap,” and blipped out of the darkened kitchen.

December 4th, 4:13 pm, PDT

Lata screeched with joy as he barreled into Dipper with all the force of an exuberant six year old, face pressed into Dipper’s waist and arms flung around Dipper’s legs. Dipper, dressed up in his nicest, most disarming and charming human persona, grinned down at Lata.

“Hey buddy,” he said. “How are you doing?”

“I was so bored,” Lata said, nearly yelling the last two words. “But now you’re here so I’m not! Can we go get ice cream?”

“Ah,” Dipper said, before deciding fuck it and nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, but I have to sign you out first and let your dad know we got you, okay?”

Lata appeared to have stopped listening after ‘sure,’ and released Dipper to go have a good old jump-and-punch-the-air-in-victory dance. Dipper re-evaluated the intelligence of giving this already hyper child more sugar, then shrugged because he wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout, would he?

“Uncle Tyrone, I presume,” the secretary said, grinning a little. At first glance, she looked like an older middle-aged woman, but Dipper saw the fangs and the sunglasses and thought vampire. She tapped a few buttons, and a screen lit up in front of her window for Dipper. “Please verify your identity with this security question chosen by the child’s guardians and then sign.”

Dipper peered down at the question. What did you suddenly yell at Reynash Pines that one time that had him scream, launch a full package of Choco Piecies into the air, and tumble back over his home office chair which meant he had to go to the hospital and get three stitches behind his right ear?

He blinked, then toggled the keyboard to input, What U Cravin. The system thought for a moment, then blinked green before showing him the field to write in his signature. Dipper took hold of the stylus it materialized for him, signed, and then said goodbye to the secretary.

Lata had, in the meantime, decided that he needed to be crawling around on his feet and hands like some kind of humpbacked bear cub. “Are you done?” Lata asked, turning around in a circle, still not standing. There was dirt on his hands. Dipper resolved to get Lata to wash them as soon as they could find a public restroom.

“Yes, I’m done,” Dipper said. “You wanna ditch this lame joint?”

“It’s not lame,” Lata said, twisting his head to look at Dipper in such a way that Dipper wondered how he wasn’t snapping his own neck. “School is really really awesome, it’s just that everybody’s already gone home and I could only just wait for people to come pick me up, and waiting is boring.”

“That tracks,” Dipper said after a pause. Lata looked back down at the ground and then started walking forward, down to where the entryway doors were. “You gonna keep walking like that buddy?”

“Yeah,” Lata said. “This is the bear walk! We learned it today in Activities. We also learned the frog leap –though I already knew it—and the lizard crawl, and the earthworm, and the kangaroo hop. Nobody believed me when I said I went to Australia to see the kangaroos, though. They said that you can’t just go to Australia, because there are big spiders.”

Dipper paused a moment to take in that information. He opened the door for Lata, watched him crawl down the front step and onto the rougher—colder—pavement. Lata frowned at the ground, but kept going. “Your…teacher said this?”

“No,” Lata said in his best are you stupid voice. Dipper felt affronted that he was turning it on Dipper, his most favorite Uncle Tyrone. “You and Mom and Dad all said not to tell any adults, so I didn’t! But kids don’t count, so I told them. And they didn’t even believe me!”

Letting the door close behind him, Dipper politely ignored the person walking their dog that stopped in their tracks to first stare at Lata, then turn away with their hand over their mouth and their aura splashed all over with viridian amusement. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing,” Dipper said. “You don’t even have a passport yet.”

“What’s a passport?” Lata asked. His steps forward were far more ginger than they were earlier, inside on the tile flooring of the hallway.

“It’s, uh,” Dipper said, looking down at Lata’s animal-print backpack. It had shifted over entirely to one side of Lata’s back, unbalancing him a little. He reached down, adjusted it, and continued. “Well, it’s a special document—like a little book, I think, though maybe that’s changed—that they scan at Ports when you go from one country to another country.”

“Huh,” Lata said. He took another step, stopped, and then stood up. At the sight of his hands, Dipper moved hand-washing even further up the list of priorities. If he’d thought inside was bad, it was nothing compared to the brief jaunt down the path up to the school. “Do you have a passport?”

“No,” Dipper said.

Lata looked up at him, tilted his head so that the leaves on his antlers bobbed a little. “But you have to, to go to another country, right?”

“Most people have to,” Dipper amended. “It’s expected.”

They passed by a couple arm-in-arm, a single long scarf wrapped across both their necks. Dipper looked down at Lata. “Where’s your scarf?”

“In my bag,” Lata said, like that was the best place for it on a chilly December afternoon.

“And your gloves?”

“In my bag, duh,” Lata said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey,” Dipper said. “You really want to pull an attitude with somebody who said they’d get you ice cream in such cold weather?”

Lata hummed, his finger on his chin in thought. A cold breeze had him shivering a little before he answered, “Maybe?”

Dipper sighed. “Well,” he said, really elongating the word in a way that immediately caught Lata’s attention. “Maybe we don’t need ice cream after all. It’s about 3 degrees Celcius right now, after all.”

Lata gasped. “No, you can’t take it back! No take-backs! You said we’d go for ice cream!”

They were now by the public bathroom that Dipper had initially blipped into. “Let’s wash our hands then,” he said, pointing, “in preparation for ice cream.”

Lata screeched in victory, did a little dance, and then started running towards the bathroom. “First one there gets to eat as much as they want!”

Reynash would demolish him if Dipper let Lata eat as much ice cream as he wanted. Dipper burst into a very graceless, very hasty run, and didn’t really consider that he wasn’t beholden to any deal he hadn’t verbally agreed to.

________________________________________________________________

“I cannot believe I let you get all that ice cream,” Dipper said, having blipped them to a nice ice cream place down in New California before bringing Lata and their spoils to the Pines home.

Lata giggled and stuck his spoon into his Custom Mouse Sundae, complete with five scoops of ice cream molded into the shape of a mouse and topped off with two round waffle cookies that made the mouse’s ears. He dug out the piece of chocolate that made up the eye and stuck it in his mouth, kicking his legs.

“I would’ve beat you if you hadn’t used your superpowers,” Lata said, trying to pout but failing in the face of the massive, self-satisfied grin that kept breaking through. “You had to be nice to me. It’s only fair.”

“Your parents would hate it if I had let you eat the Turtle Family Sundae, the Spaghetti Ice Cream Set, and the Mouse Sundae,” Dipper said, pointing his spoon at Lata from across the table. He had gotten a custom ice cream Mega Bowl, and had filled it with a variety of ice creams and toppings. Lata kept glancing at it with unashamed interest.

Lata leaned back in his seat—Dipper reached across and pulled the chair back onto all four legs with his foot—and groaned. “But it would have been so delicious,” he said. “So worth it. It’s not like they can do anything to you! They can’t ground you, or take away TV privileges, or game privileges, or have you write letters of Recon-ciliation to exchange with each other.”

Dipper blinked. “Letters of Reconciliation?”

Lata carefully carved the tip of the mouse’s nose, cherry and all, off from the rest of the ice cream. “Yeah,” he said, before taking a break to stuff his mouth.

“What’s that?”

“It’s when we have a disagreement, and I write a letter saying what I thought and how I felt about the thing, and Mom and Dad write a letter saying what they thought and felt about the thing, and we give them to each other and read them and then talk about it. It’s so boring.”

Rain tapped against the roof and windows—rain might be a bit of a misnomer for the half-rain, half-ice slush that was falling from the sky, but nevertheless Dipper was glad they hadn’t been caught out in it before heading down to NewCal. That would have been super messy, and cold, and gross. Dipper scooped up a bit of ice cream, swallowed it almost immediately, and then responded. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said.

“Ugh, you’re such an adult,” Lata whined. He leaned down and pulled one of the cookie ears out of the mouse with his mouth. When he bit down, the part of the cookie that wasn’t in his mouth fell onto the ice cream below, which was starting to melt a bit.

“You’ve gotten sassy since entering Kindergarten,” Dipper said, narrowing his eyes at Lata. “Where’s the little monster that kept saying things like ‘rawr’ and ‘I’m a nibble monster’ and all? Also, I’ll have you know that I am essentially eternally twelve. That’s not an adult.”

“But it’s still old!” Lata yelled, suddenly. He leaned back on the rear legs of his chair. Dipper reached out with his foot and pulled his chair back down with an ease that was somewhat frightening after so many years of not parenting. “You’re old! I asked Dad how old you were and he said you were thousands of years old! That’s so many years. I watched him write out all the zeros, and then we counted out rice and it was so much rice and took so long.”

Dipper scowled and crossed his arms. “I bought you ice cream, and this is how you repay me?”

“I’m just saying the truth,” Lata retorted. “It’s the truth, so you can’t be mad about it.”

Dipper snorted. “Now that’s not how things work,” he said. “Plenty of people get mad about the truth. They do it all the time.”

Lata blinked at him. “But why? It’s the truth. You can’t get mad at something that’s true. Hans told me so.”

As Lata began licking the ice cream, hands fisted on either side of his take-out bowl, Dipper hummed and tapped the flat of his spoon against his own ice cream. He cycled through the examples in his head—everything died, but plenty of people sought immortality—it was true that if you caught a knife to the throat, you would not last long but people got so upset about that—people worshipped or didn’t worship in many ways, and yet there were those who decided that those ways were wrong and got mad—kids grew up, and there were some dumbasses who resented how those children grew up into their own skins with their own experiences and opinions instead of staying malleable, agreeable, naïve—preternatural citizens existed, and yet—governments weren’t perfect, but—and finally hit upon one he thought Lata would understand.

“Well,” he said, slowly, “have you ever watched something on TV and gotten mad about it?”

Lata maintained eye-contact while licking across the ice-cream-mouse’s head. Savage. “Mom says that we have to look up stuff that they put on the TV sometimes, because it’s not always right, and when it’s not right then of course I’m allowed to be mad about it. Because it’s not right.”

Right then, maybe not that. Perhaps he ought to take a different approach here, let Lata provide the basic scenario. “Okay, buddy, how about you tell me all the things that make you mad.”

With a hum, Lata took a huge bite right out of the scoop of Fudge Mountain Caramel Surprise in front of his mouth. Dipper watched and wondered how effective that technique actually could be. “Um,” he said, completely ignorant of the melted ice cream smeared over his nose and lips and even chin, “well, I guess I get mad whenever Ri-Ri lies to me about the places she goes with her parents. And when Toma writes on my papers when I tell zir not to. Or when the lady on International Animal Discovery Channel is absent and her coworker comes in and covers for her, because he’s stupid and gets stuff wrong all the time. And when I have to go to bed at eight thirty, even though all my friends get to go to bed later. It’s so stupid! Why do I have to go to bed earlier? It can’t just be because it’s good for me because I’m a kid, because if it was my friends would go to bed earlier too! And also when Mom says she can’t come pick me up at school because she has an emergency meeting, like today, because she goes to work before I go to school and I don’t get to see her until I get out of school. And—”

Dipper swallowed the entire scoop of classic mint before holding up his hand and waving it. “Okay, okay, I think I have enough to work with there, thank you. Let’s talk about bedtime, okay? You’re mad because you have to go to bed earlier than your friends, right?”

Lata slumped and poked his ice cream with his index finger. “Yeah,” he mumbled, before sticking his finger in his mouth and sucking the melted ice cream off of it. “I guess.”

“Right,” Dipper said. He paused, suddenly doubting that he was the right person to tell Lata about this part of life. This seemed like a very—very parent-to-child conversation, not an Uncle-to-nibling conversation. It was kind of heavy.

He paused too long. “So?” Lata said. Dipper looked up to see that Lata had resorted to grabbing the ice cream with his full hand and was licking it out of his palm. What a mood, Dipper thought, but instead narrowed his eyes at Lata.

“Hey, use your spoon, not your hands,” he said. “And actually—here, use this napkin to clean your hand off. If you put your hands on something, it’ll get dirty and then we’ll both have to deal with the consequences, aka your parents.”

“Okay,” Lata said, reaching with his dirty hand to take the napkin Dipper had pulled out from the 100% biodegradable takeout bag he’d gotten at the ice cream shop.

“Probably should get the ice cream on your nose and chin while you’re at it,” Dipper said absentmindedly, watching Lata scrub at his hand with the paper napkin. Lata was a good kid, Dipper thought to himself. Lata would understand what Dipper was trying to say. This wouldn’t be too hard.

Lata wrinkled his nose, but got most of the ice cream off his face. Good enough, Dipper thought, and then he launched into his little speech.

“Right, so, it is true the kids need a lot of sleep, because they’re still developing their brains and bodies. The reason that babies sleep so much is that they’re growing and learning so much, and everything is new, so it’s exhausting. You’re still learning a lot of new stuff, and your brain is,” Dipper squinted at Lata and tilted his head, “currently, it’s learning how to handle complex and somewhat abstract concepts such as time, numbers, is expanding its capacity for vocabulary, and is beginning to develop the pathways needed to understand things such as life and death and your place in the cycle. You already have a very good grasp on concentration and a decent awareness of places existing outside of your home and school, though, that’s pretty impressive at your age.”

Lata’s eyes went a little unfocused. Dipper dialed it back. “Point is, your brain is working hard, and it needs that sleep to recharge, refresh, and retain—keep—all the information that you’ve been learning. Your friends should probably be going to sleep around the same time you are if they’re waking up when you are, though every kid is different and every family is different.”

Slowly, Lata tilted his head at Dipper. “What?”

“Your parents are right,” Dipper said after a short but deep inhale, “that you should go to bed at 8:30. Your friends also need the amount of sleep that you do. It’s the truth. Are you still mad at it?”

Lata thought for a moment. “Kind of,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Lata grumbled, “This is worse than Reconciliation Letters.”

“Why thank you,” Dipper said, grinning a little, “So? What’s got you so mad then? It can’t be that your friends are right and your parents are wrong for sending you to bed early, right?”

“I think you’re like all the wrong people on the TV,” Lata said, frowning, not meeting Dippers’s eyes. “I think if I look it up you’re going to be wrong.”

“I’m an all-powerful omni—I mean, all-knowing demon,” Dipper drawled, quirking an eyebrow at Lata. “I know things that Ping never would, and I know all the things that Ping is wrong about. Wanna try again?”

For a long time, Lata stayed quiet. He kicked his legs under the table and glowered at his ice cream. Resentment breathed slow, auburn in his aura, and frustration sparkled at the edges like dew on stinging nettle. Dipper sat on the urge to interject what he wanted Lata to learn, and waited.

After a whole six minutes, twenty-three seconds and four-hundred ninety-eights of a millisecond, Lata said, “’Cause I wanna watch Seawitch Adventures like Ri-Ri and all the others get to.”

Dipper had not known about Seawitch Adventures, but it made sense. He translated, “Because you don’t like it. It goes against what you want the world to be like.”

Lata tilted their head in a shrug and papped at the dining table surface with their hands. There was still a residue of ice cream lingering on the one hand, but Dipper decided that was whatever and Reynash or Kanti could deal with it later. He was doing awesome at this conversation thing.

“People don’t get mad when things are factually wrong. They get mad when things aren’t the way they want them to be. And that’s okay!” Dipper said, after a length of time. “Everybody does it. The problem is when you choose to take that anger out on other people, people who don’t deserve it.”

Lata paused, and looked up. “Do you do it? Take it out on other people.”

Dipper felt his heart stutter in his chest. “…Sometimes.”

“Is that why Daddy and Mommy were afraid of you?”

Dipper held a desperate lie against the back of his many teeth before closing his eyes and letting it melt away, unheard. “…yes.”

“Don’t you know it’s a problem, though?” Lata asked.

Dipper shies away from that truth. He gives a not-quite-lie. “I forget, sometimes.”

Rain splashed against the roof, the windows. The stasis fridge hummed in the kitchen. Lata had stopped drumming against the table. Dipper felt almost compelled to pick it up in his stead.

“…what did you do?”

“A lot of things,” Dipper said, quietly. He opened his eyes. “A lot of very bad things that I forgot were bad.”

Lata stared at him. His dik-dik horns, so much smaller than Henry’s, than Paloma’s, seemed to embody all of Dipper’s regrets and failures for a brief moment. Dipper felt the phantom slide of a soul down his throat. He swallowed, met Lata’s gaze and tried to push the feeling away. Lata’s eyes looked right into Dipper’s until Dipper looked away, a little scared of what Lata was reading in them. Scared, maybe, that Lata might just see his own soul between Dipper’s teeth, even though that was impossible. Anyways, the only soul Dipper had between his metaphorical teeth was—

“Even now?” Lata asked, again.

“No, no, now is better. I forget…less,” Dipper said after a beat. Thoughts of souls faded to the back of his mind. They never really left, though. The temptation was always there, like the background hum of a generator, or the near silent slide of the second hand of an analogue clock. “Now is—I can control how mad I am. I remember that it’s not right to take my anger out on innocent people. I understand that sometimes I’m mad at the wrong thing. Usually I can pull myself back. I never remember to pull myself back when I’m…when I’m like what your parents learned about.”

“Oh,” Lata said. They were quiet for a long time, the two of them. The ice cream in their bowls continued to melt. Dipper stared at his, watched the strawzzleberry cheesecake ooze into the peanut butter fudge scoop.

“I yelled at Mama when she made me go to bed,” Lata said, in a quiet voice. “I said I hated her.”

Dipper winced. That had always hurt—his children, his sister, his niblings saying they hated him in fits of anger. He’d known they didn’t mean it, usually, but it still hurt. Sometimes it hurt more than others. Sometimes he’d lashed out in response. And sometimes, a very few sometimes, he had hurt them far more than they had.

He shied away from the thought. “How—what did your Mama think of that?”

Lata shrugged, poked his ice-cream soup with his spoon. “She frowned at me and said I was going to bed no matter that I hated her.”

Dipper remembered putting on a strong front. He worried lightly on his bottom lip. “Ah,” he said.

After a few moments, Lata looked up at him. “Do you think I hurt her?” he asked. He shifted in his seat, but kept looking Dipper right in the eye.

Dipper opened his mouth to say yes, because he’d always been hurt (even if just a little bit), but Lata looked so small and worried, undertones of dark guilt hovering around his shoulders. He swallowed the yes, then said, “Maybe. Maybe not. You—you have to ask her.”

“Oh. Okay,” Lata said.

They sat in silence. Rain hit the window, the roof. Dipper stared at his own ice cream soup for a while, colors having swirled into a muddy mess. He passed his spoon through it once, twice, a few more times, before sticking it in his mouth with a sigh. In his periphery, he saw Lata blink at him. Incredulity lanced over his head. Dipper stifled a grin and set down the spoon on the table with a light clack. Hyperaware of Lata staring at him, he sighed in exaggeration before picking up the ice cream cup and pouring the contents down his throat.

“Ew, gross,” said Lata.

Dipper swallowed and licked his lips, glancing up at Lata. “What? It’d be a waste to throw it out. You don’t want your own sugar soup? I’ll drink it for you.”

Lata screwed up his nose at Dipper, then pushed the cup at him. His guilt was still present, but disgust and also amusement were sliding over it, burying it from the moment. Soon it would be nothing more than an aftertaste, something Dipper would have to concentrate to be able to sense. “All the flavors are mixed now, it’s so gross.”

“Excellent,” Dipper said, before taking the ice cream and swallowing that, too. There are soggy chunks of cookie in it. It’s not particularly appetizing, but it’s also not a rule breaker, and the mixed flavor is a mystery on his tongue. He closes his eyes and tilts his head, swishing the last of the mixture around in his mouth to try to figure out what was in it.

“Ewwww, what are you doing,” Lata said, giggling. “It’s not mouthwash!”

Dipper swallowed. “Definitely Raspberry Crunch and Honeyed Alfalfa,” he said. “You got something chocolaty in there, right? Some kind of—fudge, fudge something, oh! Fudge Mountain Caramel Surprise, right?”

“You can’t taste everything,” Lata accused.

“If I work hard enough I can,” Dipper said, opening his eyes and smirking. There’s a tug at his navel that means summons, but honestly this is more important (and probably more fun). “Five scoops, right? And I’ve already figured out three of them.”

Lata pushed himself to kneel on the seat of his chair, semi-sticky hands flat on the table and eyes wide. “You can’t,” he breathed.

“Can so.” Dipper hummed and thought to himself. “There was a nutty kind of flavor in there, nutty and a little salty, but it wasn’t cashew, it was a little less fatty, it was—right, I remember you pointing to the Wonderful Salted Walnut.”

“Noooo!” Lata leaned forward even further. Dipper cast an absentminded eye at the pressure that was placing on the front legs of the chair and whether they were likely to tip and smash Lata’s face into the table. It was pretty low, only 28%, so he let it be. “That’s still not all! There’s still one left!”

Dipper cackled and spun the empty ice cream carton on one talon. With a nudge from his mind, it balanced perfectly and continued to spin unnaturally fast. The summons tugged again at his stomach, but he smothered it. It wasn’t anybody he knew. It wasn’t important. “I think you mean only one.”

He closed his eyes to focus on the last flavor, and that can be the only reason that he only realized they weren’t alone when he heard, “And what are—did you have ice cream??”

“Oh shit,” Dipper said without thinking, eyes flying open.

Lata said, with the absolute worst timing known only to children under the age of ten, “Oh shit! Welcome home, Papa!”

Reynash Pines leveled him with the most incredulous glare he’d seen in a while. “Ice cream and swearing?”

Suddenly, the importance of the summons skyrocketed from rock bottom to very near the top of his priority list. Dipper dropped the carton on the floor. “Oh, hey, Reynash, buddy, how’s it hanging, uh, sorry to skip out but I actually just got a summons, you know how they are haha, can’t help that work life, on call twenty-four-seven, see you later hope you’re not mad byeeeee!”

Reynash spluttered. Water dripped off his bangs and onto his forehead. “No, you can’t just bail on—Dipper!”

But Dipper had already clenched the connection to the summons in one metaphorical hand, had tugged, and was gone.

_______________________________________________________________

December 4th, 9:39 PM BRL

The first thing Dipper noticed was that the candles were scentless. He billowed up from nothing in the most dramatic smoke he could think of, pulled the reverb in his throat to mild extremes, and said, “Who presumes to call upon Alcor the Dreambender?” into the dark of the blue-lit room.

The second thing Dipper noticed were the chalk lines—exact angles, minimal differences in stroke width, painstakingly duplicated symbols. Its perfection was mathematically precise, and there were even three layers of binding spells woven into the circle. Dipper casually pulled his cane out of thin air, coalesced his top hat from residual smoke curling into the space above his head, and smiled to himself. Binding spells weren’t much more than a nuisance to deal with.

The third thing Dipper noticed were the people in the room—elegantly dressed adults in formal suits and skirts, beautifully crafted silver masks over their faces, hair coiffed and pressed and sprayed. Their arms were uplifted, frozen in the moment they’d succeeded in summoning him. There were nine of them. Dipper glanced over them, saw their determination and hard-edged stubbornness and solid righteousness in their auras, the colors subtly different for each person.

“Lord Alcor,” one of them said. Dipper blinked, and knew they were he. “We come to offer you an exchange: a solution to our troubles for a worthy sacrifice.”

Dipper hummed, leaned on his cane, and didn’t let them in on the fact that he’d already surreptitiously snapped one of the binding circles. “Oh?” he drawled, a lazy little grin curled into the corners of his lips. “Tell me, what are your troubles?”

“Our beloved country,” the Speaker said, “is being cast into ruin and shadows by those currently in charge. We seek only to remove the…obstacles facing our country’s future.”

“I see,” said Dipper, and then he really did. He was in Brazil, in New Fortaleza, and the government was currently making social reforms that benefited those in the lowest economic tier. There were many people pushing for those reforms from places of influence—born into and risen up to alike. He raised his eyebrows. “And…what would your idea of a fair exchange be?”

The Speaker turned his head and nodded to the woman next to him. She nodded back, then turned around to head away from the circle and towards the stairs at the edge of the wide space they had chosen for his summoning. Dipper watched her go, and did not blink. Absentmindedly, he slid his power around and under the second barrier spell. This one would be a little trickier—raw power would only alert them to its failure, so he would have to play a subtler hand.

One of the summoning group shifted xir weight almost imperceptibly. Dipper blinked to look xir way. Xi made eye contact through the mask and flinched.

“Be steady,” the Speaker said. “Lord Alcor, it would not go unappreciated were you to…refrain from any posturing or intimidation tactics.”

Dipper chuckled, refocused back on the Speaker. “Condolences,” he murmured, pitching the tone so that it echoed off the far walls regardless of the volume. “I cannot control how much terror your…acquaintances feel. I am a demon. Instilling fear in those who look upon us is an unavoidable part and parcel of this existence, you understand.”

The Speaker said nothing, but swallowed. Dipper counted that as a victory in and of himself—he was getting the sense that this man enjoyed talking, and enjoyed even more than that the chance to hear himself talk.

The soft whir-click-swoosh of a door being unlocked and opened echoed through the empty room. It whispered off the walls. Dipper watched the Speaker’s aura twist in uncertainty before determination smoothed it out, hot shmellow oozing over dirty blue-green until it was smothered. He held the Speaker’s gaze until the footsteps started echoing around the room too—the steady tread of the woman’s shoes, followed by a hesitant, uneven, sometimes scraping cacophony of quiet noise. The breath halted in Dipper’s useless lungs. Nobody seemed to notice; his chest had hardly been rising and falling anyways.

Nine children followed the woman. He could hear their shallow breaths, their hitching hiccups, barely restrained tears. He could smell the acrid-sweet scent of fear, the way it spiked and swelled when he leaned back on thin air. The second barrier snapped, and he was just barely aware enough to stop it from flickering with bright thunder. He wanted this. He hated this.

The Speaker waited for Alcor’s attention to shift to the children, but when he didn’t comply, he swept an arm out to call attention to the newcomers. “Nine lives, from nine of us, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to our country. We have learned that you…like…children, and their lives would be yours to do what you see fit with.”

It was strange that these types always learned all the wrong lessons about children, he thought absentmindedly, almost vapidly. It was strange that they always dismissed the possibility of more ethical sacrifices, like candy or sentimental items or factories worth of ice cream. Dipper cast his gaze over the children, his face frozen in that way it was when he felt like he was on the cusp of something terrible. They were cleaned—recently, from the faint hint of chemically-recreated pomegranate on the air—but some of them had clearly had better care than others. He skipped from terrified face to terrified face. The youngest of them was—six, dark curly hair, bought from desperate parents like human lives were commodities, teeth digging into a bottom lip and eyes welling with tears. Then there was—seven and petit, ten and too tall for her age, eleven and barely scared enough the fear drowned out the anger, two eight-year-old twins with vitiligo on their palms (and no, Bentley didn’t have vitiligo, but the splotchy color difference was enough to make him burn colder, right in his chest), nine and born blind, six-and-a-half and missing a finger, and a twelve year old on the cusp of turning thirteen. Tomorrow was xir birthday.

The Speaker’s voice turned soft. “Jamilla, come.”

The twelve year old inhaled sharp and quiet, but went. Xir hands twisted in xir gold shift. Blue fingernail polish flashed in the light, like all the other children’s. Dressed up pretty, their individualism smoothed away as best as possible, for the very ends of their lives. “Papa?”

The Speaker waited for Jamilla to come to him. Alcor kept his eyes on Jamilla every step of the way. He watched how xi quivered, how xi glanced over at him over and over. He thought about thirteenth birthdays and never reaching them, thought about his puffy blue vest and that stupid pine-tree hat that he had loved with all his heart, and how it was hard to even think about wearing things that casual for very long. His power rolled over to the third barrier and began to eat at it.

“This is my own child,” the Speaker said, setting his hands on Jamilla’s shoulders. “Xi knows how important the future of our country is, and was willing to sacrifice xirself for it. While most of the children here are orphans, or as good as, this is a token of my dedication, of my seriousness.”

“…I see,” said Dipper. He tilted his head. Jamilla shivered and averted xir gaze, but did not move otherwise. “Dedicated indeed, to sacrifice somebody you love. Very powerful.”

He cast his eye, slowly and deliberately, over the other children. He tried to catch their gazes where he could. Everything around him felt—slow, almost. He stared into the eyes of the angry-scared eleven year old, whose name was Leilani and whose ambition was to become a child caretaker because children deserved people who protected them and nurtured them and loved them, whose anger had left silvery scars between her knuckles from how many times she’d split them over on somebody else’s face or gut or kidney, whose eyes were dark, furious brown and who could have lived to forty-one, dying young and tragic but not as young and tragic as this.

“Indeed,” the Speaker said. “Now, do you agree to the terms laid out?”

Dipper held Leilani’s gaze a moment longer, before breaking away to fix his attention on the Speaker and his child, his poor, youngest child (who had been loved and cherished but raised with the knowledge that this may happen someday, who had been prepared and taught to step into xir own death of xir own fledgling, undeveloped will). Dipper smiled.

“Nine lives, from the nine of you, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to your beloved country, correct?” Alcor passed a whisper of blue flame between his fingers as he spoke.

The Speaker waited a moment. His hands tensed over his child’s shoulders as he thought the words over. “The nine lives we offer you, to do with as you please, for the lives of those on this list.”

Alcor looked down on the list. Two career politicians who had slowly turned over new leaves, a charismatic rabble-rouser, three underpaid and overworked lawyers with a talent for defending their wrongly-accused clients, a university professor whose lectures were widely distributed and widely influential, an old farmer with a penchant for speaking up loud and proud in defense of reforestation and traditional farming methods, and a janitor who had convinced their coworkers to unionize and strike for better wages. Influential in all the ways the Speaker and his cohorts disapproved of.

As few as twenty years ago, Alcor would have taken advantage of the situation to cause as much carnage as possible while keeping the children safe. He would have gotten 18 souls and probably an additional nine life-debts from the children, to cash in as he pleased, when he pleased. Ten years ago, he would have settled for 9 souls, 9 bodies, and 9 traumatized children placed at the nearest orphanage.

Today, Alcor remembered being angry, and terrified, and determined in the face of the world ending. He remembered the terror of being watched, the nightmares about rearranged faces and deer teeth. He remembered dying.

“Like I said,” Alcor drawled, eyebrow raised. “Nine lives, from the nine of you, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to your beloved country. Or, if you want me to be a little more transparent, nine souls in here for nine lives out there and a whole lot of chaos thrown in.”

The Speaker hesitated. “Chaos?”

Alcor laughed, leaned on his cane a little more. The third barrier dissolved under his power at last with a flicker that he disguised by flaring his flames just a bit higher. Fury burned colder and deeper in his chest, at the very core of him. “What do you think nine people dying suddenly is going to cause?! Especially nine people as influential and high-profile as the ones on your list, and all at the same time! It’s going to be unbelievably chaotic. You might have a little trouble controlling the investigation that follows, but I’m sure you can squash things like freedom of the press and the people’s right to assemble in a jiffy, what with your very powerful positions. I’m all here for that, props to you!”

“You’re taking their souls?” One of the other politicians said, a quiver of trepidation in their voice. Hesitation and guilt began to seep through their aura, dark and damp and almost physically heavy. “But I thought…”

“Young souls are the best,” Alcor said. He had—he shied away from the thought, comforted himself with the many many times that other demons had spouted the same things he was now. “They’re very soft, not nearly as entrenched in their fleshvessels. Absolutely delicious.” He swallowed the drool that had begun to pool at the back corners of his mouth.

“I…”

“Enough,” the Speaker snapped, hands tightening on his child’s shoulders again. Xi was beginning to have terrified second thoughts. The only thing keeping xir where xi stood was xir father’s presence behind xir and years of conditioning convincing xir that this was the right thing to do. “Alcor the Dreambender, do we have a deal?”

Alcor grinned, extended a hand that arched in a graceful, almost indolent line in the air. “I thought you’d never ask,” he purred.

The Speaker flushed with a victorious, vicious kind of pride, then reached out to shake Alcor’s hand. The flames licked up between their palms, and Alcor grinned even wider.

“It’s a deal,” Dipper said, before he took a step forward and plunged his hand down the Speaker’s throat and hooked his claws into the soul nestled at the base of the man’s neck, cradled in the hollow of his clavicle. As the others in the room started screaming, as fear saturated the air around them within seconds, Dipper looked into the Speaker’s confused and angry and terrified, determined eyes, lifted the soul up to his lips, and sunk his teeth into it.

The Speaker screamed, physically, metaphysically, and collapsed as though suddenly boneless. His child screamed and went down with him, panic and terror readily apparent even if Dipper had been unable to see xir aura. The other children stumbled back, one twin tripping and scraping his palms against the ground, the eleven year old stepping in front of the seven year old with an angry snarl on her face. Dipper paid them no mind. He was too busy licking his fingers to catch any residual soul energy that had leaked out when he had bit down. After he had finished cleaning them off, he looked up to see that some of the summoners were making for the opposite door. He cocked his head. Energy thrummed through him. He laughed, high and maybe a little unhinged, before following.

He had eight more souls to collect here before he could get to work, after all, and they’d gone to all the trouble of summoning him to fix their country in the first place! It would be—disrespectful, he considered as he tore open the ribcage of the closest summoner for no other reason than he could, if he wasn’t as diligent as possible.

________________________________________________________________

December 4th, 11:12 PM EST

Dipper blipped into bed and shifted into elegant pajamas in one smooth motion, still a little buzzed from all the souls he had eaten and all the life debts he had collected over the past hour and a half. Finding the children suitable homes had been—difficult enough that he had burned off a lot of the energy gained from the deal, but he was still twitchy and half-guilty over how he had acted in the basement. Right after he had lectured Lata about acting out of anger! Lata was never finding out about what happened.

Next to him, Bentley shifted from half-asleep to half-awake. “Huh? Dipper?”

Dipper hummed. He wiggled so that he was curled up against Bentley, set a still-clawed hand against Bentley’s sleep sweater (he wore sleep sweaters now, it was terrifying that he kept being so cold even when he should be warm) and curled it so that the fabric was in his loose grasp. He had to fight to keep it loose. Everything was—too bright, too sharp, and he felt like he was balancing on the edge of that precipice again, that if he fell it would be too easy to go back to him half a century ago.

“Dipper, you okay?”

He felt an arm reach over him, a hand rub at his back. On Bentley’s other side, Torako snuffled in her sleep, snorted, but didn’t wake up. Dipper pressed his face into Bentley’s chest and nuzzled the fabric without giving a solid answer. The world dulled down to something almost manageable.

Bentley’s chest expanded and then contracted with a sigh. He wiggled down just enough that Dipper’s head fit under his chin. Something seemed—off, in that moment, because Dipper could swear that his feet should be below Bentley’s in this position, but when he reached out with his toes they brushed Bentley’s shins.

“All right,” Bentley said, the sound of his voice reverberating against Dipper’s forehead. “All right, not tonight. It’s—it’s late anyways. You can tell me what happened tomorrow, okay?”

Several moments passed before Dipper felt relaxed enough to nod. All the while, Bentley’s hand rubbed up and down his back.

“Okay,” Bentley breathed out. Dipper didn’t want to see the relief in his aura, so he kept his eyes shut and just focused on the warmth surrounding him. Then, Bentley said, “You wanna sleep between me and Torako tonight? I can move you if it’s too much trouble.”

There was something weird about that statement too, because Bentley was strong but it could be awkward for him to haul something larger over his own body, but Dipper thought about how nice it would be to be sandwiched between two souls he loved (one was his, the other may as well have been but he would never, ever, ever take it, because look at what happened to Henry even though he loved Henry?) and the weirdness of the situation melted away. He nodded again.

“Right then,” Bentley murmured. Dipper felt him wriggle his left arm under Dipper’s chest to wrap around his back. There was a pressure at the spot right above the space between his wings, and then they were turning over, Dipper’s legs pinned lightly between Bentley’s. Seconds later, Dipper’s back was to Torako’s front, and his face was still smooshed up against Bentley’s chest. Dipper hadn’t even had to open his eyes. He let out a soft breath. His hand unclenched from Bentley’s sweater to curl up against it instead, knuckles brushing wool.

“There we go,” Bentley said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dipper’s head. There was a rustle, Bentley’s body shifting against his, and then he heard Torako groan a little before she was flush up against his back, breath fanning the back of his head. She was snoring lightly, and Dipper couldn’t help but smile a little.

“There we go,” Bentley said again, a little quieter. He rubbed his hand up and down Dipper’s back for a long time before he finally fell asleep.

Dipper listened to them. He took in a deep breath, let it out, and let himself be home.

#fic #tau fic #my fic #dipper pines #transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #lata pines #reynash pines #bentley farkas #torako lam #olla sussally #tommy hangar #filara hangar #plus more #reincarnations #so many reincarnations #batoor el-amin

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