#anyway this is not meant to be a flippant response! i got caught up in trying to define 'fixing' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ajoy3fanfics · 4 years

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Other reasons to stay awake chapter 2

Kagome spent a lot of time thinking about expectations.

In the feudal era, everything was her responsibility. Sure, tasks would be split amongst the group, but if someone was lax, the others had to pick up the load. If kagome did not pick the herbs, the salve for sore muscles could not be made. If shippo did not scout the area, she may have wandered the forest aimlessly looking for plants. If inuyasha refused to hunt, their bellies would rattle with hunger. Everything fell on their shoulders, and everyone had expectations. Survival was both a one man operation and a team effort.

It was different here. Home, that is. She had to keep reminding herself that she was home. Survival was an expectation, only in the sense that it was a given. She was expected to wash the dishes after dinner, and to switch the laundry over. Expected to earn high marks, expected to smile even if she didn’t understand why.

Sometimes she could feel the tension and anger bubbling on the surface so intently she was sure it would explode. She was sure they’re would be blood trickling down someone’s jaw as they spit teeth and raised their fist. But you don’t expect people to act that way. Barbaric, primitive, they would say.

There wasn’t tension like that back home. When someone became flippant, they risked the chance of a black eye. No one hurled an insult they were not prepared to pay for. They expected the fight, welcomed it, because they meant their words back home.

There. Not home. Back there.

She had thought it ugly at the time, they way people seemed to rush towards violence before diplomacy. But now, in the fallout, her blood still coursed through her, angry and alert, like no one told her body that the fight was over and it was time to stand down. Her body ached to release the adrenaline, demanded to be strained from use. She thinks she understood how they felt then; this passive aggressive mood was too much to handle.

They expected her to be happy that Hojo came, dressed in a button down, looking far too old, if anyone asked her opinion. They didn’t; they expected her to like him. Flowers in hand, a smile on his face. Always a smile. Kagome would realize she expected him to smile, even if she didn’t want him to. She would wonder what he would look like frowning, wondered how she could push him to that degree of upset. But she takes the flowers and smiles back. It’s expected of her.

It’s expected that he be a gentleman, keep a friendly distance between them. He’s kissed her cheek but still won’t hold her hand. It’s too familiar, she thinks. Too daring, because he has not mustered you the courage to ask what they are. So he gives her all the space his politeness requires.

So different from inuyasha. She was expected to stick to him like a second skin. If she was not gripping his shoulders as they took to the air, she was wrapping herself around him as she was backed against a tree, nimble fingers bunching the cotton of her shirt, untucking it in a frenzy as he slid his knee between her legs. Hips rolling into him, and she knew he would moan as he lowered his head to pull her nipple between his teeth. She expected him to do that first; it was a poorly kept secret that he worshipped her chest.

She expected inuyasha to take her fast, because that’s all they had time for. He took her hard because if they delve into anything sweeter they both might shatter. She expected that when the war was over, they would take time to discover each other’s bodies, to cry their release without slapping a hand over their mouths to muffle their pleasure. She expected to have time with him.

She never expected to have time with Hojo. Time to kill, time to spare. If he was more daring, he could have taken her in the ally way, pushed her up against the brick and pushed his leg between hers. Left her hungry and wanting and maybe not so damn numb.

-.-

No one knows it, but she keeps a bag packed in her closet. Essentials, soaps and a brush. A few changes of clothes rolled tight. She learned over time that if you roll them you save space, and that’s precious. A first aid kit, and some prepackaged food, a sleeping bag without any wear.

She doesn’t know why she keeps it, why it’s ready for her like there’s a battle to fight. Like she has somewhere to go. People waiting on her. Waiting for her.

Everyone should be prepared, she justifies. Natural disasters, the state of the world. She can’t justify why she shoves a pack of crayons and cups of ramen in the pockets.

-.-

She sits at the playground, far too old to be on a swing. She lets stretches her legs out, then tucks them under, leaning her body as she sways. Kagome closes her eyes, letting the wind brush her hair back. She had no idea how hard it was to be grounded, how badly she needed to fly. For a moment, it almost felt like she was with him.

-.-

He takes her to his favorite park. It’s old, the trees tall with growth and age, the trails large and scarcely populated. He took her early, just after sunrise, so they could enjoy the beauty to themselves. He’s trying to show her pieces of his world, share his important places. She’s awake anyway, so she agrees. She never really sleeps anymore.

The canopy of trees provide shade that she’s happy to relax under. It’s unusually hot, but she’s endured hotter. Dust kicks up as they shuffle along the dirt path, no where to be, nothing to do. She should be focused on his conversation. He’s asking her something, isn’t he? Kagomes smiles and nods, and that seems to work. It’s hard to concentrate when the birds are singing and she can hear the rustling of animals nearby. This was how she always started her day. Soon she’d hear shippo complain about breakfast, and miroku would excuse himself to pray. Inuyasha would have scouted before the sun rose, looking for danger, keeping them safe. That didn’t mean they perpetually were safe- any enemy could come at any time- but he would have sniffed out any immediate threats.

It’s comforting, and she’s glad she’s here, even if Hojo keeps bumping her shoulder as they walk. If she closes her eyes, she can almost see them. They’re just ahead, waiting for her to catch up. He has his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed against the sun. Wait for me. Her heart beats. She picks up her pace, the dust flying high as she runs. Wait for me. Wait for me!

Somethings got her, someone’s dragging her away, making her turn on her heels. Time is precious if a demon has sunk their claws into you. She reaches behind, grabbing wildly for a bow.

Empty, air. Her breathing is shallow as she eyes the hand clasped on her shoulder. There’s no demon, no threat. Just a suitor at her side.

“I-I thought I saw-“ she stammers, hands still wildly grasping, and he thinks she’s pointing. He smiles in a way that makes his eyes disappear.

“How did you see the lake from here?!” He asks excitedly. “If you wanted to race there, you should have said so. I was on the track team, so I’ll give you a head start.” He winks and she nods, trying to force her feet to move. One in front of the other. Left, right. Left, right. He calls her a slow poke and makes a joke about her stamina. She smiles, but kagome knows it’s because her motivation is gone.

-.-

At night it rains. Loud, thick droplets, the kind that almost seem angry. She sits outside, letting it drench her to the bone. It felt right to be this wet. How many times had they gotten caught in a storm before the could seek shelter? Clothes heavy as she tried to peel them off, shaking and teeth chattering. Inuyasha always would find them a place to stay dry, eventually.

She stays until the rain stops, and long after that. Her hair curls and frizzes as it dries, her pajamas only damp as the sun eases her pruned skin. Grandpa greets her, eyes still crusted with sleep, and praises her for praying so early.

-.-

Hojo, she decides, likes to talk about himself. If she’s responding to him, she has no idea what she’s saying. Everything feels like she’s in a fog. If he knew her better, he’d be able to tell this isn’t right, isn’t how she acts.

He often misquoted scholars, and said the wrong facts or dates, she never corrected him. He would give his opinion and she would mirror it. Yes, udon was slimy. Yes, the maid cafe was too extreme. Yes, western weddings were better. No, it was too early to travel to a hotel together, wasn’t it? No proper couple would spend the night together so fast. Yes when yes, no when it was no. When was she ever the type to nod and agree? She used to make demons plummet into the ground just for disagreeing with her.

She decides that Hojo doesn’t care much about her replies, only that he has a willing audience. It works out, because she doesn’t care much for what he says, and mama is less worried when they’re together. It doesn’t matter what she’s agreeing too. None of it matters anyway, but that he pays that no mind.

Maybe in her pacifism, he’s found the perfect mate.

And maybe he’s just a little creepy.

-.-

It’s absurd how much technology has changed since she’d been gone. Ludicrous how much the culture has shifted. She’s trying to catch up, but her hearts not in it. She’s still humming songs from her middle school years and thinking of things from a time long before that.

-.-

They closed the doors to the well house, and it felt like they closed a chapter in her life. Mama had found her sleeping there, curled up inside, face smeared with tears and dirt. She needed a break, mama had said.

She stayed in her room for three days after that.

-.-

The mind goes to strange places when one is sleep deprived. Kagome knows this.

It doesn’t stop her from ripping off the wooden barricade, because she was sure that she saw the well house glow. Her fingers were bloody and splintered, and by the time she flung the doors open, it passed.

She removed the seals that should never have been placed to begin with. She looked her mother in the eye, chin raised, voice weak.

“Just in case.” She pleaded.

Mama nodded. Yes, just in case, she replied.

#inuyasha #inukag #inufanfic #fanfiction #kagome #ajoy3

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flannelpunkcalum · 4 years

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Twinkle Twinkle Little Bat - Chapter 3

last chapter

cw: death but also there’s like a lil hot stuff in the middle to even it out? I realized when writing this chapter and the next one this is gonna be p dark but i guess Aspen got kidnapped and tortured last time so you guys will be fine. i saw a moose today.

tdwk masterlist

ttlb masterlist

* * *

“I gotta come over for dinner more often.” Aspen said, spooning more spinach on her plate. Spinach. What the fuck was Alfred’s cooking doing to her? She never ate her vegetables. “Actually, I should have you guys over for dinner one of these days so you can truly appreciate what Mr. Pennyworth does for you. A terrible little palate cleanser.”

“You flatter me, Ms. McMichael.”

If Aspen didn’t know better, she’d say Alfred was blushing. They were all eating around the kitchen table, feasting on homemade turkey meatballs, spinach, brown rice, and sweet potato, all topped with some kind of sauce that she just wanted to bathe in. It was healthy, sure, but it was good. “I’m telling the truth. I feel like I’ve been trapped in a culinary version of Plato’s allegory of the cave, and I’ve finally left the shadows on the wall behind.”

“High praise indeed.”

“Indeed.” She grinned.

“I think it’s good, too.” Dick piped up. If Aspen looked down, she could see his legs swinging under his chair. When she had come into the manor, he had immediately pulled her over to the kitchen, competing with her to scoop meatballs out of the pan while Alfred wasn’t looking. He’d used any time when he didn’t have his mouth full to tell her about his day at school. Calum hadn’t tried to pull her away; they both knew they could talk about the meeting in depth after dinner and before patrol. The looks he kept giving her out of the corner of his eye made her think he had noticed something was wrong, but for now, especially in front of Dick, they were leaving it be. Aspen was starting to really get attached to her new dysfunctional nuclear family.

“Thank you, Master Grayson.” Alfred nodded.

It was moments like this that Aspen regretted letting Calum into her heart. What if things went sour between them and she lost this? The good food, the company, Alfred’s buttoned-up love, Dick’s easy devotion. It was supposed to be better to have love and lost, she knew, but this was the first time she had felt like this in years. If Calum tried to ice her out, she’d lose a family on top of everything. She wanted to believe they were both too mature to let that happen, but sometimes she had trouble having faith in that.

“Aspen?”

“Hmm?” She looked up to find all three of the boys staring at her. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

“Dick was asking about how the meeting with the DA went today.” Calum said helpfully. Aspen could see mischief in his eyes - evidently, that bastard was proud of how long he had managed to weasel into her meeting.

Aspen took a deep breath, collecting herself. “Well,” she said, “after a diplomatic compromise had been reached where your guardian would accompany me to the meeting to say hi, but not - not - insert himself into it, he of course went and did that anyways.”

Calum’s eyebrows furrowed like he was hurt. He wasn’t. She wasn’t going to fall for it - butter wouldn’t melt in his perfect mouth. “Finch invited me in. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I dunno how you’ve kept your identity a secret so long, you’re a terrible liar.” Aspen turned to Dick and Alfred, gesturing with her fork as she spoke. “He deliberately used language that would make Finch, who is already eager to please him based on status, feel socially required to invite him in. And then he was smug about it.”

Cal ducked his head, smiling sheepishly. He liked being caught by her. “I wasn’t that smug.” He said to the rest of the table.

The implicit confirmation of Aspen’s accusation didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, as far as she could tell. Good.

“You were smug enough.” Aspen said to him before turning back to Dick. “But the rest of it went fine. We talked about the two trials. They’re probably gonna offer Liam a plea bargain to testify against Falcone, which I’m fine with. It’s whatever. I mean -” she said, realizing that that flippant language showed how much she was bothered, “- I don’t think he’d, like, try to kidnap me again, so it’s something I’m comfortable with.”

“You look nervous.” Dick said.

Fuck kids and their openness. Aspen was starting to think that Dick knew he was a cute young man, and was using his innocent look against her. “...I am a little nervous.” She said after a minute. Under the table, Calum’s hand found her knee and squeezed in support. She took a deep breath before continuing. “It’s still kinda fresh, and I found out that some stuff happened while I was knocked out today that I didn’t know about, which is fun to deal with. But from a logical point of view, I know that Liam’s unlikely to do anything criminal with Falcone out of the way, and our best chance to get Falcone out of the way is to use his testimony. So.” She sliced a meatball in half and stuck it in her mouth so she didn’t have to talk about it anymore.

Calum’s hand left her knee as he leaned in towards her. Aspen mourned the loss of its warmth, but she knew with Dick around the gesture was really risky anyways. “What was it you found out? You didn’t mention anything.”

Aspen took her time chewing and swallowing. “Um. It’s just - you know what, I’d rather not talk about it at the table. It’s not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, it’s just new, you know?”

To her surprise, Dick nodded sagely. “I know.”

“...I guess you all would, huh.” Aspen commented, surveying the table for a moment. There was probably no other group that would understand better than the one she found herself in. She was lucky. Group therapy with catering. “Thanks.” She said, and she meant it.

“We’re all here for you, Ms. McMichael.” Alfred said, and affection in his voice made Aspen feel close to tears.

“Alright, alright, don’t make me cry at the table.” Aspen finished the spinach on her plate and laid her cutlery on her plate with the handles together. “Gangin’ up on me, the whole Batfamily, not a merciful bone in your bodies. I don’t know why I bother to come by.”

Alfred started to gather the plates, but as Aspen stood up to help Calum laid a hand on her arm, stopping her from reaching her water glass. “Come up to my office? I want to know what happened at the meeting after I left.”

Aspen tried not to get evasive. She knew what that meant. “Sure.” She chirped, drawing her hand back. “Call me for dessert, alright?” She said to Dick as she followed Calum out of the kitchen. He saluted, which she paused in the doorway to return.

“Aspen?”

“I’m coming.” She said, hurrying to catch up to Calum. Every so often he’d do his fast busy-CEO-with-places-to-be walk again, and she’d have to rush after him like it was her first day all over again. It was rarely a good sign.

She didn’t try to talk to him on the way to his office. She just followed in his slipstream until the heavy oak door was closed behind them. Before she could sit down in one of the cushy leather armchairs, he grabbed her hand, spinning her around so she was facing him. He held one hand at her jaw and the other at her waist, so she couldn’t move, couldn’t even turn her face away from him. He was going to press her for details, now. Interrogate her.

“You should have said something sooner.”

Wait, what?

Aspen met Calum’s eyes, startled out of her apprehension. He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, looking at her... tenderly. Was this a ruse? Good cop sans bad cop? “I didn’t realize you were that shaken back there.” He continued.

She flexed her shoulder in the tinitest shrug possible. “It didn’t need to get in the way.”

Calum tilted her face in his grip, and she let him. She didn’t struggle as he looked her over, like he was trying to see through her. She wanted to, but she didn’t. “It’s important to me that you feel safe. I could have ended the meeting, I could have gotten you out of there. That’s why I went in the first place, right? Not to bother you. To look after you.”

Aspen blinked. She hadn’t really thought about it that way. “I didn’t need to end the meeting. I did fine. I mean, sure, I had my moments, but - that’s not important.” She smiled a little. “But thank you.”

She tried to crane up for a kiss, but Calum’s grip was unyielding. What? “No. Don’t try to distract me. This is important.” He said sternly.

She sighed, and with his tight grip on her she knew he could feel it. “No, come on, I’m vulnerable. Give me some creature comforts here.”

“Soon.” Calum said, sliding his arm around her shoulders and tucking her into his side.

He lead her towards the couch, and once she sat down he adjusted her so her head was resting on his shoulder. “Bossy.” Aspen squirmed, but he only kissed her forehead in response.

“Tell me about it.”

Aspen took a deep breath. Exactly what was she gonna say? She could stall by willfully misinterpreting him, that was a start. “Well, I’m gonna be very generous and not wax poetic on you being a control freak, and a-”

“Quit stalling.”

“Fine.” She sighed. Might as well rip off the band-aid. “I didn’t know that Liam had put me in his trunk. I didn’t really think about the logistics of him driving me at all, but I just - learning that he just shoved me in the trunk kind of shook me for a second. So that wasn’t great.” Wait. Maybe she should have resisted his interrogation further. He was the one who had brought that up, not Finch, and realizing that - he’d probably feel like shit. “Like I said, it wasn’t a big deal.”

This time, it was Aspen who could feel Calum sigh. “I forget you never watched the footage.” He said, by way of apology.

“It’s fine. I’m especially glad I didn’t, now, but…” Aspen tried to laugh, but Calum didn’t budge. “I got through it fine, I really did. It was just hard to think about for a minute.”

Calum turned his head to kiss her forehead again. She politely did not take this opportunity to jump his bones and distract him. “I have something else you’ll probably want to know, but you’re not gonna like it.” He didn’t even shift nervously under her, but she could feel tension in him grow. “It’s not that bad.” She said to soothe him.

Calum laughed at that. “Whenever you say that, I get really nervous.”

“Fuck off.” She said,but she was smiling bravely. At least they weren’t so distressed now. “You can’t, like, go on the warpath about this, okay?”

“Tell me.”

Aspen braced herself. “After you left, Finch asked me to go to Blackgate and try to convince Liam to take the plea.”

Calum didn’t move.

That was worse than him sighing. Aspen twisted in his grip until he let go of her enough to let her turn sideways and pull herself into his lap, like a heroine on the cover of a romance novel. “I said no, of course, and I told him I wouldn’t tattle so you can’t go ballistic on him the next time you see him, alright?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t looking at her, now, eyes focused sharp like he was going to set a lampshade on fire with his glare. “I should have stayed.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. It’s his job to ask, Cal, and this way we know something about him we wouldn’t have otherwise.”

Calum was shifting now, like he was gonna get up and head after Finch right this second. “That he’s a rat bastard who doesn’t deserve to -”

“No, that he’ll do anything to get Falcone charged.” Aspen said. It was her turn to grab his face and make him look at her. His jaw felt like it was throbbing in her hands. “He goes after the big dogs. Maybe he’s a bit, um, obtuse about it, but we can use that.”

She was right. Calum had to admit that. But now he was avoiding her gaze. She hadn’t seen him mad like that since… one of her stupid escapades, maybe. Somehow it was worse, seeing him all worked up over someone else.

“I know it’s frustrating to not be able to do anything about it.” She said after a long moment of his silence. “But hey, on the plus side, I’m not lying to you about it.”

Calum snorted despite himself. “I would have found it out.”

Aspen smiled, and pressed a kiss to his still lips. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

He didn’t smile back against her lips, but he did bring a hand up to cradle her face. “I wanted to be there so you’d feel comfortable, so this would’t -” He cut himself off, looking at her as softly as he could manage. “Now would be a good time for you to try that distracting thing you do.”

She could work with that.

Aspen pushed on his shoulders, and for once Calum fell back easily, twisting so he was lying flat on the couch. She straddled his lap, taking a moment to look at him. On a whim, she tried reaching out and smoothing the wrinkle in his forehead. “You worry about me too much.” She said.

“I worry about you just enough. Now come on,” he almost whined, reaching up for the back of her head, “get down here.”

Her lips were on his before his hand could tangle in her hair, and for the third time that day, Aspen kissed him like she wasn’t his secret and they had all the time in the world. He brought his other hand down to her waist, dangerously low, and for a second she wondered if they had time. If they could fall apart together on this leather couch before dessert. They didn’t have the time, she knew that, but with the feeling of his lips on hers and the soft glide of their tongues she almost didn’t care.

Calum sighed and shifted underneath her, and she lifted one hand from where it was supporting her to cup his face and direct the kiss a little more. Yeah, he was gonna break it off eventually, but she was going to make it as hard for him as possible. In fact… Aspen rocked gently on her knees, drawing herself over Calum’s groin, whimpering into his mouth just a little so he’d know how much she wanted him. Calum moved fast, grabbing her hips with both hands tight enough that she couldn’t do it again. “Don’t,” he warned. “We don’t have time.”

Aspen made another little sound and rested her forehead against his, relaxing in his grip. Calum didn’t budge. Damn, he saw right through her ruse. “Jus’ wanna feel you,” she whined.

“So feel me here.” He craned up to kiss her.

“It’s not enough.”

Calum sighed so big she could feel his chest rise against hers, then moved his hands to pull her in. One travelled back to the back of her neck, pushing her to nestle her face in the crook of his neck. “We’ll figure something out eventually,” He said. He was so close he only needed to flex his lips to kiss her neck. “But just this for now, okay?”

“You know you’re only building the anticipation.” Aspen grumbled, squirming a little in his grip until she slipped down on one side of him. Her leg was thrown over his, and if she had been desperate she could have bucked her hips to taste a little friction that way. She wasn’t desperate, though. Not so much, not yet. “It’d be better to let it out in a controlled setting.” She grazed her fingers along his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under his shirt. “I know you like to be in control.”

Calum caught her hand in one of his, holding it tight enough Aspen barely tried to tug it free before she gave up. “Why don’t you ever behave, then?”

Aspen kissed his cheek. “You gotta earn it.”

With that, she rolled away and stood up, leaving Calum on the couch. It was getting dark out now, and she used her reflection in the window to brush her hair back into place. In the slight warping of the glass, she could see Calum stand up behind her and make his way over, wrapping his arms around her waist to hug him into her.

“Oh, you really are distracted.”

Calum laughed a little, meeting her eyes in their reflection. “Can you blame me?” He cuddled her closer, and for once Aspen didn’t try to rub herself up against him. She could feel him pressing into her ass, hard enough to feel through their clothes. “You have no idea how much I want to bend you over my desk right now.” He continued, voice dropping low. “You’d be quiet for me, wouldn’t you, baby?”

Aspen pulled herself out of his grip, face warm, and wheeled around to face him. He was smug, again, smirking back at her as she tried to regain her composure. This wasn’t fair. “Who’s teasing now?”

“I guess you’re rubbing off on me.” Calum grinned.

“You - fuck off.” She tried to tuck her shirt in, although it hadn’t been before - she needed something to do with her hands. “I would be rubbing off on you right now if you weren’t such a fucking spoilsport.” She grumbled.

Calum grabbed her hand and squeezed it once before letting it fall back to her side. “Let’s go downstairs, Penny. Dessert’s probably waiting.”

“Coulda had dessert up here, but no, Calum wants his fuckin’ souffle.”

He was still pleased with himself behind her, she could hear it in his voice when he said “Call it payback.”

“For what?”

As she opened the door, he pulled the knob from her hand so he could hold it for her, and maybe fix himself behind it. “Everything.”

Aspen laughed, and she was still laughing when she caught sight of Dick coming down the hall. Fuck. She didn’t try to rein her laughter in, that would have just looked suspicious, so she just asked “Is dessert ready?” to signal to Calum that they had an audience.

“Just about.” Dick said. He waited for them to reach him before they all started down the hall together. Even though she was a little miffed that she couldn’t keep flirting brazenly with Calum, it was nice to have all three of them walking down the hallway, almost like they were in slow motion. Almost like they were a family. Not that she was ready to be a mom to Dick, or anything - fuck, he’d been through enough, she didn’t need to inflict herself on him.

But she’d stay as long as they asked her to.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’re allowed to be up this late on a school night.” Aspen grumbled from her place at the control panel.

“I’ve got all As.” Dick said evenly into his hot chocolate.

“Yeah, well, when I was your age I had A bedtime.” Dick didn’t reply to that, and it took Aspen all of fifteen seconds of him giving her that serene yet challenging look he did for her to cave. He had almost definitely learned it from Calum. “I’m just fussing because I would have loved to do this when I was your age. I’m, like, retroactively jealous.”

“Sure.”

Aspen pretended to glare at Dick, which finally got him to crack a smile and break his own facade. “You have whipped cream on your nose.” She lied, just to make him check.

“Are you two playing nice in there?”

Calum’s voice came through the comms they both wore, making them both sit up a little more in their chairs. When he was out on patrols, he had the option to tune into their channel or not, as he saw fit. They had the same option back at the cave, but they never really turned his feed down unless he was, like, eating a granola bar on a safe rooftop somewhere. Aspen knew she was powerless if things went sideways, of course, but it made her feel a little bit better.

“Always.” Aspen said, at the same time that Dick said “No.”

Calum huffed a little under his breath. That was as close as he got to a laugh on these nights. “Alright.” They heard wind brushing past the mouthpiece, a tiny grunt as he settled on some surface. “‘S quiet tonight.”

“Too quiet?” Aspen asked, looking at the little red dot showing where he was in the city.

“No. Like the last few nights.”

“Do you think it’s because Falcone’s in jail?” Dick pipped up.

Calum took his sweet time answering. “That, or something’s coming.”

Aspen rolled her chair over to the police scanner and turned it up a little. She didn’t want to think about that. She was sure she’d be able to handle whatever came her way, and Calum was too, or else she wouldn’t be allowed down here. She poked her tongue into the inside of her cheek, a nervous tick she’d developed when she was getting used to her scar healing on that side.

She could handle a lot. She just had to remember that.

“You could go break up a brawl at Amsterdarn.” She suggested after a moment of listening through the static.

Calum snorted.

Aspen didn’t blame him. Amsterdarn was one of those flashy mixology bars, which she could only assume was full of designer party drugs and weird things to smoke. Right now, Venom was more of a cheap, dangerous fix for those with nowhere else to turn, so there was nothing there to interest him. Just trust fund kids getting scrappy and giving each other bloody noses.

As opposed to her trust fund kid, who did almost the same thing but in body armour.

Whatever. If the GCPD couldn’t handle some rowdy financial analysts, they didn’t deserve to have the Batman risking his neck against the supercriminals out there.

“I’m going to use this time to monitor a few active targets I’ve had my eye on.” Calum said finally.

“Man, I’m sorry I’m stuck back here.” Aspen deadpanned.

Dick laughed, but tried not to. “I’m glad to be here. I’m learning.”

“Yeah, yeah, boy wonder.” She rolled her eyes.

“It’s late.” Calum interrupted. “You should go home.”

Aspen had been thinking about it, but now that he had said that she was staying. “I’ll be fine. I only really need to be awake for an hour or two tomorrow, anyways, the only important thing I have planned is that meeting with the hospital.”

“Oh, no big deal, then.”

“It’s a school night, you can’t talk to me.” Aspen fired back to Dick, and pretended to listen to the police scanner again. Maybe she should make gels tonight. Keep herself busy. She hadn’t had much need to run any DNA analysis gels, other than doing a few test runs and cute science experiments with Dick, but it would be good to be prepared. Shouldn’t make Gotham’s Caped Crusader wait on agar to harden.

That was pretty much how the night went. Aspen made agar gels to keep herself awake, and Dick drank hot chocolate and monitored the console just in case. After an hour or two of listening to Calum breathe in her ear she looked up and realized the kid had fallen asleep, so she took a moment to go off coms and shepherd him into bed. She wasn’t sure if Alfred was awake or not, but she did feel confident that he’d appear if anything did go sideways so she didn’t mind looking after the cave herself. Just her and the bats, and she liked the bats.

It was late - one? Two? When the call came through. Well, not call. Calum just said, very suddenly, after an hour of comfortable silence - “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Aspen’s stomach twisted.

“Police scanner,” was all Calum said, and Aspen set her erlenmeyer down to hurry over to the little radio box.

“...car 62-4, could we get a 10-9? Over.”

“10-100 near pier 72 at Port Adams, over.”

“Car 57-2, we’re about eight minutes away, over.”

“10-4 57-2, forensics is on its way. Over and out.”

Aspen hadn’t memorized the police codes yet. She had a cheat sheet nearby - somewhere - fuck, she couldn’t find it. “What does that mean?” It wasn’t a shooting, it wasn’t a psych patient, a riot was a 10-34…

“It’s a dead body.”

Aspen bit her bottom lip. “Oh.”

“I’m going to check it out. Might be able to get some good information before the CSI team tramples all over it.”

Now was not the time for Aspen to argue with Calum over his disrespect of her (unknowing) colleagues, so she just nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. She knew a lot of trade went in and out of Port Adams every day, and a lot of it was underground. Cal was probably hoping this body would help him crack into a smuggling ring somehow, and she knew he loved racing the cops on almost every occasion. Aspen was still just getting used to responding to that kind of thing.

Calum got there first, she could tell from the blip on the screen and his little pant of triumph as it got closer to the docks. “I see it. I’m setting the cowl to photography mode.” He said.

“Sounds good.” Aspen said, like she was excited to look at pictures of a corpse.

“I’ll upload them to you as I - oh, no. Is he there?”

Aspen’s stomach twisted. They didn’t use names on the comm, but she knew who he meant. If he didn’t want Dick to see the body, it must have been bad. “No, he went to bed.”

She heard Calum let out a long slow breath. “Good.” Another pause. “Shit.”

Aspen could hear sirens now through Calum’s mic. He had to get out of there before the Bat became a suspect, but before she could remind him the first of the photos uploaded to the console in the Batcave. It was dark, but her eyes didn’t even need a minute to adjust before it hit her like ice cold water - “Oh my god.”

She was a child.

#welcome to the plot bitches #as always lmk what you think!!!! how you're feeling!!!!#happy monday #and what have y #my wriring #ch blurb #ch fic #calum hood series #calum hood fic #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fic #ttlb 3 #ttlb #this would have been up sooner if my network had let me upload the pic

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freddieslater · 4 years

Text

Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Enzo St. John (The Vampire Diaries) x Leonard Snart (Legends of Tomorrow)

Requested by @wonderdoves

An in and out mission. That’s what they said. They agreed it would be simple this time, no screwing anything up, no wrecking the timeline more than the thing they were trying to stop. Sure, returning Dracula to hell seemed like it could be harder than some of the other Encores, and honestly, a bit of a joke.

But disguising themselves as some doctors to get in and get him out and back to Hell was a simple plan, it was a good plan. They manage to get him without a hitch, and he’s back to being the stuff of fantasy stories.

It’s when they’re on their way back out that Len messes up. He sees the cages and actually takes just a second to look in this time. All of them are empty. Except for one. A single vampire still being locked up, and by the looks of tortured to near death.

The mission had nothing to do with him. Or with the doctors, or whatever is going on here. For all they know, it’s some crucial point in history. It��s hard to think that when the vampire meets his eyes and he sees that one of them is nearly completely cut out.

“Snart!” Sara calls back to him, halfway up the hall from where he’s paused in front of the cell. “Come on! We need to leave. Now. Unless you’re up for another near-labotomy.”

The vampire’s lips twitch ever so slightly, giving the tiniest sign of amusement.

“She’s right,” he speaks, surprising Len. His voice is cracked and hoarse and sounds like he’s got a throat full of broken glass. He doesn’t seem fazed. “Dr. Whitmore is very interested in unique things. Time Traveler would probably do it for him just about as much as a vampire. Maybe not to the point of labotomy, but...”

“Snart!”

“I’m coming!” he hisses back, but he makes no move to actually follow.

The vampire raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Never seen a vampire before? Now, I know that’s a lie; you just took care of the original creature of the night back there, didn’t you? He hasn’t shut up since he got here, so I’m assuming you’re the reason he’s quiet now.”

He’s so human. Sarcastic, flippant about the fact that he’s a vampire, that he’s in a cell, bloody and parts of him cut so deeply he would have died by now if he really was human.

“What’s your name?” Len asks without thinking. If it’s something ridiculous, something like Dracula, he leaves. Easy as that. Prove that he’s some creature, some bloodthirsty monster.

The vampire’s eyes flicker with surprise. Oh no.

“Lorenzo,” he answers. He then shrugs. “When I had friends, it was Enzo, but... well, as you can see, I am rather lacking in any of those these days.”

Sara’s gone now, and he can hear her shouting at Ray to come and drag him back to the ship now. Len just stares at Lorenzo, processing it in his mind.

“How’d you get caught?” he asks sharply, praying for some flippant remark about tearing someone’s head off or anything.

Lorenzo actually smiles a little, looking away from him. “My own stupidity, I suppose. What kind of vampire becomes a soldier in the middle of a war? Whitmore was the battlefield doctor, and he noticed that when I took a bullet in the chest for one of my comrades, I was perfectly fine. Turns out, he’s a real vampire enthusiast.”

A soldier. Who took a bullet for someone else, a human someone else. A vampire who became a soldier in the middle of world war two and tried to save someone instead of kill them.

He grits his teeth. “Are you lying?”

Lorenzo looks back up at him, the surprise returning. His brow furrows and he huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head as he gestures weakly around him.

“What reason would I have to do that? You’re the time traveller. Go back and see for yourself if you don’t believe me.” His smile fades and his eyes drop back to the bloody concrete ground. “Won’t make any difference either way.”

Damn it. He knows a con man when he sees one, he knows the tells, knows when even the most expert of liars are playing him. And he knows when people are being sincerely honest. And have lost almost all hope.

Clenching his jaw tighter, he glances away, down the hallway, where he can hear Ray hurrying back for him. The growing sense of aprehensive regret is already looming over him, telling him there’s a chance of whatever descision he’s about to make coming back to bite him at some point. Perhaps literally. In this case, he thinks he’d rather a repeat of the Dominators than the alternative.

“Snart!” Ray shouts, now rounding the corner and hurrying back to him. “Come on, man. We’re gonna get caught here, and we can’t afford to mess something up, you know that.”

Len nods slowly. He sighs. “Yeah, I do.”

Raising his cold gun, he points it directly at the lock to the cell and shoots a blast of ice. It covers it, freezing over the metal. Ray starts to protest as Len flips his gun and bashes it hard against the frozen lock. Takes another two bashes, but the whole thing falls apart fairly easily.

“No! No, Snart, do not--” Ray’s caught his elbow to pull him away, but it’s too late anyway. “What are you doing?”

“Honestly? No clue.”

Len pulls the cell door open. Lorenzo doesn’t seem to know how to react. He’s eyeing them like they’re not freeing him, but instead are only here to pick up where this doctor left off.

“You can’t just free a vampire!” Ray says, lowering his voice as if it’s going to make any difference. Judging by the look on Lorenzo’s face, it really doesn’t. “He needs blood. And I hate to say it, but we’re full of the stuff, and you just got rid of the one thing between him and us.”

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, as much as I am enjoying imagining that idea, I’m not planning on feeding on you. Or killing you. I would need actual strength for that, and I currently have about as much as two starved ten year old children.”

Ray stops, looking over at him. There’s the tinest bit of suspicion, but then, predictably, it dissolves. He presses his lips together and seems to examine the state Lorenzo’s in; still making no move to actually leave despite his exit now clear and two human blood bags standing less than three feet from him.

“You’re not... you know, a Dracula type of vampire?” he questions.

“I feed to survive,” Lorenzo replies sharply. “But it doesn’t mean I have to kill. I usually don’t. Tried not to. So, no, I’d rather have no association with that bloody pretentious git.”

Len bites the inside of his cheek to not chuckle a little at that; in fairness, the guy really was pretentious. Thought he was the ruler of vampires.

Clearly his answer is swaying Ray over.

“I suppose that your cell is open now...” he says, trailing off pointedly. “Stopping you would be more of an issue for the timeline than just... not being able to stop you would be. I think.”

Len roll his eyes and looks at Lorenzo. “That means go. Now.”

“Wait, not, that’s not what I mean!” Ray quickly says, and holds his hands out as if to stop any potential escape. “I meant...” He draws himself up and looks sternly at Lorenzo. “You’re coming to our ship, and then we can decide if you’re... you know, murderous.”

“Would I not have murdered you already if I were?” Lorenzo points out.

“Not the point. You’re coming with us. Snart: cuffs.”

Len eyes him. “What exactly do you think Meta cuffs are going to do to a vampire?”

Ray falters under both their stares. His mouth opens for a second, but he doesn’t seem to have a response, and he drops it with a sigh.

“Can we please just go before this become even more of an issue than it already is, and before Sara kills all of us?” he asks.

Lorenzo groans, but he begins pushing himself up with what little strength he has in him. He makes no sudden moves, no attempt to escape. In all honesty, Len actually believes him when he says he can’t. It seems to be taking everything in him just to stay standing.

“For the record, I am not leaving one prison to enter another,” he tells them, and even without the obvious strength, his voice is still low and threatening in a way that really does promise danger buried deep.

“And we don’t want to keep you prisoner,” Len retorts, turning back to Ray with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. “Do we, Raymond?”

Ray shakes his head. “Of course not. But... we have a complicated job, and it’s just easier for everyone, and safer for you as well as us, if you come with us first.”

Lorenzo hesitates for a moment, his good eye flicking between them with skeptisicm and uncertainty. But it’s becoming increasingly clear that he doesn’t have many other options, and there’s shouting somewhere in the building, whether from the doctors or from the team.

He eventually gives, and pushes away from the wall with a nod. “Fine. But when you say ship, do you mean an actual ship? Like a boat? Because I don’t have the best experience with being on one of those with people who tell me to trust them.”

“Think more alien ship than naval ship,” Len tells him, and motions his head for him to follow, even as he stays practically right next to him as they finally hurry to leave.

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not-close-to-straight · 5 years

Text

Blue Roses (Crowley/Azira)(FlowerShop AU)

The obligatory Flower Shop AU for these Ineffable Dorks, ft. entirely smitten and dramatic demon!Crowley and adorable in every way human!Azira.

There’s more on my FIC MASTERLIST!

(A “hells bell” is another name for the ‘Devil’s Breath’ flower but also of course, a song by AC/DC, who I think Crowley would have thoroughly enjoyed)

Also, idk how this got so long?? I finally forced myself to stop??

******************

Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the most successful flower shop in all of London and in no way could that success be attributed to excellent customer service or the owner being the sort of chap who was friends with everyone.

In fact, Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the most successful flower shop in all of London despite having the worst customer service imaginable and an owner that obviously enjoyed making every moment in his shop as unpleasant as possible.

Anthony J Crowley was surly and ill mannered, impatient with potential customers and downright aggravating with repeat customers, and underwent transactions as if it irked him to his very soul to sell the plants he raised.

Most times he was hiding away in the green leaves and staring balefully from behind black sunglasses when a customer tried to talk to him, other times he sprawled gracelessly across the counter and smirked at the shock over his sheer unprofessional-ism.

He was awful-- sarcastic and churlish and flippant to the point of disrespect, but his plants were so lush, his flowers so lovely, the succulents beautiful in a nearly unearthly way, that even the Queen herself preferred his arrangements over any others.

Gardening magazines came to interview him, asking about his methods and his secrets, looking for tips and tricks so regular people at home could hope to have gardens as wonderful as the one Crowley boasted in the greenhouse out back.

All inquiries were answered with a smile bordering on insolent, a flash of too sharp teeth, and a snarky, “I’ve had six thousand years to perfect my gardening, why on Earth would I give my secrets away to you people?”

Hell’s Bells Botanicals was the best, its owner quite literally the worst, and seeing as how Crowley had been around since the dawn of time and had seen any and everything the world had to offer, he didn’t see anything changing anytime soon.

But then the empty bookshop across the way was purchased by a blonde man in an old fashioned sort of suit jacket, and life as Crowley knew it changed quite a bit.

*********************

“What on earth did you do to this plant?” Crowley levelled his fiercest frown at the twenty-something boy across the counter, holding up one brittle, spotted leaf of what had been a gloriously full aloe plant just a week before. “Did you torture it?”

“Of course not!” he sputtered, drawing himself up to rather un impressive height of just about five feet. “I watered it just like I water all my plants! Left it in the sun to give it a bit of perk! If you ask me, you sold me a dying plant and that’s why--eep!”

He shut up abruptly when Crowley’s frown turned into an outright glare. “What I meant was--”

“This aloe was perfect when I sssold it to you!” Crowley announced and the poor boy had the distinct feeling of being threatened by a snake. “How much did you water it?”

“...every day?”

“Every day?” he shouted. “You killed the poor thing! Drowned it like a pile of ratsss! Look at it!”

“I--I--”

“My god--” the word sounded strangled as if it physically pained the shop keep to say it. “--Who on earth kills a cactus? A cactus!”

“Anyway.” the young man said timidly. “I was hoping you’d give me another one? Quite liked it sitting there in my window and--”

“Here.” Crowley pulled a jar of aloe gel from...somewhere... and smacked it into the boy’s hand. “This is all the aloe you get to have. No more plants for you.”

“But--”

“No more plants for you!”

The boy left with his jar of aloe, shuffling out the door feeling inexplicably guilty for having failed at taking care of his plant, and inside the shop Crowley carried the wilting thing back to the greenhouse.

“Humans.” he snorted, tossing away his sunglasses to squint closer at the poor thing. “Six thousand years on this bloody rock and they still haven’t figured out how to take care of a plant. Suppose I shouldn’t be all that shocked considering they’ve barely figured out to take care of themsel--”

“Crowley?” A voice from the front of the shop and Crowley straightened with a jerk, flailing for his sunglasses to cover his rather other worldly eyes. “Crowley my dear, are you in today?”

Oh. Oh there was exactly one human in this city, on this isle, maybe even on the entire planet that made Crowley not want to breathe unholy fire and it would only be--

“Azira.” Crowley purred the name, baring his teeth in his friendliest smile and taking care to hide the sharper bits. “How are you today?”

“As well as always I suppose.” Azira was all things good cheer, an always ready smile topped with sparkling eyes and curls as bouncy as his always ready to burst laugh and Crowley absolutely adored him. “Back in your greenhouse, were you?”

“Coaxing life back into an aloe plant.” Crowley jumped up onto the counter just because he rather liked it when the bookshop owner had to look up at him from beneath damnably-- blessedly-- thick eyelashes. “Are you here for your flowers again?”

“It is the seventh.” Azira grinned and Crowley had to keep his wings from rustling in response, checking over his shoulder just in case he’d lost his hold on them and they were waving black and feathered above his head. “I’m here for the usual amount of blooms. You know, I’ve had so many compliments on those flowers, it’s brilliant how they manage to hold their color a month at a time.”

“I take special care to be sure they do.” Crowley answered, thinking back to the more than stern talking to he’d given the last round of flowers to be sure they stayed lovely and fresh for exactly a month. “Dunno why it is, flowers just seem to respond to me.”

“I’d say you have an angel’s touch.” Azira complimented, positively pink cheeked with it all and Crowley bit back a very un angelic growl at the innocent flirting. “I think something in shades of yellow this time, for the summer months?”

“I have just the thing.” He promised and jumped off the counter to head for the back room, a little extra swing in his already swaggering walk since he’d caught Azira watching more than once. “Do you like blue, Azira?”

“Yes, it’s quite lovely!” Azira called. “If you had a few pieces to put in with the yellow?”

“I’ll check and see.” Crowley called back from behind the door and then looked over at a pile of pink sweet peas and ordered quietly, “You are blue, aren’t you? At least three different shades so hop to it.”

And as an afterthought as he wrapped up a bouquet of yellow dahlias-- “Make it match the color of Azira’s eyes. Get on it now.”

The sweet peas did exactly what someone would expect pink flowers to do--meaning they did absolutely nothing-- until Crowley pointed a finger at them and growled, “I said hop. to. it.”

In a puff of pollen that was as close to talking back as as flower could come, the sweet peas shaded into a rich navy blue, a summer sky blue and then a shade that perfectly matched Azira’s eyes that Crowley mentally dubbed angel blue.

“Oh, Crowley they are perfect!” Azira beamed when Crowley returned with arms full of yellow dahlias and blue sweet peas. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad your flowers live so long you know, otherwise I’d be in here ever few weeks buying more and that would put a damper in my pocketbook, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, you’d come in here more if the flowers didn’t live so long?” Crowley queried. “How interesting.”

“Of course I would.” Azira buried his nose in the flowers and made a happy noise at the sweet scent. “You’re my favorite place on the block, you know. I don’t see why everyone else thinks you’re terrible, you’ve never said a cross word to me at all.”

“Yes.” Crowley had to work hard to keep the hiss from his voice and the smirk from his face. “Yes, I don’t see why they think I’m terrible either. I’ll see next month, then?”

“Of course.” Azira lay down the usual amount of money and turned to leave. “Good day, Crowley!”

“You will grow for two weeks and two weeks only.” Crowley snarled at the departing flower. “Thirteen days and on the fourteenth if you aren’t wilting, so help me someone I will come over and cut you myself!”

If Azira felt the dahlias trembling as he arranged them into a vase by the window, he didn’t think anything of it, just gave them fresh water and a soothing pat on the leaves. “There there, lovelies. Be fresh and sweet for me and brighten up my shop for a while, won’t you?”

He went to work shelving books, humming quietly and letting his thoughts wander back to the oddly good looking flower shop owner who had absolutely no reason to walk quite so provocatively or to wear pants quite that tight or to smile quite so knowingly.

And when Azira’s thoughts wandered too far down that particular path, he set himself to reorganizing the old encyclopedias.

Nothing remotely romantic about the Encyclopedia Britannica.

Nothing at all.

*****************

Exactly fourteen days later, a sheepish Azira stood in Crowley’s shop and waited with red cheeks for the man to stop practically howling in rage at someone having returned an apple tree that had been so thoroughly stripped of its bark it barely resembled a tree at all any more.

“Now, didn’t I tell you to get a bit of fence to put around it? Keep the deer away?”

“Well yes, but--”

“And you didn’t, so it got chomped to within an inch of its life?”

“I suppose so--”

“And you have the absolute nerve, the unmitigated gall to walk in here and to my face--” Crowley pointed at his sunglasses. “--and demand a refund because the tree didn’t survive? What a great pair of clangin’ brass balls you’ve got, huh?”

“I--I--”

“GET OUT!”

The woman scuttled from the shop muttering something about ‘lousy prick, would piss off the pope’ and ‘absolutely do not have brass balls, how dare he?’ as she went.

“You’re acting as if she maliciously murdered the poor thing.” Azira tsked, stepping up to the counter and touching the sad looking tree. “Just some careless on her part, sure to be forgiven don’t you think?”

“I am not in the business of forgiving.” Crowley snarled. “Especially not when people are lazy and careless and hurt innocent--” he looked up to see Azira’s lovely eyes very wide. “--um, innocent things. Did you need something, Azira? It hasn’t been a month already, has it?”

“Oh no, no it hasn’t been a month.” Azira whispered something encouraging to the tree and then looked up with an embarrassed sort of smile. “On the subject of plants not lasting as long as we hoped, I’m afraid to tell you my flowers have already withered. Don’t know if I watered them too much or forgot to add a little plant food, but I’m here for more.”

He rocked back on his heels, tugging at his coat in a nervous sort of gesture. “You aren’t going to shout at me and accuse me of having brass nethers are you?”

“I would never.” Crowley said solemnly, trying his very hardest not to laugh at how contrite Azira looked. “It’s no fault of your own that cut flowers don’t last long, it might be my snipping the stems at the wrong angle or something along those lines. I certainly won’t be shouting at you for that.”

“Oh thank heavens.” Azira’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “Anyway, I’m here to purchase more? In the same blue and yellow if you have it.”

“I’m sure I can make it happen.” Crowley cocked his head, looked Azira over curiously. “I don’t suppose I could make this up to you? No charge for the flowers since its most likely my fault and if you were amenable...” six thousand years on Earth and Crowley had never been more nervous than he was now. “...could I tempt you to dinner? The Ritz?”

“Oh dinner would be---.” Azira looked adorably flustered, flushed to the tip of his ears and playing with buttons of his vest. “The Ritz seems too fancy, though? And of course I’ll pay for more flowers, that isn’t an issue.”

“That isn’t a no to dinner, then?” Crowley planted both hands on the counter and leaned right over into Azira’s space, waggling his eyebrows above his glasses. “Just that the Ritz seems too fancy. Do you have another spot in mind?”

“Well, I--” Azira couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “If you insist, I do love a yummy dinner.”

“What’sss your favorite food, Azira?” Crowley let his ‘ss’ roll lazy at the end of the word, thrilled by the way Azira was so clearly happy about the invitation. “I’ll take you out tonight?”

“....I’m fond of seafood.”

“Excellent.” Crowley hated seafood but that didn’t matter at the moment. “I’ll bring your new flowers by when I pick you up.”

“Oh.” Azira looked as pleased as he’d ever been, eyes dropping shyly to the floor before meeting Crowley’s again. “Thank you.”

********************

Crowley had tired of dating or courting or anything even resembling those ridiculous customs almost a hundred years prior, giving up the arduous chase to settle for the occasional tumble with whichever pretty person caught his eyes.

He didn’t really have a sex drive, not in the traditional sense anyway, but it was fun to do all that sort of thing. Sex involved pleasure and lust and coveting and jealousy and half a dozen other things he had every right to indulge in seeing as how he was fallen and all.

Not that fallen really meant anything anymore. Angels themselves roamed around indulging in excess in the form of food or possessions, claiming to be in love and then moving from partner to partner and deciding that any sort of love was blessed love. Demons kept to mainly small time mischief and angels were usually there to thwart them, keeping the balance as to not upset any of the higher powers that were, and things were generally calm.

In fact, if it weren’t for the plants he supernaturally threatened into flourishing and the yellow and black eyes he hid behind the sunglasses, Crowley would feel human most days.

But tonight as he crossed the street to Azira’s bookstore clutching an over large bouquet of yellow and blue roses, Crowley was distinctly aware of the sunglasses over his eyes, the weight of his hidden wings on his back and the way his movements were just a hint too smooth to be natural.

Perhaps Azira would be too smitten to notice.

Oh he hoped so.

“Crowley!” Azira looked simply cherubic in a smart white suit and matching hat, burying his face in the roses and peeking up at Crowley with a shy sort of smile. “Roses! You shouldn’t have!”

“I absolutely should have.” Crowley replied flatly, as if his heart wasn’t practically pounding from his chest. Honestly a mortal had no business looking so sweet. “Do you like the blue?”

“I love it!” Azira dropped the blooms into a waiting vase. “I thought blue roses were all genetically engineered, though? You don’t strike me as the type to use altered flowers?”

“Ah. These are not genetically engineered. They are entirely natural. My secret, of course. That’s why the Queen loves them so.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. The roses weren’t genetically engineered at all. An hour previous they had been lovely and pink and Crowley had glared with every shred of his fury until the petals had dipped a glorious shade of midnight blue that contrasted wonderfully with the yellow.

“I love it.” Azira said again, shrugging into his jacket. “Shall we away, then?”

“Shall we?” Crowley offered his arm to the blond. “Dinner awaits.”

******************

Dinner with Azira was perfect. The man was charming and sweet and hilarious in a well restrained sort of way, muffling his laughter into a napkin and sipping at his wine, eating each piece of sushi with the sort of joy Crowley had given up on feeling centuries ago.

They talked about Shakespeare, about Hamlet and about the hilarity of how certain plays had been misconstrued to mean something entirely different than the Bard had originally intended.

They chatted about their favorite music, Azira declaring anything written after the forties to be ‘be bop’ and terrible while Crowley waxed almost embarrassingly poetic about the raw truth in the lyrics of rock and roll, the way heartbreak and grief came through so clearly.

“Tell me how you came to be in the flower business.” Azira encouraged over a shared piece of cake called ‘Better than Sex’. “You’re so good at cultivating your plants, does it run in your family?”

“My earliest memories are in a garden.” Crowley said truthfully, and with no small amount of mirth. “I’m particularly partial to apple trees, if I’m being quite honest.”

“Which is why you frightened that poor woman half to death for letting hers be stripped so thoroughly?”

“Exactly.”

On the way back to their street Crowley asked, “Do you sell many books? I feel as if you just sort of hoard them, I never see anyone leaving with a package.”

“Oh.” Azira tipped his head back and smiled up at a flowering tree as they passed underneath. “I’m afraid I purchased the book shop simply so I could be surrounded by books. I have no intention of selling any ever. Too fond of them.”

Crowley burst into surprised laughter. “Honestly? You bought a book shop so you had a place to put all your books?”

“Well, I live above it as well.” Azira huffed. “It’s more that I bought a place to live that happened to have extra bookshelves.”

“Of course you did, angel.” Crowley’s smile was more fond than he meant it to be, the pet name slipping out before he noticed. They’d known each other nearly a year now, and it had been only the second visit when Azira had been framed in the window with sunlight filtering through his hair, ringed in a perfect halo and Crowley had-- embarrassingly enough-- shattered a planter pot on the floor he’d been so stunned at the thought of Azira being an actual angel.

He wasn’t an angel of course, and Crowley figured that out by the end of the day, but for a moment the man had been so stunning, so ethereal, so perfectly poised as if to take flight that angel had stuck firmly in Crowley’s mind--

--and now it had dropped into open conversation and it had been a long time since Crowley had been so flustered he full on reverted to snake form, but he could feel the scales slipping up his back, could feel his knees turn to jello and his eyes jerked towards an alley as they passed, wondering if it were an appropriate place to slither off to and--

“--angel, is it?” Azira bumped Crowley’s shoulder teasingly. “It’s the blond hair, isn’t it? I’ve been told I look terribly cherubic. Baby faced, even.”

“You’re lovely.” That hadn’t been meant to slip out either, but angel had gone over so well Crowley figured a compliment couldn’t hurt. “And cherubic doesn’t have to mean baby faced, all angels are fierce in their own right.”

“Well then, I suppose I won’t take any offense.” Azira paused in front of his bookshop. “Could I invite you up for a drink?”

Temptation, thick and familiar and well-- tempting, even if the drink was probably offered with nothing more than friendship in mind.

“I have to be up early with the plants.” Crowley said instead and Azira nodded in understanding. “Tonight was fun though.” it was easy to miracle a flower behind Azira’s back and offer it up with a smile that stretched to a grin when Azira took it with a pleased little gasp. “We should do it again. Tomorrow?”

“Dinner tomorrow?”

“If you’d like.”

“Oh.” Pink cheeks, and Crowley’s wings rustled in anticipation. “I’d like that. Very much.”

*****************

Dinner the next night went just as well as it had the first time around, and dinner the night after that was wonderful as well.

Then there were afternoons in the park, Crowley lounging on a blanket while Azira read poetry. Breakfasts of delicate crepes and rich coffee eaten on the rooftop cafe of fancy hotels. Music by the river, Azira insisting he didn’t dance and Crowley dragging him up onto the grass to sway the beat anyway.

For an entire month they met up every day for one reason or another, and every time Crowley came with flowers until the bookshop was nearly over flowing. He miracled blooms out of thin air to tuck into blonde hair, pressed them between the pages of books for Azira to find later, shut down the shop for no reason at all than to stroll down the street and hand over a carnation simply because he could.

Six thousand years and Crowley had never met anyone he’d wanted to see three--four--five days in a row but after a month of casual get togethers and romantic dates and long walks in the moonlight, Crowley had to admit that he was perhaps more than smitten with the book shop owner.

And then he called round for dinner on Saturday and Azira was ‘terribly sorry, but I’ve already made plans’ and stepped out with a tall man in a grey suit, dark hair and dark eyes and a booming sort of voice Crowley could hear even from down the street.

The next morning someone came by to pick up a few plants Her Majesty had ordered, and everything in Hell’s Bells Botanicals was withering away in their pots, leaves spotted and flowers wilted, vines limp and succulents dehydrated and a crankier than usual owner fallen dramatically onto the counter top, legs splayed and arms over his eyes, moaning loudly as if the very world were ending.

“Uh, Mr. Crowley, sir.” the customer asked timidly. “I’m here for the plants, the ones for Buckingham?”

“Fuck. Off.” Crowley muttered. “Right this moment or I’ll breathe hell fire and singe that stupid hairstyle right off your Botoxed forehead.”

“I--” the customer considered his options, thought about how much he liked his hair and wisely decided not to press the issue, letting himself out the front door, leaving the volatile owner to wallow in a black mood.

It was lunch time before the bell rang again and this time a cheerful, “Crowley, my dear?” had the demon falling right off the counter and scrambling to right himself, affecting as cool and casual a posture as he could in an attempt to not let Azira know exactly how long he’d been sulking.

“Ah. Azira.” Crowley snapped his fingers and growled something the human didn’t catch and every plant in the shop straightened and tried to green up again. “How are you?’

“Well enough, I suppose.” Azira looked extra cheerful today and it grated on Crowley’s nerves. “I was hoping you could sell me a potted plant today? I love the flowers, but I’d like to try my hand at actually growing something. Seeing as how you live so close, you could come over and help me water it and things, right?”

“Azira, you wound me. You only want me for my flowers?” Crowley’s hurt expression was only partly feigned. “And here I thought we were having so much fun with our dates! But then of course, you went out with someone else last night didn’t you?”

“Oh and about that as well.” Azira didn’t look guilty or embarrassed or even shy about it. “I’ve decided I’d much rather have dinner with you. I’m afraid Gabriel isn’t half as interesting as he thinks he is and I’m not exactly sure what his job is or where it takes him, but he’s only ever in London a few times a year and this was his first time visiting me at my new shop--” he waved his hand airily.

“Anyway, I thought if you weren’t busy tonight, perhaps you’d come over? I could cook for you! I bought a lovely bottle of wine and we could listen to old records and maybe just sit together?”

“Oooh sitting together.” Crowley didn’t mean to sound so snarky, or perhaps he did, but he was still a little irritated at being stood up-- even if they hadn’t had an official date-- for some one named Gabriel. He’d never met a Gabriel he liked and he was sure this fellow would be no different. “Moving awfully fast, aren’t we? Did you and your gentleman caller sit together last night?”

“If you’re going to act like that, consider yourself uninvited.” Azira informed him with a sniff, and Crowley gaped at the human for a full minute. “I had every intention of kissing you tonight but if you’re going to be rude, maybe I won’t.”

“You’d hold your kisses hostage!” Crowley was very nearly outraged at the thought. “Angel, how can you be so cruel!”

“Well they’re my kisses to withhold.” Azira was nearly laughing and Crowley relaxed. “Bring me blue roses again and I’ll forgive your little fit. Don’t be so jealous, love. It’s a terrible color on you.”

“All colors are good on me.” the vines behind Crowley’s head grew an inch or so when the censure left his voice. “And I’ll bring you blue roses.”

“Leave the sunglasses here, maybe?” Azira asked hopefully. “We’ve known each other for a year and have been out for dates for weeks now and I’ve yet to even see your eyes.”

“Ah.” Crowley hesitated. “My eyes are... well they aren’t entirely... you see the thing is--”

“Tell me tonight.” Azira blew him a kiss that had no business making Crowley smile so big. “Come hungry, yes?”

******************

“You weren’t really jealous of Gabriel, were you?” Azira asked after a delicious dinner and custardy dessert and a bottle and most of another bottle of wine. “Not really, I mean.”

“I suppose I wasss a little.” Crowley admitted, letting the wine roll rich around his tongue. “Stupid of me, really. We’ve been seeing each other for a month and I’ve been acting like we’ve been going together for years. Ugly thing, jealousy.”

“Sort of flattering.” Azira said hesitantly. “In certain circumstances and in the right doses, maybe.”

“Maybe.” Crowley plucked one of the blue roses he’d brought over off the side table and held it to his nose. “But I’m sorry all the same. For being obnoxious, I mean. Not for being jealous. Can’t help that, sort of comes with the territory.”

“And what territory is that?” Azira asked, tucking himself into the corner of the couch Crowley hadn’t taken over with his long legged sprawl. “Hm?”

“Oh you know.” Crowley was drunk and half past caring, ready to share his secrets with his angel just for the sake of saying it out loud. “Angels get to be all pure and patient. We are supposed to be jealous and ill tempered. I enjoy it for the most part, shouldn’t really complain but--”

“Angels.” Azira repeated. “You mean wings and halos and all that?”

“You... are not as surprised as you should be.” Crowley said slowly and Azira replied, “Yes well, I’m very drunk. Nothing’s very shocking right now. Besides, it people can believe in aliens and the earth being flat, it’s not much of a reach for me to believe in angels--”

“--and demons.” Crowley finished, and whipped off his glasses with a flourish, baring his snake eyes. “Not much of a reach at all.”

“Look at that.” Azira’s eyes went comically wide. “My goodness. My goodness. My good--”

“Say something else besides that.” Crowley demanded, the rose crushing in his fingers as he clenched his fist anxiously. “And if you’re too upset about it all, I can make it so you don’t remember tomorrow, erase all of this last month if you want. We can go right back to you buying flowers from me once a--”

“Hell’s Bells!” Azira blurted then, and Crowley frowned.

“What?”

“Hell’s Bells!” he said again, clapping his hands as laughter bubbled up and over. “Oh god, a demon running a flower shop and calling it Hell’s Bells! Is it after the song or that awful flower or some sort of mix of the two?”

“I--” Crowley narrowed his eyes. “A mix of the two, thought it would be clever.”

“Very clever.” Azira toasted him and then refilled the glass. “More wine, my dear?”

“You’re far too drunk to process what’s happening.” Crowley decided. “Which means there will be no kissing tonight either. I’ll go home and let you sober up and if you want to talk in the morning--”

“Hell’s Bells.” Azira was still chuckling over it. “No wonder your plants grow so well. Put the fear of god into them, didn’t you? Or the fear of Satan? The fear of some higher power, right? Is that why you have the best plants in all of London?”

“You really are sloshed, aren’t you?” A long suffering sort of sigh because while Crowley really had been looking forward to a kiss tonight, he was sort of relieved to have another chance to have this conversation sober.

Announcing that he was less than mortal usually involved a lengthy explanation if the person bothered to stick around, at least a hundred mostly moronic and fairly invasive questions and seeing as how it had been over a hundred years since the last time Crowley had even attempted this sort of talk, he had to imagine now there would be hours and hours of research on the internet as well.

He wasn’t looking forward to any of that, but at least if Azira was sober Crowley would have the chance to explain and properly gauge his--

“Did you magic up blue flowers for me because I love them?” Azira whispered and Crowley nodded. “And make sure my blooms lasted an entire month?”

“...I did.”

“And only two weeks this last time so you had an excuse to ask me for dinner?”

“...yes?”

“Adorable.” Azira leaned back into the cushions and closed his eyes, a peaceful smile on his face. “Simply ador...demon making blue flowers...so sweet...”

Crowley left him sleeping there on the couch, a blanket pulled up to his shoulders and wine put away. “Goodnight, angel.” he whispered, and pointed sternly at the blue roses. “Be beautiful for him, or so help me Satan I will pull your thorns off one by one, don’t think I wont.”

The bookshop door closed behind the demon, and the blue roses quivered in terror.

**********************

Morning dawned bright and early and Crowley came downstairs from his flat to open the shop only to find Azira already standing outside, tapping on the glass eagerly.

“What are you doing here so early?” Crowley kept the closed sign on the door and ushered Azira in. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Let me see.” Azira demanded, motioning to Crowley’s sunglasses. “I have to know I wasn’t dreaming.”

“...alright.” The moment of truth, the moment where Crowley knew if Azira really was alright with all of it, or if he and his plants were going to be alone for another millenia.

Azira gasped when he saw the yellow and black eyes, but then he let out a very undignified snort of laughter and asked, “So do the other demon’s think it’s funny or cheesy you call this place Hell’s Bells?”

“I don’t make a habit of talking to the others.” Crowley set his glasses down slowly. “Got tired of them after a few thousand years. Are you really alright with this?”

“Gabriel’s not human.” Azira informed him then. “He refers to himself as a celestial being and we met quite by accident almost ten years ago. He’s the one who got me most of my older books but there’s nothing romantic there, I can assure you. He’s pompous and arrogant and sort of an asshole, if I’m being honest. Anyway not half as fun as you are. Plus--” and here Azira looked hilariously offended. “--he makes fun of me for eating sushi and likes to brag that he doesn’t need to eat so he doesn’t bother. How that is bragging, I’ll never know, but we have drinks every few months or so and he usually brings me a new book.”

“The archangel Gabriel has drinks with you every few months.” Crowley repeated. “And you think he’s an asshole?”

“Yes.” Azira nodded. “Quite. Anyway, I’m used to having a supernatural being hanging around, must be why I’m so comfortable around you.”

“Being friends with an archangel is very different than having dinner with a demon.” he pointed out. “Very different.”

“It’s certainly more fun.” Azira countered. “And you’re much more handsome than he is. Though knowing you’re not quite human sure explains why you walk that way. All distracting and hip swinging?”

“That hassss nothing to do with me being not quite human.” Crowley teased, and Azira turned bright red. “And I’d never make fun of you for eating sushi.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Azira took a hesitant step forward, then another even closer. “And I’d still like to kiss you, if that’s quite alright. Unless you don’t do that sort of thing with people like me--OH!”

He startled when Crowley snatched him up tight and crushed a less than chaste kiss to his mouth, both arms wrapping around his waist, a tongue that felt maybe a hint longer than normal playing at his lips, the demon practically glommed onto his body for several minutes until Azira had to pinch at his side and remind Crowley, “Some of us have to breathe, you know!”

But it was hard to be irritated about things like losing oxygen when Crowley finally let him up for air and Azira noticed the vines climbing the walls, the flowers budding and then blooming one after another, and sunflowers turning to bask in the glow of their affection.

And swirling in gentle circles above their heads, dozens and dozens of rose petals in different shades of blue, brushing over Azira’s cheek and landing in Crowley’s hair.

“Oh my.” Azira’s eyes lit up. “Just lovely.”

“Just lovely.” Crowley repeated, kissing him one more time. “Angel.”

*****************

But lately things had changed at the shop just enough to encourage even more customers through the door. Now when Crowley took an irresponsible plant owner to task, the book shop owner from down the street was usually perched on the counter behind him, countering every harsh word with something encouraging and light hearted.

The plants still trembled in fear of Crowley’s wrath, but they also shivered in delight as Azira came along behind his boyfriend and soothed them with gentle pats at their leaves and encouraging words to the flowers.

When Crowley fussed and fumed and hissed through his words, Azira coaxed his wings into view and set about smoothing the ruffled feathers until Crowley wasn’t quite as fangy or scaley.

And the next time Gabriel came to town, he was greeted at the door to the bookshop by one very delighted demon who shoved a bouquet of black roses into his arms, flipped him off with no small amount of glee, and shut the door in his face.

Azira laughed at least once a day over the name of the shop, changed his phone ringtone to ‘Hell’s Bells’ by AC/DC though he loathed the sound of it and accused Crowley of liking the terrible bebop just to be obnoxious.

“I’d never, angel.” Crowley swore, and then conjured up a blue rose to boop his love on the nose. “I might have helped them write the song though.”

“Oh for heavens--”

“--hell’s.” Crowley corrected.

“--for someone’s sake.” Azira finished and Crowley kissed him just because he could.

********************

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#ncts fics #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #flower shop au

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elisaphoenix13 · 5 years

Text

Just Another Day

It was calm in the tower. Well, as calm as it could get when Peter was home. The teen was currently sitting on the ceiling, flicking cat treats down to the floor, and confusing the hell out of Tibbs. The cat ate them as fast as they appeared, but he would always look around trying to figure out where they were coming from. He came up short when he pawwed at both Tony and Stephen in the kitchen, Cassie (who was watching tv in the living room) was a dead end too. He just wasn't used to humans being on the ceiling so he never looked up.

While all of this was taking place, amusing Peter's parents to no end, Carol had entered the penthouse, and Tony had never moved so fast in his life when he saw what she brought. He practically jumped across the island to use Stephen as a body shield when he saw Goose tucked under one of her arms, and Carol laughed as she set the Flerken down.

"Danvers! What is that thing doing here?!" Tony says as he points around Stephen at Goose.

"He wanted to come with me." Carol says simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

It was not.

Peter, in his precious ignorance, flicked a cat treat at Goose and literally scurried away when he opens his mouth and tentacles come out to snatch up the treats. "OH MY GOD! WHAT IS THAT THING?!" The teen shouts as he unconsciously flips down to the floor to step in front of Cassie.

Goose scared the crap out of him (and interested him at the same time) but he wasn't about to leave the other teen vulnerable. He vaguely catches an unreadable look on Tony's face when he glances toward his father but thinks nothing of it as he turns his attention back to the alien cat. The alien cat that Tibbs seemed to suddenly be completely fascinated with. Peter shouldn't really be surprised. Tibbs was the chillest cat he had ever met, so him not being bothered by some very uncatlike behavior from Goose was pretty normal for him.

Carol just grins as Cassie looks around Peter to look at Goose with some interest if her own. "He's a Flerken."

"A rather tame one at that." Stephen says as he approaches Goose and crouches down to scratch behind the cat's ears.

"Carol, if that thing eats my wife or my kid, I'm holding you responsible!" Tony says.

"Relax Stark. Just treat him like you treat your cat." The woman says as she waves a flippant hand in his direction.

Peter laughs half-heartedly. "Probably not a good idea. Tibbs is kind of special in his own way." As if to prove his point, Tibbs walks right up to Goose and sniffs his mouth curiously.

"Anyway, I was told this is where to go when I want a place to hang out for a bit." Carol says. "Clint was very specific about the 'family floor'."

Tony puffs out an affronted, but defeated sigh. "Stephanie, remind me to put Barton at the top of the cleaning list."

"Noted." Stephen replies dryly as he stands and takes a seat on one of the couches.

To everyone's relief, Goose seemed content to keep Tibbs company, and Tony joined Stephen on his couch after giving the two cats a wide berth. Although he wouldn't admit it out loud, Goose was one thing Tony was afraid of, but his earlier actions probably gave that away. Peter was taking it all in stride after his initial shock and relaxed out of his defensive position to take the empty spot next to Cassie, and Carol walks over to sit on his other side.

She asked to be caught up on what had happened while she was gone, and also what she had missed, and they all delivered. Tony told her most of the Avenger history such as Thanos's first invasion of Earth, SHIELD's fall, or anything related to the Avengers. Stephen caught her up on the more magical side of things, and the teens? Movies. Cassie recommended a few chick flicks and offered to have a movie night with Carol, who accepted whole-heartedly, but everyone groaned when Peter opened his mouth and starting making Star Wars references.

Of course it all went over Carol's head, so when she asked what he was talking about, Peter stopped nerding out and gave the woman a surprised look.

"What?"

"You keep talking about Star Wars. What is that?" Carol asks, not knowing about the nuke that was currently exploding in Peter's mind.

Cue the most offended gasp the teen had ever made. Even more offended when Bruce had asked all that time ago if Peter ever got tired of watching Disney movies and Star Wars. As if.

"You haven't seen Star Wars?!"

Tony sighs as he stands. "You've done it now Danvers. Don't expect to leave that couch anytime soon."

"Cassie, would you help me make dinner?" Stephen asks as he follows Tony's example.

"Sure." She replies and follows the couple into the kitchen, leaving behind Peter asking FRIDAY to start the first Star Wars movie. To her credit, Carol didn't look like she was regretting anything. That would probably change soon.

"To think you like him." Tony teases Cassie and she blushes bright red. "Okay, I had some doubts, but that right there?" He motions toward her face. "That just confirms my theory."

Stephen stops grabbing things out of the fridge and stares at Cassie. "Wait. You like--"

Cassie shushes them loudly and grabs the food from Stephen. "Shut up! He has enhanced hearing!"

Tony snorts. "Not when he's nerding out over Star Wars."

He reaches around Stephen and grabs the container of blueberries, ignoring the sorcerer's quip of 'You're going to turn into one of those one of these days', as he pops a handful into his mouth. The engineer was close to teasing her some more by asking Cassie when her crush started, but decided to leave it alone when Stephen distracted her with a few cooking tasks.

Her mom and step-father decided to travel after the events of the Snap, and Cassie moved into the tower permanently with Scott. She was usually only up in the penthouse with them whenever her father was at work or just because (meaning to ogle Peter, even if the boy was completely oblivious to it), or if everyone got together for some thing or another like movie night. This was definitely not a movie night though. If any of the Avengers stepped off the elevator from now on, they would immediately turn around and leave once they saw that Peter took over the living room with Star Wars movies. Again.

Of course there had been times when Cassie had been sick and didn't want to be alone when Scott had to go to work, so she would come up for Mama Bear cuddles. Stephen spoiled all of the kids and they all adored him because of his attentiveness as a parent figure and as a doctor. Clint once had to bring Lila up so Stephen could tell her that, yes, you do need to sleep when you're sick so you can get better faster, because she thought her father was trying to scam her into sleeping. Once Stephen had confirmed Clint's words, Lila went back to Barton's floor without a fuss and slept like she was supposed to.

Peter would always be the favorite though.

Tony pours himself a glass of water and looks toward Goose and Tibbs, and finds the cat's lying next to each other, purring contentedly. The engineer didn't even bat an eye at the scene. In fact, he expected Tibbs to befriend the alien cat. It was just a feline version of Peter and the Hulk, and that had been interesting. Of course, it gave both Tony and Stephen temporary heart attacks when Peter approached the Hulk after a battle, but then the teen just fist bumped the big guy and told him he did a good job. The Hulk gave Bruce control willingly after Peter did that, and after a couple more tests, they discovered that Hulk liked Peter because the boy treated him like a friend. He was even able to ask the big guy if they could have Bruce back so he could help Sam when he had gotten hurt, and again, the Hulk gave Banner control.

"Just when I think that this group can't get any weirder, someone has to go and prove me wrong." Tony says and looks over at the sorcerer as the man hands some vegetables over to Cassie to chop.

Stephen smirks. "Someone has to."

"Why do you think I married you?"

Cassie raises an eyebrow. "I swear your reasons for marrying each other changes all the time."

"It doesn't change. It's just a growing list. You'll understand when you and Underoos tie the knot." Tony moves away with a laugh when the teen points her knife at him, and then throws another handful of blueberries into his mouth with a wink. "Then again that will never happen at this rate because our kid is incredibly stupid when it comes to picking up signals from girls."

Cassie sighs heavily as she throws her chopped vegetables into the boiling water on the stove. "I noticed."

"When is your father supposed to get back?" Stephen asks her.

"Late."

"You might as well stay for dinner." Tony says and looks toward the living room when Peter and Carol start arguing about something that happened in the movie.

Today was just full of surprises. Carol actually looked to be enjoying the movie with Peter and the billionaire half-expected them to binge watch the entire collection. That meant Cassie would either have to endure the torture or they could direct her to the guest room where there was another tv. Peter's room was available but that was a can if worms he didn't want to open if Scott saw her in there. Knowing Peter, if he actually went to sleep tonight, he would change in his bathroom and just get into bed and go to sleep if Cassie was in there watching movies. He was used to friends taking over his tv and one half of his bed. Cassie was a whole new situation for obvious reasons though. Scott didn't seem to know about her crush on Peter but it wouldn't matter, she was a teenager now. It also didn't matter that Peter would never take advantage of her whether he knew about her feelings or not, and Tony couldn't fault Scott for worrying. If he and Stephen had a daughter, he would worry too.

"Can I make something for dessert?" Cassie asks, interrupting the engineer's thoughts.

"Depends on what you're thinking." Tony replies, ignoring Stephen's eye roll.

"Cheesecake?"

Tony blinks and motions at the counter in front of him with exaggeration. "Explain why it isn't in front of me at this very moment."

Cassie laughs and both Tony and Stephen share a look when it briefly pulls Peter's attention from the movie.This mutual pining thing was starting to amuse Tony. Especially the fact that Peter wasn't even aware he was pining.

#ironstrange #mama bear stephen strange #supremefamily #tony stark #peter parker #stephen strange #cassie lang #carol danvers #goose the flerken #tibbs the cat

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brideofedoras · 4 years

Text

Cupid’s Arrow

A Modern AU Cupid/OFC

Disclaimer: I do not own Cupid or Aphrodite or the images in the aesthetic I created... I only own my OCs...

Warnings: NONE! (yet...)

Word Count: 2100+

Rating: 18+ (to be on the safe side)...

*Note: This was originally supposed to be a short one but it got away with me. I’m nowhere near finished with it, I’m currently stuck but I wanted to post it for Valentine’s Day. So... Here’s part one!

Valentine’s Day is T-minus 7 days, 14 hours, 38 minutes…

Cupid snorted awake when the damned alarm sounded on his phone. He rolled over and grabbed the device to silence the alert. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he muttered, dropping the iPhone onto the blanket before scrubbing his hands over his face. Dammit, he wanted to go back to sleep.

Unfortunately he had a job to do. And if he didn’t do it, his mother would never let him hear the end of it.

Aphrodite had been on a tear ever since she’d heard about some cute little brunette running a quaint little bookstore in the middle of Nowhere, Missouri. Rumor had it the girl was very beautiful and every red-blooded man in a hundred mile radius were flocking around her.

He screwed his eyes shut. His mother could be a very jealous woman at times, but this was ridiculous. She wanted him to go undercover, get a job somewhere in that town (preferably at the bookstore, if Aphrodite had her way), and nail some fat, ugly old man with one of his arrows and make him fall in love with the girl.

He sighed heavily as he sat up, the bedding pooling at his bare waist. One thing he hated was his own mother using him to ease her jealousy at some innocent woman’s expense.

“That’s not how I work, Mom,” he muttered to himself. He threw the covers off and stood up, shuddering at the slight chill in the room.

He preferred to bring couples together naturally without wasting his precious arrows. Occasionally someone would drag their heels and deny they were head over heels in love with the person they were meant to be with. Then he would bust out the crossbow and take aim.

But to use an arrow to force love on someone? It was immoral. He would not do something that went against his beliefs.

He would go, he would try to get hired on somewhere in Valentine Creek, Missouri, and see if there was anyone she was interested in. And if the feelings were reciprocated he would work his matchmaking skills, bring them together and hope for the best.

Cupid grabbed a pair of boxer briefs and pulled them on, formulating the plan in his head. Research the town, see if there are any job openings, apply and charm his way into a job, meet the girl, befriend the girl, and hopefully fix her up with her one true love.

He finished getting dressed and fixed himself a pot of coffee before he grabbed his laptop and settled down on his bed once more to do a Google search on the girl his mother had taken a dislike to sight unseen.

Valentine Creek, Missouri. Population 8,347. Located on the Missouri River in the middle of the state, cute little tourist town with a rich history. His hazel eyes skimmed along the list of businesses until the name of the bookstore Aphrodite had practically spat out last night caught his attention.

Adventure Awaits. Established in 1996 by Nic and Calliope Wilder on the square in historic downtown Valentine’s Creek, Adventure Awaits is a bookstore, bakery and coffee shop rolled into one. Current owner and operator is their daughter, Penelope Wilder, a 2018 graduate of Olympus University where she studied business management and creative writing. The Wilders have collaborated with area businesses during festivals to host wine walks to raise funds for restoring historic sites of interest; children’s workshops such as creative writing, art, dance, theater, and baking; pet adoption specials; back-to-school supply drives, and Christmas book drives.

He reached for his coffee and took a sip before searching to see if Adventure Awaits had a website. “Bingo,” he murmured when it pulled up. He frowned thoughtfully as he took in the simple page with a Victorian-esque background. Links to view the dessert and beverage menu, books, gifts, upcoming events lined the top of the page.

He scrolled down the main page, finding it to be a blog of sorts touting specials, sales, employment opportunities and photos from recent events.

One photo caught his attention. A blue-eyed brunette curled up on an overstuffed armchair with a book and a three-legged cat.

Meet the not-so-new owner and operator of Adventure Awaits: Penny (and Church).

Cupid double-tapped the photo to get a better look.

Long dark hair flowing in waves, bright baby blue eyes framed with long dark lashes, high cheekbones, full pink lips, flawless skin. An aura of shy innocence in that smile.

Warmth flooded through him as he studied, as he memorized Penelope Wilder’s photograph. He wondered if her hair felt as silky as it looked, if it would curl around his fingers. Would her lips feel plush and velvety soft under his? What would her kisses taste like? Would her eyes sparkle with love and adoration as she looked deep into his own hazels?

The increasing tightness in his chest snapped him out of his reverie. Cupid scrubbed his hands over his face and drew in a deep breath. “You are the God of Love, you have no time for a romance of your own, you idiot,” he berated himself. “Mom would kill you, too, for this.”

He spread his fingers to peek at the computer screen once more, to the chocolate brown tresses and the baby blue eyes and the shy smile. “I can’t do this.”

Cupid startled when his phone vibrated on the night stand. With a groan he dropped his hands and snatched it up. “Crap.” He swiped his thumb to answer. “Mom.”

“Cupid, don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” The sickly sweet tone in Aphrodite’s voice belied the irritation he picked up on.

“No, I’m not doing it,” he leaned back against the headboard.

“Yes, you are,” she growled at him. “You are going to fly your cute little ass to Missouri and make her fall in love with some fat old geezer.”

“Mother, what you are demanding of me goes against what I stand for,” he warned. “I will not force that kind of fate on an undeserving innocent.”

“I don’t care,” he rolled his eyes at her flippant tone. “You’re doing this or I’m disowning you.”

“You say that every time you want me to do your dirty work, Mom,” he reached up and raked his fingers through his golden blond hair. “You haven’t disowned me yet.”

“Just do it, Cupid,” she snapped and disconnected the call.

“No, Mom,” he dropped the phone onto the bed. “I’m not gonna ruin her life to appease your jealousy.” He leaned forward to look at the photo of the blue-eyed beauty once more.

“No, Church, you can’t have a brownie,” Penelope smiled at the three-legged cat at her feet. “You shouldn’t be back here anyway.”

Big amber eyes blinked at her from the sweet ebony face before the rescue hobbled off with his fluffy tail flicking sassily at her.

She shook her head as she finished stocking the dessert display. “Chocolate isn’t good for furbabies,” she picked up the cream cheese chocolate chip brownie she’d saved for herself and followed the cat to the window display overlooking the park across the street. It was cloudy out, snow was in the forecast for the afternoon. “Think we’ll get the four inches of snow the weatherman promised?” She scritched behind Church’s left ear.

The cat purred in response, a deep and loud rumble as he turned his head to urge her to scratch him under his jaw.

She smiled as she complied. “Not that we have to get out in it, since we live upstairs and I did the shopping last night.” Her baby blue eyes wandered to the window again. “Well, we have thirty minutes before it’s time to open, Mom will be here later to help me with today’s delivery… Is it wrong to want a shot of tequila to get me through the day?”

“Mrrrrp,” Church gave her a half meow, half purr for a response before turning and hopping up onto the vintage wingback chair in the display. He promptly curled up on the soft ivory afghan.

“It was just a hypothetical question,” she sighed as she straightened the books on the side table. “Maybe.”

She turned away from the window and walked through the small store. She switched around a few Valentine’s Day displays, rotating the books on the stands and tried not to groan as she wondered how many men she was going to have to fend off today.

Not a single one of them were interested in a relationship. They wanted to hook up, do the one night stand thing and go on their merry little way, or the friends with benefits, no-strings-attached thing.

She was shy, introverted, and hooking up for sex was something she could not do. If she was going to invest her time in someone, step out of her comfort zone and make herself vulnerable then that person better be in it for the long haul, and not just for sex. Some of her friends had a revolving door of lovers, and she understood that this day and age that was the new normal. It just was not for her. She wanted the old cliche, a whirlwind romance evolving into happily ever after.

Penny groaned. “I should just go on vacation every year around this time, Church,” she picked up a copy of one of her favorite books and carried it to the counter. “What do you think? A little bungalow on the beach somewhere? Maybe run away to New Zealand?” She chuckled when she received no response from the stray-turned-spoiled house cat. “I’m terrified of flying, that would never work anyway,” she shook her head as she propped Pride and Prejudice up next to the register. One quick glance at the clock on the wall told her she had five minutes to go before it was time to open. With another sigh she rounded the counter to start the coffee maker for the regular coffee, checked the other machines, and grabbed the keys to unlock the door.

“Church, it’s already starting to snow,” she commented as she unlocked the door leading to the enclosed foyer. Once the main door was unlocked she dipped into her bucket of rock salt and stepped out onto the sidewalk to spread it out.

“Penny, where’s your coat?”

Her head snapped up toward the shoe store to the left. “Upstairs in my apartment,” she answered with a smile. “I’ll grab it when I have a chance, Ed.”

“You be sure to do that, wouldn’t want for you to come down sick,” Ed Chambers smiled back. “If you want, I can have Josh shovel the walk for you later.”

“Thank you,” she shook her head. “I’ll take care of it.”

“The offer stands if you get busy, Penny,” he waved before ducking back into his shop.

Her smile dropped the moment she was alone. Ugh. I do not want Josh shoveling my part of the walk. He will just come into the store and flirt and get mad the moment I turn him down. She ducked back into the foyer for more rock salt. “I’m quite capable of shoveling my sidewalk, clearing off my car, and carrying my groceries,” she muttered out loud. “Don’t need some jerk coming along flexing to show off and entice me into something I want no part of.” A few more scoops of salt later she grabbed the sign her dad had made years ago and set it where it was out of the way but easily seen. Caution: Sidewalk might be slick! Please walk with care!

She stepped back into her business and flipped the sign from “Closed” to “Come on in, we’re open!”. Once she wiped her feet on the rough mat she sighed heavily. “I swear to God, Cupid better keep his damned arrows away from me.”

Penny ducked around the wall separating the counter from the kitchen to wash her hands. It would likely be a slow day for business with the snow arriving earlier than expected (never a good sign), and the main drag would be clogged later with rerouted traffic from accidents on the freeway bridge ten minutes away (happens every time it rains or snows, people think they can fly down the highway at 90 miles per hour regardless of the weather). But she had her regulars to think about. Employees from the businesses, city hall, the police and sheriff’s department and the courthouse often popped in for a cup of coffee and a fresh brownie or cookie during their breaks. The auxiliary from the local hospital enjoyed coming in to request books and novelty items to be ordered for their gift shop. She doubted they would come in.

Slow days could be both a blessing and a curse, she thought. With nothing else to do until the delivery, she settled in behind the counter for a long wait.

#cupid/ofc #modern au #fluff #valentine's day #karl urban #church the cat

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dragonfics · 6 years

Text

Faithful - Chapter 1

Chapter title: Lucky Thirteen

Summary: It is the law that a monster cannot take a lover who is not their Soulmate. Doing so is an unspeakable crime against the will of the Fates. Those who commit this crime are marked Unfaithful—the greatest shame a monster can endure.

Truth be told, Rus had never been a monster of great faith.

Ships: Spicyhoney, (a couple more in future chapters)

Tags: (Dystopian) Soulmate AU, Discrimination, Sex work, Fell/Tale-verse dynamics, Work Inappropriate, LV issues, Illegal relationship/Forbidden love

_______________________________________

Hey guys, first chapter of the Soulmate fic ^_^ It’s NSFW, so watch your step. Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Below the cut

In this city, there was nothing more depressing than a singles bar. Though Rus appreciated the sentiment—Fates knew how lonely sleeping by yourself got—the underlying expectation that one would find their Soulmate at one of the hundred-and-three mixers in the city made the entire endeavour rather pointless.

Security guards were stationed at every door. ‘For the safety of all patrons’ read the signs over their posts. Rus wondered if anyone actually bought that crap. He’d seen what happened to those who were Unfaithful—dragged away by security for trying to go home with a monster who wasn’t their Soulmate. He didn’t know what they did with them, but he’d heard stories about the punishments. The rehabilitation programmes. The banishments.

Well. There was alcohol here. Cheap alcohol, but it wasn’t as if Rus could afford anything more. May as well take advantage of it on his night off. He had no intention of taking anyone home, Soulmate or otherwise.

He would have gone to Grillby’s. It was a little out of his way, but it was far more esteemed than this place, and Grillby was more than willing to slip him a few freebies. But Rus wasn’t exactly in the mood to make small-talk with his brother’s… boyfriend.

So he drank his cheap wine, ate the cashews off the bar, and let the chatter and music fade to white noise around him. Given that it was a Saturday, the place was a little overcrowded. Among the throngs, flickers of colour drew attention to the Soulmate couples, glowing brightly (or faintly, in several cases). In these situations, Rus enjoyed being alone. It let him feel invisible.

Someone tapped his shoulder. Huh. Not invisible enough, apparently. He turned slowly, mind already slightly fogged from the alcohol. “yeah…?”

“Mind if I join ya?”

Rus eyed the monster, letting his gaze wander his body. An attractive monster, from an objective standpoint. Shirt open, sturdy abdominal muscles, well polished scales, silky hair…

“nah, sorry,” Rus said, turning back around. “drinking alone tonight.” He hadn’t come here to flirt, regardless of the impression one gave off sitting alone in a singles bar. He took another sip of his wine—then sighed in frustration when the stranger tapped his shoulder again. Turning, he lifted a brow bone, ensuring his impatience was apparent.

“How ‘bout we compare marks?” The monster flashed him a gleaming smile, holding out his forearm. “Y’never know ‘til ya check, right?”

Rus fought back the urge to roll his eye-lights. “right. look man, this isn’t going to happen, okay?”

The monster’s smile sunk, but he quickly recomposed himself. “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart. Jus’ show me yer soul mark and we can put this ta rest.”

“why?” Rus asked flatly, angling himself away from the monster and taking a long drink of his wine. His head buzzed.

“We could be Soulmates.” The monster winked, but his words made Rus shiver.

“yeah... not interested.”

The monster frowned slowly, looking confused. “But, if we’re Soulmates, then ya gotta…”

“gotta what?” Rus said sharply. The monster looked taken aback. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting resistance. “tell you what,” Rus said. “i’ll put your mind to rest.” He yanked up his sleeve, displaying the faint crescent brand on his ulna, just a shade darker than his bone.

The monster’s eyes lit up, and he studied Rus’s forearm, then his own, comparing their marks. Both remained dull and unlit, and the monster grimaced, looking disappointed. He studied Rus for a moment, eyes narrowed. Rus sat still. This monster was Fell-verse—he could tell by the aura of magic that surrounded him. Sharp and aware. In Rus’s experience, Fell monsters were less inclined to the Soulmate laws. For a few seconds, Rus feared he might protest.

Then he glanced at the door—where security was eyeing them. Grunting, he gave a flippant wave of his hand. “Yer loss, sweetheart.” He wandered away and Rus slumped with relief.

After finishing the remainder of his drink, he slid off the barstool and nudged his way through the crowds. He brushed past a pair of Soulmates, glowing pink. They smiled at him, arms around each other. They seemed to be smiling at everyone, in fact. Ah, pink. The colour of newfound love. Rus grimaced to himself and squeezed past, heading outside.

The street was busy with Saturday crowds, but at least he could breathe out here. He retrieved a cigarette and lighter from his hoodie pocket, leaning against the cold bricks of the building. Above him, the pink light for the Single Souls bar flickered—beneath it, a notice to report any Unfaithful activity to security. It was custom for all establishments to have one.

Rus was halfway through his second cigarette when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He grumbled to himself and pulled it out, recognising his handler’s number on the screen. “‘sup, val?” he answered, trying to keep his voice steady. He wasn’t quite at the point of slurring, but he was a renowned lightweight. Never really a good front to present to your boss.

“Hey, Rus. You sober?”

Rus stubbed his cigarette out against the wall. A red-glow Soulmate couple passed him, shooting him disdainful looks. “yep,” he lied, giving the couple a false smile.

“Good. Got a job for you.”

On his night off. Hmph. “it’s saturday,” he reminded her.

“It is,” she said. “And you’re meant to be on call.”

Oh. Right. He sighed, nodding to himself. “yeah okay. what is it? the usual?”

“Higher LV than usual.” Huh. That was surprising. They didn’t typically give him the high LV ones. Delicate goods and all. “We’re short staffed,” Val said in response to his silence. “I know. Not your usual assignment. You good for it?”

“yeah, not like i have anything better to do,” Rus said dully. A loud group of monsters passed him, giggling and stumbling and shrieking something about ‘The One!’ Rus narrowed his sockets. “i’ll be there in ten.”

“You’re a gem.”

“i know. i deserve a raise.”

“Hilarious. See you soon, love.”

Rus ‘ported back to his apartment. After drinking a healthy half-litre of water in an attempt to regain his sobriety, he took a quick shower and changed to make himself more presentable. Form-fitting jeans, white blouse, and a dash of cologne.

He found his company-issued bandana among the laundry. White silk embroidered with a silver F. He wrapped it around his ulna, hiding his soul mark. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His cheekbones were a little flushed from the wine. He supposed he could pass it off as deliberate. (Most of his clients liked to see him blush, anyway).

There was a soft mew at his feet, and he felt a small head rubbing up against his ankles. “kitty…” He crouched to scratch the small cat’s chin. “you know you don’t live here, right?” He sighed. “i should really stop feeding you.” She purred, and he scowled when thin black hairs stuck to his fingers. “you’d better be gone by the time i get back!” She mewed again as he tucked his phone into his back pocket and teleported to the facility.

After being tagged and physically assessed, he was sent to his handler’s office. She glanced up from her desk when he entered, pushing her glasses up her orange beak. Her black eyes sparkled. “Looking sweet as always, darling.” Rus tipped his head in acknowledgement and sat across from her. She slid him a file and he glanced at the monster’s profile.

His soul skipped a beat. “thirteen lv?” He swallowed, stunned. He was one of the few Tale-verse monsters in this field. And for that reason, he was seldom given monsters with LV higher than five or six—if that. “i…”

“He’s safe,” Val said. “We checked him out. Law enforcement. On suppressants. Trust me, darling, we wouldn’t be handing him one of our most valuable assets if he wasn’t.” She pulled a sheet out of the file in Rus’s hands, tapping the monetary value at the top of the page. “It’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

Rus eyed the amount the monster was paying, and swallowed. Fates. He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t use the money. “uh... nope. all good.”

Val smiled, her feathers flattening. “That’s what I like to hear.” She returned to her paperwork while he packed up the file into his inventory, standing. “Got your tag?” she asked without looking at him.

Rus crouched and tapped his ankle. “yup.”

“Good. We can’t have you running off.”

“yeah, because i’m very prone to that.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first,” Val said. “Had another one try it with their client last week. It was a mess—and the paperwork!” She looked at Rus and sighed. “I’m sorry, love, I know you wouldn’t. But we have to keep you all tagged. Council regulations and all that.”

“i know,” Rus said. “am i good to go?”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let us drive you?” Val said, looking at him wearily as he stood up.

Rus laughed and waved at her over his shoulder. “not a bloody chance.”

Rus didn’t drive. Not for lack of trying—his brother had attempted to teach him. ‘Attempted’ being the key word. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was hurtling down the roads at speeds ten times greater than he could manage on his own two feet, accompanied by hundreds of other objects hurtling at similar speeds (or faster). Perhaps.

Either way, he always caught the train to his clients’ chosen locations. The tag around his ankle suppressed his teleportation, much to his bereavement. The company offered to drive him, of course, but Rus always refused. His policy about not travelling in a fast, small box held regardless of who was behind the wheel. Trains didn’t crash, public though they were.

To his disgruntlement, his carriage was rather abundantly populated by Soulmates tonight. Mostly glowing pink. A few reds about. The pinks were sicklier (in Rus’s personal, honest, and unbiased opinion). Flaunting their Soulmate-ness through very extravagant displays of affection. The reds were more reserved, but no less unappealing to look at.

Above the heads of a pink couple in front of him, a large advertisement blared the words ‘Unfaithfuls. YOU can stop them. YOU can prevent the defilement of our society. Report non-Soulmate activity.’ Rus tried not to look at it too hard. Not that it had any bearing on him. Though his career might be considered ‘non-Soulmate activity’, it was permitted under the law. Nonetheless, any discussions of Unfaithfuls had always made him… uncomfortable.

The walk from the train station to his client’s house was only ten minutes. Ten quiet minutes. The neighbourhood was sparse, only a few apartments dotted between empty plots of land and small shops closed for the weekend. When he reached his client’s modest home, he found it barred by a gate and fence. He double-checked the address he’d saved on his phone. This didn’t exactly look like the home of a monster one would want to intrude upon. He rang the buzzer, and waited stiffly, wrapping his arms around himself.

A voice came through the intercom almost immediately. “Yes?” Low, rich and gravelly.

“um.” Rus swallowed. He didn’t normally get nervous around clients. 13 LV. “it’s… rus. your. your escort?”

Silence. Rus shivered. Then— “Of course. I’ll be right out.”

The front door opened and he glanced up, swallowing. Though it was dark, he immediately recognised the silhouette of another skeleton monster. They were a rare breed, though he wasn’t the first Rus had met outside of family. Sharp features, well-dressed, a little stiff in the shoulders. The monster approached him with a placid expression on his face. His eye-lights glowed red.

Well. Rus knew an attractive monster when he saw one, and he was seeing one. He smiled, though it must have looked faint. Attractive or not, the skeleton still had an unsettling air about him that was common with Fell-verse monsters—particularly those with LV. “hello,” Rus said. The skeleton watched him, but didn’t open the gate. His expression was unreadable. “um... edge, right?”

“You’re Tale-verse.”

Rus blinked. “yes?”

The skeleton frowned, then seemed to realise himself. He shook his head, straightening the creases from his sweater. “Forgive me. You don’t see many Tale-verse monsters in this profession. At least, not in my experience.”

“oh.” Rus wondered if this monster was aware that Tale monsters were very unlikely to be loaned to those with LV as high as thirteen. “well. we are a rare breed, i suppose.”

The skeleton lifted a brow bone. “Indeed.” Rus glanced at his shoes, scuffing them on the ground. “I’m sorry if this is forward,” the other skeleton said, opening the gate and letting Rus inside, “but perhaps we could… skip the formalities. I’m…” Rus caught him swallowing. Then he noticed a tick in his hands. He was fidgeting, unsettled.

This certainly wasn’t the first time Rus had encountered a monster struggling to withhold the uncomfortable urges brought forth by their LV. Fates knew how a monster with LV this high was even coping. But this was familiar territory for him. He knew how to handle this. Relaxing his magic, he smiled amicably, and took the skeleton’s arm. “of course. why don’t you show me to your bedroom… edge, was it?”

“Yes. Yes, sorry, I should have mentioned that before.” He remained rigid under Rus’s hold.

“it’s alright,” Rus said smoothly. He stroked Edge’s arm delicately as they walked across the front yard, soothing. “i’m here to take care of you, but you’re the one in control.” Some of the tension left Edge’s shoulders, and he nodded without looking at Rus.

“Thank you,” he said. Still a little stiff, but it was progress.

Rus wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but there was a significant lack of taxidermy and creepy oil paintings inside the house. The walls were painted a calming beige, and shelves of books and figurines lined the room. There was an earthy smell—like pine and wood. It was certainly neater than Rus’s apartment. There was an unfittingly homely feel to it, too.

Edge led him through the living room and into a corridor. Art hung on the walls, as did small potted plants. Fates, it was like a show-house. There wasn’t a speck of dust in sight. They passed what Rus assumed to be a study—though ‘miniature library’ may have been more accurate.

The bedroom was significantly plainer than the rest of the house. Simple. Practical. Bed and dresser—not even a mirror. Edge stopped to close the door behind them, then watched Rus with his hands folded behind his back. Patient—though, not really. Rus could tell it was a facade. The air itched with magic in need of tempering. “shall we close the curtains?” Rus asked.

Edge nodded quickly and crossed the room, drawing the curtains over the windows. It was something Rus had picked up in his early days working this job. He’d only had the police called on himself and a client once—owing to the absence of a Soulmate glow between them. Once had been enough.

Edge’s movements were unsteady; there was a tick of desperation to the way he held himself. Fates, he was worse than Rus had thought. He walked towards him slowly, touching his arm. “shall we?” he asked. Edge nodded, jaw clenched.

Channelling his magic into calming projections, Rus reached for the hem of Edge’s sweater. But Edge caught his hand. Instead, he began to unbutton Rus’s shirt hastily, making quick work of it. He pulled it off Rus’s shoulders, leaving his top half bare. A visible tremble ran through him as he studied Rus. His eye-lights glanced over the silk concealing Rus’s soul mark, but he paid it little further heed. Instead, he focused on Rus’s face, running his palm over his jaw.

Rus inhaled sharply when he leaned in and pressed their teeth together. Rougher than he’d been anticipating, and it took him a moment to catch his breath. He kissed Edge back tentatively, running his tongue over his teeth. Edge cupped the back of his skull and looped an arm around his hips, pulling their bodies together and delving into Rus’s mouth. Rus hummed in surprise, but reciprocated by running his fingers down Edge’s spine.

When Edge pulled back, his cheekbones were flushed red. He kicked off his shoes and caught Rus in his arms again, lowering him to the bed. The rest of his clothes remained on. Rus let himself go lax in Edge’s arms, allowing him to control the kiss. He could feel the press of Edge’s magic through his slacks—hard. “what would you like from me?” he murmured, stroking Edge’s hip and finding the bone coarse beneath his fingers. “want me to make something pretty for you to fuck?”

Edge gave nothing beyond a stiff nod before kissing Rus again. As he pressed their hips together, Rus let his magic settle into a cunt. Edge cupped his pelvic bone. He grunted softly as he squeezed, licking Rus’s jaw, nibbling on his neck. Rus sighed and tipped his head back. A quiet moan escaped him when Edge’s fingers found a sensitive spot through his jeans. Fuck. He was normally good at remaining composed when with clients.

He decided to switch things around, and reached for Edge’s belt. He loosened it with practiced ease, and tugged his pants down his femurs. He hummed at the sight of Edge’s cock, already hard and leaking. Licking his teeth, Rus eyed Edge, letting a smirk play across his mouth.

Edge caught his wrists and Rus froze, for a second fearing the worst. “Lie back,” Edge said quietly. He wasn’t looking Rus in the eye. His gaze wandered over Rus’s naked form. He stroked his ribs and ilia, studying them, almost curiously. “Turn over.” His voice was low.

Rus lay on his front and braced himself on his elbows. For a few seconds, Edge was motionless behind him. Rus could hear his heavy breathing, and feel the waves of urgency rolling off him. He glanced over his shoulder at Edge. He was kneeling, a blank expression on his face. His body was trembling. Rus swallowed, worried. “hey, don’t worry about me,” he said gently. “i can handle it. just take what you need, okay?”

Edge’s eyes honed in on his face. There was an intensity to his gaze that made Rus shrivel. He turned back around, and waited. Behind him, the sheets shifted. Then—

“oh…” Rus moaned at the press of something soft and warm against his folds. He had to bite on his fist to hold back his vocality. Edge’s tongue slipped inside him and he groaned, pressing his face into the pillow. Oh. Fates. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had done this to him—let alone well.

Magic rushed downward, making his cunt throb. Edge pressed a finger inside him, pushing his tongue against Rus’s clit. Rus was panting, his face flushed. “fuck,” he gasped, when Edge pressed a second finger into him. “oh fuck that’s good.” Edge hummed softly, burying his tongue inside Rus one final time before he withdrew. Rus let his head drop forward onto the pillow, quite flustered.

He glanced over his shoulder then twisted around, reaching for Edge’s heavy cock. “here, let me—”

Edge caught his wrist. His grip wasn’t tight, but Rus could sense the effort he was exerting through the tremors that travelled through him. He shook his head and pushed Rus back down. “I—I’m sorry. I just. I really need to fuck you.”

Rus swallowed heavily, but nodded in reassurance. “of course. whatever you need.” He propped himself up and Edge wrapped an arm around his chest, dragging their bodies together.

“Red if you need me to stop.” There was something dark in Edge’s voice, and Rus bit his tongue, nodding. Edge’s arm around his chest was tight, and Rus could feel him trembling.

“go ahead.” His voice emerged small. Beside him, Edge’s fingers dug into the mattress. The tips were sharp, Rus noticed. He could feel them against his ribs now. Not hard enough to hurt. Not yet, anyway. He braced himself for pain.

When he felt the head of Edge’s cock pushing into him, he sucked in a sharp breath. Edge stopped at once, but his voice was raspy when he spoke. “Am I hurting you?” The way he shook above Rus spoke of how well he was holding himself together.

“no, love, you’re good. keep going.”

Slowly, Edge pushed deeper, grunting. Rus shut his eyes, breathing slowly as his cunt adjusted to the stretch. Edge moved carefully, though Rus was certain it was more for his sake than his own. He slid out of Rus then pushed back in, groaning. “Y-you feel good,” he said tremulously.

“yeah?” Rus stroked Edge’s hand around his chest. “you want to go harder?”

“Yes,” Edge breathed, pushing a little deeper, thrusting a little faster. “Please.”

“go on. you’re doing so well.” Rus gasped when Edge found a rougher pace, squeezing their bodies together. “fuck, that feels good. oh, fates, that’s amazing…” Rus panted, whining softly when Edge latched onto his neck, teeth digging in to the bone. He pressed Rus into the bed and pounded into him, groaning. “oh!” Rus cried out. “oh, holy fuck.”

Edge growled and buried himself into Rus, slowing his pace and holding himself deep. He rolled his hips and found a delicious spot inside Rus’s walls, making him whine. “…oh fates, you’re going to make me come.”

In Rus’s profession, ‘faking it’ was an intrinsic part of the practice. In this case however, it was entirely unnecessary. Every sound out of his mouth was completely genuine—he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stop them if he’d tried.

Edge seemed a little beyond words himself. The growls and moans he was making were leaning towards carnal, and Rus could feel the thick, heavy magic of his LV in the air around them. He made his best effort to accelerate his soothing projections, but his magic was more interested in arousing than calming. Regardless, Edge seemed to be enjoying himself.

“oh—oh!” Rus screamed when Edge’s fingers found his clit. He stroked it slowly as he ground into Rus, his cock pressing just the right place against Rus’s walls.

Instinctively, Rus held a hand over his mouth as his climax built. “No,” Edge growled, yanking his hand away. “Let me fucking hear you. Let me hear you come.”

Rus cried out, a shudder rushing through him as he came. Edge moaned and held their bodies together, going still inside Rus. A flood of warmth filled his cunt and he groaned, clinging to the bed sheets. Sweat trickled down his skull. His entire body felt hot. He slumped beneath Edge, catching his breath.

Slowly, carefully, Edge rolled off him and lay back on the mattress beside him. “Thank you,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You can’t imagine how much I needed that.”

Rus only nodded, breathless. Then, to his surprise, Edge leaned over and caught his mouth in a kiss, significantly gentler than before. He drew away and lay back down, shutting his eyes. The tension had left him; Rus could see it. And feel it. The aura he projected—while retaining the natural hint of Fell-verse hostility—no longer sparked with unchanneled magic and aggression.

At this point, most of Rus’s clients would likely have asked him to leave—or have requested another round. But Edge made no move to do either. Or to do anything, in fact, beyond lying at his side, dozing. Rus wondered if he ought to be the one to suggest ending their session. “i, um—i can leave now, if…” He swallowed when Edge glanced at him. He really was the perfect balance of scary and sexy.

“Stay here,” he said. He got up and buckled his pants, then left Rus alone in the room. Rus sat up and propped himself against the headboard. He eyed the clock on Edge’s dresser. Edge still had him for half an hour. Most clients preferred to make use of the full hour—but thus far, Edge had hardly filled the expectations Rus had of ‘most clients’. He was… odd. Though Rus was still deciding whether that was a good or bad thing.

Edge returned with a basin and washcloth, along with a bottle of water. He handed the water to Rus, instructing him to drink. Rus obeyed… hesitantly. He frowned at Edge as he wet the cloth in the basin. “uh, mind explaining what you’re doing?”

“You don’t mind if I clean you up, do you?” Edge asked, hesitating.

“i—i mean. you don’t? have to…?”

“Do you want me to?” Edge asked again.

Rus looked at him, trying to gauge the expression on his face. He found nothing of concern. Shrugging, he popped the cap off his bottle, taking a sip of water. “sure. go ahead.”

Edge leaned in and wiped the magic away from his pelvis. Rus took a heavy swallow of water. This felt… oddly intimate. Which—was part of the job, he supposed, but this was a different sort of intimacy. He watched as Edge dabbed carefully at the tender regions of his pelvis with the cloth. Rus had to suppress a shiver. He wasn’t used to this type of intimacy.

When he’d finished, Edge patted Rus dry with a towel. “I’ll call you a taxi,” he said, folding the towel and cloth neatly.

Rus blinked, surprised. “oh. you still have me for another thirty minutes, though.”

“That’s quite alright. I’ll still pay in full.”

“no, i mean…” Rus shook his head. “you don’t need any more…?”

“You’ve been more than helpful. Thank you, Rus.”

Rus watched him dubiously. Edge picked his clothes off the floor and handed them to him. Rus slid off the bed and slowly got dressed, tugging his jeans over the tag around his ankle. He could feel Edge’s gaze on him.

“Let me call a taxi,” he said again.

Rus waved his hand, standing and heading for the door. “nah, it’s no bother. i’ll get the train.”

“You catch the train?” Edge sounded surprised.

“yep.”

“... Alone?”

“alone.” Rus smiled at Edge from the doorway, tilting his head.

“No, of course, I just—” Edge stood with his hands folded behind his back, shoulders taut. “Allow me to walk you to the station.”

Rus grinned. “aw, you don’t have to do that, man.”

“I insist.”

“i appreciate it, but i’m perfectly capable of walking ten minutes by myself.”

Edge looked at the floor, frowning, then said, “I still have you for half an hour, don’t I?”

A surprised laugh escaped Rus. “well—i suppose i can’t stop you then.”

“Thank you.” Edge sounded strangely relieved.

They walked in silence. The street didn’t stir, empty as it had been on Rus’s journey here. Edge secured the gate behind them before escorting Rus down the road. He walked by Rus’s side without a word. There was an alertness to the way he moved. He was light on his feet, shoulders drawn, hands behind his back. Like military. Val had mentioned he was law enforcement, hadn’t she? Rus wondered if that had anything to do with it. Somehow, he doubted it. There was something… very Fell-verse about Edge’s demeanour. More so than he was used to.

When they reached the station, Edge stopped outside the gates. Rus glanced at him, smirking. “you’re not going to insist on catching the train with me, are you?”

Edge narrowed his sockets. “No. Our time is up.” On cue, the tag around Rus’s ankle buzzed. Edge held out his hand stiffly. “It was good meeting you, Rus.”

Rus lifted a brow bone, grinning as he shook Edge’s hand. “yeah, it was… you’re great in bed.” Edge lifted a brow bone.

“Yes, I know. And I can extend the compliment.”

Rus snorted. “goodnight, edge.”

“Goodnight. Travel safely.”

“i will,” Rus said. He glanced over his shoulder as he entered the station. Edge still stood at the gates, watching him. A little weird, perhaps, but in a strange way, Rus took comfort in it.

#Faithful #my writing #Spicyhoney #Papcest #us papyrus #uf papyrus #dom uf papyrus #top uf papyrus #sub us papyrus #bottom us papyrus #Soulmate AU

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cannibalisticskittles · 7 years

Text

a queen’s desires

pairing: rika/mc (named) notes: rika had better not let anyone know what really brought on the change of heart that saved the would-be crown thief. she’d have to execute anyone who tries to make a quip about “stealing her heart instead.” royalty au for day 5 of rika week for the prompt “aus.” the last one wasn’t particularly gay so this is extra gay. a back-and-forth of trying to out-gay each other.

It’s a well-kept but bitter secret that she doesn’t exactly need to be present for these trials to take place.

Oh, she proclaims the final judgment, and she watches over the proceedings with a stern, queenly eye, but really, the trial could be conducted from start to finish without her. She can’t even truly feel like it’s a display of her power when she has to be here to strike reverence into the nobles or else risk murmurs, a seed of discontent she cannot allow.

The fact that they’ve actually bothered to gather up dusty nobility to witness a trial with an outcome they saw coming the moment the thief was caught in the royal treasury is just… dull. All this pomp and circumstance is enough to bore her to death.

She straightens, making sure to keep her pose statuesque, and thinks with a flash of annoyance that if the thief had just been courteous to just aim for something a little less high-profile than a ceremonial crown, they could have just cut her head off and be done with it before it came time to take her tea.

As it is, this rigidity seems designed to make her suffer rather than the thief – who, as far as Rika can tell, doesn’t even react to the charges, keeping her head bowed but standing tall without even a hint of nervousness to explain it.

The thief’s arms are bound behind her back, and she is flanked by guards, one on either side taking hold of an arm to prevent her from bolting. There’s evidence of some wear and tear in her clothes, enough that Rika can spot it from her throne – though of course, how much came from a scuffle with her guards and how much was present before her arrival, she can’t say. The thief makes a rather pitiful figure, although she would perhaps garner more sympathy from Rika if her stance were out of respect and not out of impudence, as it now seems.

But, at last, they seem to be nearing an end to this drawn-out affair, and it is finally time for her to do her part.

Rika clasps her hands delicately in her lap, a picture of poise and power. “Now, with your crimes laid bare before the crown, have you anything to say for yourself?”

The thief lifts her head at last – and Rika’s pulse stutters.

In the moment that the thief straightens and looks towards the throne at last, Rika sees what she could not before – that she is brilliantly gorgeous.

Even bound and scuffed up as the thief may be, Rika is rendered at a momentary loss.

The thief gives a wide, sheepish grin, tossing her head to push away the sleek, dark hair that’s fallen into her eyes, and gives her response: “Sorry?”

She offers a flippant shrug, or as much of one as she can with her arms held in place. One of the guards pulls pack roughly on her arm, and she wavers slightly, stumbling, and when she catches herself, her eyes narrow with mirth.

“–your majesty.” She adds. Her voice is no more respectful than before, but Rika finds she can’t bring herself to care, not when it is such a sweet-sounding voice, low and smooth and wry.

Rika refolds her hands and steels herself imperceptibly, then says, “…let her come closer. I want to have a look at her.”

The guards on either side of the thief make as if to move with her, but Rika raises a hand. “No. On her own.”

If they find fault in her desires, they are wise enough not to show it, although they do release her with enough force to set her stumbling forward.

She rakes a hand through her hair as she approaches, and Rika can see as she approaches that there’s some nervousness beginning to enter her eyes.

Rika keeps herself calm and still as the thief comes closer, only to stop at the steps. When Rika beckons her closer still, her expression shifts to open shock before she smooths out her features again.

Rika remains silent, letting the thief stew in uncertainty for a few moments as Rika studies her. She’s even lovelier up close – even with obvious suspicion marring her expression, Rika can’t help but notice the how clear and deep her eyes seem, how alive.

“What is your name?” Rika asks, in a voice meant only for the woman. There is a small pleasure in knowing that all else in the room will be straining to hear.

The thief blinks her lovely eyes, as if the question has caught her off guard. “Sun-hwa, your majesty.”

Oh, dear god, Rika can’t execute her, she’d never be able to live with herself; her voice is even sweeter now, without distance to get in the way. Still, Rika tilts her head inquisitively, and asks, “what do you believe will happen to you now?”

The thief – Sun-hwa – winces. “I… suppose I expect to die, your majesty. Though if you feel inclined to mete out a lighter sentence, I wouldn’t object.”

Rika merely gives a slight, indulging smile, and Sun-hwa winces again as her light-hearted comment seems to fall flat. “Hmm. Now, knowing that, why would you ever chase this impossible task?”

“Got offered money for it. Paid me half in advance. I couldn’t turn it down.” Sun-hwa’s tone is matter-of-fact.

“No? And why not?”

“I… owed a debt, your majesty. Paid it off in full with just what I got when I agreed to, ah…” The sheepish look returns. “Rob you blind.”

“And who was it that paid you this… I assume rather exorbitant sum to ‘rob me blind,’ hmm?”

“It’s–” There’s a moment where Sun-hwa hedges, and then she seems to come to a decision. “Fuck it, they can’t get me anyway, now,” she mutters, and then louder: “The Paynes. Of Ashweald. The eldest son, anyway; I never dealt with anyone else. But…” She shrugs.

Rika’s eyebrows raise. “That little backwater province?” Sending a message, perhaps? Attempting to mock her? Interesting. “One more question before I make my final judgment.” Sun-hwa bows her head. “Why didn’t you just run?”

“–pardon?”

“When you got your advance. You didn’t run off with the money. Why? Is it loyalty? Ambition? Overconfidence? Were you really afraid of nobles who can’t even angle for somewhere nicer than marshlands?” Rika rests her chin in her hand as she waits for a response.

“Oh, God no,” Sun-hwa scoffs, and Rika nearly laughs. “I’m pretty sure I could have been clear across the sea before they’d even realized I changed course. But… they might be able to use the weight of their fancy titles to, ah… track down people I’d rather not involve in this. Family, and the like. You know how it goes.”

“And yet, you accepted their offer.”

“Well, I never said I wasn’t also overconfident.” And the self-assured smile decides it for Rika.

“You’ve answered my question. Now, would you like to know a secret?”

Sun-hwa hesitates, then nods. Rika leans a little closer, and Sun-hwa follows. “You did get much closer than any have ever gotten during my rule.”

“Forgive me, your majesty, but I think I’d take more professional pride in that if my head wasn’t about to be on the chopping block.”

Rika does laugh this time. “But it means that you're… useful. And you should be glad of that. You may wish to start considering how you might show your gratitude for being allowed to avoid this fate.” Before Sun-hwa can ask what she means by that, Rika stands and addresses the court.

“I have made my decision. The sentence is…” Rika lets her gaze pass across the court, letting the anticipation build. “…she will live in service of the crown, and right what she has wronged.”

There is no cry of shock, no attempts to stop her, but there is a burst of murmurs. Rika has no scepter to bang decisively against the stone, but the icy stare she levels across the court does the job just as well.

“Listen well,” Rika says. She places a hand on Sun-hwa’s back – goodness, standing really didn’t close the gap in that height difference, and Rika has to reach a little – to urge Sun-hwa forward. They descend the steps together. Rika’s movements are far more graceful than Sun-hwa’s, who wobbles a little without her arms as balance, but with Rika’s hand to steady her, they make it down and stand before the court.

“This girl, this poor girl – you expect her to do this on her own? To plot such an act of treachery by her lonesome? No, this poor girl was used – manipulated by an enemy of the crown. But we will not allow this. She will be allowed to live so that she may atone for her mistakes by rooting out those who would seek to harm us. So long as she is useful to us, we will show her this clemency.”

And, wisely, no one dissents.

Sun-hwa waits at the bottom of the steps until the court is cleared out. She remains flanked by guards until she reaches Rika’s chambers, where a pair of maids await their queen.

“Now,” says Rika as one maid begins to unlace her bodice and the other plucks a nightdress from the bed, “I’m sure there’s much more to be learned about these traitorous nobles you can tell me. And, perhaps, a great deal more about others who have hired you, hmm?”

Rika meets Sun-hwa’s eyes as she steps lightly out of her dress and the maid begins to work on her corset.

Sun-hwa stares resolutely back at her. “A great deal indeed, my queen.”

“And your talents can be put to use in other ways, of course.” She says this as she stands nearly bare before her before she allows the second maid to step forward with the nightdress.

“Most assuredly, my queen.” Sun-hwa’s expression is amused.

“Oh, but don’t worry–” Rika rolls her shoulders as her nightgown settles and her maids step back. She waves a hand, and they bow and depart. “We won’t put you to work at every moment; you will, of course, be allowed generous free reign when we do not have specific need of you. And on that note…” Rika beckons Sun-hwa closer and waves a hand so she’ll turn, then gently undoes the bindings.

“There,” says Rika softly. “Much better.”

Sun-hwa rubs at her wrists and bows her head. “You have my thanks, majesty. Forgive me, but… might I ask how long you intend to keep me? If my usefulness has a limit, I’d like to have an inkling of what that is.”

Rika laughs. “No limit. You’re here, now you’ll stay.”

Sun-hwa folds her arms and cocks her hip. “Pardon?”

“You can be very useful to me, my dear, more than you may think. You seem very talented, and besides…” Rika perches on the edge of her bed, stretching herself out to put her décolletage on display. “I think you’ll enjoy your time here.”

Sun-hwa’s eyebrows raise. “My queen, are you implying something?”

“Rather forward, aren’t you?”

Sun-hwa’s first reaction is to let her arms go slack, her posture straightening as she begins hastily, “I–” And then she halts, taking in the way Rika’s shifting to give her a better view, and the rising alarm drains out of her all at once. “…have been told so, yes, my queen.”

Rika smiles. “Excellent. I suspect you’ll be working… closely with me, and I do so admire those who know how to chase what they want.” She leans forward and crosses her legs, and in the process, loses a silk slipper, which slides across the floor. She tilts her head slightly and aims an innocent look towards Sun-hwa. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” Sun-hwa closes the distance and kneels before Rika, looking up at her from beneath her eyelashes. Rika is suddenly aware that although Sun-hwa doesn’t have the advantage of personal tailors to accentuate her figure, she does have some strategic rips that seem oddly alluring on her, and fingers that make Rika shudder with the feeling of electricity when they rest against her skin. “I look forward to showing you what I can do,” she says, fingers skittering slowly up Rika’s calf before pulling away.

Rika’s mouth goes dry. She can hardly wait.

#rika week #rikaweek #mystic messenger rika #mystic messenger #rika #mine #sun-hwa tag #sunhwa tag

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missingverse · 6 years

Text

Missing Chapter Three

He had stopped for ice cream with Gerald on the way home. They'd been at the pier most of the day and only headed for home when their skin started feeling warm. He wasn't expected back long before dusk, Grandma would leave a plate in the microwave for him. They stopped for ice cream, and the sun was just starting to set when he put his key in the door and realized that something was off.

The police officers had parked the squad car across the street, he hadn't noticed it at first. He heard them murmuring in the front room before he saw them.

Something's happened to Grandpa.

Arnold's thoughts raced, his heart hammered painfully.

“That'll be him now,” Phil said from the front room.

Not Grandpa then. Grandma.

But no, he could hear her familiar half-step bustling around in the kitchen.

Ernie? Mr Hyuhn? Oskar?

“Arnold? These men want a word wit'cha....” Phil called.

They wouldn't talk to me if it was someone in the boarding house. Someone I know then. A kid.

He swallowed, hard, and made his way to the front room.

The officers were young, friendly-looking (probably why they were on this duty.) They smiled at him as he gingerly sat on the chair across from them. Somehow that made things worse because he knew he wasn't in trouble, and that meant someone else was.

“Hey there Arnold,” the sandy-haired officer started. “No need to be worried, son, you're not in trouble or anything.”

“What's this about?” he asked, bluntly.

“Do you know a girl named Helga Pataki?” the dark-haired officer asked, holding out a picture Arnold didn't even look at.

Helga?

“Yeah,” he stammered. “She's my....she's in my class....”

“When was the last time you saw Helga?”

“Um....” he combed back through his memories, trying to find her in there somewhere. “Thursday. I saw her after school. Crossing the street.”

“That the street near the corner store?”

“Yeah...”

The sandy-haired officer scribbled notes in a small writing pad.

“Was she alone?”

“Yeah... I mean, she left school with Phoebe but when I saw her she was by herself...”

The officers exchanged a glance when he mentioned Phoebe, but he couldn't tell what was meant by it.

“She wasn't in school on Friday...we all figured she was sick.”

No-one had been particularly worried, except for Phoebe who had been sending messages on her phone during every class break with a tense look on her face. Arnold thought it was strange at the time, for all of two minutes, before he got distracted.

“Thank you Arnold, that's very helpful,” the dark-haired officer said, putting the photo away. “I just have a few more questions and then we'll be on our way. Did Helga have a boyfriend you knew of?”

Boyfriend? She's eleven!

“No,” he answered. “I mean, there was some guy on the baseball team but she wasn't really interested...that's what I heard, anyway.”

“Right,” the dark-haired officer said, pointing something out on the scribbled notes to his colleague. “Do you know if she had any problems at home?”

Yes. Everyone knows.

“Well...” he began. “Her dad is kind of a jerk....and her mom forgets things sometimes....”

They exchanged a look again.

“You noticed any injuries on Helga lately, Arnold?” the sandy-haired officer asked. “Bruises, cuts, burns...that kind of thing?”

“No,” he said immediately, but then thought about it properly because actually, he had. “She had a few scrapes and she had a black eye for a while, but she said it was from baseball.”

She had said it with such flippant conviction that everyone bought it. Or maybe they bought it because they desperately wanted it to be true.

“I see,” the sandy-haired officer said, closing his notebook. “Thanks for that, Arnold, it's been very helpful.”

They started to get up, and in a panic Arnold blurted out his own question.

“What's happened to her? Is she okay?”

The sandy-haired officer smiled, kindly.

“She never made it home Thursday evening,” he said. “We're checking every lead we have. I'm sure she'll be found soon.”

…..

Helga wasn't there when Arnold woke up, she left a puddle of blankets on the sofa behind her. His stomach dropped, but then she strolled right through the door, fussing with her hair.

“I took a shower,” she explained flippantly, even though she looked as dry as ever.

“Do ghosts take showers?” he asked, the sudden adrenaline rush wearing off.

“They do now,” was her response.

He half-wondered if she had undressed to shower, and at the sudden blush that he could feel blooming across his face he turned away from her before she could notice.

He showered, dressed and shoved three slices of toast down his throat with Helga shadowing close behind (though she kept a respectful distance while he was showering and dressing). She was eager to get going, she kept tapping her shoeless foot off the wall impatiently.

“Gotta take a look at them pipes,” Phil muttered as he passed by them in the hall.

“I'll do it later Grandpa,” Arnold promised. “I got plans today.”

“You said you'd look for those cracks too,” Phil said. “I'd do it meself but you know with my knees...”

“I found the cracks and covered them already,” Arnold lied, stealing a glance at Helga. “Sorry, I thought I told you...”

The boarding house was in worse need of repair than ever, old as it was Phil had kept it ticking for a long time, but with his advanced age hindering him more and more it mostly fell to Arnold to do any of the tough jobs, when he had time. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't spent a weekend away from the boarding house since he was twelve. No wonder Gerald didn't want to hang out with him anymore.

“I'll take a look at the pipes when I get back,” he promised again. “I gotta go to this thing today, it's really important.”

With a reluctant sigh, Phil waved him off. Arnold marched out the door and grabbed his bike from under the stoop, Helga trailing close behind him.

“We're not going to bike all the way, are we?” Helga asked, poking his bike with her shoeless foot. “You said it was thirty miles away.”

“Of course not,” Arnold told her in a whisper. If anyone saw him talking to her they'd think he'd gone nuts. “We're taking the train. We're going to bike to the places you were last seen first, see if it jogs your memory.”

“Huh....not a bad idea, Football Head,” Helga said. “Colour me surprised.”

He smiled, despite himself. She was sounding more like herself now.

“You'll have to sit here,” he said, pointing to the basket on the front of the bike.

She frowned, and he thought for a moment she wouldn't go for it. She was small (not as small as her eleven-year-old self but not that much bigger either), it would be a tight fit but the only other option was sitting her on the crossbar and that was strangely intimate and a bit too much for Arnold to handle. But then she shrugged and clambered in, leaning on his arm (his skin tingled where her incorporeal hand gripped him).

“I feel like groceries,” she grumbled. He had padded the base of the basket but her knees were still up around her chest, her legs poking out over the side awkwardly.

“If it gets too uncomfortable you can ride the crossbar,” he offered, hoping she wouldn't take it.

“It's fine,” she shrugged. “Can we go?”

…..

At school, the kids had been blasé about the police coming to talk to them. They considered it exciting, even a little glamorous, to have a runaway in their class. Rumors spread, especially among the girls, about where Helga might have gone. Some whispered that she had an older boyfriend, some guy on the baseball team from a different school who was, according to who was telling the tale, between thirteen and fifteen. (Fifteen was too old for Little League, but why would that get in the way of a good story?)

Around the end of the first week since she disappeared, the glamour started to wear off. Phoebe came back to school, shaky and upset. The runaway shelters had been called and checked and no-one fitting Helga's description had shown up. Her phone wasn't reachable.

By the end of the second week they knew something was seriously wrong. Their parents monitored the radio and TV broadcasts, jumping up to switch them off at any mention of the case. No more rumors were floating except for the worst; her father had finally killed her, or her older boyfriend had. The school counselor announced that his office was always open for anyone who needed to talk to someone.

Near the end of the third week, the shoe was found in the drainage ditch thirty miles out of Hillwood. That was how they knew for certain something awful had happened to Helga, and the time for rumors and speculation was over. It was replaced by a sort of horrified numbness, that they had never experienced real horror and had no idea how to react to it.

Everyone took it differently. The girls in the class collectively experienced a sort of hostility towards the boys, for no clear reason they could explain. The boys, together and individually, had aspects of their personalities magnified by discomfort. They all became louder, cruder. Gerald became more nonchalant, to the point of unfeeling. Harold took a level in cruelty. Eugene's myriad illnesses piled up until he was allergic to living itself. And Rhonda, whose entire life had been dedicated to some mysterious social status, abruptly cut off every single friend in her life and talked to nobody.

Phoebe was falling apart, but nobody knew what to do about it. And why would they? They were just kids.

…..

They circled the elementary school, but Helga only had hazy recollections of time spent there. They passed the empty lot, and she remembered playing baseball there but only distantly. Arnold's bike nearly knocked against the Jolly Olly man's truck (and he got yelled at) but she didn't seem to remember him at all.

He stopped at the corner store (as she had done) and bought a bag of chips and a soda (as she did) and when he walked back out she was staring hard at the movie theatre.

“Something caught your eye?” he asked.

“That's not right,” she said, pointing at the theatre. “It doesn't look right.”

“It was re-done three years ago,” Arnold told her. “New management.”

“Oh,” she said, looking sheepish.

“That's good, right? You remember what it used to look like. It means we're on the right track.”

“I guess.”

Slowly, as they passed the different spots that denoted a Hillwood childhood, she recognized things he wouldn't have thought of. The park had new gates that locked electronically and were taller than the old ones. The skating rink was gone and a new extra-large grocery store in its place. The Donut Cafe expanded and now sold churros, cupcakes and smoothies.

“Is that Rhonda?” she said suddenly as they flew past the cafe.

Sure enough, it was Rhonda. Tapping away on her phone as usual, bored and irritated, dressed in sleek shiny clothes that were probably the height of fashion. She didn't even look up as Arnold's bike passed her.

“Yeah, that's Rhonda,” Arnold said.

“Why didn't you say hi? Isn't that what you usually do?”

That was what he would have done, when he was eleven. Not at sixteen.

“She's different now,” Arnold responded.

“Different how?” Helga probed.

Meaner.

Crueler.

A lot less talkative.

“Different,” Arnold shrugged, and thankfully Helga dropped it. It was awkward, but no more awkward than having to badmouth a former friend to one who had been away for so long.

They boarded the train easily enough, Helga phasing through the gate with ease. She stared out the window on the way and stayed mercifully quiet, knowing Arnold couldn't talk to her while there were people around. But as the train began to empty, she began asking questions.

“You can nod, right? Make like you're listening to music or something,” she demanded.

Arnold glanced around. As they got closer to industrial farmland, there were only a handful of people around. He nodded.

“So Rhonda doesn't talk to you anymore? Does she talk to anyone?”

Arnold shook his head.

“What about Nadine?”

Nadine transferred out two years ago. They weren't friends anymore.

He shook his head.

“There was....whats-his-name....Henry? Harris? You know, the fat one....”

Harold he mouthed.

“Harold, that's it! Wasn't she sweet on him or something?”

Arnold shook his head.

“Is he still sweet on her?”

Arnold shrugged.

“Doesn't he talk about her? Or any girl?”

Not to me.

Anything Harold said about girls was done in a crude hoot and it was usually obscene. All the girls gave him a wide berth.

He shook his head again.

Their stop was the next one, and they disembarked to a wide dusty wasteland. The staff entrance of the farmland was locked up for the weekend, and no security guarded it. Arnold pushed his bike down the side of the chainlink fence, looking for the best way in.

“Does this look familiar to you?” he called to Helga, trailing behind him.

“No,” she answered. “Did we ever come out here as kids?”

“Not us, some of the sixth graders played hooky here when they were growing corn. Then they beefed up security.”

There was a small hole in the fence, just enough for Arnold to crawl through on his stomach. Helga phased through the fence. He lead her over to the drainage ditch, through the runnels of tilled dry soil. It hadn't rained in weeks, the very air around them felt bone dry.

“This,” Arnold said, holding up his printed-out picture of Helga's lost shoe for comparison, “is where they found the shoe.”

“Exactly here?”

There was no doubt in Arnold's mind, the rocks slatted into the sides of the ditch looked the same. It was marked off by a yard marker, twelve yards from the fence. It was as close as they were going to get to the exact location.

“Pretty much,” he said.

She hummed, wrapped her arms around herself, trailing her shoeless foot in the dust. She stared hard at the site, as though willing something to happen.

“It's not ringing any bells,” she mumbled, tilting her head to one side.

“Why else would your shoe have been here?” Arnold asked. “It was the only thing they ever found.”

Saying those words out loud filled him with a sudden, odd form of terror. It occurred to him that she was only here as a ghost on the whim of some mysterious force, and the shoe could very well be all anyone would ever find of her. A lump formed in his throat, and he tried hard to swallow it away.

Helga traced the ditch with her eyes, turning to see it run out under the fence, to where it was buried under the cement foundation of the train tracks, up through the overgrown green commons, up to the edge of the forest...

….suddenly she went rigid, and Arnold heard her gasp.

“What? What is it?” he cried, lurching to her side.

“The trees,” she whispered, shuddering so hard her form seemed to ripple in the air like heat waves. “I know those trees....I've been....”

She said something else, but it was silent. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out of it. She pointed a shaky finger at the woods, the hills that gave Hillwood its name, and then she blinked out of existence.

#hey arnold #hey arnold fanfiction #tw:crime

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thelittlesnowflake · 7 years

Text

Okita Sougo stared at the wall in front of him. He’d lost everything. He no longer had a place he could call home. Until a certain ex vice commander came back into his life for him to get revenge and hope to move on. (Okita x Gintoki, some Hijikata x Gintoki)

Chapter I

One week passed.

Gintoki sat in his chair, listening to the silence of the empty apartment. He sighed and got up, reached behind the frame hanging on the wall behind the desk and took out the important objects he had collected over the years with the kids.

Gintoki took one last look around the apartment before letting out a sigh. The silver haired man wandered outside, leaving behind the empty place. He walked to wherever his feet took him, gaze focused on the ground, as he made his way through the crowd of people. He didn't register the time pass, nor the heavy downpour of rain that drenched his clothes.

Somehow, he ended up on a familiar bridge. Memories submerged him as he took in the sight.

“Oh Danna.” Okita said, noticing his presence as he glanced up from down below. “China girl just left, but she told me to tell you 'You idiot. I'm going to kill you once I come back from space.'”

Ginotki let out a small chuckle. "Okita-kun...” At the words, the younger man chanced a glance back up at him.

Later that night...

“Kondo-san," greeted Okita.

“Oh Sougo! What can I do for you?” The gorilla man smiled warmly at Okita.

“I have a serious matter to discuss with you----if possible, right now.” Unlike his normal expression, a serious look darkened his features.

Kondo raised an eyebrow as he asked, “Sure what is it?”

“This is a private matter, and I'd rather have this conversation somewhere else.” Okita glanced around, eyeing the other people in the room with unconcealed suspicion.

“Of course.” Kondo got up at once, excusing himself from the group.

Kondo followed Okita into one of the meeting rooms. A tense silence reigned between them as they sad down facing each other.

“Kondo-san, I would like to move in to my own place.” Okita stated, not bothering to beat around the bush.

The direct statement shocked his boss, who looked taken aback.

“You want to leave the dorms?” He asked slowly, making sure he had correctly heard what the younger man had said.

“Yes, Sir.” Okita confirmed with a nod.

The older man mulled over the request in silence, trying to gauge how serious Okita was. “Fine,” he relented at last.

He gathered to his feat and headed for the door, signalling the end of the conversation. He paused one last time, almost as an afterthought. “Sougo found a girl?”

Okita grinned. “No. I just found a lost kitty.”

There was chattering among the men. In the crowd of faces could be seen worried and confused expressions. The atmosphere was weighed down by the men's fatigue and restlessness.

“Calm down. Now, I know you guys are asking yourselves why I called you all here.” Kondo's voice boomed out, catching everyone's attention. Heads snapped up, attention drawn to the charismatic speaker.

Hijikata wondered why Kondo had gathered all of them this late at night without informing him of anything beforehand. Seeing Okita stand next to him only aggravated him further.

“I would like to announce that Sougo won't be living with us anymore.”

A hush fell upon the room as the audience slowly registered the words spoken by their leader. Then, as if a switch had turned on, a loud chorus of “What?” and “Really?” echoed throughout the room.

“Why?” Hijikta questioned immediately once the words had sunk in. He was angry that the younger boy was leaving the dorms for some other place. He knew the boy didn't have anywhere else to go. “Why are you leaving now, of all time?”

“Toshi..!” Kondo exclaimed, displeased by the outburst. He opened his mouth to chide him but was cut off by Okita who stepped forward.

“I have my reasons as to why I'm taking my leave from the dorms. All I have to say is that I found something, so please do not worry.” He bowed and stepped back to his previous spot next to Kondo.

“You head him. So do not questioning it any further.” Their leader said authoritatively, ending the discussion. “Oh and I'd like to say that the Odd Jobs are being disbanded for the time being.”

Silence ensued once more. This time, no one spoke.

No one would talk about the Odd Jobs because they knew they had their own reasons to disband, but it was still so shocking. Having it disband usually meant something bad was to happen or something horrible had already happened and their members were monsters.

The vice-commander's hands clenched into fists at his side. So it was too late. He knew it would be pointless for him to get an answer out of Gintoki if he stuck around.

“Dismissed.” Seeing no verbal reaction, Kando left the room with Okita.

Once their leader had disappeared from sight, the other men in the room slowly started to get up, chatting about the news they had just heard.

“Hijikata-san” --- put a hand on his shoulder. “Is everything fine? I mean, you and Sougo have been on bad terms for a few days. I'm beginning to wonder if it's because of that.”

“No.” The mayo obsessed man growled in response. “I don't know why. So don't even try.”

“Sorry."

Okita pointedly ignored the stares and whispering of the other men as he passed by them to leave the building.

He did not regret his decision and was quite pleased that Gintoki had accepted his offer. Now that they would be moving in together, he could really start being serious with the man and stop teasing.

He was determined to win Gintoki's heart even if he knew it was not an easy feat. His Danna wasn't even the type to talk about his love life... Despite Gintoki's secretive and flippant behavior regarding dating, Okita was certain that Gintoki was secretly bisexual. So Okita had a chance. Hope swelled up inside him the more he thought about it.

But... would the man he longed for accept him? Would he accept him knowing he was a sadist and would mostly want himself to be dominant in the relationship? Would he accept him knowing that he was into BDSM ? Okita's mind stopped at the thought of BDSM and Gintoki tied up. A feeling of desire jolted through his body at the image in his mind, arousal pooling in his gut. He swallowed thickly but kept his cool, expression carefully schooled into nonchalance.

Standing near the entrance, waiting for him, was Gintoki. Okita's breath caught inside his throat when he noticed the man standing there under an umbrella. His attention zeroed in on the man in front of him, fascinated by the way Gintoki looked like surrounded by pouring rain. It was as if the clouds were crying for him.

“Danna!” Okita called out to the man who looked like a lost cat. “Let's go back to your place. Tomorrow we can look for a home.”

“Sure,why not. I don't have any food though.” Gintoki commented, looking down at his growling stomach.

Okita grinned down at him in reassurance. “We can stop at the convenience store.”

Gintoki hummed his agreement, following Okita back to the apartment.

The former 1st Division Captain and the boss of the Odd Jobs were going to live together. Little did they know that their relationship and every thing was about going to change for ever.

Tae was on her way back from doing grocery shopping when she spotted the two men walking by her. A look of shock crossed her features; it was such a rare occurrence to see the two men together.

“Gin-san and Okita-kun?” She questioned, her voice loud enough to make both men stop in their tracks.

“Ne-e-san.” Okita greeted the consort of his boss, nodding his head politely.

“Ah, Otae.” Gintoki gave her an easy smile as he noticed her.

“What a rare sight, seeing you and Okita-kun together,” the cabaret hostess commented, the surprise still written on her face.

“About that --” Gintoki was suddenly cut off. Tae punched him, sending him flying in the air. He hit the muddy ground with an audible thawk.

“Ow. What the fuck was that for?” The silver haired man grumbled his protest, raising a hand to his reddened cheek defensively.

“That,” Tae massaged her knuckles, "was for making us worry!” She set her hands on her hips, peering down at Gintoki with a scowl. He flinched at the reprimanding, slowly gathering to his feet, his clothes now disgusting and dripping mud.

“That isn't a reason to fucking punch me!"

“Anyways," Tae ignored him, changing the topic. "What are you guys doing together? I'd understand if Gin-san was with Hijikata-san, but with you?” She raised a dubious eyebrow at the pair, curious and expecting answers.

“What? Hey, aren't I allowed to spend some time with Danna?”

Tae stared at Okita for a few seconds, considering him.

Finally a snicker escaped her, and she shook her head in amusement. “You can. Just take care of him tonight.” She patted Okita on the shoulder, bidding them goodnight.

“Damn. That fucking hurt.” Gintoki commented under his breath, waiting until she was out of sight. “Let's go.”

“Danna. You go back and clean yourself up. I'll go to the convenience store and get some food.” The brunet proposed after his gaze had perused the other's messy attire.

“I'd love that.” Gintoki agreed at once, fingers itching with the need to scrub himself clean of the mud that seeped through the cotton of his clothes.

An hour later...

Steam escaped into the bathroom as Gintoki stepped out of the shower, rubbing his hair dry with a white towel. He felt refreshed from the warm bath, the strain of his muscles unwinding. Plopping down to the floor, he scooted under the comfortable covers of the kotatsu, patiently waiting for Okita who hadn't arrived yet.

The shrill sound of the doorbell pulled him out of his musings. He scrambled to the door, excitement bubbling in his chest. He opened the door with impatience, the hinges creaking from the unexpected force, but froze as his eyes fell on his visitor's face. Instead of the person he had been expecting, he was met with the demon vice-commander.

“Oh. It's you.”

Hinjikata tisked at the lukewarm greeting and threw out his cigarette. “It seems like you were waiting for someone else.”

“Um... That's really none of your business.” Gintoki retorted, feeling on edge.

“Whatever. So are you going to let me in or what?” Hijikata toed the opened door with his foot, cocking his head.

“No.”

“I'm cold!” He protested, a mock pout on his lips.

“Fuck off.” Gintoki flipped him off which angered Hijikata.

“Just let me in for fuck's sake! I don't want to catch cold!”

“Nah. You can stay out here." He refused to budge, crossing his arms as he regarded the other man levelly. A look of boredom covered his features, only infuriating the other man further. "What exactly do you want?”

Hijikata clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes. 'Gintoki can be a dick some times.' He took out another cigarette and lit it up, the smoke rising into the air in swirls. “Look, I just wanted to know why you disbanded the Odd Jobs.”

“I don't wanna tell you.” Gintoki answered, looking straight in to Hijikata's eyes so that the other man knew he was being serious.

“I don't wanna tell you.” Gintoki answered, looking straight in to Hijikata's eyes.

The demonic vice-commander's mouth dropped opened. “W-why?”

“Because it doesn't concern you.”

“But it's not normal for you guys to disband like that.” said the mayo obsessed man, insisting to get an answer from the other man who was in front of him, giving him glares/

“Look. I don't want to tell you why. The reason why is really none of your business.” Gintoki responded coldly.

Hijikata was surprised. He was about to open his mouth went Okita arrived and glared at Hijikata.

“Sougo?” he asked perplexed to why the vanguard of the Shinsengumi was here.

Okita didn't say anything, just stared at Hijikata as he walked towards them. “Like Danna said, Hijikata-san, the reason why they disbanded is none of your business.” he said, his voice in a low growl. Hijikata could feel the anger from the younger man.

“And what about you? What business do you have with the Odd Jobs boss?” Hijikata hissed.

“Danna is letting me stay here for the night.” the younger man simply answered.

This made Hijikata even angrier. “Can't I even worry about someone? For fuck's sake, why are you both so secretive about stuff. Why are you suddenly hanging out with him?” he angrily said.

“Probably because you're always on bad terms with Danna?” Okita suggested in a mocking voice.

The vice-commander of the Shinsengumi stormed away from the two. Grumbling under his breath, cursing the two.

Okita gave a small apologetic smile to Gintoki who sighed and let Okita in to his apartment.

“Hijikata-san doesn't seem amused by all of this.” Okita commented. “Well it doesn't surprise me.”

Gintoki shrugged his indifference. “I couldn't care less. Gin-san is hungry. What did you get?”

“Food.” Okita joked, holding up a bag of groceries.

Once they finished eating, Okita went to the bathroom to run a bath while Gintoki took care of cleaning up.

It had been a long day for the former captain of the 1st division. His muscles were stiff, and he was looking forward to soaking them in a warm bath. He took his time washing himself, taking his time in the hot water that filled the bathtub to the brim. Sighing with relief, Okita stared at his reflection mirrored on the water's surgace. Slowly, he submerged the lower half of his face into the water. He watched the ripples in the water caused by his movements and heavy breathing.

'I really want to sleep with Danna.' he thought to himself. He bit his lip to stop a smile from forming on his lips as he pictured Gintoki's sleeping form. Shivers raked down his spine and this time he decided to pleasure himself.

After finishing his business, Okita clambered out of the bathtub and immediately noticed that he'd forgotten to ask Gintoki for a towel.

“Danna?” His voice called out.

“What?”

“I need a towel.” Okita waited, listening to Gintoki 's footsteps pitter-patter.

A smirk pulled at his lips when Gintoki froze at the doorway. The latter couldn't help his eyes from drinking in the sight before him, his jaw slackened and pupils blown wide.

“Enjoying the view?” Okita teased the older man, taking pleasure in the blush that formed on the man's cheeks. Embarrassed for getting caught red-handed, he threw the towel in Okita's direction.

“As if! Gin-san loves big boobs and pussies! He doesn't like dicks!”

“Oh? But who said anything about breasts, pussies, and dicks? Are you implying that you want to do it with me?” Okita taunted him, inching closer to his Danna, his smirk ever present.

“Fuuck no!” Gintoki sang the words as his blush darkened. He pushed the brunet back with a shove, running away to escape the intense look on Okita's face. “Dry off for fuck's sake.” The door slammed behind him as he rushed out of the bathroom.

Okita chuckled and did what he was told, replaying the recent events in his mind on a loop. He slipped on a new pair of boxers and an over sized shirt, the soft cotton dragging against damp body. When he walked out, he saw Gintoki setting out two futons down in his room.

The flush on his face still hadn't completely dissappeared when he finally noticed Okita standing by the doorway.

'Danna has a nice ass.' Okita thought to himself, enjoying the view every single time Gintoki bent down.

“W-why are you staring at Gin-san like that?” The silver haired man questioned Okita.

“Like what, Danna?” The younger man answered back with another question, even though the oblivious act didn't fool either of them.

“Like you're hungry.”

“Oh. But I am hungry, Danna.” Okita chuckled lowly as he saw Gintoki ears getting redder, the insinuation obvious.

Gintoki didn't comment but opened the fridge with a bit more force than necessary, the action jostling the insides. He reached for a carton of strawberry milk and chugged down the sweet liquid in nervous gulps, before setting it back down with a slam. As he walked to the bathroom to get ready for bed, he passed by Okita who was busy brushing his teeth and did the same as the Okita.

“Good night,” Gintoki muttered softly, after brushing his teeth.

Okita turned off the bedroom's light, plunging the house in darkness. Only a beam of moonlight illuminated the room, the faint sounds of the outside world trickling through the walls. Okita got into the futon laid out for him, listening to the peaceful melody made by crickets and the wind. In the darkness, he stared at the form of Gintoki's back with a look of affection. Slowly, he placed a cold hand on his Danna's waist. The latter twitched under his hold, not expecting the touch nor the way Okita leaned in closely, his mouth suddenly near his ear.

“Good night, Danna.” Okita whispered, his hot breath fanning Gintoki's skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps on his neck. He fell asleep not long after, satisfied by the effect he had over Gintoki.

Unlike Okita, Gintoki was wide awake, his eyes alert and his cheeks flushed a dark crimson. He kept replaying the moments in his head, each time making him blush more furiously. He'd never thought Okita could be so seductive with him... Or had it been just his imagination?

After a while of useless worrying, his thoughts wandered to other subjects. He thought of the kids in particular, Kagura, who must have already arrived to wherever she'd planned to go, and Shinpachi. Had his sister told him that she'd see his boss? 'Shinpachi must be asking himself a lot of questions now.'

Minutes passed as Gintoki laid awake in the pitch black darkness, listening to the ticking of his clock and Okita's steady breathing. He liked the fact that he wasn't alone, that the void in his life was being occupied with another's presence. Being by the younger's side reassured him a lot. Never had he once thought that the younger boy's presence was a nuance.

As a foreign feeling seized his chest, tendrils of warmth wrapping themselves around him, the boss of the Odd Jobs finally drifted off to sleep.

The next day....

Gintoki woke up to the wonderful smell of food being made. Rubbing the fatigue out of his eyes, he got up and stumbled to his feet and made his way to the kitchen where Okita was preparing breakfast.

“ 'Morning...” Gintoki greeted sleepily.

“ Good morning, Danna.” Okita replied, not looking up from his cooking; he was too focused on his task.

“Already up and cooking? Man, why didn't we lived together before? I could get used to this,” joked Gintoki as he stood next to Okita, looking at the food with hunger in his eyes.

Okita chuckled and elbowed his Danna away from the food. “If you weren't looking at the food right now, I would think were hungry for me."

A blush colored the cheeks of Gintoki. Embarrassed, he scratched his head, looking away from the intense stare on Okita's face.

“I'm going to change.” He went to the bathroom to change while the other man finished cooking and set the table for the both of them.

“Don't you have work today?” Gintoki questioned, leaning against the frame of the doorway, once he had finished getting ready. “I mean, you look like you're taking your sweet time doing all of this. Shouldn't you be in a rush?”

“Nah. Kondo-san gave me the day off to look for a place.” He replied as he served the food, giving Gintoki an extra serving of rice. “There.”

Gintoki sat down, nodding in gratitude. “Thank you for the food.”

Okita repeated the words back and also started eating the meal he had prepared. He then surprised Gintoki by slamming 6 magazines down on the table, flipping through them as he ate with his other hand.

“Danna, should we get one with two rooms or one?” Okita asked, drinking some of his soup.

“Why the fuck do you wanna get a place with one room? We're not lovers. I don't want to sleep in the same room as you every single night. Plus a man need his privacy.” The silver haired man argued, his mouth full of rice.

“Because it costs less.” The brunet replied, raising an eyebrow to indicate it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“True... Well... I... I guess I don't mind then.” Gintoki grudgingly agreed.

“Hehehehe.” Okita chuckled to himself and finished eating with a satisfied smile on his face.

Stretching his arms, he said, “I'm going to go get my stuff from the dorms and contact the agency to get this duplex for today.” He directed Gintoki's gaze to the circled apartment. “Get your stuff together too. I'll come and get you in two hours. Oh - and we're also taking the futons.”

“Yeah yeah, get going already.” Gintoki sighed, already imagining the long day ahead of him. “Don't worry I'll clean up.”

Okita stared at his Danna with his usual poker face, really wanting to kiss the man in front of him. Swallowing down the urge, he straightened his back and dismissed himself. The door of the house closed behind him and he had to gather all of his strength not to go back inside.

#gintama #gintoki #sakata gintoki #okita sougo #fanfic #fanfiction #okigin #Okita x Gintoki #hijikata x gintoki

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sarahgraham7 · 5 years

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Q&A with Abby Norman, author of Ask Me About My Uterus: A Quest To Make Doctors Believe In Women’s Pain

When Abby Norman was struck down by an excruciating, nauseating pain, doctors were unable, perhaps at times even unwilling, to diagnose her symptoms and take her pain seriously, suggesting instead that the condition was “all in her head”.

Putting her own misadventures into a broader historical, sociocultural, and political context, Abby shows that women’s bodies have long been the battleground of a never-ending war for power, control, medical knowledge and truth. And that it’s time to refute the belief that being a woman is a pre-existing condition.

To celebrate the paperback publication of Ask Me About My Uterus in the UK, and as part of #EndoMonth, we sat down with Abby to find out more about her journey with endometriosis and chronic illness…

Ask Me About My Uterus tells your own deeply personal story, but when and how did you realise that your experiences, and your struggle to be believed, were also part of a much broader, patriarchal problem?

I think in the beginning the temptation was to say that this was all my fault; that it was a reaction to me personally. But then I started thinking about it and realised these people didn’t know me. As weird as my life was, I still felt like actually this didn’t feel personal.

Eventually there were some doctors who found out a bit more about my life, and started to make assumptions, but I think from the beginning I felt this was bigger than me. I kept saying to myself, ‘this cannot possibly just be me’.

It wasn’t really until I started talking about it on the internet that I realised the full extent of that, because i was getting responses from women all over the world – all ages, all races, all experiences – saying ‘yeah, I’m having this exact conversation with people in my life’, and I thought ‘OK, this is a sign of something much deeper.’

In a way there was something liberating about that because it gave me permission to not take it quite as personally. But it also infuriated me because it meant this was a pervasive problem, and lots of other people were suffering the same way that I was. Realising that set me on the path of trying to advocate more broadly, and that was also the eventual impetus for the book, which came after I’d given a presentation at Stanford.

How do you feel the idea of the ‘hysterical woman’ influenced the way you were treated when seeking medical care?

The fact I was a young woman – particularly a young woman who, when I first got sick, was at a college (Sarah Lawrence) that had a reputation for producing really high strung women – seemed to influence the reaction I got from the get-go.

But I was already used to people, or broader society, trying to justify or explain a woman’s behaviour based on the irrationality that comes with having hormonal cycles. I’d been warned about that even prior to getting my period. It wasn’t even something that was coming down from health classes at school – it was a pop culture trope, it was a plot line in books I read. This idea that women were inherently less capable of being rational and calm because they were dealing with hormones was always there.

There are a lot of problems that can be caused by hormonal imbalances, but I think that sort of blanket characterisation is really misleading and really, really old. A lot of that is rooted in the transition from when gynaecological and obstetric care moved away from being something that women did for other women, through midwifery or even just communities of women coming together and supporting each other through those experiences.

When that became medicalised, and men began to dominate that field, you then had men writing the medical text books and designing medical education, so everything is viewed through their lens.

Where do you think you would be today if you hadn’t been so determined to research, understand and advocate for your own health?

It sounds really predictable and a bit flippant to say this, but the very simple truth is that I wouldn’t be here, because one of two things would have happened. I would have either eventually gotten to the point where the infective process would have become septic – it was already kind of headed there anyway – and I would have died for that reason.

Or, there have been several points where I was actively preparing to take my life. I wasn’t necessarily depressed at that point, but I was overwhelmed by the pain and sickness, and the hopelessness of that.I was just exhausted, and so tired that I just wanted to die so I could rest and stop doing this. I really did think at some level my body was just going to give out – and to be honest with you I still feel that way sometimes.

I think part of the reason why it got so bad was because I had to advocate, because I had so many untreated infections, and so many things went wrong and weren’t caught. I had to be under so much stress, physically and emotionally for many years, which has now led me to this point of chronic ill health. In a way it feeds that cycle of asking ‘what if?’, and I try not to do that anymore. You can drive yourself into a really bad place going down that road.

I’m at a point now where it’s more about acceptance than anything else, and that’s really part of what it means to continue to advocate for yourself. One of the big things since the book came out is that now I have a platform, and I feel a responsibility to balance my own needs with trying to set a reasonable example.

What are the biggest and most frustrating lessons you’ve learned since becoming ill?

Trying to come to terms with the fact that, had things gone differently much earlier in the process – if I’d had more resources, if I’d had more support – I would have had a different outcome. That’s not just something that I think, that’s something that has been said to me many times by medical professionals, who are unhappy and frustrated on my behalf that people who came before them missed things or failed to do things that would have changed the outcome for me.

What I can take away from that now is that, although I know I can’t change my own story, every now and then I get emails from people for whom my book has intervened and gotten them on a path that means hopefully they’ll get there sooner than I did. I am very much at least relieved to know I’ve produced something that is a tool and that comforts people. At least I’ve done something useful there.

I am still sometimes frustrated that I didn’t get to benefit from it in that way. My life would have been different if I’d had this book at 17, 18, 19 – emotionally it would have made a difference to me. I get sad about a lot of the things I missed out on, but I feel like it’s now time to let go of what I think I missed out on in my young life.

How has connecting with other women in a similar position helped you, and what have you learned from them?

On one level I find social media very intimidating and overwhelming – but one of the reasons I actually enjoy it is because of the connections I’ve made through my book, or through the advocacy that I’ve done, who’ve turned out to have lots of other things in common with me other than endometriosis or chronic illness.

People are more than just their illness, and I think about that so much because it was the big thing that just changed my life about the New York Times review of my book. Randi Epstein said: ‘Norman’s life is more than her disease’, and that was such a revelation to me, because I do have all these other side things and interests that I’m trying to patch together.

Finally, the big question: how do we solve this problem of medical sexism?

I always say that I do think we have reason to be hopeful. There are a lot of places where things are being done. On the research level, we have people like Noémie Elhadad at Columbia who’s got this incredible citizen science initiative through their Phendo app. They’re trying to build the research to create a phenotype for endometriosis, which is one of the core components of the research that we do not have yet.

One of the big challenges though is the way the healthcare system in the United States works, and the medical education system. We need to challenge those patriarchal structures at a higher level than the majority of us at patient level can get to.

The best thing we can do is support each other and continue to empower each other, but we also need to be aware that there are some things that are way, way, way higher up in the hierarchy. We need allies at the administrative level, at the clinical level, at the research level, and also at the educational and broader sociocultural level that dictates how people learn to be medical professionals. If we don’t see change get made there, we’re not going to make progress.

It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not something that we’re going to change overnight, because we’re working with centuries of historical precedent – not just socioculturally but in terms of this whole structure of medical education. It’s going to take a lot of work.

One of the things about this year that’s been so incredible was that my book came out along with a bunch of other books that were really really good and all very strong testaments for why we need to be looking at this, so we have this growing body of literature now that can be used. My book’s been taught on medical school syllabuses about women’s pain theory!

People have tried to call it the medical #MeToo movement, but I think it’s just a sub-group of that broader movement. Sometimes it feels like you’re taking a step forward and two steps back, and that’s frustrating, but I think the important thing is that we keep hearing many more stories, from many different perspectives, to help this conversation grow and become stronger and more inclusive. That’s really what the goal of the feminist movement needs to be.

You can find Abby online, on Twitter, and on Instagram.

Buy Ask Me About My Uterus on Amazon, out today in paperback.

#EndoMonth: 'If I'd had more resources and support, I would have had a different outcome'. As @abbymnorman's #AskMeAboutMyUterus comes out in paperback in the UK, she speaks to #HystericalWomen about medical sexism Q&A with Abby Norman, author of Ask Me About My Uterus: A Quest To Make Doctors Believe In Women's Pain

#chronic illness #chronic pain #endometriosis

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